Wumuti is not as drunk as she wishes she was tonight.
Haru and Rui, on the other hand, are more than making up for it for her.
A couple of hours earlier, Wumuti had handed them a bottle.
“Drink,” she said.
* * *
“Mama, I don’t feel so good,” Haru mumbles.
“Hm? Let me see.”
Wumuti puts a hand to Haru’s forehead, pushing his bangs back so she can touch his flushed and feverish skin. He lets out a small sigh and pushes into the touch of her hand.
“Mm, you’re really drunk, baby, aren’t you?”
Haru nods a little dizzily.
“That’s okay. I think you can drink a little more, huh?” She pushes the cup full of soju—not a lot, just a small pour—toward Haru. “Just a little. For mama?”
Haru does understand, dimly, that this is Wumuti punishing them.
He bites his lip and then nods and takes the cup that Wumuti gives him, raises it to his mouth, and quickly drinks it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“Good boy,” Wumuti says, and the praise warms him through at least as much as the alcohol.
Rui isn’t in better condition than he is, although it’s harder to tell. She can hold her liquor well for someone who doesn’t drink with as much regularity as Wumuti—which is why Wumuti had made her drink more.
She does know their tolerances very well, courtesy of many late-night de-stressing sessions, and she’d given them just enough to make them feel unwell but not enough that anyone will be seriously harmed by it.
This is sane and responsible, probably.
The two of the are sitting side by side on the couch, backs stiff at attention, like bad children getting called into the principal’s office for a scolding.
Well. That’s not that far off from the truth.
Wumuti is coming to terms with their new arrangement in her own way, and her own way sometimes happens to include externalizing her feelings in the form of increasingly inventive punishment games that the other two are going along with out of an odd combination of guilt and libido.
Hyun has suggested meditation or therapy, but they all cope in their own ways, and Wumuti’s at least ends in orgasms for multiple people, which seems like a net good in her book.
Haru nudges Rui with his elbow. “Noona,” he says, his words slurring a bit. Rui doesn’t react, so he digs his elbow in harder. “Noona,” he hiss-whispers in a loud voice. “Are you alright?”
“Alright, he’s fine. Keep your hands to yourself,” Wumuti scolds, leaning into the whole teacher thing.
Wumuti sits on the chair opposite and takes a gulp from her own glass of wine.
She’s not having a lot tonight—someone has to drive the bus, after all—but she still can’t quite do this… watch them together… completely sober. At least not without wanting to peel her skin off, and that’s not exactly her idea of a good time.
Baby steps, or something. She’s pretty sure she’d read something like that in one of Hyun’s books.
They both sit there, hands to themselves like Wumuti had said, looking like Wumuti’s prettiest dolls. It does thrill something in her, to be obeyed so absolutely. Control has always appealed to her.
Wumuti leans back and lets herself take it in, swirling the sweet, summery wine in her cup while she rakes her eyes down Rui’s body, then Haru’s.
The both of them squirm under her gaze, as if her look was a physical touch.
It’s gratifying to see the physiological changes the alcohol has wrought on them—because of her, at her command. Skin flushed and eyes dilated, breath coming slower and more heavily just because she willed it.
The both of them drinking enough to feel sick, just because she’d wanted it.
The both of them still waiting for her.
“Well,” Wumuti says when she’s finally looked her fill—when she realizes that if they’re going to get anywhere, something does have to happen. She takes another swallow of her wine to steel herself. “What’re you waiting for? Give me a show.”
“Ah. …ah?” Haru asks, his pretty fox eyes widening.
The alcohol is making his thoughts move sticky-slow. He isn’t thinking as well as he usually does, so it takes him a second to understand what Muti-hyung means by a show.
That oh, she means Rui. She wants him and Rui to…?
“In front of you?” Rui asks.
It’s meant to be challenging, but in front of Muti-hyung, it comes out a little sweeter.
“What’s the problem?” Wumuti asks. “Aren’t you both shameless? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten shy now?”
She’s curled up on the loveseat, the better to get comfortable, with her feet tucked beneath her and her head propped on one hand. Her bleached hair is twisted up in a messy bun, her skin is scrubbed clean of makeup, and she’s never looked so beautiful.
Haru’s never wanted her so badly, and both he and Rui are torn.
Tch, their hesitation is annoying and ruining Wumuti’s plan. She snaps her fingers.
“What’s the matter, you can do it behind my back but not in front of me?”
Haru shakes his head to clear it, then shakes it again because no—he can be a good boy for mama. He can do what she says. It’s not like he minds.
He reaches for Rui at the same time Rui reaches for him. It’s more awkward than usual, more uncoordinated, as the two of them slouch their way into a kiss.
Haru’s head is spinning, and he doesn’t hate it, to be kissed by one of his favorite people while another one of his favorite people watches.
He ends up on his back looking up at the living room ceiling—then at Rui-hyung who blocks the view and takes up his entire field of vision. His leg kicks out of its own accord, and he whines into Rui’s mouth, arching up to plaster as much of his body as possible against her body.
Rui is so long—there’s so much of her to rub against, and Haru does want to rub up against every inch of her like a cat.
It gives Wumuti a sense of vertigo to witness the two of them together. It’s like watching a locomotive rushing down a track, or seeing one of the natural wonders of the world.
They’re both beautiful people, obviously. They’re idols; how could they be anything but beautiful?
But watching the two of them together… it makes a knot form in the back of Wumuti’s throat because they seem so much like they belong together.
She hadn’t always thought so; at first they’d seemed like the oddest couple. Despite knowing that neither of them would ever truly try to hurt her on purpose, at times Wumuti had wondered if they were just doing it to spite her. That’s how much it seems like oil and wine—two things that don’t go together.
But watching them move together like this, now she can maybe understand, a little.
It’s so much like their dancing, and, a little drunk, Wumuti wonders if maybe the signs hadn’t been there in her own music all along, if only she had been able to see it.
She feels a pang, a pinch of loneliness at being left out, and decides to refocus the energy in the room.
“Hey. Hey.”
It takes a second for the sound of her voice to get through their brains but eventually it does. Rui drags her mouth off of Haru’s, and Haru chases it with a whine.
Rui turns toward Wumuti, and her lips are more plump and red than even the Restalyne can make them. She’s breathing hard, and Wumuti gets hard just from watching them.
Wumuti doesn’t know what she wants—to leave this room, to have them both separately, to time-travel to a time when this was easier. So she tosses out a command that’s easy enough.
“Take off Haru’s shirt,” says Wumuti, swallowing heavily. “And your own,” she adds.
Haru doesn’t like to be the only one naked—it makes him feel vulnerable in a bad way. The cost of the things the both of them have done to him over time.
Haru leans up on his elbows, using his core strength to support himself, and lifts his arms uncoordinatedly to help Rui get his top off.
After a second, Rui shucks her tank top, too, and they both sigh with relief when they press back against each other, warm skin touching skin.
Rui runs her hand down the side of Haru’s arm in a comforting, grounding gesture. She might not even be aware she’s doing it; like it’s just an instinct at this point, to comfort Haru.
“Now what, hyung?” Rui asks.
“Touch him,” Wumuti says. “Make him… make him feel good.”
“Hey, Haru-chan,” Rui says, peering down at Haru.
“H-hey, hyung.”
“I think mama wants to see you cum,” Rui says, far too drunk, like this is a secret.
She reaches down and rubs him between his legs. He’s so hard, even being as drunk as he is, and Rui can’t help but croon at him and call him her good boy.
Haru thrusts up into her hand, rubbing against her, and Rui keeps pressing, rubbing him as if he were a girl.
“Need you,” Haru gasps after a little while. “Need you inside, noona, please.”
Rui can’t help but groan.
She fits their hips together and drags her length against Haru’s, grinding against him.
Yeah, yeah she wants that, too. Fuck, she wants that.
“I have to get you ready first, don’t I?”
Haru shakes his head. “Y-you don’t. Mama fucked me earlier. You can just—”
His cheeks are blushing so bright, and Rui can’t tell if that’s because of embarrassment or the alcohol.
“Muti-hyung fucked you already, and you’re still so needy for me?”
Rui is just teasing—of course she’s teasing, but the way she’s teasing hits Haru somewhere vulnerable. The place that worries that he’s too much—what a slut, Haru-chan—for wanting it so much. Wanting Rui to fuck him, wanting Wumuti to fuck him.
Haru doesn’t answer, just looks up at Rui, panting with teary eyes.
It feels fucked up how much that turns her on.
She drags Haru’s pants and underwear down his legs and gets rid of hers equally quickly, stumbling a little when she stands up, her head spinning.
She fits herself back between Haru’s legs and eats him out, whatever he had said.
Haru bucks down hard against her face as soon as Rui seals her lips around his hole and sucks.
It’s pink and soft and gives way so easily for her tongue. Rui tips Haru’s hips up, spreading him apart and holding him with her hands, bending him nearly in two so she can devour him.
He makes squeaky, pleasured sounds as she fucks him on her tongue, pushing it in again and again until he starts to hyperventilate.
“Fuck,” Wumuti hisses from the other side of the living room where she’s been palming her cock as she watches the two of them.
Now she frantically fumbles inside her sweatpants so she can free her aching cock. It’s already wet and dewy at the tip as she strokes herself to the sight in front of her, hissing as she squeezes her tip hard.
Haru’s moans are breathy and rhythmic, increasing in pitch as Rui plays with him. She licks her way up his perineum and then gives it a soft bite, which makes Haru cry out and jerk. His hard cock bobs and leaks against his tummy, totally forgotten as Haru focuses on the pleasure Rui is wringing from his hole.
“Unnie!” Haru cries out, tapping on her shoulder and then hitting harder when Rui doesn’t react.
He’s lost in the taste and feel of Haru’s body, ignoring Haru’s signals as he licks his way deeper, trying to see how far he can get his tongue inside Haru’s ass.
Haru’s going insane. He needs her inside him. The shame of knowing that Wumuti is watching him combined with the pleasure from Rui eating him out are driving him crazy. He feels too empty, and he needs to be filled up right now…
Fortunately, it’s not like Rui’s patience is endless.
She whines into Haru’s hole while she eats him out, rutting her cock against the couch. The touch of the cool leather against her overheated skin makes her eyes cross.
Her entire body feels crazy sensitive right now. Even the scrape of the short, fuzzy hairs around Haru’s hole make her feel wild as they scratch against her chin and cheeks.
She looks up like she’s coming up from underwater, seeming even more drunk now than when she first went down on Haru. Both she and Haru are breathing hard as Rui’s eyes struggle to focus on Wumuti across the room.
It’s not like their living room is even that big, but right now the coffee table might as well be a chasm between them.
Rui’s voice is wrecked as she addresses Wumuti.
“Unnie,” she pleads.
“Try again,” Wumuti says.
Her eyes are glittering and lightless—even if it’s just a trick of the light—so dark that they make Rui shiver.
“Jiejie,” she whimpers. “Jiejie, can I fuck Haru? Please?”
“Oh good, you know how to ask for permission now,” Wumuti says.
“Jiejie,” Rui repeats more urgently.
Wumuti has half a mind just to let her squirm. It’s a sight to see, Rui’s hips working frantically against the couch. Wumuti could make Rui get herself off just like that, and then she could take care of Haru herself.
She has to squeeze around the base of her cock to stave off an impending orgasm. She isn’t ready to cum yet, but watching Rui behave this way, the sight and sound of her, is pushing Wumuti rapidly toward the edge, to say nothing of Haru.
“Do you deserve it?” Wumuti asks around a tongue that feels thick in her mouth.
Rui whines.
“Use your words.”
“I do,” Rui says, brow knitting together. The words push their way out of her even if she has to make herself a liar in order to get them out. “I’ve been good! I deserve it, jiejie. Please.”
“Please…” Rui repeats, sounding more uncertain when Wumuti doesn’t move or speak. Doesn’t say anything but just looks at her under that gaze that makes Rui feel very small.
“Okay,” Wumuti says. “Fine, but use this. Don’t hurt him.”
She tosses over a small packet of lube because she knows how Rui and Haru can get when left to their own devices, to the tune of seeming to think that lube is fucking optional when they’re all dancers that use their body as part of their business.
Rui fumbles but catches it, and Haru is out of it but apparently still in there because he whines when he feels the cold lube being drizzled against his hole.
“Noona,” he whines.
“Shh, there, there. I’m gonna give you something good, just a second,” Rui hums, maybe mostly to herself. It’s hard to say.
She’s generous and sloppy with the lube, which makes a big mess, but it’s better than the alternative. The lube drips off of Haru onto the couch, and Wumuti is glad the couch is leather and not something harder to clean.
The split between Haru’s legs is so slippery that in her drunken state, Rui’s cock keep glancing off of him. It means that she’s basically massaging him from his crack to his balls with the head of her cock, too slippery to actually get it in, and Haru moans louder at the same time Rui starts swearing under her breath in Mandarin.
Finally, after what seems like a dramatic lifetime, the head of Rui’s cock finally catches on Haru’s rim.
Wumuti can’t help leaning closer as if that will help her view any, biting her lip as her entire focus narrows down to the place where the tip of Rui’s cock is sinking into Haru’s body.
It’s just the tip, but Haru groans like it’s much bigger, babbling something that doesn’t even make sense as language and holding himself open so Rui can give him more.
Rui’s own lip is caught between her teeth. Her lips are blushed red, her eyes wet and shiny as she focuses with rapt fixation on the body below her.
“You feel so good, baobei,” she murmurs. “That’s it, there you go. You can have all of noona’s cock. You can take it, can’t you? Take it all for me…”
Haru is too far gone to reply, but he grunts and pushes back against Rui eagerly, and the flush on his face has spread all the way down to his neck and chest, coloring him pink as Rui slides in with a groan, only stopping when her hips are flat flush against the back of Haru’s thighs.
“Stop,” Wumuti says once Rui is all the way in.
She doesn’t know why, exactly. She wants them to feel it.
And Haru can’t help but feeling it. Rui-noona is big, and this position, with his hips tilted up and his legs bent nearly double, his knees up by his ears, exposes him completely.
It’s like there’s nothing stopping noona from getting all the way into him, fucking so deep that it feels like he’s touching parts of Haru’s body that haven’t been touched before, and the idea is scary even as it makes Haru feel so horny he thinks he might die.
Rui is actually trembling with the effort it takes not to move inside Haru. He’s gripping her like crazy, his hole so hot and tight around her cock, so perfect, and Rui has been hard since Wumuti first pressed a glass into her hand and told her to drink.
Wumuti loves this, too. Seeing them obey her, watching them fight their body’s natural instincts for her. She can see the strain, the tension in both of their bodies, just as she can see the tears that well up in Rui’s eyes before finally spilling over.
“Meimei, are you crying?” Wumuti asks.
“No,” Rui sniffs obviously, reaching up to swipe the traitorous tears away.
Haru isn’t much help at all, totally checked out, only clenching minutely around Rui every now and then.
“Don’t lie, baby,” Wumuti says. “It’s okay. You can fuck him now.”
Rui sniffles a little more, but she can be Wumuti’s good girl, too. She can do what Wumuti says.
Anyway, she finds her rhythm soon enough, moaning as she drags her cock out of Haru’s body and thrusts back into the soft, inviting clench of his body. Her fingers dig into his thighs, and she pants as she fucks him.
“Noona,” he babbles. “F-feels so big. It’s too much, I can’t take it.”
He pushes at her weakly, but sparks crackle and pop behind his eyes as Rui hits a new angle, this angle driving down into his prostate with relentless force.
It feels so fucking good.
Haru feels like he’s floating. Like he’s detached from his body and everything is made up of sensation. He’s hyperaware of the leather beneath his back, sticking to his skin with sweat, of the slap of Rui’s thighs against the back of his hips.
He goes slack and boneless, the pitch of his voice rising and rising.
“Holy fuck,” Wumuti mutters to herself, jerking herself off in earnest again.
She’s not going to be able to hold it this time, isn’t even going to try.
Without Wumuti holding her back, Rui is fucking Haru hard, talking to him in a mix of broken Korean and Mandarin that he probably can’t make heads or tails of, and Haru feels like he’s losing his mind.
He needs to cum. He’s almost there, but no matter how good it feels, he can’t quite get there, and his brow wrinkles in consternation.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Wumuti asks, half cruel mockery and half legitimate concern. “Got whiskey dick?”
Haru’s brain is too fried. He just whines.
This position makes it worse. Rui is so deep inside him that Haru can feel it in his guts. He’s pounding Haru’s ass so hard that Haru knows he won’t last.
At this point there’s nothing Haru can do. He’s not coordinated enough to meet Rui’s thrusts, and so he finally just gives up. He loops his arms around Rui’s neck and just rides it out, letting Rui use him to chase his own orgasm.
There’s something fucked up about Wumuti, probably, to take some solace in watching her ex fuck her boyfriend while they’re both fucking hammered at her request.
Rui cums with a soft cry muffled into the crook of Haru’s neck not long after, her world narrowing down to just the boy in her arms for a little while.
Haru shudders through it with her, and she lets both his legs down easy, lowering them back to the couch.
It’s not like Haru needs to cum tonight. It’s not as though he even can, in all likeliness, but some strange, sweet impulse in Rui makes her want to try anyway.
Wumuti strokes her dick so fast it would hurt if she was less turned on, swearing as she watches Rui crawl between Haru’s knees to take his cock between her lips.
He’d gone soft while Rui was fucking him, and he whines, as if the touch of Rui’s mouth on him is too much, but even so he digs his heels into the sofa cushions and thrusts his hips up toward Rui’s mouth, bucking in uncoordinated little thrusts until he’s humping her face.
Rui slides a finger into his hole that’s still loose and sloppy, and Haru cums with a muffled sob.
“Fuck,” Wumuti swears, wishing she was inside him. Wishing she was inside Rui, and cums over her own fist as she watches Rui swallow Haru’s load down.
Haru is messy by the time Rui is done. Rui had managed to finger her own cum out of him, and it drips pearly from his reddened, puffy rim.
They put Haru to bed first.
It’s not very hard when he’s basically dead on his feet. Sex usually knocks him out, and with the added effect of all the soju he’d drunk, he’s almost asleep before he can even hit the pillow.
Wumuti kisses him on the forehead, rubbing her nose indulgently against the soft skin at his temple—although whether she’s indulging him or herself is anybody’s best guess.
“Goodnight, baby,” she murmurs.
Rui watches them from her own bed across the room, quiet.
“Do you hate me?” Rui asks, and it’s something about the sound of her voice that makes Wumuti turn her head. That makes her look—really look—and see what she’s been looking at.
Rui looks sad and kind of wilted, if a person can look wilted. Her nose is red at the tip, and she looks so unsure of herself.
Maybe that’s what does it—what makes Wumuti stride across the room and close the distance between them so quickly.
Rui’s still sitting up in bed, and she’s got her bedspread twisted between her hands, balled up anxiously.
Had Wumuti been about to walk out the room without bothering to give any aftercare to Rui?
Maybe. And she doesn’t like knowing that about herself.
“Why would you say that?” Wumuti asks.
Her tone isn’t harsh. Her voice isn’t accusatory, and Rui still can’t look her in the eye.
She doesn’t answer, either.
“Your hair is getting so long,” Wumuti murmurs, running her fingers through Rui’s hair.
Rui’s eyes flutter, and she can’t keep them open. Being touched by Wumuti always feels too good, and it’s been so rare lately—something that Rui seeks out and hoards like diamonds.
She shudders and holds still, like any movement at all will scare away Wumuti’s affection.
“Did I do well?” Rui asks now that they’re the only two awake.
Haru is off in dreamland, and Rui is trying to remember how to be with Wumuti when it’s only the two of them.
“You did well,” Wumuti says, and it isn’t hard to say. It’s only true.
“My Rui did very well for me. Only it’s not a lie. Do you know what I mean?” Wumuti asks, pushing Rui’s black hair away from her face.
It’s a little sweaty, and Wumuti runs her fingers through it. Like clean, black silk.
Rui shakes her head. She’s very drunk and very sleepy, and her hips and pelvis feel hollow and sore. She stays flopped on her side in the bed and lets Wumuti take care of her.
Ah. So then Wumuti will have to say it.
Rui’s eyes look up at her so trusting, and Wumuti thinks that she couldn’t ever find it in her to break Rui’s heart.
“I mean to say that you do deserve to feel good, baobei. It’s not…” Wumuti bites her lip. That doesn’t mean it comes easy to her. “I know you love him, too. I’m not… I don’t hate you, okay? I could never hate you. I love you very much.”
Rui feels the tip of her nose growing sour. Ah, this again. She cries so easily, it’s crazy.
She sniffles, and Wumuti’s eyes widen, concerned, but Rui waves her off. “I’m fine. I’m just emotional.”
“All of this stuff…” Wumuti’s face grows concerned. “You know you don’t need to, in order to please me. I just…”
Rui catches Wumuti’s hand perfectly on the first try. Take that, shoddy depth perception. Rui 1, drunk impairment 0. She twines her fingers around Wumuti’s.
“I’m not doing it because I think I need to.”
“Then…”
“For you,” Rui says. “I’m doing it for you.”
That feels like a lot for Wumuti to take in right now. She doesn’t know if she can. At least not tonight.
“Do you want me to stay with you? Until you fall asleep?” she asks instead.
Rui nods and scoots over when Wumuti looks at her expectantly.
Rui’s bed isn’t really big enough for the both of them, but they make it work.
“Goodnight,” Wumuti says, tucked into Rui’s side like she’s the one that needs protecting.
“Night,” Rui says softly.
Rui reaches over and turns out the light, and Wumuti falls asleep before she can remember to get out of bed again.