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Wooyoung running late is the usual. Yunho had factored this into her journey time from work, even did her make-up and outfit change in the pub toilets, but still somehow managed to show up first. She allows them a grace period of five minutes, enough for her to idle by the station exit on her mobile game of the month, and in that time, the vague, ominous damp of mid-October turns into something torrential.
Cursing, one hand wrestles her jacket up over her hair, the other thumbing out of her loading screen. She sends a just started pissing down meet me there text into the group chat that inevitably it sits on one tick, then the rain hits her screen and makes her keyboard spasm. She shoves it in her bra and, resigned, starts to sprint in earnest down the high street.
The venue is further up a tangle of side streets, a ten minute walk that she had been hoping to drag out. If her messages aren’t delivering, she tells herself, they must still be on the tube, which does mean she’s stranded ticketless in the downpour—a thought that only occurs to her now, splashing her way off the main road—but at least she knows they’re on their way. She’s severely regretting her last-minute decision to slut it out and forgo an umbrella, water hitting the exposed skin of her thighs and waist icy whenever the wind picks up towards her. At this rate, she’s going to flash the whole high street if she’s not careful.
Yunho keeps a hand clamped over the hem of her top and prays her phone doesn’t clatter into the gutters when she dashes across a break in traffic. The rain puddles colourfully where the pavement sits uneven and sloshes up over her shoes when she dodges the abandoned lime bikes down the back roads. She knows she’s almost there already; long legs, good stamina, determination not to let the rain ruin her make-up. Up ahead, the next turning is tinged red where the venue lights have bled across the street like a welcome mat.
Yunho hesitates a moment, staring at it, but she doesn’t feel like pleading to be let inside early. She decides to duck into the side alley at its rear where the pavement looks a little less soaked.
Semi-protected in the sandwich of buildings, she finally lets her jacket drop back onto her shoulders and catches her fucking breath. Opposite, water streams from an off license awning in rivulets. People are gathered under its stoop looking as wet through as her, which she’s sure should be a small comfort, their shared misery, but she can’t quite grasp that right now.
Fuck. Panting, she catches the eye of a man opposite, finding he’s already watching her back with his friend. It makes her skirt further in from the road. Wooyoung’s going to pay for this. Yunho cringes when she digs a tissue out her jacket to wipe her thighs down, then her arms. She dries her chest next—fuck, thank god she didn’t wear white, her cami is clinging—then pulls her phone out to inspect her face. There’s not much she can do in the lighting, though. She has the glow of a lamppost, rippling in the puddles, and the light from the off license and the kebab shop further up, but it only really reveals to her that, yes, she definitely looks like she got rained on.
Whatever. Music thumps from a passing car, some old Drake song she recognises from straighter days working in uni bars, and she fixes some flyaways back into place half-heartedly, unclumps two unruly lashes with the round edge of her nail and a couple of blinks. They’re officially thirty minutes late, she realises, which is fifteen minutes more than what San had forewarned her earlier. Inside, even from back here, she’s sure she can hear girls cheering. The big collective noise of her missing out on something good. It makes her stomach tingle, impatient.
She couldn't go to the last Butch Off event. She got pulled in to cover a shift for someone too nice for Yunho to say no to. The kind of older woman that Yunho imagines as her mum or aunt, with no hope of understanding lesbianism, or why Yunho needs to see the hot butch she’s been daydreaming about since the event in summer. She’d probably be a bit nicer about it than her mum, though.
Yunho adjusts her skirt to sit properly against her hips as the body-memory comes back to her, or maybe it’s the prickly cold of the air. At the afterparty, Wooyoung shovelled tequila down her throat until it felt like the August heat had all been trapped inside her head, then she spent most of the night in the bar toilets with said butch’s hand between her legs.
She hopes he’s here tonight. For fuck’s sake, she hopes she’s not missing out on him right now.
Just as Yunho’s about to message her friends again, someone laughs at the other end of the alley, loud, and it startles a noise out of her that she’s not proud of. When she spins around, there’s a perfect triangle of orange light cut into the brick a few feet further down. When the door opposite yawns open wider, someone’s silhouette carves itself into the space, hip cocked exaggeratedly, and it reveals the source of the laughter, their back facing Yunho in the alley.
They’re smoking. Yunho realises, with a jolt, she’s probably hanging around the staff exit. The one in the doorway—shorter, scrappier, a pointy little face and shaggy pixie cut—is giving her companion a look Yunho would call withering, but they don’t seem bothered. They’re taller, maybe as tall as she is, and the light slopes encouragingly over the curve of built shoulders as they turn her way.
Oh. Yunho stills, stricken, eyeing their side profile when it comes into view, and then they’re both looking at her, and—Strong nose, soft, squared jaw. Cheek mole.
Grinning at her. Is that—?
“I thought Yunho said she’d be here already?”
“Did she go in? Let me call her.”
“Wait, no, don’t you have the tickets?”
Yunho half-turns, embarrassed, somehow, by her friends identifying her from the street. Fuck, it’s definitely—Yunho shoves her phone away like her screen is a spotlight, as if that might shield her from eye contact. The short, scary one juts her chin over her shoulder. “Way in’s around the corner, sweetheart,” she calls, Mancunian, amused and kind of patronising, and Yunho can only think to laugh, and try to thank her, and stumble back out into the rain as quickly as possible.
She practically runs into her friends, which means they nearly take her eye out with their umbrella.
“Where’d you come from?!” San demands. She has her hair slicked back like an oil spill, plain faced except for some blush and lip stain. Wooyoung turns beside her, phone pressed to her ear, then her face splits into a grin.
Yunho eyes them both like the spikey butch from Manchester in the alley. She wonders if she has any hope in hell of looking half as intimidating. “Only fifteen minutes late, yeah? Can we hurry up and go in?”
San adjusts the height of the umbrella so Yunho can duck under properly. “Whose fault do you think that was?” she asks, fixing something on the collar of Yunho’s jacket. Next to her, Wooyoung crowds in closer and elbows San in the ribs.
“I’m sorry!” she cheeses as San hits her on the shoulder. With far less pretence, or maybe grace, Wooyoung’s hands knead around the strip of skin on show between the laced hem of Yunho’s cami and the waistband of her skirt. She’s done her eyeshadow dark and smokey, her new go-to look. It adds to the menace. “You look sooo sexy, did you have someone in mind?”
Yunho’s expression, unfortunately, melts into ticklish and exasperated as she shoves her hands away, and tries to guide them all towards the front door. “Can you pull our tickets up, for fuck’s sake?”
“Is he here?”
Yunho slaps her arm, hard. Amongst her cackling, San tells her to hurry up and get her phone out, too, and once they’re crowded into the entryway, she shakes the umbrella out behind them.
It’s immediately louder just one step over the threshold. The entry way is a small kind of lobby, with the main event space curtained off to the left. It’s where the bouncers linger after the venue turns into a club at eleven. Now, there’s just a girl with a bleach-blonde mullet in a muscle top, sitting on her phone.
“Is he, though?” Wooyoung stage-whispers.
“Shut up,” Yunho hisses, and that must be what alerts the girl to their presence: she looks up, pockets her phone and springs to action.
“Hey! Wow, is it raining a lot?” she asks.
Yunho realises she’s looking to her. “Ah, yeah.” She glances down at her outfit again and pulls her jacket over the cold peaks of her nipples through the wet fabric. She hopes the lighting will obscure the rest. “It just started, like, pouring down.”
“It's okay. This is worth the soak,” Wooyoung giggles, holding her phone. “I have three tickets. Hey, were you at the last event? Yeosang?”
She looks surprised, then claps her hands together, nodding. “Yes! I was on the door then, too. I thought I recognised you–” She digs a bar code scanner out of her too-tight jeans, “but you had your hair pulled back before.”
Yunho has eyes; she can’t help but watch the muscle definition shift as she moves, the built set of her shoulders. As the last ticket loads up, Yeosang looks at them all, smiling. “Have you two been before?”
Yunho glances at San. She looks like she’s doing everything in her power not to bounce up and down on the spot; Yunho hides her laugh in her hand.
“I haven’t, she has,” she answers. Excited, shy. It’s cute. Yunho squeezes her shoulder as Yeosang nods to Wooyoung, signalling they’re all scanned in, and walks them the two steps over to the curtain.
Beyond, a big chorus of cheering swells like a bassline. San almost seems to vibrate next to her. “Your first drink is half price and you can sit anywhere that’s free. There is a bar you can go up and order from, but people will come to your table, too, between the performances.” She looks like she’s trying not to grin herself, catching San’s eye. “If you enjoy the show, feel free to tip. It all goes towards fundraising. And they’ve been betting on who gets the most tips tonight.”
“Really?” Wooyoung laughs. “Who’s your bet on?”
Yeosang hums, making a show of thinking. “I shouldn’t spoil anything,” she says, “but she’s on soon.”
“So we came at the right time?”
Yeosang grins. “Isn’t it always the right time here?”
Someone’s performing in a jockstrap and it would almost be less obscene to be naked; leg up on someone’s table, body-rolling, elastic clutching under her ass just right. All the girls sitting in front of her are tucking notes into the waistband. Yunho watches from up at the bar, Wooyoung’s Apple Pay open and their drinks ordered.
There’s not so much a clear walkway as there are desire paths carved between all the tables. She watches her friends squeeze in at the end of one next to two girls watching the performance through their phones. They scooch up to allow them room, and Wooyoung slings Yunho’s jacket over the back of the spare chair to save it for her.
In front of her, the bartender is suited up, buttons climbing all the way to her throat and tie tucked neatly into her waistcoat. It's a contrast to all the skin around her that Yunho can’t help but find sexy. The only thing on show are her forearms, sleeves neatly rolled up as she shakes San’s cocktail. Her martini and Wooyoung’s Asahi condense steadily against the bar top, waiting.
God, Yunho thinks, watching her, she’s so glad she’s not at work.
“There you gooo,” she sing-songs. Her hair is cropped behind her ears, full and thick on top. Yunho can’t tell if it’s the lighting giving it an auburn hue or if she’s dyed it. “Tap when you’re ready. Do you need help carrying them over?
Yunho shakes her head. She locks Wooyoung’s phone after paying, slips it into the waistband of her skirt, and arranges the three drinks between her fingers. “I’m a professional,” she says, grinning. It earns her a smile from the bartender before her attention is pulled to another order.
She weaves her way through to their table with a few sorrys for bag straps and coat sleeves she has to step over, then slips in beside the two of them and sets their drinks down. Wooyoung’s phone nearly flops onto the floor before her friend snatches it out of her skirt. “Why do you keep putting my phone down your pants?”
Yunho hits her on the back of the head once she has a free hand. “So you can sniff it later, pervert.”
Wooyoung grins at her with all her teeth, pulling her beer towards her. “That’s gross. You gonna answer my question?”
Yunho stares at her grinning face for two seconds before she remembers their conversation outside: “Oh my god.” She flicks her hair back from her face. Her curtain bangs have grown out to a length she still can’t quite tuck behind her ear, but she tries her best. “You’re so annoying.”
“Just answer!”
“Yes, he's here. I think.” I know, she thinks miserably. Her jacket is still damp behind her. She sits forward so it won’t tack to her skin and tugs the loose crochet of her bolero down, as if it’s not designed to fall above her chest, and isn’t made of holes.
Wooyoung takes a deep swig, satisfied. San reaches for her cocktail like she just remembered she requested it, eyes elsewhere. “So you’ll be coming to the afterparty again, yeah?”
Yunho rolls her eyes, but she can’t help smiling. “I have work tomorrow.” She twists her mouth to the side. “Maybe.”
“Fuck,” San mutters. Yunho looks past Wooyoung and giggles at the raptured look on her face, staring unsubtly at the show two tables away. Has she even taken a sip yet? “She’s so hot.”
Yunho’s face scrunches up as she giggles. “What about Miss Muscle Daddy at the door?” Wooyoung teases.
San cuts her eyes at her, irritated. “Why are you acting monogamous?”
It makes Yunho cackle, hand over mouth falling sideways into Wooyoung. She hits her leg under the table, reprimandingly, then the room erupts into an applause San takes seriously in joining. Miss Jockstrap bows, grins, and slips off the floor with her money in hand. The music dips to let her go to the back, and the MC of the night steps up to the front of the room.
“Alright, alright!” Yunho just about twists her neck with the speed she turns around to spot her. Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s the tiny butch from the alley, front and centre on the mic. Her voice is going to start haunting her dreams.
“Are we having fun?” she asks, loud and ringing. The crowd cheers around her. Wooyoung sticks her fingers in her mouth to whistle and it startles San to her left. “More importantly, are we spending money?”
The crowd cheers louder now, a few people wagging notes in the air. She grins. Two rows of big, perfect teeth that look like they bite well. “Remember, we’re raising money to keep queer spaces like this open. So especially all you Clapham girlies who’re really Surrey girlies, I wanna see you spend your parents’ money tonight!”
Wooyoung’s laugh rings out loud. Yunho glances over and she’s sat forward, delighted, rolling her beer between her fingers. Yeah, Yunho thinks, it seems about right she would be her type.
“Okay! I just have one question before our next performer comes out.” She walks forward with flourish as she talks, stopping at the bar to turn to face the room like an auditorium. The bartender glances at the back of her head between pouring shots and smiles when she pauses, mic to mouth, for dramatic effect.
She scans the room. “Are you ready to be taken to outer space?”
San and Wooyoung whoop so loudly next to her that Yunho folds into herself, laughing and clapping along. At that, the MC flashes everyone another glittering smile and, with a guiding sweep of her arm, calls, “Give it up for Mars!”
The room applauds. It’s hard to see her at first, walking out from around the back. All Yunho can glimpse across the room is a tall figure dressed head to toe black, before she steps out and the warm light catches on all her leather.
She looks like a lesbian rock star, Yunho thinks at first. From the short, shaggy cut of her black hair down to the heavy-duty buckles on her boots. She’s stepped straight off a Joan Jett album cover, Up Your Alley come to life. Her next thought is how she must have shined all that leather before coming here.
The only reason Yunho spots the thigh harness over her trousers is because of the sheen, the contrast created. She’s glossed right down to her cropped leather gloves. That’s the only glimpse of skin with the biker jacket done all the way up: the backs of her hands, her wrists.
“Oh my god,” Wooyoung rasps beside her. Yunho’s inclined to agree.
Mars slips further into the space, looping around the tables furthest from them and working her way slowly to the centre. Every time the light hits her face, it feels like something from a film. The crop hair shadowing her brow, her high, round cheekbones, the cut of her jaw, her lips. She has eyes that Yunho imagines would be kind if her expression wasn’t so intensely focused. The kind of face you put on posters.
She barely acknowledges the noise everyone’s making for her. The music swells. It’s some mix with an older FKA twigs song that Yunho’s too captured to discern. When she reaches the center of the room, she pauses, fingers dancing up to her collar.
A girl whistles across the room. As the beat settles in, Mars grips the zipper of her jacket and teases it down.
Wooyoung cups her hands around her mouth to yell. It feels like the room’s exploding. The lights overhead dye her body in reds and purples as more and more skin is revealed. Yunho realises, alongside everyone else, that she has nothing on underneath. Just a seemingly endless swathe of bare torso, lean and slick with some kind of body oil, the barely-there kiss of her breasts and the dark buds of her nipples. As she turns to let the jacket drop away, the way her shoulders span and shift makes Yunho want to die a little.
“Fuck,” Wooyoung voices for the both of them. The band of her Calvins hugs her hips just above her trousers like lingerie. She rolls her wrist, encourages the cheering to be louder and louder as she walks to where the MC stood minutes ago, then turns and lounges back over the curve of the bar.
A hand lifted behind her head without looking, casual and assured. The bartender walks over, reaches just beneath the counter and passes her a can of whipped cream. She thinks she can hear San behind her head gasping as Mars smiles, at last, and shakes it up.
“Who here likes it sweet?” she asks the room, before popping the cap off.
Her voice is a dark, sticky spill from her lips. Yunho tears her eyes away for a second to look back at her friends. San’s covering her open, smiling mouth with her fist. Wooyoung’s nearly standing out her seat to see better.
Yunho laughs, mouth dry, and finds her across the room again.
Mars stops at a table close to the bar first. The girls all have notes pinched between their fingers, waving them in the air like flags. She feels Wooyoung start to dig around in her bag and sees, in a ripple across the room, more and more arms go up.
“You all do, hm?” Mars asks, and it sounds honey-sweet. “I find that hard to believe.” She goes down the line, collecting the notes in her back pocket, and when she gets to the last girl, she gestures for her to lean forward and squirts cream directly onto her tongue.
It continues like that. Mars takes her time, lets herself be drunk in, stopping at every other table and teasing. There’s a photographer following, and every time a girl opens her mouth for her, there’s a flash of them capturing the moment. Over and over, building a portfolio.
This has to be who Yeosang was talking about; she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Hmm, I think there’s only enough left in here for one more,” Mars announces, shaking up the can. Her disappointment is exaggerated, playing into the room’s. It’s delicious. “Who really wants it?”
Wooyoung shoves Yunho’s hand into the air as well as San’s, two tenners pressed into each palm. San looks at her wide eyed while Yunho laughs, shocked, and covers her mouth. Mars turns on the heels of her boots, looking at every willing face around her, then wanders slowly, slowly, to their side of the room.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, Wooyoung,” San whispers, tapping her leg urgently. Yunho downs the rest of her forgotten martini. She’s convinced they’ll be passed by until she’s right in front of them and going nowhere.
Mars leans one hand on their table, twirling the can idly in her other. Being up close doesn’t shatter the illusion; if anything, it makes it worse. Her skin is warm, human, beating. Yunho watches as she plucks the notes from San and Wooyoung’s fingers first. “So enthusiastic. But,” Mars glances Wooyoung up and down, “you’re not so sweet, baby, are you?”
It makes Wooyoung cackle, shaking her head and clapping. San covers her mouth next to her with her newly released hand, and can’t seem to decide where to put her eyes.
Yunho’s arm is the last to lower; Mars slips her tens into her underwear and lets their eyes lock.
Yunho blinks, as if to double-check she’s really looking back. Her back straightens. Her hands fall to her lap. Something like affection seems to flicker across Mars’ face.
“Go on. Open up, honey,” she says, leaning over.
Wooyoung cheers right into her ear. Yunho pinches her leg under the table as penance and opens her mouth to the nozzle. Mars’ lips twitch, almost something proud, if Yunho chooses to see it like that, as she squirts the whipped cream over her tongue.
She does, Yunho decides, want to see it like that.
"Now hold it," she's instructed next, to a glittering applause. Oh. Yunho just about hears her say it, past the sound in the room and the noise from the can. It piles up light, the dairy and vanilla. A sweetness too shapeless to anchor her jaw open, that forces a more conscious effort. She tries not to smile, or move, or think too hard about the placement of her tongue, so it doesn't spill over her lips.
Mars takes her jaw between two gloved fingers like an artefact. This way, that way, tilts her head up a little. Catch the light, check for authenticity. With a press of her thumb to her chin, asks she slack it.
Wooyoung's little stumpy nails are digging into either shoulder, rapt. Yunho has to curl her own hands into the fabric of her skirt and press her legs together. She should close her eyes, really, but it's an impossibility with someone so gorgeous and in control above her. Shaded by the lights and the choppy fall of her hair; her leather on her face, sticking; the way she looks right at her. It's a muscle memory, giving in.
Yunho loosens her mouth. Mars leans down and curls her tongue through the cream, only barely grazing Yunho's lip as she licks it out. It's only then that Yunho finally squeezes her eyes shut.
The room cheers louder, delighted. The camera flashes. Wooyoung sounds like she's never been so happy. Her chin is tapped again, once, for her to close her mouth, and the cream leaks. She can feel the mess of it where it spills, warmed between their tongues, and her face is so hot she's worried it might all melt off. The cream, her make-up, it might all slip right off her, blushing so fucking obviously about it. She opens her eyes again only to watch after Mars as she twirls the can in her hand and moves out into the room again.
"That was so hot," Wooyoung hisses, squeezing her again. Arm, shoulder, knee. Grinning. Yunho finds her dignity enough to cover her face and muffle her flustered laughter. To shut her mouth, still coated, and swallow. Fuck. The taste lingers and her pussy throbs.
Everyone's turned their attention away again. Mars is in full command of the room as she walks up and hands the empty whipped cream can back to the bar. Yunho doesn’t feel like it. Her face is hot with the feeling of eyes on her. San reaches across and tugs her over Wooyoung's lap to clean her up, pink-faced herself and giggling.
That's when Yunho spots him, past her ear. Over by the wall, hair buzzed short and bleached to an inch of its life, an X cut into his eyebrow. Leather pants, tight at the thighs and low on the hips. She can see the KT tape peek out where his vest falls low and tight over his chest.
Soft, squared jaw. Cheek mole. Mingi.
Yunho catches his gaze and holds it.
He watches when San brushes her lip with a tissue wrapped over her thumb, diligent and chattering away with Wooyoung, almost more flustered than she is. How long has he been looking? Beer bottle in hand, down to the last dregs. He tips it back without looking away.
Yunho's head is tilted up to wipe her chin. She swallows again, where the sticky-sweet still coats her throat. She makes a show of it, with throat bared. Her friends haven't noticed, and the rest of the room is looking the other way. She waits until San's paused long enough, hand poised in the air by her mouth, too busy bickering, then opens her mouth, tongue flattened in proof, wide enough to be seen across the space.
It's just a glimpse. She sinks back into her seat after, half-attuned to whatever topic they've landed on, but focused over at Mingi: the smile, cocky and impressed; brief raise of his eyebrow, distraction of finishing his drink; his other hand reaching down, caressing the waistband of his trousers, linking through a belt loop to give it a brief tug.
The performance ends. Yunho knows because everyone is applauding, and she finds her hands again enough to clap, too, turning to watch Mars bow, grin, and slip to the back again. She sees her lean over the bar top and kiss the bartender’s cheek before vanishing completely.
It’s her window of opportunity. She downs her cocktail and decides to seize it.
"Okay, I need to piss," she says, tapping Wooyoung's leg to untangle their feet so Yunho can shuffle out. She glances over her shoulder one more time, and at risk of embarrassing herself, hopes Mingi takes the hint as she heads past the bar.
The bathrooms are to the back, out one set of doors into a long corridor. Further up she spots the staff door, Butch Off’s for the night, and the fire exit sign pointing down a right turn. She hesitates, then decides that she does actually need to go, and ignores the damp of her underwear when she slides it back up. A reminder of her preferences. Punishment, maybe, if she takes a different angle.
Nobody else is at the sinks, so Yunho indulges once her hands are clean: turns her face left and right in the mirror and imagines the leather clinging again. She wished she wore foundation so it would’ve marked. Two fingerprints just above her jaw, betraying the pink-skin want underneath. Instead, she looks relatively untouched. Her hair’s a bit frizzy from the rain, but her eye make-up hasn’t smudged, and San did a good job cleaning her mouth up.
God. Yunho shakes it off, physically—hands through arms and down her back, like she’s loosening up her muscles before a practice. She digs her lip balm out, reapplies it, then steps back out.
Yunho takes her chances on the right turn at the far end, towards the fire exit. Sure enough, Mingi’s there, propping the door open with his foot and blowing smoke over his shoulder into the alleyway.
The first time she saw him, Mingi was shrugging out of a denim jacket. The white shirt underneath was almost painted on, buttons begging to be pulled open, and his hair black and shaggy. He was walking around the room with a tray of shots.
He popped the buttons open one at a time until the whole soft musculature of his torso was exposed, then abandoned the shirt completely. The chain hanging around his neck made her feel like a keen-eyed magpie. His chest was taped back so she would watch it glint against the sweaty middle of his sternum. The harness he was wearing dug so deliciously into his hips every time he moved that it made her wet just watching him.
With each revealed inch of skin, he chose someone to take a shot off him. The first cup he held between his teeth, folded back over a table, and the girl got half of it down her chest when she tipped it back from his mouth. They took some off his chest, along the middle of his sternum, down his stomach, where he cracked just a little, ticklish, when some spilt over his waist.
When he teased the jeans off last, naked down to his boxers, his ass looked so good in the harness it made Wooyoung seethe with jealousy in her ear. He knelt in the middle of the bar, right on top of their table, and rolled his hips up to the music with the kind of confidence that comes with practice.
Basking in the applause, the shower of pound notes, tongue out, wonky front tooth, nodding and goading them on, Yunho doesn’t remember what made her so bold—maybe he looked at her first, and it felt like permission. She tucked a twenty into the strap of his harness and lifted the shot right off the O-ring and down her throat.
“Are you wearing it this time?” she asks now.
Mingi tilts his head at her, observing. He doesn’t look surprised that she’s approaching him. Yunho smiles back, shy, and stops just out of reach.
He takes his time tapping ash onto the ground outside before answering. "You want to find out?" It’s said light, casual of the implication. He holds her gaze when he brings the cigarette back up again. “Go on. Touch it and see.”
Yunho’s fingers twitch at her sides. Across from her, too close and too far, Mingi’s expression turns into a familiar cocky grin. “You always look like a deer in headlights, you know.”
Yunho thinks about her in the alley, startled and off-guard. “I was waiting for my friends earlier,” she says, shuffling her feet. “The rain came out of nowhere and drenched me.”
“I saw.”
“Yeah,” she laughs, “I guess you did. Aren’t you performing today?”
“No. Are you disappointed?”
Yunho blinks, flustered, or maybe feeling a little caught out. "Just ‘cause I missed the last event. Couldn't get the shift off."
Mingi doesn’t say whether he noticed, or whether he was looking for her, then or now. He just takes another pull of his cigarette, watching her. “What do you do?”
“For work?” Yunho leans sideways against the other side of the doorframe, opposite him. “I work in a pub.”
Mingi eyes her face. “And for pleasure?”
She can see the bait, dangling between them. Yunho presses her tongue along her teeth and doesn’t bite. “I dance,” she says.
“Yeah?” He looks surprised.
“Yeah. I’d do it full time if I didn’t have rent to pay.”
Mingi hums, something between acknowledgement and commiseration. Yunho wonders if she’s being too honest. “Are you good?”
She laughs. “Yeah,” she says after a moment. Shrugs. “I'm good.”
“Huh.” Mingi nods slowly, dropping the cigarette and snuffing it out just outside the door. There’s a loose smile resting along his mouth. She’s not sure if he’s even aware of it.
Hands freed, he reaches into the foot of dead air Yunho has left between them and takes her wrist. The touch is warmer than she expected. She glances down, then up again. A beat later, lets herself be pulled closer.
"You thought she was going to kiss you earlier," Mingi says quietly, "didn't you?"
It’s more statement than question. He guides her hand forward until it lays flat on the leather of his trousers. Yunho’s lips part; she flits her eyes up to his face, so close now, assessing, and flexes her fingers over his crotch. When all he does is hold her gaze, she continues with purpose.
"What," she breathes, feeling out hard shape of some kind of packer underneath, "did you want her to?"
"Yeah," Mingi replies, easy. "Did you?"
Yunho swallows, mouth dry. She turns her head just slightly, so she can speak into his ear. "No,” she whispers, and presses her palm up against him. “I wanted her to spit in my mouth."
Mingi cracks a grin. Yunho feels it against her cheek. Then he nudges her hand over, to the shape of his phone in his pocket. “Give me your number, Bambi.”
The music was barely muffled in the back of the club bathroom, like the walls were made from paper mache and crossed fingers. From what Yunho remembers, they left the dancefloor in the middle of a Latin set, but she was too distracted to really pay attention.
“Oh my god—” Mingi’s mouth was on hers to swallow her gasp, and his hand was working inside her underwear. “Please, please, in–inside– Oh—”
“Mm, is this what you wanted?” he hummed, two fingers pressing into her. Yunho remembers him sounding husky, like he’d been singing along too loudly, and he smelt like sweat and hair spray. He was right up by the DJ when she spotted him dancing. He had stripped down to his jeans again to beat the heat, and the alcohol flush had travelled right down his neck.
"I– I– Hah– I can't come without something– in me," Yunho breathed, strained even to her own ears, as Mingi fucked up into her hard. His fingers were satisfying, purposeful. Well-practiced. She wondered how many girls he’d fucked in club bathrooms like this. Her hand grasped the back of his neck like a buoy as the thought rocked through her.
"Yeah? How much do you need, baby?" Mingi asked, mouth damp against her ear. His hand quickened. The sound would’ve been enough to make Yunho curl in on herself if she had the room to. In the back corner, it kept bouncing back off the stall walls, the wet shock of her cunt sucking Mingi in, in, in. Obscene and so incriminating. All someone has to do to know what was happening is walk in. It felt like being sixteen again, getting fingered in the girls’ school toilets, hoping the teacher wouldn’t come in before she finished.
"Happy with two fingers? Three?" It's all Yunho could do to grip the top of the toilet stall and try not to whimper. Mingi gripped her hip in his free hand, trapping the dress she was wearing out of the way in creases, pushing her into the already cramped corner above the waste bin. There was no room for her there except for what Mingi forced, and Yunho let herself be crowded.
"Fuck, listen to you. Your pussy's dripping all down my wrist," Mingi continued. He was panting by then, too. Yunho wanted to feel how affected he was, the hot wet proof of what was in his voice on her tongue, in her mouth, against her leg. "Bet you could take my whole hand if you tried."
"'M gonna come, I'm— I'm coming," she choked, then her orgasm pushed out of her like a floodgate opening. All over Mingi's hand. A shaking, rocking thing. Arm wrapped around his shoulder, she muffled the high, desperate sound of herself into his collar. "I–I'm— fuck, fuck, fuck."
Mingi's hand didn’t relent. Yunho swore when she woke up the next day at home that the nerves in her legs were still twitching. "Next time, I'll bring my strap for you," he cooed.
~ MIN GI
hey bambi. you still out?
Yunho looks up from her phone. It’s the end of the night. The street is washed dark from the earlier rain and the crowd is dispersing, organising how to get home or how to get drunker. San is still inside, busy chatting up Yeosang, whatever San's version of chatting someone up is—adding each other on Strava, maybe—and Wooyoung's ordering their dinner in the kebab shop across the street.
Yunho swallows, glancing around before she looks back down. He’s sent her a video, too. She knows it’s him from the WhatsApp picture, a black-and-white shot where he’s biting one of his chains. She can’t tell what it is from the blurred preview, and she’s been trying to muster up the courage to open it for the past three and a half minutes.
She looks up once more. Through the glass front of the shop, she can see that Wooyoung’s at the front of the queue. Bracing herself, she leans back against the lamppost and lets it open up.
It takes a few moments for the camera to focus after someone—Mingi, she figures out from his bleached hair—sets the phone down. When it does, she realises this must have been filmed today, somewhere in the back. She can see the Butch Off poster to the left, the same one tacked to the staff door, and he’s wearing the same vest and trousers.
She must be propped up on a shelf or something. Maybe a sink, or a door handle. He’s with someone else. Their back is to the camera. His arm retracts to their waist and their hands are already resting on his biceps. Gloved. They take a combined step back to fit properly into frame and come fully into focus.
It’s Mars. Yunho’s eyes widen before she can school her face, and the only thing stopping her from slamming her phone screen to her chest is what they look like kissing. Mingi turns his head, meets her ready mouth, and they look like they’re melding together. Mars’ hand comes up and caresses the back of his neck, and they turn just enough for Yunho to see her jacket’s open and she has her chest flush to Mingi’s front.
In the matching leather, they look like a Tom of Finland drawing. A wet dream. Shit. Even with the backlighting, Yunho can see their tongues moving. The spit-shine of their kiss.
Yunho taps the screen. When she sees there’s still ten more seconds left, her gut tightens. Mars’ mouth drops and trails down his neck. Mingi’s eyes flutter open, looking straight at the camera, at her, the pseudo-voyeur by the doorway.
Did he film this just for her? As if in answer, Mars snags the short crop of his hair in her fist. There’s barely enough to tug. It must hurt, Yunho thinks, and she clenches her thighs together as Mingi lets his head be guided back. He opens his mouth, holds his tongue out, and a glob of spit lands right on the bed of it like a gift. Fuck. Yunho curls her toes in her shoes and wonders how the fuck she’s going to get through the rest of the night like this.
Mars smiles on screen, gracious. They kiss again. Mingi’s released from her grip so he can grab the phone and end the video. At some point in between, Yunho’s eyes stopped focusing. When her screen locks, she’s confronted with the reflection of her own face, flushed and affected, chewing on her bottom lip.
She doesn't think she's ever wanted to be between two people more.
“Hellooo? Can you help a bitch out?”
Yunho jumps, and Wooyoung’s standing in front of her with three polystyrene take-out boxes in hand. “Sorry,” she blurts out, fumbling with her phone for a moment before shoving it down her top and grabbing one. “Thanks, Wooyo.”
She squints at her. “Are you drunk?”
Yunho shoots her a quizzical look. The steam of the kebab and chips hits her chin as soon as she opens the box. Wooyoung balances her order on top of San’s and props hers open as well.
“Bruv, why are you confused? I had to say hi three times.” Wooyoung stabs her plastic fork through her food and shovels it into her mouth. “Is San still not here?”
“No. She’s still–” Her phone buzzes against the skin of her chest. Yunho thinks she’s at risk of developing a Pavlovian response as she lifts it out. “Inside.”
~ MIN GI
come round the back x
near the alleyway
“Can you text her? She was the one saying she’s hungry.”
Yunho locks her phone again, mouth dry. It feels like she’s had too much caffeine, jittery in a way that she needs to exercise. Almost anxiety, but not quite. She bites at her lip again when she realises she’s smiling, then looks across at her friend. “Hey, so…”
Wooyoung takes one look at her face and scowls. “Nah–” She brandishes her fork at her. Half a chip flops sadly onto the pavement when she shakes it. “Are you abandoning me? Think carefully about your answer!”
“Don’t put it like that!” Yunho pleads, half-laughing. “You’re not being abandoned! See–” Yunho gestures past her shoulder, to where San is practically skipping over to them at last. “You have San!”
“That’s even worse!”
San cuddles over Wooyoung’s shoulder and fishes three chips at once from her box, no hesitation. There’s a pretty coral alcohol flush across her cheeks and ears. Yunho can’t help her grin. “Listen, I'll see you at home. Probably.”
Wooyoung’s eyes widen: outrage, betrayal, envy. “Oh, you fucking whore!”
“Why are you yelling?” San complains, gruff. She goes for a piece of kebab meat next.
“Yuyu is literally leaving us to get her p– Can you eat your own food?”
Yunho squeezes Wooyoung from the side, giggling when she fends her off, then kisses San cheek before she can say she’s being left out. “Be happy for me!”
“Share your fucking location!” is Wooyoung’s reply. San blows her a kiss as Yunho jogs around the corner, following the people walking towards the high street.
She pauses at the next turn, further up from the alley she took shelter in a few hours ago. Is it presumptuous? What else could that fucking text mean? Yunho decides to peer around first, just in case. The relief of seeing them both standing there, further down the street chatting, is quickly replaced with something terrifying and embarrassing like fucking butterflies.
Mingi spots her first. His face cracks into a grin. “See,” he says as she walks up. “Deer in headlights.”
“Don’t be mean,” Mars reproaches, straightening up off the wall. “Hi, Bambi.”
“Hi. Again. It's Yunho.” Her takeaway sweats against her palms. She feels like she’s reheating it herself, with the heat coming off her hands. She looks at them, both of them, and the video loops over in her head. “I suppose I didn't really say hi before, actually.”
“No, we skipped that part,” she says, smiling. It would be gentle, if Yunho hadn’t just seen her spit in Mingi’s mouth. “But Min says you've… met?”
Yunho swallows and tries not to choke. She looks at Mingi first, characteristically nonchalant, thumbing through his phone, then back at Mars again. “Yeah.” She clears her throat. “We definitely met.” Then, before she can stop herself, “Sorry, I, like, didn't realise you two were– you know.”
“Together?” Mars supplies. “Open?” She cocks her head at her, gifting a flash of white teeth. “Interested?”
He’s touching her, Yunho realises, stroking her back. An off-hand motion like muscle memory. Mars pulling his head back overlays with the pair of them in front of her, oddly domestic, and Yunho feels alight with goosebumps.
“Are you… asking me?” she laughs, flustered.
Mars steps in closer. "I mean, we don't live far," she says, “if you are. Which… I assume you are?"
"I am," Yunho confirms, maybe too quick. Smiles, a bit sheepish, and looks down at her near-untouched takeaway. “Yeah. Uh, do you want some?”
She holds it out between the three of them as an offering. The funny, fond look on Mars face doesn’t dim as she reaches over. “Mingi’s ordering an Uber. He can text you the address, so you can let whoever know where you are. There’s no pressure,” she adds, popping the chips in her mouth, “if you change your mind. Wait, do you live far?”
Yunho doesn’t know how to say I’m definitely not changing my mind without sounding desperate, so she keeps that to herself. “Oh, yeah. We live in West.”
At that, Mingi looks up from his phone, bemused. “People live in West London?”
His honest confusion pushes a laugh out of Yunho’s nervous mouth. “Yeah. We’re deep West,” she says, holding the box out to him. “Deep, shitty West.”
He hesitates, but ultimately reaches over. “That’s so boring.”
“Well, yeah,” she agrees. He fishes out a couple chips and a slice of kebab meat, tossing it into his mouth. “That’s why we’re here. We’d move closer if anywhere was even kind of affordable.”
“You and your friends?” Mars asks.
“Mm, the two girls I was sat with. We live together.” She gestures over her shoulder, back to the front of the venue, and chews through another mouthful before adding, “They used to date.”
“Mm, that sounds about right,” Mars says, amused. “Min was saying one of them looked like she wanted to eat Hongjoong.” She picks out another chip and adds, “The one with the teeth.”
The one with the teeth. Yunho thinks about Wooyoung’s grinning face, leant forward over their table. “Ah. Is Hongjoong the scary MC?”
Mingi barks out a laugh. “Hongjoong’s not scary,” Mars dismisses. “She’s all bark no bite.”
“Some bite,” he amends. He motions for them to follow him a little further up the road.
“All bark can still be scary,” Yunho reasons, walking in step with Mars. She’s a little shorter than Yunho, she realises now, and immediately goes from looking at her face to watching their feet. “Um, do you know Yeosang as well?”
“Isn’t she Hongjoong’s friend, Min?” He nods over his shoulder. Mars gestures, and Yunho hands her the now empty box to put in the nearest bin. “Why?”
A car has its headlights on, pulled in by the kerb. Yunho watches Mingi glance from the number plate to his phone and back. Yunho’s hit, all at once, with the night laid out ahead of her, and has to fight with her mouth to keep talking. “I think San likes her. The other friend.”
He heads over to the passenger side. Mars stays next to her and opens up the back door. “When I got to your table, I thought if I chose her, she might have passed out.” Yunho laughs, and it feels like some of her nerves flutter out with it, slipping in first when she holds the door for her. “You looked like you could take it.”
She feels her face heat up. Still smiling, she shuffles over until she’s sat behind Mingi, then Mars slips in the back beside her. “I can,” she decides to say, not looking for the reaction. She might not have even heard. She just pulls her seatbelt on and waits for the door to shut.
The driver up front zooms out on his maps, phone propped up beside him. “For… Min-jee, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he replies. Then, after a beat and Mars’ muffled laugh, “Mingi.”
“Ah,” The driver tuts at himself, still looking at his phone screen. “Min-gi. Sorry, brother.”
“‘S fine.” Mingi clears his throat, sitting back properly in his seat, looking out the window at the road. She can see him trying not to smile, just barely, in the side mirror. Yunho glances across at Mars, only to see her watching him, too.
The thought only occurs to her then, as they pull away: "Is Mars a stage name?"
“Oh my god, I forgot about that. Yeah,” she says, laughing. Her hand lands on Yunho’s arm, casual and apologetic. “Sorry, I should’ve told you that before propositioning you. Seonghwa.”
“No, it’s– That’s okay.” Yunho shakes her head, smiling. She’s overly aware of her body, the positioning of her limbs, her skin sticking to the car seat and the cool of Seonghwa’s hand bleeding down her right side. “Seonghwa’s a nice name,” she adds. The comment feels almost juvenile.
“Thanks.” Her thumb brushes over her forearm, gentle. “I picked it out a few years back.”
Up front, Mingi smiles wider up in the rearview. Yunho watches his teeth, thinking.
His eyes meet hers in the reflection after a couple moments. “Have you seriously not caught on?”
“What?” Yunho blinks. “Oh– Oh, no, no!” She shakes her head and her hands for good measure, flustered. “I wasn’t– No, I was trying to remember, isn’t Hwaseong Mars in Korean?”
At that, Mingi looks back at her properly, over his shoulder. “You speak Korean?” he asks, switching languages with the kind of fluidity Yunho envies. It catches her off-guard, makes her sit up straighter.
“Don't test me,” she replies. Seonghwa laughs next to her, light and, if Yunho dared think it, affectionate. “I’m okay with listening,” she says back, “but I’m not great at responding.” Her go-to phrase, rolling easy off the tongue.
“Right, right.” Seonghwa extends her arm. It settles just behind Yunho now, close enough to brush through the back of her hair. “You don’t get a lot of practice, or?”
“No.” Yunho rolls her next sentence around in her mouth for a moment, over-conscious of her accent. “Most of the time, we spoke English at home. Eomma was very…” Yunho motions in front of her, searching, then gives up. “Thing-y about it. Strict. I think she regrets it now.”
Seonghwa hums. “But you can understand me?” She nods. Next to her, Seonghwa smiles. “That’s useful,” she says, pointed, “for when you don’t want someone to eavesdrop.”
Yunho laughs a little. Mingi’s facing the front again, but his head is turned slightly, listening. Yunho eyes the stud in his ear, then the road ahead, speckled with fresh rain on the windscreen.
“Mingi told me what you said after my performance,” Seonghwa says, like butter wouldn’t melt.
Oh. Her hand is light and purposeful, nearly ticklish on the back of her neck. Yunho bites her cheek. She’s trying hard not to smile, like it might give them away, but she feels it bud in her cheeks anyway, traitorous. The driver couldn’t be less aware. Her eyes dart over, like she might face Seonghwa, then land on the back of his oblivious head instead, and his hand adjusting the volume of the radio.
“You’d never think such dirty things could come out your mouth.” Her thumb traces the back of her neck, under the fall of her hair, like she’s learning the line of her skull. “But when I saw you,” she continues, like she could be talking about anything except this, “I just knew you were the girl Mingi told me about from summer. Long legs. Soft, round face. Big doe eyes. Am I missing anything, jagi?”
Yunho shifts in her seat, hoping it will go unnoticed. She knows her ears are red and her leg can’t stop bouncing. Mingi answers her like he’s giving someone directions: “Pretty pussy.”
It takes a moment to register, then Yunho hits Mingi's shoulder, wide-eyed. Next to him, the driver only spares the movement a glance, then takes the next turn on the map, none the wiser. Mingi grins, self-satisfied, and Yunho sinks back into her seat with her face on fire, to the tune Seonghwa laughing gently next to her.
Her hand rubs her shoulder, then slips down her arm, over her own clammy hand on her leg. She presses her knees together. Seonghwa squeezes her fingers, and Yunho knows she’s noticed.
“Kyeopta,” she whispers.
Their flat is in an old Victorian brick building, up three flights of stairs that yawn like they haven’t been fixed in the last century. A cramped kitchen is sandwiched between the one bedroom with its en suite and a living room turned mostly closet. Clothes racks piled with jackets and coats run along the far wall, next to an airer latticed with drying laundry and a dehumidifier. They have L-shaped sofa facing a media console, an old art deco drinks cart that Yunho’s sure she’s seen at a flea market before, and an IKEA unit full of books, games, and, mostly, carefully placed LEGO Star Wars figurines.
“Who made those?” she can’t help but ask. She toes out of her shoes by the door and leaves them next to the four-level shoe rack. Boots on boots on boots. Mingi follows her gaze, then huffs out a laugh, gesturing to Seonghwa grinning in the entryway.
“You have taste,” she coos, taking Yunho’s jacket to hang over the back of the door. Mingi wanders into the living room, picks up a short glass from the top of the drinks cart, flips it over. She watches the tight cinch of his waist under the sweep of his shoulders, his hip cocked, body completely comfortable. She watches the walls, the hairline crack in the ceiling, the corner of a canvas just visible through the doorway by Mingi’s head, and all the neatly sorted cereal boxes and crisp packets lined up on top of their fridge.
Seonghwa’s hands slide over her waist—then she’s there, in front of her, kissing her.
It’s slow, indulgent. The kind of kiss that makes her want to sink into something soft. Yunho presses into her hold, nerves stubborn in her throat, and Seonghwa hums, smiles, drags her tongue against Yunho’s teeth when her lips part. She’s taken her jacket off, too. In front of her, skin so close, she’s become something molten.
She presses another kiss, wet, to the corner of her mouth, then trails them across her cheek and down her neck. Through cracked eyes, Yunho can see Mingi watching, glass half-full, leaning against the doorframe. Yunho can feel the whisky-warmth vicariously, burning throat through belly. She sighs when Seonghwa squeezes her hips and says, “I wanna fuck you.”
“Yeah.” Her hands hesitate, then land on Seonghwa’s bare shoulders as she steps them towards the bedroom. Her eyes shut again when she drags her tongue over her pulse. “Can you– Can you use your thigh harness?” she asks quietly. It’s only the three of them, their shared breathing, and the muffled street sounds outside. Yunho feels incubated and over-loud. “It’s a, like, proper one, right?”
Seonghwa hums, warm and lightly amused, “Do you like leather? Shall I keep it all on for now?” and Yunho nods, as much as she can with Seonghwa in her neck. She’s sure she notices her throat work, that dry-mouth nervousness of asking for what she wants. “Okay. We can start there,” she’s assured, threading her fingers through her hair and guiding her mouth back down, “as a warm-up. Do you like being watched?”
Mingi laughs. She can hear him coming closer in the creak of floorboards. “It's a bit late to ask that.”
“Be quiet,” Seonghwa quips. Yunho laughs, more breath than anything, into her mouth.
“Yeah,” she says, “but I– I want you both involved. Not just– watching.”
“Oh, we know that.” Yunho jolts at Mingi’s hands on her, his voice low and teasing behind her ear. He touches her shoulders, her arms, fingers catching in the crochet, maps out her waist and the lower hem of her cami. His hands run forward over her stomach, up her ribs, until he’s cupping her breasts over the fabric.
Yunho melts into the feeling, thoroughly warmed through by two bodies closing her in. They’re past the threshold of their bedroom. She can feel the catch of a warm, tufted rug under her socked feet. Seonghwa sucks on her tongue, hands on the small of her back, and Mingi squeezes, lifts, kneads.
Yunho’s fingers curl over Seonghwa’s skin; “I can take it off,” she offers when she can get enough air in. She pulls the bolero and cami off at once and lets both drop tangled by their feet. Her arms still raised, she hears Seonghwa let out a tight breath.
“So pretty,” she says, and her hands replace Mingi’s. Her nipples bud up rosy between the cool of her fingers. Yunho doesn’t know where to put her arms down except for around her shoulders, so she does, shivering. Behind them, a lamp clicks on, flooding the room sunset yellow. Yunho tries to look around, but Seonghwa’s hands are insistent. “Same colour as your blush.”
That draws a flustered laugh out of her. Mingi steps back behind her and she feels his grin against her ear. “Um. Thanks.”
Seonghwa just smiles up at her, unashamed. “Are they sensitive?”
“Not very–” Her mouth parts when Mingi’s hand replaces one of hers and she realises just how different they are: thicker where Seonghwa’s are slender, rougher where hers are softer. “But it– feels nice.”
As if to test, she pinches her nipple, watches Yunho’s tongue press to her teeth, then lets Mingi take over. He’s sucking a mark just behind her ear like he’s staking a claim, and Yunho bites her lip to stop the winded moan in her chest escaping so early.
But it’s still there, not quite stifled enough to go unnoticed. When Seonghwa hikes her skirt up and pushes her hand between her legs, it gasps out of Yunho, harsh, at the sudden contact.
“Oh, fuck, you’re soaked through.” Seonghwa’s voice is breathy, comes out almost like laughter. Yunho barely catches her footing between their tight tangle of legs. The touch shoots up through her like a stab wound, piercing and urgent, and Seonghwa seems to know it, rubbing three fingers up along the hot seam of her cunt where it’s been mapped out for her. Her underwear is ruined. She’s wet enough that the feeling is barely dulled by the fabric, and she knows Seonghwa can feel everything with how it clings to her. “How long have you been like this, baby?”
“Since–” Yunho moans, can’t help it, when Seonghwa’s fingers undulate. Rocking over her clit like a firm, lapping wave. Mingi holds her back against his chest as she presses forward, and the leather of his trousers sticks to the back of her thighs. She can feel his crotch against her ass like a promise.
“Since you saw the video?” Seonghwa suggests. Her fingers flatten into a wide, blunt pressure against her instead.
Yunho’s brow creases. “Since you licked the cream out my mouth,” she admits. Seonghwa groans, pulls her hand away, and Yunho bucks her hips forward at the loss, but Mingi’s hand is turning her chin towards him, and his tongue is thick and hot as it steals the complaint off her own.
His mouth is firmer, unyielding. Charged. She tries to meet his pace, hands fumbling back to grab what she can reach, mouth open. Yunho barely notices Seonghwa step away, only notices when she hears, from somewhere to their left, the rolling sound of a drawer opening. Her skirt is unzipped to pool at her feet, and Mingi drags his lips back along her jaw. Yunho just barely flutters her eyes open, and the sight she’s met with makes her legs shake.
Opposite, past the mass of their king-size bed taking up most of the room, their wardrobe is cramped beside their window. In the mirror door, she can see herself: the uninterrupted swathe of her skin, the pink flush down her neck; Mingi, wider than she is, crowding her from behind and hooking both thumbs through her underwear. When she nods, he starts peeling them off, and Seonghwa settles herself on the bed in front of her. When she leans back on her elbows, bathed golden, Yunho watches the muscles in her back shift before bringing herself to look at the rest of her.
She can’t believe this is really happening. The dildo Seonghwa chose is black, a little wide towards the base, curving just slightly towards her stomach from her thigh. There’s a lube bottle nestled within her reach on the sheets. Yunho swallows down the saliva flooding her mouth; Mingi kisses the side of her neck and nudges her the final couple of steps forward, until Seonghwa’s tipping her head back to look up at her, and Yunho has no choice but to look down at her expression.
Her stomach clenches. The want is there, simmering, but when Seonghwa smiles at her, her face is too soft for Yunho’s own good. “Come here, baby.”
Parting her legs, the feel of the cold air against the hot flush between them is enough to make her blush through to the tips of her ears. Her knees fit either side of Seonghwa’s thigh and she spreads them wider to accommodate. When Yunho hesitates, she hums an encouragement, low and sweet; Yunho takes a deep breath and pulls herself over the arch of her strap.
The head is cool, too, dragging down her cunt. Her hand reaches back between her legs to steady it in place. The want rattles through her, this close to the having of it. At the edge of her vision, she sees Seonghwa’s mouth part, a question halfway past her lips and her hand around the lube bottle, but Yunho shakes her head and lets it press in.
She moves her hand out of the way. It hovers above the sheets next to Seonghwa, some attempt to keep her balance, her other resting on her own thigh. The first couple inches fill her like relief, then she breathes out, adjusts the set of her knees, and presses down past what goes easy. She can’t look up from the rise and fall of Seonghwa’s chest under her. She stares, lashes fluttering, at the dark, stiff buds of her nipples and sinks lower. She imagines herself leaning down, pulling them between her teeth; imagines Seonghwa holding her head against the small, soft swell of her breast and fucking up into her.
“Usually people need prep, you know,” Seonghwa murmurs. Yunho starts to smile, sheepish, but her expression melts away quickly. The length is nothing more than her go-to at home, but the angle takes a bit more work. She lifts herself up again, bears back down. She can feel the strap filling her a little further each time she does. Her thighs tack to Seonghwa’s leather, and the friction squeaks red-hot against her skin. With each pass, it gets easier to take it.
Opening up like this, sat wide across Seonghwa’s lap, feels like an exhibition of herself. Her own arousal, out in the open, fed back with each slick, wet inch rocking smoother and smoother into her. It makes her laugh, self-conscious and breathless; alight and impatient.
“Messy,” Seonghwa breathes. She takes her in for one more suspended moment above her, then pulls her down for a kiss. “You like it?”
“Y–Yeah. It's deep,” Yunho manages. Legs spread, folded over to meet her mouth and hands clinging to her body now, she has no choice but to sink down all the way, take it into her gut before rocking up again.
“Deep enough?” She makes a strangled noise; it makes Seonghwa laugh, and her hand tangles up in her hair. “Never,” she answers for her, smiling. “I know your type. So hot. Bet you're usually laying and taking it, hm?”
“I–” She snags hold. The bite of it across her scalp makes Yunho's eyes flutter, her back straighten and her hips twitch, any self-defence lost to the feeling. It sends her off-rhythm. Her nails scratch at Seonghwa's arms as she tries to find it again.
Mingi laughs somewhere behind Yunho's head, held in place. "You can hear her getting wetter."
"'Cause she's imagining it, aren't you?" Seonghwa's other hand squeezes, then her palm is pushing against her hip bone, encouraging her movements. Yunho bites her lip and tries to match pace. The sound, loud and wet, makes her face hot. "She's so obvious."
"Is it embarrassing?" Mingi asks to her ear. "Being so easy?"
"F–Fuck," she manages, eloquent, nearly incredulous with how turned on she is. Mingi's hand is flat to her lower back, following her rocking like a branding.
"You look so polite," he continues. "Nobody would think you'd take it so well."
"I– Fuck, I can take more." It leaves Yunho’s mouth like a gust of wind. Not quite ashamed, but not unashamed enough to not feel like a confession.
Seonghwa’s eyes flit up to her. Mingi's so close Yunho can feel his smile on the skin of her shoulder.
“Yeah?” he asks. She can hear it in his voice, the implication, the mental image strung up between the three of them.
Yunho wets her lips and nods. She wants it. All at once, overwhelmingly. So bad that saying it barely bites, and she grinds down on Seonghwa’s thigh. “Yeah, I want– I wanna take you both.”
"Fuck," Seonghwa breathes. Mingi laughs behind her, running his other hand down her stomach.
"It's a weakness, mm?" he sympathises.
"Yeah,” Seonghwa answers. “Femmes with big appetites." She smiles, too. Glittering. Yunho moans, lips bitten, and grinds against her harder. "So pretty and ungrateful. I wanna give them whatever they want."
"Please," Yunho sighs. Her face warms at the shift in Seonghwa’s expression, the realisation, then just as she opens her mouth to—salvage some reputation? Explain?—Mingi’s fingers are rolling over her clit.
“Oh, fuck—” She folds over herself as much as his arm wrapped around her allows, words lost. Mingi keeps talking, as she guesses he likes to, “Shameless,” murmured to the skin just behind her ear, and both of Seonghwa’s hands are on her hips now, ticklish until they’re not. The cusp is so close and electric. “Keep moving.”
“Oh, my god. Fuck. I’m– I'm gonna–”
“Yeah? You working hard for it?” Mingi goads. His fingers speed up, deft. Yunho nods, fast, and he laughs. "You sat on it for two minutes."
“Don’t stop,” Seonghwa reminds her. Shit. Yunho squeezes her eyes shut and tries to get her legs to work again, but every rock forward pushes her into the stimulation of Mingi’s hand.
“Fuck, please,” she gasps, sounding worse for wear than she thought she would.
Seonghwa squeezes her. “Work for it.”
“I am, I am, I am,” she rushes, or pleads, “I– Hah–”
“Right there?”
Yunho screws her eyes shut tighter. Every shift inside her seems to feedback to Mingi’s fingers. “Yesyesyes, please.”
“You wanna come?” he says, like it’s not obvious. Yunho nods, anyway.
“Go on, then,” Seonghwa says. “Show us.”
It’s like a bow snapping. Mingi’s arm around her tightens and the orgasm shakes through her, hard and messy. The kind she gets when she hasn’t got off for days and finally has the spare time and privacy to get something inside of her.
Seonghwa’s grip loosens on her hips to let her ride it out. Her hands move instead, smoothing over her legs and body, leather catching where she hasn’t sweat enough yet. The feeling only barely fizzles. “You’re getting my leather all wet.”
Yunho somehow apologises, half-laughing. She feels Seonghwa grin, then lean up and kiss her chin, and pull her flush to her leg. Her bare ass against her thigh, slick with her cum as she’s encouraged to ride it out. She doesn’t think she could stop her hips even if she wanted to, not when Seonghwa’s pressing up against her just right, not when it’s so easy to come again.
Her legs shake harder this time. It pushes out of her, against the weight of Seonghwa inside her, and Mingi pulls her up some to cope with the sensation. Shit, she thinks. The strap slips out and she’s tipped over onto her back. Shit, she can feel herself dripping.
“Fuck,” she summises, eloquent, breathless. Her head is swimming from the change in angle, a blood rush through her ears, and around her, she hears them both laugh, feels Mingi's nudging her legs apart to lean over and fit between them. His hand grips the seam of her thigh, an inch from where she wants it, as he comes into focus above her. He must have stripped his vest off when she was distracted. His bare torso is on show from the slope of his shoulders down to the promise of his happy trail, trim and soft, his stupid chain dangling around his stupid neck. Just as Yunho bucks her hips up, silent plea, Seonghwa leans over his back, takes his jaw in hand, and turns his head towards her mouth.
Hungry is the only word she can think of. Yunho gasps as his fingers slide over her anyway, drag through the wet of her pussy like muscle memory. Mingi moans around Seonghwa’s thorough tongue, hinges his jaw open wider. Just like the video, Yunho can see her tongue press in, slick and insistent, now more than just the glint of spit in the camera. She tries to form a word, anything. Two of Mingi's fingers dip into her, then roll slick over her clit; Seonghwa relinquishes her grip just as Yunho keens.
“Mm, I’m gonna get freshened up, love.” She strokes Yunho's hair back off her forehead. The feeling unfurls down her back, seems to join where Mingi’s massaging every nerve she has in her stomach to heat her through. "I’ve been covered in body oil for, like, six hours. Don’t get too carried away whilst I’m in the shower, hm?"
“Won’t,” Yunho manages, panting. There’s sweat budding along her hairline, under Seonghwa’s fingers. Above her, she smiles, leans down and kisses her temple before she slips away, and Mingi fills her vision before she gets a chance to reorient herself.
Fuck, this hair looks so good on him. So deliciously masc, softening and sharpening his face in equal measure. Yunho tilts her chin up, and Mingi takes stock of her, mouth slack with concentration, then leans down and drags his tongue along her jaw.
The en suite door clicks shut. His fingers press inside her again, then stay, rocking steady and even into the clutch of her pussy. “Mingi,” she starts, inhibitions lowered. Everything smells like sex. Above her, the shadows stretching long and thin across the ceiling, elongated by the lamplight, seem to blur at the edges. His body is a hot anchor, mouth burning down her throat, then her chest, then her tits. His tongue unfurls past his teeth, over and over her nipple until she’s arching off the mattress towards it. His trousers are still on, crotch pressed down against her thigh.
The hot water pipes rumble to life. Yunho’s hand finds his nape, scratching. “Mingi,” she gasps again.
“Mm?” he prompts, distracted. His free hand squeezes her breast, brings it up towards his eager mouth. Inside her, she feels his fingers spread, over and over, like he’s committing her to memory.
“Can y–” She wets her lips, lashes fluttering. “Do you wanna– I wanna get you off, do you– Can I eat you out?”
Mingi laughs, too loud for the proximity. Yunho blushes, then bristles: “What?”
“You act like you’re shy,” Mingi says in explanation, propping himself up on his free arm. His handsome face, well-worked mouth, his wonky, toothy grin, and the constant press of his fingers inside her. Yunho’s ready to beg. “Why pretend?”
“‘M not shy,” she tries, “I just–”
He kisses her again, bruising. The fever of his tongue makes her ache, the promise of his enthusiasm. His fingers leave her empty, and he smears her own wetness against the inside of her thigh before getting up off the bed. “Yeah,” he answers, belatedly. “I wanna sit on your pretty face.”
Oh, fuck. Yunho’s not sure if the yes makes it out her mouth. She hears his trousers land heavy on the floor, then he’s leaning over her on the bed. “Lift your head,” he instructs. Mingi shoves a pillow under her neck, bringing him back into view as he climbs over her body.
The mattress dips either side of her under his knees. Yunho feels her pussy weep once he’s bracketing her head. He's hairy, so hairy, running thick and coarse across his inner thighs and back between the cleft of his ass. His bush curls damp and messy around his clit, swollen dark and prominent, and Yunho wants to crane her neck, bury herself in the sweaty crease of his thigh and breathe him in, but instead, she flattens her tongue and rolls her eyes up to Mingi's face.
He tangles a hand in her hair, already watching, and lowers himself down against her mouth with a breathless smile.
It's a headrush: the heady, close smell of him, thick with arousal, how the world becomes smaller with his thighs so close to her ears, caging her in. She lathes through his folds to catch the salty-sweet spill of him all the way back across her tongue and nearly whimpers.
“Fuck, it’s a shame Seonghwa’s missing out,” Mingi grits above her. It’s motivation enough, hearing the effort in his voice and knowing it’s her doing. “She loves giving head, just like this.” Yunho moans, muffled, as she pushes the hood of his clit back and rolls her tongue over and over him, gathering spit in her mouth to push it back against each grind along her tongue. Mingi bites into the plush swell of his bottom lip and looks at her like he wants to ruin her.
“Yeah,” he pants, “that’s it. Fuck,” His grip adjusts in her hair and he bears down further against her mouth. His own is hanging open again now, wet and pretty. “Yeah, suck it.”
Yunho squeezes her thighs together. It does little to take the edge off, lips closing around his clit, tongue rolling and rolling over it as she does just that. She can feel the slick down her chin, the mix of Mingi and her own spit escaping her lips. Her brow creases the tighter Mingi holds her and the firmer he rocks his hips into the sensation.
“Yeah, ‘m gonna come,” he mutters. His brow furrows, concentrated. His mouth is open and panting. “Your mouth feels so good. Keep going, make me come down your throat. Yeah, that’s it, that’s it,” he hisses, rocking his hips in tight, tight circles, “I’m gonna—”
Yunho barely keeps her eyes open. She watches as his whole body shudders and he spills over her tongue, gasping, grinding. He throws his head back, gifts her the sight of his working throat, then his eyes sharp are on hers again. It’s all the warning she gets for him climbing off her face and straddling her leg.
She manages one big breath in and some harsh blinks of her eyes before he’s kissing her, hard, and his palm is pressing down over her cunt.
“F–Fuck,” she chokes, urgent and muffled by his mouth. He licks the sound out before it can fully form. She’s sure he can taste himself, rubbed salty between their tongues. His fingers are at her entrance; Yunho nods, vigorous, and two slip back into her easily.
“Fuck,” he curses, rougher now, “you get so wet.”
“Y–You tasted good,” Yunho counters with a gasp as he presses in one more. “God,” she groans when he spreads them inside her, “you’re s–so good with them.”
Mingi sucks on her lip. His free hand tangles back into her hair. “My fingers?” As if to punctuate, he rocks them in and out faster. “You’ve taken three so easy. Want more?”
Yunho’s brow creases. She nods, unable to help herself, and Mingi slips out of her. When his fingers come back, she can feel the stretch where his pinky’s tucked in.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Mingi pants. His nose skirts her jaw, then his lips find where her pulse is hammering. She exhales, hard. “You’re up to my knuckles now.”
He goes slow and deliberate, like he wants to mould her to the shape of his hand. She can feel each notch of his fingers, the firm line of his knuckles pulling her open over and over as he thrusts in until she’s too loose to put up a fight. It’s so good when he gets punchy, presses the pads of his fingers right where she wants them but nowhere near fast enough.
His thumb presses against her inner thigh with each pass. Yunho’s stomach burns. “M–Mingi,” she manages, whispered. “I can take it.”
She bears down on his hand, proving a point, as he fucks in as far as his thumb allows. The feeling rips through her. He grips the hair on the crown of her head harder. Against her neck, she’s sure she feels his teeth.
“Please.” The pipes seem to rattle louder in the walls. She digs her heels into the mattress and works her hips up, up, driving against the push of him. “Fucking stretch me out,” Yunho gasps, “please.”
“Please, please, please,” Mingi mimics. He pulls his head up to look at her. His eyes are razor sharp, like she’s pulling him into focus. “You like that word.”
“It’s– Hah, good manners,” Yunho manages to joke. Every time he sinks in, she feels it. The catch of his thumb like a tease. Any attempt at a smile falls away from her mouth again. “Please, Mingi—”
“You don’t even need to beg. I’m not taking it from you,” he says. Then, letting her hair go and sitting up properly, “Don’t think I could if I tried.”
Yunho shivers without his body heat covering her. Her eyes follow him as he sits back on his heels. “Please, I want—”
“More.” Mingi presses his tongue to his teeth and fucks in harsh enough that Yunho chokes a little. “More,” He fucks in again, “more,” and again, spare hand fumbling beside her hip, “more.”
His pace is quick now, forceful. Yunho barely notices him finding the lube, only catches up when the cool jolt of it drips down her pussy. “You done this before?” he asks her, stilling deep inside her and dragging his thumb through it.
Yunho wets her mouth. It takes a moment to find her words again, and she mumbles, “A couple times,” as he draws out and presses back in. This time, his thumb’s there too, packed in with his fingers. Yunho lets out a shaky breath. “O–Oh, shit.”
She feels it catch, then give a moment later. The drag through her makes her eyes roll. “I can tell. Fuck,” Mingi laughs, bowing back over her again; she feels his nose press into her cheek and turn her head to the side. “Can you see yourself?”
He rocks his fist, just a little. Just over the catch of his thumb knuckle again, so she can feel the give again. Yunho forces her eyes to focus, find his in the wardrobe’s mirror door across from them. Her body is lax beneath him. She can see his arm flexing, but not where she’s being stretched open. She can see the working curve of his back, his dark eyes locked on her, her own face twisting through the stimulation. She can see him watching her watch herself with his mouth parted, damp to her skin.
As if unconnected to her, Yunho sees her hand skate shaky down her stomach, and he hums, pleased. “Wanna touch yourself?” he asks her reflection.
“C–Can’t decide.” Yunho’s gaze wavers. Mingi presses a wet kiss to her cheek, fucking her more confidently now there’s less resistence. Arousal seems to balloon inside her. “I–I’m close.”
“Mm, wanna come from just my hand?” Mingi leans over her until he’s covering her vision, pulling her to the him above her instead of in the mirror, the him fucking her with his whole hand, and back into the seat of her body: part of her, and so close to orgasm it hurts. “You take it so fucking well, Yunho. Want to see my cock inside you.”
Yunho feels herself nod, fast. “Y–Yeah, I want– I want it.”
“I know you do. All my neighbours do.” Mingi fucks her an inch faster. “I bet Seonghwa can hear your pussy over the water.”
Yunho comes. Her moan struggles out of her, stomach cramping as she folds over herself, thighs trying to clamp shut around Mingi’s hand. “Like that,” he groans, “fuck, all over me. Fuck.” His thumb is pushed out and it’s three of his fingers now, fucking into her as she tries to take a whole breath in and untense her body. It doesn’t work. The orgasm seems to swell and crash out of her. Mingi exhales, hard, and drags his fingers from her cunt like it’s wounding him.
Yunho gasps at the loss. He’s off her, moving around the other side of the bed. She looks, following, in the mirror door, at his ass as he pulls his harness on, then at herself, hair messy and sweat-stuck to her forehead, stomach heaving to catch her breath, the blotchy red of her cheeks.
Debauched, she thinks. Mingi slips back onto the bed and between her legs, and reorients her in the room, under him, as he strokes lube down the length of his strap and rests it heavy across her stomach. Dirty.
“Want it?” he asks, watching her face carefully. It’s a check-in, Yunho can sense it in the slow, firm way he holds her hip now, how he waits for her to look at him and answer.
She feels like she has a beating heart between her legs. “Yeah,” she affirms, breathy and urgent. She wets her lips, chapped, and sets her legs a little wider around Mingi’s body. There’s a weak smile on her face, splintered by how close she still is, when she adds, “Please.”
At the first press in, her eyes roll. His strap is only a bit bigger than Seonghwa’s earlier, fills her so smoothly with the cusp of her last orgasm barely plateauing as she rushes towards her next. It comes up under her again quickly, when Mingi’s barely set a rhythm. Yunho’s hands dig at his back.
“You already gonna come again?” His hips kiss her pelvis with every rolling thrust into her. Fucking into her stomach then drawing back out through the wet mess of her. Both his hands are free now, so he drops to his elbows, slips them under her arms and sinks his fingers through her hair. Yunho throws her own around his neck instead as he presses their sweaty temples together. “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” he coos as her body draws up tight, shivering belly, hands clutching at him, and keeps sinking deep into her until she comes: again, again, again.
At some point, a door opens and closes. Yunho hears it, registers it in some distant backdoor of her mind that isn’t getting fucked out of her. Mingi grunts, keeps her flush to his torso as he rolls them both over, and Yunho moans, wounded, when his strap slips out.
He sets his legs apart, kisses her, slower now than before, almost steadying, and asks she turn around for him. As soon as she does, his hand is back, holding her against his chest, and the other is urging her back down onto him, all the way, until his cock is buried in her again.
A hand brushes up her ankle. “Ready, baby?”
Yunho looks up, past their legs, to the edge of the bed. Seonghwa's smiling at her, and that brief glimpse of what she saw at the bar, pride and pleasure, is spread easy over her features. Her hair is limp and choppy against her face, damp with sweat and limned by lamplight. She's naked save her underwear and the harness cinched right on top of it, her strap heavier now, clear and lubed and luminescent, and Yunho wants it.
She thinks of the saints back in Catholic school, the ones she'd stare at in the stained glass when mass dragged on and on every Monday. When Seonghwa shifts forward, it makes the light stream out around her from the cracked bathroom door behind. It's the visitation Yunho never got, in all those years of praying for it. She's found it in a cramped one-bed flat in Hackney with her pussy aching.
"Yepoda," Seonghwa murmurs, taking her cheek in hand. Yunho's face falls into it. Mingi's hips kick, a jolt all the way through her, crease her brow. A reminder. Seonghwa brushes her lip; she lets her mouth be toyed with. "So spaced out, hm? I can’t leave you two alone.” She pouts, faux-sympathy that falls over Yunho like a mist of pins and needles. “Tell me what you want."
Her thumb trails her gums. She feels herself drool. "You," lisped against her thumb.
"You want both of us, hm? Can you take it?"
Mingi laughs faintly behind her, something like turned-on disbelief. His hands squeeze an inch tighter. Yunho's breath stutters when Seonghwa presses over her tongue.
"Yeath," she tries. Seonghwa leans in closer, setting her knees on the bed between their legs. "Wan' both."
"Greedy."
The head nudges her clit. Yunho feels it spark through to her fingertips. Mingi must notice, feel, the aftershock, because he shifts, holds her tighter. Peripherally, she sees Seonghwa's free hand duck between her legs, and the touch drags down, pulling through her, to where Mingi has her stretched out and waiting.
One more check-in, a dart of blown-out eyes across her face. Yunho can't hope to know what expression she's making, much less school it. This is the part she wants. When all hope of control is gone, all that's left to do is feel it. Then she does: Seonghwa pushing in. Her eyes flicker wide.
"Breathe out," Seonghwa whispers. The strung-out whimper must be her, because Mingi runs hands down her sides, firm and soothing, and pants a kiss to her shoulder. "And take it."
I will, I will—Yunho exhales, long and stuttering, and Seonghwa sinks in deeper, and the noise strangles, desperate. The burn is impossible, and yet Seonghwa carves her open, centimetre at a time, and even if she feels her legs start trembling, she takes it. Seonghwa puts a hand there instead, on her inner thigh, squeezing at the tendon. It's too much, but she takes it. Mingi, in her belly. Seonghwa, joining. The two of them touching through her.
One of them curses, low and disbelieving, and there are fingers in her mouth again, gathering spit, then, fuck, they're run either side of her clit, distraction enough for Seonghwa to inch in further still. They kiss over her shoulder and the image in her mind, the wet sound in her ear, makes her shake. Seonghwa pulling Mingi's bottom lip with her teeth, then meeting him with her tongue; the delicious furrow of Mingi's brow, concentrated, like earlier as he fucked four fingers into her; each straining closer, with only her body in the way. Just open passage to have each other through, stretching her up to her throat.
She's full in a way that feels irreversible. Like the next person who fucks her will know what they did to her tonight, and how much she fucking liked it.
God, she's close again.
"It–" Yunho tries to get her tongue around her words, "it's s–so–"
"Take it," Mingi breaks the kiss to reiterate, hot by her ear. It's intoned near enough to a threat that Yunho's eyes roll. A whine is silenced half-way out by a flat, placating hand on her chest. Mingi's fingers still featherlight next to her clit, close but not close enough. Mingi's cock sliding an inch out for Seonghwa to slip all the way in to replace him; a pause, then he's pressing back up, and the pleasure-pain of the stretch, the ache up into her stomach, rips something like a plea out her throat anyway.
"It's s-so much," she manages to gasp.
"Yeah," Mingi agrees. They shift again. the ache grows, blossoms; she finds her hands somewhere on Seonghwa's forearm and Mingi's wrist. "We're fucking you full."
Yunho's gaze flickers up to see Seonghwa's still looking down at her. One hand is free to wander, from its grip in Mingi's hair all down her body. She pinches a nipple, thumbs her labia open, watches Mingi's fingers roll her clit, fat and throbbing, and her strap sink in to stretch her wide each time.
"You gonna come, baby?" she asks, rapt, and rolls her hips harder to punctuate. Her hand moves, presses on her tummy. She fucks in again and Yunho groans, gutteral, and thinks, in a flash of panic, delicious and far away, she might burst into tears.
She nods, furiously. Mingi's barely nudging his hips up now, holding her sat on his strap like an anchor for Seonghwa to work in, and around, and in, fucking her more fluidly now, meeting the weight of her strap with the hard press of her palm some deep place inside of her. Yunho doesn't realise she's there until the edge is up under her and Mingi presses fingers down over her.
“Fuck,” she chokes, strained, “Mingi— Mingi, Seonghwa, I'm—” Her face crumples, “Fuck, pleasepleaseplease—”
She hears Mingi curse behind her. Seonghwa holds her gaze, something fiery. “Please what?” she asks.
There’s sweat slipping down her jawline. Yunho watches the light catch, then splinter into a starburst. “P–Ple—ase, oh, fuck, I'm c–oming so hard—”
A sob pushes up through her as her body shudders. Seonghwa grips her shoulders to keep fucking her. Spine straight, brow creased, singularly focussed. It feels like she’s doing it to keep her together, so she doesn’t blur apart into astigmatism lights, too. She gasps, and gasps, until, at some point, the tears finally come and spill over. She’s only in the seat of herself enough to register Seonghwa kissing her deep and thorough, and realise the rhythm has switched, that Mingi’s the one pressing up and up into her now.
“Such a pretty girl,” Seonghwa whispers to her. Her hands slide up the sides of her neck, frame her face. Mingi’s are everywhere on her: her hip, ass, stomach, tits. Squeezing. Pawing. She’s so fucking full. “Take it a little longer, hm?” she requests, wiping her thumbs over her cheeks. “That’s not hard for you, is it?”
Yunho can’t nod, can’t answer much of anything. She realises, at some point between Seonghwa kissing her again and Mingi panting wet against her shoulder, that he’s getting off, too. It makes her want to help. To move, to angle herself for the strap to press just right against him, but her body feels like a foreign object. She’s further away from it than she’s managed to be in a good while.
The gratitude is so big it feels misplaced and unbearable, but contained so long as Seonghwa holds her head like this.
“Aigoo, she’s so gone. She can’t stop shaking,” she murmurs. Her fingers scratch through her hairline, brush over her ears enough to make her shudder. “Sweetheart,” Seonghwa adds, much closer, over Yunho’s shoulder, “be a good boy and come.”
Mingi moans, loud now. Somehow, Yunho finds his hands, gripping hold of her hips and chest, and squeezes them. He’s grinding into and into her. “Mm, please,” she pants as Mingi shakes under her, “please—”
“Fuck,” he swears to her shoulder, holding her down against him as it hits. The sensation sits inside Yunho and seems to bloom. Vaguely, she hears Seonghwa speak honey-sweet past her ear, but she’s not quite tuned in enough to decipher her words. She isn’t sure if she comes again, or if just it’s the feeling of being pressed between them now, fuzzy and hot and seemingly unending.
They both ease out, though. Seonghwa first, slow with a steadying hand on Yunho’s chest, then Mingi lifts her from his lap and she’s eased onto her back. The ceiling swims above her when she finally blinks her eyes open again. She knows she’s going to be feeling the effects, as soon as the afterglow begins to ebb away and she can relocate her body, in every sore, tired muscle.
Seonghwa kisses Mingi sweetly on the mouth and tells him to get cleaned up. He vanishes into the flat and comes back with two glasses of water before heading to the shower. Yunho takes three gulps when Seonghwa passes one to her, sitting up only enough to not waterboard herself, then slumps back against their duvet as soon as she’s done.
She can sense Seonghwa laughing at her, the held-back rumble of it as she twists to set the glass back on the dresser. Yunho’s mouth twitches into what it can imitate of sheepishness right now, but all the muscles in her body can’t seem to hold their shape.
She should be more self-conscious, part of Yunho chastises, laying naked and sticky across two strangers' sheets. Yunho can't find the will in her to be at all, though, when Seonghwa turns to her again, sitting by her hip with her legs tucked under her, a damp, warm flannel in hand. She runs it down her clavicle and the sensation flutters through her, soothing all the sparking ends of her nerves and warding off the discomfort of sweat and lube drying on her. “You can shower, too,” she tells her, “obviously. I just didn't want to make you move yet.”
“Yeah, ‘m made of jelly right now,” Yunho mumbles. She exhales, slow, as Seonghwa passes over her stomach, and smiles. “Thank you.”
“Mm, it's our pleasure. Can I?” Yunho nods, lets her run it along the creases of her thigh and between her legs. “Mm. Pretty,” she murmurs, eyeing what Yunho’s sure is the puffy wet mess of herself. “I wanna give it a kiss.”
Her face scrunches up, embarrassed laughter she hasn't really got the bones for right now shaking out of her anyway. Seonghwa grins, satisfied. “You’re so weird,” she mumbles.
“I’m being honest,” Seonghwa answers, unfazed. Once Yunho’s wiped down, she stands to place the flannel by their glasses.
Yunho turns her head towards her on their pillows, watching. Her eyes drag up her body, half-turned away, then back down the length of her torso. “Did you also– You know.”
She lets the question fall away. Seonghwa settles back on the bed next to her. “Get off?” she supplies. “Yeah. In the bathroom, listening to you eat Min out.” She pulls both legs up again, wrapping her arms around her knees and shrugging. “I prefer it that way.”
Yunho nods, biting back a smile. She’s coming back into her brain, one thought at a time. for better or worse. Soon, she sounds a weak complaint, then drags her hands over her face. “I can't believe I have work tomorrow."
“What time? Is it far?”
“Afternoon. Three-ish.” Yunho tries to calculate the journey in her head, but thinking about Citymapper right now only makes her miserable. Her arms flop back onto the bed. “Eh, yeah. Anywhere is far from my place.”
Seonghwa hums her commiseration. “If you stay over, Mingi will send you off with breakfast.”
It’s offered easily, almost as though it were a given. Yunho had thought it, sometime between her getting worked up in the Uber and climbing up to their flat. She’s glad Seonghwa was the one to bring it up. “Would that be okay?” she asks. “I'll have to text my friends, but that would be great. I know it’s probably late by now.”
“Yeah. We have a massive bed,” she says, smiling and gesturing an arm at the crumpled sheets, “and I stock pile toothbrushes whenever they’re on offer.”
Yunho finds herself thinking that makes sense, in the grand scheme of what she's learnt about Seonghwa over the last few hours. “I wish there was an app to rate hook-ups,” she mumbles, smiling tiredly. “Like for hotels. Five star amenities.”
Seonghwa seems to find the idea funny, too. “Do we get docked for the location?”
Yunho hums, faux-thoughtful. “It's a little far out, but the hosts offer a full package experience to make up for it.” It makes Seonghwa laughs, loud and delighted into her knees.
Yunho slips into the bathroom once Mingi emerges looking like a freshly-washed chick. Seonghwa sends her in with a towel, a toothbrush, a pair of Mingi’s sweatpants and one of her old shirts, stretched out around the neck. The bathroom door is ajar, just enough for the sound to carry as Mingi digs around for his own sleep shirt.
“You’ve got face cream on your nose,” Seonghwa comments. Mingi makes a confused noise, then Yunho hears the mattress shift. In front of her, the mirror is still foggy from his shower, clearing in patches. “Gone now. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” Mingi answers, sluggish and soft with sleep. “Tired.”
“Mm. Me too.”
“I told you, performing there’s not that scary. You were so good.”
“Mm. I liked it. And this,” Seonghwa adds, “I’d do this again.”
Yunho opens her fresh toothbrush and sets it on the lip of the sink, next to the cup with both of theirs as Mingi hums. “She’s staying over, right?”
“‘Course. I promised her your breakfast tomorrow, by the way.”
Mingi tsks. Yunho reaches past their shower curtain and, after a few moments studying their shower, figures out the hot water. “You just want it for yourself,” he accuses through the wall, and Seonghwa laughs, conceding, as Yunho smiles and lets the spray wash over her aching, sated body.