"You wanna suck my cock, baby?" San had said, fisting Wooyoung's hair as he'd dropped to his knees. Wooyoung pawed hungrily at his belt, not even bothering to unloop it before pushing his pants down to his knees, cock flushed red and throbbing from all the teasing. Wooyoung had looked at it in awe, room filling with the scent of his arousal, spiced cinnamon making San dizzy as he wrapped his hand around it. His hand was too small to even fit all the way around it— the sight of a drunk, glassy eyed Wooyoung on his knees with his lips inches away from his cock made it jump in his hand, literally something out of his wildest fucking fantasies.
"Fuck," San says out loud, feeling his cock stir in his pants every time a memory of last night flashes back to him. His entire room stinks of his and Wooyoung's mixed scents, and there's puddles of unknown fluids splattered all over the unslept in side of his bed— he knows he needs to wash everything and get his place cleaned up but his alpha is still reluctant to remove traces of his omega being in his bed last night.
He winces at his own thoughts. Not his omega. Wooyoung.
Scrolling through his phone he finds that Wooyoung hasn't texted him letting him know where he was going, but it's no big deal. He figures he'll hear from him after his schedules— he's a busy man.
Hours after San has finished cleaning up his place and has taken a long, hot shower, he sits on the floor of the living room and shovels takeout into his mouth, thinking of the events of last night.
And he feels— happy.
Over all the years he spent pining over Wooyoung, he never let himself get too consumed because he knew the chances of Wooyoung not liking him back were slim to none. But after last night, a little piece of him lets himself think that maybe it could happen. That maybe Wooyoung wants him just as bad as he does, like maybe Wooyoung has been suppressing feelings for him, too. He thinks back to how needy he'd been, begging for San's cock, ordering him to fuck him harder, faster; how he'd told San his cock was the biggest he'd ever seen, how he felt perfect inside of him, how no one would ever be able to fuck him like he did.
He checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time that day, but Wooyoung still hasn't texted him.
The day passes, then two, then three, and Wooyoung doesn't text San, nor does he get any texts about needing to do Wooyoung's makeup for any schedules. Any excitement San had about the night they spent together starts to wane replaced with nerves and sadness. Had Wooyoung regretted it? Did he not want anything to do with San? Had he come on too strong and take advantage of him? Questions race through his mind as he waits for any kind of signal that something is wrong or right or just okay.
Then finally, on the evening of the third day, when Wooyoung already has a regular schedule the next day— a press conference for his new single, something planned quite in advance— San gets a forwarded company email.
hey—
here's the shoot 4 Wooyoung's last appearance. every1 who worked on it pls check it out. good job team
He rolls his eyes at Mijun's poor grammar— Wooyoung's assistant, while brilliant and excellent at her job, has never really been great at proper business communication.
He scrolls to the cover. It's an e-magazine, and a copy had been sent to the team for free to show the work that had gone into the issue. San is always happy to check out the photos to see how well his makeup was photographed (and how stunning Wooyoung looks, of course, though right now seeing his face stings a little bit).
Staring back at him are the same narrow, smoky eyes adorned with the makeup San had applied to him that morning, the same makeup Wooyoung had been wearing when he fucked him later that night, skin shimmering with sweat and eyeliner smudged down onto his temples.
Drench me in your sweat (part 2)
Start from the beginning
