Chapter Text
Wooyoung was nine the first time he decided he hated Choi San. He had announced it loudly in the middle of their parents’ garden party, arms crossed, chin lifted high. San had stood there in his stupid bowtie, ears sticking out, looking small and doll-like. “You’re short,” Wooyoung had declared. “And your ears stick out.” San’s ears had gone bright red. He hadn’t cried, but his eyes had narrowed with that quiet, stubborn anger. “At least I don’t look like a giraffe.” Their parents had laughed like it was the most charming thing in the world. The engagement had been decided long before that afternoon. Wooyoung had spent the next ten years calling San every name he could think of. Then boarding school, university abroad, and years of blessed silence had followed. He had almost managed to forget the boy existed. Until tonight.
The bass thumped through the crowded club like a second heartbeat, neon lights cutting through the haze of smoke and perfume. Wooyoung moved like liquid sin on the dance floor, his body rolling fluidly to the rhythm, hips swaying with deliberate, teasing precision. The tight black shirt he wore clung to his torso, unbuttoned just enough at the top to reveal a tempting slice of collarbone and chest, while his fitted pants hugged every curve and line of his long legs. His dark hair was styled messily, a few strands falling into his sharp, mischievous eyes, and a glossy sheen on his lips caught the flashing lights every time he smirked. Heaven made to look like sin. That’s what one of the men who’d bought him shots earlier had slurred in his ear. Wooyoung had laughed, downed the drink, and let the stranger’s hand linger on his waist a little too long before slipping away. He hadn’t paid for a single thing tonight because men kept offering, eyes hungry as they watched him dance. He was used to it. Thrived on it. Another shot glass found its way into his hand from a passing admirer. He tossed it back without hesitation, the burn sliding down his throat as he laughed, bright and sharp. His body felt warm, loose, electric. Engaged? Sure. To some childhood enemy he hadn’t seen in years. That didn’t mean he had to sit around waiting like some obedient doll for the families to finally force them together.
“Joongie!” Wooyoung called out over the music, voice playful and slightly slurred as he scanned the crowd for his best friend. He spun gracefully, catching a few more lingering stares from men nearby. Some were bold enough to edge closer, hands brushing his hips or lower back as they tried to pull him into their orbit. He let one or two get close, grinding back against them for a teasing moment—feeling the heat of their bodies, the press of growing interest against his ass—before dancing away again, a cat-like smirk playing on his lips. Where the hell was Hongjoong anyway? He needed someone to keep him from doing something truly reckless tonight… or maybe just someone to laugh with while he did it anyway.
The crowd parted and pulsed around him in waves of heat and color. Sweat glistened on exposed skin under the strobing reds and blues. The air tasted like salt, alcohol, and expensive cologne. Wooyoung threw his head back, eyes half-closed, letting the music take him deeper into that hazy, buzzing headspace.
And then a new body pressed against his from behind—solid, tall, radiating warmth that cut straight through the chaos. Strong hands settled on Wooyoung’s waist with confident possession, fingers splaying wide over the thin fabric of his shirt. This wasn’t one of the hesitant grazes from before. This was deliberate.
Wooyoung’s eyes fluttered open. He twisted in the hold just enough to glance back, and fuck.
The man behind him was devastating. Sharp jawline shadowed by the lights, dark eyes locked on him with an intensity that made Wooyoung’s stomach flip. Plush lips curved in a knowing smirk. His black shirt stretched taut across a broad, powerful chest, the fabric damp with a light sheen of sweat that only made the muscle definition more obscene. Thick thighs in tight pants bracketed Wooyoung’s legs, and the unmistakable hard line of interest pressed against the curve of his ass.
When did men start looking like this?
“You gonna keep staring,” the stranger murmured low against Wooyoung’s ear, voice rough like gravel wrapped in velvet, “or are you gonna let me kiss you?”
Wooyoung laughed, delighted and a little breathless from the shots and the sudden heat pooling low in his belly. “Bold. I like that.”
He turned fully in the man’s arms. Their mouths crashed together right there on the dance floor, messy and demanding. The stranger tasted like whiskey and something darker, richer. His tongue pushed past Wooyoung’s lips without hesitation, claiming space as one big hand slid down to grab a handful of his ass and squeeze. Wooyoung moaned into the kiss, rolling his hips back against that thick hardness, feeling the stranger’s groan vibrate through both their chests.
They danced like that for several long songs—grinding slow and filthy, hands roaming, mouths breaking apart only to trail hot, open kisses along necks and jaws. The stranger’s cologne wrapped around Wooyoung like smoke, woody and expensive, mixing with the sharp tang of their building sweat. Every press of those strong fingers left phantom heat on Wooyoung’s skin. He could feel eyes on them from the crowd, envious and hungry, and it only made him grind harder, more performative, more alive.
“Hotel,” the stranger finally growled against his ear, nipping the lobe. “Now.”
Wooyoung didn’t argue.
The elevator ride was a heated blur the moment the doors slid shut with a soft, metallic ding that echoed in the small space. The stranger didn’t hesitate—he crowded Wooyoung back against the cool, reflective wall, the chilled glass instantly raising goosebumps along his spine through his thin shirt. One thick, powerful thigh shoved between his legs, pressing up firmly against his aching cock with deliberate, rolling pressure. The sudden friction dragged a sharp gasp from Wooyoung’s throat.
The mirrored surfaces transformed the confined elevator into an overwhelming kaleidoscope: their entangled bodies multiplied infinitely in every direction—Wooyoung’s flushed cheeks and messy dark hair reflected back at him from a dozen angles, the stranger’s broad, muscular back flexing under the black shirt, strong arms caging him in like walls of heat. Everywhere he looked, he saw himself pinned and grinding against this mountain of a man. The dim elevator lighting cast warm golden highlights across the stranger’s sharp jawline and the sheen of sweat already forming on his collarbones.
“Fuck, you’re strong,” Wooyoung panted, voice breathy as he rolled his hips shamelessly against that solid thigh. The rough drag of fabric—his fitted pants against the stranger’s thicker material—created a delicious, teasing friction that made his cock throb. He could feel every hard ridge of muscle in the man’s leg, the scorching body heat bleeding through layers of clothing.
“You talk a lot for someone who’s been teasing the entire club tonight.” The stranger’s dark eyes glittered with raw hunger in every reflection. His large hands gripped Wooyoung’s waist possessively, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise through the thin fabric, while one palm slid down to squeeze a handful of his ass, pulling their hips flush. The woody, spicy scent of the stranger’s cologne wrapped around Wooyoung like smoke with rich sandalwood and citrus notes undercut by the clean, salty tang of fresh sweat. Their shared hot breath mingled in the small space, faintly fogging the mirrors. Wooyoung’s heart hammered so loudly he could hear it pulsing in his own ears.
“Jealous?” Wooyoung teased, tilting his head to brush his glossy lips against the stranger’s sharp jaw. The faint stubble scraped lightly against his mouth, a delicious rasp. “Maybe I was just warming up… seeing who could keep up.” His hands roamed greedily over the man’s broad chest, palms pressing against the firm swell of pecs, feeling the rapid, heavy thump of the stranger’s heartbeat matching his own frantic rhythm. “Think you can handle me? Or are you all looks?”
A deep, rumbling growl vibrated from the stranger’s chest directly into Wooyoung’s body. He nipped sharply at Wooyoung’s jawline. The sting was sharp and electric—then soothed it with a slow, wet drag of his tongue, leaving a warm, slick trail. The elevator dinged softly as it passed another floor, the brief mechanical jolt pressing their bodies even closer together. The risk of the doors opening at any moment sent adrenaline spiking through Wooyoung’s veins, making every touch feel sharper, hotter.
“Keep running that mouth,” the stranger murmured hotly against his throat, voice low and gravel-rough. He sucked a dark, claiming mark into the sensitive skin, the wet pull of his mouth audible in the quiet space. “And I’ll fuck it quiet in the hallway before we even reach the room.”
The threat sent liquid heat pooling low in Wooyoung’s belly. He shivered hard, fingers digging into those powerful shoulders, feeling the shift and flex of dense muscle beneath his grip.
“Promises, promises,” Wooyoung shot back, though his voice cracked into a whimper as the stranger’s thigh flexed and pressed upward again, rubbing perfectly against his leaking cock. “Most guys say shit like that and then tap out after five minutes.”
The elevator slowed momentarily on another floor, the subtle deceleration making Wooyoung’s stomach flip. Their bodies surged closer from the motion. Wooyoung’s back arched against the cool mirror, the stark temperature contrast between the chilled glass and the stranger’s burning skin drawing a needy gasp from him. In the infinite reflections, he watched the man’s hand slide under his shirt—blunt nails scraping lightly down his spine, leaving trails of fire that made him tremble. Strong fingers teased the waistband of his pants, dipping just inside to brush heated skin.
“You’ve never met me before.” The stranger’s voice was wrecked as he rolled his hips forward, letting Wooyoung feel the full, thick, throbbing length of his erection grinding against his hip. The heat and girth were unmistakable even through fabric. “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember your own name—let alone all those other guys.”
Wooyoung’s head fell back against the mirror with a soft thud, exposing the long line of his throat. His pulse jumped visibly under the skin where the stranger’s mouth latched on again, sucking harder. The taste of salt and skin lingered on Wooyoung’s tongue from their earlier kisses. “Big talk. I like a challenge.” Boldly, he reached down and palmed the impressive bulge, squeezing firmly. The searing heat and heavy weight under his hand made his mouth water. “Mmm… at least the equipment matches the attitude.”
The stranger caught his wrist in an iron grip, pinning it above his head against the cool mirror with one hand while the other guided Wooyoung’s hips in filthy, grinding circles against his thigh. Fabric rustled softly with every movement. “Careful, pretty boy. Tease me too much and I won’t be gentle when I bend you over.”
Another soft ding—they were nearly at their floor. The tension in the small space felt suffocatingly thick now: rapid, shared breaths, the faint creak of clothing, the heavy scent of arousal mixing with cologne, and the constant visual overload of their multiplied, desperate reflections. Wooyoung’s legs trembled slightly, lips swollen and parted, body buzzing with overwhelming need.
The elevator finally came to a smooth stop. The doors began to slide open with a chime.
Wooyoung licked his swollen lips, eyes locked on the stranger’s in the mirror and in reality, voice husky. “Then what are you waiting for? Show me.”
The stranger didn’t release him immediately. He pressed one last bruising, open-mouthed kiss to Wooyoung’s lips, tongue sliding deep and possessive before pulling back just enough to drag him out into the hallway by the wrist, the grip firm and unrelenting.
The hotel room door clicked shut behind them with a heavy finality. The stranger pushed Wooyoung up against it immediately, mouth claiming his in a deep, filthy kiss that tasted like whiskey and raw hunger. The room smelled of crisp white linens and faint lemon cleaner, quickly overtaken by the stranger’s woody cologne, their combined sweat, and the growing musk of arousal.
He’s still everywhere, Wooyoung thought, head spinning as strong hands stripped him. I can’t escape him even in my own head.
Clothes hit the floor in a messy trail. Wooyoung shoved the stranger’s shirt off, palms sliding over fever-hot skin stretched tight over carved muscle. He licked and bit at the firm swell of pecs, tasting salt and skin, while the stranger worked on his pants with efficient hunger.
"Easy now, and look at yourself." The stranger tossed him onto the king-sized bed and Wooyoung landed on cool, starched sheets that shocked his overheated back. As the man climbed over him, Wooyoung caught their reflection in the large mirrored closet doors opposite the bed...it was a perfect, merciless view of everything.
The mirrors multiplied them just like the elevator had, with what felt like infinite versions of himself with select angles sprawled beneath this powerful stranger, legs already spreading, skin flushed pink. The stranger’s broad back and shoulders looked even more imposing in every reflection, muscles shifting as he reached for the lube on the nightstand.
Two thick, slick fingers pushed inside him. The cold lube warmed rapidly against his walls as the stranger worked him open with devastating patience — scissoring, curling, dragging wet, obscene squelching sounds from his body. Pleasure sparked electric every time those fingers nailed his prostate.
“F-fuck… slow down,” Wooyoung gasped, even as his hips rolled down greedily. In the mirrors, he watched himself writhe, his back arching, mouth open in a moan, legs trembling around the stranger’s wrist. Look at me. I look like a fucking slut for him already.
“Thought you liked a challenge,” the stranger murmured, voice rough. He added a third finger, stretching him wider. The wet sounds filled the room, mixing with Wooyoung’s broken whimpers and the stranger’s low grunts. The air grew thick with the artificial cherry scent of lube, sweat, and sex.
By the time the stranger lined up and pushed inside, Wooyoung was shaking with need. The thick head breached him slowly, stretching him impossibly wide in one long, burning slide. Inch by devastatingly delicious inch, the fullness overwhelmed him. When the man bottomed out, heavy balls pressed flush against him, Wooyoung felt claimed.
“Shit— you’re huge,” he whimpered, legs wrapping tight around the stranger’s waist. In the mirrored doors, he couldn’t look away as he watched his own face twisted in pleasure-pain, the stranger’s powerful hips flexing as he held still, letting Wooyoung adjust. Every reflection showed the same devastating picture... of Wooyoung pinned and stretched open beneath this man.
The stranger started moving — deep, rolling thrusts that dragged perfectly against his prostate. The bed creaked rhythmically beneath them. Skin slapped skin, wet and filthy. Sweat slicked their bodies, making every slide smoother, hotter. Wooyoung’s moans mixed with the stranger’s rough breathing, the room thick with the heavy scent of sex.
He tried to keep his bratty edge. “Is that— ah, fuck— all you’ve got? And here I thought you weren't going to disappoint. ”
The stranger’s hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing with perfect grounding pressure as he snapped his hips harder. In the mirrors, Wooyoung watched the hand on his neck, his own eyes rolling back, mouth falling open in a silent cry. “Keep talking,” the stranger growled, sweat dripping from his brow onto Wooyoung’s chest, “and I’ll ruin this tight little ass so no one else will ever be enough.”
He’s going to break me, Wooyoung thought deliriously, tears of overwhelming pleasure pricking his eyes. And every version of me is begging for it.
The first orgasm hit him harder than he had anticipated. Wooyoung came untouched with a sharp cry, cock pulsing hot stripes between their stomachs while his walls clenched rhythmically around the thick length inside him. The mirrors captured every detail, his body seizing, toes curling, face contorted in ecstasy.
The stranger fucked him through it without mercy, then flipped him onto his stomach. Strong hands yanked his hips up. He drove back in even deeper from behind. The new angle made Wooyoung scream into the pillow. In the mirrors, he could still see fragments of them — the stranger’s powerful body looming over his, hips snapping forward, one hand gripping his waist hard enough to bruise while the other fisted in his hair.
The second orgasm crashed over him when the stranger finally spilled inside him, with hot, pulsing floods of cum as he ground deep with a guttural groan. Wooyoung watched it all in the reflections. His own wrecked expression, body shaking, the stranger’s face tight with pleasure as he claimed him completely.
They collapsed in a sweaty, sticky tangle. The stranger’s heavy arm draped possessively over Wooyoung’s waist. The cool AC kissed their overheated skin while the room smelled overwhelmingly of sex, thick, heady, unmistakable. Wooyoung drifted off with one last hazy, satisfied thought....Whoever you are… I might actually be in trouble...
Morning light was rude.
Wooyoung groaned, rolling over in the empty bed. The shower was running. He dragged himself up, muscles deliciously sore, and started dressing. When the bathroom door opened, steam curling out, he barely glanced over.
“Last night was fun,” he said, buttoning his shirt. “But I’ve got a family thing. See ya.”
He fled before the stranger could reply.
The luncheon was at the usual extravagant venue with crystal chandeliers casting soft light over heavy linen tablecloths, waiters moving silently like ghosts. Their parents had gone all out to celebrate “this wonderful next step” for their sons. The air smelled faintly of fresh flowers and expensive wine.
Wooyoung arrived fashionably late, hair still slightly messy from the night before, a faint bite mark hidden beneath his collar. He slid into his seat with his usual practiced smirk, already preparing a few polite deflections for whatever lecture his mother had prepared.
Then his eyes landed on the man sitting directly across from him.
Time slowed.
Same broad shoulders filling out the crisp dress shirt. Same sharp jawline. Same dark eyes now watching him with open, wicked amusement that made Wooyoung’s stomach drop like a stone.
No.
Choi San.
Only.....he wasn't the scrawny, awkward twink Wooyoung remembered from years ago....the one he used to tower over and tease mercilessly. This San looked like he had been carved from marble and sin. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach when his mind finally made the connection that this was the same man who had pinned him against a mirrored wall, who had stretched him open so slowly he had felt every inch, who had fucked him until he couldn’t think straight.
Oh fuck.
fuck. fuck. fuck.
Wooyoung’s fork slipped from his suddenly numb fingers and clattered loudly against his plate. The sound rang out like a gunshot in the elegant silence.
The entire table turned to look at him.
San’s smile widened, slow and devastating, the same curve of lips that had murmured filthy praise against his ear only hours ago. “Something wrong, Wooyoung-ah?”
That voice. The same low, rough timbre that had said “Look at yourself” while Wooyoung watched his own reflection fall apart. Heat flooded Wooyoung’s face. His throat felt tight, his pulse hammering so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it.
He knew. This cocky little bitch knew all along..... The realization hit like ice water down his spine. San had known exactly who he was the entire time — in the club, in the elevator, in that hotel bed while he was buried deep inside him. And he had let Wooyoung walk away this morning like nothing happened.
That smug bastard.
Wooyoung forced a sharp, fake laugh that sounded brittle even to his own ears. “Just dropped my fork. Clumsy me.”
Under the table, his hands clenched into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. Part of him wanted to flip the table. Another, much more traitorous part, couldn’t stop remembering how those strong hands had felt gripping his hips, how that body had felt moving against him, inside him.
When the hell did you get so hot? The thought burned. The scrawny boy who used to flinch at his teasing was gone. In his place sat a man who looked like he could ruin Wooyoung all over again without breaking a sweat.
And San had known. While Wooyoung had been grinding on him like a desperate slut in the club. While he had been moaning and begging in that hotel room. San had known the whole fucking time.
Wooyoung’s ears burned hotter. A bitter twist settled in his chest. He probably loved every second of it. Watching me act like I didn’t know who I was fucking. The thought made something ugly and raw flare inside him. He was supposed to be the one in control. The one who teased and ran. Not the one left reeling.
He wondered, suddenly and viciously, if San had been doing the same thing — sneaking out, hooking up with whoever he wanted, all while their families planned this perfect little arranged future. The idea made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.
Instead, Wooyoung smiled sweetly at their parents, the picture of charming obedience. “I’m just so excited about our future together.”
San’s eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter, dark and knowing. The corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smirk.
Oh, you bitch, Wooyoung thought, heart hammering wildly against his ribs. You absolute bastard. Game on.
He was going to kill Choi San. Or marry him. Or fuck him again just to wipe that look off his face.
Probably just two out of the three... because who in their right mind would actually marry that smug asshole?!
Definitely not Jung Wooyoung!