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Seokmin and Hansol’s birthday always called for a party of bacchanalian proportions.
“You don’t get it, hyung,” Seokmin told them, holding out two fingers on each hand for extra emphasis, “two birthdays means twice the partying!”
They rented out an entire club for the night, with four bars, a balcony, and enough empty space and dark corners to hide all the drunken secrets that were never to be spoken of the next day. The place is nice despite the usual grime the downtown area is notable for, all decked out with balloons and glitter and confetti.
Jisoo walks in with two boys on her arm, already stumbling, her ankles buckling in her sparkly platforms.
Unlike Jisoo, Jihoon is not a party person– content with the usual small gatherings, all thirteen of them huddled around someone’s coffee table with a game of king’s cup or some other foul thing Junhui concocts– but they always make an exception for this one birthday. Jihoon lets Mingyu feed them half a bottle of Saero, and then lets him force them onto the dancefloor once they’re swaying in their seat. On a typical night out, Jihoon would not be caught dead dancing. They can’t think of an activity less enjoyable than bumping sweaty skin with sweaty strangers in a sweaty bar. No thanks, they’ll pass. You can usually find them on the outskirts, nursing the one cocktail they allow themselves and people watching. Hansol is usually by their side, staring down at his phone, but he’s the main event of the evening. It’s a trap, but Mingyu insists that they look too hot to be alone tonight.
“I’m telling you, those jeans should be fucking illegal,” Mingyu slurs over the music. He’s absolutely wasted, but being a good sport about it at least, “why did god put that much ass on your stupid butch body. You don’t even need it. Fuck you, like,” Mingyu loses the end of his sentence as the song changes and he nearly yelps in excitement. Jihoon just laughs, too far gone themselves to finish the sentence for him like usual.
So they dance. The whole floor is getting hazy, smoke from fog machines and whatever else Hansol managed to sneak in mixing in the air that’s already heavy with body heat and the collective breath of a hundred people Jihoon has never seen in their fucking life. They spin Mingyu, and let him hold them close, closing their eyes to bask in the strobe lights. Hansol’s going through a phase that has him addicted to house music, and he’s managed to drag Mingyu right to hell with him. They can barely keep up with the way he sways against them, his jacket slipping down his shoulders and his hands above his head.
Jihoon is frighteningly aware of the way gay people operate. If they had to place strings and pins on a board to connect all the combinations of their friends who have slept together or dated or almost-dated, it’d be an illegible mess within ten minutes. They’ve set strict rules for themselves: absolutely no adding to the web. It’s friendship incest. It’s unholy, blasphemous, forbidden. That doesn’t mean their idiotic dykey brain plays by these rules.
In their defense, it’s incredibly, stupidly easy to fall in love with Minghao. They don’t even have to try, which is the most pathetic part on Jihoon’s end. The moment Junhui introduced them, and Jihoon’s fucking fingertips brushed against theirs in an awkward, shaky half-handshake that they giggled through, it was over. Everyone who meets Minghao falls a little bit in love with them. They’re captivating, tall and gothy and cool. They wear leather trenches in the summer without sweating, and high-heeled combat boots without faltering in the slightest. Their hair is constantly changing colors, and Jihoon is so obsessed that they could probably arrange a timeline of Minghao based purely on their hair. The point is, Jihoon is a loser, they’re half-drunk, and Minghao is so hot, and their worst nightmare is currently coming true.
When Jihoon cocks their head to the right, Minghao is dancing with Hansol. It’s dark, but through the flashes of light Jihoon can see that they’re pressed together, chests almost flush. They’re too close for comfort, Jihoon’s comfort at least. Hansol has his hands on Minghao’s face, smiling in that lopsided, boyish way that usually makes Jihoon smile right back at him. Tonight, they seethe, watching as their perfectly-matched heights let Minghao brush their noses together, teasing him as his smile gets wider. Hansol keeps tipping his mouth up to meet them in the middle, and Minghao keeps pulling back and smirking. Hansol gets fed up, seemingly, because he pulls Minghao in by the waist and smashes their lips together. They see Hansol slip his tongue into Minghao’s mouth, watch him grab fistfuls of wavy orange hair and tug. Jihoon is starting to feel sick, but not from the alcohol.
Mingyu is still behind them, blissfully unaware of the shock settling into Jihoon’s tipsy body. Jihoon turns to him, deciding that it’s probably for the best to let him have his fun instead of commiserating with them.
They press up onto their toes, shouting into his ear, “I’m going to get another drink, you want anything?”
Mingyu purses his lips like he’s considering it, but then a hiccup rises out of his chest, and he seems to think better of it, “I think I need to sweat more,” he decides, “sweating will sober me up. You have fun though.”
Jihoon turns to move towards the bar, waving to Mingyu as he disappears towards Wonwoo in the crowd. They manage to keep the grimace off their face until they reach an empty barstool. The bartender is busy wiping down bottles that have grown sticky and slick from the amount of drinks they’ve been pouring, so Jihoon waits. Even pissed, they’re polite, after all. They track Hansol and Minghao as they weave through bodies before dipping out of a side door. Something burns in their stomach. Molten lava threatens to burst through every pore if they don’t get this feeling under control– whatever this feeling even is. Resentment, jealousy, or sadness. Dealer’s choice. Playing russian roulette with six bullets and every single one is engraved with Minghao’s name and big fat broken heart. They catch the bartender’s attention after a few minutes, and pound back vodka, cheap shit. Anything to make them see double– fuck it, quadruple. Your hopeless lesbian crush of two years just left with your best friend, which, of course, is a free pass to act out of character.
They really wish Jisoo would just mind her own business.
She plops into the stool next to them without falling over in her heels like she did earlier, and she’s lit up with joy. Jihoon pinches the bridge of their nose, mumbling to themselves, some drunken plea for Jisoo to evaporate with the rest of the smoke or disappear into the bathroom again. Jisoo pouts. Jihoon hates it.
The first thing Jihoon even heard about Jisoo is that she’s batshit insane. When Jihoon furrowed their eyebrows and asked Seungcheol, like, in what way? The solemn shaking of her head was enough of an answer.
When they actually meet her, Jisoo is so fucked up she doesn’t even remember Jihoon at brunch the next day. She was wearing these huge shield sunglasses, and three of her nails were half broken on one hand. Her hair was impeccably done despite the state of her body, and her outfit was head to toe designer, and she couldn’t recall their name for the life of her. They had met six hours before.
Jihoon does not get along with party girl types. Case in point: Jihoon does not get along with Jisoo.
“Why so down, Jihoonie? It’s a party, you know.” Jisoo says. She’s leaning on one palm, slumping close enough in their direction that Jihoon can see her pupils, blown so wide there’s almost no golden iris left. Jihoon’s brow arches at her,
“Jesus, you’re gone.”
Jisoo nearly giggles, reaching over and toying with the rings on Jihoon’s fingers. They fight the urge to jerk their hand away.
“Well, duh. Like I said, it’s a fucking party. You should really try to have more fun instead of being a sad, lonely drunk over here.”
Jihoon takes their hand away from Jisoo’s, “I’ll start having fun when you stop annoying me. Don’t you have other people to talk to? This building is literally packed to the brim with people you can bother.”
Jihoon’s insults do nothing but egg Jisoo on, naturally. Partying is one thing— but Jihoon’s learned that the real root of Jisoo’s insanity lies in the fact that she loves to fight. And she doesn’t like to lose.
She smiles at them, and continues moving closer to Jihoon down the bar, scooting her chair over to them the best she can and getting in their space like she’s telling a secret, “I know,” she says, eyes getting wider, which Jihoon didn’t think was possible, “you need a pick-me-up, don’t you? They’ve got party favors in the bathroom. My treat!”
She says it with a kind of sincerity that throws Jihoon off, like it’s a selfless, wonderful thing to get your friends ungodly amounts of cocaine for their birthdays in lieu of a present. Jihoon wonders if Jisoo got it all herself, or if the group of guys she rocked in with are keeping her on the hook. She’s maddening, and worrying, and ridiculous. It’s all so fucking ridiculous Jihoon can’t believe it.
Jihoon laughs, and it’s bitter, venomous. They close the gap between them, so their foreheads are almost touching. “Look at you,” they say, fingers hovering over her shiny face. Her eyes are hazy as they try to track Jihoon’s fingers like they’re giving her a field sobriety test, and it makes them let out another puff of air. What Jisoo can’t see with her crossed eyes, or feel on her numb skin, is that her nose is trickling with blood. Jihoon wipes it away with their thumb before placing it in their mouth, swirling their tongue around the metallic liquid undercut with something bitter. “You’re messy, you know?”
Jisoo’s eyes glaze over. She doesn’t respond. Jihoon turns and pounds back their drink.
“Didn’t you come in, like, six guys deep? Go back to your roster or whatever, Jisoo. You’re a wreck.”
Jisoo finishes cleaning up her nose, and despite her silence before, she’s still not relenting. She reaches her hands back out for Jihoon, now shiny with her own spit and traces of blood. Jihoon does snatch their hand away this time, and Jisoo pouts again, “Aw, don’t be like that. Lighten up for once!”
Ultimately, Jihoon knows exactly what this is about. They see the way Jisoo flits around Hansol and vies for his attention like her phone isn’t full of guys who would run a mile in the pouring rain for the opportunity to fuck her. Jisoo is perfect, and largely unattainable, which is why Hansol blowing her off is probably making her act crazier than usual.
“Are you serious?” Jihoon narrows their eyes, “coming to me because your little crush left without a second glance? That’s cheap, even for you.”
Jisoo shrugs, as if to say guilty as charged, “Something like that.” Her pupils are starting to contract again, but she’s still rambling like she’s buzzing, holding a finger out to Jihoon like their attention is wandering, “But don’t forget: our crushes left, together . And now they’re probably fucking in my house. So let’s just help each other out, so we can forget about it. Sounds good?”
Jihoon blinks, and then blinks again, harder this time for good measure.
“You’re so bitter that you’re gonna start batting for the other team?”
Jisoo scoffs at them, “Like I haven’t always been playing both sides? Rude.”
“Oh my god.” The worst part, from what Jihoon can gather, is that Jisoo’s right. The crushes they've each been nursing since before they even met have miraculously ended up together, and the irony makes them want to laugh. At this point, Jihoon’s so drunk, maybe they can just convince themselves that Minghao has simply bleached their hair, gained a penchant for the color red, and grown ten times more insufferable over the course of the evening. It could work, if they can be delusional enough for it.
“Fine, whatever.” Jihoon grumbles, and Jisoo’s eyes light up like she wasn’t expecting it to work. It only serves to make them more mad. She’s practically vibrating in her seat. “Find me in fifteen when the coke wears off and you’re back to your normal, somehow less annoying self.”
Jisoo smiles, running her tongue over her gums like she’s licking up the remnants before she stands on wobbly legs, making her way onto the dancefloor to ride out the rest of her high.
Jihoon waits for her in the only bathroom that’s devoid of people, tucked in the corner to the right of the bar. They briefly wonder if this is a staff bathroom, considering the door has a lock on it, but they don’t really have time to lament over breaking the rules right now. All their rules have flown out the window at this point. They lean up against the wall, patting down their pants for the pack of cigarettes that’s surely crushed in one of their pockets. Their vision is blurry, and they can barely stand up straight, but fuck it. It’s a party, isn’t it?
Jisoo stumbles in after Jihoon manages to fish the pack out of the unending depths of their jeans and tucks a smoke behind their ear. She twists the lock behind her, before pushing Jihoon against the mirror.
“Hi,” Jisoo’s voice is dripping with faux sweetness. Jihoon notices up close that her smile is crooked, her front teeth jutting out. It’s cute on her, and good for Jihoon, that she has at least one imperfection.
“Jisoo.”
“Still frigid as ever, I see.” Jisoo runs her hands up Jihoon’s sides, under their shirt, keeping her pressure light in case Jihoon gets cagey. Good, they’re feeling like they wanna bite tonight. “You gonna fuck me? Or just stand there, looking all mad and shit?”
Jihoon takes Jisoo’s hand out of their shirt, and holds her face in one hand, bringing her close and mingling their breaths. They don’t kiss, but Jisoo’s lips part like that’s what she’s anticipating. Jihoon hooks their foot behind Jisoo’s knee, dead-legging her instead.
Jisoo falls to the floor, all the air punched out of her with the impact. Their hand comes down across her cheek with a reverberating smack. Jisoo doesn’t even have time to look shocked as Jihoon weaves their fist into her crunchy, bottle-blonde locks, yanking her head up and looming over her.
“I’ll keep looking mad and shit,” They say with a smile to rival hers, “and you’ll shut up and do what you’re best at, sucking cock.”
Jisoo looks starstruck as Jihoon lets her go, taking a shuddering breath as she fiddles with Jihoon’s belt, yanking at it until she can fight the denim open and work it down their hips. When she’s met with a bulge in the front of her boxers, she sighs.
“Fuck, Jihoon.”
“That’s right, Jisoo. You finally get to use that dirty mouth for something good,” Jihoon caresses the side of Jisoo’s face, moving to the back of her hair. They retake their hold there, shoving Jisoo’s face forward into their packer, “Now suck.”
Jisoo was never good at doing what she’s told. Jihoon might’ve found a solution to that problem. She starts on the middle of their thigh below the hem of their boxers, smearing whatever’s left of her lip gloss on their leg. She knows better than to nip at their flesh, but she’s still found a way to leave her mark on them. Jihoon lets her play a bit more, allowing Jisoo to leave light touches along their lower stomach and hips, even if she’s avoiding the task, kissing everything around the weight in their underwear. Jihoon sucks their teeth at her, scolding, and Jisoo raises her eyebrow at them. They hope their glare is enough guidance.
It seems to be, as Jisoo closes her eyes and mouths over their bulge, whimpering as she wraps her lips around the clothed shaft of it. Her nails dig into Jihoon’s hips, and her knees are rubbing together where she’s slumped on the floor, chasing any kind of friction as she wets the front of Jihoon’s boxers with her tongue. She’s much more tolerable this way, nothing leaving her lips apart from drool and hums of satisfaction. It’s also funny to Jihoon how much she likes it, how content she is on her knees spitting all over the silicone in their pants.
It also turns them on, to an aching, alarming degree.
“You want it that bad?” they ask and Jisoo looks up at them with her big, watery eyes, nodding. It makes them laugh lightly, pulling at the waistband of their boxers when she pauses to catch her breath. Their underwear along with the packer land in a heap on the floor, leaving Jisoo with Jihoon bare in front of her, their clit peeking out among their stubble. Jisoo just gawks at them, breathing heavily with her own hand between her legs. They laugh again, “What are you staring at? Get to fucking work.”
Jisoo opens her mouth and closes it again, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She looks wrecked already, hair frizzy and lip liner smudged. She dives for them tongue-first, and Jihoon shivers when her warm mouth meets their dick for real, teasing the head as they twitch under her. They let her tease again, let her kiss around their dick instead of sucking, lets her fingers massage into the flesh of their ass instead of being actually useful. That is, until Jihoon shuts her down, punishing Jisoo’s dawdling with a fist in her hair and a grind into her mouth.
Jisoo sputters around them, nails ripping down the sides of their thighs in protest as Jihoon covers her nose and mouth in their slick.
“You like playing around, Ji?” they ask, but Jisoo can't talk with her mouth full. She looks up to them, pleading as Jihoon fucks down onto her face, using her like a toy. She whimpers and taps their thigh rapidly, and Jihoon sucks their teeth, “Hey, you gotta try harder than that.”
They let go of Jisoo’s hair, and she pulls off, choking on her own spit and Jihoon’s precome.
“Jesus, fuck. No wonder Minghao doesn’t like you.”
Jihoon wipes away a stray tear on her cheek, “Cute. And no wonder Hansol doesn’t want you. Can’t suck dick to save your life.”
“Fuck off. I’ll show you sucking dick.”
Jihoon smiles, taking the cigarette from behind their ear. “There you go. That’s it.”
Jisoo takes them in again, laying her tongue flat against their clit, spit pooling on her tongue and dripping off of Jihoon’s cunt to land on the floor. She sucks them off well enough— for a part-timer— eyes closed as she finally takes Jihoon into her mouth and closes her lips around them.
Jihoon fumbles in their shirt pocket for their lighter, holding the cigarette between their teeth as they play with Jisoo’s hair, gentler this time, legs growing unsteady from the suction and her fingers teasing at their entrance. Sparks fly across the thin paper, and Jihoon inhales, letting the smoke waft around them, laying their head back against the mirror.
“Just like that,” Jihoon encourages as they take another hit, settling into the simple euphoria of a drunk cigarette paired with getting his dick sucked by a good mouth, or, a decent one at best.
At least he was trying to settle in, but then Jisoo pulled off his cock.
“Are you fucking serious?” Jisoo’s eyes are glassy, but still filled with disbelief. “Are you having a smoke break while I’m giving you head?”
“I am,” they shrug, blowing the smoke down into her face until she wrinkles her nose, “is there a problem?”
“Charming, Jihoon. Always so charming. The girls are really lining up for you.”
“I mean, aren’t you? You’re drooling for it,” Jihoon says, and it wipes the smirk off of Jisoo’s face, her expression morphing into something darker.
“Fuck you,” she says, and her fingers follow, two of them shoving as deep into Jihoon as she can manage. It makes them falter a bit against the wall, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Jisoo tongues at their dick again, letting her jaw hang open and her tongue loll out for them to grind on. Jihoon takes the opportunity to let their hips buck, savouring the feeling of their tip against the back of Jisoo’s tongue. They groan, putting the filter between his teeth again, smoke falling out of their nose.
They fuck Jisoo’s mouth with no hesitation, ignoring her whines and the wetness from her cheeks that shines in the sterile light of the bathroom. The sounds of Jisoo struggling to catch her breath, choking around Jihoon like she’s gagging fill the room along with the smoke, and Jihoon can’t tell what they’re higher on. As heat spreads through theirlimbs, Jisoo looks up at them, blinking away tears to reveal her wet eyes and splotchy cheeks.
“My god, fuck, you’re so–” Jihoon moans out, gripping the back of Jisoo’s head to smash her face further into their center, chasing their high. Jisoo looks up at them, gasping and mewling as Jihoon grinds onto her tongue, comes with their vision blurring and a mix of curses falling out of them
Jisoo stares at them with wide eyes as she takes it, her tongue growing gentle against their dick as it twitches through their climax.
Jihoon pulls his mouth off when they come down too sensitive to deal with her teasing anymore. They both share a long glance, panting.
Jihoon reaches their hand out, helping Jisoo up on shaky legs, taking a hit and licking up Jisoo’s cheek, tasting themselves on the salty skin before kissing her hard, blowing the smoke into her wrecked mouth.
They turn her around, draping themselves over Jisoo in the mirror and handing her the cigarette. Jihoon smashes their hips into her ass, hands wandering under her dress. She’s wet, dripping and shaking as Jihoon presses inside her, arching over to kiss the hollow of Jisoo’s throat as she takes the final hits of the smoke and stubs it out against the glass. She keeps her hands against the mirror as an anchor, fucking herself down onto Jihoon’s fingers desperately, moaning so loud people outside might be able to hear her over the music. Everything in the room is foggy, humid and slick from all their gasping and sweating and smoke. Jihoon yanks her dress down to grab hold of her tit, pinching and prodding before sliding down to meet their other hand between her legs, circling her clit until she’s collapsing against the mirror with a shout.
Jisoo is barely breathing as Jihoon shoves their fingers between her lips, pushing into her throat and making her gag on her own release. Jisoo licks them clean, sighing when Jihoon pulls out of her mouth before reaching over for a paper towel.
Jihoon keeps nipping at her neck as she wipes herself off, leaving small marks everywhere they can. As Jisoo tries to make herself look somewhat presentable, Jihoon peels off her to get their own pants back on. Jisoo shakes her head at them as they redo their belt.
“Not exactly what I expected, but that was fucking hot.”
Jihoon hums, coming back and wrapping their arms around Jisoo’s waist.
“Take me back to yours later,” They hum, “want to fuck you nice and slow. Make you scream. Wake those motherfuckers up.”
“Ah, just what I wanted,” Jisoo smiles, fluffing her hair up again and kissing Jihoon lightly.
They smile against her, “Mhm, thought so. But you have to get me another drink first. Maybe if I’m good and wasted, I can forget it all tomorrow.”
Jisoo tugs Jihoon’s nipple through their shirt, “You really are an asshole, aren’t you?”
Jihoon kisses her again, chasing the last taste of himself mixed with earthy smoke. “Maybe. But you love it.”
“Yeah, I do,” she says between the smacks of their lips, “You’re sick and fucking twisted. I think we’re meant to be.”
Jihoon bites their lip. They know they’re coming in hot, playing a dangerous game with a girl like Jisoo. Fucking around with her is like approaching a wild animal. Fifty-fifty chance you’ll get mauled. Jihoon is starting to think they like her claws, though. That they want them stuck in their throat.
“Maybe,” they say, their fingers gripping her waist, “let’s get drunk again and find out.”