Work Text:
The obligatory San Day livestream goes off without a hitch. He eats good food, listens to nice, also obligatory voice messages from the members, and interacts with fans through the live chat. Thousands of messages pour into the tiny box on his phone: wishes for a good day, questions on where the others are, love confessions—the usual stuff. It’s hard to keep up, to focus on a single comment, but he does his best.
--You’re a hyung now!--
The random message does nothing but remind him of Wooyoung’s teasing. His taunting.
It’s been a thing for a while, starting when Wooyoung made some off-the-cuff snarky remark during dance practice. To make matters worse, he tacked on a sharp, “Get it together, hyung.” San knew Wooyoung hadn’t meant it to be mean, wanting nothing more than to irritate San that day.
It worked, but it sparked something else in his chest. His heart fluttered, and desire swirled deep in his gut. His cheeks burned with the realization that being called hyung just turned him on. He had shoved the thought away as quickly as it came, but when he looked up, Wooyoung was still looking at him, narrowed eyes gleaming with devilish curiosity.
Wooyoung fucked off after that, abandoning San to pester Seonghwa instead. But San made a lot more mistakes when they continued to run the choreo over and over again: fumbling over his feet, forgetting moves that he already knew like the back of his hand. He couldn’t concentrate, thoughts multiplying when Jongho called him hyung and, as one would expect, San felt absolutely nothing.
Of course it was a Wooyoung thing. Everything was a Wooyoung thing. It always had been, and it would always be.
That night, Wooyoung had snuck into San’s room, slipping under the covers and stuffing his hand down San’s pants, whispering reminders into San’s ear. “Have to stay quiet, hyung.” San came hard in his pants, Yunho snoring softly above them.
Wooyoung drove him wild with it, sneaking it into casual conversations or text messages whenever he saw an opportunity. It was embarrassing how much it affected San, but it started to affect Wooyoung too, reaching a point where San could tease Wooyoung back, calling him out on the newfound kink in return. It peaked somewhere in the middle of the comeback, but eventually, they started reserving it for special occasions or nights before days off. It became more comfortable.
But then, the Republic of Korea announced that on June 28, 2023, the aging system would change. Everyone would get at least one year younger. The moment Wooyoung texted him the link to the announcement article, San knew he was fucked.
After that, Wooyoung reminded him daily.
“In ten days, you’ll be twenty-four.”
Sometimes it was in a room full of people.
“In nine days, Sannie, it’ll be your birthday.”
Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two.
“Happy Birthday, Sannie.” Just like every other day, Wooyoung’s voice was low, deep in the back of his throat. “Sannie, hyung.”
The greeting was rushed, everyone pushed off to different schedules, meeting, fittings. San knew he wouldn’t see Wooyoung until after the livestream ended that evening, but that didn’t stop the flirty texts from coming through. Cute pictures of Wooyoung in the bathroom outside the practice room. Inside the practice room. On his way to get coffee between voice lessons.
But if San is good at anything, it’s doing what he’s told. He does his job well—many people remind him. Livestreams are nice though, relaxed, and most of the time, he has a lot of fun. He wants to interact with the fans, and in a weird, backwards way, he misses when they had more time to spend with fans.
But there’s only one thing on his mind when the livestream comes to an end: Jung Wooyoung.
He thanks the staff and untangles himself from the microphone that is looped around his torso and clipped to his shirt. He tries to help with cleanup but is quickly shooed away, so he thanks them again and says goodnight, pulling out his phone and thumbing in a message to his little shit of a boyfriend.
Wooyoung’s response to San’s “where are you” text comes seconds after the message delivery.
San takes the stairs, too keyed up to stand and wait for the elevator. The halls are empty, many people already gone for the day, and as he approaches Hongjoong’s studio, he notes the Recording-In-Progress light is switched off. As soon as he gets to the door he knocks, knuckles rapping against the wood.
“Come in.”
Hongjoong is perched at his desk, cross-legged in his big comfy swivel chair. His laptop sits off to one side, a giant cup of Americano to his right. San knows it must be his third or fourth of the day. Wooyoung’s eyes twinkle from where he’s sprawled out on the sofa, shoes kicked off, the smallest smirk on his face.
“Good live, Sannie?” Hongjoong asks, only glancing up long enough to confirm it was San who walked in.
San taps the bottom of Wooyoung’s sock-clad foot, and the younger moves, bending his knees to his chest to make room for San to sit down. He stretches his legs back out once San is seated, thighs covering San’s own. “Yeah, it was good. Thank you for the gift.” It was a gag gift, but San isn’t one to not say thank you.
His hand curls around the front of Wooyoung’s thigh, gently squeezing over Wooyoung’s covered tattoo. Wooyoung flexes his quad, a cute little greeting that they’ve adopted over the years. The silence is comfortable, Hongjoong typing away, Wooyoung messing with his phone.
San lets his head tip back against the wall, eyes falling shut. He feels Wooyoung’s eyes on him, and his thumb starts slow circles on the inside of the younger’s knee.
“No offense,” Hongjoong says, clearing his throat. “But why are you two here?”
San’s eyes fly open, and he shoots Wooyoung a look. “I’m here because he’s here.”
“And why are you here?” Hongjoong asks, never missing a beat.
Wooyoung looks semi-startled, cheeks flushing. “Am I not allowed to spend time with my Hongjoong-hyung?” His eyes slip from the back of Hongjoong’s chair to meet San’s, glinting. “My favorite hyung.”
Hongjoong’s fingers stop tapping against his desk, and he pushes his chair around to face them. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything!” Wooyoung sits up, freeing San’s lap. “It’s more of a heads up.”
San doesn’t know why Wooyoung waited so long to do this. He only lives and works with this man.
The oldest lifts a single brow. “Then spit it out. I want to get finished today.”
Wooyoung huffs. “Seonghwa is crashing at ours tonight, in my room.”
“Why?”
“San and I are having date night.” Wooyoung quickly adds, “A stay at home date night. For his birthday.”
Hongjoong makes a face and rolls his eyes. “That’s fine. Does Mingi have a place to go?”
“He’s staying with Yunho and Yeosangie,” San jumps in. When he and Wooyoung were planning, San agreed to talk to Mingi, and unlike Wooyoung, he didn’t wait until the last minute.
With a sigh, Hongjoong turns his back on them again. “That’s fine then. I’ll probably be here most of the night anyway, so make sure Seonghwa has a key or is with Jongho.”
“Cool!” Wooyoung chirps. His long, knobby fingers wrap around San’s wrist. “We’ll leave you to your work, then.”
San lets Wooyoung pull him out of the studio and down to the car park. Wooyoung somehow managed to get the coolest and most discreet manager to drive them home, already in the idling car waiting for them. He doesn’t ask any questions, only reminding them once that San does have neighbors before unlocking the doors and letting them out.
San feels Wooyoung’s excited energy. It thrums and radiates as they make their way through the lobby, up the elevator, and down San’s hallway. San feeds off it, the air thick around them in anticipation for the night—their first night fully alone in the comfort of one of their homes. His hand shakes as he presses the combination into the front door keypad.
As soon as they’re through the door, Wooyoung drops his bag on the floor and drapes his arms over San’s shoulders, bringing their mouths together. He presses a quick, almost chaste kiss to San’s lips then pulls back with a grin. “Hi.”
San cups Wooyoung’s cheek, pinky finger fitted to the curve of his jaw and pulls the younger in, kissing Wooyoung the way he’s wanted to all day. Only after Wooyoung pulls back, breathless, does San duck down to trail kisses along Wooyoung’s jawline, tongue slipping between teeth to soothe little nips he’s left in his wake.
“Sannie,” Wooyoung gasps, fisting San’s thin shirt where it rests so effortlessly on his shoulders. “San.”
“Hm?” San mutters against his neck, licking over his skin.
“I ordered— fuck, San —dinner. It’s already on the way.”
“Don’t care.” He sucks Wooyoung’s earlobe between his lips, teeth catching on the little hoops to tug lightly.
“No like,” Wooyoung tries, groaning when San’s hands move from his waist to the curve of his ass. “It’s going to be here any second.”
San kisses him again, lips slotting together messily, tongue pushing past Wooyoung’s lips. Wooyoung’s phone buzzes in his pocket, vibrating against both of their thighs where they’re pressed together. He pulls back, “Cancel the order. I’m not hungry.”
Wooyoung bites down on San’s lower lip. His eyes are blown out, dark and full of need. “I can't now, it’s already--”
He’s cut off by a knock on the other side of the door.
Wooyoung pulls back, firm hands keeping San from gluing them together again. “I know you’re hungry, Sannie. We haven’t eaten all day.” His hands smooth over San’s pecs and up to rest on the sides of his neck. “Let me take care of you.”
“That’s not fair,” San whines. “You can’t do the cute voice.”
His stomach lets out the gnarliest growl, mind switching from Wooyoung to dinner to Wooyoung over and over.
Wooyoung giggles and gives San another quick kiss. “Let’s eat.”
He ordered quite the spread—dakkochi, jokbal, bulgogi bibimbap, and so many noodles. Wooyoung makes San sit while he lays everything out in front of them. They eat quickly in silence, only the sound of their chopsticks clinking against their plates and slurping bites filling the room.
When San is full he leans back, head falling backwards and eyes closing. “Thank you, Wooyoungie. This was incredible.”
Wooyoung puts his chopsticks down and nods. “Anything for you.” His voice is more serious than it has been all day. “I’d do anything for my hyungnim.”
San’s eyes fly open, head whipping back up. Wooyoung wears the slyest smirk, tongue running across his lower lip. San opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Wooyoung claps his hands together and stands, “I’ll clean up!” He rounds the table, fingers kneading the muscles of San’s upper back. “You deserve a hot shower.”
San has no intentions of showering right now.
He stands and pivots to face Wooyoung, hands gripping the smaller man’s waist. Wooyoung looks startled, but San recognizes the sparkle that flashes through his eyes and tugs him close so their hips are flush and squared against each other. “I think that’s enough teasing for one day, don’t you?”
“You tell me.”
“Like we talked about?” San asks, eyes raking over Wooyoung’s face, stopping on his full lips.
Wooyoung nods quickly, chest already heaving.
“Then go,” San ticks his head to the side toward his bedroom.
Wooyoung doesn’t move.
San chuckles and leans in close, lips brushing against Wooyoung’s ear. “Be a good boy for hyung.”
Wooyoung’s jaw drops, and he nods again, slipping out of San’s embrace to go straight to San’s room.
They had talked about this—their plans—more than a week ago. They were tucked into Wooyoung’s bed, legs tangled, whispering hotly into each other’s skin. Outlining plans, describing desires. Part of that plan entailed making Wooyoung wait, making him want. So San packs up the leftover food and puts it in the fridge. He washes their chopsticks, returning them to their drawer after they’re dry. He flicks the kitchen light off and moves to the bathroom, takes a piss and washes up, taking his time with his routine.
When he finally makes his way to his bedroom, he’s half hard from the fire that burns in his belly. He almost wishes he didn’t know what he’d find on the other side of his closed door.
Almost.
He swallows, heart pounding in his chest, and pushes the door open. He aches at the sight that greets him.
Wooyoung kneels in the center of the room, dressed in nothing but black boxer briefs, bare knees pressed against the cold tile. His hands rest against his thighs, fingers grazing over the words inked into his skin. He’s glowing, a sheen across the flawless expanse of his torso. And his face—San wants to stare at him all night. His bangs fall like curtains over his temples, lips parted, eyes clouded with desire.
San licks his lips and tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.
Wooyoung’s shoulders lift as his breath hitches, eyes wide as they roam San’s chest and stomach.
“Look at you, baby.”
His eyes snap up to meet San’s, not looking away, even as San moves across the room to stand directly in front of him. He looks at San like he is his world.
San traces Wooyoung’s cheekbone with his thumb. “So pretty.”
Wooyoung closes his mouth to swallow.
“Open.”
Wooyoung licks his lips before parting them, chin tilted toward the ceiling. San leans down and holds the dark-haired boy’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. The contrast of how gentle the touch is and the darkness in his eyes makes Wooyoung’s chest heave. San brushes his thumb over Wooyoung’s plush bottom lip before slipping it inside to press down on his tongue. Wooyoung’s pretty little teeth dig into the skin of San’s finger as he pushes deeper. He rubs slow circles against the muscle, watching Wooyoung’s eyes glaze under his touch. His mouth is hot and wet, and San wants to devour him.
He pulls his thumb back and bends to give Wooyoung a kiss. It’s sweet, a simple open-mouthed kiss. And then it’s not, San pulling back and tapping at Wooyoung’s jaw to make him open back up before opening his own, letting all the spit in his mouth dribble out onto Wooyoung’s outstretched tongue.
“Swallow.”
Wooyoung stares back at him, fiery defiance flickering in his eyes.
San grips either side of his mouth and forces his chin higher. His voice is sharp. “I said swallow .”
Wooyoung holds his gaze for a long moment before pulling his tongue back, eyes rolling back as he swallows.
“Good boy,” San runs his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, the younger leaning into the touch immediately. “What do you want first?”
“Fingers.” The request is quiet but strong. He opens his mouth again and waits, hands still on his thighs.
San hums and pets his hair again, moving to kneel in front of him, knees touching but nothing else. He leans forward and sucks Wooyoung’s bottom lip into his mouth, nipping once before pulling away. “So good for hyung.”
He extends his hand, and Wooyoung takes it, circling his hands around San’s wrist before bringing San’s fingers to his lips. He separates San’s index finger from the rest, lips wrapping around the digit tightly, tongue swirling around the length of it.
San lets Wooyoung lead. When he’s ready for another he pulls away, brings San’s middle finger next to the first, and repeats his motions. The longer he sucks, the more labored his breathing gets, working himself up until he inevitably releases San’s wrist in a silent plea for San to take over.
San pumps his fingers in and out, prodding into Wooyoung’s mouth on every third or fourth push, getting closer to the back of his tongue, closer to his throat. He curls then, keeping slight pressure the entire time as he pushes further and down.
Wooyoung’s throat constricts, and he gags, tears leaking from his eyes. He blinks hard, a shaky exhale passing around San’s hand. Drool slips from the corners of his mouth, a string falling from his lower lip as San fucks his fingers in again and again, letting them curl into his lover’s throat.
San has never seen anything more beautiful.
When he feels a familiar squeeze on his thighs, he pulls his fingers back to massage more circles against Wooyoung’s tongue, giving him a second to catch his breath. Only after Wooyoung’s hands return to his own lap does San slide his fingers forward again, resuming his ministrations.
Wooyoung’s mouth is soft, slick with saliva, and eager to take whatever is given. He looks up, blinking hard at San, their silent cue of yellow.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” San withdraws his fingers slowly, thumb tracing around his lips. He reaches forward, arms weaving around Wooyoung’s waist, and pulls him into his lap, mouths finding each other easily, tongues twisting together.
They kiss until they’re panting, pulling apart to rest their foreheads together, soaking each other in, faces wet with spit and Wooyoung’s tears.
“What do you want?”
Wooyoung bumps their foreheads together.
San’s heart squeezes, so in love with this boy. “Words, please,” he requests softly.
"To make you happy.”
He pulls back, cupping Wooyoung’s cheeks in his hands. “You don’t even have to try to do that, baby. You make me happy every second of every day,” he tells him. He lets the words sink in before continuing. “Our talk earlier. You said you wanted to play.”
Wooyoung nods against him.
“Do you still want to play? Or do you just want hyung to take care of you?”
A whimper slips past his lips, hips jerking forward. “Take care of me?”
San strokes his cheek before moving his hand to the nape of his neck to pull him forward for another kiss. It’s soft and deep, and San intends to take full advantage of the time they’ve been granted. Wooyoung manages to get his lips around San’s tongue and sucks, grinding down against San’s lap in little circles.
He holds Wooyoung close even as he pulls their mouths apart. Wooyoung leaves his eyes closed for a long time, panting, hands glued to San’s shoulders.
“I’ll always take care of you.” His hands trail lines against Wooyoung’s back. “Are you still okay with what we first talked about?”
Wooyoung’s fingers dig in. “Don’t want to crush you.”
San scoffs softly and gives him a quick kiss. “Baby, you know you won’t.” He runs his nose along the younger’s jaw, leaving a kiss at the top. “Why don’t we try? If you really don’t like it, we’ll stop right away.”
He bites his lip.
“Wooyoungie,” San catches Wooyoung’s eyes. “It’s completely up to you. Do you want to?”
“I do.”
San runs a finger down Wooyoung’s sternum and past his navel to palm at his cock through his underwear. He’s already so hard. He rubs his thumb into the wet spot on Wooyoung’s briefs from where he leaks against the fabric.
“Colors?” Wooyoung’s voice is hushed and hoarse.
He plants another kiss against his lips and nods. “Always. What’s your color now?”
“Green.”
San helps him to his feet, takes his hand, and walks him toward the bed. He helps him slip off his underwear, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Wooyoung cranes his neck for another kiss, and San could never deny him after he’s been so good. He’s barely able to deny him ever .
He lies down flat on his back, pillow tucked under his neck to prop his head up. Wooyoung stares, eyes roaming San’s body, then kneels beside him stopping again to admire San’s lines, his narrow waist and hips. He swings a leg over San’s chest and settles on his knees, palms flat on San’s stomach.
San holds the fronts of Wooyoung’s thighs, fingers pressed against the ink etched into his skin, and pulls him closer to his face. He palms his ass, kneading at Wooyoung’s cheeks before pulling them apart and pressing the most chaste kiss to his hole.
“Okay?” he asks.
Wooyoung whines and nods, realizing halfway through the head movement that San can’t see him. “Yes, please.”
San pecks his perineum then dives in, thumbs edging at Wooyoung’s hole to keep his cheeks spread apart. It sends little jolts of electricity up Wooyoung’s spine, warmth pooling in his stomach. Wooyoung clutches at San’s thighs, holding on as San swirls little circles around his rim, tongue pointed. When he feels Wooyoung relax, settling back a bit more, he switches it up, flattening his tongue and licking wide stripes up, down, and around his hole.
“ Hyung ,” Wooyoung gasps, a hand reaching back to cradle San’s hair, the other still supporting his weight, now holding San’s hip, back arched to look over his shoulder at the love of his life. Broken little noises pour from his lips, and he starts to rock backwards, chasing San’s mouth.
Every gasp spurs San on, getting messier and messier with each lick, each suck, until his chin is soaked with his own spit, some of it running down the sides of his neck and transferring to Wooyoung’s inner thighs.
He sucks a kiss against his rim before pulling back to breathe. “You’re so wet, love.”
Wooyoung whimpers, ass pushing back without thought, hole clenching around nothing. San hums and sucks around his rim again, and Wooyoung’s body shakes, nails digging into San’s thigh. He indulges a bit more before asking for Wooyoung’s color again.
“Green.” It’s more of a gasp than anything else, barely audible to the man underneath him.
San squeezes Wooyoung’s hips and pulls him back toward his open mouth, puckered skin sliding against his outstretched tongue. And Wooyoung is so pliant, so willing to move however San wants him, that he lets his body be pushed forward and pulled back against his tongue over and over.
“Touch yourself, sweetheart.”
One of Wooyoung’s hands disappears from his hips, more weight shifting onto his left arm
He wriggles his tongue inside again, licking and lapping at Wooyoung’s inner walls. Wooyoung’s hole contracts, squeezing, keeping the muscle hostage. Wooyoung makes the most beautiful sounds when he’s close, a chain of Ah's and San and Hyung progressively pitching higher and higher until he’s diving into bliss.
Wooyoung paints San’s defined stomach with his come. It's hot against his skin, burning arousal pooling in the dip below San’s sternum.
San steals another few licks before he taps Wooyoung’s hip lightly. The younger shifts forward, giving himself enough space to swing his leg over to kneel beside San, hands resting nicely on his thighs.
“Hand me the towel, lovely?” San asks, motioning for the soft cloth on the nightstand.
Wooyoung takes it and wipes up his come, taking his time and being ever-so gentle.
“Thank you, baby.” San lifts his hand to stroke Wooyoung’s cheek, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. Wooyoung leans into the caress, eyes slipping shut. San’s fingers trail down the length of Wooyoung’s arm until he finds Wooyoung’s hands, immediately lacing their fingers together. “Do you want to do anything more?” he asks, voice just above a whisper.
Wooyoung licks his lips and nods.
San smiles and sits up, nosing at Wooyoung’s jaw. “What do you want to do?”
Wooyoung breathes out a giggle, tilting away from San’s affection. “Tickles,” he laughs. His hands trail over San’s thighs, the words marked into San’s skin above his knee. His eyes lift from the tattoo to meet San’s gaze, and he slips back into the older’s lap, arms draping over San’s wide shoulders. He leans forward to nip gently at San’s bottom lip, then leans into San’s ear. “Want you inside.”
The words send shivers down San’s spine, heat flooding his chest and pooling in his stomach. He gets hotter when Wooyoung rocks down against him, skin against skin, Wooyoung’s chest pressed against his own, sticking together.
Then Wooyoung is moving again, reaching around San for the lube then pressing the bottle into San’s open hand. “Need you.”
Needing no more encouragement, San flicks the lid open, squeezes a line onto his fingers, and reaches around Wooyoung’s back. His finger slides in easily, Wooyoung’s hole already relaxed from San’s mouth.
“You’re so handsome, Young-ah,” San says, their foreheads pressed together. “So pretty, too. Always open up so well.”
Wooyoung sighs into San’s mouth and licks along San’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, wiggling closer. “Want more.”
Already slick with lube, San pushes a second finger in, his other arm hooking around Wooyoung’s waist to hold him. He pumps his fingers slowly, probably too slowly for Wooyoung’s liking, but it feels right tonight. He doesn’t want to rush, doesn’t want to hurry through a single second of their time together.
But soon enough Wooyoung is rocking against his fingers, whispering requests for more, for a third, telling San he just wants to feel full.
“How could I ever say no to you, Wooyoungie?”
San pulls his fingers out to add more lube, making sure they’re well-coated before lining them back up at Wooyoung’s entrance and sliding inside. There’s more resistance—there always is with the third.
Still, San knows the whimper that rushes past Wooyoung’s lips is one of pure satisfaction. He sits back on San’s fingers like it’s nothing, reveling in the stretch. His fingers tangle in San’s hair, holding him close, lips slotting together.
The longer Wooyoung grinds on San’s fingers, the more San’s cock throbs. Trapped in his boxer briefs, his length presses against the curve of Wooyoung’s ass, begging to be released, to sink into his lover. Wooyoung is hard again, too, the swollen tip of his dick grazing the softness of San’s stomach.
The roll of his hips is sinful.
“Do you wanna ride me, baby?”
He prays to his non-existent god that Wooyoung says yes. That he wants to stay in San’s lap and grind dirty little circles on his cock.
“It’s your birthday,” Wooyoung gasps when San’s fingertip nudges his prostate. “You get to choose.”
“Wanna do what you want. What makes you feel good,” San counters. It always goes like this, birthday or not.
So Wooyoung nods, head moving quickly like his hips. “Please,” he breathes around a ragged breath.
“Are you ready?” San says, moving his fingers, stretching them apart. He bites against Wooyoung’s collarbone, a barely-there reddish-purple mark blooming on his skin.
The younger trembles, thighs squeezing San’s waist.
“Gotta let me up, love.”
Wooyoung refuses to move, instead trailing kisses along the span of San’s neck and over the curve of his shoulder. He hooks his fingertips under San’s waistband and pulls, but San’s briefs get stuck between their legs. Still with no intention of moving, they manage to get them off.
As soon as San’s cock is out, Wooyoung wraps his hand around his length, and San’s breath gets caught in his throat at his touch alone. “Lube,” Wooyoung gasps, reaching for the bottle without knowing where it is.
Neither waste any more time, and as soon as San is lubed up, Wooyoung is reaching between his legs, guiding San’s cock, tip pressed against his entrance. Then he’s sinking down inch-by-inch, squeezing San inside, and San is helpless—a stretched-out groan forced from his throat. His hands guide Wooyoung’s hips as the younger starts rocking, still adjusting but craving more.
San’s favorite part is watching Wooyoung crack. The younger’s jaw drops, mouth gaping, and his eyes slip shut when San bottoms out. San lets his own head tip back, but he never loses sight of the man on his lap. The man who is slowly grinding circles on his cock, tiny movements that San knows nudge his prostate each time judging from the little twitches and whimpers the younger lets out.
He lets Wooyoung take the reins, but fuck, it’s hard not to let his desires take over and fuck up into Wooyoung. He wants to plant his feet on the mattress and bend his knees so Wooyoung falls forward, chests pressed together. He wants to get his arms around the younger’s waist and give it to him.
All of Wooyoung’s teasing, the play they’d done earlier, and the sweetness that it shifted to means it doesn’t take San long to get close. Every roll of Wooyoung’s hips, the pull of his rim against San’s length. Each whimper or breathy moan that slips past the younger’s lips. It all works him closer to release, but he knows Wooyoung can come again. The bob of his cock is hypnotizing as he fucks himself, palms flat against San’s chest. The weight of him drives San crazy, his blunt fingernails digging in just enough to make San feel it.
He lets go of Wooyoung’s thigh and moves his hand to the younger’s nape, pulling him down for a kiss. It’s open-mouthed and messy, and their teeth clack together when Wooyoung grinds down and bumps his prostate, but it’s perfect.
“Show hyung how you touch yourself.”
Wooyoung whines, centering a hand on San’s chest and pushing himself back up. His other hand wraps around his length, matching his own pace.
San has never seen anyone more beautiful. Wooyoung is the epitome of perfection: beautiful, cute when he wants to be, and sexy as hell. He lets his hands wander, running over the smooth skin of Wooyoung’s thighs and up his sides, squeezing his waist.
He gets lost in Wooyoung’s expression, the way his eyes flutter shut and he rolls his lips between his teeth. The flush across his cheekbones. San thinks he could come just looking at Wooyoung. The tiny crease between his brows tells San that he’s close, but he wants to hear it.
“You close, baby?”
Wooyoung sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip and nods quickly, almost frantically, his hand working faster as he chases his orgasm. His hips move faster too, rhythm faltering. San squeezes his hips, chanting praises into the space between them. “Show me, baby, show hyung how good you feel.” Wooyoung tenses, clenching around San’s cock. He keens, coming hard with a broken moan, spilling over his hand and onto San’s stomach.
The moment Wooyoung’s come hits San’s skin, he’s coming too, cock pulsing inside his lover.
Wooyoung makes the most satisfied sound, wiggling his hips then gasping as some of San’s come slips out of him. He pants, body shaking from his efforts as he comes down from his high. “Fuck,” he whispers.
San exhales slowly, waves of pleasure still rushing through every vein in his body. He rubs over Wooyoung’s thighs, admiring the smoothness. He closes his eyes as Wooyoung leans forward, letting San’s softening cock nestle between his cheeks, not ready to fully lose the sensation yet.
He pulls Wooyoung into his arms, craving the feeling of Wooyoung’s skin against his own. Their chests and torsos are slick with sweat and Wooyoung’s come, but they’re too blissed out to care, fully content to leave the mess between them. He runs his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, tucking loose strands behind his ear, stopping to massage his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger.
Wooyoung nuzzles into him, leg hooking over one of San’s, leaving kisses on San’s chest and collarbone—anywhere he can reach without moving.
San doesn’t know how long they lie there before he speaks, “Thank you, Wooyoungie.”
The younger hums, a slow sigh blowing against San’s skin. “Good birthday gift?” He sounds tired, but his usual playfulness is edging back into his voice.
“I got exactly what I asked for.”
Wooyoung scoffs. “You know you don’t have to ask for me every year.” He tips his head back to look at San. “You could ask for a game or, I don’t know, a book or something.”
San tugs him even closer. “I don’t want any of those things. I can buy all those things for myself.”
“Still.”
“You know I’m yours, though. You can have me any time you want,” Wooyoung mumbles. “Within reason.”
San laughs, repeating Wooyoung’s last words back at him.
“You’re always the one trying shit while we’re working.”
San thinks always is a reach, Wooyoung instigating some of the time. “Can’t help it,” he shrugs. “You’re just impossible for me to resist.”
“Victim blaming isn’t nice, San-ah.”
San mock-coos. “Oh, Wooyoungie, does hyung pay too much attention to you?”
“Never.”
“Come here.” San rolls on top of Wooyoung, legs puzzled together, weight on his hands.
Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “You say come here then pin me down.”
“Why did I fall in love with such a brat?”
Wooyoung grins. “You’d love me no matter what I was.”
San kisses the tip of his nose. “I would.” He kisses Wooyoung like he’ll never get enough.
“I love you too.”
“Do you want to shower?” San asks, noticing the dampness in Wooyoung’s hair.
Wooyoung snorts. “Please. I have come dripping out of my ass, and we’re both sticky.”
“I’d be sticky with you forever.”
San loves making Wooyoung laugh.
“That’s cute. Really gross, but cute,” Wooyoung says, wearing the fondest smile.
Wooyoung fights San’s attempts to carry him to the bathroom, but ultimately lets him win, giggling as San scoops him up in his arms.
They stand together under the spray, droplets falling over their skin, steam swirling around them. San washes Wooyoung’s hair, drawing a heart on Wooyoung’s shoulder with leftover suds, then plasters himself to Wooyoung’s back.
“Happy Birthday, Sannie.”