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Countless monitor screens flicker, rotating through grainy images of every corner of the base. Grey corridors and dark warehouses, depressing break rooms and all entrances to the compound. Wooyoung watches them, bored out of his mind. He’s not entirely sure what he did that pissed off Hongjoong enough to put him on the night shift five times a week, but here he is. (Or rather, Wooyoung is not sure out of all the things he did, which one finally pushed Hongjoong over the line.)
Everyone is at their limit these days. The crew has found themselves with some extremely sensitive goods on their hands; it can set them up for years to come—or land them in jail for just as long—and Hongjoong has everything on a tight lock-down until the deal is finished.
However, some unexpected complications have drawn the whole thing out for weeks now, delayed by extra security measures and strict protocols. Wooyoung is starting to wonder if the deal will fall through entirely, but those decisions are above his pay grade. Right now, he’s only paid to watch the damn security footage during the small hours of the night.
Wooyoung leans back on his creaky swivel chair, feet up on the desk, right next to a box of tissues. He wonders if he’ll need them tonight. Eh, who is he kidding. He always needs them.
As though summoned, you and San show up on one of his grainy grey-scale screens. Wooyoung rolls his eyes, ignoring the immediate tightness of his pants. He lazily presses a button, locking the screen onto this particular security feed.
Sneaking into a secluded corner of the break room, the pair of you almost act like you’re trying to be discreet. San looks like you pulled him away from the middle of a midnight workout, wearing a faded tanktop with dark baggy pants, black hair in a dishevelled undercut. With no care for who might hear or see it, he pins you against the wall. Strong hands on your waist, hungry mouth latched onto your skin. And while San decorates the column of your neck with wet, sloppy kisses, you steal a glance across his broad shoulders—right at the camera.
You grin.
Wooyoung tsks in annoyance. Do you even know it’s him who’s watching? You always seem to turn up when it’s his shift—or perhaps you simply come out here every damn night, putting on a show for whoever is watching on the other side of the screen. The thought only annoys Wooyoung more, his teeth gritted. (San never looks at the camera. Sometimes, Wooyoung wonders if San even realises it’s there.)
The footage is a bit grainy, but Wooyoung can see plenty.
He sees how you’re down on your knees, quick hands undoing San’s pants and pulling them down just enough to release his thick cock, already half-hard. He sees the crooked grin pulling at San’s lips, how San runs an eager hand through your hair. How San encourages you forward and you do just so, clever tongue teasing at his cock before greedily taking him in your mouth.
This is the part where Wooyoung never knows who he is more jealous of. Whether he wants your lips around his own cock, or wants to choke on San’s. Except San is gentle with you, fucking your mouth with deep, slow thrusts. Wooyoung wouldn’t want San to be gentle. He wouldn’t be gentle with you, either.
Wooyoung pretends at detached disinterest as he watches, knowing he is only fooling himself—and doing a bad job at that, too.
San bites his lip, letting his head fall back against the wall when you do something Wooyoung can’t see. With a grunt of frustration, Wooyoung gives up and grabs a tissue, yanking at the front of his pants.
By the time he has settled back down, you have discarded your own pants and are riding San on the ratty couch, giving Wooyoung a perfect profile view. He should be more irritated about the couch (other people have to sit there too, guys), but he can’t bring himself to care, a lazy hand wrapped around his cock as he matches your rhythm.
Instead, he gets irritated with you. San looks pleased enough, enjoying the sight of you slowly splitting yourself open on him, but Wooyoung knows you can work him up more than that. That you can fuck that affectionate smile right off San’s face, drive him so far up the wall that he’ll flip you over and make sure you walk crooked the next day. (Come to think of it, you never walk crooked the days after Wooyoung doesn’t have a night shift. That makes him feel a little better, and that annoys him again.)
But tonight you and San seem intent on keeping it slow, romantic. Ugh. San cups your face for a deep kiss, his other hand sliding underneath your shirt in relaxed, familiar exploration.
Disgruntled, Wooyoung watches the sentimental fondness on display. It’s almost enough to make him lose his boner—until you bite San’s lip, hard enough for him to pull back with a start, eyes wide and visibly affronted. You grin and swirl your hips a little quicker. (Fucking finally.) San is pouting, but he can’t keep up the sulky front as his breath picks up, chest rising and falling heavily.
His hands wrap around your waist in a vice-grip and, as though a switch got flipped, his face darkens and he takes over control, bouncing you on his cock like a fucking ragdoll. Your mouth falls open as San digs in his toes and thrusts upward; Wooyoung wonders if you’re loud, the risk of getting caught be damned. Fuck, he bets you are. Not for the first time, he curses the cameras for not picking up any audio. He’d kill for a microphone bug right now.
Wooyoung’s breath starts getting pitchy, his hand sliding easier as San gets more and more rough with you. He doesn’t flip you onto your stomach tonight, but Wooyoung doesn’t need it. This is enough. Entranced and feverish, he watches how San smacks your backside, how you jolt in his hold. Unable to do anything but take it, just as Wooyoung is unable to look away. Both captives of San having his way with you.
Wooyoung bites back a loud groan, but still his small security room is filled with the wet noise of his hand, slick with precum. He holds it off, off, as long as he can, but breaks when your back arches, your nails clawing at San’s shoulders as you convulse in his lap. Now he knows you’re not being quiet; Wooyoung can’t keep quiet himself, gasping whiny moans as he sees how San fucks you through it, and Wooyoung keeps up, stroking himself until San shudders against you and Wooyoung is completely dry. His dick hurts.
(Worth it.)
You catch your breath while Wooyoung cleans himself with another tissue, and your smile is outright radiant from some kind of stupid post-sex afterglow. Wooyoung makes a face of disgust, like he wouldn’t die to have you smile like that at himself. (To get to smile at San like that.) Your arms are slumped around San and you lean in to whisper something in his ear. San looks up, his eyes falling right on the camera.
He grins, tired but satisfied.
Wooyoung is going to fucking kill you both.