Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wooyoung’s always hated San, an unspoken rivalry between them. San is a moron, he’s sure. Another rich man who thinks he can buy everything, get anything he wants only by smiling and giving someone money and power. He’s a handsome bastard, always having women around him and he’s so loved by his colleagues and co-workers, because how can you not love this gentleman, when he’s so successful at such a young age. Wooyoung just can’t stand him, he knows him oh so well, because sadly they used to work together, and Wooyoung started hating him since the very first day. San was already rich, born in a wealthy family, and of course that’s why all of his bosses loved him, interested in involving him in their business because of his father. 

Wooyoung is as genius as San is. He’s also rich, hardworking, he has a lot of brilliant business ideas, but of course he’s not that famous as San is. He’s not that loved. And he hates that no matter how hard he tries, this freaking man—obviosuly hot man, however—is still more successful. Of course Wooyoung is jealous, even though his own bank account is also full of millions. 

That’s not the point. He just wants to have what San gets every day. 

Wants to show him he is worth being noticed, too. 

That’s why he comes to New York, agreeing for a new business project, hoping it’ll change his living. He wants his name to be known, wants to be noticed by some interesting people, who will suggest him to join some more projects. He’s chosen the best hotel there—twenty-five floors, expensive rooms, wealthy men surrounding him. He knows how to buy attention. His black hair is long enough to make him look gorgeous, his eyes deep, cat-like, and his face is just so pretty, almost dollish. But the best part is his outfit. Tiny black skirt, white shirt with a tie, glasses. He looks stunning, maybe slutty, and he knows he makes men gasp when they see him. This is the reaction he wants. The want in their eyes makes him feel like he’s finally worth something. 

Wooyoung is relaxed, happy, finally feeling like he belongs in this society. He is in the hotel’s lobby, waiting for the check in, talking to handsome men and biting his lip seductively. When he gets a keycard from his room, he goes slowly towards the elevator, swaying his hips, knowing damn well how the skirt rides up every time. The attention he gets it’s what he’s come there for. When he steps inside the glass cabin of the elevator, the whole hotel is on full display. And that’s when Wooyoung sees it. Him. 

A man enters the lobby. Tall, muscular, his shirt almost ripping apart. Brunnete, with a smirk on his lips. It’s hard not to recognise this man. Choi fucking San. Wooyoung almost loses his balance when he sees him. What the fuck? Out of all places in New York, he’s chosen this hotel. Great. Wooyoung almost cries, his heart hammering inside of his chest. 

And then, something happens. It’s like San can read his mind, because he turns his head and looks at the elevator. Looks at Wooyoung, who’s already red and pissed. And that makes San smirk only wider.

Hell. How Wooyoung hates him!

He rushes into his suite, throwing his suitcase on the floor. The room is luxurious and big, but he doesn’t have time to explore it. He almost rips his shirt off, takes off his glasses and removes the tie, staying only in his skirt and panties. Already soaked because of how excited this situation made him. He’s throbbing. He hates San, hates how he makes him feel, because what the fuck? Why is he getting wet when he should obviously not? 

Collapsing onto the bed, he just lies like this, legs slightly parted. He arches his back because of the heat between his thighs, fighting the urge to trail his hand lower and touch the aching slit. His pussy clenches, and a whine escapes his mouth—it’s too much to take. He doesn’t know why he’s like this, why he keeps thinking about the man he hates.

Parting his legs, Wooyoung lifts his skirt and touches the dampness on his panties. He almost cries, hating how pathetic he is. So, so pathetic. He can’t even control himself, leaking like a fucking bitch in heat while his chest is filled with anger. 

Wooyoung hates Choi San. But it seems like his pussy isn’t.

He comes with a loud moan, three fingers deep, biting his lips and feeling so ruined. His legs are shaking, so is his whole body. Pathetic, so disgusting. On the 17th floor of the hotel Wooyoung can take off his mask, spread his legs wider on the silk sheets. But then, when the time comes to go down to the lobby again, he’s mean and bitchy, seductive, untouchable. It’s always like this when he has to be with San in one place. But he’s never been with him in the one hotel. 

In two hours, when Wooyoung’s fresh after the shower, dressed in a pretty red blouse and a skirt—again—the lobby is full of people. He’s a little hesitant at first, moving through the crowd with a cocktail in his hand, sipping it and looking around, deep inside so scared to spot someone he never wants to see again. But he only sees old men with grey hair and fat asses, and these men of course see such a pretty boy like Wooyoung. They lick their lips, wink at him, the bold ones come and ask him to drink with them. He refuses, because now it’s not what he wants. Generally, he’d find a handsome man and cling to him, accepting a drink and flirting with him all night. That’s what he loves doing, seducing men and making it easy for them to give him everything he wants. 

Tonight he’s not in the mood though. Sipping on his Bloody Mary, he talks lazily to the bartender, smiles at him with his unarming smile, but it doesn’t mean anything for him. Actually Wooyoung is so tired already, so tired of always being dumb and pretty around men, talking with them cheesy to get some information he needs for his future job. He’s not a slut he might seem to be, and being like this almost all the time kills him. He wants to be recognized and independent, like San is. This man’s image makes him feel so dizzy, again. 

He’s so deep in his mind, thinking about San. It’s something he can’t control, his thoughts are loud and the man’s name is pounding inside of his brain. SanSanSan. How annoying that he can’t stop thinking about his rival, about how much he hates him. Really, really hates him.

“Hey, pretty boy,” he suddenly hears and turns at the sound, facing the man twice his age standing next to him. 

The man wears a suit and has a nasty smirk on face, and Wooyoung’s stomach twists. He knows how he looks, wearing this skirt, but he wasn’t dressing for men tonight. Only for himself, for his comfort, but of course he draws the attention. How can he not.

“I’m not interested,” he says, not even looking at the man. He’s calm, his legs crossed and pressed together tightly. 

That’s not the response the man wants to hear. He scoffs, only getting closer. 

“I haven’t even suggested anything.”

“Yeah. But I’m already not interested. Not sorry.”

The atmosphere thickens. The man inhales loudly, and it’s obvious he’s not here to play. He leans closer, stinking with cigarettes and strong alcohol and something like sweat and vomit. Wooyoung wrinkles his nose, sipping his cocktail again, not looking at the annoying old fucker next to him. But it’s clear that he won’t leave, even after being ignored.

“Listen, doll, you can’t come here looking like this and ignore someone who’s interested in you. We can have a really good night, your sweet little body needs to be taken care of.”

Gross, Wooyoung thinks. He gulps, because the man won’t leave, it’s clear. Turning to face him, the younger man takes a breath and finally rejects the man sharply, tired of playing games.

“Fuck off already, I’m not leaving with you, prick. Go find somebody to fuck in a better place.”

When the man’s smirk fades, Wooyoung realises that maybe it was a mistake. 

“You’re only making it worse for yourself, whore. Get up now, before you regret it.”

Fear grips Wooyoung’s throat, and he finds himself unable to move, his heart ready to break his ribs. He’s used to men who want him, who think they can touch him openly, but he’s never actually been harassed before. He could easily stand up for himself, but now, when this man gets up and catches Wooyoung’s wrist, squeezing hard, he knows he can’t escape. The old man can easily break his bones with his grip, and tears gather in Woo’s eyes, that’s why he can’t protest almost being manhandled like this. 

“Let me go!” he manages to squeal, but the man only smirks, dragging him closer.

Wooyoung can feel his disgusting breath, his hands on his body, and he feels so breakable he wants to cry. The man wants to take him somewhere to the hallway, but the boy tries to fight him, and surprisingly no one around them is paying attention. Soulless rich fuckers, he thinks. His wrist goes almost numb and it feels like his bones are already breaking, and it’s really painful. Head dizzy, spinning so hard he almost throws up.

He thinks no one will save him. He’s gonna be raped by an old pervert whose hands are already on his bare thighs. That’s not how he imagined his night in a luxury hotel.

“I believe he told you to let go,” another voice comes, and Wooyoung jolts, because he knows this voice. 

It’s Choi San. And it only makes the situation worse, because Wooyoung never wanted to be seen like this by San. 

“We’re just having fun, mate. Girl is not just well-behaved.”

Wooyoung can see how San’s eyes twist with anger. He comes closer and easily rips the man apart from the boy, not being careful at all. He stands in between them, looking the old prick in the eyes and smirking, showing who’s in control there. 

“Now it’s time for you to leave. And maybe find a new hotel, if you don’t wanna get in trouble. Trust me, I can make your life much worse now.”

The man’s ugly face twists with fear, and he willingly leaves, looking at Wooyoung with hatred. The younger one doesn’t look at him, he’s still shaking a little, not even looking at San, who’s still standing there, handsome and concerned about Wooyoung. The man moves closer, careful and slow, not to frighten the boy even more. He wants to touch—to ground him, to stroke his black hair. But he doesn’t.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice calm, but not cold. 

Wooyoung looks at him, eyes glassy, but turning bitchy fast. He shrugs, adjusting his skirt, trying to cover his thighs. San doesn’t look away from his eyes. 

“I’m fine. Didn’t need your help,” he scoffs, and of course they both know it’s a lie. 

“Yeah. I see.”

Suddenly it’s cold. In a room full of people, where the heat is crazy, Wooyoung shivers, hugging himself and covering with goosebumps. San sees it. He comes even closer, ruining the brief distance between them, and takes off his expensive jacket, staying in a tight white shirt. His pecs are perfectly visible through it. Draping the jacket on Wooyoung’s shoulders, he fastens one button so it won’t fall. Wooyoung drowns in it, his body too small for San’s clothes, and the man finds it attractive. He also loves the idea of Wooyoung smelling like him—with sandalwood and cognac, so mindblowing. 

To tell the truth, the younger one loves the smell too. However, he doesn’t accept it.

“I don’t need it,” he tries to be bitchy again, but he’s just so cute with his cheeks pink and body covered under San’s jacket. 

“You’re shaking.”

Wooyoung bites his lip, hating how vulnerable he is. He’s always full of hate when San’s nearby. Because San makes him wet, aching, so easy to get it’s pathetic. And how can he not hate him? It’s mutual, he thinks. But why then San is still here, looking at him with concern? 

“It’s cold here,” he murmurs.

“You should go to your room. And better lock your door.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he scoffs, but really does get up. His knees are shaking.

“I just care.”

He… What?

“Care? Don’t fuck with me, San.”

“You act like I’m some monster,” he says, and his voice is too calm, so is his face. “But I’m not just standing and looking at how you’re being harassed. I want you to be safe.”

Wooyoung doesn’t know what to say. He opens his mouth and then closes it back like a fish, his trembling fingers catching the fabric of the jacket and pulling it a little tighter on. San sees it, and his expression goes softer. This gesture is like an acception. Wooyoung doesn’t fully reject his presence, his strongly smelling piece of clothes. He still wears it, and San likes it. 

“Want me to walk you to your room?” he asks, lowering his voice so no one will hear.

“I can walk by myself. I don’t need your company.”

“You’re still shaking. I just want to make sure you get to your room safely.”

“You’re my personal guard or what?”

“If you want.”

Wooyoung doesn’t reply. Surprisingly, he stays quiet. Touches his skirt again, checking whether it’s covering everything, and then turns towards the elevator, walking on his wobbly legs. San follows, keeping his distance, his pace slow and careful. Hands in his pockets, back straight, he really looks like a bodyguard, especially in the suit he’s wearing. And when sometimes Wooyoung turns to take a look, he fights back a moan, because okay, San is really hot. His eyes are dark, deep like an ocean. The younger doesn’t understand why the man is like this, why after the years of their rivalry he’s still like this? 

The elevator ride is quiet. They’re standing at different angles, not even looking at each other. Well, San does. But Wooyoung tries to keep his eyes fixed on the numbers changing on the screen. The ride to the 17th floor is extremely long, and when they finally arrive, Wooyoung escapes the elevator like it’s the fire inside. His fingers are shaking, and it’s hard to take the keycard out of the pocket of his skirt. When he finally succeeds and freezes near the door, he’s struggling a little to swipe it and get it. It’s like his fingers living their own life, because they’re frozen, and he almost cries because why’s he so fucked tonight? He can’t do anything while being watched by San who’s still standing behind him, too close. 

The man shifts closer, and suddenly his wide chest is pressed to Wooyoung’s back. He shivers, cursing under his breath and almost dropping the card, but San is there to help. Always. Carefully he covers Wooyoung’s hand with his own, steadying, and swipes the card mostly by himself. He feels how numb Wooyoung goes, how fast his heart beats again. And it makes him smile a little, but he hides immediately. 

The lock beeps, and San leans even closer, his chest fully pressed into the boy’s back. He pushes the door open and finally steps back, letting Wooyoung breathe.

“See? Not that hard,” he whispers, and his voice makes his whole body clench.

Wooyoung gulps. He steps inside his room, like it’s gonna save him from this man.

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you didn’t refuse either.”

Now they’re face to face. He looks San in the eyes, drowning in them again. It’s awful, he thinks, but he just can’t feel normal when San is like this, dressed like a devil and looking at him like he’s something precious. It makes him weak.

“I won’t thank you,” he says in his bitchy manner, wanting to see the reaction.

“Okay. I just needed to make sure you’re fine.”

“I’m fine. Now you can leave.”

San doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. His gaze drags slowly down his body—his red blouse tucked into the tiny skirt, his thighs bare, the oversized jacket hanging loose. He looks so delicious right now. So fuckable with his black hair long and a little messy. The man wanted to touch so bad, to feel how the small body arches under his fingers, trembling and begging. These thoughts heat him up and he adjusts his belt, because suddenly the pants go a little uncomfortable. 

“I’ll go downstairs now,” San says, his voice deep. “But if you need me, call. My room is just down the hall.”

Wooyoung freezes.

“You live on the 17th floor?”

“Yeah. What a coincidence.”

Coincidence. Of course. Wooyoung doesn’t say anything, and San finally leaves, looking at him one last time before disappearing into the hall. Closing the door and staying alone again, Wooyoung just can’t start breathing normally. He still feels too much, San’s presence thick in the air. He can still feel his perfume.

And, fuck. San didn’t take his jacket back. It’s still on the boy’s shoulders, and actually he starts feeling too comfortable draped in it. He nuzzles into the fabric, breathing in the scent. When it fills his lungs, he realizes how deeply fucked he is. 

It’s almost midnight, but Wooyoung doesn’t sleep. He tried to, but the try was unsuccessful, and now he just stands near the window, looking down at the city covered in mist and drinking water. He put San’s jacket on the armchair carefully, planning to give it back tomorrow, but deep inside he wants to keep it to himself. And he hates this thought even more than he hates San. 

He’s dressed in a silk robe, thin red panties covering his burning heat, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Not thinking about San is hard, because every time he tries to distract himself he sees this jacket and remembers how the man’s body was pressed at his. And his pussy throbs.

“Moron,” he curses, finishing his glass of water and moving towards the bed. He wants to try sleeping again, but of course he knows he won’t succeed.

The moment he wants to turn the lights off fully—now the lamp is working—he hears a knock on his door. And jumps. Midnight, he thinks. Who would come? Not the room service obviously, and when he thinks it might be this old prick from the bar he shakes, thinking about calling San if something goes wrong.

But turns out there’s no need to call San, because—god—he hears the voice.

“It’s me, Wooyoung. Open.”

Wooyoung’s pulse spikes. He tells him he doesn’t want to see him, but actually he hates him so much it really turns him on. He can’t ignore how wet he already is, and how his body reacts to San. Moreover, the man was really nice to him. He isn’t this bitchy to ignore him after he literally saved him from being raped.

So he opens the door, just briefly. Looks at San and sees him even more breathtaking. His hair is a little messy, shirt unbuttoned at the top, his cheeks pink probably from a little drinking. The man is sober, however. His black eyes are staring at Wooyoung, and this gaze is literally undressing. The boy tries to cover himself.

“Why are you here?” he tries to make his voice cool. “Came for the jacket? I’ll give it back, wait…”

“Don’t care about the jacket,” San says before Wooyoung leaves. “I wanted to check on you.”

“What, you’re my daddy to check on me every hour?”

“Why can’t you just accept that I care?”

“Because…” the words die in his throat. “How can you… care when we’re rivals?”

San smiles, stepping closer. Wooyoung can smell his perfume again.

“I never wanted us to be rivals.” 

Wooyoung blinks at him, suddenly dizzying. His knees go weak again, and god knows how he wants to fall this man in the arms.

“You—what?”

San steps closer, almost entering the room. “You thought we were rivals. And I just didn’t change your mind.” 

Wooyoung doesn’t say a word. All these years, he hated San and he thought it was mutual. He wanted to punch him and erase this smirk from his face, but it turns out San never hated Wooyoung. Of course. Everyone described San like this—gentleman, so polite, so kindhearted. And only Wooyoung, blinded by his own insecurities and hate, thought San was a monster. Oh how dumb he is. He swallows hard, his throat dry. 

“You’re lying. I saw how you were looking down at me.”

“You hated me before I even had a chance to show you anything else,” he whispers, smiling softly. “Now let me in. Please.”

If only he could, he’d curse him and make him leave now. But Wooyoung is weak. He presses his thighs together, opening the door a little wider. Though he doesn’t step away to let San in. 

“Why should I let you in?” he starts again.

“Because I wanna show you how wrong you are.”

San doesn’t wait for an invitation. He steps in carefully, and Wooyoung doesn’t protest, letting him. Shaking, when the door closes behind the man who looks at him like he’s a treasure. His eyes scan Wooyoung, fixing on his robe, which slides down his shoulder, showing his pretty pale skin. So clean it almost begs to be marked. There’s still a distance between them—the younger one walks backwards, while San approaches him, like a predator. 

“All these years, you were building a wall between us,” he says. “I watched you, always. I saw how you looked at me with a challenge in your eyes. You can’t imagine how bad I wanted you.”

Suddenly the distance erases. San is close now, and Wooyoung feels the heat of his body, feels the familiar scent and almost whimpers, feeling the warmth in his lower stomach. His panties are soaked and he needs the man to do something with it. But San is too slow. He reaches out, but not to touch Woo’s burning skin, but to gently brush his fingers against the sleeve of his robe. His fingers only briefly touch the exposed part of his collarbones, and the younger one slightly whimpers.

“You still smell like me,” he whispers. “Even now.”

His hands get bolder. He crawls up his sides, moving under the fabric and touching his bare chest. Not opening the robe, but teasing at the hem, he moves lower, until he finds the loose robe belt. One move and it’d fall, but San takes his time, teasing and never breaking eye contact. How can San not hate him, when he’s literally torturing him now? 

It seems like San loves seeing how Wooyoung slowly falls apart, how his body leans into the touch, shamefully begging to be touched. He doesn’t want to punch this man now, to scream, to escape. He loves how these big hands trace down his clothed body, how they don’t touch bare skin, teasing, heating up the atmosphere. But Wooyoung can’t wait anymore, his whole body on fire. He whines silently, and San hears it. Of course he does, and his smirk grows. Landing his fingers on the belt again, he tugs it and presses Wooyoung closer to himself, leaving almost no space between them. Their faces are inches apart, Wooyoung feels San’s hot breath on his cheek and almost falls down on his knees, but the man’s hand on his waist holds him tightly. 

The man licks his lips. Plays with the robe belt again, his fingertips finally touching Woo’s naked body. They’re burning alive.

“Fuck you,” Wooyoung whispers, trying to make his voice steeler. 

San smirks. “Gladly.”

And then he surges forward and crushes his lips with Wooyoung, kissing him passionately and possessively, leaving no place for softness. It’s filled with Wooyoung’s ‘hatred’, with longing, with want they both had deep inside. San kisses him like he’s starving, his hands explore the younger man’s small body, squeezing it through the piece of fabric and making him moan. Wooyoung holds on San’s shoulders like it’s a lifeline, afraid if he lets go he’ll fall and die. 

Never stopping kissing him, San pushes him towards the bed, and when his knees hit it, he tugs on his robe belt once again and finally opens it. The robe falls down from the boy’s shoulders, leaving him completely bare, only his red panties covering his heated body. San groans, putting his hands on Wooyoung’s chest and stroking it, then moving lower down his sides, squeezing and leaving red marks from his fingers. Then he pushes him on the bed completely and crawls on it too, towering Wooyoung and seeing how truly small he is. It only makes his cock harder in his pants. 

Wooyoung is a sin. His lips are swollen from kisses, cheeks pink, hair messy. Red panties are soaked, and his mind is already far away. San kisses his lips again and then goes lower, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck and collarbones. He bites and then licks it, soothing the itch and making Wooyoung squirm like a little bitch in heat. He truly feels like one. When San’s lips touch his stomach, he jolts, only getting wetter and pressing thighs together. 

“Look at you, Wooyoung,” he whispers, touching the dampness on his panties. “You hate me so much, but your pussy is soaking.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, but parts his legs even more, and San curses under his breath.

The view is breathtaking. San leans down, facing his pussy and moaning so loud it’s almost embarrassing. With his thumb he touches the wetness, and then pulls the panties aside and whines, seeing Wooyoung’s pretty pussy, wet and clenching around nothing.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So beautiful here.”

He knows Woo’s about to say something sharp, so before he does it San leans down and licks a long stripe from his entrance to his clit. It makes the younger one literally scream, he arches his back, his body suddenly going on fire. The sensation is electric, so much more intense than his own fingers could ever be. San’s tongue is relentless, circling his clit, flicking over it and sucking in, then moving lower and plunging inside his leaking entrance. He holds his hips, pinning him in place as he devours him like a man possessed. The room is filled with filthy sounds of San’s mouth on his cunt and Wooyoung’s broken moans. 

The whole floor can probably hear them now.

“San, fuck—it’s too much, stop,” he whimpers, tangling his fingers in the man’s hair, not sure if he wants to pull him closer or push him away.

But San ignores him. He moves his tongue faster, slightly bites his clit and then inserts one finger inside of his pussy, feeling how tight the boy is inside and moaning into his slick heat, sending vibrations down his core. Then comes another finger, and San crooks them just right, making Wooyoung see stars. It’s just two fingers and a tongue, but he already can’t control himself, mind far away, body burning up, mind hazy. He feels like he’s about to pass out, and when San increases his pace and moves his fingers faster, he screams, closing his eyes.

“I can’t, San… Please stop,” he cries, but of course he doesn’t want him to stop. Never. He feels so good he wants to scream. “I feel—oh god—it’s too much!”

“Too much?” San asks and smirks, going back to sucking his clit immediately. 

Wooyoung can’t reply. He feels he’s about to come, but now it feels… different. He’s never felt like this, his previous partners too focused on their own pleasure to make him feel good. He’s never been this high. He’s losing himself, feeling how his body goes completely out of control.

“Fuck… Shit, I’m gonna—San!” he cries, literally cries, tears running down his pretty face. 

“Let go, angel. Come for me now, please.”

And when San adds a third finger, Wooyoung loses it. He comes, a wave of pleasure hitting him. His body convulses and he screams, and then a hot gush of liquid rushes out of him, soaking San, his hands, the sheets beneath them, everything. It’s all wet around them. 

The sensation is unfamiliar, and for a second Wooyoung thinks something awful happened. The pleasure is followed by the wave of panic, and he closes his legs, making San withdraw his soaked fingers out of the ruined pussy. Wooyoung stares at the wet patch on the sheets and fuck, he can’t believe it really happened. His body trembles with aftershocks.

“What was that?” he whispers in a shaky voice. “What did you do to me?”

San can’t help but smile.

“You just squirted, baby,” he says. “And it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

  Wooyoung is embarrassed. He tried so hard to act tough, but it turns out he can’t even control his own body, because it reacts on San like this. He puts his legs together, shaking, and looks at San through his lashes. The man looks mesmerized. 

“It’s so disgusting, fuck… I’ve never done that,” he whispers, sobbing.

“It’s not disgusting, Wooyoung,” he leans closer, caressing his cheek. “It’s really good. It means you had a really good pleasure. No one just ever made you feel like this.”

Wooyoung sobs one more time, but then relaxes again, looking San in the eyes. Unintentionally, he moves closer and kisses him, hesitantly and a little unsure, and the man melts, grabbing his legs and pulling him closer. His clothed cock makes contact with the boy’s wet and ruined pussy and they both moan, overwhelmed. 

“I need to be inside of you, angel,” San says when they part. “Really need to.” 

San’s words hang in the heavy air between them, thick with sex and heat. Wooyoung’s chest rises and falls rapidly, his lips swollen and red, thighs trembling. He’s still recovering from his first orgasm, but his pussy already clenches again. And he feels he’s ready for more, even though he’ll never accept it.

“You’re insane,” he whispers. “I hate you.”

“Hate me all you want. But do it on my cock.” 

The boy whines. He lifts his hips, feeling San’s bulge and biting his lips even harder. San is huge, he can see it even through the pants. It already makes him gulp. 

The man doesn’t wait anymore. He slips his fingers under the waistband of Woo’s panties and drags him lower, taking off the last piece of clothing agonizingly slowly. When they’re gone, tossed aside on the floor, Wooyoung is completely bare. His pussy is extra wet, and San can’t fight a moan when he sees how bad it’s aching to be filled. He parts his legs fully and gets in between, admiring the mess he’s made. Wooyoung’s pussy is beautiful, and it’s hard not to fall down on his knees and eat him out again. Cursing under his breath, San starts undressing, and Wooyoung watches him, going a little crazy when he sees this man like this.

San slowly unbuttons his shirt, taking it off and exposing his muscular chest, abs and hard nipples, meaty pecs. Wooyoung almost whimpers at the sight, he wants to touch so bad and he almost leans closer, but stops himself before he can do this. But when the man undoes his belt slowly, the boy loses it completely. Because when he’s left completely naked, his cock on full display, Woo wants to scream. The man is huge, really huge, cock thick and long, leaking with precome already. He’s not even sure it’ll fit. The size difference is too big, and he’s just a boy. 

“S-San, I don’t think it’ll—” he whispers, closing his legs again.

San carefully parts them and gets in between.

“Shh, baby, don’t worry. It’ll fit. I’ll go slow, and you’re gonna take me like the good little boy you are.” 

Wooyoung wants to scream. But he willingly parts his legs again, because the heat is uncontrollable, his pussy clenches and begs to be filled up to the brim. San inserts three fingers in again, stretching him one more time and then adding the fourth finger. It seems like the boy’s ready, but the man is surprisingly careful with him. Like he’s made of glass.

When he’s stretched enough, San kisses him again and then leans down to his ear, whispering with his voice shaky and breathless. 

“We can do this raw. I’m clean, baby.”

Wooyoung’s eyes fly open, and his heart beats even harder. “You’re crazy,” but then he adds. “I’m clean too.”

San smirks. Strokes himself once, twice, and then lines up, pushing inside with the tip. He’s really big, the stretch making Wooyoung already cry. He grips San’s arm, nails scratching his skin, and it only makes the man lose his mind even more, because it’s all too much even for him. He pauses for a second, and then plunges deeper, inch by inch, making the boy take him all.

“W-Wait San, it won’t fit…” he whines, trying to push him away. 

“It fits perfectly, angel. You’re made for me,” he leans closer. “A perfect pussy for my cock.”

Soon enough San is buried inside completely, and Wooyoung can swear he feels his cock in his throat. He’s afraid to move, he thinks the man will rip him apart, but San stays still for a moment, but then he starts moving eventually. He’s slow at first, moving carefully and whispering sweet things in his ear, but then it’s like he’s possessed. He starts moving harshly, thrusts deep and hard, so hard they make Wooyoung scream every time. He can swear San has the biggest cock he’s ever seen, because he feels like he’s being ripped apart, like his body is going to fall open now. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. San knows how to fuck him good, his hands gripping the boy’s legs and hips and waist, leaving red marks on his soft marble skin. They kiss messingly, and then the man goes lower, leaving dark marks on the younger’s neck, collarbones, chest. Marking him as his. And it’s something Wooyoung’s never allowed his partners to do. 

“Your pussy is incredible, baby,” he moans, his voice gone. “So perfect for me. Only for me, right?”

Wooyoung nods desperately, unable to think and talk coherently. But of course it’s not enough for San. He grips his hip even tighter, making the boy squirm. 

“Answer me, Wooyoung.”

“Yes…”

“Yes?”

“For… you. Perfect for you, S-San!”

This makes the man go crazy. He suddenly increases his pace, hitting all the right spots inside and making the boy cry from the overwhelming pleasure. He thinks he might die because of it, his body is too hot and too sensitive. San has no mercy on him. He pounds him hard, ruining him and turning him into a sobbing and whining mess. Smirking, he plays with him. Pulls out completely, making the boy whine, and then brakes in again, enjoying the way he cries loudly. He does this a couple more times, until Wooyoung’s literally shaking, begging him to stop torturing him. 

It’s really a torture. A sweet one. San’s thumb is on his clit, circling around it and making the boy feel too much at the same time. He presses his eyes shut, tears messing up his cheeks, making his face wet. It’s too much. He thinks he can’t take it anymore, but then he feels a pressure on his tummy. And when he opens his eyes, he sees San’s palm on it. And his mind goes hazy.

“Look at it,” the man whispers. “I’m so deep I can even see it in your small tummy. You feel me, baby?”

“F-Fuck… Yes, I feel you in my… in my throat…”

“That’s good. Good. I want you to feel me everywhere.”

And just like this, he goes only at a harder, monstrous pace, killing Wooyoung and making him lose his voice completely. The hand on his lower stomach is no better, it makes him feel so full he cries, hand flies to the man’s chest as he tries to push him closer.

They’re both close, it’s clear. San abuses Wooyoung’s clit, and the boy’s burning up, ready to come at any second. He plays with the man’s nipples, pinching them and making him moan, thrusting in harder and deeper. 

When San leans down and kisses Wooyoung, he loses it completely, his body clutching and heating up. He sobs, arching of the bed, and that’s when San loses his mind, going even faster, slapping Woo’s thigh slightly while fucking him like crazy.

“Shit, San, I’m coming…” 

“Yes, baby. Come for me. Show me how you like it.”

Wooyoung loses it. He comes, screaming loud so everyone in this damn hotel can hear him. His pussy squeezes San inside, making it hard for him to move, and the man groans, tossing his head aside.

“Gosh, Youngie. So tight. Gonna come inside, make you mine…”

The younger one wants to protest. He doesn’t let anyone come inside. It’s personal, and he hates the mess. But he can only moan loudly, nodding eagerly.

“Please. Come inside,” he whispers, embarrassingly desperate.

He hates himself for this, but gosh how he loves the stretch San’s cock gives him. The man can’t hold it anymore, he presses his forehead to Wooyoung’s, going as deep as he can, hitting all the right spots and trying to reach his heart probably. With one final thrust he buries himself to the hilt and comes inside, long and hot ropes of come filling Wooyoung’s body up. He feels too much, the heat eating him whole, and he even blacks out for a mere second, opening his eyes and seeing San on top of him, breathing hard and looking at him with pure care in his eyes. 

They stay like this for some time, San still inside of Wooyoung, never wanting to leave his perfect body. But the man is too heavy, and it’s hard for the boy to lay underneath, while he’s almost being crushed by such a huge guy.

“Get off me,” he manages to breathe, slightly punching his chest. 

San nods. Pulls out carefully, watching in awe how his sperm leaks out of Woo’s pink pussy. He parts his folds with his thumb, collecting some of the release and taking it into his mouth. He licks, looking Wooyoung in the eyes, and his cheeks go pink, he looks away in embarrassment, biting his lips. 

Cleaning his mouth, the man leans closer and kisses the boy again, letting him feel himself on his tongue. 

“You ruined me,” he whispers when they part, looking the man in the eyes.

“That was the plan, babydoll,” he smiles. “Now, let me clean you up.”

“I don’t need—”

“You do. I’ll take you to the shower, want it or not. And then…” he looks at the ruined sheets, wet with come and the boy’s juices. “Then I’ll take you to my suite and we’ll sleep there.”

“We?” he asks, amused.

“Yes. As I told you, you’re mine now.”

Wooyoung wants to protest. But he doesn’t. And it already means something—something he doesn’t quite understand yet. 

San really cleans him up, taking him into the shower and carefully washing down the mess he’s made. But then he loses his mind again, pressing Wooyoung to the wall and fucking him against it, pulling his long black hair making him arch his back, biting into his neck and making him scream even louder. He slaps him, plays with his nipples and tortures his clit, and the younger one understands he can’t just fight it anymore. He has a thing for San—always had—and now it doesn’t even scare him that much. Because this man feels just perfect between his legs. 

They leave the ruined sheets lying like this, put on their clothes and leave the room, Wooyoung hiding all the lovebites covering his neck and other body parts. He wears San’s jacket, and he swears he doesn’t want to take it off. Never. San’s suite is really down the hall, and when they enter, the younger one takes off the jacket and collapses on the bed, too tired and fucked to undress or do anything. San smiles. Undresses quickly and lies down too, making Wooyoung lie properly, taking off his t-shirt and covering him with the blanket. He pulls him closer, making his back press onto the man’s chest. It’s soft, too soft even, and Wooyoung can’t stop thinking about how weird it is.

“You’re too close,” he whispers. 

“Yeah. And you like it.”

“I hate you,” he repeats, and they both know it’s a lie now. “And you should too.”

“Why is that?” he nudges into his neck with his nose, and Wooyoung jolts. 

He really doesn’t know how he can hate San now. When he’s so close and so perfect near him. The man hugs him tighter, kissing his neck. And Wooyoung melts.

“I don’t know. We were rivals all these years.”

“You thought we were. So now let’s stop being them, okay?”

Wooyoung doesn’t answer. But he closes his eyes and lets San hold him like this—tight, soft, needy. He let him fuck him—twice—and now he sleeps with him in one bed. And he’s more than sure in a couple of days they’ll leave the hotel together. 

Because now he understands. He always wanted San. And maybe—just maybe—there’s nothing wrong with sleeping with the man you ‘hate’ in one bed. And maybe there’s no hate left.

“Sleep now, baby,” the man whispers, turning his head and kissing his lips.

And just like that, Wooyoung falls asleep, feeling like all of this looks too much like a dream.