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Wonbin’s not as drunk as Sungchan initially thought; he saw a body slumped over a pole, head hanging — assumed the worst. But Wonbin’s coherent enough, even if he slurs his words and stutters over his sentences. Sungchan makes him answer a few questions to prove logical thinking before he trusts him enough to let him sit up in his bed.
Because Sungchan is not entirely cruel, he helps Wonbin get comfortable. Asks him what he wants. Complies when Wonbin says he’s thirsty.
Sungchan looks him over, and thinks back.
"Why were you out drinking?"
His curiosity bleeds out of him when he pours out a cup of water and presses the edge of it to Wonbin’s lips. “You told me you hate alcohol.”
Wonbin opens his mouth and downs the entire glass in one go, throat bobbing as the water goes down. Sungchan watches his fingers twitch on top of the sheets, his cheeks still a cherry red. He wonders what might have caused this when Wonbin has always prided himself on being rational, put together; rope tied tight around neat little habits, wound up like a clock on the verge of malfunction.
“Dunno,” Wonbin slurs when Sungchan sets the cup on the bedside table. “I wasn't— wasn't gonna. At first.”
The bed dips. Outside, cars pass down the road loudly enough to be heard clearly. Police sirens. An ambulance. Who died? Time keeps passing.
“Sohee called me.” Sungchan tells him, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “I was really worried.”
Silence tugs at Sungchan’s heart. Wonbin is crumpled up into a tiny ball when he opens his eyes back up.
“Sorry,” Wonbin tells him. He licks his lips. Gloss is smeared on the corner of his mouth. “I didn't. I didn't know who else to call.” His tongue flicks out, pink. Wet. “Someone who wasn't, you know. Seunghan.”
“Oh,” Sungchan says.
He stares at Wonbin’s throat. The gentle slope of his neck. There’s glitter on it too. Like he spread it all over himself before he walked out the door. Rubbed his hands over his body, got it in places Sungchan can’t see. But could if he wanted to.
“Hyung,” he pleads at Sungchan. “I didn't mean to make you worry.”
Wonbin leans forward, swallowing hard, reaching out for Sungchan’s hand. Sungchan meets him halfway. Their fingers slot into place perfectly— thumb folded down and pinkie bent and knuckles bruised white and bloodless, nails on skin where Wonbin presses down hard enough to leave a mark.
His eyes are so big. Have they always been so big? Sungchan thinks they make him look softer. Vulnerable.
“It’s okay, Wonbin-ah.” Sungchan pats his hand, lowers his eyes until he’s letting his gaze settle over Wonbin’s collarbones. They’re peeking out his shirt, a stark contrast because that’s the kind of person Wonbin is. Neat, polished, ruffled when he means to be — only when he means to be.
Sungchan’s mouth waters. His head pounds.
“I was just thinking. What if you got in trouble?” He raises his hand, drags his thumb over Wonbin’s chin, so clean shaven. Nothing out of place on a face like his. “You know people look at you. It’s dangerous for you to be drunk and alone.”
Wonbin flushes even more, dropping his gaze a little. Sungchan can’t stop running his thumb over the cut of his jaw, hand under Wonbin’s face, almost gripping it hard enough to bruise. Pressure on bone. Wonbin doesn't push him away.
“I wasn't alone,” he tells Sungchan quietly. His mouth is so pink. There’s glitter on his lips too. “Sohee was there with me.”
Sungchan laughs, jagged, fractured. He sounds crazy. “Sohee’s great, but he’s not going to fight off anyone for you. You’re too. Fuck.” Wonbin’s many things. “You’re too pretty. He’d get trashed.”
Wonbin stares up at him, eyes wet. Shiny. He’s breathing so hard, chest rising and falling in that too-tight tee he got from Eunseok’s closet weeks ago when he was scavenging for a new wardrobe. Sungchan’s thumb moves up, slides under the curve of Wonbin’s bottom lip.
This is verging into dangerous territory. Sungchan knows it.
Wonbin shivers in his hold. Running hot, feverish, red down to his neck and bleeding over his ears, just begging for Sungchan to do something about it. Though he shouldn't.
“Hyung…” Wonbin mutters. His eyelashes tangle in a blink. Sungchan can see a hint of black roots when his head flops down. The platinum blonde wasn't going to last anyway. “Hyung, ‘m so…”
Sungchan stares at him. All of him. Cropped tee and tight jeans and the flat of his tummy exposed when he stretches back down across the bed, knees spread apart. His hand creeps across his hip, lays somewhere just below his belly button.
“Hyung,” he repeats again, candy sweet.
Sungchan swallows dryly. God forgive him, he thinks, moving closer. The mattress swallows his weight. Wonbin makes a noise.
Mhmmm, Wonbin hums when Sungchan’s hand presses to the front of his jeans. And then, when Sungchan reels back in surprise, because there’s— space there, he giggles a little.
The realization makes Sungchan feel a little trapped, so hot it prickles at the top of his spine, running down his entire body like a forest fire out of control. He can't help himself. He drags his hand up Wonbin’s thigh and digs his thumb into the cut of his hip, harsh bone, freckled flesh.
“Hyung,” Wonbin breathes out shakily. His eyes are wide, glassy with the alcohol still in his system. He’s so drunk. He’s so fucking drunk and here Sungchan is taking advantage of him. It’s sick. Absolutely irresponsible.
Sungchan's jaw locks together. He yanks down Wonbin’s jeans after unbuttoning them, and feels so disgusted with himself it creeps over his face in a wild flush.
“You’re.” Sungchan says haltingly. “You have. Fuck. Jesus, Wonbin.”
Wonbin sighs out quietly when Sungchan’s hand presses down on his crotch, blood rushing warm beneath his fucking panties. Of everything else he could have worn on a drunk night out. And Sohee was right beside him the entire time.
Fucking pervert, Sungchan thinks. A vicious thought, one he doesn't really mean, but his brain pushes it to the forefront of his mind regardless. Justifying himself when he shouldn't.
His fingers brush over where Wonbin feels warmest, dig in just enough to push the panties into Wonbin’s pussy, and Wonbin makes a pathetic noise deep in his throat as a response. His knees almost knock together.
“Oh,” Wonbin says. His fingers land on top of Sungchan’s wrist. His head turns to the side like he can't bear to look at Sungchan. “Not— not there.”
Sungchan slides his fingers over the edge of Wonbin’s panties, pulls them to the side until he’s staring at Wonbin’s pussy, only feeling sort of ashamed when Wonbin tries to snap his thighs shut in shyness, red splotching over his cheeks.
“Let me see,” Sungchan says — demands, or perhaps just pleads, and Wonbin’s shoulders rise up to his ears in shame before he complies.
Sungchan’s fingers stroke over Wonbin’s cunt, eyes glued to it. He feels perverted, looking over Wonbin like some sort of creep as he feels him up and tells him to do things Wonbin is hard pressed to deny. Cotton fills his head. A dream and then some.
“Hyung,” Wonbin says again, desperately searching for something to grip that doesn't belong to Sungchan. But everything here is Sungchan’s. Cologne on the pillows, his scent on the bed. Wonbin might as well be drunk on that too.
“Hold on,” Sungchan tells him. He swallows dryly. “I have to… fuck, we shouldn't—”
Wonbin makes a noise, high and full. He looks at Sungchan from beneath the fringe of his hair and blinks slowly, syrupy, mouth red from biting down too hard.
“We should.” Wonbin pushes his hips up, tries to make Sungchan’s fingers move. “I want it.”
Okay, Sungchan thinks. Wonbin can't possibly make a rational decision after having so much to drink, but Sungchan can, and Sungchan should.
The rational part of his brain cries. It’s a very small part.
Sungchan’s fingers move on their own. He watches Wonbin shudder, perhaps exaggerating, and swallows hard enough to choke on his own breath. Wonbin’s fingernails scratch over Sungchan’s skin. They catch on his pants and make Sungchan feel guilty, nervous, intensely overwhelmed.
Gently, he pushes Wonbin’s hands away from his body, slipping out of his jeans. Wonbin’s eyes are fixated on the tent in Sungchan’s boxers.
“Hyung,” he half whispers. His hair falls over his eyes again. Sungchan puts his hands down on the mattress and leans over him, caging him in. He feels predatory. The worst kind of man, coveting beauty.
“Wonbin-ah,” Sungchan says. “You’re drunk.”
Wonbin’s eyelashes fan out over his cheeks. Mhm, he mutters. “I know.”
His fingers reach out to touch Sungchan’s face. There’s a wet spot on his panties that Sungchan can’t stop looking at. His breathing stutters. He wants to make Wonbin cry.
The night is young. Sungchan makes a terrible decision.
He leans down and kisses Wonbin lightly. The smell of alcohol fills his nose. Sungchan wonders if it’s possible to stop right here, if by sheer will he’d be able to close the door on Wonbin’s flushed face, the sweet tremble of his mouth. He wonders if Wonbin would watch him go. If he’d get off on Sungchan’s bed after.
Arm over his mouth, pillow between his thighs. A hand carving heat out of his own body.
He tugs at Wonbin’s bottom lip with his teeth. Wonbin moans, high and feverish. His hands find the back of Sungchan’s head and slide over Sungchan’s hair, fingers slipping through strands. Sungchan hears his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Somehow, without his permission, one of Sungchan’s hands creeps down to grope Wonbin’s thigh. His fingers dig into the soft flesh there, the tense muscle Wonbin flexes when Sungchan gets too close to where he wants him.
“Keep going,” Wonbin tells him. His voice sounds dreamy, far away. Sungchan’s hand eases closer. “I… I like it when you touch ne.”
Fuck, Sungchan thinks weakly. He squeezes Wonbin’s pussy, lets his mouth fall open a little when Wonbin’s hips lift up, trying to grind against Sungchan’s hand. It’s obscene. Makes Sungchan feel just a little bit crazy.
“Like that?” Sungchan asks him. He presses harder, slides his fingers over Wonbin’s folds and wants his mouth there, everywhere, letting Wonbin guide him. He knows Wonbin would take it. He’d take it and ask for more, beg for more, slide his nails into Sungchan’s hair, buck his hips, hyung please.
Mmm, Wonbin hums again. Sungchan’s not sure if he’s doing it out of pleasure. Maybe he only enjoys Sungchan’s attention. Wants him to keep looking his fill, something he’s never done before.
He didn't think he was allowed to. Still doesn't know if he is.
Heat flares up in his spine, licking at his nerves, cutting down his breath in his throat. Particles of dust and want and little things he can’t keep in.
“What do you want?” Sungchan asks him. It sounds overplayed, porn-esque, be good for daddy, say what you need, stereotypical dirty talk Sungchan has heard far too many times from the shitty audio of his laptop.
Wonbin’s lips part. Glitter reflects back on his skin, makes him glow. He says, “I want— I want you. Please just— I can’t,” pauses when Sungchan’s fingers find his clit, “Ah, hyung…”
Warmth turns Sungchan’s stomach inside out. He wants to devour Wonbin whole, bite down so hard he bleeds into Sungchan’s mouth, suck him dry so no one else can get to him. A carnivorous sort of hunger. Sungchan feeds into it by dropping his head, his mouth, finding Wonbin’s pulse point, licking over it.
“Hyung,” Wonbin keens. His hands grip Sungchan’s shoulders. He’s shaking so hard Sungchan feels his tongue slipping over skin. “Don’t stop.”
Sungchan swallows down his response. He rubs Wonbin’s clit, divides his attention between rutting against him and biting down, nipping at skin. Glitter in his mouth. Sungchan wonders if he’ll have to brush it out from his teeth in the morning. Bits of Wonbin, almost like the real thing.
Wonbin moans, jerking against Sungchan’s hand. “Too much,” he gasps out, strangled — Sungchan backs off, returns in five seconds, bites harder. Wonbin’s nails scratch. Cat claws on Sungchan’s shoulder, pulling at his shirt.
“Need you,” he tells Sungchan desperately. Sungchan groans. “Hyung, please. Hyung, just. Ah. Fuck me. Please.”
Wonbin’s voice breaks off. He smells like Sungchan. Alcohol and rain. He’s got Sungchan’s fingers all wet, the dirty boy. He’s perfect.
“Okay,” Sungchan tells him. He lifts his head up, meeting Wonbin’s gaze. The tilt of his eyes, blown wide with desire. His hair has flattened over his forehead and Sungchan pushes it away, looks down just so he can see where he’s sticking his fingers, burns hot when he realizes he’s so obviously broader than Wonbin like this.
Wonbin makes a noise when Sungchan opens him up, one digit, tight enough that it’s a wonder Sungchan manages not to hurt him regardless of how slow he goes. He breathes out harshly. His hips rock down. It’s like he’s actively trying to kill Sungchan, pulling him so close they tangle into a single person.
Everything’s too much. Something knocks at Sungchan’s window. Wonbin jerks in his grasp again; Sungchan ignores the noise. Wonbin’s warm on his hand, warm and wet, staining the sheets as he squirms harder. Sungchan’s breathing has started weighing him down.
Wonbin arches his back so they’re pressed closer, trembling softly, whining for more. Hyung, straight into Sungchan’s ear. He can’t remember why he ever thought this was wrong, if it still is. His moral compass points north: Sungchan goes south.
“More,” Wonbin says. It goes straight to Sungchan’s dick. “More hyung, I know you can do better.”
Sungchan bites him. His shoulder. Wonbin cries out, heaving back like he’s been stung.
Doing this makes Sungchan feel cruel, mean, dastardly, heart in his throat where his stomach tenses from holding himself over Wonbin, sliding a second finger into Wonbin’s cunt. Wonbin tenses up, Sungchan is forced to stop.
“Relax,” Sungchan tells him.
He hopes he sounds cool, level-headed, in control of the situation though his hips keep rocking onto Wonbin’s thigh. He’s so hard it hurts, feels like all the blood in his body has rushed to his cock. Once Wonbin stops clenching down like a vice, he starts up again.
Ha-ah, Wonbin whines, soft, high. His voice is perfect for this. Sungchan touches him softly, brushes over his clit, fucks him with his fingers, crooks his fingers up and seeks more noises he knows Wonbin is trying to hold back. His entire face is pink. Cheeks and forehead and the tips of his ears, the hand over his mouth.
Do you know, Sungchan wants to ask him. Do you know what you do to me. How much I want you. How long I’ve needed this.
“Like that?” Sungchan asks him instead. He’s dry mouthed, staring at Wonbin’s big, doll eyes, panting like a fucking dog chasing after a bone. “Wonbin-ah, I’m so hard for you. Want you so bad.”
And again — dirty talk that reminds Sungchan vaguely of stumbling upon porn with objectively eyebrow-raising titles in his early teenage years. But at the moment it’s hot, and it makes Wonbin moan, so Sungchan doesn't feel bad about being cliché.
He adds a third finger, sloppy, rushed because the heat is rising to his head, making it hard to think. Wonbin takes it without complaint, reaches down to touch himself too. His fingers brush against Sungchan’s hand accidentally.
Sungchan’s going to nut in his boxers like a tween boy if they don’t hurry.
“Hyung,” Wonbin says hysterically after a minute. “Fuck me, please. Now. Stick it in. I need you to— to fuck me.”
Okay, Sungchan thinks, vaguely feeling like his head is about to explode. He doesn't even comment on the juvenile nature of Park Wonbin telling him to stick it in like they’re highschoolers playing at grownups, which is a first for him. Testament to desire, he supposes, and slides his fingers out of Wonbin's pussy.
Wonbin claws at him, pulls him closer, nails on Sungchan’s stomach while Sungchan stumbles over pulling down his boxers. He’s wet too, dripping over himself when he wraps a hand around the base of his cock. He hopes he looks good like this.
“Here,” Wonbin says, spreading himself open for Sungchan. His mouth is open, cherry red, tongue pink and wet over his lips. “C’mon hyung.”
Sungchan’s brain half melts out of his ears. He rushes to position himself, slips on his own limbs a few times before he’s pushing his cock in, inch by slow inch. Wonbin’s legs hitch up his waist, tightening up like he means to force Sungchan in all the way.
“Wonbin-ah,” Sungchan says, helpless, and Wonbin’s hand pulls him down by the back of his neck. He kisses Sungchan feverishly, breathing him in, heat exploding everywhere they meet. Sungchan can’t take it. He buries himself completely in one move, swallowing down Wonbin’s strangled gasp.
Nails on his back scratch hard enough to draw blood. Sungchan's fingers sink into Wonbin’s hips, bruising force on the bone lying in wait just below sinewy muscle.
“Hyung,” Wonbin breathes out.
His mouth slips away, moves, drops to Sungchan’s neck, like he’s shy about his actions. Sungchan feels endeared, is reminded of how much Wonbin usually relies on him regardless of anything. Always Sungchan’s favorite — this boy wonder, splotchy pink all over when Sungchan so much as talks to him.
He moves his hand again until he’s rubbing tight circles on Wonbin’s clit, helping him buck his hips up. They’re really fucking now, Sungchan’s hips jerking into Wonbin before he sets a competent pace.
He thinks, we shouldn't be fucking without a condom, this is dangerous for Wonbin, Sohee should have stayed, and takes it all back when Wonbin bites down on his shoulder, tight and wet and moaning for it around Sungchan’s cock. He’s so loud.
I thought about this, Sungchan considers telling him. You and me. This bed. Somebody watching us.
Mouth-wateringly fresh in his mind is the way everyone seems to look at Wonbin — eyes wandering down, livewire heat gripping their gaze. Sungchan sees it all. Never knows what to say.
“Fuck,” Wonbin sobs into him. Again and again, fuckfuckfuckhyungggg, please.
Wonbin’s body sinks into the mattress with every jolt of Sungchan’s hips. He’s so responsive it’s frankly ridiculous, sensitive to air blowing down on his throat, fingertips skimming over his tensed stomach.
Biting down on his moans, Wonbin sinks his noises into Sungchan's skin, dropping his words halfway. There's something honest about him in this moment. Something fearful.
Sungchan feels his resolve wavering, fucks Wonbin so hard the bed rattles, dislodging itself from where it’s been stuck on his wall for years. He doesn't think he’s ever been so turned on in his life.
It’s hard not to be, though, when Wonbin’s legs are crossed tight around him, keeping him close as Sungchan slams into him rough and fast, no finesse when he’s so close. The sounds they’re producing are obscene, echoing in Sungchan’s ears when he focuses on them for too long instead of staring at Wonbin.
“C’mon,” Sungchan urges. He traces the flush running down to Wonbin’s chest, hidden below his shirt. “Wonbin-ah, hyung is— hyung’s so hot for you. God, you’re just…”
Wonbin keens, arches up, presses himself right up against Sungchan as Sungchan’s uneven breathing nudges his ear. His hair flops over his face, dotting it almost white against his sweaty forehead. His mouth is slick and vivid. Sweet little thing asking for more.
Sungchan’s not going to last. Any other day he’d be embarrassed about it — really? That's all you can do? thought you’d argued with Eunseok about your sexual prowess — but with Wonbin clawing at him, mixing up his words as he clenches down,
Yeah. Sungchan’s not a robot.
“Fuck,” Wonbin says, broken and shameless. “Hyung, ‘m gonna- ah, hyung, I’m…”
Sungchan gets sloppier, if that’s even possible. His hand slips on where his cock slides into Wonbin, wrist held between Wonbin’s bony fingers. Wonbin’s hands are smaller, proportionate to his body, easily dwarfed. Sungchan groans.
“Wonbin-ah,” he mutters. Wide in his mouth, like he wants to swallow it whole.
Wonbin tenses, clenches down hard, and that’s the only warning Sungchan gets before Wonbin’s gushing around his cock. That, and a sound ripped straight from Wonbin’s throat, helpless and wrecked. Sungchan pants, feels something expanding in him at a cosmic rate.
He fucks Wonbin through it — the aftershocks of an orgasm, holding him down until Wonbin’s crying under his grasp. His face crumples, mouth a quivering mess, overspent in Sungchan’s bed.
Really. He’s so beautiful it hurts to even look at him, so Sungchan doesn't, so Sungchan stares at his stomach and the way his shirt has slid up and the way Sungchan's cock disappears into his cunt, wet and full.
It doesn't take long, as expected. Nails against his scalp. Wonbin breathing out his name. Sungchan presses his mouth to the hollow of Wonbin’s throat and feels sweat drip into his mouth, accompanied by exploding pleasure lighting sparks behind his eyelids.
Wonbin makes a noise of surprise, like he didn’t think this far ahead — Sungchan in him, no condom, the avoidance of a real conversation. Sungchan’s too busy enjoying the feel of him to worry about it much.
Ah, Wonbin sighs after a while, and then it's quiet again. Not oppressive silence. Something less intimidating.
Sungchan tries not to squish Wonbin with his weight, and Wonbin’s breathing slowly evens out into a constant rhythm. His hands slip off of Sungchan. He’s eerily still, unsettling though he might not mean to be.
Sungchan stares down at him blankly. Something tugs at his consciousness, almost like wonder, but Sungchan knows that isn't it. Perhaps fascination. Most definitely infatuation.
“Hyung,” Wonbin says, eyelashes fluttering. The blush on his face is rapidly fading; Sungchan mourns the sight.
“Yeah?”
“You’re heavy. Get off.”
Guiltily, Sungchan does.