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it’s almost like a rite of passage that every male idol goes through—wooseok thought he got it out of the way back in 2016 (‘161030’ is the only word on wooseok’s blacklist), but it turns out that show business is tough, the world is cruel, and kim wooseok is just too pretty to leave in boys clothes.
he’s above kicking and screaming over the decision, and he’s confident enough in his own masculinity for it not to be challenged by some different clothes.
so here he is, again .
the first thing to come on is the outfit—it’s a skirt this time too, but it’s a bit shorter than the last time. he’s put into a soft sweater, some knee-highs, and a pair of kitten heels, not very tall at all—he’d never admit it, especially not to their already over-the-top coordis, but getting to wear high heels was something he was sort of looking forward to. it’d be fun to be a little bit taller for a day, but whatever. the next step is makeup, simple enough, followed by getting put into a wig not entirely different from his current hair color. the wig is higher quality than the last one he was forced to throw on—and it looks like it could feasibly be his actual human hair.
...which gets wooseok thinking, squinting. he doesn’t have his glasses on, and the false eyelashes glued to his face are making his vision a touch blurrier, so he can’t see incredibly well—but after going through all that trouble, the question does occur to him.
“...do i look like a girl?” is what he asks the coordinator curling little sections of the long hair framing his face. she looks at him, almost amused, then looks over at the line of bleary-eyed bed-headed boys filing in, one by one, and says, “good question, wooseok. why don’t you ask them?”
wooseok turns—he’s greeted by the sight of his lucky, lucky bandmates who didn’t have to arrive at the studio 45 minutes early. he’s opening his mouth to say something to yohan, who happens to be at the front of the line—but before he can say anything, yohan’s stopping dead in his tracks, prompting seungyoun to bump straight into him.
“hey—you can’t just,” is how seungyoun starts his sentence. he ends it with something like a choked squeal—not high like dohyon’s screams, instead distinctly nasally, distinctly seungyoun—and before wooseok knows it, seungyoun has his hand on the back of yohan’s neck, forcing him down to bow apologetically with him. “—so, so sorry! we were so sure the sign outside said x1, sorry for the—”
“seungyoun-ah, why are you apologizing?” comes wooseok’s voice, calm, low. yohan’s head pops up as soon as seungyoun’s grip goes lax, and as he’s rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “what the heck, hyung? it’s just wooseok.”
cho seungyoun is by no means a dumb man. he’s the class clown type, sure, but he’s always excelled in his school subjects, including math. this is the longest it has ever taken seungyoun to put two and two together.
“...seok?”
wooseok presses a finger to his cheek, in typical wooseok fashion, as if to verify that he is, indeed, wooseok. “it’s me,” he says helpfully, “are you okay.”
“cho seungyoun has left the chat,” minhee offers, pushing past the statue to make his way to his own chair. dongpyo whistles, twirling his finger in the air, moving to take his seat next to minhee, between him and wooseok. “real fishy, wooseok hyung.”
“what does that mean?” wooseok asks, turning to look at dongpyo. dongpyo snorts, and before wooseok can press any further, he feels something, someone, loom over him. he turns back to look at where seungyoun was standing, only to now find the same seungyoun incredibly close, effectively caging him against the chair with seungyoun’s hands on either armrest.
“holy shit,” seungyoun exhales, looking down at wooseok, “what are you wearing?”
(“language!” dohyon calls from where he’s seated, and hangyul loses it next to him.)
“uh—a skirt?” wooseok says, almost defensively, surprised by the sudden proximity, “you look… flushed? are you okay?”
the information makes seungyoun double-over, instinctively putting his hands on wooseok’s thighs, but now that his thighs are completely bare (and god , were they always clean shaven?), seungyoun’s pulling his hands away as if he’d been burned, turning to make a beeline for the door. he exits, just like that, and wooseok is at a loss.
“...well. i still can’t tell if i look like a girl or not,” he says awkwardly to the coordinator, who is now standing much farther away. seungwoo, who’s seated in the chair on his other side, lets out a long-suffering sigh. “you do,” is what he says, offering a hand on wooseok’s shoulder.
“...thanks?”
-
web.md is a useful, one-stop shop that helps individuals (cho seungyoun) figure out that their symptoms (shortness of breath, constricting feeling in chest, weak limbs) can all logically point to a reasonable diagnosis (heart attack). the two managers reassuring seungyoun that he’s not having a heart attack offer him surprisingly little relief—because if he’s not having a heart attack, then he is dying of some other, unknown cause.
“what’s happening to me,” seungyoun blurts, panicked, backing yohan into a corner, “i checked the symptoms, yohan, i think i’m dying.”
“dude. your dick’s just hard,” yohan replies, tired, putting his hands on either side of seungyoun’s face. “wooseok hyung put that skirt on and now you’re acting like you’ve never been turned on before. it’s okay, hyung, he’s hot.”
“—what?”
“your dick. is hard.”
“ what? ”
seungyoun looks down, as does yohan, which prompts seungyoun to cover the entirety of yohan’s face with his chubby hand, for privacy’s sake.
lo and behold. he’s hard. this isn’t a heart attack. seungyoun is gay panicking over his bandmate, and it’s made his dick hard in his pants .
“oh. fuck.”
“yeah,” yohan muffles from behind seungyoun’s hand, “nothing out of the ordinary. so can you please just. calm down.”
relief washes over seungyoun in one big fat wave, blinding him from yohan’s remark. it’s such a stark change, almost as if yohan flipped a switch in his head from ‘catastrophe’ to ‘reasonable inconvenience’. he pulls away from yohan with a little ‘thanks’, and is back on his way to the studio, carrying his jacket over his waist strategically. the walk isn’t long, but it’s long enough for seungyoun’s fight-or-flight to die down, replaced with a more understandable heart rate—fast in a ‘crush’ kind of way, not a ‘last moments’ kind of way.
so, he’s gay. for wooseok.
now what?
-
“no, but really hyung! you look so pretty,” hyeongjun says, looking at wooseok’s reflection in the mirror while powder is applied to his face, “like, it’s way more natural than i expected?”
“i thought it was your real hair for a second,” eunsang supplies happily. wooseok’s eyebrows furrow at that, slightly confused, but before he gets the chance to reply, the door to the room swings open, maybe a touch dramatically.
wooseok turns, his eyes wide. seungyoun is standing in the doorway, seemingly surprised by his own strength. meanwhile, dongpyo jumps at the sound, and it makes one of the makeup artists draw a line of lip tint down his face—he whines out an “ah, hyung!” and the laughter that echoes around the room is enough to cut some of the tension. wooseok’s gaze flickers to dongpyo’s distressed expression and appearance, and it makes him sputter out a little laugh, too. seungyoun apologizes by walking over to the kid and cradling his head lovingly, telling him that he’s sorry, he’s been working out again recently and just doesn’t know his strength anymore. that doesn’t make things any better with dongpyo—but paying attention to dongpyo is set on a back burner in seungyoun’s mind the moment he’s looking over at wooseok, and wooseok is looking back at him.
his mind is still short circuiting, sure—but it’s manageable, now. he looks at wooseok properly, and even at a distance he can tell that he looks really, really pretty.
the chair that’s available happens to be right near where wooseok is standing. when they break eye contact, wooseok continues his conversation with eunsang and hyeongjun, and seungyoun is making his way over and settling into the empty seat, quietly making note of the fact that wooseok smells a little different, like he’s switched out his perfume for something more… feminine.
mercy.
seungyoun tries not to hyperfixate on it, opting to have a casual conversation with the stylist instead, but wooseok—friendly, friendly wooseok, eventually makes his way over to stand behind seungyoun, his face now directly in seungyoun’s frame of vision as he says hello.
oh god.
“—hey, pretty girl.” seungyoun replies, without a second thought.
wooseok responds by blinking his pretty, starry eyes. seungyoun is moments away from passing out, but is keeping it under wraps perfectly, somehow.
“...what, cat got your tongue?” seungyoun says, baffled by his own ability to speak completely separately from his thoughts and intentions, “don’t you think you look pretty, seok-ah?”
“wh—” wooseok stammers, flustered by the question, “uh, i? what?” the foundation on his face is sheer enough to let some of the pink underneath shine through, while the tips of his ears glow bright red.
“c’mon. how do you think you look, wooseok? tell me.” seungyoun finds his footing on turned tables, gleaning confidence from wooseok’s sudden bashfulness.
“i… think i look pretty, yeah,” comes wooseok’s voice, soft and small, from a defenseless wooseok without the upper-hand.
“good girl.”
the words, as cliche as they are, make wooseok’s cock twitch. silence settles between them, thick, unfamiliar. wooseok doesn’t know where this is all coming from—and spoilers, seungyoun doesn’t either. they’re no strangers to sexual tension—they’ve touched each other before, even fucked before, but it’s never been so wordy, never been anything more than pants and whines and whispers of ‘come for me’. seungyoun’s running into unmarked territory, while wooseok is treading carefully; but stuck between them is the poor, poor stylist slicking seungyoun’s hair back in the midst of it all.
so wooseok makes a call—he leans in, on the side opposite of the stylist, cupping his hand over seungyoun’s ear. “we’re talking about this after filming,” is what he whispers, the sound more air than anything, but he knows that seungyoun will hear every last word. then he walks away from the situation, continuing down the line of chairs as friendly, friendly wooseok, chatting with the other members while seungyoun stews in the mess he’s created, wondering if he’s just made the best decision of his life or ruined the next 5 years.
-
focusing during filming is hard, considering the fact that wooseok’s skirt is so much shorter than seungyoun had remembered it. he feels like a little pervert, staring at the gap between the end of wooseok’s skirt and the tops of his knee highs—and it leads to more outtakes than anyone would have liked. seungyoun can’t stop hyper fixating on wooseok—but now that he thinks about it, maybe his eyes have always naturally drifted back to him. maybe he’s just noticing his thing for wooseok now, now that wooseok looks so very different, but it’s not a new thing at all.
as for wooseok? he’s not a guiltless party in seungyoun’s outtakes, no. he might lay it on kind of thick when it comes to seungyoun, on purpose, just to see him squirm. he doesn’t usually have this kind of power over seungyoun—so now that it’s available to him, he’s on a bit of a power trip.
everything leads to filming bleeding past the allotted time, which creates a transportation problem that wooseok would get a headache just trying to figure out. it boils down to this: two trips need to be made to a) get the members back to the dorm and b) the staff back to the company building—and it’d be preferable for four members to stay back. seungwoo volunteers to stay, as does hyeongjun—and wooseok volunteers him and seungyoun to stay back, and seungyoun doesn’t protest.
seungwoo, no matter how often he hides them behind his bangs, is a person with eyes. seungyoun and wooseok have been the biggest headache—and the last thing he needs is for the two of them to make out in front of the kid. the moment seungyoun and wooseok volunteer to stay back, he asks if hyeongjun would like to go to the cafe down the block with him—and hyeongjun, who is at the very least old enough to get a clue, agrees with an eager nod. that leaves seungyoun and wooseok to themselves.
wooseok wants to talk in the dressing room—seungyoun doesn’t trust it to be as private as they think it might be, so he physically pulls wooseok into a supply closet.
“holy shit,” wooseok sighs in disbelief, “this is too—”
“—messy? cramped? for a princess like you?”
“no, stupid. it’s too cliche for me—what are we gonna do, have our first kiss? am i going to pop my foot? what are you doing ?”
“i just. i’m losing my mind, wooseok-ah,” seungyoun says, moving a hand up to cup wooseok’s tiny, gorgeous face. he feels like he’s holding the world—and he is, sort of. “you look so cute like this—so pretty, so delicate. i just. want you.”
wooseok is flustered—he doesn’t fully understand why he’s so flushed, why he always seems to get like this around cho-fucking-seungyoun. he’s never been short of confidence when it comes to things like this—but seungyoun makes his breath hitch, his stomach flip, his body feel things he’s never felt before from a shitty in-shower handjob, and an even shittier two minute rushed blowjob. he’s hearing the world’s worst excuse of a pick-up line at the moment, a pathetic ‘you’re hot and i want to fuck you,’ but because it’s seungyoun? because it’s cho seungyoun?
wooseok melts.
“...what’s your damage,” is what wooseok muffles against seungyoun’s mouth, words without their normal venom as he pulls him down from his full height to him, crashing their mouths together. wooseok has lipstick on, and it’s going to be all over seungyoun’s mouth and face—but maybe all of this confusion over seungyoun has lead to something akin to a possessive streak in wooseok, and while lipstick marks can’t hold a candle to leaving hickies, they’ll do for now.
seungyoun might be pliant against his mouth, but his hands are too eager to take some kind of lead, creeping under wooseok’s skirt, cupping the supple skin of his milky thigh—and the contact is enough to get wooseok gasping, the sound pulled from him, pushed against their lips. seungyoun’s other hand follows suit—and soon, he’s lifting wooseok up all too easily by those pretty, pretty thighs, reveling in the squeak that wooseok makes once he’s off the ground, and the sound he makes as he’s set down onto the counter behind him, just enough space to fit one petite boy.
“you’re so fucking cute , baby,” seungyoun groans as he’s pulling away to get another look at wooseok, with his dark lashes, soft hair, glassy eyes. “such a pretty girl. good girl.”
“please, that’s so fucking hot,” wooseok practically keens, tilting his head back—which seungyoun takes as a personal invitation to invade his space, pressing feather light kisses to the column of wooseok’s neck, loving how delicate it looks framed by his long locks. wooseok adores the attention—he extends his neck to give seungyoun better access, obsessed with the way that seungyoun teases, making wooseok think that maybe, just maybe he’ll leave a mark, a hickey, treat him like he’s not made of glass, like he’s not in the public eye.
“you like being my good girl, don’t you,” seungyoun says so softly, lips ghosting the shell of wooseok’s ear as he pulls him closer to the edge of the counter, pressing their hips together, “so why don’t you let me fuck you here, princess?”
“—again,” wooseok groans, one hand keeping him upright, steady on the counter behind him, the other tangling into and gripping at seungyoun’s dark strands, adding some weight to his demand, “call me that again. call me princess again, fuck.”
“didn’t answer the question, princess,” comes seungyoun’s voice, captivating, just barely above a whisper, “won’t you let me have you here?”
wooseok tugs seungyoun towards him to bruise their lips together again, trying to work out all of his pent-up frustration in one kiss. when he pulls away, he’s just as short of breath as seungyoun is—and the sight of seungyoun, wincing from being tugged back, with lipstick smears all over his mouth? makes wooseok want things—want seungyoun on his knees for him, begging for him to tou—
“—princess?”
wooseok snaps out of it, soon enough, light returning to his dark eyes as his vision focuses on seungyoun, pupils absolutely blown. “we can’t,” is his collected response, and he’s visibly not happy about it, “all of these clothes are sponsored—we’d get killed if we got cumstains on anything . and you can’t just cum inside me, i came in a fucking jockstrap, it’d get all over these stupid tiny shorts.”
“you came wearing a jockstrap ?” seungyoun says with a groan, the image of bending wooseok over and immediately having open access killing him dead, “you’re fucking insane, wooseok.”
“i can’t just come wearing panties, can i?” wooseok spits, frustrated.
seungyoun short circuits for a moment, just at the implication. wooseok has to tug him back to reality.
“—but like i said, it’s not possible. i could maybe suck you off at the most? but you can’t come on my face,” wooseok says, clearly disappointed. seungyoun’s just as disappointed, moving to shift wooseok even closer to the edge of the counter—he’s planning on offering to eat wooseok out, but a thought occurs to him as his fingers press into supple, soft flesh again.
oh. ohhh.
“...let me fuck your thighs?”
it’s wooseok’s turn to short circuit, this time.
he pauses for a long while, before whispering ‘fuck,’ under his breath. wooseok has the hots for a fucking genius , it turns out.
he nods his head all too eagerly, wrecked at the idea, and seungyoun’s stepping back, reluctantly removing himself so that wooseok can turn himself over. the two of them are like horny clockwork—wooseok’s bracing himself against the counter, standing with his thighs as close together as he can manage—and there’s still somehow a thigh gap, god, wooseok’s so fucking petite.
seungyoun flips wooseok’s skirt up, and sinks down to his knees—wooseok imagines seungyoun’s just admiring, so he doesn’t say anything, but then there’s. something. there’s cho seungyoun’s hot, hot tongue, lapping between the soft skin of his inner thighs—and it’s such a weird sensation, wooseok blurts out a confused, drawn out moan, his brows furrowing as he turns as best he can to look back at seungyoun. “what—are you doing , pervert?” wooseok whines, his grip on the counter tightening. seungyoun pulls away with the tip of his nose wet, staring ahead at his handiwork, at wooseok’s messy thighs, and a wry grin spreads across his lips.
“don’t have lube,” seungyoun explains as he’s standing back up, the sound of his undone buckle and his unzipped fly resonating almost cartoonishly fast, “besides—shouldn’t good girls feel nice and wet? you’re welcome, seok-ah.”
wooseok aches to slam his head down, wanting nothing more than to rot for finding that so fucking hot. “—just. fuck me,” wooseok hisses from behind gritted teeth, clenching his jaw as seungyoun spreads his thighs apart, then smacks the pale skin, hard.
“don’t mind if i do, princess.” seungyoun’s cock is heavy in his palm, so hard it aches—he’s been wanting wooseok all day, and he finally, finally gets to have him. “thighs together, now.” he commands, and wooseok complies so easily, pressing spit slicked thighs as close as they’ll go. seungyoun duly makes note of wooseok’s sudden obedience before he presses the tip of his cock against the seam of wooseok’s thighs. they’re warm to the touch, enough to make seungyoun hiss out a breath of his own as he eases into the space slowly, losing himself at the soft, soft sensation of wooseok’s pretty thighs tight around him.
seungyoun thrusts in, and the tip of his cock pokes out on the other side—seungyoun’s mouth falls open in a heady pant, and wooseok’s keening at the sensation, overwhelmed by seungyoun’s heat and the dull throbbing of his own cock, tightly confined in his safety shorts.
“ fuck —you feel so good,” seungyoun says under his breath, drawing his hips back only to push them forward, back into wooseok. “so tight. wish you could see yourself like this, baby.” and seungyoun lifts a hand to move long strands of hair to one side of wooseok’s neck, looming forward to exhale hotly against the shell of wooseok’s ear, “you said it yourself—you think you look pretty, princess. you’ll look even prettier coming apart for me.”
seungyoun catches him vulnerable—wooseok’s mind is enveloped in a thick haze of arousal, and as a result, all he can manage is a soft, adorable whine. he does want to see himself. wooseok wants to see what he looks like, dolled up, getting his thighs fucked by seungyoun. “not fair you’re the only one who gets to see,” wooseok whimpers, tilting his head to the side to press himself closer to seungyoun’s mouth, kittenish, “wish you could film us—i want to see what you’re seeing.”
“next time then, princess. we’ll have to buy you a skirt.”
wooseok pushes back against seungyoun then, as if to tell him to pick up the pace, needy. seungyoun has always been a patient person when it comes to things like this—while he’s hasty to get it in sometimes (read: at this very moment), once the ball is rolling, seungyoun is a languid lover, always dragging things out as much as time could possibly allow. wooseok asks for the pace to pick up—but seungyoun knows he’s got time, so he drags his cock in and out from wooseok’s thighs slowly, slowly, slowly, his hand on wooseok’s hip to keep him still.
wooseok lets out a tortured sound in response—and it’s so satisfying, seungyoun wonders if that’s the reason he’s always like this with wooseok. the little princess does his best to seem dignified at all times, wanting to be perceived as a cut above the rest, untouchable. so to watch that all crumble, just because seungyoun wants to fuck him slowly?
fucking irresistable.
sweat drips down the point of wooseok’s chin, the slow, frustrating pace not helping the fact that he’s warm to begin with in his wig and sweater, and keeping his thighs pushed together for so long is making them start to shake, start to tremble. seungyoun only sees it as a plus—his pretty little kitten shaking like a leaf is too fucking cute for him to handle. spit mixes with seungyoun’s dribbling precome, keeping the slide between wooseok’s thighs obscenely wet.
each thrust between his thighs has wooseok breathing out gorgeous, airy sighs, letting his head hang down as he focuses on the feeling, on the thought of how good he must feel around seungyoun. he gets lost in it—fucked out when he feels something dripping onto his hands. he’s mortified when he realizes that he’s drooling.
how fucking embarrassing . wooseok shakes his head in an attempt to snap out of it, reaching a hand up to wipe away at his spit—but the action has seungyoun worried enough to still his hips. he takes in a breath to fuel his question—but wooseok pushes his hips back fiercely, having none of it. “i was fucking drooling ,” wooseok whines, and seungyoun can see the tips of his ears turn pink, “you’re killing me, i’m so out of it. pick up the pace, now . i’m your princess, aren’t i? i deserve it.”
and who is seungyoun to argue with his princess?
seungyoun snaps his hips forward, giving wooseok what he wants. he’s fucking into the space at a pace that feels breakneck in comparison, and wooseok is vocal about letting seungyoun know he loves it. seungyoun’s cock rutting against his inner-thighs feels good—so fucking good, that the thought of coming untouched does occur to him—but then seungyoun, ever the generous lover, sneaks a hand under wooseok’s sweater to tweak at his nipples.
and that’s when it hits him—he’s going to come like this. wooseok’s going to come, untouched, just from seungyoun fucking his thighs, calling him a princess, and playing with his tiny little tits.
the realization comes mere seconds before wooseok does—it’s without any useful warning, and the way that wooseok tenses up as his orgasm rocks through his body has his knees knocking together, squeezing his thighs impossibly tight around seungyoun. with the added pressure? seungyoun has two, three thrusts left in him before he’s coming alongside wooseok.
hindsight is twenty-twenty, as the saying goes. wooseok is left with no idea as to why he thought that thigh fucking was the solution to all of this—seungyoun’s release runs down his thighs, into his socks, and certifies them both as bona fide idiots. their afterglow is cut short by the realization, wooseok pushing off on his wobbly legs hastily to sit on the counter, bunching the skirt up in his arms as seungyoun moves to take off wooseok’s heels and socks, rushing them over to the cursed sink in the corner of the room. they dry the socks off with hairdryers in the dressing room—and when the black socks are safely without cumstains, the two idiots are finally able to enjoy what’s left of their post-orgasm high.
“god, we’re stupid,” wooseok groans, peeling off the remaining expensive borrowed clothes, “why did we do that.”
“because i’m stupid, and you’re hot,” seungyoun explains, matter of fact, setting down the now-clean pair of socks next to wooseok’s clothes pile.
“...you’re right,” wooseok sighs, walking over to seungyoun as soon as he’s thrown on some of his own clothes, a familiar white shirt hanging off his petite frame, “you are stupid. maybe i’ll push the blame on you, this time.”
“so i’m taking the blame, then?” seungyoun replies, voice low, brow cocked, “because i would, provided i get compensated for it.”
he’s baiting wooseok to play along, fingers crossed in his pocket—and herein lies the beauty of the two of them, their very own ‘ninety-six line’ brand of magic: wooseok falls, as he always will, hook, line, and sinker for seungyoun’s every last proposal, unable to resist.
“well then,” wooseok sighs, looping his arms around seungyoun’s neck, playfully lidded eyes looking up his tall, tall bandmate, “with an open heart, seungyoun-ah—will kisses work as compensation?”
seungyoun’s initial plan to tease wooseok for their remaining time together falls through the moment he’s met with the proposal—instead of telling wooseok he was going to ask for money, he leans forward to take his very first payment.