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“My favorite human!” Wooyoung cries when Jongho enters the apartment, and then he promptly wraps himself around him.
“Yes, hyung,” Jongho says, long-suffering. He’s lived with Wooyoung long enough now that doesn’t lose his balance during times like this anymore, a renowned expert in the art of putting down his bag and hanging his jacket by the coat rack with Wooyoung hanging off his side.
Wooyoung had made sure to clean up the summoning circle and drag the living room carpet back into its place to hide the scorch marks, and after a quick spell, the apartment was back to smelling clean as citrus. All possible suggestions of any illicit happenings have been scrubbed clean.
Jongho looks none the wiser, to his satisfaction. He even seems a little surprised to see Wooyoung’s hair damp. “Did you do the ritual or did you cop out and just take another two hour long shower? Your throat sounds a little hoarse.”
...Maybe not all suggestions.
“I did do it, and it worked!” He strategically ignores the second part and says, “Look.”
Jongho doesn’t bat an eye when Wooyoung hoists up the back of his shirt to show off his shoulder either.
Tragically, San hadn’t stayed much longer than after he helped Wooyoung clean up, claiming to have something he needed to do now that their pact was broken, so Wooyoung doesn’t have any other physical evidence of their afternoon other than the disappearance of his mark and the light bruising on his knees, which already began to fade after his shower. But he holds out hope that Jongho will believe him anyway, because he sort of wants to have San over again.
“Wait, you got it taken off already?” Jongho sounds both confused and worried. Wooyoung feels him poke at his shoulder. “Eh, well. It doesn’t look that much different ‘cause of your tattoo, I think.”
“Jongho-yah.” Wooyoung huffs and bats his hands away, pulling shirt back down indignantly. “You’re supposed to tell me I feel different or my aura’s changed or something."
“You’re the witch, not me,” Jongho says, pinching the back of his neck like one would scruff a cat, and Wooyoung scowls at the blatant disrespect. He grabs Jongho by the neck and smacks a kiss right onto his nose, and Jongho shrieks, and that’s how Wooyoung gets chased into the kitchen with the coffee table. Jongho maybe scuffs the leg of it on the doorway as he runs through, but at this point, their apartment’s bruised and battered enough that another scratch will hardly make a difference. Wooyoung bolsters the framework with a little stoneskin spell once every few months, and that seems to be enough to keep it from crumbling into their shop below.
It’s only been two years since they first opened it, their own dingy little potion shop by the name of The Brew, but they’ve grown a decent-enough clientele that Wooyoung’s fairly confident they’d be missed if the shop spontaneously combusted.
Even if many of them first walked into The Brew thinking it was a coffee shop.
He’ll digress.
“So what’re you missing?” Jongho asks when Wooyoung’s placated him with some food. The coffee table sits between the kitchen tiles and their dining area now, straining the already-cramped space, but it seems like they’ve both had a long day, so it’s okay if it sits there for a while.
“What do you think I’m missing?” Wooyoung says curiously, just for fun.
He watches Jongho think for a moment. “I’d say your sense of self preservation, but I don’t think you had any in the first place?”
“Why couldn’t you just guess my soul or something,” Wooyoung complains.
Jongho looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Did you sell your soul?”
“No! He was nice about it. He only asked for,” Wooyoung finds himself smiling a little just thinking about it, “a kiss.”
Jongho promptly starts choking on his food.
“Karma,” Wooyoung says gleefully, even as he mimes a smacking motion in the air and sends a little gust of the Veil pounding into Jongho’s back, successfully saving him.
“You made a move on a demon?” Jongho cries out.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? He was the one who made a move on me.”
“You probably encouraged him!”
“Well, yeah!”
“Hyung, I can’t believe you.”
“Listen, he was cute. And naked, and, like, his dick was huge—”
“Hyung.”
“—but that’s only thirty percent of the reason why! Talking to him just felt so easy, you know? Like I already knew him from before.”
Jongho looks resigned. Wooyoung shakes his head; of course he wouldn’t get it when he’s been in love with the same werewolf for forever. Probably everything romance-related just looks like Mingi in his brain now.
“Okay, well,” Jongho says, rubbing the side of his face. “Were you clear about how you left it?”
“What?”
“Like, how you ended...whatever you did.” Wooyoung opens his mouth to elaborate, but Jongho quickly shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t need to know, but did you end it definitely? Like, there’s no way he’d be able to twist your words to pull you into another deal?”
Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow together. “Sannie wouldn’t do that though.”
“Sannie?”
“His name.” Wooyoung sighs wistfully. “His name’s San. I mentioned you to him already, maybe you can meet him eventually.”
He hears Jongho mutter, “oh gods,” and decides to ignore it.
“He did imply there’d be a next time. But I’m telling you, he’s a good person! I think he meant coffee or something. Or a next time of me suck—”
“Thank you for the food, hyung, it was really delicious like always!” Jongho stands up so quickly that he almost knocks over his chair. “Hongjoong-hyung asked me to help him with some demos tonight, so I’m gonna go warm up. You can leave your dishes at the sink and I’ll wash them before I go, okay, bye!”
“Okay, have fun,” Wooyoung says, too distracted now by the concept of San drinking coffee. How would he take it? He seems like someone who’d dump five spoons of sugar in it. The coffeemaker they have here is barely hanging on by a circuit, but Wooyoung can think of all kinds of ways to make it sweet anyway. He imagines holding up the mug to San’s lips and San’s soft, warm hands wrapping over his. He wouldn’t let go, he’d help San tip the coffee to his lips, and once San finished drinking his fill he’d set the mug aside and ask him to forgive the shitty coffee with his tongue. Maybe Wooyoung could convince him to stay for breakfast the same way, too.
The scenario bleeds into a domestic one so easily: him and San waking up in a room full of light, hand in clumsy hand and half distracted by kisses on their way to the kitchen together. San, still softened by sleep, nuzzling into his shoulder once in a while, wrapping around from behind him lazily while Wooyoung puts on the kettle and checks on their plants. San smoothing up a hand to rest gently over his heart and Wooyoung tangling his fingers on top, letting San tilt his cheek so he can press their lips together for a kiss.
He’d be worried about how quickly his imagination devolves if he hasn’t dreamt of these exact things before, over and over. He just never had a face for the other one in it, that’s all, and it had become a little bit of a litmus test for all the partners he had through university—could he imagine him in that person’s place in his dreams? There weren’t exactly many little huts in forests like the one in his dream anymore, but maybe it isn’t about the place.
No one ever fit as well as San before. It doesn’t even feel like a revelation as Wooyoung considers it now, more like a memory he can’t believe he ever forgot, San filling in the gaps of the fantasy like it’s always been his place.
Is this what San meant when he said he reminded him of someone he knew?
He’s back in his room before he’s fully aware of it; the walk there felt a little like walking on clouds. Next door, he hears the tinny sound of Jongho’s music, probably blasting from his earphones, but all of it’s so far away. He touches the back of his neck and remembers how San had touched him there instead, shivering at the memory of San’s breath ghosting over his skin.
The scene from his dreams feels more vivid now. Alive, it unfolds in front of him. Wooyoung sees San coaxing him around by his hips just like he’d done that afternoon, laughing at something before he leans in to kiss him again.
You’re acting like I’m gone already, he’s chuckling back, meeting each one of San’s advances like he’s done it many times before.
I have to, San says, pouting. Have to get used to it before you really are.
It’s only a few days’ time, Sannie. You know Seonghwa can’t go too long without Hongjoong anyway, so if for some reason I don’t come back myself, you can be certain Hongjoong will drag us both back not long after.
It’s bold of you to assume I won’t be there dragging you with him, San huffs.
Wooyoung’s kissing him by the freckles, counting each one as he makes his way up his neck. Or that, too, I wouldn’t mind. We always find our way back to each other, don’t we? Even if sometimes it takes a little longer.
And this can’t be him, not with how reasonably but gently he’s assuring San, but then why does it feel so right?
I just wish it didn’t have to be you, San mutters. There are plenty of other mages. Why does it have to be you?
They aren’t Veil witches, though. And they aren’t as good as me.
Hmph. Good thing I love them modest.
Then comes a startlingly clear image: San’s eyes gazing into his, not pitch black, but a warm brown like the earth after rain and unmistakably human.
Oh, hell. Wooyoung collapses onto his bed with a small groan, not missing the flutter of heat between his legs. What is happening to him? Why the fuck is he getting hard just fantasizing about San's eyes?
No, he says in his dream, laying a hand on San’s cheek, you love me.
What does it say about him that his image of San just chuckles and steals his mouth again and says, Yes, I do?
He rolls over into his pillows to muffle his groan of frustration, but he’s already reaching down to palm himself through his sweatpants — the clean ones he’d just put on earlier, too. San’s really going to be the reason he cums in his pants like a teenager again?
He spits into his palm before reaching down again, this time past his waistband. “Fuck,” he pants when he closes a hand around his cock and finds it half hard. It doesn’t take more than a few strokes until he’s fully hard, his hips making twitchy little movements into his fist. Now San’s going to have him humping his sheets too. Great.
Wooyoung closes his eyes, and he’s there in the moment of that morning again. He’s tasting something bittersweet on San’s tongue but nothing like any coffee he’s ever tasted, and he’s being pressed up against the counter with San’s hands secure on his hips.
You said we could spend today however I wanted.
Mhmm. So you’re going to have me in our kitchen?
I’m going to have you in our kitchen, San agrees happily, and then I’m going to have you in our baths, and then in our room, in our bed, so you think of me when you get on that horse tomorrow.
Wooyoung shudders, his cock twitching like he can really feel how San bent down to get a good grip on his thighs before hoisting him up on the counter.
I thought you said you wanted to swim in the lake.
What’s to stop me from having you there too?
San.
“San,” he groans, fisting some of his sheets between his legs to give himself something to grind against. He buries his head deeper into the pillows to muffle his sounds as best as he can, but gods, he hopes Jongho’s really got headphones on.
He needs to get this over with as fast as possible. He stumbles off the bed to his closet, peeling his pants off on the way, and digs out his bottle of lube and that obscene pink dildo Mingi got him as a gag gift a few years ago except also really not. It’s thick but not as thick as San and nowhere near as satisfying as a real dick stretching him open, but the thought of calling up anyone else to help just feels so vehemently wrong.
He crawls back onto the bed, flicking the cap off the lube and accidentally drizzling too much onto his palm. He reaches down quickly to rub it onto himself, but he forgot that it’s cold like an idiot.
“Fuck,” he whines, immediately casting the bottle aside to stroke himself again until it warms up. Not that it’s done anything to flag his erection. He’s already starting to feel a little light-headed from just how badly he needs to be touched, like he’s been aching for it for years.
He really hates that he only has two hands and he has to let go of himself so he can reach between his legs and rub over his hole while he steadies the flared base of the dildo on the bed. He pants as he teases himself with slow, deliberate circles around his rim, catching the cock with a wet lick before he drags it over his cheek, then his lips, trying to remember how San had held his head back while he teased the head of his cock against his mouth.
Would he tease Wooyoung like this, too? He seems like the type, but Wooyoung doesn’t have the patience for that fantasy tonight. He slips the first finger in with a gasp, imagining how he might make San lose his mind enough to be impatient too, to be this eager to have him.
He adds the second finger too fast, the stretch burning slightly, but all it makes him think about is how San would feel inside of him if two fingers already burn. He mouths wetly at the base of the silicone cock, spreading his knees wider so he can scissor himself open better. He’s careful not to crook them into his prostate, half afraid that he’ll cum too early, and yes, that may be the whole point of this but he wants to do it with a dick inside of him this time.
At the third finger, he lets himself sink his mouth down onto the dildo just to muffle the stupid whimpers he’s making. He tries so hard to give it some semblance of a blowjob, but the phantom sensation of San fucking him over a counter and an accidental slide against his prostate eventually just has him panting against it again, leaving a mess of lube and saliva against his cheek.
Are three fingers enough? Probably not, but he rolls over anyway and budges himself up against the headboard, curling his legs up and spreading them eagerly. He drizzles more lube over himself and barely notices the coldness this time, not with all of this heat frizzing over his skin, burning somewhere in his core.
He rubs the fake cock down the seam of his thigh where some of the lube has gathered to get it slick too, sighing as he imagines San’s cock in its place again. The angle’s all wrong, but he can picture how San would fill the space between his legs easily, caging him in and teasing his dick up and down Wooyoung’s inner thighs to remind him of how fucking big he is.
“Please,” Wooyoung utters quietly to the empty room. Or maybe he’s begging San in that kitchen as San pins one of his thighs on the counter to fuck into him better. The thought has him biting into his fist to muffle a moan as he rubs the head of the dildo over his rim.
He pushes it in and almost draws blood from how hard he bites down on his knuckles just to keep himself quiet, hips trembling as he pushes the dildo in a third of a way. He exhales raggedly as he drags it back out, this time grabbing one of his pillows to stuff into his mouth before he pushes the dick in again deep, not stopping until the flared end rests snugly against his ass.
“Oh, fuck,” he’s gasping at the stretch, barely audible against the pillow, “oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” and he grips the pillow even tighter with a whimper as he starts fucking himself with long, slow strokes.
It might not be as big as San, but maybe it’s as long, reaching into him so deeply that he thinks he feels it in his stomach. He rarely pushes it in this far, preferring quick, shallow thrusts just like how he likes to be fucked, but now he wonders what the hell he’s been missing out on when it feels so good, long enough to drag over his prostate with each slide.
Of course it would be San’s dick that might finally teach him some patience. But even as he finds a rhythm of pulling the cock out until he’s only got the tip in and then pushing it back in all the way, he knows it’s only slow because it’s his own hand, his own jittery nerves that won’t let him push himself how he wants to be pushed. If it was San, San would only feel his ass clenching around his cock, and maybe it would be enough to make him hold Wooyoung down with his tail and fuck into him fast and deep, until Wooyoung’s drooling on the sheets and feeling him in his throat again.
“Fuck,” he sobs, the pillow falling aside as he reaches up to tweak his own nipples, his thrusting growing more erratic as he starts deliberately fucking the dildo against his prostate now, sending currents of pleasure jolting up his spine, “oh, fuck, S- San, right there—”
“Where, Wooyoung-ah?”
San’s voice sounds so familiar from his fantasies now that he doesn’t think anything of it at first. He’s staring open-mouthed at the ceiling, unseeing, lifetimes away in a small kitchen where light fills every corner of the room and San fucks a reminder of himself for Wooyoung to keep, and he doesn’t notice what’s happened until his head lolls forward and he sees San standing at the foot of his bed.
“Sh- Shit!” He startles, his wrist spasming, and he slams the dildo inside of himself like he’s trying to hide it there when it just makes him cry out. He pinches his shaking thighs shut and scrambles a little higher up the headboard, looking at San with wild eyes.
There’s a hint of cinnamon and firewood in the air again, making Wooyoung wonder if he somehow manifested San here in his state of desperation, but also, Wooyoung doesn’t really care how he got there as long as it means he can finally touch him again.
“Oh,” San says, tail flicking in curiosity. His eyes linger on Wooyoung for a moment before drifting down to his legs and the flash of pink there, probably poorly-concealed. “Did I come at a bad time?”
Wooyoung resists the urge to tell him where exactly he wants him to come and groans, “No, oh my god, come here.”
San goes. Notably, he isn’t naked anymore, clad in a dark button-up and dark pants, long hair swept back attractively behind his ears. He stops with a knee resting on the end of Wooyoung’s mattress, quirks a smile, and says, “Where?”
“Here,” Wooyoung hisses, kicking out at him, but San just breaks out into a little giggle and catches him by the ankle, then yanks him down to where he is. Wooyoung yelps as the motion unintentionally jostles the dildo in him — or maybe it was intentional after all, with the way San’s dark eyes gleam with playfulness.
“I didn’t satisfy you earlier, baby?” he purrs.
His hand drifts over Wooyoung’s thighs, easing them open, and Wooyoung tries to pretend it doesn’t send a new round of trembling through him. “You didn’t fuck me,” he says breathlessly.
San makes a noise of agreement, fingers finding the base of the dildo. Wooyoung has a moment to gasp at the sensation of him brushing so close to his sensitive rim, before San draws the dildo back out and slams it into him.
“Shit,” he cries out, one hand flying out to grip San’s wrist while the other tries to smothers his own mouth. It’s not much use once San starts fucking the dildo back into him, because Wooyoung was right, it is so much better with San in control, San and his knowing eyes and his steady hands that don’t waver each time he slams the dildo into Wooyoung hard enough to make him jolt up the bed.
“Baby,” San coos. “Is your roommate home?”
Wooyoung would be touched that he remembered that detail if San doesn’t start up a breathtaking rhythm at that moment, wrist flicking expertly to fuck the toy into him. “Y- Yeah, h- ah—!”
“Take this, then,” San says benevolently, and then his tail is there, prodding at Wooyoung’s cheek, and Wooyoung really almost blacks out because how does San just know these things? “Come on,” San prompts, nudging it at the back of his hand at the same time he screws the dildo in deep, and Wooyoung whines because it’s just not fair. He lets his hand fall away and parts his lips, letting out a choked moan of gratification when San takes the opportunity to push the tip in. It had looked thin from a distance but it feels thicker now that it's stretching his lips, that coil in his belly only clenching tighter when he runs his tongue over the underside and realizes it has ridges.
“If you wanted me to come sooner,” San muses, twisting the dildo on a particularly deep thrust in and making Wooyoung keen around his tail, “you shouldn’t have let me stop at ‘next time.’ I would’ve given you my cock then if you’d asked, Wooyoungie.”
He bends down, wrapping an arm around Wooyoung’s thigh to wrap a hand around his cock while he fucks him faster, practically slapping Wooyoung’s ass each time he pounds the dildo in, and there, by the corner of Wooyoung’s mouth where Wooyoung’s stretched around his tail, that’s where he leans in and whispers mischievously, “Or my tail, if you’d begged.”
Wooyoung’s entire body locks up as his orgasm slams into him, cock pulsing in San’s hand, and there’s a wail building up in his throat up until San seems to notice and nudges his tail a little deeper into his mouth, making him choke on it. “There you go,” San says, pleased, and then he grinds the dildo just a little bit deeper. Wooyoung chokes on a sob this time, hands flying down to scratch at San’s wrist desperately even though his hips cant upwards, as if willing to take more despite his cock begging for a break from the onslaught.
San has mercy on him, letting Wooyoung drag his hand away from his too-sensitive cock still dribbling out cum onto his stomach. “Gonna be quiet if I let you go?” San asks, smoothing his hair back.
Wooyoung kind of doesn’t want him to, but he manages to nod listlessly around San’s tail.
He gasps for air as soon as San withdraws from his mouth. “Thanks,” he rasps, half of his voice gone, and then he hears just how absurd it sounds with San still kneeling between his legs and a fake cock still stuffed deep in him.
“Any time,” San says, smoothing his tail over a line of drool before it drips down Wooyoung’s chin. It’s almost affectionate.
“You have so much s’plaining to do,” Wooyoung says, letting him do whatever he wants there, because at this point that was probably the best he’s been fucked in his life and San hadn’t even used his real dick. Gods, he still needs to get on that.
San tilts his head inquisitively. “I told you there’d be a ‘next time,’ didn’t I?”
Wooyoung was talking about the... dreams? Fantasies? Visions? he’s been having, but for now, that’s a good enough answer too. Honestly, there’s a part of him that’s just singing in relief to have San near him again, that feeling again like he’s waited so much longer for this than a few hours or a few years. “I thought you’d have other things to do,” he mumbles, trying weakly to inch up the bed so San could lie down with him or something. Maybe after Wooyoung cleans up? He’s a mess, and San looks so nice.
“Hm,” San says, helping nudge him back up to the pillows, apparently not minding. “You set me free, remember? Now I can do whatever I want.” His sticky hand brushes over Wooyoung’s cheek. “Let me find something to clean you up with, okay?”
Wooyoung half expects him to dissipate into thin air before he even reaches the door, but San seems pretty real, even looking adorably stumped by the door knob for a second.
“You twist and push,” Wooyoung croaks from the bed.
“Oh,” San says brightly, and does just that.
The lights that go on in the hallway seem real too, and so do the thud and San’s polite, “Where’s your restroom?” and Jongho’s startled, “What the fuck?” he hears from outside.
When San returns a few moments later to press a warm, damp towel to the inside of his thighs, Wooyoung lays a hand on his cheek. San nuzzles into his palm, warm and familiar.
That feels pretty real too.
He likes the simple contact as San carefully wipes him clean. ”Do you have somewhere to go?” He’s heard of both demons and angels roaming free before, but the fact that San didn’t know how to use a door knob is a little concerning.
San thinks about it for a moment, before he nods and says, “Yeah.”
Wooyoung purses his lips. “Do you want to stay here tonight anyway?”
San looks up at him, and Wooyoung remembers the eyes he’d seen in that blur of fantasy and memory, and he wonders, Who are you, San?
San smiles and nods again, looking happy. “Yeah.”
That settles it, then. “Okay,” Wooyoung says, hitching a leg around the back of his knee and trying to coax him onto the bed, “because I’m going to interrogate you.”
”Oh?”
”What’s that tone for? It won’t be a sexy interrogation, you know.”
“Oh?”
Wooyoung groans, rolling over to get away from San’s self satisfied grinning and pretending to grumble when San follows him down to kiss his shoulder, right over his tattoo.
Tomorrow, maybe. There’s no rush.