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This isn't supposed to be happening to Sunghoon. None of this is.
He's perfect perfect perfect, isn't he? The company's pristine flower, their angel in white who's never cracked, never faltered, never uttered as much of a word of rebellion to his superiors. He's everything they wanted him to be. Everything Riki isn't.
But god, how he wants to be what Riki is.
That’s exactly his problem.
That thought alone should terrify him. It does terrify him.
That’s exactly why he’s alone in the studio at 3 AM, failing over and over and over to kill whatever is still clinging to him. His feet ache and every part of his body is sore.
He needs to get it perfect. Needs to embody the role. Needs to do it like him.
His reflection glares back at him—too rigid, too pure, too perfect. The mirror shows every flaw in stark relief: shoulders too tense, eyes too wide and innocent, movements precise but empty.
His skin feels too tight, like something inside him is trying to claw its way out. He's watching himself splinter, fragment, come undone. He’ll never be good enough.
The white swan is crying. The white swan is dying. The white swan needs to die.
That's exactly how Riki finds him. Desperate and unraveling, barely holding onto sanity.
Riki, who dances like sin personified, who makes the audience forget to breathe, who from the moment they cast has been effortlessly stealing everything Sunghoon has worked tirelessly for.
"You're still here?" Riki saunters in, hair mussed as if he's just rolled out of bed. His dark practice clothes are a stark contrast to Sunghoon's pristine whites—ink stains on paper. He tosses his bag aside. "You don't give in, do you?"
“You don’t know anything about not giving in.”
Riki steps closer, and the air shifts. Each wraithlike movement leaves afterimages in the mirror. The same movements that have their director clutching his chest each rehearsal whispering "magnificent" while Sunghoon's years of flawless technique fade into background noise.
“Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to embody?” He states, like he’s making an offhand comment, not a declaration that’s unraveling Sunghoon from the inside out.
You want to be me so badly, don’t you?
“What?” He blurts, startled.
Riki blinks. “I didn’t say anything.”
Riki’s hands are already there, already guiding—hot against his waist, pressing down, pressing him open.
"You’re too stiff," Riki mutters, his thumbs brushing over Sunghoon’s hip bones, pressing down, adjusting. His tone is neutral, almost bored. Just another rehearsal correction. "See?" Riki breathes, hips shifting against him, forcing Sunghoon to feel exactly how much control he’s lost. "You want me to show you?"
He shouldn't have let Riki touch him.
“Feel me,” Riki murmurs, pressing closer.
Shouldn't have let those hands press him against the mirror, shouldn't feel his spine curve as the cold glass makes contact with his shirt.
“Not enough.”
But Riki's fingers are already lingering against his skin, tracing up his sides, guiding him through the motions he can't seem to master.
“You’re still holding back.”
Riki's chest against his back, hands gripping his waist, thigh pressed between his legs. The mirror fogs with their shared breath.
"Let go," Riki whispers, his lips grazing Sunghoon's ear. "Stop fighting it."
Shouldn't arch into the touch like he's starving for it. Shouldn't let his head fall back against Riki's shoulder, exposing his throat. Shouldn’t be thinking about anything besides practicing right now.
Is this practicing?
A low chuckle against his throat. Then Riki’s fingers slide up, gripping his jaw with soft precision, like he’s testing the weight of him. Sunghoon lets his mouth fall open without thinking, tongue wet, waiting, aching.
Riki’s thumb grazes his lower lip. Soft, unhurried, like a mistake. Like a tease. Like an afterthought.
"You're beautiful… and so well trained." The praise hits like poison, sweet and deadly. Sunghoon can't tell if Riki's mocking his perfection or admiring it.
Which is exactly why you can’t do this part. Exactly why they don’t need you. Maybe I should do it instead.
“Can you shut the fuck up?”
The words rip out of him, sharp, violent, too loud for the empty studio. His breath stutters. His pulse thuds in his ears.
“…Who are you talking to?” Riki tilts his head, watching him a little too closely now. “Have you, like… slept? Or eaten? At all?”
Sunghoon can see himself in the mirror. Flushed, panting, coming undone—and beyond his reflection, he swears he sees feathers starting to molt. Black ones.
His hips grind down against Riki's thigh without permission, desperate for friction.
"Mhm," The lie tastes bitter on his tongue. His sweat-slick chest slides against the mirror as Riki presses closer, closer, until there's no space left between them. “I... I know what I’m doing…”
Riki's eyes in the mirror are bottomless, hungry things. "Why are you holding back?"
“I’m not-” Sunghoon’s voice catches as Riki’s thigh shifts, a slow, deliberate grind that makes his hips stutter forward again, a small moan catching in his throat.
Riki watches him through the mirror, amused. “Are you blushing?”
Sunghoon’s jaw tenses, but the warmth in his cheeks betrays him. He isn’t supposed to react like this. His breath stutters.
“You are.” Riki teases, voice all honeyed mischief.
Sunghoon swallows hard, eyes flickering to the mirror where their bodies move in tandem, a slow, wicked game. Riki’s hands press against his waist—so confident, so sure.
His reflection is wrong, but it moves with him. Wild-eyed, open-mouthed, obscene.
It isn’t him.
No, it is.
Lips part without his permission, legs spread without him even trying to. Riki’s above him, pinning him to the floor and parting his pout with two thick fingers.
He’s grinning down at him, not quite smug, but like he’s stumbled into something unexpected.
“Wow,” he breathes, laughing softly. “You’re losing it, huh?”
Sunghoon exhales a shaky moan. His back arches. Riki’s fingers slip from his mouth, slick and glistening. He can barely breathe. Can barely think—nothing but the hot slide of Riki’s hands, the aching weight of desire pooling deep in his core.
He doesn’t need to be held down. He’s already keeping himself there, sprawled, pinned beneath Riki’s weight, back pressed against the cool studio floor. His body isn’t resisting anymore. It’s yielding, offering, desperate.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the mirror. Sees himself. Sees it happening. His own reflection sways with each ragged breath, cheeks flushed, lips slick, pupils wide and dark with need. His mouth falls open, tongue sliding against his own lips as if to taste what’s been left behind. And then—he gags himself on his own spit, pushing Riki’s fingers deeper, wet warmth dribbling down his chin.
“Look at you.”
Riki watches him, gaze hooded, almost amused, as if he can see exactly what Sunghoon sees, this version of himself, falling apart in real time. He should be embarrassed. He should look away. But he can’t. He’s watching his own ruin, powerless to stop it, aching to see more.
Riki just lets it happen.
His clothes are shoved aside, yanked down, not fully removed, not with any patience or care—just enough to expose him, to make him bare where it matters. Riki’s hands roam freely, fingers pressing into sweat-slicked skin, rolling a nipple between his fingers just to watch Sunghoon wince, shiver, push into it like he wants to be hurt.
Lips find his neck, sucking hard enough that it stings, teeth dragging over delicate skin before biting down. A gasp chokes out of him, his nails digging into Riki’s back, his arms, anywhere he can grasp, anywhere he can cling.
Riki’s fingers are still wet from his mouth, from his spit, from his shame and slip lower.
Sunghoon sobs out a breath.
"You need it." Riki whispers, voice thick, deliberate.
Sunghoon’s head falls back, spine arching, wrists twisting as if he wants to be restrained but knows he doesn’t deserve it.
“Please…” his voice is wrecked, shaking.
His legs are spreading for nothing, his thighs trembling, his cock leaking into his stomach, untouched, aching, pathetic.
He wants to be handled like this, used, pushed apart like something not quite human, like a body that exists only to be taken.
Riki is just watching him, eyes dark, lips parted, like he wasn’t expecting Sunghoon to fall apart this fast, this completely.
“Holy shit,” Riki mutters, laughing, not mocking, just amazed. “You’re actually losing it.”
Sunghoon whimpers, broken, his hips rolling down like he’s already being fucked, like he can’t stop chasing it, like his body has already decided he’s past the point of return.
Riki drags his fingers lower—two, then three, still slick with spit and heat, pressing against the trembling mess of him. He doesn’t even ease in—he just pushes, slow but deliberate, just to see how easily Sunghoon takes it.
Sunghoon’s back arches off the floor, his hands flying up to grasp at nothing, his voice cracking as he sobs out a moan.
“Fuck.” Riki breathes the words out, half a laugh, half disbelief. “You want it like that?”
Sunghoon doesn’t even hear him. Or maybe he does, but it doesn’t matter. His body moves on instinct, chasing it, needing it.
Riki moves his fingers again, deeper, curling, pressing.
Sunghoon is panting, shaking, a ruined, needy thing pinned beneath him, his own body betraying him, his reflection in the mirror showing him exactly what he is.
“Uhhuh,” Sunghoon gasps, his whole body curling up, begging.
Riki just grins, fascinated, entertained, completely taken with the sight of him.
He fucks his fingers into him faster, and Sunghoon breaks. He stares up at Riki, glass-eyed and wrecked, lips wet and swollen from sucking his fingers like they were meant to stay there. His mouth falls open again, tongue slick, needy, waiting. He looks at him with wide eyes as he reaches for the waistband of his pants, pulling them downwards until his cock springs out and is flush with his thigh. Their eyes meet while he’s being fucked open by Riki’s fingers. Riki just tilts his head, watching. Not helping. Just letting him struggle. Letting him take himself apart.
Then Riki presses his fingers in deeper. Sunghoon sobs, gasps, pushes back onto them, precum pools against his stomach and rolls down the sides and onto the floor.
Riki laughs. “I didn’t think you’d be this easy.”
Sunghoon doesn’t answer. He can’t. He just whimpers. Breath hitching as Riki presses in something bigger, stretching him open, spreading him apart inch by inch. His spine curves up, his voice breaking into a ragged, needy moan. It burns. His muscles clench around the thick push of it, the slick slide splitting him apart, forcing his body to contract. Too much. Not enough.
He drags Riki’s hand up, shoving it against his throat, forcing those fingers to press in and choke him, as Riki bottoms out inside him. Teeth bite at his lower lip. His legs lock tight around Riki’s waist, heels digging into his back, keeping him in place, keeping him from going slow, keeping him from pulling away.
They barely prepped for this.
It hurts.
It’s perfect.
Riki says something. Sunghoon isn’t listening. His hips roll down harder, writhing against Riki, his cock leaking onto his stomach, untouched, aching, desperate.
“More,” he gasps, wrecked, frantic, filthy.
Riki blinks. “Wait, you-”
Sunghoon grinds down harder, back arching.
He wrenches his hand from Sunghoon’s throat, pins his wrists to the floor instead, shoving deeper. Riki flattens himself on top of him, all sweat and friction, letting out a shaky moan as he collapses on top, burying himself in completely.
“Messy.” Riki grins, shoving Sunghoon’s knees further apart, watching him squirm, watching him spread wider.
"Yes, yes…" Sunghoon moans, pushing back onto Riki like he can’t get him deep enough. He laughs, voice cracking, delirious. "You broke me."
Riki just chuckles. “Did I?”
His hips snap forward, fucking Sunghoon open without hesitation, without mercy. He’s flipped over, his chest pressed against the floor, back arching.
In the mirror, he sees himself spread out, used, his own mouth hanging open, drool rolling down his chin, drool crusted on his lip. His stomach glistens, painted slick with his own release, cum dripping down his ribs, his thighs trembling. He’s shaking, wrecked, writhing in a way that looks downright pornographic. Riki’s hips snapping against him, fucking him open. He’s ruined.
A slut. A mess. A thing.
Exactly what he wants to be.
"Oh my god, look at you," Riki remarks, his hands pressing bruises into Sunghoon’s hips.
Sunghoon does look. He can’t stop.
He can feel how each stroke is dragged out, making him feel every long, aching thrust. Speeding up right when he gets used to it and slowing down again once he’s close to his climax.
Sunghoon shakes, his vision blurring and body locking up as the pleasure wrecks him, his own cum spilling onto the floor. Riki groans deep, filling him up, pressing in one last time, heat spilling inside him. His hole clenches involuntarily, gripping around Riki’s thick cock. He can feel it dripping out, leaking down his thighs, making a mess of him, but Riki’s younger and has the will to keep going, so he does, fucking it deeper into him.
And in the mirror, Sunghoon watches himself dissolve.
Feathers. Black ones. Molting.
He stares at Riki’s reflection. Flushed, thick-lipped, untouchable.
Sunghoon smiles back.
"I took it from you."
Riki blinks, half-laughing, breathless. "Took what?"
Sunghoon just laughs.