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San took a step back, eyes roaming over everything he’d prepared, making sure it all looked absolutely perfect. The big bouquet of flowers was arranged just right, fragrant and lusciously colorful. The candles were all lit, giving their living room a nice, warm glow and adding a subtle hint of vanilla to the air. The cake he’d ordered was laid out and ready to eat, a simple chocolate one with vanilla frosting, a cute little heart underneath the word congratulations!, both written in neat, red icing.
He was waiting for Yeosang to come home so he could surprise him with a mini celebration for the promotion Yeosang was supposed to be getting today. It was already past the time Yeosang usually got home, but San didn’t think much of it. He was probably just staying a little late to figure things out with his new job and whatnot. San would stay up as late as he needed to so that he could show Yeosang his full support, wanting them to have a nice, celebratory night together.
He waited patiently, sitting on the edge of the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, mind too distracted to really be paying much attention to anything. He was constantly anticipating their door opening so that he could throw himself at Yeosang the second he got back.
San waited and waited for Yeosang to come home. It was now well past the time he normally got back, and as the minutes ticked on, the more nervous San got, his mind wandering through every possible scenario as to why he could be late. Maybe his bus was running behind schedule, or maybe he had just been held up by his coworkers, and was happily chatting with them, taking in their congratulations. He just hoped whatever it was, that everything was going okay. He also started to worry about his surprise, wondering if it was all enough, or if he should’ve gotten even more gifts and treats to spoil his hardworking boyfriend.
But the click of the door finally unlocking pulled San out of his overthinking, and he immediately jumped up and grabbed the cake, opening the hinged box lid and holding it out steady with both hands so that it was the first thing Yeosang would see when he walked in.
But instead of his boyfriend’s cheerful, smiling face, he was met with a completely disheveled Yeosang, who was frowning deeply and had red, obviously rubbed-at eyes. He was looking down at the floor, completely slumped against their front door, his shoulders sagging like the weight of the world rested on top of them. He didn’t look happy or overjoyed with good news. He just looked absolutely miserable.
“Yeosang? Babe? What’s wrong?” San tentatively asked, his smile starting to falter.
Yeosang jumped, almost like he hadn’t even noticed San standing there. He looked unblinkingly at San, his gaze trailing down to the cake in his hands, and back up to his face again. As he took San in, Yeosang’s frown deepened and his brows knit together, before he sighed deeply and toed his shoes off.
He pushed himself off the door with a small grunt, and just sidestepped around San, who was frozen to the spot, still stupidly holding the cake out. “Yeosang?” San repeated, finally turning around, only to be greeted by Yeosang’s back as he retreated down the hallway. Yeosang haphazardly dropped his work bag, and shed his coat, tie, and belt along the way, seemingly uncaring where any of it landed. “Babe? What happened?”
San set the cake down on the coffee table, careful not to ruin it, then walked around to quickly blow out all of the candles, not wanting to burn their apartment down, the acrid smell of the smoke stinging his nostrils. He followed Yeosang’s trail of clothing to their bedroom, his socks and pants and dress shirt all just strewn to the side.
“Yeosang, baby, please talk to me,” San said softly, trying not to beg. He hesitated in the doorway as Yeosang changed into his softest, most oversized sweater and a pair of San’s threadbare sweatpants, almost seeming to ignore him. “Yeosang, please, you’re worrying me.” San knew it was never really a good sign when Yeosang went non-verbal, and he was determined to find out what had happened to get him to this point.
Yeosang gingerly scooted back to sit against the headboard, drawing his knees up and hugging them tight to his chest, his sweater paws engulfing his hands, almost hiding how badly they’d started to shake. He rested his head on his knees, curling up into himself tight, looking so small all of a sudden. San gingerly sat down next to him, not touching yet, just in case that sent him into an even worse headspace. He just wanted to be a grounding presence for him right now and figure out how he could help.
Yeosang eventually mumbled, so softly San almost missed it, “I didn’t get it.”
Those words made San’s heart sink like a lead weight, all the way down into the pit of his stomach. “What?” was all he could say.
Yeosang somehow curled up into himself a little tighter. “I didn’t get the promotion.” Despite mumbling, his voice still cracked a little, like he was on the verge of tears. San’s shoulders slumped, now knowing why Yeosang had looked so miserable when he’d walked through the door. “They gave it to some asshole they hired only a few weeks ago instead.”
“Oh, Yeosangie, I’m so sorry.” What else could he say? Yeosang had been working his ass off for months to get this promotion. He worked harder than anyone else in his department, staying late almost daily to do hours and hours of overtime, even taking on extra duties that technically weren’t even in his job description. His boss had kept hinting that he was top choice for the promotion, and today was the day he was supposed to finally hear the good news. But obviously that hadn’t gone as planned. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Yeosang shook his head no, and wordlessly reached one of his hands out, palm up, into the space between them. San knew it was his way of asking for comfort right now, so he gently intertwined their fingers together, offering to be the loving support that Yeosang needed.
They sat there like that for a while, with Yeosang hunched in on himself and San sat next to him, holding hands, San doing his best to rub little comforting circles with his thumb. Nothing too overwhelming, just enough to say I’m here, and I love you, and everything will be okay.
Yeosang eventually murmured, “Fuck,” under his breath, with enough of a hint of exasperation that it made San’s brow furrow in concern.
“Hmm?” San hummed in a simple question, expecting Yeosang to start venting about all his wasted time at his shitty job.
But instead, Yeosang looked up and rested his cheek against his knee, his frown now transformed into more of a pout. He sighed, long and heavy, then mumbled, “I can’t cry.”
San answered with his own small pout, concern growing. “Go ahead and cry if you want to, Sangie. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No, I—” Yeosang whined, cutting himself up with a groan of frustration. He looked down at their intertwined hands, still unable to hold eye contact for too long. “I want to cry, but I can’t,” he tried to explain. When San didn’t say anything right away, Yeosang whined again, not knowing how to put his full thoughts into words. “It’s why I was late. I was trying to get myself to cry in the bathroom after work, and then on the way back home, but nothing was working…” he trailed off.
“Oh.” San gave Yeosang’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze as he tried to understand what he was trying to say. “But you… you want to cry?”
“Yeah.” Yeosang’s voice was a little hoarse, still sounding on the verge of tears, raspy and a little wet, but his cheeks were definitely still dry. “I think it would help me feel better, but I… I just can’t seem to get myself to.”
San hummed, showing he understood. Yeosang often didn’t show his emotions freely, sometimes not even in front of San still, even after years of them dating. He was so used to bottling things up to deal with later, and sometimes emotions that were too big left him with a bone-deep feeling of stoically numb sadness more than anything else, unable to cry with no outlet of relief.
“So if you want to cry, why don’t we just, like, watch a sad movie or something?” San suggested, immediately trying to think of how to support Yeosang however he could, however he needed him to.
Yeosang sighed again, his frustration clearly building up and close to boiling over. “I tried that already,” he whined. “I tried watching the saddest videos I could search for in the bathroom at work. I tried listening to my sad music playlist on the way home. I even tried staring at the ceiling lights for a few minutes, but it all did nothing.” Yeosang’s pout deepened, and San wanted to kiss it off his face, hating when he was upset.
“Okay, then what else did you have in mind?” San would do anything for Yeosang, and they both knew that. If Yeosang asked him to pull a star down from the sky, he would do it, no questions asked.
Yeosang tried to find his words, mouth opening and closing like he was about to speak, but the words never came. “Never mind. It’s stupid,” he finally huffed.
“If you think it’ll help you feel better, it’s not stupid, baby. You can tell me anything, you know that.”
Yeosang hesitated for a few seconds before scooting closer to San, resting his head against his shoulder, effectively hiding his face in the crook of his neck. San chuckled and brought his free hand up to brush Yeosang’s bangs away from his face, combing his fingers through his soft hair. He then pressed a lingering kiss to the birthmark at the corner of his eye. Silence washed over them for a few minutes, San giving Yeosang the time to think and find his words.
“Want you to overstimulate me,” Yeosang eventually mumbled. “Want you to help make me cry.”
San’s brain took a second to understand exactly what Yeosang had just said, and his jaw dropped once he realized what he was asking for. “You want me to…?” San pulled back to look down at Yeosang, who was still very much refusing to look back at him. “Oh.”
“Never mind, I told you it was stupid—”
“No, no, it’s not stupid, baby,” he cut Yeosang off quickly, giving him another kiss, now to his cheek. “If that’s what you want. If that’s what’ll make you feel better…”
“Yeah?” Yeosang whispered, a little hesitant, unsure if San was being serious or not.
“Yeah,” San whispered back, fully committed to helping Yeosang feel better, however he could, wanting to do whatever he asked of him.
San pressed a chaste kiss to Yeosang’s lips, pulling away just enough to see his small, hesitant smile. He leaned back in, taking his time to unwind Yeosang with slow drags of his tongue and little bites to his bottom lip that made him melt in his hands. Yeosang leaned back and took San with him, sweater-pawed hands tangled in San’s hair, little undulations of his hips against San’s thigh already driving San crazy.
San drew back, pulling a pouty, little whine from Yeosang that made him smile. He tipped Yeosang’s head up to look him in the eye. He still looked a little upset, but also a little determined, set on doing this, with the start of a subby haze forming.
They did this often enough that they fell into their easy rhythm, with San leading and Yeosang going with it, full trust between the two of them. A natural push and pull, a tender give and take. They fell into place with one another, in tune to each other’s bodies and wants and needs. And if anything got to be too much, they both had their safe words and signals in place.
Yeosang always got a little wet from just simple kissing, and by the time they were making out, their tongues intertwined, his legs wrapped around San’s hips, he was absolutely dripping.
San had Yeosang caged in, almost his full body weight pressing him into the mattress, his elbows on either side of his head, always effective at making Yeosang feel small and a little vulnerable. He let a hand wander between their bodies, ghosting under his sweater and tracing over his sensitive skin, over his stomach and ribs, reverently tracing over his scars. Then up to a nipple, his touch light and feathery, with just enough pressure to put Yeosang on edge and make him shiver, relishing in his sigh of contentment as he melted back further into the mattress.
“Please don’t stop until I’m crying,” Yeosang whispered, his breath ghosting over San’s lips.
San blinked at him, taking in how his blond hair was fanned out on the pillow like a halo, at the endearing blush dusting over his cheeks, and pressed one final, bruising kiss to Yeosang’s lips before he trailed down his jaw, then his neck, nipping and sucking here and there, leaving little love bites for Yeosang to look back on later. Slowly maneuvering down his torso, he raked his sweater up just enough to expose his navel, leaving a kiss on his belly button that made Yeosang giggle and squirm.
Yeosang was already breathing heavily, so easily affected by anything and everything San did to him. San traced his hands over Yeosang’s hips, to the elastic of his sweatpants, looking up and silently asking if this was still okay. Yeosang nodded, his gaze heavy and dark and full of want. His breath hitched as San slowly pulled them down and off, kissing the revealing bare skin as he went, in between his thighs, his skin so sensitive, raising goosebumps in his wake everywhere his lips touched, down to his knee, then his calves, the soft hair of his legs tickling against his nose, even placing a few on his ankle and the top of his foot, earning another little giggle, San happy to hear some happy noises coming from Yeosang.
He flung the pants onto the floor to find later, then kissed a trail back up, slow and teasing, wanting to rile Yeosang up as much as possible. He decided to forgo undressing himself, wanting to focus solely on Yeosang’s pleasure instead, and not make this about him in any way.
San settled between Yeosang’s thighs, bringing his hands up to his knees to spread his legs apart. Yeosang looked away, suddenly shy, and brought his paws up to hide his blushed cheeks, whining when San leaned in and inhaled deep, taking in the musky scent of his arousal. He loved that Yeosang was always so affected by him.
He was delighted to see that Yeosang had already soaked a wet spot into his briefs, and he inched closer to tongue at the spot, Yeosang stifling a moan at the sudden stimulation. “Look at you, all wet and dripping for me.”
“San,” Yeosang whined, all breathy and almost raspy. He tried to close his legs, but San’s broad shoulders forced them to stay open. He gently squeezed Yeosang’s thighs as he teased him with his tongue, drawing little whines and cute noises from him as he soaked Yeosang’s briefs even further, tasting him the barest amount through the fabric as he leaked more and more.
“What?” he finally responded, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Please,” Yeosang all but begged, and how could San say no?
San kissed his inner thigh and hooked his index fingers into Yeosang’s briefs to slowly draw them down, then flung them aside to worry about later, his eyes never leaving Yeosang’s almost-naked form, drinking in the sight of his pretty pussy, glistening wet in the low light of their room. San never got sick of the sight of Yeosang soaking wet and pliant for him. He loved every single little bit of Yeosang, even if Yeosang didn’t understand why some days.
San dove in, like a dying man finally quenching his thirst, tongue lapping everywhere, sloppy and wet and messy, just like Yeosang liked it, just like he needed right now, overwhelming and frantic and all-encompassing. San’s plan was to get Yeosang off as many times as he could, wanting to draw as many orgasms from him as he could stand. Yeosang’s stamina was surprisingly high, and he loved drawing his pleasure out for as long as possible, coming again and again and again until they were both left exhausted. Yeosang’s record for how many orgasms he could reach was pretty high, but they usually lost count after ten in one night.
San wanted that right now for Yeosang, knew he wouldn’t be able to cry as he’d requested without coming repeatedly. San was going to overstimulate and edge the hell out of him, and he was going to be so good for Yeosang, and make him forget all about his stupid job and his asshole boss and his loser, transphobic coworkers.
Yeosang’s first orgasm came quick as he turned his focus to his clit, licking and sucking with intent, absolutely unrelenting in pressure, his thumb pulling the hood up to really make him feel every pass of his tongue, every sharp brush of his teeth. Yeosang’s thighs were squeezing San’s shoulders as he squirmed, his hands white-knuckling the pillow under his head, an endless moan intermixed with little hitched gasps absolute music to San’s ears. When he came, his back arched and his eyes clenched shut, his mouth open in a silent scream. As Yeosang settled back down, shuddering through the pleasure, he brought a hand up under his sweater to one of his own nipples, pinching and rolling the nub until it was peaked stiff, then held his pec as a way to ground himself a little.
San gave him only a few seconds of reprieve before he was diving in again, his tongue winding down to his hole now, his thumb circling his clit, hard and fast, ready to draw back when Yeosang got too close to his release again. San could read Yeosang’s body perfectly, every little twitch and moan and gasp indicating how close he was. He would edge him now that he had a taste of pleasure.
“You don’t get to come again until I tell you you can, okay?” San said, a command more than a question.
Yeosang nodded, humming deep in his throat in understanding.
His body was pulling taut again, head thrown back, his hand groping his pec, his hips grinding into San’s face, trying to draw him ever closer. Yeosang groaned disapprovingly as San pulled away at the last second, his pussy clenching around nothing, his hips searching for something, any kind of friction, and finding none.
San smirked and quickly brought a hand down, slapping his pussy right on his clit, making Yeosang whine, all high-pitched and needy, his knees drawing together to hide. San sighed, reaching up to spread them again, even wider now. “Keep these spread for me, baby,” he said, using his more dominating tone, and Yeosang did as he said, planting his feet, spreading his legs wide apart, his knees tented.
Yeosang hid his face again, and San let him. Usually he wanted to see Yeosang’s every expression, loved how he blushed and bit his lip and tried to watch San through heavy lids. But today, he knew Yeosang was feeling a little more vulnerable, a little too upset, so he let it slide this time.
His second orgasm took longer. The trick to getting Yeosang to come more than once was to never stop touching him. He needed constant stimulation in order to keep riding the long wave of pleasure that crested into orgasm after orgasm. If he waited too long in between each one, the pleasure subsided quickly, and it led to frustration from the inability to get off more than anything.
San licked slow, lazy circles over Yeosang’s clit and languidly fucked his tongue into his hole, Yeosang whining and moaning almost constantly, lost in the sweet pleasurable haze of San’s attention. “Such a good boy for me, Yeosangie. My good boy,” he praised, happy that, despite how much he was squirming and trembling, he kept his legs wide open for San. “You listen so well.”
Yeosang whined, turning his face into his pillow, the praise and the pleasure all going to his head, turning him into a whiny, subby mess that San absolutely adored. He bit his lip and stifled a moan, and San slapped his pussy again, making him jolt and moan louder. “Hey.” He waited until Yeosang peeked at him through his messy bangs to continue. “Don’t hide those pretty noises from me. I wanna hear you.”
Yeosang hummed, in understanding or apology, San didn’t really know. Yeosang squirmed around a little, readjusting himself so he was just that much closer to San, and soon he was tensing up again from San’s ministrations.
He decided to be merciful, finally uttering, “Come for me, baby,” into Yeosang’s pussy, letting him find his pleasure by grinding against his tongue, drawing it out by relentlessly circling his clit with his thumb. Yeosang moaned unabashedly from deep in his chest as he came, and San closed his eyes in bliss for a second as he lapped up Yeosang’s wet, dripping slick.
San pulled back to kiss Yeosang’s knee, letting him catch his breath a little before the next one, his thumb still lazily teasing his clit to keep up the stimulation. He reached up to pull one sweater paw away from Yeosang’s face, checking in with him and watching for any signs of distress. But Yeosang just looked back at him with a small smile, and turned to kiss San’s palm gently. San smiled back, then snaked his way back down to Yeosang’s pussy.
San rubbed his other hand in between Yeosang’s folds to gather some of his wetness on his middle finger, slicking himself up before slowly teasing at his hole.
Yeosang wasn’t a huge fan of penetration, never really liking more than one or two fingers at most, really only wanting to take San’s cock if he was feeling particularly adventurous and riled up, San forever grateful that he was a little on the smaller side to be able to please Yeosang just right when he wanted it. Even now, despite having had two orgasms, he was still so tight, his one finger barely able to move around much, focusing on getting just deep enough to hit that sensitive spot inside him, using the thumb of his other hand to rub at his clit. It drove San crazy how wet and warm and velvety soft Yeosang was.
Yeosang’s little litanies of, “Please, please, please,” spilled past his lips, as he grinded his hips to get closer, wanting more, wanting everything San was willing to give him.
And as San felt him start to tense up again, his finger squelching through more dripping wetness, he pulled away, holding Yeosang’s hips down as he whined and pouted and craned his neck to look down at San, all irritated. San shrugged, squeezing Yeosang’s inner thigh in a sharp pinch that made him gasp. “You don’t get to come until I tell you to, remember?” he asked, punctuating it with another quick pinch.
Yeosang huffed and fell back, opening his legs a little further, the non-verbal way he could tell San that he understood and to keep going. It was all a part of their game, they both knew that, and no matter how much San would love to drop everything and let Yeosang take over, that wasn’t what Yeosang had asked for right now.
San slid his finger back in, pumping slow and lazy, leaning down to kiss and kitten-lick at Yeosang’s clit, just enough to please him but not enough to get him anywhere. Yeosang’s thighs were constantly twitching, his knees wobbling, but Yeosang kept them spread, like the good boy he was.
He got him close to the edge two more times like this, before he eventually mumbled, “Come for me, Sangie,” and redoubled his efforts, with short little thrusts that rammed against his spot and harsh licking to his clit enough to drive him over the edge to a third climax, Yeosang’s murmuring moans of, “Yes, yes, yes,” filling his ears, as he clenched tight on San’s finger.
San gave no reprieve this time, pulling out just to put two fingers in now, the fit still tight but more manageable, angling up to hit his spot, a wet patch forming on their comforter from how soaked his pussy was.
Yeosang keened, thoroughly overstimulated now, just the beginning of too much. But he wasn’t crying yet, not really, his eyes a little glazed over and teary from the constant teasing and pressure and pleasure, but he wasn’t crying, and he had explicit instructions from Yeosang to not stop until he was.
Fingering him hard and fast, his spit and Yeosang’s slick was more than enough to keep him lubed up. He teased Yeosang’s clit, knew he couldn’t come from just penetration alone, knew he needed that extra touch, but San kept teasing, giving little kisses where it stuck out of its hood, no longer than a few seconds at a time.
San almost flinched when he felt a sudden, firm grasp on his hair, and looked up as best as he could to see that Yeosang had a hand gripped in San’s hair, angling his face closer to his clit. San tsked and swatted Yeosang’s hand away, stilling his fingers deep inside his hole.
Yeosang whined and squirmed, trying to get him to move, but San just used his other hand to bring another quick slap down on his pussy, right on his clit again, making Yeosang jolt and cry out, “San, please.”
“Keep your hands to yourself,” San said in a stern tone, and Yeosang obeyed, bringing both his hands up to his pillow again, gripping so tight his arm muscles were probably bulging under his sweater. “Good boy,” he praised with a quick kiss to his pubic bone, then resumed fingering him, the squelching so loud and erotic it made San’s cock twitch where it was pressed into the mattress.
“San, please, please, I’m close, I’m so close,” Yeosang rasped out, his thighs threatening to close around San’s head, his chest rising and falling with his panting breaths. “Please—”
“Shh, baby, okay, you can come again.” San rubbed incessantly at his clit, enthralled at how it twitched and almost pulsed under his finger, at how red and swollen it was, at how Yeosang cut his own moans off with a cry as he came again, his thighs actually closing in on San now as he rode this wave out.
San played with Yeosang’s slick, drawing a finger through his folds and pulling away, mesmerized at the thin trail that splayed between them. “San,” Yeosang whined his name, high and needy, opening his knees, embarrassed but allowing San access again.
“You’re so wet for me, baby. You’re so incredible.” San left little kisses all over his inner thighs as he thumbed at his clit. “That was number four, Sangie. You still have more in you?”
“God, Sannie, yes, please, want more, please—”
San chuckled, amazed that Yeosang was still so eager for him, despite coming so many times in a row. “Okay, baby, I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for me.”
“Wanna be your good boy,” he whined.
“You are my good boy. The best boy. So good for me.” Yeosang whined at the praise, carding his hands through San’s hair and out of his face as a silent thank you, a little motion of endearment that made San smile up at him. “You’re always so good for me,” he added as he craned his neck up to quickly kiss Yeosang’s wrist.
San settled back down and licked at his clit with earnest this time, wanting his next one to come hard and fast.
And it did, San almost surprised by just how quickly Yeosang came again, at how much harder it seemed to hit him when he didn’t have anything filling him up, at how he was pulled taut like a bowstring as he crashed over the edge again and muttered curses under his breath. San stroked him through it, and knew that Yeosang was getting to the point where it felt like one long drawn out orgasm, rather than one after the other.
Yeosang’s deep breath when San pulled back sounded a little wet, a little too snuffly, so San peeked up at him and saw tears on his waterline, and knew he was close to crying, close to being too overwhelmed. But Yeosang gave no indication of wanting to stop yet, so San pushed on.
He focused on Yeosang’s clit again, just to get him wet and loose and quickly back on the brink. He could tell he was so, so sensitive, his hips and thighs constantly twitching as he moaned and gasped out cute little commands of, “More, San, please, yes, more.”
Yeosang was so sensitive that he came again quickly, his thighs clamping shut around San’s hand, eyes closed and eyebrows drawn together in pure bliss. “Good boy, Yeosangie. That was six.” San was basically cupping Yeosang’s pussy, a constant pressure that Yeosang grinded against to draw his pleasure out. “Do you still want more?”
“Yes,” he whimpered weakly, legs shaking as he slowly spread them open, freeing San’s hand once more. San leaned up just to make sure Yeosang wasn’t pushing himself too hard, looking for any sign that he was too overwhelmed in a bad way. But he just looked back at him, a determined edge to his brows, blinking away the tears that were just starting to form. San figured Yeosang had one more left in him until he was absolutely wrecked, close to crying and letting his bottled up emotions spill over. Just one more. He could do that.
San got back to work, intent now on making this the most intense orgasm of the night for Yeosang. He pushed his two fingers back in with no preamble, groaning at the obscene squelch, curling his fingers just right to hit that spot in him, fast and hard, in and out with breakneck speed. He ignored the cramping in his jaw and wrists and neck, Yeosang’s pleasure more important. He leaned back down to lick at his clit as fast as he possibly could, wrapping his lips around to suck hard.
San was intent on getting Yeosang to squirt, knowing that would be the final push to get him into his overwhelmed, completely oversensitive headspace, knew the rush of intense, all-consuming pleasure would cause him to finally break down into tears like he wanted to. Yeosang couldn’t do it all the time, but when he did, San loved it. He loved that he could pull that response out of Yeosang’s body, loved how embarrassed Yeosang always got from it. One of his favorite things Yeosang could do if he was in the right mindset and mood was squirt.
With a gasp, Yeosang cried out, “San!” He must have realized San’s plan a little too late, because when he tried to close his legs against the pressure, San looked up with an intense stare, not even needing to say anything to make Yeosang open back up. He whined, hiding his face in his sweater paws again, flushed down to his neck with a blush so intensely dark pink he looked sunburned. San could tell he was trying not to squirm, not wanting to displease San. Even now, after six orgasms, he was still trying to be good by staying open and pliant and ready to take whatever San gave him. His moans rose in pitch, his pleas breathy and almost squeaky. “San, I can’t. I can’t, San, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. You know you can. I know you can.”
Yeosang constantly mumbled San’s name, holding back his cries behind little gasps. With his free hand, San held his hips down, right over his pubic bone where he was fucking into him fast, Yeosang crying out from the pressure, little staccato moans punctuated with every thrust. “San, oh my god, San, please, please, please, I’m— I’m—” Yeosang whined, cutting himself off with a loud, throaty moan.
Doubling down on his efforts, San muttered, “You can come, baby. Come for me.” And finally, finally Yeosang cried out and clenched, toes curling, head thrown back, and at the first sign of wetness, San pulled his hand out, causing him to gush all over San’s chin and neck, completely soaking the sheets beneath them. “That’s it baby, that’s it. Such a good boy for me. So good.” His hips and thighs twitched nonstop as San flicked his whole hand over his clit, his wetness getting literally everywhere. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”
That, it seemed, was what finally broke the dam inside of Yeosang. San slowed his fingers so he was simply cupping Yeosang again, a solid, unmoving pressure so Yeosang could ground himself a little. Yeosang’s chest was heaving with his sobs, his cries muffled by his sleeves. San’s heart sank a little, listening to Yeosang cry. Even if he had wanted it, it always hurt him to hear Yeosang get upset over anything.
Yeosang gently reached down to push San’s hand away, a silent plea to stop, too sensitive for any more. San complied and wiped his hands and face off on a dry spot on the sheets as best he could as Yeosang squeezed his shaking legs shut together once San withdrew his head and hands.
Yeosang loved crying during and after sex. But San hated it. He always felt a little weird about it, but because Yeosang loved it he usually just agreed to it. It was hard to keep fucking someone when they were crying under you, even if San knew deep down it was from pleasure and from Yeosang having complete trust in San. But seeing Yeosang cry because of sex always left San feeling a little weird, an inkling of doubt running through him and settling somewhere deep in his chest, along with a little voice that called him a bad dom because he had made Yeosang cry.
San knew that Yeosang had asked him to make him cry, but he still couldn’t help but feel bad. Yeosang was crying because of him. It didn’t matter that he’d asked him to, or that he was really crying because of his stupid, shitty job. San made Yeosang cry was the only thought running through his mind. You made Yeosang cry! You’re a bad dom! And a bad boyfriend! Bad! Bad! Bad!
San crawled back up the bed to draw Yeosang to his chest, who melted into him, curled up small into the crook of his body, crying into his chest, hands balled up tight in the front of San’s shirt. He held Yeosang tight, combing his fingers through his hair, trying to ignore the bad thoughts running through his mind. He could worry about all of that later. Right now he needed to comfort Yeosang.
Yeosang felt so soft in his sweater, and San focused on that, hands absentmindedly rubbing circles into his back, whispering little praises as he cried. “Good job, my Yeosangie, my perfect boy. You did so good for me.”
He didn’t know how long they laid there for, really, all tangled up in each other, San trying to be a halfway-decent dom and give Yeosang halfway-decent aftercare. But the longer Yeosang’s crying went on, the more San began to doubt himself, about what Yeosang was really crying about.
Yeosang’s crying didn’t stop, even with the praise and the gentle touches and San’s little attempts at making him smile. The longer it went on, the more San’s mind raced, yelling at him that he was the cause of it, that he had done something that Yeosang hadn’t wanted, that Yeosang was crying because of him. Yeosang often had a hard time putting his thoughts and feelings into words, especially if he thought someone would be unhappy with what he had to say. And what if that’s what was happening right now?
What if San had done something wrong, something that pushed Yeosang too far, something that Yeosang hadn’t liked? It hadn’t happened with them in a long, long time, but at the start of their relationship, before they’d really known how to talk about boundaries, needs, wants, and expectations, Yeosang had admitted to doing things he hadn’t particularly liked, both in the past with others, and with San, just so no confrontation occurred, just to please his partners. He often dropped afterwards, not really knowing why, until they had many lengthy conversations together and started to set boundaries and soft and hard limits with each other. But what if Yeosang hadn’t spoken up because he was already upset over his work? San started spiraling, a little voice in the back of his mind screaming how awful of a partner he was, how he was a bad dom who didn’t deserve to even be in the presence of Yeosang, if he was just going to make him cry.
Yeosang sniffled as his cries finally died down a little, no longer sobbing, just a steady stream of tears staining his cheeks that San did his best to wipe away. He leaned up and kissed San on the chin, a barely-there peck that made San’s stomach flip, from the tenderness of it.
“Thank you,” Yeosang whispered, his voice a little raspy, still choked by tears.
“Of course, baby,” San said back, with a gentle kiss to his forehead, hoping his voice sounded reassuring enough.
They sat there together, Yeosang catching his breath as San tried to hum whatever song was stuck in his head, both to distract himself from whatever feeling had started to make his skin crawl, and to ease Yeosang’s mind back down.
It was Yeosang who broke the silence again, huffing and curling up impossibly closer to San, resting his head more firmly against his chest. San hoped he couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.
“Maybe I’m just stupid for thinking I could get it,” Yeosang’s voice wobbled, quiet and unsure, sniffly and broken and full of so much doubt.
“You’re not stupid, Yeosang. You just work for jerks.” He hoped he sounded supportive enough. He hated when Yeosang doubted himself and started second-guessing his worth and abilities.
“Maybe I should just quit,” Yeosang thought out loud.
“Maybe. If that’s what you want.” San hated how small his own voice sounded.
“They don’t deserve me anyways.”
“No, they don’t,” San said with a kiss to Yeosang’s hair.
Yeosang started to vent about his job with a little more earnest, rambling about how the job probably wasn’t worth all the stress, how he thinks he didn’t get the promotion because of who he was, how last minute they must’ve picked someone else despite Yeosang’s work being the best.
And San tried to listen. He really did. He tried to offer input and advice and encouragements when he could, tried his best to at least hum in response to all of Yeosang’s musings, but his mind was still swirling into a darker and darker cloud, still yelling at him that it was his fault Yeosang was upset and crying, that he’d went too far and had been too harsh. Had he been too mean? Had he used too much force? Had he been too much?
He didn’t even realize Yeosang was calling for him until he’d said his name a few times, and had poked him in the cheek to get his attention. “San?” Yeosang asked.
“Hmm?” was all he could say back, blinking down at Yeosang, trying to clear his mind a little and seem a little more present than he actually felt.
“Are you okay?” Yeosang’s brows were knit together in concern, and that suddenly made San feel a whole lot worse.
“Yeah? I’m fine?” he answered, trying not to let his voice quiver.
“You just seem… I don’t know. A little… quiet?”
San’s stomach dropped at being caught. Of course Yeosang would be able to read him. Of course he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings from him. He tried to offer a small smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “I’m just listening to you talk, baby. I like hearing you talk.” And it wasn’t a total lie. Yeosang was often so quiet, that it was actually nice to hear his voice right now, even if it was still raspy with tears, even if it cracked every so often, even if he had to keep stopping himself to sniffle.
Yeosang didn’t seem too convinced by his answer, though, and San was starting to get nervous. “Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just seem… far away,” Yeosang said, hesitating a little.
“I’m fine, Yeosang.”
“Did you want to…?” he trailed off, waving vaguely at San’s lower half.
He knew what Yeosang was implying, knew he was asking if San wanted to come too. He had been grinding against the mattress every once in a while the entire time, but as soon as Yeosang’s first sob rang out, he’d stopped and had immediately started softening, no longer wanting to seek out his pleasure. He was completely soft now, with no desire to even think about it right now. But Yeosang didn’t need to know any of that. “I’m fine, Sangie, okay? This is about you right now. Not me.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Why are you worrying about me?” he said a little too quickly through his fake smile, trying to deflect and brush it off, hoping Yeosang would just drop it. “This is supposed to be about you.”
“I just want to make sure you’re okay too.”
“I’m fine, Sangie,” San lied through his teeth. “I’m okay.”
Yeosang continued to look at him like he didn’t believe him, like he was trying to read his mind and stare straight through to his soul, leaving San feeling a little too exposed, his fake smile faltering. But he laid back down anyways, back into the crook of San’s shoulder, going back to playing with the hem of his shirt.
San tried to keep up his affections, his little kisses and pats, but his arms felt robotic all of a sudden, his movements stiff and unconfident. He couldn’t even bring himself to say anything, no whispered praises or kind, gentle words, fearing his voice would sound too monotone to be believable, opting to say nothing instead. An uncomfortable silence washed over them.
It made him dive further into his guilt-tripping spiral, his mind screaming at him about how awful he was, that he couldn’t provide for Yeosang. That he didn’t deserve Yeosang, that Yeosang should go out and find someone better than him, someone who could give him everything he wanted.
Yeosang didn’t let the silence last long. “San, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked slowly and softly, almost a little cautiously.
San sighed, staring up at the ceiling, his hands clenched in the fabric of Yeosang’s sweater a little too tight, like he’d drift away without him. It seemed Yeosang wasn’t going to be dropping it any time soon. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Yeosang sat up a little, carding both of his hands through San’s hair, his touch comforting and warm, before he cradled San’s face, gentle yet firm, forcing him to look at him. “What’s going on in my Sannie’s head?”
“Dunno,” he mumbled again. He didn’t usually get like this after their scenes. He felt a little thing of guilt worming its way up his spine, at how Yeosang was taking care of him right now when it should’ve been the other way around. He should’ve been taking care of Yeosang. “Feel bad,” he admitted, the knot in his stomach growing. “My head feels weird.” San tried to turn away, but Yeosang wouldn’t let him leave his line of sight. “Feel icky.”
Yeosang frowned, drying his tears and wiping his snotty nose with his sleeves, attention completely redirected towards San. “Why do you feel bad, baby?”
“I don’t know,” San practically whined, feeling his lips pull down in a sulky frown that mirrored Yeosang’s.
“Was it too much for you?”
San shook his head no, leaning forward to bury his face in Yeosang’s neck. “Dunno.”
“It’s okay, baby. You can tell me anything,” Yeosang reassured him with a quick, chaste kiss to his knuckles.
He went back and forth with himself, trying to come up with another excuse, but not having the strength to craft up a lie. He might as well be honest at this point, since Yeosang already figured out something was wrong, and would most likely be able to tell if he was being untruthful. Sometimes Yeosang was too observant for San’s own good. “I don’t like seeing you cry,” he muttered into Yeosang’s skin.
“Oh, Sannie.” Yeosang brought his arms around him in a firm hug, holding him close.
“I thought I’d be okay with it, but it’s hard seeing you cry,” San confessed into Yeosang’s shoulder, trying not to cry himself.
“My poor baby,” Yeosang all but cooed, with a quick kiss to San’s temple. “Thank you for telling me. But I’m not crying because of you, okay? I asked you to help make me cry, remember?” He waited for San to say something, but all he could do was slowly nod, trying to take Yeosang’s words in. “I feel better now, I really do, okay? You did everything I asked of you and more, my good boy. You were perfect.”
The praise did little to ease San’s worries. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re so good to me, you always know exactly how to make me feel good.”
San swallowed around the lump in his throat, reaching up to wipe away the tears beginning to sting his own eyes. “I didn’t… do too much?”
“Of course not, Sannie. You were perfect. It was just what I needed after the shitty day I had. You helped me just like I knew you would.”
And — oh. San’s breath almost hitched at his praise, still wanting to almost not believe him.
“I mean it, Sannie. You were so good for me. You’re always so good to me, okay? I couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend.”
San hummed, not trusting his voice to not crack right now. He felt small suddenly, realizing he may actually be in a worse headspace than he thought.
“My good boy, my perfect dom, my sweet man. Always so caring and attentive, so strong and so perfect.”
San didn’t understand what was happening, really, why Yeosang was giving him so much praise. That was supposed to be his job. “Promise me it wasn’t too much?”
Yeosang kissed his cheek and held him closer. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because… because you’re crying.”
“Oh, Sannie.” Yeosang angled San’s face up to look at him, then craned his neck to kiss him, slow and tender, probably tasting himself on San’s lips in the process.
“I don’t like seeing you cry. It makes me feel bad,” he confessed against Yeosang’s lips.
“Oh, my sweet boy, I’m sorry.” Yeosang left a trail of kisses wherever he could reach, and San felt himself finally begin to melt a little against him. “I’m okay though, okay? I’m crying because of my work, not because of you. I just needed to cry to get my feelings out. Please don’t worry, Sannie. Please know that I’m okay. Please know that I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” San murmured, pressing himself closer, nuzzling into the soft fabric of Yeosang’s sweater. Yeosang held him close, tracing little aimless patterns into San’s back that gave him something to focus on that weren’t his crippling thoughts.
Yeosang cleared his throat, not really wanting to break the easy quiet surrounding them, but needing to clarify one more thing. “Was everything else alright, though? I didn’t make you do too much?” he asked timidly, like he was almost afraid to hear San’s answer. Yeosang’s hands began to wander, massaging his neck in quick little firm pinches, trailing down his arms to his wrists, easing some of the achy tension out.
“Yeah,” San mumbled, trying to suppress the smirk he could feel lifting the corner of his lips. “I like making you wet, and seeing how many times I can make you come.”
Yeosang chuckled, deep and rumbly. “Yeah, I like that, too.”
“I like making you drenched. Love it when you soak the sheets. Can’t believe you can come that many times in a row. Or that you can come that hard. You’re so incredible and I love you so much.”
Yeosang’s hearty laugh reverberated through his chest, amused at his rambling, and it made San smile. Yeosang poked at his dimples with his thumbs as he drew him closer into a slow kiss.
They stayed like that for a little while longer, before Yeosang pushed him away a little to sit up and stretch, his sweater riding up just enough to reveal his belly button, his legs still closed, effectively hiding his pussy. He looked so cute and fluffy and content, with a light blush still dusted over his cheeks, and San couldn’t help but smile wide up at him and draw him back down for another relaxed, languid kiss.
Yeosang smiled, pulling back when San tried to deepen the kiss further. “We should go shower, Sannie.”
San hummed, leaning back in, only to be held back by the shoulders in Yeosang’s firm grip.
“I mean it. I’m all sticky and sweaty, baby. You’re always too good to me.” Yeosang rubbed his thighs together to drive his point home, a quiet squelching coming from in between his legs.
San sighed but happily assented, getting up to gently carry Yeosang to their shower, who giggled the entire way, wrapping his arms tight around San’s neck and began sucking a love bite into the sensitive skin just under his jaw.
San made sure the water was perfectly warm, then began thoroughly washing Yeosang’s hair and body for him, keeping his sensitivity in mind, being as soft and gentle as he could. Yeosang whispered sweet nothings in his ear the entire time, thanking him over and over, for every little thing he did, and he felt a little better with his sweet, reassuring praises.
Then Yeosang turned him around and did the same for him, kissing him as he shampooed his hair, his fingers light and teasing over his muscles as he massaged his arms. San still didn’t get hard, and Yeosang thankfully didn’t comment on it again. He just let himself bask in Yeosang’s care and attention.
They both changed into their comfiest pajamas, and San quickly changed their sheets, throwing the old ones and the sullied comforter into the wash.
As Yeosang got comfortable under the covers, San went back out to the kitchen to grab the cake he’d gotten, bringing it back to bed with him, along with two forks so they could still enjoy it together.
Yeosang smiled, a little sheepish. “Sorry for ruining your plans,” he apologized as San settled down beside him.
“That’s okay, baby.” San handed him a fork with a kiss on the cheek. “I’m really sorry you didn’t get the promotion.”
Yeosang took the fork and used it to smear the icing around, blurring the congratulations! into a smudgy mess, before he stabbed a big chunk and shoved it into his mouth. “It’s fine,” he said around the mouthful, his cheeks bulging out like a little chipmunk, all cute and messy, making San laugh. He kissed the chocolate crumbs away from the corners of his lips and licked at the frosting he had somehow already managed to smear on his cheeks.
They giggled as they fed each other bites, until the cake was halfway gone, too full to keep eating it. “I was even going to order you takeout from your favorite chicken place when you got back,” San said as he boxed up the rest, setting it aside to finish later. “Do you still want me to?”
Yeosang shook his head no, then said around a yawn that practically wracked his entire frame, “The cake is more than enough right now, Sannie. We can order some tomorrow.” Then he leaned his head against San’s shoulder and reiterated, “Thank you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, baby.” He kissed Yeosang’s birthmark, and leaned his head atop his, inhaling the clean, fresh scent of his shampoo. “I’ll support you no matter what you decide to do.”
“Maybe I just won’t go in on Monday. Maybe I’ll just stay in bed all day with you instead,” Yeosang said.
“Or maybe you could just quiet quit, or whatever they’re calling it these days.”
“Mmm, maybe,” Yeosang said around another yawn, his eyelids drooping.
“Shh, just go to sleep. We have all weekend to lay around and decide, alright? I’m here for you. And I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight.” Yeosang giggled and kissed him one last time before they snuggled together, warm and happy, with their legs intertwined and Yeosang safe in the cradle of San’s arms.
San secretly hoped Yeosang would just quit and find a better place to work at. They didn’t deserve him after what they’d put him through, and he didn’t want him stressing himself out over a job that didn’t appreciate him. Yeosang was so smart and so hardworking that San knew he would be able to find a new job that was a better fit for him in no time. And San would do anything he could to help Yeosang look for a new job, one that didn’t leave him anxious and close to tears from stress late at night or full of dread every morning before he left. San so badly wanted him to be both successful and happy, and knew there had to be something out there for him where he could have both.
He knew Yeosang wasn’t over it yet, knew it was going to hurt for a long time, no matter what he decided to do. But like Yeosang had said, they had the whole weekend to spend together, to talk and listen and enjoy each other’s company and figure out a plan together.
San waited until he heard Yeosang’s soft little snuffly snores before he too let himself drift off, holding Yeosang a little closer against him, pulling the blankets a little tighter around them.