Chapter Text
There’s an angel at Jackson Wang’s party.
San didn’t think angels came to college parties; but there stands one, right across the room. An otherworldly beauty basking under a neon blue glow.
A crowd of party-goers shifts between them, moving on and off the heavy thumping beat of music. Sometimes San loses sight of the handsome angel for a second, and his heart tightens every time, worried the apparition will be gone once the crowd parts way again. The party is hot and sweaty around him, even the air smelling sticky from the too-sweet punch, but San can’t take his eyes away, the edges of the world blurred as he’s honed in on his perfect stranger.
Soft curls frame the angel’s enchanting face, dyed white blond with a hint of black showing at the roots. It gives him an ethereal shine under the decorative neon light, a bright spot in the exhausting hazy blur of a party San didn’t even want to go to in the first place.
The beautiful stranger is dressed in a red sweater of knitted mesh that hangs loosely off one shoulder, showing off pretty collarbones and the straps of a black tank top underneath. Big, watchful eyes take in the spirited ongoings around him with cautious interest while he fidgets with the hem of his long sleeves; as though he, like San, isn’t quite sure what he’s doing here. Fantasies fill San’s head of whisking him away, to charm this angel to follow him out of this crowd, off to somewhere only they know.
Shit, when is the last time San’s been down this bad? He’s only nursing his first cup of the night, but already his cheeks are hot as he takes another sip. Unable to tell if his light-headed buzz is because of the alcohol or the powerful oxytocin that floods his system at the mere thought of talking to this ephemeral creature.
The angel’s name is Yeosang, San finds out from Mingi. Apparently he’s the roommate of some guy Mingi had a one-time thing with a few months ago.
“Don’t get your hopes up, buddy,” Mingi shouts over the music, an arm around San’s shoulders as he shakes with silent laughter. San fails too see what’s so funny. “Don’t think he’s here to find a hookup for himself.”
San makes a face at Mingi. “It doesn’t have to be a hookup,” he mumbles, disgruntled. If an extended courtship is what it takes to land an angel, San will woo Yeosang for as long as it takes for him to rest his wings in San’s arms. Already he’s scanning his memory for dating spots that strike the right balance between romantic and the budget of a broke college student. There’s a really nice dumpling place just off campus…
“Hey, Mingi—”
But Mingi is gone before San can pry more answers out of his friend, essential information like ‘does Yeosang prefer aquariums or theme parks’. Instead Mingi wandered off to chat up that one fashion major he’s been eyeing for ages now, a shorty sporting all-denim blue for the occasion. San sighs at the predictable abandonment. Ditched by the very person who dragged him out here. Yeah. Figures.
Well. San glances at Yeosang. He can’t begrudge it Mingi too much.
Undeterred by Mingi’s warning, San starts to move forward through the crowd. He has to try; you can never score if you don’t take a shot and all that. It doesn’t have to be a fucking hookup, Mingi!
The angel only notices San when he has almost made his way across the room. He blinks at San with curious eyes, like he’s a little surprised to be noticed in the party bustle, and awkwardly ducks his head in a nod when San finally joins him.
The perfect cupid’s bow of his lips is set in a tentative smile, but San doesn’t miss the way those beautiful dark eyes flicker up and down to take him in. Quietly he congratulates himself on the wardrobe choice of a simple fitted black tee and jeans; nothing to distract from his wide shoulders and how they taper down into a narrow waist, or how his pecs strain against the shirt.
“Hi, I’m San!” he says, half-shouts, to make himself heard over the music.
Alright, San, this is it. First impression. Be cool, don’t lay it all out at once. Act casual. Ask him if he comes to Jackson’s parties often. If he’s enjoying himself. Just be cool. You got this.
He leans in close, conjuring his most charming smile, dimples on the attack. “You’re very handsome!”
…Okay! Change of plans!
The angel blurts out a surprised laugh, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “No, I’m Yeosang!” he says, eyes twinkling in delight at his own joke. San thinks it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
“Yeah,” he says, fondly, “you are.” He takes the laugh as an invitation, sliding in closer to reach for Yeosang’s hand. “So…you want to dance?”
But San should’ve known better than to think it’d be this easy.
Yeosang stiffens, snatching his hand away. “Um. No?” There is a question in his voice, but it’s not uncertainty about his answer; more like he’s asking San what the hell he’s doing.
San hesitates, equally confused by how hard and sudden Yeosang has stepped on the brakes. He thought he was being fun and flirty, but either he completely misjudged the vibe or this guy really hates dancing. “Oh,” he says, trying not to deflate too hard, “that’s okay. We can just talk a bit?”
The offer is too little, too late. Skittish, Yeosang slinks out of San’s bubble with an awkward bow of his head. “Sorry, I, uh, I’m gonna get a drink.”
San perks up at the chance for redemption. “I can do that for” — but Yeosang has already disappeared — “…you.”
Now fully deflated, San’s shoulders drop with a sigh as he watches Yeosang slip through the crowd and into the kitchen. His crestfallen eyes linger on the empty doorway, like he can turn back time if he just stares hard enough at the space where Yeosang used to be. Already he can hear Mingi’s teasing, relentlessly poking fun at him for coming on too strong.
Any sensible person would probably take the L right about now and bow out, but it’s hard to shake his mind from the memory of Yeosang’s cute laugh. Hands stuffed in his pockets and shuffling his feet, San sullenly weighs his options.
It’s not really his style to just go home, tail tucked between his legs — but is taking another shot worth the potential blow to his pride, risking rejection twice?
…For Yeosang? Yes. Absolutely.
And just as San contemplates how to shoot his second shot without coming off as a pushy asshole; Yeosang peeks his head back around the doorway.
He casts a hesitant look at the room, clearly checking to see if San is still there. Yeosang flinches back when he’s caught, cheeks flushing as their eyes lock across the room. San sighs a chuckle, taking Yeosang’s reaction in stride. He just gives Yeosang a half-smile, as a friendly peace offering. It’s given with no expectation — but still San’s heart jolts when Yeosang smiles back, round cheeks and shiny eyes.
So. Fucking. Cute.
It takes every ounce of self control to not vibrate out of his skin when Yeosang approaches him again, not even carrying a drink. San has no idea what changed Yeosang’s mind in that kitchen, but he’s not one to question a miracle.
“Sorry, I know I can come off a little strong,” San offers when Yeosang rejoins him. “But it’s because I really like you,” he barely manages to swallow.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Yeosang nods. “Just a little.” Before San can decide whether that was meant to be a diss, Yeosang has already moved on. “Listen, you said we could just talk? I, ah, I’d like that. To talk.”
Miracles. Never question them.
They can barely hear each other over the loud thrum of party noises, but still San quickly comes to realise something. This angel? Is as gorgeous as he is difficult to figure out.
Yeosang is the one who gravitated back towards him, yet he slips away whenever San moves closer. When San leans in to hear better, putting a casual arm around his shoulders to pull him in, Yeosang brushes the arm away with an awkward laugh. And yet…
San amiably endures his friends’ occasional teasing that he can be slow on the uptake, but he knows when someone’s checking him out. And Yeosang is not exactly subtle about his interest, breath catching when he touches a firm bicep as he pushes away San’s arm, snugly wrapped by his tight sleeve. Keen eyes flit over San’s face, lips pursed into a small smile whenever a dimple pokes out. Obviously, Yeosang sees something he likes, and yet San can’t figure out how to cross that threshold from seeing into touching, no matter how innocuous the touch.
Maybe Yeosang’s just really put off by PDA?
The mixed signals are just another point of fascination for San. Enjoys the weird push and pull between them, rather than discouraged. He’s knows to appreciate a second chance.
It’s harder to hear Yeosang over the music with the slight distance between them, but San nods along with a smile, content to just watch how Yeosang slowly gets more animated. He says something about his roommate, a guy called Yunho, pulls up his phone to show a selfie of them together.
San whistles appreciatively at the handsome face in the picture; Mingi must’ve had a nice night with him.
“My roommate knows yours!” San shouts over the music, eager to share a point of connection no matter how slim. “I’m here with him, Mingi!”
He’s not sure whether Yeosang didn’t catch the name or just doesn’t recognise it, but all San gets is a blank stare until he finds Mingi in the crowd and points him out. Arm slung around that jaunty piece of ass he was chasing, glued together. Lucky bastard.
“Ah!” Yeosang’s face lights up with recognition, a light flush colouring his cheeks. “Yes! You know him? You know he—?” he asks excitedly, and San didn’t expect their roommates’ one-night stand would get such a big reaction, but he’s learned this is not a night to question anything. (Especially not when Yeosang just looks so damn cute, eyes bright and eager.)
“Yeah, I know!”
“And you’re… you don’t mind that?”
San tilts his head, brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to parse what Yeosang’s asking him. Why is the music always so damn loud at these things? In the end he just settles on a safe, agreeable smile, and pats himself on the shoulder for his choice when Yeosang’s own smile widens, glowing with excitement.
His heart feels close to bursting when Yeosang asks to take a selfie together; the perfect excuse to lean a little closer. San swears he can feel the warmth radiating off Yeosang’s cheek, leaving a tingle on his skin.
Encouraged, San coaxes a little more conversation out of Yeosang; finds out that he’s in the art program, that he’s shy to talk about his art. And while San contemplates whether this is the moment to suggest they go somewhere quieter to chat, Yeosang glances at his phone when it lights up with a text.
He bites his lip as he reads it, holding down a smile. It’s the kind of smile San would kick his feet fantasising that Yeosang reads his texts with. He waits with a tick in his jaw for Yeosang to reply. He’s never been this jealous of anyone for knowing a phone number.
But all jealousy is soothed when Yeosang puts his phone away and turns back to San, smile undimmed. “So…do you want to come over to my place?”
“Come over??”
San blinks dumbly, stunned at Yeosang’s sudden forwardness.
“Y-yeah?” Yeosang anxiously tugs at the sleeve of his sweater, made unsure by San’s surprise. “Um…if that’s alright? Introduce you to my…friend? If– if you’re open to that? Ah, sorry, maybe I misundersto—”
“No, no, I am!” San rushes to reassure him. As far as euphemisms go, ‘introduce my friend’ is…well… it sure is something, but San is nothing but endeared to finally find the flaw in his otherwise perfect angel. Clearly his studies don’t cover the art of dirty talk, but who the hell cares? When a man is so cute, so drop dead gorgeous, with such a deep and mesmerising voice? Yeosang could be reciting San’s driest biochemistry coursework and he’d still bat his eyelashes, hanging off every word.
San’s chest clenches when Yeosang takes his hand and leads him away from the party, into the night air. The pieces click into place; those texts must’ve been with Yunho, to make sure they’ll have their privacy at the dorm.
The heavy bass from the party follows them outside, their noisy companion as they stroll through the brisk night to Yeosang’s place, close enough to walk. His hand still has a loose hold on San’s, like he’s forgotten about it. San squeezes his fingers, smiles when Yeosang jumps in surprise at the soft grip, almost pulling away but now caught in San’s hold. San feels a bit woozy, yet profoundly sobered in the night chill. It’s happening. It’s actually, really, happening. (Mingi can apologise later for being a nonbeliever.)
Heat simmers in San’s gut, his greed ignited. His eyes sweep over Yeosang as they walk, his head light and fuzzy with anticipation. He wonders if those pretty lips are as soft as they look. He remembers Yeosang’s tiny gasp when San had squeezed his hand, wonders if he’ll let out the same cute, surprised little gasps when something feels good. When San makes him feel good.
An excited spark jolts down San’s spine at the thought of pleasing his beautiful angel, in whatever way he wants. Yeosang’s shyness might be deceptive; he did keep a firm hand on the reins tonight, every step they took to get here taken on his terms. San’s face warms at the thought of Yeosang pinning him down to do with as he likes, though with Yeosang he wouldn’t mind taking the lead either. Fuck, he’d do anything with him. For him. Anything he wants.
Yeosang lets him into the building and guides him through a messy but abandoned common room, up the stairs. The dorm is quiet; most of its inhabitants are probably back at the party they just left behind them. San itches to touch Yeosang, to kiss him senseless right against the boring beige walls, but he controls himself, promises himself the wait will only sweeten the taste of Yeosang’s mouth.
They scoot past a fallen over bicycle in the hallway of the second floor, and San’s heart thumps in his throat when Yeosang lets go of his hand to open the door to his room.
San immediately notices two things.
The first thing is that the room is a lot more bare-boned than he expected from an art student. There’s little in the ways of decoration, of colour, like he and his roommate just moved in here yesterday with the bare minimum unpacked.
The second thing San notices is the roommate from the picture Yeosang showed him; huddled in bed with a thick textbook, reading glasses on, his dark hair a fluffy mess.
Oh, and he’s shirtless.
What.
Like he was waiting for them, the roommate gives San a handsome smile. “Hey,” he says, ruffling his hair before he takes off his glasses and puts them and the book aside. “I’m Yunho.”
His bright smile is a force of nature, and San is utterly disarmed and defenceless as he stares back at Yunho, in nothing but grey sweatpants, nipples free as a bird. Two birds? He gets up from the bed and — oh fuck, oh fuck he’s tall, somehow even more handsome in person than he was in the photo. But most importantly… why is he here?
“Um, why is he here?” San blurts out to Yeosang.
Yeosang blinks, taken aback by the question like San is the weird one for asking. “What do you mean, why? I thought— Didn’t you…?” He trails off, looking from San to Yunho in helpless confusion.
The bluntness of San’s question slides right off Yunho. He lets out a surprised giggle, shoulders shaking and a playful spark in his eyes. “Yah, Yeosangie, we really need to practice how you pitch this whole thing to others!” he laughs. “This is the second time now!”
San still struggles to grasp what the hell is going on — but one thing he does understand, in all its horrible tragedy.
“So, we’re not…” He gestures between himself and Yeosang, lips set in a pout. “You didn’t invite me back to…?”
“No!”
The horrified look on Yeosang’s face is like a sledgehammer to San’s heart and ego, denting them beyond repair. The heat in his body dissipates, crushed by the reality that he won’t find out just how soft Yeosang’s lips are. But if they weren’t gonna fuck, then why did he bring San here and why is Yunho……??
Yunho shoots Yeosang a reassuring smile. He sits back down on the bed, pats the empty space next to him in invitation to San. Too stunned to question it, San sits without protest.
“Yeosang said your name is San?” Yunho asks, his voice smooth like velvet, and San can only nod dumbly. Yunho’s lips twitch in amusement at his meekness. “He also said you know Mingi, is that right?”
San nods again, clears his throat. “Yeah, we live together,” he says, and now that he’s found his tongue he can’t seem to stop running it. “Mingi mentioned that, uhh, that you two hooked up.”
“Hmm.” Yunho hums, and that playful spark in his eyes morphs into something darker. Hungrier. “Did he also mention that Yeosang watched?”
Oh.
Oh.
Suddenly all the heat rushes back into the room, slamming into San with realisation. Cheeks burning, his eyes snap back to Yunho, shirtless and, well, really fucking hot. A tiny voice inside him rails against the instant attraction, against the temptation of what’s on offer. What about Yeosang? After spending the whole night star-eyed and hopelessly smitten, is San seriously the type of guy to chuck aside all his hopes and dreams for the next handsome face he comes across?
(Handsome face, intense eyes, wide shoulders, perfect smooth skin and lean muscles and a pretty treasure trail on his flat stomach and fuck fuck fuck he’s hot.)
A glance at Yeosang shows him biting his lip, a nervousness but also an intensity in his eyes San hasn’t seen before. Want. Yeosang wants him, even if it isn’t in the way he imagined tonight to go down. But Yeosang’s want floods San’s imagination with new images, their vividness burning that small voice about romance and gentlemanly behaviour to a crisp.
Yunho tilts his head, watching in interest how the puzzle pieces fall into place behind San’s eyes, wide as saucers and his face flushed crimson. “San, just how much did you have to drink?” he chuckles good-naturedly.
“One! Just one drink!” San sputters in indignation.
“Okay okay, sorry!” Yunho laughs. “It’s just— you’re—” His fingers brush over San’s red, warm cheeks, and he smiles slowly when the flush intensifies under his touch. “Just wanted to make sure,” he says, voice deep and smooth and friendly.
San rolls his eyes, annoyed at how disarmingly attractive this guy is. The consideration is sweet, but he kinda hopes Yunho won’t be as nice when they fuck. If. If they fuck.
Oh, who is he kidding.
Just five minutes ago, he’d blissfully fantasised about doing anything Yeosang wants. And if Yeosang wants San to get railed by mister tall, dark and handsome, who is he to refuse?
“So uh, do you top?”
San puts on his best nonchalant front, resting his hands on the bed as he leans back into a relaxed pose. With unearned confidence he raises his eyebrow in challenge, his stomach clenching in anticipation.
The corner of Yunho’s lips twitches with a soft laugh. “Yeah,” he chuckles, slowly raking his eyes over San like he’s trying to decide where to take a bite out of him first. Suddenly the room feels ten degrees hotter, a heated inevitability scorching between them. This is happening. “I do.”
He leaves the words hanging in the air, effortlessly countering San’s challenge with his own. ‘Say it. Say you want me to fuck you, right in front of Yeosang,’ his dark eyes dare San.
Fuck. Definitely not just nice.
Helplessly, San’s throat bobs as he swallows down an involuntary whine. He feels naked already, exposed in front of this ridiculously handsome man, nothing but a stranger to him. His tongue is useless, words frozen in his throat like prey faced with a dangerous predator.
A rustling sound breaks San free; Yeosang has slipped off his shoes, now shifting to sit cross-legged on his bed. He’s slightly hunched forward with his arms resting on his knees and hands clasped together, eyes large and gleaming.
Yeosang’s pointed attention emboldens San into action. This might be his one shot to impress Yeosang, and he’ll be damned if he lets it slip through his fingers. Determined, San kicks off his own shoes, ushers Yunho on the bed to sit back against the headboard, and climbs into his lap before San’s brain gets the chance to slow down and do something stupid like thinking.
“Then show me,” San says, grinding down against Yunho like his insides aren’t melting into a thick, hot goo under their intense gazes. Yunho groans, latching onto San’s hips to still him, large hands an easy fit around his waist. San feels dizzy with it, a jolt running through his spine as he glances at Yeosang and their eyes meet. “Show him.”
“Hm, bossy,” Yunho chuckles as he reaches up his hand, using one finger to tilt San’s chin and bring his eyes back to him. “Fun.”
San flushes at the calculating look on Yunho’s face, but he’s come too far to stumble now. Yeosang wants to watch? No problem.
Absolutely no fucking problem at all.
And just like that, San surges forward to kiss a stranger he met barely two minutes ago. It only stokes the heat pooling in his gut; the fact he doesn’t know anything about this Yunho, nothing except how his hands feel on San’s waist, slowly dragging up his sides and freeing the hem of his t shirt from his jeans. That Yunho has long fingers, raising shivers as they brush over the sliver of exposed skin. A good kisser, slow but firm, easy to melt into. His mouth warm and welcoming, a faint taste of mint like he just brushed his teeth. New discoveries in every swipe of his tongue, every squeeze of his hands, just as hungry to learn more about San.
Impatient, San breaks the kiss to shuck off his shirt, grins in satisfaction when Yunho sucks in a breath at the reveal of plump muscle. San glances at Yeosang, eager for his approval.
Yeosang’s quiet intensity is unchanged by the reveal, until Yunho reaches up with a hand to palm San’s chest, thumbing at his nipple. Pleasure shoots through his chest right down to his cock, rutting forward in Yunho’s lap with a whine. Yeosang perks up at the sound, which just makes San whine louder.
A hand on his waist encourages him to keep moving, dragging his clothed cock against Yunho’s sweats. The barrier of his jeans is frustrating, but still San groans at the friction, seeking out more. Yeosang’s eyes dart to the pretty arch of his back, and San pants against Yunho’s mouth as he grinds down harder. Already his cock twitches impatiently, riled up even more by Yeosang’s undivided attention. Fuelling him with the need to please their spectator, to impress him, to give Yeosang a night he’ll never forget. (To make sure he’ll never forget San.)
Yunho won’t let San forget either. A sudden pinch at his nipple draws a sharp moan from San, bucking his hips at the sting.
“So sensitive,” Yunho giggles, and presses an apologetic kiss on the corner of San’s mouth, sweet and meaningless as he scrapes his nail over the tender skin. He bites his lip at the resulting hiss, watching San with a hungry glint. It’s a stark contrast with the soft fluff of his hair, heat brewing behind his hard eyes. “What do you want, hm? Tell me. What’d you want me to do to a cute thing like you?”
Any other day San might pout at being called ‘cute’, even if it’s just for show. But as the shape of Yunho’s hands burn into his skin, squeezing and petting at him, San makes another discovery about Yunho. That he will let Yunho do anything to him.
“Wanna ride you,” San begs with a needy whine, stripped from all dignity by just a bit of grinding and making out. “Please, let me ride you.”
Yunho hums, sliding a hand down to San’s backside, fingers dipping under the waistband of his jeans. “Ahh, that’s what you want…” He nips San’s bottom lip, smiling at how San arches back into his hand. “You wanna show off to Yeosang how pretty you’ll look splitting yourself open on my cock.”
“Y-yes.” The admission slips out before San can stop himself. He shudders at how easily Yunho sees through him, hips involuntarily bucking forward.
The friction has Yunho biting his lip, groaning deep. “So honest,” he laughs breathily. “Fuck, you really are adorable.” His free hand presses low on San’s abdomen, thumb brushing over his clothed crotch, where his dick strains against the stiff fabric. “Then…take these off.”
San clambers off the bed, quick enough to outrun any embarrassment over how eager he is to shuck off his jeans and underwear. They pool around his ankles, and he almost trips over his own feet when he tries to step out of them and yank off a sock at the same time.
“No rush, we have all night,” Yunho teases as he welcomes San back into his lap. Firm hands take San’s waist again, encouraging him to grind down, now dragging his bare cock against the bulge in Yunho’s sweats. San swears under his breath when he feels Yunho twitch against him, and it rapidly dawns on him what he’s dealing with here. Fuck.
Yunho chuckles lowly, lips curving into a self-satisfied smile as he watches the realisation on San’s face. He leans forward to whisper in San’s ear, voice deepening into a hungry rasp, “Besides, I’d like to take my time with you anyway.”
San drops his forehead down on Yunho’s shoulder with a choked moan. He shudders at how his cock drags against Yunho’s, seeking friction through the thin barrier. The feel of the outline is tantalising, addictive, and San craves more with every roll of his hips. All he can do is beg. “Please.” He paws at Yunho’s clothes, moaning when his fingers brush against a damp spot of precum. Impatiently, San tugs down the waistband, “Please, j-just—”
He yelps in surprise when Yunho’s palm smacks against his ass, just hard enough to leave a tingling glow on impact. San whines and squirms in Yunho’s lap, silently crying out for more, more.
“No skipping ahead, baby,” Yunho warns, though he runs a soothing hand over the tender skin. “Want to get you ready first. Can you wait a little longer for me, hm?”
The question borders on patronising, like Yunho’s already got San all figured out, knows exactly what a needy thing he’s got trembling in his arms. San nuzzles deeper into his shoulder, burning up at how Yunho keeps seeing right through him.
“Yes, yes, I’ll wait, I’ll be so good, so good, promise, please, I promise,” he babbles against Yunho’s collarbone, mindless. He tries to be patient but his head is fuzzy with want, biting down his moan when he hears the click of a bottle of lube.
Soon he’s rewarded when a hand squeezes his asscheek and spreads him open, exposing him to the slicked-up finger that brushes against his hole. San hisses at the cold touch, though the sound ends in a shaky moan when Yunho traces circles around San’s tight ring of muscle, slowly increasing the pressure. It’d be horrifying how quickly he’s unravelling with this stranger, if only he wasn’t so horned up by how easily Yunho is pulling him apart.
San dares a glance at Yeosang, beautiful Yeosang, who is drinking it all in with big eyes, his lips slightly parted as he watches how Yunho finally eases a finger inside San. Helplessly San whimpers, as affected by the pressure against his walls as he is by how Yeosang’s eyes widen when he keens at the intrusion. He clutches onto Yunho’s shoulders with pitched breaths, chest heaving, body melting with the desperation to have more of Yunho inside him, to have Yeosang’s eyes on him like this always.
Yeosang jumps slightly when he realises San is watching him back, but then he relaxes again, intently taking in San’s slack-jawed moans and flushed cheeks, hair sticking to his forehead. San bites his lip, pleased to be pleasing.
Wanting to please Yunho too, San presses soft kisses on his shoulder, up his neck, seeking his mouth. He moans when Yunho curves his finger, pressing nastily close to that sweet spot. Pleasure ripples through him, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough. “Yunho,” he gasps between kisses, “please, ‘m ready, more please, just one more.”
“Just one? That’s enough for you?” Yunho playfully bucks his hips, like he wants to remind San of what he’s packing. (Like San could ever forget.) “Gonna need a little more if you want to ride me. Want to make this good for you, baby.”
San nods, desperately, his head spinning at the pet name. “Yes, yes, wan’ it all, yes,” he moans, somehow still gasping in surprise when Yunho slides in a second finger, immediately setting a steady pace.
That’s when San discovers another thing about Yunho.
He’s really fucking good with his hands.
Within no time at all, he has San halfway ruined already with just two fingers. His free hand is tangled in San’s hair, alternating between rough tugs and soothingly running his fingers through the black strands, melting the tension from San’s body to render him relaxed and pliant.
San whimpers when Yunho focuses on his prostate with firm pressure, his cock twitching dangerously as precum oozes from the tip. He can feel Yeosang’s eyes burn into the damp spot he’s made on Yunho’s sweats, wetter with every press of his fingers. The soggy material drags against the bulge of Yunho’s cock, hard as a rock from San’s writhing. It’s the only sign Yunho is affected too, in total control of himself and of San as he works in a third finger with brutal ease. His composure feels cruel, a mocking contrast to what a total wreck he’s reduced San to, and San eats it up, deliriously surrendering himself to Yunho’s whims.
The overwhelming heat inside him coils into something sharp, targeted, and San chokes up at the realisation of how close he is. He tries to warn Yunho, but his tongue is lolled uselessly out of his mouth and he can only whine when Yunho sucks on it, coaxing him into a messy kiss. All San can do is take it, body tensing up as he kicks his hips, every whimper swallowed by Yunho’s mouth. He’s so close, it’s there, right there—
And it’s ripped away from him.
San sobs pitifully as Yunho slows down, fingers sliding out of him no matter how he tries to clench down on them. “Don’t stop,” he pleads, hands shaky as he paws at Yunho’s shoulders, “oh fuck please, don’t stop, I’m so close, fuck.”
But one look at the dark, hungry glint in Yunho’s eyes, and San already knows it’s no use. Too satisfied to see San beg and whine like this. San slumps in defeat before Yunho even answers him, mourning how the rush of pleasure fades from reach.
“Can he take one more?”
San sucks in a breath at the sound of Yeosang’s voice. Low and soft and curious, his question sends an electrified current through the room.
Heat flares low in San’s belly at the surprised punch of molten arousal; it’s the first time Yeosang has spoken since he sat down to watch, and San had stopped expecting him to. Comfortable as a quiet spectre, the ghostly audience to San and Yunho’s perverted play. But suddenly he is tangible again, his words hanging between them with physical weight… and Yunho is listening. San was right. An angel. Yeosang is a real, actual angel, here to bring him salvation.
Yunho eyes San with a penetrating gaze, slowly squeezing San’s ass before he slides three fingers back inside him. Hot relief washes through San at the comforting fullness, his breath catching when a fourth finger prods testingly at his sensitive rim.
“If I take it slow with him, yeah, think so,” Yunho hums, pressing a little firmer, and it’s scrambling San’s brain, the way they talk over him. Like he’s just some plaything to be used. Fuck, please use him. He’ll be good, he’ll be so so good.
Yunho giggles, and only then San realises his thoughts slipped out of his mouth. “You hear that, Yeosangie?” Yunho asks, grabbing the lube for a fresh coating. “What a good boy you found for me.”
Shameless, San preens. He glances at Yeosang, hoping to see him agree, maybe even add praises of his own. But Yeosang has gone quiet again, just watching them intently. Fuck, he doesn’t even bother to touch himself, no tell-tale tenting in the crotch of his pants. San huffs, his competitive spirit stoked, only becoming that much more desperate to impress Yeosang.
Resolved to see Yeosang break, San lets his moans spill free when Yunho pours a generous amount of lube directly on his hole. Euphoria sings through San when Yeosang’s breath hitches at the sounds of his high whines harmonising obscenely with the slick squelch of Yunho giving a few thrusts with three fingers. Suspicions confirmed; Yeosang likes him noisy.
But the strangled mewl that's torn from San’s lips when Yunho finally gives Yeosang what he wants is entirely organic. He burns, sweat breaking out on his skin at the overwhelming pressure of another finger forcing its way inside him. Yunho’s free hand grabs at his waist to keep him in place as he writhes, instinctively trying to escape even as his guts melt into pure arousal when the pads of Yunho’s fingers stroke right where he needs them.
“F-fuck, Yunho— c-can’t—”
“Sh, sh,” Yunho soothes him, kneading his hip, “you’re good, baby, you’re good.”
The words drive a hard spike into his abdomen, breath stuttering as he locks up in Yunho’s lap, coiling into himself with a choked up sob. His eyes scrunch shut, sparks flashing behind his lids as he breaks apart. He hears a distant “oh fuck”, but he can’t tell who it is, a high ringing in his ears as his hips buck once, twice, spilling over.
It’s quiet as San gasps for air, slowly recovering from the feverish high. His eyes flutter open, and San is hit with an embarrassed flush when he sees the mess he made all over Yunho, cum oozing down his chest and stomach, some pooling in his belly button. He flushes even hotter when he sees the looks on the two men’s faces, staring at him with something close to awe.
Yeosang’s grip on his knees is white-knuckled, eyes tracking the slow dribble of a thick, sticky globule of cum. He notices San’s stare, briefly meets his eyes to give a small nod. A slack-jawed smile spreads over San’s lips, his softening dick twitching at Yeosang’s approval.
Then San feels Yunho’s fingers slowly withdraw, and he turns back to him, embarrassment returning tenfold. “Sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean to— I mean—”
“Dude, what are you even apologising for?” Yunho interrupts him, his grin friendly. “That was hot. You okay, or you need a minute?”
Tremors run through San’s body. Maybe he does need a minute, or five, but to be empty feels horrible; he aches, flayed open and desperate to be stuffed full again. “Okay, I’m okay,” he nods, frantically. “Want you inside me, fuck me, fill me up, wan’ it.”
The soft friendliness fades from Yunho’s grin. “God, you’re needy,” he says, licking his lips. “So hungry for cock.”
He pushes two fingers back inside San, stroking him to ease some of the ache. San clenches around him with a frustrated whine. It’s not enough, not nearly enough for him anymore. “Yunhooo…”
“Ah ah,” Yunho tuts. “First help me clean up your mess. Then I’ll let you ride my dick.”
He takes San’s wrist, guiding him to scoop up his own cum from Yunho’s stomach. Instinctively San’s lips part to suck his fingers clean, but Yunho sucks them in his mouth instead.
San’s breath catches at the gentle pressure as Yunho hollows his cheeks, thick swipes of his tongue. Yunho releases him with a soft ‘pop’, then brings his hand down for another scoop. His stomach tightens as San’s fingers brush over the stained skin, leaving a shimmer of saliva behind. Then Yunho sucks him clean again, and San moans when he catches a glimpse of white already gathered on Yunho’s tongue.
He follows meekly when Yunho clasps his chin and pulls him forward, welcoming the salty tang of his own cum as Yunho feeds it to him, tongue shoved down his throat. Yunho’s large hand curls around the back of San’s head, holding him close while he swallows obediently.
“Good,” Yunho says when he pulls away, patting San’s cheek in a way that should feel condescending, but San just moans in gratitude. Yunho chuckles at how out of it he is, equally condescending, while he reaches down to tug at his sweatpants. The damp spot in his crotch has only grown. “Now, help me get these off.”
Eagerly San complies, raising himself off Yunho’s lap so he can watch how Yunho pulls his waistband down, freeing his cock — and though San had a pretty good estimate of Yunho’s size, his eyes still widen when he finally gets a look at the real deal. Yunho’s cock smacks wetly against his stomach, treasure trail leading to a bush of semi-trimmed curls. He’s heavy and hard, dauntingly thick, the glistening tip flushed an angry red. A goddamn blunt instrument. Suddenly Yeosang’s ask for a fourth finger feels less about pushing him to his limits just to see him squirm, and more like just good fucking sense.
San swallows, trying to swallow his nerves down too, cheeks burning when Yunho laughs fondly at his reaction.
“Hop on, cowboy,” he grins, patting his thigh. “Show us what you’ve got.”
San’s stomach jumps at the word ‘us’. His eyes dart to Yeosang; head tilted and biting his lip as he watches, hands squeezing his knees like he’s trying to keep them busy. Small cracks in his quiet demeanour but they pour over San like a cloudburst, dousing him with need.
It’s with regret that San tears his eyes away again, but he’ll need to focus for what comes next. He grabs the bottle and pours lube generously over his hand, relishing Yunho’s tight hiss when he wraps his fingers around the thick length of his cock. He spreads the cool, viscous slick with a few experimental strokes, marvelling at the feel of Yunho in his hand, smooth and girthy, hot to the touch. It twitches when he squeezes, so he squeezes again, grinning in satisfaction when Yunho pouts and smacks his outer thigh in playful warning.
San’s head reels at how high he needs to lift himself up to guide Yunho to his entrance. He’s grateful for the steadying hand on his hip, eyebrows drawing together as he shudders at the press of Yunho’s cockhead at his hole, even gaping wide as he is. His thighs tremble as he lowers down, a choked moan wrung from his throat. The pressure inside him is immense, his body still sensitive from his previous orgasm, and he’s quickly overwhelmed by Yunho filling him up, totally wired from overstimulation.
Usually it helps when he can control the pace, but San is sweating, panting from the exertion as he slowly brings himself down. His gym rat lifestyle means nothing in the face of Yunho’s monster dick, all muscle gains rendered useless as his walls are forced to yield inch by fat inch.
His eyes dart back to Yeosang again, slightly blurred from San’s teary vision. Distantly San recalls thoughts about wanting to show off, now recognised as pure, unearned hubris. Every cell in his body is liquefying as he sinks deeper, begging him to just collapse against Yunho already, to let himself get fucked deep and hard, bouncing uselessly in his lap.
“Doing so well, baby,” Yunho murmurs gently, cupping his face to swipe a single tear with his thumb. “Just a little more, taking me so well.”
But San chokes up as he bottoms out, trembling like a leaf and shaking his head. “Too much,” he whines, pathetic even to his own ears, “n-need you to fuck me.”
Yunho chuckles, like someone endeared by a clumsy puppy failing to do a trick. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“N-no, I mean I can’t—” San weakly bucks his hips, futile. Even the slight movement makes him whimper, Yunho’s cock shifting in the snug space he carved out for himself.
“Oh baby,” Yunho croons, fondly mocking. He wipes the sweaty hair off San’s forehead and presses a sweet kiss there, cooing over his soft snivels. “Need me to do the work for you, hm? My pretty pillow princess.”
Something unexpected jolts in San’s stomach at the taunting pet name. Every protest is knocked out of him by his shaky limbs, struggling just to stay upright. “Please,” he moans out weakly. “Need you, mhyeah…”
The emptiness is no less horrible this time around when Yunho pulls out to help San manoeuvre on all fours. “Is this good?” he asks, rubbing a hand over San’s shivering back.
San starts to nod; then it sinks in Yunho wasn’t asking him, but Yeosang. The realisation knocks him onto his elbows, hiding a sob in his forearms.
“Yeah, just— San? I can’t see your face.”
It feels surreal, for Yeosang to talk to him directly. The words can’t quite reach San, sunken too deep in the conviction he’s just a toy that Yeosang is watching Yunho play with. Silent, Yunho brushes his fingers through San’s hair, tangling lightly to tug and turn his head. Just the small movement feels like pushing himself through a wall, but it’s all worth it to see Yeosang’s face light up when their eyes meet.
“Okay, perfect,” he says, sitting up straight with his lips pursed in a tiny, excited smile. It’s so fucking adorable San wants to cry.
Yunho keeps stroking his hair, soothing his light shivers. “You okay, Sannie? Ready?”
San takes a few deep breaths to gather himself, smiles dopily back at Yeosang while pushing his ass back against Yunho, deliberately deepening the arch of his spine. Finding ways to show off after all. “Ready,” he whispers, preening with renewed confidence — and is instantly humbled as Yunho grabs his narrow waist and buries himself in one smooth, slow slide.
Yeosang’s eyes widen at San’s loud squeal, jaw slacking as he watches how San scrambles for an anchor, nails digging into the sheets and hips jerking away but Yunho won’t let him escape, his grip on San’s waist like steel. Pushing forward without mercy until his pelvis presses against San’s ass, embedded so deep San can feel him everywhere, from his gut to the tingling heat spread up his flushed chest and down curling his toes, his heart pounding so hard every beat reverberates in his throat.
Yunho gives him no time to breathe, immediately setting a harsh pace. “Fuck, you feel good,” he groans through gritted teeth. “Still so tight…”
He runs his hand over San’s sweat-glistening back, thumb tracing along the indent of his spine. San whines when Yunho presses down between his shoulder-blades, forcing him to bend deeper. The angle is ruining him, the fit so snug that San’s eyes roll to the back of his head.
The bed creaks underneath them from the relentless force of Yunho fucking into San. His own cock plumps up again, slapping harshly against his stomach with every snap of Yunho’s hips. It’s painful from how sensitive he is, punctuated with whiny “ah ah ah”s spilling past his lips, hanging open uselessly. There’s a growing wet patch in the sheets under his cheek, soggy with drool and sweat and tears as he moans at the onslaught of Yunho’s dick punching pleasure right into his core.
“So pretty,” Yunho groans, his voice tight and rough from exertion. “Look so fucking pretty like this, all fucked out. Taking me so well…” One of his hands grabs at San’s asscheek, digging his fingers roughly into the swell of meat, spreading San open as if to see better where his cock disappears inside him. Yunho’s thumb inches inward to his abused rim and San keens at the added pressure.
For one mind-bendingly delirious second, San thinks Yunho wants to wriggle in a finger alongside his dick. Alarm and arousal collides in the hazy melting pot of his brain; where is the edge of his physical limits? Could Yunho find it? Would he try if San begged?
“Please…” San snivels quietly, unsure if anyone can even hear, but Yunho’s hand disappears before he can string any more words together. He whines at the loss, wiggling his hips back. “Yun-hooo, plea—ah!”
San cries out when a sharp burst of pain explodes where Yunho just squeezed him. The sudden spank leaves a searing hot brand in the shape of a large hand on his ass, skin tingling from impact. His chest heaves with laboured breaths, clinging to the sheets like they’re his lifeline. But he hears Yeosang’s soft gasp with crystal clarity, sweetening the pain that sings through his veins even deeper.
Yunho rubs the afflicted skin, no longer moving, just staying buried deep inside him. “You liked that, Yeosang?” he asks, a grin in his voice. Ignoring the way San sobs at being passed over while they talk again.
Yeosang takes tight breaths, nods intently. “…Do that again.”
“F-fuck…” San moans, wantonly pushing back into Yunho’s hand in encouragement.
Even now he knows it’s coming, San yelps at the ruthless impact of Yunho’s palm coming down against his ass. Pain flares through him, leaving behind a glow of raw heat that feeds directly into a sharp coiling in his belly.
Yunho chuckles lowly. “Look at how he’s squirming, Sangie. Think he likes it too.”
Yes, fuck yes. More, he wants more. San begs wordlessly, too tongue-tied for any coherency. More, of something, anything. The pain combined with the lack of friction is fogging up San’s head and he tries to move his hips, to fuck himself on Yunho’s cock.
Immediately Yunho comes down with another strike, harder than the last. San yowls, the sound muffled when Yunho puts his hand on the nape of San’s neck, pressing his head down into the sheets. N-no. Yeosang can’t see, the frenetic thought shoots through San, but Yeosang does not protest, a ghostly spectre once again.
The fact he cannot even see his angel shoots through San with a pang of distress, but quickly he’s distracted by the solid heat of Yunho’s chest pressed against his back. Yunho bends himself over San, caging him in with his body, torturing San with slow rolls of his hips. Every stroke bumps perfectly against his prostate, the coil in his stomach tightening. He gasps with strained breaths, nose pressed into the bed. Lightheadedness sets in as Yunho kneads at the back of his neck, pushing him closer with every press of his cock.
“Close?” Yunho asks, his raspy breath right by San’s ear.
San whines, nodding his head best he can. His neglected cock aches for friction but it doesn’t seem to matter, his body thrumming with the feverish heat of Yunho’s touch and Yeosang’s eyes.
“Fuck, baby, you’re trembling,” Yunho says, his voice laced with admiration. He wraps an arm around San’s waist to help hold him up, and San almost thinks he’s being kind — until Yunho stops moving again, holding San tightly in place to keep him trapped. San whines in desperate frustration, chokes on the sound when Yunho circles his hips, massaging his thick cock right against that sensitive spot.
He does not let up, forcing San to just take the overwhelming constant pressure, the cruel lack of friction. It’s not long before San is sobbing and clawing at the sheets, drowning in it. He’s so close it hurts, his pleasure inflamed and throbbing, but he’s dangling at the edge, unable to find release. Mindless, he reaches back to touch himself in desperation, but Yunho snatches his hand and pins it to the mattress above his head.
“Sorry, baby,” Yunho says, not a trace of remorse in his voice. “Wanna see you come hands free again. You can do that for me, can you?”
San turns his head, silently pleading with Yunho through teary eyes. Yunho leans down deeper, kissing a wet streak on San’s cheek. “Alright,” he breathes, seeming to find an answer in San’s tears. Gently he starts to thrust again, and San almost breaks in relief.
“Wait, stop,” Yeosang cuts through, soft but unchallengeable. “I think he can come like this.”
Sobs wreck San’s trembling shoulders as Yunho does as he’s told. Yunho tightens his hold, chest pressed firmly against San’s back as he sweetly noses at the dark, sweaty hair of his nape. “You might be right, Sangie. As easy as he is pretty, this one. Takes nothing but warming my cock.” He drags his mouth to San’s ear, his whisper a demand. “Show him. Give Yeosang what he wants.”
And San has long realised he can’t say no, not if it’s to Yunho. Not if it’s for Yeosang.
Yunho grinds with a little more force, like he’s making a home for himself inside San’s stretched hole, until it remembers the shape of him so vividly that no one else will ever fit right. San tilts over with maddening slowness, staring at Yeosang through bleary eyes, not really seeing him anymore, the world out of focus through his tears. But San knows he’s there, and that is enough. It electrifies him, his knees buckling so he’s only held up by Yunho’s arm around his waist. His forearm brushes against San’s cock, muscles flexing with the effort of holding San in place, and just like that San comes undone, choking on a silent cry as he seizes up and paints Yunho’s sheets with messy spurts of watery cum.
He comes long and hard, Yunho groaning into his neck at how he clenches on his dick.
“Fuck, I can’t wait anymore,” Yunho gasps, “fuck you’re hot.”
The praise glows in San’s chest, his smile sluggish, but he’s not given long to recover. San lets out a squeal when Yunho starts fucking him in earnest, rough snaps of his hips. “T-too much—!” he mewls, his blunt nails tearing at the bed. “Oh fuck, fuck, Y-Yunho, n-need you to come,” he begs, blubbering through thick tears as his body is pushed beyond its limits. “P-please come, I— I can’t—”
San whimpers when Yunho growls at his pleas. His intense body heat leaves San’s back as he straightens up, releasing San’s waist to grab his hips again with both hands, and San sobs when Yunho pulls out, leaving him gaping. Yunho ruts against San’s ass, bucking wildly until he comes with low, drawn out moans as he unloads all over San’s ass and lower back. San sighs contently at the feeling of cum dribbling down his thighs, whines a little when Yunho smacks his heavy cockhead against the abused rim to smear the final spurts around, pressing at his hole without pressing inside.
Distantly, San feels how he’s gently lowered onto the bed. His body is boneless, exhaustion hitting him all at once. Sleep blurs at the edges of his vision but San manages to hold it off long enough to dazedly smile at Yeosang when he brings him some water, to stay still as Yunho wipes him clean.
Shivers rake through San as the heat of sex slowly dissipates, but Yunho proves himself a gentleman in the aftermath, covering him with a blanket. He even lets San nuzzle up against his chest, seeking out his warmth and comfort as sleep finally overpowers him. “Cute,” he faintly hears Yunho chuckle, long fingers gently brushing through his hair as he drifts away.