San's phone buzzed and the hotel linens were already wet with moisture.
As the CEO pushed up against him with furious desire, Wooyoung gripped him by the tie with swollen, smooth lips and one lean leg slung across San's hip. Their breathing came in ragged gasps; the air heavy with longing and whiskey—
Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo—"
San stopped right as he was about to push inside.
The caller ID shimmered a warning: **[Halmeoni - 7:30 PM - Birthday supper]
Damn. Hell. FUCK.
Dinner on his grandmother's birthday at his apartment. Where she would arrive in precisely twenty minutes with her own key, expecting her ideal grandson to wine and dine her as the obedient little boy he pretended to be.
Tongue darting out to soothe the sting, Wooyoung's teeth brushed against his pulse point. "Ignore it," he exhaled, swiveling his hips upwards so that San's eyesight blurred. "She can wait—"
San was slapped with words like cold water.
What the hell was he up to? This was not him. Choi San never lost command and he never fucked strangers in low cost motels.
Choi San did not lose control nor did he fuck strangers in inexpensive hotels. Choi San unquestionably didn't let some club boy run his priorities while his grandmother waited at home.
With one ferocious motion, he grabbed Wooyoung's hands off his tie and searched for his wallet. Crisp 50,000-won bills fell onto the crumpled sheets, clung to Wooyoung's sweat-slicked legs.
Get out slut."
" You heard me," San got up already grabbing for his thrown clothing.
Thank God She phoned. Thank God icame to my senses before it was too late .
Wooyoung, though, wasn't moving. Just simply watched the money strewn throughout his half-naked body as he struggled to understand what was going on.
A manicured hand rose up San's thigh, fingers dragging over the pricey material of his slacks. "You don't really want me to go," Wooyoung said, but desperation crept into his tone. "Not when I was about to prove precisely why they call me the greatest...
San grabbed his wrist and compressed until tiny bones ground together. Wooyoung gasped, tears stinging his eyes and what looked startlingly like passion.
San said, his voice falling to the tone board members found troubling, "Listen carefully." You have been paid; get out of my sight before I contact security.
Wooyoung momentarily looked genuinely shocked, as though no one had ever ignored him before. His lovely face then contorted into something nasty and jagged.
"Wow." His laughter was like shards of glass. "You're pitiful. Can't even fuck a whore without your grandma's permission?"
San did not shudder. He just buttoned his shirt with military exactitude, tucked his wallet back into his jacket, and straightened his tie as though preparing for another board meeting rather than fleeing the site of his nearly-mistake.
He said, without turning around, "Clean yourself up," "The room's paid for the evening."
He headed out before Wooyoung could answer.
Before the first bottle broke against the door, it had not even clicked shut.
"Coward!" Wooyoung's shout descended the hallway, high and shattered and angry.
---
San straightened his cuffs as he waited and stabbed the elevator call button harder than required. His reflection in the polished metal revealed a composed businessman—not one who had just been rubbing against a gorgeous stranger like a youngster.
When footsteps thundered down the corridor, the doors started closing.
"Ya! Choi fucking San!"
Wooyoung came racing around the corner, hair flying, clothing open, cash still held in one hand. His eyes burned with the kind of anger that caused intelligent people to retreat.
San's thumb found the DOOR CLOSE button and pressed like he was detonating a bomb.
"BASTARD!" Wooyoung crashed onto the closing doors, hands flat against the metal. "FUCKING SPINELESS—COME BACK HERE AND finish what you—"
The elevator descended, thereby ending the tirade. San smoothed his tie and inspected his appearance one more time. Tomorrow he would need to wear a high collar; the bite mark on his neck flashed scarlet and pronounced.
San walked across the hotel parking lot as cold October air struck his overheated skin. All slick and German engineering, his Mercedes waited f like a devoted animal. As he opened it, his hands shook somewhat.
That boy is a natural disaster.
Unbidden thought entered. Wooyoung's terrible hunger, the way he arched into San's touch as though he was starving for it, the broken sound he uttered when San squeezed his wrist...
San turned the key. The engine started to hum to life, so blotting out hazardous ideas.
Thank God I avoided it.
The alleviation ought to have had a sweet taste. Choi San was he. He had a family legacy to protect, a firm to manage, and a reputation to preserve. He avoided messiness. He didn't do desperate. And he definitely did not create lovely disasters that gazed at him as he hung the moon.
He looked up as a crisp CRACK against concrete sounded. In the rearview mirror, Wooyoung stood barefoot on the hotel stairs, arm still stretched out from tossing. Where San's car had been only moments earlier, a rock lightly struck the asphalt. San could see the heaving chest, the clenched fists, the way the parking lot lights caught what appeared to be tears on flushed cheeks even from afar.
One electric moment their eyes met in the mirror.
"ROTTEN SON OF A BITCH!" Wooyoung's voice broke on the last term, uncooked and broken.
San accelerated and the last thing he witnessed Wooyoung kicking over a decorative planter, dirt and blossoms erupting across the spotless concrete like his own shattered composure.
Wooyoung was standing alone in the deserted parking lot, chest heaving, fists quivering with residual adrenaline and shame. Cutting across his open shirt, the October wind caused goosebumps on flesh still inflamed with excitement and fury.
He mumbled, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as though he could remove the flavor of pricey whisky and shattered promises. "Should have known better than to believe someone like him would really want someone like me."
But then he looked down at the crumpled bills still gripped in his fist—more money than he would make in three months of average work—and felt his lips arch into something sharp and sour.
He mumbled to the empty air where San's taillights had vanished, "Thanks for the tip."
At least he would have gotten handsomely compensated for the humiliation had he not been able to get what he wanted.
If he couldn't have what he wanted, at least he'd gotten paid well for the humiliation.
And next time—because there would be a next time, he'd make sure of it—Choi San wouldn't walk away so easily.
After all, Wooyoung had never met a challenge he couldn't eventually conquer.
Even if it killed him.