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Taesan wakes to a crick in his neck and a warm light coming from the kitchen.
It takes him a moment to remember why he’s waking up on the too-small living room couch rather than his soft bed in the upstairs dorm.
He vaguely recalls Jaehyun trying to nudge him awake after dinner, but Taesan had been lulled into laziness by a full stomach and the sounds of his members’ chatter as they played some card game he was pretty sure they’d made up the rules for. He remembers Jaehyun poking at his ribs before Sungho’s soft voice chided him to leave Taesan where he was.
Taesan could’ve kissed him for that. He might have, if he hadn’t been so comfortable.
“Don’t come crying to me when your back is sore for practice tomorrow,” Jaehyun said, but there hadn’t been any bite behind it.
Jaehyun was right, of course. Taesan’s height didn’t really agree with his decision to use the couch for a bed.
He rolls onto his side. The dorm is dark now, mostly quiet except for the low hum and trickle from the filter on Leehan’s fish tank. The clink of dishes makes Taesan look up.
Sungho is standing at the sink, his back to Taesan. He’s washing the pile of dishes left over from dinner, and Taesan squints to make out the time on the stovetop clock before pushing to his feet and making his way into the kitchen.
Sungho is wearing a worn blue t-shirt that’s just cropped enough to show a tempting strip of skin. It rides up with his motions, and Taesan can’t help but press himself up against Sungho’s broad back, sliding his arms around that narrow waist.
Taesan feels him jump slightly, and buries his face in the bend of his neck, skin soft and exposed where the worn neck of the t-shirt sits low on his collarbones.
“Hyung,” he says into Sungho’s skin. He feels it pebble under his mouth and hides his smile. Always so sensitive. “It’s past midnight. Why are you washing the dishes?”
“Did I wake you?” Sungho’s voice is pitched low to not wake the others in their rooms. Taesan vaguely wonders if he could get it to go higher. He’s still fuzzy from sleep and Sungho is an enigma in his arms, soft and unbelievably solid all at once in a way that always turns Taesan’s brain to mush. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here for a drink. You know I don’t like mess.”
“Mmm.” Taesan drags his lips from Sungho’s shoulder to the spot beneath his ear. He hears Sungho hiss through his teeth and laughs, pressing a kiss there. “You could leave it until morning.”
“Taesan, you–”
Taesan wraps his hands around Sungho’s hips, trying not to lose his mind too much over the fact that his fingers nearly touch–it looks like he has some convincing to do. But that’s fine. He’s always been called catlike, and he knows how to enjoy the hunt.
In an easy motion, he spins Sungho to face him, startling a breath out of the older boy. Sungho braces his soapy hands on the counter behind him as Taesan crowds into his space, smirking and just a little smug about the few inches of height he has on his hyung.
He loves Sungho like this. His big, dark eyes are wide and ink-black in the low light. His long hair is still a little mussed from bed, and Taesan wants nothing more than to run his fingers through it, so he does. He pulls a little on the silky strands, tipping Sungho’s head up. His eyes flick to the shorter boy’s lips. Taesan loves everything about Sungho’s face, but if forced to choose, those would be his favorite part. He leans in, smiling a little when those perfect lips part just a little in preparation.
“I think,” Taesan whispers, “you should leave it for tomorrow.”
He captures Sungho’s mouth with his. He feels the older boy lean back, fumbling with one hand to shut off the faucet.
The moment he hears the water turn off, he slides his hands from Sungho’s hips down to his thighs, lingering longer than he strictly needs to on the curve of his ass beneath his gray sweats. Sungho is short enough that it’s no trouble at all for Taesan to hoist him up and plunk him onto the counter beside the sink. Sungho’s legs, lean and toned from dance, wrap around Taesan’s hips, pressing their fronts together. The other boy is hard beneath his sweatpants, and Taesan snakes a hand between them, grinning at the way it causes Sungho to gasp into his mouth, digging still-wet fingers into Taesan’s hair.
“Taesan–”
“You said you couldn’t sleep, yeah? I know how to relax you.”
He lowers his head and starts sucking a mark on Sungho’s throat. He loves how easy it is to get his pale skin to bruise. Taesan has always loved to paint, and this is no different.
Well, that isn’t quite true. This is better.
They’ll be teased for the evidence in the morning, but it’s worth the desperate little noises that escape Sungho’s lips with every drag of Taesan’s teeth.
Sungho pushes at Taesan’s shoulders on a particularly hard bite. “I don’t want to wake the others,” he says, breathless.
Taesan bites harder. “Then you should be quiet, hyung.”
Sungho moans, half-annoyed and half-turned on. More than half, if the bulge under Taesan’s hand is anything to go by.
The fingers in Taesan’s hair unclench and tug at the bottom of Taesan’s hoodie instead. Reluctantly, he pulls away long enough for Sungho to wrestle it over his head. It’s not the sexiest of interludes, but it gets Sungho giggling, the sound like sunlight in a bottle. Taesan chases it with his mouth, running his hands up the older boy’s sides and rucking up his t-shirt as he goes. It comes off much easier than the hoodie, and he drops it in a pile on the kitchen floor, gliding his hands up Sungho’s chest and down over those stupid, ridiculous shoulders.
Much better.
He loves the contrast of Sungho’s butter-soft skin over hard muscle. The first time they’d done this, Taesan had spent what felt like hours leaving kisses across the strong expanse of Sungho’s back, nipping down the slim taper of that beautiful waist. It’s one of his favorite activities. He likes to see how much of Sungho’s skin he can get to flush pink before his hyung starts begging. But he isn’t feeling patient enough for that tonight.
Taesan pushes his fingers into the waistband of Sungho’s sweats.
“ Oh ,” Sungho gasps, far too loudly given the presence of sleeping roommates.
With his right hand, Taesan reaches up and covers Sungho’s mouth.
“We have to be quiet, remember? Unless you want the others to know what we’re doing.”
He curls his hand around Sungho’s hard cock and grins when it causes him to bite into the flesh of Taesan’s hand–Sungho is always so steady, a rock for their team when they need one. Taesan likes working him up, making him fall apart.
He works his hand in a slow rhythm that has Sungho arching closer, tossing his head back on a moan and exposing the line of his neck. Never one to waste a blank canvas, Taesan kisses his jaw, his throat, down his toned chest. He takes his time on one nipple, then the other, tugging with his teeth and then soothing with his tongue.
Sungho is truly whining now, breathy whimpers that go straight to Taesan’s cock. The hand over his mouth isn’t silencing him, so Taesan finds his plush lips with his fingers and pushes inside. Sungho sucks them in instantly, laving his tongue over the pads and groaning when Taesan leans down further to leave sharp, biting kisses on the sculpted lines of his stomach.
He works his right hand faster, relishing in the way Sungho’s breathing goes ragged. In the way he jumps like he’s been lit on fire when Taesan presses his thumb hard into his slit, clawing at the counter beneath him. But when he hears the little catch that tells him he’s close, he stops. Sungho pulls away, releasing the fingers in his mouth.
“Taesan,” he whines. “Come on.”
Taesan looks at him, and god, what a sight . His pupils are blown wide with want, and there’s a bright flush across his cheekbones. His lips are red and swollen from Taesan’s kisses. He leans in nips at the top one, then spends a moment sucking on the bottom. Sungho’s mouth is always sweeter than it has any right to be. Taesan thinks he could be more addicted to this taste than Leehan and his candies.
“Ask me nicely, hyung,” he says, just because he can. And because he likes the way it makes Sungho growl a little, winding his legs tighter around Taesan and grinding their cocks together impatiently. Taesan grabs his hips and pushes him back. “What do you want?”
“ Please .” Sungho drops his face to Tasesan’s neck, mouthing wetly over the skin there.
Sungho doesn’t kiss like Taesan–he’s less aggressive, but no less mind-numbing for it. He kisses like he sings–focused and all-in, languid and deep. Like every part of Taesan is precious to him. Like he’s enchanted with each spot he discovers and every inch of skin is just as fascinating as the last.
Taesan lets himself enjoy it for a minute, winding a hand into Sungho’s long hair and just letting him work. But he isn’t done with his game just yet. He draws back, a little more reluctantly than before.
“Tell me what you want, hyung.”
“You know .”
He drags his thumb across Sungho’s spit-slick lower lip. “And I want to hear you say it.”
He’s being a little mean, really. But he can’t help it. He loves Sungho’s voice, and never more so than when it’s raspy and begging for whatever Taesan is willing to give him.
Finally, Sungho cracks.
“Please,” he says, pawing at Taesan’s sides. “Please, make me come, make me–”
Taesan shushes him, presses a few kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his wet eyelashes.
“Okay, baby,” he says, and Sungho lets out a relieved little cry, clearly using all his remaining willpower to keep his voice down. “I’ve got you.” He taps Sungho’s thigh. “Up.”
Sungho lifts his hips, and Taesan slides his sweats off in one swift motion, leaving him naked on the counter. He hisses at the cold tile against his skin, and Taesan laughs a little as he pushes his own pajama pants down and takes them both in hand.
The contact makes them both moan, and he captures Sungho’s mouth with his to swallow the sounds he makes as Taesan starts stroking them together.
Sungho’s thighs shake, fingers clawing at any part of Taesan he can reach in a desperate attempt to get him closer. Taesan himself is short of breath, the feeling of them in his hand and the sight of Sungho’s sweat-shiny face enough to send him straight to the edge, heat curling in his gut.
It doesn’t take long, but it never takes much with Sungho, and before long he’s gasping, clinging to Taesan as he comes over his hand. He digs his nails hard into Taesan’s ass, and the sharp bite of pleasure-pain is all he knows before he’s coming too, eyes screwed shut and blinding sparks of heat shooting up his spine.
When he opens his eyes, Sungho is leaning back on his hands, eyes shut and blissed out. Taesan cages him in with his arms, pressing their foreheads together as they both catch their breath.
When they’ve pulled enough air into their lungs, Taesan strokes a hand over Sungho’s messy hair, smoothing his dark bangs into place. His forehead is a little damp with sweat, but Taesan kisses it anyway. “How was that?” he asks. “Think you could sleep now?”
Sungho laughs. “I could,” he says. “Except now I’ll have to clean the counter.”