Archive of Our Own

How much time has he spent looking at himself in the mirror? In twenty-five years, it must already be a lot. For someone who moves their body for a living, it must surely be longer. How long has he studied himself, surveying the lines of his arms and legs, right down to the point of his fingers and toes? 

His reflection should be a familiar sight, yet it seems the product of seeing himself so often is more easily noticing how he changes. 

Wooyoung stares at himself in the full-length mirror in his bedroom, ignoring the small smudge on the glass that causes one of the moles on his arm to blur. He studies his face instead. His hair is blonde and closely cropped. He rustles it, his bangs falling just in line with his eyebrows. The light color of his hair makes all his other features more pronounced. The warmth of his lightly tanned skin. The darkness of his irises. The dot beneath his eye. 

It suits him. People have been telling him so. He’s due at the salon soon for a touch up — his roots are grown out, a little strip of his natural black creeping downward. San took one look at him the other day and teased, “Yah, Pudding-ssi. When’s your next hair appointment?”

Wooyoung had stuck his tongue out at him with a shout of, “It’s not that bad! Don’t make me pull up receipts of you when you were blonde, Choi San.” 

San cowered back in fear, surely with a few pictures of extremely grown out roots coming to mind. 

Then they laughed together. 

Besides, San really likes pudding. Wooyoung’s scalp can afford to wait a couple more days. 

The version of him in the mirror is leaner than ever. His biceps are pronounced even at rest. When he flexes, his abs are defined in smooth ridges. He looks good. Strong. 

Different from the Wooyoung of last summer, when he had grown so sensitive and vulnerable to the heat. He could barely stand being in his own skin then, irritable from the pain and frustrated that he was feeling pain at all. 

He’s better now, though probably more careful. Sometimes he feels like he’s still learning this version of his body, and for as much as it changes, he’s happy. There’s ink on his forearm and his ribs. The back of his neck and the muscle of his thigh. He’s bigger than his teenage self, who he had become so used to watching in the mirror when he danced. He’s stronger than ever. 

And yet— he’s somehow still small. 

He sees it as he looks at himself. His unchanging height. His muscles, carved and powerful, but stringy. Lean. His shoulders are as tapered as they’ve always been. His waist is slimmer than ever, shown off when he tucks his shirt into his pants. 

He looks good. He knows he looks good. But even as his body changes, he never gets big .

Wooyoung has always known this about himself. Sometimes it has mattered more than others. It’s something he can use to advantage, like when the only spare seat is in someone’s lap, or when he can lower his eyes and look up at someone who he knows wants him. Even when it’s been annoying, like when Mingi teases him for being short, or when he can’t reach something on a high shelf, it’s never really been something that bothers him. 

It’s never kept him from anything. 

Recently, though, he can’t help but focus on it. Because as strong and toned as he gets, there always seems to be someone bigger. 

Really, it started like this: 

All of them, crowded around a table eating hwe and spicy crab ramyeon. Wooyoung was next to San, where he usually tends to be. He probably could’ve blamed how close they were together on the fact that they were hard pressed for space at such a small table, but Wooyoung pushed his knee up against San’s from the moment they sat down and didn’t even think once about moving their skin apart. The only culprit was Wooyoung himself.

It was probably the soju that did it. Or maybe it was the fact that the air in the restaurant was stale from a humid summer’s day. The fan behind them was basically useless, only blowing a hot breeze toward their table. All of them had a little tinge of sweat on their foreheads making them glisten, and the spicy food wasn’t helping. The glass bottles of beer and soju were sweating condensation into puddles. 

Wooyoung’s billowy tank top was helping to keep him cool, but San was in a tight t-shirt, hugging all his muscles. Wooyoung took one look at San’s bicep straining in his shirt, and then down at his own willowy arm, lean and toned but meager compared to his friend. He downed one more shot of soju, forcing Yunho on his other side to clink their glasses together, and then a wild, shit-eating grin overtook his face. 

He gripped San’s arm with both hands and shoved the shirt sleeve up to his shoulder, revealing his bicep entirely. San gave him a look, but he smiled, letting himself be manhandled willingly. He rarely questioned it when Wooyoung grabbed onto him, and this was no different. 

Still holding him, Wooyoung scooted his stool even closer to San’s, lining them up so they were thigh to thigh beneath the table and arm to arm above it. 

Pitched over his bowl, a giddy expression overtook his face as he addressed all their friends. 

“Whose arm is bigger, mine or Sannie’s?”

It was a stupid question in any light. Even on San’s worst day, his arm was still far bigger than Wooyoung’s, let alone when he was pumped up or at the gym. Sometimes Wooyoung gets a good look at him and swears it’s bigger than his head. 

But for whatever reason, Wooyoung felt like drawing attention to it. He wanted his friends to look at them and see the difference, even though he knew it would make them groan. He liked seeing his own small frame against San’s — San, whose body has grown so much over the years that Wooyoung has known him. Who, between the edge of his height and all that muscle, can make Wooyoung feel so delightfully small. 

Sometimes Wooyoung wonders if he’s meant to be small just for the sake of their contrast. Other times, when he allows himself, he wonders if that’s the reason San got big. 

At the dinner table, as expected, there was a chorus of grumbles. His friends each had their own unique way of expressing their distaste, and Wooyoung was delighted by every last one of them, so happy to have annoyed them. 

Yeosang, polite, had ignored them in favor of housing more ramen and pointedly sucking the meat out of a crab leg. 

Hongjoong was unfortunately placed directly across the table, meaning he was given a front row view of the size comparison. He simply offered them an unimpressed look and said, “If you want me to lie to you, you’re at least going to have to ask nicely.”

“Just fuck about this already, would you?” Yunho said. He probably thought he was saying it quietly enough that only Wooyoung would hear, but Mingi snorted, so he must’ve heard it too. 

Seonghwa had covered his mouth in a lame attempt to shield the look of pity that overtook his expression. Then he smiled sweetly and said, “Keep up the hard work, Wooyoung-ah. You’ll get there eventually. We can go to the gym together tomorrow, if you want?” He failed to hide the icy sarcasm that slipped into his voice.

Jongho had leveled his gaze and gave Wooyoung one pointed look that let Wooyoung know he was seen right through. Then, in a flat, honest tone Jongho said, “You are a freak.” 

San, who was coming close to reaching what is an already low soju threshold, only laughed. With a pink flush to his cheeks and a wide grin, he looked down at their biceps and responded by throwing both arms around Wooyoung’s shoulders. It was an awkward hug from the side as he attempted to encircle Wooyoung from his neighboring chair, but it was still enough to make Wooyoung feel small in his hold. 

“It’s okay that you’re small, Wooyoungie,” San had said after his giggles died down. All that was left was breath, ghosting against Wooyoung’s ear. “You fit so good here.” 

And Wooyoung, small, held — shivered. 

There was nothing to say after that, but Wooyoung had gotten exactly what he wanted, and San, broad and steady, stayed wrapped around him for the rest of his night. The desire that had stirred in Wooyoung’s belly lingered until he got home, hand trailing past his ribs. 

In the mirror, Wooyoung gets a show. He sees exactly what played out at the restaurant, only this time, for his eyes to watch. San’s arms wrap around him, holding him, making him small. 

“Checking your face?” San says. 

He seems to materialize from nowhere. One second Wooyoung is looking at the muscles of his thighs, the next, he’s in San’s embrace. In the full-length mirror’s reflection, San stands behind Wooyoung, his hands sliding over Wooyoung’s waist, trailing over his hips as he crowds against him. He hooks his chin over Wooyoung’s shoulder for just a moment, and there’s an instant where they almost look the same height. It’s gone as soon as San stands up straight, squaring his shoulders, his hands firm on Wooyoung’s hips. It shows them both exactly how much taller he is, how much bigger, how much broader. 

Wooyoung has to swallow before he answers. 

“Of course,” he says, and he makes a point of looking at himself a little more closely in the mirror, fussing with his hair even though it’s messy beyond redemption right now. “I had to make sure I’m still handsome.” 

San clicks his tongue, looking at Wooyoung in the reflection, his fingers searing heat into Wooyoung’s skin. “I don’t think that’s going to change.” 

“More handsome than before, then,” Wooyoung tries. 

San rolls his eyes good naturedly, then bumps his shoulder against one of Wooyoung’s own. “What are you getting dolled up for anywhere? Are you going somewhere?” he murmurs. 

If you are, I’ll come with you, is what Wooyoung hears. 

“Nope, this is all for me.”

Wooyoung makes a sweeping gesture down at himself even though “this” isn’t all that much. He’d hardly call his tank top and basketball shorts getting dolled up. Even his hair is a wreck, left with a few damp patches after he got lazy while drying it after his shower. 

San doesn’t seem bothered by this. He grins. 

“And for me.”

Wooyoung snorts and waggles his eyebrows. “Ohhh. Do you want me, Sannie?” he teases, tugging at the fabric of his shorts to show more of his thigh. “Is my stay at home boyfriend look sexy?”

“It’s not bad,” says San, dropping his face to Wooyoung’s neck. He takes a deep inhale. “You smell good.”

Wooyoung tilts his chin up. “I showered. Be proud of me.” 

San only hums, and he continues to nose against Wooyoung’s neck, his mouth drifting closer to Wooyoung’s ear. His hands, which had been steady at Wooyoung’s hips, begin to tighten their grip, pulling Wooyoung closer to him until his chest is flush against Wooyoung’s back. 

With San’s nose and mouth against his neck and their bodies pressed together, Wooyoung tilts to accommodate him, painfully aware of the mirror in front of them and the view it holds. San is so big and confident behind him, his hands spanning Wooyoung’s waist, and his full, broad shoulders making Wooyoung’s frame look so tiny in front of him. 

“If only your hands weren’t so little,” Wooyoung laments. “Then you’d be able to hold me properly. Get across my whole waist.”

Even before San got big, his hands were small. Now that every part of him has grown, his hands seem even more out of place, dainty with narrow palms, while the rest of him is wide and sturdy. 

His eyes flash up at the comment, lifting his face from where it had been pressed against Wooyoung’s neck to instead take in the sight Wooyoung had been looking at before. 

Their heavy gazes meet in the reflection. A wicked, fiery excitement pools in Wooyoung’s belly and licks there as a hot flame. Then San’s fingers squeeze, pressing into Wooyoung’s waist. He must feel the sharp edges of Wooyoung’s hip bones, the lean muscles of his obliques. 

Even though San’s hands aren’t very big, the weight of his touch alone is enough to make Wooyoung feel contained by him. The view in the mirror won’t let him forget — San, behind him, holding him in place, looming over his shoulder as if he could get Wooyoung to do anything he wants. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Hm?” says Wooyoung. He hums, playing dumb, one of his hands reaching up to ghost over San’s fingers. It’s a useless facade knowing that he feels electricity crackle in every place where San is pressed up against him. 

“You like it,” San says, voice low. “You like that I’m bigger than you. That I can hold you.” 

Wooyoung is intentionally slow in his response, idly dragging his fingers over San’s knuckles. He looks at San in the mirror but doesn’t meet his eyes in their reflection. 

San takes his silence as an invitation to continue, mouth right by Wooyoung’s ear, fingers fiddling with the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt but not daring yet to lift it. 

“I could feel it at dinner the other night,” San drawls. “You were joking about our arms, but you like it, don’t you? You like it for real.” 

Wooyoung lets himself smirk before forcing the corner of his mouth down. He lifts his nose up. “You’ve worked hard, San-ssi. I’m just proud of you for being so strong now. I thought you deserved the attention.”

Wooyoung is having fun with his teasing, but San doesn’t play along. 

“Wooyoung-ah,” he bites out. “Cut the bullshit.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes snap up again at once. It’s rare to hear San curse like that. If his mouth is foul it’s always with a joke or a smile, not directed toward someone else, and especially not toward Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung’s mouth pulls down, feeling challenged. One of his eyebrows cocks, and their gazes lock in a standoff through the glass. 

“What do you want me to say?” he snips. “That I like that you make me feel small?” 

San can’t hide his pleased smile. He even scoffs a little, chin jutting out. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want you to say.” 

“Well I won’t,” Wooyoung mutters. “Don’t fuck with me, Choi San. I’m cut now.” 

He flexes a bicep in an attempt to prove his point, but it doesn’t land particularly intimidatingly, especially with San hovering behind him like that. 

“Cut?” San repeats. “What, here?” His hand slides across Wooyoung’s belly, pushing up his shirt and over the smooth ridges of his abdomen. 

Wooyoung squirms at first, but San’s forceful, playful touch quickly turns gentle. He’s exploratory but eager. He touches Wooyoung’s stomach, over the ridges of his abdomen, along the hot skin of his ribs.

Wooyoung wants more as soon as it begins. He wants his shirt off entirely. He wants San all around him, touching him until San has committed the feeling of Wooyoung’s skin to memory and can recite it back with his mouth retracing the steps of his fingers. 

It would be against Wooyoung’s nature to admit that though. At least, not so fast. 

“I’m strong,” he warns. “I could push you off.” 

“Then push me off,” San replies. 

But before he even gives Wooyoung the chance to, he removes his hands completely. His touch falls away from Wooyoung’s hip and belly. Wooyoung can’t tell whether his retreat is out of respect in case Wooyoung actually doesn’t want to be touched or if it’s just a part of their cat and mouse, but either way Wooyoung likes it. Before San can withdraw completely, Wooyoung snatches his hands back, pulling San so hard that he stumbles. He chest rams into Wooyoung’s back, and Wooyoung, pleased, resettles San’s hands onto his belly once more. At his waistline, they sneak right back beneath Wooyoung’s tank top. His fingers spread open and closed again, an unconscious and soothing pattern written into Wooyoung’s skin. 

“San-ah,” Wooyoung breathes. “Why are you even here?”

It takes San a moment to reply, as if he himself had forgotten why he came, all thoughts from before replaced by the touch of right now. 

“I let myself in,” San explains. “I wanted to see if you felt like eating.”

Half an hour ago, dinner sounded like a good idea. 

“Hmm,” says Wooyoung. “Not really.”

“Yeah, me either, anymore.”

Good, thinks Wooyoung selfishly. I want to make you forget about everything. I want to be your biggest distraction. What can he do to San with just one look? What would it take for San to finally, finally lose control? Right now feels like he’s the closest he’s been to learning the answer, and he’s determined to find out. 

It won’t be so hard. San has always loved to take the bait for him. 

“Do you like that I’m small?” Wooyoung makes his voice lilt, coy. 

The yes seems to be at the tip of San’s tongue, but he doesn’t hand it over so easily. He squeezes Wooyoung’s hips and murmurs, “Your body is perfect, Young-ah.”

It’s not the answer he was looking for, but it still makes heat lick up Wooyoung’s body, reaching so far up that it settles in his cheeks. He lets out a heavy breath through his nose. 

“Hold me,” he demands. 

San finally takes Wooyoung into his arms properly. He wraps his arms all the way around him, finding Wooyoung’s hands to lace their fingers together and lay them across Wooyoung’s belly. There’s the temptation for Wooyoung to lean back against him, pushing their bodies as flush as they can get, tilting his head onto San’s shoulder. He resists in favor of looking in the mirror. Aligned like this, Wooyoung can see the true difference in their builds. San’s broad shoulders dwarf Wooyoung’s own. His biceps flex where they wrap around Wooyoung’s front, and in his hold, Wooyoung is a lean and delicate thing, there for the taking. 

In the mirror, San’s eyes rake up and down Wooyoung’s body. Even through the glass Wooyoung can feel the intensity of his stare. His gaze lingers on Wooyoung’s neck and collarbones, his hips and waist. Wooyoung wonders what the other sticking points will be, once he can see all of it. 

“It looks good, doesn’t it,” San says, but it’s not much of a question. 

“So good,” Wooyoung echoes. He untangles one of his hands from San’s to teasingly run a finger over the ridges of his knuckles again. It’s such a simple touch, but it makes San’s grip curl into Wooyoung’s hip. “Sannie, you look so good. You should touch me.” 

Their bodies have known each other for so long. They’ve watched each other through every change and every growth. They’ve learned every new shape they’ve taken. They’ve tended to every ache. There has already been so much touch between them. The nights asleep, holding each other. The hugs in the sorrow and their joy. The hands brushing beneath a table. All of it. Sometimes Wooyoung wonders if there’s anything even more to learn, because San is the person with whom he has experienced the most of life with. 

It’s a hollow line of thinking though. There is so much they haven’t allowed themselves to have of one another. 

Up until now, part of Wooyoung has treated their attraction to each other like a game. He’s always been good at playing. As a result he gets to tease and he gets to fantasize, but without fail, the game saves him from addressing what it really means that he feels this way. 

If wants to find the limits of what touch with San could be, he knows that he’s barely scratched the surface. 

“Young-ah…” San says. It’s almost like a warning. Wooyoung knows exactly what San is cautioning. If he takes the invitation Wooyoung offers him, he won’t be holding back. 

“You want to, don’t you?” Wooyoung taunts. He tilts his neck back ever so slightly, his head on San’s shoulder. “You wanna make me feel small. Make me feel pretty.”

San sucks in a harsh breath. Wooyoung watches his throat bob. There’s a quiet, harsh chuckle. “I don’t really have to do much, then. You’re always small and pretty.” 

“Okay. Then touch me the way you’ve thought about.”

“How do you know I’ve thought about it?”

His hands are restless on Wooyoung’s hips, like they want to trace his stomach again, like they want to wander further. 

Wooyoung smirks. “The way you’re holding me. You hold me like you’ve thought about the way you want to move me next. I know that feeling. I know when someone wants to handle me.” 

San’s mouth flattens. “Do you?”

“I do. Are you jealous?”

“Yes,” he says, with not a trace of hesitation in his voice. 

“So do it yourself.”

Those restless hands finally squeeze, fingertips pressing into Wooyoung’s hips before achingly tracing a hand up Wooyoung’s chest. His hand lands on Wooyoung’s jaw, and he angles Wooyoung’s chin over his shoulder until Wooyoung is forced to turn around. With a sharp grip on his face, San kisses him, licking into his mouth with a hot tongue. 

San is a familiar taste. 

They’ve kissed before, a product of what people always have always said is inevitable about them. Curiosity got them there once, when they were younger and messy and unsure of what they wanted. Again, drunk, when they were older. Now, usually, as fleeting, silent things — innocent pecks they never have the words for, kisses before bed they never even bother to try to talk about. 

What kind of words are there anyway, to describe the thing you’d run endlessly for but have never tried to chase? 

They’ve been at the starting line for so long, but it’s never been like this. No, now they’re bursting out of the gate, San’s tongue across Wooyoung’s tongue, San’s fingers pressing into his jaw, San’s body, hungry, claiming, big.

“Fuck,” San says when they break apart. He’s breathing heavier now. His thumb catches on Wooyoung’s pink lower lip when he runs it over his mouth. “How many times have I wanted to do that?”

Wooyoung laughs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand just because he knows San’s gaze will follow. 

“Don’t hold back on my account,” he replies. He rubs over San’s chest, feeling the muscle under his fingers. With his hip slightly cocked he says, “Now how do you want me? I’m flexible, but not that flexible, so take that into consideration.”

San snorts. He knocks his knuckles against Wooyoung’s cheek. “I knew you’d be a brat.”

Wooyoung lays a hand over his heart. “You wound me, San-ah.” His eyes light up a second later, mischief surely written all over his face. “So you knew, huh? You thought about me? Are you gonna tame me, Sannie? I might bite you.” 

San’s expression seems to fight between being turned on and utterly exasperated, but Wooyoung saves him the effort of having to make up his mind. He leans in for another kiss and delivers just as he promises, pulling away with a firm bite to San’s lower lip, tugging it between his teeth until San groans. Still curling his palm into the firm, rounded muscle of San’s pec, Wooyoung squeezes and kisses him again, trailing his hot mouth down San’s neck. He hears San’s breath pick up again, and he’s rewarded with another whimper when Wooyoung bites him again, hard and blooming red on his collarbone. 

“Shit, you’re sexy,” San gasps. 

Wooyoung only smiles at the praise instead of offering something in return. There’s something he needs to know, and he knows he can get it if he has San like this — panting, slick-mouthed, handsy on Wooyoung’s hips. 

“San-ah,” murmurs Wooyoung. He kisses San’s jaw again. San tilts for him, making space like he knows Wooyoung will fit against him no matter their angle. “I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“You got big for me, right? Didn’t you?”

San’s mouth parts. He hesitates. “I…” he manages before trailing off. 

Wooyoung trails both of his hands over San’s body again. They wander from his chest to his shoulders, broad and strong, down to the biceps that put Wooyoung’s own to shame. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Wooyoung urges. 

He watches San swallow. The grip on Wooyoung’s waist tightens. 

“I remember one time. You pushed me. Just jokingly. But I stumbled hard. And I felt so weak. So small.” 

San admits this without looking at him, but the words are enough to fuel Wooyoung’s fire. His hunch has just been confirmed, and knowing it makes him giddy. Was that all it took? Just a little push? 

“And you wanted to be bigger than me? Did you want to protect me?” Wooyoung teases. He smirks, lowering his voice knowingly. “Or was it something else? Did you wanna throw me around, Sannie?” San flinches like he’s been caught. Wooyoung pounces like he’s just struck gold. “It’s okay if you did. I like it.”

Wooyoung feels San wanting to squirm, but under Wooyoung’s watchful, elated gaze, he stays in place and answers the questions exactly as Wooyoung asked of him. 

“A lot of it was for me. I wanted to be stronger. I wanted to feel more confident. But— Part of it was for you,” San admits. “I wanted to be bigger than you. I thought about holding you. About—”

“Fucking me?”

San sets his jaw. “I thought about fucking you.” 

Wooyoung grins with all his teeth. “Oh, Sannie. You’re dirty. I can’t believe I was right.”

“You knew?”

Wooyoung shrugs, coy. “I thought. I hoped. Either way it worked out in my favor, didn’t it, big boy?” 

San groans again. “God, Young-ah. You’re insane.” 

“Don’t act like we’re not both perverts here,” Wooyoung replies, and he proves his point by licking into San’s mouth, their tongues meeting in slick strokes. 

As they kiss, San’s hands find their way beneath Wooyoung’s shirt again. They wander mindlessly, and though Wooyoung’s tank top is loose, they’re restricted by the seams. Annoyed, Wooyoung breaks their kiss to mutter, “Just take it off.”

San, dazed, still chasing Wooyoung’s mouth, says, “Hm?”

“My shirt, take it off. And take off yours too.”

“Right,” San breathes. He peels off his own shirt hastily, but he strips Wooyoung slow, waiting for Wooyoung to lift his arms over his head before easing the tank top off of him. 

“Look at you,” Wooyoung says once San is topless. “You really did work hard.” He runs a finger over San’s abdomen, then traces the same path with his mouth. He stops to run his teeth over one of San’s nipples, and he’s rewarded with a breathy groan. “I can’t believe how sexy you are. And it was all for me? I must’ve been a hero in my past life.” 

San can hardly muster a laugh. “Are you trying to make my ego bigger too?”

“Among other things,” Wooyoung drawls, knowing that if San weren’t so turned on, he’d hate the joke. But he’s painfully reactive to Wooyoung, and he pushes his hips forward into Wooyoung’s cupped palm when Wooyoung touches him over his joggers. He kisses San again while palming him, barely moving his hand as San presses up against him. 

“God, I want you,” San breathes. 

“Yeah?” Wooyoung murmurs. Without warning, he drops to his knees, cushioned by the soft rug in front of his mirror. He runs his fingers teasingly over San’s waistband. “I might be small, but I promise I can fit it in.”

If San had been against a wall, he would’ve slammed his head against it with the way he throws it back in a groan. “Jung Wooyoung, you can’t just say shit like that.”

“Can’t I?” Wooyoung says. He starts to mouth over the outline of San’s cock, thick and hot and hard in his pants. He knows how the heat of his mouth must feel. San’s fingers curl into his own thighs. “C’mon. Don’t pretend you don’t like me a little slutty. Shouldn’t you be grabbing my head and telling me to take it?”

“Should I be?” San gasps. 

Wooyoung locks their gazes and lowers his eyes. “Why don’t you find out?”

San’s throat bobs heavily. It looks like it’s taking every last restraint to hold himself back. His hands hover over his thighs, centimeters from reaching out to hold Wooyoung. To push him. To pull him. To put him wherever it is that he’s wanted. 

“Young-ah,” says San seriously. “Really. Is it okay?”

Wooyoung reaches for one of San’s hands and laces it into his own hair. San’s grip tightens instinctively, already pulling Wooyoung’s head back a little. 

“I want you to.” 

Hearing those words, San pulls a little harder. A rush floods through Wooyoung when San angles his head back, his other hand touching Wooyoung’s mouth until it drops open, his thumb pressing down against his tongue. Wooyoung doesn’t close his lips to suck on it. He just lets San maneuver him, tracing over his tongue like he’s checking the warmth and the wetness. 

“You can’t make me cum like this.” 

Wooyoung adjusts himself to sit more properly. “I won’t,” he replies, fingers already at San’s waistband. “It’s just a preview to show you how good I look on my knees.” 

With deft fingers, Wooyoung gets San out of his joggers and briefs. Wooyoung takes a moment to stare at him once there’s nothing left in his way. From his place on the floor, San seems even bigger. He’s tall above him, and from below, the taper of his waist seems so severe. His broad upper body looms above, and even the ridges of his muscles seem more pronounced from here. On his thigh, Wooyoung runs a hand over the tattoo that mirrors the very same one on his own skin. 

Once he’s had his fill of staring, Wooyoung puts his mouth to work. He takes San into his mouth, parting his lips so the wet flat of his tongue can meet the place where San wants it most. San keeps his hand steady in Wooyoung’s hair, his fingers twisted tight. He only tugs when Wooyoung teases too much, but goodness does Wooyoung tease. 

He never stays in one place for too long. He winds San up instead, kissing and licking over the head of San’s cock until San is muttering his name, sucking in the underside until San’s hips jerk forward and the tip goes bumping against Wooyoung’s cheek. Wooyoung deliberately locks eyes with him in the moment afterward, dragging his thumb over the precum left on his face and sucking it into his mouth. 

As good as it must feel, Wooyoung knows that it’s a far cry from what San must really want — Wooyoung, taking him deep, sucking him down his throat, bobbing his head so the hot warmth surrounds him. 

But it's enough. It gets his dick wet. And it’s far more than the preview Wooyoung said it would be. It’s a proper show, with Wooyoung’s wet, messy, pink mouth as the highlight. San gets to be the guide throughout, holding and steering him from where he’s small on his knees. 

It’s only after Wooyoung has had his fill of teasing that he gives San a taste of what he’s been waiting for. He loosens up his throat and takes San all the way down, so that the sharp slope of his nose nearly brushes San’s belly. With it in deep, he bobs his head once, twice, and just when San starts to chase it, Wooyoung withdraws. He leans all the way back in satisfaction, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand again and behind it revealing his pleased smirk. 

“Good, right?” He gives San’s hip a little shove. “Now show me why I wasn’t supposed to make you cum like that. I had to stop as soon as I got into it.” 

“God, you’re a brat,” says San on an exhale. It’s both exasperated and fond, and he uses both hands to pull Wooyoung to his feet. Eye to eye, he kisses Wooyoung again, sloppier and hungrier than before. His cock, sticky and wet from Wooyoung’s mouth, bumps along Wooyoung’s bare torso where their lower bodies press together. “It was so good,” San says now that they’re closer. His mouth drifts toward Wooyoung’s ear. He talks between kisses laid to the shell of it. “You’re so good, Young-ah. So sexy. Are you okay?”

“More than okay.” 

San pets his hips. “Can I fuck you? Does that sound good?” 

San speaks in a soft murmur, his eyes not looking away from Wooyoung’s for a moment. Wooyoung nearly coos at him. 

“You can’t help but be sweet, can you, Choi San?”

San blushes. He steadies himself by holding Wooyoung’s hips more firmly. “Look. I want you so bad. But I want it to be good for you, Wooyoung-ah. It’s okay that I’m checking, right?”

He seems worried that he could be ruining the mood, but the break in intensity doesn’t leave Wooyoung feeling any differently. He loves San so terribly — for all his tenderness, and his care, and his soft spots. That he is his romantic, loving self amidst this makes San all the more attractive. What a man he is, to want to fuck Wooyoung until he’s small and begging but will never fail to ask so warmly for it first. 

“Of course it’s okay, baby,” says Wooyoung. “I like that you’re so sweet.” He pets San’s cheek and kisses him once. Against his lips he adds, “And I definitely, definitely want you to fuck me.”

San grins so big his dimples appear in his cheeks. “Good. Now get naked.” 

Wooyoung drops his shorts, and San wraps around him from behind just like he had in the mirror. Both of his strong arms hold Wooyoung, his mouth pressing against Wooyoung’s neck. Attraction ripples all over Wooyoung’s bare skin at every place their bodies touch. Behind him, he feels San’s hot, hard cock pressed against his ass, grinding forward just a little. 

“You fit so perfect like this,” San murmurs to him. 

Reaching down Wooyoung’s belly, San takes Wooyoung’s cock in his hand. At first he holds it, feeling it in his grasp before stroking it a few times, the head slick from where Wooyoung has leaked when San’s length was in his mouth. 

After he’s done touching, San walks them toward Wooyoung’s bed, still holding him like that. Instead of both of them getting on, San pushes Wooyoung toward it, saying, “Get on. On your knees.”

Wooyoung clambers up, following San’s instructions. 

“Bend over.” 

Wooyoung goes to plant his hands into the mattress, his head by the pillows, like he could sink down into them and sleep if he wanted to. As soon as he starts to situate himself, San clicks his tongue. He grabs Wooyoung by the hips and pulls him in the right direction. 

“This way,” he says, and he manhandles Wooyoung until he’s exactly as he wants. 

Wooyoung’s feet up dangling off the mattress. He faces the wall his bed is pushed up against. San lays a hand in the middle of Wooyoung’s back until Wooyoung bends to his touch, lowering his face into the sheets, shielded by the pillow of his arms. His ass is up, positioned right in front of San, who simply stands by the edge of the bed and looks at what’s laid out for him. 

“That’s it. Perfect.” He runs his hand down Wooyoung’s back again. “You like when people play with you, right?”

Wooyoung looks over his shoulder in excitement, flexing his back because he knows how good it looks. “Ooh, is Sannie gonna play with me?”  

“Oh, darling,” San says in a low voice. “You’re gonna be my toy.” 

And so he starts to play.

Wooyoung can’t even pretend to be in control in this position. He doesn’t try to take it back, either. He relaxes into San’s curious, wandering touch that starts at his hips and moves over his ass. It’s a vulnerable, open position, but Wooyoung likes being on display for him, and he knows that San likes what he sees. His palms run over Wooyoung’s backside, squeezing, then running down his thighs and back up his waist. He pushes and pulls, seeing the way Wooyoung will move for him, thumbs spreading him apart and brushing near his hole. 

It leaves Wooyoung covered in goosebumps, his cock aching between his legs. 

“Lube in your drawer?”

“Mhm.”

Wooyoung hears San rifle around, but it doesn’t take long for him to return from the bedside table. It’s not like Wooyoung tries to hide it. There’s the sound of the cap clicking open and shut, then the squeeze of the bottle. 

One of San’s fingers traces Wooyoung’s entrance. 

“Do you touch yourself like this a lot?” 

He’s not asking just to tease. It sounds like he really wants to know — so he can picture it, picture Wooyoung trying to find the time to finger himself, wrist twisting between his legs. 

“Time permitting,” Wooyoung replies cheekily. 

“When was the last time?” 

San’s finger moves in small circles, getting Wooyoung used to his touch, making him want it more. 

“I don’t know. A week or two ago?”

San hums in disappointment. “Too long. You poor thing.” 

“You should’ve… Ah,” Wooyoung tries. He finds his voice cutting out in pleasure, his breath catching from San’s touch. “You should’ve come and helped me out sooner.”

“You’re right. I should’ve. Look at you.” He holds Wooyoung’s waist again with one hand, fingers pressing hard into Wooyoung’s hip bone as his other hand still rubs over his hole. Gently, he pushes a finger inside. Wooyoung groans, arching his back a little as San enters him. “Look at how you take it. Does it feel good?”

“It feels good.” 

“You look perfect,” San tells him in a whisper. 

He leans over Wooyoung to kiss down his back. His finger still works in and out gently, but the faint stretch falls to the wayside of Wooyoung’s mind at the feeling of San’s mouth. His lips draw a warm path along Wooyoung’s spine until he reaches its end, where his mouth lingers, breath ghosting by his finger and over Wooyoung’s sensitive entrance. 

Just the presence of his mouth there makes Wooyoung moan, clenching around San’s finger and rocking his hips toward the heat of his lips. 

“Oh, you like that?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung whines. 

San snickers. “And you said I’m dirty,” he mutters under his breath, but it’s lost on Wooyoung, who moans again even louder when San lowers his mouth to lick around his finger. 

“Oh my god.” 

“That’s it, honey,” San says, his lips against Wooyoung’s hole. 

Wooyoung surrenders himself to the feeling. San adds another finger to get him ready, and Wooyoung rumbles beneath him, his back arching further and further in an attempt to get San closer. He feels desperate for it, finally able to run at full speed, finally able to chase. He’s out of the gate and he sprints after his desire; in it he finds he wants San to take over him completely. 

“I need you inside of me,” he whines. “God, holy shit.”

His bedroom is quiet other than the hum of the air conditioner, so every sound that comes from San seems to take up the whole room. Just as Wooyoung feels San’s tongue and his breath, he hears them, too — his soft pants, the inhales through his nose, the smacking of his lips when he sucks. 

San’s hand readjusts its grip on Wooyoung’s ass, spreading him even further apart as he plunges three fingers in and out. The drag is smooth, slick with spit and lube. Wooyoung feels restless knowing what’s to come. He pushes his hips back, wishing San would curl them to the place he wants them most, but he knows that San is teasing. 

“San,” Wooyoung grits out. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. San doesn’t answer. His tongue coasts over one of the dimples on Wooyoung’s lower back. “ San, seriously, San-ah, I need you. That’s enough.”

San’s mouth is red and covered in spit when Wooyoung turns over to look at him, and there’s an exaggerated pout pulling the corners of his lips down. 

“Already? I was having fun.”

Wooyoung has half a mind to turn over and smack him, but he’s not quite sure he can move right now. And it would probably only mean more time until he’s fucked anyway. 

“I don’t care,” Wooyoung bites. “You need to fuck me. Just fuck me.”

San laughs, wipes his face, and rolls on a condom. 

He holds Wooyoung’s hips the same way he had before, but he still doesn’t give Wooyoung what he wants. He plays with Wooyoung instead, gripping his cock in one hand and sliding it between Wooyoung’s cheeks. It’s an agonizing wait, made worse by San pushing the head of his cock right against Wooyoung’s hole and then withdrawing it again. It’s really like Wooyoung is his toy, like it doesn’t even matter when and how San fucks him. He’s San’s for the taking. 

“Fuck you,” Wooyoung spits. 

“The tease can’t handle his own game?”

Wooyoung turns over his shoulder again and bares his teeth. Scowling, he threatens, “I’ll grab your dick and fuck myself on it if I have to.”

San just laughs again, running a soothing hand over Wooyoung’s waist. “Next time, honey. It’ll be fun to fuck you like this right now. Go on, lay down. Put your head on a pillow.”

Wooyoung follows his instructions, moving toward the headboard to lay flat on the bed. San slips a pillow beneath Wooyoung’s hips, and then he finally joins Wooyoung on the mattress after so long standing. He leaves another kiss to Wooyoung’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Like this.”

Up on his knees, he knocks Wooyoung’s legs apart with a nudge and slips between them. With the help of the pillow and San’s hand spreading him apart, Wooyoung is all on display. He hears a deep breath before San enters him, slow and hovering over him, his chest against Wooyoung’s back. 

San fucks him just like that — Wooyoung pressed flat into the mattress, San spanning the entirety of him. San’s hands travel over his arms to interlace their fingers, and he squeezes with every pulse of his hips that move in long, controlled strokes. 

Wooyoung loses it beneath him right away. He writhes and moans, and trapped beneath San’s broad, muscled form, he feels perfectly, achingly small. He moans when San’s hips cant up just right, and when Wooyoung thinks he can’t possibly feel any better, San presses his lips to Wooyoung’s neck and starts to talk. 

“Look at you beneath me,” he mutters. “You’re so small. You basically disappear. You’re so tight too. Do you like it, Young-ah? Do you like how big I am? That I can hold you down?”

Wooyoung wants to scream his yeses, that’s how good it feels. But he has a little pride still, even with San eclipsing him like this. 

“Yah,” he chokes out. “You might be big, but I’m not weak. I told you. I could push you off if I wanted.” 

“Could you?” San murmurs, his lips on the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, right on the tattoo there, his mouth itself another reminder that Wooyoung is never alone and never will be. “Would you want to? Go ahead, try, darling.” 

But he keeps pumping his hips, and Wooyoung can’t even bring himself to try. He doesn’t want to. He wants San above him, on top of him, dwarfing him. He ruts against the bed lamely, his cock pressed into the pillow under his hips, hoping San leans more of his weight against him. 

“Mhm. That’s what I thought. So? Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” 

“That you like it,” San urges. His whole chest covers Wooyoung’s back. He leaves his cock inside and moves in painfully slow circles, grinding where Wooyoung wants him most, leaving him so sensitive he could scream. 

“I like it.” 

“Yeah?”

“I like how big you are,” Wooyoung says in a rush. “So big and strong. But San-ah. You’ll still listen to me if I ask you for something, right, baby?” 

“Anything,” San breathes. “Anything, Young-ah. You’re perfect. You can have anything you want.” He lays a kiss to Wooyoung’s hair, another, to his temple. 

Wooyoung moves one set of their joined hands up to his head and puts San’s fingers in his hair. 

“Pull,” he says. “And when you fuck me, do it properly this time. I know you can move your hips, and baby, it’s good, but I want you to really fuck me now.” 

San sucks in a breath. “You’re unreal,” he mutters, like he can’t believe the invitation he’s just received, what he’s being asked to do. 

He tugs Wooyoung’s hips up so he’s not flat against the bed anymore, and he does exactly as he asked. He fucks Wooyoung hard, one hand pulling his hair and the other sneaking beneath him to wander his belly, his chest, his nipples. 

Wooyoung unravels completely against him, his cock leaking on the bed, his hips jerking and twitching. He feels himself inching closer and closer to the edge, wound so tight after being eaten out and then fucked like this. 

The sound of their hips clapping together fills the room, and soon they both start to sweat, Wooyoung’s aircon unit no match for them. 

“Fuck, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?” San asks, panting and pleases. 

“Mm,” Wooyoung hums. “Are you gonna make me cum? I want you to hold me when you do.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that. C’mon, sit up.”

He pulls Wooyoung onto his knees and holds him around the waist. His face comes to the hot crook of Wooyoung’s neck, still fucking him as he wraps a hand around his cock. The slickness on Wooyoung’s skin makes enough of a glide for San to touch him comfortably. The curve of San’s arm presses up against his own with San wrapped around him like this, and Wooyoung is small in his hold. 

“That’s it,” San encourages him, feeling the way Wooyoung’s hips begin to jerk unsteadily. “That’s it, Wooyoung-ah. You feel so good. You fit so perfectly here.”

“Sannie, baby—” 

“I got you,” San says, his thumb at the head of Wooyoung’s cock. 

Almost collapsing on himself, Wooyoung cums into San’s fist. San fucks him through it, and Wooyoung stays trembling on his knees until San finishes. When he does, it’s with his fingernails digging into Wooyoung’s hips and his teeth between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades. 

There’s a moment afterward, where they just breathe. 

Then they fall onto the bed together, and on their sides, San takes Wooyoung completely into his arms. His hold is a tender cradle, marked with kisses all over Wooyoung’s face and neck and back. 

“You totally couldn’t push me off if you tried,” he snickers. 

Wooyoung slaps his wrist. “Oh, fuck off.” 

“C’mon,” San announces. He rolls onto his back and inflates his chest. “Tell me again how you like me big and strong.”

“Pass,” says Wooyoung dryly. “It’ll inflate your head like a balloon and then you’ll float away.” 

“It’ll just motivate me to keep it up at the gym.” 

Wooyoung finds a home on San’s pec, using it as a pillow. “As if you need any more motivation. The workout group chat is already active enough.”

San just huffs. “I’ll get it out of you eventually.” 

He sounds quite confident, and Wooyoung hates that he’s right. 

“Mhm…” he drawls, walking his fingers over San’s chest. “You might just have to prove it again.” 

“Was that round not proof enough?” San shoots him a look, affronted. 

“My memory is a little spotty,” Wooyoung says coyly. “I need reinforcements before I can recall. Y’know, repetition is the key to memorization or whatever they say.” 

“Is that what they say?” San wonders, but he’s already sliding a hand down Wooyoung’s body, his hand finding its way to that spot on his waist again. 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replies. The next words are spoken against San’s lips. “So we have to do it again, and again, and ag-”