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It’s dark by the time Suho comes home.
The bed creaks when he crawls into it, smelling strongly of their body wash. He probably rushed through drying his hair. Sieun sees the water drip-dropping off the ends, landing in fat circles on his notebook.
“Studying?” Suho asks.
Sieun hums, frowning at the wet spots on his paper, passing his thumb over the biggest one. His exam isn’t until the end of next week, but he’s always approached studying as a day-by-day task. A little bit each week, so he never has to cram. It got him through high school. And it's getting him through university too.
He flips to the next page, still a little wet from Suho’s hair, and rests his pen back onto the paper. It’s comfortably silent as Suho shifts on the bed to rest on his stomach, mirroring Sieun, watching him as he idly plays with the hem of his hoodie.
He recognizes the exact moment Suho gets bored, when his touches start to gain intent. Rough fingers flick under the hem, tracing broad patterns all across the small of his back.
Sieun tunes it out and highlights a sentence in his notes. The professor had emphasized it a few times during his last class, at least from what he remembers. It’ll probably be on the test.
“Am I bothering you?” Suho asks, voice dropping down into a whisper, the words pressed into Sieun’s shoulder with how close he is.
Sieun’s pen scratches across the page. Truthfully, it’s not that hard to ignore Suho. Usually he’s quieter at night, saving his eager babbling for when Sieun is awake and willing to respond. It doesn’t seem to be the case now, though, but it’s not like Suho’s saying anything that important. He’s touchier tonight, but that’s ignorable too, so long as he’s not that rough about it.
So, he doesn’t answer. Swallows a little hard, though, when the bed dips down and Suho leans over his back. His hand slides up his spine, right over the center, bringing the hoodie up with it. He shivers from the sudden cold, and then Suho’s tapping his fingers against his skin. The rhythm is slow, like he’s pondering, and then it quickly increases.
“You’re wearing my pants?”
Sieun glances back, just to see. They were the first ones he saw in the pajama drawer after his shower and he’d tossed them on without a care. They’re a little longer and tighter in the legs than he’s used to, and he has to actually tie the waistband when he normally wouldn’t. There’s some kind of lettering on the left leg, faded, half-peeled off, leaving just the ghost of an outline behind.
He shrugs. Still, Suho grins. Wide, maybe a touch manic. He has this weird thing about his clothes. Gets even weirder about it whenever they’re on Sieun.
“Did you miss me?” Suho asks, even though Sieun’s reaching for one of his pencils, drawing an arrow up to the previous line of notes. “I missed you. So much it hurt.”
Suho’s voice drops yet again, rougher now, and that’s when Sieun feels dull pressure against his thigh.
He’s hard.
“I have to study,” Sieun says flatly, but he doesn’t move away.
His grip tightens around his pencil. The tiny nub of lead breaks off against the paper, leaving behind an ash grey streak that Sieun stubbornly swipes at with the side of his thumb.
Suho hums, the sound vibrating against his neck when he ducks his face down to nose over it.
“Then study.”
Sieun bites back a huff, reaching for an eraser, rubbing away the stray marks. He doesn’t usually study on the bed, but he’s tired today, the coffee he’d downed this morning already worked out of his system. It doesn’t help that he’d taken a nap as soon as he got back from class, and had it interrupted by the mailman dropping off a package. Pair that with the long, hot shower he had only thirty minutes ago, and Sieun’s ready to just call it quits.
But he can’t. He needs to study. Even though Suho’s clinging to him, breathing against his neck, grinding on the back of his thigh like he thinks Sieun can’t feel it. He starts kissing him, sucking little bits of skin between his teeth, leaving the exact kind of marks that Hyuntak and Baku cackle about every time they see them.
He must be tensing, since Suho pauses, wet mouth poised right over Sieun’s pulse point.
“Don’t want it?” he murmurs, but he’s still so hard, still making tiny, aborted thrusts against Sieun’s leg, just beneath the curve of his ass. “Push me off.”
“You seem to want it,” Sieun replies, and he’s uncrossing his ankles, spreading his legs open. “Get it over with.”
“Fuck, Sieun-ah,” Suho mumbles, tortured, already slipping into the space made just for him. “I’ll make it quick. Won’t even put it in all the way so you can focus.”
He’s got both hands up under Sieun’s sweatshirt, but one trails down, playing with the waistband of his sweats. Sieun reaches for his textbook, pushed aside from Suho and all of his grabbiness, dragging it until it’s almost right in front of his face. He flips the page just as Suho rolls his waistband down, thumb pressing hard into the top of his ass.
“No underwear?” Suho whistles, and he’s squeezing, enough that Sieun winces. “Shit, did you want this too?”
Sieun doesn’t really remember. He remembers being bone-tired, enough that he’d skipped putting on lotion after his shower. Maybe he’d just thrown on enough clothes to look decent. Or maybe, just maybe, there had been a small part of him that had expected this. Suho doesn’t do so well when they’re apart. Probably because he’s a little codependent, but it’s not annoying. It’s nice, having someone care about where he is, and when he’s not around. To be missed. To be wanted.
“Don’t know,” Sieun answers mildly, and he’s turning his attention back to his book.
Still, he feels it, the way Suho pulls his pants all the way off, hand still massaging one cheek, thumb pulling at the seam between until he can get a look at his hole. He passes over it too, once, twice, and Sieun pauses, pencil digging a hole into the page. He forgot. He forgot that he—
“You got yourself ready.”
Suho’s pressing at it, right at the center of his hole, where it’s still slick. He doesn’t usually use that much lube when he gets himself off. It’s more of going through the actions, rushing through it all so he can cum, just to get the edge off. It helps with stress, at least when Suho’s not around or Sieun’s just not that in the mood.
“How many did you use?” Suho asks, and his thumb sinks in, just the very tip of it. Barely anything.
“Two.”
“Yeah? Was it enough?” Suho pulls his hand away, holds Sieun open and makes a wet sound. Something hot and liquid lands near his hole, and then it’s being smeared in, pushed inside when Suho’s thumb returns. “You’re still tight.”
Sieun rereads the sentence he’s on, using the tip of the pencil to keep his place. It doesn’t hurt, Suho’s thumb grinding in and out, slow and measured. Doesn’t feel that full either, but the pressure is nice. Steady.
“Made me cum, so I guess so.”
Suho inhales sharply, one of the knees he has bracketing Sieun’s hips jerking. The fingers holding him open dig in, tightening around his skin, maybe enough to leave red marks behind long after Suho gets his fill.
“Did you think of this?” Suho asks, the hand under his shirt massaging circles into his shoulder blade. “Could’ve asked, you know. Could’ve called me and I would’ve helped you out, Sieunnie.”
Suho stops moving his thumb again, spits over Sieun’s hole once more to get it wetter. He likes it like that. Whether it’s spit, or lube, or cum, Suho likes when the glide is smooth. Easy. Frames it like it’s so it doesn’t hurt, so Sieun feels best, but they both know there’s more to it than that. That it’s less about comfort, and more about a deep-seated need to claim.
He's shifting down the bed then, dragging his thumb out, holding one hip in his hand like a brand. His kisses are light, so much that it’s ticklish, and then his hair is brushing over the small of Sieun’s back. His breath is hot, his teeth blunt as they imprint a hickey onto his left cheek.
“Hyung, eat me out," Suho says suddenly.
“What?” Sieun mutters, only half-listening, brows furrowed as he tries his damndest to focus on the words swimming on the page in front of him.
“Say it,” Suho goads, biting him again, harder, enough that it’ll sting whenever Sieun puts pressure on it. “I like hearing it from you. Gets me so fucking hard.”
“Everything gets you hard.”
“Yeah,” Suho scoffs, and he’s kissing his cheek now, breath fanning over where Sieun’s held open. He shivers when he’s palmed over again, rough, needy. “All ‘cause of you. Fucking love your ass.”
It’s so stupid. Sieun kicks his leg out, but Suho’s fast, ripping his hand out from under his hoodie to catch it. He squeezes that, too, right around the bend of his knee. Then he’s snickering.
“Love fucking your ass, too,” he says, tipping his hips forward in emphasis, still laughing even as Sieun struggles in his grasp. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get this over with, hm?”
He’s rubbing up his thigh, sinking back down onto his knees, and if Sieun were to look, he bets he’d see Suho already drooling. He’s the one who always needs it more between the two of them, the one who loses his mind if he feels like they’re going too long without sex. He’s not pushy about it, always follows Sieun’s pace, but when he’s given a chance, when Sieun lets him take whatever he wants, he loses it.
“Hyung,” he drawls, bland, annoyed, “Eat me out. Please.”
“Good boy,” Suho chirps, kissing above the curve of his ass, grinning since Sieun can feel his teeth. “So fucking good. Let’s go, up on your knees.”
Sieun rises up on his knees. There’s a part of him that wants to point out that if Suho wants it so badly, he should make do with whatever he’s given. But it’s such a useless argument, especially when he’s not even a quarter of the way through the material he wants to study tonight.
He huffs. Suho’s grin widens, and then his tongue is out, trailing down between his spread cheeks, flicking at the very edge of his hole. He’s already getting sloppy, spit running down, and he groans, sealing his mouth around Sieun’s hole and sucking hard.
Sieun grips onto the edge of his notebook, crinkling the paper. He breathes sharply through his nose, thighs tensed, hip smarting from where Suho’s got a death grip on it. But he doesn’t budge, not even an inch. Suho puts more pressure with his tongue, laves over him in wide, long strokes, thoroughly wetting him.
There’s a tingle between his thighs, a soft throb as his cock starts to fill out. Suho circles his hole with the tip of his tongue, pushing more spit against it, using his thumb to hold it open so he can start to slip inside.
Sieun shakily reaches for his calculator. His back’s starting to hurt from the strain of staying still, of appearing unaffected even though Suho’s lapping at him, incessant, deeper inside with each pass of his eager tongue. He punches in the numbers he needs, eyes flicking back and forth between the workbook and his own notes.
“Hey,” Suho says then, partially muffled, and he’s using his other thumb now too, releasing Sieun’s hip to hold him open. Wide, wider, until his tongue can slip into the little space between his fingers, wet and easy. “Spread your legs more.”
He does, knees slipping against the sheets, and then Suho’s palming over his cock in tandem with each flick of his tongue. Sieun mashes the enter button on the calculator, dutifully copying the string of numbers. His toes curl when Suho grinds his hand over the head of his cock, and he feels himself spurt out a little pre, right over his fingers.
“Sexy,” Suho mutters, awed, stroking him like he’s trying to milk more out. “Get so wet every time hyung touches you like this, don’t you? C’mon, get hyung wetter. Gotta fuck it into you, remember?”
He almost snaps his thighs shut, trying to stave off Suho and his filthy, annoying mouth. But he can’t, he has to—
“Hyung,” he mumbles, heat crawling up the sides of his neck. “I thought you were going to hurry.”
“Trying,” Suho says, but it doesn’t feel like it. “Why?”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Shit. Really?” He sounds far too gleeful about it. “Oh, damn, Sieun-ah, you’re really leaking now.”
He can tell, just by how slick Suho’s hand over him feels. He stares blankly at his notes, lashes fluttering, allowing himself a few short, timid thrusts into Suho’s fist. It gets him a groan, a string of curses that are so jumbled he can’t make them out. Then there’s a chill as Suho leans back, pushing down on his back, forcing him into a deeper arch.
“I’m not gonna do a lot,” Suho reminds him, and he’s tracing over his hole again, wet fingers smearing his own pre over, sinking in two—so thickthickthick—until Sieun’s breaths thin out. “Just a little. Promise, babe, I’m almost done.”
“Hurry up, Suho-yah,” he mutters, and he accidentally writes out a wrong number, the six looking so wonky that he can’t even read it. He scans the bed, trying and failing to find his eraser.
“Can’t, not unless you ask me properly.”
Sieun exhales. His nostrils flare. “Hyung.”
“Yeah,” Suho murmurs airily, the fingers inside stroking, spreading, rubbing against his walls in a way that makes Sieun’s breath catch. “Gotta talk to me right, get it?”
It’s quiet then, except for Suho’s heavy pants, the wet squelch of his fingers pushing in and out of him. It’s quicker than usual, more impatient. They’re pulling out before Suho even brushes over his prostate, but then there’s the sound of clothes rustling. Suho swears under his breath, and then there’s pressure against his hole. Thick. Suho’s fingers right there, holding him open, pushing the head of his cock inside.
Sieun almost moans. Tamps it down, because Suho and his smug face can get so punchable sometimes. Returns to his studying, his notes, the textbook that smells like ink and old paper right beneath his nose.
“That’s it,” Suho tells him, and when he pushes forward again, Sieun can feel his pants brushing against his bare skin. He hasn’t even taken his clothes off. Just pulled out his dick and fed it to him. “Gonna start moving now, Sieun-ah. Just stay still. Do your homework and stay still.”
True to his word, Suho doesn’t put in more than the tip. He’s thrusting shallow and short, but he’s so loud about it, sighing and moaning and groaning, like they’re doing it all the way.
Properly.
The kind of way Sieun had thought about in the shower earlier, face pressed into the damp wall as his fingers drove into himself. Slow and deep, like when Suho has him on his back, when he wraps Sieun’s legs around his waist and whispers how much he loves him into his temple. Or hard, fast, like when he sits up against the headboard, grinning cocky and wide because Sieun’s riding him, nails scratching lines over his chest as he fucks himself on his cock.
His mind drifts, far away from the notes, from his future exam. Suho’s holding onto him so tight, thrusting into him so slow. It doesn’t feel like enough. Not even when he bends over, pulling down the collar of Sieun’s hoodie so he can kiss his neck. Not his mouth, because that’ll be too distracting. He’s being considerate.
“You’re thinking about something,” Suho accuses, nails sinking into Sieun’s hips. “Got so fucking tight just now.”
“No,” Sieun replies, cock starting to throb, neglected enough that he wants to slip a hand between his thighs and feel how wet he is for himself.
Suho takes mercy on him and lets it go. He’s moving quicker now, sloppier, and he’s not wearing a condom so Sieun feels it, a little more slickness inside of him. He’s close.
Swallowing hard, hearing his pulse starting to pound in his ears, Sieun clenches down. Suho moans, kissing his cheek, more spit than usual because he’s losing control. And Sieun—
He looks. He turns and looks, and Suho’s eyes get so wide, so round, and then he’s smiling crookedly, one side of his mouth lifting up slightly higher than the other.
“Hi, baby,” he says, pulling Sieun’s hips back with one hand, using the fingers of the other to circle around his cock and prevent too much from going in. “Wanna see me cum?”
“Yeah,” Sieun says, leaning down, folding his arms and resting his face on them. He’s lightly jostled by Suho’s next desperate thrust.
“Fuck,” Suho whimpers, like he’s said something far more scandalous than just that.
“Feels good like this,” Sieun continues, aiming for bored.
Truthfully, his mouth’s drying out the longer he looks at Suho. How his frizzy, half-dried bangs hang down into his eyes, how there’s sweat gleaming on the sides of his neck, how he’d been so impatient that his sweats are pulled down beneath his balls, thick cock so hard and red even though he’s still shallowly fucking Sieun.
“I like it,” he continues, watching as Suho’s eyes sharpen, head tilting to one side as he listens. “Like how hyung uses me.”
A broken, loud whine tears through the room. Suho squeezes his eyes shut, hips jerking hard, and Sieun squirms when he feels the first spurt of cum shoot inside him. Suho rides it out, grinds back and forth, again and again, stroking over the rest of his cock, hunched over Sieun’s back until he finally stops cumming.
His notebook is crushed beneath his head, the papers crinkling when Sieun shifts away from them, from the spiral ring digging into his cheek. Suho’s eyes snap open, and he’s flipping Sieun onto his back, brushing his hair away from his face with his clean hand.
“Are you done studying?”
Sieun shakes his head. He’s still hard. Still leaking. He presses into Suho’s thigh so he can feel it too.
“Can I touch you now?”
He hesitates. Thinks about the textbook by his head, the expensive calculator that Suho bought him for his last birthday. And then, without so much as a breath, he sweeps them all off the bed. Something clatters and Suho blinks at it, craning his neck until Sieun gets a leg around his waist and pulls him back.
“Touch me now, hyung.”
Suho groans, shoves his hands back under his hoodie, and kisses him hard.