Archive of Our Own

After the third person in a row almost spills their drink all over his pretty, pristine white costume knocking into him, Wooyoung wonders not for the first time why he ever agrees to go along with Yunho’s schemes.

Although in this case, ‘scheme’ might not be the right word. It’s a shot in the dark at best - and a rather desperate one at that.

Yunho has a crush. On a frat boy. Worse than that, a frat boy he’s hardly ever actually spoken to outside of the one class they have together. And even then any interaction they’ve had has been limited to the standard pleasantries of ‘hello’ and ‘did you do the reading’ and ‘can I please borrow your charger’.

Said charger has not yet been returned to him. Yunho has convinced himself that it’s because he’s finally destined to have his Cinderella moment and that his ‘frat boy prince’ (an oxymoron if Wooyoung ever heard one) is simply waiting for him to show up and claim both the charger and his heart.

Wooyoung hasn’t had the heart to tell him that that’s not at all how the fairytale goes given that the prince is supposed to be the one doing the chasing. Nor has he been able to face telling him that most of the frat boys he’s known in his life are just forgetful like that, far too focused on themselves to ever be able to see past the size of their own inflated egos.

He’s starting to realize now that he probably should have said something regardless. Maybe then he could have saved himself from ending up in his current predicament: at a frat party, on Halloween, when he should be at home curled up between his friends on his and Yunho’s shitty, frayed leather sofa cowering and only half paying attention to whatever horror movie Jongho has convinced them to put on because year after year they refuse to learn from their past mistakes.

When Yunho had heard which frat house would be throwing the famed annual Halloween party he’d begged Wooyoung for three days straight to come with him so he could finally try to make a move. He claimed it was the perfect opportunity - what better way to find his frat boy prince than at a frat boy ball?

Wooyoung had eventually relented only because the prospect of no longer having a sad, pining puppy for a roommate despondently wandering the halls of their apartment was incredibly appealing to him.

And if he’s really being honest with himself? He kind of misses getting to dress up in a sexy little costume every year. He misses the attention and the way he’s able to make people’s eyes wander, their hands clearly itching to do the same. It’s been a while since he’s had a chance to feel that way. Or to have somebody else make him feel that way, between all the classes and the studying and the constant exhaustion as a byproduct of just trying to keep his head above water and not drown.

He deserves to have a little fun.

Even if it takes a frat party of all things to get him there.

He’s never been to a frat party he’s actually enjoyed before, and for good reason. The music is bad. The dancing is worse. Anyone not dancing is either inside drinking, outside smoking, or plastered against the nearest available surface to blatantly and publicly shove their tongues down each others’ throats (no, Wooyoung isn’t jealous at all thank you for asking). This party is much the same, only that everyone is doing it in costumes of varying levels of effort and originality.

Wooyoung’s own angel costume might not be original in any way, but he does pride himself on being the prettiest angel at the party. Other than the obvious dainty little wings and halo, he’s wearing a short, white skirt sheer enough that the little lace panties he has on underneath are just visible enough to anyone who might care to let their eyes linger for more than a few moments (and many of them do). He’s paired it with a cropped, equally sheer strappy white top that shows off the deep lines of his cleavage as well as an enticing strip of midriff, and again, he’s seen more than one person’s gaze linger there.

And because he can never settle for anything less than being the most fuckable person in the room, he’s topped the whole outfit off with a pair of pretty, sparkly silver heels that accentuate his long legs and make and his hips sway in a tantalizing motion that he knows has more people staring at him than his outfit alone ever could.

It’s just unfortunate that, so far at least, no one has been able to draw his attention back in quite the same way.

Perhaps more unfortunate though, he doesn’t even have a decent drink in his hand to help take the edge off of being all dolled up with no one to appreciate him properly. All they seem to have is beer or vodka or tequila, and he’s had enough bad run-ins with the latter two in the past that the mere sight of them turns his stomach.

He stares despondently down at his beer. It tastes vile, but at this point it’s the only lifeline he has.

Wincing as he swallows down the bitter taste, Wooyoung continues to search for Yunho in the crowd. He’d lost him a few minutes ago after he’d yelled some incomprehensible nonsense in his ear while gesturing vaguely towards the other side of the room, before disappearing into the swell of cramped, sweaty costumed bodies before Wooyoung could stop him.

He really shouldn’t be that hard to spot - he towers over ninety percent of the people here, easily, not to mention the fact that he’s dressed in an obnoxious yellow princess gown (“I’m Princess Daisy”, he’d claimed; “It’s giving Belle”, Wooyoung had argued, just to be contrarian) - but a quick scan of the room yields nothing.

Wooyoung sighs and takes another swig of his beer. He’d hoped the taste would improve in his gradual insobriety, but somehow it’s only gotten worse. He grimaces, nose wrinkling in distaste, and sags despondently against the nearest wall with a pout.

“It’ll taste better if you add a little soda to it.”

Wooyoung startles at the sudden voice that drops low and velvetine just shy of his ear. When he turns his gaze to the side, he finds an obscure figure leaning against the wall next to him where there hadn’t been anyone before. The lighting is too low for him to be able to see any of the stranger’s features properly, but he’s just about able to make out two small devil horns perched on his head.

It’s either a happy coincidence or a very convenient pick-up line is headed his way.

Wooyoung is about to say as much when the strobe lights suddenly cut through the darkness surrounding them, momentarily dispelling the shadows, and the words promptly die in his throat.

The stranger in the devil horns is hot.

Very.

He’s wearing dark jeans that cling very flatteringly to his hips and thighs, full of rips and tears the entire length down from thigh to knee that reveal several strips of bare skin in between. His top is black and skin-tight, stretched snug and perfect over the broad muscles of his chest and abdomen, cut right at the shoulders to reveal two beautiful toned arms. It looks like it’s about one good stretch away from being just as cropped as Wooyoung’s own top, the tiniest sliver of skin visible between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of his jeans.

He is also, unmistakably, a frat boy. That much is abundantly clear from the ridiculous backwards baseball cap he insists on wearing under the devil horns, the same series of greek letters stitched into the back of it as Wooyoung had seen plastered in obnoxiously large white print on the front of the house when he’d first arrived.

He’s willing to overlook the red flag for what it is given that this particular frat boy is built like a goddamn inverted triangle. All broad, lean muscle on top leading down to the tiniest, sluttiest waist Wooyoung has ever had the pleasure of seeing on a man.

He’s overcome with the urge to grab it, see if it looks even smaller in his hands, and is suddenly very grateful that he never took to beer and is therefore still sober enough to know better than to grope a complete stranger in public without at least having the decency to flirt his way into it first.

Not sober enough for his eyes to get the memo though apparently, because the second they flick back up to the stranger’s face from where he’s just been blatantly checking him out he’s met with a knowing, unbearably cocky smirk.

Ignoring both the look and the obvious heat rising to his own cheeks, Wooyoung leans away from the wall, angling himself towards the frat boy with his chest pushed out a little more obviously. It has the desired effect of briefly drawing the frat boy’s eyes downward, granting him a mirrored knowing smirk from Wooyoung in return.

“Honestly, I don’t think even soda could save this,” Wooyoung laments, pouting down at the bottle in his hand. He is once again successful in drawing the frat boy’s attention in the desired direction, his eyes automatically flicking down to Wooyoung’s lips and back up again, gaze softening in the face of what Wooyoung knows is his most disarming expression.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“It tastes like ass.”

The frat boy raises an eyebrow, another half-smirk already poised on his face. “You know what ass tastes like, do you angel?”

“Of course. Some might even call me an expert.”

Wooyoung raises the glass-neck bottle back to his mouth. He makes sure the frat boy’s eyes track the movement as he wraps his lips around the tip, making a show of tipping his head back to give the perfect view of his jaw and the slender line of his throat as he swallows down another slow, deliberate mouthful.

It tastes just as bad as before. But at least this time he has the satisfaction of watching as the frat boy’s expression glazes over slightly when he tongues at the rim, letting his lips pull off with a deliberately lewd, wet sound.

He wipes a lingering bit of spit from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, smiling when he sees the frat boy’s tongue dart out to subconsciously wet his own lips.

“You seem to be enjoying that an awful lot. Sure you don’t secretly love the taste?”

“Maybe a little,” Wooyoung acknowledges with a shrug. “But I can still think of lots of other things I’d rather have in my mouth right now.”

The frat boy cocks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” He’s got his signature smirk on again, leaning in closer to caress two fingers along Wooyoung’s cheek. “Like what, angel?”

Wooyoung pulls away from the touch so he can bring his lips level with the frat boy’s ear. “Mmm, maybe some cock…” he trails off, letting the word hang in the air for a moment before adding, “...tails.” He’s grinning when he leans back, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in satisfaction at the betrayed expression the frat boy is now giving him.

“You think you’re real cute, don’t you.”

“I think I’m adorable,” Wooyoung quips. “And I know you think so too.”

The frat boy doesn’t deny it. He just lets his fingers drift across Wooyoung’s cheek again, trailing along his jaw and down under his chin so he can tilt his face up. “What gave me away?”

“No one stares at my lips this much without wanting to fuck me at least a little bit.”

The frat boy’s eyes flick almost guiltily away from Wooyoung’s lips back up to his eyes. “It’s dark,” he observes. “Maybe I’m just having a hard time finding your eyes.”

“I’ll give you a hint. My lips are here,” Wooyoung reaches up for the frat boy’s fingers, moving them from his chin up to his bottom lip, “and my eyes are just a little higher. Got it?”

“Got it,” the frat boy replies instantly.

Obediently.

It strikes a pleasant chord somewhere deep inside Wooyoung. He can’t help the next words that leave his mouth, the frat boy’s wrist still caught between his fingers for him to nuzzle his face against his palm. “Good boy,” he purrs.

A slightly glazed look clouds over the frat boy’s expression. He opens his mouth to reply, and Wooyoung is already bracing himself for the next coy line he’s about to be subjected to when he’s promptly cut off before he can even get a single word out as someone knocks into him from behind, jostling him forwards.

Straight into Wooyoung’s arms.

Wooyoung’s beer sloshes around in his hand for one precarious moment as he reaches out to prevent himself from being completely crushed, before the bottle slips completely out of his grasp and onto the floor - but not before spilling all the way down his right side first.

Scrambling backwards, the frat boy immediately begins fussing over him when he notices the aftermath, hands hovering by his shoulders and at his waist like he wants to check him over and make sure he’s okay but that he’s suddenly unsure whether the touch will be welcome. “Shit,” he hisses. “I’m so sorry… Your costume…”

Wooyoung stares down at the wet splotches already starting to stain the pretty white fabric. “Well,” he tugs forlornly at the hem of his skirt, “it’s not like I didn’t expect this might happen eventually. This skirt was going to get ruined by the end of the night one way or another. It’s just a shame it had to be like this and not in a more… Fun way.”

The last part is said with a coy glance in the frat boy’s direction, whose eyes instantly light up when the meaning of the words sinks in. “Hey, I’m sure it’s still salvageable! The stain isn’t that bad,” he ghosts a hand down Wooyoung’s side, letting the material of the skirt ripple between his fingers with an almost reverential kind of fascination. “Why don’t I help get you cleaned up, angel? Give this costume a second chance to be properly ruined later, in a way you might prefer.”

Wooyoung considers him for a moment. He’s cocky, sure. His smile is obviously carefully practiced to be disarming, his expression seeming almost permanently poised at the edge of something flirty and suggestive.

But he’s also… Oddly genuine, in a way. The slightly dazed look he gets in his eyes whenever he looks at Wooyoung isn’t practiced. There had also been legitimate concern in his tone after he’d been made to knock into him, hands careful not to touch him too bluntly. He seems a little bit like the type who can’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve, and Wooyoung finds himself rather unexpectedly endeared by the dichotomy.

“Alright,” he agrees. “But only if I get your name first.”

“San,” the frat boy, San, supplies easily. Eagerly, even; it makes Wooyoung have to disguise an amused smile behind a cough. “Make sure you remember it. It’s what you’ll be screaming later tonight,” he adds with a wink.

Wooyoung can’t help the soft, tinkling huff of laughter that leaves him. “Oh, sweetheart…” He drawls, inching closer. “If one of us is going to be screaming the other’s name by the end of the night, I can promise you it won’t be me.”

He gives San’s cheek a brief pat that is equal parts affectionate and patronizing, and is surprised when he sees him smile in return. Almost like he enjoys this push and pull momentum they’ve got going on. Like he delights in having Wooyoung subvert almost every single one of his advances.

It’s kind of refreshing. Wooyoung is used to having most people get frustrated with him by this point, even though that’s never really his intention. He just enjoys the chase. He likes to feel desired, past any point of reasonable doubt. He likes to tease and rile up and still end up with exactly what he wants because the other person is just too helpless to do anything but give in to his every whim.

And right now, San still very much looks like he wants him.

“Then why don’t you give me your name too so I can start practicing? I can’t keep calling you ‘angel’ like this when I’m starting to get the feeling that you’re anything but.”

“What if I like it when you call me angel?” Wooyoung pouts, reaching up so he can drape his arms in a loose hold around San’s neck. He draws in closer so he can add in a low murmur, “Gets me all hot and bothered… You should feel how wet I am right now.”

He doesn’t need to pull away to see the effect his words have. He can feel it in the way San’s hands come up to frame his waist, fingers grazing his skin like he wants so badly to leave imprints behind, struggling to maintain even a modicum of restraint.

“Cool,” San grates out, voice all rough and unsteady. He has to clear his throat before trying again. “No name. Absolutely. Got it. Forget I even asked.”

It makes Wooyoung have to stifle another giggle. “I’m serious though; I am wet. I can feel the beer seeping through my clothes and into my skin. It feels sticky and gross and not in a good way.”

“Well then, let’s go get you cleaned up, angel.”

Wooyoung allows himself to be led away from the main room and down one of the house’s many hallways, each one just as packed as the last with a spillover of drunk, costumed bodies that either don’t fit in the main room or can’t be bothered to venture outside into the cold October air.

San’s hand doesn’t leave his waist the entire time.

It starts as just a light, guiding touch at first, his fingers only grazing the bare skin of Wooyoung’s exposed midriff enough to give him a gentle nudge whenever they need to turn somewhere or round another corner. When another group of drunk party-goers nearly crashes straight into them swarming down the hallway it becomes almost protective, his arm curling more fully around Wooyoung to hold him close against his side and out of harm’s way.

But it’s when one of the many people they pass by lets their gaze linger just a little too long in Wooyoung’s direction that Wooyoung notices the touch the most. Something about the way San’s grip tightens ever so slightly in response to the looks he’s clearly being given, like a subtle wave of possessiveness passes through him and all he wants to do is tuck Wooyoung behind him and away from prying eyes.

Wooyoung isn’t sure he’s even aware he’s doing it. He lets it pass without comment though, content in his own private awareness of just how much of an effect he’s having on him already.

As much as he enjoys all the attention he gets, there’s just something so exhilarating about having someone else be equally aware of his desirability but not be able to do much more about it other than exude an aura of ‘mine’ towards any who dare look his way.

It becomes obvious where they’re headed when Wooyoung notices a steady outpouring of people ahead of them with noticeably full glass bottles and red plastic cups in their hands. The kitchen-turned-bar, which he only briefly encountered earlier to get his first drink. Larger than it has any right to be and hosting what he presumes is a solid nine to one ratio of alcohol to food.

They run into a large group of girls leaving the kitchen just as they’re entering, the majority of them dressed in costumes revealing enough to rival Wooyoung’s own. A few of them devolve into blushing and giggling the moment they spot San, eyes flicking conspiratorially between them which only brings on a fresh wave of laughter. It prompts San’s signature smirk to fall back in place when he becomes aware of the attention he’s being given, making him stand a little taller, eyes flicking appreciatively over the group.

He nods to them as they pass each other, and Wooyoung can’t help the way he bristles internally seeing him with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he watches the group walk away over his shoulder.

That’s how San should be looking at him.

Doing his very best to ignore the twinge of jealousy that threatens to unravel in the pit of his stomach, Wooyoung nudges his hip against San’s to bring his attention back around to where it rightfully belongs.

“Friends of yours?” He enquires lightly. His tone still comes out colder than he intends, his smile less casual than it is pointed.

The look San gives him makes him think that neither of these things goes unnoticed. “Something like that,” he replies carefully.

“You should have introduced me.”

San’s mouth twists into a funny little line, like he’s holding back a smile. It’s still evident in his voice when he says, “If I had remembered any of their names, I would have.”

“Wow. Classy.”

“Don’t worry, angel. I could never forget someone like you,” San drawls. His other hand comes up to join the first around Wooyoung’s waist, palms warm where he gently manhandles him until they’re standing face to face. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Bet you say that to all the pretty girls.”

“Pretty boys, too.” San’s eyes rake pointedly over Wooyoung’s figure. They linger particularly long at his hips and thighs where he gives him an appreciative squeeze with his hands, before drifting back up to his waist again.

Wooyoung adopts an exaggerated pout. “You think I’m pretty?” He asks, batting his eyelashes. He curls his fingers into the front of San’s shirt to bring them closer together. “How pretty?”

“Very pretty. So pretty I kind of just want to ruin you right here in the middle of this kitchen,” San’s hands roam lower, the fabric of Wooyoung’s skirt bunching up in his fingers.

Wooyoung’s pout deepens. “Even though I’m all sticky and smell like beer?”

“We’re at a frat party. Everyone is sticky and smells like beer.” San squeezes his waist with a soft smile. “So don’t feel like you need to get all cleaned up just for my sake.”

Wooyoung blinks back at him innocently. “Who says it’s for you? Plenty of other people think I’m pretty too. Maybe I want to get all cleaned up for them.”

Just like when other people kept looking Wooyoung’s way when they were making their way to the kitchen, San’s grip tightens impulsively around his waist. It’s all the warning Wooyoung gets before he’s being hoisted up into the air with a small squeak that brings a smirk to San’s face, one that slips into pure satisfaction when Wooyoung’s legs come up automatically to lock around his waist as his hands scrabble against his broad shoulders for stability.

Wooyoung tries to fix him with a glare, but it becomes horribly distorted as soon as he feels San’s hands slide under his skirt and up over his ass for better purchase.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you,” San explains casually, continuing to step further into the kitchen. “There are cups and bottles everywhere. I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

Wooyoung glances at the floor. He can see maybe one single empty plastic cup rolling around. “Are you sure you didn’t just want an excuse to fondle my ass?”

“What, this?” San hoists Wooyoung further up in his arms so his hands can more fully cup his ass. He smirks knowingly at the way Wooyoung fingers dig into his shoulders in response. “This is just a nice bonus.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Wooyoung thumps him lightly on the shoulder. “Put me down.”

“That’s the plan angel,” San takes a few more steps before gently lowering him down again, depositing him on a nearby countertop. “There. Comfortable?” He pats him on the thigh, a pacifying smile on his face.

Wooyoung gives him a look. “Is this necessary?”

“Easier access. This way I can get a proper look at your outfit to help clean you up.”

“You could have just as easily gotten down on your knees for me instead,” Wooyoung points out. “Where you belong,” he adds.

San is quiet for a moment, contemplative in the way that he looks at him. Then, wordlessly, he runs his hands down Wooyoung’s waist and along his parted thighs before slowly, deliberately sinking down to his knees between them.

Right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“Like this?” He asks. “Is this how you want me, angel?” He stares up at Wooyoung with round eyes, hands resting on his knees. Looking for all the world like sin incarnate.

Wooyoung is, momentarily, speechless.

San looks so good between his legs; all eager, innocent obedience, a stark contrast to the two devil horns still perched on top of his head. If he wasn’t wearing that stupid hat underneath them Wooyoung doesn’t think he’d be able to resist reaching out to curl his fingers into his blond locks to pull and tug and see if he can’t encourage him even closer. To tilt his head back until his mouth pops open, so he can see the flat of his tongue and the wetness of his lips as he sits there waiting for absolution.

He reaches down with the intention of cupping his cheek in compromise, thumb already poised to slip between his pretty pink lips, when there’s a sudden flurry of activity around them as more drunken partygoers gradually stumble into the kitchen.

Their voices are loud enough to drown out the sound of Wooyoung’s heart hammering inside his chest, loud enough to cut through the tension, and the moment is broken.

San’s hands disappear from Wooyoung’s knees, reaching out to pull one of the lower cabinets open with a self-conscious cough instead. “Sorry angel,” he apologizes as he rises back into a standing position. “Guess you’ll just have to get me on my knees another time.”

“With how willingly you just went now I don’t think that’s going to be much of a problem.”

San holds up a blue cloth. “I just needed to get this from the cabinet.” He deposits it to the side of the counter so he can lean into Wooyoung’s space with a taunting grin, brow arched in challenge. “Why, were you having dirty thoughts about me down there between your legs?”

Undeterred, Wooyoung curls his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans so he can pull him closer still. His thighs fall open even wider to accommodate him there, tugging him forward until they’re pressed almost crotch to crotch and San has to balance himself with his hands on either side of his hips to avoid falling into him completely.

“The filthiest,” Wooyoung purrs. His eyes are hooded where they’re locked on San’s, even more so when they briefly flick down to his lips. “Need a big strong demon to help get me all cleaned up before I get in trouble.”

San doesn’t need to be told twice.

Wooyoung keeps his legs spread for him to stand between as he sets to work soaking the cloth in soapy water to dab it over the more obvious stains on his clothes. There aren’t all that many in the end, and he definitely stands closer than necessary for much longer than necessary, but Wooyoung is hardly going to start complaining. He just leans back and allows himself to be pampered, basking in the feeling of San’s warm hands running gently all over every inch of his body under the obvious guise of checking him over for more stains just so he has an excuse to touch.

Besides, it gives Wooyoung a chance to take some liberties of his own while he’s otherwise occupied. With San standing so close to him like this it’s just so easy for him to finally give in to the temptation to slide his hands around his waist like he’s been wanting to do ever since he first laid eyes on him.

And he was right - it does feel even smaller in his comparatively larger hands.

He spreads his fingers out as far as they’ll go, thumbs teasing under the hem of San’s shirt to nudge the material up and expose more skin. He hears San’s breath catch in his throat on an exhale - body tense, anticipation simmering just beneath the surface. He pauses for a moment, letting him adjust to the soothing caress of his fingers, before lightly digging his nails into his skin just to see what might happen.

What happens is San lets out a breathy, choked-off whimper, one that Wooyoung only catches because of how close they are already. His hips twitch up against what little counter space still separates them, seemingly of their own volition given the faint blush that immediately dusts the tops of his cheekbones. Wooyoung noses along his cheek with a faint laugh until San pulls back to give him an indecipherable look, eyebrows pinched together like he wants something but doesn’t know how to articulate it.

The expression only eases when Wooyoung tightens his grip on his waist again. He digs his nails in with one hand at the same time that the other finds its way to one of the ripped slits at the back of his jeans, just wide enough for him to slip his fingers into and squeeze.

The whimper is louder this time, a little strangled as San’s whole body jolts forward until he’s burying the sound into Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“Like it when someone grabs your waist hard enough to bruise, hmm?” Wooyoung teases. “Or when I touch you here?” He wiggles the fingers still caught in the rips of San’s jeans, reaching a little deeper so he can cup even more of his ass. The tip of one digit curls just between his crack, pressing up against the thin fabric of his underwear until he feels San shudder in his arms.

“A-Ang-” San tries to wrangle the word out from the back of his throat, but it gets lost behind another small, plaintive whine when Wooyoung removes his fingers.

“People are starting to stare,” Wooyoung murmurs, lips pressed to his ear. “Do you really want me to keep going and see just how much of a mess I can make you for all of them to see?”

San pulls away, conflict playing out on his face. Whether because he can’t decide if he wants Wooyoung to continue or not or because he’s conflicted about the fact that he wants what he wants at all, his expression makes Wooyoung want to laugh so fondly that he has to lean in and press a chaste kiss between his furrowed brows just to stop it from bubbling out.

“I think we need to switch costumes,” San tells him seriously.

“As much as I would love to see you try to squeeze your tits into this tiny little top, I’d much rather keep it on for you to drool over for the rest of the night.”

“I don’t drool.”

“Maybe not literally, but…” Wooyoung tilts San’s chin around between his fingers. “It’s written all over your face, sweetheart.”

“Mine and everyone else’s,” San huffs, and it does make Wooyoung laugh this time.

“Aww, jealous? I can’t help that everyone wants me.” He curls his fingers under San’s chin, like he’s giving a cat placating chin scratches.

“Don’t have anything to be jealous of when you’re here with me and not someone else.”

“Only because you offered me something I needed. But now that that’s done…” Wooyoung trails off, releasing San’s chin.

The effect is instant. San’s palms clamp down on his thighs, holding him in place as mild panic flashes behind his eyes. “Wait-” he breathes out, voice bordering on desperate. “Can I at least - Can I make you a drink before you go? I just so happen to be an expert in making drinks not taste like ass.”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re bluffing just so you have an excuse to get me to stick around a little longer.”

“Maybe a little bit,” San shrugs, smile lopsided. “But I really do make a mean cocktail, even if it’s mostly improvised.” His fingers toy idly with the frills of Wooyoung’s skirt where they tickle the tops of his thighs. It feels like a yearning touch, one that’s begging Wooyoung to stay when San can’t seem to get the actual words out himself.

“Exactly what someone who’s bluffing would say.”

“Come on…” San pleads. He hesitates for a moment before dropping a soft kiss to Wooyoung’s shoulder, eyes wavering when they make eye contact again. “Please?” Another kiss, this time placed delicately at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. “Just one drink.”

Wooyoung has to resist the urge to squirm under his touch. His lips are soft, a little ticklish. It’s almost unbearably adorable, like a little kitten butting against his hand for attention. “Alright,” he huffs, stifling a giggle when San kisses him again. “Fine. One drink. Whatever you make can’t be worse than anything else here, so. It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose.”

San’s smile is triumphant. “I promise you won’t regret it,” he says, giving Wooyoung’s thighs a squeeze. “Any flavours you don’t like that I should stay away from?”

“Nope,” Wooyoung beams. “I’ll put pretty much anything in my mouth.”

San looks like he’s trying very hard (and failing even harder) not to let the mental image Wooyoung’s words must conjure up from overwhelming his brain. “Great,” he says, voice like sandpaper. “Got it. Anything goes.”

Wooyoung stays perched on the countertop, legs dangling over the side as he watches San navigate the chaos of a frat kitchen overrun with drunk people trying to gather all the ingredients he needs. They must be hiding the really good stuff from the rest of the party because none of the bottles San pulls out are ones that he’s seen anywhere else around the house.

He’s poised to ask about it when his eyes zero in on the back of San’s shirt. He’s been so distracted by his waist and his arms and everything about him to have bothered paying it much attention before, but in the absence of having a sweet, beefy frat boy in his arms to tease and rile up to his heart’s content he finally has enough attention to spare to notice the little demonic figure printed on the back in red ink, the words “fuck like a demon” scrawled in gothic font underneath.

Wooyoung lets out an involuntary snort. The sound is enough to make San glance over his shoulder to eye him suspiciously. “What?”

Wooyoung beckons him forward with one hand. There’s a smile already threatening to take over his face, the corners of his lips twitching the more he tries to suppress it. San hesitates, bottle poised over the rim of a cup to continue pouring more liquid into it, but he ultimately succumbs with a sigh the second Wooyoung starts to pout and make grabby hands at him.

When he has San within reach, Wooyoung spins him around so he can splay his fingers along his back, tracing them over the printed text. “Just wanted to get a closer look at your shirt,” he observes idly.

“You like it?”

“I’d like it a lot more if I believed it was true.”

San throws him a cocksure smile over his shoulder. “I’m always happy to prove it to you if you’d like.”

“Mmm, cute.” Wooyoung tugs at San’s collar until they’re pressed more fully chest to back, arms slipping around his middle to encase him. His voice drops even lower when he presses his lips to his ear to add, “You might fuck like a demon, but I’ll fuck you so good you’ll see god.”

He can almost feel the shiver of anticipation that passes through San’s body in response.

“Jesus,” San hisses.

“Yeah. Him too.”

It’s a laugh that he feels pass through San then. “This is starting to feel a little blasphemous.”

“Only a little? I need to try harder.” Wooyoung runs a hand up San’s chest, pinching at one of his nipples as if to illustrate.

He’s a little taken aback when he feels something sharp and pointed under the pads of his fingers - like the metal of a piercing, except not in the traditional barbell shape.

He opens his mouth to ask, but any of the words he might have been about to say promptly dissolve into thin air when he feels San jerk forward in his arms in response to his touch, fingers still lingering and rubbing absentmindedly over his nipple. He doesn’t try to escape the sensation though; just shudders softly before settling more fully against Wooyoung’s chest, head lolling back against his shoulder when Wooyoung rubs his thumb over the bud a little harder.

Like he’s enjoying himself.

There’s been enough of a lull in foot-traffic passing through the kitchen for the last while that Wooyoung doesn’t have to worry too much about anyone noticing him slide his other hand up to tease San’s other nipple. He rubs and tweaks at the buds until San’s writhing in his arms, one hand braced against Wooyoung’s knee while the other clutches at his wrists with soft, stuttered little breaths, pawing and tugging at him like he’s not sure whether he wants him to stop or keep going.

He’s eventually forced to extricate himself after Wooyoung tries to stick his tongue in his ear to test just how sensitive he really is. He makes an adorable sound when he does, halfway between a whine and a giggle. It makes Wooyoung want to hold on tighter, his brain clouding over with all the ways he could drag this out and get him properly squirming.

But then he remembers the drink he’s been promised - the drink that simply won’t get made if the one making it is too busy trying not to cream himself from having his tits played with - and he ends up letting San go with a forlorn sigh, giving his pecs one final squeeze before he goes.

“You’re a menace,” San accuses as he returns to making his drink, casting a feigned look of disapproval at him over his shoulder that loses any and all credibility from both the flush in his cheeks and the smile he can’t quite tamper down. Wooyoung merely sticks his tongue out at him after he turns around, pulling a face at his back.

He’s tempted to hop down from the counter so he can silently slide up behind him to deliver more teasing touches, but he holds himself in check. There’s a fresh wave of people crowding the kitchen again - but besides that, he’d much rather let San stew in anticipation, let him fantasize about all the other ways in which Wooyoung might touch him again now that he’s gotten a taste for it.

Because God knows Wooyoung is already fantasizing about it.

When San finally hands him his finished drink in a plastic red cup, it’s room-temperature and looks a lot less appealing than it would have if it was served in a proper cocktail glass. But Wooyoung is aware that this is neither the time nor place for being fussy, so he graciously accepts it without a word and brings it up to his lips for a tentative first sip.

San watches him carefully the entire time. A little pout forms on his face when Wooyoung lowers the cup with a noncommittal hum. “Is it good?”

“Good enough for me to swallow and not spit,” Wooyoung replies. “About the highest praise I can give a guy.”

“Good enough for me to finally get your name?”

Wooyoung takes another contemplative sip. “Mmm… Not quite. No ice, no garnish, no fun little umbrella,” he lists off. “Think you’re gonna have to give it another shot with the next one you make me.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that this is a frat house and not a fully-stocked cocktail bar.”

“Excuses excuses…” Wooyoung tuts. He swirls the drink around in his cup before taking another careful sip. “All I see is someone not trying hard enough to get into my little white lace panties.”

San’s expression does a complete one-eighty at the mention of that particular aspect of Wooyoung’s costume. “I can’t do anything about the ice or the umbrella, but where does garnish get me?”

Wooyoung hums, pretending to think about it. He lets his free hand drift down to the hem of his skirt, fingers hooking under the material so he can slowly hike it up his thigh. “It might get you a little closer…” He trails off, continuing to lift the hem until a flash of panties peeks through; just a sliver, just enough to tease.

It seems to be more than enough for San.

“Stay right there.”

Wooyoung hides an endeared laugh behind his cup as he watches San scramble away, weaving around the few people still remaining in the kitchen to rummage through every possible drawer and cupboard.

When he eventually returns to Wooyoung’s side, it’s with a small plastic, pastel-coloured bag of candy clutched victoriously in his hand. “So, I was hoping I could find some actual fruit like cherries or something,” he starts, shaking the bag out for Wooyoung to see, “but we don’t really keep much fruit in the house. This is the best I can offer right now.” He fishes around in the bag so he can pull out a few pieces of fruit-shaped candy, dropping them into Wooyoung’s cup with a flourish.

Wooyoung observes the candy now floating around in his cup with a pout. “Damn. I was really hoping I could show you my cherry stem party trick.”

“You could always just show me how it works without the stem.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flick from his cup up to San’s suggestive smirk. He considers him for a moment - the mildly hopeful look in his eyes, the way his hands are braced against the counter again on either side of his thighs, the slight part to his soft pink lips where his tongue peeks through cheekily - and finds his resolve crumbling with every new detail catalogued.

He fishes a piece of candy out to pop into his mouth and grabs San’s chin between his fingers. “Open,” he orders.

San parts his lips obediently, transfixed, almost in a daze. Wooyoung leans in to close the gap between them.

He feels a sharp thrill cascade down his spine the moment their lips meet, San’s hands instinctively drifting to his thighs with a satisfied sigh that’s so much sweeter than it has any right to be. Then again, maybe it’s just the sugar starting to dissolve against Wooyoung’s tongue from the candy that sits there, bleeding sweetness into every subsequent press of their lips.

It adds a pleasant layer to the sensation of the kiss, eliciting a soft sigh from his own mouth as he starts to tease the candy past San’s pliant lips. He curls their tongues together so San can get a proper taste, fingers threading through his hair to hold him close and deepen the kiss until he’s moaning helplessly into it and clinging to Wooyoung’s thighs like a lifeline.

Wooyoung licks and teases at his mouth, letting a few exaggerated moans slip out just for the sake of spurring him on. They gradually become more breathy the further San’s hands slide up his thighs, his own fingers tightening in tandem to scratch encouragingly at San’s scalp as he pushes up under his skirt to tease at the bottom edge of his lace panties. He lets his thumbs slip under the elastic, pushing higher and higher and using the extra leverage to encourage Wooyoung’s thighs to spread open even wider as he subconsciously grinds against the counter between them.

Wooyoung giggles, elated, sucking on his tongue one last time before pulling away. He keeps one hand fisted in San’s hair so he can tug his head back and admire the glossy, slightly swollen gleam of his spit-slick lips where he lets his mouth hang open, panting softly, cherry-red candy staining his tongue.

“Enjoy having things in your mouth to suck on, do you?” Wooyoung swipes his thumb along San’s bottom lip, letting the tip rest there almost half in his mouth.

He’s surprised when all San does is nod silently, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.

Where did the cocky frat boy from earlier go? A little bit of kissing and teasing and he’s gone all pliant in Wooyoung’s arms, eyes glazed and blissed-out. His entire demeanor poised on the edge of something almost docile.

Curious, Wooyoung pushes the tip of his thumb more fully past his lips. San allows the intrusion easily, jaw slackening so Wooyoung can probe it in further until he finds the piece of candy. He holds it down against the flat of his tongue, pressing lightly, and he feels some volatile, unnameable emotion unfurl inside him when San’s first instinct is to close his lips around the digit so he can suck on it properly along with the candy.

He doesn’t even need to be asked to open his mouth when he’s done to show Wooyoung that it’s all gone.

“Good boy,” Wooyoung praises.

It comes out more than a little breathless, his attention fixated on the needy little whine that echoes from the back of San’s throat when he pulls the digit out completely. He reels him in for another kiss so he can savour the lingering sweetness on his tongue, and his heart flutters when San all but melts into it, kissing back just as eagerly as he’d been sucking on his thumb.

It doesn’t even matter that there are several people still milling about around them. Wooyoung is so focused on the sweet taste of San’s lips and the bruising heat of his palms on his thighs that quite frankly, he doesn’t care who might be watching them. All he cares about is trying to draw more pretty noises from the back of San’s throat with every flick of his tongue and wandering path of his fingers as they slide back around to tease at the rips of his jeans.

He’s seen other people doing far worse with far more people watching them in every other corner of this house.

It’s only when he happens to inadvertently tune in to the conversations happening all around them that he’s given pause. He overhears the words ‘beer pong’ and ‘princess’ and ‘fucking legend’ and something about it just rings a little to familiar for him to be able to ignore.

He braces his palm against San’s chest, momentarily breaking the kiss. “Hey, how do you feel about beer pong?”

San gives him a huffy, borderline petulant look. “I feel very ambivalent about beer pong when I know I could be kissing you instead.”

“What if I promise you more kisses if you can take me to wherever the beer pong is happening?”

“You know, I feel a little hurt that while we were kissing you were apparently just thinking about playing beer pong the whole time.”

“It’s not that! I just want to go check on a friend that I lost earlier,” Wooyung hooks his legs around San’s waist, kissing his nose and his cheek and the pout on his lips. “Pretty please?” He kisses him again. “For me?”

Just like every other interaction of theirs has gone so far, San is completely powerless in the face of Wooyoung’s sweet kisses and round, pleading eyes.

With a little light pestering and a few more placating kisses, San is eventually persuaded to lead Wooyoung out of the kitchen towards one of the other large rooms in the house where significantly more yelling seems to be coming from. Wooyoung soon comes to discover why when they enter and he sees the sheer volume of the crowd gathered around the beer pong table set up in the very middle.

And who should be standing at one end of the table but Yunho himself?

Beside Wooyoung, San openly gapes at the number of cups still remaining on Yunho’s side compared to the scant few belonging to his opponent. “Is that the friend you were talking about?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung beams proudly, even if he is a little offended that he’d apparently been abandoned for the sake of a stupid party game. “He’s ridiculously good at games. You get used to it.”

San lets out a low whistle. “Poor Mingi. He’s enough of a lightweight as it is; not sure how he’s gonna make it out of this in one piece.”

“Mingi?”

San nods towards Yunho’s opponent. Just as tall as Yunho, also dressed in a princess gown (pink to match the coloured streaks in his dark hair), except his tiara is all askew from what Wooyoung assumes has been a very intense, most likely devastating match for him.

Wait. Mingi…

Recognition dawns on Wooyoung’s face. “Mingi!” He exclaims, causing said person to glance confusedly in his direction. Wooyoung just waves him off with a dismissive, vaguely apologetic hand.

“You know him?” San asks.

“Only by name. My friend has been pining after him for weeks.”

“No way,” San glances between the pair. “Shit, well. Looks like they’re getting along pretty well anyway. He might not have to pine for much longer.”

Wooyoung takes his time to properly observe the match in front of them as it gradually comes to a close. They really do seem to be getting along well - he’s not sure he’s ever seen Yunho smile this wide or laugh this much, and even though Mingi is clearly losing he looks just as ecstatic to be there having Yunho absolutely destroy him at beer pong.

He very gracefully (though rather uncoordinatedly) knocks back the final cup after Yunho nails the shot, but you would hardly be able to tell who even won from the way they both instantly crash into each other’s arms in mutual celebration.

Wooyoung waves Yunho over when it finally looks like he has some attention to spare for literally any other person that isn’t Mingi. He immediately perks up even further than Wooyoung would have thought possible, bounding over with a poor, clearly tipsy Mingi in tow.

“Wooyoung!” He greets, voice booming above the cheers and the yelling still ringing out behind him in the wake of his victory. “Oh my god dude, I missed you so much!”

“Clearly not that much since you completely disappeared on me for half the night, asshole,” Wooyoung gripes back, even as he envelops him in a warm, welcoming hug. He feels Yunho’s laugh rumble between them, comforting and familiar and oh-so grounding.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you were deeply affected by my absence. Look at you, you’re thriving; you’ve already fetched up with a nice piece of arm-candy to entertain you instead,” Yunho’s eyes flick appreciatively over to San. “Are you going to introduce us or am I only going to learn his name when he tries to sneak out of our apartment tomorrow morning?”

Wooyoung inexplicably feels himself start to blush, but before he can respond San’s already extending a hand out for Yunho to shake. “San,” he introduces himself. “And I would never sneak out. I enjoy morning cuddles far too much.”

“Hey, just like Wooyoung!” Yunho beams. “You guys are perfect for each other.”

“Can you please shut up,” Wooyoung groans. “This is not why I called you over here. I’m supposed to be the one embarrassing you, not the other way around.”

“If by ‘embarrass’ you mean ‘tell Mingi about the many pathetic weeks of pining’, I’m afraid I already beat you to it. He knows everything,” Yunho tugs Mingi closer against his side. “Don’t you princess?”

Mingi appears to malfunction briefly at the pet name. Wooyoung feels a twinge of sympathy, able to relate just a little too much. “T-That’s right,” he manages to stutter out, smiling lopsidedly. “He told me everything. I told him I was probably worse though, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“Oh Mingi was down bad,” San chimes in then. “I’ve never seen him so hung up on a guy he’d barely even talked to.”

“How cute that our two pining idiots found each other. Makes me wonder how badly you’d pine after me if we’d met differently,” Wooyoung observes, winding an arm around San’s waist.

Mingi’s gaze drifts between the two of them. He gives Wooyoung an obvious once over before saying, very gravely, “I think he’d be insufferable.”

“Hey!” San protests, at the same time that Wooyoung devolves into loud cackling.

“You know I’m right!”

“Alright, I think that’s enough introductions for one night,” San huffs. “Can we please just go do some shots like normal people so we can bond over being drunk instead and forget any of this even happened.”

Yunho laughs. “Sounds good. I think I have some catching up to do with this one anyway.” He pats Mingi on the head, laughing again when he just pouts and tries to wriggle out of his grasp.

“And whose fault is it for making me drink so much in the first place?”

“You challenged me!”

“I know, but still! You could have gone easy on me.”

Yunho’s smile lilts into something suggestive. “But I thought you liked it when I go hard on you.”

Wooyoung prods San in the side, a little desperate now. “Shots. Let’s go do those shots. I’m far too sober to be able to tolerate them being this gross together.”

San just laughs as he throws an arm around his shoulders and leads them away.

After stopping by the kitchen again for a quick round of shots, they head back towards the main room where the music and dancing are still in full swing. Wooyoung swears it feels even more crowded and oppressively humid than before; but then again, that could have a lot more to do with the alcohol now warming the pit of his stomach and San’s palm resting at the crest of his lower back than anything else.

Mingi immediately herds them all into the center of the swell of heaving bodies, significantly more emboldened by the amount of alcohol coursing through him compared to the rest of them still playing catch-up. He seems perfectly happy to brave the very heart of the chaos no matter how tightly they have to squeeze through the unpleasant clamour of the surrounding drunken mass.

Yunho is, predictably, endeared by this behaviour. He follows easily in Mingi’s wake, one hand curled around Wooyoung’s wrist to drag him along as well which inevitably extends to San whose arm has now made a permanent home for itself around Wooyoung’s waist.

Wooyoung minds it less than he expects. There’s just something so disarming about the quiet possessiveness of the touch, even more pronounced than it was when San had first led him to the kitchen. Only now it feels less like he’s subconsciously trying to project ‘mine’ to anyone who dares to look Wooyoung’s way, and more like… The opposite of that. A silent projection of belonging rather than possession, like he can’t bear to be parted from him for even a single second.

And all that after barely one kiss.

Wooyoung might have found such clinginess off-putting if he didn’t get such an overwhelming power-trip from it.

This far into the crowd, there’s hardly any space left for actual dancing. The four of them end up pressed together in their own squashed little bubble, moving almost as one as the crowd ripples together as a single heaving entity in time to the booming vibrations of the music that fills every possible corner of the room. It feels a little like being forced to swim upstream to avoid being swept away by an overwhelming current, moving just to stay alive.

In the chaos of it all, Wooyoung ends up with his back pressed all the way up against San’s broad chest. A second hand now brands the already overheated skin of his waist as San makes sure to keep him exactly where he is: pressed crotch to ass, barely a millimetre of space between them.

It’s a painfully transparent move. And yet Wooyoung can’t help the involuntary shiver that passes through him at the intimacy of the position, a feeling that only spreads when he feels San’s lips brush against the shell of his ear.

“So, ‘Wooyoung’, huh?”

Wooyoung throws him a confused glance over his shoulder. “What?”

“Your name,” San clarifies. “It’s a pity I had to learn it from your friend and not from you.”

“Mmm, you would have gotten it sooner or later. I like the way my name sounds when it’s said all desperate and needy far too much not to have eventually given it to you.”

He feels a warm puff of air by his ear as San lets out an amused hum. “‘Desperate and needy’?” He echoes. “Is that what you think of me?”

“It’s not a bad thing…” Wooyoung shifts his hips back to rub up against his crotch as they continue to sway together to the music, deliberately provocative. San’s voice immediately drops into a low groan against his neck. “See? You sound so sweet like this when you can’t hold back just how badly you want me.”

San presses a kiss against his neck, teeth grazing over his skin in a way Wooyoung knows is meant to be admonishing but only makes him want to rile him up even more even more.

“You really aren’t an angel at all, are you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Wooyoung lets his head tip back against San’s shoulder so he can grin up at him, bottom lip pulled seductively between his teeth. “Not when I can already feel your cock getting all hard against my ass.”

One of San’s hands tightens in the material of his skirt, bunching up the fabric until it rides halfway up his hip. “I’m sure if I was to slip one of my hands into your cute little panties right now I’d be able to feel just how much this is affecting you too.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Wooyoung teases. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder than that if you want to get anywhere near my panties.”

Sliding his palm up to rest over Wooyoung’s abdomen, San holds him flush against his body. He uses the leverage he has from the grip still on his skirt to encourage Wooyoung’s hips to keep rolling back against him, shifting forward to meet every motion with a slow grind of his own. The searing weight of his palm over Wooyoung’s tummy has Wooyoung’s mind drifting of its own volition, thoughts inevitably turning to imagining what it would be like if they didn’t have all these layers (not that there are that many to begin with) separating them.

What would it be like if he could feel the full length of San’s cock rutting up against his ass? He already feels so big even though he can’t be more than half-hard, unless Wooyoung has vastly underestimated what already feels like an overestimation of just how badly he’s affecting him.

He covers the hand resting on his abdomen with his own. “Wonder if your cock would reach all the way up to here…” he muses, tracing the outline of San’s fingers. “Do you think you’d be able to feel it inside me?”

He feels the fabric of his skirt bunch up tighter as San’s fingers dig into his hip hard enough to bruise and smiles to himself.

“Wooyoung…” San trails off, a warning, chin hooked over Wooyoung’s shoulder. It lilts off into a soft groan when Wooyoung pushes back against his crotch, nudging up against his hard-on, smile curling up in satisfaction at the way San’s hips instantly cant forward to meet the motion.

Needy and desperate.

“Yeah, just like that sweetheart,” Wooyoung murmurs. “Make the most of being able to say my name while you’re still coherent.”

“Please, I’m barely even tipsy.”

“I’m not talking about alcohol. I know plenty of other ways to make you fall apart until you can barely string two words together.”

He has the satisfaction of feeling San grind up against him with another low whine of his name. It’s already starting to lose its shape, the vowels all rough and drawn out where they tumble in sweet reverence from his lips.

They keep swaying together like that for a while, less in time to the music and more in time to each other. Wooyoung continues to push and pull and tease at the fraying edges of San’s composure, grinding back against him in the filthiest, most provocative way he knows how, swivelling his hips from side to side until he feels San’s fingers dig into them almost hard enough to bruise. San’s chest is a warm, solid weight against him, his hands soft and oh so tender where they brand themselves against the aching expanse of his bare skin.

The heat of his touch only spreads as he gradually lets one of his hands trail down Wooyoung’s hip, all the way down to his thigh. He pauses for a moment to squeeze lightly, an appreciative touch that has Wooyoung feeling more than a little weak at the knees, before slipping his hand fully up under the folds of his skirt. His other hand finds its way up under the cropped hem of his top, fingers lightly brushing over his nipples just enough to tease but not nearly enough to ease the hunger that now twists and winds itself around every fibre of Wooyoung’s being.

Wooyoung is so tempted to let his eyes slip shut and just melt into his arms so he can fully bask in the attention he’s being given.

By San, mostly - but by everyone else as well. Because even amidst the cloying heat and noise and intoxication, even surrounded by shadows which are only occasionally dispersed by the momentary flash of a strobe light, Wooyoung can still feel the weight of prying eyes all over him.

And he wants them to watch.

He wants every person in the surrounding crowd to see the blatant outline of San’s hands feeling him up under his costume, wants them to recognize the accompanying looks of bliss on both their faces and understand that it’s something they can’t have. Neither from him nor San, both of them far too intoxicated off the lurid touches they continue to share with each other to notice anyone else.

He lets out a low, exaggerated moan just because he can, knowing that no one will even be able to hear it except San, but hoping that the soft oval shape of his mouth as he throws his head back at the same time will make it clear to everyone else regardless.

San nuzzles an amused chuckle against his cheek, kissing him there as he slips his hand out from under his top so he can hold him by his chin. “Enjoying yourself?” He teases lightly. “You move your hips so well for me, angel. Makes me want to slip my hand right into your wet little panties so I can show all these people watching us just how good I can really make you feel.”

Wooyoung clutches at the hand still roaming under his skirt. “Oh yeah? Is that all you want?”

San hums in agreement. He’s become far too preoccupied for words; he probably hasn’t even registered anything Wooyoung has just said, lips already drifting down to his neck to mouth insistently at the skin there.

He leaves his hand where it is in Wooyoung’s grip under his skirt, fingers lightly grazing the hem of his panties in parallel to the sweet kisses he lavishes over every inch of skin that he can reach. It’s the kind of touch that makes Wooyoung feel like he could melt right through the floor. Soft but calculated, drifting along the edge of something more without ever fully committing, always staying just tantalizingly out of reach.

He allows San to continue until he can’t quite hold back anymore, driven by want and curiosity of his own. Because as much as he loves being touched and having San’s lips all over him, he also knows how badly San craves it too. He’d felt it back in the kitchen when he couldn’t stop his hands from slipping through the rips in his jeans - the way he’d shivered in Wooyoung’s arms and sighed so sweetly against his neck. The way he’d openly moaned into his mouth, happy to let Wooyoung swallow every sound down for him. The way he’d gotten down on his knees for him oh so obediently.

Wooyoung’s gotten a taste for it, and he wants more.

Now.

Twisting in San’s arms, he turns around so he can kiss him properly, latching onto his lips like a man parched. San openly moans into the kiss, voice stuttering out into a gasp when Wooyoung slides one of his hands down the length of his spine and past his waist to cup his ass, his body shuddering in obvious pleasure when Wooyoung uses the grip to tug him forward until their hips end up rocking together.

Almost exactly the same reaction he had the first time Wooyoung did the same thing back in the kitchen.

Curious, Wooyoung slides his other hand between them to brush against his crotch. He’s clearly hard, has been ever since Wooyoung let him grind against his ass, but it feels even more pronounced now. Though maybe it’s just a difference in what he feels like against Wooyoung’s palm instead of his ass.

“Like what you feel?” San smirks.

“Not as much as I think you like what you feel,” Wooyoung shoots back, removing his hand so it can join the other on San’s ass. “Care to tell me why having my hands on your ass keeps getting you all hot and bothered?”

“Who says that’s why I’m all hot and bothered?”

Arching an eyebrow, Wooyoung carefully slides his fingers down the curve of his ass until he can slip them into the rips of his jeans. An echo of their earlier romp in the kitchen, only this time there’s no counter separating them to prevent him from feeling the full, hard curve of San’s cock pressing up against his thigh.

“You’re almost rock-hard, sweetheart.”

“That’s because someone kept insisting on grinding their cute little ass back against me.”

“Mmm… I don’t think that’s quite it though.” Wooyoung’s fingers slide in deeper. He curls them, digging into his ass until he feels San jolt in his arms. “I think you like it even more when I touch you here.” He continues groping until he has the tip of his finger pressed up between San’s crack, once more hindered by the thin layer of his underwear.

He smiles when he feels him jolt again, further into his arms this time, already so sensitive from the barest of touches. His arms end up draped a little helplessly over Wooyoung’s shoulders as he tries to bury the sound that threatens to escape him against his neck, mouthing a sloppy kiss into the skin just below his ear.

Wooyoung coaxes him into a proper kiss - he wants to swallow down every quiet gasp and moan until he’s drunk off it, knows it will give him a better buzz than alcohol ever could.

Even with San trying to disguise all the sounds he makes, the rest of his body still betrays him. He winds himself so tightly around Wooyoung as the kiss deepens that it’s all too easy for Wooyoung to slip a thigh between his legs for him to grind against, so discreetly that San isn’t even aware of what he’s doing until he’s slurring Wooyoung’s name in these little half-moans against his mouth, rutting up more desperately against his thigh the harder Wooyoung squeezes his ass to egg him on.

Wooyoung could take him apart just like this, he thinks.

“Thought we were supposed to be dancing,” he teases, giving San’s ass a light slap as he presses up with his thigh. “Are you just gonna stand here humping my thigh all night?”

San pulls back to fix him with a half-hearted glare that’s all. If it weren’t so dark, Wooyoung reckons he’d be able to see his cheeks dusted in a pretty pink blush.

“We can switch it up if you’d rather grind against mine instead.”

Wooyoung’s lips curl up into a coy smile. “I can think of something better that I’d rather grind against.”

Before San can even get his mouth open to ask Wooyoung is removing his leg, sliding his hands out of his jeans to wander up the sides of his waist so he can manhandle him into turning around until San’s back is pressed against his chest. He’s suddenly very grateful that he decided to wear his heels out after all - it makes him the perfect height to be able to grip San’s waist and guide him backwards until his pert little ass is pressed perfectly up against his crotch.

San seems to flounder momentarily at the new position that he finds himself in. He feels stiff and a little awkward in Wooyoung’s arms, like he’s not used to being on the receiving end like this and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself or his hands.

And then Wooyoung grinds against him experimentally, shifting his hips forward in a slow, subtle roll, and all of that melts away.

San breathes out on a shaky exhale. His body slowly starts to loosen up as he lets Wooyoung guide the movement of his hips, hands soothing where they gently squeeze and coax him back into swaying in time to the low, sultry beat that’s now blaring from the speakers.

It’s still a little awkward and doesn’t come to him quite as naturally as when their positions were reversed, but he more than makes up for it in enthusiasm. He snakes an arm up behind him to thread his fingers through the hair at the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, grounding himself at the same time that he angles his hips back a little more purposefully, trying to mimic how Wooyoung had moved against him.

It’s clear that he likes it like this - Wooyoung’s hands on his hips, Wooyoung’s voice murmuring all manner of praise in his ear, Wooyoung’s half-hard cock grinding insistently against his ass. Every part of him loosening up in complete and willing surrender the closer Wooyoung holds him, body going wholly pliant under his touch.

He lets it overwhelm him until he loses himself to the easy motion of their intertwining bodies, held together by nothing but the weight of Wooyoung’s palms to keep him steady and upright.

Their faces pressed this close together, cheek to cheek, Wooyoung’s lips permanently ghosting against the shell of San’s ear, Wooyoung can hear just how much he’s enjoying himself by the content little hums he keeps letting out. Stuttered gasps of air somewhere between a moan and a purr, like he’s caught between instinctively trying to keep them at bay and wanting to articulate so much more than is currently possible for him to handle.

Endeared, Wooyoung hooks his chin over his shoulder. His fingers dig into his hip while his other hand runs down the length of his chest to rest just shy of his crotch. “Enjoying yourself?” He asks. An echo of San’s earlier attempt to tease.

San doesn’t even seem to notice. He just lets his head tip to the side to rest against Wooyoung’s temple with a content, dopey little smile. “Yeah,” he slurs. “Feels nice, angel. Make me feel so good.”

“God, you want someone to fuck you so bad it makes you look stupid.”

San makes a surprised noise, hips suddenly faltering. “I… T-That’s not…”

“Not what? Not what you meant?” Wooyoung presses himself flush against his back, grinds against him all slow and deliberate. Chuckles when San has to swallow down a moan. “Please, I can practically feel your hole clenching around me already even through all these layers. How long has it been since someone touched you like this, hmm? In the way that you really want?”

San is quiet for a moment. Wooyoung thinks he’s about to try and deny it again, only to find him admitting in a soft, careful voice: “Never.”

“Never? My poor baby,” Wooyoung coos. His arms tighten around him instinctively. “Poor neglected hole, just waiting for someone to come and take care of you properly…” He trails soft kisses down the line of San’s throat. Fleeting little things, meant to reassure and soothe.

San whines in what Wooyoung can only assume to be assent. He extends his neck, allowing Wooyoung to trail his lips even lower, fingers curling and uncurling in his hair like he’s not sure what he wants. To tug him closer or submit to him entirely. To regain some semblance of control or let Wooyoung do absolutely anything he wants to him.

Wooyoung nips at his skin, encouragement and praise all rolled into one at the way San continues to move against him. It’s even less coordinated than before but all the more heated for it, San letting raw want dictate the rhythm of his body rather than any real need to maintain the façade of dancing together. Moving for himself as much as for Wooyoung, simply because it feels good.

Wooyoung reaches down to cup him through his jeans, grinding against him at the same time just to feel the way his dick twitches in obvious interest. He’s almost fully hard now, and all the more sensitive for it, squirming a little where Wooyoung continues to palm him.

“Gonna cum right here in front of everyone just from this?” Wooyoung teases. “What are you gonna be like when I actually get my fingers in you, hmm? When I have you whining and crying on my cock because your tight little hole can’t handle it?”

San whines. He tugs Wooyoung’s face closer to nuzzle the sound into the crook of his neck. There’s a small please hidden there too, so soft-spoken that Wooyoung almost misses it, but the meaning is clear from the way San’s lips latch onto his skin. Uncoordinated little kisses laced with need, desperation bleeding out from every inch of him.

“Please,” he whines again, clearer this time.

It’s so different to the cocky, outspoken frat boy Wooyoung had first encountered, all his confident bravado seeming to vanish the tighter Wooyoung holds him, the harder he grinds against his ass.

God.

Wooyoung swears he’s never wanted to watch someone completely unravel so badly in his entire life.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” he murmurs. “Wanna ruin you so bad, you have no idea. Wouldn’t even care if all these people watched me as I did it.”

His words give San pause, momentarily breaking through whatever haze has settled over him. He shifts in Wooyoung’s grasp, unwinding his arm from around his neck so he can half-turn to fix him with an indecipherable look.

“I live here,” he says. Eyes wide, like he’s trying to bore the importance of those three little words right into Wooyoung’s skull.

Wooyoung, unfortunately, lost most of his capacity for rational thought the moment he first felt San shiver against him with his cute little ass pressing needily back against his crotch. He feels he’s lost even more of it now that San has stopped moving altogether, all thoughts laser-focused on how he can get grinding back on his dick again.

“...Okay?”

“Wooyoung.” San tugs on his arm, insistent. “I live here. I have a room here.”

He says the last part like it’s a revelation. And it might as well be given what little brain power either of them has been able to dedicate to anything other than each other for the last god knows how long. Wooyoung’s not even sure where Yunho has disappeared to (again), or when he disappeared, but he’s nowhere near them when he glances around. Neither him nor Mingi.

He shakes his head, the full meaning of San’s words sinking into his brain at last. Finding Yunho suddenly drops very low on his list of priorities.

He has more pressing things to do now, like making sure he doesn’t trip in his heels as San hurries to lead them out of the crowded room and up one of the house’s many winding wooden staircases.

It’s a struggle navigating the upper levels of the house to find San’s room. Not because of any lingering lack of sobriety, or the prevailing darkness, or all the other couples also looking for a private corner to canoodle in that they keep tripping over along the way.

No.

The real problem is that they can’t seem to detach themselves from each other for long enough to actually pay attention to where they’re going.

They almost stumble into the wrong room several times because they can’t keep their hands to themselves, fingers dipping past waistbands and tugging at shirt hems to skim over as much bare skin as either of them can reach. It leads to several instances of San’s huge, broad back colliding with bedroom doors that are decidedly not his, Wooyoung clawing at every door handle he can get his hands on because if he doesn’t get this sweet, needy frat boy under him or over him or in him, right now, he’s going to lose what little shreds of sanity he still has left.

It’s by process of elimination alone that they even make it to the right room at all. Wooyoung can tell when they’ve finally made it by the distinct lack of being yelled at by yet another horny couple already occupying the space. That, and the way San blindly reaches out to smack a lightswitch on their way in, kicking the door closed behind them with enough force for it to visibly shake on its hinges.

It’s a little like how Wooyoung feels right now. Trembling in the frame of his body at the sight of San’s hulking arms coming up to wrap around him and pull him into another hungry kiss, intent on devouring him whole. He claws at those same arms with equal voracity, doing his best to try and remain upright in his heels as San continues to walk him backwards further into the depths of his room.

He’s forced to a halt when he feels the backs of his thighs collide with something solid. It’s unexpected enough that it sends him all off-balance even as he tries to cling to San’s shoulders for stability, and he ends up tipping back with a small, muffled yelp right before his body sinks down into something plush and downy.

Some kind of armchair or loveseat, he realizes once the initial shock subsides. It feels big, large enough to accommodate two people at once probably. And yet for some reason, when he looks up he finds San still hovering above him, arms braced on either side of the chair.

Arms that should by every right still be wrapped around him. Thighs even more so.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you sitting down?” He looks up at San with a small frown. It feels petulant. He hopes it looks so too.

San seems to toy with the words in his head, eyes flicking down to his lap and back up again. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says eventually, voice a careful murmur.

“Hurt me?”

“I… This isn’t usually…” San drifts off, gesturing between them vaguely. “Do you not want to sit on my lap instead?” He finishes weakly.

Wooyoung stares at him. He takes in the skittish movement of his gaze and the faint blush on his cheeks, watching him until comprehension finally dawns. “San,” he starts, voice light, “Sweetheart, are you telling me you’ve never been held in someone else’s lap before?”

“Do I look like someone who’s been held in someone else’s lap before?”

Wooyoung frowns at the absurdity of the question. “You look like someone who wants very badly to sit in another person’s lap while bouncing on their cock.” He reaches up for his hips, smirking. “Mine, preferably.”

San looks a little like one good gust of air could knock him right over. “Guh,” he says intelligently.

“Cute. I’ve never seen someone cock-dumb without even having cock in them first.”

“Angel,” San wheezes. A warning, albeit a weak one.

Wooyoung blinks up at him innocently. “What?”

“I was being serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise.” Wooyoung rubs a soothing hand up and down his hip. “I’m not as delicate as I might look. Also, and I really can’t stress this enough,” he pauses to give both of his thighs a firm squeeze, bottom lip catching between his teeth in an appreciative grin, “I would love nothing more than to be completely suffocated under you and all your muscles.”

San lets out a small snort of laughter, caught off guard. The sound if it cuts through the heavy atmosphere like a warm breeze rolling through an open window on a balmy summer’s evening.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I would never joke about how badly I want to be crushed between your biceps. Or your triceps. Or your quads,” Wooyoung tells him solemnly. “Now be a good boy and sit on my lap, hmm?” He slips his fingers into San’s belt loops, trying to encourage him closer.

Though San allows himself to be pulled down, his movements are tinged with hesitation. Even as he hikes his knees up onto the chair to straddle Wooyoung’s thighs he still keeps his arms braced on either side of his head against the back of the chair, holding his full weight in limbo to hover inches away from his actual lap.

It’s only when Wooyoung huffs impatiently and gives his hips a firm downwards tug that he finally settles, landing on his thighs with a faint, shaky exhale.

Wooyoung flashes him a satisfied smirk. “See? Doesn’t this feel better?”

“I don’t know…” San shifts in his lap, uncertain. “I feel like I’m about to crush you.”

“Then crush me.” Wooyoung’s smirk deepens at the look San gives him; conflicted and more than a little turned on, and perpetually conflicted about being so turned on in the first place.

Wooyoung keeps a firm grip on his hips so he can’t run away, only leaving him enough leeway so he can squirm and shift around and hopefully eventually settle down once he accepts that Wooyoung isn’t letting him go. He gives him time to adjust to the feeling, lightly caressing his thighs to encourage him to relax his body further. He lets out a quiet hum of satisfaction when he feels warm, solid hands drift to his shoulders instead of gripping white-knuckled at the chair.

It’s only when San slides his hands up higher to tangle in his hair that Wooyoung notices the absence of his halo. He must have lost it somewhere between the kitchen and the dancefloor. It feels a little too on-the-nose as far as metaphors go given the sheer volume of unholy thoughts he’s currently having about the demon now sitting in his lap.

“Comfortable sweetheart?” He asks, sliding his hands up San’s thighs to rest innocently at his hips.

When San nods he adds a little more pressure, tugging him down at the same time that he shifts his own hips upwards in a slow, experimental grind that draws a soft groan from both of them.

He repeats the motion just for the satisfaction of feeling San’s nails scratch against his scalp. A desperate attempt to seek purchase in an ocean of bliss. He goes to bury the inevitable whine that leaves him against Wooyoung’s neck just like he’s done many times before - only this time Wooyoung braces a hand against his chest so his lips can’t connect.

San fixes him with a small frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Want to hear all the cute little sounds you make. You don’t need to hide them from me.”

“I’m not hiding them.”

Wooyoung grinds up against him again, immediately pouting at the way he forcibly strangles down another groan. “See, you are hiding them,” he accuses.

“They’re embarrassing!”

“They’re hot.” Wooyoung fists a hand into the front of his top, reeling him in so he can press his lips to his cheek and down along his jaw. “You’re hot,” he adds, trailing his lips lower, sucking another kiss into the juncture of his neck.

The praise seems to give San a little bit of his previous bravado back. Tension slowly eases out of his body, enough that he finally allows himself to move in tandem with Wooyoung, shy little undulations of his hips that match the sweet sighs of pleasure he occasionally lets slip out. He’s not actively trying to hide them anymore, at least - but Wooyoung can still tell that he’s suppressing something more, something deeper within him, no matter how consciously on his part or not.

Which really just means that Wooyoung needs to try harder.

He sucks another bruise into San’s neck, one hand slipping up under his shirt so he can drag his nails down the length of his back. The rhythm of his hips gradually slows so that they match, meeting somewhere in the middle for the perfect drawn-out drag of friction, and he lets his teeth drag against San’s skin in praise when he only half-croaks on a moan this time. The sound is strangled out of him at the same time that his own hips stutter to a near-standstill, one hand sliding up to tangle in Woooyung’s hair and hold him closer, actively revelling in the sensation of Wooyoung’s mouth working a tender bruise into his neck before he’s grinding down in his lap again with renewed fervour and appreciation.

A longer, more deliberate drag of his hips this time. Different to the shy little thrusts he started with, more self-assured, and it makes Wooyoung whine into his neck.

The fingers in Woooyung’s hair curl sharply, blunt nails digging crescent moons into his shoulder, which only has him whining even louder. San shudders in his arms, groaning softly. He rolls his hips down, hard, dragging his clothed cock against the bulge of his skirt, and Wooyoung begins to connect some dots in his mind.

He lets his lips trail higher, right behind San’s ear. The next time San grinds down in his lap he whines a breathy little ‘yeah baby right there’ straight into his ear, squeezing encouragingly at his waist, and San crumbles.

So Wooyoung does it again. Paws and scratches at the skin of San’s back, whining softly as he tugs him closer by his waist. Urging him on with needy little kisses pressed everywhere that he can reach. Offering sweet words of praise and encouragement as he thrusts his hips up to meet him, groaning at the friction of San’s clothed cock rubbing up against his own through the thin material of his skirt and panties.

It does the job of granting San another small burst of bravado. He releases Wooyoung’s hair so he can reach down and pull his own shirt off over his head, tossing it to the ground with a cocky little smirk.

Wooyoung eyes him hungrily. He immediately goes to suck more kisses against his exposed collarbones, but he’s brought up short by strong fingers gripping him by the chin.

“Kiss me first,” San demands.

“Why?”

“Because I want it.”

Wooyoung runs his hands up his abs and chest, stopping just shy of his nipples. It takes a concentrated effort not to salivate at the sight of the metal piercings he’s been denied the existence of almost all evening, cute little silver pitchforks to match his costume.

“Show me.” He teases his thumbs over the buds, mirroring the shiver that passes through San in with one of his own at the feeling of cool metal grazing against the pads of his fingers. “Show me just how badly you want it, sweetheart.”

A small crease forms between San’s brows. He opens his mouth, presumably to ask what he means. Wooyoung seizes the opportunity to press down a little harder his thumbs, rubbing at the sensitive buds until the sweet sound of a long, drawn-out moan finally echoes from the back of San’s throat.

“There’s a good boy,” Wooyoung praises, arching up so he can give him a proper, deserving kiss. San sinks into it like a parched man trying to drown himself in an oasis, openly moaning into the kiss when Wooyoung gives his nipples another playful pinch. “Cute addition to your costume,” he teases between kisses. “You must have been pretty confident that someone would get to see you naked by the end of the night.”

San doesn’t even bother trying to reply.

That or he can’t, too preoccupied with tugging on Wooyoung’s hair so he can tilt his head and kiss him all deep and messy, hips just as uncoordinated where he continues to grind down in his lap. He’s all spit and tongue, the wet sound of it combined with his newly unabashed moans driving Wooyoung to a point of near frenzy.

It’s a challenge for him to try (or to even want to try) and detach himself from the kiss, but Wooyoung happens to be seeking an oasis of his own. Two of them, technically; broad and squishy and perfect, finally freed from the confines of San’s damnably tight shirt that left very little to the imagination anyway.

Because as much as he loves the feeling of San’s pecs squished under his hands, he needs to have them in his mouth. Needs to suck on his cute little nipples and feel the cool metal of his piercings against his tongue. Needs to know if they’re as sensitive as they seem, if his tongue can get San even more worked up than his hands alone seem to be doing.

He grins at the way San whines in protest when he moves his lips away to his cheek and his jaw and all the way down the exposed line of his throat. Down down down between the deep valley of his chest, barely able to resist the urge to try and motorboat him to get to where he really wants.

He’s not sure whose satisfied groan is louder when his mouth finally travels low enough so he can swirl his tongue over one of San’s nipples. This close to San’s chest he can feel the sound of it reverberating through his own body, a cascading waterfall of bliss boring down around him to flood his entire system. He lets out another appreciative moan at the feeling of cool metal scraping against his tongue and sucks harder, gently teasing at the metal on San’s other nipple with his fingers just to hear him gasp.

San’s fingers scrabble to find purchase against his shoulders, digging in hard enough that it makes Wooyoung whine around his nipple. It’s a good kind of pain; the kind that tells him he’s doing a good job of driving San ever closer to the point of complete ruination, if the quiet, half-hitched breaths and groans he keeps letting out weren’t a clear enough sign already.

When San suddenly pulls him back up for another kiss after he’s barely even gotten started, he nips petulantly at his bottom lip, chastising and questioning all at once.

“Can’t,” San mumbles.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t,” San repeats, blushing a little as he shakes his head, trying to avoid Wooyoung’s eyes.

Wooyoung coos. “Aww, is my poor little demon gonna cum just from having his tits played with? How adorable,” he tacks on the endearment as an afterthought, murmured low in San’s ear.

San lets out his filthiest moan yet. This time, Wooyoung lets him fall forward in his arms to bury the tail-end of it into the crook of his neck. It’s a cute little half-sob of a thing, embarrassment and pleasure all rolled into one sound. He’s barely even moving in Wooyoung’s lap anymore, every movement aborted as if it’s all become too overwhelming for him to handle.

Wooyoung just holds him in his arms, letting him rut against his thigh instead. His head tips against the back of the chair when he feels San start to lick and suck at his neck, just as messy and needy and wet as before. He rubs at his waist, soothing. San can only paw at him needily, hands sliding up under his top and down his sides, kneading at the soft skin of his bare tummy until Wooyoung’s huffing out a small laugh because it tickles.

It also feels really fucking nice. San’s mouth feels nice against his skin, lips all soft and perfect where they blaze a cosmic trail of kisses everywhere they can reach. He keeps sighing between them, nuzzling adoringly into Wooyoung’s neck like he just can’t get enough. Like he wants to wrap every inch of himself around Wooyoung’s being, wants to fold right into his embrace until they meld into a single entity.

But there’s an underlying urgency that seems to be driving him as well. A purpose to the way he starts to whine all soft and sweet in Wooyoung’s ear, one hand drifting down between them to toy with the waistline of his skirt. His other hand fiddles with the rest of the fabric, bunching it between his fingers with another low, purposeful whine, trying to push it further up and expose more of Wooyoung’s thigh.

Wooyoung lets out a small huff of laughter, patting at his waist. “What is it?” He asks. “Use your words, kitten. I can’t help you otherwise.”

“I want…” San tries to say, stutters to a stop. “Want you,” he finishes lamely, the last syllable drifting off into another low whine.

“I know you do baby; you’ve been pretty clear about just how much you want me all night.” Wooyoung makes a point of grinding up against the bulge still straining at the front of San’s pants, grinning when he shudders quietly against him with a soft groan. “But specifically how do you want me?”

San slumps a little against him. The kisses he’s been trailing down his neck turn almost chaste, shy. He mumbles something against his skin that Wooyoung doesn’t quite catch.

Wooyoung rubs at the small of his back, coaxing him into an open-mouthed kiss before pulling back again. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

San can’t look him in the eye. He has his gaze cast downward when he’s finally able to speak again, the words forced from the back of his throat. “Your cock,” he mumbles. “Want…Want to touch it. Wanna know what it tastes like.” He finally looks up then, eyes round and oh-so genuine as he starts to paw more urgently at Wooyoung’s crotch. Nervous. Excited. Unsure. “Been thinking about it all night, please, I just-” He breaks off on a frustrated noise, leaning in to nose against Wooyoung’s jaw.

Wooyoung melts.

San is just so goddamn cute like this, whining about how badly he wants Wooyoung’s cock in his mouth. Shy now where he was once cocky, not able to put what he wants into words without a twinge of self-consciousness peeking through.

It’s made worse by the fact that Wooyoung knows exactly what he feels like. He can already feel just how big San’s cock is through the layers of both their clothes, can already imagine the weight of it against his tongue, the way it would stretch his lips and hit the back of his throat. It’s enough to make him feel dizzy.

He sees the same look of want reflected in San’s eyes and it makes him feel even dizzier.

He’s still trying to come to terms with the fact that he has a whole lapful of beefy, needy, blushing frat boy all to himself, practically drooling against his neck from how badly he wants to suck him off. It makes him feel so… Powerful. Goes straight to his head and all the way to his dick.

Most other frat boys he’s been with (not that there have been many) have been cocky and overconfident and ultimately disappointing, always going on about how pretty he is and how badly they’re going to ruin him. Which he loves; but they never seem to stop and consider that maybe he’s just as capable of ruining them too.

Not San though. San seems perfectly aware. But instead of denying it or running scared in the opposite direction, he’s already submitting himself right here in Wooyoung’s lap.

“Been thinking about sucking my dick all night, huh?” Wooyoung teases. “I knew it would be easy to get you on your knees again. You must really love it down there.” He cups San’s face, gently brushing his thumb across his cheek. “Bet you were dying to suck me off in front of all those people in the kitchen earlier, hmm?”

San makes a quiet noise; neither confirmation nor denial. All he can do is blush and nuzzle further into Wooyoung’s touch, brows knitting together with a soft moan when Wooyoung reaches down between them to grind the heel of his palm against his cock

That alone is answer enough.

Wooyoung can’t help the satisfied chuckle that leaves him when he feels San grind back into his hand, chasing the friction. “Look at you…” He purrs, hand trailing down the length of his neck. “Are you that desperate for someone to shove their cock down your throat?”

“No,” San huffs.

His blush spreads further down his neck and chest. He doesn’t stop trying to grind up against Wooyoung’s palm either, already starting to lose himself to the pleasure it brings. Wooyoung can tell just by the way his eyelids have started to grow heavy, tugged downwards in a pretty little dazed flutter, gaze turning hooded like he wants nothing more than to just let them slip shut and drown in the feeling completely.

“Have you never sucked cock before? Is that why you’re so desperate for it now?”

San freezes. “I… No.” He dips his head down, almost in shame. “I wanted to, but I’ve never… I didn’t know how to…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Wooyoung cups both of his cheeks, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss against his lips. “It’s okay, I can show you how. But I’m gonna need you to practice first before you try it for real, okay?”

San pouts, confused. “Practice?”

Instead of replying, Wooyoung slowly trails his thumb across to rest against his lips. He adds a little pressure, nodding in encouragement as San parts them to allow the tip to slip inside. “Ok?” He asks, smiling when San nods back. “Good boy. Need to know how much my sweet little demon can take first, hmm? Need to know if you’ll be able to handle it before I let you get a taste of my cock.”

San groans around the digit. He’s probably imagining it already; his lips wrapped around Wooyoung’s cock, swallowing him down.

Wooyoung eases more of his thumb past his lips, rubbing encouragingly at his side when he easily complies. He lets him suck on it for a few quiet moments, tension laying itself brick by brick in the air around them as they watch each other. Wooyoung waiting for a sign that San is ready for more, San just… Waiting. Anticipating. Holding onto Wooyoung’s gaze like a lifeline.

When he feels like San has relaxed into it enough to be able to handle more Wooyoung swaps his thumb out for two longer fingers, middle and index slipping easily past his spit-slick lips to rest against the flat of his tongue. San whines the deeper the intrusion becomes, the wider the stretch, but swallows them greedily regardless.

His tongue is warm where it teases over the length of Wooyoung’s fingers, all wet and eager when he slips it between the two digits. He curls it around them a few times, sucking lightly before pulling off until just the tips are left resting against his bottom lip. Wooyoung lets him go, watching with rapt, wholly captivated fascination as San’s own fingers come up to circle his wrist - holding him steady, holding him in place - before he bobs his head back down and takes Wooyoung’s fingers as deep as they’ll go.

There’s something about the way San watches him as repeats the motion. Lips continuously sliding over his fingers with a wet, filthy sound, making sure to get them all nice and slick with spit. His eyes are round, shining. Almost like a puppy. Like he’s trying to convey a silent plea, begging for something more even though he has his mouth full already.

Wooyoung shifts in the chair, hiking one of his thighs up between San’s legs. It helps to appease him somewhat; his eyelids get that same telltale heaviness to them as he ruts against Wooyoung’s thigh, grip tightening around his wrist so he can sink his mouth down even further around his fingers.

But he’s still got a vaguely dissatisfied look on his face, eyes round and eyebrows pinched.

“If it’s praise you’re after you’re going to have to do better than this,” Wooyoung tuts lightly, squeezing his hip. “Two fingers isn’t gonna cut it. Think you can take one more for me?”

San hesitates for a moment, then nods.

He lets out a low moan when Wooyoung pulls out, only to press back in with a third finger added. Drool starts to drip down his chin from the added fullness, which he tries his best to accommodate even though it’s clearly more of a stretch. He has to let go of Wooyoung’s wrist so he can cling to his shoulders instead, rutting against his thigh with a renewed sense of desperation when Wooyoung uses the freedom it grants him to start fucking his fingers into his mouth properly.

He has to coax San into relaxing his jaw to make the glide easier, and it brings on a fresh wave of half-whines and moans. Whether from the stretch or the fullness or the mere act of having his mouth used so freely, or the combination of all three, Wooyoung can’t be sure.

All he knows is that it’s making San feel good; making him groan and drool and hump his thigh like he just can’t get enough of any of it, can’t get enough of Wooyoung.

“What a pretty little mess you are already,” Wooyoung leans in to purr into his ear, grinning at the groan he’s able to elicit just by reaching down and rubbing the heel of his palm up against San’s crotch. “What are you gonna do when you actually have my cock in your mouth, hmm? Are you sure you’ll even be able to handle it?”

San whines unintelligibly around his fingers, a half-formed glare gracing his flushed features. “I can take it,” he manages to gasp out once Wooyoung allows him to pull off. “I can, please, I want-” he breaks off on another groan when Wooyoung’s fingers slip back into his mouth, digging his nails into his shoulders in protest.

“Want what, sweetheart? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

Wooyoung grins at the frustrated whine it earns him. He thrusts his fingers in a few more times just to hear the lewd, wet sound they make as San does his best to keep his lips wrapped around them before letting them slip out again.

San follows the motion instinctively, chasing the tips of his fingers despite himself. He tries to glare at him again but the severity of it gets all warped and twisted, the effect ruined entirely when he leans in to crash their lips together in a bruising kiss. Wooyoung marvels at the neediness of it, at the wet, desperate drag of San’s lips against his, already so slick and swollen from being worked open around his fingers.

“Wanna suck you off,” he mumbles against Wooyoung’s lips. “Can I? Please, just wanna taste you,” he adds behind another kiss. Pressed against his neck this time, tongue dragging against Wooyoung’s skin.

“Think you’re ready for it?”

“‘m ready,” San mumbles, nodding distractedly, still trailing lazy, adoring kisses down his neck and chest.

Wooyoung has to gently tug on his hair to pull him away. He thumbs at his bottom lip, lightly teasing. “Then you better get on your knees, sweetheart. How else will you be able to pray for salvation?”

San’s eyes darken. Pressing one last lingering kiss to Wooyoung’s cheek, he slowly clambers off his lap to sink obediently down to the floor between his legs. Wooyoung doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of the sight; he looks like he belongs there, eyes so sweet and round and genuine, pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. So eager to please, seeming shy and bold all at once.

Wooyoung spreads his legs a little wider to accommodate San’s larger frame. He has to lean down and curl his fingers around the back of his neck so he can guide him closer, praising him with a quick, chaste kiss when he easily follows.

He seems a little uncertain now that he’s there, looking up at Wooyoung with wavering eyes, but just as Wooyoung opens his mouth to tell him that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to do anything if he’s not comfortable with it he braces his hands against his thighs with a determined sort of finality and slowly dips his head down.

He starts somewhere safe, mouthing a line of kisses and gentle nips along Wooyoung’s inner thigh. Wooyoung shivers at the sensation of soft lips and warm breath ghosting against his sensitive skin. He sighs when he feels San’s teeth sink in deeper the higher up he goes, fingers curling into the arms of the chair when he bites down just hard enough to leave a bruise behind. And then the material of his skirt is slowly being hiked up, the sheer fabric becoming a teasing imitation of San’s breath where it grazes the tops of his thighs as it’s pushed up and out of the way, and his fingers become claws.

San keeps his skirt firmly bunched up and out of the way at his hips. There’s a moment of stillness, the calm before the storm. Wooyoung has to resist the urge to fill it with something - teasing words, a reassuring touch - but it’s all worth the wait when he feels that hot, wet mouth that’s been driving him crazy all night finally wrap itself around the sensitive tip of his cock through the thin fabric of his panties.

He lets out a quiet moan, breath drawn back into his chest on a tense string of air as the mirrored moan that San lets out causes small vibrations to ripple all over his sensitive cockhead. His hips twitch instinctively to try and escape the sudden intensity but San’s grip is firm, keeping him in place as he just doubles down and swirls his tongue around to let more of his spit soak through his panties.

He seems determined to draw Wooyoung’s pleasure out at an agonizing pace, and Wooyoung genuinely can’t tell whether it’s because of his shyness and lack of experience or because of his persistent need to drive him utterly insane with every single touch. Whatever the reason, he sits there between his legs all prim and patient, mouthing shyly at his cock with small little kitten-licks, making sure to get him all wet and worked up while Wooyoung can do nothing but sit there and squirm in the chair with breathy, bitten-off gasps of pleasure.

Always quick to be drawn towards impatience, Wooyoung can’t help but try to chase more of the feeling. He knocks San’s ridiculous cap from his head, devil horns going with it, reaching down to curl a hand into his hair so he can hold him close and slowly grind against the dizzying heat of his mouth. The careful little kisses and licks that San has been lavishing all over him up to this point quickly turn sloppy, a satisfied groan leaving him when Wooyoung’s grip tightens in his hair so he can grind against him a little harder still.

Wooyoung jolts when he feels a sharper graze of something against his cock, but before he can even think to protest he’s brought up short on a surprised, choked-off moan when he looks down to find the white lace of his panties caught between San’s teeth.

San glances up at the sound. Traces of his earlier cockiness shine through in the half-smirk he adopts as he slowly tugs Wooyoung’s panties down and out of the way, never once breaking eye contact.

One of his hands leaves Wooyoung’s hip so he can help untuck his cock fully. His fingers are shorter than Wooyoung’s own, barely able to wrap around his entire girth, and boy if that doesn’t do wonders for Wooyoung’s ego. Not that he’s insecure about the size of his dick, but still. It’s nice to feel like he’s a little on the bigger side for once.

He notices San watching him again, and his breath catches in his throat. Because he doesn’t look so shy or unsure anymore - he looks awestruck. Hungry. On the edge of salivation. He darts his tongue out to wet his lips, and it might have looked a little ridiculous if he wasn’t so goddamn genuine about it.

Just like before, he starts with tentative little kitten licks. Short darts of his tongue pressed against the tip of Wooyoung’s cock while he holds him around the base, eyes flicking up to gauge his reactions. He seems perfectly content to just sit there lavishing open-mouthed kisses around the tip, getting a feel for it, getting a taste for it. Getting a sense for all the different buttons he can press to draw out the most intense reactions; like the way he keeps returning to tease his tongue into Wooyoung’s slit after he makes a particularly vocal, strangled noise the first time it happens.

When he finally musters up the courage to get his lips wrapped around him properly, it takes all of Wooyoung’s willpower not to immediately thrust up into the perfect, tight wet heat of his mouth.

He bobs his head once, twice, gradually sinking down lower and lower with gentle encouragement from the fingers Wooyoung still has threaded through his hair. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, the stretch clearly putting more of a strain on his jaw than the three fingers he previously had in his mouth. He seems to get stuck just a little over halfway down, mouth going still for a moment before he’s pulling off with a quiet whine.

“Relax kitten, it’s okay,” Wooyoung soothes, scratching behind his ear. “Such a cute, useless little mouth but you’re trying so hard.”

The words are enough to prompt San to sink his lips back down around his length again, a quiet, determined huff leaving him. He tries to pull Wooyoung closer by his hips, have him sink his cock in deeper, but he’s faced with the exact same problem as before and can only go so far before he’s having to pause again, whining in frustration.

Wooyoung massages his fingers into his scalp, a thoughtful hum leaving him as he gently tugs on his hair to make him pull off until there’s only the tip of his cock left resting against his tongue. “Poor Sannie…” He coos. “How are you going to be able to satisfy me like this?” He holds his cock around the base, tapping the tip against San’s parted lips.

He smirks at the way it makes San blush, his eyebrows knitting together in quiet humiliation. But at the same time, he can’t seem to resist leaning into the touch. He nuzzles against Wooyoung’s cock, giving it a few more licks before kissing down the length and dragging the flat of his tongue up against the underside where Wooyoung holds it in place for him.

He parts his lips obediently to let the tip slip back inside when Wooyoung nudges it back against his lips. What he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in enthusiasm; he’s so eager to let Wooyoung push further into his mouth, moaning around his length and inadvertently coaxing him to push in deeper because how could he not when San’s like this? Letting his jaw go slack for Wooyoung to fuck into experimentally, moans sending sweet vibrations all the way down his length. Hands kneading at Wooyoung’s thighs like a kitten begging for cream.

He’s good at that part. Good at worshipping Wooyoung’s thighs. Good at picking up on his reactions whenever he kneads a little harder, applying more and more pressure until Wooyoung’s choking down a half-moaned version of his name, hips stuttering where he’s still trying to refrain from thrusting too harshly past the soft plushness of his lips before he’s even ready for it.

San’s own moans turn into something closer to a content hum when Wooyoung reaches down to cling to one of the hands groping at his thigh. His nails scratch faint red lines into San’s skin, an approximation of encouragement and praise where coherent speech is currently failing him. He just - needs him to know that he’s doing so well. Making him feel so good.

The vibrations around his cock from San’s continuous purrs of contentment let him know that he understands.

Wooyoung’s barely even aware of just how much deeper his thrusts have become until San lets out a muffled cry and goes almost completely still around his cock. He swears under his breath, an apology already poised on his tongue as he goes to pull out but San’s fingers are like a vice around his thighs, keeping him firmly in place even as he starts to groan and whimper around his cock, fighting against a drawn-out sob where he’s still kneeled in supplication between his legs.

And then he stills again. His grip relaxes around Wooyoung’s thighs, body slumping forward slightly, and Wooyoung is finally able to gently coax him off his cock.

San looks like a mess. There’s drool on his chin, the beginnings of tears staining the corners of his eyes. His hair is all mussed up from where Wooyoung had been gripping it, golden-blond locks sticking up at all kinds of odd angles.

He rests cheek against Wooyoung’s leg, inhaling shakily.

“San?” Wooyoung’s voice lilts upwards into concern. “Are you…”

“‘m fine,” San slurs out, still rubbing his cheek against his leg. “Just. Need a moment.”

His eyelids look heavy, hooded bliss lurking just behind his irises. His head feels boneless where it rests against Wooyoung’s knee, lolling slightly to one side. His breathing is shaky, uneven, but comes out of him in a series of serene, content little sighs.

Wooyoung catalogues all of the signs, and smirks.

“San…” He tries again. San must sense the shift in his tone because he freezes all over again. His eyes flick up to Wooyoung’s face and immediately away again. Embarrassed. Guilty. “San, sweetheart,” Wooyoung lets his tone drip with as much false sincerity as he can muster. “You look tired. Why don’t you come back up here and rest in my lap?”

A pause. “’m okay down here.”

“I’m sure you are. Easier to hide down there, hmm?”

“I’m not-” San’s voice cracks, making him flinch. “Why would I have anything to hide?”

“Stand up then.”

Another pause. San’s eyes flick up, holding Wooyoung’s gaze. Wooyoung blinks back at him as innocently as he can, the picture-perfect personification of the very celestial being he came dressed up as.

Painstakingly, San rises to a standing position. He keeps his hands clasped in front of him, which Wooyoung reaches out to very gently and tentatively move out of the way. He doesn’t say anything right away - just slides his hands up around San’s waist, cupping his ass so he can pull him closer.

He rests his chin against San’s thigh, patiently waiting until he looks down before tilting his head up at him with a coy smile. He slides his palm all the way up his thigh to brush up against his crotch, fingers toying with a damp patch staining the front of his jeans. His smile sharpens at the way it immediately makes him squirm.

“Sannie,” he drawls. “Care to tell me why you’re all wet here?”

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s from when I spilled my drink earlier?”

Wooyoung looks up at him with hooded eyes. “No, I wouldn’t.” He makes sure San’s watching as he catches the zipper of his jeans between his teeth and slowly starts to tug it downward, reaching up to pop the top button open with his thumb. “You like sucking dick that much, huh?” He teases, tugging San’s jeans out of the way so his fingers can dance along the matching damp patch on his underwear. “So cute. Got all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

He leans in to nuzzle at his crotch. He flicks his tongue out and nips lightly with his teeth, cackling at the subsequent yelp it earns him. San goes to bat him away but Wooyoung just clings to him tighter, giggling as he continues to tease him through his underwear.

He allows himself to be pulled up out of the chair from the force of San trying to squirm away and out of his grasp, determined to maintain his hold around his waist. He keeps trying to kiss him as he goes, following San as he dissolves into giggles of his own, making a show of his half-hearted attempts to escape Wooyoung’s embrace until they’re all tangled together in a delirious fit of laugh-tinged kisses and wandering hands.

Wooyoung continues kissing his neck and nipping at his earlobes until they’ve tussled halfway across the room and San’s head makes a dull thud as he’s walked backwards into the large, floor-to-ceiling mirror built into one of his wardrobe doors.

Wooyoung eyes the reflective surface over his shoulder, mischief already starting to curl itself like a vice around his chest. He buries more deceptively sweet kisses against San’s neck, effectively distracting him as he paws at his waist and his hips until he’s manhandled him enough to be able to spin him around in his arms so he’s facing the mirror instead.

He sneaks a hand up into his hair, tugging his head up as he pulls him back against his chest. “Look at you,” his other hand trails down San’s abdomen to slip past the elastic of his underwear, coming back all wet and sticky. “My sweet, messy little demon. Didn’t even give me a chance to cum down your throat first before you lost control of yourself.”

San clings to his arm, tipping his head back against his shoulder. “You can still do it if you’d like,” he murmurs, nosing along his jaw.

“Yeah? Want to see what an angel’s cum tastes like?”

San kisses his jaw, squirms in his arms. Catches his bottom lip between his teeth like he wants to say something but can’t quite get the words out. “Please-” He reaches behind to paw at Wooyoung’s thigh, sliding his hand back even further to rub against his crotch. “I do, I want it.”

“Then say it.” Wooyoung lets his lips linger against San’s, the faintest whisper of a kiss. “Don’t be shy.”

San chases the kiss, huffing when it eludes him. “If you know already why do you need me to say it?”

“Because it’s fun. Because I like how cute and shy it makes you. Cocky frat boy like you… How come all your bravado vanishes the second I get you in my arms like this, hmm? Big useless cock all wet just from sucking me off,” Wooyoung releases the grip he has on his hair so he can gently caress his cheek. “If only you’d been able to hold on a little bit longer you wouldn’t have to beg for my cum like this.”

For a moment, San looks like he’s actively rebelling against the very notion of being made to beg - eyebrows drawn together in a disgruntled pout, body tense under Wooyoung’s hands. But he’s so receptive to Wooyoung’s touch, so utterly incapable of resisting him for even a second that all traces of a fight vanish almost the same instant that they appeared.

“Wanna taste your cum,” he eventually huffs out, defeated. “There. Happy?”

Wooyoung tuts. “Is that how good demons ask for a treat? I’m not sure you deserve it at all now.” San opens his mouth to protest but breaks off on a sharp inhale when Wooyoung reaches for his jaw, holding it between deft fingers. “But maybe you’ve earned something else.”

He squeezes lightly, waiting until San’s lips part enough that he can slide the tips of his cum-slick fingers into his mouth. San groans when he tastes himself on his tongue, eyes rolling back in his head, and it’s almost muscle memory for him now the way he instinctively swirls his tongue around the digits, licking them clean while Wooyoung murmurs sweet words of praise in his ear.

He makes a small noise of protest when Wooyoung removes them - only to dip into a low whine when Wooyoung pops them straight into his own mouth.

Wooyoung makes a show of dragging his tongue across his palm, licking and sucking at his fingers to get them nice and slick with spit before dipping his hand back down the front of San’s underwear to wrap around his cock.

San jerks in his arms. A broken-off gasp leaves him when he tightens his fist to slowly pump over his length, his spit mixing with San’s cum for a filthy, perfect glide. He squeezes harder on an upwards stroke, the snug ring of his fist making San’s hips twitch from oversensitivity, trying to escape the friction at the same time that he bucks forwards instinctively into the slick, irresistible tightness of it.

Wooyoung keeps the pace slow, deliberate. He wants to make sure San feels the languid drag of his hand with every nerve in his body. Wants to hear the delicate hum of pleasure that takes a seat inside his chest and never lets go. He threads his fingers through his tousled blond hair to encourage him to look up, peppering kisses all over his shoulder until his eyelids flicker open to lock gazes with himself in the mirror in front of them.

“Gonna cum again just from this?” Wooyoung teases his reflection. “What a shame… Such a nice, big cock but all you can do with it is make a mess of yourself.” He presses himself closer up against San’s back, grinding his hips forward so he can feel the hard bulge of his cock pressing up against his ass.

“Can do a lot more with it if you’d just let me,” San shoots back. The words come out weak and more than a little breathless. “I could ruin you, turn you into a pretty little mess too.”

Wooyoung grinds forward again. There’s more purpose behind it this time, the movement making San jerk forward and fuck right into his fist with abrupt groan of surprise. “I’m sure you could. And yet here you are, useless cock already leaking all over the floor again because you just can’t get enough of this. Look at you,” he nods towards their joint reflection in the mirror. San, flushed, panting, lips parted on a continuous litany of moans as he fucks helplessly into Wooyoung’s fist while at the same time grinding back against his cock. “So desperate to have someone’s cock in you.”

San’s answering moan comes out closer to a sob. “Please.”

“Please what?”

San shakes his head, trying to plead with Wooyoung’s reflection. “Please,” he mumbles again, softer this time.

“Remember what I said about using your words…” Wooyoung thumbs at San’s slit until he’s squirming, pressing a vindictive smile into his neck right before he bites down, hard enough to leave a mark behind. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what you want.”

San continues to squirm in his grasp. Like every inch of him is slowly being conditioned to react to even the barest of touches. He keeps twitching and half-fucking into Wooyoung’s fist, unable to tear his gaze away from his own reflection; watching as Wooyoung practically mauls his neck, canines glinting in the low light whenever he catches San’s eye in the mirror and smirks back at him knowingly.

San tries to get Wooyoung’s name out, gets as far as “Woo-” before it’s drowned out by another series of faint gasps, his nails digging into Wooyoung’s wrist in a blind search for stability.

Wooyoung holds him steady, one arm wound around his waist. Eases up where he’s been nipping at his skin, licking a stripe all the way up to his ear so he can tug his lobe between his teeth. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, voice pressed low against San’s ear. “Don’t be shy Sannie, come on.”

“Fuck me,” San finally manages to choke out. “W-want you to fuck me, please, I-”

“Sure you’re ready for that sweetheart? You could barely handle having my cock in your mouth,” Wooyoung interrupts, feigned concern colouring his tone. “Have you ever even had anyone touch you here before?” He lets go of San’s cock so he can slide a hand around to his ass, fingers dipping past his waistband to lightly tease between his cheeks, just shy of his hole.

San shivers. He slumps back in Wooyoung’s arms now that he no longer has his fist to fuck into, head tipping back against his shoulder. “J-Just my own fingers, sometimes,” he admits, a faint blush colouring his skin. “Wanted to know what it felt like.”

“And?” Wooyoung presses a light kiss against the sweet, rosy apple of his cheek. “Did you like it?”

San thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “Could never really get them to fit right though. Always felt like… Like I needed something more,” he reaches down for the hand still wrapped around his waist, drawing it out in front of him so he can admire Wooyoung’s long, slender fingers against his own smaller ones.

“Is this your way of asking me to finger your cute little hole open for you sweetheart?”

San’s eyelids flutter to a close with a faint whimper, the sound tapering off into an almost wistful sigh. “Please…”

Always so ready to ask nicely, even if he struggles to find the right words for it. Hardly ever needs to be asked first. It’s the kind of easy submission that can sometimes make Wooyoung lose interest, but on San… On someone who otherwise seems so outwardly cocky and sure of himself…

He can’t deny that it’s one hell of a power-trip.

“Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself first, hmm? Want to see for myself just how much you can usually take.”

San’s blush deepens, spreading all the way down his neck. His fingers curl instinctively around Wooyoung’s where he’s still holding them, a tight bundle of nerves. “Like… With my fingers?”

“Well. Unless you wanted to show me using something else.”

“Something else?” San’s head tilts sweetly to one side, so endearing in his moment of obliviousness.

“Dildos, vibrators, plugs, anal beads,” Wooyoung lists off. It’s entertaining to watch San’s eyes widen the further down the list he goes. “Amongst others, of course. Anything’s a sex toy if you’re brave enough, really.”

San is already shaking his head before he’s even finished speaking. “Fingers - just fingers. I… I’ve never tried anything else.”

“Shame…” Wooyoung rakes his eyes up and down San’s reflection, hooking his chin over his shoulder to hug him close around his waist. “I think I could have a lot of fun using some of my toys on you.”

“Ah.”

“Another time, maybe.”

San’s expression morphs into quiet wonder, eyes taking on a faraway gleam. He doesn’t even attempt to reply; just stands there rooted to the spot in front of the mirror, the cogs and wheels of his brain clearly working overtime.

Wooyoung smoothes gentle hands down his sides, pressing featherlight kisses of encouragement all across the wide expanse of his shoulders. He bats his lashes at him through the mirror, eyes all round and disarming. He already knows San isn’t immune. Few people are.

“Sannie?” He prompts.

San blinks, slowly coming to. “I’m just.” He pauses. “Thinking.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself.” San bats admonishingly at the arms still hooked around his waist, making Wooyoung giggle and cling to him even tighter. “Pretty please?” He prompts again. “Will you do it? For me?”

San’s lips press into a thin line, effectively disarmed. “You’re a menace.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You know it’s a yes,” San sighs; albeit fondly.

Wooyoung squeezes him tight around his waist. He makes a point of nipping affectionately at his shoulder, trying to convey gratitude and excitement and quiet reassurance all in one gesture. San’s smile only grows fonder even as he succumbs to a deepening blush, already twisting in his arms so he can kiss him and lead him by the hand towards his bed.

He kicks his jeans off before clambering his way backwards onto the mattress, Wooyoung doing the same with his heels and his cumbersome little angel wings before following him to crawl between his legs and hover on top of him.

He takes advantage of the angle provided as San leans off the side of the bed to root around in the bedside table to suck more eager kisses of encouragement all over his chest and collarbones, tugging impatiently at his underwear to try and pull them down past his hips. He doesn’t care much that it hinders San’s process in finding whatever the hell it is he’s looking for - all he cares about are the faint red-purple marks he’s leaving behind, staking his claim wherever he goes.

San eventually re-emerges with a huff, complexion significantly redder than before from all the teasing touches he hadn’t quite been able to fend off with both of his hands occupied. He chucks a clear plastic bottle onto the sheets, making every effort to avoid Wooyoung’s watchful gaze as he does so.

Wooyoung snatches the bottle up in his own hands before San can get to it, examining the small amount of lube that remains inside. “Someone’s been busy,” he observes idly. “Get good use out of this, do you?”

“Somehow I feel like it’s only going to get worse since meeting you,” San shoots back, already settling back against the pillows with a smirk. He has his thighs spread wide, inviting. Stretching his body out in an obvious display, playing into the unsubtle path of Wooyoung’s wandering, predatory gaze.

“How presumptuous of you.”

San’s eyebrows shoot up to a not-insignificant distance from his hairline. “So you don’t want to try using your toys on me another time?”

“I didn’t say that,” Wooyoung pouts. “Stop twisting my words.”

“You can’t just bat your eyelashes and pout your way out of everything, angel.”

Wooyoung arches an eyebrow. “Can’t I?” He asks, already crawling forward to hover back over him again. He makes a point of exaggerating his pout as he smoothes both hands up over his thighs, applying gentle pressure until San relents and lets them spread even further apart. “See?” He smirks. “I always get what I want.”

San is quiet as he watches him lean away, letting him tug his underwear all the way down past his ankles to be thrown onto the floor where they belong without much fuss. He only seems to grow shyer now that he’s fully naked and exposed in front of him, eyes darting up and around, never able to settle on Wooyoung’s face for more than a few seconds.

There’s an attempt on his part to regain some composure and adorn himself with all the cocksure arrogance he previously had as he stretches languidly in front of him - flexing his arm muscles when he props his hands up behind his head, making sure to give Wooyoung the perfect view of his rippling abs when he purposely arches his back and flexes his stomach.

He falters the second Wooyoung splays a hand out on his abdomen to keep him still, his other hand squeezing at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

Wooyoung reaches for the lube, popping the cap open with his thumb and smirking at the sharp finality of the snap that it makes. “Be a good little demon and work yourself open for me,” he leans down to murmur in San’s ear, before flipping the bottle and squeezing.

San hisses when the cool liquid hits his skin. Lube drips over the base of his cock and all the way down his balls, trailing a wet mess over his hole before some of it spills over onto the covers. He reaches down to try and catch some of it with his fingers, making a plaintive noise when Wooyoung squeezes even more liquid out to make sure they’re properly coated.

He can’t help himself. There’s just something so dizzying about the sight of San, big and broad and chiselled to perfection being reduced to a squirming, wet, perfectly imperfect mess.

San braces himself as he teases the tip of one slick finger over his hole; bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his other hand fisted into a pillow by his head. His eyes flick up to Wooyoung’s attentive face once, twice, cheeks flaming bright red every time he does.

His eyes slip shut when he finally eases the tip of his finger past his rim, head deadweight where it thuds back against the pillows in taut, deliciously drawn-out pleasure the further he pushes it in. Wooyoung massages his thighs where his palms are still resting warm and secure over his soft skin, trying to help him relax so he can take it all the way up to the last knuckle.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Just like that baby, you’re doing so well.”

San whines softly, eyes screwing shut. Wooyoung rubs his thumbs in slow, soothing circles over his inner thighs, letting him adjust with more soft-spoken murmurs of praise and encouragement until he feels the tension gradually bleed out of him to leave nothing but pliant bonelessness behind.

San wriggles his finger around a little, getting used to the stretch before he tries to move it any further. He starts with short probing motions, soft sighs leaving him as he pulls out and eases back in just a little bit further every time, hips shifting slightly to help with the glide. He still can’t look Wooyoung in the eye as he does it though. He just keeps his eyes closed as he continues to work the single digit in at a slow thrust, sighs blending into sweet moans the more he has to twist his wrist to keep fucking down on it.

When he goes to ease a second one in next to the first, Wooyoung feels his whole body begin to tense back up again instinctively. He whines into the kiss that Wooyoung leans down to press against his lips, frustration and impatience bleeding through in the sharp insistence of it as he continues to squirm underneath him, arching up to try and deepen the kiss at the same time that he grinds his hips against the tips of his two fingers.

“Easy baby, easy,” Wooyoung hushes him as gently as he can, kissing his cheek and down along his jaw. “Don’t push yourself if you can’t take it.”

“Can take it,” San insists, breathless - from his fingers, from the kiss; from the way Wooyoung grips his thigh to help keep him spread open. “I can, just need-”

He breaks off on a strangled groan. Wooyoung has let go of his other thigh to trace his thumb over his perineum, spreading more lube there and further down around his tight, puckered rim. “Shh, it’s okay,” he hushes again, tone as soft as the soothing pad of his thumb. “You’re almost there, just relax. Take your time.”

He keeps rubbing the tip of his thumb around San’s hole, kissing him occasionally as a distraction. He knows the second he’s finally able to ease both fingers in fully by the way he suddenly arches up off the bed, breaking the kiss so he can turn his head to the side to try and muffle his subsequent whine into one of the pillows.

Wooyoung hooks one of his legs up over his shoulder, bending closer to hover over him as he curls his fingers around his chin to try and coax his face back towards him. The angle just ends up making San fold further in half , his fingers burying themselves deeper and he almost looks like he’s about to cry, eyes gone hopelessly wide and dewy when he finally allows himself to follow the guiding motion of Wooyoung’s hand to meet his gaze.

Only for them to instantly slide shut again.

Wooyoung feels a faint tremor pass through his body. A slow, ambling wave of pleasure building towards a crescendo. He barely has two fingers worked inside himself and he’s already a wreck, too overwhelmed to even look Wooyoung in the eye.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Is it too much?”

Wooyoung is surprised when San shakes his head then, a determined set to his jaw. “I just-” He cracks his eyes open, whining to find Wooyoung still so close. “Not enough.”

Wooyoung’s expression is dragged all the way through quiet concern straight into flat incredulity. “San. Baby,” he smoothes a hand out over his cheek, cradling his face. “You look like you’re about to cry from barely having two fingers inside you.”

San’s face turns a bright shade of crimson that Wooyoung hasn’t seen from him yet. It’s cute. “That’s not why,” he insists. “It’s just. It’s a lot, with you… Watching.”

Wooyoung contemplates his face for a moment, thumb sweeping a gentle arch over his cheekbone. It’s a pretty face, all flushed and dishevelled and infinitely softer in the subdued amber glow of San’s room than it had been under the neon chaos of the haphazardly illuminated dance floor.

It’s a face he rather enjoys looking at. One he’s loath to part with even if only for a little while, but if it helps San feel more at ease, then… “Do you want to try doing it on your stomach instead? That way you don’t have to look at me. Would that help?”

San toys with his bottom lip, plush, pretty pink caught uncertainly between white teeth. Wooyoung can see a glimmer of his own reluctance at the prospect of no longer being face to face reflected back at him, so he’s a little surprised when, instead of replying, San slowly eases his fingers out with a soft shudder and an accompanying sigh and disentangles himself from his grasp so he can shift onto his stomach.

Wooyoung waits until he’s settled himself before snaking his hands under his hips, gently tugging until he has his ass lifted fully up in the air and his knees spread further apart. “Such a cute little hole,” he murmurs. His face is pressed so close to San’s ass that it makes San twitch away from the warm breath that ghosts over the sensitive skin there. “This angle is much better.”

San whines. Wooyoung can’t tell whether in agreement or not, or whether it’s because he just feels even more exposed in this new position - perky little ass up in the air, face already half-shoved into the pillows, empty hole clenching around nothing. Wooyoung slides his palms up the backs of his thighs and over the curve of his ass, admiring the view. He teases the tips of his thumbs between his cheeks so he can spread them open wider and is immediately rewarded with the sound of a sharp groan.

San has both hands fisted in his pillows, burying his face even further into the downy material to muffle the positively obscene moan that leaves him when Wooyoung lets spit gather on his tongue and dribble from his lips down over his hole.

He’s still so wet from all the lube that it’s really just excessive, but it makes Wooyoung feel dizzy to see him like this. To hear the slick, squelching noise as he pushes the tip of his thumb experimentally past his rim, smiling at the way San’s hips buck instinctively backwards to try and suck the digit in deeper.

After that it just becomes impossible to resist leaning in to trail his lips over the inviting plumpness of San’s ass any longer.

Wooyoung presses light, worshipping kisses all over his skin, the shape of them soon sharpening the more he loses himself to the sound of San’s muffled moans and whines filling the air around them. He bites down, teeth lightly grazing at first but bruising in the interim, never once letting up even when San’s gasping for air and reaching back to fist a hand into his hair.

Spurred on by the encouragement, he continues to kiss his way over so he can flick his tongue out over San’s hole. He gives it a few tentative licks, testing the waters. Getting a sense for how receptive San is to the idea, gradually teasing the tip past his rim when it becomes clear that he’s very receptive indeed.

He keeps a bruising grip on San’s thighs so he can’t squirm away as he continues to work his tongue inside him, curling and probing it deeper and deeper until San’s letting out a strangled sob that’s half expletives, half aborted attempt at his name. He resorts to clawing at the sheets, fingers twisting into the material so intensely that his knuckles turn white and Wooyoung becomes genuinely concerned that he might rip them.

Similar concerns arise about his pillows given just how muffled his fucked-out little gasps and whimpers have become, far too muffled to not have something firmly clamped between his teeth. But even then, it’s still not enough to fully disguise the wet sob that claws its way out of his throat when Wooyoung finally finds the perfect angle to start fucking his tongue into him properly.

The wet, sloppy sound of it is enough to have Wooyoung’s own sanity rattling at the bars of his composure, made all the worse by the sweet unravelling of San’s muffled, shuddering pleas beneath him. Pleas of more and don’t stop and wooyoung wooyoung wooyoung-

“God you’re so fucking cute,” Wooyoung breathes out, reverential. He’s panting slightly when he pulls away to caress San’s lower back. “Like it when someone eats your pretty little hole out sweetheart?”

“’s good,” San slurs. He’s already subconsciously pushing back for more, reaching behind to paw at one of the hands still gripping his ass keeping his cheeks spread. “So good please,” he whines, “please Wooyoung, want more-”

“So greedy,” Wooyoung tuts.

But he’s already back in for seconds.

San arches his back, his knees splitting even further apart. Presenting himself. Spreading himself open. Eagerly rocking back against every sinful flick of Wooyoung’s tongue while he continues to swear under his breath, the pillow absorbing most of it until he’s nothing but a quivering, unintelligible mess.

He makes a disgruntled noise when Wooyoung pulls away again; but before he can voice his disapproval any further Wooyoung is already sliding two fingers back into his gaping, dripping hole, sending any words he might have been about to say straight into garbled incoherence.

Wooyoung gives him a moment to adjust, keeping his fingers buried all the way up to the last knuckle as he smooths his other hand down his side. “Now be a good boy and pay attention,” he prompts, pressing a kiss to one of the dimples on San’s lower back. “Wanna show you just how good you can make yourself feel like this. That way you can think of me the next time you’re trying to get off, clenching around your own cute little fingers and whining from how good it feels but knowing that it’ll never feel quite as good as this.”

He eases his fingers out slowly, making sure San can feel the ridge of every single knuckle before thrusting them back in again all in one, fluid motion.

San almost chokes on a gasp.

The sound tapers off into a quiet, drawn-out groan when Wooyoung repeats the motion. He fucks him languidly with his fingers, each movement measured and deliberate so that San can do nothing but kneel there and take it, thighs and arms shaking from the effort of trying to hold himself up and not collapse into a heap against the mattress.

Wooyoung wants to etch himself into every part of his body - wants to sink his claws into every exposed nerve, burrow into every possible corner of his mind to leave a permanent imprint of himself behind, leave him ruined for anyone else. It seems to be going well enough given that San’s moans have morphed almost exclusively into a litany of his name, in all its possible variations.

Wooyoung smiles to himself, preening.

Changing tact, he starts to crook the digits with every thrust, middle and ring finger curling and probing into the tight heat of San’s hole. He keeps a steady hold on his hip with his other hand, so he’s already braced for it when he’s finally able to get the angle just right to make San jerk forward with a sharp cry.

Or try to jerk forward, anyway. He doesn’t get very far with the way Wooyoung’s gripping him. He barely gets half an inch away from his fingers before he’s being coaxed backwards again, two digits burying back inside him with ruthless precision.

He almost sounds like he’s crying into his pillow now. His highs won’t twitching where Wooyoung keeps fucking him with his fingers, angling them to hit that same sweet spot over and over and over again. He’s hard again too – already leaking onto the mattress when Wooyoung hasn’t even touched him, thick, flushed cock bouncing uselessly between his legs with every thrust of Wooyoung’s fingers.

His whole body feels like it’s about to completely cave in on itself. His hips keep dropping down towards the sheets every time Wooyoung happens to loosen his grip, jerking forward like he wants nothing more than to just sink down and rut against the mattress to try and get off.

But Wooyoung won’t let him.

“What’s wrong, are you losing steam already sweetheart?” He chastises lightly, pulling his hips back up to keep him ass-up in the air. “All these big, strong muscles but you can barely even hold yourself up after getting a few fingers stuffed in your hole…” He makes a point of curling his fingers then, fucking them deeper until San lets out a soft groan. “I’m not sure you’ll even be able to handle a third at this point.”

San makes a small noise of surprise. “T-Third?”

“Oh, baby…” Wooyoung caresses a gentle, patronizing hand down the length of his spine. “How many did you think I was fucking you with?”

A moment of silence. “Three,” San mumbles, voice weak.

“I guess you frat boys aren’t exactly known for being all that bright, are you?” Wooyoung teases. “But don’t worry; I’m an excellent teacher. I’ll show you what three fingers really feels like.”

“’s not gonna fit,” San whines.

“No?” Wooyoung pouts. San can’t see it, but he hopes it still shows in his tone. “How am I gonna fit my cock in here if you can’t even take three fingers? Don’t you want it?”

San makes another small sound of protest, breaking off on a whimper when Wooyoung pulls his fingers out. “Want it,” he insists. “Please I do I’ll be good I promise-”

Another whimper, more guttural this time when Wooyoung presses the tips of three fingers up against his hole, teasing them just past his rim.

“Feel okay?” A low groan. “Yes or no sweetheart. I can’t keep going otherwise.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Wooyoung inches his fingers a little further. Working three tips in while he smoothes a warm, patient hand across the wide expanse of San’s back, dancing along the taut planes of his shoulder blades. Waiting until he feels him relax and try to rock back against the digits before going any deeper.

He keeps going just like that. Reading and responding to San’s body language as best as he can, explicitly asking him when he can’t. It eventually gets to a point where he hardly even has to ask anymore - San has become such an endearing, pliant mess where he’s squirming against the sheets, soft whimpers of ‘more’ and ‘please’ readily poised on the tip of his tongue at every turn. Whining and begging even as Wooyoung tries to get him to pace himself, continuously chasing after the feeling of being filled and worked open on long, slender fingers.

It’s impossible to deny him anything he wants when he looks like this. When he’s asking so sweetly, Wooyoung’s name tumbling from his lips in constant prayer.

So Wooyoung gives in. Even if it means San is struggling a little by the final stretch, eagerness and enthusiasm only able to get him so far when Wooyoung starts to finger him in earnest. Wooyoung soothes him as best as he can, drizzling more lube over his hole and all over his fingers to try and ease the glide, but all it does is make him sob and cling to his pillow even tighter as the cool liquid trickles over his balls, dripping down the sensitive skin of his thighs.

He’s a sight to behold. Hole all slick and wet with lube, cock leaking like a faucet to add to the mess he’s been steadily making of the sheets from being inadvertently milked and edged. It doesn’t help that Wooyoung finds himself in a similar state; he can feel his own panties starting to soak through a little already, the fabric catching against the sensitive skin of his cockhead without ever being quite enough friction to bring him any kind of proper relief.

He wants to fuck San so badly. Wants to know what he sounds like when he’s whimpering and crying on his cock instead of his fingers. Wants to feel his tight little hole squeezing around his length, sucking him in like he belongs there as he makes a home for himself in his guts.

Wants to show him just how badly he can ruin him, just as much as San looked like he wanted to do the same to him.

He pauses where he’s been caressing San’s back, fingers going still inside him which brings on a predictable plaintive whine. “I know, I know,” he placates gently. He leans down to loop an arm around his waist in a loose embrace, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “I know you’re desperate for my cock baby, just hold on a little longer. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

He uses the leverage he has around San’s middle to pull him up by his chest, guiding him backwards and away from the pillows until he’s kneeling upright. With his thighs spread wide like this, gravity doing most of the work for him, he’s finally able to sink down the full length of Wooyoung’s fingers - all at once, a sharp, raspy grunt leaving him the second he’s fully seated like all the air has been knocked clean out of him.

His fingers scrabble against the arm still wrapped around his chest holding him in place, clinging on so tight that Wooyoung already knows he’s going to have angry, red scars criss-crossing his skin by tomorrow. He continues to hold him flush against his chest regardless, a raw, delicious kind of pain blooming inside his chest.

With any luck, they won’t be the only marks he’s left with by the morning.

He drops a trail of kisses against San’s shoulder, stopping to nose at his ear. “Good boy,” he praises. “I knew you could do it.”

San turns instinctively towards his voice, lips eagerly seeking out more open-mouthed kisses which Wooyoung is only too happy to indulge him with.

He uses the distraction it provides to start moving his fingers again, easing them out in a slow drag before gradually fucking them back up into his hole until he hears San whine into the kiss. It’s a good metric to get a read on him - the more he relaxes into the kiss, mouth going slack to let Wooyoung’s tongue lick and tease its way inside, the more Wooyoung knows he’s able to take. The more he tenses up, teeth scraping against Wooyoung bottom lip on a subdued hiss, the more Wooyoung knows to go slow and let him adjust.

It’s not long before Wooyoung’s fucking him properly on three fingers, curling and stretching them to keep him nice and loose. It’s easier to find his sweet spot like this with the way he keeps rolling his hips down to meet the upwards thrust of Wooyoung’s wrist, like he’s finally allowing himself to be pulled under by the current of pleasure instead of trying to keep himself afloat at the surface; even if he does look a little bit like he’s about to keel over into his pillows every time Wooyoung’s deft fingers find their mark.

But Wooyoung’s hold remains firm around his chest, making sure he stays upright. It sends a little thrill through him knowing how much bigger San is and how easily he could probably overpower him at any moment, but that he still stays pliant and easily malleable in Wooyoung’s arms. That he allows himself to be held and manhandled - that he enjoys it too, given the quiet groan of satisfaction he lets out every time Wooyoung’s arm tightens around him just a little bit more.

“Look at you,” Wooyoung tuts, chin hooked over his shoulder. “So needy… So desperate to have someone’s cock inside you.”

San’s face, at a consistent shade of pink for the last while now, somehow doubles its efforts to worsen significantly. “’m not desperate,” he huffs, indignant.

“No? But look baby; you’re the one doing all the work.”

San looks down at himself. He freezes to hover in mid-air when he realizes that Wooyoung isn’t even moving his wrist anymore - he’s been fucking his hips down onto his fingers trying to get them deeper all on his own.

Wooyoung presses a fond smile against his neck. The shape of it curves and sharpens as he lets his teeth sink in, at the same time twisting his wrist up at a sharp angle. The suddenness of it prompts San to squirm in his arms, hips twitching of their own volition until he’s grinding back down on the digits with a renewed sort of fervour, surrendering himself to the sensation without a second thought, any additional protests promptly dying on the tip of his tongue with every subsequent roll of his hips.

It’s almost too easy.

“Gonna-” San breaks off on a gasp, reaching around to tangle his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair. “Gonna cum, I can’t-”

Wooyoung’s wrist stills. He starts to slowly ease his fingers out, delighting in the way San tries to spread his thighs even further so he can continue to sink down and chase the sensation until he’s left clenching around nothing with a low, frustrated keen, turning to nose demandingly at Wooyoung’s jaw.

“Save your energy up, sweetheart. I’ve barely even gotten started with you yet,” Wooyoung tells him, gently patting him on the thigh. A promise laced with threat; one that San seems only too delighted by if the fervent look in his eyes is anything to go by.

Wooyoung half-expects him to collapse back against the pillows when he finally relinquishes the hold he has around his waist. It catches him off guard when instead San twists around to tackle him backwards onto the mattress with a clumsy kiss that lands somewhere near his eye, making them both devolve into unexpectedly soft giggles.

Wooyoung allows himself to be pinned down with little resistance. It feels too good to bother fighting it anyway, San’s full weight bearing down on top of him, thighs bruising where they’re squeezing his hips in a tight straddle. The defined muscles of his chest feel dizzyingly perfect where they’re squashed against Wooyoung as he presses down close to realign their lips in a proper, searing kiss, the metal of his piercings catching against Wooyoung’s own sensitive nipples making him shudder and moan into San’s mouth.

Any hang-ups San might have previously had about being physically bigger than him seem to have vanished in the wake of everything that’s already transpired between them up to this point. He understands now that Wooyoung can handle it. Understands that he likes it, if the way he settles himself more obviously on top of his smaller frame as he continues to kiss him is anything to go by.

Wooyoung’s hands come up to frame his narrow waist. “Is this your way of telling me you want to ride me?” He teases between kisses, squeezing lightly. “Or would you rather take it on your back so you can watch yourself falling apart on my cock?”

San looks a little bit like he might cum again right there on top of him from the sheer mental toll it takes on him just to imagine either scenario. “I…” He starts, stops. He gets a hazy, distant look in his eye, having to mentally shake himself before he’s able to properly focus on Wooyoung’s face again. “I don’t know,” he says eventually. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

“You look like you’re barely able to think at all anymore,” Wooyoung taps him lightly on the side of the head, knuckles rapping against his temple. “Anything going on up there? It sounds a little hollow.”

San reaches down to flick one of his nipples in retaliation. “Not my fault when you fill my head with so much filth there’s no room left for anything else.”

“As if it wasn’t already full of filth before I even said anything,” Wooyoung scoffs. “You haven’t had a single pure thought since you first laid eyes on me.”

“Can you really blame me?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “Not really. I’m probably worse, anyway. Right now all I can think about is how good you’d look just like this, riding my cock with that same dazed look and cute little pout on your face because all you want is for me to grab your hips and fuck you like you really need.” He teases his fingers through the hair at the nape of San’s neck, tugging lightly until his expression wavers into something heated. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

San is already shaking his head before he’s even finished speaking. “Y’know, I think I’ve decided after all. On my back sounds much, much better.”

Wooyoung smirks at him knowingly. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll cum too fast the other way?”

“...No.”

“It’s okay,” Wooyoung says, grip tightening in his hair to tug him closer. “That’s my favourite position too. Love to ride cock ‘til there’s cum dripping down my thighs.”

San makes a strangled noise. “Oh my god.”

“Sure you don’t want that for yourself, sweetheart?”

“You really need to stop calling me that.”

Wooyoung frowns. “Do you not like it?”

“I… Think I might like it a little too much,” San murmurs, a quiet admission against Wooyoung’s lips. “No one’s ever called me that before. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Nice? All tingly and warm inside.” He kisses Wooyoung again. “Or safe, maybe.” And another. “Makes me feel seen in a way I didn’t really know I wanted to be.”

Wooyoung cups his cheeks, eyebrows furrowing to join the concerned lines of his frown. “You are a sweetheart though. Even despite all the layers of cocky, arrogant frat boy. You’re good and sweet and gentle…” He trails off, thumbs caressing along San’s cheekbones. “Makes me want to ruin you just that little bit more.”

“Would you still call me sweetheart if this,” he gestures vaguely between them, “was the other way around?”

“Of course. One of the sweetest things any guy can do for me is blow my back out until I can’t walk.” Wooyoung presses a kiss to San’s cheek. “Why, are you having second thoughts? Would you rather fuck m-”

San quiets him with another kiss, lips trailing on the heels of a frustrated huff. “Want you to fuck me.” There’s an endearing determined furrow to his brow when he says it. “I do, I just. Can’t stop thinking about how much I want to fuck you too. In your cute little skirt and pretty makeup…” The words trail off, lost behind an appreciative gaze that makes Wooyoung feel all kinds of tingly inside.

“Be a good boy and make me cum first and maybe I’ll let you.”

San’s brow instantly smoothes out into an expression of barely-restrained excitement. Wooyoung can almost see the non-existent tail wagging behind him. “Really? You will?”

“I said maybe. You still need to try and uphold your end of the bargain first.”

“I can do that.”

Wooyoung smirks. “Can you?” He’s already pushing up from the mattress, pawing insistently at San’s chest so he can crowd him back down against the pillows. “You’ve cum so many times already from so little… You really think you can handle my cock any better than you’ve handled everything else?”

Indignation simmers at the edges of San’s expression. He juts his chin out in quiet defiance. “Try me.”

“Oh don’t worry, I will,” Wooyoung dips down to nip at his jaw before dropping his lips to his ear. “Now be a good little demon and spread your legs for me.”

There’s a moment where San looks like he might let the indignation take hold, a challenge poised on the tip of his tongue. But then Wooyoung’s reaching down and slowly lifting the hem of his skirt up, teasing his panties down to give him a proper look at the hardened length of his cock, curved and flushed, the tip glistening with precum, and his expression slips into something closer to unfettered desire.

His lips part, the bottom one getting caught between his teeth to hold back the small moan that Wooyoung knows is sitting trapped somewhere poised and pretty at the back of his throat. And then he’s shuffling backwards, settling himself amongst the pillows with a soft, almost helpless sigh, thighs falling open while he averts his gaze with a self-conscious blush.

Wooyoung crawls forward to kneel between them, smoothing his palms along his thighs all the way up to his hips to help keep him firmly pressed into the mattress. When he leans down to lavish appreciative kisses down the side of his neck, San strains against the hold like he wants so badly to arch up into the touch, completely magnetic in the way he’s drawn to Wooyoung’s body. But Wooyoung’s hold is firm, lips drifting lower over his chest to leave more kisses there too, tongue ghosting over the purple-blue marks already starting to bloom there from earlier.

He lets his fingers linger teasingly over his nipple piercings just for the satisfaction of feeling the sting against his scalp when San reaches down to tug on his hair with a soft hiss, just like he had the first time Wooyoung did it. Sucking one of the metal-clad buds into his mouth earns him a sharper tug still, making him whine in satisfaction which just has San arching up against him even more desperately, muscles straining like little coils of tension under Wooyoung’s hands.

Wooyoung keeps teasing at his nipples until he feels an impatient tug at his hair, something solid digging insistently into the side of his leg not long after. He pulls away to make a warranted joke about things in pockets and certain frat boy appendages being happy to see him, only to break off on an amused snort when he notices the plastic bottle of lube which has been strategically manoeuvred to rest by his knee.

Taking the hint, he scoops it up with a fond eye-roll, uncapping it so he can drizzle the last dregs into his palm.

He slowly works his hand over the length of his cock to get it nice and coated, taking his time with it just to be a brat and because he never could resist an opportunity to put on a little show - and when he glances up he finds San rather predictably pouting at him, a frustrated little crease sitting between his brows.

But not entirely for the reason Wooyoung expects.

“Why the long face baby?”

“I could have done that for you.”

Wooyoung looks down at where he’s still lazily pumping his fist over his length, then back up again to arch an amused brow in San’s endearingly disgruntled direction. Impatient, sure - but more than that, it appears he feels slighted] “Damn, you really are a little cockslut, aren’t you?”

“Takes one to know one,” San huffs back. He retreats a little further into the pillows, almost like he’s trying to hide. Wooyoung just tugs him closer again by his hips.

“Oh don’t worry sweetheart, I’m perfectly aware of what I am,” he drawls, lips curving up into a self-satisfied smile. “And you’re right; that’s exactly why I know that you’re just like me. That you want nothing more than to choke on a nice, thick cock. Want to wrap your fingers around it and beg for someone to paint that pretty little face of yours.” He pauses, lifting his skirt and angling his cock so he can tease the tip up against San’s ass. “Want someone to fill you up and fuck you dumb.”

“Fuck,” San gasps. Wooyoung can’t tell what’s getting to him more - the overly-vivid picture he’s just painted for him, or the way he steadfastly refuses to do anything more than just rub the tip of his cock up against his slick little hole.

“Poor baby, look like you might die if you don’t get cock in you soon If you want me to fuck you that badly all you have to do is ask.”

“Please, I’m not that desperate.”

“No?” Wooyoung’s head tilts to one side. He settles back on his haunches, grip loosening where he’d been holding onto one of San’s hips to start guiding him onto his cock. He stops teasing the tip up against his hole, leaning back so he can resume the languid pumping motion of his own fist instead.

And all San can do is watch.

Wooyoung makes sure to hold his gaze the entire time, a slow, simmering smirk twisting his expression as he bunches his skirt up in one hand to more easily fuck into his fist, pumping himself deliberately slow all the way down to the base of his cock and back up again. He keeps his fingers curled extra tight so San can hear the slick, wet sound of it, hiking the folds of his skirt up even higher and shimmying out of his panties to give him a proper, unobstructed view.

It’s only when he throws his head back on an exaggerated moan as he fucks his hips forward that the cracks finally begin to show in San’s composure. He’s been stubbornly quiet up until now, watching Wooyoung with a faint glare that’s part envy, part yearning, and wholly, entirely cock-hungry.

He’s not fooling anyone. And he’s certainly not fooling Wooyoung now with the way he squirms impatiently against the sheets, hips twitching up like all he wants to do is reel him back in so he can keep grinding up against the tip of his cock.

A soft grumble of protest leaves him when all Wooyoung does is release the fabric of his skirt so he can push him back down flat against the mattress. “Are you ready to be good and admit how badly you want my cock now?” His tone is gentle, light in comparison to the way his palm presses warm and firm against San’s abdomen. San gives a wordless nod, jaw tense even as the rest of him melts into the sheets under Wooyoung’s touch. “Words, sweetheart. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” San grits out, barely above a whisper.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me,” he follows up in another quiet breath of air. His eyes turn hopelessly round, betraying the longing that lingers under all the layers of impatience and quiet frustration. The next words tumble out of him like water bursting through cracks in a dam. “C’mon angel, please. I want it, want to feel your cock inside me now please Wooyoung, stop being such a tease and just fuck me already-”

Wooyoung quiets him with a quick kiss, swallowing the sweet sigh of satisfaction that follows. “That’s more like it,” he hums, and goes to line himself back up.

He makes sure to go slow, watching San’s face for any signs of pain or discomfort as he inches past his rim. San tenses up for the first few moments, brows furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He reaches up to grip Woooyung’s upper arms the further his cock slips inside him, and it’s bruising enough that Wooyoung almost stops to ask him if it’s too much and if he wants him to stop and pull out - but then he’s shifting his hips with a determined grunt, using Wooyoung’s arms as leverage so he can sink even further onto his cock.

So Wooyoung keeps going. He keeps easing in until his hips meet San’s ass. Until San’s arching up off the mattress with his eyes screwed shut and his head tipped back against the pillows, his hands slipping from Wooyoung’s arms to ball the sheets up in his fists instead. Until he’s biting down on his bottom lip so hard Wooyoung is convinced he’s going to draw blood, all of the air trapped inside his chest in a single, tremulous breath that he can’t quite seem to get out.

Pure ecstasy etched out on the sheets, carved there under the hilt of Wooyoung’s blade.

Wooyoung smoothes a hand down his chest in gentle reassurance, fingers trailing down over his stomach. The corners of his mouth twitch up towards a soft, bemused smile. “Look at you, already trying so hard not to cum when I’ve barely even gotten started with you. Like how my cock feels buried all the way inside you?” He adds a little pressure where his palm rests against San’s abdomen, smile sharpening when all he can do is let out a feeble little groan in response, thighs trembling where they’re spread open against the mattress.

Wooyoung’s fingers travel lower to caress down his side. His gaze is fixated on the way his thumbs smooth over broad muscle to eventually rest at the narrow dip of his waist. He’s mesmerized by the contrast - by the softness that weaves its way around the sharper angles of San’s body. San shivers under the careful touch, equally enraptured, a small gasp leaving him whenever Wooyoung squeezes, eyes never leaving the path that his fingers trace into his skin.

Wooyoung waits until his breathing evens out into something a little more steady before he tries going any further. He (reluctantly) releases his waist so he can brace his arms on either side of his head and lean down to kiss him, an attempt to pre-emptively soothe and distract as he tentatively rocks into him. He barely even pulls out on each thrust - just moves against him with a slow roll of his hips, their breaths mingling together in a hushed exchange of sweet sighs and languid, uncoordinated kisses, letting him get accustomed to the feeling of having his cock moving inside him stretching him open.

On one slow drag of his hips he ends up burying his cock particularly deep, making San gasp into his mouth on a half-stuttered moan. “S-So full,” the words tumble out of him in a dazed sort of fascination. “Feel so full angel, your cock feels so good-” The last part tapers off into another soft gasp as Wooyoung rocks into him again, chasing the tight heat that hugs his length so snug and perfect.

He scrapes his teeth against San’s jaw in quiet appreciation, kissing his way back to slip his tongue past readily-parted lips. It’s rare to hear how much his cock is filling someone up with so much sincerity - to hear someone say it and actually mean it and not just have it be part of some inane branch of dirty talk that’s clearly designed just to sound sexy or stroke his ego.

San feels full, and he means it. When Wooyoung breaks the kiss, pulling away slightly so he can find a better angle to start fucking into him properly, the way San’s mouth falls open on a sharp, startled groan is nothing short of genuine, honest-to-goodness pleasure. The aborted attempt at Wooyoung’s name that mangles itself somewhere at the back of his throat to become a jumbled cacophony of “fuck”s and “oh god”s as Wooyoung’s thrusts build to a steady crescendo is far too raw and unrestrained of a reaction to be deliberately fabricated.

San just feels good - and he can’t help but let it show.

Just like with every other facet of San’s personality that Wooyoung has come to discover over the course of the evening, it only makes him want to ruin him more.

The roll of his hips becomes rougher, sharper. He pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back in in a single, jarring motion that has San crying out and clamping his thighs around his hips. Like he wants to keep him locked in place and pull him deeper still, all at the same time. He releases the sheets so he can claw at Wooyoung’s back, nails digging into his skin like he wants to tug him back down on top of him, draw him closer, wind himself around every inch of his body until they have no choice but to fold into each other with Wooyoung rutting inside him, cock buried impossibly deep.

Wooyoung shudders when he feels his nails scrape further down the length of his back. Not sharp enough to draw blood, but he can feel San’s strength in the motion and it burns tingly-sweet inside his veins. The shudder builds to a soft whine the lower San’s hands travel. The rhythm of his hips falters, deep thrusts becoming slower and more drawn out, too focused on all the other sensations around him to be able to maintain a steady pace.

And then San’s hands wind their way around the back of his thighs and under the folds of his skirt to grab his ass and squeeze, trying to get him to fuck him deeper, and it’s like kerosene poured on an open flame.

There’s a faint tremor in Wooyoung’s arms where they’re still braced by San’s head. For once, he’s the one having to fight back a series of helpless, feeble little whines.

From the way San’s looking at him now with his mouth hanging open on a suspended moan, brows knit together in pleasure, pretty blonde hair a tousled mess against the pillows. From how good it feels to have him clenching around his cock, sucking him in, nowhere else to go with the bruising grip on his ass keeping him firmly in place.

From how much he just wants to give him more, fuck him deeper, fill him up as much as he deserves.

Stifling down a soft, frustrated groan, Wooyoung shifts back a little so he can reach down and hold San’s waist in his hands. He pauses for a moment, making sure he has a good enough grip, and then pulls him down onto his cock at the same time that he snaps his hips forward.

San’s hands instantly slip from under his skirt, fingers scrabbling against the sheets as he’s jostled up towards the headboard with a sharp cry when Wooyoung does it again.

“Oh my god.”

“Just an angel,” Wooyoung quips. “But I’m flattered you think so highly of me sweetheart.”

San doesn’t even get the chance to feign a glare before Wooyoung is snapping his hips forward and tugging on his waist again, effectively distracting him.

Holding his waist like this Wooyoung is able to keep guiding San onto his cock as he fucks him, manoeuvring him with the gentle pressure from his palms to try and show him how to move his hips so he can meet the angle of his thrusts better and take his cock even deeper. It takes a little bit of gentle coaxing - it’s like San isn’t sure what to do with himself like this, not sure how to move his body or how to match Wooyoung’s rhythm. But with a little guidance it eventually starts to come naturally to him, instinct or obedience or sheer cock-dumb hunger kicking in until Wooyoung is convinced he could just sit back and let him get off on his cock all by himself just like this.

And it’s tempting - but it’s not what Wooyoung wants right now.

He wants to make San feel good.

He wants to ruin him.

He wants his name poised at the back of San’s throat like a prayer until it’s the only name he can ever think of whenever he tries and tries and tries to make himself feel good like this again but can never come close to how he feels now, losing himself to the pleasure of Wooyoung’s cock pounding into him.

Wooyoung shifts again, angling his hips until - there.

“Wooyoung,” San almost chokes on a gasp, a broken whine of fuckohmygod quick to follow in the rush of air that’s punched from his lungs as he arches off the bed.

Wooyoung would spend longer admiring the taut lines of his muscles that the view affords him if he wasn’t already so preoccupied with the intoxicating sound of him falling apart beneath him. His little groans and half-sobs have been so effectively burned into Wooyoung’s auditory canal that he’s not sure he’s ever going to want to hear or think about anything else ever again.

Nothing in the world could possibly sound better than having a big, beefy frat boy who could so easily overpower him crying and whining on his cock.

The sound of San’s moans only pitches up in intensity the harder Wooyoung fucks him, mingling with Wooyoung’s own grunts and whines to add to the already obscene noise of skin slapping against skin that echoes throughout the room. Wooyoung’s not even sure where one moan ends and another begins anymore; it all blurs together into one helplessly fucked-out sound, any attempts at coherency on San’s part long since abandoned as he claws desperately at his surroundings - the pillows, the sheets, any part of Wooyoung that he can reach - searching for an anchor but finding himself lost drifting in an ocean of ecstasy.

Wooyoung’s delight at being able to draw such a reaction from him must show on his face, because the sweet crimson flush that tinges so much of San’s overexerted body worsens significantly then. His eyes flutter to a close as he brings a hand up to stuff in his mouth to try and muffle the worst of it.

Wooyoung pouts.

That won’t do.

He reaches for San’s hand, fingers gently circling his wrist to pin it up and out of the way above his head. “Wanna hear all your cute little moans,” he leans in close, lips brushing a delicate kiss against his cheek. “Please Sannie? Will you keep making those pretty sounds for me?” He nuzzles further along San’s cheek so he can whine a little in his ear for good measure, tugging his earlobe between his teeth before moving on to suck at the sensitive spot behind his ear. All the while still slowly grinding his cock into him, shallow thrusts to keep him on edge.

He doesn’t stop until San is squirming underneath him, twisting his fingers into Wooyoung’s hair with his free hand.

San doesn’t try to fight against the hand pinning him down though. In fact it only seems to turn him even more pliant, whole body melting into the sheets when Wooyoung stops teasing him in favour of kissing him properly, wanting to be the first to swallow down the keening whine that he lets out when he snaps his hips forward.

Only - that’s not it. This particular whine is more pointed than the ones that have come before it. Demanding, almost. The hand in Wooyoung’s hair isn’t clinging so much as it is pulling, insistent, trying to convey something that San can’t currently put into words between the tongue shoved down his throat and generally just having all coherency fucked out of him.

Wooyoung breaks the kiss, pulling away to give him a questioning look-

Only to find that San isn’t even looking in his direction.

He has his gaze turned firmly south to where Wooyoung’s hips are pressed all the way up against his ass. To where his own cock twitches, flushed and useless against his stomach, already making a mess of himself where precum has started to leak and drip between the crevices of his abs.

Wooyoung watches him curiously. “Enjoying the view, sweetheart?” He asks, tone light. “Like being able to see how well your pretty little hole takes my cock?” He lifts San’s hips up a little higher, kneeling back and pulling him up against his thighs until he has his back arched up off the bed, his shoulders the only thing still touching the sheets. “Or is it seeing this big useless cock of yours squirting all over yourself that’s got you so worked up?”

He thrusts into him to illustrate, smirking at the way it makes San’s cock bounce as he chokes down another half-moan. More cum leaks from the tip of his cock to run in pretty little rivulets down his stomach, all the way to his chest.

So he does it again - and again and again, holding San up by his hips so he can watch the way his own cock bounces uselessly against his stomach with every thrust, precum glistening against his skin. So he can see exactly how much Wooyoung’s cock is stretching him open as he continues to pound into him.

The dull ache starting to bloom in Wooyoung’s limbs is drowned out by the sweet, feverish burn that floods his system at the way San’s fingers wind themselves like a vice around his thighs, thumbs grazing white-hot over the bruises already left there earlier by his teeth. By the way he’s offering Wooyoung’s name up in ritual prayer, small gasps of “Wooyoung please” and “don’t stop Wooyoungie please don’t stop” filling the air around them until it becomes just “Wooyoung”, repeated over and over between disjointed sobs.

A quiet and faithful supplication. The only word San can still cling to.

“Let yourself go sweetheart, just let yourself go it’s okay you can cum for me you’ve been so good-”

Wooyoung can’t even get the last few words out. They lose themselves in between the cracks of San’s frayed and fractured moans, buried under the accompanying appreciative noise Wooyoung makes as he watches him cum untouched, his whole body tensing in a suspended arch to spill all over his own abs and chest. He’s bent at such an angle that some of it even hits his cheek, trickling down the side of his face.

It’s more than than he’s cum all night, Wooyoung thinks - even after the initial wave that leaves him coated in pearly white streaks his body still trembles through aftershocks, cock twitching as more of it just leaks out of him in stuttered bursts until his voice is run completely raw and ragged from crying out.

It’s far from graceful the way Wooyoung almost immediately has to let go of his hips, the dull ache in his limbs finally catching up to him in a trundling avalanche of exhaustion. He was not built to hold the likes of San up for very long - twink by nature, dancer by trade, strong enough to get by but not quite enough to last longer than maybe a single round, even if his stamina and sheer stubbornness insist that he can. San collapses in an unceremonious heap against the sheets, flushed, heaving chest covered in sweat and cum and more bruises than Wooyoung can count.

It’s even less graceful the way Wooyoung quickly follows suit to collapse on top of him, cock still nestled inside his hole. His lips eagerly seek out the white streaks of cum staining his cheek so he can lick it up, teasing some of it into San’s mouth in a sloppy, frankly abysmal attempt at a kiss. Not that San seems to mind - he allows the intrusion easily, groaning in an undertone that sets all the neurons in Wooyoung’s brain into overdrive.

Before he’s even aware of what he’s doing, Wooyoung’s breaking the kiss so he can trail his lips down lower over his chest; continuing to lick him clean there too, already disproportionately addicted to the taste of him. He makes sure to swirl his tongue over his sensitive nipples to draw out another series of faint, shuddering sobs, San’s whole body a live wire of oversensitivity.

And still San doesn’t try to fight it. He just lies there, perfectly content to let it happen. A trembling mess at the mercy of Wooyoung’s wicked mouth, ragged breathing always one step away from being able to regain any kind of stability.

He coaxes Wooyoung back up for another kiss, and it feels a lot like praise. A little ‘thank you’ pressed between their lips. Wooyoung laps it up, drowns in it, preening and humming softly under the careful attentiveness of it all.

He’s not sure how long they just lie there after that. Quiet except for the sound of them breathing, the faint sounds of the party still ongoing downstairs gradually filtering back into his conscious awareness. The only time he moves is when he finally remembers to pull out, kissing San apologetically when he winces with a small hiss, before throwing a leg over his hip and snuggling up against the inviting warmth of his chest.

Not that he really needs the warmth. He knows he’s his own self-sufficient furnace at the best of times and the human equivalent of molten lava at the worst, and the post-sex exertion is definitely making him burn hotter than usual. But there’s comfort in the steady rise and fall of San’s chest under the palm of his hand; in the familiar rhythm of the heartbeat he can hear where he has his head tucked under San’s chin, two strong, sturdy arms curled securely around him.

There’s no reason for it to sound so familiar either, but it does. Wooyoung likes to think that maybe that means something.

He tilts his face up to tell San as much - sex has a tendency to make him overly-sappy and to say things he probably (almost definitely) shouldn’t - only to find that underneath the dazed, post-orgasm glow San is…

Frowning.

Worry sinks like a stone to the pit of Wooyoung’s stomach. “What’s wrong?” He’s already contorting himself in San’s embrace, hands fussing all over him in concern. “Did you not enjoy it? Did I hurt you?”

San shakes his head, still frowning. “I’m fine, I promise. Better than fine even. It’s just-” He shifts around, letting his thigh press more deliberately between Wooyoung’s legs. “You still haven’t cum yet.”

Wooyoung sighs, relief flooding out of him in the exhale. “Oh, baby…” He dips down to press a soft kiss against San’s forehead. “That doesn’t matter. I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“But I want to make you feel good too…”

“You did sweetheart, you did. I’m just.” Wooyoung pauses to search for the right words. “I don’t know. It takes me a little longer, sometimes.” He looks away when he adds, a little more quietly, “I’m just a little… High-maintenance, is all. Or so I’ve been told.”

The determined furrow returns to San’s brow, frown deepening into a scowl. “Who told you that?”

“I don’t know. People,” Wooyoung waves a dismissive hand. “Other partners whose names I don’t care much to remember. It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine,” San grumbles. He sits up, gently manoeuvring Wooyoung around in his lap so he can circle his arms around him in a loose, almost protective cradle. “It sounds like they were lazy, self-centred assholes. You deserve better than that.” He presses a kiss to his temple, nuzzling until Wooyoung devolves into soft giggles. “You deserve someone who won’t let you leave this bed until you’ve cum at least twice.”

Wooyoung feels a full-body shiver pass through him. Not even because of what San’s just said - it’s the way he said it. “You really don’t have to… I’m used to it, I can just go finish myself off in the bathroom or something it’s fine-”

The next few words die on his tongue in a sudden upheaval of gravity that sees the air almost knocked clean out of his lungs as his back hits the mattress, head inches away from hanging off the edge of the bed.

San hovers above him, pouting. “What if I want to?”

Wooyoung can only stare up at him in bewildered silence. He’s surprised San even has enough energy still left in him to be able to throw him around like this.

Not that he’s complaining.

“What?”

“What if I want to make you cum?”

“I… Do you?”

“I do. So much. Wanna ruin you the way you ruined me, please, just wanna see how pretty you look when you cum you’re so pretty and hot and sexy and-”

Wooyoung tugs him down into a kiss, trying to cover up the way his breath hitches in a self-conscious whine. He feels all weird and fluttery inside, heart rate sent into overdrive by the sudden influx of compliments.

“I can’t believe you’re begging me to let you make me cum. You know it’s usually the other way around, right?” He laughs, flicking the side of San’s head until he stops pouting. “How do you plan on making me cum, anyway?”

“With my cock.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shoot up. “That was a quick answer.”

“You kept calling it useless. It’s only fair that I get a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Or you could just end up proving me right.”

“I promise you that won’t happen.”

“Mmm, there he is…” Wooyoung hums, eyes flicking appreciatively over San’s face. “There’s my cocky, overconfident frat boy.”

One of San’s eyebrows quirks up. “Oh, so I’m yours am I?”

“With the way you were just crying out my name before, do you really think you could ever be anyone else’s?” San allows himself to be reeled in closer by the nape of his neck, Wooyoung’s fingers curled there possessively. Allows himself to be kissed, slow and deliberate, all the time in the world condensed into the single point where their lips touch. “Tell me again,” Wooyoung pulls away to whisper in his ear. “Who do you belong to, Sannie?”

“You,” the word tumbles easily from San’s kiss-swollen lips. Those same lips quickly turn up into an amused smile. “You can even get me a collar if you want. Have your name engraved on the tag, so everyone else knows I’m yours too. All yours,” he grinds his hips forward at the same time that he says it, smirking at the half-formed whine that slips from Wooyoung’s lips before he can stop it.

Wooyoung presses his lips together in a firm, determined line, trying with varying levels of success to swallow down the subsequent moans that threaten to overwhelm him when San grinds forward again.

It feels nice - the weight of San’s body on top of him, the way he’s slotted himself so perfectly between his legs. The friction against his strained, aching cock. It’s not quite enough for Wooyoung to lose himself completely to the current of pleasure that’s been threatening to pull him under for some time now, but nice enough that the bitten-back moans eventually start to break out of him in small hiccups of air, delicate little sounds that only serve to darken the already tenebrous depths of San’s irises.

And then San’s sliding a hand up his thigh and under his skirt to tease his thumb over his hole, and it’s the first time he feels the tide decisively start to turn against him.

His eyelids flutter, hands grasping instinctively at the sheets. San must recognize the reaction for what it is, because the touch only turns more insistent. He smoothes the soft pad of his thumb in concentric circles around Wooyoung’s entrance, teeth flashing in a pleased grin every time Woooyung shivers despite himself, straining against the sheets to try and stop himself from rolling his hips up.

As if the wandering, teasing path of San’s fingers wasn’t enough, Wooyoung feels like he could vibrate right out of his skin under the prolonged weight of his gaze alone. He has to fight against the urge to thrash and squirm underneath him, all the flustered energy bubbling out of him in a frustrated huff instead.

“You gonna fuck me or are you just gonna stare at me all night until you start drooling again?”

“Careful angel; you’re starting to sound a little desperate.”

“Impatient,” Wooyoung counters. Holding San’s gaze, he brings two fingers up to his mouth, eyelashes fluttering all pretty and demure as he slips them past his parted lips to suck on. He moans obscenely around them like he’s giving the best head of his life, going a little cross-eyed for added effect, and he makes sure to pull them out nice and slow so San can hear the wet ‘pop’ at the end.

When he tries to slip them down between his legs, a halting grip around his wrist brings him up short.

San draws his arm away, pinning it up by his head. “Ah ah ah…” He tuts. “It’s my turn to take care of you. You just lie there and look pretty.”

Wooyoung can’t say he doesn’t enjoy having the script flipped on him like this. After all the time he spent taunting and teasing San, getting him all flustered and worked up… It’s nice to get a little pushback. To be getting as good as he gave.

Still; San doesn’t need to know just how much he’s enjoying it just yet. Wooyoung wriggles in his grip, another whine poised on the tip of his tongue. “I’ll look a lot prettier once I get a few inches in me.”

“You’ll be getting more than just a few soon enough, don’t worry,” San seals the words against his lips in a kiss, cutting any subsequent protests short. “Just a little more patience. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can take it. Been doing this a lot longer than you; with a lot bigger, too.”

San rolls his eyes. The effect is somewhat lost in the fond half-smile that follows, still visible even as he releases Woooyung’s arm so he can turn and fish around for the bottle of lube that’s gotten lost somewhere in the rumpled mess they’ve made of the sheets.

There’s a moment of short-lived triumph after he successfully finds it - followed by a perplexed frown when he notices the meagre contents that remain. “How much of this did you use on me?!”

“Not my fault,” Wooyoung pouts, instantly defensive. “Needed a lot to get your hole nice and slick for me. Poor baby, you were so tight you could barely even handle three fingers.” He reaches up to trace his fingers across San’s cheek, wistful in his reminiscence. He delights in the splash of pink that instantly blooms under his touch.

Despite the self-conscious blush, San still looks as if he’s fighting the urge to nuzzle into his hand. “Yeah, well,” he huffs. “You still owe me a new bottle.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung replies easily, smirking. “I’ll even help you break it in if you want. Can fuck you again just like I did tonight, have you ride me like I know you so desperately want to. Or maybe I’ll use some of my toys on you like we talked about before. Get you crying on a cute little pink vibrator, or one of my monster tentacle dildos, or-”

He’s interrupted by a soft hiss. His own, he realizes a little belatedly, brought on by the feeling of a cold, slick finger pressing back up against his hole.

Despite his previous intentions to tease, San doesn’t waste much time in getting him worked open. Though Wooyoung supposes it might have a lot more to do with the way he immediately clings to his arm and pouts and whines for more after he barely has a single knuckle buried inside him than any real sense of urgency or mercy on San’s part.

A second finger in and he starts whining for a whole other reason.

San’s fingers might not be long, but they’re thick. Two of them already fill him up nicely, stretching him open with a faint, pleasurable tingle just how he likes it. A third added and he feels his eyes start to roll back in his head, little bursts of starlight dancing at the edge of his vision when San crooks and curls them experimentally, fucking them into him as far as he can reach.

Wooyoung doesn’t realize he’s been letting out soft little trills of pleasure until he feels San’s lips on his cheek and on his forehead; kissing him all over, breath fanning out against his skin in little puffs of laughter. “So cute,” the words are seared against his lips in another absurdly fond kiss. “Could probably make you cum just like this.”

Wooyoung scoffs.

Or tries to, anyway. The sound comes out more like a gasp, a byproduct of San leaning further over him, angling his wrist so he can fuck him just that little bit deeper, fingers brushing up against all the most sensitive parts of him.

Wooyoung braces one hand against the sheets, a white-knuckled attempt at grounding himself, and tries again. There’s a slight tremor to his voice which he resolutely ignores. “What’s wrong Sannie?” He taunts. “Afraid you can only make me cum with your fingers ‘cuz your cock’s too useless?”

San’s pace falters, wrist going slack. He sizes Wooyoung up - eyeing him with all the quiet acquiescence of someone well aware they’re being deliberately goaded but who knows they’re going to play right into the hand regardless - and lets his fingers slip out with a small huff and a determined set to his jaw.

It’s hard to stop the satisfaction that comes from his easy, willing compliance from going straight to Wooyoung’s head (and his dick).

He eyes San’s cock as he slicks himself up, an immutable look of hunger in his eyes, and thinks: Finally.

And then San tugs him closer by his hips, rubbing up between his cheeks and lining himself up before he starts to ease in, and all coherent thought flies out the window.

Wooyoung would be embarrassed by his reaction if he had any capacity left in him at all to feel anything other than utter, abject bliss. He doesn’t even try to disguise the absurdly pornographic moan that leaves him; he just lets it bleed out of him in stuttered bursts, never quite able to draw enough breath back into his lungs the entire time that San inches his cock further into him.

And fuck, his cock really is huge. Even now when he’s hardly moving and still not even all the way in, Wooyoung can feel just how much more he’s being stretched open than from just his fingers. And he just keeps going deeper; and deeper, and deeper, further than Wooyoung ever thought anyone’s cock would be able to reach.

It’s only when he finally bottoms out that Wooyoung finds himself with no more air left in his lungs to be able to make any sound at all. He just lies there, quiet except for the one embarrassing squeak he makes when San accidentally nudges his hips forward too soon, shaking faintly from the effort it takes just to hold himself together.

Watching San watch him.

“Still with me angel?”

Teasing as the tone of San’s voice may be, Wooyoung lets it anchor him. His eyes are quick to follow, gradually bringing San’s face back into focus with a few successive blinks.

He considers replying. He feels the weight of the words in his chest and the weariness already beginning to set into his bones, and thinks better of it. He doesn’t trust himself not to say something he’ll regret in his current state.

He nods silently instead, willing stability into the motion. He’s not sure he’s entirely successful given the way San’s mouth twitches in response, but at least he has the decency not to pass any more comment than that.

He knows he should probably be grateful that San chooses to set a slow, ambling pace when he finally does start to move properly. He’s still watching Wooyoung’s face with a vaguely amused twinkle in his eye - wanting to let him get accustomed, probably. Not wanting to overwhelm him when it’s already pretty clear that he’s much closer to being in out of his depth than he realized.

Unfortunately, the second Wooyoung feels San’s cock dragging inside him, stretching him open further and filling him all the way up again and again, any sense of gratitude is quickly drowned out by a sense of need so overwhelming it makes him feel lightheaded.

He needs more.

More of San. More of his searing touch. More of his cock. More of the sweet, tender ache that comes with each successive roll of his hips. Needs him to never move again so he can always feel this perfectly, exquisitely full, at the same time that he needs him to just abandon all his inhibitions and rail him right into the mattress so hard that he won’t be able to walk properly for a week. So hard that he forgets his own name, forgets everything about anything at all except for how good it feels to have San rocking into him all slow and deliberate, able to feel every single inch of him.

He reaches up to tangle his fingers in San’s hair, petting him and scratching at his scalp until he swears he can almost hear him start to purr. He allows a few more slow thrusts, a satisfied groan slipping out whenever San’s cock hits particularly deep, before slipping back into his usual pout-ridden façade.

“Is this the best you can do?” He lifts his hips up to meet San’s thrusts, grinding up against him demonstratively. “I can barely feel anything at all.”

A bald-faced lie, and they both know it. But it has the desired effect - Wooyoung gets to watch San’s composure shatter, and San, well…

San gets to watch Wooyoung shatter.

It’s not even a gradual chiselling away, either. San lets himself be goaded without any of the hesitation from before. He recognizes exactly what Wooyoung wants from him, and rather than try to hold it over him in some other contrived, drawn-out game of cat and mouse, he chooses to just give in and run with it, no questions asked.

He holds him up down by his hips, gathers whatever strength he has left in his body, and thrusts into him.

Hard.

Wooyoung is so stupidly elated at being given exactly what he wants without even having to fight or beg for it first that he genuinely doesn’t care that he sounds like something straight out of some ridiculously over-the-top hentai porno fantasy when San continues to fuck him just like that. Rough and unrelenting, hard enough for the sound of his thighs hitting Wooyoung’s ass to echo around them more sharply even than when Woooyung had been fucking him.

He doesn’t care that it makes San look at him like he’s winning, renewed cockiness exuding from in droves.

He doesn’t even care when San slows to an intense grind so he can cradle his face between his palms, voice lilting up into light mockery when he asks, “What’s wrong baby? You sound a little worked up. Don’t tell me this is your first time too.”

“It might as well be,” Wooyoung gasps. Any pretense of nonchalance has been gladly abandoned for the sake of pure honesty which he knows will drive San as equally insane. “No one’s ever been this deep inside me before.” He runs a hand down over his tummy in quiet wonder, looking back up at San with wide, hopelessly fucked-out eyes.

San’s rhythm falters completely, hips coming to a halt just as he’s buried himself as deep inside Wooyoung as he can go to flop down on top of him, arms curled around him in a loose hug. “You’re killing me,” he groans into his neck.

“I think you’ll find it’s the other way around. I’m serious, you might just split me in half with your cock at this rate.”

“Angel.”

“Well don’t stop,” Wooyoung huffs, petulant. “If this is how I go then so be it.”

He feels San laugh against his neck then, a deep and pleasant rumble that tickles his skin. It’s followed by a subtle hint of teeth from the tail-end of a smile, turning into a longer, harsher drag when Wooyoung arches up against him, tugging on his hair to get him to bite down harder. To encourage him to move again and fuck him properly like he’d been doing before he’d all but collapsed on top of him.

San noses fondly along his jaw, pulling back to fix him with an inscrutable look. For a moment Wooyoung thinks he might be reconsidering - maybe he’s decided to toy with him a little bit more after all, less inclined to give him exactly what he wants knowing just how badly he actually does want it, easy compliance fading away into something a little more devious.

When he pushes back up onto his forearms, bracing himself against the mattress so he can find the right angle to start thrusting into him again, Wooyoung almost wishes he had reconsidered.

Almost.

It’s even better than before, somehow. Wooyoung’s not sure if it’s a renewed burst of energy on San’s part, or the swiftly-eroding walls of his own coolheaded façade, but it’s like a tidal wave of bliss finally coming to claim him and pull him decisively under when he feels San’s cock pounding into him now. Feels his thighs repeatedly hitting his ass, the sting of it just a little sharper every time and all the more satisfying for it.

He fucks him so relentlessly that Wooyoung finds himself gradually getting jostled further backwards with each thrust, unable to muster enough strength or will to cling to anything long enough to be able to ground himself. He abandons himself completely to the mercy of San’s thrusts, letting him take and take and take while all he can do is lie there and take it, an unbridled mess of gasps and moans that he can no longer hold back, until he’s jostled so far back that his head hangs completely off the edge of the bed.

Too tired and dazed to fight it, Wooyoung allows himself to just hang there. A limp little ragdoll for San to do what he wants with, and perfectly content to let him do so. He closes his eyes and succumbs to it, barely enough cognizance left in him to even bother trying to cling to the sheets for support anymore. It hardly matters with the grip San has on his hips anyway, keeping him from slipping too far off the bed at the same time that he keeps him firmly impaled on his cock.

Wooyoung’s eyelids flutter open briefly when he hears a mangled groan come from somewhere above him. By the sound of it, San must be close. Wooyoung can already imagine just how much more stuffed he’s going to feel soon when’s being pumped full of his cum, an accompanying sense of triumph bubbling up in his chest at still being able to outlast him even in his current state teetering along the edge of his own orgasm.

He lets his eyes slip open further, already thinking about how best to gloat-

And almost sobs at the sight that greets him.

There, only a few feet away, is the flushed, obscene image of himself: head hanging limply off the bed, mouth popped open around a silent moan. Legs spread wide to accommodate San between them, his fingers digging faint indents into Wooyoung’s skin where they’re curled possessively into the dips where his waist meets his hips.

Right there reflected back at him from the mirror that stands opposite the bed.

The same reflection through which San is also watching him. “God, look at you… My pretty little angel, fallen from grace.”

Wooyoung really does sob then. It’s too much seeing himself like this - hair an unkempt mess, make-up in ruins, cock twitching weakly against his stomach every time his body jolts as San fucks into him. It’s too much, hearing the stark reverence in San’s tone when he still calls him pretty despite all that.

But he can’t look away. He can’t stop watching himself as he falls further and further from grace, completely taken apart by San’s cock, gradually going cross-eyed until his vision blurs and his ears start to ring and his throat aches from crying out so much.

When he finally cums, the sheer shock and intensity of it is enough to make all of his fingers and toes curl in unrestrained ecstasy.

He doesn’t realize just how tightly the rest of his body has wound itself up into a pleasurable little coil until he feels San’s arms wrapping around him, holding him close as he folds on top of him with a low whine when his own orgasm finally hits, hips pressed firmly up against his ass from how hard Wooyoung is clenching around him.

And Wooyoung was right. He feels like he might burst from how much San’s load is filling him, hot streaks of cum coating his insides over and over until they’re both shaking from the overstimulation because Wooyoung can’t stop clenching around him and can’t stop trying to fuck down on his cock even still, needing to feel his cum all the way up in his guts.

He’s honestly surprised that San even has enough left in him to still be able to fill him up this much. He makes a mental note to put his limits to the test some other time; he wants to see what would happen if he were to just keep going, to hold him down and squeeze him like a tube of toothpaste until there’s nothing left, all of his cum spent inside Wooyoung’s hole.

Lost in his cum-filled daydream, Wooyoung isn’t sure exactly when San finds the time (or the presence of mind) to pull him away from the edge of the bed. All he knows is that one moment he’s sore and spent and stuffed perfectly full and the next he’s still all of those things, just minus the awkward crick in his neck. And with a bonus boneless heap of cuddly, affectionate frat boy draped entirely on top of his chest, nuzzling so adoringly into his neck that he’s is convinced he really will be able to hear a purr rumbling out of San’s chest if he just listens hard enough.

He lifts an arm up with the intention of carding his fingers through San’s hair. He ends up aborting the motion halfway, underestimating the extent of his lingering exhaustion. He settles for letting his wrist rest limply around his neck instead. “Can’t believe you actually did it.” The words hang just as limply in the air, sapped of their usual vibrancy. At the confused hum San makes, he elaborates, “Made me cum like that.”

San lets out another hum, this one rife with smugness. “Told you I would.”

“Yeah, but I mean…” Wooyoung trails off, drumming his fingers against his shoulder as he searches for the right words. “You did it without, like, touching my dick or anything. That’s… Never really happened to me before.”

There’s a moment where he feels San’s body go still against him. And then he’s shifting on top of Woooyung, pushing up onto his arms so he can smile down at him all big and dumb and wide.

Wooyoung stares back up at him, a sense of foreboding bubbling up inside his chest. “No,” he intones flatly. “Stop that.”

“What? I didn’t even say anything!”

“Stop smiling like that. Forget I said anything. It was probably just a fluke anyway, your dick’s not that good.”

San’s smile curls up into something almost wicked. “Guess I’ll need to fuck you a few more times to see if it really is a fluke. Also,” he runs a hand down Wooyoung’s side, pausing when he reaches his abdomen, “if you don’t think my dick’s that good how come you keep clenching around it every time I try to pull out?”

Wooyoung glances down at the hand resting on his tummy. He hadn’t even been aware of what he was doing.

For perhaps the first time all night, he’s the one who starts blushing.

He weighs up the potential pros and cons of telling San the truth; that he can’t stand the feeling of being empty, that he just wants to stay plugged full all the time. That he likes the way it makes him feel all warm and tingly inside. Likes the way it makes him feel marked.

Claimed.

San’s.

In the end he opts to just come out with it. Because if the thought of it makes him blush, then it’s sure to have a significantly worse effect on San. “Wanna keep your cum plugged inside me,” he admits, pitching his voice up in a deliberately needy whine. “Please Sannie just want to feel full please can you keep your cock inside me please-”

San makes an unintelligible noise. His body reacts on pure visceral instinct and he somehow manages to bury his cock even deeper. Enough for some of his cum to leak from Wooyoung’s hole as it’s forcibly pushed out, making Wooyoung whine plaintively in response.

“What’s wrong angel? I thought you liked having cum drip down your thighs.”

“Not like this. It’s too soon,” Wooyoung pouts, tacking on a sigh at the end. “I knew I should have worn a plug out tonight.”

San looks visibly distraught. “You absolutely should not have. People would have died. I would have died.”

“That’s kind of the idea, yes.” Wooyoung reaches up to pat him fondly on the cheek. “You wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?”

San’s distress crystallizes into something closer to acute horniness. He gets a faraway look in his eyes, like he can’t quite focus on Wooyoung’s face through whatever mental image has clearly lodged itself, firm and immovable, in his brain.

Wooyoung has to pinch his cheek to bring him back to reality, and he can’t resist arching up to kiss the dazed pout right off his face when he finally does.

San blinks down at him. “Huh?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no but god now I really wish I had one’.”

San doesn’t reply; but Wooyoung doesn’t need him to. The way he resolutely refuses to look him in the eye, half-hard cock twitching with renewed (though feeble) interest where he’s still buried inside him is answer enough.

Wooyoung makes sure to make his displeasure known when he feels San slowly start to ease out of him then, whining as he tries to keep his ankles locked around him. He’s convinced it’s a deliberate act of defiance against him for the continuous taunting he’s put him through. That San’s doing it just to spite him, to watch him whinge and squirm and clench around thin air as he tries to stop any more of his cum from leaking out.

Only to find that - he’s not clenching around nothing.

He glances down to see that San has replaced his cock with two of his fingers. He keeps them firmly plugged inside his hole, other hand stroking his tummy in a gesture that feels oddly patronizing and adoring at the same time.

It’s not the ideal solution, and Wooyoung honestly feels like he might need to observe a three-day mourning period just to process the loss of San’s cock, but it does the job. He can still feel San’s cum nestled comfortably inside him whenever he moves his fingers, stretching and adjusting them to try and slot them in deeper and inadvertently fucking some of it back into him, which is all that really matters in the end.

Though perhaps it’s not so inadvertent, because then it happens again. San lets his fingers settle inside Wooyoung for a bit, soothing him with gentle circles rubbed into the skin of his abdomen with his thumb, before slowly edging them out and thrusting back in, the intent clearly gone beyond simply keeping Wooyoung plugged and full like he wanted.

By the time Wooyoung even realizes what his intent is he can barely get a coherent word out past all the soft gasps and silent pleas that bubble out of him as San continues to fuck his cum back into him, over and over again until his hole is all wet and messy and sensitive. He takes his time with it too, making sure Wooyoung can feel every knuckle, every curve, every slick glide of his cum-soaked fingers.

He’s just about to give in and cling to San’s wrist, to wordlessly beg him to do it properly and just make him cum again already, when he feels his weight suddenly disappear from on top of him, fingers slipping out of his hole. He opens his mouth to complain, but before he can even get so much as a single syllable out he feels something even wetter pressing inside him and his entire brain short-circuits when he realizes it’s San’s tongue.

It comes as such an unexpected shock to his system that Wooyoung finds himself reacting in delayed, staggered bursts. His head is first to go, thumping back almost violently against the mattress with the force of the full-body shudder that knocks into him. His hips are next, twitching and rolling upwards to chase the feeling of San’s tongue working its way deeper inside him, the slick, filthy heat of it overlapping with the already deliciously sloppy sensation of the cum still sloshing around inside him.

His throat and lungs are the last to succumb. He’s been so caught up in trying not to pass out from having San’s tongue fucking his hole, eating him out, sucking and licking him clean, that he’s let everything else bubble up inside his chest just to get trapped there with nowhere to go.

Until it all bursts out of him at once.

San grips him by his hips and tugs him against his face, hard, and Wooyoung keens. Loud and broken, crying out until his throat is scratched and raw, branded by the perpetual echo of San’s name.

Or what he hopes is San’s name anyway - he can’t be sure what either of them is even trying to say anymore, lost somewhere in the vastness of his sluggish, overwhelmed brain. All he can make out is a vague outline of his own sobs, and the intoxicating neediness of San’s voice when he just can’t keep himself from whining into Wooyoung’s hole the longer he stays pressed with his nose almost all the way up to his balls.

Not that Wooyoung is about to let him go anywhere. He has both hands curled in San’s hair to keep him pressed firmly up against his ass, needing to feel every inch of his sinful tongue curling and licking inside him.

When San’s little whines start to escalate into moans that reverberate straight through to his very core, Wooyoung knows that he’s done for. He has about ten seconds of borderline-rational thought left which he uses to fuck himself on San’s tongue as much as he can in their current position before he’s cumming again, crying out at the bruising grip San maintains on the already tender skin of his hips so he can hold him through it, trying to get a few last sly, needy licks in until Wooyoung’s sure he must be pulling on his hair hard enough to actually, genuinely hurt. And not in a good way.

But still San stays. He lets Wooyoung shake and sob and cling to him for as long as he needs, not once trying to break free.

And then, when Wooyoung has calmed down enough for San to release him and for his flushed face to re-appear from under the folds of his skirt, he has the audacity to try and apologize.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pressing apologetic kisses all the way up his inner thigh. “I’ve never really done that to a guy before but you looked so good with my cum leaking out of you and I just really wanted to see what it was like, I know it probably wasn’t very good-”

Wooyoung cuts him off, reeling him up for a kiss. He whines when he tastes the traces of cum still in his mouth. “If I wasn’t already dead I swear to god I would throttle you right now.”

“Ah. That bad?”

“San.” Wooyoung grips him by the shoulders. It’s weak, and shaky, but hopefully conveys the severity that he intends. “San, sweetheart, my sweet lovable frat boy. No one has made me cum untouched like that. Twice. It was very very good. If I wasn’t two seconds away from passing the fuck out right now I might just ask you to do it again.”

San looks a little pale, if not also incredibly pleased with himself. “Good because I think I have a cramp in my jaw. And my dick. And my balls.”

“Did you cum again?”

“Oh god no. I’d be shooting blanks at this stage. I just,” San tentatively lowers himself down on top of him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re very pretty. And you sound even prettier when you’re crying with my name on your lips. I probably still came close a few times.”

He’s still half-hovering like he did the first time he tried to sit in Wooyoung’s lap. Instinct probably, the muscle memory of holding himself back still too ingrained in him for Wooyoung to possibly have helped him overcome after only a single night together.

Still, the second Wooyoung curls an arm around his waist and another around his shoulders to gently tug him down he goes easily, none of the same convincing needed as before. He snuggles right up against his chest like he belongs there. “You’re gonna get cum all over you,” Wooyoung chastises softly, though the words don’t carry all that much sternness. He’s too tired for it, and far too content in their current position with his own personal weighted blanket lying on top of him to really mean anything by it.

He’s not even sure San’s heard him. His breathing has already gone suspiciously slow, head deadweight where it’s resting on Wooyoung’s chest.

But then he feels San’s arms wrapping around him so he can burrow himself even closer, nuzzling under his chin with a soft hum. “I’ve already got cum all over me. What’s your point?”

“I don’t know. That maybe a cloth might be nice? So we can do the bare minimum of trying to get cleaned up.”

“Do you want to be the one to brave the aftermath of a frat party to go find one?”

“You don’t keep anything else in your room for this kinda thing? If you say a used sock I’m getting up and leaving immediately by the way.”

San snorts, batting half-heartedly at his chest. “Ok I know I live in a frat house but I still have some basic decency, thank you. There are tissues on my bedside table.”

Wooyoung cranes his neck to the side. There’s not a single beside table in his immediate line of sight, and it takes him a moment of disorientation to realize that they’re both lying haphazardly at the opposite end of the bed from where they initially started. “Too far,” he grumbles. “Can you get them for me?”

San sighs, but eventually relents. Though not without an extended period of dramatics first, making a clear show of just how loath he is to part with Wooyoung for even a single second.

Clingy, Wooyoung thinks fondly as he watches him root around.

Truth be told, he feels just as antsy being suddenly parted from him for what feels like the very first time since they met. He very pointedly ignores the tightness in his chest when San finally returns to his side and he has to immediately drag him down into a kiss just to feel like he can breathe again. He even more pointedly ignores the way the tightness instantly begins to ease when San kisses him back without question, smiling at him when they break apart like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

By the time San has finished cleaning them both up as best as he can, even pausing to help Wooyoung shimmy out of his (now-soiled) skimpy little skirt and top, Wooyoung is the most relaxed he’s been in a long time. Something about San just - calms him. Makes him feel at ease in a way that’s sometimes hard for him to be around people he barely knows.

Maybe it’s the open gentleness of him. The careful way he handles Wooyoung, not because he thinks he’s fragile but because he genuinely just cares. Because he’s a nice person - cocky, unbearably sexy when he puts his mind to it and a little bit of a dork when he doesn’t - but at his core just…

Nice. Sweet. Kind.

Wooyoung feels safe with him. He kind of hopes San feels the same way curled up in his arms, both of them drifting off into easy sleep not caring that they’re still the wrong way up on the bed and the sheets are a mess and they’re still a mess.

He hopes he’ll have another chance in the future to be able to find out.

The following morning finds Wooyoung aching. Every part of him, from the pounding in his skull to the dull throb in his lower back to the grating flames licking at the muscles of his legs and arms.

He’d like to be able to say that it’s a good ache. And it is, mostly; a reminder of the previous night’s activities, which he blessedly does remember, in great and fond detail. But the fact remains that it’s an ache and he’s undoubtedly in various amounts of pain in various parts of his body, and as pleasant as it had been going to sleep, the weight currently draped on top of him is not helping matters.

He wishes he was the kind of person that romanticized the morning after. He wants nothing more than to snuggle back up in San’s arms and snooze for a little while longer. To trace absentminded patterns into his skin before kissing him awake and maybe even trying to coax him into a sleepy round of morning sex.

This isn’t the reality that faces him. The reality is that he’s groggy and sore and his throat feels so much like sandpaper that if he doesn’t find something to drink soon he feels like he might die.

Extracting himself from underneath San ends up being the easy part. He’s able to slip out completely unnoticed, San instinctively balling the sheets up to draw in a close cuddle against his chest in his absence without waking up even once.

Finding somewhat presentable clothes to wear so he’s not slinking around a frat house completely naked is also reasonably easy. San being both bigger and taller than him, he has ample choice of oversized t-shirts to choose from that hang nicely over his frame and cover up any immediately obvious indecencies.

The hard part, it turns out, ends up being the mere act of leaving San’s room.

And not because of San himself, no - Wooyoung cracks the door open slowly, turns his head to find him still blessedly fast asleep, and continues on his merry way - only to close the door behind him and immediately careen almost head-first into another solid figure slinking down the hallway outside San’s room.

Wooyoung stumbles back, instantly freezing. Ahungover, thoroughly fucked-out deer caught in headlights. “Uh,” he panics, basic brain functions having not yet kicked in for the day. “G-Good morning?”

“Morning,” the other person offers in return. By smirk alone, Wooyoung knows that there’s a very high probability he’s just run into one of San’s other frat brothers - as if the clear once-over he’s given isn’t also a glaringly obvious indication.

“Sorry. For bumping into you, I mean,” Wooyoung hurries to add. The words come out in such a tumbled rush that he’s surprised if he’ll even be understood, but thankfully he’s given a curt headshake of understanding.

“Don’t worry about it. I’d be surprised to find anyone in this house that’s still able to stand up straight on two steady legs after the party last night.” The frat boy’s eyes flick up over Wooyoung’s shoulder, presumably towards San’s door, and an infuriatingly familiar smirk settles in place. “Though some of us probably have more reasons than one to not be able to stand up straight this morning. I take it you must be the screamer then?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just happened to be passing by our dear Sannie’s room last night and couldn’t help but overhear,” the frat boy cocks his head to one side, pensive. “I was actually kind of impressed that I could even still hear you guys at all over all the noise from the party downstairs. But I suppose San does tend to have that effect on people.”

Wooyoung feels a metaphorical smirk of his own start to build up inside of him. He adopts an air of casual nonchalance, flashing the frat boy his most charming smile. “So sorry about the noise,” he says. “It’s cute that you think I’m the screamer though.”

It’s incredibly satisfying to watch the frat boy process the words in real time, his eyes going wide when their meaning sinks in.

Before either of them can exchange another word, they’re interrupted by the sound of San’s bedroom door creaking open behind them. A half-asleep, bleary-eyed and terribly bedhead-afflicted San pokes his head out, blinking in confusion. He only seems to have eyes for Wooyoung though, instantly gravitating towards him like a magnet when enough of the haze has cleared for him to be able to recognize him.

His arms automatically come up to wind themselves around his middle as he drops a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. “Mornin’,” he slurs around a yawn. “What are you doing up so early talking to yourself?”

“Good morning Sannie,” the other frat boy drawls pleasantly.

San’s head lifts from Wooyoung’s shoulder, one hand coming up to rub more of the sleep from his eyes as he squints into the hallway. “Oh, Jackson. Hey. What are you doing up so early?”

“It is three in the afternoon.”

San groans, burying his face back into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck. “Shut up. Time isn’t real.”

Wooyoung, for the most part, is still standing there completely silent and frozen in place. He can’t tell if San is just too drowsy still to even be fully aware of what he’s doing, half-naked cuddling a similarly scantily-clad Wooyoung in the middle of his frat house directly in front of one of his brothers, or if it really, genuinely just isn’t even an issue.

He glances at the other frat boy, Jackson - he thinks he vaguely recalls seeing him strolling through the party dressed as Frank-N-Furter double fisting a bottle of Hennessy and another bottle of Jack Daniel’s - only to find him eyeing them both with a vaguely amused, somewhat endeared expression.

And something else, too. Wooyoung might be half-asleep and deeply confused about the current situation he finds himself in, but he knows when he’s being blatantly checked out.

“You going to introduce me to this pretty little friend of yours that you had screaming all night, Sannie?”

“This is Wooyoung,” San offers easily, kissing Wooyoung’s cheek. “And uh. The screaming was mostly me, actually. Sorry about that.”

Jackson’s eyebrows shoot almost all the way up to his hairline. “Damn, you weren’t kidding.” He fixes Wooyoung with a slow, impressed nod, eyes roaming over him with renewed interest. And then he does about the last thing that Wooyoung expects (but probably should have seen coming regardless given the very nature of present company): he holds his hand up to exchange a crisp high-five with San, uttering an enthusiastic “nice” just under his breath.

“I’m sorry; are you really high-fiving over this right now?”

“I have never heard him sound like that before,” Jackson turns to say to him, with far more gravity than the situation really warrants. “I’m impressed. And a little jealous.”

And then he holds his hand out for Wooyoung to high-five.

And Wooyoung, inexplicably, does.

“Am I still asleep. Is this a dream.”

“God I hope not. I would hate to wake up and discover that you were just a figment of my imagination,” Jackson draws Wooyoung’s hand closer to press a kiss against his knuckles, tacking a cheeky wink on at the end before he pulls away.

“Hey,” San whines. His grip tightens around Wooyoung’s waist.

Wooyoung turns to bat his eyelashes up at him. “Are all your brothers this friendly, Sannie?”

“Unfortunately,” San huffs. “Some are… Worse. Just wait until you meet Big Matthew.”

“Big Matthew?” Wooyoung ponders the name. “Oh you definitely need to introduce me to him first.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I can go check if he’s awake already?” Jackson pipes up helpfully. “I think I saw Wonho parading around downstairs in nothing but a towel if you’d like to meet him too-”

“Yes please!” Wooyoung beams, at the same time that San half-yells “Goodbye Jackson!”, already reeling Wooyoung back into the safety of his room by his waist.

Wooyoung giggles as he’s unceremoniously crowded back against the door that shuts firmly behind him, San’s hands running down his sides to tickle him in gentle reprimand.

San pouts at him. “Were you leaving?”

“San. It is negative-fuck degrees outside. I am wearing a t-shirt and nothing else underneath. Does it look like I’m going anywhere?”

“...Oh.” San’s hands travel lower, sliding up under the oversized t-shirt to find that Wooyoung is, in fact, very naked underneath. “Oh.”

“I was just going to go find something to drink. Or some painkillers. Or caffeine. Literally anything to help me feel like a functional human being again.”

“We can go get coffee together if you want? Or I can run out and get us some?” San offers. He looks so wide-eyed and eager, if also a little desperate. It’s abundantly clear that he’s far from ready to have their time together be cut short already.

Luckily, Wooyoung feels exactly the same way.

“If we go out for coffee I’m going to need some clothes that aren’t a cum-soaked miniskirt or an oversized t-shirt that lets my ass and balls hang out far too much for comfort.”

San snorts. “Much as I would love to continue looking at your ass and balls…” He bunches the corner of the shirt Wooyoung’s wearing up in one hand, dragging it up over his hip and his waist to admire some of the bruises left behind there from last night. “I’d also rather not get kicked out of every decent coffee shop in the vicinity. You can borrow something else, anything you want.”

Wooyoung grins, stretching up to peck him on the lips. “Then it’s a date.”

Getting each other into clothes ends up being just as much of a struggle as getting each other out of them had been. There’s the usual obstacles of wandering hands and lips that can’t seem to stop searching each other out; but in the absence of all the drunken, horny desperation there’s also just the sheer delight of being together.

It’s a complete distraction. San is so endearing when he’s half asleep that Wooyoung has to stop every few minutes just to recover from the fond amusement that threatens to take over, needing to put it somewhere that won’t just end up delaying them further. He’s also extremely handsy - he needs to be touching Wooyoung always, one hand at the small of his back as they go through his clothes together, two hands on his hips or his shoulders or his ass whenever Wooyoung tries something on and turns around to show him.

By the time they’re both dressed Wooyoung’s not sure he even needs the caffeine anymore. Just being with San like this is enough to make him feel perfectly whole and content again, every other need or concern or worry in the world fading away into the background, leaving a pleasant glow behind in his chest every time San smiles at him.

Just like how he’s smiling at him now; a small, pleased little thing as he looks him up and down, admiring the way his clothes hang from Wooyoung’s smaller frame, absolutely swimming in the cozy sweatpants and oversized hoodie he eventually ended up settling on.

“Cute.”

Cute, he says. Like they didn’t just rail each other six ways to Sunday only a few hours prior.

I can’t believe I’m going to date this sweet himbo frat boy, Wooyoung thinks to himself. I’m going to date him so hard.

It’s a comforting thought.

Just as comforting as the arm tucked snug around his waist, keeping him pressed against the warmth of San’s side as they blearily and achingly make their way out of the house and into the cold towards the nearest coffee shop.