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San had always known that indulging in Wooyoung’s every desire would have a backlash on him, sooner or later.
The silky voice of that devil still echoed in his mind, “You will love it, Sannie. Trust me.”
But the more he stared at the reflection, the more an overwhelming urge to flee without leaving a trace pounded against his chest. This is ridiculous. I look ridiculous. He kept fidgeting, flexing his limbs to scan every inch of his body—too bulky to stay dolled up in those rags; San couldn’t think of a better way to describe them. The short, flowing loosely piece of scarlet fabric around his waist, reaching the beginning of his thighs, felt too compressing, as well as the skimpy, sleeveless bodysuit, pairing with the pearly colored over-the-knee stockings, both decorated with ruby-colored ribbons in the middle. A ruby-colored ribbon framing the dark strands of his hair.
Ruby.
San couldn’t exactly recall how he ended up in this situation, but knew why. “Come on, don’t you wanna make your baby happy?”
He sighed. This wouldn’t work. I look so pathetic! The flush of a violent heat prompted him to break the gaze from that foolish spectacle. He couldn’t do this… he simply couldn’t. The comforting sight of his usual clothes—a black tee, gray sweatpants, both scattered on a chair—lured him like finding shelter amongst of a storm. He reached out to them with a snap.
See, San had never been a primitive minded man; he acknowledged there was nothing wrong with a male embracing a feminine style, nothing wrong with desiring to dress prettily, a bit naughtily. When Seonghwa had begun to put on stiletto heels, San had cheered for him. When Hongjoong had showed up at work clad in long skirts, San had never minded it. He enjoyed femininity. He enjoyed it very much when Wooyoung returned from a shopping session carrying home new collections of lingerie or see-through babydoll dresses. But such extremes were designed for Wooyoung, never for someone like San.
San, who diligently trained his statue-like physique at the gym, who showed no inhibitions performing shirtless before thousands of people. Now, the shame he had not once perceived in years bounced back at him, its power blazing as a dragon’s breath. He took a final glance at the mirror and got certain: I won’t do this. In the fit of a hurry, his fingers lifted the bodysuit like its fabric stung. Then, “How much longer is it gonna take?”
Shit.
San froze.
Another yell came from the bedroom, “Hurry up, big boy! I will grow a beard before you’re done dressing,” it said.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Words poured out before he could process them. “I am ready!” He replied.
He wasn’t ready. Far from ready. I will not do this! At the mere idea of exiting the bathroom’s door, stand in front of Wooyoung, bear the weight of his scrutinize—each of his limbs tingled with a type of anxiety he could not make sense of. He wasn’t forced on this act… yet he proceeded. Moving by impulse, the door handle pushed down, releasing a loud clack.
Here he was.
The cooler air of the bedroom clashed with that of the bath, arousing shivers to run across the bare land of his skin. Cold is not what he felt. Beneath his cheeks, a fiery redness bloomed, spreading like an oil slick. “I—Well…” he faltered, battling the impossible need to cover up his legs.
The silence after his attempted speech hit as a punch.
I knew it. I knew Wooyoung wouldn’t enjoy this. I look ridiculous! I must go change! He thought in utter panic. Shifting his foot, a voice, sharp and commanding, held him rooted to the spot. “Don’t you dare,” it said. San’s lashes fluttered, his fingers clasping together above the fabrics of the skirt in a low prayer. “Holy… fuck.”
Everything dawned on San a moment later. His flesh heated for a different mean.
“Are you kidding me, I—fuck.” Wooyoung had his voice coming out in gasps. He sat right there, in the middle of the large, neatly made hotel room mattress, his upper body wrapped in one of his favorite Chrome Hearts hoodie that obscured his forms. It should have made San’s embarrassment spike further, knowing he was the only exposed of the two, yet it did not—could not, as Wooyoung’s eager stare demanded his every attention, like getting thrown in a black hole with no way out. The background voices drowned in the dark abyss of those eyes.
The spell broke with a blink.
San nearly winced at the sight of Wooyoung stirring on the bed. Crawling, the younger adjusted on the edge of the surface. “Come here,” he said, legs spreading in a deliberate motion.
“But, I—” a fresh wave of shame crashed against his chest. This time, he couldn’t defeat the impulse to hide his face behind his hands. “I don’t know, I look so… I—it’s horrible on me.”
“I said come here.”
A painful swallow constricted San’s throat. Again, he moved before his mind could protest. He paced across the elegant room, the sound of his bare feet muffled against the burgundy carpet. Wooyoung registered every step, both of his palms supporting his inclined back, fingers digging on the soft plush. When San reached the end, Wooyoung didn’t flinch, instead waited a long moment to consume the spectacle from up-close. Then, only then, “Sit down,” he ordered, so tender that San couldn’t waver.
The older lowered onto Wooyoung, straddling him, with legs open wide to fit the spread of his boyfriend. The skirt tightened and now merely covered around his groin—he twitched.
A low, diabolic chuckle filled his senses. “I see you’re not wearing panties…”
San scrunched his nose, concealing the embarrass of his face in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck. Is this too much? The consideration bolted from the depths.
Throughout the six years of stable—despite its natural up and downs—relationship with Wooyoung, to say they had experimented a bit of everything would have sounded an euphemism. The pair had set a fundamental rule for themselves: experiment, never settle for the basic, boring sex, which typically causes a couple to split or cheat on each other. They took great pride in their philosophy; no matter how odd, how freakish, or how many times other bandmates had reproached them when caught in their noncompliant behaviors—who cares. It worked wonders for their relationship’s health, and that felt enough. “Jeez, you two won’t ever face a problem and it’s all thanks to the perversion that bounds you,” Hongjoong had once mumbled with a scowl on his face. Those words resurfaced suddenly, and San shrunk in Wooyoung’s hold. What if—
His line of thoughts shattered.
The warm brush of a familiar touch traced from his upper thigh to—“Are you really getting all shy with me?”—to the shared, immortal ink of their tattoos. It didn’t sound like a rebuke. “It will do nothing, beautiful, only make me fuck you harder,” he warned, his fingers sinking into the flesh.
San’s pulse rate fluttered. It took him a second to realize a groan had escaped his lips.
“So much for someone who was against it…” Wooyoung mocked, each puff heating San’s ear. “Now, won’t you kneel for me, pretty thing?”
The older shivered all over. He faltered, the idea of leaving his boyfriend’s secure embrace frightening him—dimly; concerns flickered, smudging at every praise. His knees shifted, bending on the fluffy ground, his forms adjusting between Wooyoung’s stretched extremities.
The latter embed their bodies and, gazing down through languid, dark eyes, he took his time to unzip his pants. Head leaning, “Close your eyes,” Wooyoung whispered.
San expected the inevitable. Obeying, he shut his vision, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. A cacophony of shifting fabrics hit his senses, then—
Click.
Vision snap ped back in a beat. He could feel it, a dull piece of material constricting the cir cle of his neck, chill against his feverish skin, narrow enough to hurt when he gulped. “Wooyoung, what—”
But Wooyoung simply smirked, amused like the sinful devil he was. “It suits you, Ruby.”
Ruby.
San pressed his fingers on the collar, outlining the discernible shape of a ribbon in the middle. His eyes rounded; another wave of shame choked his lungs, yet a dizziness weakened his legs, and all he could concentrate on was the heavy throb striking his lower belly.
“Ruby, Ruby… you seem eager. Do you really hold such a crave for my cock?” Wooyoung said. His torso leaned back and one of his hand slipped in San’s hair, dragging him closer.
San’s breaths were rapid and shallow as he permitted to get handled. He wouldn’t need to—of course, it wasn’t his first time wrapping the cavity of his mouth around Wooyoung’s veiny flesh—but it felt different. Everything seemed different, reshaped, upside down—The power of a miniskirt and pretty scarlet ribbons.
San didn’t like this—was sure he didn’t; feminine clothes weren’t designed for the muscles of his body, which he took much pride in. He enjoyed dominance, got high by treating Wooyoung as the one who deserved the stares—those stares, those revealing, sexy clothes, now clad in the wrong physique. There were roles in life. Roles in nature, roles to be honored. And though he, once in a while, allowed his boyfriend to fuck him, this was entirely another setting.
How would I get perceived by others in this state? What if they saw me?
But it was Wooyoung. Only Wooyoung. His Wooyoung, looking at him. “Fuck,” his lover hissed, clenching on San’s black locks. The latter stroked the tip of his thumb against Wooyoung’s length—stiff length. It rarely required much to get him aroused, but this fast?
San’s mouth watered. He didn’t move, not a shift, his thumb tracing imperceptible circles round the swollen tip, expecting… what was he expecting? He couldn’t tell.
Like a god staring down on him, Wooyoung’s gaze darkened all at once. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Won’t you please show me how deep that pretty mouth of yours can take me?”
Another of those throbs. San blinked like a deer caught in the high beam headlights, yet instead of attempting to flee from danger, he embraced it and his eyes fell shut, allowing the invasive warmth to blend with that of his mouth. His movements went on as smoothly as that of a serpent; he knew where to touch, how to hit the sweetest spots of his Wooyoung, whose heavy and frantic breaths disturbed the peace of the night.
The hot teasing broke off earlier than it usually would. With San’s chin clasped in his hand, Wooyoung held his gaze captive. “Hah,” a guttural noise escaped him, “if only you could see yourself now… the blush of your cheeks, that uncorrupted gaze—I want to. I have to corrupt you, Ruby.”
San perceived his lover’s member hardening against his tongue. A choked gasp spilled from him as Wooyoung pushed his head lower, forcing all of his length up at the beginning of San’s throat, thrusting in quick, rough motions. Tears welled up in his eyes and blurred as he followed the younger’s arm, tracing back at the lust carved on his features. The painful shivers reaching his groin drove his free hand to search the base of his half-stiff cock, and got thwarted by the restriction of a shoe’s pressure instead.
“Did I give you the permission to touch yourself?” Wooyoung struggled to voice as he strengthened his grip, thrusted harder, filling the saturated space with muffled whines mixed with choked gasps; San had his throat burning like eating flames.
“Yeah, sweetheart, that—” Wooyoung hissed again, tensing each muscle, “Shit. I’m gonna—”
Words weren’t required. San’s lips clenched around the length and traced deliberately slow paths with his tongue on the tip, following his own will as the force of fingers wrapping on his strands lessened all at once. “Babe, I’m—you’re making me come—”
San could tell. The increasing groans and the heaving of Wooyoung’s chest and the slight tremors of his taut legs were enough for him to shiver all over with the painful yearn to touch himself and chase the wave of bliss along his boyfriend. He could not. Had to behave. For now, he focused on Wooyoung’s nasty expression, so deeply lost in pleasure he could hardly stay still.
Wooyoung came a few strokes later. Stuffing San’s mouth with his seed as he forced him with his hand to not slip away, drink it all, feel it all. The sudden spill had San gag and lose his breath, drooling a mess of saliva and sperm across Wooyoung’s groin. His throat sparked with a fresh sensation of burn while he swallowed as much as he could. “Oh, my… this was… fucking insane,” the younger said, slipping his hand on San’s chin, now tenderly swaying his head up and release his cock to glance at him.
The fever beneath San’s flesh felt unbearable. He was furious, for some reasons—and terribly, achingly horny. But all the little devil did was smirk. “I made you even prettier,” Wooyoung showed his teeth. San sensed the swollen of his own lips, the liquid clinging on the skin, and had to bite the inside of his cheeks to refrain from curse.
“This blowjob will have to go down in history,” Wooyoung inhaled.
“You came quickly.”
And released, “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have lasted a single minute inside you if I didn’t come first,” he said. Then, patting on his lap, “Come back here.”
San forced the intricate madness aside and reconciled with his lover’s embrace, only, this time, he allowed no distraction and went straight for Wooyoung’s mouth.
The latter faltered with surprise. Opening the gate of his lips, their tongues collided, and San could perceive Wooyoung’s mouth stretching with a smile. “You’re making me taste my own cum,” his silky voice a whisper; “that’s wicked.”
“That’s not the first time. Bet it makes your cock twitch.”
Wooyoung shook his head in disapproval, but the small bulge pressing on San told otherwise. Without even noticing, San was grinding on it, flesh on flesh. “What’s this language, Ruby? It doesn’t suit that sweet face of yours,” Wooyoung said, clenching San by the hips to hold him still. Yet another of his tortures.
The older let out a guttural noise. He could not bear the coiled frustration any further. “Fuck me. Or I will.”
“You seem eager.”
“Wooyoung.”
“Yes, darling?” Wooyoung’s eyes fluttered with a sparkle.
Before San could protest some more, a tender stroke on the low lines of his back drifted his worries away. He held a breath as the touch lowered, more, until it reached below the skirt, and fingers squeezed a cheek of his exposed butt. “What are you doing.” It wasn’t a question.
Wooyoung laughed at the innocence—Well, fake innocence. “What do you think?” His index slid inside the already dampened walls of his hole, thumb stretching the skin around. San shuddered all over. Again, he tried to move along for the tiniest release of pain, but Wooyoung’s sadistic mind slowed him down. “Easy, easy… we have all night ahead.”
All night?! The mere thought of waiting a single minute was torture. Tears of frustration blurred San’s vision. “Wooyoung, I swear—fuck you! I will make you pay for this,” he snarled, his threat weak as a gust of wind.
An involuntary moan prompted his head forward.
“Sit still, doll. I promise you’ll be fine,” Wooyoung said while tracing a slow path of kisses across his boyfriend’s burning forehead. San navigated the absurdity of the feeling, as if his body had split in two lands; one made of tender pecks, the other of filthy pleasure. His shallow puffs flared the bare of Wooyoung’s neck.
“Wooyoung—more!” He whined like a greedy child.
For once, Wooyoung didn’t hesitate, spoiling him with the addition of a finger. Faintly between the intermittent waves of rising bliss, San perceived the bulge swelling beneath his own—painful and leaking—and a loud, nasty groan filled the space. His limbs went limp from desire. He needed more. More. The two fingers brushing his lust would never satisfy his thirst.
“Please, please… plea—”
Wooyoung increased the pace. Just a moment, just enough for San to muffle his incoherent words with a cry and shiver and dig his nails on his lover’s nape. He changed his mind; two fingers could be sufficient to release, to reach the pleasure. But right as his back arched and he could taste a sip of ecstasy, Wooyoung stopped.
“What—”
The pair of fingers stuffing his insides withdrew. San couldn’t see himself, but he imagined how he looked: a mess. A broken mess. He could perceive his reflection through Wooyoung’s depraved gaze. “What?” The younger tilted his head. “You asked me to fuck you. Did you believe I’d be gratified with mere strokes?”
The urge to spit venom at his boyfriend overwhelmed his mind. This bastard, he thought. This sick, evil, sexy bastard; every swear roaming his mind unable to reach the tip of his tongue. Wooyoung kissed him instead. A steamy, breathless dance of mouths. His mind registered the reverse of their positions only when his back touched the mattress and his eyes cracked open.
Wooyoung had retreated, now towering over him without flying a sound. San realized what he was doing: staring at him, running his gaze across every inch of his shape . Violently resurfacing beneath layers of lust and pain and frustration, the reminder of what he was wearing blew him like a punch in the face. His sharp eyes widened and his hands snapped to reach the edges of his skirt, stretching the material in a useless, desperate attempt to hide his exposed thighs.
Wooyoung didn’t interfere. No; he analyzed each movement with thoughtful attention, his expression indiscernible. Only when San accidentally brushed the hard of his hurtful length and freed a hiss, Wooyoung adjusted on top of him, settling his smaller figure between San’s legs. The skirt reduced to a thin line, yet San fought with it.
“You know, I had had an idea,” Wooyoung said with his sugary, poisonous voice. “I was sure you would have stubbornly tried to deny how horny it gets you to wear pretty clothes and suck my cock and get ordered around, so I had wanted to buy handcuffs to force you still.”
San nearly choked with his own saliva.
“But I didn’t.”
“Why?”
A subtle curve graced Wooyoung’s lips. “Because I don’t need to,” he asserted, one hand on San’s hip, the other rubbing on the collar. “You will follow around my orders like the obedient little slut we both know you are, Ruby.”
A crack.
The hotel room seemed to rearrange around San, whose thumping beat of heart resonated deep within his ears and muffled every other noise. It wasn’t over. The throbbing of his dick reminded him it was far from over.
None of his muscle stirred as Wooyoung bended closer and brushed a stray lock from his brow. Then, after fixing the scarlet ribbon on San’s disheveled hair, he lowered to speak in his ear. “Now,” he hummed, “won’t you please clasp your hands together and tie them above your head?” And leaned back.
A fleeting inner voice suggested San to rebel, to escape the never dawning embarrassment of the situation. Then again, he had had countless of opportunities to refuse this sick act. Even now, he could have easily overthrown Wooyoung and taken the lead, unleash the burn of his frustration, set the pace of the play on his own terms—he didn’t. “Because I don’t need to,” it echoed. Because I don’t want to.
Slowly, imperceptibly, his hands budged. San tied them above his head by his own volition, bearing the consequence of Wooyoung’s smugness displaying through the twinkle of a smile.
The younger took a moment to enjoy the view, his victory. “Good kitty.” His fingers lurked below San’s sticking bodysuit, the material so thin it outlined his fit abdomen and stiff nipples. Wooyoung massaged the tense surface of his chest and raised the bodysuit, pinching on those pink, swollen nipples, eliciting low whines from his boyfriend, who squirmed and could barely lay still. “I think you deserve a reward,” he said.
I think I will kill him, San considered. Tomorrow—tonight, all he did was dig his teeth on his lower lip and cry at the unbearable crave to rub himself. His hazy focus fell on Wooyoung’s manhood instead. No need to speak; the younger stroked a few times on his flesh with their eyes sealed before his cock steeled again.
“Look how you reduce me,” Wooyoung voiced in a low sough, his length teasing against San’s hot entrance. “I should snap a picture and please myself with this view whenever I wish to.”
The distant scenario made a violent pulse reach San’s lower belly. “Don’t I—shit… look like—”
Wooyoung shut his incoherent murmurs through weak thrusts, allowing the tip in. “Like a what?”
“A fool, I—this is… shameful.” A tear ran across San’s temple.
“A fool?” The voice sounded dumbfounded, “My love, men would go to war to have you clad in a miniskirt, spread and hot under their bodies.”
The older trembled like a leaf. He could resist no more. “Wooyoung, I can’t—” And just like that, Wooyoung pushed inside in a raw, sharp thrust, and San arched his back while the filthiest moan escaped his lips.
“But they never will,” the younger said. He, too, dazed in a bliss. “You are mine, only mine. To look at, to fuck—Mine.” In the heat's mist, San perceived the warmth of a hand above his knee, grasping so tight it stung. The tattoo, he recognized. The very first mark Wooyoung had carved on his flesh. Mine mine mine. He was. Painfully yours for anyone to see.
Wooyoung increased the rhythm. Although careful, he moved smooth and slow to get San accustomed to the tearing sensation. He didn’t mind a little hurt, but his boyfriend wouldn’t want to risk it. “I promise you’ll be fine,” he reminded him say, each memory draped in a cloud.
The touch on the leg diverted his attention. Head half-lifted, it clicked now: “Why are you not—why… the hoodie?” Words struggled to fall into a coherent line. Between ragged gasps, he attempted again, “Why are you still dressed?” He asked. The sight of Wooyoung’s forms hidden beneath thick layers of clothes grew a sudden irritation in his chest. It seemed odd. San typically would strip off his boyfriend as a first step; now, if it wasn't for the tangible pounding on his insides, he wouldn't even know Wooyoung was fucking him.
“Because,” the latter’s gasped, the fatigue etched on his face, “tonight it’s all about you, Ruby.”
San couldn’t quite understand.
“Look at yourself, look at—” he abruptly stopped, slowed the pace as well, while a chuckle further puzzled San. “Right… how could I have not thought about it earlier?” He questioned to himself, and whatever it was, it seemed to amuse him.
The older blankly fluttered his lashes, but before he could voice his confusion, Wooyoung took his mouth. They kissed, again. A brief exchange of saliva that once more distracted San from how he was being manhandled. In a beat, he found himself lay on the side, with Wooyoung’s chest pressing on his back. Their bodies had not disconnected once during the transit.
The younger breathed right in the crook of San’s shoulder, humming, “Look ahead.”
San looked at him instead. “What are you—”
Wooyoung took his head, adjusting his vision.
… Oh.
Oh?!
It made sense now. San should have widened his eyes and retreat. He didn’t. A guttural noise emerged from the depths, and he had to hold back from bursting into a maniacal laugh.
The image reflecting on the rectangular mirror was one he would hardly ever forget: his lower body merely covered with a crumpled crimson skirt, not able to conceal the swelling of his cock or the slight peek of Wooyoung’s flesh filling his hole; and worst, worst, the wild fire painting his cheeks, so red it matched with the four cute ribbons adorning his shape, or the puffy of his mouth, where little spots of dry sperm had crusted. It hit him a moment later that the man staring right back at him, was him.
“Eyes wide open as I fuck you,” Wooyoung commanded, crashing the disarray of San’s emotions. His figure almost disappeared behind the muscles. “It’s all about you,” he repeated. And before San could find the strength to speak some sense, the thrusting resumed, and he turned back into a whining, brainless mess.
It felt deeper now that his body had adjusted to the intrusion and each jolt, no matter how gentle, drove him further on the edge.
“Young, I don’t think I can… I can’t—” his eyes mindlessly squeezed.
“Open,” Wooyoung said. “Or does it scare you, baby, how horny it gets to see your own self like this?”
The reply came in the form of a loud cry. In fact, he had the remote concern that the entire building could hear his cries. As his vision regained, he followed each and every movement through his wet, blurred sight.
Wooyoung wouldn’t hold back no longer. San squirmed, kept still by the grip on his hips. “It’s—it’s too much,” he yelped.
“Then come, Ruby. Sing for me.”
It worked like magic. Like a switch, the words settled and teared San into a half just to allow him to come back as a whole. A brand new whole. His mind smudged as a violent wave of pleasure drowned him in the sweetest ocean. When his head resurfaced, he found the sweaty of his limbs trembling, the skirt all dirtied and ruined with the copious white spill of fluid; it would be difficult to wash it up. It pained San a little.
Chest still hammering, mind hazy, he walked back to the shore in gradual steps, riding on the last tides of euphoria before they turned into a static, relaxing sea. He noticed Wooyoung had cleared himself inside of him as he perceived fresh liquid running down his butt cheek.
San shifted. They kissed, again and again, both too weakened for the act to result passionate, but it didn't matter.
“Sannie,” Wooyoung’s mellow call inebriated the older’s senses. He nuzzled below his chin, playing with the collar. “I loved it. I love you.”
“You are a sick fuck,” San said with no hesitation. Yet his voice cracked, and a low, soft giggle ensued. “I love you too,” he sighed, then swept his boyfriend’s hair from his forehead and kissed it.
They cradled each other for a long time. Wooyoung kept chanting sweet words, San hid his arm beneath his lover’s hoodie to draw soft circles on his skin; he had the faint awareness that he should get up and fix the messy room before sleep lured him in. The sheets, wrinkled and stained with patches of sperm, emitted a pungent and raw odor of sex that permeated the air. He scrunched his nose as he tried to stir up.
“Where are you going?” Wooyoung instinctively reached for his wrist.
“We should clean.”
“Clean?” A long look passed between them. “Baby, I’ve merely just begun with you,” he asserted in a steady voice, catching San by the waist and pressing him below himself in a quick motion.
The older rounded his eyes, flabbergasted. He couldn’t utter a sound as Wooyoung climbed on top of him, his features shining as he got rid of his hoodie, finally exposing the exquisite golden of his complexion.
“I won’t let go of you so easily, pretty girl.”
A broken laugh emerged from San. “I will destroy you for this,” he said, and he knew Wooyoung well enough to realize that the threat did nothing but arouse him further.
“I know, you will,” the younger nodded. “But for tonight, you’re my Ruby.”
A sudden loud buzz drew both of their attentions. Stretching his arm, Wooyoung took the phone from the night table. San observed as his boyfriend caught something on the display that caused him to erupt in a fit of laughter.
“What is it?”
The younger needed a moment to recover, then, “It’s Hongjoong,” he informed and turned the screen for San to read the message.
‘The walls in this goddamn place are PAPER THIN!!! I’ve been trying to sleep for HOURS! Don’t you dare to attempt another round. I WILL KILL YOU TWO!!!’
They both laughed.
Needless to say, they did have other rounds.