The rain beating down against the window is soft. It's not nearly enough to distract him but not quite quiet enough to be unnoticeable. The room is dark, save for the desk lamp and the light coming from his computer. Jae is sat typing away at an essay he doesn’t want to write. The TV is on in the next room. There’s a record playing on his record player.
Jae is the type of worker that works hard until there is some kind of distraction, then he’s as good as gone. He doesn’t usually procrastinate (keyword: usually), and he’s always been a good student. However, there’s something about this specific essay that makes him want to gouge his eyes out. He’s in his last year of university and he's already got a journalism job in the bag. Jae's even got a nice apartment, a boyfriend, and a cat that hates them both. It's nice, actually.
On the topic of boyfriends, Wonpil has been extra touchy as of late. It’s probably that he’s touch-starved since Jae has been so busy with end of the year projects and exam-prep. Jae feels bad, of course Jae feels bad. He’s just always so tired and occupied. And it’s not like he doesn’t miss Wonpil either. Despite them living together, Jae’s always in his classes and Wonpil in his and Jae’s course is so book-and-writing-heavy that he hardly gets any free time anymore. He wishes that he could give Wonpil more, but his life literally doesn’t allow for it.
Sometimes, though, Jae makes exceptions. Wonpil is very hard to say no to. He’s all friendly and pastel-clad and easily approachable. When they’re alone though, that’s something else entirely. He gets all pouty and whiny, in that childlike way. He'll do anything in his power to make the other person (usually Jae, and it’s usually about making out) agree to giving him what he wants, and in Jae’s case, he always gets a yes eventually.
It’s quarter past nine when Wonpil walks into the bedroom. The TV is still switched to the documentary channel in the living room. The rain hammers on. He doesn’t say anything when he walks in, but flops onto their bed with an exaggerated huff, then a groan, then nothing. Jae pays him no mind. He can’t when he still has to finish this thing and then read seventy pages of a shitty book that he has no interest in.
“Jae,” he calls out, his voice muffled by a pillow. Jae hums at him, still typing away at the too-many-word essay. “Hyung,” he drawls. Jae stops typing. Wonpil only calls him hyung when he genuinely, actually wants something.
“What is it?” Jae asks, glancing over his shoulder. Wonpil is sat on the bed cross-legged in one of Jae’s hoodies (which is much too large for his tiny frame), sleeves pulled over his hands and neck brought up to his chin. He pulls the hood up just as Jae looks back to his laptop.
“I miss you,” he says, tone teetering on a whine but not quite there yet. Jae scoffs.
“You’re sitting two feet from me,” Jae reminds him dully, still typing away. He’s sure what he's writing doesn’t make sense, but he doesn’t want to give Wonpil the satisfation of knowing that he’s losing more and more interest in this paper by the minute. Wonpil only grunts and flips over; Jae can see it in the reflection of his laptop screen.
“But I still miss you,” Wonpil says again. He kicks his feet like a little boy whose parents told him he has to do something he doesn’t want to. “Can’t you take a break for a second to come and love me?”
“That’s ridiculous, I do love you, and I can love you from here. I don’t love failing my classes, Pillie.”
“You work too hard,” Wonpil tells him, and Jae huffs, but knows it’s true. Because he does. He works much too hard for someone who’s going into such an easy job and has an above ninety average. Still, he’d like to keep that average. And his mother always taught him to work harder to achieve more. It’s not his fault it’s stuck with him.
Jae doesn’t answer. He can’t think of anything good enough.
There’s a very shallow time point between when Wonpil is face down on the bed to when he’s sauntering over in baby-steps to where Jae is at the desk, but all of a sudden he has an entire Wonpil in his lap and doesn’t know what to do about it. He also doesn’t know how Wonpil fits. He’s tiny in comparison to Jae, but he’s not that tiny.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting in your lap,” Wonpil replies casually, grabbing the edge of the desk to pull them in closer. He's warm with his chest to Jae's.
Jae rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I got that much. Why are you doing it?
“Because you looked lonely. Keep working if you want. All I’m trying to prove here is that you have a perfectly soft, warm, and enjoyable human in your lap that craves your attention.”
“I don’t know about enjoyable,” Jae mutters, scowling when Wonpil flicks his nose.
“C’mon,” Wonpil whines. He’s at his breaking point and Jae can tell, but he’s not going to do anything about it. Wonpil tucks his head under Jae’s chin, his hood coming down with his movements. The strands of Wonpil’s hair tickles his neck.
“If you’re trying to seduce me, it’s not working,” Jae informs him, tilting his head out of the way and typing at his essay again. It’s much more difficult now that he’s got Wonpil to avoid. Regardless, he would rather be working on an essay than acknowledging the fact that Wonpil is trying to proposition him and he wants to accept.
Wonpil whines. It's this long, drawn-out, babyish whine that makes Jae tear his gaze from the computer and glance at him. Wonpil is looking at him with these soft eyes and pouty lips and Jae hates it because Wonpil knows that’s how to get him.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I thought it wasn’t working.”
“It wasn’t,” Jae says.
“But it is now?” Wonpil asks. Jae pauses.
“It is now.”
Wonpil nods at him, lips curling up into a coy smile. “Are you going to do something about it?” So Jae kisses him, slow and torrid in a way that frustrates Wonpil. Two can play at this game of cat and mouse. He’s waiting for Wonpil to snap, for him to ask for what he wants instead of dropping those silly little hints.
“Happy now?” Jae asks, and he can tell from the dissatisfied huff of annoyance that Wonpil gives that he’s absolutely not.
“Hyung,” he breathes out, taking Jae’s face between his hands. He moves so that he’s straddling Jae, tilting his chin upwards so they can still look each other in the eyes. “I miss you. Please.” Jae all of a sudden feels bad that he hasn’t been spending more time with Wonpil. He’ll make it up to him.
Jae reaches behind Wonpil, and for a second Wonpil thinks he’s lost. Then, Jae is shutting his laptop and his hands slide under his sweater to touch his warm skin.
“I know you do, Wonpillie,” he says, fingers running slowly over Wonpil’s skin. Goosebumps raise under his fingertips. Wonpil leans up on his knees so that Jae’s face is level with his chest. Jae’s hands slide up further, pushing up the worn fabric of Wonpil’s hoodie along with them. It exposes his skin, pale and soft and decorated with freckles caused by too much sun. He begins peppering soft kisses on his warm skin, just to hear Wonpil giggle from how it tickles.
“Hyung,” Wonpil huffs out, sliding his own hands into Jae’s hair and tipping his head back. Jae smiles.
“What do you need?”
So Jae does.
He grabs hold of the back of Wonpil’s thighs, holding him tight before he lifts him and carries him over to the bed.
It all gets a little fuzzy from there. One minute Jae is kissing at his neck, the next, Wonpil is stripped down piece by piece; shorts, boxers underneath, hoodie, nothing underneath. Jae takes his time kissing every newly exposed inch of skin he can reach, pale, smooth, warm. Beneath each kiss lay a praise, a compliment, an ILoveYou. Jae trails kisses along flushed skin until Wonpil is writhing under him, mewling from the back of his throat, begging quietly for him to do something more than tease him.
“You’re so pretty, I can’t help myself,” Jae admits to him, running his teeth along Wonpil’s jaw just to watch him shiver.
“Please,” Wonpil whispers, arching up into the barely-there touch of Jae’s fingertips against his stomach.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”
Jae always knows how to put Wonpil at ease, even when he’s busy. Wonpil often feels like a finicky faucet. He’s always too hot or too cold. Too loud or too quiet. Too sociable or too standoffish. He’s too too, redundancy aside. He always wants to be just right for Jae. Luckily for him, Jae knows exactly how to get him there.
Jae gets him on his knees with his cheek pressed down into the pillows, back arched down. (“So you don’t hurt yourself, Pil,” Jae always tells him, and he listens. He wants to be good. To be right. So he always listens.) He slicks up his fingers and sinks them into him one at a time, slowly, carefully, taking his time as if to tease. Wonpil doesn’t want to be teased, though, he wants Jae to give him what he wants, what he’s been missing so dearly.
“Hyung,” Wonpil huffs out, writhing with each curl of Jae’s fingers inside of him. It’s intoxicating. Jae makes him feel like he’s coiled so tightly he’s going to burst and it’s so good. “Hyung, please, I need you.”
There is the sound of a package being opened and the squeezing of a bottle, and then the weight of Jae exactly where Wonpil wants him. (Wonpil doesn’t even remember Jae taking his clothes off. Perhaps he was too in his head to even notice. He has trouble focusing at times like these).
Jae thinks that the sounds that Wonpil makes when he’s in him-- when he makes him feel good-- are better than any of his favourite songs. It’s those little whimpers, so high and breathy that they’re barely even there because he’s so lost in pleasure that get Jae riled up. It’s the way that Wonpil is so grabby, gripping the sheets or Jae’s hair or his back with so much vigor, like he’s going to float away if he doesn’t hold on so tight.
“Jae,” Wonpil says quietly, though this sound from the back of his throat that gets cut off when he speaks. “Hyung, wanna see you. Touch you.” So Jae flips him over onto his back and slips right back in, hips moving slowly, unhurriedly, in that deep sort of pleasurable way that Wonpil likes best. Wonpil slides one hand up into Jae’s hair and grabs his bicep with the other, one hand twisting, the other gripping.
Jae leans down and kisses him slow, lax. The whole thing is lax, unhurried, the two of them both remembering each other’s touch, the way each other feels. Jae’s record scratches to a halt, so there’s no background noise now. It’s just them, Jae’s heavy breaths and Wonpil’s soft mewls, the both of them too wrapped up in each other to even notice.
“Hyung, I’m close, I’m close.” So Jae picks up his speed and wraps a hand around Wonpil where he’s dribbling precome onto his tummy, still soft from how he hasn’t been working out, just how Jae likes him. His back arches and he whines high in his throat, Jae’s name on the tip of his tongue, spilling out over and over like a mantra. Jae follows shortly after, once Wonpil is whimpering from over sensitivity, spilling into latex with a low groan.
He cleans Wonpil up after, like he always does. They’re both much too tired to do much, but he grabs tissues from the bedside table and uses those to the best of his ability. Wonpil is still thankful. They don’t redress, and Jae is much too lazy to get up and turn off the desk lamp, but it’s on the lowest setting anyways. Wonpil curls into him once they get under the covers, determined to nap for a bit before they have to be adults and make dinner and do their work, but for now, everything is calm.
“I love you,” Wonpil tells him. Jae kisses the top of his head.
“I love you more,” Jae tells him.
Outside their window, the rain hammers on.