Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was late. Somewhere past one, maybe closer to two.

The dorm lounge lights had been dimmed hours ago, but the soft glow of the TV still lit up the room in flashes with FIFA on the screen, and the familiar pitch and player models zipping across the field. Wooje was sprawled across the beanbag closest to the couch, controller in hand, legs half-curled and barely paying attention to the match.

Minhyung, on the other hand, was way too into it—body leaned forward, muttering under his breath every time Minseok blocked one of his shots. And Minseok had his usual competitive streak dialed to medium, smug every time he scored and pretending not to care when he didn’t.

They were on their third rematch, and Wooje was already losing interest.

After Minhyung’s next goal, Wooje groaned and dropped his controller into his lap. “Okay, I’m calling it. You guys can keep playing. I’m not getting humiliated again.”

Minhyung snorted. “That’s what losers say.”

“I am a loser,” Wooje said, dragging himself to his feet. “I’m embracing it.”

He stretched once, arms overhead, spine cracking slightly. Then, as he grabbed his phone from the armrest, he glanced toward Minseok. “Hey. You still have my jacket, right? The gray one?”

Minseok didn’t look up. “What jacket?”

“The one you borrowed, like, three weeks ago and swore you were gonna return.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Minseok squinted at the screen, tongue between his teeth in focus. “It’s on the back of my door. Just grab it.”

Wooje raised a brow. “Did you even wash it?”

“Wore it once. It’s not dirty.”

“That’s not the point.” Wooje pulled his hair back from his face with one hand, already walking toward the hallway. “It’s called being polite. You borrow something, you return it clean.”

“It’s not dirty!” Minseok called after him, already jabbing at the next play.

Wooje rolled his eyes but didn’t bother answering. 

Minseok’s room was cracked open slightly, dark except for the glow of his computer monitor in sleep mode. The hoodie was right where he said—hung lazily over the door handle like it had been tossed there in passing and never moved again. Wooje grabbed it, but as he turned to go, something on top of the dresser caught his eye.

It was a bottle. Glass, round-shouldered, no label. Half-filled with a dark brown liquid. Not the usual protein shake or sports drink someone might forget to clean up. Not that Minseok drank those anyway. It looked… homemade? But neatly bottled. 

Curious, Wooje walked over and picked it up. He uncapped it and gave it a sniff. Chocolate. Sweet, a little rich, kind of like those imported drinks Sanghyeok used to buy when they travel abroad. He sniffed again, then glanced toward the door.

Minseok didn’t drink chocolate stuff, did he? That was more his thing.

He took a small sip. Yeah, it tasted like chocolate. Not amazing or anything, room temp and maybe a little thick, but still smooth. Not bitter. Almost cozy, in a weird way.

He shrugged and capped it again, tucking it under his arm as he headed back to the lounge. “Hey,” he said as he stepped inside, “why are you hiding a chocolate drink in your room?”

Neither Minhung nor Minseok looked up at first. Wooje walked toward the fridge, still speaking casually. “I mean, I know I love chocolate drinks, but you don’t have to suffer through it warm just to keep me from stealing it. Put it in the fridge, I’m not gonna—”

Minseok turned around. The second he saw what Wooje was holding, his entire posture changed. The controller dropped into his lap. “Wait… wait. What is that? ”

Wooje stopped halfway to the fridge. “This? It was on your dresser.”

Minseok stood up so fast the blanket he’d draped over his knees slid off onto the floor. In three long steps, he was in front of Wooje, snatching the bottle out of his hand.

“You drank this?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight Wooje didn’t expect.

“I was just gonna put it in the fridge,” Wooje said, a little confused. “Figured it’d taste better cold.”

Minseok stared at him, wide-eyed.

Wooje blinked. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Wooje.” Minseok’s voice dropped. “Did you drink it?”

“I mean—yeah?” Wooje shrugged. “I was curious. Took a sip. Maybe a bit more.”

Silence.

Even Minhyung had paused the game.

Minseok looked like he was processing ten thoughts at once and not liking any of them.

The front door clicked open.

Hyunjoon stepped inside, the chilled air from outside following him in. He still had his jacket half-zipped, his hair a little tousled, nose pink from the cold, and he looked like someone who had just stepped out for five minutes of peace and was now walking straight into something he absolutely hadn’t signed up for.

He took one look at the scene—Minseok frozen mid-step with a bottle in hand, Wooje standing barefoot with wide eyes, and Minhyung staring at all of them from the couch—and raised an eyebrow.

“...What did Wooje do this time?” he asked, deadpan.

Minhyung didn’t even try to explain. He just lifted his shoulders and dropped them again.

Minseok finally blinked and exhaled, like he was trying to re-center himself. “Just… whatever. Put it in the fridge,” he muttered, and held the bottle back out.

Wooje stared at him. “Seriously? You had a meltdown and now it’s suddenly fine?”

Minseok didn’t answer. He didn’t meet his eyes either.

“You’re so weird,” Wooje said, taking the bottle back. “What’s going on with you?”

Minseok just turned away and flopped onto the couch like he wanted to pretend none of it had happened.

Hyunjoon watched the exchange in silence, something unreadable passing through his expression. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something—then clearly thought better of it. He let out a long, tired breath, and padded off toward his room without another word.

The alarm buzzed against the nightstand, a low, persistent vibration that rattled his phone and echoed faintly through the stillness of the room. Wooje stirred slowly, one arm groping blindly until his hand found the device. He shut the alarm off without looking, the room slipping back into quiet.

For a few seconds, he lay there in the dim morning light, blinking sleep from his eyes. The air was cool against his skin, the blanket bunched around his hips. His head felt a little heavy, not from lack of sleep but from something softer—like the edges of his thoughts were still smudged by whatever dream he couldn’t remember.

He shifted onto his side.

That’s when he felt it.

Something pulled with the movement. Soft, unfamiliar weight shifting against his chest. He frowned, adjusting his position. But the heaviness remained. It wasn’t the blanket. It wasn’t the shirt. It was him.

Still half-asleep, he glanced down, expecting… he wasn’t sure what, but certainly not that.

There was a visible shape beneath his shirt. Two, actually. Not sharp angles or odd folds, but rounded. Defined.

He sat up fast. The motion made whatever it was move—jiggling and bouncing in a way that made his heart stutter.

“No,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “No, what the—”

He shoved the blanket aside and stood, legs unsteady. His shirt shifted with the movement, brushing lightly over the front of his chest in a way that felt far too sensitive. His hands flew to the hem. He hesitated for one beat, then yanked the shirt up in one sharp motion.

And froze.

Boobs.

Actual boobs.

Full and round and undeniably real, sitting perfectly on his chest like they’d always been there. His breathing caught as he stared, wide-eyed, jaw slack. They weren’t small either. Somewhere between a large B and comfortable C, enough to give his shirt shape and weight. Enough to bounce when he moved.

He reached up without thinking, cupping one in his palm.

It gave under his touch, soft and warm and— holy shit —it was attached. His fingers trembled as he pressed in slightly, then let go. It settled back naturally, like this was his body. Like this was normal.

“What the fuck…” Wooje whispered.

He stumbled back from the mirror, shirt still bunched under his chin. His other hand came up automatically, cupping the opposite breast this time, as if somehow one side might make more sense than the other.

They felt the same. Real. Undeniable.

“How did this happen?” he muttered.

And then, like a light switching on, it hit him.

Last night. 

The bottle. 

Minseok’s face when he realized Wooje had drunk it.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, fingers fumbling as he unlocked it. There were no texts. No follow-up. Not a single message from Minseok.

He didn’t even bother with a message. He just hit video call.

It rang a couple of times before Minseok picked up, the camera tilting clumsily as he blinked into it. His hair was a mess, face creased with sleep, voice thick and grumbling.

“What, Wooje?” he mumbled.

Wooje didn’t waste a second. He lifted his shirt again straight to the camera, bare chest and all. “I HAVE BOOBS, MINSEOK! Actual fucking girl titties. What the fuck is this?!”

That surely woke him up fast.

“ Jesus Christ, Wooje . Don’t show them to me!”

“Why not?!” Wooje shouted, voice cracking. “They’re not even mine! Just… please tell me you know what’s going on.”

Minseok went dead silent. His eyes were definitely open now, locked on the screen, but his mouth was shut so tight it almost looked like he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Minseok!” Wooje snapped.

“Fine, fine,” Minseok groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Just get your fucking titties out of my face first.”

Wooje made a strangled noise but shifted the camera back to his face, eyes wide, mouth pulled tight in barely-contained panic. “Happy?”

“No,” Minseok said flatly. “But at least I’m not being flashed at eleven in the morning.”

Wooje clenched his jaw. “Minseok.”

“I might know what happened,” he said carefully.

“You might? ”

“Okay, I do. Sort of.”

Wooje nearly screamed. “What the hell did I drink?!”

Minseok winced. “Something that wasn’t meant for you.”

“Fantastic. Love that. Love waking up with tits because I drank your weird bedroom potion.”

“It wasn’t a potion, ” Minseok said defensively. “It was a… test batch.”

Wooje stared. “A what? ”

“Look,” Minseok sighed, sitting up properly now. “Just… give me a few minutes, okay? I’ll come to your room. Don’t freak out—”

“I think we’re past the not–freaking-out stage.”

Minseok held up a hand like he could physically calm the situation through the screen. “Stay in your room. Lock the door if you have to. And don’t— don’t let anyone else see you yet.”

“You think I’m just going to strut into the kitchen like this?”

Minseok gave him a look. “You might.”

Wooje hung up.

Few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Wooje didn’t answer at first. He was still pacing—slow, uneven circles in the small space between his bed and the desk. Shirt pulled back down, phone tossed somewhere on the blankets, heart pounding like it hadn’t quite recovered from the last ten minutes.

The knock came again. Softer this time.

He stopped pacing. Walked over. Opened the door.

Minseok stood there, looking far too casual for someone who’d caused a full-blown bodily transformation. Hoodie half-zipped, hair still a mess, a faint crease on his cheek like he’d just rolled out of bed and barely washed his face.

Wooje met him with a sharp glare, eyes narrowed and jaw tight.

Minseok blinked. “Okay… nice to see you too, I guess,” he muttered under his breath.

“You gave me boobs, Minseok.”

“That was not the plan!”

Wooje crossed his arms, immediately regretted it when the motion pushed his chest up, and uncrossed them again, flustered. “You’re unbelievable.”

Minseok raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t give you anything. You drank it.”

“It was in your room!”

“You stole it from my room.”

“You left it out. On purpose, probably. You know I like chocolate.”

“Okay, well, next time I’ll label the freak potion as NOT FOR YOU in big red letters.”

“Oh, so it is a potion now?”

Minseok hesitated. “...Shut up.”

There was a beat of silence. Wooje exhaled slowly, tension still vibrating under his skin.

Minseok shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… what else did you see?”

Wooje frowned. “What?”

“I mean—” Minseok waved vaguely at Wooje’s torso, “—besides those. Did you already, uh… check down there?”

“Down where?”

Then it clicked.

Wooje’s stomach dropped. His eyes widened as the color drained from his face. “No,” he whispered. “No, Minseok.”

He looked down slowly, like he could will it to not be true. Hands shaking slightly, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and boxers, and pulled them forward.

Silence.

Nothing.

Minseok winced as realization bloomed across Wooje’s face.

Wooje shoved a hand inside, frantic now, searching for something that wasn’t there.

Flat. Smooth. Too smooth.

His fingers brushed skin, folds— soft, unfamiliar, wrong.

His hand snapped back like he’d touched fire.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” Wooje breathed, voice thin and trembling.

Before his knees could buckle, Minseok stepped forward and caught his arm, steadying him. “Hey… hey, easy,” he murmured, guiding Wooje toward the bed. “Just sit. You’re okay.”

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Wooje said, dazed, as he let himself be lowered onto the edge of the mattress. “I have a… there’s a… I don’t have a dick, Minseok. ”

“I know.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I wasn’t trying to comfort you.”

Wooje stared down at his hands like he didn’t recognize them. “I have tits and a pussy.”

Minseok stayed quiet, crouched in front of him, trying to meet his eyes.

“I was just getting my hoodie back,” Wooje said numbly. “That’s all I was doing.”

Minseok sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

He shifted from his crouch to a seated position, back resting against the edge of the bed. He let out a long breath, like he’d been dreading this part since the second the call ended.

“It happened when I went back to Busan last week,” he started quietly. “I was just catching up with some old friends. Nothing wild. We went out, got drinks, stayed up talking all night.”

Wooje didn’t say anything. Just watched him with wide, wary eyes, arms wrapped loosely around himself like he was still trying to figure out if he was awake.

Minseok went on. “Then… I don’t know how it came up exactly, but one of them mentioned this, uh… liquid.”

“Potion,” Wooje cut in flatly.

Minseok waved that off. “Sure, potion, whatever. One of my friends said he used it once to, you know… spice things up in bed with his boyfriend. I have no idea where he got it. I didn’t ask. He just handed me a bottle and said it might heat things up between me and Minhyung, too.”

“And you just took it?”

“I didn’t even know what it was at that time,” Minseok admitted. “They wouldn’t tell me. Just said, ‘Try it. See what happens.’”

“So you did.”

“Yeah,” Minseok said. “Day after I got back from Busan. Took a sip before bed, didn’t think anything of it. Then the next morning—boom. Boobs. Pussy. The whole thing.”

Wooje blinked slowly, still struggling to process it. “But… you said you were sick two days after you got back?”

Minseok gave him a look. Flat. Deadpan.

Wooje squinted.

The realization hit. “Oh,” he mumbled.

Minseok nodded once.

They sat there in silence for a moment, Wooje’s thoughts visibly spinning in place. Then—

“But you don’t have the boobs now,” he said, glancing over. “So you changed back?”

“Yeah. I went back to normal the next day.”

“So that’s it?” Wooje asked, a flicker of hope breaking through. “Tomorrow I’ll wake up, no more tits, and I’ll have my dick back?”

Minseok hesitated, then gave a noncommittal nod. “...Yeah.”

But Wooje caught it—something in his face, too neutral to trust. He narrowed his eyes. “What is it, Minseok? You’re not telling me something.”

Minseok fidgeted, fingers pulling at the hem of his sleeve.

“Minseok.”

“Look, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Minseok.”

“I’m serious, it’s manageable—”

“Just fucking tell me or I swear to god.”

Minseok flinched. Then—rushed, like ripping off a bandage—he blurted, “Horny! You’re gonna get so fucking horny!”

Wooje stared at him.

Minseok powered through. “Like, genuinely—I’m surprised you aren’t already. I woke up that day and literally couldn’t think about anything except getting railed. Like, Minhyung could’ve just looked at me and I would’ve climbed him like a tree.”

Wooje didn’t blink. Didn’t move. His brain had seemingly stalled somewhere mid-sentence and just never restarted.

Minseok winced. “Too much?”

“A little.”

“Sorry.”

Wooje was still staring, processing in slow motion.

Minseok cleared his throat, trying to soften the blow. “But hey, maybe it won’t be that bad for you? Like, maybe your dosage was lighter. Or your hormones react differently. Everyone’s built differently, right? Just… maybe stay in your room all day. Ride it out. I’ll tell the others you’re sick and not to bother you.”

Wooje finally blinked. “Ride it out,” he echoed.

“Poor choice of words, I know.”

Wooje dropped his head into his hands. “I hate you.”

A few hours had passed.

Minseok had said he’d get horny. That part had been… unfortunately accurate. The problem was, Wooje hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Like heat curling low in his gut, throbbing behind his hips, itching just beneath the surface of his skin. He’d shifted positions a dozen times—lying on his stomach, on his side, hugging a pillow, even pacing—but it didn’t go away.

It followed him.

Clung to him. Made his thoughts blurry and his nerves feel too alive. Every little movement made him aware of his body in ways he wasn’t used to. The way his thighs pressed together. The pressure between his legs. The soft weight of his chest shifting under the fabric of his hoodie.

Yeah. He’d changed into a hoodie. Oversized, soft, sleeves covering his hands. Something safe. Something that didn’t cling or reveal too much. It didn’t erase the problem, but it helped. Slightly. His boobs were still there, obviously, but at least now he didn’t have to look at them.

At one point, he’d seriously considered touching himself. Just to get it over with, maybe. But he hadn’t even made it past tugging off his shorts. He’d looked down, caught sight of what was now between his legs, and froze. His fingers had hovered there, unsure, not because he was grossed out or anything, just… lost.

It wasn’t exactly his body. Not the one he knew. Not the one he understood.

So he’d pulled everything back on and buried himself under the blanket, hot and miserable.

Now, hours later, his throat was dry. His lips felt sticky. And of course, while Minseok had remembered to bring food, he hadn’t thought to leave any water. Because why would he?

Wooje sat up with a groan, pushing his bangs out of his face. The hoodie had shifted slightly during his nap, if it could be called that, and his chest felt heavier now, like even his dreams hadn’t given him a break.

He glanced at himself in the mirror again.

Still mostly normal. Nothing too obvious. His cheeks were flushed, sure, and his chest looked a little too round under the hoodie, but unless someone was really looking, it could pass.

Maybe.

He adjusted the hem again, took a steadying breath, and opened the door.

He stepped out barefoot, moving lightly. Just water. In and out. No one would see.

He made his way to the kitchen, head down, eyes scanning the counter until he found a clean glass. The cool tile under his feet helped a little, grounding him as he filled the cup and finally drank.

But he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

Not until it was too late.

“Minseok said you were sick.”

The voice caught him off guard. Deep, casual, too close.

Wooje nearly dropped the glass. Water sloshed over the rim as he fumbled to grip it tighter, heart lurching up into his throat. He turned sharply, and instantly regretted it.

Hyunjoon was standing just a few steps away, fresh from a shower. His hair was damp, the ends curling slightly where they clung to his skin. A towel hung over one shoulder, the other hand rubbing absently through his hair. He was shirtless. Barefoot. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

And he looked… he looked good.

The kind of good that made Wooje’s already fried brain malfunction.

“Uh,” Wooje stammered, eyes snapping up to Hyunjoon’s face like they hadn’t just dropped for half a second. “Yeah. Sick. That’s, um… that’s me.”

Hyunjoon gave him a once-over. “Are you feeling any better?”

It was a simple question. Harmless.

Wooje’s brain fumbled for the lie Minseok gave him. Headache, maybe? Mild fever? He was ready to say he just needed to rest a bit more, nothing serious.

But his mouth said:

“Fuck me.”

Silence.

The glass clinked faintly as Wooje froze, mid-eyed. His hand flew up, slapping over his mouth like he could somehow stuff the words back in.

Hyunjoon blinked. “...What?”

Wooje scrambled. “I mean—fuck me, I feel so sick right now. Like, so terrible. Not like—fuck me, fuck me. Just, you know, expression. Language. Words.”

He was spiraling. He knew he was spiraling, but there was no easy way to stop it now.

Hyunjoon looked stunned, still trying to piece together what had just happened. His hand had frozen mid-motion, towel hanging limply against his hair.

Wooje wanted to drop dead on the spot.

“I should go,” he mumbled, voice cracking as he set the glass down. “Back to my room. Where I’m sick. With… sickness.”

He turned too fast and too clumsy, and hurried out of the kitchen, pulse pounding in his ears. He didn’t stop until he was behind his door again, heart racing like he’d just sprinted through a minefield and somehow made it out alive.

Back in his room, Wooje lay sprawled on top of his blanket, hoodie still on, boxers clinging uncomfortably to his hips. The lights were dim, the uneaten food from earlier still sitting on the desk, long gone cold. He hadn’t touched it. Couldn’t.

The scrims should’ve ended by now. The dorm was starting to come alive again. He could hear faint thuds of movement, low voices down the hall. It was later than he thought.

And he still wasn’t feeling any better.

Not from the “sickness” Minseok had sold as a cover. Not from the humiliating encounter in the kitchen earlier. And definitely not from the constant, unbearable ache between his legs.

He’d tried to ignore it. Distract himself. Even flipped through a few old videos on his phone, not those kinds of videos, just highlight reels and old game footage. Anything to hold his attention.

None of it worked. The heat was still there. Worse, if anything. 

Honestly, he was amazed he’d lasted this long without doing something about it.

Wooje reached for his phone, thumb hovering for a moment before opening his chat with Minseok.

Wooje

I don’t think I can hold out much longer.

The reply came fast.

Minseok

Don’t worry, the day’s almost over. Just try to sleep it off.

Wooje

I’ve been napping all day. I’m wide awake right now.

There was a longer pause this time. Then—

Minseok

Sorry, Wooje. I really don’t know how else to help you.

Wooje let the phone fall against his chest. He stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, breathing slow and shallow. His whole body felt too hot, too tight, like he’d been on the edge of something for hours but couldn’t quite get there. And maybe couldn’t on his own.

He picked the phone back up.

This time, he opened a different chat.

Wooje

Are you back in your room?

The read receipt popped up almost instantly.

Hyunjoon

Almost. Walking back with Sanghyeok. Why?

His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Wooje

Can you come to my room first?

Another pause.

Hyunjoon

Why?

Wooje swallowed. He could feel his heart in his throat.

Wooje

Just come.

The second he hit send, Wooje regretted it.

Not in a take it back take it back kind of way. More like a what the fuck am I even doing kind of way. He stared at the message thread, lit by the dull glow of his phone screen, thumb twitching like he might delete the whole conversation before Hyunjoon even got the chance to see it.

But the read receipt had already popped up. Too late.

His stomach turned.

What if he laughs?

What if he says no?

What if he tells everyone?

Or worse: what if he came, and Wooje couldn’t actually go through with it? What if he freaked out? What if this whole thing made everything between them weird?

They were best friends.

And sure, best friends were supposed to be there for each other. But this? This was different.

This was asking for something, something Wooje hadn’t even figured out how to say out loud, and once it was said, it couldn’t be unsaid. Once it happened, if it happened, there was no rewinding it. No shrugging it off the next day like it had been some harmless little thing.

He pulled the hood of his hoodie tighter around his head and sank back into his pillows, heart pounding. His skin felt too hot again. Too sensitive. The ache between his legs was still there. Deeper now. Needier. Like his body knew help was coming.

Then—

Knock knock.

Wooje’s eyes flew open.

Silence.

Another knock.

His breath caught.

Hyunjoon was here.

He was actually here.

Wooje sat up, heart pounding, and swung his legs off the bed. His feet hit the floor before he could second-guess it, and then he was crossing the room, hand on the doorknob, opening it.

And there was Hyunjoon—looking, somehow, impossibly normal. Sweatpants. Hoodie. Hair was a little messy. Calm. Composed. His face was unreadable, like this was just any other day.

Except it wasn’t. Not for Wooje.

Not when Hyunjoon looked like that—unfairly attractive in all the ways Wooje had never let himself really notice before. Or maybe he had, once or twice, late at night or in passing, and just shoved it down because they were friends.

And now… maybe it was the potion. Maybe it was his brain short-circuiting from sheer need. Either way, Hyunjoon standing there like that—with his usual face, his usual voice, and absolutely no idea what was about to hit him—felt like a cosmic prank.

Hyunjoon gave him a small nod, eyes flicking across Wooje’s face. “What’s up?”

Wooje didn’t answer. Just stepped back silently and opened the door wider.

Hyunjoon walked in, calm as ever. He paused once he reached the center of the room, then turned to face him. The door clicked shut behind them.

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Hyunjoon raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Wooje swallowed. His mouth was dry. His fingers clenched at the hem of his hoodie, but he didn’t move yet. 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Don’t laugh. But…” 

He took a breath. Then, like diving into cold water: 

“I really, really need you to fuck me right now. I swear I’ll explain everything after.”

Hyunjoon blinked. “...Is this a joke?”

Wooje groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, it’s not.”

Hyunjoon frowned. “Are you hallucinating? I read somewhere fevers can do that.”

Wooje let out a sharp exhale, shaky and low in his chest, then reached for the hem of his hoodie. His fingers hesitated, just for a second, then pulled.

The fabric rose slowly, brushing over the soft swell of his stomach, then higher, lifting the weight of his chest with it. For a moment, his arms tangled in the sleeves as he dragged the hoodie over his head, hair mussed, breath caught halfway between nerves and frustration. Then the hoodie came free, and he let it drop to the floor without looking.

He stood there, bare from the waist up.

Nothing to hide behind. Just skin, flushed and warm, his nipples taut and visibly hard in the cool air. His breasts were full. Round, heavy. They shifted slightly with each breath he took, as if even his body didn’t quite know how to carry them yet.

Hyunjoon had gone completely still.

His gaze caught first on Wooje’s chest then slowly dragged upward, as if it physically hurt to look away. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

The air between them was suddenly too quiet.

Wooje’s voice broke the silence. Dry, flat. “See?”

It came out a little sharper than he meant it to, defensive in a way that almost hid the fact that he was standing there, completely exposed, asking his best friend not just to see him, but to understand.

“I’m not hallucinating. This is the ‘fever’ I’ve got.”

Hyunjoon didn’t move. His eyes flicked downward again, unbidden, like he didn’t quite trust his first glance. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Wooje gestured toward himself, tone rising with frustration. “It’s these fucking titties, Hyunjoon. And also, just to round it out, no dick anymore. That’s gone too.”

Still, no response.

“And I’ve been ridiculously horny all day,” Wooje continued, voice cracking now, more raw than before. “So unless you want me to crawl back into bed and fuck myself with my fingers like a pathetic freak, please… I need you to fuck me.”

Hyunjoon finally spoke.

His voice was rough, low. Like it had taken serious effort just to get the words out. “No dick, you said? So what, you’ve got a pussy now?”

Wooje bristled. “Don’t call it that!”

Hyunjoon blinked, still stunned. “So what the fuck am I supposed to call it, Wooje?”

“I don’t know!” Wooje snapped, arms flailing for emphasis. “That’s not the point, Hyunjoon!”

“Oh, so the point is you want me to just whip my dick out right now and fuck your pussy with it?”

“ Stop saying that! ”

Hyunjoon held his hands up, face twisting with something between disbelief and an almost hysterical laugh. “Well sorry for trying to make sense of any of this. Because ten seconds ago I thought everything was normal and now you’re just standing here with fucking titties —like, are these even real?”

Then he stepped forward to grab one to feel for himself.

Wooje jerked back, breath catching. “What the—!”

Hyunjoon raised his brows. “So you want me to fuck you but won’t even let me touch your boobs?”

“They’re not my boobs,” Wooje hissed, flustered, arms coming up halfway to cover himself.

“They’re on your chest, Wooje,” Hyunjoon shot back, voice edged with something too intense to be just teasing. “Pretty sure that makes them yours.”

He squeezed again, just once—firm and unfiltered, like he needed to prove it to himself more than anything. Wooje shivered, and Hyunjoon felt it—the way his whole body responded, hips subtly twitching forward, breath hitching.

Hyunjoon’s hands moved with more certainty now. He raised the other one to join the first, cupping both of Wooje’s breasts in his palms. They were warm, impossibly soft, his thumbs grazing over the peaks just to feel the way they stiffened in response.

Wooje groaned, low and strained. “Oh my god, stop playing with them.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t move an inch, actually.

Hyunjoon didn’t stop, either. His thumbs grazed over Wooje’s nipples again, slower this time—almost tentative, like he needed to feel them move under his touch to believe they were real. The way they stiffened at the lightest pressure made something stir deep in his chest. He rubbed over them again, watching the way the skin puckered, how warm and soft and impossibly real they felt against his palms. Like he still couldn’t quite trust his own senses.

“They’re so soft,” Hyunjoon murmured, mostly to himself. “Feels like they shouldn’t be real.”

“ They’re not, ” Wooje muttered, breath hitching.

Hyunjoon ignored that. His palms moved in slow, deliberate circles, gently squeezing, thumbs flicking over the tips again—just to see how Wooje would react.

“You’re sensitive,” he said, glancing up.

“I wasn’t before.”

Hyunjoon chuckled. “Well, you are now.”

Another slow roll of his thumbs. Another shiver.

Then Hyunjoon finally let go, stepping back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Show me,” he said.

Wooje blinked. “Show what?”

“Your pussy. Show it to me.”

There was a beat of silence so thick it could’ve swallowed the room.

“Why?” Wooje asked.

Hyunjoon looked like he was teetering on the edge of patience. “What do you mean, why? You think my dick’s just gonna magically go through your shorts?”

Wooje let out a frustrated exhale and shot him a glare, but there was no real venom in it. With slow, reluctant fingers, he reached down and pushed both his shorts and boxers past his hips. They fell around his ankles with a soft rustle, baring him completely.

“How am I even supposed to show you? Should I lie on the be—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Hyunjoon dropped to one knee in front of him, sudden enough that Wooje had to grab the edge of the desk behind him to keep from losing his balance.

“W-what are you doing?” he stammered, voice gone tight.

Hyunjoon didn’t answer. His hands found Wooje’s thighs, parting them without hesitation as he leaned in, eyes locked on the space between his legs.

Just looking.

Up close. Intent. Focused.

Wooje felt like he was on fire.

The way Hyunjoon stared, like he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to, made something in his stomach coil so tight it almost hurt.

He shifted slightly, unconsciously angling himself toward him. “It’s weird, right?” he whispered, barely audible. “It looks weird.”

Hyunjoon shook his head once. “It doesn’t.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not.”

His thumb grazed the inside of Wooje’s thighs. Barely a touch, more heat than contact. Wooje shivered again, breath hitching high in his chest.

Hyunjoon tilted his head slightly. “You’re wet.”

“ Shut up. ”

He didn’t. His voice dropped even lower.

“Can I touch you?”

Wooje hesitated.

His brows drew in slightly. He didn’t answer right away. Not because he was uncertain, but because his brain was still catching up with the situation. He glanced down at himself, then at Hyunjoon, then back again. The air felt too warm.

His arms didn’t move to cover anything, but his fingers twitched. Restless, uncertain, like he didn’t know where to put them.

“...Yeah,” he said eventually. Quiet. Hesitant.

He expected fingers.

That’s what he thought Hyunjoon meant—fingers dipping between his thighs, maybe brushing in slow, testing circles. That was what his brain had tried to prepare for.

But then Hyunjoon leaned in closer.

And it wasn’t fingers that touched him first.

It was his mouth.

Soft, warm, wet.

Wooje jolted with a gasp, one hand flying to Hyunjoon’s head as the first slow lick dragged over him—broad, unhurried, exploratory. His fingers tangled instinctively in Hyunjoon’s hair, not pulling, not guiding, just anchoring himself as his knees threatened to give out.

Hyunjoon’s eyes flicked up to meet his, steady and unreadable.

He licked again. Slower this time. Then again.

Each one sent a pulse of heat straight through Wooje’s body. The sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt—softer than a hand, warmer than he imagined, and somehow infinitely more exposing. Every nerve felt like it had been dialed up to ten.

“ Fuck, ” Wooje whispered, voice trembling. Then, after a pause: “So… are you actually gonna help with this? You’re really going to fuck me?”

Hyunjoon paused.

He pulled back just enough to glance up, mouth glistening. His brows raised slightly. “Wooje, I’m literally eating you out. What else could that possibly mean?”

Wooje flushed. “Okay! Okay! I was just… making sure.”

Hyunjoon rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, and then dove back in without giving him a chance to say another word.

This time, his fingers joined in.

He brought one hand between Wooje’s thighs, thumbs gently parting Wooje’s folds, revealing just how wet he was. His tongue flicked forward, this time zeroing in on a spot so sensitive it made Wooje jolted with a gasp and immediately pulled back—not far, just enough that Hyunjoon lost contact.

“Wait—fuck, wait,” he blurted, chest heaving.

Hyunjoon groaned. “What now?”

Wooje ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Just… give me a second. It just feels so… new.”

“Just relax,” Hyunjoon muttered.

“I am relaxed!” Wooje snapped.

Another groan. “I could’ve been in bed asleep right now,” Hyunjoon grumbled.

Wooje sucked in a breath. His thighs twitched under Hyunjoon’s grip, nerves buzzing too loud.

There was a pause. Then: “Okay. Okay, go ahead.”

Hyunjoon glanced up again. “You sure you really want to do this, Wooje?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he snapped, already flushed.

That earned a faint smirk, but Hyunjoon didn’t say anything else. He just leaned back in.

Hyunjoon didn’t rush.

Even with Wooje trembling against him, breath stuttering, legs barely holding—he stayed steady, his tongue drawing slow, deliberate circles, retreating only to return sharper, more precise. Every flick, every drag sent another wave of heat crawling up Wooje’s spine.

And slowly, gradually, something inside Wooje started to ease.

He’d come into this with panic thrumming beneath his skin, desperation driving his every move—but now, his body was softening, uncoiling. The tension was still there, but his guard was slipping. Falling away with each lick, each pulse of pleasure that rippled through him.

After all, he was the one who asked for this.

And Hyunjoon was giving it to him.

Without hesitation. Without judgement.

Just mouth and hands and heat, grounded and real.

Hyunjoon shifted, lifting one of Wooje’s legs up and over his shoulder with practiced ease, widening his stance. The angle changed everything—his mouth sinking deeper between Wooje’s thighs, tongue now tracing impossibly slow circles around the most sensitive part of him.

“ Oh fuck, ” Wooje breathed, voice trembling.

His leg threatened to slide, but Hyunjoon’s grip was there, strong and certain, one hand steady on his hip, the other now sliding up between his thighs.

Then—

A finger pressed in.

Just one, slipping easily past the slick folds and sinking into him with almost no resistance. Wooje gasped, sharp and high, and instinctively arched his back, thighs tensing.

He hadn’t even realized how wet he was. 

Not until now. 

Not until that slow, smooth glide made his entire body light up.

Hyunjoon didn’t stop.

He kept his mouth on him, tongue never straying far, even as his finger began to move—gently at first, in and out, curling just slightly with each pass. Wooje’s hips started moving without his permission, rocking on it, chasing it.

The pleasure built fast. Faster than he expected. Like his body had just been waiting for permission to fall apart.

“Hyunjoon—” he gasped, barely holding himself up. “I—fuck, I think—”

He didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

Because then Hyunjoon added a second finger—just as slow, just as careful—and curled them deep, tongue flicking hard and fast now, right there, and Wooje broke.

His whole body locked up—hips stuttering, fingers clenching hard in Hyunjoon’s hair—as his orgasm hit him full force. It wasn’t anything he’d felt before. It tore through him, sharp and hot and almost too much, like his body didn’t know how to process it all at once.

He cried out, breathless and shaking, back arched, legs trembling.

And still, Hyunjoon didn’t stop. Not until the last wave of it passed, not until Wooje sagged against the desk, utterly spent, chest heaving, lips parted in stunned silence.

Hyunjoon rose slowly, his hands dragging along the insides of Wooje’s thighs as he stood. His mouth was still wet and slick from Wooje’s release, and when he licked his lips, slow and absentminded, Wooje felt heat explode through his core like a fuse had been lit all over again.

He looked obscene.

Obscene and unfairly gorgeous. Flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with focus, lips slightly parted and glistening in the low light. The sight of him like that made Wooje dizzy.

His legs were still shaking. His chest still rising too fast. But none of it mattered, because somehow the pressure inside him hadn’t eased. Like his body was already begging for more.

He wasn’t done. Not even close. 

Wooje reached out suddenly, catching Hyunjoon’s wrist and pulling his hand up.

Hyunjoon blinked, watching silently as Wooje brought those same fingers—the ones that had been inside him just seconds ago—to his lips. He parted his mouth and took them in, slow, deliberate, sucking lazily as his eyes fluttered half-closed.

Hyunjoon’s breath hitched.

“Wow,” he muttered, voice rough. “When you said you were ridiculously horny, I didn’t realize you meant this horny.”

Wooje let the fingers slip free with a soft, wet sound, eyes hazy. “You have no idea.”

Hyunjoon’s gaze darkened. “Wanna taste yourself from my mouth?”

Wooje didn’t answer.

He just reached up, fisted a hand into the back of Hyunjoon’s neck, and dragged him down into a kiss that was hot and messy and aching with everything he hadn’t been able to say out loud.

Hyunjoon groaned into it, low and guttural, as his hands found Wooje’s waist again, pulling him in tight, guiding them both backward, step by step toward the bed.

Clothes came off between kisses and hands. Hyunjoon’s hoodie peeled away with Wooje’s impatient tug, sweatpants shoved low and kicked off without grace. Wooje’s fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxers, yanking them down in one hard pull.

Hyunjoon stepped out of them, breath unsteady, cock flushed and heavy between them.

Then he paused.

“Do you just…” He looked down at Wooje. “Do you want to get it over with?”

Wooje blinked. “What?”

“I mean…” Hyunjoon’s hand settled on Wooje’s waist, thumb grazing bare skin. “Do you want me to just fuck you now? Get it done? That’s what you want, right?”

Wooje stared up at him, lips parted. Then his gaze drifted down to his own chest. Still flushed, still sensitive, still there.

“Or…” he said slowly, voice lowering, “maybe you could fuck these first.”

Hyunjoon’s brows lifted. His gaze followed Wooje’s, eyes darkening as they landed on the soft swell of his breasts.

Wooje gave a breathless, almost nervous laugh. “I mean, they’re here. Might as well put them to good use, right?”

Hyunjoon’s throat worked around a swallow. “Right.”

Without waiting for a reply, Wooje turned and climbed onto the bed, deliberately slow. Not seductive, exactly, but charged with something heavier. He kept his eyes on Hyunjoon the whole time, watching the way his gaze tracked every movement. The hunger there wasn’t subtle.

Hyunjoon let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“Lube’s in the nightstand drawer,” Wooje said, settling back against the pillows.

Hyunjoon crawled up after him, moving over Wooje’s body with that same quiet intensity, until his knees straddled Wooje’s torso—his cock resting just above his stomach, flushed and eager. He reached for the drawer, pulled it open, grabbed the lube, and clicked the cap open with one hand.

Wooje shivered at the sound alone.

Hyunjoon squeezed a generous line across Wooje’s chest, the cool gel hitting his skin and making him suck in a breath. Then Hyunjoon set the bottle aside and used both hands to spread it—slicking over the soft curves, cupping and squeezing slowly. His thumbs brushed over Wooje’s nipples, coaxing another low sound from him.

“Still sensitive?” he asked, voice low.

“ Yes, ” Wooje hissed, hips shifting beneath him.

Hyunjoon smirked, then reached for his own cock, stroking it once, twice, rubbing the excess lube over the shaft. His breath hitched as he slicked himself up, his eyes never leaving Wooje’s chest.

Then, voice low and almost too steady, he said, “Press them together.”

Wooje blinked, then obeyed—bringing his hands up, palms cupping from the sides, squeezing his breasts inward until they met in the center. His thumbs brushed the top curves, adjusting the angle slightly until the soft cleft formed between them.

Hyunjoon stared like he was hypnotized.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

He leaned in, guiding himself between the slick warmth of Wooje’s chest, the head of his cock nestling right into the center. He groaned softly as he gave his first, tentative thrust. Slow, almost cautious, watching as the slick glide of his shaft disappeared between the softness.

“Holy fuck,” he murmured. “That feels…”

He trailed off, like the words just didn’t exist.

Wooje watched him—watched the way Hyunjoon’s brows furrowed slightly, how his mouth parted in quiet disbelief, how his abs tensed with the smallest movements. There was something almost innocent about it, in a way that felt totally at odds with the act itself.

“First time?” Wooje asked, lips quirking.

Hyunjoon let out a breathy laugh, eyes still fixed on the space between them. “Obviously.”

He thrust again, a little deeper this time. The sensation of warm skin sliding around him—tight but forgiving, impossibly soft—pulled another low sound from his throat.

Wooje’s grip adjusted, squeezing a little tighter, just to see what it would do to him. Hyunjoon’s breath caught.

“You like it?” Wooje asked, quieter this time.

“Yeah,” Hyunjoon said. “I really fucking do.”

He rolled his hips again, slower now. The way Wooje held his chest together made the pressure feel tighter, more focused, and the heat of it had Hyunjoon exhaling through clenched teeth. His cock slid through the slick channel, the head gliding out just enough to catch against the swell of Wooje’s breasts before sinking back in.

Wooje watched him, gaze flicking between Hyunjoon’s face and the way his cock moved between his chest—slow, controlled, obscene in how wet and smooth it all was. He felt the way the lube warmed against his skin, the way his own nipples dragged faintly against his palms with every thrust.

Hyunjoon’s hands found Wooje’s wrists, wrapping around them gently, guiding the pressure as he thrust forward again. “Hold tighter,” he murmured.

Wooje swallowed and did as told, pressing his breasts closer until it felt like Hyunjoon’s cock could barely move between them. That earned him a grunt—a low, sharp sound from Hyunjoon’s chest, followed by a muttered, “ Fuck, that’s perfect. ”

He rocked forward again. And again.

A little faster now. A little deeper.

Wooje felt every slide, felt the weight of Hyunjoon’s cock pressing against him, the tension in his thighs as he shifted his angle, the steady rhythm growing more confident with each stroke. The heat in Wooje’s stomach curled tighter, stubborn and familiar. His pussy throbbed beneath him, empty and aching all over again.

“Hyunjoon…”

His voice cracked a little.

Hyunjoon didn’t stop, but his eyes flicked up. “What?”

“I’m… I really need you down there.”

Hyunjoon stared at him for a second, the rhythm of his hips faltering slightly.

It was almost painful to stop. Hyunjoon’s brows pulled tight, jaw clenched as he forced himself to ease back, lifting off Wooje’s chest with one last, reluctant roll of his hips.

Wooje let out a shaky breath, eyes locked on him the entire time. Hyunjoon didn’t say anything. He just moved down the length of his body, slow and focused, like this was something he needed to get right.

He settled between Wooje’s legs, palms gliding along the insides of his thighs, spreading them apart. Wooje’s breath hitched, his whole body tensing and waiting.

Hyunjoon leaned in.

He didn’t have to look hard to see how ready Wooje was. Wet, dripping, to the point it glistened under the low light. When Hyunjoon brushed his thumbs along either side of Wooje’s folds and gently spread him open, it was like the air itself caught fire.

“Jesus,” Hyunjoon muttered under his breath. “You’re soaked.”

Wooje flushed, but didn’t look away. “Told you I needed it.”

Hyunjoon’s fingers moved lower, dragging through the slick entrance—barely even pressing, just feeling how easily he could slip in. He glanced up.

“I don’t even think I need lube.”

Wooje swallowed. “You don’t.”

That did something to Hyunjoon. His cock throbbed at the confirmation, the ache in his gut winding tighter. He gave Wooje’s thigh a squeeze, grounding himself, then reached for his dick, stroking twice before lining himself up at the entrance.

“You ready?” he asked, voice rough.

Wooje nodded, lips parted, chest rising with every unsteady breath. “Yeah.”

Hyunjoon pushed forward. Just the tip, slow and steady.

And fuck, he was right. He slid in so easily.

Hyunjoon stayed still for a beat once he was halfway in, giving Wooje time—watching his face, the way his brow pinched and then smoothed, the way his breath caught and stuttered. There was no pain. Just… pressure. Stretch. Fullness like he’d never known before. It wasn’t the same as taking something in his ass. This was different. Deeper. Softer.

“Okay?” Hyunjoon asked.

Wooje nodded, more dazed than before. “Yeah. Yeah, just—” He blinked up at him. “It feels weird. Good weird.”

Hyunjoon’s mouth twitched, the corner of it lifting like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite commit to it. He leaned down, bracing a hand near Wooje’s head, but not before his other hand slid up Wooje’s chest, fingers curving around one of his breasts.

“Still getting used to these,” he muttered, giving it a firm squeeze.

Wooje’s breath hitched. “Me too.”

Hyunjoon lowered his head and kissed the center of Wooje’s chest, then trailed lower until his mouth wrapped around one nipple. He sucked once, then bit. Not hard, but enough to make Wooje jolt and moan, hips twitching underneath him.

“Fuck,” Wooje gasped.

Hyunjoon hummed against his skin, then licked over the same spot as if in apology.

“I like them,” he murmured.

Wooje could barely breathe, let alone answer. His legs curled tighter around Hyunjoon’s waist without him meaning to.

Hyunjoon rocked forward slightly. Just an inch or two more. The slide was easy, smooth, seamless. Wooje’s body gave and gave and gave, like it was made for this.

“You feel… incredible,” Hyunjoon said, voice low, like it physically pained him to hold back.

Wooje flushed, hips tilting up. “So do you.”

Hyunjoon’s hands returned to his chest, grabbing at both breasts this time—partly to keep himself steady, partly because he clearly couldn’t stop touching them. He pressed his thumbs over Wooje’s nipples and watched the way he squirmed, how his mouth fell open.

Hyunjoon leaned down and kissed the curve of his left breast. Then again, higher up this time. His lips lingered there, breath warm against skin before his mouth opened—and he bit. Gentle, teasing, teeth pressing in just enough to sting before easing off. He kissed over the spot after, tongue smoothing over the blooming red mark he’d left behind.

Wooje gasped. “You’re leaving marks, Hyunjoon.”

Hyunjoon’s eyes flicked up. “Good.”

He moved to the other side, letting his hips grind forward just slightly, slow and steady. Wooje’s body welcomed the movement with a soft clench around him that made his jaw tighten.

Another kiss, another bite—this time lower, closer to Wooje’s nipple. He sucked afterward, tongue circling lazily before he bit down again, a little harder this time. Wooje’s whole body twitched, fingers digging into the sheets.

“Fuck,” Wooje whispered, voice shaking. “That’s… I like that. A lot.”

Hyunjoon hummed in approval, one hand still kneading at the other breast as he continued to work his mouth over the first, leaving soft wet trails, kisses and nips scattered in between. He didn’t rush. It was almost possessive. Like he wanted to claim every inch of him, one bite at a time.

He pulled back just enough to admire the marks he left behind: flushed skin, faint teeth prints, some darker than others, all of them evidence that Wooje was his to touch, to taste, to ruin like this.

Beneath him, Wooje was panting. His thighs trembled with every slow thrust, his hands gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles had gone white. His body was flushed all over and Hyunjoon could feel him clenching tighter, rhythm growing uneven.

“Hyunjoon,” Wooje gasped out. “Can you… can you go faster?”

Hyunjoon lifted his head, breath warm against Wooje’s chest. “Already close?”

“Y-yeah,” Wooje managed, barely holding it together.

Hyunjoon pressed one last kiss between Wooje’s breasts, then he let go of them. He slid his hands down, gripping Wooje’s hips as he pulled back slightly. Then, with practiced ease, he hooked one of Wooje’s legs over his shoulder and shifted forward, pressing in deep.

The change in angle was immediate. Wooje choked on a moan, eyes flying wide, hands scrambling to grip anything—Hyunjoon’s arm, the pillow, the edge of the bed.

“Fuck—right there,” Wooje whimpered.

Hyunjoon didn’t stop. He found that spot again, and again, driving into him with a rhythm that was harder now, faster, more purposeful. The slap of skin on skin echoed faintly in the room, broken only by Wooje’s breathless gasps and the quiet, filthy sounds of wetness between them.

“You feel that?” Hyunjoon panted. “You’re so fucking tight, Wooje—holy shit.”

Wooje couldn’t respond. He could barely think.

The pressure was unbearable. Too much, too fast, too good. His thighs were trembling, his breath stuttering, every nerve in his body locking into place as it built and built and built.

And then it broke.

With a cry that tore from his throat, Wooje came hard—his whole body seizing up as waves of pleasure crashed through him again. His legs shook violently, eyes squeezing shut, mouth falling open in a wordless desperate sound. He felt it everywhere —his core, his chest, even his fingertips, clinging tight to whatever part of Hyunjoon he could reach.

Hyunjoon didn’t slow down, not even a little. His rhythm stayed steady, unrelenting, but his focus shifted again—his mouth dragging along Wooje’s throat, then lower, grazing the curve of his shoulder with open-mouthed kisses before his teeth sank in.

Wooje’s breath hitched. One hand curled into the sheets, the other climbing up until it gripped Hyunjoon’s shoulder. Then it slid down, raking blunt nails across flushed skins. He left streaks as he went, uneven and raw, dragging deep enough to mark.

“Come on, Wooje,” Hyunjoon murmured against his skin. “I know you’ve got one more in you.”

“I don’t…” Wooje started, voice rough, almost panicked. “I don’t think I can—”

But Hyunjoon didn’t let up.

His hips drove forward again, deep and unyielding, and Wooje gasped—his back arching, the stretch too much and somehow not enough. There was no room to think, no space between one thrust and the next. Just the sound of skin, the wet slide of bodies, the low, strained sounds dragging from Hyunjoon’s throat with each push.

“You can,” Hyunjoon said through his teeth.

Wooje clung to him, hands scrabbling for purchase. Fingertips dragged along sweat-slick skin, down Hyunjoon’s back, over his shoulder blades. Then harder. His nails bit in, carving red lines with every jolt, every angle that hit too deep, too perfectly. He didn’t mean to mark him up this much—his body just did it on its own, no thought behind it.

“Hyunjoon—” he choked out. “It’s too—fuck—”

Hyunjoon leaned in, teeth brushing his ear. “Just take it.”

The words hit him like a pulse. Wooje moaned, half-broken, legs trembling where they wrapped around Hyunjoon’s waist. His body had already given out twice, but this was different. This wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful. It was raw, rhythmic, relentless. Just Hyunjoon driving into him again and again like he wanted to fuck that last orgasm out of him by force.

And Wooje, despite everything, was dangerously close to letting him.

Hyunjoon must’ve felt it too, the way Wooje clenched around him, how his whole body twitched with every thrust. Without warning, he slipped a hand between them, fingers sliding lower, seeking that swollen bundle of nerves between his folds.

When his thumb pressed in, Wooje jolted hard—hips bucking, a sharp cry ripping from his throat.

“ Fuck… Hyunjoon— ”

“You’re right there,” Hyunjoon growled, breath ragged against Wooje’s cheek. “Just let go.”

His thumb moved in tight, fast circles—precise, focused, like he wasn’t letting up until Wooje broke apart in his hands. All the while, he kept fucking into him, harder now, driving deeper with each stroke.

Wooje couldn’t take it. Couldn’t stop it. His body curled up into itself, a raw, electric tension winding tight through his limbs. His fingers crawled at Hyunjoon’s arms, dragging red lines in their wake, and when he came, it hit like he’d been struck.

He didn’t even scream this time. Just gasped, body convulsing as his release tore through him with no warning. Fast, brutal, blinding. His legs clamped down, walls fluttering hard around Hyunjoon, clenching so tight it pulled a strangled groan from Hyunjoon’s throat.

“Shit—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Hyunjoon gasped, every word coming out ragged.

Wooje couldn’t speak. His body was still twitching, spasming with the aftershocks, and Hyunjoon was still moving inside him. Deeper now, harder, chasing the edge like he was seconds away from unraveling.

When Wooje’s nails scraped down his back again, Hyunjoon swore under his breath.

“That’s it,” he growled, grabbing both of Wooje’s wrists and pinning them down against the mattress, pressing them hard into the sheets. “If I don’t pin you down, my back’s just going to be covered in scratch marks tomorrow.”

Wooje barely managed a breathless laugh, eyes glazed. “Good. You deserve it.”

Hyunjoon gritted his teeth, pace faltering for just a moment.

Then he buried himself deep one last time—and came.

His body tensed, whole frame shuddering as the orgasm hit, hard and hot. He pulled out just in time, barely, jerking his hips back as he spilled across Wooje’s chest—thick streaks landing across flushed skin and curves. His breath stuttered with each pulse, groaning low and desperate as the last of it spilled out.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Just bodies pressed together, chests heaving, sweat cooling on their skin. Still connected. Still pulsing with the aftermath.

Eventually, Hyunjoon pulled out with a soft hiss and collapsed beside him, chest-down against the mattress. He didn’t say anything—just let his head fall to the side, eyes closed, one arm lazily draped over Wooje’s torso.

Wooje stayed on his back, still catching his breath, staring blankly at the ceiling as the silence settled in. The air was heavy with sweat and heat, the sharp tang of sex still lingering.

After a beat, he glanced down at his chest.

“...You bit me a lot,” he muttered, lifting an arm slightly to get a better look. His skin was flushed, dotted with faint teeth marks and a few darker bruises just beginning to bloom.

Hyunjoon didn’t open his eyes. “Check my back and compare.”

Wooje blinked, then turned his head. He hadn’t really looked before, hadn’t realized. But now that Hyunjoon was lying there, back exposed, he could see it all: angry red scratch marks running across his shoulders, down his spine, and even curling around his upper arms. Some looked deep. Raw. Like they’d last a few days.

His fingers hovered, then touched gently. Just the tips, brushing along one jagged line.

“Does it hurt?”

Hyunjoon made a low sound, somewhere between a breath and a hum. “Stings a bit,” he said. “But it’s fine.”

Wooje didn’t stop. He kept tracing, slow and careful, like the marks needed to be remembered. Maybe even memorized.

After a while, he asked, “Aren’t you even curious about what happened?”

Hyunjoon gave a low chuckle, eyes still closed. “You can tell me tomorrow. Right now, I don’t think my brain can handle whatever stupid shit you got yourself into to end up here.”

Wooje rolled his eyes. “God, you’re such a—”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Hyunjoon muttered, completely deadpan.

That made Wooje laugh under his breath. He didn’t even realize how close they’d ended up until now—bodies still warm, still tangled at the edge of something not quite defined.

A beat passed.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Hyunjoon added.

“Why?”

“We need to clean up first.” He finally cracked one eye open, brow lifting. “Then I’ll get you something to eat.”

Wooje blinked. “What?”

“I saw the food on your desk. You didn’t touch it. Did you even eat anything today?”

Wooje let out a long sigh. “I couldn’t. Not when I look like this.”

Hyunjoon huffed a quiet laugh. “So you were just horny all day?”

Wooje smacked his back lightly, but enough to make Hyunjoon flinch.

“Ah fuck, seriously?” Hyunjoon winced. “Scratch marks and abuse?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Wooje said through a guilty laugh. “You’re just such a jerk.”

“So ‘jerk’ is what you call someone who helped you out now?”

Wooje paused. “Yeah. Especially when they won’t shut up about it.”

Hyunjoon snorted. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Wooje rolled his eyes again. But this time, he didn’t deny it. Hyunjoon’s arm tightened faintly around his waist, not quite a hug. Just a weight, a presence. Grounding.

Then Wooje muttered, quieter now, “Thanks.”

Hyunjoon didn’t respond right away. Just let the silence stretch, soft and comfortable.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Anytime.”