Work Text:
Anthony sits on a stool in his kitchen with his laptop open on the counter in front of him, scrolling up and down through his inbox pretending to read emails. He skims over the bolded, unopened titles to conversations he doesn’t feel like having. Long, boring conversations about views and algorithms and sponsorships are the worst parts of his job. It’s so different from what he actually loves: fucking around with his friends on camera and committing to the most ridiculous bits he can come up with. He only manages through meetings and phone calls for his friends’ paychecks, his thoughts consisting of ‘This is for Coy, this is for Hanbon, this is for Will,’ until he’s finally set free.
“Fuck this,” he scoffs under his breath, not fully closing his laptop then getting up from his seat. He drags his feet across the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and rummaging for something he doesn’t have to cook. He cannot cook to save his life. His last attempt ended with dry spaghetti noodles, sauce spilled directly beside the pot instead of inside of it, and Domino’s delivered at the doorstep. “I just don’t understand,” Will laughed, shoving pizza into his mouth, “how the entire jar of spaghetti sauce ended up next to the pot.” Anthony rolled his eyes as he picked up a slice, “Okay, I obviously didn’t plan that.”
‘I feel like a raccoon,’ he thinks, moving containers labeled with his roommates names until he finds a Tupperware box with something that looks like mac n’ cheese in it. “hanbons!!! do NOT eat!!!” it reads. “The fuck?” he mumbles to himself, “She doesn’t even live here.”
“You think that stops her?” a voice emerges from the doorway. Coy.
Anthony looks up at the sound of Coy’s sarcastic comment and footsteps against the floor, slightly startled by his ability to seamlessly input himself in any situation. He didn’t expect him to be awake. Anthony always stays awake much later than all of his friends. It’s a habit he picked up in college from pulling all-nighters to finish homework or edit videos or sometimes even have a little more time with his friends. He works best at night, or at least that’s what he tells himself to feel less guilty about waking up much later than everyone else.
“Apparently not,” he replies, taking the container and closing the fridge, “but it does stop her from making sure nobody takes it.”
Coy rolls his eyes and walks farther into the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching Anthony put the Tupperware in the microwave. He folds his arms and smiles. There’s something almost domestic about the moment, Anthony getting food late at night while Coy stands and watches with his arms crossed. They have moments like this more often than either of them would admit, but Anthony thinks about it a lot. The small things they know about one another, the subtle acts of service, how natural it feels to be in each others personal space and be alone late hours of night. Sometimes it feels like something from a romcom Hanbon would pick for their movie nights. Right. Hanbon.
“She’s gonna kill you for this, by the way,” Coy says, a smile creeping over his face.
“She’ll never know.”
“Oh, I’m definitely telling her.”
Anthony dramatically turns around and gasps, taking his hand from the buttons on the microwave and pressing it against his chest in betrayal. “Don’t you dare,” he threatens.
Coy suppresses a laugh and straightens his face back out. “You can’t stop me,” he states as a fact. His hand quickly moves to the pocket on his sweatpants, pulling his phone out and grinning ear to ear as he unlocks it.
“Coy!” Anthony yells as Coy pulls up Hanbon’s contact in his phone. Anthony runs up to him, pushing him farther against the counter and attempting to snatch his phone from him. Coy giggles, tongue poking out through his toothy smile. He lifts his phone up with his right hand and pushes Anthony with his left as he fights back and reaches for Coy’s phone. Anthony is shorter than Coy, much to his dismay. He’s always been oddly aware of it whenever they’re together, how he sometimes has to look up to meet Coy’s eyes or how his shoulder is at the perfect height for him to lean his head on. Thoughts he never felt the need to mention and would never act on. Since he can’t reach the phone, he opts for the best alternative he can think of.
“Anthony!” Coy yelps as Anthony’s hands brush his waist, crawling up his stomach to tickle him. He crumbles immediately, closing in on himself in a failed attempt of getting Anthony to stop.
“Anthony! Anthony, stop!”
“Give me the phone, Coy.”
“No,” Coy laughs out.
Anthony’s hands roam Coy’s middle, fingers quickly tracing random shapes to make Coy let his guard down. The shirt against his skin is warm as it bunches under Anthony’s fingers. Coy’s laugh is contagious as he tries to squirm away from Anthony’s grasp.
“Anthony,” he breathlessly pleads. He’s about to ask him to stop again, but laughter overcomes him.
Anthony’s hands freeze. Not on purpose, but almost instinctual from hearing his name come out of Coy’s mouth like that. He’s heard Coy say his name hundreds of times since they’ve known each other, but never like that. Never breathless and begging. It’s… different. That’s the only way he knows how to describe it.
Coy takes Anthony’s state to his advantage and pushes him away. Only then is Anthony brought back to reality from his brain and whatever else he was just distracted with. Coy begins to draft a text to Hanbon when he feels Anthony’s hands again. He stops and braces to be tickled again, eyes pressed shut. But it doesn’t happen. ‘What the fuck?’
He opens his eyes to find Anthony’s face only inches away from his own, hands just above his hips and eyes glued to his waist. Coy looks him up and down, confused and dangerously curious. “Anthony?” he mumbles. Anthony’s eyes shift and meet Coy’s. He looks dazed, overcome by something Coy can’t quite place. He doesn’t say anything. It sort of looks like he can’t.
Coy is too nervous to move. He feels his face heating up the longer him and Anthony have their eyes locked on each other, but he doesn’t want the twisting feeling in his stomach to leave quite yet. “Anthony?” he repeats because he feels the need to fill the silence. He doesn’t think he’ll get a response.
“Yeah?” Anthony quietly answers, his eyes leaving Coy’s gaze and focusing somewhere else on his face, somewhere lower.
Coy didn’t really think of how he would continue this conversation.
“What are– um… what’s going on?” he drags out the end of his question, nervously smiling and attempting to seem casual.
Anthony doesn’t react. His eyes are glued to the view of Coy’s pink lips.
‘What the fuck am I doing.’
But he can’t pull away.
Anthony’s finger twitches on Coy’s waist and Coy feels it through his entire body. They’re standing in the kitchen after midnight with Coy’s back against a counter and their faces close enough to feel each other breathe. But nothing’s happening. Coy is losing his mind.
When Coy first moved into the house with Anthony and the others, he was very nervous. It’s scary living with straight guys as the only gay one, it makes you feel like an outsider and like you’ll never truly fit in. He was also nervous because he kept having dreams about Anthony. Vivid dreams. He’d wake up shocked, his face red and — occasionally — his breath uneven. Sometimes during the first couple of weeks, he would avoid Anthony the mornings after these dreams. It was easy for a while, considering Anthony was practically nocturnal and slept until lunchtime every day, but when he inevitably woke up, Coy would retreat to his bedroom. Part of him had an irrational fear that if he was around Anthony too long, he would see the things he dreamt about. He would be exposed and lose Anthony to his unrealistic fantasies.
But now they’re real. And Coy can’t take it.
“Anthony, say something,” Coy demands, practically begging to make sure he isn’t about to make a huge mistake.
Anthony tries, he really does, but all he can utter is Coy’s name quietly and breathy.
“Coy.”
And that’s all Coy can handle any longer.
Before he gives himself a chance to overthink it, he hurriedly sets his phone down on the counter behind him. He presses his lips against Anthony’s, then pulls away to check for a reaction. It’s quick, barely even a kiss, but it flips some sort of switch in Anthony. It’s almost palpable when Coy pulls back and meets his gaze. His eyes are laced with something Coy could almost swear is desire. He can feel the heat from Anthony’s face as he licks his lips, sending a buzz throughout Coy’s body that lands in his chest.
Anthony’s eyes flicker back down to Coy’s lips before his grip tightens around his waist and he pulls him back in, their lips meeting in a way that’s far less cautious than before. Coy’s hands jump to Anthony’s neck, deepening their kiss and brushing the hairs at the bottom of his head. He can feel goosebumps forming on his neck, making him smile into Anthony’s lips. Anthony’s hands fall lower and tug on the hem of Coy’s shirt as he’s pushed harder into the counter. The knob is stabbing his side, but he can’t seem to care as the coolness of Anthony’s fingertips touches his bare skin.
Coy pulls Anthony away by his neck to catch his breath. Their foreheads meet as they breathe into each others mouths. Anthony takes a step closer, forcing their bodies to be entirely pressed against each other. Coy can feel him through his pants. It makes his breath hitch. Anthony smiles at it as he leans back in.
His tongue cautiously makes its way into Coy’s mouth, as if asking for permission. When Coy tugs on one of his curls, he takes that as a “yes.”
Anthony’s hands climb up Coy’s bare chest, pushing his shirt up and making his breath uneven as their tongues meet. Coy moves his right hand from Anthony’s neck to his lower back as he pulls him closer, their cocks pressed even harder against one another through their pajama pants.
Their lips part just long enough for Anthony to mutter “fuck, Coy” before Coy pulls him right back in, fueled by his words. The wetness of their mouths intertwine with one another. Coy’s mouth backs away as he grasps Anthony’s bottom lip between his teeth. Anthony’s breath stutters as Coy drags his teeth from his lip, moving his mouth from Anthony’s face to his neck, just under his jawline.
“Fuck,” Anthony groans, tightening his grip around Coy.
Coy traces circles on Anthony’s neck with his tongue, sucking and pulling on skin. Anthony reacts to every movement: his breath becoming uneven, quietly cussing under his breath, gripping onto Coy like something might happen if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
Coy moves lower down Anthony’s neck, licking his lips as if he’s satisfied with what he’s done. His hands tighten around his neck as his lips travel down to his collarbone.
Anthony’s head drops, his forehead landing on Coy’s head latched onto him. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters into his messy hair. Coy’s hands gently slide to Anthony’s shoulders, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt. Anthony grabs the back of Coy’s thighs, keeping their cocks hard against one another. Coy lets out a muffled moan as he sucks on Anthony’s collarbone and Anthony feels it travel throughout his whole body. He loves that sound. That feeling. He can’t get enough of it.
“Shit,” Coy breathes out as his lips pop from Anthony’s skin. His hips desperately itch forward, craving tension. He rests his head on Anthony’s chest, both of them breathing heavily as they rub their cocks against each other. The fabric of their pants creates friction between them as they breathe quicker, too consumed with one another to speak.
Click.
The door downstairs opens.
They freeze.
They pull away, still breathing heavily and uneven, and stare at each other wide-eyed, waiting for one of them to say something. Anthony takes initiative as Coy attempts to catch his breath.
“Who the fuck is even getting home this late?” he whispers in a hurried, nervous voice.
“I don’t– I don’t know, Anthony,” Coy panics. He pushes Anthony off of him and grabs his phone. 3:12 AM.
“Do you, uh,” Anthony starts, attentively watching Coy check his phone. “Do you wanna go to my room?”
Coy looks up at him, meeting his eyes. He’s terrified, but he’s currently being driven by the dizzying feeling of Coy against him. He wants to feel it for as long as Coy will let him.
Footsteps hit the bottom of staircase.
“Yeah,” Coy breathes out, a smile taking over his face.
Coy wakes up in a bed that’s not his own with Anthony sleeping beside him in just his boxers. He watches him for a little while, taking in every feature. His messy, curly hair, the peaceful expression on his face, his light grip on his pillow with his arm thrown in front of his face. His eyes drift lower when he realizes his phone is ringing. He scoffs as he rubs his eyes with one hand and reaches for his phone from Anthony’s nightstand with the other.
bon<3
He answers the call and puts the phone to his ear as he flattens his hair. He can’t see it, but he knows it’s ruined. It always is after he sleeps.
“Hello?” he mumbles into the phone, his voice groggy.
“Hey,” Hanbon starts at the other end of the line. “Why did you text me 'anthonu took urnammxnck’ at like 3 in the morning?”