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Hyunjoon doesn’t mean to do it.
It’s just—he’s pent up, okay. Living in a dorm with so many other people usually means he doesn’t get a ton of alone time. That, combined with all the practice he’s been doing over the split and his stream quota, puts him in the awkward situation of not having jerked off in months.
Which he would like to do, thank you very much. For all his skill and talent, Hyunjoon is still human. A young adult, at that. He has hormones. Just this week alone, he’s had to take so many ice cold morning showers that his dick feels like it’s actually about to fall off. Plus, he’s been popping some really awkward boners at the most inconvenient times recently, which is not at all something he’s interested in pursuing.
So when the opportunity presents itself, Hyunjoon almost feels like it’s divine intervention.
During breakfast, Minseok had mentioned wanting to spend their day off shopping in Gangnam. Of course, Minhyung miraculously produced a list of no less than five things he needed to buy, so he’d tagged along. Meanwhile, Sanghyuk had very quietly slunk off to visit a certain ex-teammate of theirs for the day, and will probably only return late at night sporting a suspicious new bruise on his neck.
Wooje is out, too. Hyunjoon doesn’t know where, but the top laner had texted him earlier asking if he wanted food. So he figures he’s at least somewhat safe to lock his door, climb into his bed and wrap a hand around his dick.
He’s not stupid or desperate enough to look up porn from a perfectly trackable IP address, so as usual, Hyunjoon is forced to rely solely on his imagination. Except apparently, his imagination doesn’t feel like cooperating today.
He tries basically everything. Girls; featureless pretty faces, long silky hair, creamy thighs and long legs. When that doesn’t work, he switches to boys. No dice. Then he attempts to recall the last, uh, inspirational video he’d watched—but it’s been a while and the details are too blurry in his mind’s eye. He ends up frustrated instead, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why the fuck it’s so hard to just get off.
His phone chimes where it’s tucked underneath his pillow. He yanks it out with his free hand, taking a quick glance at the screen to see the words DO NOT ANSWER lighting up his screen. Oh, it’s Wooje. Usually Hyunjoon would just leave it, obviously, but it’s not like he’s doing anything else right now.
“What?” He huffs out, putting his phone on speaker and setting it down on his pillow. “You dying?”
“Ha ha,” Wooje’s voice filters through, dry as ever. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m fine. I’m gonna be back a little late though. Hope you’re not hungry.”
He isn’t, but Hyunjoon wouldn’t be T1’s jungler if he didn’t take any and every opportunity to bicker with his top laner. “Seriously?” He grumbles, feigning annoyance. “What are you even doing?”
“I’m meeting Minseok hyung and Minhyung hyung.” Wooje’s tone is airy, almost nonchalant.
Hyunjoon frowns, his irritation now somewhat more genuine. “So you’re ditching me for them? Apologize.”
That’s been their little inside joke recently. Hyunjoon doesn’t really mind Wooje forgoing honorifics or speaking informally, but sometimes he’ll play pretend. Wooje knows better than to take him seriously; that’s just how their relationship has always been.
“Sorry,” Wooje chirps back, gamely.
“Apologize sincerely, Choi Wooje,” Hyunjoon responds in a faux stern tone. “And I’m your hyung, you know.”
Wooje sighs loudly, and Hyunjoon fully expects him to just hang up, because he’s a brat like that. Instead, when Wooje speaks again, his voice is different, all soft and breathy and sickly sweet.
“I’m sorry, hyung.”
And for some godforsaken reason, it goes straight to Hyunjoon’s dick.
What the fuck.
He sucks in a harsh breath, staring down at himself. There’s just… there’s no way. He is not getting hard to the sound of Wooje’s voice calling him fucking hyung. That is not his life right now.
“Hey,” he hears himself say, sharp and jagged. “Don’t do that.”
Wooje laughs, the little shit. “Do what?” He hums. “I’m not doing anything, hyung.”
Does he know? There’s no way he knows. Wooje is many things, but he’s not a goddamn psychic. “Shut up,” Hyunjoon retorts, wincing when his voice cracks on the words. “Don’t come home.”
“See you later, hyung,” Wooje sings back, and then the line goes dead.
Which leaves Hyunjoon alone. With a startling new revelation and, like, the world’s most confusing boner.
He is not doing this. Hyunjoon is better than this. Besides, it was probably just a fluke. A coincidence. Hyunjoon was already horny. It’s not because of Wooje that he’s…
Fuck.
Hyunjoon can’t help himself. He’s got a hand around his dick before he even realizes it, and god, it feels good. He sinks into his sheets, trying his best to direct his thoughts back to safer territory. Nameless, faceless people. Strangers. Not Wooje.
He throws an arm across his face, biting his lower lip so hard he can feel the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. He’s got a steady rhythm going now, his grip on his cock tight and slick with all the precum he’s leaking. It’s too easy to pretend that it isn’t his own hand working him over. It’s far too easy to imagine—
I’m sorry, hyung.
Hyunjoon’s stupid brain immediately conjures up the mental image for him. Wooje in front of him, Wooje on his knees. Smiling up at Hyunjoon, sweet yet with a hint of mischief, pink lips parted. Let me make it up to you?
Hyunjoon muffles a long string of expletives into his wrist, heat simmering in the pit of his stomach. He feels so on edge already, when just a few minutes ago he’d been about as turned on as a level one Kayle. Frankly, it’s ridiculous. His body hasn’t reacted like this to anything since he was fifteen.
And it’s Wooje. Not an idol or a model or a fucking porn star. Just his stupid little dongsaeng who never respects him properly and always steals Hyunjoon’s red buffs. Wooje isn’t even pretty.
Well. That’s not entirely true. He’s kind of cute. He has nice… skin. Pale, smooth, creamy. And he has nice lips. They’re pink and look weirdly soft. Not that Hyunjoon spends a lot of his time staring at Wooje’s lips.
They’d look good wrapped around his dick, though.
Fuck. Hyunjoon is going to some sort of purgatory for this. He lets out a low groan, stroking his cock even faster as the scene in his mind plays out.
His palm isn’t nearly as warm as Wooje’s mouth would feel, but with his eyes closed, Hyunjoon can almost imagine it. He wouldn’t be too good at it, Hyunjoon thinks. He’d struggle with inexperience, maybe choke a little, taking Hyunjoon’s dick down his throat. Maybe he’d tear up and his eyes would get all shiny, and his face would be flushed strawberry red, and—
Maybe he’d look up at Hyunjoon and apologize.
Hyunjoon’s coming before he even realizes it, sticky white all over his own fingers. His head is spinning, dizzy with the sensation, dizzy with fantasies. About his fucking top laner.
The clarity sets in startlingly quick. Hyunjoon stares down at himself, horror mounting in his chest, a headache already banging away within the recesses of his skull.
He’s so screwed.
He doesn’t look Wooje in the eye for a week.
Which is easier said than done, considering they live together. And stream together. And do pretty much everything together.
Hyunjoon takes to playing on his Challenger account. When Wooje asks him if he wants to duo, he mumbles something about forgetting his password and slinks off before Wooje can point out that all his passwords are the same.
And that’s not even the worst of it. One time, Hyunjoon walked into the lounge only to find Wooje already there, sprawled across the couch while scrolling through his phone. Without thinking, Hyunjoon had turned around and escaped to his streaming room without saying a word. Not exactly his proudest moment.
Wooje hasn’t brought it up, even though Hyunjoon knows he noticed. But he must have mentioned it to Minseok at some point afterwards, because that very night, the support fixes Hyunjoon with a flat look.
“You’re avoiding Wooje,” he says matter-of-factly, folding his arms.
Immediately, Hyunjoon opens his mouth to protest. “I am not—“
Minseok raises an eyebrow.
“—okay, yeah, kind of,” Hyunjoon amends. “It’s… complicated.”
It’s really not. In fact, it’s quite simple. He got off while thinking of Wooje. That’s all there is to it. But if he says as much to Minseok, Hyunjoon’s pretty sure he’ll never be getting a lantern out to safety ever again.
“When have things ever been complicated for you two?” Minseok frowns. “Did you get into a fight or something?”
Hyunjoon shakes his head, but Minseok seems undeterred. “If you have a problem with him, you’d better talk it out before our next game. Or he might just leave you to die at Herald.”
Wooje isn’t that petty. Probably.
Hyunjoon sighs, feeling somewhat like he’s digging his own grave here. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
He doesn’t. Talk to Wooje, that is.
Not on purpose. It’s just that between their scrim and stream schedules, his gym routine and all the other stuff they have going on, Hyunjoon can’t quite find the time to sit Wooje down and have an actual awkward conversation.
Besides, how is he even supposed to phrase it? Hey, so the other day I jacked off thinking about my dick in your mouth. Yeah, that’s gonna go over really well. Hyunjoon might as well send an email to Riot asking them to remove gromp from his games with Wooje because he’ll never get to take it again anyway.
On the other hand, he could just lie. Make up some story about feeling off this past week and apologize for taking it out on Wooje. It’s a generic enough excuse that Hyunjoon thinks it’d probably work. Wooje wouldn’t really believe it, but he’s not exactly the type to hold a grudge, so Hyunjoon could get away with it if he wanted to.
He kind of doesn't want to, though. It feels a little… insincere. Like Wooje deserves better than that, after everything they’ve been through over the past couple of years. Which is a weird thought to have, mainly because Hyunjoon never knew he cared so much about Wooje’s feelings.
And so, he finds himself stuck in an odd limbo of sorts. It’s been nearly two weeks since Minseok brought the subject up, and while he hasn’t mentioned it again yet, Hyunjoon can practically feel the disapproving looks being lasered into the side of his head whenever he mumbles some stupid excuse for not eating dinner with Wooje.
And then Hyunjoon has the dream.
Well, he doesn’t really have the dream so much as it just happens to him of its own accord. He’d gone to bed thinking about normal things like eating honey-glazed chicken for lunch tomorrow and the logistics of playing Jhin jungle. Nothing related to Wooje at all. Nothing even in the lateral realm of possibilities related to Wooje. Definitely not—
“Hyung,” Wooje gasps, soft and breathless as he clings to Hyunjoon’s shoulders, his bare legs wrapped tight around Hyunjoon’s waist, his entire face glowing with a pretty pink flush. The warmth of his body is nearly overwhelming with how they’re pressed up against each other, skin to skin, so close that Hyunjoon can feel every breath Wooje takes, every harsh exhale that vibrates through his chest. “Hyu-ung.”
Suffice to say, Hyunjoon wakes up hot and bothered and really fucking hard. It’s a good thing that Minseok spent the night in the other room because Hyunjoon simply doesn’t have the self-control to stop himself from shoving his sweatpants down just low enough that he can get a hand around his cock.
The Wooje in his dreams is different. He’s whiny, pliant even, and his voice pitches soprano when he begs Hyunjoon to fuck him, to go faster, harder hyung please. Of course, the Wooje that Hyunjoon knows in real life is a brat, but it’s just so easy to squeeze his eyes shut and let his imagination take over.
Hyunjoon comes embarrassingly quickly into his own palm, a muttered curse falling unbidden from his mouth as he coasts the aftershocks of his high. The residuum has him feeling boneless, sinking into his sheets. He almost never wants to come out. Never wants to deal with the consequences of his actions. Never wants to look Wooje in the face again.
He’s reaching over to his nightstand for something to clean up with, when a voice suddenly chimes out from Minseok’s bed at the other side of the room.
“Um, Hyunjoon hyung?”
For a second, Hyunjoon thinks he’s still dreaming. But he’s never that lucky.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He groans, burying his face into his pillow and seriously contemplating moving to the LPL. Maybe the top laners there aren’t so irritatingly cute. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”
To his credit, Wooje doesn’t sound particularly fazed. “You were already asleep. Minseok hyung and Minhyung hyung were being weird so I left.” He pauses, somewhat hesitantly. “Hyung, you said my name.”
Fuck. Did he? Hyunjoon doesn’t know. He was a little preoccupied at the time in question. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did,” Wooje insists immediately, and even though Hyunjoon can’t see him, he can already picture the stubborn expression etched into Wooje’s features. “I heard you.”
Of course, nothing ever gets past Wooje. Especially when it has the potential to be Very Bad for Hyunjoon. “I was having a dream,” he huffs. “And you happened to be in it.”
“What was I doing?” Is it just Hyunjoon, or does Wooje seem a little amused by all this? He swallows thickly, mentally weighing the pros and cons of admitting his indiscretions versus weaving an intricate web of deception and half-truths.
Pro: he’d finally be able to get it off his chest. Con: he doesn’t know how Wooje will react and they still have to play together for the next year. Or more. For the rest of their lives, maybe.
Eventually, Hyunjoon makes the executive decision to cling onto the final remnants of his pride and say, “You were getting solo-killed by the enemy Lulu.”
“Polymorph is broken,” is Wooje’s response, and yeah, he definitely sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “Come on, hyung. What was I really doing?”
“I’m serious,” Hyunjoon lies through his teeth, yanking his sweatpants back up. He pushes his duvet away, ready to make a break for the bathroom. “It was brutal, actually. You were playing Xerath top and you missed every skill shot.”
Against his better judgment, he glances across the room to find Wooje sitting cross-legged on Minseok’s bed, the sheets a crumpled mess around him. “Why would I get into range of Lulu while playing Xerath?” Wooje’s tone is conversational, but Hyunjoon knows he’s not about to let it go quite that easily.
“I don’t know.” Hyunjoon really, really needs that escape route right about now. He starts off towards the door, not even bothering to grab a shirt on the way. “Go back to sleep or something. And don’t think too much about it. I have dreams like this all the time."
Which is only half-true, because Hyunjoon has actually had dreams about playing League before, which is a sure sign as any that he’s far too attached to his job. It’s just that last night, he wasn’t dreaming about League at all. Nevertheless, he’s almost out and on his way towards sweet freedom when Wooje’s next words stop him in his tracks.
“And do you always jerk off after those dreams?”
Forget the LPL. Hyunjoon’s going to fucking NA.
“I… you heard… fuck.” Ah, so this is what happens when he doesn’t listen to Minseok: the unbridled wrath of karma.
“Didn’t realize me getting solo-killed makes you so horny,” Wooje muses, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “I guess I have to be more careful in our games now, right?”
Hyunjoon grits his teeth. It’s not even ten in the morning and he’s already regretting waking up today. “Wooje.”
“Can’t have you popping boners on stage. Wait, is it specific to enemy Lulus? Does it have to be a support? I sure hope the Ardent Censer top lane meta doesn’t come back.”
“Stop. Talking.”
Wooje laughs, because apparently tormenting Hyunjoon delights him to no end. “Or does it not matter as long as I’m getting screwed?”
That’s it. Hyunjoon’s going to kill him. He swivels around with a scowl already on his face. “If you don’t shut up, Choi Wooje—“
“You’ll make me?” Wooje interjects smugly, and Hyunjoon might just be losing his mind but he swears he sees Wooje’s gaze drift down to his abs for a second. And maybe even lower. “How are you gonna do that, hyung?”
Okay, never mind. Wooje’s going to kill him. At some point, eventually. It’ll be a long, slow, painful death by torture, and the worst part is that chances are Hyunjoon would still be hard for half the time because he has negative self-control when it comes to Wooje and fuck, how did he become like this?
Hyunjoon takes a deep breath. This is fine. “Look, Wooje,” he says carefully, in a tone of voice that’s so formal he almost doesn’t recognize it as himself. “I’m sorry for thinking about you like that. It was an accident and I swear it’ll never happen again. Now can we please just stop talking about it?”
It’s a long shot, but Wooje seems to be feeling merciful today. Or maybe he’s just as unsettled about all this as Hyunjoon is. “Okay,” Wooje agrees amiably. He’s looking at Hyunjoon with an oddly contemplative expression on his face. Like he’s analyzing Hyunjoon the way he does their post-game VODs. Finally, he seems to reach an internal conclusion, his posture relaxing as he gives Hyunjoon a cheeky grin.
“But only if you let me play Xerath top in scrims.”
Yeah. Hyunjoon is never living that one down.
For the most part, things return to normal.
As in, Hyunjoon stops avoiding Wooje like he’s the plague, Wooje acts as though nothing ever happened, and they continue on their merry way of being attached at the hip and doing everything together. Minseok is sufficiently placated, though he does occasionally pester Hyunjoon for the reason behind his sudden changes in attitude towards Wooje.
Hyunjoon never answers, because a death wish he does not have. He already considers himself lucky that Sanghyuk and Minhyung haven’t said anything, though for different reasons; the former possesses a certain degree of tact that the rest of them clearly don’t have, and the only things Minhyung ever pays any attention to are auto-spacing, cute dogs and Minseok.
Frankly, it’s a little surprising that Wooje let it go quite so easily. Hyunjoon figured he’d be mad, awkward, or at least weirded out by the revelation. He doesn’t really know what Wooje’s thinking, and it’s kind of unsettling. But at the same time, Hyunjoon isn’t exactly going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If that’s the last time he ever has to discuss the topic with Wooje, well, he’ll take it.
Except it’s not. It really is not. As if the universe, and more importantly Wooje, would throw Hyunjoon a bone like that.
On their next day off, Hyunjoon calls a friend and goes out to get dinner. He isn’t entirely sure what his teammates are up to, but after what happened the last time Hyunjoon was left on his lonesome, he thinks it’s probably safer finding something to busy himself with.
He gets home around nine, early enough that Minseok and Minhyung aren’t back from their movie date yet but late enough for Hyunjoon to soundly forego any thoughts of playing League. Instead he just heads back to his room, yawning as he wonders where Sanghyuk and Wooje are. Well, Sanghyuk probably went to eat with Seongwoong and some of their friends, but Hyunjoon’s phone has been suspiciously devoid of notifications from Wooje. He hasn’t even sent a text asking Hyunjoon to bring food back.
It’s honestly a little concerning, but Hyunjoon doesn’t have time to think too much on the issue before he’s shouldering open his door and stepping into his room.
Which, apparently, has already been occupied.
“Don’t you have your own bed?” Hyunjoon grumbles, tossing his jacket in the general direction of his wardrobe and kicking his sneakers off.
Wooje shrugs from where he’s sprawled across Hyunjoon’s duvet. “I figured I’d probably end up coming over later anyway.” He isn’t wrong. Minseok always disappears off to the other room after he and Minhyung go out on a date. Hyunjoon does not want to know.
“Anyway,” Wooje adds, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Immediately, Hyunjoon’s guard comes flying up like he’s playing ADC against Kha’Zix. “Okay, what?” he asks cautiously.
Wooje sits up, crossing his legs. He seems to have stolen one of Hyunjoon’s hoodies in a bid to ward off the cold from the air-conditioner. It’s too big for him, practically hanging off his relatively narrower frame. Hyunjoon is pretty sure he’s not supposed to find that as cute as he does. “So I thought about it. You know, what happened a few weeks ago.”
There’s really only one thing he could be talking about. Hyunjoon sighs, mentally steeling his nerves. “Just so we’re clear, it hasn’t happened again.” Because Hyunjoon basically swore an oath of chastity afterwards and accordingly, hasn’t jerked off in weeks. He’s been taking an ice cold shower almost every day now. But, technicalities.
“It hasn’t?” Wooje’s pink lips twist into a pout, almost like he’s a little upset about it. Why would he be, though? Hyunjoon’s senses are probably just playing tricks on him.
“Nope.” Hyunjoon leans against the wall opposite his bed, folding his arms. “I told you it was an accident.”
Wooje looks at him for a long, silent moment. Then, “Well, what if I want you to do it again?”
Hyunjoon surreptitiously pinches himself on the wrist. No, not a dream. “Huh?”
“Specifically…” Wooje meets Hyunjoon’s gaze, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes. He hops up from the bed and pads over, coming to a stop right in front of Hyunjoon. “With me.”
The first thing Hyunjoon notices is that Wooje’s wearing shorts. Really short shorts that practically vanish beneath the hem of his hoodie, revealing a long swathe of smooth creamy skin all the way down his bare thighs.
The second thing Hyunjoon notices is nothing, because his brain promptly short-circuits and his default defense mechanism automatically kicks in. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Wooje rolls his eyes. “Hyung. Don’t play dumb.” He leans in, and Hyunjoon belatedly realizes that he’s basically trapped between his wardrobe and Wooje’s body. Which is definitely yet another thing he shouldn’t be liking so much.
Ugh, this is too confusing for Hyunjoon. He doesn’t dare to believe it, but god, he kind of wants to. “Just tell me what you want, Choi Wooje,” he huffs.
“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” Wooje retorts instantly, and it’s like all the tension in the air between them snaps.
Kissing Wooje is—Hyunjoon can’t really find the words for it. Weird, probably, is one of them. Like he’s doing something he’s not supposed to, but it’s working out anyway. Like he’s jumping over a wall into five enemies and stealing Baron with an auto attack then getting out alive.
It feels good, is what Hyunjoon’s trying to get at. Wooje’s lips are so soft and plush against his own, and he tastes like chocolate, which probably means he ransacked Minseok’s stash again. Their proximity makes it easy, almost natural, for Hyunjoon to curl an arm around Wooje, pulling him even closer.
Hyunjoon is starting to consider all the ways they could possibly avoid going to scrims tomorrow so he can stay in his room and kiss Wooje for, like, ever, when the top laner pulls at his wrist. “Bed?” Wooje asks, already sounding breathless, and it makes something coil tight in the pit of Hyunjoon’s stomach.
He’s never been so thankful for his gym routine as he grabs Wooje’s waist and lifts him up. Wooje yelps, his legs immediately wrapping tight around Hyunjoon. “Hyung—oh.”
Hyunjoon strides over to his bed, depositing Wooje on it. He looks a little dazed, his eyes wide and glazed over, staring at Hyunjoon like he can’t quite process what just happened.
Hmm. Interesting.
“Oh?” Hyunjoon repeats, arching an eyebrow teasingly. “Did you like that?”
Wooje’s cheeks flush scarlet, but he tilts his chin up defiantly and reaches out to pull Hyunjoon down on top of him. “Yes,” he murmurs, somewhat embarrassedly. “It’s hot.”
Hyunjoon makes a mental note of that, adding an addendum reminding himself never to skip his workouts again. He leans down to seal their mouths together again, reveling in the way Wooje lets him, parting his lips when Hyunjoon coaxes him with his tongue, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Hyunjoon’s shirt.
It’s not long before Wooje’s tugging at it insistently, and Hyunjoon has to pull away for a moment so Wooje can take it off him. He goes right back to kissing Wooje again afterwards because at this point he’s kind of obsessed, except now Wooje’s warm palms are sliding unabashedly against Hyunjoon’s abs, tracing the ridges of muscle like he just can’t help but want to touch.
Hyunjoon grazes his teeth down the side of Wooje’s jaw, kissing a path down his neck towards his collarbone. When Hyunjoon sucks a mark into the skin of his clavicle, Wooje whines, high in his throat, loud and clear.
“Hyung.”
And fuck if that doesn’t make Hyunjoon feel a little lightheaded, all the blood in his body migrating south within seconds. He shouldn’t be so surprised still that Wooje has this effect on him, but honestly, Hyunjoon’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.
Wooje must feel him growing hard against his thigh, because the next moment he’s pulling back and grinning almost knowingly up at Hyunjoon. “Did you like that?”
Maybe Wooje is psychic. Hyunjoon huffs, burying his face into Wooje’s collar. “No.”
“Ah, but hyung,” and the way Wooje drawls the word out, slow and deliberate and sweet, it makes Hyunjoon’s blood burn, “it feels like you did.”
He rolls his hips up as if to punctuate his point, pressing lightly against the tent in Hyunjoon’s sweatpants. Hyunjoon can’t help but let out a tiny groan as his body automatically responds, grinding down into the mind-melting heat of Wooje’s thighs, chasing that delicious friction between them.
And yeah, he’s definitely not the only one who’s quite so affected by their current circumstances.
They’re heading into some wildly uncharted territory here. Hyunjoon isn’t exactly a paragon of virtue, but it’s also not like he’s ever hooked up with a teammate before. He knows it happens, he’s heard the salacious stories Changdong and Jinseong and Ellim gossiped about when they thought Hyunjoon was napping in the back of the bus. Hell, he doesn’t even have to look further than his own bot lane to find an example.
But knowing about it is extraordinarily different from feeling Wooje underneath him, all soft milky skin and swollen red lips and little breathless gasps of Hyunjoon’s name, looking up at Hyunjoon with wide shiny eyes, his dark hair a halo framing his pale face against the white of Hyunjoon’s pillow.
“Hyung,” Wooje murmurs, his fingertips trailing down Hyunjoon’s abdomen, lingering at the drawstring of his sweatpants. “Can I?”
Hyunjoon’s head nods before his mental faculties can even process the question, but then Wooje is pulling at his waistband and wrapping his hand around Hyunjoon’s cock and he stops breathing entirely.
“Oh,” Wooje says, sounding somewhat surprised as he flexes his fingers. “Wow. You’re, uh. Wow.”
Something in Hyunjoon’s little gremlin brain really likes that reaction. “What?” He prompts, suppressing a groan as Wooje tugs at his dick experimentally.
“Just bigger than I thought.” The words are mumbled so quickly that Hyunjoon would have missed it if he wasn’t paying such an inordinate amount of attention.
“You’ve thought about this before?” is all Hyunjoon can think to say, blinking dumbly down at Wooje.
Wooje shrugs, but the tips of his ears are bright red even as he strokes Hyunjoon’s cock languidly. “I mean. You aren’t the only one who gets weird dreams sometimes.”
Hyunjoon simply cannot process that information right now. The idea of Wooje dreaming about his goddamn dick is ridiculous, but evidently he’s into it. He’s slowly beginning to realize that he’s into a lot of things regarding Wooje, and fuck, he really can’t help himself anymore.
“Your turn,” Hyunjoon mutters, and that’s the only warning he gives before he goes for Wooje’s clothes. His hoodie and shirt and those absurd little shorts go flying overhead within seconds, landing somewhere in a crumpled heap on Hyunjoon’s floor. He seriously can’t be bothered about that right now though. All he wants to do is—
Stare. Apparently.
Wooje complains, “Hyung, don’t just look at me.”
But he’s so pretty. God, Wooje’s fucking gorgeous, all spread out in Hyunjoon’s bed like he belongs there. He’s a feast of everything Hyunjoon’s been wanting for the past month, from the milky white skin of his navel to the angry red flush of his hard cock to his creamy thighs and further down between them, a tantalizing flash of delicate, soft pink.
Hyunjoon kind of wants to ruin him. He thinks Wooje looks cute when he cries.
Maybe another time. When they’re not in danger of being interrupted by their unsuspecting teammates. For right now, Hyunjoon settles for pressing kisses along the length of Wooje’s body, down his chest and across his bellybutton, at the curve of his hip and the flat of his inner thigh. And then finally, Hyunjoon pauses, mouth hovering right next to his real goal.
“Wooje?” He prompts, glancing up at the top laner.
Wooje both looks and sounds absolutely wrecked when he whimpers, “Please, hyung.”
It’s pure music to Hyunjoon’s ears. That’s all he needs to hear before he wraps his lips around Wooje’s dick.
He can instantly tell that Wooje has never actually done this before. Or, well, he’s never had this done to him before. It’s clear in the way he moves, the little telltale jerks of his body like he can’t quite control himself, his hands fluttering around Hyunjoon’s shoulders like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
There is no way that should be as attractive as it inevitably is. Clearly Wooje’s lack of experience is another thing for Hyunjoon. The list is getting almost too long to remember now.
He hollows his cheeks, taking more of Wooje into his mouth, and Wooje squirms, letting out a sharp bitten-off moan. Hyunjoon unilaterally decides that he likes that sound, so he sets about trying to hear it again, mentally cataloging all the reactions he can elicit from Wooje.
He licks a long stripe along the underside of Wooje’s cock—a soft little whine.
He bobs his head, lets the seal of his lips slide gently up and down—a quiet groan, fingers twisting into his hair.
He takes Wooje’s dick all the way down to the hilt, his throat closing tight around the head—“Hyung, hyung, wait, stop.”
Hyunjoon does, though not without a fair amount of reluctance. Wooje’s face is bright red as he studiously avoids looking at Hyunjoon, and oh, he gets it now. “You gonna come already?” Hyunjoon quips, unable to help the smugness that blooms in his chest.
“I—“ Wooje stutters over the single syllable. He’s so fucking adorable, so different from the demon child persona he usually assumes. “Can I… try something?”
Not exactly an answer to Hyunjoon’s question, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. He nods, and allows Wooje to pull at his shoulders, coaxing him up from between his legs. When their bodies are mostly parallel, head to head and feet to feet, Wooje reaches out and tugs Hyunjoon’s hips down so their dicks are aligned.
Fuck. Hyunjoon lets out a low groan as Wooje’s fingers curl around them both, the velvet heat of his cock pressed up against Hyunjoon’s own. It is unfairly hot. Ludicrously hot. He’s losing his goddamn mind.
“Is this how you wanna get off?” His voice comes out a deep baritone, rough and husky like he’s never heard himself before.
“Y-yeah,” Wooje murmurs, and he’s still blushing but he definitely sounds sure. “But hyung, I can’t—“
His hand is too small to get a good grip. Why the fuck is that so cute? “I got it.”
Hyunjoon’s hands are bigger, always have been, so it’s easy for him to wrap one around their dicks and start stroking slowly. The glide is smooth, slick with saliva and precum, and Wooje’s hips rock up in tandem with the motion of Hyunjoon’s fingers, skin sliding against skin. It feels good. A million times better than jacking off on his own, for sure.
And the sounds falling from Wooje’s mouth are just the cherry on top. He’s moaning unabashedly now, saying Hyunjoon’s name over and over again like a chant. Hyunjoon buries his face into Wooje’s neck, breathing in quietly as he grinds down against Wooje’s cock. The rhythm they have going now is damn near perfect, the synergy between them flawless even outside of League. It doesn’t take much longer before Hyunjoon is feeling the telltale signs of heat coiling tight in his gut.
He’s way too competitive to let himself finish before Wooje, though, so he speeds up the pace of his wrist and presses a kiss against Wooje’s clavicle. “Did you dream about this, Choi Wooje?”
Wooje’s response is a bobblehead nod as he rolls his hips almost frantically against Hyunjoon’s. “Yes—ah, hyung.”
“How did I make you come in that dream?” Hyunjoon presses further. He kind of likes the way Wooje’s voice pitches high when he’s desperate. “Like this?”
A flicker of hesitation dances across Wooje’s features. “You… w-well. You told me to.”
“And you listened?” Hyunjoon chuckles, tightening his grip and listening to Wooje gasp. “Seems unlike you.”
“You were… very convincing.”
Hyunjoon hums, rather intrigued by that. “What did I say?” A bolt of inspiration lights up in his brain. “Something like—come for me?”
Wooje doesn’t reply. Not verbally, anyway. But the way his entire body practically freezes up tells Hyunjoon everything he needs to know. “Oh, is that what you like?” He teases, his lips curling into a smirk as he watches Wooje tremble. “Then are you gonna come for me, Choi Wooje?”
A shudder ripples through Wooje’s body as he squeezes his eyes shut. Invigorated, Hyunjoon keeps his hand moving steadily between them, leaning down to brush his lips against the shell of Wooje’s ear. “I know you can do it. You’re so close already, aren’t you?” A kiss against Wooje’s temple. “Just be a good boy and come for hyung, baby.”
Wooje spills sticky all over Hyunjoon’s fingers, his mouth falling open as he arches his back, fingernails digging sharp crescents into Hyunjoon’s shoulder blades. He looks like a painting, a work of art in the throes of bliss. Hyunjoon knows he’ll remember it for a long time, lingering in the back of his subconsciousness.
He’s so hard he can barely think straight, but he at least has the presence of mind to stop moving against Wooje just in case he gets oversensitive. But Wooje pulls at his wrist insistently. “You too, hyung,” he mumbles, breathy and sweet.
Hyunjoon lets Wooje push his hand away, his fingers moving to replace it. His grip is hot and slick with his own cum—that’s so, ugh, fuck. Hyunjoon can’t help but grind his hips down, fucking into the circle of Wooje’s fist. The sleek friction is nearly overwhelming with how good it feels. And Wooje keeps making all these encouraging little sounds, pushing Hyunjoon even further along the edge.
“Faster, hyung,” Wooje coaxes, and Hyunjoon groans, his body automatically obeying, chasing his high with wild jerky movements. It only takes a few more thrusts, Wooje’s lips ghosting across his jaw line, his fingers squeezing tight around Hyunjoon’s cock, and then the coil snaps and Hyunjoon’s mind blanks and he’s coming all over Wooje’s stomach.
When he recovers enough to lift his head and open his eyes, Wooje’s looking up at him. “Carry,” he says, idly swiping at the liquid pooling on his navel. His fingers come away white and sticky, which should be gross but clearly Hyunjoon’s brain is screwed because against all odds, he feels his dick twitch. What the hell is it about Wooje?
“Carry? You just laid there,” Hyunjoon grumbles in an attempt to distract himself. Despite what his body is trying to tell him, he doesn’t have the energy nor the refractory period for another round. “I did all the work.”
“Mm, fine,” Wooje concedes as he stretches lightly. “I’ll give you POG.”
Ridiculous. This conversation is ridiculous. But Hyunjoon isn’t quick enough to stop the chuckle bubbling from his chest, and Wooje grins at him, bright and shiny and just a little bit cute, so honestly he doesn’t mind it all that much.
They clean up as best as they can with tissues, but they’re obviously going to have to make the trek to the bathroom later. Which presents another issue entirely. Hyunjoon glances at the clock on the wall to find that it’s nearly eleven. Minseok and Minhyung should’ve been back ages ago, and they aren’t exactly known for making quiet entrances.
When he voices this thought to Wooje, the top laner just laughs. Giggles, really. “They’re probably hiding out in the other room.”
Hyunjoon blinks at him. “What?”
Wooje shrugs airily. “I may have struck a deal with Minseok hyung. He said to do whatever I wanted as long as he doesn’t have to sit in a cesspool of our suffocating sexual tension every day.”
That sneaky little support. Hyunjoon feels his cheeks flush indignantly. “That—we—”
“Well,” Wooje drawls, his smile turning mischievous. “It worked, didn’t it?”
He can’t argue with that.
“It’s a shame, though,” Wooje adds, almost as an afterthought, cocking his head. “I actually kind of wanted you to fuck me.”
Hyunjoon swears his brain nearly explodes from the force of the mental images that descend upon him. Yeah, that thing about his refractory period? Apparently, it’s nonexistent. His dick actually hurts right now. “Wooje. Don’t.”
“I even got ready for you and everything.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh well,” Wooje muses, looking amused. “There’s always next time.”