“You seem so upset–is it keeping you up at night? You know…” One finger draws down the line of their abdomen, not quite touching themselves but making it clear they’re asking if he jacked off to walking in on them with an underclassman.
“Jesus Christ–”
The soft little gasp is mocking, almost tips him over the edge. Hands form into fists.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
Their eyes linger over his lips, suspiciously entertained as Wonho fights to control his expression.
“You shouldn’t say shit like that.” He’s already slipping up, forgetting to watch his words. There’s a stutter to his actions, a half-pause before he commits to finding clothes back into his duffle bag. Eyes jump toward the floor, looking anywhere but at the source of such apprehension. “People will get the wrong idea about you.”
Yuri smiles. It’s stiff and unlike their easy grin seconds before.
“Is that right?”
Wonho feels the strap dig into his shoulder before he slings it over and drops it to the ground. He’s ready to run out, but stays near the opposite end. Straight across from them.
“I have a girlfriend.”
Feeling like he has every reason to say it, and yet the warning only makes Yuri laugh.
“I’m sure you do,” they agree, dragging out each word slowly. Unconvinced in some way.
Wonho chooses to ignore them, turning around to undress. For the first time, he’s hyper aware of eyes on his spine. There had been times before with teammates, when his own gaze might linger once or twice. But this was different. This time they were alone, and Yuri was without hesitation.
“Vollyball practice is on the other side of the school,” he mentions casually, resisting the urge to turn around. He’s afraid they might have come closer. After a beat of silence, he’s even almost afraid they left him and embarrassment over his own paranoia flares up.
Feet scuff against the floor. They sit down beside the bench behind him. The tense posture in his frame immediately releases.
“I know. I saw you at one of our games.”
Wonho swallows, undoing the button of his pants. He hesitates.
“You’re a good player–one of the best.”
He never did compliment people easily, and he does not dare look at them when he says so. Yuri seems unaffected, expression almost bored before a slow smile pulls at pretty lips.
“That’s nice of you, hyung.” Their head falls to the side, pulling at a platinum earring. “I wish you’d whisper it into my ear.”
Hands react, fisting the front of their clothes, lockers rattling when he shoves them up against metal. He can smell them, his face hangs so close–they’re too clean for a spiker, loose strands of hair falling across their forehead. It’s not the same scent he expects–sweat, dirt, and a mixture of the sports drinks they all passed around at practice. They smell freshly showered, too put-together, expectant of this exact situation. As if they had planned it all from the beginning and prepared themselves. Eyes are wide for a split second, before that same knowing grin splits open lips. Wonho does not say a word. His silence is filled with enough warning, fists holding a bloody promise.
“Is this the part where we kiss?”
He lets go, not expecting their grip to deny his response–firm, and quick, fingers curled into the fabric of his jersey. Their mouth smashes against his. Shock is muffled beneath lips, nails digging into their jaw to slam their head back. He does not turn them away or bite the tongue in his mouth. His hands ache for control and that’s what he takes back. Each kiss unwinds him further. Their fingers play at the undone button of his pants, his teeth dragging at their lower lip.
His fist smashes against their jaw, and then again, catching them in the nose. Knuckles pulse with a numb sort of pain. Wonho breathes, sees the red in the lines of his palm. Step back, Get away, as far away as possible.
“No one’s going to believe you,” he finally exhales on a a held breath. It’s your fault.
This is desperately grasping for his old beliefs. Every shaky word is brimming with fear. Blood runs from their nose. They look calm when they glance up at him, blinking once, twice. He had already turned away, barely able to reach the exit before he hears their feet scuff the floor.
“For the record and for what it’s worth–you’re a fantastic kisser.”
The door slams shut behind him.
