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Wonwoo loses his virginity the same spring Seungcheol is elected president of Zeta Omega Mu. Which is to say, Seungcheol hooks him up with a girl he introduces as Sooyoung, lets them use his bedroom, and sticks around to hold Wonwoo's hand through the entire ordeal, because that's what bigs do, right? Later, Mingyu will ask did he touch the girl? and Wonwoo will reply no? and Mingyu will make a face and say dude. Wrong?

Sometime during their hazy pseudo-threesome, Seungcheol slips his arm around Wonwoo's waist, crotch settling against Wonwoo's bare ass, and leans over to mutter into Wonwoo's ear, "You're doing good. Wanna eat her out? Do you want him to eat you out?"

Sooyoung rolls her eyes and lifts her hips up bossily. Her thighs are full and impossibly pale and Wonwoo wants to trace her stretch marks with his teeth. He thinks she's the hottest thing he's ever laid his eyes on. But then there's the outline of Seungcheol's cock pressing into him, his mouth leaving wet marks along the side of his neck, and that's fucking hot too, and Wonwoo—he just really wants to come.

"Ladies first," Seungcheol says, sounding smug. He backs away from Wonwoo to let him slip out of Sooyoung and shuffle down the bed. Wonwoo's dick grazes the sheets with a pinprick jolt of heat. He groans. Leans his clammy forehead against the soft inner flesh of Sooyoung's thigh and breathes in her scent—it's potent and arousing and helps centre him against the titanic storm Choi Seungcheol's brought in here, like dark angry waves crashing into and over a helpless buoy.

Wonwoo eyes her pussy, facing it head-on as though he's in a standoff. It's slick and swollen with hot blood and intimidating. He goes in for the kill, mouth flooding with saliva, but pauses, skidding to a halt. He has no fucking clue what he's doing.

"Hey, don't freak out," Seungcheol says gently, from somewhere beside him, "Ask Sooyoung what she wants."

Sooyoung huffs but instructs Wonwoo through it, telling him to lick here, suck there, until she's got a vice grip around his head, writhing into the sheets with a drawn-out moan, vagina sputtering liquid onto Wonwoo's tongue. He closes his eyes. He's so tired and so, so horny.

"You're a natural, dude," Seungcheol points out, grinning. He holds out his fist in front of Wonwoo's face.

Wonwoo stares at it, sees double, and then bumps his own knuckles against Seungcheol's. "Thanks."

Sooyoung ignores them and shoves Wonwoo onto his back, pushing his legs apart and leaning down purposefully. Seungcheol smirks. "I don't think you need my help with this." He slides off the bed and walks back to the door. "You've got my room until," he glances down at his Rolex, "eleven?"

Wonwoo's wait shifts into a moan when Sooyoung takes him into her mouth. The door clicks shut and five minutes later, Wonwoo orgasms.



With Friday comes a party Wonwoo is completely disinterested in attending. Mingyu says he's the most boring frat boy ever. Wonwoo says he's unique. Mingyu laughs and readjusts his snapback in the mirror.

"Hey, Mingyu," Wonwoo calls out, from where he's lying on his bed, reading Salinger, "You might wanna pop your collar."

Mingyu turns and observes his side profile. "You're right," he says thoughtfully.

A sharp knock on their door interrupts Wonwoo's sike, please don't do that. He goes back to reading about Holden catching a train to NYC, trying to seem inconspicuous and unavailable.

"Bossman's here to see you," Mingyu's saying. Well. He tried.

Seungcheol's leaning against the door-frame, puffed up by his baby pink varsity jacket and looking entirely too handsome. He beams at Wonwoo, and Wonwoo knows he's in for a long night.

He sighs. "What's up, hyung?"

Mingyu's scrammed with a hurried see ya, but Seungcheol hasn't shut the door. The hard bass of an EDM track filters upstairs, like a heartbeat pulsating through the body of the house. He hasn't shut the door, which means there's no way Wonwoo's staying in this room tonight.

"I was hoping you'd like to meet someone," Seungcheol explains.

"A girl?" Wonwoo blurts out, part hopeful, part terrified.

"Yeah," Seungcheol laughs, scratching the back of his neck. "You in?"

Wonwoo glances down at his book, and back up at Seungcheol's eyes, large and droopy and gorgeous, and says, smiling despite himself, "Why the fuck not."



Hyejin is fucking sexy. Like so sexy Wonwoo isn't sure he didn't make her up. And you know what she's doing? Riding him, Jeon Wonwoo. She has her palms braced on Seungcheol's red bedsheets, pushing back against Wonwoo's cock, waist bowing to take him in as deep as he can go. Wonwoo squeezes his hands around her hips. His fingernails scrape up her thighs and she shudders. Widens her stance a centimetre, just enough for him to fully bottom out.

"Don't be gentle," Seungcheol says. His voice is quiet, but firm.

Hyejin clenches around him, as if in agreement. Wonwoo moans, hips pitching forward and he makes his first mistake: glancing up to see Seungcheol's attentive gaze piercing right through him, and holding that eye contact a second too long. He spurs into overdrive, slamming into Hyejin at a frenzied pace, and it's crazy how hot it is—her pretty moans, his pants muffled into her shoulder, the wet sounds of their skin meeting, the music downstairs thrumming through the floor. Seungcheol, completely silent.

Wonwoo's second mistake is whimpering Seungcheol's name as he comes. The soundwaves disappear into Hyejin's skin but Seungcheol rings in Wonwoo's ears for the rest the night like it wants retribution, absolution, whichever comes first.



Less than two years ago, Wonwoo met Seungcheol at a Zeta Omega Mu mixer. Sort of a getting-a-feel-for-it event before the rushing began. Seungcheol slung an arm around Wonwoo's shoulders and stuck a beer in his hand. Back then, his hair was shaggier and it curled around his ears, and his thighs had only just started filling out his jeans. Wonwoo was taken almost immediately.

oh my god, Wonwoo had texted Mingyu. (He'd left Mingyu behind in high school, but Mingyu was set on joining this fraternity. "My cousin, the one you met on Christmas, Minhyuk," Mingyu said eagerly, "he was telling me aaaall about the bonds he made at Zeta Omega Mu. Like real intense blood brothers-type shit. Sounds cool, right? Dicks over chicks, I'm so ready for it."

"I think the phrase is bros over hoes," Wonwoo deadpanned. "You're so weird."

"Same difference." Mingyu shrugged. Anyway, he was the main reason Wonwoo pledged in the end. Seungcheol was the other.) he's so cool. like i think i want him to be my big bro? but not in an incestuous way. just like. in a frat way. but also...

are u saying what i think ur sayin, Mingyu shot back.

stfu. And then, a moment later, yes.

So, Wonwoo ended up being Seungcheol's little brother. Wonwoo can't say this was much of a special position at the time. Seungcheol treated everyone with ceaseless kindness and generosity. He was just that kinda guy. The kinda guy to apparently crowd you against your shower wall, fully-clothed, tug your earlobe between his teeth, and wrap his fingers around your cock.

"How'd you get in here?" Wonwoo gasps. Seungcheol's really good at this for a straight dude. He must jack off a tonne.

Seungcheol laughs. "You think I can't get into your room, Wonwoo?"

"Creep," Wonwoo says, but he's smiling. Seungcheol does something fancy with his wrist, and he whimpers, barely able to string the next question together. "Do you do this with everyone? Is this in the job description, Mr. President?"

Seungcheol grabs Wonwoo's wet chin with his free hand, pressing his forehead against Wonwoo's. His thumb dips into the slit of Wonwoo's cock. "Of course I don't. I'm only yours." And Wonwoo knows what he means, but fuck if yours doesn't sound deliciously appealing.

He doesn't know what to say to something like that, so he just moans, and cants his hips up into Seungcheol's hand.

"I was thinking..." Seungcheol trails off. "How about I paint the picture for you instead?" He waits for Wonwoo to answer the question like Wonwoo even cares.

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead."

"Imagine me on my back. Or," Seungcheol pauses, and bites his lip, "On my hands and knees. There's a noona behind me and she's slicking up her fingers, right?"

Wonwoo can see where this is going (he's seen porn), and he's doesn't think he's ready. Not for this image. "Right," he echoes, mindlessly. Seungcheol's fingers are barely ghosting over his cock, and Wonwoo is so far gone.

"She opens me up and it's hot as fuck, but her fingers aren't long enough to really hit the spot." Seungcheol giggles at his pun. Wonwoo pinches his bicep. "But you know what is? The cock she puts on. It's black, and the harness is crimson-red. The prettiest contrast," he says this like it's a fond memory and oh God, Wonwoo didn't even contemplate this being something that actually happened.

"It hurts. When she enters me, like it really hurts. But after a while, she starts to move, and it's like fireworks. She's fast and rough at first but when I'm this," Seungcheol punctuates the sentence with a squeeze of Wonwoo's dick, "close to coming, she starts to take it slow. Swivelling her hips and shit."

Seungcheol leans in close. His mouth catches on Wonwoo's chapped lips as he continues, "Can you imagine that, Wonwoo? Being fucked senseless." He's started pumping Wonwoo faster now, building him up. "Do you want that? You'd look so good, so hot, being stretched open on a cock. You would beg, I know you would. I bet you'd be loud, I bet you'd scream."

And he does. The orgasm crashes through him, unrelenting, the biggest he's ever had, and he moans Seungcheol's name again like it's yanked out of him.

It takes a minute for Wonwoo to reorient himself and when he opens his eyes, Seungcheol's rinsing the jizz that dribbles between his fingers under the spray. He gulps, throat dry.

"Your clothes are wet," he states.

"Yeah, do you have anything I could borrow?" Seungcheol says pleasantly. Wonwoo glances down. Seungcheol's hard. Huh? half of Wonwoo's brain thinks. The other half is imagining Seungcheol's cock in his mouth—"Don't worry about that."

"Oh," Wonwoo says, startled. "Okay."

In the bedroom, Wonwoo digs through his drawer to procure a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for Seungcheol. Seungcheol strips, his clothes dripping onto the carpet, and Wonwoo averts his eyes. He's seen Seungcheol naked plenty of times but Seungcheol is only just softening and he got Wonwoo off not five minutes ago, so. Exceptional circumstances.

When he leaves, Seungcheol presses a kiss to Wonwoo's forehead, like he's done so many times before, and says, "See you later."

"Thank you," Wonwoo calls out, and then presses his burning forehead against the closed door, cringing.



Mingyu tells Wonwoo he's oblivious as fuck when Wonwoo explains what happened, which is frankly, useless advice, so Wonwoo turns to the next best thing: Kwon Soonyoung.

"So, what I'm gathering is," Soonyoung says, frowning and laughing, a combo that twists his face into something way too smarmy for Wonwoo to deal with right now. "Seungcheol is a seriously fucked-up wingman." He grins, slowly and terrifyingly. "Do you know how many dudes would kill to be you, right now? Don't give me that look, I'm straight and I dream about Seungcheol hyung sticking his hands down my pants and telling me everything will be okay."

"And he did," Soonyoung continues, "Stick his hands down your pants, that is."

"Well, technically I was already naked,"—Soonyoung chokes—"But yeah. What does this mean?"

"I don't know," Soonyoung says, deliberately. "Is this like, a roundabout way of telling you that he wants to fuck you? Kiss you? Hold your hand?"

"I—" Wonwoo starts, "I highly doubt that. He's straight."

Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. "You might wanna change your definition of straight. Has he ever told you that?"

"Yes!" Wonwoo says. "Wait. I mean—no?" Now that he thinks about it, he's only ever assumed. Fuck, he's part of the establishment. He is contributing to his very own erasure! He's gonna be sick!

"There's your answer." Soonyoung grins, slapping Wonwoo on the back. "He wants to fuck you. Maybe he wants to hold your hand too. Do you want to hold his hand?"

"Maybe," Wonwoo squeaks.



Seulgi wants to see them together.

"I want to see you two together," she says, eyes lighting up.

"She wants to see us together," Seungcheol says to Wonwoo.

"You want to see us together," Wonwoo echoes, "Like, together-together?"

Together-together is exactly what Seulgi wants. This time, they've taken it to Wonwoo's bed. It's a tight squeeze, but they make it work. Seulgi pours lubrication onto her fingers, and Seungcheol spreads Wonwoo's legs apart with a slow, warm palm. He's never done this before—hell, he'd only fucked a girl this year. Late bloomer, Mingyu likes to tease. But he wants to. He really, really wants to, but he doesn't know what will happen after.

It's going to hurt, after, he knows this much.

Seungcheol's muttering things like you'll be okay and are you sure? and it'll be good, I promise, I'll make you feel good into Wonwoo's hair, while Seulgi carefully stretches him open with a finger, and another, and another. This is familiar, grounding; he's fingered himself a couple times before.

But ten minutes later, Seungcheol's slipping into him and Wonwoo's tilted off his axis, scrabbling at the edges. Seungcheol groans, hiking Wonwoo's legs up a couple centimetres. Wonwoo locks his ankles around Seungcheol's waist, taking a deep breath. He doesn't look at Seungcheol's face.

He feels like he's going to combust. In a good way? He's so full. Seulgi strokes his hair while he counts to ten. "Hyung, you can move," Wonwoo finally says.

"Okay," Seungcheol replies, a little breathlessly, "Okay." He pulls out, almost to the tip, then slams back in, rocking Wonwoo back. Wonwoo's head rolls back in a moan. He bunches up the bedsheets in his hands, white-knuckled with anticipation. Seungcheol fucks him like that—just shy of rough, because Wonwoo keeps whining at him to go faster. His pupils glimmer bright under his long eyelashes, and his bottom lip is clenched between his teeth in concentration. He's so fucking hot. Wonwoo's cock is bobbing against his belly with the momentum, and he wants so badly to touch it.

Seulgi tells him not to. Not yet. "Can I—would it be okay if I sat on your face?" she asks gently.

"Yeah, please," Wonwoo slurs. Seulgi straddles his shoulders, shuffling forward until her cunt hovers above Wonwoo's face. He nods. Her knees slide on the bed, and Wonwoo reaches up to guide her down. She starts off with tiny circles, hands tangled in his hair, and Wonwoo flicks his tongue up to tease her clit.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol is relentless, fucking into him like he's chasing gold. Wonwoo can't see him anymore but he can hear him. "You're so good, Wonwoo," Seungcheol rambles, jaggedly, "I told you how hot you'd be, didn't I?" Wonwoo can imagine what he's seeing so clearly: Seungcheol's ruddy cock flashing in and out of him, Wonwoo's rim stretched thin. God.

He's daydreamed about this before. Being fucked by a nameless someone, some tall, dashing guy—sometimes he'd be wearing a suit, other times a t-shirt and jeans, with just his fly unzipped to release his cock—in a club or on his nastier days, his childhood bedroom, hand pressed against Wonwoo's mouth so he doesn't make noise. And this, this is everything like those fantasies, and nothing like them at all. Seungcheol isn't a stranger but this is strange and unfamiliar and intimate, and Wonwoo never wants it to end.

But it does. Wonwoo comes first, barely seconds after he gets a hand on his own cock, and he can feel every nerve in his body crackle bright with it. Seungcheol second; he shoves himself in, deep, and goes dead-silent when he comes. A minute after, Seulgi's thighs clench around Wonwoo's head, and her body quivers, tiny, hitched cries escaping her throat.

Wonwoo curls up, once he's left alone, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His forehead throbs with the last ebbs of his orgasm, the over-stimulation after. He's so exhausted.

Seulgi doesn't stay. She kisses Wonwoo's glistening, sticky mouth before she goes, like a parting gift, and says, "That was fun."

He hums. "See you later, noona."

Seungcheol brings a wet cloth over from the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and cleans Wonwoo up without a word. The damp cool sliding across Wonwoo's skin is comforting. He can feel himself drifting.

Seungcheol frowns. Rubs Wonwoo's neck with the pad of his thumb. "I'm sorry. I did this all wrong, didn't I?"

"Don't apologise," Wonwoo says dismissively. He yawns with all he's got. "I'm okay. It was nice."

"No, I should." Seungcheol lifts Wonwoo's hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. "I should've stopped. I'm meant to take care of you and I took it too far. I don't know why I—well, I know why but—"

Wonwoo gets it, in a roundabout way. "Do you want to hold my hand?" he cuts him off. He doesn't want to hear Seungcheol's explanation, his excuses, not really. None of this needs to be excused.

"I'm holding it right now," Seungcheol says, lifting up their intertwined fingers a fraction.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, scoffing half-heartedly.

"Yeah," Seungcheol says, after a moment. "I do. Do you want to hold mine?" He looks so hopeful. Did he think Wonwoo didn't want him?

"No catch?" Wonwoo asks, sitting up. Seungcheol shakes his head. "Then, yeah."

Seungcheol gives his hand a soft squeeze, head ducking down to hide his pleased smile.



Five minutes later: Wonwoo has his arm slung across Seungcheol's waist, nose buried in his hair, and he kisses the back of Seungcheol's head, drawling, "Big bro."

Seungcheol reaches around to cuff Wonwoo's shoulder, sounding scandalised as he says, "Shut up."

"Would you rather frat daddy?"

"Shut up."