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₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

“You’re here too.”

The lights of the club illuminate Jung Wooyoung’s skin prettily, waves of azure, purple and pink brushing over his limbs. Choi Jongho scowls. 

His eyes follow the way the disco lights flush over Wooyoung’s skin for a moment, before reality kicks in. 

“Obviously I’d be at my own team’s winning celebration,” he retorts. The game between SNU and Yonsei, the two teams Jongho and Wooyoung belong to, had finished a few hours prior. And, much to Jongho’s satisfaction, SNU had won – they’d won viciously. 8-2. Jongho had not been able to stop the sardonic grin from falling on his face when he’d seen Wooyoung glare at him over the pitch.

If looks could kill, Jongho would not be here right now. Yet here he is, having swirled a glass of whisky in between his fingers boredly until Wooyoung had turned up. 

Wooyoung shrugs as he always does when Jongho makes a rational point. Strange that Jongho knows that – he should know nothing about Jung Wooyoung. Not the way he ticks, the way he dismisses Jongho’s distaste of him with no care. Not the way Wooyoung sounds when he comes, hands tightening their grip on Jongho’s waist, the younger of the two’s eyes shut tightly as he comes down from his own rapture. 

Jongho shakes himself out of the thoughts of Wooyoung over him. Of the vision of Wooyoung inside him a few weeks prior, whispering “wanna bet again that I can’t make you come, Choi?” and his own pleading, dizzied voice saying “m-maybe,” as if he hadn’t fully known before entering the bet that Wooyoung could make him see stars in five seconds if he wanted to.

“One would however beg to ask,” Jongho finds his voice again, “why you of all people are here? Shouldn’t you be sobbing over your loss with the rest of Yonsei?”

“Thought you’d miss me,” Wooyoung smiles, but the look in his eyes is biting. His gaze brushes over Jongho’s body as it always does – a tad too interested, a tad too challenging.

“I’d never miss you,” Jongho scoffs. The distaste in his eyes falters into shock when Wooyoung laughs a bit too genuinely. If Wooyoung wasn’t the bane of his existence, Jongho would perhaps admit to himself that Wooyoung was pretty like this, happy, amused, his smile so wide and joyous that it revealed all his upper and lower teeth. 

“Not even you believe that, Choi,” Wooyoung shakes his head. The amusement in his eyes still lingers when he shifts from Jongho’s direct line of vision to order a drink at the bar. 

Jongho pretends he doesn’t care about the bartender flirting with Wooyoung for the next five minutes.

The relationship he has with Wooyoung – if he could even call it that – is strange. They first met two years prior, at the first game that year between Yonsei and SNU. At that time, Jongho had been a bright-eyed first year, unaffected by the monstrosities that were to come in his Physics degree. 

He had enrolled into the SNU football team with no thought. Jongho had played professional football since the age of fourteen; he’d even considered applying to SNU on a sports scholarship, but his parents had encouraged him to pursue Physics instead. Football was still his one true love however, so as soon as he’d enrolled into the university, he applied to play the sport again. SNU were short of a midfielder, and Jongho, bright-eyed, young and too innocent, had accepted the position eagerly.

He didn’t know the pain in his ass (figuratively and literally) that would come as a way of him playing for SNU.

Wooyoung is his direct opposite, but simultaneously so similar to him that it frightened Jongho. He is loud and unburdened, always found comfortably speaking to a group of people wherever he goes. A social butterfly in the making, Jongho remembers a friend of his saying at a party they’d gone to last year. But he is also strong and resilient, and when he sets his mind on something… he will get it.

Safe to say, Wooyoung pisses him off in unprecedented ways. Jongho never felt the burn of competitiveness like this before. Not even in the Science Olympiads that he’d taken in high school, which had landed him at SNU in the first place, after he’d fought tooth and nail for that Number One place in his school. 

Competitiveness comes easy to Jongho – when he's invested in something, he’ll dedicate his entire life to that thing. He’ll let it consume him, take over his entire trachea and bones until he got tired of it. It’s been that way with football and physics, and it’d been that way with the class president title that he’d almost battled the nepo baby in his class who didn’t know shit about leadership. 

But Wooyoung makes him feel something else. Wooyoung somehow, just by existing, makes the ever-present flare of competitiveness in his stomach switch to one of provocation. 

The first time they’d met, two years prior on the pitch of Yonsei (it was an away game), Wooyoung had raised his eyebrow at him. 

“Haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m new,” Jongho, still trying to be polite, had said.

“Obviously. Since when are SNU hiring though? It’s been the same ten dickheads trying to one-up us since 2020.”

“The last midfielder got suspended,” Jongho said shortly. Quite frankly, he wasn’t going to go into details to a rival player of how that stupid man had risked his entire sports scholarship to punch a man who allegedly had been going after the girl he’d liked. A girl who’d rejected him for the last three months. Dickhead , Jongho thought to himself. 

“Shin?” Wooyoung asked. “Not surprising. That guy was too cocky for his own good.”

“And a possessive, entitled dickhead,” Jongho muttered to himself. It was clear Wooyoung had heard him because he’d just laughed, before giving Jongho a pat on the back. The contact was unexpected, making Jongho jump in surprise. But not in displeasure. Wooyoung seemed so approachable that even Jongho, who was typically averse to skinship unless he initiated it himself, didn’t mind too much when Wooyoung’s fingers found their ways on his skin.

At first (though he’d be remiss to admit that, to this day, he still does not mind Wooyoung’s touch on him).

“You’re a cheeky one, newcomer.”

“My name’s Jongho.”

“You’re also the first new player SNU’s had for the last three years. You’ll be deemed the ‘newcomer’ by all of us.”

“Are you usually that forward with your rival teams that you give the players nicknames?” Jongho asked.

Wooyoung shrugged in the way Jongho would become accustomed to in the near future. “Usually. We all tend to play quite often so we get used to one another, even if we usually beat SNU to the pulp.” 

At this, Wooyoung’s lips pulled up into a cheeky grin, before he spun around to head to his team. He turned back for a moment, voice louder now that he was further away. “Don’t feel too bad when you lose, newcomer. It’s the usual with us.”

“Let’s see if that’ll be the case,” Jongho muttered to himself.

Safe to say, it’d been the first time Yonsei had lost against SNU in the past three years. When the cheers of SNU’s fans skyrocketed, Yonsei’s fans rendered into a stunned silence, he found himself meeting eyes with Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, who was watching him confusedly. Wooyoung, whose head fell to the side in a contemplative frown, the good-natured look in his eyes prior to the game gone. His eyes had trailed over him calculatingly, lips pursed in a frown. As if he was seeing Jongho in a new light.

Much like in the present. In the lights of the club, Wooyoung’s eyes brush over him, analysing every crevice of Jongho’s body. His uniform, the way his fingers hold the glass (a bit weak since Wooyoung joined him), his thighs, his exposed shins now that the game is over and he no longer has to wear his protective gear.

Wooyoung’s gaze burns. 

The familiar wave of competitiveness-turned-need-to-challenge burns in Jongho’s stomach.

“How did it feel to lose again, Jung? It’s starting to become a norm for you at this point.”

Wooyoung glares. “You might want to ease the cockiness there, Choi. We both know I can fuck it out of you in two seconds.”

Jongho gulps. He envisions it again, that memory from two weeks ago – Wooyoung in him, lips brushing over his ears, hand on his cock for the third time that night. Jongho remembers it all. The shakiness of his legs as he’d propped himself against his shower wall for balance, the sensation of Wooyoung thrusting in him in tandem with the shakes of his hand sending Jongho into a different orbit. 

Something in him feels the need to challenge Wooyoung again. To have himself all in Wooyoung’s control again, mind so fucked out that he wouldn’t even remember his own name.

“Who knows?” he shouts over the music – a horrendous rendition of a pop song mixed with a completely wrong EDM instrumental that even he, a self-proclaimed lover of terrible EDM remixes, grimaces. “Maybe you’re so embarrassed from how badly we beat you that you can’t even get it up.”

The glare intensifies. “Is that so?” Wooyoung asks. 

The wave of confidence in Jongho’s stomach fades into the familiar sensation of desperation. He knows what will come next. Wooyoung will likely push him into a bathroom stall of the club and make him cry right there and then . 

And Jongho wants it all – he wants to be all pliant in the hands of his absolute enemy. He wants his mind to be numb with nothing but thoughts of how well Wooyoung is having him. In a club bathroom, nonetheless. With another horrific EDM rendition blaring in their ears.

Seriously, who was this DJ?

But Jongho doesn’t preoccupy himself too much with silly questions. He instead smiles evilly, enjoying the anger flaring in Wooyoung’s entire body in front of him.

“Yes,” he finds himself murmuring. “8-2, Jung. How shameful.”

“Shut up.”

“No, thanks.” Jongho grins. “I can revel in my success because I’ve earned it. Something you cannot do.”

Wooyoung pulls him in. “Be quiet, Choi.”

They’re still a few millimetres apart, not enough for their bodies to be touching, but enough for Jongho to feel the heat of Wooyoung’s gaze scorch him even further. Jongho’s amused grin falls, instead replaced by the familiar sense of want that fills his stomach every time Wooyoung is around.

He wants this.

He wants this so bad.

He wants Wooyoung’s competitiveness to engrave itself on his skin. He wants to feel himself fall against the wall of the bathroom stall, the only thing propping him up being Wooyoung’s hands.

“You think I don’t notice how hard you are already?” Wooyoung leans to whisper in his ears. The younger gulps, eyes shutting tightly. “How, with one pull, you are all pliant in my hands even though you wouldn’t shut up a minute ago?”

Words fail him. He merely stands like that, Wooyoung’s arm encapsulating his waist, and he waits. Because he knows – he knows what Wooyoung will do next. He can predict it before he feels the all-welcoming touch of Wooyoung’s knee against his erection. And he can predict his own reaction, the groan that escapes his trachea so suddenly that it feels like it’s been Heimliched out of him. 

He thanks the (again, awful ) song playing for covering the sheer noise of his moan. But Wooyoung hears it. Jongho can tell based on the confident laugh in his ear. 

“You’re so predictable, Choi. One move from me and you’re fucked out already. I haven’t even touched you.”

“You’re –” he falters when another moan threatens to escape his lips at how uncaringly Wooyoung brushes his knee against him. “You’re literally rubbing yourself on my cock right now.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m the one rubbing myself right now,” Wooyoung says pointedly. And he’s right. Jongho’s body is following his knee, seeking every touch – every rub – like a starved man chasing for water. 

“You’re so – so fucking infuriating,” Jongho grunts. The frustration in his tone is quickly overtaken by another shocked moan when Wooyoung’s knee returns on him.

“Careful, baby. One more complaint and you won’t get anything tonight.”

Jongho’s lips press together automatically. Wooyoung laughs. “Oh, you can’t risk not getting fucked, can you Choi?”

“Shut up.”

“All that defiance in you just fades when you contemplate the idea of my cock not being in you by the end of the night.”

“S-stop talking.”

Wooyoung’s eyes run over his body. The younger footballer is pressed against him, shoulders slightly trembling while he attempts to get himself off. In the back of Jongho’s mind, he’s acutely aware of the fact that they’re in a public place. There are people surrounding him, all lost in their own dances, but still. They’re surrounded, Jongho remembers. 

But he finds himself not caring too much. All he’s worried about is his own impending climax, the rapture that he just cannot seem to find without Wooyoung inside him, in any way possible. He gives a furtive glance to the bathroom, praying that Wooyoung’s eyes follow his. When they do, Wooyoung eyeing the bathroom contemplatively, Jongho cannot even hide his relief.

“Didn’t take you to be a public sex guy, Choi,” Wooyoung teases. But his eyes are dark. Wanting.

“I wasn’t. Until tonight.”

Until I met you, he thinks. But that’s too vulnerable for two enemies. That strikes a territory Jongho does not want to cross. Especially not tonight.

Wooyoung waits for one more moment before one of his palms folds around Jongho’s. It’s infuriating, how in control he is, how effortlessly he moves across the dance floor while Jongho can barely keep himself together.

It’s always like this. Jongho will win, because he always does, but by the end of the night, he loses everything. His composure, his pride as Wooyoung fucks him everywhere they find themselves together at… 

He wishes he cared a bit more. 

He doesn’t.

He finds himself not minding too much when they reach a bathroom – one which surprisingly has a lock on the entrance door, pushed calmly by Wooyoung’s steady hand. Wooyoung pushes him against one of the nearby sinks, before his lips smash onto Jongho’s. His fingers lift to Jongho’s cheek, a tad too gentle for their enemy relationship. But then it’s like he catches himself, and he roughly pulls Jongho against him. 

Jongho follows, mind already slipping into the hypnotised, dizzy lull that comes with Wooyoung. 

“How do you want it?” Wooyoung asks, the words entering Jongho’s mouth and catching themselves at the end of his throat. He swallows them, letting them consume him as he ponders. 

Wooyoung’s eyes fall on his chest, a disgruntled frown finding its way on his face when he sees the SNU uniform. Almost immediately, Wooyoung’s hands find their way on the skin under possessively, ice against fire. The chill is almost paradoxical; it feels like molten on his skin. He finds himself keening. His half-shut eyes fall on Wooyoung, who watches him intently.

“Should’ve ripped that shirt off you hours ago,” Wooyoung grumbles. He flicks the white material of Jongho’s shirt with a grimace. 

“Does it taunt you?” Jongho teases. But his mind is too blank for him to sound as challenging as he’d hoped. “A friendly reminder that we rank above you every time?”

“More like it’s a nuisance to the eye.”

Jongho rolls his eyes. “Your uniform is the real nuisance. That shade of blue is just awful.”

“Is that really what you want to talk about while we’re in a stall together? Uniform colours?”

“You started it.”

“And I will also end it. There are more pressing issues at hand.”

The air in Jongho’s throat catches on itself when Wooyoung’s hand finds its way to the corner of his jaw. One of his fingers falls down to trace the spot on his neck Jongho likes most. It almost feels absent-minded, as if Wooyoung isn’t even realising he’s doing it. But Jongho knows that is not the case. Nothing with Wooyoung is incidental. Every one of his touches is calculated, even if he tries eyeing Jongho with saccharine innocence.

“Do it, Jung. I know you’re dying to.” He grunts.

“Do what?” Wooyoung asks. The false innocence in his tone makes Jongho scoff.

“Don't try to act innocent. I know what you’re trying to do.”

Wooyoung raises his eyebrow. A challenge. “And what am I trying to do, Choi?”

A challenge Jongho feels suddenly too timid to rebut. Wooyoung’s finger is still tracing his throat, his neatly trimmed nail scratching pleasantly at the skin under. Jongho feels his head fall back, a sigh fleeing his lips.

“Touch it already.”

“Touch what?”

“My neck. Fucking – fucking touch it already.”

“Beg.”

“W-what?”

“Beg for it.” Wooyoung says. “Ask for it nicely otherwise I won’t touch you for the rest of the night.”

Jongho lets out an exasperated sigh. His stomach twists in the familiar knots of desperation as he waits. If Wooyoung would just… touch him already, they wouldn’t be in this predicament. Jongho, breathing raggedly, his arm leaning on his forehead as he struggles to regain his composure. And Wooyoung… Wooyoung who is completely calm, his finger continuing to move down the hollow of Jongho’s neck.

“Beg for it, Choi. Better get used to it now with how much you’ll be begging for my cock by the end of the night.”

A few more seconds pass. Wooyoung raises his eyebrow – a challenge again. A grin dances along the line of his lips, one so full of confidence that it almost sets Jongho off. Nonetheless, the syllable forces itself out of Jongho’s trachea, his impetuosity winning over his combativeness. “Please.”

“Please what? Use your words so I can understand you.”

“Please choke me then bend me over this sink. Are you happy now?”

Wooyoung’s cocky grin intensifies. “So happy, Choi. How can I not be? You claim you win over me every time but you don’t. Not when you’re this eager to be on my cock.” 

At this, he leans down to whisper in Jongho’s ear, words ghosting over the hollow of Jongho’s neck even more tantalisingly than his hand had. “You’ll lose every time, Choi. Just accept it.”

“T-the rankings say otherwise,” Jongho retorts weakly.

“The rankings have nothing to do with me being inside you, do they?” Jongho goes silent for a moment. The ghost of a touch Wooyoung had on his neck shifts into a full hold, a strong hand tightening around his throat. A breathy gasp fleets Jongho’s lips, his eyes blurring. “ Do they?” Wooyoung presses. 

“N-no.”

Wooyoung smiles, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

His hold on Jongho’s neck however stays firm, a gentle press of his fingers against the younger’s throat. Just the way Jongho likes it. Jongho thinks back on the first time Wooyoung had done this to him. Images abruptly flash the younger’s mind. A hazy shower window, the only spots not painted with condensed air being the spots where he’d breathed up against it. Words murmured in his shoulder blades – “that’s it”, “good’, “take it… take it all, Jongho” – then a sudden, careful pressure against the lines of his oesophagus. One that’d made him gasp violently against the shower door window, his thighs trembling. Wooyoung had paused for a moment, momentarily shocked. Then, as if he hadn’t even paused, the pressure had intensified. Jongho had come just like that, eyes rolled back while his breath lay in Wooyoung’s palms.

It seems like Wooyoung’s thinking of the same incident too. His eyes are transfixed by the skin under his fingers, slightly red under his touch. For a second, his eyes fly up to Jongho’s, calculating once more. Wooyoung’s always like this – he challenges, pushes and pushes until all of a sudden, he pulls, and Jongho lays under him, starstruck.

“Turn around for me,” Wooyoung instructs. Jongho wishes he could halt, that he could push any sign of instruction coming out from the older man’s lips away like a good rival would. A good rival wouldn’t turn around per command. A good rival wouldn’t find himself wanting more of Wooyoung’s descending touch under his uniform. A good rival’s head wouldn’t fall in between his shoulder blades when Wooyoung’s hands work on undressing him, the porcelain of the sink ice-cold against his navel. 

Jongho never called himself a good rival, however.

Instead, he pushes himself back against Wooyoung’s erection. In the blink of an eye, their bodies magnetise to one another. Jongho is flush against Wooyoung when the older’s hand brushes against him – finally touching him where he is most sensitive. The stroke is dry at first, and he keens, dry pants falling from his lips in steady crescendos.

“Spit,” Wooyoung commands. 

A semblance of provocation returns to him when he looks down to see Wooyoung’s extended hand, the one covered in dozens of silver rings. “Make me,” he returns.

Jongho takes a look at the mirror in front of them. The eyes that meet his own are vicious. Fire burns the edge of Wooyoung’s irises as his lips purse in dismay. He slams their bodies together. An aborted gasp escapes Jongho’s lips when he feels Wooyoung’s growing length behind him. 

“Spit, Jongho,” Wooyoung orders. 

And this time, Jongho obeys.  

“More,” the other footballer murmurs, “unless you like your handjobs dryer than the Sahara desert, this won’t be enough.”

“Maybe this is a decent amount of spit and you just don’t know how to give proper ones,” Jongho bites. 

Wooyoung scowls. “You constantly trying to one-up me won’t make your hard-on die down, by the way. So, spit already and stop being a brat.”

Jongho spits again. “Good.” Wooyoung murmurs. 

When his hand descends to grab Jongho in his hold, the stroke is much smoother. 

“Shit.”

Wooyoung’s movements are controlled, slick fingers giving sharp, fast strokes that have Jongho’s eyes roll to the back of his head. On one particular tug, his cock scraps against the metal of Wooyoung’s rings, and he wails, the sound so loud that not even the music playing outside conceals it. 

The older watches him through the glass of the mirror, seeming to observe each time Jongho falters, his head falling lower and lower as he feels himself reach his climax. 

“See what happens when you listen?” Wooyoung speaks. His touch falters for a minute – intentionally, of course, because everything with Wooyoung is intentional. Every touch, every murmur of his tongue, every tug of Jongho’s cock which continues leaking in his hand – everything is calculated and done in a way that makes Jongho light-headed.

The younger footballer grunts. “J-just– move.” 

Wooyoung gives his cock a few more strokes, the combination of his blunt nails and metal rings blurring out every inch of Jongho’s conscience. “More,” Jongho whispers. “More, Wooyoung, more.”

And for once, Wooyoung complies. He presses Jongho against the sink fully, the younger’s hands immediately flying to the surface to hold it for dear life. Wooyoung’s hand falls from him, nothing but the cold air of the bathroom enveloping around Jongho’s body while the older footballer retrieves a condom from his pocket.

“You just carry those with you?” Jongho snarks.

Wooyoung shrugs. “Not usually. But I knew you were here. And with how desperate you get–” he gives Jongho a pointed look,  “I knew I needed to be prepared.”

Jongho wishes he could roll his eyes – that he could deny his alleged desperation and comment something cheeky back – but every thought in his head falters when Wooyoung’s fingers hover around his mouth.

“Suck,” Wooyoung instructs. Carefully, Jongho laps each finger with heavy indulgence, eyes fixing on their reflection in the mirror as he does so. He sees Wooyoung watching him, half hypnotised, half composed. A few moments later, seemingly satisfied, Wooyoung takes his hand out of Jongho’s mouth. Dazed, Jongho watches the way Wooyoung’s hand lowers until it reaches his back. A soft noise leaves his mouth when he feels one finger prod against his walls, the movement gentler than he’d expected. 

Wooyoung explores his entrance for a few minutes. One finger shifts into two, then three… Jongho’s moans grow in volume the more the pressure inside him intensifies. 

“Fuck.” He jolts when a finger presses against the spot where he’s most sensitive. When Wooyoung notices, a ghost of a smirk flashes over his features before he presses again, and again, until Jongho writhes against the sink he’s resting on. 

“Look at you,” Wooyoung murmurs, lust and wonder syruping off his voice. “You’re taking it so well, Jongho.”

Jongho wishes he didn’t like the way his name sounds out of Wooyoung’s lips as much as he does.

“T-tell me,” he responds heavily, “tell me how well I’m taking it.”

Wooyoung’s nose brushes over the top of his spine, his fingers pressing against his prostate with persistent precision. Almost like… like he wants Jongho to come right there, clenched on his fingers, long whimpers leaving his throat. Jongho whines at the thought. 

“You’re doing so well. Look at you – you’re opening up for me so beautifully, Jongho.”

As he continues saying sweet nothings into Jongho’s skin, his free hand moves to turn Jongho’s head to the side. Wooyoung catches his impending gasp expertly with his mouth. His tongue is soft and warm against Jongho’s own, each of them seeking dominance until… Suddenly, Wooyoung twists his fingers in Jongho in a way that makes the younger tremble so violently that, for a moment, he thinks he came right there and then.

“ God, Wooyoung. K-keep going,” he breathes. By this point, his voice is nothing more than a ruptured exhale of breaths, half-choked by the sounds Wooyoung’s pulling out of him.

Wooyoung listens. His fingers tighten inside him, finding refuge in the sweet spot where Jongho’s most sensitive, and a few more moments later, Jongho crescendos. It’s sudden, even more sudden than the way he’d trembled before, and he gasps, eyes half open as he comes for air. Wooyoung’s fingers are still inside him, still moving while Jongho tries to come down to Earth, and it’s… it’s too much – too delicious, too desirous. Turning his head to the side once more, Jongho captures Wooyoung’s lips in his. His tongue is insistent against Wooyoung’s own, but even so – even with his newfound vigour – he doesn’t win the battle of dominance. 

Wooyoung breaks their lips apart for a second, but he’s still wound up against the younger’s body. His body is warm and snug against Jongho’s own, and the younger wishes for nothing but for Wooyoung to be inside him already. To take him right there and then, to make him tremble more than ever before.

As if reading his mind, Wooyoung whispers, “Think you can come once more?”

“Yes,” he gasps, voice too fucked out to be at its usual volume. 

“Don’t sound too eager there,” Wooyoung jokes.

Any shred of combativeness in his body that would’ve sparked at the older footballer’s comment is forgotten by this point. “Please, Wooyoung. I can take it.”

The amusement on Wooyoung’s face falls, and his eyes darken. “I know you can. And you will. ”

Jongho has no time to respond before Wooyoung pulls his body tighter and pushes in. Instinctively, Jongho’s eyes roll back in his head, gasps rushing out of his lips with no restraint. 

“You’re going to help me come,” Wooyoung grunts against him, his own voice losing composure, “like a good team player would.” 

“W-we’re rivals,” Jongho says.

“Rivals don’t want each other like this,” Wooyoung murmurs easily. He tugs Jongho closer, his thrusts sharp and fast, and Jongho feels himself shake uncontrollably. He’s so tempted to let one of his hands skirt down, to relieve the pressure that’s building up in his core. And for a moment, for the sliver of a second, he contemplates it. Alas, when he settles on the idea, Wooyoung drags his wrists together.

“You’re so fucking greedy.” Wooyoung says. Jongho chokes on another breath when Wooyoung thrusts harder. “Don’t you think I see the way you want to touch yourself? You’re meant to make me come, Choi. You’ve had your turn.”

“ P-Please,” he breathes. 

“Wait,” Wooyoung commands. His thrusts are still sharp, sharper than his fingers had been, and Jongho feels the familiar lightheadedness come back to him. He shakes himself out of it, aiming to follow Wooyoung’s instructions. With the most steadiness he can find, he thrusts back. The friction is delicious, and Jongho seeks it again.

“Shit,” Wooyoung whispers, “that’s it. Just like that, Jongho. Be good and make me come, baby. Just like that.”

Jongho takes another look in the mirror. Wooyoung is gorgeous, haze building in his eyes as Jongho pushes back against his thrusts. He curses softly before he starts shaking against Jongho, his nearing climax painting on his face in the form of a gasp. Jongho can’t take his eyes away. In the reflection ahead of him, Wooyoung is beautiful. Lust colours his eyes and cheeks as he shakes, his cock steadily chasing his own release in Jongho’s body. 

When he’s close, his hand rises to cup Jongho’s neck. The pressure tightens, and Jongho’s head falls back, and they both tremble together. The younger’s orgasm – the second of the night – is more violent. Wooyoung merely groans in his spine, a low sound that settles in Jongho’s veins and travels into his bloodstream. He uses Jongho to get himself off, fucking the younger footballer’s body steadily while he comes down from his rapture. Jongho takes it all. 

By now, his body is only held up by Wooyoung’s own, and he loves it – loves how pliant Wooyoung makes him. How, when he’s with Wooyoung, gravity is nonexistent, his mind and body in another orbit. How, while his mind is always loud, always combative, it’s rendered into silence when Wooyoung uses him to get himself off, the only things that Jongho is able to remember being sounds of pleasure.

And he loves it.

Loves it so much that he knows he’ll be back.

There are three things true in Jongho’s world: 

• He loves football. Always has since his adolescent years.
• He loves physics. Has loved it for so long that he cannot remember his days without contemplating theoretical physics.

And lastly.

• He inevitably, without fail, will find himself in Wooyoung’s arms soon enough. He doesn’t know whether it’s attraction, the addicting linger of power play, or both. But inevitably, he’ll fall back against the steady arms holding him tonight, and he’ll do so time and time again. Until he can no longer remember what anyone else’s body feels like against him. 

Only Wooyoung’s.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Two weeks prior… 

1st out of the 3 SNU-Yonsei summer games

Choi Jongho is fascinating.

For one, he’s the first newcomer to SNU’s team – which is known for not allowing newcomers on a whim – in the past three years. Secondly, he’s the only one who does not look at Yonsei with discontent. While the rest of SNU’s team are all keeping their heads too far up and insulting Yonsei at every chance they get, Jongho stands away, frowning at his teammates’ behaviour, not willing to participate. Is he looking at the rivalling team with a hint of competitiveness? Sure. Discontent? Not so much.

Wooyoung seems to be the only one getting on his nerves, though.

“Choi,” Wooyoung calls. His amusement grows when Jongho turns, his eyes automatically rolling when he spots the older midfielder.

“Jung. Are you obsessed with me or something?” 

“Fascinated,” he replies easily. And in truth, he is. Everything about Jongho is riveting. His play, the way SNU always win when Jongho’s not benched, and the way SNU always lose when Jongho is benched. Or the way Jongho so easily falls under him, or the way he sounds in Wooyoung’s hold. It’s as if the Night brings forth a spell of the two of them together, time and time again. The younger midfielder is intriguing to Wooyoung in ways no one else has been before. 

Jongho doesn’t seem to get the truth in his words, for he merely sighs. “What will it take you for you to leave me alone before a game starts? Isn’t the humiliation of us always winning enough?” 

“Never. It just makes me that much more intrigued by you,” Wooyoung confesses, his tone light despite the sincerity of his words. Jongho always makes him sound amused; everything feels easy with the younger. And perhaps this is why Wooyoung comes back to him again and again, his enchantment expanding the more time he spends with SNU’s midfielder.

There's something thrilling about spending time with an enemy who is not really your enemy – a rival who, at night, when the boundaries of sportsmanship succumb into the darkness, is suddenly yours. 

“You’re the only one competitive player in SNU,” Wooyoung says, more matter-of-factly than as means of complimenting the younger. Jongho seems momentarily surprised, but before he can say something, Wooyoung continues. “I want to find what makes you special compared to… the dickheads you call your teammates.”

Jongho completely ignores the insult to his team. “Maybe the reason you lose each game you play against me is because you waste time trying to speak to me instead of warming up.” 

Interesting. Wooyoung pushes that to the back of his mind. It’s none of his business to find out what kind of relationship Jongho has with his team, but all the meanwhile, he is curious. Is the star player at odds with the team he so loudly boasts about? 

Or is Wooyoung merely overthinking it, and Jongho’s just pulling at the figurative rope of tug-of-war Wooyoung threw his way when he approached him?

“You’re more interesting than any ninety-minute ball throwing we’re about to do next,” Wooyoung responds. 

“Stop flirting,” Jongho says. Nonetheless, Wooyoung notices the rosy flush creeping up the younger’s cheeks. A delighted laugh slips past his lips, and he doesn’t care to filter it when Jongho gives him a half-hearted glare.

“But you enjoy it too much,” Wooyoung says. 

“Nonsense.”

“Full sense.”

“I do not enjoy your flirting.”

“Then, why are you blushing?”

“I am not –”

A whistle blows loudly, alerting them to get back in their positions.

Wooyoung runs to his position, but before he gets too far, he throws a confident grin over his shoulder to Jongho. “Stay alert, Choi. Don’t blush too much over me on the field.”

Jongho grumbles, the words too quiet for Wooyoung to hear. Wooyoung doesn’t care; his amusement at how cute Jongho is in that moment, mumbling to himself as he ambles over to his team, overrules anything else.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Wooyoung leans against the wall of the SNU locker room, long after everyone has gone. Jongho is taking his sweet time getting out. Not intentionally – he hasn’t spotted Wooyoung yet, who is just waiting for him with a cheeky grin. Instead, he’s folding his clothes together and sorting his backpack carefully.

At last, when a few seconds pass and Jongho still hasn’t noticed him, Wooyoung clears his throat. He is cheeky, but he’s not patient. Jongho turns, startled, a glare immediately colouring his irises when he sees Wooyoung.

“Missed me?” Wooyoung smiles.

“Jung,” he sighs, “Why are you here?”

“You keep asking a question I’ve already answered.”

“The so-called answer you gave me makes no sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense about it?” Wooyoung says. “You’re fascinating, and I like spending time with you.” 

Jongho lets out a quiet exhale. He finishes packing up his backpack, but when he’s about to pick it up, he suddenly turns. “You’re only ‘fascinated’ by me because I’m the only one who entertains your bluff.”

“Wrong,” Wooyoung says simply.

“Fine,” Jongho huffs, “you’re only fascinated because you think I’m different or whatever. This isn’t a 2012 romance book, Jung. We are symbiotic foils of each other–”

“Ooh, big words.”

“--and we mirror each other. I’m not the ‘not-like-the-other-people’ fantasy you made up in your head.”

“I didn’t make up any stupid fantasy in my head.” Wooyoung says calmly. “I think you’re different from your team because you don’t yell out offensive shit to my team. I think you’re different because you care about your craft, while the rest of them are nepo babies who got in because their parents paid your team to take them in, and they know fuck all about the sport.”

Jongho stares back in shock. 

“SNU didn’t take new players for three years for this exact reason, Choi,” Wooyoung murmurs. The fervour of Jongho’s eyes on him is fiery against his lungs. Suddenly, the locker room feels too stuffy – too small to hold them both. “It wasn’t that the spot wasn’t empty or that they needed better teammates – that was always the case. There just wasn’t space for good players when the chaebols’ great-grandparents forced the Coach to keep their kids on the team, despite the scandals they’d cause.”

Jongho inches closer to him. Wooyoung doesn’t move away, even when there’s only two millimetres keeping them apart. 

“So yes. I’m fascinated by you, Jongho,” he says. “But not for the reasons you think. I’m fascinated by you because you seem to have earned that spot all on your own. I’m fascinated by you because you keep your team together, and they crumble when you’re benched. I’m fascinated by you because you’re so cool and composed on the field, but when you’re with me, you’re anything but. I’m excited by the fact that I can make you be anything but. And that I keep wanting to make you anything but.”

Jongho’s lips smash on his. His tongue is velvety against Wooyoung’s own, expertly twisting Wooyoung’s tongue around his mouth. He tastes sweet, a mind-numbing combination of spearmint and a scented lip gloss. Some kind of fruit, perhaps? Wooyoung aches to taste more of him, so he does. Gently, he bites Jongho’s bottom lip, the taste more clear to him now. 

Strawberry. 

Jongho lets out a sharp sound, the satisfaction and pleasure conveyed in it ringing into Wooyoung’s ears.

They stumble through the locker room to the showers. SNU’s bathrooms are newer than the ones at Yonsei. Whereas Yonsei’s shower stalls are covered by three-quartered doors, exposing the top and bottom of the stall, SNU’s showers have a full glass door, covering the stall entirely. Perfect, Wooyoung thinks. He slowly pushes Jongho through the stall at the end of the corridor, his mouth not leaving the younger’s as he accommodates the two of them inside the stall.

It’s the middle of June, the heat scorching their skin. It’s understandable why Jongho is wearing shorts that expose his toned thighs, but at this moment, Wooyoung cannot think straight. He merely looks at the younger’s thighs, the honeyed skin, sunkissed and beautiful, making his mouth dry. 

With no thought, he pulls Jongho closer to him. The younger follows willingly. His thighs shake when Wooyoung quickly undresses them both, placing their clothes as far away from the jet of water as possible. There’s no guarantee their clothes will stay dry (they likely won’t) but Wooyoung almost wishes the world could see what he and Jongho did in the form of soaked clothes.

His hand reaches to turn the shower on, the warm water quickly engulfing their bodies. Jongho hums pleasantly, inching closer to Wooyoung while he lets the water soothe his tensed muscles. Wooyoung allows him, but only for a few moments. When they’re both under the stream, Wooyoung allows his hands to wander down the younger’s body. He pinches one of Jongho’s nipples in his thumb, a smile gracing his face when he feels Jongho shake against him.

“W-what are you doing?” Jongho murmurs, his voice breaking towards the tail end.  

“Getting to know you better,” Wooyoung replies simply.

“We’ve had sex before,” Jongho says pointedly.

“Nothing like this though.”

And he knows that Jongho is aware of this, too. The water coating their bodies makes things slower, gentler. Wooyoung’s hands wander down Jongho’s waist, his fingers pressing into all the corners of Jongho’s body, saving them to his memory. He focuses on which spots make Jongho gasp the most (his waist and hips, the juncture of his neck, and the tail end of his spine). Indulgently, he trails over those parts again and again, in tandem with the water warming them both. Jongho’s fully hard at this point, Wooyoung’s study of his body leaving him breathless. When his mouth finds its way onto Wooyoung’s own again, he pants more than kisses the older man’s lips.

“Touch me,” Jongho breathes.

“I am.”

Jongho glares half-heartedly. “You know what I mean.”

Wooyoung feels hypnotised. He spins Jongho back against the condensed door, the younger following willingly. The window does not show their reflections, but when Jongho gasps, the spot where his mouth is clears, the shape of Jongho’s lips engraving itself on the window. Wooyoung’s mind blanks.

He quickly leaves to retrieve what he needs to prep Jongho from his bag. From where he is, he can see how firmly Jongho is pressed against the condensed door, his eyes slid shut while he tries to regain his composure. Wooyoung rises and shifts until he’s behind Jongho again, and seconds later, he slides a slicked finger inside the younger. 

“Shit,” Jongho keens. Wooyoung prods at his walls, his fingers sharp and quick as they open Jongho up. Jongho’s forehead is pressed harshly against the door, his groans ruptured. Moments later, in an act of desperation, he pushes back against Wooyoung’s fingers desperately. 

“I’m ready,” he says quietly, but Wooyoung feels the words in his bones. He waits though, a question plaguing his mind as he watches Jongho jerk against his fingers, fucking himself desperately.

“How many times can you come?” Wooyoung asks.

Jongho halts, lips parting open in want. His eyes darken as he says, “At least three.”

Wooyoung nods. He tries to appear calm, but in reality, the idea of fucking Jongho through his overstimulation fills him with a sudden, unadulterated craving. So he lets himself take it all. His hand lowers until it touches Jongho’s cock, giving it a sharp tug before he pushes in.

“Fuck. W-Wooyoung, that’s so good.”

“You’re taking me so well, baby.” Wooyoung grunts. “Look at you. You’re just made to take cock. You were born for it.”

Jongho’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He pushes himself back against Wooyoung, the friction so delicious that it elicits a groan out of the older footballer’s lips.

“So good,” Jongho babbles. “I’m–so full.” 

Wooyoung pushes where Jongho is most sensitive, and at this, Jongho slurs incoherently. “So good… fuck, Wooyoung, fill me up. Please.”

Wooyoung pants on his shoulder, the words dizzying his mind even further. His thrusts grow more vigorous, less controlled. As he moves, his cock dragging along Jongho’s walls, his lips graze the exposed skin of Jongho’s shoulders. The younger footballer shakes against him, falling back against the condensed door. 

It’s like Jongho’s body isn’t even in control of where it moves; the only thing holding him up is Wooyoung. His impending rapture makes him look stunning, lips parted, eyes shut tightly, and the juncture of his neck exposed, scalding against the condensed door. Impulsively, Wooyoung’s fingers take hold of the skin, and they tighten around gently. He remembers Jongho trusting him with this when they’d negotiated boundaries - how the younger likes his neck touched as he climaxes – but they’d never tried it until now.

Jongho whimpers violently against the shower door window. His thighs quiver uncontrollably, almost on the edge of falling. Wooyoung pauses for a second, watching, transfixed, before his fingers tighten around Jongho’s throat. Like this, Jongho screams, and he comes. The water washes away most of the evidence, but Wooyoung tries to save whatever he can. He brushes Jongho’s body with his come, an artist painting his desired canvas.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes. He brings his stained fingers to his mouth, the taste of Jongho pressing itself on his tongue. Jongho twists to him, shakily. Want echoes from his gaze as he takes a hold of Wooyoung’s cock and brings it to his mouth.

“Fuck.” Wooyoung breathes. Spell-bound, he watches as Jongho takes it all, making him whimper against the shower walls. Jongho’s mouth is warm against him, warmer than the steam brushing their bodies. As his gaze lowers to watch the younger, he sees Jongho’s hand rubbing against himself. Soon enough, Jongho reaches another climax like this, his strokes on himself fast and uncontrolled while he sucks Wooyoung off.

Wooyoung pants as he observes Jongho’s eyes shut, his mouth still firm against Wooyoung while he orgasms. The space in front of Wooyoung blurs as he feels himself reach his own climax. He takes Jongho’s head away from him before he comes, and he takes a hold of both their cocks in his hand.

Jongho falls again, his pants falling onto Wooyoung’s chest. He’s hard again, the practicality of it impossible but there he is, twisting in Wooyoung’s grip while the older rubs their cocks together, leaking prettily. All for him , Wooyoung thinks. 

Jonghos’s pleas jumble together desperately, and he nods when Wooyoung digs his thumb in his slit. “Please,” he whimpers. “Please, Wooyoung, god.”

His hips roll as he aims to catch some friction in Wooyoung’s hand. Wooyoung lets him, his fingers shaky as he feels himself reach closer and closer to crescendoing. He’s so close… if Jongho would just rub like that a few more times, he can–

Jongho raises his upper half to bring their lips together. Wooyoung melts into the kiss, feeling himself reach closer to completion when Jongho twists their tongues together just right. The taste of spearmint folds around Wooyoung’s senses, dizzying his perception of everything – everything but Jongho, who shakes in his grip without abandon.

“I’m so close,” he breathes into Wooyoung’s mouth. “You’re making me feel so good, Wooyoung. Am I making you feel good?”

“So good, baby. Y-you’re… fuck,” he cries when Jongho’s hand takes a hold of his own – the one touching both of them – and he comes, just as the younger does. The two of them sob in each other’s mouth, and Wooyoung captures Jongho’s lips in a senseless kiss. The younger folds against him, soft and sensitive, fucked out beyond belief, and the sight is so gorgeous that Wooyoung thinks he could come again, just from that.

They stay like this, both panting and trembling uncontrollably, and Wooyoung thinks that he’d burn the rivalry to the ground if it means that he can have Jongho like this. Pliant, beautiful and all his. 

Forever.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

“Are you and that SNU player dating or something?” His best friend San asks him a few days after the game. Wooyoung has been actively trying not to scowl at the scoreboard posted online – 7-3 for SNU, once more an embarrassing turn of events for his team – but San’s words make him sputter. 

“Me and who?”

“ That guy. Choi something.”

“Jongho? Choi Jongho?” Wooyoung sputters in surprise when he sees San’s noncommittal nod. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re always running up to him before the game and laughing with him,” San shrugs. Wooyoung frowns. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Wooyoung. I know what you are.”

“The man of your dreams?”

“Ew, no. Gay.”

“Not the internalised homophobia? Admit it to yourself Sannie, you’d love to kiss me right now.” 

San gags. “I’d rather die.”

Wooyoung lays a hand on his chest, mock-affronted. San slaps it away, grumbling.

“I mean, you can date him if you want. We’d bully the fuck out of you, but he seems chill. He isn’t anywhere near as stuck up as… the rest of his team.” San’s expression darkens. “Seriously, if I could kick those guys’ ass, I would.”

“What did they say this time?” Wooyoung sighs.

“Just the usual. Calling us losers like they’re not just winning because of your boyfriend and your boyfriend alone.”

“My what?”

San’s pointed glare quietens him immediately.

“Don’t pretend, Wooyoung,” San says. “I know you’re interested. You look at him like you’d eat him alive.”

Images flash in Wooyoung’s mind. Foggy shower windows, Jongho tightening up against him, the supple skin of his thighs straining with exertion the more Woooyung moved inside him… Wooyoung’s mouth dries at the thought.

His brief silence is enough to send a signal in his best friend’s mind. San gapes, his eyes widening. “Oh my god, you have.”

“San–”

“You’ve had sex with SNU’s star player?”

“Be quiet, oh my god–”

“Wooyoung, that’s insane.”

“You were just approving of it a few moments ago.”

San shakes his head, visibly trying to digest the newfound information and finding difficulty in doing so. “I’m not against it, I just– how?”

“How what?”

“How have you done it already?”

Wooyoung looks at his best friend calmly. “We’ve been doing it for like a year.”

“What?” San yells. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “It never came up. And it’s an extremely spontaneous thing anyway. We just see each other after a game and then… I’m suddenly inside him.”

“He bottoms?” 

“That’s the most shocking thing to you?” 

“Everything about this is shocking to me, Wooyoung.”

“Fair enough,” Wooyoung says.

He goes quiet for a moment as he remembers how Jongho had a few nights ago, soft and tender against him after everything they’d just done. Before he’d headed home, he’d leaned Jongho on his mattress and kissed him until they’d both come up for air. 

Jongho’s eyes had fixed onto Wooyoung’s pupils, and he’d traced each corner of Wooyoung’s face with his gaze. Wooyoung had allowed him, suddenly feeling like the Sun was catapulting itself in his heart. He’d allowed himself one weak moment to bask in the intensity of Jongho’s gaze before he’d forced himself to look away, his heart clenching in his chest.

Wooyoung feels something twist in his gut at the memory.  

San looks at him for a moment, as if he’s seeing everything – all the anguish, all the repressed feelings Wooyoung has in his gut. Realisation colours his best friend’s eyes, and Wooyoung wishes he could push away the vulnerability in his face – that he could push away every hint that San’s prediction is right. 

“Wooyoung,” he calls gently.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Wooyoung says.

“Are you… fuck, are you in love with him, Wooyoung?”

“Yeah,” he admits.

San eyes him sadly. “For how long?”

Wooyoung sighs. He rubs a hand over his face frustratedly. “I don’t know, maybe a year? Two? I didn’t realise it until a few months ago when I was benched at one that game with SNU and the only thing I could look at the whole time was him.”

He remembers it vividly. His injury had been minor, a light sprain of his ankle after he’d put too much pressure on it. But he had to be benched for the game, which had not happened in a while. When Jongho had entered the field, his eyes had browsed aimlessly for something.

For Wooyoung. 

Soon enough, their eyes had locked, and Jongho gasped before he ran up to the opposing team’s side, much to the confusion of everyone around them.

“What happened?” 

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung tried, more as a means of not worrying Jongho rather than a sad attempt at pushing him away. “I just sprained my ankle a few days ago.”  

Jongho had bit his lip, looking down at Wooyoung’s bandaged ankle worriedly. “How long will it take for it to heal?”

“Not too long. It was a light sprain so it should take around two weeks to heal. I just have to be benched for this game and practice, and then I will be back.”

It had felt more like a promise than a regular statement. And Jongho interpreted it as such, too. He ran off when the whistle blew above them, but as he headed to the centre of the pitch, he turned back to look at Wooyoung for a split second. Wooyoung forced out a reassuring smile, and he could see how Jongho’s shoulders slightly relaxed before he looked away once and for all.

For the entirety of the game, Jongho had done amazing. Wooyoung felt like a firefly caught in the light of the moon watching him. It was clear that Jongho was the best player out of everyone, even Yonsei. He was steady, self-assured in his tackling of the ball, and in the way he defended the ball when Yonsei tried pushing back. But in the break times, he’d slide a careful glance at Wooyoung, worry showing in his face before he forced it away for the game. 

On their next meeting, when Wooyoung’s ankle had healed, Jongho had been careful with him. They hadn’t had sex – only made out in Wooyoung’s room – but Jongho had tended to him, his fingers pressed ever-so-gently on Wooyoung’s ankle, massaging the skin slowly.

The love in Wooyoung’s heart had grown more that day. 

“Wooyoung,” San says, pulling him back into the present. Carefully, his best friend wraps his arms around his frame, and Wooyoung lets the hug warm his soul. San pats his back, his forehead resting against the top of Wooyoung’s head. 

“It just sucks,” Wooyoung sighs, his heart twisting as he speaks. “I love spending time with him, getting to know him but… I also wish I knew how he felt. Sometimes, it feels like he feels the same, but I’m not sure whether that’s just me reading too much into things. Like he was so tender last night after everything, and he was so worried when I got injured. But he’s also so nonchalant when we play against each other that it feels like we truly are rivals.”

San pulls away slightly, his palms holding Wooyoung’s shoulders. “Have you met with him outside of the games? Like a pre-planned date?”

“We’ve met at parties,” Wooyoung says, “but not a pre-planned date, no.”

“Ask him on a date,” San suggests. 

“What? I can’t do that.”

“Listen to me first,” San chides. Wooyoung relaxes, nodding. San continues. “Ask him on a date. Make it clear that it’s a date and not just a friendly hangout. If he agrees then… you’ll know he’s interested in more than just sex.”

Wooyoung bites his lip, contemplating. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” What if he just laughs in my face and calls me crazy?”

“He won’t do that,” San says confidently. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you go to him, Wooyoung. He’s definitely interested.”    

Something settles in his gut; hope. It’s ardent and all-encompassing, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest at the idea of Jongho saying yes to the date. He imagines kissing Jongho and finally letting out the words that have haunted his dreams for the past year slip from his mouth. I like you. I like you so much, Jongho. 

And then he imagines Jongho saying the same to him. He imagines a set of lips trailing from his lips to his stomach, the sweet summer morning bathing them both in light. He pictures himself leaving tender kisses along Jongho’s skin, no rush, no set limit on how much he can take – just love buzzing out of his veins and falling into Jongho’s skin. 

The hope in his gut is so overwhelming that it pushes him to agree. To make his feelings clear to Jongho. This way, he’ll know what Jongho feels. How they should proceed from… from the symbiotic bond they’ve found themselves in for the past year. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung says. San smiles reassuringly at him, and Wooyoung lets hope kick around in his stomach. “I’ll do that.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Jongho is practising alone, which is not strange for him. He reckons his team does not even know what practice is, let alone when it’s scheduled. He’s midway through practising his dribbling when a text pings on his phone.

Wooyoung, 7:48pm:

You going out tonight?

He frowns. Wooyoung doesn’t usually text – they usually tend to meet on the pitch or at random parties – but when he does, he’s always direct. No words of greeting or any half-arsed attempts at small conversations; Wooyoung always knows what he wants.

This shouldn’t be as hot to Jongho as it is.

Before he can reply to Wooyoung’s text, another one follows very closely after.

Wooyoung, 7:49pm:

Yonsei is playing a basketball game against your uni.

On your campus.

:Jongho, 7:49pm

.Unless you got so humiliated by our last win that you suddenly became a basketball player, I am unsure why either of us needs to be there

Wooyoung, 7:50pm: 

God forbid a guy asks you on a date, Choi.

Jongho halts. He stares at his screen for several seconds, unblinking, as he tries processing what Wooyoung just said.

A date?

He’s spent enough time with Wooyoung that he knows all his ticks, all the pretty sounds Wooyoung makes when he’s in him. He knows Wooyoung so well that his body has accustomed itself to Wooyoung’s. Yet here he is, surprised by the prospect of a date.

Wooyoung tells him as much. 

Wooyoung, 7:51pm:

I just know you’re in shock now.

:Jongho, 7:51pm

!Well yes

.You can’t blame me though  

.This is the first time you asked me on a proper hangout

Wooyoung, 7:52pm:

A date, not a hangout.

Also, Jongho… I’ve had my dick in you like 400 times at this point.

:Jongho, 7:52pm

.That’s an exaggeration, but okay

Wooyoung, 7:52pm:

Let me finish.

A date is pretty normal of an ask in comparison.

:Jongho, 7:53pm

.Fair enough 

.I’ll come. Pick me up from the football stadium in thirty

Wooyoung, 7:53pm:

Got it. 

Jongho doesn’t rush. Even though he feels off-kilter, like gravity has suddenly been taken away from him and his body is left floating into the stratosphere, he tries calming himself. There’s no reason why he should be worried about spending time with Wooyoung… if anyone catches them, he can just say that they both were interested in their respective team’s wins and found themselves sitting next to each other. 

But even he is not convinced enough by that.

He wants to spend time with Wooyoung aside from their sexual encounters. He’s greedy for more time with the older, no matter the context.

By this point, he knows their so-called ‘rivalry’ is moot. Wooyoung doesn’t abide by the rules; he never minds the fact that Jongho is his direct foil, the one man he shouldn’t talk to. They’re both the midfielders of their teams – by the rules of football alone, they should not ever engage.

Yet here they are, going on a date together.

Something about that is innately romantic.  He knows that Wooyoung meant ‘date’ as a romantic prospect, something that could – and would, if everything goes well – lead to the threshold Jongho had envisaged between them being crossed. 

Once more, he knows more about Wooyoung than he should. It feels like, when he’s around Wooyoung, there is no universe in which they do not collide, two opposing magnets falling into each other with no recourse of escaping. And Jongho doesn’t mind.

He showers, trying his best not to picture the last time he was leaning against this exact stall – he’d be lying if he said he didn’t purposely go into the same one – with Wooyoung leaning on his back. Jongho shuts his eyes tight, shaking his head to dispose of any lingering flashes of Wooyoung on him for the time being. Instead, he lets the water soothe his tense muscles and thanks the Heavens that he bought a spare change of clothes with him for tonight.

When Jongho exits the building, he finds Wooyoung leaning against his car, eyeing him with a smile. 

“Isn’t this too overkill?” Jongho muses, lips pursed.

“Not if you like it,” Wooyoung shrugs.

And he isn’t wrong. Wooyoung is dressed in all-black, silver jewellery adorning his body. A leather jacket hugs the upper-half of his figure, while the top underneath shows off his decolletage (the exact decolletage that has been haunting Jongho’s thoughts for the past few months). He paired that with a pair of ripped black jeans, his right knee exposed fully in the position he’s currently in. Half of Wooyoung’s hair is parted to the side, clipped together by a silver hair pin, which matches the necklace and thick rings he always wears.

Jongho’s mouth dries. It’s an acknowledged fact that Wooyoung is beautiful, but something about him never fails to hypnotise Jongho. Perhaps it is the way he is electric, his pretty smile sending currents down his stomach. Or perhaps it’s his unrelenting confidence, which is so natural that it feels akin to a gravitational phenomena. It’s just a law of the Earth: Wooyoung is beautiful and confident, and he makes Jongho feel like gravity is slipping from underneath his feet, and he’s spiralling away into the stratosphere. 

It’s clear Wooyoung notices how affected he is, judging by the sly smile that traverses onto the older midfielder’s features.

“You do like it,” Wooyoung cheekily says.

Jongho shrugs. “I guess it’s nice seeing you in something other than that gaudy uniform you guys wear.”

“ Gaudy? Mind you, yours is the one that flashes on the field.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Jung.”

“It’s true!”

“Agree to disagree,” Jongho says. He’s half-amused by Wooyoung’s residual frown when the older speaks about Yonsei. The rivalry is the last thing on Jongho’s mind at this point. Instead, he’s mystified by the man in front of him – Wooyoung’s pretty outfit and most of all, the older’s pretty lips, which are contorted into a pout. “Now, will you let me get in your car or are we scratching the game altogether?”

“Be my guest,” Wooyoung says. He opens the passenger door for Jongho, running to the driver’s side. Jongho tries to conceal the endeared smile that threatens to show on his face, but he fails. 

Wooyoung is innately endearing, in ways that Jongho hadn’t expected when the older man had first ran to him on the field two years ago. 

“Are you excited for the game?” Wooyoung asks when they’re halfway down the SNU campus. The basketball arena is on the other side of campus, which is why they need to drive there to make it on time. For a split second, Jongho’s surprised that Wooyoung knows as much, though he quickly realises he shouldn’t be. Wooyoung is friends with everyone except the chaebols on Jongho’s football team. He probably has a few friends on the basketball team, both Yonsei’s and SNU’s.

“I mean, I don’t know anything about basketball, but this should be fun.”

“Because you’re with me?” Wooyoung teases.

“Partly.”

It’s clear that Wooyoung is surprised by his statement, his eyes softening, saccharine honey falling from his gaze. Nonetheless, the older quickly becomes collected again. A light smile reappears on his face. “Knew it. What’s the other reason, though?”

“I get to have a night away from football,” Jongho confesses. “That’s not been happening too much lately.”

“Because of the tournament?” Wooyoung asks gently.

Jongho nods.

“Do they still not show up?” Wooyoung asks, his tone growing more stern – more resentful – and Jongho knows why.

“Yeah,” Jongho whispers. For the past few weeks, his nights have been spent running around the stadium on his own, calculating where the opposing goalkeeper would be, and how he should avoid opposing tactics. His team (as usual) has been nowhere to be seen, and Jongho would be lying if that didn’t affect him.

He’s exhausted by the fact that no one ever shows up when it’s not a game. Exhausted of being the only one who cares, of being the only one who has to practise and continue being a good player because his parents aren’t rich enough to pay for his spot to not be taken away. 

He can’t have his dream be taken away from him, even if it stays in the form of a hobby. And so, he won’t risk it. 

“Have you ever spoken to them?” Wooyoung tries, though they both know the answer. Of course Jongho had. Back when he was a freshman, he’d not been so aware of the hierarchy in his team. He hadn’t been completely blind, of course. SNU was extremely hard to get into if you had no connections, and it was clear that none of the players on his team were academically smart enough to enter fairly. But he hadn’t known how much his team was overtaken by class dynamics. How no one but him had needed to do an entrance test to be considered.

How their spot would forever be guaranteed. Jongho’s wouldn’t.

And so, one day, a few weeks after he’d first joined, he’d vocalised as much. He’d asked everyone to come to practice on Thursdays, for the sake of their team. He suggested that they come up with regular strategies to beat the opposing team – had even listed some strategies he’d thought of and asked for opinions. Silence had overtaken the room when he was done, everyone looking at him in disbelief. As if Jongho was joking. As if he was the foolish one for even trying to suggest such a thing to them. 

Then a boisterous evil laugh had speared through the tension. The team captain. 

“You think you can come in here and tell us what to do? You don’t even belong here, newbie.”

A finger had pushed into his chest, Jongho stumbling backwards at the sheer force of the movement. “We haven’t said anything because Coach is protecting you. But I guess you need to be woken up. You are a nobody. Watch your tone, or you’ll be gone in the blink of an eye.”

In the present, Wooyoung is watching him from the corner of his eye sadly. 

“It will never change,” Jongho says. “For as long as the team continues being funded by the Lees, and the Kims, and the Parks, nothing will change.” 

They pause at a traffic light. Wooyoung heaves a sigh, turning to look at the younger midfielder fully. “I’m sorry, Jongho.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

Wooyoung purses his lips sadly. “I wish I could say that there’s a way to undo the system, but Yonsei is the same. Not as much as SNU. You guys have the top three chaebol families in control, while we have two out of the remaining five. But our captain’s also a rich bastard. His parents fund the team so… his spot will never be taken away until he graduates. But he attends practice. At least that much…”

The light turns green. They soon arrive at the basketball arena, the silence in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. Wooyoung reverse parks in an available spot near the entrance, resting his palm on the back of Jongho’s headrest as he manoeuvres the car. Jongho can’t help himself but watch Wooyoung’s side profile as he reverses, his jaw set in focus.

Something about Wooyoung in this moment shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, but Jongho’s always been weak for men who can drive.

Wooyoung turns off the engine, and he turns to Jongho. His eyes draw over the younger’s features with ample focus, his gaze sweet like molasses. In this moment, Jongho sees Wooyoung for who he truly is. Observant, intrigued by everything that shapes Jongho into who he is. And so, he lets Wooyoung observe him. He lets himself open up to all of Wooyoung’s inquisitions, because he knows that deep down, the older man cares. 

They wouldn’t be here if Wooyoung didn’t.

“I knew from the first time I met you that you loved football,” Wooyoung says. His hand gently hovers over the gearstick, extending towards Jongho’s. An invitation. Jongho accepts it wholeheartedly, his hand falling into Wooyoung’s. Wooyoung smiles softly, and something about the older’s expression right now – content, eyes fixed on Jongho, a sweet grin grazing his lips – is enough to send a twist down Jongho’s gut. 

Wooyoung continues, his thumb drawing circles on the back of Jongho’s hand as he speaks. “I saw you on that field, and you were distant from your teammates, looking at the field as if… as if you were calculating each one of your moves ahead. As if the whole game was in your control. I was amused by it at first. You were new after all. You hadn’t played with us prior so how could you fully know our tactics? But that wasn’t it. You tackled the ball so effortlessly as if you’d played with us four thousand times before. You shone on that field, Jongho. And I was mesmerised.

“I was so intrigued by the player who could win against Yonsei after three years of guaranteed victories for us. The player who single handedly scored every goal for his team. And it was only the first time you did that. You do it every time, Jongho. You’re brilliant on the field. But you deserve some time away from it, too. You deserve some time to relax. Every star player needs some time, otherwise it could affect your health.”

“I know,” Jongho murmurs. “I, um – thank you for helping me get some time off.”

“Always,” Wooyoung replies lightly. His thumb continues drawing shapes into Jongho’s skin. Wooyoung’s touch on him is so light, so frail and tender, but it feels like fire settles into the ice of Jongho’s body. His gaze on Jongho is just as tender,  just as all-encompassing, and Jongho cannot help himself.

He reaches over, cusping Wooyoung’s neck with a steady hand. “Can I?” he asks. The older one nods, and Jongho doesn’t wait. Carefully, he brings their lips into a kiss. Compared to all their previous kisses, this one is slow, but it burns Jongho to the core. Wooyoung’s tongue folds against his gently, so in control that it feels like Wooyoung was the one initiating the kiss, not him. Jongho accepts it all; he accepts every smooth exploration of his mouth, each one of Wooyoung’s hums that gets lost in Jongho’s throat… the way Wooyoung reaches over and pulls Jongho onto his lap, the older man pushing his seat back so they have more space.

Wooyoung’s lips trail down his throat, leaving kisses down the expanse of his neck. Vulnerably, Jongho arches, allowing Wooyoung to take whatever he wants from him – Wooyoung can take it all, if he wishes.

“You’re so beautiful, Jongho,” Wooyoung whispers raggedly when he lifts himself from Jongho’s neck. 

“You too,” Jongho says. 

Wooyoung’s eyes are half-lidded, and a spark of something – something Jongho cannot detect – runs through Wooyoung’s gaze for a split second. Jongho watches him, tries to get the same emotion to reappear, to stay long enough that Jongho can tell what it is . Yet only a few seconds pass before Wooyoung brings him down for another kiss, his lips coaxing pleased sighs out of the younger’s mouth.

Reluctantly, Wooyoung pulls away a few minutes later. “We better get going. The game’s set to start any time now.”

Jongho nods. For a moment, he contemplates asking Wooyoung to stay here, to forego the game in favour of not breaking the gentleness of the moment they found themselves in. But he knows he needs this – some time to relax, to sit down and watch other people play a sport he’s not as familiar with and for once, not think of strategies and tactics and anything that revolves around his own play. 

And so he leaves Wooyoung’s lap, exiting the car a few moments later. They head to the arena, Wooyoung’s hand extended to his again. 

And once more, just as eagerly, Jongho holds Wooyoung’s hand in his own.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

“Let’s make a bet,” Wooyoung proposes when they find some seats – not the best view, but they did arrive ten minutes before the start, and the only seats available are those at the back of the venue. 

Jongho doesn’t mind; in fact, he loves the seats they’re in. The row they’re on is otherwise empty, and the game is about to start, so it’s likely to stay this way for the whole game. He loves the degree of intimacy that comes with that. He can hold Wooyoung’s hand and steal a kiss if he wishes to without fearing that he’d issue some PDA right next to some unassuming basketball fan. 

“Wooyoung,” Jongho deadpans. They’re both familiar with bets – had done plenty of them in the time that they’ve had… Well, whatever the hell they have going on. They’re not friends with benefits, but they’re exclusive. Jongho knows as much because that’s the first criterion he’d imposed when they’d discussed their boundaries. 

“If we enter this – this crazy predicament,” he had said to Wooyoung in the storage closet they’d found themselves in, Wooyoung’s lips rosy and lids coloured with lust, “we need to be exclusive.”

“Of course,” Wooyoung replied. “I didn’t want to be seeing other people to begin with.” The sincerity in his eyes had sent Jongho off-kilter, and he’d smashed his lips onto Wooyoung’s with no abandon. 

Wooyoung’s eyes are sly and tempting. “Come on, Choi. You and I both know how much you love a bet.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to make bets every time we see each other,” Jongho mutters, though there’s no bite in his tone.

Wooyoung smiles cheekily. “It makes things more fun, and you know it.”

One moment passes where they both stare at each other, Jongho deadpan, Wooyoung tempting. “Fine,” Jongho relents. “What are you thinking?”

“Well,” Wooyoung trails off. He inches near Jongho, keeping enough distance that they still look like they’re just having a regular conversation, but close enough that Jongho could easily pull him into a kiss. “If Yonsei win both this game and our game next month, I can fuck you anywhere I want, how I want, for how long I want. Both today and then.”

Jongho swallows a gasp at the words. “A-and if we win?”

Wooyoung smirks. “Unlikely. I have a feeling that we’ll win both games.”

“ Jung.”

“If you win either game, you can use me to get off.”

Jongho lets out a soft sound. 

“Oh, you’ve been dreaming of this, haven’t you, Choi?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie. You have.”

“I really have not,” he tries, but neither of them are fooled. Wooyoung inches even closer, their lips a breath away, and lets out a pleased hum.

“So? You in?”

“You know I’m in, Jung,” he retorts.

Wooyoung nods. “I do. Figured I’d ask just in case, though. I’m a gentleman, after all.” 

Safe to say, Wooyoung’s prediction is correct. Yonsei win the basketball game. Throughout the game, Wooyoung teases him nonstop. He somehow acquires a Yonsei jersey halfway through the game and shows it off in Jongho’s face. SNU are losing miserably, and Jongho just stares unblinking, head in his hands.

When the end score is announced, Wooyoung lets out a loud laugh, dancing and cheering for his university with a passion like no other. In midst of his cheering, he throws the jersey on Jongho’s face, and Jongho stays there, unmoving, reflecting on everything he’s done wrong in his life.

Like entering a bet with Jung Wooyoung for a game he doesn’t even know that well.

He doesn’t regret it though. In fact, with the jersey hiding his face, he lets himself smile, amused to no end by Wooyoung’s happiness. When Wooyoung lifts the jersey off, he momentarily freezes when he sees Jongho’s smile, stunned into silence. But then, he smiles too, wide and unrestrained.

They sit like that for a moment, both smiling freely, and something settles in Jongho’s chest.

He likes Jung Wooyoung.

He likes Wooyoung so much that it makes his soul set alight.

And, watching light find its way into Wooyoung’s eyes, his happiness contagious and joyful and magnetic , Jongho lets that realisation take over his entire being.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Wooyoung takes him by the hand as they exit the arena, and they amble to Wooyoung’s car in two wholly different moods. Wooyoung, happy and cheering for his team’s win, and Jongho, struck by the realisation that he loves seeing Wooyoung like this.

He loves Wooyoung’s contagious joy, he loves being part of the moments that make Wooyoung smile so widely.

He loves spending time with Wooyoung and he wants to find every opportunity to make the night longer. To escape any means of going back home without Wooyoung behind him.

“How was tonight?” Wooyoung asks when they find themselves in his car again. 

“Good,” the younger one says, “very good.”

“I’m glad,” Wooyoung replies. “You needed some time off so I’m happy you got to relax for a bit. Even if your uni’s team lost miserably.”

Jongho turns to look at him, giving Wooyoung a half-hearted pointed look. Wooyoung laughs, softer than before, but still unduly, still happy. The younger midfielder’s lips part when he once more realises how beautiful Wooyoung is like this, a light to his cheeks that lights Jongho’s whole soul alight. Like a moth drawn to the flame, Jongho inches in, pressing a fleeting kiss to Wooyoung’s cheek. 

Wooyoung freezes, stunned by the action. But his eyes immediately become gentler, and once more, he pulls Jongho in, bringing him on his lap.

“Come here,” he beckons, and Jongho does not hesitate. Their lips meet once more, the kiss more ardent, more desperate. Wooyoung pushes his seat so that it fully reclines backwards, and Jongho falls into him, pushing all of his feelings into the kiss. 

For a split second, he hopes that Wooyoung understands them all, all the feelings that he cannot voice just yet. But he knows that such a thing is impossible; Wooyoung probably thinks this is just another regular kiss, and such a conclusion is not irrational. 

Jongho knows he has to vocalise what he feels. He just has to find a way to process them all and put them into words first.

For now, he falls to his knees, settling in the gap between Wooyoung’s seat and the front of the car. He presses kisses in the rips of Wooyoung’s skin, where the bare skin of his thighs is exposed. Wooyoung’s eyes fall on his, half-lidded and overtaken by desire. His hand grabs hold of one of Jongho’s cheeks, enraptured.

“Are you going to suck me off, baby?” he breathes, voice ruptured and quiet. “Are you going to make me feel good, use your mouth to do that?”

Jongho’s eyes roll at the sudden picture in his head – an image of Wooyoung in his mouth, the older man trembling in his seat. At the idea of Wooyoung’s hands carding in his hair, tugging harshly on the strands. “Can I?” Jongho asks. 

Wooyoung nods feverishly. “Of course.” Wooyoung lets out a long breath when Jongho’s lips fix on the skin underneath his ripped jeans again, his head lolling back on the headrest. “Take it all, Jongho. Take what you need.”

With shaky hands, Jongho undresses him. Wooyoung’s cock is half-hard already, the older man watching him unblinking. Jongho spits in his hand before he grabs hold of Wooyoung, his thumb grazing Wooyoung’s slit. 

Wooyoung sighs softly, pleased. “Shit, Jongho.” He falls deeper into his seat, almost as if – as if he’s inviting Jongho to continue. 

Jongho doesn’t hesitate. He gives Wooyoung a few tugs, his own composure gone, as if he’s set it on fire, before he wraps his lips around Wooyoung. He sighs around him, his inhales ragged the more he pushes Wooyoung further into his mouth, and he feels it all. The way the older buckles, cursing softly, speaking sweet nothings into the air, the words traversing onto Jongho’s skin, imprinting on him. 

“Feels so good,” Wooyoung breathes, a whimper lacing the end of his words. “You feel so good around me, Jongho, fuck. ”

Wooyoung’s hand – the one that had been drawing circles on his cheek – coaxes Jongho deeper, shakily holding on him tighter, more desperate, more ardent. 

The younger watches him through teary eyes – watches all of Wooyoung’s inhibitions come back to him. The way his eyes roll back to the ceiling, pants leaving his lips endlessly. The way Wooyoung forces his gaze to travel back down to Jongho’s, settling on him even though he knows the older is desperate to shut his eyes and move – to take it all, to fall to his rapture fast, hard and sharp.

But it’s slow. Wooyoung just brushes his free hand down Jongho’s hair, giving it the lightest of tugs. Enraptured, Jongho breathes around him, letting a hum of pleasure. A tempting one. Keep going, he wishes to say. 

And Wooyoung listens. He tugs harsher, the younger gasping around him. For a split second, he comes back for air, and his head falls on the edge of Wooyoung’s thigh, gasping ruggedly. Wooyoung’s hand massages the back of his neck, and the gentle movement, coupled with the way he feels so – so desperate, so eager to get his mouth back on Wooyoung’s length – makes him moan unabashedly. 

“Beautiful,” Wooyoung whispers. “You’re so beautiful like this, Jongho.” Two of his fingers trail down Jongho’s face, coming to a halt on his mouth. “All pliant,” Wooyoung continues, his fingers pushing so that they fall in Jongho’s mouth, right where his cock was. “All fucked out. All eager for me.”

As if on instinct, Jongho’s eyes shut, and he sucks on the warm skin, lapping each finger slowly. He’s so – so on edge, so close to completion even though he hasn’t even been touched yet. It’s all too much, the gentleness of it all, but he wants even more.

He wants all he can take, all Wooyoung will give him. 

Wooyoung’s fingers leave his mouth, and Jongho lets out a displeased sound. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?” Wooyoung says, though the fascination in his tone is evident. “Always want more, need more. Only I can calm you down.”

Jongho whimpers. “Yes,” he says, though it’s a soundless breath more than a fully formed word. Wooyoung understands him anyway, and he turns Jongho so that his mouth returns back on Wooyoung’s length. “Please,” Jongho breathes, tongue scraping against the elder's length as he – as he desperately takes all he can, all that Wooyoung is giving him in this moment.

Wooyoung slowly loses his self-assuredness, and he pushes himself deeper into Jongho’s mouth, his thrusts uncontrolled. “That’s it, Jongho. Fuck. ”

Wooyoung shakes around him, and at once, his thighs close in on Jongho’s head. Jongho arches. “Shit,” he breathes. “Do that again, Wooyoung… fuck, please do that again.”

The feeling of Wooyoung tightening around him is so good – so grounding. He stutters out a moan before he falls back into the hold, seeking more, seeking the familiar dizziness that comes with being asphyxiated. 

“God, you’re so… so pretty like that, Jongho,” Wooyoung groans. “So warm around me. So good. ” 

And at once, Wooyoung lets out a cry. “I-I’m close,” he rasps, his eyes falling back to face the ceiling, unblinking. Jongho moves so his hold on Wooyoung’s thighs is firmer. He adjusts them so the grip of Wooyoung’s thighs is unyielding around his neck. The movement pushes Wooyoung deeper in his throat, and he gags. The feeling is so good that he continues seeking it, his throat a refuge for Wooyoung, beckoning him in further. 

Wooyoung’s hand finds its way around his hair again, using the strands to ground himself, to control the pace of his thrusts. His breaths are sharp as he uses Jongho to get himself off, and all at once, it seems to build. At once, everything shifts. Wooyoung’s whole body is trembling, his gasps incoherent. “I-I’m gonna… fuck, I’m coming.”

As he comes, he holds Jongho steady, and it’s all – it’s all so good. Wooyoung’s eyes are hazed when they return on his, and when he settles, when his body is still trembling but less sharply… he pulls Jongho up into a feverish kiss. Jongho lets him explore, his own body shaking, tears lacing the edge of his eyes. Wooyoung kisses him gently, his thumbs wiping away the tears, before his hands fall on Jongho’s spine, bringing him closer.

“Pretty boy,” Wooyoung whispers into his mouth. The words fall down Jongho’s trachea, travelling down his oesophagus, and he seeks even more. He’s hungry on Wooyoung, wants all his compliments to fall in Jongho’s bloodstream and engrave on him forever.

“You did so well for me,” Wooyoung continues, his touch light against Jongho’s spine. Jongho’s eyes are shut, so he cannot see Wooyoung’s machinations, but can feel them. His touch trails down and falls on Jongho’s front, right where his cock strains against Jongho’s jeans, and it’s so – it’s so good that it sets Jongho aflame.

“Please,” he gasps, nodding vigorously when Wooyoung pulls him up slightly so he can undress him. Wooyoung’s fingers grab a hold of him, and Jongho sobs, falling into the juncture of Wooyoung’s neck at the motion. Wooyoung’s touch is sharp, unrelenting, and Jongho lets out an aborted wail. His mind is dizzied, no thoughts but Wooyoung as he presses himself deeper into Wooyoung’s hand. The friction is delicious, the crevices of Wooyoung’s palm grazing the walls of his cock with each stroke.

“I’m so close. Wooyoung, please.”

Wooyoung’s pace doesn’t relent, and Jongho keens desperately. He continues pleading, sharp sobs leaving his lips with each stroke of his cock. Jongho’s flailing as he finds Wooyoung’s mouth and kisses it, gasping into his mouth when Wooyoung’s thumb digs in his slit again.

It’s all too good – too maddening, and Jongho loses himself to the feeling. His body is upheld by Wooyoung only, and he shakes in the older’s hold, before he lets out a long groan and finally – finally finds his rapture. His eyes fall to the ceiling as he comes, shuddering frantically.

He can feel Wooyoung watching him, enraptured, and when he calms, he lets Wooyoung press their foreheads together. “You did so well for me, Jongho. You always do.”

“You too,” he heaves, “you made me feel so good. I’ve never– never come in a car before.”

“There’s a first for everything,” Wooyoung says amusedly.

But it’s not long before Wooyoung brings their lips back together. A steady fight for dominance ensues, but as always, Jongho is quick to lose. He’s pleased by it however, letting Wooyoung kiss him as he wishes. Wooyoung makes a low sound in his mouth, a song of joy only known to them, and they stay like that, letting the night envelop around them as they both come down to themselves again.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

A month later… 

3rd out of the 3 SNU-Yonsei summer games

Wooyoung watches the field in front of him, perplexed. 

It’s almost like he’s dreaming, a vision so – so delicious, so unbelievably wondrous that he cannot believe this is reality. 

In front of him, Jongho glares, his eyes settled on nothing but the older footballer. Wooyoung feels himself smiling, albeit not kindly, just at the sight. He shakes himself out of the shock he was just experiencing, and with no care whatsoever for what his team (or Jongho’s team) would think, he saunters right up to the younger.

“Bet you weren’t expecting us to win, were you?” Wooyoung teases. His voice is a little too fond for his own liking.

“Bet you weren’t expecting it either, what with all the shock you were just feeling,” Jongho mutters. “Did you get used to losing, Jung? I bet so, given how much Yonsei lost to us this year.”

Wooyoung isn’t even fazed by the dig. “Numbers this, numbers that… let’s focus on the real things that matter.” At this, he smiles, a cheeky, half-amused smile. “Are you free tonight?”

Jongho scans his face slowly. “Why?”

Wooyoung’s voice lowers. “To fulfil our bet obviously. I hope you didn’t forget what you promised.”

Jongho’s lips part. “I haven’t,” he says shortly, though the lust in his eyes betrays the cool, indifferent front he’s trying to put on. 

The sight is so pretty that Wooyoung feels himself fold.

“Well…” His lips move to whisper in Jongho’s ear. But more so, his mouth lingers on the soft skin. Jongho shudders for a split second, a reaction concealed so quickly that it’s likely that no one else saw it. No one except Wooyoung. 

“I was thinking you could come to mine. You know, reward me for my absolutely brilliant play tonight.”

Jongho rolls his eyes. “You should always play well, mind you.”

“So you think I played well today?”

“That’s not– never mind. Stop the bullshit, Jung. What were you thinking?”

Wooyoung hears a few of his teammates call his name, but he dismisses them with a wave. I’ll be back later, he aims to say. But his teammates see who he’s speaking to, and they only give him a frown. All except San, who gives him a secret grin. Wooyoung waves again, more to San than the rest, before turning to Jongho. 

Teammates be damned, he thinks. “I’ll come to yours tonight. Around eight or so. Wear your uniform so I can take it off. I will see you, kiss you senseless, and then,” his voice lowers even further. Purposefully, he moves his mouth closer to Jongho’s ear. His breath runs along the tender skin. Jongho holds his shirt tighter to compose himself. 

“Then?” Jongho eggs on. It sounds like a desperate plea more than anything.

“Then I’ll ruin you,” Wooyoung promises. “I’ll fuck you on every surface of your bedroom. Make you forget your name, like you always want to. I’ll fuck you so well that every time you step in your room, I’ll be all you will be able to think about.”

“You sound like you’ve thought of this a lot,” Jongho breathes raggedly. He’s visibly less controlled than previously, practically holding himself onto Wooyoung’s uniform to prevent himself from falling in the middle of the field. Wooyoung’s mind swims with ideas too vulgar to even voice aloud. Instead, he lets himself enjoy the way his body is pulled an inch closer to Jongho’s, not close enough to look suspicious to oncomers, but not as far as rivals should be. 

They never are that far from each other, after all. Wooyoung smiles.

“How could I not? Look at yourself,” he murmurs. His palm discreetly reaches across the front of Jongho’s uniform, his hand settling on the drawstring of the younger’s jersey and giving it a quick tug. Jongho jumps at the contact. He tries schooling his expression into one of nonchalance, but Wooyoung notices his struggle.

“Even now,” Wooyoung continues, “You’re holding yourself up on me to stay upright. All sensitive already… and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Jongho gulps.

“What would everyone think if they saw you like this?” Wooyoung murmurs with mock derision. “SNU’s star player, Choi Jongho… so weak for a Yonsei player. How scandalous , Jongho.”

He slowly walks backwards, his sly grin growing when he notices how Jongho has to shut his eyes for a moment so he can stay poised. Then Wooyoung fully turns, and he knows that there will be nothing he’ll look forward to more than Choi Jongho’s company.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

“Hurry– fuck, hurry up, Wooyoung.”

“Be patient,” Wooyoung commands, “Need I remind you that you’re not the one in charge tonight?”

A thick silence follows, one that drips with honey and lust. In the darkness, Wooyoung cannot see much, but the flick of moonlight that peers through the hollow of Jongho’s living room curtains is enough to shed light on the man in his arms. Enough that Wooyoung can see the unabashed haziness in Jongho’s eyes, or the way his eyes shift between Wooyoung’s eyes and his mouth.

Wooyoung contemplates it for a moment – falling into the temptation of letting his lips linger over Jongho’s, absorbing every word and gasp the younger lets out into his throat, making them all his. But then, he ponders over the other tantalising picture: Jongho following his every word while Wooyoung teases him almost to the edge of completion, over and over again.

He examines the man in his arms, his grin growing. The moonlight falls to reveal the mirrored intensity of Jongho’s gaze, sharp and intriguing, stunning Wooyoung into silence. With a reverent lift of his hand, Wooyoung grasps hold of Jongho’s hip, his fingers hovering over the younger midfielder’s uniform absentmindedly.

“On the field, you’re so in control,” Wooyoung starts. His lips move so they hang over Jongho’s ear, his words purposefully slow. Jongho inhales sharply, his eyes falling so they face the wall ahead of him. Wooyoung’s fingers move leisurely to slip under the uniform, gently pulling Jongho towards him. “So self-assured. At the instructions of no one but yourself… for tonight, you’ll do as I say.”

Jongho lets out a sudden moan, surprising them both. It’s so captivating, seeing him like this, no matter how many times they’ve been in this exact same position, resting against this same wall. With each time Jongho is in his arms, something shifts – Wooyoung discovers new things, like how Jongho’s lips part only slightly before an obscure sound leaves his lips. Or how, when he moans helplessly, he falters so he rests on Wooyoung slightly, unconsciously biting his lip.

Wooyoung cannot help himself. He captures Jongho’s mouth with his, opposing magnets finding each other mid-motion, and he draws more of those pretty sounds out of the younger footballer. “Follow my lead, baby,” he murmurs, and Jongho nods senselessly.

Wooyoung’s fingers trail so they press against Jongho’s bottom lip. No instructions are needed at this point for this gesture. Jongho swirls his tongue slowly, eyes growing more hazy – more hypnotised on Wooyoung’s own – as he laps the older footballer’s fingers. Wooyoung observes him, mesmerised, the feeling of Jongue’s warm tongue around his digits enough sending a thrill down his body.

“Enough,” Wooyoung says a few minutes later, and Jongho’s lips leave his hands with a quick kiss. With his free hand, he works on undressing Jongho, the only item of clothing remaining being Jongho’s jersey. As he reveals more of Jongho’s body, he works on kissing every sliver of exposed skin. The younger’s thighs, his shaking wrists, which soon find their way to Wooyoung’s hips, pulling him closer. Jongho shudders at each kiss, but his half-lidded eyes open sharply when Wooyoung slips one finger in him. 

“Fuck,” Jongho whispers. Wooyoung is not patient nor slow. His fingers are sharp and precise, finding the spot that coaxes the sweetest sound out of Jongho’s throat with ease. Moonlight falls deeper over Jongho’s bare figure, showing the way his trembling grows in volume under Wooyoung’s volitions. On one particular stroke, he falters, his knees shaking where he propped himself against the wall earlier. Wooyoung smiles to himself, before resuming the same motion.

“Good?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into the ridge of Jongho’s shoulder blades, right where his skin meets the collar of his jersey. Jongho merely gasps, rolling his hips against Wooyoung’s fingers as he seeks his looming completion.

“Words, Jongho,” Wooyoung commands sharply.

“Y-yes,” Jongho keens, an aborted wail leaving his lips at the instruction. Wooyoung sees the way Jongho’s eyes lift to the ceiling as he moves his tips in tandem with the thrusts of Wooyoung’s fingers against his rim, and he conceals his own gasp at the sight in front of him. 

“Fuck, I’m  s-so… so close, Wooyoung, please.” 

As he fucks himself against Wooyoung’s fingers, so far gone that he’s murmuring illegibly, his jersey lifts to expose his cock, rosy and leaking profusely against his stomach. 

Wooyoung slowly falls to his knees, taking him into his mouth. Jongho whimpers, his hips stuttering into Wooyoung’s mouth.

“T-too much,” he breathes. Wooyoung momentarily pauses, checking if he’s okay, but Jongho immediately digs his fingers in the older’s hair, resuming his motion. “K-keep going, fuck, don’t stop. Please,” he keens when Wooyoung’s tongue swirls around his length, trembling uncontrollably against the wall. Wooyoung presses against himself, enough to keep himself in control while he works on bringing Jongho close to completion. His tongue moves steadily around Jongho’s cock, and the younger stutters. He’s delirious, focused on nothing but chasing his own climax, using Wooyoung as means of doing so.

But when he lets out a groan, his shaking so constant that Wooyoung knows he’s about to come, Wooyoung stops. Jongho’s hand flails, aiming to bring Wooyoung’s mouth back on him, right where he needs it most, but Wooyoung just holds it tight in his grip.

“W–” Jongho starts. Wooyoung gives him a pointed look, not moving up from his knees, but not touching the younger footballer either. 

“Did I say you could come yet?”

“No, but…” But he pauses, a glimmer of realisation sparking in his eyes. Heaving, he looks at Wooyoung with desperation, but with a degree of anticipation that sends a shiver down Wooyoung’s spine.

“Look at you, all desperate to come…” he taunts. He moves closer to the inside of Jongho’s thighs, words echoing into Jongho’s skin. “You will only come when I tell you to. No matter how long that will take. You will hold out. Like a good team player would. I’m sure you know all about diligence.”

Jongho curses softly, his eyes glazing over.

“Wooyoung,” the younger cries, his voice ruptured. His legs shake around Wooyoung’s jaw, about to close in around his neck. Wooyoung grabs hold of them with his palms, steadying them into place.

“Can you do that?” Wooyoung asks. As he waits for an answer, his warm hand finds Jongho’s length again and gives it a sharp stroke. Jongho sobs as he watches him, giving a vigorous nod agreement. 

“Good,” Wooyoung says, “pretty boy. Gonna fuck you so well.”

He twists Jongho so the younger is facing the wall, Wooyoung’s palms fondling the expanse of smooth skin gently. His knees dig into the ground uncomfortably, but he pays them no mind. Instead, he presses a kiss into Jongho’s spine before his tongue fixes itself inside Jongho.

The younger jumps, before a long pleasured groan leaves his lips. He turns sharply, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze as Wooyoung takes his time exploring his walls. Jongho’s gasps fall into the wall in front of him as Wooyoung fucks him with no pause. 

“Wooyoung… ” Jongho pleads, his eyes laced with tears, his body only held steady by Wooyoung’s hands. He pushes himself back against Wooyoung’s tongue, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the motion. He raises an arm on the wall, pressing his forehead against it as he whimpers softly. Wooyoung hums, enjoying the feeling of Jongho falling apart all because of him.

And so, a game starts. 

Wooyoung takes his time exploring Jongho, working him up until he’s delirious, until Jongho’s release is so tantalisingly close that the younger can do nothing but tremble and whimper. Then he stops. Jongho falters each time, and Wooyoung can see how he bites his lip to stifle a frustrated sigh each time Wooyoung taunts him with the opportunity to come then takes it away from him.

At one point, when Wooyoung switches from eating Jongho out to just pressing kisses along the ridge of his spine, Jongho’s hand moves conspiratorially down his own body. Wooyoung slaps it away. “Patience,” he says, “otherwise you won’t come at all.”

 “I– I can’t, Wooyoung. I can’t keep–”

“You can.” 

“I can’t… please, I just need to–”

Wooyoung’s lips draw away from his spine, and Jongho turns around, pleas dripping from his gaze like saccharine honey. “You said you’d follow my lead, Choi.”

“I am, just… just, please hurry.”

But Wooyoung just grins, before his tongue dives back into the younger, resuming his machinations. He moves sharply, fastly, until Jongho is at the precipice of his release. Jongho’s gasps are uncontrollable, trembling at an excruciating pace as he tries to follow the instructions. Wooyoung takes his time, paying no mind to the heat pooling in his stomach. His whole attention is just diverted on making Jongho come to the edge. The other footballer shifts, fucking himself on Wooyoung’s tongue, pleading for release, his covet ardent and unrestrained.

And then, when he can tell that the younger can no longer hold, when his own desire to come is unparalleled, Wooyoung’s lips trail in the space between Jongho’s thighs. His hand grips hold of Jongho’s length, the other whimpering against his arm to conceal the sheer volume of the sound. 

“Come for me, Jongho,” he says, and he watches as the man in his arm unfolds, twisting as he comes. Wooyoung cannot look away from him. Jongho’s crescendos always stun him into silence, everything about them magnetising. The way Jongho pants harshly, his eyes a mix of delirious and steady as he comes back to reality, his sanity returning to him. The way he curses softly before his hand moves so he can grip one of Wooyoung’s own, his grip tight while he catches his breath.  

Wooyoung stands, his knees buckling for a moment. Jongho’s arm ties around his waist, steadying him. Wooyoung presses kisses into Jongho’s neck to thank him, but his lips part when he sees how the other footballer bares his neck out for him. 

“You like that?” Wooyoung notes softly.

“You know I do,” Jongho murmurs against his neck. By this point, his voice is so far gone that it sounds more like a ruptured breath than anything else. But he’s right – Wooyoung does know. He’s always known what makes Jongho gasp sensitively in his arms, but the reminder – the reminder that Jongho feels good, that Wooyoung makes him crescendo – sends a thrill down his gut. 

“I do. I know you too well. My filthy baby.”

Jongho hums, and Wooyoung presses a kiss along the lines of the veins in his neck. He stays there for a few minutes, breathing Jongho’s vanilla scent in, his own breaths harsh against his chest. When Jongho pulls away slightly to look at him, his eyes are so soft – so tender – that Wooyoung is sent off-kilter momentarily. Something about the gentleness in his gaze doesn’t fully match the speed of everything they’ve done thus far, but Wooyoung likes this even more. He wants to keep it – this gentle gaze – and store it along with the other precious memories across his lifetime. 

And something shifts. They become more gentle, more unhurried. Wooyoung takes off Jongho’s jersey slowly, almost as if Jongho would break if he goes any quicker. When he’s finished, Jongho kisses the expanse of skin at Wooyoung’s decolletage as he steers them both in the direction of his bed. 

Moonlight hovers over both their bodies when they fall on Jongho’s mattress, and Wooyoung catches the slivers of light that fall on Jongho’s body with his mouth. Jongho’s fingers settle around his bicep as if on instinct, encouraging the movement. He’s stunning like this, fully bare under the night, gasps and pleas continuing to pour out of his lips like a prayer. Wooyoung’s hand pinches his nipple, and the other arches as he cries.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads desperately, helplessly nodding his head when Wooyoung’s hand around his nipple is replaced by Wooyoung’s mouth. Wooyoung pinches the nipple under his teeth for a split second, before kissing the nub gently. Jongho shifts in his lap, his knees closing in around Wooyoung’s thighs, hard once more.

And then… his cock rubs against Wooyoung’s thigh. The sliver of control that had remained in his gut eviscerates in the warm air of the night. The friction makes Wooyoung dizzy, and his head falls back, panting harshly. His cock strains against his jeans painfully. When Jongho notices, he lets out a dissatisfied grunt. 

“Off,” he says, and Wooyoung nods. Jongho slides his jeans off with ease, his touch settling into the skin of Wooyoung’s thighs.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Jongho murmurs. His voice is more steady than before, but lust still pours around the edge of his words as he speaks. “Since you’ve edged me into oblivion tonight, it’s only fair if I do the same to you.”

“This wasn’t part of our bet,” Wooyoung points out.

Jongho shrugs. He moves himself against Wooyoung’s thigh, so close to where Wooyoung is most sensitive, the gap between them closing further and further away. Then, his knee presses against Wooyoung’s cock. Purposefully. “Things change. And I fulfilled my end of the bet anyway.”

Wooyoung stifles his incoming gasp at the way Jongho’s knee shifts against him, the pressure so delicious – so tantalising – that he wants to chase it endlessly. Instead, he pauses, knowing Jongho has something up his sleeve that makes all… all the tempting chase for release worth waiting for.

Jongho’s fingers lift his chin, his gaze hawk-like, almost predatory. “Now it’s my turn to get what I want,” he murmurs. 

With no hesitation, he lifts himself up slightly, rolling his hips forward as he rubs himself against Wooyoung’s thigh. 

“Fuck, ” Wooyoung gasps. Dizzily, he tries to grab hold of Jongho’s hips, to lead him, but Jongho shifts away.

“Not yet,” he says. 

Wooyoung nods. He observes every one of Jongho’s movements carefully, drinking in all of Jongho’s pants, the way the younger’s mouth is fully open while he rubs himself against Wooyoung’s cock. 

“Keep your eyes on me at all times, Jung,” he says a few moments later, the words strained against his throat. Wooyoung shifts unconsciously, and a long grunt leaves his throat when Jongho rubs against him just right, the pressure of his knee perfect against him. Wooyoung feels hypnotised, his own rapture incoming now that he’s held it away for so long. His forehead falls to meet Jongho’s, and he nods vigorously. “Fuck, Jongho. Keep doing that. Please keep doing that. Don’t stop.”

Jongho continues his movements, but too slow, too controlled for Wooyoung’s liking. His thigh rubs against Wooyoung’s length, slow as molasses, purposefully dragged out. Wooyoung coaxes him into a kiss, the mix of his frustration and desperation pouring freely onto Jongho’s tongue. 

“ Jongho,” Wooyoung warns. The younger footballer says nothing, merely continuing the slow drag of his knee on Wooyoung’s cock. Wooyoung grunts into the younger’s mouth, his climax simultaneously so close but so far that it pains him.

Jongho’s teeth suddenly sink into Wooyoung’s bottom lip, his knee continuing to shift down his length, and Wooyoung cannot withhold the tremble of his body. An abrupt sensation overtakes him, so far gone that it doesn’t feel like he’s here, tethered to Earth. As Jongho moves against him, Wooyoung’s eyes roll into the back of his head, lost in his own pleasure. Everything spills after Jongho comes again, biting Wooyoung’s neck, but his knee is still dragging against Wooyoung, still sending the elder to the precipice. 

And Wooyoung begs.

“Please, Jongho. Fuck, just… please, let me come.”

Jongho pulls away for a second, tears lacing his eyes, just as stunned as Wooyoung is by himself. In the year they’ve been doing this, Wooyoung never begged. He’s always been the one in control, always the one who directed how things were going to go. But he’s also never been driven to this state, eyes tightly shut and hips stuttering, wanting to move against Jongho but following Jongho’s commands. He can see how surprised Jongho is, how he takes in the way Wooyoung’s words grow garbled as he pleads. How Jongho’s own eyes fall into the familiar daze he has when he slips under Wooyoung’s instructions.

“Shh, settle down, Wooyoung,” Jongho forces out, his own self-assuredness gone. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m all yours.”

Wooyoung nods. “All mine.”

Something in the words feels final, as if they’ve both realised that this – whatever this relationship is – is going further than it ever has. They’ll have to discuss it after, but Wooyoung knows in his gut that something switches. Jongho abruptly moves his knee just right, and Wooyoung’s pleas stutter into a long gasp. The older footballer’s eyes scrunch shut, his lips falling into Jongho’s, who kisses back just as passionately. He pants, asking for more, and when Jongho delivers, his eyes roll back again. 

“I’m c-close,” Wooyoung breathes, and the younger one finally cracks. He grabs hold of Wooyoung’s hips and pushes against him until Wooyoung cries, falling forward into the juncture of Jongho’s shoulder blade. And finally, Wooyoung lets go. He surrenders to his impending climax, cursing softly when Jongho leads him through it, his thumb brushing against the slit of Wooyoung’s cock. Wooyoung’s shoulders shake uncontrollably, his head falling back against the mattress. 

When he comes down, his lips magnetise themselves to Jongho’s, who kisses him back just as passionately. The threshold between them is gone. Wooyoung whispers sweet nothings into Jongho’s mouth before he pulls away, mesmerised by the way Jongho’s doe, half-lidded eyes fix onto his. 

“Earlier, when we… when we said we are each other’s,” Jongho begins timidly, “did you mean it?”

The way Jongho looks at him in this moment, hopeful and inquisitive, renders Wooyoung breathless. Wooyoung is transported back to the first time they met, and Jongho had looked at him then. Still inquisitive, but almost defiant in his look. He’d deemed Wooyoung a rival, and had treated him as such. But Jongho’s inquisitiveness in this moment is soft. Not pushing Wooyoung to answer, but hoping he would.

“Jongho,” Wooyoung starts, a smile settling on his face. One of his hands rises to cup Jongho’s cheek, thumb drawing circles on the skin underneath. Jongho allows him, his eyes closing contentedly. “My heart belonged to you since the day I first laid eyes on you.”

Jongho’s eyes open suddenly, his lips parting in shock. “What?”

Wooyoung gulps, something akin to nervousness pooling at the base of his gut. “It took me a while to realise it, but… I was magnetised by you, Jongho. You’re always so stunning on the field. You are fascinating. I could never stay away from you, even with this silly rivalry happening all around us. At first, I thought what I felt for you was just a byproduct of lust, and that I was confused. But after we started this arrangement, after I got to know you better, I realised I’d been in love with you the whole time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jongho asks softly.

“I was nervous,” Wooyoung admits. “I didn’t know whether you felt the same, and I didn’t want to scare you away. But a few weeks ago, when we went to that basketball game, I knew I had to tell you soon. When you smiled at me, I was tempted to tell you right there and then, but it wasn’t the right moment.” 

Jongho reaches up, their lips colliding in a slow kiss. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he murmurs shyly when they pull apart, “I feel the same way.”

Wooyoung doesn’t even conceal the surprise lacing his voice. “You do?”

“I do. I’ve liked you for a while now. I realised it at the basketball game, but it’s been something I thought about long before that,” Jongho says. Nervousness takes over his words, his eyes riddled with anxiousness, but he doesn’t stray away from Wooyoung. Instead, it’s like he cannot physically pull himself away. As if the bounds of physics have magnetised the two of them together and nothing, not even the momentum of gravity, can pull them apart. 

“I like you so much, Jung Wooyoung. I think of you always. I imagine you and I entangled together, two atoms spinning around the Earth’s axis, inescapable from each other,” Jongho whispers.

Wooyoung smiles. Love blooms in his chest, an explosion of flowers settling in the space between his arteries when he sees the soft, timid grin that lights up Jongho’s features. 

“I like you so, so much, Choi Jongho,” he whispers. “You beautiful, silly man.” 

In the light of the moonlight, Jongho beams once more, and Wooyoung engraves the words he’s meant to say for so long into his skin until the morning.

+1

Jongho pushes himself up on the bench, eyes squinting at the rays of sunlight lighting over the field of the Yonsei campus. His boyfriend sidles up to him with a bottle of cold water, which Jongho accepts gratefully.

“There’s no way quantum mechanics is taking you away from me right now,” Wooyoung complains lightheartedly. “Not football practice, not your captain duties… quantum mechanics. Surely there is a law saying that this could’ve been prevented.”

“No matter what laws of physics I could ponder over with you right now, nothing unfortunately stops exam season,” Jongho replies.   

Jongho has recently become the captain of SNU’s football team. When Wooyoung had encouraged him to speak to his Coach about his team’s laziness, Jongho had been hesitant, knowing the class dynamics that overtook the team. But Wooyoung had been insistent. He’d helped Jongho document his team’s refusal to attend practice, or the way their tactics hadn’t improved for the last five years. 

His Coach listened attentively, surprisingly open to feedback. Though they could not kick out any of the teammates (the board of directors wouldn’t hear an ounce of criticism about their most treasured donees), Jongho had been appointed captain and charged with the duty to improve teamplay by the end of the academic year. Captainship is a lot, and he still struggles getting constant attendance rates from the team at times. But he’s trying, and SNU’s tactics are improving when he’s not on the field. 

And it helps that Wooyoung is there to kiss him on the nights he gets home, exhausted from dealing with his dickhead teammates, the Yonsei midfielder whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Wooyoung huffs. “I thought you’re here to visit me. Exams distracting you should be criminal.”

“You are also in exam season, baby,” Jongho points out. “We’re meant to revise right now.”

“Don’t remind me,” Wooyoung sighs. “All I want to do is to cuddle up to my pretty boyfriend and enjoy the nice weather, but instead here we are. You, struck down by quantum mechanics, and me, struck down by architectural history.”

Jongho smiles, unable to hide his amusement. He leans over the wooden table, stealing a kiss from Wooyoung’s lips. Wooyoung pauses, starstruck, before he wraps an arm around Jongho’s collar and pulls him into a longer kiss. Wooyoung’s lips are soft against his own, and Jongho forgets all about the Heisenberg uncertainty principle as he lets himself fall deeper into the kiss. 

In this moment, it feels like he and Wooyoung are struck down in quantum entanglement. Wooyoung is grinning against his lips as he swallows each of Jongho’s hums, coaxing more and more smiles out of him. Jongho thinks back on himself from two years prior, how he would’ve never expected to fall for his direct rival, and laughs.

Wooyoung pulls away, slightly confused, but eyeing Jongho with amusement. “Why are you laughing?” he asks softly. 

Jongho shakes his head. “I’m just thinking back on it all. What would the versions of us from two years ago think of if they saw us now?”

Wooyoung laughs, his nose scrunching.  “I don’t know. I think 2023 Wooyoung would have expected this.”

Jongho raises an eyebrow teasingly. “Would he now?”

“I told you,” Wooyoung smiles secretly, before his eyes fall back on his textbook. “I fell for you the moment I saw you. I think even back then, I would’ve expected that I’d chase you around, all lovestruck.”

“Yeah, you’re lovestruck alright,” Jongho teases. 

Wooyoung just beams again. “What can I say? My boyfriend’s too pretty.”

It’s small moments like these that stick with Jongho forever. The moments where Wooyoung is at his most joyful state, his happiness unadulterated and beautiful. As he laughs, he leans slightly into Jongho, and Jongho reckons there is a truth to the quantum entanglement theorem. Regardless of where he and Wooyoung may be at any given point – regardless of the physical distance that may be between them – fate has linked them to each other. 

They stay like this for a few hours, the sunlight kissing their shoulders and hands as they study. It’s the middle of summer, the August breeze more scalding than refreshing, but Jongho wouldn’t give this moment up for the world. While they study, Wooyoung becomes his source of revitalisation. The elder’s happy-go-lucky personality is motivating enough that he finishes revising two units that day, and by the time they head over to Jongho’s flat, he feels more confident about how his examinations will go.

Wooyoung sways happily as they walk, his arm linked in Jongho’s. The blonde strands of his hair are pushed back by a pair of sunglasses, and Jongho’s SNU jacket hugs his frame. Jongho just wants to kiss him the whole way home.

When they reach his flat and Jongho lays in bed, eyes shut, he feels Wooyoung prop himself onto his chest. Wooyoung drapes his arm across his waist, and he hums a song – one that Jongho loves – into Jongho’s chest. 

Something overtakes the space between his arteries and his heart, and he listens attentively to the song leaving Wooyoung’s lips, his voice rasping each consonant prettily. Wooyoung’s arm is gentle across his frame, and his thumb draws circles into Jongho’s skin slowly. 

And in this moment, sitting like this with his boyfriend, determination settles in Jongho’s chest. 

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting up. Wooyoung looks up, his eyes tender.

“I love you,” Jongho says. His dorm is dimly lit, but Jongho sees the way the afternoon Sun settles in Wooyoung’s eyes. As he meets the elder’s shocked gaze, he feels the edge of his vulnerability peek through his general self-assuredness. But he pushes through, not wanting to let go of the chance to say the three words that have echoed in the back of his head for the last few months. “I love you so much, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung halts, his lips parting as he processes the words. Then, the edge of light in his eyes travels to his lips, and he beams. He smiles so happily, so joyfully, as tears lace the corners of his eyes. Jongho feels like he’s been punched in the gut as he rushes to wipe the tears from Wooyoung’s cheeks worriedly. But Wooyoung just grabs hold of his hand, shaking his head. He clutches Jongho’s fingers tightly, and Jongho holds equally as tight, his nervousness palpable. 

“Say it again,” Wooyoung pleads, “I want to hear you say it again.”

“I love you,” he breathes, “I love you endlessly. My heart has never – it’s never beat like this for someone else, and it never will. Because you… You are my favorite person in the world, Wooyoung, and I’m so glad I can love you like this.”

Before Wooyoung, Jongho hadn’t known what romantic love was. He’d thought romantic love would feel like a somersault, catapulting you into the horizon. But no. Love is gentle; it’s the feeling of warmth that overtakes his lungs whenever Wooyoung is around. It’s the sheer sensation of luck that he can spend his time around such a beautiful soul – that Wooyoung allowed him to love him and bask in his light. 

Love is the happiness he feels at seeing Wooyoung happy. The way Wooyoung’s happiness renders him breathless every time he sees a smile settle in the lines of Wooyoung’s lips. Love is the feeling of time stopping on the mornings where Wooyoung is wrapped around him, their nude bodies kissed by the light of dawn. The longing he feels when Wooyoung isn’t around, or worse, the longing he feels when Wooyoung is with him. Because the love he has for Wooyoung makes him yearn for the familiar swarms of butterflies taking over his stomach, or the sheer joy bursting in his chest. 

“My beloved… I don’t know how not to love you,” Wooyoung replies, his fingers shaking as they find their way to Jongho’s cheek. Jongho’s eyes close for a moment as he feels the touch, and when their lips lock, he welcomes the familiar sense of mesmerisation that digs into his heart.

Wooyoung’s touch is burning against his soul, and when he presses Jongho deeper into the mattress, loving him until the morning, Jongho lets himself go.