Archive of Our Own

“You’re so beautiful when you sleep, you know that?”

The only sound that disturbs the tranquil silence of Wooyoung’s bedroom is Yunho’s low voice when the older boy lets his hand rest on the handle a fraction longer than necessary. It’s like the silence of the room itself has weight, as if testing the space will notice the moment he crosses into it.

It doesn’t.

There is only the slow, steady rhythm of Wooyoung’s breathing from the bed across the door. Moonlight spills through the narrow gaps in the curtains and drapes itself in pale, silvery bands on rumpled sheets and tan skin.

Yunho casts a look over his shoulder before he closes the door behind him and locks it. The click is soft, almost imagined, yet still definitive, shutting the world outside. 

It whispers filth to his dick.

Stepping into stillness, transcending that hairfine line between dream and wakefulness, Yunho simply stands there, letting his eyes adjust, letting the gravity of what lies ahead sink into him.

There, exactly as he expected, sleeps Wooyoung.

He is on his back, his body open and unguarded. One arm is bent behind his head, exposing the elegant line of his throat, the other resting loosely over his stomach like he had meant to stay awake a little longer but failed. The blanket has slipped down. It leaves only the upper half of him partially covered while one leg sticks out from under the covers, the other hooked in a comfortable, ninety degree angle. His loose, oversized shirt, one that belongs to Yunho, is wrinkly and creased, just shy of falling over the letters that decorate the space above his knee.

Other than Yunho’s shirt, Wooyoung wears nothing.

Yunho swallows and exhales slowly through his nose, not even realizing he was holding his breath, the noise feeling louder than it should in the hush.

“Look at you…” he murmurs in awe.

He takes his first step forward. Careful to avoid the places on the floor he knows from memory are creaky, he tiptoes closer on sock-clad feet, each step deliberate as if approaching something fragile. 

Another step. 

A pause, savouring the anticipation, that low, simmering current moving through him. 

Three smaller steps. 

Four more.

Wooyoung doesn’t stir.

The two tablets of oxazepam have sunk him deep, deeper than ordinary sleep. They have pulled him under in a way that shows in every relaxed muscle of his body, in the slackness of his fingers, in the way his full lips part just slightly with each soft exhale. His lashes flutter against the high expanse of his cheekbones, his pupils flicker back and forth behind closed lids as dreams come and go. 

Drawn to the small, intricate details of his sleeping boyfriend, Yunho’s gaze lingers. Hair the colour of the midnight sky is spread in a disarray across the pillow, one stubborn strand having fallen over Wooyoung’s brow, silver light catching the wisp with each slow rise and fall of his chest beneath fabric and blanket. 

Wooyoung looks so content, so peaceful. No sign of that frown which adorns his forehead when he’s concentrating on mastering a dance move, no hint of that adorable crinkle at the outer corners of his mismatched cat-eyes when Yunho cracks a stupid joke. No sly smirk around his mouth like he has when he teases San, no feigned revolted scrunch of his nose when Yeosang makes him taste an inedible creation he calls his ‘cooking’. 

All he is at this moment, is a blank, unmarked canvas of calm and quiet.

Yunho is now standing next to the edge of the bed. His long frame looms over the younger boy as he looks at the younger, like a predator softened by the shape of his prey, 

“Already deeply asleep, hm?” he whispers. “Are you dreaming about me, kitten?”

No reply. 

Of course not. 

But Yunho already knows the answer.

He glances at the nightstand. The red numbers of the digital alarm clock stare right back at him. 

01:37AM.

Jongho must be asleep by now. Knowing Hongjoong, their leader might still be awake, undoubtedly working even in the dead of the night until a sleepy Seonghwa comes shuffling into the studio to guide him to bed.

Yunho's pupils flit to the door. He knows he has locked it, but still. He can't shake the feeling of hiding in Wooyoung's bedroom like a guilty pup after having done something naughty. 

Although this isn't just naughty. 

This is something more deliberate, more dangerous, something that sits heavy in Yunho's chest even as it sparks something restless and eager beneath it. The taboo of it wraps snug around him, yet not tight enough to stop him. This is undiscovered territory for both him and the younger boy who is sleeping so peacefully. The sheer wrongness, the perverse depravity of it sends a shiver down his spine as he stands there next to his knocked-out lover.

He swallows again, feeling lightheaded already. Blood pools towards his groin faster than his rational mind can catch up, making the tips of his fingers tingle as he aches to touch, to feel, to trespass.

Even in the dark, he can see the items arranged on the bedside table — both his own and Wooyoung's phones, tissues, a fresh bottle of lube. The perforated blister of the oxazepam seems to glare at him, as if the inanimate object is judging how improper this is. 

Everything is there, according to plan, according to their arrangement.

“You said I could do anything I wanted,” Yunho breathes, his voice barely more than shivery air.

God, he's nervous.

His knees knack deafeningly loud as he kneels beside the bed. His trembling hand comes forward, hovering over Wooyoung's cheek for two, three long heartbeats before it lightly cups the other's jaw, his fingers brushing tender circles into the sleep-warm skin.

“I don't think you understand what that does to me, do you, Youngie?”

Wooyoung only exhales, his head shifting by the smallest degree, subconsciously leaning into the gentle touch. 

Yunho watches that tiny movement with sharp attention, waiting, just in case.

But nothing follows. No waking, no awareness, only the same slow rhythm returning as if nothing has disturbed it at all.

A satisfied smile curls Yunho's lips.

“My pretty little thing.”

The pad of his thumb skims over the mole decorating Wooyoung's bottom lip, feather-light, a barely there caress. Yunho tucks a strand of hair behind Wooyoung's ear and straightens himself, making his way to the foot end. 

One last, grounding breath, one that is a little too shaky for his own liking, and then, he slowly climbs onto Wooyoung's bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he crawls forward. Cautious and calculating his every movement, he settles between Wooyoung's parted legs, claiming the space like he belongs there.

From this vantage point, Yunho can clearly see the faint outline of his boyfriend's cock, resting flaccid against his thigh under the thin, worn fabric of the oversized shirt. His hungry eyes trail lower, dipping between Wooyoung's strong, muscled thighs, the angle and position of the younger's legs granting him a perfect view that makes his breath hitch — nestled between Wooyoung's ass sits a plug, the end a bejeweled, pink stud in the shape of a cat’s paw. If Yunho squints, he even notices the remnants of dried up lube, glistening on tan skin like dewdrops on fresh grass.

Just like they agreed on beforehand. 

Fuck, Wooyoung is perfect.

“You really left yourself like this for me, huh?” Yunho whispers, “didn't even think about taking it back…”

He can't help himself. One of his hands travels over his own chest, tweaking at his nipples which have already stiffened, both from the cool air in Wooyoung's room and the excitement buzzing under his skin. It creeps down, brushing over his tummy, pausing right above his waistband.

Shame flickers through him, thin and fragile, swallowed instantly by the unbearable heat beneath it. 

There's a familiar guilt in his hesitation. He has felt it before — when he got caught using Wooyoung's knotted dildo and came all over the younger's favourite hoodie he had been sniffing like a damn dog. When he made Wooyoung cry for the first time after having spanked and overstimulated his lover to hell and back.

However, this feels so much sharper, the awareness of crossing a line so intimate creating a confusing cocktail of dread and want that sloshes low in his gut. 

On the bed, Wooyoung smushes his cheek into the pillow and wets his lips. Spit gleams on his mouth that parts in adorable snores as he sinks even deeper into sleep and dream, the slivers of moonlight illuminating the wetness of saliva, the tempting plushness of his lips.

Yunho groans. 

He palms his cock over his sweats, utterly entranced by the innocence. His length thickens with more blood right under his hand as he roams his eyes over Wooyoung's sleeping frame. 

After four, five squeezes to take the edge off, he reluctantly removes his hand, letting it slither towards the blankets instead. Centimeter by centimeter, he peels the sheets away from Wooyoung's body, ignoring the quiver in his fingers, disregarding his pulse thrumming in his ears. It’s a gradual uncovering, like unveiling something sacred, Yunho’s hands moving with care that feels weirdly at odds with the darker intent beneath it. 

The fabric now gathers loosely around Wooyoung’s stomach. It slides over and off his hip, until it no longer conceals anything it has before.

Still, Wooyoung doesn’t wake. 

He only shivers when the cool night air hits his bare arms, the draft causing the tiny blond hairs to stand up straight, dappling golden skin with goosebumps. He exhales a bit deeper, his eyes flickering back and forth behind closed lids.

“There you are, darling,” mutters Yunho, equal parts reverent as possessive. “No more hiding from me.”

The hand that was stroking his cock not long before comes to rest on Wooyoung’s knee, pausing there. 

Yunho’s eyes flash up to Wooyoung’s face.

No reaction.

“Still gone,” the older boy smirks, “just like that…”

Slowly at first, almost experimentally, Yunho’s fingertips trace a light, unhurried path upward from his boyfriend’s tattooed knee, barely more than a ghost of touch, testing the boundary between sleep and waking. Up, up, up his fingers go, drawing patterns on warm, sun-kissed flesh, deliberate and controlled. Exploration transforms into intent as they drift higher, brushing over Wooyoung’s parted thighs, the sensitive insides of it, where Yunho grazes his nails over the skin. 

His gaze flicks up again.

There’s a subtle shift in Wooyoung’s breathing paired with the adorable scrunch of his nose because of the ticklish sensation, enough to make Yunho still for half a second. Wooyoung’s breathing and expression settles back just as quickly, as if it was never there, and Yunho’s grin deepens with satisfaction.

“Not even that wakes you up, hm?” he muses. “Is it because you’re completely knocked-out, or because you trust me that much?”

Bracing one hand on the mattress, his fingers caressing Wooyoung’s waist, Yunho reaches out to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube and placing it close by. He resumes his gentle touches with both hands now, stroking up and down his lover’s bare legs, alternating between hovering his warm palms just above goosebump-littered skin and delicately dragging his nails over the flesh. 

He lifts up the oversized shirt bit by bit, biting his lip when he sees how Wooyoung slowly starts to harden under his sweet caresses. Wooyoung’s dick is not fully erect yet, but Yunho easily spots the tell-tale twitching of the length and the first, tiny drop of precum beading at the tip still mostly covered by foreskin. With the shirt out of the way and bunched up to show Wooyoung’s midriff and stomach, no shadow can hide the prominent veins snaking down that taut, pretty tummy, like serpents of lavender and teal coiling around his pelvis, betraying his quickening pulse. 

“Even while dreaming, you still react to me,” Yunho whispers, pride and awe warming and tightening his chest. “Your body knows me, baby.”

From Wooyoung’s navel, he trails his index finger down, tugging ever so slightly at the heart-shaped bush of ink-black curls, ghosting over his boyfriend’s cock where he swipes off the droplet of arousal. He studies the liquid glistening on his digit before he brings it to his mouth, gritting his teeth to dust not to whimper at the distinct taste of salty bitterness seeping into his tastebuds.

“Mm, you always taste so good,” he praises with a soft groan. “I wonder how much you’ll leak for me when I bury my dick in you…”

Wooyoung’s balls are his next object of devotion, a part of the younger’s body Yunho pays special attention to. With his front teeth still digging into his lower lip, he draws lazy circles and figure-eights over the smooth sac, marveling at the fullness of them behind soft, hairless skin. Yunho’s own dick throbs in his sweats as Wooyoung sighs and his legs fall apart wider on pure instinct, his subconscious responding so beautifully, so vulnerably, his body answering Yunho’s gravitational pull even in slumber.

Yunho can feel himself starting to drip. He shifts carefully, another breathy moan getting punched out of him when his crown catches against the suffocating fleece of his joggers. He both thanks and curses his past self for going commando: the slide is heavenly, and there won’t be any clumsy yanking at his boxers since he’s not wearing them, but he is already so pent-up, so turned-on by the promise of fucking Wooyoung that merely a whisper of air can undo him.

He clenches his jaw, forcing the storm inside him to calm, focusing his attention back on his sleeping beauty.

It’s not long until Yunho’s exploring fingers dip lower and find the bejeweled base of the plug. Eyeing Wooyoung's expression, ever alert and attentive, he gently takes hold of the cat-paw end, pushing it back and forth to test if that rips any reaction out of Wooyoung. When it doesn't, he pulls it out a bit more, his heart thundering against his ribcage at the sight of Wooyoung's lube-tacky rim stretching around the widest part of the metal bulb and contracting immediately after, as if his body needs the fullness and is terrified to let go.

“Sucking it right back in… Such a greedy little hole, even when you sleep,” Yunho smiles.

His other hand joins the play, the pad of his index finger tracing the furl of Wooyoung’s entrance in playful circles. Yunho thrusts the plug in and out, twisting and turning it, damn near salivating at how Wooyoung's pliant, sedated body just takes it and submits under each and every ministration. 

Yunho could spend ages like this, toying and playing with his unconscious boyfriend. His palms ache to creep under the shirt and tease and twist Wooyoung's stiff nipples, to sink his nails into Wooyoung's tummy and watch the supple flesh spill between the spaces of his fingers. To stroke Wooyoung's dick, which has now completely hardened and rests rigid in the crook of his hip, twitching with each careful movement of the plug.

Even Yunho’s lips and tongue itch, desperate to kiss and lick that golden skin and taste salt and musk and Wooyoung, to suck hickies under his lover's ribs, to bite marks into his collarbones. To lap at the dripping tip, to swallow Wooyoung's cock down to the hilt and work his throat around it until they both see stars.

But he must be careful. 

Being too rough and too eager is risky and would possibly result in Wooyoung waking up, shattering the beautiful illusion, this fragile spell between them. So Yunho nibbles on his own lip, his jaw ticking with barely contained tension, suppressing the primal urges, concentrating on the more delicate task at hand with great difficulty.

Wooyoung's hole flutters and clenches, and underneath Yunho, Wooyoung twists his head deeper into the pillow, another sigh escaping him. His eyebrows furrow upward ever so slightly. In the dim moonlight, it's almost a displeased frown as the older boy proceeds to remove the cute plug little by little.

“I know you wanna be full, kitten, but I’m gonna pull it out now,” warns Yunho under his breath, more to himself and to the quiet of the bedroom than to his oblivious lover.

“You'll be filled again soon enough, I promise.”

The lewd squelch of lubricant seems loud enough to shake the walls. It tears through the silence, slicing through Yunho's irregular, shallow breathing and his blood roaring in his ears. 

Yunho holds his breath. Stills his body. Searches Wooyoung's face for any signs of recovering consciousness. 

Again, nothing.

Only the blankets crumpling under Wooyoung's fingers as he clutches at them harder, and the tremor of the muscles under his thighs when the plug slips out of him, paired with a barely there, petulant little noise falling from parted lips which tugs at Yunho's heartstrings.

“Shh,” he soothes, smoothing a hand up Wooyoung's legs to calm the spasms. “Shh. I know, Youngie. I know. You don't like feeling empty, do you? Poor baby...”

He wriggles himself out of his joggers with more urgency than grace. He doesn't even care to take them off fully. 

For now, he lets the elastic band sit right under the swell of his ass, pushing the front of the sweats somewhere haphazardly halfway down his thighs. His stiff cock springs up the second it's freed from its confines, slapping against his shirt and leaving a wet smear of arousal on the fabric. 

Yunho hisses and gulps. The tips of his ears burn scarlet in the cold room when he looks down to see how absurdly hard he is. He swears he can not only feel, but see his frantic heartbeat pulsating in the veins that run along the underside, his dusty pink crown darkening to red in the dim spill of light from between the curtains.

“Shit, darling,” he grits out, unable to stop himself from giving his dick three, four slow tugs. “‘m already so hard for you, so wet. Wish I could see those pretty eyes of yours light up like they always do when you see my cock…”

With his free hand, Yunho blindly pats around the heap of blankets for the bottle of lube he set aside earlier. He squirts an ungodly amount onto his length, pressing his lips together in a tight line not to whimper at the touch, spreading the liquid and coating his cock thoroughly while never taking his hungry gaze off of Wooyoung.

The latter is still sleeping soundly, though, remaining lost to it all. 

Yunho jerks himself slowly, sensually, his hungry eyes trailing up and down Wooyoung's dreaming frame.

A swirl of his thumb over his tip has the older boy's knees buckling where they're pressed in the mattress and his body folding in on itself. More precum dribbles forth and seeps over his knuckles, mixing with the lube to make everything impossibly more slippery than it already is. 

At the involuntary jolt, Wooyoung's face scrunches, his lips parting further as his jaw falls slack. 

Yunho can't stop staring. He swallows thickly, losing himself in that picture of pure innocence, stillness, the complete absence of resistance, trust.

It just feels so dirty, so wrong, stroking his cock between his sleeping lover's legs. Like some fucked up kind of reverse voyeurism. 

Yunho almost feels guilty.

Almost.

Deeming himself wet enough — and fully aware that more twists of his sleek fist on his rock-hard cock might have him busting his nut way too soon — he shuffles forwards, claiming more space. 

He knows he has to lift Wooyoung’s hips in order to gain better access. 

He draws in a slow breath, steadying himself, both hands hovering above the other’s waist before his fingers curl around them. 

Just the simple sensation of sleep-warm skin against his fingers is enough to send a new wave of heat through him. Yunho shivers, his dick leaking where it hangs thick and heavy between his legs, and little by little, he lifts and guides Wooyoung’s body in the preferred position.

Wooyoung goes pliantly, willingly even when he dreams. Almost instinctively. Under Yunho’s gentle, careful maneuvering, his head flops slightly to the side, like a marionette with its strings cut, exposing more of his throat. He is all softness and surrender, weightless in Yunho’s hands despite his limbs being heavy with sleep, slipping out of reach of himself, lax and boneless.

In this position, the darkness does little to conceal how open Wooyoung is: his legs parted and bent, his dick drooling on his tummy, his hole relaxed and soft, begging to be filled.

“You’re perfect, Wooyoungie,” praises Yunho, breathless, in complete and utter awe. “You go so easily, bending the exact way I want you to… Almost like a little ragdoll.”

He imagines it — the otherwise bright, loud, bratty boy taking on a plastic state of mind, all of his responsibilities and thoughts and decisions getting stripped away and placed fully in Yunho’s capable hands. Wooyoung would be wholly dependable on Yunho, who controls how he looks, moves or behaves, the both of them locked in that precarious balance of devotion and domination. Maybe Yunho could tie him up, allowing more physical manipulation to see that exhilarating brattiness vanish like dust in the wind, and then turn him into a dumb little bobble-head that mindlessly agrees to all of Yunho’s words and wishes…

But Yunho wouldn’t just simply use Wooyoung and treat him like an object (even though Wooyoung is the type to be very on board with that as well). He would craft him, dress him, adore him, just like one would with a precious doll made from fine china. Wooyoung is so light, so easy to pick up. Yunho could set him up a higher table without any effort at all, just so Wooyoung can function as a priceless trinket for his own selfish viewing pleasure, a prize won by meticulous crafting by loving hands, a cherished puppet to admire as he lazily strokes his dick and drinks in at what is his. 

Shaking his head as if to fling the raunchy fantasies from his brain, but definitely shelving them for later use, Yunho takes his cock in a loose hold and guides it between Wooyoung’s thighs. 

His movements are slow, excruciatingly so. His motions are measured in pauses rather than actions, testing not only Wooyoung but also himself, how much restraint he can hold on to, how long he can stay in perfect control of the pace instead of letting it take over.

When his crown nudges the smooth furl of his lover’s fluttering hole, Yunho stills. 

There is no resistance at all. The medication dulls both Wooyoung’s mind and body, drawing all the tension from him, making him yield with an unreal softness that has Yunho’s breath hitching and his balls aching. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, his eyes slipping shut for just a second. 

When he opens them again, they flit directly to Wooyoung's face.

His boyfriend is still lost, still unreachable, his breathing slow and even, though now, if Yunho watches closely, there’s the slightest inconsistency to it. 

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Yunho pushes in. His tip breaches the ring of muscle, plopping in easily, and the older boy has to sink his nails into his own thighs not to bury himself ballsdeep right away. The heat around his crown is overwhelming, the confusing contrast of those velvet-like walls so silky soft yet gripping him like a vice fucking intoxicating.

Yunho stays right there, only his cockhead in that tight warmth, giving shallow, barely there thrusts.

Wooyoung's body responds not consciously, but in subtle, undeniable ways — a faint shift in his hips, his breath stuttering once before settling again. His face is still serene with sleep, yet there is the smallest hint of a crease between his brows, a faint disruption in the otherwise perfect calm.

“‘s that nice, kitten?” Yunho asks in the stillness of the room. “Just the tip inside of you?”

‘Nice’ would be an understatement for Yunho. It's hair-raising, heart-stopping, mind-boggling. Just these short, delicate thrusts are enough to draw goosebumps along his arms, enough to kindle that fire burning deep down his gut. 

His dick throbs and twitches, his toes curl into the sheets. Yunho breathes out a soft, unbelieving chuckle.

“Do you want all of it?” he whispers, fixated on staring how his cockhead dips in and out of Wooyoung's pliant hole. “I definitely want all of it… Fuck, you're tight—”

Wooyoung answers him with a restless shift against the mattress, like his body is trying to follow something it doesn't understand. His head twists again, allowing the moonlight to drape over the sharp lines of his prominent nose and jaw, and one of his calves brushes against the back of Yunho's thigh before his leg falls back limply onto the mattress.

Yunho shudders, his hand curling around Wooyoung’s hip equal parts loving and possessive. 

“We’ll start with half,” he murmurs. “I know you can't take all of me in one go, no matter how hard you always try.”

He smiles, using his free hand to brush over the cute mole right under the younger boy's lashes that flutter at the tender touch.

“Let’s break that cute hole in a bit so you can get used to me, hm?”

Even when whispering, Yunho sounds wrecked already, his throat burning with the guttural growl he forces down when he sinks in just a little deeper, millimeter by excruciating millimeter. It takes time, more than he expects, more than he wants, because every centimeter forward demands restraint and patience, which he can feel slipping through his fingers the longer he stays suspended in it.

He doesn’t move at first. 

Instead, he lets both hands wander, smoothing over Wooyoung’s body. Ghosting his fingertips over the letters tattooed on his ribs, he slips them under the shirt next, brushing over his boyfriend’s stiff nipples that get impossibly harder under his attention. He simply can’t stop himself from touching him, from having him, even in the smallest of ways.

“You’re a fucking dream, you know that?” he purrs, trailing one hand down to roam over Wooyoung’s torso, further south to end just above his cock. It rests rigid on his tummy, jumping with each gentle thrust of half of Yunho’s length in him, precum oozing out of the head to pool into his bellybutton.

Shit, he is rock-hard and putty in Yunho's hands at the same time.

Yunho sucks in air through his teeth at the sight, his nostrils flaring as the musky, heady scent infiltrates his senses.

“Just look at you…” he praises. “So good, so responsive. Can't believe you're letting me do this to you… But you love it, don't you? You’re dripping, darling. Such a pretty face, such a perfect body, all for me to look at and play with when you’re knocked-out…”

Only half of his dick in Wooyoung is exquisite torture. Wooyoung is so utterly soft, so heavenly pliant, sucking Yunho in with all his might on pure instinct, as if he’s begging for the fullness. 

With another shiver that runs through his entire frame towering above Wooyoung, Yunho exhales shakily, his forehead dipping as another quiet sound escapes him, harder to suppress this time. He keeps that languid pace, rolling his hips while one hand clutches at the blankets bunched up beside Wooyoung’s ass, holding it to try and ground himself.

It does nothing to end the spiral. All he can think about is that he is currently fucking his unconscious boyfriend who is drugged up on benzodiazepines, violating that lax, pliant body, tainting his sweet dreams. 

Fuck.

Don't get him wrong — Yunho loves it when Wooyoung puts up a fight in bed and retaliates with his own weapons in the form of sharp teeth in Yunho's jugular and blunt nails scratching red welts into Yunho's back. But this, sliding his aching cock in and out of that warm, wet hole, using Wooyoung's compliant, yielding body for his own depraved fantasies… It rapidly frays the edges of Yunho's restraint, the storm gathering in his veins swollen with a crackling charge that skitters down his nerves and settles in his balls.

He lingers at the very edge of it, letting the moment of forbidden vulnerability stretch, letting Wooyoung adjust, soften, accept. 

“God, kitten, you can make me cum just like this,” he whimpers, gritting his teeth once more. “‘m not even all the way inside you and I’m already close, s-shit…”

Under him, Wooyoung squirms ever so slightly. His eyebrows knit together once more, and he twists his head to the left, then back to the right, his hand subconsciously wandering to Yunho's quivering thighs before drooping back down on the bed. One of his leg spasms. His hips lift off the mattress, just mere millimeters, the motion barely there, yet Yunho catches it nonetheless.

He whips his eyes upward.

“You want all of it, Wooyoungie?” he asks breathlessly, “want all of my cock in you?”

Another small movement. Another quiet, instinctive reaction, Wooyoung's body responding in ways his mind can not follow.

Yunho takes it as a silent beckoning, a quiet lure.

A wordless ‘yes’.

His next inhale stumbles as he pushes deeper. He is torn between staring at how the entirety of his dick sinks into Wooyoung’s ass and attentively searching Wooyoung's face for any signs of disturbance like the good (perverted) boyfriend he is, his pupils flitting back and forth as if his hole-drunk brain can't decide what to do.

Held to a punishingly slow pace, he moves his hips until his balls press snug against the cleft of Wooyoung's ass, until he can feel that agonizing hot tightness envelop every sensitive ridge, every pulsating vein of his throbbing dick. Lube froths in his pubes as involuntarily stutterfucks forward, trickling down his tight sac to splash onto the sheets.

“Fuuuck,” he whines out softly, head tipping back, jamming his molars into his tongue to not let more pathetic mewls spill.

“That's it, all the way in… Jesus, you're squeezing me so hard—” 

The first draw back and thrust in nearly undoes him. Pleasure surges through his veins, making his toes and fingers tingle, hitting like a shock and stealing all the air from his lungs. He thrusts again, building a steady tempo, forcing himself into a slow, measured pace while his instincts scream at him to press closer, to grab at Wooyoung's ass and hips, to go faster, harder.

“Nice ‘n slow,” he husks, more a reminder to himself than to Wooyoung. “N-nice ‘n easy, yeah, just like that…”

Normally, the crude noises of his balls slapping against Wooyoung’s ass would reverberate through either of their bedrooms, the vulgar sounds of them groaning and mewling profanities and spewing dirty talk back and forth echoing off the paper-thin walls. 

Now, however, there is only Yunho’s panting puffing out in short, shallow bursts, the slick slide of his lube-drenched dick and the muffled crumpling of the sheets as he fists them harder in his hands. Part of him misses Wooyoung’s breathy grunts that transform into higher, nasally whines the harder Yunho fucks him, but there is something so sacred about his silence in slumber that Yunho can’t help but feel that he’s desecrating him.    

Biting his cheek until copper floods his tongue, Yunho allows himself to press impossibly deeper, gyrating his hips in circles and figure-eights while resting his sweaty palm right under Wooyoung’s navel. The layer of precum which drips from Wooyoung’s cock in a steady stream wets his skin, seeping into his pores.

He can’t see it in the pitch-black dark, but he feels it — that subtle bulge in his lover’s lower stomach, the faintest outline of his dick just below the younger’s bellybutton. He presses down ever so slightly, his feet thumping against the mattress like he’s a dog in heat as he stimulates himself from both sides, increasing the already overwhelming sensation a thousandfold.

It’s hard, so incredibly hard not to grab Wooyoung’s legs, not to press his knees all the way to his ears, to not suck on those cute toes. To not absolutely demolish him. 

Stifling a growl that threatens to bubble up in his throat, Yunho keeps smoothly sliding in and out of Wooyoung’s soft, pliant hole, cautious not to go too hard, too fast. He wants it, but he doesn’t need it: the unconscious, rhythmic clenching of Wooyoung’s tight, velvet walls working his length are more than enough to make his head spin, to have that white-hot knot in his gut coiling tighter and tighter.

“You take me so well,” Yunho whispers, almost disbelieving. Tension hardens along his jaw, praise pouring out of him unrestrained. “God, Young-ah, you got me so fucked up, letting me violate this pretty body while you’re drugged the fuck out… You’re perfect for me, you know that? Fuck, I love you—”

Then—

A sound.

Soft and broken, barely more than breath.

“...Mmmngh…”

It's not even a word. Just a fragment, slurred and unfocused, falling from moist, parted lips.

Yunho freezes, his widening eyes snapping to Wooyoung’s face.

Silver slivers of moonlight highlight the pink flush that lies draped over the younger’s cheekbones and nose. Long eyelashes stir as his eyes drift beneath his lids, a clear indication that he is still deep in slumber, but his jaw flexes, his brow pulls tight, his breathing grows uneven. Black hair spills over the pillow as he shifts, another faint, confused noise catching before it can fully form.

“W-wh—?”

They didn’t talk about what would happen if Wooyoung would wake up. Wooyoung was convinced two oxazepam would knock him out for the entire night, and after Yunho had done his own research, he was convinced, too.

But now, as he lays there, limp and lax, caught in something that is not quite awareness or dreaming, too deep to wake yet too close to ignore what his body is feeling, Yunho can only stupidly stare at him, his chest constricting with shame and arousal tangled together.

Yet he’s driven forward, whether he wants it or not. His hips pick back up their tempo, giving in to the irresistible pull.

Wooyoung’s dick twitches on his belly, leaking more arousal with every thrust, soiling that adorable heart-shaped bush.

“Y—Yunnnnghh…”

It’s softer this time, heavy with sleep, completely unguarded.

“Yeah,” Yunho answers him with a gasp, “‘m right here. Daddy’s right here, kitten.”

God, he wants to maul his pretty neck that gets exposed even more when Wooyoung smushes his cheek into the pillow. 

One of Yunho’s trembling hands strokes his boyfriend’s side soothingly despite the growing intensity, his thumb brushing calming circles into Wooyoung’s waist.

“...Yuy— Mmmgh…”

“Shh, you’re just dreaming, darling,” whispers Yunho. His other hand grips the blankets like a faltering grip on sanity. “You’re having a very nice dream. There, there. Go back to sleep, I’ve got y—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath as Wooyoung shifts again, more urgently this time, his ass pressing back in a way that’s entirely instinctive and unaware.

Wooyoung’s hand twitches weakly against the sheets, fingers curling before his arm flops back down onto the mattress. His legs move again, slower, clumsier, weighed down by sleep and medication, yet the intent is there, an unconscious attempt even when swallowed by dreams to wrap closer, to hold, to keep Yunho right there. 

“Fuck, you’re not even awake and you’re still starving for cock,” Yunho purrs, half-groan, half-laugh. “Or is it just my cock? So greedy for me, so insatiable, even when you’re completely out of it, huh?”

He is getting close. He can feel it in every fiber of his being, in every nerve that is alight with fire. Sweat beads on his forehead, trickling down the slope of his nose, his teeth clattering together in pure rapture.

His arms wobble and his head dips, his lips hovering just above Wooyoung’s shoulder as if he needs the proximity to steady himself.

It doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it so much worse.

Because now he can feel everything more clearly. The warmth radiating off of his lover’s body, the softness of tan skin, the way Wooyoung yields without resistance. It sends another wave through him, so strong that he almost topples further forward, so overpowering that he's just shy from brushing his nose over Wooyoung's.

Yunho aches to kiss him, to pry that pliant mouth open and invade it with his tongue, to lick and lap until he's drunk on Wooyoug’s taste.

Haphazardly, he yanks his own sweat-damp shirt up to his flushed chest and forces himself upright on shaky limbs, wildly clawing at the heap of sheets. His control slips in fragments, in increments, with each deliciously wet, tight plunge back and forth.

“Want me to come in you while you sleep so peacefully?” he rasps, putting the lightest pressure on where his length is visible in Wooyoung's tummy. “Gonna let me— fuck, fill you up even more? Don't worry, baby, I'll plug you up right after, keep you nice and full of me all night… I know your pretty hole can't last a second without being filled to the brim, isn't that r-right?”

With Wooyoung weakly spasming under him every now and then, ever dreaming, never waking, with Yunho dancing dangerously close to the edge, the fantasies come unbidden.

Would Wooyoung allow him to drug him up even more, so Yunho can place his weakened body on a chair and bind his wrists behind him with zip ties? What would he look like if he gains consciousness and blearily takes in his surroundings, those gorgeous, mismatched cat-eyes widening in terror as he sees Yunho smirking at him, his horrified scream muffled behind duct tape stretched across his mouth? Would it drain all the fight out of him as he sits there frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck, allowing Yunho to turn him into a perfect obedient, dim-witted doll? Would he—

“Oh my God,” Yunho pants, tearing his bottom lip to shreds as he feels his balls drawing up. “Oh my fucking God, Wooyoungie, shit—”

He circles his hips, rolls them, gyrates them, twisting and turning himself in every heavenly angle, and then it hits him.

“G-gonna come,” he whimpers, failing to keep his voice down. “Fuck, kitten, ‘m gonna come— ah, fu-u-uck, I’m coming—”

His vision narrows until it's just Wooyoung, Wooyoung, Wooyoung, multi-coloured stars dotting the edges before his eyes cross and roll backward to the ceiling, seeing only blinding white. Toes curl in ecstacy, knuckles whiten, heat streaks through every pore. Every muscle in Yunho tightens at once, his body convulses like a live wire, and with a high-pitched whine of his boyfriend's name getting ripped out of his drooling mouth, he comes, fierce and uncontainable. 

“Yeah, t-take it,” he grits out, “so fuckin’ pliant and docile and mine—”

Cum sprays from him, hot and thick and copious, his pulsating cock fucking it deep, deeper, deepest as he wildly ruts himself through his orgasm, spilling in the unconscious boy who is sunk deep in the thick haze of slumber.

Still asleep. Still zonked on sedative medication, wrapped snuggly in the arms of Morpheus, out like a fucking light.

However — Wooyoung's body answers him regardless.

“...MhggnYunh-ho—”

Caught between sleep and the pulse of instinct, a muffled, stupefied noise escapes him, slurred and helpless. His back arches, not as sharp and as violent as it does when he is fully conscious, but unmistakable, his hole clamping down onto Yunho's cock as cum rains from him as well. Pearlescent white shoots over the ebony heart of wiry curls, soiling his sternum, splashing up to coat both his own and Yunho’s heaving chests. His closed eyes squeeze shut, his thighs spasms, his head tips back. He gurgles out another sound, raw, broken, vaguely consisting of the older boy’s name.

Stuttering through his own peak, stuffing that tight warmth full, Yunho keeps looking at Wooyoung, jaw slack, eyes wide, unable to tear his gaze away.

“Fuck, darling— yeah, there you go,” he groans weakly, awe threading through the chaos shattering him. “You’re fucking incredible— such a brain-dead little doll, and yet you still feel everything and go dumb on my dick, God—” 

Dazed, dizzy, spellbound, he watches Wooyoung arching once more, touched by what he can’t understand. He rides the tremors, the brutal aftershocks, shivering feverishly, rocking his hips until he simply can’t anymore. 

Only when the room spins around him, only when he’s on the verge of blacking out, he stops.

His body is gone. Every joint trembles, every heap of air he sucks into his depleted lungs is ragged and uneven. His arms buckle, his legs feel like they’re on fire, threatening to give out entirely, and he nearly collapses onto Wooyoung.

“Christ. H-holy fuck.”

Yunho grips the mattress with sweat-slick fingers, digging his knees into the bed, trying with all his might to stay upright. A last, soft, desperate whine slips past his parched lips, and he clamps a hand over his mouth to choke it back. It’s so unfitting, so pathetic for the commanding presence he has been, for the role he has held on so deliberately the entire night, but Wooyoung somehow, always, consciously or not, undoes him, even now.

He swallows thickly and blinks through the nebulous mist of his afterglow.

Wooyoung lies beneath him, sweaty, flushed, drenched in his own cum. He is sleeping again, deeply, peacefully, without a care in the world. A faint, satisfied curve of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Settling deeper into the bed, he utters a final sound, akin to a very content purr.

“So beautiful,” Yunho exhales shakily. “So pretty when you sleep, Youngie…”

He dips down, brushing a feather-light kiss onto Wooyoung’s lips.

With the greatest effort, attempting to regain a fragment of strength, he hauls himself back up, though his mouth tingles to kiss his boyfriend once more. He moves, dragging himself upright, back trembling with the effort, hands clutching the crumpled blankets for balance.

When he finally steadies himself enough to let his softening cock slide out of Wooyoung, the sight has him feeling light-headed all over again.

The evidence of his depravity glistens between Wooyoung’s legs. Cum, thick and gooey, trickles out of Wooyoung’s puffy, used hole. It shimmers an opaque, milky white in the gentle rays of moonlight, a merciless testament of ruining a dreamer’s innocence.

Yunho stares, his dick giving two, three interested twitches despite how empty his balls are, cruel vines of possessiveness curling around the heavy stones of guilt like ivy. 

He reaches out to his nightstand and grabs his phone.

The flash of his camera is harsh and cuts through the ink-black of the tranquil night. He takes a couple of shots from several viewpoints, keeping the camera low, the angles intimate. His fingers shake as he clicks on his lover’s chat and sends them.

Every part of you is mine, even when you sleep.

The words feel heavy on the screen, dripping with ownership, but it’s a promise. A reminder.

Wooyoung doesn’t do so much as twitch when Yunho slides the plug back in.

Yunho stuffs himself back into his sweats, a smirk curling around his mouth. With care and love, he slides the covers back over Wooyoung’s body. He smoothes them over gently, careful to preserve that perfect image of peace, of slumbering submission that makes his thundering heart skip multiple beats.

His walk back to Wooyoung’s bedroom door is lonely and cold. The chilly midnight air whispers over his heated skin, every centimeter of his drained body already missing the irresistible closeness, the comfortable warmth he robbed from the younger. 

But as he casts a glance over his shoulder, seeing those sleep-soft features, that frail smile, his wicked grin deepens, already imagining what more Wooyoung might offer him so willingly next time.

“Sleep well, kitten,” he whispers, blowing Wooyoung a kiss. “Dream of me.”

The room is silent. Silver moonlight pools across the bed.

And having claimed what is his, stolen from serene dreams, Yunho leaves like a thief in the night, as if he was never truly there.