Work Text:
“How up for trying something new are you?”
Yeosang pulls his mug—King Ghidorah on a yellow backdrop spewing fire from his middle head—of newly warmed apple juice and a cinnamon quill from the microwave just before it beeps and opens his eyes in wide curiosity at his boyfriend.
“I’m up for it,” he agrees easily. “New like… how?”
Yunho twirls his thumbs, watches Yeosang sit across from him at their tiny dining room table and loops his long, doe leg around one of the legs to pull Yeosang closer; tuck him comfortably snug against the round edge.
There’s no easy way to ask. No simple way to suggest slight exhibitionism to your boyfriend you’ve only just begun exploring with. Not due to any lack of desire to, but rather lack of a spine that only recently has increased in size. And Yeosang was willing. Soft, pliable, and easy to convince. He didn’t argue—only redirected if it was something he really didn’t want to do and those things were so very few and far between they were essentially nonexistent. Everything Yunho suggested ended up becoming Yeosang’s favorite. Maybe because they were with Yunho and that was enough. Maybe because he needed to be told what he wanted. He wasn’t sure, but Yeosang liked it all.
He liked how Yunho’s cock felt under his foot. Hot, tacky flesh that thumped with a heartbeat every time he experimented with the movements he was making; digging his toe into the slit on an upstroke and making Yunho come so prematurely—landing in long, well-aimed spurts across Yeosang’s chin and bottom lip—it shocked the both of them.
He liked fucking Yunho from behind, holding him to his chest with an arm wrapped snug across his jugular. Tongue stuck out of his mouth to catch the sweat as it fell in raindrops from Yunho’s brown, damp crown. Watching his face go red and his gasps cut off.
He didn’t like how it felt caged up. It overwhelmed his whole body in a way he didn’t know possible, it made him itch with the need to get out.
He did like how it felt seeing Yunho caged up. Watching him stutter out directions. Being told how to kiss him, when to touch him and where. When to fuck him hard and when to slow down so he could breathe again.
Yunho knew these things. Knew what Yeosang liked before he realized he hated them. A strange one two that licked at his brain like a fire.
"I'm not going to go to Wooyoung's with you."
Yeosang coughs on his juice, juts his bottom lip out subconsciously while he tries to remember how to swallow. Yunho speaks again before Yeosang can try and ask why.
"You'll go and you'll play Parcheesi with Sannie and Seonghwa-hyung. You'll win at Twister," Yunho smiles fondly; reminiscent of the times they've played. The first of many times Yeosang lost, "or you'll lose. And then I'll call you and you'll answer."
Yeosang feels his heart rate pick up both at the laidback, self confidence of Yunho's demands, and the fear building inside him.
Yunho was always self-assured. Confident in a silly way; boy next door who you wouldn't mind introducing your parents to. He was someone that could make you feel like it was just the two of you in a room full of people. It's this that attracted Yeosang in the first place. In someones backyard in peak summer heat wearing a denim blue baseball cap, a Rhinestone Cowboys tee, jean cut-offs, and gray socks with a hole in one of the big toes, black on the bottom from trussing through the yard all afternoon.
"You have a hole in your sock," Yeosang informed lamely, which made Yunho snort into his lemonade.
"I know," Yunho had said, dopey smiled and fidgety if you looked close enough to notice—Yeosang didn't; too distracted by the bow of his upper lip and the silver peaking out from the collar of his shirt—"I'm Yunho." He wiggled his peaking toe in greeting towards Yeosang which was the first sign of many that he was surely in for something if he got wrapped up with this guy and, like packing tape around an exploding box of everything, wrapped he got.
They exchanged numbers under the canopy that night. Yeosang sending a hey to Yunho's egg selfie, and thus Yunho became a part of the dailies. A greeting text in the morning, one of his lunch every afternoon even if it was just a fast food burger, random plants or tupperware or books that reminded him of Yeosang in some way; the sleepy grass reaching over a neighbors fence, nesting egg china dishes, page seventeen of Sunburn by Chloe Michelle Howarth (the last paragraph made me think of you he had texted with the accompanying photo but still read the whole thing :p). And, like the end of a chapter, a text every night. Their correspondance grew and grew until it was out of hand, and Yunho proposed via Call of Duty split screen—'be my boyfriend?' painstaking and messily shot against the ground just before the session ended. They had sex for the first time that night. Sweet, disorganized sex with Yeosang asking for a kiss before he pressed himself in all the way.
It took a week of nonstop rabbit-like fucking across Yeosang's apartment for Yunho to suggest the foot thing, and the rest was history.
Yeosang distracts himself with another sip of his drink, this time careful to swallow properly.
"Okay," he says finally, setting his mug down. "And then what?"
"I don't wanna tell you yet."
Yeosang feels Yunho's foot graze his under the table. A buoy hellbent on keeping him steady. An out, if he needs it. He knows he can say no. Knows he can just give Yunho a look and he'll smile that pretty straight smile he does and back off; continue as if the subject wasn't breached and start asking Yeosang what they're wearing tonight. Polo or t-shirt? Just as curious as Yunho is enticing, he nods. Twice, up and down in agreeance.
"Yeah?" Yunho prompts.
"Yes," Yeosang confirms. "That sounds good."
"Good!"
Yunho gathers Yeosang's free hand to nuzzle his face across the knuckles, leaves a kiss over the two in the middle, before scooting his chair back and standing in a stretch.
"I can't wait to tell you." He smiles out.
And then he's gone down the hallway; a shadow of broad shoulders and rocking hips before he disappears all at once like he was never there to begin with.
—
The get together at Wooyoung's is just as it normally is; wafts of delicious smelling food dancing out the doorway the second it was swung open. Hongjoong and Mingi gathered around an incredibly heated game of Scrabble, arguing over whether or not 'cum' was a legit word they could use. Mingi voting yes, Hongjoong voting no, both of them yelling for a ref, aka Seonghwa who was much too preoccupied nursing San back to the cusp of coherency; currently a hiccupy koala-bear-cuddly husk of himself. And Jongho, just beyond the living room and in the kitchen. Yeosang could see the back of his head from his perch on the couch; stirring a pot for Wooyoung like the hero he is, deeply aware of how important it was for Wooyoung to be a proper host.
Just as it normally is sans Yunho, but Yeosang is doing a bang up job of acting like it's not effecting him if he has to say so himself. In their year long relationship, they've never been more than a stones throw from each other when they found themselves in social gatherings like this. Yeosang was quick to anxiousness when conversations slid off track, and Yunho was quick to control; leading conversation with a carefully curated joke, squeezing Yeosang's hand, speaking for him when the night dragged out too long and he was sleepy. It's easier with the people he's fondest of. There's a Yunho-sized ghost beside him and Yeosang aches for him. A thrum under his skin while he waits for the call that's been promised. Two rounds of garbage dead and gone, all their legs are tingling where they sit.
Criss-cross at the coffee table rolling die; three sixes on his first roll.
"Get a Yahtzee, get a Yahtzee!" Wooyoung chants, thumping the table. Jongho reaches out to hold him still.
Wooyoung shoots him a very nonthreatening glare. "Last roll, Sangie, come on,"
He throws and they roll in slow motion.
One more six and a five.
Thank God for his chance.
Twenty-nine.
Jongho does the math for everybody one at a time and Yeosang flips his phone over. Again, he's lost count but each time comes with the same result; nothing. Zilch. Silence.
"What do you keep checking your phone for?"
Yeosang snaps his head up, looks at Wooyoung who stares back.
"Nothing, it's—"
Seonghwa 332
"Yunho?"
Yeosang jumps at the name.
San 241, Hongjoong 226
"If he's really that sick, you should probably go home, right?"
The pink fat of his tongue feels swollen. Dry, swollen muscle sticking to the sides of his mouth. Licking the smooth of his teeth. He's found out. Somehow, before Yeosang himself even knows what's to happen, Wooyoung is ten steps ahead and he knows the peversity Yeosang and his missing boyfriend are trying to get up to. Yeosang feels hot with the accusation that he feels coming. Wooyoung knows Yeosang's tells almost as well as Yunho does. If anyone could crack him, it would be him. Yeosang's skin feels hot.
Mingi 322, Wooyoung 325, Jongho—
"Or are you worried about it?"
"About what?" Yeosang barely asks.
Jongho 227
"About getting," Yeosang 254. "Sick?"
His knee hits the underside of the table. A twisting ache spreads from the cap all the way to his toes, it makes him hiss.
"Seonghwa wins!" Wooyoung announces, smirk obvious on his face as he applauds their hyung who bows his head in mock pride.
The throbbing in Yeosang's knee distracts him from the rising volume around him. He pinches, rubs, and massages the throbbing joint to sooth it into submission. The room spins around him; standing moving bodies stretch and shake and speak. The coffee table jostles over his lap. He doesn't register his movement, just does. The pain is evil in the same way any pain is. Sneaking, suspicous, and above all else stupid because it's avoidable. Yeosang prods his thumb into the growing lump over his patella. It centers him.
Like a magic trick, the living room has been resituated. Furniture turned, pushed, moved around Yeosang; the eye of the storm, calm in the center.
A Twister mat lays dormant where the coffee table once was; vinyl smell surrounding the room in a fog. Crinkling as it's pulled taut, Mingi lays across it like a starfish; more of an attempt to make the rest of them laugh than to actually get the creases out.
Yeosang zeroes in on a sound just feet away.
Bzzz.
All blood rushing to his ears. Pavlovian excitement knowing what it is. Knowing who it is. There's never been a moment in his life where he's moved faster. An olympic level dive across the carpet—funny bone forgotten—and he enters his password in a daze.
Yunho - 6:24pm
| miss u already :( u._.u
| 1 attachment
Yeosang's quick to turn the brightness of his phone down before lamely reacting with a thumbs up. Yunho, never shameless, takes up the entire length of his phone screen. It's not the most explicit thing he's ever sent—not even close—but with how Yeosang's been nervous since their tabletop talk, it's enough to make him burn.
He's laid back in bed, covers mussed around him. His shirt hitched up just enough to show the toned, skinny planes of his stomach. His long pitted bellybutton and the waistband of his boxers. His thumb is hooked in them; pulling it down just enough for Yeosang to see the thatch of thin, dark hair growing above his cock which seems to miss him just as much as Yunho has claimed because it strains against the thin fabric of his polyester shorts. An untamed beast of a thing; desperate animal. And his mouth—God his mouth—tongue poking out just barely from the left side, red and bitten and spit wet.
Yeosang huffs, nervous, and cups one hand around the screen and types with the other.
Yeosang - 6:26pm
I miss you too. |
You look so perfect |
Should I come home? |
Yunho - 6:26pm
| no.
| still gonna call u
| did u forget
| :///
Did he forget? It's all he can think about. Like a kicked puppy, one sided concesion in the hopes of getting something good, Yeosang writes back.
Yeosang - 6:28pm
I didn't forget |
I'm sorry |
"Yeosang!"
He jumps at the shout of his name.
"Sorry! Just… Checking on Yunho. One sec…"
Yeosang - 6:29pm
Wooyoung's bothering me |
I think he knows |
Gotta go |
Yeosang pockets his phone and finally stands from the ground.
—
The game is a disaster. Hongjoong tapped out two minutes into the first game on account of Mingi getting a left hand red command and subsequently dropping himself chest first onto Hongjoongs ducked head, causing him "undoubtebly, the worst concussion known to humankind", according to Hongjoong in all his redcheeked embarrassment. He's taking turns with Jongho flicking the spinner and calling out the colors and body parts.
This is the qualifying round, according to Wooyoung. A standoff between San and Yeosang, one of which will end up competing against returning champion for the millionth time in a row Wooyoung himself and potentially winning himself the grand prize of bragging rights. And with the way San's legs are shaking from his yoga position, Yeosang has hope for himself.
He doesn't even care about winning anymore. He cares about getting home. He cares about his Yunho and what he's doing alone in their bed right now. He cares about the phone burning a brand into his thigh through the pocket of his jeans. He cares about the aggressive press of his half-hardness against the seam of said jeans.
"Right hand yellow!"
Yeosang walks his fingers across the mat, arms twisted over one another in an 'x'. He drops his butt as he finally reaches the circle to realign himself; steady his position so San doesn't knock him over on his next turn. He's swaying like a ship on highwaters. Eyes closed, throat constricting with every hiccup. San has three out of four limbs on green—two hands, one foot—his remaining foot planted firmly on blue.
"Sannie, left hand blue," Yeosang doesn't have to look up to see the mischievious glint in Wooyoung's eye as Jongho calls the direction out.
"Okay…" San agrees, stumbling through molasses to move one hand and arching over Yeosang in a bridge. Wooyoung's shrill giggle cuts through as he calls out; "Yeosangie~!"
The only way for Yeosang to look in Wooyoung's direction is to raise his butt again and look through his own legs and—
Click!
A shutter, a flash, and brief blindness. Yeosang crumbles to the ground and the world goes black. Senseless minus his hearing. Wooyoung is giggling even more from faraway. Like a train at the furthest end of the tracks. Echoes through the haze like a dream.
"Ack! Wooyoung," Yeosang starts, embarrassed, "why would you do that?"
Yeosang has one eye open, peaking up at him from the ground. Flat on his stomach, phone digging into his hip, he watches Wooyoung type masterfully.
"For Yunho, duh,"
"Wooyoung—"
"If that doesn't make him feel better, I don't know what will," Wooyoung pokes his tongue out in Yeosang's direction. Shoots off a flurry of texts, tosses his phone to the side, and starts making his way forward, kicking Yeosang in the side on the way.
"Okay, Sannie. Just me and you now!"
Yeosang crocodile rolls out of the way shamefully as the rest of them fall back into their game.
Yunho - 7:04pm
| 3 attachments
| why are u putting out for our friends
| alpha's angry >:(
Yeosang - 7:05pm
Stop it |
Yunho - 7:05pm
| wish i could touch ur butt
Yeosang - 7:06pm
Haha |
Yunho - 7:07pm
| im serious
| u still wanna do this ?
Yeosang shivers, looks up at his friends. All still raptly distracted by the final bracket. Shifts in his spot and bites his lip at his growing want. Wooyoung already knows… Something. This is a given, considering their wonder twin-ism, he's bound to read Yeosang's mind. The others, however, are none the wiser. This is their chance. Yunho wouldn't hold it against him if he said no; he is on the fence, primarily due to his sour mood, but his sour mood is due to the lack of Yunho and the anxiety of what's to come. Him, hopefully, if he says yes. He can take it back at any time.
Yeosang - 7:10pm
Yes |
Yunho - 7:10pm
| kay
Yunho wastes no time calling him; his caller ID popping up and vibrating in quick succinct patterns. The one that's the most similar to Yeosang's favorite vibrator at home—set by none other than Yunho himself for no reason other than embarrassing him; the first toy they bought together forever taunting him, even just when Yunho calls to tell Yeosang what kind of ice cream he wants.
Yeosang answers with shaky hands, puts on his best confused voice, and holds the phone up to his ear.
"Hello?"
"How hard are you right now?"
Straight to the chase. Yunho's already speaking in that low, sexy voice he does. Velveteen and thick as honey it licks up his spine. It, combined with the question, makes him throb. Yeosang looks around at his friends who like mountain lions to a mule deer, have all but broken their necks to look over at him. Thank god Yunho isn't on speaker, but he turns down the volume a couple notches just to be safe and stands from the floor.
"I'm… I'm okay. Having fun," Yeosang starts weaving around the Woosan pile on the floor and Mingi's outstretched legs toward the bathroom. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Just okay? You're not even hard yet, puppy? That’s not good, how are we supposed to be quick?”
Yeosang shudders. "No, I… I am. Almost."
When he reaches the bathroom—the furthest one of the two in the house—Yeosang's quick to shut the door behind him, squinting as he flips the light on and crumbles to the ground against the wood. His free hand falls delicately against his covered zipper. Just hearing Yunho's voice for the first time in hours has him showing through the fabric. The palms of his hands are clammy, leaving shadows of sweat against his fly as they shake. Fingers pinch between the denim; catching his zipper and dragging it down, not even bothering with the button. Two of his fingers fit through the open gap and push hard against his cock through his underwear. Yeosang takes a breath at the brief relief it brings.
In here, he's safe. Shut off from everyone in the living room, it's like they don't exist anymore. His phone vibrates again; softer and less frequently and when he pulls it away from his ear and sees himself staring back at him, he realises why.
He's quick to accept the video call.
Yeosang doesn't say anything when he does. Instead, he stares—pupils blown—into the dark of Yunho's eyes. Yellow light comes from behind him. Presumably Yeosang's reading lamp on his side of the bed. It gives him a soft glow. A dream like he always is, and angel when he speaks.
"Yunho, I want to come home. All evening I've just—"
"Let me see you." Yunho interrupts.
"What?"
"Let me see you, baby," there's that voice again. "I want to help you."
Yeosang's feels his cheeks burn hot. Red hot dancing down his face to his chest as his body quivers and his wrist starts to turn until his phone tremors just above his crotch. His fingers are still dipped into the open hole of his jeans, unmoving aside from the nervous quakes.
"Good boy, Yeosangie. Good boy. Can you get them all the way off?"
I… I think so, y-yeah. I'll have to put you down or something… though…"
Yunho's voice crackles through the speaker. "Don't."
It makes Yeosang jump.
"Where are you?"
"The bathroom..?" Yeosang answers, unsure.
"Which one?" Yunho clarifies, patient.
Yeosang looks around. The two bathrooms are nearly identical the only difference being the clawfoot tub in this one (An absolutely necessary upgrade Wooyoung explained as he showed him around the newly renovated home of his Jongho loves to finger me in the bath. The overshare didn't even make Yeosang bat an eye).
"Jongho's favorite. The… The one with the—"
"Put your phone against one of the legs then. And don't stand up all the way when you take your pants off."
"How else am I supposed to do it?"
"You're smart," Yunho praises. Yeosang can hear, in some far out blown way, the wet slide from Yunho's side of the call. He can still only see his face; ovular and serious, but he notices the way the camera seems to rock. "You can figure it out."
Yeosang nods once, resolute, before he sits up; quickly balancing his phone against one of the outturned legs of the tub. The bath is directly across from the door so Yeosang shimmies almost all the way back until—with legs tucked under his bottom—his curled toes hit the bottom of it and his face sits just out of frame.
"Yunho…"
"Go ahead, baby,"
It's all the instruction Yeosang needs to bring his fingers to the cold button of his Levi's. It takes him three tries to get a proper grip, but they open easily once he does. Next, he stands up on his knees and pulls his pants and boxers down his thighs, before falling back onto his ass to shed them the rest of the way off. The cuffs of his jeans get caught on his socks as he yanks them over his heels, leaving him completely bare from the waist down.
When he finally presents himself again—legs tucked under himself once more, hands dropped awkwardly at his sides—Yunho gasps.
"Oh, Yeosangie, look how pretty you are."
"Thank you…" Yeosang whispers out, fingers twitching, "Can I see you, too?"
"Oh shit, yeah angel, yes—Let me… One second." Yunho cuts out of frame, his phone falling from his hand, and Yeosang whimpers at the loss of his beautiful face. Just as quickly as he's gone, though, he's back; face further away, but his legs are extended long in Yeosang's direction, one on either side of the phone. The yellow light from before seems to glow brighter now. It illuminates the sharp shadows of Yunho's completely naked form. Contrasted over the pink of his knees, the bruise on his shin, the neverending length of his useless cock dripping incessantly into the lines of his abs. Like this, a switch flips. Like he's home with him, like there's nothing for him to be afraid of, Yeosang swallows hard and speaks confidently.
"And you said I looked pretty, look at you."
"You did, Yeosang-ah. You do," Yunho brings a hand up to his mouth, licks his fingers like they're not his. Drags them through the puddle collecting on his abdomen, and strokes his wet palm over his cock. "Would look prettier if you touched yourself for me."
So he does. The first thing he notices is how cold his palm is. Goosebumps walk their way across his body. Spreading from the center of his belly to the very ends of everything; el fin del mundo, Yunho always called it when he got like that. The end of the world. Little dancing bumps with no other life goal than to reach the nothingness that came if they jumped off his skin.
His fist closes loose around the head of his cock. Angry pink weeping eye that lubricates him just enough on his first downstroke to make him reel. His knees spread open on their own accord. Sinking him lower to the floor until the ceramic stops cutting into his shins and instead freezes grout lines into his asscheeks. He whines at the first contact.
"So hot, Yeosangie," Yunho mutters, his own fist moving lazily over himself. "Took everything in me not to call you as soon as I got home."
Yeosang sighs, desperate to keep himself quiet. "Why didn't you?"
"Wouldn't have been as fun, would it?" Yunho smirks, dopey. Just like he has since that backyard barbecue. "Have you been thinking about it?"
Yeosang wastes no time nodding his head, strokes himself faster. "Y-yeah… Yeah, I have."
"What about it?"
"You. This. I… I wish I could touch you." Yeosang's words are quiet. Like he's at confessional; fingers clasped, admittance of sins. Greed, gluttony, lust. Admittance until he's washed clean or banished to hell.
"What would you do… How would you touch me?"
"I'd finger you," Yeosang says, much too fast to have not been plagued by images of it. "Make you come just from my fingers."
The words make Yunho cry out, the sound bouncing off the walls. He moves his other hand—having been rested at his side, twisting the bedsheets—to his mouth much like he did the first. This time, staring directly into the camera as he pushes them past his lips to the third knuckle. Yeosang knows his fingers are long. Spindly, bony digits that Yunho begs for. Comparitively, Yunho's are a kraken. Unleashed to wreak havoc upon his own desperate insides. He gags around them as he pulls them out; spit trails linking them to the straight of his bottom lip. At the same time, he pulls the same leg up toward his chest, nearly exposing his unprepped hole had the shadows not been so stark.
"Yunho wait, the light. Move the… Move the light, I can't see anything," Yeosang is desperate. Yunho is tantilizing, and he coos at Yeosang's quiet demand.
"Sorry, baby," he releases his cock from his hold and reaches over to the bedside to turn the other lamp on before returning. Now, lit up from both sides and in front, Yeosang can see everything he desires.
"Better?"
"Better."
"Good. Now," Yunho pulls his gazelle leg up the rest of the way and circles his rim with a wet finger before pushing it in to the second knuckle. "What else?"
What else? Yeosang hadn't thought about it. It was a back and forth tennis match of ride my fingers, stroke my cock, ride my fingers, stroke my cock, bumbling around like a caveman discovering fire. He didn't know what else he wanted aside from getting away with this. He wanted something. Anything.
Yunho raises his back off the bed in an aborted arch as he squeezes a second finger in. Yeosang can feel how hot his own breath is, not even focused on the hand on his erection. It's phantom; loose, barely there movement only working to keep him hard so he can be rewarded with Yunho's sounds Yunho's face Yunho's release. He doesn't let Yeosang answer, thank god, seemingly all too distracted by his own thoughts, they spill from his mouth with his eyes closed tight.
"I've been thinking about you fucking me." He admits. "Laying on top of me just—everything. Dead weight, pinning me. Bullying me open until I… 'til I cry."
Yeosang bucks up into his hand, moans out wantonly before he remembers where he is.
"Fuck, wait. Yunho, I can't—"
"Tighten your fist."
Yeosang sags into the door. Legs itchy underneath him, he slides further down until his face comes into view fully. "What?"
"Running out of time, told you we have to be quick and you… You wanna be in me anyway… I know you do. Just," Yunho opens his eyes now, half-lidded and fluttery, head barely upright. "Tighten your fist. Close your eyes, tighten your hand, and fuck it like you would fuck me." He drops his head back again and sighs.
Yeosang quickly does what he's told. Squeezes his cock like Yunho's hole does when he first pushes in—brutally. Suffocatingly tight that it turns his fingers white from the pressure. He feels heavy. Dense dumbbell weight on his eyelids. They stay open long enough for him to see Yunho pull his other leg up and work in a third finger. It punches a desperate yelp out of him. Surprise from the depth with which they're reaching but simultaneously all too unsatisfying.
"Yeah…" Yeosang mutters, rocking his hips up tentatively, "fuck yourself, Yun. It's me, it's—"
Yeosang pitches forward, catching himself on an open palm. Water fills his ears; clogged and deprived he hears the voices of their friends just beyond the corridor. Shouting, laughing, talking. Like Charlie Brown's parents. Distant wah wah wah wah's that meant nothing to him here and now.
Here and now, he wraps his palm as tight as he can and thrusts himself forward three times before the snap of the rubberband. A hefty smack through the mess and he's moving erratically. The drag is delicious; his pre steady enough he collects more on every movement, but just little enough that he struggles to move smoothly in the most perfect way. Like every time Yunho tells him to just do it and force his way in after just a finger or two and five minutes of prep. His fist fights back like Yunho's hole. His head cries just like Yunho's eyes when he begs him not to stop; give him more more more.
"Wish it was you, need it to be you. My…" Yunho slurs out. "My fingers aren't enough." Yunho's pout is evident, even with his eyes closed, but Yeosang doesn't answer him. Really barely hears him as he focuses everything he has on himself. On the vision of Yunho behind his eyelids—knees to his chest, nipples hard against Yeosang's shirt, sucking him in and making him bleed through his shirt from the bluntness of his nails across his spine.
Yeosang is a madman. He feels it all before it happens. Sights of the future, sights of the past, sights of it all while he chants like a monk.
"…In you. Coming in—Yunho, you're so—" he feels it again. El fin del mundo, top to bottom. Yunho's moans, staticy and distant blowing out his speaker, blend into the voices outside. The voices down the hall. The steps around the house. Everything everywhere, spinning top until it clatters.
Yeosang comes with a broken sound as the door, the wood, his lifeline, all but splinters from four heavy knocks.
"Yeosang!"
Fuck.
"Shit…" he whispers, orgasm shivering through him still. Clarity a cold plunge. "Yunho, I knew—"
Yeosang fixates on the phone again, sees Yunho still there, head up, four fingers deep now, not stopping.
"Can't stop, Yeosangieeee," he whines out, totally gone. "'m almost there but it's not… You're not—"
Wooyoung pounds on the door again.
"One second! Sorry…" He makes a move for his phone, pulling it into his hand and standing to start pulling his pants back on. Yeosang shakes his socks out of his pantlegs as he hobbles into them, cringing when they cover his still-twitching cock once more; come smeared across the inside of them.
"I'll be there." he promises. "I'll be there, don't come."
Wooyoung, for a third time, pounds on the door. "Don't make me break my own bathroom door down, please, Yeosang."
"Yeosangie—"
"I love you, I'm sorry, I'll be there." Yeosang, nervous hazyminded and come-brained throws aegyo at his boyfriend as an apology and hangs up as he giggles, still twisting his fingers inside of himself for Yeosang to see perfectly.
Just as Wooyoung starts to knock again, he yanks the door open.
"Sorry, Wooyoung-ah, Yunho needs me at home." Yeosang's already ordering an Uber, avoiding Wooyoung’s poignantly irritated stare as he does. He can deal with the consequences later. If he turns around now, he’ll be stuck to reap what he sowed and left homeless and single for leaving his boyfriend high, dry, and four fingers deep in his own ass.
"I'll… We'll text when he's feeling better."
Yeosang gets the notification that Jiwoo is two minutes out, and starts retracing his steps back through the living room. Flubber plays on the TV, all of the boys splayed out in different states of sleep and awake. Yeosang smiles as innocently as he can and waves at all of them as he passes. Pulls his shoes on one at a time, sockless.
"Sorry again, Wooyoung!" He shouts sheepishly down the hallway, opening the front door halfway. "I'll see you next time!" And yanks it shut behind him.
—
Wooyoung - 9:17pm
| kang yeosang i hate u
| thanks for cumming all over my bathroom floor
| asshole