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Wooyoung’s a sucker.
In actuality, Wooyoung’s a lot of different things in San’s expert opinion. A tease, for one. A brat. And sometimes, he’s just a cut-and-dry annoyance. But perhaps, most strikingly of all, Wooyoung’s a fucking sucker. Like, literally.
San had noticed his teammate’s fascinating little ‘mouth thing’ quite early on into their careers, way back during their pre-debut days. It’d stuck out to him when he’d realized that Wooyoung would never show up to practice without a thick wad of gum stuck between his molars at the back of his cheek. That, along with the fact that after dinner each night, Wooyoung would pull a lollipop out of some hidden stash he’d kept in his drawer and pop it between his teeth for dessert like clockwork. Furthermore, it’d been hard to not notice that odd inclination of his when Wooyoung, in times of heavier stress, would anxiously gnaw and suck at his own knuckles and fingertips in a way that must’ve provided him with some sort of mollifying relief, much to Hongjoong’s disgust. Don’t suck on your fingers! their leader had always chastised him back then. It’s gross and dirty and you’ll fuck up your teeth!
San noticed it then, too, in the way Wooyoung would make an irritated face, begrudgingly pull his spit-soaked fingers and knuckles from the wetness of his mouth, and turn away, always with a petulant huff. But, somehow, he’d always end up right back where he started, teeth grazing lightly over the fleshy meat of his thumb whenever Hongjoong wasn’t looking anymore.
“It’s gonna rain later on again,” Wooyoung grumbles as he slides into the back of the company van next to San. “Been raining all fuckin’ week.”
San just hums in a vague show that he’s kind of listening, but he’s tired, and it’s, like, six in the morning right now, and Wooyoung’s sort of talking a little too loudly for it to not grate on his ears. San loves him—had loved him fiercely for about six years, now—but, alas, San is also not a morning person.
“You listening?”
“Yup,” San says flatly, automatically, as he tips his head back against the seat’s headrest.
“Liar,” Wooyoung huffs, nuzzling himself into San’s side. San rolls his eyes and clasps his hands tightly over his lap. Yunho snickers at the exchange from his place seated at Wooyoung’s right. They’d better have complimentary coffee at the studio where they’d be filming this next godforsaken variety show, or something.
“You’re always so grumpy in the mornings,” Wooyoung continues as if this isn’t old news, squirming slightly in his seat to face San a little better. “Grumpy and mean. Like an old man.”
“Young-ah,” San says warningly—but it has the opposite effect as intended, because at the sound of that unmistakable note of irritation coloring San’s tone, Wooyoung’s eyes glint to life.
“Hey.” Wooyoung presses his face real close to San’s, just to be fucking annoying and to invade his personal bubble as much as humanly possible within the limitations of the car. “You promised you’d give me a shoulder massage last night, but then you fell asleep early. I haven’t forgotten about that, you know.” Playfully, he nips at San’s earlobe and lightly tugs it between his teeth. “You owe me, San-ah.”
San feels his left eye twitch in aggravation. Too early for this shit.
Wooyoung pulls back a few inches and straightens up in his seat, and San can kind of breathe again. He vaguely registers the sound of his boyfriend asking Yunho what they’ll be having for dinner tonight, but, seriously—the sun’s barely been up an hour, so how the fuck is Wooyoung thinking about dinner already? Yunho offers a paltry dunno, Young-ah, but then Wooyoung just keeps prattling, talking and talking and talking. A tension headache throbs perilously in the back of San’s severely under-caffeinated brain as he glances down at the bag he’s got tucked between his knees.
“I’ve been craving ramyeon so badly for the past few days,” Wooyoung sighs, bouncing his leg up and down. “But, like, I could also go for some meat.” A pause. “Well, I could always go for some meat, but—”
Swiftly, San unzips the front pocket of his bag, pulls out his trusty stash of gum, tears the paper wrapper off of one of the sticks, and shoves it directly past Wooyoung’s lips. Startled, Wooyoung grunts as his mouth is forcibly stuffed up not only with that sudden burst of spearmint flavor, but also—just for a fleeting moment—San’s fingers.
“Quiet,” San huffs tersely as he drops his hand, zips the pocket of his bag back up, and pats Wooyoung twice on the top of the thigh. “I love you, but you’re being so annoying this morning, baby.”
It works. It always works. Wooyoung blinks stupidly as he slowly starts to chew on the gum that San had force-fed him, and doesn’t say another fucking word for the rest of the drive. When San glances over towards him and notices that the tips of Wooyoung’s ears are stained with a pretty, peach-pink hue, he feels the corners of his mouth pinch upwards in delight.
Wooyoung has a big fucking mouth, sure—but that only makes it all the easier for San to stuff it shut.
Just as San had hoped for, the team they’re collaborating with today has a fully-stocked breakfast bar waiting for the entire group of eight as soon as they step foot into the studio. The table boasts an impressive assortment of kimchi pancakes, breakfast porridges, eggs—scrambled and hard-boiled—along with a colorful triple-tiered motley of seasonal fruits. But, San’s not all that hungry in the mornings, so he does not hesitate to make a beeline straight towards that sparkly-looking coffee machine sitting to the left of all that food.
Once he’s sufficiently caffeinated, filming goes off without a hitch. Since it’s a variety show, San doesn’t have to worry all that much about being serious or overly professional, and allows himself to let loose a bit as the eight of them are split into two groups of four to play some stupid, fanservice-oriented game that the broadcasting team had come up with. Wooyoung’s team—composed of him, Jongho, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong—wins by one point. San grumbles when Wooyoung cheers victoriously, but it’s not like it really matters all that much. Yunho and Mingi seem more bothered by the loss. Yeosang just rolls his eyes.
The winning team earns themselves an innocent bucket of candy as a reward, but once the cameras stop rolling, all eight of them—even the losers—start digging into it. San swipes a cherry-flavored lollipop, tears off the wrapper, and tucks it into his cheek.
“That was too easy,” Wooyoung says waggishly as he fishes around the bucket to choose a treat. He pauses and flits his eyes up to meet San’s from where he’s standing at the other side of the small table. “You lost. Ha. Jealous?”
Unimpressed, San just shifts the candy to his other cheek with a quick swipe of his tongue.
“You’re totally jealous,” Wooyoung continues with a snicker, then goes back to digging around the bowl. “The fans are probably gonna feel bad for you when this episode airs, ‘cause that’s how badly you did.”
“We lost by literally one point,” Mingi gripes from the sidelines. Wooyoung ignores him.
“I fucking love winning,” Wooyoung goes on dramatically, finally settling on what looks like some kind of round, multi-colored hard candy. Maybe a jawbreaker, or something. He glances back up at San with that same glint in his eyes from the car and smirks. “I love winning against you, most of all.”
God. Wooyoung’s really on one today. So, before he can blab out any more stupid bullshit, San wordlessly tugs the lollipop out from his mouth, reaches over the table to grab Wooyoung by the back of the head, and shoves the sticky, red candy right past his teeth. In the same motion, San snags the jawbreaker out of Wooyoung’s palm and drops it back in the bucket.
“Quit making a scene,” San says under his breath as he walks over to Wooyoung’s side of the table. “You’re being so obvious today. I almost feel sorry for you.”
With a searing squeeze to the hip, San leaves a now very frazzled Wooyoung to head towards the back wall of the studio where that breakfast buffet still sits. Suddenly, San’s real hungry.
The rest of the day goes on in a relatively ordinary fashion. After finishing up filming for that day, a majority of the group trickles back into the familiar safety of their private apartment complex, save for Yeosang, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung, who are whisked away in separate cars to rush over to their next personal schedules for the afternoon. Yeosang’s got a photoshoot to pose for, and Hongjoong’s got a speech to make, or something of the like. Who knows. As their popularity had risen, and as their agendas had become more and more jam-packed, most of the group had given up on trying to keep tabs on exactly what it was that each of them were up to.
San keeps track of Wooyoung, though. Obviously. He knows that this evening, Wooyoung will be all dolled up at some ritzy photo studio in Gangnam for his upcoming feature in Arena HOMME+’s fashion magazine. That should be fun. San’s looking forward to seeing how those photos come out.
Relieved to have the rest of the day free himself, though, San shucks off his clothes and washes off the buzz of that morning’s activities under a heavy stream of hot shower water in his en suite. The warmth helps quell that semi-permanent knot of tension that complains between his shoulder blades like a thorn or a splinter, but only a twinge. They’d just been so busy lately, and it’s challenging for the constant go go go of idol life to not take a bit of a toll on him. San’s tired. It’s a bone-deep type of exhaustion, the kind that only an extended holiday somewhere exceptionally quiet and secluded tends to fix. San wonders in the back of his mind when the next time he’ll get to take Wooyoung along with him back home to visit his parents in Namhae will be. It’s been months since their last trip down south.
San feels that familiar dip in his mattress later that night when Wooyoung, as anticipated, crawls into his bed to join him. It’s become habitual over the years. Routine. Wooyoung says it’s because his own bedroom’s too small, but they both know that’s just a half-assed excuse. Because Wooyoung’s touchy. He likes to be close. San likes it, too, because Wooyoung’s skin is always so smooth and warm, and he smells like vanilla, and when he tucks his smaller body against San’s bigger one, he fits into the crevice like he’d always been destined to be there.
Half-conscious and fuzzy-eyed, San grunts and opens his arms to create an open space for his boyfriend to nuzzle into. Wooyoung takes it, quite happily, and wraps all four of his limbs around San like a koala bear. He buries his face into the warm crook of San’s neck, nips softly at the skin there, and seals the gesture with a lingering kiss.
San wakes to the sensation of something hard pressing against his thigh and something wet slobbering at his neck. With a sharp inhalation of breath, he blinks his eyes open, glances down, and finds Wooyoung with his messy head of bleach-blonde hair mouthing hotly at the smattering of freckles lining the edge of his throat. That, plus he’s also lazily grinding his morning wood into him. Ah.
“What’re you doing,” San mumbles, still half-asleep, voice gravelly from disuse. Instinctually, he tilts his head an inch to the side to allow Wooyoung a little more room to work with. “Y’woke me up.”
Wooyoung decides to ignore the question in favor of flattening the surface of his tongue flush up against San’s jawbone, right beneath his ear. He hums, exhaling breathily as he licks and nips and sucks at the skin there, undoubtedly working himself into a lazy, muddleheaded reverie.
“Young-ah,” San tries again, brows twitching as he tries to pull together some semblance of self-control. He tightens his grip from where it rests around Wooyoung’s waist. “Wha’ time’s it?”
“Who cares,” Wooyoung mumbles against San’s hot skin. His voice is breathy, pitched up higher than usual, the way it always gets when he knots himself into a stupor like this. San feels his cock throb at the sweet sound of it, at the way it lilts and drifts into his ears like spiced honey.
“I care,” San insists, even though he’s very quickly starting to not care much at all about being roused from his slumber with the way that Wooyoung’s currently sucking on his neck like he’s coated in sugar, right now.
“I had a dream about you,” Wooyoung finally admits in a hushed breath, tossing his leg over San’s hip.
“Good dream?” San supposes, inhaling sharply as Wooyoung languidly grinds his cock against him again.
“Really good,” he purrs in confirmation. “You were fucking me all rough from the back in the shower, right against the wall. Had my face squished up against the tile and everything.” Christ. “And you called me a slut when I came. That was my favorite part, I think.” San can feel the way Wooyoung’s lips pinch upwards against his skin at the admission, and God—he’s really too fucking much sometimes.
“You were being so mean to me yesterday,” Wooyoung adds airily, when San doesn’t immediately respond. “You know how much I love that.”
San threads his brows together and groans, because here he fucking goes again. “You never stop running that mouth,” he muses, slipping his fingers beneath Wooyoung’s loose t-shirt and dragging his hot palm up the side of his body. “I swear to God, you’ll be driving me crazy even in the fucking afterlife.”
Wooyoung giggles real dreamily at that, and the sound makes San want to fucking devour him. “That’s the plan,” he hums. “You’ll never get rid of me. You’re stuck with me for life, you know.”
The romantic undertone of the comment isn’t lost on San, that flair that twinges Wooyoung’s confession in bright red, proud and loyal and fierce. Normally, it’d make his heart swell up a little bigger than it is right now, but he’s a little too tired and a little too horny to get caught up in the sentimentality of it all, at the moment. Wooyoung dips his head down to start mouthing at San’s collarbone, and yeah—San’s got to do something about this already.
With one hand, San gently pulls Wooyoung’s face away from his chest. Wooyoung makes a whiny noise of dissatisfaction at the loss of contact—at the apparently awful sensation of his tongue being denied of something to lap at—but San’s quick to plug him back up. “Suck,” San murmurs, voice low and raspy as he cups Wooyoung’s face at the jaw and slips his thumbs between those sumptuous, plush pink lips of his. He hums low in his chest, gaze half-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear into Wooyoung’s hot, waiting mouth. The way Wooyoung hollows his cheeks and sucks him in is instantaneous, and although San’s found himself in this exact situation at least hundreds of times by now, the sight of Wooyoung like this—the feeling of his heat—always makes San’s cock ache.
“Pretty, Youngie,” San hums with a lopsided grin, lazily pumping one of his thumbs in and out of Wooyoung’s panting mouth, brushing over the freckle dotting his bottom lip. His heart stutters when Wooyoung’s eyelids flutter shut, lashes splaying over those rosy, reddened cheeks. “That’s good.”
San will never get tired of this, no matter how many times they do it; because the way Wooyoung falls so quickly into that trance-like state never fails to impress him. With rapt attention and heat simmering and sparking riskily at the base of his gut, he watches himself stretch out Wooyoung’s mouth at the corner. He drags the pad of his thumb over the bottom row of his teeth, then past his gums, and then finally back up onto the flat of his tongue to give him some pressure. Wooyoung whines breathily at the sensation, eyes glassy and a little unfocused as he gazes up at San like he’s some kind of god, or something. San preens under that reverent expression, always has, because it strokes his ego just right.
“You want my cock, don’t you?” San murmurs, replacing his thumb with his middle and ring fingers. He twists his wrist so his palm faces the ceiling and holds Wooyoung’s face steady with his other hand. “Nod,” San commands quietly—firmly—when Wooyoung doesn’t respond fast enough, too dazed and distracted by the weight pressing down on his tongue to react accordingly.
Wooyoung blinks and makes a soft little uh-huh sound, muffled slightly by San’s fingers, and starts nodding his head just as San’s instructed him to. “Y-yeah,” he bumbles out wetly around the intrusion hooked into his mouth. “Want it bad.”
San hums, pulling his fingers from Wooyoung’s lips with a quiet pop. He leans back into the pillows again, back flat against the mattress, and pulls Wooyoung by the waist into the open space between his thighs. Wooyoung whines when San pushes his boxers down and out of the way in one quick motion, freeing his cock from its constraints.
Wooyoung doesn’t require instruction or redirection when he finally drops down into this spellbound lull of a headspace, much to San’s satisfaction. Wordlessly and without delay, he sinks onto his chest between San’s legs and gets straight to work. Wooyoung grasps San’s length softly around the heat of his palm as he lolls his tongue out past his lips and licks a breathy, wet swirl around the tip, and fuck—San loves it.
San loves Wooyoung’s mouth—loves it when it’s talking shit, loves it when it’s kissing his own, but he especially loves it when it’s sucking him off just like this. Slow. Dizzy. Heated, like the hazy rise of shower steam swirling upwards to stick at the bathroom ceiling in the form of condensation. Wooyoung splays his fingers across the tight, twitching muscles at San’s sides as he begins to sink his head down lower, opening that hot, wet cavern of a mouth even wider, and sucking San down deeper like some kind of pro. San exhales a breathy, strained gasp when he feels the tip of Wooyoung’s nose nudge up against his lower abdomen and then, at the same time, feels the tip of his cock bump up against the back of Wooyoung’s throat.
“You’re so good at this, baby,” San groans quietly, all hushed and airy. “Always so fuckin’ good.” He cards his fingers through Wooyoung’s messy hair and pulls him up a few inches, only to press him right back down a beat later. Wooyoung’s throat spasms in response the motion, and fuck, that’s divine. He makes a wet gurgling noise around San’s length, chipped black fingernails leaving little crescent-shaped indents at San’s waist as he allows himself to be used like this, like some sort of human fleshlight.
San fights the urge to screw his eyes shut and focus solely on the sensation of Wooyoung’s tight throat squeezing him so perfectly, because the only thing better than that is the sight of Wooyoung’s lips stretched taut around his girth. Involuntary tears prickle and waver at the outer corners of Wooyoung’s eyes, begging to be shed. His brows—freshly bleached to match his hair—are furrowed together in stark concentration at the center of his forehead. And God, his cheeks. The warm, feverish skin there has flushed out from a dusty pink into a deeper, blotchy red, painting Wooyoung into the most flattering hue imaginable. San had always thought that warm tones suited him better than cool.
A bead of sweat slinks down the surface of one of Wooyoung’s temples and disappears under his jawline right as he suctions his lips around the base of San’s cock again and sucks like his life depends on it. He whines as he works, rutting into the mattress below him, because this is Wooyoung’s thing. Nothing gets him off quite like having his mouth stuffed full, a trait of his that San is eternally grateful for.
“You happy?” San purrs out, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a sly little grin. “You sure fuckin’ look it, choking on my cock first thing in the morning like this.”
Wooyoung warbles out a pitiful little half-sob in response, muffled and wet. The sound shoots vibrations down San’s length, and his breath catches stiffly in his windpipe. He tightens his grip on Wooyoung’s hair, forcing his head to bob a little faster now.
“This is what you—ah, what you wanted yesterday, huh?” San grunts out breathily, chest heaving. “Just wanted me to stuff you up, is that it? That’s why you were being such a—fuck, such a fucking brat.”
His words must strike a chord, because Wooyoung whines particularly high-pitched and filthy, hips rocking lewdly into the bedsheets as he practically unhinges his jaw to make room for San’s cock fucking in and out of his mouth, to make space for the rougher rhythm that they’ve shifted into. San puffs out a gasping little half-laugh at the sight of him, equal parts amused as he is turned on by it.
But he’s tired of talking to himself, so he knits his fingers into Wooyoung’s silvery locks of hair and tugs him up and off his cock in one swift motion. Wooyoung coughs and sputters wetly in response, inhaling a huge gulp of air as he rapidly blinks back those tears.
“Say it, Young-ah,” San demands lowly, cranking Wooyoung’s neck back slightly to force him to make eye contact. “Tell me. Is this—” he crudely nudges Wooyoung’s cheek up against the head of his cock, “—the reason you were trying so fucking desperately to get under my skin, yesterday?”
“Yes,” Wooyoung gasps out, pupils blown so wide that they nearly swallow up the tawny brown of his irises entirely. His voice is rougher now—a little hoarse and husky—and San really likes that. “Yeah, yes, ‘m sorry, I just—fuck, you know how much I love your cock.” Wooyoung opens his mouth again, lips swollen and pink as he flits his tongue out to lick at San’s slit. “Fuckin’ love sucking your cock, Sannie, ‘m sorry.”
San exhales a long, shuddered breath through his nostrils and then counts backwards from ten in his head, because Jung Wooyoung was actually going to kill him one of these days.
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” San hisses through his teeth, gaze falling hooded as he starts lowering Wooyoung’s head back down over his length again. “Crazy when you talk like that, baby. Fuck. Finish me off quick, I know you can.”
The hint of praise, of quiet encouragement, spurs Wooyoung on—because although the goal’s always been obvious, San saying it so explicitly now paints it clearly for him in his mind. Make San come. That’s the goal, that’s what’s at the end of the finish line, so with a breathy, shuddered moan, Wooyoung seals his lips around San’s aching shaft and triples his efforts.
San tosses his head back into the pillows with a strangled groan as he feels the head of his cock bruise the back of Wooyoung’s throat over and over and over. His mind goes overcast in a sea of fog as he tumbles into the mouthwatering sensation of it, of Wooyoung’s familiar, wet heat wrapping around him so flawlessly. It’s perfect. But it’s always perfect, somehow always a tinge better than the last time, because Wooyoung deepthroats San like he was born to do it. It’s sinful, really—his expertise in the field.
San feels that familiar spark of heat light and catch fire in the pit of his belly right as Wooyoung flattens his tongue against the throbbing underside of his shaft. “Fuck, Young-ah,” he pants out, brows pulled together with the same tight tension of a drawn and loaded bow and arrow. He peeks a narrowed eye open to gaze down at Wooyoung’s blushing face, at the way he works that unholy mouth of his up and down and up and down and—augh. San’s done for.
“Gonna come in your pretty mouth,” San breathes out, urgently reaching forward to thread his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair again. “You want that, baby? Fuck, I’m so—” He feels it as his eyes roll backwards behind his lids, as his body begins to teeter over the edge of pleasure. “You, ah—you wanna swallow it all down, don’t you, baby?”
Wooyoung can’t answer—not verbally, anyway—because his mouth’s a little too occupied. But San knows him, knows his tells better than he knows his own fucking reflection in the mirror, and based on the way that Wooyoung’s whining and whimpering and crying right now—the way he’s digging his fingernails borderline painfully into San’s hips and grinding himself down desperately into the sheets—he knows he wants it.
With one last breathy groan, San’s hips cant upwards into that wet mouth to bury himself just a centimeter deeper as he spills, hot and pulsating and messy, right onto Wooyoung’s eager tongue. Then, with his final sliver of lucidity, San makes the smart, last minute decision to pull his cock out just enough for some of his cum to splatter crudely across Wooyoung’s pretty lips, his chin, his glowy, pink-twinged cheeks. He paints his face like a canvas, except Wooyoung’s already a masterpiece. This is simply the final touch; an added flair, an adornment. Like this, Wooyoung’s positively a sight to behold.
It only takes a few moments for that euphoric simmer of satiated heat to flood throughout San’s entire body, pooling especially viscously in his chest and his belly and his throat. It’s tingly. Pleasant. Warm. It’s like lounging on a pool float in the summertime with a straw hat thrown over his face with an ice-cold beer in hand, because Wooyoung always gets him off so damn well. He’s a fucking expert, and his less than agreeable behavior that continually leads up to this outcome always makes the headache all the more worth it.
San squints open his eyes and takes a heaving breath of air. Then, he hooks his arms beneath Wooyoung’s pits and tugs him forward into his chest. “I fucking love that mouth of yours,” he breathes out as Wooyoung—soft, pliable Wooyoung—ducks into his neck and hums out a happy little sound.
“Even when I’m pissing you off?” he rasps out quietly, voice even hoarser than before, now.
“Especially when you’re pissing me off,” San huffs, amused. “And you’re already kind of pissing me off again, believe it or not, ‘cause you’re smearing my own cum all over my own fucking neck.”
Wooyoung squirms in place, arms dragging upwards to lazily twist around San’s broad shoulders. “You’re the one who decided to come all over my face, though,” he argues childishly. With a sniff, he leans upwards, folding his forearms over San’s chest to steady himself. “But, like, whatever. I also totally just came all over your sheets. So, like, we’re gonna need to shower and do laundry today.”
San squints his eyes shut and laughs—really fucking laughs—because Wooyoung just has that effect on him. “You’re ridiculous,” he snickers, grabbing him by the back of the head and pulling him down to steal a kiss. “You came untouched, just from giving me head?”
Wooyoung hums against San’s lips, mouth quirking upwards as he begins to laugh, too. “You’re acting like that’s never happened before, or something,” he quips back, pressing a slew of sweet kisses to the corner of San’s mouth, then to his jaw, his cheek, his nose.
“It’s so hot every time it happens, though,” San grins, allowing Wooyoung to pepper him with those affectionate touches. “You’re hot.”
Wooyoung mhm’s as he tucks his face back into the heated crook of San’s neck. “You’re hotter,” he hums as he snuggles up and gets real comfortable. A beat of silence. “Our schedules don’t start ‘til, like, one today. So let’s go back to sleep now, ‘kay?”
Ridiculous. Because now, for the first time in weeks, San feels wide awake.