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After months and months of living an Orwellian nightmare, it’s surprisingly easy for Matthew to let his guard down once things settle. Too easy, in fact. Anyone who’s ever known him has commented how trusting Matthew is, their tones ranging from admiring to condescending.
Case in point, the same day that they wrap filming on their reality show and the cameras are removed from their dorms, Matthew decides that watching random clips from Jiwoong’s dramas is a great idea.
Call it curiosity—a genuine interest in Jiwoong’s past work, in a genre that he’s unfamiliar with, in the intricacies of acting. Calling it curiosity means that Matthew doesn’t choke on his spit when the thumbnail appears in his recommended videos, Jiwoong in a towel and glistening. Calling it curiosity means that Matthew hasn’t spent weeks of his life thinking about the fact that Jiwoong used to kiss men professionally and everything that entails.
Matthew would love to call it just curiosity, because it doesn’t implicate him as much as he deserves to be implicated.
But no matter what it’s called, Matthew clicks on the first video and just cycles through similar videos for what feels like hours. Some of them are subtitled and some of them aren’t. Some of them are the same clips posted by different promotional accounts. Some of them focus on details and some of them don’t, but Matthew watches all of them, regardless, wildly oscillating between a state of absolute focus and one of absolute mindlessness, too scared to commit to either state.
Watching with focus means paying attention to certain things, like the way that Jiwoong smiles into the longer kisses, indulgent and enjoying it the way one does a piece of chocolate as it melts onto their tongue. Watching mindlessly means that Matthew’s imagination runs wild about all the possibilities that are much too dangerous to entertain for more than a moment.
In a way, he’s settled on the worst possible outcome. It’s a feedback loop—Matthew daydreams, forces himself back to the present, and then notices something that only fuels his increasingly stupid fantasies. It’s a vicious cycle that he’s got himself caught in, one so distressing and disorienting that he doesn’t notice Jiwoong’s presence in the room until it’s much too late to do anything about it at all.
“What’re you doing, Mattchew-yah?” Jiwoong croons, voice rich with the bright excitement that Jiwoong only ever takes on when he’s wholly committed himself to teasing his dongsaengs.
Matthew feels about as panicked as he did that one time his sister caught him looking up ‘Is it gay to want to kiss boys when you’re a boy’ on the family computer. “Um!” He squeaks, completely frozen. He should close out of the video, he should snap his phone in half, he should make a break for it and throw himself out the window and change his identity and immigrate back to Canada.
Matthew does none of those things. He stays stock still, as if he can melt into the shadows by simply not breathing, and it gives Jiwoong all the time in the world to flop down on the mattress right next to Matthew and look over Matthew’s shoulder, right as the kiss scene begins in earnest.
Next to him, Jiwoong goes very still. “Ah,” he says. He doesn’t seem shocked, or surprised, or even particularly taken aback. He says it like he’s reading a weather report. He says it like he’s learning something particularly interesting. “I see.”
See what!?!?!?! Matthew wants to scream, but he can’t so he settles for making a noise like a kicked cat. “Sorry.” He wheezes. God, he was watching without headphones, and the sappy music and wet smack of lips echoes through the entire fucking room.
He feels like his lungs are being dehydrated while still in his body. Like someone’s trying to make healthy Seok Matthew chips from his fucking lungs. Maybe that’ll sell well enough to cover the money WAKEONE will lose when he withers away and dies from embarrassment.
“Don’t be sorry.” Jiwoong remarks idly, leaning closer, bracing one hand behind Matthew’s hip. They don’t touch, but it feels like pure lightning arcs between them. “So, what’d you think?”
Dumbly, the same way Matthew’s done everything else for the past six months, Matthew blurts, “Huh?”
“Any notes?” Jiwoong asks, casually, looking at Matthew’s face instead of his phone. It’s weird, having two Jiwoong’s in the same field of view—the Jiwoong on screen is looking at the love interest with absolute adoration, and the Jiwoong on Matthew’s bed is looking at Matthew the exact same way. “Thoughts, comments, questions?”
Matthew can’t look away from Jiwoong’s face, but he knows if the tension persists, then he’s going to die. So he does the next best thing; “Why do you kiss with your eyes open?” Matthew blurts stupidly, half-laughing as if it’s a joke and not a desperate hail mary.
Fortunately, it works; the teasing smirk freezes on Jiwoong’s face and slowly cracks away. Unfortunately, the cracking reveals an expression that’s somehow worse; affronted, hurt, and challenging. “Why don’t you?” Jiwoong asks, and Matthew knows right away that he’s fucked it all to hell.
Still, he’s stubborn—he debuted number three, after all. He tries to salvage it. “Cause I’m not weird, hyung!” Matthew laughs, easier than he’d expected. It is pretty funny, he supposes, the fact that even with the bravado, Jiwoong seems slightly upset at Matthew’s judgement on his kissing technique. “I learned to kiss from normal people, not aliens.”
Something flashes Jiwoong’s eyes, quick and bright, sending chills down Matthew’s spine. “Who taught you?” He asks, not even trying to be casual. If anything, he gets more intense, shifting closer and leaning in. The same way that Jiwoong does when he’s really trying to get Matthew to laugh, but somehow even worse.
Matthew shrugs and forces himself not to look at Jiwoong’s lips. “People.”
“What kind of people?”
“People that you don’t know.” And this– this is dangerous, what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what Jiwoong does in the face of a challenge like this. They’ve known each other for months but sometimes it feels like they’ve barely scratched the surface of each other, of themselves. Matthew has held Jiwoong’s hands in his own, tight and pleading, praying for mercy to whatever God was listening to. He’s never dug his nails in. He’s never drawn blood.
Matthew finds himself wanting to.
Jiwoong tilts his head, blinking slowly, like a cat. “People from Canada?” He reaches over with his other hand. Places it on Matthew’s knee. Matthew’s heart jumps in his chest and his fingers flex in the sheets. “Or people from Korea?”
“Both.” Matthew replies, honest.
Jiwoong opens his mouth and then stops, hesitating. His hand starts to withdraw, and Matthew fully drops his phone on the ground in his rush to keep Jiwoong from escaping. He puts his hand on Jiwoong’s wrist and pulls him back, this time planting Jiwoong’s hand higher, right on his thigh. And even though it’s his doing, the simple weight of Jiwoong’s hand on his thigh—God, Jiwoong’s fingers are long enough to almost wrap around him entirely—it makes heat settle in his stomach, thick and viscous, like syrup spilling from a tree in the dead of summer.
Jiwoong swallows thickly, and then asks, “Boys or girls?”
And Matthew answers, just as honest as before, “Both.” Barely above a whisper.
Briefly, Jiwoong closes his eyes, as if praying. He takes a deep breath. “How about we test it out,” he squeezes Matthew’s thigh once, firmly, and the promise in his voice tells Matthew everything. He lets himself gasp, lets himself shake. He lets Jiwoong see everything that Jiwoong manages to do to him. Jiwoong’s eyes go dark as he finishes, “How about we kiss, and you keep your eyes open, and see if you like it?”
Matthew doesn’t answer him this time, at least not with words. He grabs Jiwoong by the shirt and falls backwards onto the bed, pulling Jiwoong down with him, their lips meeting just as Matthew’s head hits the mattress.
It’s rough, at first, because of the maneuver, but Jiwoong is as adaptable as always. He doesn’t flinch or falter when their teeth click or their noses bump, he soothes the dull pain with the softest pecks, slowly working over Matthew’s lips with gentle close-mouthed kisses that melt into something wetter and warmer.
With his eyes open, Matthew can see the earnest concentration on Jiwoong’s face, the way that he focuses on kissing the same way he does on the choreography that he’s trying to learn. Like he’s trying to crack it open, peel it apart, break it down completely and utterly until it’s soft and malleable in his hands.
Matthew shivers at the idea, at the thought of being limp and pliable under Jiwoong’s gentle fingers and Jiwoong grins, triumphant. “See?” He goads in a murmur, stroking some of the hair out of Matthew’s forehead. Such taunting should be sharp, should be deadly, but Jiwoong delivers it with all the warmth of a summer’s rain. “It’s not bad, isn’t it?”
Carefully, Matthew wets his lips. A useless thing, considering that they’re already slick with spit, but the satisfaction of watching Jiwoong track the movement is unparalleled. “I dunno,” Matthew teases back, settling into the sheets lazily. “I’ve had better kisses.”
Jiwoong inhales, sharp and quick. Under his gaze, Matthew trembles and grins, breathless with it. “Well,” Jiwoong starts, dangerous but still impossibly warm. As if the fondness in his eyes is an inherent thing whenever Matthew is the subject of his gaze. He climbs over Matthew properly, one thigh between Matthew’s legs, settling his weight on top of Matthew like a heavy blanket. He goes slowly, leaving room for protest. Matthew doesn’t take it, doesn’t even think of taking it.
Slowly, Jiwoong smiles, satisfied. “I guess I better step up my game.” He finishes, putting his hand on Matthew’s throat—gently, not choking, but like a bracket, keeping Matthew from moving at all—and then he kisses Matthew again.
And this time it’s–
Well it’s–
Matthew has experience. He does. He had partners in high school all the way up until he left for Korea. And then after, while he never had anything as permanent, it wasn’t like he went entirely celibate. He had flings, he had one night stands. He’s innocent looking—his image is carefully crafted around the boyish swell of his cheeks, around the crescents of his eyes when he smiles—but he’s not virginal or untouched or anything like that.
But, under Jiwoong, he sure feels like he is.
Matthew’s never kissed boys this way before. Matthew only kissed boys fleetingly and fiercely, drunk and sloppy things that he never remembers the next day, at house parties back home or in bars as a trainee. He’s never brought a boy into his bed, much less kissed one there. Girls, sure, but girls don’t do this. Girls don’t pin him down and put a hand on his throat. Girls don’t kiss him like he’s a flower about to bloom, petals unfurling under the sun.
He tries to keep his eyes open. He tries to see if Jiwoong is actually telling the truth, if it is better with your eyes open. But after a certain point, it starts feeling like it doesn’t matter at all.
Jiwoong kisses Matthew like he kissed his co-star, and unlike his costar, Matthew isn’t trained to handle it at all. Jiwoong holds Matthew down and kisses Matthew breathless, pulling away just when Matthew starts arching into it, taking Matthew’s lower lip between his teeth and sucking and it’s weird and good and so overwhelming that he just melts with it, dissolving under Jiwoong’s hands like sugar in water.
Jiwoong’s other hand slides under Matthew’s shirt to stroke his ribs and Matthew shakes with it. “Hyung,” he mumbles, dizzy and almost stupid. He doesn’t want to pull away but he needs to speak, so he bumps the button of his nose against Jiwoong’s cheek and begs, “I want, ‘m sorry, I want–”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Jiwoong whispers back. In the same cadence as the intimate scenes of his drama, but not quite the same. In those scenes, Jiwoong was composed and sure and steady, like the anchor of a ship. But here, in Matthew’s bed, Jiwoong trembles. Still nowhere near as undone as Matthew is, but there’s a hoarse earnestness about him that makes Matthew feel like peeled fruit on the countertop, sickly and sweet and almost too ripe. “I want you, okay? I want you to want me too.”
Fierce and desperate, Matthew kisses Jiwoong again, bringing both hands up to loop around Jiwoong’s neck. Jiwoong pushes both his hands under Matthew’s shirt, the roughness of his palms catching against Matthew’s skin. “Jiwoong-hyung–” Matthew gasps, arching into it, and Jiwoong pulls away with a groan.
Immediately, he attaches himself to another point—the point where Matthew’s jaw meets his ear, and he nips the skin there. Matthew shivers, and then squeaks when Jiwoong sucks the shell of his ear into his mouth. “There we go,” Jiwoong mumbles, pleased. “Been wanting to figure it out. Been wanting to take you apart.”
He keeps talking, but stops at random to nip and suck all over Matthew’s chin and neck. If a spot makes Matthew gasp, he lingers, methodically biting and licking and marking the place until Matthew’s just about squirmed free, and it’s only then that he moves on. It’s stupid and reckless and they’re going to get into so much trouble, but Matthew can’t even think about the consequences now. He can barely even think to begin with, he feels like he’s burning alive, and Jiwoong’s rambling is only kerosene on the fire that’s consuming him entirely.
“So pretty, so sweet, so fun to tease–”
“Thought about this so much, about what would make you sing–”
“Whenever I’ve held you, I’ve wanted it to bruise–”
“So good for me,” Jiwoong whispers at one point, teeth grazing his Adam's apple. It’s not the edge that makes Matthew gasp, but the words, and Jiwoong grins at the sound, all too understanding. “Mm, I knew you would like that.”
Embarrassing and needy, desperation stretching out the single syllable until it’s keening, Matthew pleads, “Hyung.” He’s hard, and he knows that Jiwoong knows, because it presses between them and against Jiwoong’s thigh. He ruts into it, short and stuttering, his want warring against the last bastions of his senses. “I want– I want–”
Chaste and soothing, Jiwoong kisses Matthew’s chin. “Anything,” he breathes, and Matthew’s never believed anything so strongly. “Hyung will give you anything.”
“I want you,” Matthew shivers, and Jiwoong’s smile is so warm and pleased as he leans down to kiss Matthew again.
He’s so gentle with it, pushing Matthew’s shirt over his head and pulling Matthew’s sweats and boxers off. He treats Matthew so carefully, even with all his teeth and teasing. When it comes to removing his own clothes, Jiwoong doesn’t even have a fraction of delicacy. He yanks off his pants and kicks them onto the ground and he rips his shirt off so quickly that Matthew’s almost certain that he hears it tear.
Jiwoong reattaches himself to Matthew as though magnetically pulled. “Your arms are so nice,” he buries his face in Matthew’s armpit and inhales deeply. “So strong–”
“Hyung!” Matthew yelps, mortified. He just showered, he’s clean, but still, he tries to shove Jiwoong’s head away. “Don’t– That’s gross–”
“It’s not gross for me.” Jiwoong states, plainly, and doesn’t move. He tilts his head and licks over Matthew’s tattoo. It’s so weird, but Matthew’s never been harder in his life. “You could never. Ever.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. His expression is one of absolute certainty. Matthew drops his head back down to the mattress and covers his mouth with both hands, watching wide-eyed as Jiwoong has his way with him.
Jiwoong starts with Matthew’s nipples, carefully nibbling and sucking at them until they’re puffed up to stiff points and Matthew is practically writhing on the bed. Then, Jiwoong moves on, but is careful to keep his fingers there, pinching and pulling at Matthew’s chest with an infuriatingly gentle touch, stoking the fire in Matthew’s belly, keeping it burning bright.
Everywhere that Jiwoong’s lips fit, he bites. Everywhere that his tongue can push, he licks. The insides of Matthew’s elbow, the curve of his hips, the divots of his collarbones, the undersides of his knees, the arch of his feet—everywhere except where Matthew needs it the most. Slowly, methodically, torturously, Jiwoong maps every single part of Matthew’s body with his mouth until his lips are almost bruised with it.
The entire time, Jiwoong keeps his eyes open, carefully trained on Matthew’s face. Never once looking away. And Matthew, helplessly, can only stare back—aching and trembling and tacky with dried spit, sobbing into his palms, muffled and desperate, tears leaking out of his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.
“So good,” Jiwoong breathes, and then presses the flat of his tongue against the pucker of Matthew’s hole. Matthew looks away then, even though he doesn’t mean to, eyes rolling back in his head as he cries out into his hands. Jiwoong brings his hands to fist over the head of Matthew’s cock, swiping up some of the precum that Matthew’s been leaking for the past half an hour to make the glide of his palm smoother. Voice rumbling between Matthew’s thighs, Jiwoong repeats, almost like he’s drunk on it, “So, so good.”
“Hyung,” Matthew squeaks, thighs jerking shut around Jiwoong’s head, his entire body flinching against the mattress. He’s been so desperate for Jiwoong to touch his dick that now, when his hands are finally where Matthew needs them, he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. He wants to melt into the mattress and disappear. He wants to grab Jiwoong’s head and hold him in place and fuck into Jiwoong’s mouth. He wants to fucking explode. “Hyung, a-ah, hyung, hyung–”
With quiet amusement, Jiwoong pulls away from Matthew’s ass just long enough to say, in gentle tones of encouragement, “You can hold on. It’s okay, Mattchew-yah.”
Sobbing, Matthew tears his hands away from his mouth and digs his nails into the meat of Jiwoong’s shoulders. His hands are slimy with his own saliva, with all the drool he’s been unable to swallow. Jiwoong delights in it, preening under the touch and hitching Matthew’s hips off the bed to lick a long strip over Matthew’s hole and perineum.
Jiwoong’s eyes, pupils blown so wide they almost eclipse his irises entirely, watch from between Matthew’s legs as he tongues against Matthew’s hole and jerks Matthew off onto his stomach. He’s not eating Matthew out, not fully, Matthew isn’t nearly loose enough to make that work. But the drag of Jiwoong’s tongue, the firm pressure of Jiwoong’s hands, the weight of Jiwoong’s stare, the aching aftereffects that pulse through Matthew from everywhere that Jiwoong marked him—it’s more than enough to bring him to the edge and send him tumbling right over.
Matthew’s orgasm hits him in devastating waves, like he’s a piece of driftwood being dashed against the rocks, pulverized by the frothing depths until he’s nothing but fibre and pulp. It shakes through him, numbing his fingers and toes and fizzing through his veins like a shaken bottle of soda, syrupy and sticky and spilling everywhere. Matthew sobs as he cums, falling back against the bed, vision blurring into smears of colour, his entire body shaking as he winds tighter and tighter and tighter as pleasure mounts within him to impossible heights.
It’s only when Jiwoong finally releases him—long after Matthew’s cum, well into the point where pleasure starts to veer into pain—that all the tension leaves him. Jiwoong gently lowers Matthew’s hips back down and Matthew deflates like a popped balloon, melting into the covers with his brain leaking out of his ears.
Jiwoong rises on his knees and wraps a shaking hand around his own cock. He tugs once, and then twice, and then a third time before his eyes are fluttering shut, his hips are jerking forwards, a groan tearing out of him as he cums all over Matthew’s stomach, mixing their spent together. “That’s it,” he grunts out, almost delirious, raking his gaze over Matthew’s body, drinking his image in. “There we go, looking so pretty for me–”
He pulls his hand away with a hiss as his cock starts to soften, and then blinks. Something clears within his gaze, and Jiwoong’s eyes widen the slightest fraction. As if he’s reemerging from a fog, as if he’s coming to his senses. He looks over Matthew again, no longer ravenously appreciative, now with something akin to mounting horror. What have I done? His eyes ask, and Matthew doesn’t like that one bit.
Slowly, sluggishly, Matthew drags his fingers through the cum pooling on his stomach. “Do you do this with all your co-stars too?” He asks in a raspy whisper, his face still streaked with tears and still twitching with the last aftershocks of orgasm.
The mortification leaves Jiwoong’s eyes, something brighter and more honest left in its place. Jiwoong takes a breath, and then breaks, huffing out breathless laughter, dangerous and fond and indulgent, all at once. “Only the ones that I like.” Jiwoong mumbles, mostly to himself, but Matthew preens anyways, completely satisfied.
Some of that delight fades when Jiwoong bends down, licks some of the cum out of Matthew’s belly button, and kisses Matthew again, firm and possessive and absolutely unyielding. It’s salty and bitter and really gross, but Matthew scrunches up his face and lets it happen, because he gets the feeling that Jiwoong has no plans of letting him go.
He does keep his eyes shut, though. Not out of stubbornness. Matthew’s just too tired to keep them open any longer.
— Epilogue.
The first one to speak is, of course, Gyuvin. “What the fuck?” He sputters, somewhere between perturbed and impressed.
Behind him, Taerae trots out of his room, takes one look at the scene in front of him, and immediately pivots and walks away. “Gunwook-ah, I think we might need to barricade the door.” He calls, shutting it behind him.
Almost squeaking now, Gyuvin repeats, appalled, “What the fuck!?”
“I’m gonna make sure that Yujin stays in his room.” Ricky mumbles, but he flashes Matthew a cool thumbs up as he goes, careful to keep it hidden from Zhang Hao’s absolutely furious stare. Matthew appreciates the effort, really, he does, but he doesn’t have time to properly express his gratitude. The more time he wastes, the closer that Jiwoong comes to being executed.
“I let him do it!” He insists, and of course, Hanbin and Zhang Hao completely ignore him. They’re crowding Jiwoong like hawks, towering over their leader as they circle him disapprovingly. Still, Matthew persists, worming between them to point out the scratches on Jiwoong’s shoulders. “See, I did it back to him!”
Hanbin puts a gentle hand on Matthew’s chest and pushes him out of the way. “It’s not about you letting him, Seokmae-yah.” He explains, expression twisted with something absolutely aghast. “It’s about the fact that Jiwoong was stupid enough to do it at all.”
Gyuvin grabs Matthew by the shoulders and shakes him. “Did a bear maul him?” He cries, gesturing to the purpling marks that litter Matthew’s entire torso, stretching all the way up to his chin. Gyuvin sounds as though he’s almost on the verge of actual tears. “What the fuck happened?”
Despite being shirtless, and kneeling on the floor with his arms raised like a prisoner, Jiwoong’s gaze remains firm. He cocks his chin upwards and declares, absolutely certain, “I have no regrets.” He catches Matthew's eye and winks, devilish and charming, and adds, "Except for the fact that I couldn't get to his back as well."
Matthew flushes down to the tips of his toes, and Jiwoong smirks, satisfied, only broken out of his smug state by Zhang Hao smacking him on the back of the head without any mercy at all.