like your favorite records used to. wooyoung/san.
rating: E content: wooyoung meets san in his room when the others are asleep. soft dom!wooyoung, sub!san, frottage, choking, sloppy makeouts. pwp.words: 1,775 ao3.
When San thinks of Wooyoung, his mind runs.
His thoughts are mixed, never the same thing at the same time; thoughts of kisses snuck backstage and excusing himself from the dinner table early with Wooyoung following shortly after with claims of an upset stomach. Of Wooyoung with love that spills over and of San, ready to receive with open arms. He is tame, mostly; most daydreams consumed by the image of holding hands, of domesticity.
The members tease, and San is careful not to divulge a relationship that others have no business knowing of.
But late at night, when the lights are low and the house is quiet, when Wooyoung sneaks past security and into San’s room, his mind goes quiet. His headphones are on his ears but there is no music playing; instead he waits, happy to be patient and idle his time until he is once more allowed the physicality that he craves.
It’s when Wooyoung slips wordlessly into San’s lap, arms looped around his neck to hold him close, that San is able to relax. His hands find Wooyoung’s waist immediately, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his hip bones - the unspoken rule that this is where his hands belong.
“Missed you,” comes the confession when Wooyoung buries himself into the crook of San’s neck, enough to shift the headphone off of his ear, breaking the noise cancelling seal. The sentiment is returned in kind with a sudden confidence that finds lips at Wooyoung’s jaw, with little nips and the special kind of affection that only Wooyoung is afforded.
Wooyoung hums, back arching; a hand cups the side of San’s neck while the other weaves into the soft hairs that barely brush his neck. San makes a little noise in the back of his throat, enough that he’s obvious about everything that he will never say out loud.
As if Wooyoung can’t read him like a book.
San is quieter about his desire but is nonetheless not subtle. He’ll say nothing with words but everything in his longing gaze, in the arm slung around Wooyoung’s neck during rehearsals and the way that he, somehow, always makes too much lunch, enough to be split with someone else. He’s not a man of grand gestures or elaborate declarations, but of implications and unsubtle subtleties that leave the object of his affections gasping for more.
And this - this is what San dreams of at night, when schedules keep them separated or when something gets in the way of the little alone time that the pair are afforded in as high pressure an environment as they are.
(If San is asked, he’ll say that diamonds are formed from high pressure. The members understand that he means performance and teamwork, but Wooyoung wonders if he means something else entirely.)
Wooyoung can feel him digging into his thigh, separated by two swathes of fabric that feel like the end of the world. He adjusts the headphones on San’s ears, forced askew by the brief show of weakness that finds San’s neck covered now in sentiment and devotion, words that Wooyoung wouldn’t speak outside of these walls whispered into San’s skin like a prayer.
He doesn’t realize he’s pouting until Wooyoung smiles the fond little smile that usually answers a pout. He breaks San’s eye contact for just a moment, looking around the room and being met with nothing that he’s looking for - but if there’s one thing that San knows, it is that Wooyoung is a quick thinker and never without options.
“Close your eyes.”
The sound is muffled but understandable. San does as he’s asked, eyes slipping shut in the already dark room; the desk lamp remains on as the only light in the room, brightness rivalling the smile he knows is plastered on Wooyoung’s face. He knows because Wooyoung does his best work unsupervised, left to his own devices.
That he begins moving the moment San’s eyes slip shut helps, too.
He feels a hand slip up his shirt, cool against his warm belly. The other follows and their foreheads meet, Wooyoung’s breath washing gently over San’s face as his hands slide upupup slow enough that San feels he may explode with the anticipation. His thumbs find San’s nipples, pebbled with enthusiasm; he flicks the left and presses against the right, content to play for as long as he can hold out.
A gasp hisses through San’s teeth. This is far better than he’d expected whilst waiting, far more exhilarating; he presses his forehead into Wooyoung’s and feels his dick twitch in his sweats, and hopes Wooyoung doesn’t hear the sound he makes when his nipple is left abandoned. He says something that San doesn’t quite catch - a request for patience, a demand for quiet.
His hand is warm when it finds its way into San’s pants, fingers wrapping slowly around his throbbing cock. San gasps and is met with grinning lips on his, tongue shoved into his mouth and Wooyoung’s drool pooling with San’s own. Wooyoung explores and San allows this, allows his tongue to feel every perfect tooth and finds a comfort in feeling so full.
Mind hazy, he’s brought back to reality by Wooyoung’s thumb flicking against his leaking head and he moans around Wooyoung’s tongue, ignoring the dribbles of mixed spit streaming down his chin and onto his t-shirt. With one hand jerking him off and the other playing with his nipple, he’s inches, moments away from bursting already; his stomach feels tight and his face is hot and his hands have not moved from their home on Wooyoung’s waist, mind focused too much on the sensation to drift. He’ll kiss the bruises better later, and Wooyoung will thank him for it.
Finally, Wooyoung breaks the kiss for air, met with the most pathetic whine that San doesn’t hear himself make. Still, he takes the opportunity now to peek an eye open, and is met immediately with the consequences of his actions. Wooyoung releases his cock, which lolls lazily over the band of his sweatpants; San’s nipple is left alone too, the absence of stimulation almost too much for him to bear.
“What did I say?” Wooyoung asks, his head tilting and hair falling against his shoulder cutely. The image is stored lovingly away into San’s memory.
“Sorry,” he whispers, breathless. And though his eyes take one last sweep of Wooyoung’s face, with cheeks flushed and lips lightly swollen looking like everything San has ever dreamed of, he means it, and he corrects his behavior.
He doesn’t hear the praise that streams from Wooyoungs mouth, perhaps for the better; unspoken, they both know that if the words make it to his ears, if he is made aware of the babbled exaltations, the night will come to a quick and sudden end. So Wooyoung continues in his hushed tones, while San is content to enjoy the breath over the flushed skin of his cheeks and neck and collarbone.
Wooyoung shifts and when he touches San again, it’s with his own hard cock in hand, slick with precum. He rests a hand on San’s shoulder to keep himself steady, close enough to where he can brush his thumb against San’s adam’s apple; he gasps softly, head tilting up to where he believes Wooyoung’s face to be. Brows pinched together and raised, he can only imagine how he looks. Like a mess, he suspects.
(“Like a vision,” Wooyoung will tell him later, on his toes to give him a kiss goodnight before disappearing down the hall to sneak past security once again and hope that he doesn’t meet Hongjoong on his way home from the studio.)
It’s now that moans become louder and breathing becomes shallow. Wooyoung’s breaths come quick and his forehead falls forward against San’s once more, and knowing that Wooyoung is being undone so quickly only reignites the fire in San’s belly. He bucks his hips up into Wooyoung’s hand, feels his cockhead hit against Wooyoung’s; a quick tilt of his head has them kissing again, a mix of huffed breaths and moans and Wooyoung letting his saliva pool once more in San’s mouth.
San swallows it down when the kiss breaks and it’s over from there.
For the first time since the night began, San removes his hand from Wooyoung’s hip. It catches him off guard enough that San can place it firmly against Wooyoung’s throat, just under his jaw. He squeezes, slowly at first, drunk on the thrill; when Wooyoung takes the lead, San is not to move. He is to stay still, remain pliant, to not act until given the okay.
Yet he can feel Wooyoung nodding slightly, so he takes it as permission.
As Wooyoung’s hand quickens, San’s tightens its grip. Breaths are shallow, coming in quick and desperate as their cocks drool precum, letting it mix as it slicks Wooyoung’s fingers.
San wishes he could see what he knows to be true.
He knows that Wooyoung’s eyes roll back and his face turns upward, all but humping San’s lap as he strokes them both until they spill, hot against slick fingers that catch the most of it. Wooyoung is first with San quick to follow, making cute groaning noises that he knows he will be teased for later – but San, in this moment, is too blissed out to think about anything else and hopes that Wooyoung is too lost in the moment to remember that he, too, becomes a chattering mess of compliments and platitudes that warm San’s heart all the same.
The hold on Wooyoung’s throat lightens as they come down together. His hand moves to cup lightly the side of Wooyoung’s neck, to hold him close and only let go when he is forced to.
Their breaths mix and in that moment they are one in the same; spent, elated, together.
Because when San thinks of Wooyoung, he does not just think of him; he thinks of their time spent together, of the future that they share and the moments that are yet to come.
So maybe, he thinks, Wooyoung will ask to stay the night, to clean up the mess they’ve made together in the bathroom that sits just down the hall and sneak back to San’s bedroom to fall in bed and remain tangled underneath the queen-sized comforter San keeps for nights just like this. Maybe they’ll drift away to sleep immediately, maybe they’ll be too elevated and need to come back to Earth together, before Wooyoung decides that he’s too spent to leave.
Maybe San will ask first, offering his space to Wooyoung in an always open invitation.
(Maybe, Wooyoung thinks, he’ll say yes.)
