(same as always, the next morning the sun rises in the sky)
sunggyu/woohyun | nc-17
|it’s not that sunggyu doesn’t like the sex. the opposite, in fact: the sex is great, life-changing, mind-blowing. (well, mostly he just really likes woohyun, so even if the sex was bad sunggyu would forgive him.) it’s just that he likes other things more than the sex. that’s the part that’s hardest to articulate.|
the moment sunggyu fell in love with woohyun was this: they were onstage after a music show, waiting to hear the results. they all knew they hadn’t won. woohyun was holding sunggyu’s hand, his palm warm and dry against sunggyu’s.
the emcee said a name. that name wasn’t infinite. sunggyu wasn’t surprised.
against the inside of his wrist, sunggyu felt woohyun press his thumb into sunggyu’s pulse. maybe it wasn’t meant to be reassurance, but that was how it felt. when sunggyu turned to look, there was a half-smile on woohyun’s face.
“don’t say ‘next time,’” sunggyu warned.
“i wasn’t going to,” woohyun said. “we’ll win when we deserve it. until then we’ll just keep working.”
sunggyu thinks that probably that moment, what feels now like forever ago, is sort of indicative of what he wants out of their relationship. it’s the little things he loves. it’s good, because woohyun has never been the type for grand gestures, and sunggyu has never really like receiving them.
but sometimes, things like this:
when sunggyu wakes woohyun up in the morning, woohyun throws an arm over his stomach and holds him down and buries his face in sunggyu’s shoulder. his breath is warm against sunggyu’s collarbone. and they lay there for a moment, breathing together, before woohyun mumbles “good morning” into sunggyu’s skin and pushes himself upright.
“good morning,” sunggyu says, memorizing the sleep-heavy unfocused look in woohyun’s eyes. he has bedhead and a pillow crease on his cheek.
or things like this:
woohyun standing in the bathroom when sunggyu is showering, brushing his teeth. he waits until sunggyu emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. the bathroom is always a little too warm from the steam and sunggyu’s skin is damp, but woohyun always presses a little too close to kiss him. it tastes like toothpaste. woohyun refuses to kiss with morning breath.
“minty fresh?” woohyun asks, his fingers straying dangerously close to the place where sunggyu’s towel is tied.
“a little too fresh,” sunggyu says, catching woohyun’s wrist. it’s a lame pun. it’s worth it to see woohyun smile.
sometimes sunggyu finds woohyun sitting up in the crawlspace above sungyeol and hoya and sungjong’s bedroom, reading a book he hasn’t had a chance to get to properly. (though sunggyu has never said this to woohyun, he thinks woohyun’s glasses are cute.) woohyun lets sunggyu sprawl across the floor and put his head in woohyun’s lap and take a nap while woohyun reads.
and sure, sometimes he likes it when woohyun presses up against his back in the dark of their bedroom and mouths hot kisses against the back of sunggyu’s shoulder. he likes it when woohyun spreads his palm out against sunggyu’s stomach and then slides it down, down, until he can wrap his hand around sunggyu’s cock and jerk him off in slow, measured strokes.
the couple of times, woohyun pins sunggyu to the mattress and makes him watch woohyun finger himself open. even that vulnerable, that open, woohyun is still bossy. it’s not until sunggyu is inside him to the hilt, his head almost exploding with the magnitude and intimacy of it, that woohyun lets him touch.
(the first time woohyun had done that, sunggyu almost had an aneurysm, so it’s pretty safe to say he likes that too.)
but what sunggyu likes this most is this:
afterwards, with sweat cooling on their skin, woohyun pulls sunggyu close. sungjong had walked in on them once after a nightmare, thankfully fully clothed. the next morning he described it like they were trying to climb into each other’s skins. woohyun pulls sunggyu close and drapes an arm over his side, letting his fingertips trail featherlight up and down sunggyu’s spine.
off-camera, woohyun isn’t much for flattery. so when he meets sunggyu’s eyes, barely-discernable in the dark, and says, “sometimes i look at you and it actually hurts, how beautiful you are,” sunggyu knows he means it.
“shut up,” sunggyu says, pressing a hand over woohyun’s mouth. “charmer.”
woohyun licks his hand and sunggyu pulls it away, wipes the saliva on woohyun’s shoulder. “it’s not charming, it’s true.”
“you already seduced me, you know. i hope you realize i am actually naked in your bed right now.”
straight-faced, woohyun says, “seducing you, milady, was only half the battle.”
sunggyu tries to smother him with a pillow, and when woohyun emerges again he’s laughing. this is what sunggyu loves the most: not the sex, or the promises, or the huge and tender burden of having a secret no one else knows. it’s just woohyun, laughing, their bodies pressed together in ways that make sense, and the feeling that everything will ultimately be okay.