Chapter Text
San’s new heavy bag got installed today.
He hit the other one so hard so many times over the past few weeks that it went soft in the middle, and then he kicked a hole right through it.
So—new bag. It’s like hitting a brick wall, so freshly dense and firm, and each blow radiates up San’s arm. He should take it easy, probably, break the bag in or let his body adjust to the new tension, but he’s still throwing himself at it as the evening falls. He’s having a great time. He doesn't even want to go sit down.
At the door to the gym, Jongho clears his throat.
San stops himself from snapping something like what now as he turns—he doesn’t want to be unkind to Jongho, and also he’s a tiny bit scared to.
Jongho has a glass of water with cucumber and lime for him, which is so nice that Jongho must also have bad news.
“Catwoman again,” Jongho says just before San takes his first sip.
San goes ahead and chugs the whole water down. It’s outrageously refreshing. San is outraged.
Catwoman has returned six major thefts, mostly museum artifacts, in the past four weeks. All with some little joke involved, and all with a note—call me.
But that’s not Batman’s problem. Technically Catwoman is still committing crimes, breaking and entering to do his returns, but Batman doesn’t have to intervene where there isn’t public harm.
Meanwhile, San hasn’t spoken to Wooyoung during that time at all. Once his adrenaline faded, he couldn’t bring himself to turn Wooyoung in—there’s some block in his mind or body that stops him from moving when he considers it, more gut feeling than rational decision. So he was sort of hoping they could quietly move on, just forget the whole embarrassing thing. If he didn’t contact the police, maybe Wooyoung would tone down the thefts, and they could have a silent truce and lick their wounds in peace.
If San wants peace, it seems like he’s going to have to negotiate it.
“Okay,” he finally says to Jongho. “If Catwoman wants to return stuff, that’s none of my business.”
“Well…” Jongho starts.
San groans.
“This wasn’t a return,” Jongho says. “He left a young man tied up in an alley outside one of the Yoo nightclubs downtown.”
San raises an eyebrow.
“The victim says the woman he was with ‘was totally into it' before Catwoman came along,” Jongho says. “But no one has appeared to vouch for him. So.”
“Gross,” San says.
“I guess Catwoman thought so, too,” Jongho says blandly, eyes twinkling. “Also, this time the note said, ‘Batman, call me.’ Seven terms related to Batman or Catwoman are currently trending in Naver’s top ten, and ‘call her’ hashtags are trending on all the socials.”
San glares at Jongho for daring to be the messenger of this news, and Jongho glares back. San relents and hurls his sweaty body around Jongho’s shoulders.
“Ugh,” Jongho says, and then, “why don’t you just call him?”
“I’m thinking about it,” San says.
Jongho scoffs. “If you think any harder, you’re going to bust your wrist on that bag.”
“It’s complicated,” San whines.
“Shouldn’t you be used to complicated situations?” Jongho knocks San’s back. “I remember you saying you liked that he was more than just arm candy.”
San did say that, after the first date. He hadn’t bargained for how much more Wooyoung is, though. “He lied to me,” San says. “His main hobby is stealing. What is there to talk about?”
“It seems like he’s willing to discuss the stealing thing,” Jongho says. “And I think if you want to know what else there is to talk about, you have to call him.”
San huffs into Jongho’s shoulder. How did he end up as the unreasonable one here? Having the force so abruptly stolen from his anger leaves him helplessly angrier. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Jongho says lightly, like he doesn’t care either way. “I don’t know if Detective Jeong is going to let you get away with that, though. Signal’s up.”
San turns to the window. The Bat-Signal is pointed straight into the sky above City Hall, which means Yunho wants to meet.
San drags his feet on the way to the Batcave, though he makes up time driving way too fast through Gotham’s tunnels to hear the Batmobile purr.
Yunho is waiting on the roof in the glow of the Bat-Signal—tied to a folding chair with a wad of fabric in his mouth.
“Yu—Detective!” San jumps forward, startled out of his Batman voice to a higher cry. But before he can reach Yunho—there is Catwoman, stepping between them in all his wicked glory. The catsuit looks new, or freshly oiled perhaps, extra shiny. He snaps his whip across the roof. He doesn’t hit Yunho, but he gets close enough that Yunho flinches. San lifts his hands.
“I feel sad when you ignore me,” Wooyoung announces. He sounds a lot more angry than sad. “Because I think we need at least one real conversation before you ghost me.”
“I’m not ghosting.” San steps back, listing slightly sideways, with his hands still up—faking a retreat to bait Wooyoung into moving away from Yunho. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what, how noble and superior you are?” Wooyoung crosses his arms. “Read the op-eds. This whole vigilante schtick is very morally gray.”
“No,” San says mulishly. “I know that.” He circles wider and moves his hands incrementally toward his belt.
“No, wait.” Wooyoung follows again, stepping quickly closer. He takes a deep breath. “I feel nervous when you say you’re thinking because I think you’re probably telling yourself horrible stuff you already believe about me over and over.”
Admittedly, San has kind of been doing that. But more defensively than Wooyoung makes it sound—he’s been trying to remember why he was so angry, why he was right, why he shouldn’t just give in and take what he wants. It’s been lonely.
San can see him easily now underneath the mask and the catsuit—just Wooyoung, waiting for an answer. How ridiculous to have the conversation in these costumes, but then, maybe it’s easier than picking up the phone for both of them.
“I don’t want you to feel bad,” San says. “I do think it’s cool how you’re returning all that stuff.”
“Okay, but that’s not all about you. Just so you know. That’s my own thing.” Now Wooyoung sounds angry again.
San throws up his hands. “I don’t know what you want from me. Why are you still mad?”
“Because you’re only telling me shit you think about me,” Wooyoung snaps. “It’s not a conversation if you’re not going to participate.”
“How about this?” San crosses his arms, too, and now they’re both closed off from each other. “I feel frustrated when you stalk me and then act like you’re the reasonable one here, because I feel like that’s crazy.”
Wooyoung’s jaw drops as he shakes his head, caught somewhere between annoyed and astonished. “Well, I’m trying, at least, and I feel like you’re being a little bitch about it.”
San’s heart falls, so hurt and bewildered he loses hold of his easy, energizing anger. Maybe they missed their chance to talk for real—maybe San, delaying too long, let it slip away.
“What exactly are you trying to do?” San asks. He can’t untangle the knot of anger and vulnerability Wooyoung is making in front of him.
“A few weeks ago, I was ready to apologize,” Wooyoung says. “Now, I just want to make you tell me to fuck off to my face, if that’s how it ends.”
“That’s not what I want,” San says, saying it almost before he understands that he feels it. “I don’t want you to apologize, either. All I want is the truth.”
“You know the truth now. You just don’t like it.” Wooyoung huffs. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You only liked half of me and you’re not interested in the rest.”
Wooyoung turns on his heel, and even though San has been acting like that’s what he wanted this whole time, his heart starts racing after him. “Wait!” he says quickly. When Wooyoung pauses, San says it again, more gently. “Wait. It’s different if it was real.”
“I already told you it was real,” Wooyoung snaps. “You just didn’t listen.”
San is not sure how he ended up being the one apologizing, but he finds he wants to. He lets it start to form in his mind. “Wooyo—”
Wooyoung hisses and snaps his whip—in the direction of Yunho. Yunho! Yunho, who, of course, Wooyoung doesn’t want to hear his real name and who, San had fully forgotten, is still sitting right here.
San did at least manage to circle himself between Yunho and Wooyoung during that whole mess of a conversation. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” he mutters as he rushes over and yanks the rag out of Yunho’s mouth. “Um, I’m sorry about all this—”
“Yeah, no, no worries,” Yunho says, waiting patiently as San tears the sharp edge of a throwing star through the ties around his wrists. “It seems like you have a lot going on.”
“It’s been a weird month.” San helps Yunho stand, and then turns back to Wooyoung, only to find the rooftop empty. “What? Where’d he go?”
“It’s funny,” Yunho says. “You do that to me all the time.”
San just gawks at him. He’s feeling off his game tonight. He still doesn’t understand where Wooyoung went.
“I think you’re meant to call him,” Yunho suggests. He’s not doing a good job of suppressing a smile.
San sighs. “Sorry you had to see all that.”
Yunho shakes his head. “No problem. It’ll come in handy when this all goes to court, I guess.”
San startles, but Yunho grins wider. “Just kidding. I’m actually never, ever going to admit anything that happened tonight to anyone.”
“Thank you,” San says. “Listen, all that time we were talking about Catwoman—I really didn’t know. I got some new information.”
“I got that impression,” Yunho says dryly. He glances at San’s face and continues more gently. “It’s fine. The police will follow your lead on this.”
That means San needs to decide where he wants to go. He and Wooyoung almost made it somewhere in that conversation, and then Wooyoung went and left. He really wishes Wooyoung hadn’t left.
“I mean it, it’s okay,” Yunho says, almost softly. “If that’s something you want, then… it would be nice to see you happy.”
San turns to find Yunho still staring deeply at his face. Suddenly, the mask feels very flimsy.
San throws up his hands, exasperated so deeply his knees start swimming and he could drop right here. “Does everybody know? Has everybody in Gotham been humoring me this whole time, letting me run around dressed like a bat?”
Yunho laughs. “No, I don’t think everybody knows. But—we were friends once, right?”
His face looks a little bit hopeful and very kind. From the beginning, it has felt like maintaining this boundary with him was so important, and now San can’t even remember why.
“We’re still friends,” San says impulsively, even though that isn’t true. He wants it to be. “You should come over for dinner sometime. You know, not like this.” He gestures to the suit.
“I’d like that,” Yunho says. “For now, though, I think you should do the disappearing thing before someone figures out I’m gone.”
With a nod, San turns and jumps off the roof. Yunho should have known it was coming, but somewhere over San’s head, Yunho still yelps in surprise.
One of the people San would love to never have to explain tonight’s events to is Jongho, so instead of going home, he loops around the city on a routine patrol.
Through Gotham Square, which looks pleasantly, normally busy, he stays in the Batmobile, cruising down the street to applause from the crowd. At least someone still likes him.
Closer to Dockside, he stashes the car well before he crosses the boundary marked by spraypainted Joker tags on every wall. He does a loop over the neighborhood’s roofs, quiet as a shadow. Everything looks calm here, too, and there are no signs of activity in the warehouses.
He works his way through Yoo territory, checking in on the family’s secretive nightclubs, before he goes to the bigger, brighter clubs downtown.
Nothing looks out of order here, either, but San isn’t going home yet. He finds a low roof to wait and watches the crowd move. It has gotten late as he’s been weaving through town, and the currents are shifting in sleepy slowness with small, unpredictable pockets of drunken frenzy.
A man in a big coat too heavy for the weather cuts a straight, dark line through that easy churn. He turns down an alley, and San follows overhead. The guy hovers outside a back door to one of the clubs.
San’s alertness ticks up, but he’s almost relieved. This could be a real fight.
The door opens, and a woman comes out. She’s wearing sweats—maybe a hostess who doesn’t want to walk home in her uniform, loaded down with cash. San’s intuition snaps into place and he’s leaping down from the roof at the same moment the man opens his coat.
The man reaches for a gun as San whirls a grappling hook on a cord—but before he can move, the end of a whip snaps around the man’s weapon hand. The woman screams, snatching her bag close to herself, as the man who meant to attack her goes skidding toward Catwoman’s feet.
The man on the ground whimpers.
“Oh my god,” the woman says. “Batman? Cat—Catwoman?”
“Are you all right, miss?” San asks.
“Yes,” she says, “oh, thank you—”
“Okay? Go home!” Wooyoung snaps at her.
“Oh, sorry about that—” San starts, but the woman clearly thinks better of waiting to listen and she’s already walking fast toward the street.
Wooyoung has the guy zip-tied on the ground by the time San turns back around, and he kicks him carelessly in the head as he steps over to stride toward San. “How dare you follow me! I do not need your help.”
San puts his hands up helplessly for the second time tonight. “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”
“Sure, and we just happened to end up in the same place?” Wooyoung scoffs.
“No,” San says. He tries not to smile in the Batsuit, but his face is pulling him towards it irrepressibly. “I needed to blow off some steam, so I came to the best place to find a good fight, like you did. It’s not a coincidence. We did the same thing because we’re the same.”
Wooyoung’s jaw—the only part of him not encased in black leather—works as he thinks. He’s suspicious and trying to stay mad, but San’s anger is evaporating. It just makes sense to find each other here, and now San sees how all of the complicated people they both are could fit together in a way he’d never be able to articulate or understand in words. It’s actually so simple, as long as he’s doing and not overthinking.
“You’re still mad at me,” San whines. “We’re probably soulmates, and you’re mad at me.”
The tension in Wooyoung’s jaw twists as he tries to hold back his smile. “I asked for one thing—”
San throws his hands up yet again, still helpless in front of Wooyoung, but now it feels different. “I’ll call,” he says and starts to walk away.
“Call the cops for this guy, too, if you want,” Wooyoung says to his back. “I’m not going to bother.”
San turns again, fast enough to catch only the last tip of Wooyoung’s shadow leaving the far end of the alley. The would-be mugger is still tied on the ground, watching San with wide eyes.
It only takes San a few minutes to find a pair of beat cops on the street, but then he needs more time to supervise a proper arrest and give a preliminary statement. By the time he makes it back to the Batmobile, he’s ready to jump out of his skin.
“Call Jung Wooyoung,” he says as soon as the door closes. It’s late—or maybe early—enough that the streets are clear, and he stays on surface streets through the dark city.
Wooyoung lets it stretch but answers after four rings. “You made me humiliate myself chasing you for weeks, and now you can’t leave me alone for a few hours,” he says, but he doesn’t sound that angry anymore.
“I’m sorry,” San says, though he probably doesn’t sound very distraught, either.
“What have you been up to?” Wooyoung asks. “I haven’t seen Batman in the news much.”
“I’ve been feeling embarrassed,” San says. The dark skyscrapers of Gotham’s office district hover over a wide, empty street, as familiar as the ceilings of San’s own home. “Because you knew and I didn’t. I thought you were making a fool of me and having fun doing it. And I’ve been feeling afraid of being exposed, not for myself but for the people who would be in danger because of me.”
To be heard over the noise of the engine, San’s calls are piped directly into his ear by his hood. Wooyoung talks low, and he sounds very close. “That sounds awful.” He pauses. “I don’t want to sell you out. I promise, it wasn’t some big plan. I knew it was a bad idea to go out with you and keep everything secret, but I did it anyway because I liked it. That’s all. I just liked you.”
San grins at the exit sign as he gets on the expressway and presses hard on the gas. “We could go out again, without the secrets this time. Try being honest with each other.”
Wooyoung hums in a way that sounds very positive and a little sexy, but he doesn’t answer right away. When he finally speaks, what he says is, “I died.”
“What?” San is driving too fast to startle like this, even on an empty expressway—he eases off the gas and the car’s rumble sinks.
“Not like, I got hurt really bad and I’m being dramatic about it,” Wooyoung says. “I died all the way, and the cats brought me back a different way. I’m different now, and—and I can’t just put it all back. I’ll never be like any other regular person you would go out with.” Another quick pause. “This is me being honest,” he explains, voice faltering.
“I understand,” San says. “You have to know—of course I understand.”
“You chose to be Batman,” Wooyoung says. “You bought it.”
The Batmobile practically drives itself, especially with the suit holding San and moving in its automated ways. He feels it all around him, this armored shell. “It’s not that simple. I don’t think it’s as different as you’re imagining.”
There’s a weird noise over the line. It takes San a second to connect that Wooyoung hissed at him. “I think it’s more different than you’re imagining.”
“Well, that’s what the date is for. No harm if it doesn’t work out.” San doesn’t add, but what if it does? He lets the idea hang for Wooyoung to find on his own—what if it does?
Suddenly, Wooyoung groans. “Oh, fuck me,” he says, voice faster and higher. “Also—if we are going to go out again—um, it’s not a big deal…”
“What?” San squints at the dark road as he exits the expressway toward Choi Manor.
“I promised the journalist Park Seonghwa a tip so the Insider can get a picture,” Wooyoung says quickly. “He was going to write that we were together at the gala and I thought I could get them off my back that way and it was never going to matter—”
“It’s fine,” San interrupts. Wooyoung sounds nervous, but San truly has no problem with it. San goes out so he can be seen. He grins so Wooyoung will hear it in his voice. “If there are going to be photos, make sure you wear something nice.”
No monkey suit this time. San wears a sweater with a deep vee, highlighting the contrast between the fluffy fabric and his firm skin, and the tightest pants he can find in his closet.
“You look like an asshole,” Jongho says approvingly.
San glowers in the mirror. “What am I missing?” He’s got a big watch, big boots… it’s not cold enough to get away with one of the furs, but maybe leather….
“Forehead,” Jongho says. “Let’s slick back the hair.”
Jongho does it, carefully fussing with the strands even as he scoffs at San’s vanity. “You’ll take the Jag?” he guesses, naming the flashiest of San’s street-legal cars.
“The Rolls,” San says. It’s just as flashy in its way, and much bigger inside—in case Wooyoung keeps withholding that elusive invitation upstairs and they end up making out in the car again.
San doesn’t trace the logic out loud, but Jongho figures it out anyway, the journey written all over his face. He pulls a frown and drops his hands from San’s hair abruptly. “I’ll bring it around.”
Wooyoung comes out of his apartment building in a trim black suit over a black shirt unbuttoned at his throat. He gasps when he sees San’s outfit, and says, “You look so cute!” It’s not really what San was going for, but a pleased warmth blooms in his chest anyway.
It all feels like a pretty normal date—picking him up, hearing about his day at work during the drive to the restaurant, pretending to ignore the Insider’s photographer as they leave the car with a starry-eyed valet.
The Osteria Gotham is dark inside, with deep brown brick walls and candles to illuminate each table and leave the privacy of shadows between. San sits down an arm’s reach away from Wooyoung smiling back at him, and it’s just like seeing Catwoman across a dozen dark rooms, trying to read his details in the faintest light and waiting for the surprise snap of a whip. It doesn’t feel like a normal date at all.
“Do you come here often?” Wooyoung asks, eyebrows waggling.
“I’ve never been,” San says. “I thought you’d like it. Of all the Michelin-starred restaurants in town, this is the one with the most seafood options.”
Wooyoung pauses with that, giving himself time to decide how to react while obviously being touched. “Ah, I bet you’ll say your favorite restaurant is a cheap hole-in-the-wall run by a sweet auntie.”
San grins. That’s true, and that is normally how he’d say it, too. Wooyoung thinks he has San all figured out.
“Sure,” San says. “And if I want Italian food, I go to Italy and get it from an auntie there.”
Wooyoung is taken aback at that, glancing sharply up from his menu. “I thought all that tabloid stuff was fake. For… your privacy.”
He means he’s figured out that San fakes a lot of media and social play to provide cover for Batman. “It depends,” San says. “We can’t fake everything. There’s really a jet. Sometimes we really have to fly it somewhere.”
“That is ecologically indefensible,” Wooyoung says.
Maybe it’s a good thing San didn’t wear fur. “We’ll see if you’re still complaining when you’re having a lemon delight in Amalfi.”
Wooyoung’s eyebrow arches, but a server appears before he has to admit he’s interested.
“I would like the branzino, please,” Wooyoung says. “And maybe some oysters to start? Two dozen, mixed? Or—did you want some, too?” he adds to San.
The server’s jaw drops slightly, but she recovers quickly and takes San’s order with a mild smile.
Watching Wooyoung work his way through more oysters than can fit on the table is a rare delight—his open mouth, his throat working, the pretty flutter of his lashes when he sighs in pleasure—but it doesn’t prepare San for what happens when the server places a whole grilled fish in front of him. The eye stares up.
All conversation stops. Wooyoung wields his cutlery like he snaps that whip, quick and deft. He turns the top filet over and has it down in three bites, and then he takes his time setting the bones aside. One catches the tiniest fleck of fish, and he picks it up and licks it clean, tongue swirling. There’s a weirdly energized silence around them, like maybe people are staring, but San doesn’t care because he’s too busy watching Wooyoung’s red mouth to check.
“Are you going to eat?” Wooyoung asks as he starts more slowly on his second filet.
San finishes his squid pasta, but he’s barely paying attention, focused on the scene Wooyoung relishes causing. There is so much they can’t talk about here, and Wooyoung is pushing San to confront the edges—but all San wants is to tell him it’s okay. The strangeness doesn’t frighten him. This is the least alone he’s felt in a fancy restaurant in his life.
“I don’t think I need dessert,” Wooyoung says.
“Can I give you a ride home?” San asks.
San intercepts the valet so he can open Wooyoung’s door himself. The photographer, still waiting on the sidewalk, snaps another picture.
“I didn’t know he would still be here.” Wooyoung twists to watch the photographer as they drive away.
“Is that a problem?” One shot or two doesn’t make much difference to San.
Wooyoung settles back in his seat with a frown that looks more thoughtful than distressed. “I guess not. I’ve never been the one the paparazzi were after before. Not all of us were born famous, you know.” The lightness trickles back into his voice, bright by the end.
“You’ll get used to it.” The implication—the open invitation, if you keep spending time with me—San leaves unsaid for now.
After another long thought, Wooyoung continues, “There are a few people who know I’m Catwoman. Just a few, but maybe… they would be people you might particularly want to keep your identity secret from.”
“What, do you go to a villain consortium?”
San is joking, but Wooyoung’s sigh sounds serious. “I think we need to know each other a little better before we talk about this.”
San gulps. “All right. We’ll table it.”
“Yeah,” Wooyoung says. “For now, I’ve basically implied that Catwoman negotiating with Batman, and Wooyoung dating in a serious way are two separate parts of one self-improvement project. If they decide to put it together, though….” He pauses. “It feels so obvious to me, I don’t know how everyone doesn’t get it already.”
San laughs, a quick burst startled out of him. “I’ve covered up my identity before, I can do it again. As long as you aren’t working against me, we can figure it out.” He glances away from the road quickly to make sure he catches Wooyoung’s eye. “I’m not scared.”
“All right,” Wooyoung says—sort of like your funeral, but if he were happy about it. “Maybe you should be,” he continues more lightly. “One of the cats brought me a bat this morning. I couldn’t decide if that was a bad omen or a good one.”
“That’s not an omen, it’s because outdoor cats are unnatural predators,” San says. “Talk about ecologically indefensible.”
Wooyoung is silent until San stops at a red and turns to look at him. His face is appalled. “I’ll show you a predator,” he says.
San just raises an eyebrow. Can’t threaten him with a good time.
“What would you do if I said bats are totally creepy and weird?” Wooyoung says.
“Join you,” San says. “I hate bats. That’s, like… the whole point of the thing.”
Isn’t that obvious? San wants to be scary, so he chose something scary. Do people in Gotham think he’s into bats? That’s worrying. Maybe only Catwoman, for obvious reasons, is confused.
Wooyoung is gawking. “There is something wrong with you,” he finally says.
“Well, yeah,” San replies. Maybe that’s the whole point of the thing. Before he can articulate it, the light turns green, and as he turns back to the wheel, San just repeats, “Yeah.”
He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can feel Wooyoung watching him drive.
“If I invite you up, are you going to park this car on the street?” Wooyoung asks. “I don’t think you should do that.”
San considers spinning a story, but he can tell Wooyoung won’t fall for it. “My assistant is going to come switch it out.”
Wooyoung gasps, pretending to be scandalized. He nudges San’s shoulder. “Come up and have a drink.”
Wooyoung’s apartment is pink. That’s the only impression, the overwhelming glow of it. Everything—the walls and furniture and the rugs layered over the wood floor, the counters and all the appliances and dishes in the galley kitchen along one wall—is a muted, rosy shade of light pink. The second impression is the warm, furry scent of cats, melding together as if that’s the scent of pink itself.
“This is so cute,” San whispers, awestruck. The loveseat in front of the TV is tufted velvet, a little battalion of stuffies taking up more than half.
Wooyoung’s smile is too complicated for San to parse. “My friend did this place. I’m going to get my own stuff eventually, but… it’s home.”
“I love it,” San says. To punctuate his statement, there’s a low thunk from someone moving around the apartment next door.
Wooyoung wrinkles his nose. “Don’t you have a whole manor we could be hanging out in?”
“Come over anytime,” San says. “It just seemed presumptuous to offer.”
Wooyoung squints. “You thought I was going to steal something.”
“I didn’t!” San says. “Really.”
He must look sincere, because Wooyoung relaxes into a smile. “Well, I might steal something. But only because it would be fun for you to steal it back.”
The words carry him closer somehow. The space between them feels electric, a current running through a closed circuit. Wooyoung said he was inviting San up for a drink but he hasn’t offered one or even told San to sit down, too busy saying nonsense and grinning at nothing.
San crosses the last step between them and wraps his hand around the back of Wooyoung’s head to keep him from slipping away again and kisses him hard enough to stop the noise. It’s obvious they’re seeing this thing between them through, so it’s time to find out where it goes.
Wooyoung puts his hands around San’s waist and drags him forward as he steps back, pinning himself under San’s body against the pink wall, but he surges hard into the kiss, too, all push and pull in every direction.
San tastes a spice so strong and so unexpected that something misfires in his brain and he can’t place the flavor for a moment. It’s only mint, sweet and sharp past the soft seam of Wooyoung’s lips. A breath mint is a small thing, and it’s not a surprise he slipped one after the restaurant, but the idea of it catches under San’s skin—Wooyoung thought of this, he prepared himself to be kissed, and now he’s here with San.
San traces his thumb slowly up Wooyoung’s cheekbone. Where would he even start, with something so lovely?
Wooyoung leans back with a strange huff, studying San almost suspiciously. Whatever he sees makes him tilt his head to the side with a small sigh. “Kiss me here,” he says, tapping the side of his neck.
San can’t resist a twitch of a smile before he softens his lips to obey, pressing them to the center of that smooth plane. He parts his lips and places his teeth there, then his tongue, each step distinct. He lets his hands fall to Wooyoung’s hips and feels the tension move through him as San lifts his face and presses the same pattern of lips, teeth, and tongue against a spot underneath Wooyoung’s jaw.
He sucks a wet, open-mouthed kiss over Wooyoung’s adam’s apple, and then dips even lower when Wooyoung responds with a high, pleased sound. San hooks his finger over the first closed button of Wooyoung’s shirt. “Okay?”
Wooyoung nods, and San slips the button free before he softly bites his way down Wooyoung’s chest. Too soon, another button blocks San’s path, and he glances up again.
“Are you going to ask for every button?” Wooyoung asks, too breathless to sound really testy.
San shrugs. “You can tell me if you want more.”
“I want more,” Wooyoung says instantly.
San laughs just enough to feel his hot breath bounce off Wooyoung’s skin.
“Stay tonight,” Wooyoung says. “That’s what you want, right? It’s what I want.”
San nods, caught in the knowing sparkle in Wooyoung’s eyes—until Wooyoung’s expression drops into something an awful lot like horror.
“Actually, can you stay here for one second?” Wooyoung asks. He ducks underneath San’s arm before vanishing into the other room.
The first thing San hears is a loud crash, heavy but muted—San jumps, but Wooyoung immediately calls, “It’s fine!”
He keeps talking, but it’s pitched low, not for San. “Shoo, shoo, come on now. Here we go. Oh, it’s okay, baby, you’re still my best girl. Oof. Okay, you too—”
San rests his forehead against the wall as if he needs to hide his smile there. Some warm emotion is welling up inside him, both too huge and strange to name and also very simple. He licks mint off his lips.
“Okay.” Wooyoung’s head pops around the door, only the faintest edge of something harried around his smile. “Where were we?”
San follows him into the bedroom. The crashing sound was the bed, which takes up most of the room and looks like it folds up into a space in the wall the rest of the time. And after all that with the cats, there are still two cats in the center of the bed, a slim black one sitting tall and a bigger orange one lolling on its back.
“That’s Isis,” Wooyoung says, sprawling out next to the black cat. “You’ve met.”
“Right.” A flustered instinct nudges San into a shallow bow, which should be absurd, but both Wooyoung and Isis look like that was the expected show of respect.
“And this one’s Pudding.” Wooyoung scratches the orange cat’s belly. “Don’t worry about him, he’s an idiot.”
Pudding gives a cheerful rowr, and Isis nudges him with her head before they both jump off the bed and patter softly out of the room.
And then Wooyoung is alone on the bed, leaning back on one elbow, and he doesn’t have to beckon or anything to draw San to him. San crawls over Wooyoung’s body as Wooyoung lies back, stretching in satisfaction.
San returns to his slow path down Wooyoung’s chest, finding his skin button by button. Wooyoung pulls up San’s sweater, smooth enough to glide easily off him, and makes a curious noise as he pushes his hands down San’s bare back.
“How do you like it?” San asks. His nose is right at Wooyoung’s navel now, and the tickle of his breath makes Wooyoung’s stomach contract with a shiver. San leaves a wet kiss and then blows on it to see that again.
“Mm,” Wooyoung sighs. He doesn’t answer the question until San looks up at him. “I want you to fuck me, but I want to be on top.”
There’s a challenge to it, as if San is meant to be shocked by his boldness or something. But that all sounds great to San. He flashes the dimples strategically. “Sure. I’ll make it good for you.”
Wooyoung laughs, delighted. “Shameless.”
“I didn’t know you knew what shame was,” San says.
“I get it as a concept.” Wooyoung pulls San up by the shoulder.
He bites San’s lower lip before he opens his mouth for San’s kiss. The minty taste has faded, leaving behind only his deep warmth. There’s a lot to keep up with in his kisses. He sighs again when San runs soft fingertips up his side.
“Hold on.” Wooyoung nudges San’s chest with none of the power San knows he has. “Let me just get ready.”
San rolls off to one side, and Wooyoung pulls away with a flattering reluctance, his hands trailing along San’s skin. “And take your pants off!” he adds as he darts behind another door.
It’s actually lucky to do that unobserved—San squirms and wiggles out of his tight pants and finally sits back against Wooyoung’s pink satin pillows.
San is in no rush and has no reason to start touching himself so early, but the arousal curling in his core makes it hard to resist. He can barely hear Wooyoung moving around in his bathroom—the muted sounds of a body in space, a few little splashes—but that’s more than enough to get San thinking about him in there thinking about San. Hands on his own skin, getting ready for San’s.
San curls his fists against his thighs and lets the tension go with a groan pitched low enough for Wooyoung to miss it in the other room. The orange cat, though—Pudding—appears in the open doorway. “Rowr?”
“Don’t worry about it,” San says.
The cat makes another noise and curls up right there. Maybe in other circumstances, San would go and close the door, but he’s not going to risk getting between Wooyoung and his cats.
“Is there a problem?” Wooyoung asks as he comes back into the room. He’s fully naked now, half-hard and lightly flushed around his face and chest, and San has never had a problem in his life. Problem? What problem?
San swallows hard and grabs back his awareness of his surroundings—the cat, Wooyoung is asking about the cat. “No,” San says as Wooyoung climbs over his lap. His thighs are an intriguing combination of hard and soft in San’s hands. “I’m good with cats. They always like me.”
Wooyoung raises a skeptical eyebrow, but he also rubs all the way up San’s chest as he leans in for another kiss, so clearly, some cats like San just fine. San runs his hands up and around until he can confirm every hope he’s had about Wooyoung’s ass fitting perfectly in them.
He gives a light squeeze to feel it bounce back, and then a tighter one to indulge in the firmness of it. He can take his time while Wooyoung is distracted with a similar exploration of San’s shoulders and chest, his nails sending little shivers zipping across San’s skin.
Wooyoung shifts even closer on his knees, settling his weight in San’s palms. San traces the pad of one finger around Wooyoung’s entrance. Wooyoung’s lips part on an inhale, and then he sets his teeth as San wraps his other hand around his cock.
He pumps slowly to feel Wooyoung stiffen up, pleasure moving through his body sharply at first and easier as San settles into a slow rhythm.
Wooyoung mutters, “Yeah, I like that,” and kicks his hips into San’s hands. San twists the tip of his smallest finger inside Wooyoung dry, and the heat and the press of just that is enough to make San groan as Wooyoung gasps. San looks up to check Wooyoung’s face and catches Wooyoung already looking back. His mouth is open in an expression that looks surprised or even pained, but he starts nodding right away. San makes tiny, tiny thrusts, testing the tightness and the subtle flutter of muscle inside him. Wooyoung holds San’s gaze as his jaw works, trying to find his words, and San waits, caught in the heat of his body and his dark eyes.
Whatever Wooyoung wants to say, he never finds it—he just dives forward, hands on San’s face, and kisses him open-mouthed and messy. His hips press into San’s, and San is hard enough to hiss at the contact, losing the sound in Wooyoung’s mouth.
“That’s—yeah,” Wooyoung says, half against San’s mouth as he pulls away. “Yeah, let me—” His lube is stuck under one of the pillows, close enough to reach and throw at San’s chest without getting out of San’s lap. “I don’t need a lot, but I really want your fingers.”
It’s just lube. “Do you have condoms?” San says. “I can get one.”
Wooyoung makes a bored-looking face. “If you want, I guess.”
San’s brain whites out. “Well, if you don’t want….”
“I’m a cat, I can’t get people germs.” Wooyoung sounds almost exasperated, as if this is an obvious point San has wilfully chosen to miss and not the most scientifically astounding thing San has ever heard. “You know it’s too late to pretend to be a gentleman with me.”
“I’m a gentleman,” San pouts, but he also pours lube over his hand and pushes hard inside Wooyoung with two fingers to make him gasp louder.
Wooyoung is so responsive he’s hard to hold onto, squirming and jolting as San fingers him. He’s loud, too, panting and humming with his cheek against San’s head. San opens his free hand over Wooyoung’s back, trying to soothe, and the heat radiating off him is shocking. Getting inside him is going to be like riding a firework.
“Are you ready for me?” San murmurs.
Wooyoung laughs at that. “Are you ready for me?”
San only smirks and sits back as Wooyoung angles himself where he wants and sinks, tight and wet and hot as the sun, on San’s cock.
San almost lets his eyes slip closed, overwhelmed, but what a shame to miss this. He watches the flex of Wooyoung’s thighs and stomach as he rises and sinks under his power a few times. He works up, his pace fast and then faster. Once he hits a steady rhythm, San presses his feet into the mattress and fucks into him.
Wooyoung cries out once and makes smaller punched-out noises with each thrust that comes after. His bed creaks, too—this is the loudest sex San has ever had. San should have taken Wooyoung back to the manor, fucked him in every one of the forty-eight silent, dignified rooms.
Wooyoung’s relentless pace pushes San to the edge so hard that he has to give in and close his eyes. He starts running drills in his mind, distracting himself quickly so he can enjoy it longer. He wants it to last—the hot, rough drag of Wooyoung’s body, wet inside and sweating on San’s chest, and all those noises coming out of him, and his hands clutching almost desperately at San’s shoulders. It’s coming on too strong to savor, but San wants to try.
Before it can become a crisis, Wooyoung’s pace falters. He pauses to grind himself in tight circles, a grunt pushing out of him more frustrated than sweet. San opens his eyes and gets a hand on Wooyoung’s dick, but Wooyoung only winces, and San takes it back to thumb gently up and down the crease of his hip. ”Lost it,” Wooyoung huffs. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right.” San smooths his hands up Wooyoung’s thighs and ignores his own burning drive to keep moving. Whatever Wooyoung is trying to prove, they can figure it out together. “We’ve got time.”
Wooyoung hums and grinds out another small circle—San’s vision pulses white-hot, but Wooyoung still has a frown of effort between his eyebrows.
“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?” San asks, already imagining him on his back, stretched out with a leg hooked over San’s shoulder—but Wooyoung wrinkles his nose. “Or turn around, maybe?” San suggests.
Wooyoung hesitates before he nods for that. He lifts himself up, hissing as San slides out of him, and San rolls toward him as he moves away so the distance can’t grow. Wooyoung shuffles forward, hands against the pink wall, and San slips his fingertips lightly across as much of Wooyoung as he can as he moves around behind him.
Wooyoung reaches back, his hand in San’s hair, and turns his face enough for a sideways kiss, clumsy in a charming way that makes San’s heart turn. This is good, it’s better—San can hold him so close and feel how his legs shake as San spreads him further, tilting them together.
From this angle, it’s effortless to slide deep inside him, pressed up against his back with an arm wrapped around his waist. Wooyoung is so hot, it’s like holding a lick of flame.
San pulls out and rocks back slowly a few times, each pushing a low, pretty moan out of Wooyoung’s chest. The tension coiled in San’s stomach and thighs starts to burn, but he holds it back. “You like this?” he asks, quiet in Wooyoung’s ear. His gentlemanly side needs to know, and the rest of him wants to hear Wooyoung say it.
“More,” Wooyoung says, and San gives it to him.
Wooyoung drives like the Jag, so much power in his body that San has to use some muscle to keep them on the road. Now San knows Wooyoung likes it fast, so he doesn’t hold back. The harder he pushes, the brighter that raw friction between them burns. San chases it down, his pulse pounding against Wooyoung’s back and in his own head.
The closer San gets to the edge, the easier Wooyoung’s body feels against him, riding the waves San makes. Wooyoung has a tattoo on his upper back, perfectly placed to kiss in this position. San puts his lips there, then his teeth. “You’re so hot,” he says into Wooyoung’s neck, words going soft as he babbles. “How are you so hot? You feel so good.” He pauses between thrusts to grind deep, his pace going ragged.
“If you leave me hanging, I’m going to—ah—” Wooyoung’s voice cracks as he cries out something wordless when San pulls out and pushes back in rhythm. “I’m going to scream,” Wooyoung finishes between gasps.
“You’re already screaming,” San says, biting back a smile against Wooyoung’s skin.
He pulls out completely, and Wooyoung does shout, “What!” just before San gets two fingers back inside him. Wooyoung falls forward, forehead pressed against the wall, and offers an encouraging moan as San presses on his spot. With his free hand on his own cock, San comes to that sound.
He wraps his hand around Wooyoung’s cock, pulling in time with his fingers still pressing inside him. Everything is sweaty and sticky, and Wooyoung’s hand is hot as a brand on San’s thigh. Wooyoung’s orgasm shudders up from deep inside him and San feels every tremor of it. He keeps working his fingers inside, and those shudders move through Wooyoung in slower, heavier waves as his cock twitches over and over again in San’s loose hold. Finally, he slaps San’s thigh and says, “Enough, enough.”
His voice is hoarse. San drops another smile-shaped kiss on his shoulder. Wooyoung slumps and San helps him lie down. While Wooyoung is dazed, San steals a small, tender kiss on his forehead, tracing a hand down his arm to his fingers.
In the quiet, it takes San a moment to place the soft sound he hears—a low, steady vibration in Wooyoung’s chest. He’s not—he can’t be—
He’s purring.
San lifts his head and finds Wooyoung looking not so dazed, after all. He’s got one corner of his mouth tilted toward a smile, and he’s holding San in a calm, alert gaze, and he’s purring. San doesn’t have to sneak any tenderness out of him—this soft, quiet version of Wooyoung is not something San would have imagined, but it’s as real as all the other ones. Wooyoung closes his eyes and pulls San’s waist to tilt himself closer, content to lie in San’s arms and let himself be kissed.
They have to move eventually, at least to clean up. Wooyoung pulls away first, grimacing as his thighs peel stickily apart. When he comes back from the bathroom, clean and warm, San sits up.
The bathroom is as totally seafoam green as the rest of the apartment is pink—San pauses and blinks in the different light. He has a couple of little welts on his chest and stomach that he didn’t notice Wooyoung leaving—tiny scratches that only start to sting when he sees them in the mirror. He traces them with one finger, smiling. It looks like he was playing with a kitten.
Wooyoung is curled up in bed when San returns to him. He looks very cozy and inviting, except that Isis is next to his head, glaring imperiously at San.
San sits on the edge of the bed. “I really like you,” he says simply, a fine edge of nerves making his awareness sharp and sweet. “I know some things are complicated between us, but I’d like to see where this goes.”
Wooyoung almost smiles, something puzzled in his expression holding it back. “I’d sort of gotten that hint.”
“No, I mean—” San gives him the dimples. “I’m not seeing anyone else. I’d like to be seeing you.”
“Oh, you want to be exclusive?” Wooyoung’s smile is teasing, but there’s no real meanness in it—just a habitual poke where he sees a soft spot.
San nods.
“I’d like that, too. I’m not seeing anyone either.” Wooyoung stretches, arms overhead, every bit the satisfied feline. “Well, I do have one friend I hook up with sometimes, but he’ll understand if I want to ‘set a new boundary.’” He does air quotes around that last bit, smirking—his own audience for a joke San isn’t privy to. “The only reason we have sex is so his boyfriend can watch, anyway.”
San feels like his whole body is full of hot bees, a buzz rising. There is a lot he hadn’t considered there. “Well, maybe we could work something out.”
Wooyoung smiles and flips the covers down. “Come and lie down.” To the cat, he adds softly, “Stop being a brat, give him room.”
San crawls into the bed, already warm from Wooyoung’s body, and Wooyoung turns onto his side to face him.
“What about Batman?” Wooyoung asks. “I know you’re a flirt as soon as you put the suit on.”
“That’s just with you,” San says.
“Really?” Wooyoung gets an elbow underneath himself to prop his head up, so he can confront San with the full force of a skeptical eyebrow. “That Poison Ivy is awfully pretty. Or, what about Harley Quinn? He’s cute.”
“Do you know him?” San asks. “After we saw him at the gala, I thought you might have a rivalry.”
“A rivalry?” Wooyoung gives San a very grave look, colored with sarcasm. “No. I’m in a class by myself, I don’t have rivals. Anyway, I asked about you.”
San can’t imagine what he might have heard, but he’s obviously fishing for something. “Poison Ivy uses aphrodisiacs to mess with people’s heads—that’s not flirting, it’s fighting. I would say I banter with Harley, but you can hardly call it flirting when the Joker is usually right there throwing razor cards at me.”
“Interesting.” A little wave of a laugh rocks Wooyoung’s chest. “That’s all?”
“I’ve only ever gotten letters from the Riddler, but some of those are pretty intense,” San says. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s someone I know, because I think they might be flirting with me. And I admit, when I was first starting out, the stuff with The Penguin got a little Freudian.” Relaxing, San shuffles through the rogues in his mind. “I banter with Dr. Freeze, too, but that’s just funny because she gives nothing back. You know who is actually more fun than you might think, though, is Mojo. The invisible thing is kind of sexy, which doesn’t really make sense until you experience it, but—”
San glances up to find Wooyoung still propped on his hand, watching him ramble with a much less amused expression.
“But, like I said, there’s no one like Catwoman,” San finishes quickly.
“Sure, you made it back there eventually,” Wooyoung says. He pushes San’s shoulder and bullies him onto his back. San goes, laughing, and doesn’t resist as Wooyoung pins his wrists over his head.
“Why’d you ask if you didn’t want to know?” San asks.
“Oh, I’m glad I know,” Wooyoung says. “We’re not working out shit. I really am going to put a bell on you.”
San just laughs again. “All right.”
Wooyoung is having a hard time holding his glare around the smile pulling at his mouth. “Do you bottom, too?”
“Sure,” San says.
“Okay. Stay the night so I can fuck you in the morning,” Wooyoung says, and arousal San’s body can’t match yet pulls through his core.
He nods and tries to stretch up for another kiss. But the pliant, purring Wooyoung he found has disappeared, hidden away for San to search out again later. This version is sweet, too, staying wriggly and ridiculous until he lets out a huge, open-mouthed yawn and falls instantly to sleep on San’s chest.
Another Thursday night, another Gotham society party. San is in the lobby of a corporate real estate firm’s new office tower downtown, and the party is an investor pitch, not a charity gala, so the display of money is futuristic and ostentatious, all ice and chrome.
San will not be investing—both Choi Enterprises and his personal accountant focus on diversifying internationally when making new investments, as he already has more than enough exposure to Gotham’s upheavals. Also, Wooyoung has informed him that this company’s plans for a new power plant are ecologically indefensible. But he might be giving the impression he’s interested, because he’s lingering at the party far longer than he usually would. He listens to the pitch and several others that the partygoers have for him—he flirts with all the society dames—he makes sure everyone sees him.
Right on cue at five after nine, he spots Park Seonghwa’s signature silver bob in the crowd. He stares at the side of Seonghwa’s head and looks away just as he turns, so he’ll think it’s his idea to make his way over.
“Chairman Choi, how nice to see you,” he says, phone up and ready to record. “And where is your lovely boyfriend this evening?”
“My what?” San says, scoffing like he’s never heard the word. Inside, it warms him even to hear it out loud. Today was their two-month anniversary, which isn’t a thing, but Wooyoung only teased San a little for making it romantic anyway. They spent most of the day in bed and then had a nice dinner on the early side before finalizing tonight’s plans.
But Seonghwa doesn’t need to know any of that. “Are you no longer seeing Jung Wooyoung from the Kim Group?” he asks.
“Oh, Wooyoung? He’s fun.” San shoots him a rakish smile.
“Hmm,” Seonghwa says.
A shadow moves at the top of San’s peripheral vision. He gives it a breath, to see if anyone else will notice, but people never look up.
San lifts his face, exaggerating the motion so Seonghwa reflexively follows his gaze.
“Oh my god,” Seonghwa shouts, pointing at the glass wall of the elevator shaft. “It’s Catwoman!”
As the crowd looks up, Wooyoung snaps his whip around the chandelier and uses it to swing through the atrium, coming to a crouch against the windows at the front of the building. People gasp and scream as a single panel of glass shatters behind him, falling like glitter down the wall.
San ducks behind Seonghwa, as if to use him as a human shield. He has to fight to keep a grin off his face and look appropriately cowardly—but it works. He catches Seonghwa’s quick double take and expression of disgust as he realizes what San has done.
San takes the second the crowd spends stunned and staring to stare, too—at Wooyoung’s athletic shape held tight against the night sky, the dark and light finding his lines. He’s just so pretty.
Before anyone can react, a black flash draws their attention at a service door. Batman’s broad shoulders and whirling cape fill the doorway. It looks larger-than-life and intimidating and… honestly, really cool. San has never gotten the chance to appreciate it from this perspective.
“Stop right there, Catwoman!”
“Why don’t you come up here and make me?” Wooyoung purrs.
Okay, first of all, Jongho’s Batman voice is ridiculous—he sounds like he’s got pneumonia. San sounds way better than that.
Second, San told them to cut the script. They thought they were being so funny as they put it together, ganging up on San to make jokes. But this is a high-priority mission to protect their identities and keep all of them safe, not Wooyoung and Jongho’s comedy hour.
They didn’t listen.
“You won't get away with this,” Jongho rasps as he shoots a grappling hook into the wall just below Wooyoung.
“I already have.” Wooyoung somersaults deftly out of the broken window as Jongho rides the cable up to follow him. He doesn’t execute the stunt as smoothly as San would have, but it must be convincing enough—an awestruck cheer moves through the room as Batman flies overhead and follows Catwoman through the window.
And then he’s gone. A strangely awkward silence falls in his wake.
San usually misses this part, either gone as Batman or hurrying to become Batman, but tonight he has to stay and make sure everyone sees that he’s still here.
So he feels the stilted rise in conversation as people discuss what happened and what to do next. Most go back to their drinks—these people see their parties interrupted by villains often enough that it’s almost a badge of honor. The hosts, though, are rushing around whispering—if they’re afraid Catwoman has stolen documents proving they’re suppressing the environmental studies done for their power plant project, they are correct, and also fucked.
“I thought Batman and Catwoman were working together now,” Seonghwa says.
“Hmm,” San says. “Maybe it’s more like a conditional alliance.”
That’s more specific about Batman’s business than he’d normally get as Choi San, but it’s also the phrase he’s hoping the Insider will post tomorrow.
“Maybe.” Seonghwa frowns thoughtfully. “You know, I always kind of wondered—” He glances at San and pauses, frown deepening for a moment before he breaks into a grin because what he has to say next is so obviously silly. “I thought maybe you were Batman.”
“Me? Whoa.” San laughs.
“I know,” Seonghwa says dryly. “I don’t know where I got the idea.”
The CEO of the host company starts tapping on the microphone at the podium, and Seonghwa doesn’t quite hide an eye roll as he turns away.
He’s going to write something truly nasty about San tomorrow, but that’s okay. That’s all part of the mission. Anyway, San won't even have time to read it. He has plans to go on a bike ride with Wooyoung in the afternoon before they have a patrol date around the city after dark. He’ll be too busy taking care of Gotham to wonder what new rumors it’s spreading about him.