Work Text:
Yeosang is one of the few people who were lucky enough to marry the love of their lives. And, possibly, the only one whose beloved has no idea of their spouse's feelings after tying the knot.
He likes to drop the love-of-life bomb and watch Seonghwa try to get him to tone it down with wide eyes and strategic poking. The people who witness it say they're adorable, that it's really easy to see how much he loves his husband. That they're lucky.
And well, they're kind of right on that.
He wakes up everyday to a puffy eyed Seonghwa brewing a coffee he never drinks, but knows Yeosang likes, alongside his morning smoothie. Before he leaves for work, Seonghwa pats his suit and adjusts his tie, an inside joke that stopped being a joke a while ago. Now, Yeosang does the same right back, then boops his nose if he's feeling extra lucky.
They share a house, bills, chores, cooking days, grocery store trips, everything short of a bed. It's good and peaceful like a lukewarm shower.
Yeosang likes his hot, sometimes.
The reasons they married were perhaps desperate and juvenile; Seonghwa's parents were trying to get him to marry someone else, and in face of his misery Yeosang got down on one knee in a family dinner. Seonghwa said yes, stunned to convenient tears, and, though not satisfied with the turn of events, his equally wealthy background kept the family from opposing the union.
(They did have to kiss for the ceremony, though. Yeosang swears to this day that, just for a moment, they were on the same page together.)
The reasons they stayed married for so long, however, were far less naive. It was easy, mindless even, the way they compromised and worked around and with each other. They matured together, made plans that to this day make, at least Yeosang, proud to be with Seonghwa.
But then one day he comes out of the shower and Seonghwa is crying on the couch.
"It's not even— I'm not even lonely, you know, I'm just." His voice lowers and his eyes flicker about, before being wiped dry by his sleeve. "Needy. Horny."
And Yeosang— Yeosang topples over with laughter, relief fogging his judgment.
"I thought you wanted a divorce!" He tells Seonghwa's pout. Coos a little, because he knows it's always covertly appreciated. " Hubby . Do you wanna call the boys?"
Hongjoong and Wooyoung, who sometimes do with Seonghwa the things he doesn't want from Yeosang. At first it stung, but four years down the line made them all close friends.
But Seonghwa's eyes don't change. A gentle hand moves to touch his wrist.
"You don't wanna…" He swallows thickly. His eyes are heavy with intent. "You don't wanna help me, this time?"
All air is sucked from the room at once.
Because they… it's been six years of marriage and they never really. Well, he doesn't mean it as a complaint that this is happening now, but—
"'S fine you don't feel like it."
"I wanna—" He swallows the rest of the sentence. I wanna fuck you so bad we might conceive from sheer will doesn't sound particularly sane right now. "Yeah. Yeah ."
"Really?" Looking for something in his face, Seonghwa shifts on the couch. "I would. I would need some, like, kissing too, and, like, I don't like when people leave after, I get." He bites his lip. "Sorry.”
Yeosang kisses him without warning, full and just shy of hard.
"Whatever you want," He breathes against suddenly eager lips, feels hands finding the texture of the hair on his nape. "I want it too. I got you."
“Yeosang… ah—” Seonghwa whimpers just shy of desperate, and god is it a maddening sound. Hooking hands under his thighs, he pulls him onto his lap, hikes hands under the back of his sweater to a surprised little noise.
“I dreamed of this so many times.” His mouth babbles on, high as a kite on both Seonghwa and the things he's made of. “Is this a dream?”
“Shut up, I'm…” He takes his time touching along his jaw, hissing every time Yeosang's grip tightens and their hips meet a little harder, eyes softly shut. His mouth remains agape after a sigh, teeth peeking beneath the plumpness of his upper lip. “Going crazy, probably.”
“Hwa…” Yeosang moans when teeth find his earlobe, bucking up hard. “Can I fuck you, then? Can I please fuck you tonight?”
A harsh breath hits his neck when Seonghwa settles against it, boneless yet shaking.
“Not. Not just tonight.” He mumbles against the skin, just enough word and context to explode goosebumps all along his sides. Seonghwa's voice is so heavy, yet carries like a drizzle. “Please, not just tonight.”
Hands riding up waist, back, then jaw, he brings him in for a kiss, much softer than before. The kiss melts into a dozen more, sticky and slow and deepening like a flavor.
“Can we…” Yeosang's breath ends before his question. He takes in another while nosing along Seonghwa's cheek; it feels like such effort to keep apart, now. “Can we… like this?”
Another kiss; chaste, but he can feel Seonghwa's lower lip give under his. God , he's so soft . “I gotta— you know, first, and—”
Despite his hunger, he chuckles, tucking a loose strand behind his husband's ear. “Not here, just… close, like this.”
Seonghwa stares at him for some long seconds. He seems… almost stricken, but his brows arch gentler, his mouth curls with feeling instead of betrayal.
“I— I don't wanna say that I miss you because I never— we never—” From up close, Yeosang can see the wetness gathering at his waterline, in his voice. He loves him, not a day went by in these six years where he didn't. “But I do , is the thing.”
Seonghwa reaches out a hand and only then does Yeosang realize his own tears. He mumbles an apology mid kiss, and his husband snorts, arms settling around his shoulders. It's almost an invitation, and he takes it almost as it is, rising to his feet to carry the love of his life inside, to his bedroom.
“Are we really having our honeymoon six years after our marriage?” He smiles up at him, utterly smitten and shameless.
“Oh my god, shut up,” Though he grumbles, Seonghwa presses tiny kisses to his forehead and temple before leaning his head against his husband's and sighing a content little thing. “We're so stupid. This is so embarrassing.” He says with no real heat, landing on the bed with a soft sound.
Yeosang stares at him for a moment once the bedside lamp clicks on, splayed on the linens in his winter pajamas, dark hair haloing his face like sunbeams. His erection curls towards his hip bone, his face properly flushed and twisted in a particular type of anticipation.
Reaching out a hand, he traces his thighs, the bulging spot on this crotch; hears how easy it is to get him vocal, quietly but so reactive. He leans in to kiss the trapped, twitching cock. “You're so beautiful, Hwa.”
“Don't say that.” Seonghwa whines, covering his face.
It's a shame, really, that he can't really drag this out like it deserves tonight, aching from any manner of distance as he is. Seonghwa seems to have the same idea, reaching out to grab lube and a condom in his nightstand with an almost chastised face. Yeosang meets him back down with a sweet little kiss.
He whispers: “Can I prep you?” And immediately feels Seonghwa buck up into him, embarrassed enough he can't look him in the eye. “Hey.”
“No.”
A snort. “Seonghwaa…”
Their eyes meet just so his husband can say: “You're the worst!”
He hums. “Maybe.” Before sliding a hand down his fleecy trousers. Their bodies are just apart enough to fit his arm between; he thumbs a slippery cockhead, strokes a lovely length; then slips below, past his perineum, rubs at his clenching rim. “You're so soft here too— ah, fuck.”
Seonghwa moans like a long hum, deep in him chest, breaking into higher pitched punches when Yeosang's lubed fingers start to stretch him open. His legs are pushed up, pajama bottoms dropped somewhere over the edge of the bed, alongside his underwear. Yeosang makes a point in looking him in the eye as he stretches him open, and Seonghwa only breaks contact to roll his eyes over curled fingers.
Any nervousness over not having partners for so long is trampled by how in tune they always feel. This might be unknown territory, yes, but Seonghwa is not. He reaches down to kiss him, more tongue than lip.
“Sang…” He gasps into his mouth, speech a little slurred. Yeosang is no better, each hot puff of breath dizzying him some. “Fuh— fuck me, please. I'm ready.”
Another kiss. “Yeah?” Comes a nod. “Okay… okay.”
It's only when he's in him, pants lowered just enough he can pull out his cock and lube squeezing out Seonghwa's stretched hole that the buzzing, unnameable need settles at last. He's truly as close as he can be, inside him. He doesn't even need to move, overcome.
Seonghwa's blouse hikes up his torso— he isn't sure if by his hands or his husband's, or even the moving around—, bunching over his gently sloped pecs. Yeosang leans over to suckle on them, mouth greedy and with some need for teeth. Seonghwa moans louder still, perhaps because he sucks and bites and fucks, all at once. His tank top protects him little from the manicured nails that dig into the skin, but the truth is that he likes how it sharpens the taste of this overwhelming pleasure.
He reaches in between their bodies to feel the lovely, drooling length of his love's cock, pumps it with a greed that echoes and echoes— half dreams of it inside of him another time, of bouncing on his lap and feeling him close again, in another way—; his hips deepen their thrusts, stay in rhythm when he's begged to by the mess under him, watches him get louder and louder and the undercurrent of tears in his throaty moans, and god is he ever to find anyone like this? Does he even want to?
“I love you,” He grunts, nosing on his damp hair. Seonghwa smells sweet and salty and tangy with musk— he loves him, loves him “I love you.”
“Sang— ah! I'm gonna— please I love you, I do, I—”
He feels it in his stroking fist, the sharp kick of release coming, before it drips over Seonghwa's stomach, pooling and shining with each deep breath. Yeosang pulls out and away just to lean in and lap it up to the voice above his head like a weeping god, the lingering aftertaste and warmth of his husband's stomach taking over his senses. He presses his face into him, sanctified by his spent.
“Sang,” Seonghwa calls softly after a while, fingers in his hair. “I feel… empty, without you inside. Come back in, please.”
When he complies, Seonghwa is on his front, sweaty blouse gone along Yeosang's clothes. The miles of smooth, tanned back folded into his chest fill him with a swelling softness; he fucks into him slowly and deep, runs lips over the valley of his arched spine. His beauty begs eternity.
He cums with a wild bout of bucking and an open mouthed kiss over Seonghwa's rib. At the edge of his orgasm, so comes his love's second; it bends the horizon of his body with each wave, and then melts him into the bedspread.
Cheek pressed into the pillows, Seonghwa blinks slowly up at him, still nestled inside, then smiles.
“Love you.” He mumbles, fighting an afterglow powered nap.
Yeosang slips out, then leans to kiss a hair covered ear. “Love you too, Hwa.
After haphazardly disposing of his condom and the worst of the sheets, Yeosang joins him, arms around his waist and face in the crook of his neck. In an afterthought, Seonghwa pulls up the duvet to warm their quickly cooling bodies, then snuggles back in, impossibly close. He goes to speak, but Yeosang beats him to it.
“I'll clean it up tomorrow, you can sleep in.”
A happy hum. “Marry me.”