Work Text:
Wooyoung has just punched five minutes on his microwave when he hears it— his door buzzer, at 10PM. He pauses, peering at the golden light emanating from the whirring machine as his frozen dinner heats up. He can almost taste it— eggplant parmesan with pesto chicken, the box had read.
He sighs, letting his head roll back on his shoulders and his eyes fall shut in mild irritation because he knows. He knows who it is this late on a Wednesday night. He knows who it is, waiting outside his building when they both have work in the morning. He clears his throat and makes his way from his kitchen and into the hallway, the buzzer literally screaming at him as he approaches the door on bare feet.
There are over a hundred reasons for him to leave Nichkhun standing outside and not open the door. He can name every single one and come up with new ones, like the fact that he’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt, or that he hasn’t had dinner and he can finally read the book he bought last month. But he lets Nichkhun up anyway.
He combs his fingers through his hair, pushing his dark too-long fringe back and off of his forehead. He opens his door and tugs at his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles over his abdomen and dusting off the seat of his pants, his palms suddenly sweaty. He sighs again and leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, schooling his face to look uninterested and hopefully scare Nichkhun away.
But then the elevator dings, the doors slide open, and Nichkhun’s shadow on the stone floor announces his presence before the man himself steps into the dim hallway. Wooyoung feels his expression falter, the tremble of a lip and the twitch of an eye, and he looks down at Nichkhun’s shiny shoes as he comes closer until they stop right in front of him.
“Hey,” Nichkhun breathes, and the liquor that hits Wooyoung’s face makes him look up to meet brown, smiling eyes and auburn hair. Nichkhun seems a little buzzed, but Wooyoung knows Nichkhun can hold his own pretty well. Nichkhun keeps a bit of distance between them, his gaze never going anywhere but Wooyoung’s face. He’s all polite and respectful and so routine Wooyoung hates him. Just a little.
“Hey.”
It’s all Wooyoung gives him back, but he does reward himself with a glance over Nichkhun’s body, his tailored grey suit and blue collared shirt, his throat and clavicle in his open collar. Wooyoung blinks and peers back at Nichkhun’s face expectantly, not moving from the doorway, not giving the other man an entrance. And Nichkhun seems to read him like a book.
“How are you?” He asks, his big, innocent eyes making his face appear open. His shoulders are low and his stance is unguarded just like his expression. So unlike Wooyoung himself, Wooyoung thinks. He’s coiled tight and tense, his jaw feels taut from frowning. He doesn’t understand how Nichkhun doesn’t get it— or why he doesn’t care.
As much as Wooyoung scowls and glares at him, Nichkhun smiles and laughs through it all, like he thinks Wooyoung doesn’t mean it.
“What do you want?” Wooyoung asks, and Nichkhun’s eyes grow a little, as if Wooyoung’s managed to surprise him. His smile widens a fraction, and Wooyoung tries very hard not to stare at Nichkhun’s mouth.
“I just uh- just had drinks with Taecyeon and Chansung,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets and inclining his face into Wooyoung’s direction, “they’re terrible.” He whispers, and drags a hand down the side of his face. In the wash of artificial light he looks genuinely tired. Nichkhun chuckles, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I was so bored.” Nichkhun’s shoulders rattle with another short laugh, and Wooyoung stops fighting.
He’s losing, and he can’t stand this small talk anyway. He knows that Nichkhun goes out with his co-workers on Wednesdays, he knows the two of them suck, and he knows what this is and why he’s here outside his door, but he has no idea why Nichkhun can’t come out and say it. So he does.
“Do you want to come in?” Wooyoung is uncrossing his arms and putting his weight on his back foot before he even sees the faint nod of Nichkhun’s chin, the swift, meaningful change in Nichkhun’s eyes before Wooyoung turns his back on them but feels them follow him inside, rake their initial touches over his body.
“Were you eating dinner?” Nichkhun asks, ever so cordial— he’s always cordial at the beginning— as Wooyoung shuts his front door and locks it.
“I was about to,” Wooyoung remarks with a smirk, moving past Nichkhun and back into the kitchen.
“I can go...” Nichkhun offers, in that voice that is so polite it borders on absurdity. But his shoes clack on the floor behind Wooyoung’s silent steps persistently, clearly in no hurry to leave. Wooyoung chuckles and shakes his head. There are two minutes left on the microwave.
He reaches forward with a resigned sigh and hits pause, and the light inside flickers off and the humming goes quiet. Something touches him, in the small of his back, and Wooyoung turns his face just as Nichkhun’s body steps closer to his own.
“I missed you,” Nichkhun mutters, and Wooyoung hates how he just turns into Nichkhun’s embrace, his own hands finding Nichkhun’s sides under his jacket and his lungs breathing in the warm air between them, tequila mixing with Nichkhun’s sweet cologne. He wants to say ‘me too’ because it’s been two weeks since Nichkhun’s touched him and he’s touched Nichkhun like this, but instead he just opens his mouth and presses it against Nichkhun’s.
Nichkhun makes a contented noise against his lips, and Wooyoung shuts his eyes and squeezes Nichkhun’s flanks as the hand on his back pulls him flush and another hand holds the back of his neck. Nichkhun’s tongue brushes his and Wooyoung hears himself moan at the feeling, and just for this moment he stops thinking— because if he thinks, this ends and he really, really doesn’t want it to.
He pulls Nichkhun into his room and pushes him down onto his sheets, crawling over him and kissing him, breathing hard as Nichkhun’s hands roam all over his body. He plants his knees on either side of Nichkhun’s waist and sits astride his hips, rocking down against his stirring hard-on as he undoes the buttons on Nichkhun’s shirt. Nichkhun bites down on his lip and stares up at him through smouldering eyes, shrugging out of his suit jacket, and Wooyoung exhales harshly when Nichkhun’s palms mold to shape of his backside, guiding Wooyoung’s rolling hips on his cock.
Nichkhun gets even harder, pressed right up against his ass and Wooyoung shuts his eyes and lets his hands slide up the smooth plane of Nichkhun’s defined abdomen and knead his chest as he rides him through their clothes. Something hot and wet latches onto his throat and his hands just rest on Nichkhun’s neck when he realizes Nichkhun is sitting up. Nichkhun tugs at Wooyoung’s shirt until it’s over his head and on the floor, and Nichkhun is kissing his chest and biting and his hands are hot and bare, grasping Wooyoung’s ass tightly.
“You’re perfect,” the words are muffled against his own skin but Wooyoung hears them. If he hadn’t melted before he does right then, even though he knows— he was gone when he heard the door.
“Perfect,” Nichkhun almost whispers, and Wooyoung rocks even harder in his lap, grinding his own hard-on against Nichkhun’s firm belly and shifting forward. Nichkhun moans against his neck from the loss of contact, using the hands on Wooyoung’s behind to try to guide him back.
But instead Wooyoung slips one hand in between them, finding Nichkhun’s button and zip and undoing them, peering down at Nichkhun’s wrinkled brow and moaning lips as his hand wraps around the base of Nichkhun’s erection. Nichkhun is hard and thick in his palm, and all Wooyoung can do is grin against Nichkhun’s cheek, because he’s been dying to do this for days.
Every night, touching himself but craving this, so, so alone, wishing he had the real thing— Nichkhun moaning with his mouth against Wooyoung’s sternum, his breaths hot and hurried right where Wooyoung’s heart is.
Nichkhun looks up at him, his eyes dark in the faint lamplight and his cheeks flushed and forehead damp where his hair sticks to his skin.
“God, I love you,” he utters, and Wooyoung’s hand and hips freeze at the same time, but Nichkhun seems unphased by his own words. One of his hands skates up Wooyoung’s back and into his hair, pulling him down into a kiss. Wooyoung’s mouth is slack against Nichkhun’s as the words echo over and over in Wooyoung’s mind. Nichkhun loves him.
He’s sliding off of Nichkhun’s lap and onto the sheets next to him, Nichkhun’s eyes and hands following him in earnest. He finds lube in the side table, and his eyes hover over the condoms inside, but he shuts the drawer and turns back to face Nichkhun.
He settles back onto the cradle of his own pillows and lifts his hips as he pushes his sweatpants off his legs and kicks them off his feet, lying there with his knees slightly parted and his hand closing around his own hardness, holding Nichkhun’s heated gaze with his own. Nichkhun licks his lips, and it’s like a caress, when those eyes mark every inch of his body.
“Come here,” They’re the first words Wooyoung’s spoken in a while, and his voice comes out husky and far too eager, but he means them. Nichkhun obeys, crawling into the space Wooyoung has left him between his thighs, kneeling there and staring down at Wooyoung’s face as he pulls his shirt over his shoulders.
Wooyoung revels in the sight before him, hissing as he slowly touches himself. Toned biceps shift under creamy skin as Nichkhun pushes his own slacks and briefs off his angular hips, and Wooyoung almost loses himself at the steady rise and fall of deep breaths beneath a sheet of straining abs.
Nichkhun lowers himself on top of Wooyoung, his weight a pressure Wooyoung welcomes and clutches with his inner thighs, greedy. His breath hitches when Nichkhun’s hand closes around him and strokes, nuzzling the side of his neck and kissing him there.
“Do we need—”
“No.” Wooyoung interrupts, arching his hips up into Nichkhun’s hand. It feels so good to have someone else— Nichkhun’s hands on him, but he wants more. They both do. Nichkhun palms Wooyoung’s erection hard a few more times before his hand drops down and reaches lower, further back.
When a slick finger slips inside him, Wooyoung groans in his throat, his hands finding Nichkhun’s shoulders and squeezing when the pressure curls and presses that spot inside him.
He shudders and turns his face into his pillow, grasping Nichkhun’s elbow and pushing because he doesn’t need or want the finger.
“Khun-ah,” he mumbles in a daze, and then Nichkhun is in, flesh and flesh and nothing between them— and it burns and it stretches and the girth and length make Wooyoung feel so full his chest tightens and he can’t breathe. Nichkhun doesn’t wait.
His hands squeeze the hard flesh of Wooyoung’s thighs and he moves, and it’s just the way Wooyoung likes it— it hurts. Each thrust is harder than the last, deeper, and amidst the creaking bed and the sound of flesh hitting flesh Wooyoung can’t distinguish his voice from Nichkhun’s, Nichkhun’s voice from his own.
His palms slip and slide across Nichkhun’s back, grabbing handfuls of his flexing ass and hugging the thrusting hips with his thighs. Nichkhun mouths a trail of kisses from his throat, to his jaw, to the corner of his mouth, and Wooyoung turns and hungrily seals his lips against Nichkhun’s, sucking his tongue against his. He reaches down to grab his own cock and rub it in time with Nichkhun’s ardent thrusts, breathing hard into Nichkhun’s mouth as his body sucks Nichkhun inside it over and over again.
It’s a medley of moans, sighs, and curses, and he just tosses his head back, basking in the feeling of Nichkhun making love to him, every move— in, out, in, out, in, in, in— And it all happens so quickly. Nichkhun’s palm replaces his own, and the pressure behind his navel simmers to a boil that makes his toes curl and his vocal cords strain as wet and hot and thick coats him inside and the world ends.
“Hm,” Nichkhun hums after a while— Wooyoung’s not sure how much time has elapsed, only that he’s aware of the amber lamplight to the right and the heavy press of Nichkhun’s forehead dropped against his own. He echoes Nichkhun with a “Hm” of his own, or at least he thinks he does. He tries to, but he’s not sure if the sound makes it out of him.
---
Nichkhun’s still there when Wooyoung wakes up to his own alarm. He doesn’t move, and all Wooyoung can see is the back of his head and his nude back, the comforter covering him from the waist down. Wooyoung reaches for his phone and shuts the thing up, peering back at Nichkhun to make sure the harsh beeep beeeep didn’t pull him out of whatever dream he was having. It didn’t.
He lets out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a yawn, rubbing a hand over his forehead as he sits up and slowly pushes the covers back, peering over his shoulder at Nichkhun’s softly snoring form. As soon as his feet hit the floor the tension settles in, the soreness that accompanies the type of sex he has with Nichkhun. Muscles burn and tighten in a good way, and yet his limbs move across his room with an ease they did not possess the day before.
Wooyoung turns to peer at Nichkhun over his shoulder, and feels the tug of his lips before he can stop it as the words echo in his mind.
I love you.
He shakes his head, biting down on his lip to keep from smiling like an idiot as he heads to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth in the shower, relieved when the steam settles into his pores and soothes his tired muscles.
His mirror is completely fogged up when he gets out, towel slung around his hips hair dripping water all over his neck and shoulders. He leans across the sink to wipe his hand across it, clearing a clean space where his face suddenly appears— and Nichkhun’s behind it.
“Morning,” Nichkhun’s reflection says, and Wooyoung turns around to look at him. Nichkhun steps out of the doorway and into the bathroom, his hands touching Wooyoung’s damp forearms and sliding upwards, eliciting a shiver through Wooyoung’s spine.
“Morning.” Wooyoung mutters, trying to keep his smile a secret. He doesn’t want Nichkhun to see the impact his admission has had on him. He inhales deeply and lifts his hands to cup Nichkhun’s face and pull him closer, to tug him into a slow, chaste press of lips against lips. Nichkhun’s contented hum vibrates against his mouth, Nichkhun’s grip tightens around his biceps, and Wooyoung realizes he could stay like this forever, kissing Nichkhun in his bathroom.
“Is it too much to ask you to get back in the shower?” Nichkhun asks against his mouth, and Wooyoung can feel Nichkhun’s grin even as he nips at the corner of Nichkhun’s lips, and he lets himself laugh a little.
“I have a job,” he says reluctantly, pulling away but letting his hand remain where it is, gripping Nichkhun by his nape, his fingertips just brushing against a light brown hairline. Nichkhun wrinkles his nose, but nods, kissing Wooyoung one more time before he slides past him and gets into the shower.
The water comes on, and Wooyoung sighs, looking himself over in the mirror. His skin is a little flushed and he looks a little bug-eyed, but he shrugs and walks back into his bedroom, leaving watery footprints in his wake. He dresses quickly— slacks, blue dress shirt, black suit jacket and shiny brown shoes, bright diamond cufflinks that don’t clink against his watch when he moves his hands.
He hears Nichkhun still shuffling around in his bathroom, and he wonders whether they have time to eat breakfast, or if Nichkhun even wants to eat with him, or if they’re even a couple now. He shakes his head. Too much thinking. Too much. He sighs, and glances around his room.
His sheets are all askew across his mattress, and the clothes from last night still litter the floor, Nichkhun’s included. The messy bed irks him, and the neat freak in him is reaching forward for the corners of his duvet before he can stop himself.
He tugs it off of the bed and starts to lug it towards his hamper for the housekeeper to grab whenever she gets in, when he hears something clink against his hardwood floor. He furrows his brow as he stuffs the comforter inside the basket, dusting off the fronts of his starched wool pants as he turns to see what fell on the floor. He stops in his tracks, and icy cold remains when all the color, all the blood leaves his face.
Gold gleams up at him— a wide, gold band sitting innocuously on the cherry oak finish just inches away from his polished oxfords. He stares down at it, the sound of water shutting off colliding with the rushing in his ears.
The shower door opens, slams shut, wet feet pad across the tiled floor, coming closer. Nichkhun’s barely around the corner before Wooyoung closes the distance between them with a knuckle to the face.
--------
Tiffany is beautiful. Wooyoung would have married her himself, given the right circumstances. If he had found her first. If she happened to be his type.
She’s all smiling eyes and gleaming white teeth, perfectly layered hair and a body so petite the rock on her finger should have broken her back. But there she stands on stilettoed feet, perfectly upright and confident, and— right next to Nichkhun.
Nichkhun pulls his hand from the small of her back and swaps his wine to shake the hand of whoever has just walked up to them. The muscle between Wooyoung’s eyebrows twitches and tenses. Wooyoung lets himself take Nichkhun in, standing there all tall and slim and pristine in his smooth black suit.
He looks handsome aside from— Wooyoung can’t stop the rush of satisfaction as he remembers the feeling of bone and cartilage against his knuckle when he sees it— the blackish blue circling one of Nichkhun’s beautiful brown eyes.
“Oh, is that Nichkhun’s wife?” Junho asks from his right, and it’s only then that Wooyoung realizes he’s probably staring. He turns his chin back to his co-worker, who’s stretching his neck to see the attractive couple.
“His fiancee.” Wooyoung takes a sip of his white wine, and before Junho can open his mouth to speak again adds, “I think.” Junho seems to change his mind about whatever he was going to say.
Wooyoung sighs hard through his nose and lets his eyes flick around the room, anywhere but the corner over his shoulder where Nichkhun is showing off his girlfriend. He notices Minjun from marketing leaning against the bar with a bored expression on his face— one Wooyoung can relate to— and Chansung off to one side speaking with two women from finance. He allows himself a moment of surprise at the fact that Chansung’s conjoined twin, Taecyeon, is nowhere to be seen.
“Where do you meet a woman like that?” Wooyoung glances back at Junho to see the other man staring longingly in Tiffany and Nichkhun’s direction. Wooyoung tilts his shoulders so he doesn’t have to turn his head as much to see them, looks her up and down through narrowing eyes.
“Church?” He quips before lifting his glass to his lips once again. He almost feels bad about the joke, because she is so pretty, but then he starts to wonder what Nichkhun could possibly see in her when so pretty clearly wasn’t his type the other night (read: or any night before that). Because if there’s any turn of phrase to describe Wooyoung it definitely isn’t so pretty.
And then Wooyoung’s brows furrow, as it occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, so pretty actually is Nichkhun’s type, and whatever words he’d use to describe Wooyoung are the deviation. Wooyoung— Wooyoung realizes— is the anomaly. Not Tiffany. Not Nichkhun’s soon-to-be wife.
Junho’s booming laugh takes him out of the frantic downward spiral his thoughts have taken him on. He’s grateful for the distraction, because he had never really thought of himself as an anomaly before— as the fetish, the guilty pleasure— and it kind of sucks. His glass slips a little in his hand but he catches it, blinking quickly and turning back to the office banquet, back to Junho, who’s speaking words Wooyoung can’t quite focus on enough to understand yet.
“Junho! Junho, come over here!”
The excited call comes from Wooyoung’s periphery, and Junho stops talking abruptly to look in the same direction as before. Wooyoung starts to feel a bit ill. He turns back to look, and it’s only then that he notices the man talking to Nichkhun is one of the higher ups in the finance department. A smile stretches across his wrinkled face, gleaming white teeth and blue eyes, ushering Junho to their corner.
“Crap, come with me,” Junho mutters from one side of his mouth, sketchily jabbing Wooyoung in the side so no one sees it. Wooyoung almost chokes but holds himself together, silently padding behind Junho to the group.
“We were just talking about you,” The older man says, extending a hand and patting Junho on the back with a fatherly smile on his face. Wooyoung sips at his wine and lets his gaze skim the man’s face, then Junho’s awkward grin, Tiffany’s cocked head and slightly adoring smile— she’s so fucking sweet Wooyoung almost can’t take it— and he chances the quickest glance in Nichkhun’s direction. “...young talent, I was saying to Nichkhun, here.”
Nichkhun isn’t looking at him— no one is— and Wooyoung tells himself he prefers it that way. But under the burn of anger and jealousy festering inside of him is something that poisons the wine in his mouth with the bitter tang of betrayal and shame.
“...one of our internal auditors…” Internal auditor. That’s Wooyoung’s position. He blinks and notices Junho is pointing at him and moving aside to widen the little circle of people they have made, leaving a space open between himself and Tiffany. Wooyoung steps into it, keeping his eyes on the old man, who has turned that proud gaze onto him now.
“Ah, Wooyoung, I’ve heard a lot about you from Stan,” he says in his jolly voice, extending a hand for Wooyoung to shake. Wooyoung forces his lips to move, hoping there’s a smile there on his face, which feels frozen. Something sweet and ladylike flutters into his nose, sweet and subtly familiar, and he pulls his hand back quickly when he realizes it’s Tiffany’s perfume. And that he’s smelled it before. On Nichkhun. The stupid bastard—
“Oh! You’re Wooyoung,” says a much higher pitch, a smile coloring the girlish tone. Wooyoung turns in her direction, and she’s even prettier and pinker in her pink dress up close, grinning at him out from under even bangs. She stretches out a slim hand, and daintily lights the other against her chest, the cool lighting in the banquet hall bounding off the diamond on her finger. “I was beginning to think Nichkhun made you up!”
Wooyoung takes her hand and shakes it gently— it’s small enough he could break it without much effort (or guilt), and drops it just as soon as he takes it.
“What’s that?” he asks, needing clarification. Because if Nichkhun’s mentioned him to his girlfriend then— then that’s just too much. She turns and peers up at Nichkhun, swatting him playfully on the arm, and Wooyoung can’t bring himself to glance in that direction. Not yet.
“I’ve met all of his work friends except you. I was sure you were imaginary.”
Wooyoung chuckles, taking a large gulp of wine to give himself time to think of a response. “No,” he settles with, and it’s then that his eyes travel that tiny distance separating Tiffany from her silent fiance. Nichkhun’s eyes seem to bore into his, and Wooyoung’s mouth is tight and unsmiling when he continues.
“I’m real.”