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The silence from Chan was a void. Wonwoo's phone remained a cold, dead thing in his hand for days. He should have felt guilty. A normal person would have been wracked with remorse, crafting apologies, trying to salvage the wreckage of a budding relationship. But Wonwoo felt nothing. Not guilt, not regret, not even a flicker of sadness. The only thing he felt was the echo of Soonyoung. Her scent was a ghost in his apartment, her laugh a phantom sound in his ears, the memory of her body a persistent ache in his bones. She had hollowed him out and filled the space with herself.
On the fifth night, he gave in. The need was a physical craving, an itch under his skin that he couldn't scratch. He told himself he was just going for a drink, to a normal bar, to a place where the air wasn't thick with the scent of desperation and cheap perfume. But his feet carried him down the familiar street, his hand pushing open the heavy door of the club, his body betraying him once again. He was alone this time. No Mingyu, no Seungcheol to use as a flimsy shield. Just him, and the gnawing hunger inside him.
He found a small table in the shadows, a vantage point that gave him a clear view of the main floor. He ordered a whiskey, the glass cool and solid in his trembling hand. He scanned the crowd, his eyes searching, hunting. And then he found her.
She was perched on the lap of a man who radiated money. His suit looked expensive, his watch glinting under the club's strobe lights. His arm was wrapped around Soonyoung's waist, his hand possessively splayed on her thigh, holding her like she was a trophy. He was laughing loudly with another man across the table, a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne chilling in a bucket beside them. Soonyoung was smiling, a bright, vacant doll's smile, her head tilted towards the man, her hand resting on his chest. She looked perfect. She looked like she belonged to him.
A hot, ugly emotion surged in Wonwoo's chest. It was sharp and acidic, burning away the last of his rational thought. Jealousy. It was a vicious, clawing beast, and it was tearing him apart from the inside. He hated that man. He hated his smug laugh, his roving hands, the casual way he owned the space Soonyoung was occupying. That was his lap. His thigh. His. The thought was so primal, so insane, that it scared him.
He must have been staring, glaring really, because after a few minutes, Soonyoung's eyes, those sharp, intelligent tiger eyes, slid away from her client and locked onto his. She froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of surprise in her gaze. Then, a slow, predatory smirk spread across her glossy lips. She knew. She knew exactly what he was feeling.
And then she began to play. Her hand, which had been resting innocently on the man's chest, began to move. Her fingers traced circles on the fabric of his shirt, a slow, sensual caress, all while her eyes remained locked on Wonwoo's. She leaned in and whispered something in the man's ear, her smile never faltering, her gaze a wicked, challenging gleam. Wonwoo's grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to smash the glass against the wall, to march over there and drag her off that man's lap. He was losing his mind.
Soonyoung's performance was a masterpiece of seduction and cruelty. She nuzzled the man's neck, her eyes still on Wonwoo, her smirk widening as she saw the raw, unbridled jealousy on his face. But then, her expression shifted. The smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing. Wonwoo followed her gaze. A slender redhead, one of the other dancers, had slid into the chair beside him. She was leaning in close, her hand resting on his arm, her lips curved in a flirtatious smile as she said something he couldn't hear over the music.
Wonwoo's attention, which had been a laser beam focused on Soonyoung, was now broken. He looked at the redhead, a polite, dismissive smile on his face. And that was it. That was the trigger.
He saw Soonyoung's face harden from across the room. The playful seduction vanished, replaced by a thunderous, possessive fury. She muttered something to the man on her lap, untangling herself from his grasp with a sharp, dismissive movement. Another dancer, a busty brunette, immediately took her place, draping herself over the client. But Soonyoung was already moving, storming through the crowd with a purpose that made people step out of her way. She was a predator on the warpath, and he was her target.
She reached his table in a few long strides, her presence a sudden, violent storm. "Get your hands off my man, bitch," she snarled at the redhead, her voice low and dangerous.
The redhead looked up, unfazed. She ran a suggestive hand down Wonwoo's chest. "Oh, this is your man?" she purred, her eyes raking over him. "He's hot. Why don't you share him with me?"
"Fuck. Off." Soonyoung bit out, each word a shard of ice.
Before the redhead could respond, Soonyoung grabbed Wonwoo's arm, her grip like a steel clamp. She hauled him out of his chair and started dragging him towards the club's exit. He stumbled after her, a captive caught in her wake. She didn't stop inside, but pushed through the heavy metal door and into the cool night air. She pulled him down a narrow, dark alley behind the club, the air thick with the smell of garbage and stale beer. It was a dead end, a forgotten space hidden from the world.
She slammed him against the rough brick wall, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. "What the fuck are you doing here again?" she demanded, her voice a venomous hiss. "Where's your boyfriend? Does he know you're here again, chasing after me like a lost little puppy?"
The taunts, the smug superiority in her voice, were the final straw. The jealousy, the confusion, the weeks of obsessive need—it all boiled over. He snapped.
He lunged forward, grabbing her face in his hands and crashing his lips against hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was an attack. It was aggressive, bruising, a desperate attempt to silence her, to claim her, to pour all of his chaotic emotions into her. Soonyoung struggled for a moment, her hands pushing against his chest, trying to pull away. But he didn't budge. He was stronger than he looked, fueled by a desperate, single-minded intensity. He spun them around, slamming her back against the wall, reversing their positions. He pinned her there with his body, his hands still holding her face.
"You're messing with me," he panted, his voice a raw, ragged growl against her lips. "My head. I can't stop thinking about you. You're fucking my life up."
He kissed her again, swallowing whatever retort she had been about to make. This time, the fight went out of her. Her hands, which had been pushing him away, were now gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer. They devoured each other, a messy, desperate clash of teeth and tongues in the darkness of the alley. It was a battle for dominance, for control, but they were both losing. His mouth left hers, blazing a trail of fire down the sensitive skin of her neck, licking and sucking, before returning to capture her lips again.
Soonyoung responded with a ferocity that matched his own. She hooked one leg behind his waist, the smooth skin of her thigh pressing against his jeans. She began to grind against him, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust straight to his groin. She was wearing a short plaid skirt, and she easily lifted it, the thin fabric of her soaked panties rubbing hard against his rapidly hardening cock. Wonwoo groaned, the sound ripped from his throat, his hand sliding down to grip the back of her thigh, holding her to him.
He needed her. Now. He fumbled with the zipper of his pants, his hands shaking with urgency. He freed his cock, rock-hard and straining. Soonyoung mirrored his movements, her hand snaking down between them to pull the flimsy crotch of her panties aside, exposing herself to him.
He didn't wait. He guided the head of his cock to her entrance and slammed into her in one hard, deep thrust.
They both cried out, a sharp, synchronized sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He was buried inside her again, and it was like coming home. The tight, wet heat of her pussy was a balm to his fractured soul, an anchor in the storm of his own making. He started to fuck her against the wall, hard and fast, a desperate, punishing rhythm. The sounds of their coupling were obscene in the quiet alley—the wet slap of skin on skin, their ragged moans and gasps, the scrape of her back against the rough brick.
Soonyoung met him stroke for stroke, her other leg hooking around his waist, forcing him deeper. Her nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt, her mouth finding his again in a desperate, hungry kiss. There was no more teasing, no more games. This was raw, primal. A frantic, desperate claiming in the filth of a dark alley. Wonwoo's mind was blissfully blank, erased by the overwhelming sensation of her. The world had shrunk to this: the brick wall scraping against her back, the vice-like grip of her leg around him, and the slick, perfect heat of her pussy swallowing his cock again and again. He wasn't Wonwoo, the confused gay man. He wasn't anyone. He was just a body, a machine driven by a singular, animalistic need to possess the woman in his arms.
He drove into her with a brutal, relentless rhythm, each thrust a punctuation mark to the unspoken words that clogged his throat. Mine. The thought was a savage beat in his mind with every snap of his hips. He could feel her tightening around him, her inner muscles clenching, a silent, desperate plea for more. He obliged, angling his hips, grinding against her clit, rewarded by a sharp, breathy cry that she tore from his throat.
"Fuck, Wonwoo," she gasped, her head falling back against the wall, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her neck. He immediately ducked his head, his mouth latching onto the skin there, sucking hard, wanting to leave a mark, a brand. He wanted her to feel this tomorrow, to see the evidence of his possession when she looked in the mirror. "Right there... don't stop."
He had no intention of stopping. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, a familiar, tightening coil. The alley, the club, the entire world faded away, replaced by the frantic slap of their bodies and the scent of her sweat and perfume filling his senses. He was close, dangerously close.
But Soonyoung wasn't finished with him. She tightened her leg around him, pulling him impossibly deeper, stopping his frantic rhythm. "Look at me," she commanded, her voice a husky, authoritative purr.
He forced his eyes open, his vision blurry with lust. He met her gaze in the dim light filtering from the street. Her eyes were burning, fierce and triumphant.
"Tell me," she breathed, her lips brushing against his. "Tell me you wanted me. Tell me you were watching me with him and it drove you crazy."
The shame was a distant echo, easily drowned out by the overwhelming need. "I wanted to kill him," he snarled, the confession tearing out of him. "I wanted to drag you off his lap and fuck you right there on the table in front of everyone."
A slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. It was the victory she'd been chasing. "Good," she whispered. "Now make me come."
The permission was his undoing. He released his hold on her leg, his hand sliding between their sweat-slick bodies to find her clit. He rubbed the hard little pearl in tight, rough circles as he resumed his punishing rhythm. The effect was instantaneous. Soonyoung cried out, her whole body arching against him, her pussy clamping down on him like a vise. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, right there!" she chanted, her voice breaking into a high, desperate keen.
He felt her orgasm crash through her, a violent, shuddering wave that ripped a guttural moan from her own chest. Her body convulsed, her inner walls pulsing around his cock, and the sensation was too much. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let go. His orgasm ripped through him, a blinding, shattering release that stole his breath. He came hard, his cock pulsing, spurt after spurt of his hot cum flooding her, a desperate, possessive claim.
He collapsed against her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his body slick with sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs. They stayed like that for a long moment, a tangled, panting mess in the darkness, the only sound the distant thrum of the city and their own ragged breathing.
He didn't know how long he waited. The adrenaline had faded, leaving a hollow, buzzing ache behind. He leaned against the grimy wall of the alley, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat still lingering on his skin. The club's back door creaked open, and he straightened, his heart giving a nervous thud.
A figure emerged, but it wasn't the one he expected. It was Soonyoung, but transformed. The leather, the lace, the performer's armor was gone. She was bundled in an oversized, grey hoodie that swallowed her frame, and a pair of loose, worn-out jeans. Her blonde hair was tied back in a simple, messy ponytail. She looked... soft. Normal. It was the first time he had ever seen her like this, and it made his breath catch in his throat. She looked like a stranger, and yet, more like herself than ever before.
She walked towards him, her face half-hidden in the shadow of her hood. She stopped in front of him and held out a large tote bag. He took it automatically, his fingers brushing against hers. The bag was heavy. Then she did something that sent a jolt straight through him. She took his hand. Her hand was small and warm, and it fit into his like it was made to be there.
"Let's go," she said, her voice quiet, stripped of its usual performative edge.
Wonwoo stared at their joined hands, then back at her face, barely visible in the gloom. "Where are we going?"
Soonyoung looked up at him, and for the first time, the predatory smirk was gone. A small, almost shy smile touched her lips. "You're taking me home, aren't you?"