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When Wooyoung finally deigns to grace the threshold of San’s hotel room after they’ve wrapped up their third and final concert in Yokohama, he’s wearing a cozy, oversized hoodie (San’s hoodie, naturally, one in a long line of other stolen items of clothing), hair all soft and tousled where it falls just shy of his eyes under the hood.

His lips stretch into a familiar, warm little smile the moment his eyes land on San waiting for him just past the open door, like the sun cresting over the horizon at dawn.

If San wasn’t already so painfully aware of just how catastrophic and ever-present his urge to kiss Wooyoung is on a daily (hourly, minutely) basis, he’d probably think that he’s never wanted to kiss him as much as he does right now. But the truth is that he’s kind of always on the verge of wanting to kiss him, so it’s more like the feeling of coming home and knowing that he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be when Wooyoung steps forward and melts right into his open, waiting arms.

He barely has time to get the door shut behind them before he’s suddenly and unceremoniously shoved back against it. His shoulders hit solid wood with a dull thud as Wooyoung bodily cages him in, both hands coming up to cup his neck and draw him down into a hungry, impatient kiss.

San blinks a few times in quick succession when Wooyoung finally pulls away, a dazed smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hi,” he intones weakly.

“Hi,” Wooyoung replies, releasing him. “You look cute.”

San watches him in bewildered silence as he walks away towards the large double bed that occupies the centre of the room. He’s still processing the compliment. He’s still processing the kiss. “Hey,” he calls after him, “That was gonna be my line.”

Wooyoung tips back against the mattress, collapsing into the nest of pillows (San always asks for extra) with a satisfied sigh. “We can share.” He reaches out with grabby hands, indicating for San to come and join him. “Now get over here and give me compliments too.”

The motion turns considerably more demanding when San doesn’t immediately comply in the 0.2s after he asks. He pouts for added effect, kicking his feet a little just to be a brat. His expression only softens when San finally pushes away from the door with a small, helplessly fond roll of his eyes.

“Compliments? Plural?” he remarks. “How come I only get one?”

“Be good for me and maybe you’ll earn more.”

San pauses in the middle of clambering onto the bed, half hovering over Wooyoung’s body. “Now I know that’s definitely my line.”

Wooyoung tilts his chin up defiantly. “A little selfish to be hoarding so many lines for yourself, don’t you think?”

“A necessary survival mechanism when I’ve got a thieving little raccoon for a boyfriend,” San teases. He leans further into Wooyoung’s space, one hand trailing up his chest to rest briefly at his jaw before he hooks two fingers into the collar of his hoodie. “I was wondering what happened to this.”

“You gave it to me of your own free will.”

“Picking things up off my bedroom floor while I’m too fucked out to notice or stop you does not constitute ‘free will’.”

Wooyoung’s lips draw into another infuriatingly endearing pout. “You can argue all you want. I’m not giving it back.”

“Like that it smells like me, huh?”

“Yeah. Reminds me of you when I jerk off.”

San releases the hoodie’s neckline so he can tilt Wooyoung’s face back, fingers gripping his chin. “You shouldn’t need a reminder to be able to think of me. Maybe I need to help you refresh your memory?” He brushes his thumb over Wooyoung’s bottom lip, admiring its plumpness. “So you can keep the image of me fucking you fresh in your mind when you’re getting off…”

He lets his hand trail lower to settle around Wooyoung’s throat. He squeezes lightly with his thumb but makes no other effort to increase the pressure, just so he can have the satisfaction of feeling Wooyoung’s throat bob under his fingers as he swallows around an unspoken show of desire.

Wooyoung pushes up against his hand in search of more, pout deepening when all San does is move his hand to cup his jaw and lean down to press a kiss against the tip of his nose instead.

Impatient, he snakes his arms up around San’s neck to pull him down into a tight embrace, lips seeking out a proper kiss. Everything he does is tinged with an underlying desperation: the way his fingers curl possessively into the hair at the nape of San’s neck. The way he arches his back and whines when San initially evades the kiss. The way he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses against his neck and noses at his cheek in a clear demand for more attention than he’s currently being given.

San giggles in his arms, completely endeared.

He lasts all of two minutes before he eventually succumbs to his whims. He tilts his face to finally allow their lips to meet somewhere in the middle, tongue slipping past Wooyoung’s lips for him to suck on greedily. The soft, breathy little moan that Wooyoung lets out in response feels like a jolt of electricity to his system, several hundred volts delivered straight to the aching, yearning cavity of his chest.

He allows himself to melt completely against Wooyoung’s body, full weight settling on top of him with a quiet groan. Wooyoung arches up against him, fingers scrabbling at his back and his shoulders and his neck like he can’t find enough purchase to ground himself no matter how hard he tries. One leg comes up to try and wrap itself around San’s hip but it’s too brusque, too enthusiastic, causing them both to tip over sideways until they’re lying face to face amongst the downy pillows.

San finds himself smiling helplessly between kisses at just how determined Wooyoung seems to be to get them as intertwined with each other as possible. “You’re cute,” he mumbles against his lips, an echo of his earlier compliment. “The cutest. Never been anyone cuter than you in the whole wide world.”

He feels Wooyoung’s satisfied smile pressed against his cheek in an uncharacteristically chaste kiss, hears the happy little hum he lets out in response almost like a purr, and his heart melts.

Nuzzling his face into the crook of San’s neck, Wooyoung slips an arm around his waist and holds him close. “I think I could stay like this forever.”

The words are so soft-spoken that San almost misses them, mumbled as they are against his skin. They feel delicate in his hands, a small piece of Wooyoung’s heart chipped off for him to hold like fragile glass.

His hand comes up to tangle in Wooyoung’s hair, tucking his head in closer. He’s so endearing when he gets all cuddly and clingy like this. Pliant, almost; body soft and easily malleable under San’s careful touch.

He brushes Wooyoung’s bangs to the side, kissing his forehead. “I thought you came over so we could eat dinner together,” he murmurs back. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am,” Wooyoung replies. And then promptly sinks his teeth into the skin of San’s neck.

The groan San lets out would be embarrassing if Wooyoung hadn’t heard him make the same sound (and worse) a hundred times before already.

“Ah,” he breathes out, dizzy. “T-That kind of hunger.”

His voice feels heavy inside his chest, fingers borderline desperate where they curl themselves tighter in Wooyoung’s hair. Another low groan escapes him when Wooyoung’s tongue darts out to lave over the bruise that’s sure to have been left behind by his teeth. Just thinking about it sends a shiver all the way down San’s spine.

The thought of Wooyoung marking him, claiming him. He’ll never get tired of it. He wants imprints of Wooyoung’s affection all over him, all the time.

Wooyoung continues to mouth hungrily at San’s neck, biting and kissing wherever he can reach. He slips one hand under San’s shirt to drag his nails across the wide expanse of his back, another way to mark him, the other dipping lower to tease at his waistband. Trying to pull him closer. Always trying to pull him closer. They can never seem to get close enough to each other, always seeking some impossible extra stretch of space between them that they can broach.

San feels helpless to do anything but press himself flush against Wooyoung’s body, head tilted to the side to give him as much access as he wants while he continues to tug encouragingly at his hair. He feels hazy from a mixture of hunger and arousal. The underlying tiredness that comes from just finishing a live show still fizzles at the edge of his mind to round off the feeling that sits in the cavern of his chest into a warm, almost drowsy buzz.

He could so easily drown in this feeling; could sink to the very depths of Wooyoung’s warm affection and never need to break to the surface for air again.

The motion of Wooyoung against him feels equally nebulous, the soft kisses and sharper bites he leaves against San’s skin gradually becoming tinged with an uncharacteristic listlessness. The initial urgency of it all seems to now be eluding them both, getting lost between slow, languid kisses and the quiet comfort that comes from the aimless exploration of unhurried hands slipping under clothes and across bare skin.

Kissing for the sake of kissing. No action needing to lead to another. Like they’d both be perfectly content to just lie here for hours, tongues dipping lazily past each others’ lips until they’re all bruised and swollen from it.

And then Wooyoung’s stomach growls, and the illusion of contented bliss is instantly shattered.

San pulls back to fix him with an amused smile. “Sexy,” he teases.

“Shut up. My body’s just getting the different kinds of hunger mixed up.”

“Well, here’s an idea; how about we order room service now, and then we can continue with…this,” San dips down to suck a wet kiss against Wooyoung’s jaw to illustrate, “while we wait.”

Wooyoung considers his proposal with a pout. It causes a small furrow to appear between his brows, which San does absolutely nothing to quell the desire to kiss and inevitably leads to him being reeled on top of Wooyoung for another kiss. And another, and another, until both of them become entirely derailed again for another several minutes.

San can barely muster the willpower to put an end to it, and the only reason he even does is because his own stomach starts to growl in protest.

“Come on, I’m serious,” he insists when he’s finally able to pull away from Wooyoung’s clutches, a fond laugh colouring his tone. “What do you think?”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, eyes round. “Think about what?” he asks. His head tilts adorably to one side with the question, hair fanning out messily over the pillow beneath him.

“Well, that answers that. A little bit of kissing and all coherent thought flies out the window, huh?” San flicks his forehead gently, smiling. 

“Like you’re any better. Who keeps coming back for more kisses, hmm?”

San rolls his eyes at the eyebrow Wooyoung arches pointedly at him. “ Patently not my fault. You just keep using your irresistible charms for evil because you know I’m not immune.”

“Oh no, you got me,” Wooyoung drawls. There’s not a single ounce of genuine remorse in his tone. “What are you going to do? Punish me?”

San pulls away to lean back on his haunches, reaching for the bedside table. He dumps a little hotel menu booklet on top of Wooyoung’s chest and tries to muster his sternest expression. “Pick something off that before I spank you with it.”

“That’s not the deterrent you think it is.”

“Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s lips press into a tight line, eyes ablaze. He seems loath to let San out of his grip, hands squeezing possessively where they now rest on either side of his waist as San straddles him. “Just pick something for both of us.”

“If I do you’re not allowed to complain about the dishes I choose.”

Wooyoung’s eyes go almost comically wide. “Me? Complain?” he intones, one hand held over his heart in feigned offence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Evil,” San reiterates. He points the menu now in his hands at Wooyoung’s face. “One of these days I’m gonna fuck the attitude right out of you.”

“Promise?”

If San wasn’t already so physically drained from performing for three straight nights in a row and fading from the hunger gnawing at his gut, he doesn’t think he’d be able to resist rising to the bait that Wooyoung dangles so tantalizingly in front of him.

As it stands though, he barely has it in him to do much more than reach down and thread his fingers through his hair, grip tightening so he can tilt his head back and watch his throat bob as he swallows down the anticipation wired into his bones. “You’re lucky I’m in no state to be held to that promise right now,” he murmurs.

Wooyoung makes a disgruntled little noise when San relinquishes his grip. “I don’t feel lucky,” he grouses. “I feel under-kissed and under-fucked.”

“Always so needy,” San tuts. “Think you can cope by yourself for five minutes while I order our food?”

“Of course.”

Something shimmers behind Wooyoung’s deceptively innocent gaze that San instantly distrusts. He doesn’t have it in him to try and decipher it though; doesn’t have the patience to question it when he’s already perched at the edge of the bed with the hotel phone in his hand halfway to dialling the number for room service.

He realizes he probably should have taken the time to address it when someone picks up on the third ring, at the exact same time that he feels the mattress dip beneath him as Wooyoung slides up silently behind him.

He lets his legs dangle off the edge of the bed to bracket San’s thighs, arms snaking around his waist so he can pull him more firmly against his chest. San has all of one second to process the very prominent hard-on deliberately pressed up against his ass before he hears a greeting on the other end of the line and has to force out a stuttered “h-hello” in response.

“Smooth,” Wooyoung’s velvetine tone floats next to his ear, chin hooked over his shoulder.

San elbows him in the ribs. Wooyoung just clings to him tighter.

“How can I help you today?” the voice on the other end prompts when no other words are forthcoming from San’s now worryingly dry mouth.

“I’d like to ord-” San cuts off on a sharp exhale when one of Wooyoung’s hands slips up and under his shirt to brush teasingly over his nipple. “I-I’d like to order room service, please.” He bats lightly at the intruding hand, but all it earns him is another half-suppressed gasp when he feels Wooyoung grind up insistently against his ass.

“Of course. What can we get for you tonight?”

San rattles off their order at lightning speed. Wooyoung’s hand has grown more determined under his shirt, rubbing and tweaking his nipple while the other travels slowly up and down the length of his upper thigh. San feels like he’s in a race against time, his desire to not fuck up their food order and traumatize some poor hotel employee for life pitted against the ever-present, intrusive need to pin Wooyoung against the nearest surface and rail him until he cries.

“And would you like any drinks with that?”

San presses the phone to his chest. He covers Wooyoung’s hand against his thigh, squeezing lightly to keep it in place and safely away from his crotch. “Want anything to drink?”

Wooyoung makes a face like he’s deeply considering the question. The hand under San’s turns to face upwards so he can lace their fingers together, and San blames the unexpected innocence of the motion for lulling him into a false sense of security and preventing him from predicting the next words out of Wooyoung’s mouth.

“Just your cum,” he drawls, nuzzling affectionately against his neck. “Wanna blow you and suck you dry- ”

San loses his grip on the hotel phone in his effort to fling it as far away from Wooyoung and his filthy mouth as possible. He swears under his breath as he scrambles off the bed to retrieve it,  the sound of Wooyoung cackling gleefully behind him floating over his head.

He gets the receiver pressed back up to his ear just in time to hear the person on the other end ask him if he’s okay or whether they need to send anyone up to check on him, and feels a sense of abject dread course through his veins.

“No that’s okay, thank you!” he half-yells back. “I’m perfectly fine. Just a little…clumsy.” The last word comes out a beat too late as he turns back to glare at Wooyoung.

All he receives is an infuriatingly smug wink for his troubles.

Curling his fingers around Wooyoung’s ankle, San yanks him further down the bed. He ignores his yelp of surprise so he can hook an arm around his neck to wrangle him into a loose chokehold as soon as he can pull him close enough.

“Will that be everything for you sir? Or is there anything else we can-”

San doesn’t catch the last few words as the phone is forcibly dragged from his ear, one of Wooyoung’s thieving paws reaching up around the chokehold to pull it closer to his own face.

He knows the instant Wooyoung’s fingers curl around the device what he intends to do. The years they’ve been together have made him finely attuned to all of his habits and eccentricities, good and bad, and he can generally smell his mischievous intentions from a mile away.

Unfortunately, Wooyoung still has the advantage of speed on his side. Meaning that San is just a split second too late in reclaiming the phone and can’t quite cut off the loud, exaggerated pornographic moan that Wooyoung lets out before it reaches the ears of the poor unsuspecting hotel employee on the other end of the line.

San’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire when he finally has the phone safely in his grasp again. He’s grateful that the other person can’t see him at least, nor can they see the positively murderous expression he shoots at Wooyoung while clamping an admonishing hand down on his leg and squeezing until he lets out a whimper that’s more turned on than it is pained.

“I am so sorry about that,” he apologizes all in a rush. “My tv must have-”

“It’s perfectly fine sir. We’ll have your food sent up to you as soon as it’s ready.”

The second the line goes dead, there’s a moment where San and Wooyoung just stare at each other. San calculating, Wooyoung a deer caught in headlights.

Wooyoung’s foot twitches.

San lunges.

San knows the second he has him dragged to the end of the bed and scooped up in his arms that this is Wooyoung’s desired outcome by the way he lets out a surprised but not unhappy yelp at the act of being manhandled. It’s even clearer in the pleased little giggle that bubbles out of his throat when San moves to throw him over his shoulder, slapping a hand over his ass hard enough that it echoes off the walls of the bathroom that he carries him into.

Wooyoung’s voice slips into that same exaggerated, porny tone from before when he lets out a soft moan of “harder” , deliberately goading. Another delighted giggle escapes him when San easily complies, the sound of the second slap even sharper than the first.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” San observes as soon as he has him deposited on his feet again. He makes a point of crowding him up against the bathroom sink, bracing his hands on either side of the counter to keep him caged in.

Wooyoung allows himself to be trapped, looking perhaps even more delighted than before. “Thank you,” he replies.

“It’s not a compliment.”

“Try saying it without looking like you want to rip my clothes off with your teeth and maybe I’ll believe you,” Wooyoung shoots back, head cocking to one side in defiance.

Grabbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger, San leans in until he sees Wooyoung’s eyelashes flutter, pupils widening almost imperceptibly. He smirks when he sees his throat bob in anticipation; he’s so easy to read when you know what to look for, and San has had years of practice.

“But I always look at you like that,” he murmurs.

“Yeah. So why haven’t you yet?”

“Don’t want to ruin my hoodie.”

Without breaking eye contact Wooyoung reaches for his waist, curling his fingers into the hem of the hoodie. He pulls it up and over his head in one fluid motion. “Better?” he asks.

“Mmm…” San’s eyes roam briefly down the length of his body before flitting back up again to settle on his face. “I kinda just want to see you undress yourself for me now though.”

“But I like it when you do it for me,” Wooyoung pouts.

San’s eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “You really think you’re in a position to barter with me after what you pulled when I was on the phone?”

“Like you didn’t enjoy it,” Wooyoung scoffs. “I know how much you love it when other people can hear us.” He reaches one hand down to tease his fingers along San’s waistband before trailing lower to cup him through his pants, smiling triumphantly when he feels how hard he is.

“Oh yeah? What gave you that impression?”

“Other than the fact that you’re rock hard right now-”

“I’m always rock hard around you.”

“ -other than that ,” Wooyoung tightens his grip on San’s cock. San can’t quite help the way he instinctively rocks up into the feeling, chasing more friction. Wooyoung’s smirk is insufferably triumphant. “How about the fact that you almost cried when I fingered you in the airplane bathroom on our way over here?”

Heat flares in San’s cheeks, his body once again betraying him. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“No?” Wooyoung’s tone is deceptively soft, touch even more deceptively so where he leans up to nose against San’s jaw. He bites down gently when he adds, “Should I blow you on live again and I see if you cry this time? Would that be enough proof for you?”

San circles his fingers around Wooyoung’s wrist to hold him in place. He very pointedly does not dignify his questions with an answer. Partly because he refuses to play right into his hands; mostly because he knows, deep down, that Wooyoung is right. And that he probably would cry.

He tilts his head inwards so their lips can meet instead, a soft groan escaping him when Wooyoung instantly parts lips to deepen the kiss. He feels the urge to grind up against his palm where he still has Wooyoung’s wrist held in a vice grip, but quickly stifles it. He needs to focus on getting them out of their clothes and into the shower before their food arrives.

“Clothes,” he orders, toying briefly with the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt. “Off.”

Wooyoung watches him, silently sulking. He’s clearly unwilling to play along, unrelenting even when San tilts his chin up with two fingers to press a placating kiss against his soft, pouty lips. He whines the instant San moves to step away, reaching out with one hand to try and pull him back, but San slips easily from his grasp.

Leaving Wooyoung by the sink, San pulls his shirt off over his head before moving to toe out of his pants and underwear and striding into the open shower without a single glance backwards. He has no doubt that Wooyoung will follow him in his own time. He lacks the patience to be able to maintain a strop for very long, especially when he’s as worked up as San knows he must be right now.

San only turns back around once he has the water running, just in time to see Wooyoung let out a little huff as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. He peels it up and away from his chest to land somewhere in a pile on the floor along with San’s hoodie. He makes a point of turning his back to San then, throwing a coy glance over his shoulder to catch his eye, before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants. He winks, and slowly, deliberately , shimmies them down past his hips.

San’s breath catches in his throat at the sight. Warmth pools at the pit of his stomach when Wooyoung’s bare ass finally comes into view, round and plump and every bit the eighth wonder of the world he often proclaims it to be.

And really, it’s just like Wooyoung to waltz into his room without any underwear on under the pretence of wanting to eat dinner together. He can’t ever be straightforward with the things that he wants. He always needs to tease and act-up and tiptoe around the subject until he eventually gets what he wants all while making those around him believe that they’re giving it up of their own free will rather than it being a product of his own clever little orchestration.

“Careful Sannie,” Wooyoung teases, drawing San’s attention back up from his ass to his face. “I think you might be drooling a little bit.” He kicks his pants off to the side, finally pushing away from the sink.

“Guess I must be hungrier than I thought,” San replies with a helpless little shrug.

Wooyoung joins him under the spray. He loops his arms around his neck so he can pull himself up to his height. “Then what are you waiting for?” he murmurs. “Dig in.”

San needs no further encouragement.

He  manhandles Wooyoung up against the nearest shower wall, fingers bruising where they pin him back by his hips, hands drawn to his waist like magnets to hold him in place. Their lips collide with all the grace of a high-speed car crash, any of the lingering tenderness from earlier falling to the wayside to become something dirtier and needier in their mutual desperation to get their hands on bare skin.

They both know that this is what they need right now anyway: Wooyoung’s hands curled possessively in San’s hair as he kisses him back, pulling so tight that it almost hurts. San’s fingers leaving imprints against Wooyoung’s hips as they try to press themselves closer together to grind up against each other. Their breaths mingling in a dizzying, uncoordinated exchange of gasps and muffled curses, Wooyoung’s lips parting oh-so easily for San’s tongue to slip inside.

Unsatisfied with the friction, San paws at Wooyoung’s waist until he’s able to spin him around to brace his palms against the shower wall. Wooyoung obeys surprisingly easily, a satisfied little groan escaping him when San loops his arms around his middle so he can press himself all up against his back, cock nestled comfortably between his asscheeks.

Quick to read the intention behind it, Wooyoung arches his back slightly, pressing his upper body closer to the shower wall so he can push his ass out further. The angle has San rutting up even further between his cheeks, and he has to take a shaky breath in to stop himself from cursing out loud when Wooyoung starts to swivel his hips in a deliberately provocative motion so his cock is continuously grinding up against him.

Marvelling at the novelty of not even having needed to ask him to comply, San slides a hand down Wooyoung’s abdomen until he can wrap his fingers around his cock. He gives a slow, appreciative squeeze, twisting his wrist upwards. A reward for good behaviour, even if it is unexpected. Maybe it’s Wooyoung’s way of trying to apologize for earlier.

It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

Wooyoung shimmies his hips, anticipating. “Gonna fuck me raw?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Not gonna fuck you at all,” San shoots back. There’s a predictable petulant whine in response, one that goes straight to his dick and only has him grinding up harder. “You don’t deserve it.”

“But I-”

Wooyoung cuts off on a low moan when San gives another sharp upwards twist of his wrist. His other hand stays pressed against Wooyoung’s abdomen, holding him close.

He maintains a deliberately slow pace as he continues to pump his fist over Wooyoung’s cock, hips thrusting forward in tandem. Every time Wooyoung tries to wrangle a coherent sentence out past all the breathy sighs and moans that now fill the steamy bathroom around them he makes sure to pay particular attention his sensitive cockhead, tightening the ring of his fist around it until the words die on Wooyoung’s tongue to be replaced by a choked-off curse or mangled rendition of San’s name.

He can’t tell if it’s just water or a combination of it and Wooyoung’s precum dripping all over his fingers. Judging by the noise Wooyoung makes when he starts to suck wet kisses down the exposed curve of his neck, whispered words of praise interspersed in between, he’d be willing to bet on the latter.

He keeps going until he sees Wooyoung’s forehead gradually tip forward to rest against the shower wall. Until his legs start to visibly shake and his hips stutter in his effort not to give in and fuck into San’s fist like he so clearly wants to.

He’s never been one to let others see him fall apart easily. He’s too stubborn for that. He wants his desperation to be earned as much as San wants to earn it, and San knows this. And though San is generally more than willing to indulge him, he has neither the patience nor the stamina right now to want to play fair for very long.

The next time Wooyoung tries to speak, San lets go of his cock so he can more fully wrap himself around his body, hands gentle where they caress the flushed expanse of his chest and abdomen. He drops his lips to his shoulder in a soft kiss, all saccharine condescension when he asks, “What was that sweetheart?”

“Want it,” Wooyoung whines, finally coherent. “Want you to fuck me.” His nails scrabble for purchase against the shower wall with the force of San rutting up against him. His head tips back to rest briefly against his shoulder when he adds, voice cracking slightly, “Please.”

He must be more desperate for it than San realized if he’s already willing to resort to begging without even needing to be prompted. San must not be the only one already at the end of his patience despite them barely having even done much yet.

It’s then that he notices the faint tremor in Wooyoung’s legs and thighs has spread to his arms where he continues to hold himself up against the wall. It’s not like him to be running out of steam so soon. He must finally be feeling the effects of having run back-to-back concerts three nights in a row, added on to the fact that they still haven’t eaten tonight since finishing the last one.

Choosing not to comment on his clear exhaustion (and remarkable stubbornness to power through without saying anything), San instead holds Wooyoung close, pressing kisses down the nape of his neck until his lips reach the ink scrawled between his shoulder blades. It’s a silent reminder of sorts. His way of letting Wooyoung know he’s in good hands; that he can lean on him if he really needs to.

The message must translate because Wooyoung gives a content little sigh in response, one hand coming to rest on top of San’s where they’re splayed over his abdomen.

But because he’s still Wooyoung and therefore fundamentally prone to mischief at his very core, even when his body is physically working against him and all signs point to the necessity of taking it easy, he still finds it in him to curl his fingers around San’s hand and try to manoeuvre it down further between his legs.

San entertains him for all of two seconds, lightly brushing the tips of his fingers over his hole before withdrawing his hand with an admonishing squeeze to his hip and a sharp bite to the nape of his neck.

“Always the opportunist,” he chastises.

“One of my more charming qualities,” Wooyoung preens.

“You and I have a very different understanding of the word ‘charming’.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t be dating me.”

San lets out an amused, though reluctant, hum of agreement. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Categorically untrue; but I suppose that’s just another facet of this self-aggrandizing charm you believe yourself to have.”

Whatever retort Wooyoung tries to make is drowned out by a gasp when San thrusts up hard enough to jostle him closer to the wall. His nails scrabble against the tiles for purchase at the same time that his feet slip, causing his whole body to sink down lower as his legs are spread further apart.

“Baby,” San coos tauntingly, “Are you that desperate that you’re resorting to presenting yourself for me?”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t need to if you would just fuck me already.”

“I already told you, you don’t deserve it. But besides that, I don’t think you could even handle it right now. Look at you,” San nudges one of Wooyoung’s legs with his foot, gently, but even that’s enough for his knees to almost buckle beneath him completely. “You’re no better than a pretty, useless little ragdoll right now. You can barely hold yourself up without my help.”

“San-ah,” Wooyoung whines. “Come on. Want your cock. Need it, please .”

“You can have it,” San purrs. “On your knees.”

Wooyoung cranes his neck around to blink at him. “What?”

“So I don’t have to worry about you collapsing on me.”

“I’m not going to collapse . Don’t be dramatic.”

One of San’s eyebrows shoots up. He takes a silent, pointed step backwards, arms dropping from around Wooyoung’s waist.

He’s back again the instant Wooyoung starts to slip.

Wooyoung sags dejectedly in his arms. “It’s not my fault the shower’s slippery. It’s full of,” he gestures vaguely. “Water.”

“Yeah. That’s how showers work.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Wooyoung bats at San’s hands where he’s still holding him up. 

San spins Wooyoung around in his arms until they’re face to face again. He keeps one arm locked securely around his waist, navigating the other up the expanse of his chest until he can cup his cheek in one hand. “It’s okay if you’re tired you know, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not up for it,” he murmurs. “We can stop here and just-”

Wooyoung silences him with a kiss.

It’s shorter, chaster than those that came before it. San barely has time to register the soft press of lips let alone reciprocate before he finds himself clutching at air, Wooyoung already sinking obediently down to his knees.

He seems comfortable like this, blinking up at San from beneath his eyelashes. His body is able to relax now that he no longer needs to find more strength than he currently has to keep holding himself up. It shows in the gentleness of his hands as he caresses them up and around the backs of San’s thighs to encourage him closer. It’s clear in the soft hum he lets out around the tip of San’s cock when he finally takes him in his mouth, jaw going slack to accommodate his girth. His whole demeanour loosening where he’d only just been filled with wavering tension.

Now, he’s filled with San.

San’s cock, San’s attention, San’s praise.

Feeling his cock slip further into the familiar wet heat of Wooyoung’s mouth, it’s suddenly San’s turn to feel like his legs might buckle beneath him at any given moment. He realizes he might be a little bit of a hypocrite when it takes a concentrated effort on his part just to remain upright.

He threads his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair under the guise of encouraging him, scratching behind his ear in praise at how well he takes his cock, when really it’s just so he doesn’t reach for the wall instead. He’d never hear the end of it if he did.

Wooyoung must sense a shift in the atmosphere by the way San lets him take the reins and dictate the pace instead of. He declines to pass comment on it thankfully, though it might have a lot more to do with the mouthful of cock he’s currently moaning around than any real feelings of mercy.

Left to his own devices like this, pliant and needy and already more than a little bit fucked out, he seems to choose to take his time with San. Not that San will need much encouragement to get off in his current state, but… It’s nice like this.

It’s nice when it’s soft and slow.

It’s nice when every touch feels deliberate, Wooyoung’s tongue a beacon guiding San through the haze of arousal that’s wound itself tight around every inch of him. It’s nice that when San gently pushes Wooyoung’s hair away from his face and praises him for how good he makes him feel, he gets a happy little hum in response, something almost like a purr rumbling from the back of Wooyoung’s throat.

The vibrations thrum pleasantly around San’s cock, prompting him to swipe his thumb across Wooyoung’s wet cheek with even more words of praise. My baby, so good for me, so pretty stuffed full of my cock.

Wooyoung laps it up. The praise more than anything else is enough to spur him onwards. His mouth turns sloppy where he sucks at the tip of San’s cock, tonguing at the slit until San starts letting out these strangled little moans, curling his fingers into Wooyoung’s hair with enough force to make him whine and sink his lips further down his length.

It turns messy and uncoordinated after that, neither of them having enough presence of mind to do much more than succumb to the wet, feverish heat of each other under the warm spray of the shower.

It’s how San prefers it anyway. He likes it when things get sloppy. He likes it when Wooyoung drools and makes a mess of himself, the lewd sound of his spit-slick lips stretching over San’s cock over and over echoing off the walls of the small hotel shower.

San knows when Wooyoung is about to cum from the way his mouth gradually slows until he’s barely moving at all. He just kneels there, waiting, the weight of San’s cock resting against his tongue. He stares up at him through his dishevelled bangs with round eyes, a helpless little furrow between his eyebrows.

Holding back. Holding still. Holding himself together and waiting for San’s permission as if he hasn’t been trying to discreetly jerk himself off for the last few minutes without drawing attention to it.

San had pretended not to notice. He’d let him get away with it both because he was too tired to fight it and because Wooyoung has been uncharacteristically good tonight.

…For the most part. 

“It’s okay baby, you can come,” he allows, voice gentle. “So pretty when you’re on your knees for me like this.”

The words of praise make Wooyoung whine around the cock still in his mouth. He starts to sink his lips further down San’s length again. His own hand speeds up between his legs, abandoning all discretion, knees spreading further apart where they slip against the tiled shower floor in his desperation to get off, hips undulating to fuck into his own fist.

He cums the second his nose hits San’s navel, a strangled groan fighting its way past the cock now buried halfway down his throat. San watches as his eyes turn wet, a few tears making their way down his cheeks to mingle with the water droplets already there; just the ones that he can’t blink away fast enough

It’s at this point that he considers giving in to the temptation to fuck Wooyoung’s throat. He looks so cute when he’s all pliant like this post-orgasm, pulling off to suckle sweetly at the tip of San’s cock like he just can’t get enough. Like he wants to savour it as much as possible while he still can, insatiable little cockslut that he is. 

But San knows Wooyoung’s limits; probably better than even Wooyoung himself does at this point. His eyelids look heavy, pulled downwards in obvious fatigue even as he looks blissed-out beyond belief. San can even see the beginnings of tremors in his thighs again. He can feel them in his own thighs, too.

…Maybe he should be worried about his own limits rather than Wooyoung’s.

He curls his fingers under Wooyoung’s jaw. “Still hungry?” he asks, caressing his thumb across his cheek.

It takes a moment before understanding registers behind Wooyoung’s eyes. He nods enthusiastically. His lips leave the tip of San’s cock with a soft pop so he can straighten his posture, sitting back on his knees, hands folded neatly in his lap as he holds his mouth open obediently.

San shifts his hips so he can rest the tip of his cock against the flat of Wooyoung’s tongue. “Such a good boy,” he praises. Wooyoung watches him with round, entranced eyes that seem to shimmer in response to his adoring tone.

It only takes a few strokes of his hand before San feels the telltale tightening inside his body.

When the first few drops of his cum hit Wooyoung’s tongue and he keens, low and needy, San swears he feels the rest of his orgasm pass through him so intensely that it nearly knocks the air clean out of him. It’s enough to finally have him grasping at the shower wall for purchase, all of the stubborn adrenaline that’s been keeping him going until now exiting his system at frightening velocity as he continues to cum in white spurts on Wooyoung’s lips and chin and all the way down his throat.

Just like when he was being praised, Wooyoung laps it all up. He tilts his head back to get the best angle so he doesn’t miss a drop, lips curling up in a satisfied little smirk as he watches San fall apart above him, moaning obscenely every time more cum hits his tongue.

And when San’s done, panting a little as he tries to regain his composure, arms still braced against the shower wall because he doesn’t yet trust himself to win in a fight against gravity, Wooyoung goes in for seconds.

San can’t help the broken, mewling sound that leaves him as Wooyoung leans in to wrap his sinful lips around the tip of his now oversensitive cock with renewed eagerness. He seems to have caught his second bratty wind post-orgasm, having apparently chosen to bide his time until he knew San would be too vulnerable to do much about it.

And San can’t do anything. His brain feels like it’s been put through a blender, his body too shaky and exhausted to do more than try to remain upright as Wooyoung’s unforgiving mouth sets to work.

“Woo-” he tries, one hand reaching down to tangle through Wooyoung’s hair.

Wooyoung hums, grabs his thighs, sinks his mouth down a little bit further before pulling off with a smirk. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

San glares down at him. Or tries to, anyway; the severity of it gets lost behind another shallow whimper when he feels Wooyoung’s deft fingers wrap around the base of his cock. And then Wooyoung’s kissing and licking down his length, tongue darting out with kittenish abandon, and the whimper turns into a long, drawn out groan.

San’s legs are shaking.

“Young-ah…”

“Want more,” Wooyoung pouts. “Please?”

San is almost definitely going to pass out. The heat of the shower, the heat of Wooyoung’s mouth, the sharpness of every possible kind of hunger twisting and gnawing inside his gut… He feels faint.

He looks down, sees Wooyoung’s round, pleading eyes, drool pooling at the corners of his plump, kiss-swollen (now cock-swollen) lips, and feels fainter.

“I can’t,” the words are strangled out of him. God, even his voice is all fucked up.

How did they end up here? How did they end up at Wooyoung on his knees with all the bargaining chips, San hovering above him fighting just to stay afloat?

Wooyoung tips his head forward to rest his cheek against San’s thigh. “Try?” He presses a soft, encouraging kiss against his skin. “For me?”

San shudders at the touch. He’s not sure what he could possibly say in response. He’s tired. His legs feel like jelly and his arms aren’t doing much better. But then he looks down and Wooyoung is so cute peering up at him through wet, messy bangs and San…

San would do anything for him. 

His eyes slip shut. Wooyoung correctly interprets it as permission, and his mouth finds its way back around his cock.

In the end it turns out that San very much can. It doesn’t take much; the drag of Wooyoung’s lips over his cockhead as his hand works around the base of his length make sure of that. He knows just how to milk more out of him, knows just how to curl his tongue and pitch his moans until San is seeing stars behind his eyelids as he cums a second time.

He’s not even aware that his legs have finally given out beneath him until he feels Wooyoung’s lips pressing gently against his temple. Wooyoung, who was on his knees, who is now at San’s eye level.

San’s eyelids are heavy but he pushes past the exhaustion until they’re fully open again. He’s greeted by Wooyoung’s smug face and instantly lets them slip shut again.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he croaks out, and god. He’s so glad he already put their food order in because there is no way he could let anyone else hear him like this.

Wooyoung beams back at him, the very picture of false innocence. “Hear what?”

“Don’t.”

Wooyoung laughs. He slides his hands up San’s chest and around his neck, squeezing at his nape as he leans in to nuzzle affectionately against his cheek. He presses a kiss against his jaw, his nose, all over his face until San starts to complain that it tickles and finally cracks his eyes open again.

He reels Wooyoung in for a kiss that’s supposed to be rough and admonishing but that still somehow ends up being overwhelmingly soft. He just can’t seem to help himself; even with Wooyoung’s continuous antics, all the firm resolve he usually has in him has crumbled and faded into the background to be completely overtaken by the deep fondness that’s always present for all things Wooyoung-related.

He partially blames the post-concert high for this state of afterglow he can’t quite seem to shake. The other part he blames on Wooyoung. On his smile, his laugh. On the sweet little kisses he knows make San weak at the knees (and thank god he’s already kneeling or he’d be in trouble all over again).

He has San wrapped around his little finger and is taking full advantage of that fact tonight.

Worse yet, San is letting him get away with it.

“Come on,” San encourages, trying to detach himself from Wooyoung’s mouth. “Our food is probably waiting outside getting cold already and we still haven’t showered properly.”

Wooyoung makes a sound like he’s heard him, has taken the words onboard, and has elected to ignore them completely. He’s already trying to clamber into his lap again, pawing at his thighs and nipping at his bottom lip until San has to force himself to push his aching thighs into a standing position again just so he has an excuse to break them apart.

Wooyoung grumbles but otherwise allows himself to be pulled up by his armpits. He tries to sneak in another quick kiss when they’re both back on their feet but San is two steps ahead of him, pressing him up against the wall by his shoulders at a safe arms-length away.

“San,” Wooyoung whines, the vowel in San’s name dragged up and down through every possible tonal variation of petulance. “Come on, if you’re not gonna fuck me at least let me fuck you.”

San thinks it’s awfully bold of him to even be thinking about fucking when he’s become even more of a boneless ragdoll post-orgasm. He’s pretty sure that if he were to let go right now Wooyoung would just slide right down the wall to crumple up on the ground again.

“We can fuck after. As much as you want. But I need to eat first or I’ll collapse. Again ,” San adds with a self-conscious huff. “And I’m pretty sure you will too.”

Wooyoung pushes against the grip on his shoulders. San allows him to fall forwards into his arms this time, catching him around his waist.

“Don’t need food,” Wooyoung mumbles blearily where he’s tucked his face into San’s neck. “Just need you.” He has the audacity to yawn when he says it, his stomach growling ironically in tandem.

San rubs his back and presses a kiss to his temple, placating. “Food and rest first. Dick and hole later.”

“Why not both at the same time?”

“Do you want to try eating while I’m fucking you?”

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung shrugs. “Could be a fun little challenge.”

San just shakes his head.

They quickly finish off their actual shower (with significant difficulty given that Wooyoung has all but collapsed in San’s arms, turning their two-person shower into a one-person affair) so at least one of them can look presentable enough to answer the door when their food arrives.

That person ends up being San, naturally, because Wooyoung has taken to lounging around on his bed wearing nothing but a pair of underwear. He stretches languidly, all lithe and feline-like, making a point of raking his eyes over San’s body as he ditches his towel for a pair of sweatpants and a light t-shirt.

“No underwear?” he comments idly. “The waiter’s not gonna fuck you, you know.”

“I can’t tell whether you’re cranky from lack of food or lack of a good dicking down.”

Wooyoung pouts. “I’m not cranky. Just miss you.”

“I’m literally right here.”

“Not close enough.”

San sighs.

It’s more fond than it is annoyed. He knows what Wooyoung means. Sometimes close just isn’t close enough. They’re living, breathing proof of that given their inability to ever stand near each other without physically touching in some way or another.

“Will you survive the two minutes it takes me to answer the door and get our food or are you going to be a brat again?”

Wooyoung considers the question. “Depends,” he muses. “What do I get for being good?”

“You get me not kicking you out for trying to traumatise every single hotel employee that we encounter.”

“Meanie.”

“I know you get off on it.”

Wooyoung’s silence is answer enough.

When San returns with the food Wooyoung finally has a shirt on. His shirt, but some battles can never be won. Besides, it’s not exactly like he doesn’t enjoy seeing Wooyoung’s smaller frame drowning in the clothes meant for his own broader shoulders. He looks cozy, like a swaddled little kitten.

More importantly, he looks like San’s.

Their initial instinct is to eat fast so they can fuck sooner but the food tastes so good that they can’t help but slow down to savour every last bite, sexual appetites momentarily forgotten. They’re also still tired post-orgasm, and the food only serves to make them even more drowsy. Wooyoung, who had once seemed so keen to have San’s hands all over him and his mouth all over San, now only has eyes for the immense nest of pillows littering San’s bed.

San joins him after he’s also done eating, chuckling when Wooyoung instantly crawls between his legs so he can sit with his back to his chest and draw his arms around him like a protective blanket.

San cuddles him close, hugging him around his waist as tightly as possible. He nuzzles his hair, breathing in the soft smell of shampoo and comfort and Wooyoung, and feels himself relax so completely against the pillows he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get up again.

They stay like that for several moments, Wooyoung flicking aimlessly through the hotel’s available tv channels while San’s hands rest comfortably over his tummy. He rubs at it gently every now and then, palm slowly caressing up and down in the way he knows Wooyoung loves. It’s an absentminded motion. Almost as natural as breathing.

It’s less absentminded when he slides one hand up under Wooyoung’s shirt to more fully relish in the slight extra plumpness there that comes from him having just eaten.

Wooyoung giggles at the sensation. One hand comes to rest over San’s. “Like my food baby?” he teases.

“Mmhm…” San sighs his assent. He nuzzles against Wooyoung’s ear, then lower so he can kiss the sensitive skin just behind it, making him giggle again. “Kinda makes me want to put a real baby in you.”

“Scientifically impossible,” Wooyoung shoots back. “But I’m not gonna be the one to stop you if you want to give it a go.” He tilts his neck to give San’s mouth better access, groaning softly when he complies.

San leaves a trail of kisses down Wooyoung’s neck and across his shoulder where the collar of his oversized (San-sized) shirt has slipped to expose bare skin. All the while he continues to rub at his tummy and over his abdomen, alternating between light touches and kneading more insistently at his soft skin.

Wooyoung complains that it tickles but ultimately does nothing to stop him. One of his hands is fisted in the sheets while the other grips San’s leg just above the knee, over his tattoo, and it feels deliberate. He knows how San feels about being touched there. He uses that knowledge to his advantage now, squeezing and massaging at the spot until San has to bite down on his shoulder to muffle the whine that threatens to leave him.

And though it does muffle his own, it only makes Wooyoung louder. The soft sighs and quiet groans he’s been letting out until now increase in pitch the more San nips at his skin, turning a little more desperate, a little more needy. He arches back against San like he can’t decide whether he wants to run away or press himself closer. Like he’s not sure what he needs, just that he needs.

San’s hands move from his abdomen to his thighs. Pinning him in place, making sure he stays close, before pushing gently to encourage him to spread them wider.

“Your poor legs…” he coos as he starts to massage Wooyoung’s inner thighs. “Could barely hold yourself up earlier, hmm? My poor baby…”

Wooyoung gasps. The fingers he has wrapped above San’s knee dig in hard enough to bruise, mirroring the way San’s own fingers dig into the tender flesh of his thighs. “H-hurts,” he stutters out.

“Tell me where it hurts, baby. Show me. Let me make it better.”

A little shakily, Wooyoung threads his fingers through San’s. He guides his hand up past his thigh, past his hip, and lets it settle over the bulge now beginning to strain at his underwear.

San presses down, just a little, and the effect is instant. Another gasp leaves Wooyoung, almost a sigh of relief this time. He tries to grind up against the pressure but San presses his hip into the mattress. “Let me,” he repeats. “Just lie back and let me take care of you.” Wooyoung’s whole body stiffens for a moment, then gradually relaxes. He lets himself sink more fully against San’s chest, loosens his grip on his leg, and lets go of the sheets. “Good boy, just like that,” San praises in a soft murmur.

There’s less urgency now that they’re both fed, showered and comfortable. San’s hand is slow where he continues to palm Wooyoung’s cock through his underwear, tongue languid where Wooyoung cranes his neck to the side for their lips to meet in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss. He just wants to make him feel good. To treasure him the way he deserves. To Lavish him in all the love and tenderness that’s constantly threatening to pour out of him in droves.

They so rarely get a chance like this; sequestered away from the rest of the world, everything melting away until it’s just them tangled up in the sheets and each other. San intends to make the most of it.

Perhaps a little surprisingly, Wooyoung doesn’t fight it. His body remains relaxed enough that San no longer needs to hold him down. He doesn’t wriggle or try to buck up against his hand to get more of what he wants. He seems perfectly content with the pace that’s been set, humming and sighing in a pleased little symphony of purrs every time San squeezes his fingers around his cock or thumbs at his slit until he starts to leak little beads of precum through the dark cotton fabric of his underwear.

He even breaks the sloppy kisses they’ve been exchanging at one point so his head can loll back against San’s shoulder instead. Like he just wants to bask in the steady pressure of the hand between his legs and the other hand still massaging at one of his thighs, mouth hanging open to let a steady stream of soft moans, completely blissed out and uncaring about anything that might follow.

Not even the enticement of San finally dipping his hand past his waistband to jerk him off properly is enough to rouse him. He just smiles drowsily around a profound, satisfied moan, presses a clumsy kiss against San’s jaw, and surrenders himself wholly and completely to the sensation of San’s deft fingers pumping in a lazy rhythm up and down his length.

He’s so cute.

He’s beautiful, eyelashes so pretty and delicate where they gradually flutter to a close the longer San continues to jerk him off in slow, languid strokes. Lips all plump and pouty in their subconscious slackness, allowing San’s tongue to do as it pleases when he leans in to kiss him again.

San’s very own sleeping beauty, pliant and ripe for the taking.

The only time San hears a hitch in the evenness of his breathing is when he lets go of his cock in favour of trailing his fingers down lower to tease over his rim. Wooyoung shivers in his arms with a small, half-hearted moan, the first audible sound to leave his body in several minutes.

San can’t tell how far gone he is at this point, but he takes the slight squeeze above his knee as permission to continue.

Careful not to disturb the half-conscious Wooyoung in his arms, he reaches for the bedside table, rummaging around in the drawer until he finds the little travel-sized bottle of lube (the first thing he thought to pack, though he’s not proud to admit it). He leaves it to the side for a moment so he can gently tug Wooyoung’s underwear down just past his hips, then drizzles a generous amount over his fingers and slides them down over his rim again.

The shiver that passes through Wooyoung is more subdued this time. The moan he lets out when San pushes the tip of his finger inside him is less so. San hushes him gently, presses a reassuring kiss to his shoulder, and pushes in deeper.

Just like before, he keeps a slow, steady pace as he gradually works the rest of his finger past Wooyoung’s rim. He lets his hand go still for several moments after he’s pressed the digit all the way in up to the last knuckle, kissing across Wooyoung’s shoulder as he lets him adjust. The featherlight brush of his lips against his skin is meant to soothe, but it only seems to make Wooyoung clench down around him even tighter.

“Easy baby,” San consoles, voice low. “I’ve got you.”

He only starts to move when he feels Wooyoung’s body relax completely against him again. He works the same finger in and out a few times, pushing just a little deeper and a little harder every time until Wooyoung’s whining demandingly into his ear. Nothing coherent, but San doesn’t need him to be. He knows his body intimately, can read into every small shiver and every soft sigh more fluently than any other language on earth.

Wooyoung breathes in, San breathes out, and quiet understanding finds them balanced perfectly in the middle.

Gradually working a second finger in next to the first, San experiments with the rhythm until he finds something just subtle enough to make Wooyoung’s toes curl while still managing to keep him right on the edge of a precipice without allowing him to succumb entirely. His hand is still for the most part, middle and ring fingers doing the most work as he pushes and strokes and curls them into the familiar warmth of his hole.

Wooyoung takes them so easily, body gone wholly pliant in San’s arms as he allows himself to be fingered open at a torturous pace. His head is tipped back against San’s shoulder again, seemingly too much of a hassle to keep up by himself anymore. He attempts to bury his moans against San’s neck, kisses wet and hot and marked by needy little whines like he just wants to devour him, teeth all sharp and predatory when he bites down, but even that becomes too much for him when he feels another finger join the rest.

Stretched out on three digits now, Wooyoung’s composure starts to slip further. If he was incoherent before he’s a mess now, mouth sloppy against San’s neck, moans slipping into a steady stream of desperate noise that then dies at the back of his throat in the quietness of absolute bliss. 

He almost feels like deadweight where he sinks against San’s chest, breathing gone even enough that San would almost consider him asleep.

“Still with me sweetheart?” he teases. He crooks his fingers to punctuate the question, reaching for Wooyoung’s sweet spot and hitting it dead on so that he jolts in his arms with a surprised gasp.

“Y-Yeah,” Wooyoung sighs. He sinks back against San’s chest, nosing under his jaw. “Feels so good, my Sannie… Always take such good care of me…” He kisses him lightly, squeezes his wrist before adding, “Could probably fall asleep just like this.”

San huffs out a laugh. “Seems like you already did.”

“Barely,” Wooyoung shakes his head. “Was just…comfortable. Drifting. Felt so safe ‘n happy; didn’t want you to stop.” The last part is said with an obvious pout in his tone.

San stretches his fingers inside him a little, pulling him closer against his chest with his other arm. “Would you want me to keep going if you did fall asleep?” he asks.

“I…” Wooyoung bites his lip, considers the question. “I think so. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” San echoes. “You’d let me use you like that?” He pushes his fingers in deep again, pulls them out. There’s a pause, a moment for Wooyoung to catch his breath, and then he rams them back in again.

Wooyoung lets out a choked-off moan. “God, yes,” he gasps out, high and needy. He reaches back to tangle his fingers in San’s hair, tries to push down harder on his fingers, to take them deeper still. “I would, I want it, I want-”

San retracts his fingers slightly just to watch him squirm at the lack of fullness, to hear him whine again, every time closer to a sob. “Want what?” he asks.

“Want you to use me,” Wooyoung begs. His nails scratch against San’s scalp, desperate. “Would let you do anything to me, please.”

The thought of using Wooyoung like that sends a sharp thrum of electricity through San’s body. He’s been so focused on making Wooyoung feel good up until now that he’s been neglecting his own needs, only reminded of just how prominent they are when the thought of fucking Wooyoung while he’s asleep makes his dick twitch in the confines of his sweatpants.

Which Wooyoung notices, because of course he does. “Like the idea of using me like your own personal little fucktoy, huh?” He lets his hand fall from San’s hair so he can grope at his leg again, above the knee, always just above the knee. “Want to fuck me and fill me so I wake up with your cum already dripping from my hole? Claim me even in my sleep?”

San isn’t proud of the noise he lets out at the mental image that threatens to overtake his senses. It’s too much, and Wooyoung’s hand is so warm against his leg, and he tastes so good against San’s tongue when San licks into his mouth in the hopes of cutting the worst of his moan off.

He makes a small noise of protest when Wooyoung breaks the kiss, trailing off into confusion when he circles his fingers around San’s wrist so he can pull his fingers away completely. He doesn’t have long to question it though because Wooyoung’s kicking his underwear off and twisting around in his arms, knees drawing up on either side of his thighs so he can settle his full weight down in his lap.

San grunts at the sweet feeling of friction against his clothed cock. His hands reach up to grip Wooyoung’s thighs on instinct, squeezing and kneading with his palms in a way that’s meant to convey possession, meant to convey stability, control.

From the way Wooyoung’s lips twist up into an amused smirk, he must have missed the mark and landed himself all the way into pure desperation.

Leaning down to nuzzle affectionately against his cheek, Wooyoung kisses him lightly before licking a teasing stripe all the way up the length of his neck to the sensitive shell of his ear. “Tell me where it hurts, kitten,” he purrs, nipping at San’s earlobe. Half-teasing, all sensual. “Let me take care of it.”

San wants to complain about his own line being used against him yet again. But then Wooyoung’s kissing him properly, silencing him. Most likely preemptive given the clear smile he can feel emanating from the kiss. It’s an empty gesture anyway; anything San might have wanted to say dies at the back of his throat the moment he feels Wooyoung grind down against him.

“Young-ah,” he groans, head thumping back against the headboard. A warning. A plea.

Wooyoung grinds down again, slowly dragging the hard length of his cock all the way up against San’s, one hand on his abdomen. “Yeah?” he questions, still grinning down at him. “Right there?”

San just grunts in response.

He can’t help the way his hips buck up automatically to meet Wooyoung halfway the next time he grinds down. Chasing the outline of his cock, chasing friction . Wooyoung braces his hands more fully against his chest, squeezing at his pecs, and it’s all San can do not to whimper. His hands slide around to Wooyoung’s ass to hold him close, pull him down harder as they continue to grind against each other.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, their lips find their way to each other all over again. San isn’t sure who kisses who first; all he knows is that one moment Wooyoung is hovering above him and the next they have their hands all over each other, already-bruised lips moving in tandem in a way that’s at once seamless as it is desperate and uncoordinated.

He’ll never get tired of this. Wooyoung’s lips on his, exactly where they belong. His arms wound around Wooyoung’s waist, hands digging into his shoulders, fingers curled in his hair, trying to reach as much of his body as he can. Kneading and pawing at soft, toned skin at the same time that Wooyoung continues to try and press himself impossibly closer, both of their cocks trapped between their bodies in an endless, delicious grind.

San is pretty sure he hears fabric tear in his desperation to tug Wooyoung’s shirt ( his shirt, San belatedly remembers) over his head to land somewhere on the floor. Whatever. He’ll just have to buy a new one, or get one of the stylists to fix it after they fly back home. He’ll blame it on overexerting himself during dance practice, just like he always does. The less they know, the better.

His own shirt comes off easier, despite Wooyoung latching on to one of his nipples when he barely even has it tugged up to his armpits. He giggles and squirms at the ticklish sensation but otherwise manages to divest himself of the bothersome layer, tossing it to the side. He pointedly ignores the fact that it hits the lamp on one of the bedside tables and sends it crashing to the floor; just another opportunity to traumatize some poor hotel employee when he has to explain himself later.

Encouraging Wooyoung up and away from his chest so he can kiss him again (and put an end to the assault on his nipples that will only have him cumming in his sweatpants if it continues for much longer), San lets his hand travel down the length of his spine. Wooyoung shivers at the touch, gasping against his mouth when he feels him reach for his ass and squeeze.

“San,” he mumbles between kisses, “San-ah, please, I want-”

He breaks off on a sharp cry as San presses two fingers into his hole again. He’s still loose, taking both digits easily, a third not much more of stretch and impatiently sought after given the way he reaches behind to claw at San’s wrist to try and encourage them to go deeper.

But even then it’s not enough for him. Of course it’s not. Not deep enough, not big enough.

He’s almost frantic in the way he snakes a hand down between them to tug at the waistband of San’s sweatpants. He whines when they don’t slide down past his hips fast enough, quickly devolving into cursing when San has to hold him still so he can reach around blindly for the little bottle of lube that’s gotten lost somewhere in the sheets around them before Wooyoung can decide that now would be a good time to try and take him raw.

Wooyoung doesn’t even stop to coat the clear liquid over his hands first when he finally has the bottle in his grip. He just uncaps it and drizzles it right over San’s cock where it now lies flushed and straining over San’s abdomen, pre-cum already beading at the tip. His tunnel vision seems to take over so completely that he barely even reacts to the sharp hiss that San lets out at the cold sensation of the liquid hitting his sensitive cockhead. He just stares down at him in awe, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he sizes him up.

If he looked hungry when he first showed up at San’s door, he looks positively ravenous now. It makes San feel a little bit like prey caught in a predator’s grasp.

He finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. If this is how he meets his end, then so be it.

Wooyoung’s hands are greedy when he finally stops staring long enough to get them wrapped around San’s cock, a satisfied sigh leaving him at the familiar girth. He jerks him off a few times, thumbing at his slit in a way that makes San twitch and writhe beneath him until another sharp hiss leaves his lips.

This one Wooyoung hears, and it makes him cock his head to the side with a smirk. “What’s wrong Sannie?” he asks. “Gonna cum already?”

“In your dreams,” San shoots back.

“Mmm…” Wooyoung hums, shuffling forwards on his knees. “You always cum first in my dreams.” He lifts his hips up so he can line San’s cock up with his hole. “And then again, and again, filling me up until it drips all the way down my thighs and I can barely walk from being so full.”

San swears under his breath. “Insatiable even in dreams, huh?” he teases. The words come out a little breathless. He has to grip Wooyoung’s thighs just to ground himself.

“Always,” Wooyoung agrees easily, and starts to lower himself down.

San keeps his hands on his thighs the entire time. He rubs soothing circles into his skin with his thumbs, whispering quiet, vaguely patronizing (revenge for Wooyoung’s earlier teasing) words of reassurance when Wooyoung can’t quite get the angle right the first time and grumbles adorably as he has to line himself up again.

The only time he moves them is so he can help pull Wooyoung’s cheeks further apart, nudging his hips upwards to finally, finally ease the tip of his cock past his rim.

Impatient enough already, Wooyoung ignores San’s mumbled advice of “slowly sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself” in favour of sinking down the whole length of his cock in one fluid, self-assured motion.

San said it more for his own sake, anyway. He knows Wooyoung can take his cock like a champ. He’s had enough practice, is stubborn to boot, and a size-queen to round it all off. He can absolutely handle it.

San, on the other hand, very nearly cums the moment he bottoms out.

He has to bite his lip and screw his eyes shut, a shaky breath held carefully inside his lungs. If he looks at Wooyoung right now and sees the look of ecstasy he’s certain is painted all over his face, sees the way the thick girth of his cock stretches him out almost too much, he’ll be in trouble.

It’s happened before. He hasn’t been allowed to forget it, and he’s not about to be reminded. So he keeps his eyes shut, calms the breath in his lungs, and clings to Wooyoung’s thighs like a lifeline.

The only reason he even dares to open them again is because Wooyoung has been suspiciously quiet above him for too long, and when he does it’s to find him just. Sitting there. San’s cock buried as far inside him as it will go, nails scratching harsh, red lines into the skin of his chest, hips completely still.

His hair hangs in front of his face where his head has tipped forward slightly, eclipsing his expression. San reaches up to brush it to the side, tucking it behind his ear. “You okay baby?” he asks gently. “Does it hurt?”

After a quiet moment, Wooyoung shakes his head. He raises his hand up to cover San’s, holding it against his cheek, nuzzling adoringly. “It doesn’t hurt,” he assures him. He presses a kiss to his palm, another to the inside of his wrist. “It just. Feels nice. Feels right . Just wanna…” He bites his lip, shy all of a sudden. “Wanna keep feeling it.”

Ah.

San smiles softly, chest warm.

Wooyoung gets like this sometimes. Doesn’t want San to fuck him necessarily, just wants to feel him. Wants to feel full and stretched out on his cock. Wants to feel complete, and San is his missing piece. At least - that’s how he’s tried explaining it to San before.

San likes it too, because it’s the only thing that ever comes close to feeling like close enough for them.

He releases Wooyoung’s cheek so he can settle back against the pillows. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”

Making sure that San’s cock stays inside him, Wooyoung leans down slowly so he can curl himself against his chest, arms wound around his neck. He lets out a satisfied little hum when San pulls him closer by his waist so he can hug him all nice and snug in his arms, the rumble in his chest vibrating through both of them almost like a purr.

“Good?” San asks, rubbing a hand down his back.

“Good,” Wooyoung echoes. “Perfect,” he amends around a quiet moan, shifting slightly so that San’s cock sinks in just a little bit deeper.

“Need anything else?”

Wooyoung shakes his head where his face has once again tucked itself into the perfect Wooyoung-shaped crook of San’s neck. “Just hold me,” he murmurs, voice sleepy. “Just wanna feel you for a little while longer.”

So San holds him.

He cradles Wooyoung’s head against his neck, other hand continuing to rub soothingly up and down his back. He kisses his temple occasionally, cups his ass just because he can. Wooyoung keeps letting out little sighs of pleasure through it all, his body settling into a comfortable, warm weight on top of San’s chest. It almost feels like they’ve molded themselves into a single entity, pressed up against each other in every possible way.

That thought alone is enough to keep San rock-hard, mind hazy from the thought of being so completely wrapped up in each other. Not even a single millimetre of space between them. He starts to understand a little better why Wooyoung has such a thing for them being like this.

Time passes, though he’s not sure how long. He drifts in and out a little, knows Wooyoung is doing the same from the way his jaw goes slack against San’s neck and his breathing evens out where it puffs in tiny gusts of air against San’s ear.

They really could fall asleep just like this, he realizes. It’s incredibly tempting to want to let himself succumb to the exhaustion already dragging him down, to submit to the tiredness that’s been nipping at his heels since even the second day of their concert.

And then he remembers their conversation from a little while ago.

Want you to use me.

Would let you do anything to me.

Please.

Something sparks low in San’s gut. He tightens one arm around Wooyoung’s waist, wrapping the other around his shoulders so he can hold him flush against his body. He wants to try and keep him as motionless as possible, afraid that if he jostles him too much it will wake him up.

He holds his breath and gives a tentative, barely-there upwards roll of his hips. Just something to test the waters, to see how much of him Wooyoung can take without rousing into complete wakefulness. When Wooyoung barely stirs in his arms at all he repeats the motion, fucking up into him just a little harder, pushing his cock in deeper, but still slow. 

Wooyoung’s breathing stays the same, eyes remaining blissfully closed.

It feels good. It feels really good. Wooyoung is the perfect little fucktoy, warm and pliant and perfect for San to fuck into. He reaches down to spread his cheeks a little, helping his cock slide back into him just a little easier. He’s careful not to jostle him too much, wanting to see just how long he can get away with it. 

He gradually starts to experiment with slightly harder thrusts. Wooyoung’s cheeks spread open like this it’s just so easy for him to keep sliding his cock in and out of his hole, the glide made perfectly smooth by how well he’d stretched him out on his fingers earlier and from how long Wooyoung has just been lying here stuffed full of him.

Wooyoung sighs once, breath hitching momentarily before settling back into the same rhythm as before.

So San does it again. And again and again, just a little harder each time until Wooyoung’s sighs morph into half-moans buried against his neck. But still he doesn’t quite stir; he just lies limply on top of San and takes it, accepting each shallow thrust like it’s what his body was made to do.

It’s only when San thrusts just a little too deep, nudging up against his prostate, that something in his demeanour changes completely. His body tenses up suddenly, a broken moan closer to a sob escaping him with a small shudder as he clings to San’s neck, before he droops completely boneless on top of his chest again.

San rubs a soothing hand up and down his back. “Baby, did you just cum?” he asks. He can’t quite keep the soft amusement out of his tone, nor the lilt into awe that accompanies it.

Wooyoung makes a dazed sound in response, like a cat being woken up mid-nap. His arms tighten instinctively around San’s neck. “N-No,” he mutters around a small sniffle.

San lets out a small huff of laughter, endeared. “It’s okay if you did.”

Wooyoung is quiet for a moment. Probably still adjusting to full consciousness, likely also taking mental stock of all his body’s functionalities. San feels his cock rut up against his abs where it’s still trapped between their bodies, senses the realization that must follow at the obvious slickness of his cum also pooling there.

Wooyoung pulls back to fix him with a funny little twist to his mouth. Almost like he’s embarrassed , San realizes, which is kind of new for him. It takes a lot for him to demonstrate any sense of shame.

“I just.” Wooyoung starts, stops. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, like he’s piecing the last few minutes together in his mind. Consolidating the unconscious with the conscious. “I liked the feeling of you using me like that. A lot,” he adds.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The twist of Wooyoung’s mouth evens out into something almost exhilarated. Like he’s just made a wonderful discovery. “We should try it more often.”

“Is this your way of asking if you can sleep in my room tonight so I can fuck you awake again in the morning?” San punctuates the question with a sudden sharp roll of his hips. The movement jostles Wooyoung forward slightly in his lap, a soft whine escaping him as he’s forced to cling to San’s shoulders when it causes his sensitive cock to rut against his cum-slick abs again.

“M-Maybe…”

“It’s okay, you can be honest with me,” San encourages lightly. He fucks up in to him again, making sure to get the angle just right so that he feels Wooyoung’s nails dig into his shoulders. “What do you want?” Another thrust. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Wooyoung can’t seem to speak from the oversensitivity of it all. He tries to keep up with San’s pace, tries to grind down in his lap and meet his upwards thrusts as San keeps fucking him, long and drawn-out and starting to grow more desperate himself. It doesn’t take long before he’s slowing, thighs shaking so much that he has to stop and sink against San’s chest, arms hanging loosely around his neck. He buries his face there too, sighing and whining and mouthing at his skin like he’s not sure what to do with himself anymore.

The only thing he does seem able to do is to mumble the word ‘please’ over and over and over. A moan, a plea, a prayer. No more specific than that. Just the embodiment of pure want.

San holds him, murmuring and caressing and soothing until his own thighs start to shake and none of his words come out right anymore and he’s just a bundle of nerves ready to burst at the seams from the sweet intensity of it all.

The mumbled pleas and soft little sobs Wooyoung has been letting tumble out next to San’s ear start to change then. Still just as desperate, but it’s different now. Not desperate to feel; desperate to be heard. Desperate to be understood. He paws at San’s shoulders, fingers curling around his jaw until San is able to tune in enough to direct all of his attention back to Wooyoung’s face now hovering just a hairsbreadth above his.

“San-ah,” Wooyoung gasps, a revelation. “I love you. Love you so much I-”

San doesn’t catch the rest of his words. He’s too busy clinging to Wooyoung’s hips for dear life, ears ringing and vision blurring to the point of nearly blacking out from the force of the orgasm that careens through him lighting every cell ablaze.

He keeps Wooyoung held firmly down against him as cums inside him, his only thought being to keep them connected and fill him up and claim him completely and entirely as his.

When he finally reclaims some semblance of clarity again, it’s to find Wooyoung cuddled up against his chest, smiling and sighing happily through the shuddered breaths that continue to leave him as they both try to get their breathing back under control. San’s arm is curled around his waist right where it belongs, and he raises the other to brush Wooyoung’s sweaty bangs from his face so he can kiss him properly.

“I love you too,” he tells him, breathless in more ways than one.

Wooyoung laughs into the kiss, elated. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

“Good. Because I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

“Still, bit embarrassing for you that you had to nut first before you could get it out.”

“Once again, patently not my fault.” San nips him on the bottom lip, a reprimand, but one that Wooyoung is only too delighted to receive given the way it makes him moan into his mouth.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, giggling against each others’ lips as they exchange sweet murmurs and more lighthearted teasing. San considers pulling out in the middle of it all but Wooyoung stays right where he is on top of him, seemingly determined to keep his cock inside of him for as long as possible.

“Babe,” San grunts after a while, shifting against him, “While it’s very sexy and disarming that you can’t stand to be separated from my dick for more than five seconds I really, really need to go to the toilet.”

Wooyoung fixes him with round, falsely innocent eyes. “You can just go inside m-”

“Don’t finish that sentence. Do not finish that sentence.”

Wooyoung pouts. “If you really loved me you’d do it.”

“Are you really trying to emotionally manipulate me into pissing inside you right now?”

“Is it working?”

“…No.”

San hesitates just a moment too long before saying it. Wooyoung grins. “One of these days you’re going to end up saying yes.”

“Maybe. But not today. Now come on,” San slaps Wooyoung’s ass, pressing one last kiss against his lips. “Get up. I can feel my ass starting to cramp. I can feel everything starting to cramp, dick included.”

“How dare you, my hole is a perfectly hospitable environment.”

“Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung pouts. “But your cum…”

San sighs. “I gotta clean us up baby. We have to be up early to fly home tomorrow, we won’t have as much time to do it then. Also it’ll feel super gross if you leave it there to dry overnight.”

“Well I think it feels romantic.”

“Of course you do.”

San doesn’t mention the fact that part of him kind of thinks it’s romantic too, in a weird, fucked-up kind of way that only they would be able to appreciate.

Despite his protests that they need to be up early and won’t have enough time to clean up in the morning before they have to leave, San still ends up fucking Wooyoung awake in the morning.

He just can’t resist. Wooyoung is already star-fished out half across the mattress and half across his chest when he wakes up that it doesn’t take much for San to slip from under him without waking him up, pressing himself up all along his back instead. He reaches a hand down between them to feel how loose his hole still is from the previous night, slipping his cock inside not long after.

This time, he cums first. 

Whatever the effect is on Wooyoung to wake up with San’s cum already leaking from his hole, it makes him extra clingy the entire morning. He has San hold him in bed and finger him to orgasm, moaning every time he feels San’s cum being pushed back inside him ( “Where it belongs,” he murmurs low and filthy in San’s ear). He clings to him throughout their incredibly rushed shower and even more rushed packing, which mostly just consists of them throwing things into a bag and praying nothing is forgotten. 

Worst of all is at the airport when he won’t stop hanging off San’s shoulders the entire time. Not even through security, where he turns him around to wave to the fans watching them at a distance. 

“Bet they don’t know how much I’m thinking about you cumming inside me right now,” he murmurs teasingly in San’s ear, chin hooked over his shoulder.

San doesn’t get a chance to reprimand him before he’s being called to walk through the x-ray machine, Wooyoung sending him on his merry way with one last cheeky wink.

Needless to say, it’s a very long flight home.

And if they happen to indulge in yet another in-flight bathroom escapade, well. No one has to know.

(Or so San fervently hopes, because he does cry this time, and there’s really no telling just how loud you’re being when your boyfriend’s got his tongue shoved up your ass thirty-five thousand feet in the air and you can’t differentiate between your own shuddering heartbeat and the constant hum of the engines keeping you aloft.)