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Soonyoung nearly dies. Almost, just a hairbreadth away from death. A second or two longer and the company would have had to bear the bad news to his family, announce it to the world through stomach-curdling headlines, his members and friends would have to mourn him, and perhaps worst of all, Wonwoo would’ve had to be the one to carry him back.
He nearly dies, and that’s how it all starts.
“I have to pee,” says Wonwoo in a low whisper as he leans into Soonyoung’s side. The lav mics attached to their collars probably pick up the audio, but the sound production team is used to editing out wayward conversations anyway. A few feet away from them, the director continues to explain the final concept of their photoshoot.
Soonyoung breathes out a small laugh, his eyes still on the camera director. “Maybe they’ll give us a break after this. You should’ve gone earlier with everyone else.”
Wonwoo doesn’t respond. He shifts in his seat, and Soonyoung holds back another huff of laughter. It’s been a long photoshoot, the sun has long kissed the horizon and sunken below the rolling mountains that surround their shoot location, the darkness lit up only with the bright lights rigged around the set. And the longer the shoot, the more coffee they drink to stay up. Soonyoung gets it, but he shakes his head anyway. Wonwoo isn’t going to be able to sleep later. This is why he keeps nagging Wonwoo to drink less caffeine when they work late.
He’s lucky, though. They’re given a quick fifteen minute break as soon as the director adjourns the discussion. Most members elect to snack on some of the food laid out on the catering table, others are pulled in by their stylists to make further adjustments to their hair or makeup. Wonwoo tugs on Soonyoung’s arm. “Go with me, I don’t know where it is.”
Soonyoung sighs loudly, and earns a smack on his shoulder from Wonwoo. It pulls a grin from his lips, alleviates some of the exhaustion from a long work day as they fall into their customary bickering. He doesn’t mind, not when more time spent with Wonwoo is usually a good thing. “Fine,” he says, and there’s no heat behind it.
They’re shooting for their next album on a mountain that took one long bus ride from Seoul, and then a cable car up to the peak, where an old Buddhist temple sits, shrouded in trees and valleys. A hotel has been booked for them at the bottom of the mountain where they’ll stay overnight before returning to Seoul the next morning. While they haven’t been allowed into the temple itself, the washrooms have been unlocked for their use—but that, in itself, is another trek and a half.
Seungkwan had speculated that the ancient, rickety outhouse sits at the top of another peak of the mountain to encourage longevity of health. “This must be why there are literally a hundred steps to climb to get here,” he had huffed earlier, clinging to the steep railings with his hands. Soonyoung repeats this to Wonwoo now as he guides him towards the steep staircase, encased into the side of the rocky mountain, where the looming outhouse sits at the very top. In the darkness, it’s harder to navigate, and Soonyoung grips tighter at the railings as they begin their ascent.
He lets Wonwoo go in front of him. “You’re the one who has to pee,” he says, waving him forward impatiently. Wonwoo rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother to bite back a response, clearly more focused on getting up to the outhouse as quickly as possible.
The wooden stairs creak and groan under their weight with every step. “Are these even safe?” mutters Wonwoo, barely audible just a few steps above Soonyoung. It’s a valid question. Under the sunlight, some of the wooden planks were cracked and decayed in edges, and Minghao had acquired a splinter from running his hand along the railings. Now, in the dark, it feels even more precarious.
Soonyoung tries not to worry about it. The company wouldn’t let them film here if it wasn’t safe. Still, as they heave up the stairs with quick feet, not wanting to dawdle and return late to the set, a strange, discomfiting doubt settles in the recesses of his mind.
He tries to distract himself from it. Wonwoo makes a small joke about not being able to “make it” in time, and Soonyoung focuses on the quiet laughter as Wonwoo laughs at his own joke. “You’re gross,” he says, but he laughs too, and swats at Wonwoo’s ass. “Imagine if the fans could hear you now.”
The step under Wonwoo’s feet groans under his weight. He pauses, scrutinizing the step with a careful eye. “Jesus,” he mutters to Soonyoung, “are you sure this is safe?”
“It was fine when we all stampeded up earlier,” Soonyoung says. He sounds more confident than he feels, and when Wonwoo starts moving again, Soonyoung follows with lighter steps. The stairs creak, and it sounds nearly piercing in the otherwise quiet air. The voices of his members and the staff are too far behind them to be audible now.
He’s glad that neither him nor Wonwoo are afraid of heights. They’re climbing up the side of a mountain, and although he can’t see through the darkness now, he knows from earlier that there’s nothing beneath them but air—and a long, long drop. A sign he saw earlier stated that they’re 900 metres high at the peak. Soonyoung suppresses a shudder.
A mild regret at following Wonwoo up settles in as they near the top of the stairs when Soonyoung can feel himself start to sweat from the exertion. The climb down is going to be tough, but he knows he couldn’t have let Wonwoo go alone either. At least this way, he knows Wonwoo is safe.
“Fucking finally,” Wonwoo says. Soonyoung watches as he reaches the top of the stairs, and starts to cross the short distance to where the lone outhouse sits at the peak. Soonyoung’s not far behind; he only has a few more to climb until he’s on levelled ground again. He places his foot on the next step.
And suddenly, Soonyoung hears a crack. Quiet at first, and then it comes again, deafeningly loud. About a split second later, he realizes that it came from under his feet.
He freezes. Soonyoung looks up. Wonwoo is there, still one hand reached out for the door knob of the outhouse, frozen in place as he stares back at Soonyoung. At first, he looks confused, and then, Wonwoo’s mouth drops open, his eyes widening, an aborted sound coming from his mouth. It all happens in a split-second, but to Soonyoung, it plays out like a horror movie that’s been slowed to half-speed.
A feeling of dread comes over him. He shakes his head no, and screws his eyes shut. No. No. No. There’s no way he’d make it out alive, he thinks, if he hurtles towards the ground at this height. No.
“Wonwoo—” he tries to say, “Wonwoo, I—” he tries, but Soonyoung never gets a chance to say anything past the first syllable before the wooden step underneath him cracks and splinters under his feet. His vision distorts, nausea kicking in as his heart lurches to his throat, his stomach twisting like it’s about to burst out from his lungs.
The step gives way underneath him— and then he falls. A scream bursts from his throat, clambering with fear and terror, deafening in the quiet of the mountainside. His body hurtles down the mountain-side, and he squeezes his eyes shut, tries to brace himself for the inevitable impact that he won’t survive. Soonyoung thinks he can hear the indistinct sound of Wonwoo’s voice, he’s yelling something, words he can’t quite figure out, and then suddenly, something wraps around his body—
No. Not just something. It’s almost as if a limb has caught him, but it’s not just one, not just two— Soonyoung screams out again when he can feel the thick, smooth grip of a vine-like appendage wrap around his body, around his arms, his legs, supporting his back. His body suspends in the air, and suddenly, he can feel his heart jumping to his throat once more as he’s lifted back into the air. Distantly, he realizes he’s no longer falling, but lying on his back again. It’s as if the world starts to slow down around him again.
After a long moment passes, Soonyoung opens his eyes. His head spins, nausea kicks in, and his stomach churns. He can’t see, not properly, and he blinks woozily, dazed, heart still racing a thousand miles per hour, as he tries to make sense of what had happened.
Wonwoo’s voice is still audible, still indistinct. Soonyoung looks at him. First, he sees the worry and fear etched into his face. Then, he sees it: thick, writhing, gleaming appendages that seem to extend from his back, turning and curling in the air above them both, both haunting and terrifying all at once. A fogged sense of horror rolls through him at the sight of them.
And it’s the last thing Soonyoung sees before he loses consciousness.
The first time Soonyoung gets drunk with any of the members—potential members—is with Wonwoo. They’re sixteen years old, have known each other for nearly half a year, and are still slowly growing used to each other as people. It’s not perfect, their friendship. But they’re human, and rarely are they ever perfect.
In the brief period of time Soonyoung has been with PLEDIS, he’s seen a lot of trainees. They come and go, and they all carry different weights and energies. Some are bursting with ambition, others seem to be pulled along by a residual, receding momentum. The latter type doesn't usually stick around for long.
He hasn’t been in the company much longer than Wonwoo, doesn’t hold much authority or seniority even as he rises up in choreography, but he still misjudges him at first. Wonwoo is quiet, shy, and fumbles a little when it comes to interacting with the other trainees. And at first, albeit without judgment or derision, Soonyoung thinks he’s one of the latter type of trainees, that it’s only ticking time until Wonwoo leaves like the rest.
As Soonyoung gets to know him, though, he’s glad he’s proven wrong. Wonwoo stays, and he always helps Soonyoung do laundry, he feeds the cats outside the building, he learns to speak the Seoul dialect, he plays in the snow for the first time in his life while walking to the store with Jihoon and Soonyoung—and most of all, he carves his way into Soonyoung’s life.
And so when one of Minkyung-noona’s friends slip him some soju as a reward for working so hard, he takes it back to Seoul with him and shares it with Wonwoo. The original plan may have been to share it with the other members, but it’s late, they’re stuck in the laundry room once again, and he thinks, Wonwoo deserves this too.
It’s their first time drinking, and they indulge together.
Sometimes, Soonyoung thinks that no one is as eager as Wonwoo when it comes to learning new things, as slowly and measured as he carries himself otherwise. It was like that when the snow started falling and he turned to Jihoon and Soonyoung with bright eyes and ruddy cheeks, full of vivacity and vibrancy in a way that only shows itself when Wonwoo is comfortable. This time, he ends up having to pry the soju bottle from Wonwoo’s hand, having gone a little too eager. The alcohol sloshes against the insides of the green glass bottle.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Soonyoung says, amused, his own words slurring slightly as he holds the soju out of reach. They’re sitting on the tiled floor with their backs against the laundry machine. Neither of them are strong drinkers, clearly, and Soonyoung had tapped out nearly half an hour ago. The taste lingers on his tongue. He’s not sure he likes it.
Wonwoo frowns at him. “Soonyoung-ah,” he says, and sounds displeased enough that it almost lilts into a whine. Soonyoung is surprised by how endeared he is by that. “You know what?”
Soonyoung musters up a wobbly smile, fond and indulgent all at once. “What?”
“Sometimes, I think I feel...” His head droops down until he’s resting on his arms, folded and propped up on his knees. “Sometimes, I think I feel scared.”
The smile fades on his face. A pang of worry rushes through him and Soonyoung tilts his head closer to Wonwoo. “Scared of what?” he asks softly.
Wonwoo eyes flutter shut. “Sometimes I don’t know what I’m still doing here,” he says, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “And I wonder if I should still be here.” He pauses for a moment, and a heavy silence weighs between them. Wonwoo blinks his eyes open, stares bleary-eyed at Soonyoung. “Do I belong, Soonyoung-ah? Do I?”
Soonyoung swallows. Suddenly, he feels twice as sober when he notices the way Wonwoo’s eyebrows draw together and how his mouth tugs into a frown. It’s not uncommon for trainees to feel adrift the longer they wait for the intangibility of debut. Impostor syndrome is also nearly a given, and on top of that, cliques do form whether people intend for them or not. These things happen, but Soonyoung suddenly feels afraid of what it may mean for Wonwoo.
His chest aches at the lurking sadness in Wonwoo’s eyes, and he thinks back to the glimpse he caught of Wonwoo as he stayed behind to practice choreography just a few days ago. He thinks back to a couple months ago, when they played in the snow together with Jihoon, and later got scolded by Seungcheol. He thinks back to how Wonwoo morphed from awkward stranger to close friend.
He belongs. Soonyoung is sure of that.
But he doesn’t know how to say it, not in so many words. He reaches out and squeezes Wonwoo’s hand instead, curls their fingers together as Soonyoung locks eyes with him. Wonwoo flinches but doesn’t recoil. His hand is cool to the touch. “I’m glad you’re here,” Soonyoung says, as firmly as he dares, “and I want to see us both make it to the end, to the other side. Wherever that leads us.” Soonyoung pauses, his eyes land on their interlocked hands, and he feels his heart drum faster as he thinks of how to put all of Wonwoo’s doubts to rest. “If it counts for anything, I think...whatever the group ends up being, I don’t think it’ll be the same without you.”
At his words, Wonwoo tilts his head up. There’s something unreadable in his eyes as he stares at Soonyoung. But then he squeezes his hand. For some reason, the simple action makes his heart pound in his chest.
He doesn’t respond, not for a long while. They sit in silence, just the two of them, their hands loosely clasped together in a cold laundry room, with nothing but a nearly empty soju between them and the hard metal of the machines behind them. Just as Soonyoung wonders whether Wonwoo had fallen asleep, Wonwoo shifts closer. “Thank you,” he whispers. His eyes seem to shine under the tungsten light.
It’s the first time either of them drink, and for a while for Wonwoo, it’s the last too. After that, he’s always maintained somewhat of a distance with alcohol, more reluctant to partake even after they debut and reach legal drinking age.
Maybe Soonyoung notices Wonwoo more after that, maybe he tries his best to make sure Wonwoo always feels like he belongs. But he always thought that night—Wonwoo’s words—had to do with the fear and exhaustion that came with being an idol.
For the first time, he looks back and wonders if Wonwoo had meant something different.
Looking back, Soonyoung thinks he owes a lot of his firsts to Wonwoo.
The funny thing about knowing someone for so long is that each moment spent with them fills another interstice in his own personal memory. The archives of his mind has no beginning or end, but Soonyoung has been in the entertainment industry for longer than he’s been just regular Kwon Soonyoung. And with that, Wonwoo is there too; a hodgepodge of images and faint memories that play like faded videos that all form and shape and mould around Wonwoo’s presence in his life.
Soonyoung has always prided himself on his individuality. When he was a student, his teachers used to say that he’s a great teamplayer, but shines on his own too. When he was a trainee, the mentors said he could lead a whole team with his ambition alone. Still, he doesn’t know who he’d be without Wonwoo in his life.
Lonelier, that’s for sure.
Wonwoo avoids him.
Even in a group of thirteen, avoiding another member is quite a feat when you’re amidst the busy season that preludes a comeback, and constantly rubbing elbows with one another. After Soonyoung’s near-death experience though, the company puts him on house-arrest. A one week vacation for a workplace hazard that could’ve probably cost them millions of won in a lawsuit, and dirtied headlines in the paper. Soonyoung isn’t given a choice but to take it. The company books more appointments with his counselor on his behalf too, but he doesn’t even know where to begin with that. It goes beyond the uniquely traumatic experience of being an idol.
And so, the rest of the members continue to work without him, and Soonyoung sees Wonwoo less than ever for that whole week.
(He had woken up in the hospital after that night. The members filed in one by one, each one of them solemn and silent in a way that made Soonyoung’s heart hurt. Jeonghan later tells him, slender hands clasped over his hands on the starch white bed sheets, that the shoot had been cancelled. “We heard the screams,” he tells him in a quiet voice that belies his worries, “and then this— this crashing noise, of the stairs collapsing. We were so, so scared, Soonyoung-ah.”
Wonwoo had visited him too. He didn’t say anything, just stayed there, his hand clenched tightly around Soonyoung’s as if he had been afraid to let go. And then after that, he began to avoid him.
If it weren’t for that, Soonyoung thinks he would have brushed off what he had seen as his own imagination, induced by the delirity of near-death and fear. He still doesn’t know what he saw, what Wonwoo is—but he knows it’s real, he knows it has to be if Wonwoo still refuses to talk to him. It weighs on his heart.)
He returns to work after the week is over, but the members are slow to adjust to him. Seungkwan is sweeter than normal, always the first to be worried, and Seungcheol can’t stop hovering over him. Chan keeps buying new jars of kimchi to stock in their fridge, and pretends it’s not him, and Jihoon even lets him say horanghae on camera without making a face. It nearly becomes too much when Vernon, poor, sweet Vernon, pulls out his chair before every meal as if Soonyoung will collapse through the floor if he doesn’t. Soonyoung has to pull him aside and gently reassure him that he’s alright after that.
But slowly, almost frustratingly so, they stop treating him with kids’ gloves. Even more frustratingly so, he still can’t seem to talk to Wonwoo.
Every time he enters a room, Wonwoo either goes silent and stock-still, or he leaves entirely. When he wraps his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder or nudges him with his elbow, he feels Wonwoo tense up and extricates himself. He tries to catch Wonwoo alone, even tries to corner him in Seungcheol’s room or his shared room with Mingyu—but he never seems to find him there, the timing never works out. Wonwoo even stops going to the gym with him.
At first, Soonyoung wanted answers. He still does, but now— now he wishes he could just have his friendship back too.
wonwoo, please, he texts him one night, about two weeks after the incident. please, let’s just talk? i just want to understand. No response. He sends another text: i never got to thank you properly. you saved me right?
He thinks back to that night. Soonyoung doesn’t always like remembering the fear, the sudden drop, the sound of wood splintering beneath his feet and the raw, frightened sound of his own voice reflected in the wide-eyed horror on Wonwoo’s face. They come to him in flashes and images, nightmares that visit him when he sleeps, and sometimes even when he’s walking up the stairs to their eighth floor apartment and feels a sense of vertigo under his feet.
Soonyoung can remember the fall. Maybe too clearly, even. It’s the aftermath that’s blurry—the space between being saved and waking up surrounded by the hospital walls, and what he had seen in the grim darkness of that night.
And as surreal as it feels, as impossible as it is to talk to anyone else about it—refuses to even after Chan asks if something was wrong between him and Wonwoo—he doesn’t think he imagined it: the cool touch against his skin, the tight embrace of appendages, slick and smooth and too many to be human hands. The swirling mass of tendrils that seemed to hover behind Wonwoo, and the glow in his eyes.
Inhuman. Frightening, too, but somehow— somehow Soonyoung doesn’t think he feels scared of Wonwoo, even now.
Soonyoung stares at Wonwoo’s back as he shoulders past him once again, out of their waiting room and down the hallway. He blinks; his vision doesn’t flicker. There’s nothing distinctly inhuman about him, not under the fluorescent lighting of the film set of this variety show, nothing that belies what he had seen that night. He watches until Wonwoo disappears around the corner, one of their managers following close behind.
He keeps staring, even after the hallway is empty except for a few PDs hurrying from room to room, before he sighs, and turns back into the waiting room where the rest of the members are resting. Wonwoo can’t avoid him forever, he thinks, just a little despairingly, or at least he hopes not.
There are a few truths that Soonyoung uses to map out the trajectory of his life. These are the tenets that he decides he can share with fans, the tidbits of Kwon Soonyoung that toe on the right side of his Maginot line; the boundary that splices between the public persona of Hoshi, tiger’s gaze, and the softer, vulnerable parts of himself that sometimes he hides from even the other members.
The truths are these: ever since he stood in front of a meager crowd of supportive parents and one belligerent Minkyung-noona, who would rather be at the arcade with her friends than standing just outside of Maseok Elementary, and performed his little heart with his Taekwondo dance team, Soonyoung knew he wanted to keep dancing.
Ever since Soonyoung received his first signed SHINee CD at the age of twelve, and listened to crooning vocals of Jonghyun and Onew, watched the magnetic performances of Taemin and Key, and fell in love with the tone of Minho’s rap and his charisma, Soonyoung knew he wanted to be an idol. He even started wearing skinny jeans to match.
Ever since Soonyoung was casted by Pledis, and later met Seungcheol and Jihoon for the first time in that green basement room, he bore witness to the tears and sweat they poured into their crafts. Soonyoung knew that he, too, would pour his heart and soul into debuting with them.
And then there are the truths that constitute of singular atom blocks that build Soonyoung to who he is today. Unit by unit. These, he holds private and safe inside his heart. It’s the small things, like when he met Jeon Wonwoo and decided he would always do his best to make him feel comfortable. Or it’s like when a hyung in the company—one of the many who never ended up debuting—had skimmed his fingers across Soonyoung’s cheeks after practice one day, told him he danced well, and Soonyoung felt butterflies swarming in his belly for the first time; to realize what it meant to feel butterflies around other boys.
Or, it’s when Wonwoo fell sick just shortly after they returned with their first full-length album, and Soonyoung experienced—for the first time since they met—what it was like to be without him. There are times when Soonyoung reflects on that period in their career in the privacy of his thoughts, and there are times when he does so with Wonwoo, in the rarer times where they both lay their hearts to bare. He knows, perhaps more intimately than other members as a result of those conversations, how painful and dark those days were for Wonwoo. He knows, for himself, that it was the first time he realized how sick and worried he felt, stressed about carrying the absence of a member on his shoulders, and anxious for his friend to just be okay.
It was also the first time that Soonyoung admitted to himself that he was, undeniably and irrevocably, in love with Wonwoo.
Here’s the thing: he’s been in love with Wonwoo for at least four years now. Maybe even longer, maybe reaching even as far back as the night they drank together in the laundry basement room. Soonyoung has known this about himself for years; has dealt with it silently—mostly, anyway, late-night heart-to-hearts with Joshua in their hotel rooms notwithstanding—for years.
There’s nothing remarkable about the way it happens, nothing remarkable even about his friendship with Wonwoo. They’re just two boys, quiet in the best ways and short-breathed in the worst ways, who match well. Sing the same tune. Harmonize with each other, their conversations, their personalities. One day, Wonwoo was his friend, the next, he felt like more.
As much as Soonyoung operates on instinct and intuition, on emotions that overtake logical processing, and the snapfire reaction that consumes him when it comes to decision-making sometimes—he would say that his love for Wonwoo developed like water. Trickle by trickle, drop by drop, pooling into something more grandiose. More stable and large than his body, even in all his imagined choreography, can ever convey.
Mingyu once told Soonyoung that there’s an unmatched star quality in him, like he was born to perform on stage. “I can’t imagine you doing anything else,” he says to Soonyoung over dinner, after one of their scheduled V Lives. “You shine on stage. You make it your own.”
“That’s funny,” Soonyoung had replied, his smile growing with the warmth he feels at those words, “because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”
For the most part, Soonyoung can’t either—can’t imagine himself anywhere but singing and dancing his heart out, until his body feels like it’s about to give. There are times though. There are times.
It’s in all the quiet afternoons he spends with Wonwoo. The days where thirteen boys aren’t scrambling over each other to catch the last spot that’s just big enough to nap in, fighting over who heads over to the makeup chairs last, growing irritable as their schedules grow longer and their time for sleep even shorter. The days where stylists aren’t poking and prodding at their hair, their clothes don’t have to be continually readjusted, and Soonyoung doesn’t have to ask Seokmin—for the tenth time that day—whether he has anything stuck in his teeth.
Where it’s just Soonyoung and Wonwoo, in the lulls and quietude between schedules, as themselves. Two ordinary boys. No stage lights, no Photoshop, nothing.
(“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, now two-and-a-half weeks after the incident, his voice barely louder than the sound of Junhui snoring on the couch next to them. They’re filming for their comeback again. He holds his breath as Wonwoo twitches, stiffens in his seat on the other end of the couch, and slides his eyes towards Soonyoung. The first time he’s met his eyes since that day.)
There are times; the days when Soonyoung wonders what it’s like to just be Kwon Soonyoung. He wonders, almost guiltily, what it would like to carve a space in the world where he’s unknown to others, and accountable only to his loved ones. During those moments, he imagines a world where he’s just a college student, and maybe Wonwoo is one too. He thinks about meeting him in this world, getting to know him through study dates and late-night karaoke sessions, and dinners that won’t get broadcasted to the whole world. Maybe Soonyoung could confess to him, then. They would date, hold hands, tell only their friends and their families without worrying about profit margins and the bottom line and company reputation and self-agency. He entertains these fantasies sometimes. Short-lived, and filled with a distant and abstract grief.
(Wonwoo looks away. He shifts, his body turning away from Soonyoung, like a wall has been erected between the two of them.
Soonyoung lets out his breath. Disappointed, yet not surprised, all the same.)
It’s a very human fantasy, Soonyoung thinks, one that was never plausible with their work. Even less so now, now that Wonwoo is possibly not even human at all.
He wonders what it means, though, that he still wants that. Wants Wonwoo. He wonders.
Back when they were still roommates, Vernon once pulled Soonyoung into watching some strange American movie about a teenage girl struggling to make friends in her new high school. Soonyoung remembers that, for some reason, werewolves and vampires were involved—or, at least, that’s what he could gather. The subtitles were a little iffy on that one. It wasn’t the first time he watched a movie of Vernon’s pick, completely dumbfounded, but this one took the cake.
“Joshua told me it was an iconic piece of filmography for everyone growing up in North America,” Vernon had said in the nonchalant way he usually spoke. He couldn’t tell if Vernon was joking or not. Soonyoung frowned at the screen, where they’re playing the strangest game of baseball he’s ever seen. “We missed the craze here, so I thought I’d catch up.”
Soonyoung doesn’t remember much from the movie, but he does remember a strangely dramatic sequence of events where the protagonist had a research downward spiral on her crush. The vampire, Soonyoung recalls faintly.
He doesn’t think Wonwoo is a vampire, but Soonyoung admittedly can’t be certain. He’s not certain what Wonwoo is—full stop. If Wonwoo isn’t going to talk to him, then Soonyoung is going to do his best to find out himself. And so, despite all odds, he decides to take a page out of her book, and starts by searching up keywords on Naver.
A pout forms on his lips as he carefully taps in tentacles into the search bar. He shakes his head when all it draws are results for cephalopods on Namuwiki. He hits the back button and adds in another word to refine the search: tentacles human.
At first glance, the results are a little more promising. He weaves through dense scientific articles about human ancestors having flexible skeletons and tentacle-like limbs, and gets sidetracked by videos proving the human-like intelligence of octopus, before returning back to humans having tentacles. He follows the thread of articles with a careful eye, just in case something more significant pops up. For a while, there’s nothing but bizarre scientific speculations.
He’s just about to give up on his search when his eyes catch on one link: octopus hybrids. Soonyoung hesitates for a moment. He clicks on it, and then nearly has a heart attack when he’s suddenly faced with very, very explicit imagery. It’s illustrated, thankfully, and not photographic—but Soonyoung immediately knows he has stumbled upon the dark recesses of the internet that Seungcheol always warns him about.
With a pounding heart, Soonyoung quickly closes the browser, but not before his eyes catch onto another image on the sidebar of the website. Tentacle Holic, the flashing words say, and beneath it, a manga cover of a naked, busty woman being covered in tentacles on every inch of her skin. It’s gone in the next second as the browser disappears with a click of his mouse. The image remains imprinted in his mind.
Soonyoung recoils. He casts a surreptitious glance around his room, grateful all at once that he no longer has a roommate, and holds a hand over his pounding heart to calm it down. Even alone, he can’t help but feel like he’s been caught doing something wrong. His neck prickles with heat. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills the image away from his mind.
He’s not oblivious or stupid. Soonyoung is twenty-four years old, and he’s been living with thirteen other boys since they were teenagers. He has his own fair share of kinks, some he discovered on his own on similar internet downward spirals like that one, some he learned from previous partners. And while Soonyoung has never been into tentacle porn, he’s more than aware of it; he’ll never forget the day he forgot his cell phone at the hotel room in Japan and walked in on Joshua alone, clearly not expecting Soonyoung to return so soon, with one hand on the laptop and the other down his pants.
Soonyoung shudders.
Regardless of Joshua’s proclivities, he definitely had not been thinking anything of the sort in relation to Wonwoo. Too preoccupied with trying to get Wonwoo to talk to him again, to understand what had happened, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. Until now.
He thinks about the flexible and limber way they moved that night, and the hidden strength as they wrapped around Soonyoung, curling around his arms and legs, lifting him to safety. Whatever Wonwoo is—whoever he is, Soonyoung admits, now with a clarity he didn’t have before, that he clearly knew how to use...them.
A sudden flash of heat jolts through his body. Soonyoung shifts uncomfortably on his bed. Memories of that night come flooding back to him, this time in a different line and tenor than he had ever thought of it previously, his mind zeroed in focus on Wonwoo’s appendages—his tentacles, his mind unhelpfully supplies—and it leaves his cheeks reddening in response.
He shifts again. This is hardly an appropriate response. Soonyoung can’t help the stab of guilt that prickles under his skin. It had been hard enough to readjust to his less-than-platonic feelings all those years ago, and it feels utterly inappropriate to think of Wonwoo in this light now. Nevermind that Soonyoung has spent enough nights in the darkness, in the safety behind his locked door, bringing himself to relief at the thought of his friend. The guilt, then, was always enough for Soonyoung to try to imagine a faceless stranger in his place in subsequent nights instead.
Now— now it feels forbidden. Impossibly so.
His eyes land on his laptop again. Soonyoung squirms, his whole body flushing with heat. The images flash through his mind again; of the illustrations, of the feel of Wonwoo on his skin. He swallows. The heat grows hotter. He doesn’t want to return to the tab he just closed, he’s not interested in that per se, nor the glimpses he caught sight of on Joshua’s laptop that one day. But maybe...maybe it warrants further research...
Soonyoung quashes the uneasy churning of his stomach. Then, with his heart twisting in his chest and his face burning with heat, he reaches for his laptop again.
...A little more research can’t hurt.
“So what’s going on between you and Wonwoo?” Junhui asks him a week later. He doesn’t bother lifting his head up from Soonyoung’s bed, his eyes trained on the mobile game on his phone.
Soonyoung startles. His heart lurches as he swings his eyes over to Junhui’s mussed hair, and breathes a little easier when he realizes Junhui’s not looking at him. Some of the weight eases off his lungs. He’s never been a good liar. Still, he tries. “Nothing,” Soonyoung mumbles. His eyes slide back to his phone where he has been absentmindedly scrolling through Weverse.
It’s not entirely uncommon for Junhui to seat himself on Soonyoung’s bed, only to ignore him while he silently plays games on his phone. He’s a bit like a cat—enjoys the silent company of members when he’s in the mood for it, hard-pressed to pay attention when he’s not. It’s rarer now that they live on different floors and Junhui can actually sit up on his bed without bumping the ceiling, but Soonyoung had assumed he was just escaping from movie night downstairs.
Clearly, there was an underlying motive.
Junhui hums a little, and then makes a garbled noise at his phone. He must have died in the game or something, because he taps at the screen furiously for a few seconds before dropping it down to his chest. He shifts his head and slides his gaze to Soonyoung. “Minghao said that Mingyu told him that Wonwoo has barely left the room since—” his voice stutters, and then he presses on, “since that night.”
He doesn’t respond at first, but Soonyoung shifts his leg towards the end of the bed where Junhui is laying down, and presses the side of his foot to Junhui’s shoulder. The members still tiptoe around him a bit, though granted, less than before. He feels Junhui relax a little.
Soonyoung had noticed. It’s hard not to notice Wonwoo, even before everything went a little haywire around him. But now, when Soonyoung has spent weeks trying to talk to him, watching him in turn, with thoughts of Wonwoo occupying his mind—both appropriate ones, and ones less so—Soonyoung knows the members would pick up on it, one or another.
There’s an unspoken rule that they all abide: to generally respect the different shapes of the relationships formed between members. Inevitably, some members will be closer to others, while certain pairings don’t typically hang out outside of the group setting. Unless it interferes with the overall group dynamics, they let it be.
If the members are approaching him about it, that means they’re genuinely alarmed. Soonyoung sighs, and rolls over to his side. He faces away from Junhui. “Maybe you should ask him instead,” he says, a little petulantly. And then, in a smaller voice, “Is he okay?”
He can hear Junhui shift too, and then feels a hand pat him on his knee. “He’s been acting like...you know. Back then.” Like the time he was sick, Soonyoung fills in the blanks, and the thought of it makes his stomach churn unpleasantly.
Soonyoung doesn’t know what to do. Chasing after Wonwoo, intent on getting him to talk to him, hadn’t worked. And when Wonwoo refused to talk to him, he took to the research—and maybe that was a bad idea because now Soonyoung can’t look at Wonwoo without thinking about him, in all the worse ways he had tried so hard to not let himself think about previously. It’s gotten so bad that his nightmares have turned into—dreams of a different sort.
And so he settled on giving Wonwoo space. Guilt and confusion bubbles in his stomach every time he looks in his direction, strangling any words he might have wanted to say. He says nothing instead. It doesn’t sit right with him now, though, knowing that Wonwoo has been retreating back into the shell and shying away from others again.
“Are you okay?” Junhui asks. He hears him shift again, and the bed dips under Junhui’s weight as he sits up.
“I’m good,” Soonyoung answers automatically.
Junhui makes another sound, a response that Soonyoung doesn’t know how to interpret. He waits, patient and silent as if waiting for Soonyoung to continue. It works; the next words bubble out of Soonyoung’s mouth unbidden, half-restrained.
“I think he feels guilty about something,” Soonyoung confesses, and rolls back over to face Junhui. He bites down on his bottom lip, pausing in thought for a brief moment. He weighs the words in his mind, careful not to reveal too much. “I don’t want him to feel guilty. I don’t want him to feel bad at all.”
A contemplative look flashes on Junhui’s face. “Chan mentioned a word in Korean, like, ‘survivor’s guilt’? Is it like that?”
Soonyoung shrugs uncomfortably. He doesn’t think that’s the reason, but the real reason is one that he can’t share. “Maybe...” he trails off, shakes his head, “And I...I guess I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him either because—” I’m in love with him. I’m still in love with him, and maybe in ways that would disgust him. “—I don’t want him to hate me, I guess,” he finishes lamely.
Junhui stares at him like he knows Soonyoung isn’t sharing the full story with him. He’s not one to pry though, and at once, Soonyoung is grateful. “You know, I used to be envious of you and Wonwoo,” he says instead, to his surprise, “because it felt like you two had a friendship where you truly understood each other.” Junhui picks out his words carefully. “You match well. It felt lonely being here, in this country, even though everyone tried their best to welcome me. Even after Minghao came too...it took us awhile to get used to being friends, being so different despite our common language.” He smiles at Soonyoung. “But it felt like as long as you two had each other, or as long as Wonwoo had you, he didn’t feel alone.”
Soonyoung swallows. His eyes sting, suddenly, and he looks away.
“I think you don’t have to be so worried about him hating you, Soonyoung-ah,” says Junhui. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I think if you tried to talk to him— really tried this time, he wouldn’t turn you away.” He pauses. “I don’t ever think Wonwoo could ever turn you away.”
Soonyoung always took on the title of Wonwoo’s best friend with a point of pride.
Many years ago, Wonwoo had asked Soonyoung to stop using their friendship as fanservice. The request came after a slew of uncomfortable fansigns that left Wonwoo angry, unable to look at Mingyu in the eye for weeks even if all of them knew it was neither of their faults. At first, it had taken Soonyoung by surprise; he performs for the crowd, sure, but it’s not fake.
He gets it though, and it’s always been something he’s taken into consideration even five years after their debut. There are some things in your life that are too personal, hold too much space in your heart, contains an intimacy and connection that is held delicately between your hands and not meant to be prodded and picked apart by outsiders’ eyes. Soonyoung has learned to think this way about Wonwoo.
In a job that leaves them feeling like so little belongs solely to themselves—friendships, thoughts, decisions, appearances—it’s the small comfort of holding this private.
Maybe it scares him more than he initially admitted that perhaps what he had with Wonwoo wasn’t real after all. It scares him that if he poked at it, pressed on it like a bruise, the threads would fall apart to reveal that Soonyoung has been alone in this friendship all along.
Wonwoo might not be human. Soonyoung doesn’t mind, he thinks.
But it might mean that Wonwoo minds—that Wonwoo might not care for him, a silly little human, in the same way.
He doesn’t know if he’s ready to confront that.
It turns out, in the end, Wonwoo makes his choice for him.
Four weeks after the incident finds Soonyoung falling into his bed just shortly after midnight. They had work in the morning and dance practice in the afternoon, but their managers cleared their evening schedules as their last reprieve before their comeback arrives at full swing.
He’s just crawled under the covers when a soft knock resounds at his door. Soonyoung peeks his head out from under the covers. “Yeah?” he calls out, and quickly scans his room to see if maybe Jeonghan had left something behind when they were watching dramas together earlier.
A brief moment of silence. Soonyoung moves into a sitting position, his head tilted at the door in confusion. Just as he’s about to swing his legs over the side of his bed to peek at the door, the knob twists and the door swings open. Wonwoo steps through.
Soonyoung’s heart lurches to his throat and his stomach immediately churns at the sight of Wonwoo, but he hopes none of it rises to his face as Wonwoo takes one hesitant step into his room, and closes the door behind him. He turns to look at Soonyoung, a small frown tugging at the side of his lips. His hands, covered with the long sleeves of his pajama shirt, fidget together in the way Soonyoung knows is Wonwoo’s nervous habit.
The next few seconds pass in silence. The sound of breathing is the only audible noise in the room, but Soonyoung’s heart beats faster, louder, and he swallows back his nerves as he stares at Wonwoo.
It takes another couple of seconds before Wonwoo finally, finally meets his eyes. Soonyoung is taken aback by the miserable expression on Wonwoo’s face, half-hidden behind the stoic set of his face and the glare of his lenses. But he’s known Wonwoo for a long time—or he thinks he has, anyway—and Soonyoung knows what the set of his jaw means.
The tense, stifling atmosphere is unbearable. But then, Wonwoo says, just quietly and barely louder than a whisper, “Soonyoung-ah.” And it’s the sound of his name falling from Wonwoo’s lips, the syllables enunciated slowly, like Wonwoo is holding them tightly with care, that dissipates some of the tension. Soonyoung doesn’t know what he feels, whether it’s relief that Wonwoo has come to find him, or upset that it’s taken so long. Mostly, he thinks, he feels confused.
“Do you want to sit?” Soonyoung says at last, when another nearly suffocating silence elapses between them. He’s glad when Wonwoo gives him one jerky, awkward nod, and moves stiffly to the edge of Soonyoung’s bed. He watches as Wonwoo fidgets with the bedsheets, his face screwed up in thought, and tries to be patient as Wonwoo formulates his next words.
This time, Wonwoo keeps his eyes trained on his hands. “You must be pretty confused, huh?” he says, as softly as before. His face doesn’t give anything away.
Soonyoung surveys him. His stomach churns. “That’s one way to put it,” he says, and he forces out a laugh. It falls a little flat. He swallows, tries again, packs away the instinctive urge to veil his words in brusque banter and playful humour. If it’s not banter, he’s scared he’ll— he’ll let his words loosen, let too much spill out; the anxious uncertainty, the hurt, the anger, the confusion. “Wonwoo,” he starts again, “Let’s just...let’s just talk.”
His breath flees him as Wonwoo looks up and meets his eyes. There’s a faint sheen in his eyes, something that doesn’t feel entirely human. He nods, once, as if coming to a decision. Wonwoo straightens up, and his hands fold in his lap. Soonyoung would laugh at how comically serious he looks—except he doesn’t feel like laughing at all. “Soonyoung-ah,” Wonwoo says, “I have something to tell you.”
He swallows nervously. “What is it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I, um, years and years ago, I decided to visit...here.” Wonwoo makes an aborted movement with his arms, a half-gesture around the room. “Nothing unusual from what a lot of us do at home. Just— just blend in, integrate yourself into society, experience life here for a little while.” He pauses, looks out the window out to the night sky. “I was going to go back home afterwards. I didn’t mean to stay this long.”
Wonwoo pauses again, as if to let his words sink in. But Soonyoung only feels even more confused. “Here— here, as in, like Seoul?” Soonyoung asks.
He shakes his head. “Here, as in Earth.” Wonwoo starts to fidget with his fingers again, and ignores the blank look that Soonyoung gives him. “I know that sounds ridiculous. I know how it sounds. We’re not supposed to tell you.” Wonwoo confesses. “I was— it’s like an exchange program, I guess, where we come to Earth and experience human life. And then we go back. That’s it.” Suddenly, Wonwoo looks a little embarrassed, but Soonyoung’s mind is still blank, still barely processing his explanation. “But I stayed. I’m staying.”
Soonyoung holds up his hand, lets out a bark of disbelieving laughter. “Wait— wait,” he says, blinking rapidly to clear his thoughts, “You’re saying you’re— what— an alien?” He shakes his head. It sounds like a joke. “Like, you’re here on some exchange program from your alien school and somehow you got lost along the way? And ended up as an idol in South Korea?”
Saying the words out loud, it leaves him feeling a little hysterical. Soonyoung isn’t sure if he wants to cry at how ridiculous it sounds, how absolutely comical with no reason to be, or if he wants to throw his precious tiger pillows into Wonwoo’s face. He does none of that. He stares at Wonwoo instead, and waits for the punchline.
Instead of delivering one, Wonwoo nods instead. The embarrassed look still rests on his face. “When you put it like that...” he says weakly. Soonyoung nearly snaps at him, but Wonwoo pushes on with a pained grimace. “It sounds stupid. But I swear, it’s— it’s, I mean, I know you saw that night, Soonyoung, my— my real form.”
And it’s the only thing that’s stopping Soonyoung from shoving Wonwoo out of his room and closing the door in his face; the memories from that night, the certainty and acknowledgement he had already reached, that Wonwoo couldn’t possibly be human.
Yet, somehow, hearing Wonwoo confess to being an alien of all things was not what he was expecting. Maybe it’s the human tendency to ground yourself in the beliefs of what feels palpably and tangibly real. Aliens sounds like a bad prank, and one that Wonwoo would have a shitty enough humour to try and pull off.
But Soonyoung knows that he’s not faking the miserable frown on his lips, and the pleading look in his eyes. He knows what he saw, too, that night— and with the downward spiral he’s gone on his own, the fantasies and dreams he’s had, Soonyoung can’t bring himself to dismiss Wonwoo entirely.
“What about your parents?” challenges Soonyoung instead. It feels like he’s grasping at straws, desperate to make sense of what he’s hearing. In the same breath, Wonwoo looks desperate too. Desperate to be believed. “What about Bohyuk? I’ve met your family. Hell, they’re friends with my parents. And Shua-hyung’s mother calls your mom at least once a month just to chat.”
Wonwoo winces. “They’re— um, like my homestay family?” His sentence ends with a questioning lilt. Soonyoung can’t help the scoff he lets out. “I got placed with them when I signed up for the program. And, well, there are— there are long-standing residents in this world. People who choose to settle here, and some of them offer up their homes to others too.” His knuckles have gone white with the grip he has on Soonyoung’s sheets. “And I guess we just stuck together. It’s not fake, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he adds, “They’re really grown to be my family now.”
“What about— what about back home? Don’t you have family there too?” Soonyoung demands. “Where are you from anyway? What— who are you? Is Wonwoo even your real name?”
“I’m—” Wonwoo falters, and then he says something, a string of sounds and phonemes that are incompletely incomprehensible to Soonyoung’s ears. It feels like white noise, or a buzz, and it sends an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. His hair rises on end. “That’s where I’m from. And I have a family but it’s— it’s complicated.” He sighs, and scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed and messy. Wonwoo looks frustrated, more at himself than Soonyoung. “The Jeons chose my name for here.”
A million and a half more questions rest on the tip of Soonyoung’s tongue, the confusion and frustration bubbling inside of him and ready to boil over like a pot about to overflow. The outlandishness of the entire situation leaves him reeling. He stares at Wonwoo in silent disbelief.
How did you get here, he wants to ask, Can you go back? How do you travel? How old are you, really?. And then, maybe, Is any of this real? Is this just a weird experiment to you? Who are we to you?
Instead, only one question leaves his mouth. “Why did you stay?”
And maybe that’s the sign of belief that Wonwoo was looking for, because all at once, his body shifts, and he relaxes slightly. The tension bleeds out of his shoulders. He slumps into the familiar bad posture that Soonyoung always scolds him about. Just like that, he looks exactly like the Wonwoo that he has always known.
“I met all of you,” says Wonwoo, and his words come out raw, or maybe even vulnerable. “I met you. And suddenly, it felt like I enjoyed living more than I ever had before.” His eyes glitter when he looks at Soonyoung now.
His heart leaps to his throat, lodges in his lungs, and suddenly he can’t breathe. And he knows, he knows just from that alone, that he believes Wonwoo. No matter how ridiculous it sounds, no matter how absurd, no matter how much he knows no one else would take this seriously—that when Wonwoo looks at him like that, with so much softness and tenderness in his eyes, Soonyoung is helpless but to believe in him.
He wets his bottom lip. “Does anyone else know?” Soonyoung asks, his voice shaking.
“No,” says Wonwoo, immediately, his hands still clenched into fists, “Only you.” And he looks so desperate—desperate for Soonyoung to believe him that it nearly breaks Soonyoung’s heart.
One last thing. “Show me,” Soonyoung whispers, willing down the lump in his throat to get the words out. “Show me. What I saw that night.”
Wonwoo stares at him with wide eyes. “Are you—”
“Show me,” Soonyoung interrupts, “I feel like I can’t— I just need to see it. With my own eyes.”
Wonwoo bites his lips, and after another moment of hesitation, he nods. He closes his eyes. Soonyoung can feel his own heart begin to race faster, beats to the unsteady rhythm of a drum as he trains his eyes on Wonwoo. He studies him carefully, waits for any sign that his limbs will suddenly grow suckers or something— and a part of even half-expects Junhui or Jeonghan or one of the more mischievous members to jump through the door and yell ’surprise!’.
None of that happens. One moment, Wonwoo is normal, the human shape that Soonyoung has seen all throughout these years. Then, the next, he gasps as Wonwoo suddenly shudders, his breath stuttering as he arches slightly. And then he sees it: smaller limbs that sprout from his back, the root of them not visible from where Soonyoung is sitting, curling and writhing as they widen further, and further. They lengthen and thicken into pointed ends.
Soonyoung watches in fascination. His heart is rabbit-quick as he shifts slightly, just one inch closer on the bed. When the transformation is complete, Soonyoung can only stare. There are six in total, he counts, and rather than an opaque black than he had remembered, they hold a glittering shine to them.
“It’s gross to humans,” Wonwoo says, sounding mortified, “I know—”
“Can I touch?” Soonyoung says. He can’t take his eyes off of them.
Surprise flashes on Wonwoo’s face, but he nods. Soonyoung reaches out with one hand, tentative and hesitant. With two fingers, he grazes the nearest tentacle, and jumps when it curls around his hand in turn. Not constricting his movements, but the feeling is foreign enough that he can’t help the gasp that falls out.
It feels slightly slick, but not slimy, and surprisingly more similar to human skin than he expected. With more confidence, he wraps his fingers around the same tentacle, and squeezes gently at the muscle underneath.
Soonyoung flinches when Wonwoo lets out a strangled noise. “Oh,” Wonwoo chokes out, and then the tentacle retreats, escaping from his grasp. “Um.” He looks distantly mortified.
As if coming back to his senses, Soonyoung pulls back. His hand falls to his lap, and he inches backwards on the bed. An uncomfortable warmth simmers in his belly, and a strange heat sits at the base of his spine. But at the look of horror on Wonwoo’s face, his chest twinges with an ache. Embarrassment floods through him. He shouldn’t have done that. “Sorry,” he says hastily, unsure of what he’s even apologizing for, “I— um— sorry. I believe you,” he adds, a little awkwardly. “I guess— I guess there’s no faking that,” he says, and tries to laugh.
“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, but then a tentative hope blossoms on his face, clear as day. “Are we— are we okay?”
And Soonyoung is helpless but to nod. “We’re okay,” he says, though he’s not sure how he feels.
And in the next instant, the tentacles retreat again, this time shrinking until they’re no longer visible, until it’s just Wonwoo again. “Thank you, Soonyoung-ah,” he says, and he looks so desperately relieved, that Soonyoung forgets the ache in his chest and the heat in his belly. “Thank you— for staying, even after this.”
If there’s one thing that’s become clear to Soonyoung, it’s that he was in love with Wonwoo before, and he’s still in love with Wonwoo now.
For all the indecision and anxiety that drums up as each day passes and Soonyoung still isn’t able to smooth out the tangled mess between him and Wonwoo, his worries end up getting knocked away in a single day, nearly four weeks after the incident. Perhaps it could be considered anticlimactic in some ways, for all the weeks of yearning on his end. But Soonyoung knows that he will later look back on this day with only a sense of relief. His lungs fill with air again, the heaviness lifts from his chest, and once again, Wonwoo returns to him.
It is inevitable that their relationship shifts slightly after that. Only slightly, though, like when you move your couch two inches to the right, and the smidge difference is noticeable to only yourself. Soonyoung finds himself searching for Wonwoo’s eyes whenever one of the members make a particularly funny joke, only to freeze when their gazes lock on another. He absentmindedly picks out the pan-fried fish from Wonwoo’s plate, taking away the seafood that the manager keeps accidentally packing for him, only to pause when he sees Wonwoo hesitate. One day, he finds himself ordering two servings of kimchi fried rice, only for the delivery to arrive at their building and he thinks, oh, when the surprise flashes on Wonwoo’s face.
All the bits and pieces that normally make them Soonyoung and Wonwoo need to be coaxed back into place. As if finding an old pair of pants that got lost in the closet, and he’s just finding it again, wearing it for the first time in a long while and remembering how it feels on his skin. Soonyoung looks at Wonwoo, and he can’t stop thinking about how he’s not quite the Wonwoo he knew.
He can’t stop thinking about Wonwoo, the shape and form of him, so unfamiliar and familiar, both at the same time.
But slowly, they acclimatize. The awkwardness begins to fade, and Soonyoung stops overthinking every interaction he has with him. Slowly, too, Wonwoo relaxes around him again, no longer acts skittishly as if Soonyoung is ready to shun or expose him at a moment’s turn. The edges between them smooth out after that.
Soonyoung has always been better at responding to someone else’s mood for direction.
As the ice begins to thaw between them, Soonyoung starts asking questions too—about Wonwoo, about his ‘homestay family,’ about his home. Questions about his shapeshifting, whether he has other abilities (he’s stronger), or whether he can choose his own appearance (he can’t, not really, beyond adapting into a human form), and the modular differences between human and alien. Wonwoo answers him patiently, carefully, even all the weird ones that Soonyoung comes up with, like whether he needs to pee or not.
And for his part, Soonyoung does his best to stop thinking about the weight and feel of Wonwoo’s tentacles—and god, the thought is still surreal—in his hands as well.
The members stop treading on thin ice around them after that as well. For all intents and purposes, everything returns to normal. And as they hit the ground running on their comeback promotions, their schedules filling up and blocked out with music show appearances, variety show filmings, radio guestings, photoshoots, and preparing for upcoming performances, the ice seems to dissolve between them entirely.
“I bet you Seungkwan is going to imitate Vernonie walking into the cameras on Music Bank today,” Wonwoo says to him under his breath during their celebratory dinner after their last day of promotions, as he passes Soonyoung a cup of water. “500 won.”
Soonyoung glances over to the opposite end of the table where Seungkwan and Seokmin have already started their drinking competition. Next to them, Seungcheol laughs with fondness written all over his face at their antics. “That’s a cheap bet,” Soonyoung complains, “He already imitated it twice on the car ride over. You’re setting me up to fail.”
Wonwoo laughs, his elbow nudging into Soonyoung’s side. He takes a sip of water and reaches over Soonyoung to grab the ttukbaegi bulgogi from his right. The subtle spicy notes of Wonwoo’s cologne leaves his heart skipping a beat, and then it’s gone, Wonwoo leaning back in his seat. Soonyoung’s ears heat up. He distracts himself with another bite of the pork belly.
A comfortable silence lapses between them, filled with the sizzling meat on the grill and the raucous laughter from their members and the staff around them. They practically take up the whole restaurant with their party. Sometimes it’s too much, and all Soonyoung wants is to retreat back to his room alone, but today it feels just right. He studies the members around him. Warmth settles in him, only growing stronger as he knocks back a shot of soju upon Jeonghan’s urging.
It’s easy to get lost in the laughter after that. As the night continues on, the drinking games grow more and more intense. Nothing ignites Seungkwan and Chan’s competitive nature until they’re competing against each other, having traded off with Seokmin, and Minghao has to settle them down with a stern glare when they nearly knock over his soju glass. They end up roping Soonyoung into it by the fourth round, and he lets himself get dragged from Wonwoo’s side, shoved in next to Mingyu and Vernon, and handed the bottle cap.
He loses the game without grace, pouts his way through another shot with Jeonghan, and cuddles with him long enough to get dragged into another drinking game. By the time he makes his way back to Wonwoo, he’s swaying a little. He offers a bleary smile at Jihoon, Junhui, and Joshua, who are engrossed in a quiet conversation with Wonwoo. Soonyoung tilts back into the booth and plops his head onto Wonwoo’s shoulder, flushed and simmering with quiet happiness.
“Had fun?” Wonwoo whispers to him, and cranes his head slightly to peek at Soonyoung. He leans into Soonyoung a little, just enough that his cheek rests on the top of his head.
Soonyoung pouts. “Jeonghannie-hyung cheated,” he grumbles. His eyes flutter shut, the heat of Wonwoo’s body warm and inviting.
“That’s on you then,” Wonwoo teases him, “for expecting anything else.”
Soonyoung jumps when he feels slender fingers pinching his nose affectionately, and he scrunches up his face. Blinking his eyes open, he studies Wonwoo. He must be pretty sober still. There’s a bottle of beer next to his hand, but it’s still half-full—and apparently shared with Junhui, who reaches over to take a pull from it.
“Stop that,” he whines, his voice coming out slightly nasally. Sliding a glare over to Wonwoo, his hands come up to tug the fingers away. Instead, Wonwoo’s smile grows wider and he shifts to pinching both his cheeks. “Wonwoo!” Soonyoung hands fumble along the length of Wonwoo’s arm and he tugs at his hands. They don’t budge. After a few seconds, Wonwoo releases him of his own volition, but only after Soonyoung peers up at him with half-lidded eyes, mouth jutted in a pout. “You’re going to pull my face off, I swear,” he grumbles, and massages his sore cheeks.
Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. His nose scrunches up with the weight of his smile, his eyes curving into fond crescents that sets his heart aflutter. It’s an unbearably fond expression, one that Jihoon once teased him about in the privacy of his studio.
It feels too much to deal with though. Not when he’s tipsy, and the effects of the alcohol is kicking in. So Soonyoung does the only thing he can think of to distract himself, and launches himself at Wonwoo without warning, letting out a triumphant shout when Wonwoo startles at the sudden movement. He ignores the noise of disapproval—probably from Jihoon—and pinches his fingers around Wonwoo’s cheek. “Hah!” he crows victoriously. “Got you now!”
“Has anyone cut him off yet?” he hears Jihoon say.
Joshua laughs in response. “Just let them be. You know Wonwoo always gets so childish around Soonyoungie.” He ignores them both, focuses on the bright look on Wonwoo’s face instead.
Wonwoo barely reacts. His grin widens as he reaches up and easily pries Soonyoung’s hands off of him without any effort, his hands wrap easily around his wrists. He holds them in place, not letting Soonyoung pull himself from his grip. “You’ll never win against me,” he boasts, a laugh escaping around the edges of his words. “Weakling,” he adds in a sing-song voice, and his eyes twinkle with playful affection.
Soonyoung tries to tug his hands away again, but Wonwoo only tightens his grip. “No fair,” he complains, “you’re using both your hands right now!” The argument made more sense in his head, and he shakes his head to clear it. The alcohol is definitely setting in—and the room spins a little.
The room stops spinning. Soonyoung’s breath hitches in surprise when Wonwoo leans in closer, the silly grin still on his face, and his mouth a hairbreadth away from his ears. “I could use more than just my hands then, if you prefer,” he says, and leans back with a loud giggle. Even through the alcohol, Soonyoung knows Wonwoo had meant it as a joke, had said it just quietly enough for only Soonyoung to hear because it’s their secret.
But Soonyoung can’t help it. He feels abruptly hyper-aware of the husky sound of Wonwoo’s low voice, the warmth of his breath grazing against his skin, and the weight of his hands still clasped around his wrist. Something catches in his throat when he imagines the more—Wonwoo’s tentacles curling around him, wrapping around his wrist, tightening its hold on a very willing Soonyoung.
For a second, Soonyoung goes stock still. All he can think about is Wonwoo’s clasp on him, and the way his lips look wet in the low light, kissable and damning. He has to tear his gaze away, and his eyes land desperately on the three members sitting closest to them, thankfully engrossed in conversation with each other and not staring at them.
There’s a heart wrenching part of him that wants to surge up, to press a kiss to Wonwoo’s lips and tell him the truth: yes, I would like that and yes, I’ve been thinking of you—but the fear of ruining their friendship always halts him, an astringent fear leaping to his throat. And with things only going back to normal, or as normal as they can be, Soonyoung doesn’t want to destabilize their relationship again.
Slowly, Soonyoung meets his eyes again. Wonwoo is still looking at him, but the smile has faded slightly. There’s a brief pause as Wonwoo studies him for a while, his expression inscrutable. A part of him half-expects Wonwoo to say something about his odd reaction, maybe remark on his sudden awkwardness, or to shrink back and dismiss it as a joke; he does neither.
“Wonwoo,” he murmurs. His name escapes from Soonyoung’s lips before he registers it. His cheeks feel flushed and heated, and he hopes it can be chalked up to the alcohol.
The fingers clasped around his wrists releases and Wonwoo lets go. The unreadable expression is still on his face. Soonyoung doesn’t know if he wants to know what it means. But then the expression softens, and Wonwoo tugs at him again until he’s pressed against Wonwoo’s side.
“You’re drunk,” Wonwoo says, his voice so soft that Soonyoung feels a pleasant shiver run down his spine. He pulls Soonyoung closer until Soonyoung is leaning the entirety of his body weight against Wonwoo. It’s comfortable, even if it doesn’t soothe his rapidly beating heart.
He lets the night drag on after that. The voices and laughs of his members, and the din of the restaurant fades into a buzz as the alcohol continues to make its way through his bloodstream. The cumulative effects of protracted fatigue and alcohol finally catch up to him, and the rest of the night passes in a hazy blur.
At some point, Soonyoung shuts his eyes, and his cheek pillows onto Wonwoo’s broad shoulders. The warmth of Wonwoo’s body heat seeps through the layers of clothing. “You’re just drunk, Soonyoung-ah,” says Wonwoo some time later. His voice vibrates through Soonyoung’s body, warm and comforting.
The best part about his friendship resuming to normal with Wonwoo is that it feels right. And maybe it’s because now Wonwoo is no longer holding a massive secret alone. as more time passes, and Soonyoung clearly hasn’t run away screaming, Wonwoo seems to hold himself lighter. More content. A sense of ease has settled over him— and them, too. Their friendship.
And Soonyoung is glad. When he thinks about it, this is what makes choosing to be an idol worth it. It’s not just the accolades and the public recognition, and though the ability to sing and dance is a part of it, it’s greater than that too. The friendship, the bonds, the intimate connection that were improbably formed between thirteen boys and remain strong despite the fissures and cracks that have to be smoothed over from time to time. Wonwoo.
That’s what makes it worth it.
But the worst part about their friendship resuming to normal is that Soonyoung can’t stop thinking about Wonwoo. It’s even worse than before, when he only had his smile and his hands and the way he ribbed Soonyoung to dream about. Now he has a whole six other limbs that look like something straight out of Joshua’s hentai collection.
Still, he tries not to fantasize about Wonwoo. It doesn’t feel right, not with their vulnerability of being in the same group and living in the public eye. Nor does he want to taint the fundamentally pure foundation of their friendship; two boys who match well in spite of all their differences. Soonyoung doesn’t want to be a creep. Especially not towards his best friend, alien or not.
The lines blur, though, in moments like these: when the back-to-back schedules pause for a day, leaves enough of a gap where Soonyoung knows he can be home alone, and the ball of heat and warmth that sinks low in his belly can be taken care of without disturbance. The lines blur, and the shapeless figures or the occasional handsome dancer hyungs that he imprints on the back of his eyelids start to morph as he brings himself to relief. They take shape when the want burns particularly bright, and all Soonyoung can think about is Wonwoo’s deep voice, his long fingers, the sinewy muscles of his arms and the broadness of his shoulders.
Soonyoung muffles a gasp as his dick twitches against his stomach as precum pools along his belly. It’s been a while since he’s had time to himself, and even longer since he’s slept with anyone else. The idol schedules—especially theirs—don’t allow for this. And as he nudges the tapered tip of his plug across the clenching heat of his rim, Soonyoung feels like his insides have turned into a mass of need and want.
The tapered end slides inside him easily, glided by the lube that his last partner had bought before their relationship trailed off inconclusively, lost in the frenzied midst of their respective schedules. He steadies his arm back, back curving, and he pushes the plug further inside of him. Years of living with the other members has taught him well to be quiet, and he instinctively stifles his moan as the broadest part slips in and stretches him wide. It’s thicker than he remembers. Soonyoung sucks in his lower lip between his teeth as he finally nudges the rest of it in until he feels the flared base resting against his perineum.
It’s nowhere near his biggest toy—his last partner had freaked out a little at the size of some of his collection, and Soonyoung still feels a little ashamed to use them now—but it’s still sizable enough. And as his breathing grows heavier, his chest heaving as he adjusts to the stretch, it’s exactly what he needs right now.
Soonyoung chokes on another gasp, and braces himself against the bed. With shaking fingers, he presses tentatively at the base. It presses against his perineum, and his breath drags from his throat at the jolt of pleasure. The relentless pressure against his walls makes him clench down on the toy, and a tiny sound tries to work its way out of his mouth. He bites down on his bottom lip instead, and lets out a quiet whimper as he starts to fuck himself with the plug.
He moves so that he’s laying on his back instead, his legs spread open and his knees resting near his ears so that he can reach the plug easier. His other hand scrambles to wrap around his length, thumbing at the precum that leaks out of him. Soonyoung’s eyes clench shut as he gives his cock a few strokes. His teeth digs into his bottom lip to stop any sounds from escaping—he’s alone in the apartment for now, but rarely does that ever last long.
His fingers wrap a tight ring around his cock as he bounces against the toy in his ass. He tips his hips higher, a wet gasp leaving his lips as the plug nudges insistently against his prostate. Pleasure runs up and down his spine, and the heat of his arousal sits heavy in the pit of his stomach as Soonyoung starts to lose himself to the sensations. He’s needed this. Soonyoung lets out a sigh. Oh, he’s needed this, the blunt pressure inside of his walls, and the unforgiving stretch of his plug, and the wash of delicious pleasure crashing over him in waves.
It’s almost as good as the real thing, though nothing can replace the feeling of bruising fingers gripping his waist, filled to the brim and fucked open on a cock. It’s almost as good though—and, Soonyoung thinks, clenching around the plug, it feels like what he imagines Wonwoo’s tentacles would feel like.
As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Soonyoung lets out a sobbing gasp, and he rocks back on the toy in frantic movements, edged with desperation. His chest heaves from exertion and arousal. He can’t hold back a high-pitched moan, his heart racing in his chest as his hips shudder with need. He imagines himself being spread open by something thicker than the toy inside of him, firm but soft in a way he’s not yet used to, pressing up against his insides and his sensitive nerves, all controlled by Wonwoo. He thinks about Wonwoo’s lips pressing kisses along his skin, his hands brushing and playing with his nipples, the feathering touches and teasing graze of tentacle along his pale skin, and being splayed open and cradled by his tentacles as he fucks repeatedly into where Soonyoung is desperate and wanting.
He has to bite at his bottom lip again to stop the scream from escaping. Soonyoung shudders again, rocking up on the bed to slip the length of the plug out. Like this, with his eyes shut and mind lost in his fantasies, Soonyoung could almost pretend the tapered end of his toy is something else entirely. He sobs out a moan as he fucks the toy back into him in one movement, soundless whines and cries falling from his lips as his head lolls back on the bed. His body flushes with arousal, shining with sweat, and the punishing pace he sets on himself leaves him an incoherent mess.
His muscle tightens as he gives his cock a few strokes, bites back another sobbing gasp as he digs his thumb into the spot under the flared head of his length. His wrist flicks with every downward stroke, and Soonyoung sees stars in toe-curling pleasure as he chases after his orgasm. The thick press of the plug inside of him, the ferocious pace of his own hands, and the image of Wonwoo imprinted on the back of his eyelids is too much. Soonyoung gasps, his whole body shudders, and his thighs tremble as he succumbs to the crash of pleasure.
He’s breathless when he comes, back arching off the bed as he spills messily onto his fist. He whines through the aftershocks, his stomach clenching through the wracks of pleasure, and Soonyoung collapses back onto the bed, shaking and sensitive.
It’s not until he regains his breath that he realizes he came with Wonwoo’s name on his lips.
This goes on for another two months—working tirelessly on various projects, carving space between schedules to rest, yearning stupidly for his best friend, keeping it all a secret—until it all crashes down upon him on one mundane day.
They had been given the day off to rest before a long Going Seventeen shoot the following day. He returns home from the dermatologist to an empty apartment. Soonyoung checks the group chat for their floor as he absentmindedly fills up his water bottle at the sink, and downs some vitamins and supplements. Seungkwan is spending the day with his sisters, Jihoon left earlier for the studio, and Jeonghan didn’t bother saying what he was doing—just that he’d be home late.
where was my invite >v<, Soonyoung taps out in response to Jeonghan, and hits send as he rounds the corner of the hallway towards his room. Home alone. He wonders briefly what the other members are doing. No doubt Seungcheol is resting on their floor and is probably napping, maybe Wonwoo as well—
He skids to a halt. He freezes in front of his door. Wonwoo is seated cross-legged on his bed, unmoving, with a laptop perched on the top of his thighs. Soonyoung’s laptop. There’s a strange, unreadable expression on his face and a pinch between his brows that reminds Soonyoung of the first couple of weeks after the incident. It sets his heart racing—already beating faster from being startled.
“Wonwoo?” he says, and steps into the room, one hand clasped onto the door frame. “What’s up?”
It’s not necessarily abnormal for the other members to come in and out of the different floors. They’ve lived too many years together, spent too much time practically existing in each other’s back pockets. Privacy for them, in many ways, is an illusion. He knows for a fact that the other members store their own mugs on each floor, that on occasion Soonyoung still finds Vernon’s socks in his drawers, and that his own closet holds a hodgepodge of hoodies and sweaters he’s stolen from Wonwoo.
Wonwoo being in his room, in itself, is not weird. But the way he freezes and his shoulders tense at the sound of Soonyoung’s voice is.
He doesn’t respond at first, his eyes trained on the screen before him. There’s a flush to him, a nervous energy that sets Soonyoung on edge. He tries to rack his brain for what might be wrong and comes up with nothing. The laptop isn’t new, but he did ask Wonwoo to help him set up a VPN so he could watch international Netflix a couple weeks ago. Aside from that, he’s always given Wonwoo all of his passwords—it’s just been easier, both in part because Soonyoung is always predisposed to sharing, and also so Wonwoo can troubleshoot any technical issues easily.
“Wonwoo?” he tries again.
There’s a beat of silence that lapses between them. Not companionable or gentle, like he usually associates with Wonwoo, but filled with a tenseness that makes Soonyoung’s stomach lurch. His heart pounds louder in his chest. Soonyoung doesn’t move, his feet planted to the ground, his mind whirring with confusion as he tries to gauge Wonwoo’s expression.
And then Wonwoo, finally, finally looks up—and Soonyoung’s stomach plummets when he sees the cold and careful look of neutrality that rests upon his face. He’s only see this look on Wonwoo’s face a few times: the day he asked for less fanservice involving him after a series of awful fansigns, the day the doctor told him he would have to continue sitting out from promotional activities, the day Soonyoung came home from their concert with a re-aggravated shoulder from carelessly confronting sasaengs, the day Bohyuk ran away from home and worried their parents sick, the day they were snubbed for the MAMA Awards.
The last time was one year ago; it was the day Soonyoung came home upset and teary-eyed, even without knowing it was because the choreographer that Soonyoung had been seeing had only dated him to brag to his friends about bagging an idol.
He’s only seen Wonwoo look like this when he’s genuinely, truly upset.
“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says suddenly, his voice as impassive as his face. His eyes are sharp though, and maybe even wary. It’s not something Soonyoung is used to seeing directed at him. The thought rests uneasily inside of him. “Soonyoung, what is this? Can you explain this?”
He turns the laptop around. At first, Soonyoung doesn’t know what he’s looking at, he’s too far away to make out the text. He takes a step closer. The screen becomes clearer, and he realizes it’s his internet browser history.
His brows furrow in confusion. “What—” he begins, and then falters, his eyes catching onto some of the sites he was browsing a week ago. And then his whole body locks up, a mortified heat spreading across his face and down his neck, when he realizes it’s his porn— and sex toy shopping, during one of his hornier bouts of reprieve from work. Soonyoung revolts back, his hands automatically flying to cover his face. Oh god, Wonwoo found his fucking tentacle porn. Oh my fucking god.
“Is this— is this some sort of sick joke,” Wonwoo continues tersely, “Or—or did Shua-hyung use your laptop and forget to use incognito browser? Soonyoung, are you— are you making fun of me or—”
Soonyoung wants to wail in embarrassment. He can’t bring himself to look at Wonwoo. “No!” he says, and promptly wants to die, “No, I’m not making fun of you. It’s...it’s mine.”
There’s another sudden bout of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the computer hard drive.
This is it, he thinks, his heart dropping through his chest and shattering beneath him, this is how our friendship ends. As much as Soonyoung tries to guide his life through optimism and relentless ambition, there’s no way to think positively his way out of the realities of his life: that he exists in a homophobic society, that being a gay idol has always meant chasing his dreams comes with great sacrifice, and that he’s in love with someone who might not get it at all. He’s an idol too, afterall, and not even human.
Maybe there are times when Soonyoung thinks he could read something in the warmth they share with one another, in the intimacy with which they hold each other. But in the end, Soonyoung knows it might very well be a pipe dream. This is where it ends, he thinks, and he can’t stop the sting of tears from behind his eyelids. They’ve come so far, as people, as artists, as a group and as individuals, for him to ruin everything. Fear sticks in the back of his throat like tar. Wonwoo probably thinks he’s sick, disgusting, abnormal for entertaining any of this.
“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung blurts out, lost and uncertain of how to make things right. He presses his fingers harder onto his eyelids. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m gross. I tried, I promise I tried to make my feelings go away, I tried so hard, so many times, all throughout these years.” He chokes on his words, voice heavy with sadness and resignation. “I know what it means to be an idol, and it’s not okay for me to be in love with you— and you’re— you probably are disgusted, I’m sorry, I don’t even know if you can be with humans like that, I just— I’m sorry, Wonwoo—”
There’s the sound of someone drawing in their breath sharply. Soonyoung cuts himself off.
Then, two hands wrap around his wrists, trembling slightly as they grasp Soonyoung’s hands, and tug them away from his face. At some point, Wonwoo had set aside the laptop and stood up. He looks down at Soonyoung, his eyes searching as they study him carefully, and so thick with intensity that Soonyoung feels his throat close up. Something about his expression shifts.
“You’re in love with me?” asks Wonwoo, his voice barely above a whisper.
Soonyoung’s throat works as he tries to gather the courage to speak. There’s lead in his throat, the words stuck somewhere in the space between his chest and his mouth, and every molecule of his body screams for him to laugh it off, turn it into a joke, and to reset their friendship back to normal. He doesn’t know if he can do it again, the awkward dance and avoidance with Wonwoo. He doesn’t think he can.
Wonwoo’s hands tighten around his wrist, but not painfully, not so tight that he can’t pull away if he wants to. “Soonyoung,” he murmurs, “answer me?”
“I..” Soonyoung swallows, bites on his bottom lip as he traces over Wonwoo’s face with his eyes. A part of him resists against saying it. As much as he wears his heart on the sleeve, there are emotions that he holds within himself, words that remain sacred and private. But then Soonyoung thinks about Wonwoo, how he’s reminded him to try expressing himself, even when he’s shy or embarrassed. And maybe it’s the gentleness there, even amidst the lingering wariness, that gives him courage. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in love with you.”
For a moment, Wonwoo stares at him with an inscrutable expression. “Even though I’m like this?” he says eventually, “Even though I’m— I’m not even human? Or who you thought I was?” His throat bobs visibly as he swallows. “Even the risk this could be on your career? You dream so strongly, Soonyoung-ah, this— this could make it all collapse.”
“Yeah,” Soonyoung mutters, cheeks warm and his heart fluttering into his throat. He’s thought about it, has considered every possible angle, and has always landed at the same answer, time and time again. He braces himself. “Always, Wonwoo, always.”
He watches with bated breath as Wonwoo’s expression shifts minutely; from disbelief to surprise to something warmer, more affectionate than he could name right now. It leaves his heart fluttering in his chest, a tentative hope rising in him—as well as a fear. His stomach churns as if he’s flying high on a rollercoaster, or bungee jumping like they did on Going Seventeen. Afraid, uncertain, anticipatory of the drop—and all at once, exhilarating.
Wonwoo shifts towards him suddenly, his face leaning in closer than before. His hands are still wrapped loosely around Soonyoung’s wrists, even as Soonyoung lets his arms fall back down to his side. A small smile toys at the corner of Wonwoo’s lips, shy and bashful. “Me too,” he says, quiet and earnest.
Something catches in Soonyoung’s throat. His heart pounds against his rib cage and his breath threatens to leave him as Wonwoo’s eyes find purchase in his own. There’s an unsteady rhythm to his heartbeat, and his stomach twists and turns. And Wonwoo— Wonwoo looks at him, and his eyes hold so much gentle affection that he can hardly process what it all means, but his hand reaches up slowly to cup the curve of Soonyoung’s cheeks. His fingers are cool to the touch, and they tremble slightly as he traces his face with a calloused thumb. Wonwoo tilts his chin up, careful and purposeful, and then he leans in.
“Is this okay?” Wonwoo whispers, the warmth of his breath cascading over his face. It sparks a fire in his chest, and the heat burns and travels up through his lungs until Soonyoung could hardly breathe.
He nods.
When their lips finally meet, Soonyoung can feel something in his heart settle, and all at once, it feels as if the past eleven years of their friendship has reached a clarity that he’s been searching for.
He reaches up, his own hand warm and soft and human, and curls a hand around the back of Wonwoo’s neck. And he kisses back.
“I can’t believe you’ve been watching tentacle hentai,” Wonwoo says later, after they pull apart again.
Soonyoung tries to will away his answering blush, and mostly fails. “I can’t believe you accused it of being Shua-hyung’s,” he shoots back. But he can’t be too annoyed when it draws out a sputtered laugh from Wonwoo, and warmth curls in his belly when Wonwoo’s shoulders shake as he buries his face in Soonyoung’s neck.
“You can’t blame me,” Wonwoo says, moments later, “You’re the one who told me about the time you caught him in your hotel room. And besides, I’ve seen your porn collection, and you’re all into those insanely buff dudes. Like, I mean insane—”
“Wonwoo!” Soonyoung cries out, and slaps a hand over Wonwoo’s mouth.
“Are you sure about this?” Wonwoo asks him again. A small frown tugs at the corner of his lips as he kneels on the edge of the bed, one hand sliding up to rest on Soonyoung’s ankle. His hair is damp from his shower. Soonyoung traces the path of droplets falling onto his exposed collarbone.
Soonyoung eyes flit back up to meet Wonwoo’s worried gaze. “You big worrywart,” he says and rolls his eyes, but he softens it with a small fond smile, “come here. I promise I want to, if you still do too.”
There’s a residual hesitation lurking on Wonwoo’s face. “I want to,” he admits. Long fingers curl around his ankle, and his calloused thumb brushes against the delicate jut of bone in slow, gentle circles. “I really want to. I just...I know it’s kinda weird and gross.” Wonwoo presses down on his ankle, his lips tugging downwards further. “I can just keep this— um, form if it gets too weird.”
His heart flutters at how careful Wonwoo is being, and he can’t bite back the small and giddy smile that grows. “I don’t think you’re gross,” he says, and he can’t hide the warmth in his voice. Soonyoung draws his leg back—the one held in Wonwoo’s hands—and bends his knee towards the ceiling of his bedroom. “Now stop groping my ankles, you perv, and come kiss me.”
He watches as the hesitation melts from Wonwoo’s face, and is instead replaced with a smile that sends Soonyoung’s heart aflutter. “You’re the perv,” Wonwoo retorts, but the heat behind his words is lost when he slides his hands up Soonyoung’s bare legs, the rest of him moving up on the bed.
Soonyoung’s legs easily part to settle on either side of Wonwoo’s knees. His breath hitches as Wonwoo’s hands stop once they reach the top of Soonyoung’s bare thighs, his fingers squeezing and kneading into the firm muscle before he leans in closer, and closer to Soonyoung. His gaze falls half-lidded, and Soonyoung tilts his head up to meet Wonwoo half-way.
Warmth courses through him as their lips meet in a soft kiss. Soonyoung’s heart skips a beat, an ache of affection rushing from his chest as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. He’s pliable under Wonwoo’s mouth, lets the distance between them close as his hand slides up to cup the back of Wonwoo’s head, his mouth opening up when Wonwoo runs his tongue over his lower lip in a teasing touch.
As Soonyoung presses harder into the kiss, the grip Wonwoo has on his thighs tighten. It draws a hitched breath from Soonyoung. The sound seems to encourage Wonwoo, and his hands start to roam along the sensitive skin, gliding up and down the muscles of his thighs with slow, exploratory movements. He runs his fingers all the way to Soonyoung’s outer thighs, and then dances back to the soft skin of his inner thighs with a teasing touch, only stopping when the tips of his fingers meet the bottom of Soonyoung’s boxer-briefs.
Instead of sliding his fingers under his underwear like Soonyoung had hoped, Wonwoo’s hands roam higher instead. Any protest dies on his lips as fingers trail over the soft fabric of his sweater, brushing over the contours of Soonyoung’s body before he slips his hands under the heavy fabric. It shocks another muffled gasp from Soonyoung when his hand meets his skin, a cool touch that nonetheless feels searing in its sensations.
He feels Wonwoo smile against his lip.
The pad of his thumb drags along skin, trailing up the taut muscles of his abdomen and slipping upward until he reaches Soonyoung’s chest. His stomach swoops and flutters against the tantalizing touch, and he can’t help but lean harder into their kiss, biting down on Wonwoo’s bottom lip before soothing it over with his tongue. He drinks in the soft sighs that Wonwoo breathes into the spaces between their mouths. With each brush of their lips, Soonyoung falls deeper and deeper into the heady and sweet rush of their kiss, the warmth rushing through him as a shudder builds in the base of his spine.
Fingers sweep along the defined muscle of his chest, and Soonyoung hums into Wonwoo’s mouth—a silent plea—arching into his touch even before he’s done anything. There’s a soft huff of laugh, another sweet press of lips against his, and then Wonwoo adds more friction, dragging his thumb over Soonyoung’s nipple.
The shock of sensation curls through Soonyoung in heated waves, and he tips his head back, releasing Wonwoo’s lips with a gasp. He gasps again when Wonwoo tilts his head to press biting kisses to his neck as his fingers pinch and roll Soonyoung’s nipples. His touch is electrifying.
Soonyoung flushes hot and hard, bucking into Wonwoo’s touch, even as he tamps down on the urge to pull his hoodie down further to cover the swell of his cock as it hardens in his underwear. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” he hisses as Wonwoo tugs on his sweater to expose the pale skin of his shoulder, only for him to suck a bruising kiss into the flesh. The blossom of pain-pleasure sends a warm sensation sizzling through his belly.
He bites back a whine, his hands coming up to rest on Wonwoo’s biceps. He tilts his head further to give Wonwoo better access, baring the stretch of his throat. Wonwoo’s hands trail back down again, grazing against his sensitive nipples again, only to continue sliding down his chest, the softness of his stomach, until his fingertips tease the waistband of his underwear.
It’s too much, it’s not enough. Soonyoung needs more. He pulls back, his breathing already heavier from Wonwoo’s touch alone, and flushes harder at the glimmer of want reflected in Wonwoo’s eyes. “I’m taking this off,” Soonyoung declares, his voice coming out breathier than intended. “You too.”
Wonwoo sucks in his lower lip between his teeth as he nods in anticipation.
Soonyoung can be patient about a lot of things: his eventual solo debut, the gradual improvement of his Japanese, the heart-aching endurance of his affection for Wonwoo—but not this. Somehow, the barest of Wonwoo’s touch has lit a flame under his skin, and it cannot be quelled. He unceremoniously pulls the sweater over his head, and only hesitates for the briefest second before pushing down his briefs, tossing them both to the floor.
He’s not self-conscious of his body. Too many years of living in close proximity with the other members has eliminated that. Still, the residual shyness rears its head as he meets Wonwoo’s gaze.
Wonwoo is looking at Soonyoung like he’s a painting, a film piece, an art more refined that Soonyoung ever thinks he could deserve, appreciation so plain on his face that it makes his heart swell in his chest. He moves in closer, the bed dipping under his weight. Soonyoung’s eyes have to flit away from the heaviness of his gaze, his ears heating with warmth as Wonwoo lets his eyes fall so they can rake up the length of his legs, his hardening cock, and the bared skin of his chest.
He shuffles in close, presses a kiss to Soonyoung’s lips, and then trails down to press another kiss to his shoulder. “You’re so pretty like this,” Wonwoo whispers, and his voice is full of an emotion that Soonyoung can’t quite name; almost adoration, almost worshipful. His heart feels like it’s about to leap out of his chest, his stomach fluttering with butterflies—and the only thing he can do is surge back against Wonwoo, kissing him again, and again.
Time seems to slow down between them as they drink in each other’s kisses like it’s the only sustenance keeping them alive. Soonyoung’s fingers skirt along Wonwoo’s skin, tracing along the broadness of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps, and the ridges of his abs. Wonwoo has worked hard for his body, Soonyoung knows, and who is he to not drown him in appreciation.
He wonders distantly how Wonwoo’s form works, the humanness of his shape. How much of it is real, how much of it is a tightly controlled veil from Wonwoo. Soonyoung wonders if it’s selfish that he wants to be the reason why Wonwoo loses his control. The thought makes him feel flushed, but Soonyoung knows the fabric and material he’s made of—and that’s to want Wonwoo in any form.
The thought trails off though, when Wonwoo’s hands flit down to tug at his shirt. Soonyoung helps him push off his sleeping shirt eagerly, and then his pants, until he’s left only in his underwear.
And he’s beautiful, human form or not. He pushes Wonwoo back until he’s laying flat on the bed and straddles him, settling his ass right on top of Wonwoo’s lap. A smirk flits on his face when Wonwoo lets out a breathless sound. With a smile, Soonyoung trails suckling kisses along Wonwoo’s bare skin, laves his tongue over his nipple as he kisses his way down his abdomen, until he reaches the top of his underwear. He peers up through his lashes at Wonwoo, excitement bubbling in his stomach when he notices the way Wonwoo’s pupils dilate.
Before he goes any further, hands wrap around Soonyoung’s fingers. He immediately stops and pulls back, concern filling his face as he looks at Wonwoo. “Sorry, was that too much?” Soonyoung asks, and bites down on his bottom lip.
“No, no,” Wonwoo hurriedly says, even as the earlier hesitation returns. The expression makes Soonyoung’s stomach lurch with worry, but it’s slightly quelled when Wonwoo darts in to press a chaste kiss against his lips. “I— no, I really want this with you, Soonyoung,” he continues, and squeezes Soonyoung’s fingers between his own, “it’s just— are you still okay with it? With, um, my real form?”
Soonyoung turns his hand over, curling his fingers around Wonwoo’s in return. “I promise I am,” he tells him, this time in a serious tone. He watches as an interplay of emotions flit across Wonwoo’s face, until it lands on something akin to relief.
Squeezing his hands one more time, Wonwoo lets go. “Close your eyes,” he instructs Soonyoung, right before Wonwoo cups his face in his hands and presses their lips together once again. He instinctively listens, his eyes falling shut as his mouth opens up for Wonwoo’s tongue. It’s easy to get lost in the sensations, and it’s not until Wonwoo pulls away again, his hands still cupped around Soonyoung’s face, that his eyes blink open.
A gasp falls from his lips. Soonyoung’s heart flutters in his chest, eyes widening with awe as he takes in Wonwoo’s transformation before him. He’s released his entirely human form, and Soonyoung drags his eyes along the six tentacles cresting out from his back. He tracks their movements, the way they writhe and curl endlessly in the air, his breath leaving him all at once.
Wonwoo glances at him nervously, and hesitates for another moment before licking his lips. Then, he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, and pulls the material down to discard on the floor next to the rest of their clothes. This time, Soonyoung can’t help but reel back from shock—he’s seen Wonwoo naked countless times, he knows for a fact that he’s seen Wonwoo’s dick in the showers or in the quick moments where they’re changing backstage.
Instead of a dick, a thick tentacle extends from between Wonwoo’s legs. Much like the other tentacles that form along his back, the tentacle catches the light in a glittering black, but is much thicker. It has to be the width of at least Soonyoung’s forearm, if not more. Soonyoung knows Wonwoo must be nervous, but for a few seconds, he can’t help but stare in fascination, even as heat pools in his belly at the sight.
“Is this okay?” Wonwoo asks, and Soonyoung finally snaps his eyes back to his face in time to catch his cheeks flushing. He looks anxious. “I’ve never— in this form— with anyone else—”
“Yes,” Soonyoung blurts out. His tongue flits out to wet his lower lip. “More than okay,” he says emphatically as his eyes drift down to the large tentacle again. His mouth practically salivates at the sight of it. It takes some effort to drag his eyes back up again, but spurred on with the desire to comfort Wonwoo, he crawls forward on the bed until their knees touch. “I want to...” His voice trails off as he reaches out slowly with his hand, watching Wonwoo’s expressions carefully as he extends his arm towards one of the smaller tentacles extending from his back.
The tentacle moves towards him, grazing along his palm in an almost tickling sensation. Soonyoung swallows as he gently encircles his hand around the shaft of the tentacle, reacquainting himself to the slick appendage; foreign, but not uncomfortable. He catches Wonwoo’s eyes, his darkened pupils as he watches Soonyoung.
“Can you feel this?” Soonyoung asks him, nearly breathless as he kneads at the slick tentacle with careful fingers. A gasp gets caught in his throat as it encircles his wrist and pulls, almost tugging him into Wonwoo’s lap. The show of strength takes him by surprise—even more so when his dick twitches from it.
Wonwoo exhales, his pupils dilating. “Yeah,” he says, his voice quiet. His glasses sit slightly askew on his face. It’s endearing, and Soonyoung feels his heart flutter at the sight. “It’s, um, slightly less sensitive than, uh—” he glances down between his legs and looks back up, “um, but yeah, I feel it.”
A giggle escapes from Soonyoung’s mouth. Wonwoo’s cute, always is—even when he’s literally the hottest being Soonyoung has ever seen—and admittedly, it makes the tentacles a little less intimidating. He tightens his hand around the tentacle and maneuvers it closer towards him. A glance at Wonwoo tells him that he’s watching Soonyoung, his eyes intensely focused in a way that makes him flush hot.
Soonyoung licks his lips, his eyes gauging the thickness of the tentacle. And then, without any warning, he slips the tentacle between his lips. A bitten-off sound hitches in Wonwoo’s throat, his body jolting as Soonyoung laves at the tentacle with his tongue, lapping at it with small kitten-licks.
It isn’t entirely tasteless, but Soonyoung can’t pinpoint the exact taste of it either. Slightly salty, but less so than skin, and not entirely unpleasant. The texture is smooth, and with distant amusement, Soonyoung notes that it’s thinner in girth than most dicks he’s sucked.
He runs his tongue along the length of it experimentally. Wonwoo chokes out a moan as he closes his lips around the tentacle, and sucks on it hard, watching with satisfaction as Wonwoo’s eyes flutter shut as his mouth falls open with another moan.
The tentacle twitches in his mouth, and the tip of it sinks deeper until it touches the back of his mouth. Soonyoung’s throat spasms around the tapered tip, and he lets out a muffled moan as he tilts his head back to relax his throat, taking the tentacle in deeper.
“Fuck!” Wonwoo groans, his eyes falling half-lidded. His hands clench into fists on his lap, as if he can’t bear to touch Soonyoung quite yet. “Soonyoung, fuck, god...”
A prickle of heat spreads over his skin as he moans helplessly, breathing through his nose as he bobs his mouth along the tentacle. His breathing has picked up considerably, a thin trail of drool trickling down his chin. He’s always given the messiest blowjobs, overenthusiastic in all the best ways, and Soonyoung doesn’t hold back as he sinks down again, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around the tip.
Wonwoo watches him with dark eyes, pupils blown, brows knitted. His mouth has fallen open slack, and just the knowledge that his eyes are on Soonyoung, that his attention has been raptured entirely by Soonyoung has him riled up. Precum drips from the slit of his cock, so hard and wet for Wonwoo in a way he’s never been with past partners.
He reaches down with his free hand, unable to take it any longer, and wraps his fingers around his own length. Soonyoung whimpers helplessly at the touch, suckling harder around the tentacle as his hips buck into his hand. His eyelashes flutter as he strokes himself as he breathes through his nose, another breathy moan pulling from his throat.
The tentacle twitches again—and then it retracts, slipping back out of Soonyoung’s mouth. He lets out a disappointed whine before he even registers making the sound. “Wonwoo?” he pants out, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.
Before the confusion could fully write itself across his features, Wonwoo leans forward and captures his mouth in another kiss, his tongue slipping in hot and dirty as the kiss turns bruising. When he pulls back, his lips are swollen and red. Soonyoung wants to kiss him again.
Instead, Wonwoo’s hand—the human one—comes up to press at his shoulder. “Lay back down,” Wonwoo murmurs, and presses a delicate kiss against his neck, so gentle and sweet that Soonyoung’s mouth tugs up into a smile by instinct. His fingers skim down the side of his body, digging into his waist.
Soonyoung falls back on the bed. He lets out a shaky breath as Wonwoo leans over to press another delicate skin against his neck, letting his tongue drag teasingly against his skin and into the dip of his clavicle. He trails down, nipping his teeth against the curve of his pectoral muscle, pausing to press a kiss over his heart, before he continues his journey down, and down.
He sinks down, his hands gliding over his hips over to the curve of his plush thighs. At the same time, the smaller tendrils wrap their way around Soonyoung’s arms—not in a binding hold, simply curling up his arms and looping around his torso. It draws a gasp from his lips as he arches into the touch, and he sighs out Wonwoo’s name. One hand tangles itself in the soft strands of Wonwoo’s hair.
Wonwoo rewards him with a kiss to the head of his cock, and his hips buck up at the sudden shock of pleasure. He muffles another moan, his fingers sliding through Wonwoo’s hair, but instead of taking him into his mouth, Wonwoo continues kissing down the line from his cock until he reaches his upper thigh. As if following his path, two of the tentacles thread along his thighs, tantalising close to his cock.
His other hand comes up to cover his mouth as Wonwoo kisses up the line of his leg. His mouth opens to suck against Soonyoung’s flesh, nipping the sensitive skin of his inner thigh as Soonyoung’s legs part to accommodate Wonwoo between them. Teasing little nibbles send goosebumps rising over his skin. He feels heated, almost rising to a fever pitch, ready for more as Wonwoo takes his sweet time, peppering kisses along the length of his leg.
“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung whines out, back bowing as Wonwoo sucks another hickey into his inner thigh, and he has to resist the urge to kick at Wonwoo childishly to get him to do more. It draws a self-satisfied smirk from Wonwoo, as if he’s won a challenge that Soonyoung didn’t even know they were competing in.
But it seems to work. The tentacles around his leg tighten their hold on him, and Soonyoung finds himself maneuvered into position with his legs in the air and knees apart. They slide further up his legs, pressing down on the bruise left behind by Wonwoo, and the blossoming ache makes his cock throb. A shocked gasp falls from his lips, quickly morphing into a choked moan when slick muscle trails down from his waist, brushing against his balls, until they reach the curve of his ass. Two more tentacles trail over cheeks, spreading them open for Wonwoo.
The tip of one tendril skates over the rim of Soonyoung’s entrance. “A-ah!” Soonyoung moans out, the sound turning into a sob when the slick sensation pulls away, and is instead replaced by the heated warmth of Wonwoo’s mouth as he drags his tongue tentatively over Soonyoung’s rim. “Fuck, Wonwoo, yes,” he gasps, his eyes rolling back as his whole body shakes from the teasing touch.
Wonwoo’s tongue circles over his rim once, twice, the heat of his mouth maddening on his sensitive entrance. Soonyoung’s moans turn into sobs as his hips shake from pleasure, and he grinds back against Wonwoo’s tongue as he mindlessly chases the sensation.
Wonwoo circles the rim with the tip of his tongue again, flicking over the entrance in a teasing lick. The tentacles tighten around him once more, keeping him in position for Wonwoo. It’s the only warning he receives before Wonwoo thrusts his tongue into him and coaxes into him with wet warmth.
“Wonwoo—ah,” Soonyoung whines, pressing himself more firmly against Wonwoo’s mouth. He goes loose and open all over, his body practically melting into the sheets and into the hold of the tentacles as Wonwoo’s tongue fucks him wet and open, mouth insistent as he pulls back to drag his tongue over Soonyoung’s entrance.
Soonyoung feels like a wreck, his body already strung out on pleasure as his mind tries to focus on the myriad of sensations, the tentacles curled around his hips, his legs, spreading him wide open for Wonwoo. A high-pitched sob escapes his mouth, unmuffled and far louder than he should be in their dorms, but he can’t help it as Wonwoo sucks at his entrance, the pressure sending vibrations of pleasure wracking through his body.
One of the tentacles around his hips starts to slide down, its slick muscle trailing down his overstimulated skin, moving with slow appreciation. A sound chokes in his throat when Wonwoo shifts back, and instead of his tongue, a soft touch of the tapered tendril touches his rim.
He feels the loss of heat as Wonwoo pulls back slightly. “Is this okay?” he asks softly, his eyes latching onto Soonyoung’s face for any signs of refusal.
Soonyoung blinks down, his vision blurry with unshed tears. “I will literally make sure our next choreograph kills you if you do not fuck me with your tentacles,” he says. His voice comes out strung out and desperate, less threatening than he’d hope. His cheeks burn a little. “And I want your— your big one,” he adds, feeling silly but unsure of how else to refer to it.
“The big—” a huff of laughter escapes from Wonwoo, fond and amused. Soonyoung would hate how far gone he is for Wonwoo that the sound of it makes his heart skip a beat, but he can’t help it. “I’ll have to work you up to it first.”
It’s meant as a warning, maybe, but a shiver builds up on Soonyoung’s spine. Precum leaks steadily from his cock, the heat of want burning to a simmer inside of him at the thought of Wonwoo working him open, stretching him wide for him to take. “Please, yes.” The words come out rough.
Wonwoo’s eyes darken. “Do you have any lube?”
Soonyoung directs him to one of the new drawers he bought ever since Vernon moved out. He watches as Wonwoo climbs off the bed without unfurling the tentacles around Soonyoung. They lengthen as he moves, seemingly without any effort, and it takes all Soonyoung’s willpower to ask if they could test how far the appendages could extend.
Wonwoo turns back triumphantly, and then passes to tilt his head as he drinks in the sight of Soonyoung spread out on the bed, wrapped up in his tentacles. Soonyoung’s cock is hard and heavy against his belly, his nipples pebbled from Wonwoo’s earlier ministrations, and his skin is flushed. A sheen of sweat covers him, and he knows he must look like a wreck—but the gluttonous expression that flashes across Wonwoo’s features leaves him shy.
“Wonwoo,” he whines out, frustrated and impatient, and resists the urge to squirm under his appreciative stare.
A smile climbs back onto Wonwoo’s face. He’s glad when Wonwoo’s patience seems to be running out too. The bed dips under his weight as he finally climbs back on with the tube in his hand, pressing in close to pepper kisses along Soonyoung’s thighs again. He hears the snap of the cap flicking open as he moves between Soonyoung’s splayed legs. The first touch of finger to his rim is cold, causing Soonyoung to tense up.
Wonwoo mutters an apology, offers another kiss to his bared skin, and warms the lube by circling Soonyoung’s rim. As soon as Soonyoung relaxes again, he pushes his finger in. Wonwoo pauses when Soonyoung makes a soft sound, and clenches down instinctively on the intrusion.
It takes a few exhales before he gets used to the initial stretch. “Go,” Soonyoung directs him.
Wonwoo retreats, presses his smile against the soft skin of his inner thighs, and begins working his finger in and out of Soonyoung. The drag of sensation isn’t enough, and Soonyoung whines loudly as he arches into the friction of Wonwoo’s fingers, as he opens up for more.
He throws his head back when Wonwoo pushes in a second finger, scissoring him open and curling his fingers in search of his prostate. His body shudders at the pressure. The sharp relief of being filled and fucked satiates a deep, wanton part of him—but it’s still enough, and Soonyoung's thighs tremble in the hold of the tentacles as he demands for more. “Fuck me, Wonwoo,” he moans, his body shuddering at the pressure at his rim.
“So impatient,” Wonwoo admonishes, but the curl of pleasure is audible in his voice, and maybe Soonyoung likes it—the streak of meanness—because a spike of hot pleasure rushes down his spine at his tone of voice.
He musters up a teary-eyed glare at Wonwoo nonetheless. “Maybe if you stopped living up to the fucking sloth moniker—” his voice cuts off and chokes into a cry when Wonwoo abruptly takes his fingers out, and instead, the slick touch of tentacle grazes against his rim again.
The sensation is both light and searing as the tentacle presses in slowly. Air pulls out of Soonyoung’s lungs, his mouth opening to gasp for air as the prickling heat and friction around his rim crawls outward, every vein of his body struck with pleasure. His legs tremble from the pressure as the tentacle works itself in against his rim, the resistance of his inner walls easing up against its insistent stretch.
It’s about as wide as two fingers, but he can faintly feel the play of muscle as the tentacle moves inside of him, different from what he’s used to, and much longer than a cock normally reaches. As it fucks into him, the slick seems to build, smoothing each thrust. Soonyoung rapidly loses his composure, his body sagging into the sheets as his eyes spring with tears, his body shivering under the onslaught of pleasure.
Faintly, he registers Wonwoo’s hands drifting back towards his thighs. His thumbs tease at the sensitive skin of his inner thighs as he tips his head to watch the movement of his tentacle fucking in and out of Soonyoung. The hungry expression on his face sends sparks of delicious pleasure rushing through him, the knowledge of being watched, of being on display for Wonwoo—he shivers, precum pooling in his stomach as he jerks in the loose confines of the other tentacles wrapped around him.
“Can you—ah—more,” Soonyoung moans out brokenly. He clenches down on the tentacle, desperate for more. His eyes flutter close, and he fucks himself down on the tentacle as much as he can with no leverage. “Wonwoo, Wonwoo.”
A second appendage circles his opening, as slick and malleable as the tentacle inside of him. It pauses, as if giving time for Soonyoung to react or protest, and when Soonyoung only lets out another whine, it presses inside with a slow and deliberate push.
Moans spill freely from his lips as he rocks back onto the tentacles. The friction inside of him is electric and perfect. “Fuck,” he hisses, as he’s stretched wider than before, his body accommodating the two tentacles inside of him. It burns slightly—but Soonyoung lives for it, lives for the heat of the stretch. Slick, messy sounds of the tentacles fucking into him flushes his body hotter, the obscenity of it making him drip all over his stomach. He whimpers and clenches down hard as Wonwoo fucks into him hard, one of the tentacles nudging against his prostate.
The grip around his thighs and his waist shift as a third tentacle trails down his body. Soonyoung’s eyes fly open in shock when it presses behind his balls, against the hot skin of perineum, and then encircles his neglected cock. It’s timed perfectly with another thrust, the two tentacles relentless as they fuck him, hitting his prostate with deadly precision each time it fucks back into him.
His back bows as he wails, the noise of pleasure ripping from his throat at the dual sensation. Soonyoung rocks down onto the tentacles, moans tumbling from his mouth, his fingers scrabbling along the sheets and searching for something to ground him. He’s soothed with the touch of Wonwoo’s hand against him, as he interlaces them together, even as the tentacles fuck him harder and harder, encouraged by his sounds.
Soonyoung’s moans fill the room, his hips shaking as they fuck into the tentacle wrapped around his dick, the appendages inside of him slowly driving him wild. His mind feels like it's been fogged up with a blinding haze, all of his nerves lit up and focused on the overstimulation of friction and touch.
A distant part of him knows he should be quieter, that it’s a risk to be this loud when they have neighbours and the other members to worry about—but he can’t control his voice, not when Wonwoo is fucking him like this. He tries to bite back on his moans, his cries softening into desperate little mewls.
“Ah—ah!” Pressure builds in his spine, desperation wracking up to another level as Soonyoung clambers to the edge. “Wonwoo—ah—I’m close,” he moans out, his eyes fluttering back open. He whimpers, his mouth falling slack and his eyes squeeze shut once more. Starbursts of pleasure erupt behind his eyelids, his entire body lit on fire and shivering from the building sensations that tingle under his skin. “Wonwoo—aah —”
A tentacle unfurls itself from his hip and clenches around the base of his cock, holding back his orgasm.
Soonyoung tenses up, his eyes flying open. “What—Wonwoo!” Soonyoung whines in desperate confusion. His entire body sears with a burning heat, begging for touch, begging to come. Soonyoung pants as he locks eyes with Wonwoo, a shiver running down his spine at the look in Wonwoo’s eyes. An itching need crawls under his skin. “Wonwoo,” he says, words slurring, his mind hazy from the feeling of Wonwoo still seated deep inside of him, still filling him up so perfectly. Soonyoung lets out another whine from the intense need to come.
Wonwoo’s mouth is bitten red, his chest heaving for air, as he gazes down at Soonyoung with dilated pupils. “Not yet,” he murmurs, and presses an apologetic kiss to his skin, not seeming to mind the sheen of sweat that glistens over his body. “Don’t come until I get to fuck you properly.”
Soonyoung whimpers, unable to help himself from rolling his hips back against the two tentacles inside of him. He wants to sink down on the thickness of them, needs Wonwoo to fill him, but the tentacle wrapped around his cock is unrelenting. He forces himself to wait, breathing heavily as his erection drips precum all over the appendage.
Wonwoo studies him. “Is that okay, Soonyoung-ah? Can you take it?” Want is written plainly all over his face. Soonyoung nods, taking shaky breaths to slow his racing heart. And then carefully, slowly, Wonwoo pulls the two tentacles away from Soonyoung’s body.
He lets out a sharp whine at the sensation and the loss, but is quickly smoothed when Wonwoo sits back up to pull him into a kiss. Soonyoung’s legs wrap around Wonwoo’s waist, locking him in place between them, the tentacles moving easily with him. There’s a need for touch, for affection—and maybe Wonwoo can sense it somehow, maybe just from knowing him for so long—because he drinks in another sweet kiss.
“I love you,” Wonwoo says when they pull apart, his own breath coming out heavier and intermingling with Soonyoung’s own breathing. He dips in for another kiss. “I really love you, Soonyoung.”
Soonyoung would make fun of him for being cliched and sappy during sex, but his heart sings at the words and the warmth in Wonwoo’s eyes. He smiles up at Wonwoo, and he thinks his heart could burst from how happy he feels in that moment. And horny. “Idiot,” Soonyoung says instead, his voice heavy with fondness, “now fuck me or I’m going to fight you, I swear—”
His voice tapers off into a high-pitched moan when he feels the thickness of Wonwoo’s other tentacle pressing against his entrance. As much as he’s been worked open, wet and messy, his rim still resists against the thick girth at first. Even without being able to see it now, Soonyoung knows it’s much bigger than the tentacles that were inside him earlier. Long and thick, almost obscenely so, but it leaves his mouth watering as he demands for more.
The thick, blunt head presses insistently against his entrance. Soonyoung can feel slick gathering at his entrance from the tentacle, almost as if it's dripping with precum, and it pushes at his rim until slowly, the tentacle sinks in past the ring of muscle.
His whole body shudders as Wonwoo pauses to let him adjust to the size. Soonyoung can feel his hand rubbing soothing circles along his thigh, and he reaches up blindly to pull Wonwoo down for another kiss. He feels stretched beyond his limit, and the inner walls spasm and clench incessantly around the intrusion.
It takes a minute, maybe two, and Soonyoung draws back from the kiss. He catches sight of Wonwoo’s eyes, worried and concerned. Soonyoung breathes out. “Keep moving,” he urges Wonwoo.
After a moment, Wonwoo listens; the tentacle works itself in, inch by inch, pushing past the ring of muscle. Soonyoung lets out a strangled gasp again as the thickness, slowly and steadily, begins to stretch him. His chest heaves as he sucks in lungfuls of air, his back bowing as he feels himself opening up for Wonwoo. The pain slowly dissipates, instead left with the searing pleasure as he’s speared open by the tentacle. His walls squeeze impossibly tight over the length of the tentacle, and the fullness draws another whinel from Soonyoung when it nudges against his prostate.
“Still okay?” Wonwoo asks, pausing again as soon as the tentacle is seated deep inside Soonyoung.
He nods blindly. “Wonwoo,” he cries out, voice hoarse, pleading without knowing what he’s begging for, “Wonwoo, please—ah—move!”
The tentacle slides out slowly, slowly until the blunt head of it rests just inside the entrance. Then, Wonwoo thrusts back in, his entrance giving away easily this time to accommodate the girth of the tentacle. Soonyoung jerks, his mouth falling open, as he shivers in pleasure. He moans breathily, his knees falling open wider for Wonwoo. The thought of taking Wonwoo inside him like this only makes him harder, an insatiable ache tingling under his skin for the feeling of being split open by him, by something so big.
Once again, the tentacle pulls back out, only to press into him again. Soonyoung wails as the blunt head pushes right against the sensitive bundle of nerves, nudging against his prostate with every thrust back inside him. The tentacle moves easier now, slipping in inch by inch despite the clenching of Soonyoung’s insides, pulling out only to push back in. His body shivers uncontrollably, lost in wave after wave of pleasure as Wonwoo fucks him wet and open.
Soonyoung twitches as the other tentacles still threaded around the contours of his body begins to move, a squeeze around his hips and under the junction of his thighs. The tentacle around his cock works along his shaft as if to distract him from the overwhelming fullness, drawing a small moan from his lips, just as another two tentacles rub against his chest, twisting and rubbing over his sensitive nipples.
It’s too much—it’s too good. Soonyoung throws his head back in a moan, his cries rising higher and higher in pitch until he’s nearly screaming. It feels like he’s losing his mind, drowning in sparks of pleasure that run through every inch of his body, tingles setting fire to his limbs and his hips as he trembles in Wonwoo’s hold. He could feel every thrust of the tentacle inside of him, the undulating squeezes around his cock, the aching pleasure from his chest. Soonyoung pants, his eyes staring wide and blankly at Wonwoo as his hips tremble, his body grinding back to meet each thrust of the tentacle inside of him.
Wonwoo lets out another moan as Soonyoung squeezes tight around him as the pleasure begins to build, a clawing ache rising higher and higher as Soonyoung barrels towards his climax. He knows he’s being far too loud, his moans filling up the small room around him. If any of the members were to come home, there’s no way they won't be able to hear him and Wonwoo.
Almost unseeingly, Soonyoung slides his hand down and encircles his fingers around one of the tentacles resting around his hips. He faintly registers a small noise of confusion from Wonwoo as Soonyoung guides the tentacle up towards his mouth, the sound quickly turning into a groan as the tentacle slides to sit heavily on Soonyoung’s tongue. He locks eyes with Wonwoo, peering up through his lashes, beaded with unshed tears, as he wraps his lips around the tentacle. On the next thrust, his moan is muffled as he sucks the sensitive appendage into the heat of his mouth.
It must feel good for Wonwoo too—because his hands grip tighter around Soonyoung’s thighs. Wonwoo groans again as Soonyoung tilts his head back, straightening his neck to take the tentacle in deeper. On the next thrust, both the tentacle in his mouth and the one inside of him begin to move, spitroasting him on both ends. Soonyoung lets out another whine when he feels the remaining tentacle wrapped around his thigh start to slide up too, brushing along his body until it wraps around his throat. It doesn’t tighten, Soonyoung trusts Wonwoo, merely sits around the nape of his neck, the tip of it resting just under his Adam’s apple.
But the thought of Wonwoo controlling the tentacle, tightening it just enough that it squeezes, that he could do it, makes him feel like he’s falling into a delirium. Soonyoung would let him. He would let Wonwoo squeeze just enough to restrict his airflow, and the thought of it leaves him shuddering, pleasure exploding white hot and bright through his whole body.
Tears drip down Soonyoung’s face as the pace gets faster and faster. His eyes are unfocused and lost in bliss. He’s never felt so full, so filled and stretched open, and yet he’s harder than ever. Precum leaks steadily from his cock, dripping over the tentacle that’s still working along his shaft. Soonyoung can feel the friction against the rim of his hole, the loud, obscene noises as Wonwoo fucks him to completion. The tentacles around his sensitive nipples, his cock, the one fucking his mouth twitches, as if it, too, is nearly reaching his climax. His voice comes out muffled, hiccupy and in long, pitched cries from the rough, fast thrusts inside of him.
“Fuck, Soonyoung,” he hears Wonwoo groan, his voice low and heady as the tentacle swells inside of him, pressing right against the sensitive nerves inside of him. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Wonwoo moans, and then—to his surprise—the tentacles expand even more, and unloads a gush of slick that fills his mouth and hole.
Soonyoung chokes as he swallows on instinct, his throat spasming around the tentacle as he gags around its bigger size. It slides out of him in a hurry, and he hears Wonwoo apologize, but Soonyoung’s too focused on the pressure reaching deep inside of him. The tentacle continues spilling inside of him, and he moans at the rush of Wonwoo’s orgasm, filling him more and more.
It’s overwhelming, the myriad of sensations that leaves him seeing white. Soonyoung shudders, writhing and sobbing against the sheets as Wonwoo continues to fill him, load by load, the tentacle pressing right against his prostate. “Fuck, fuck,” he gasps out, eyes wide and blown, unable to breathe.
“Oh fuck, Soonyoung.” Wonwoo sounds breathless. He barely registers when Wonwoo’s hand pulls away from his thigh, the palm of it settling right on top of Soonyoung’s stomach. The touch is gentle, almost worshipful, as Wonwoo smooths his hand over the slight swell of his stomach where he’s full of Wonwoo’s release and his tentacle. “Fuck, you look so good like this.” His voice is low, barely louder than a whisper, but each word sends another delicious spike of pleasure down Soonyoung’s spine. “Like you’re pregnant, so full of me.”
His breath catches in his throat, his entire body clenching as he shakes and trembles all over. He wants that, he wants that so badly, no matter how improbable it is. It’s the filthiness of it, the depravity that sends fireworks exploding behind his eyelids as he clenches around Wonwoo.
Soonyoung sobs, nearly mindless with bliss. “Wonwoo,” he gasps out, “Ah, ah, Wonwoo, yes, yes, so good.” His vision tilts and blurs, every single nerve in his body feeling as if they’re made of firecrackers as pleasure flows through his veins. He can’t hear anything but a loud ringing noise, his own climax hitting him abruptly and sending him straight over the edge.
Soonyoung screams out Wonwoo’s name, and he comes harder than he’s ever done before. His back arches as his hips grinds back against the tentacle still inside him as his body is sent into overdrive. He’s never felt anything like this before, this level of blinding pleasure, and Soonyoung sobs as he finally, finally releases.
He gasps as Wonwoo carefully pulls out of him, bit by bit, until it finally slips out of his oversensitive hole. The rest of the tentacles follow soon after, pulling away from his shivering body. Soonyoung lets out a low moan, still coming down from the force of his orgasm. His body sags, boneless and limp, into the sheets.
Strong arms wrap around him, and Soonyoung’s pulled into Wonwoo’s embrace. At some point, Wonwoo laid down next to him—but still shivering from the aftershocks of his climax, Soonyoung can only blink dazedly up at Wonwoo. The sensation of cool fingers cupping his cheek registers belatedly as Wonwoo strokes his face.
“How are you?” Wonwoo asks, his voice quiet and inquisitive as he studies Soonyoung carefully. “Was that okay?”
Soonyoung swallows, his throat working as he tries to summon the energy to speak. He wets his lips. “Pregnant?” Soonyoung blurts out instead.
An embarrassed wince crosses Wonwoo’s features. His mouth twists into a bashful frown. “Um.” He coughs. “I didn’t— I’ve never before— uh— it just came out of me at that moment?” Wonwoo pauses. “But I can’t— you know I can’t actually impregnate you, right?”
Soonyoung flushes and smacks his hand against Wonwoo’s shoulder. “I know that!” he says—though he didn’t really for certain, who knows what alien biology is capable of—but then laughs, a small giggle escaping from his throat. “It was hot. Really fucking hot,” he admits.
He thinks he’s discovered at least five new kinks about himself that he’s too tired to think about now. Later, he thinks, when he no longer feels like a flattened, sodden mess. Him and Wonwoo can talk about it more. And...explore.
Wonwoo looks inordinately pleased. “Good.”
“I may die if you don’t fuck me again soon. Like, tomorrow.” Soonyoung’s voice comes out hoarse, and he winces. Luckily they won’t be recording in the studio tomorrow—but there’s a Going Seventeen shoot—and oh god, his body is going to hate him tomorrow. “Okay, maybe not tomorrow,” Soonyoung amends, “but soon! You’ve ruined me for all other sex. You better take responsibility for this, Jeon Wonwoo, it’s all your fault.”
Quiet fondness flashes on Wonwoo’s face as he strokes Soonyoung’s flushed cheeks. His heart aches with the affection he feels for him, almost too big for him to encompass even within his own thoughts, as he leans into Wonwoo’s touch. An indulgent look held in his features makes his stomach flutter with giddy excitement, exacerbated when Wonwoo presses a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.
“Okay,” he says easily, and two of the tentacles extending from Wonwoo’s back wraps around Soonyoung’s waist, tugging him even closer despite the stickiness on both their skin. “I’ll take responsibility. You got me there, Kwon Soonyoung.”