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Gi-hun has always been a puzzle to Sang-woo.
Even as he sits right next to the man, on his sofa, watching television, both nursing a bottle of soju each – something predictable, easy.
But on Christmas Eve, in the safety of Sang-woo’s dorm, where anybody would typically seem to be an open book, Gi-hun can be a total mystery.
He would like to think he understands Gi-hun the most, out of all of their friends. Yet, he ponders the idea that there might be more for him to discover.
For example, how his mouth would taste. That’s a pretty big, pressing question he asks from time to time, and embarrassingly enough, has been a regular consideration for the years that they’ve been friends. And at times, he finds himself tempted to find it out for himself.
Maybe he should just do it. Just a small kiss. Maybe there’s nothing to lose from doing something like this, from just acting upon instinct. Yeah. He can be a spontaneous guy. Of course he can.
He’s a successful SNU graduate, and he’s climbing his way very rapidly up the ladder of capital at his new job. He even bought their soju and dinner for tonight, and is accommodating him in the flat that he pays for. Evidently, he can do anything .
Yet, just as he’s about to card his fingers through Gi-hun’s hair and pull him in impossibly close, with his arms wrapped around the other man, something different happens instead.
Gi-hun breaks the trance with a cough to clear his throat, and a turn of his head, seemingly unaware of Sang-woo’s brewing scheme.
And suddenly, Sang-woo’s plunging right back down to the earth, without Gi-hun cradled in his arms, as he had almost managed to finally achieve. The one task, just one task he wished to accomplish, after years of pining, and he couldn’t even do that .
A white-hot feeling of embarrassment crawls up the back of his neck, nestling in and making his brain turn fuzzy and unfocused. How pathetic.
To give Sang-woo some credit, Gi-hun clicks his neck, stands, and leaves the sofa to stretch himself out, so it’s not like he avoided his advance on purpose .
At least, that’s what Sang-woo likes to tell himself.
When Sang-woo looks to see him standing, Gi-hun’s already watching him, with his mouth in a frown, and his eyebrows knitted together in a confused expression.
Sang-woo clearly let it slip that he’s irritated — and maybe Gi-hun knows him well enough to realise that the irritation is directed at himself, and not at Gi-hun at all — but now Gi-hun will, as he typically does in times like these, press him for answers.
“You okay?” Gi-hun asks like clockwork, cocking his head at an angle.
“What? Yeah, fine.” He replies, simply, but too quick.
“Hm.” Gi-hun muses, before sitting himself back on the sofa next to Sang-woo, but a few inches closer to the other than he was sitting before.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” Gi-hun asks.
“I’m not really that c—“
But Sang-woo doesn’t get to finish what he was going to say. Gi-hun rests his head on Sang-woo’s shoulder. He snuggles much closer to him, in a closer vicinity than they’ve been for years, and wraps his arms around his waist.
“You’re so warm.” He whispers, his cheek pressed firmly against Sang-woo’s chest.
The cogs in Sang-woo’s mind twist and turn, painstakingly ruminating over the reasons behind their bodies being suddenly entangled like they’ve been married for ten years, and how he nearly kissed his best friend. He replays the same exact scenario over and over in his head, his brain working overtime when he just wishes it would switch off .
Gi-hun chews at his lip as he’s deep in thought, and just as Sang-woo thinks he’ll say something to him, just when his friendship with the only person he likes on this entire planet is about to plummet and collapse, he remains silent instead.
They sit with the faint noise of the television quietly humming, but neither of them are paying attention to it anymore. Sang-woo wishes his tongue would work, but its limp and frail form lies inside his mouth instead, stubborn and unrelenting.
“Sang-woo?” Gi-hun breaks their shared silence, after a few minutes.
Sang-woo coughs to clear his throat, suddenly in dire need of a drink, “Yeah?”
“Merry Christmas.” he says with a toothy smile, and out of nowhere, leans up and plants a kiss on Sang-woo’s cheek.
When he pulls back, he sees Sang-woo’s expression transform into one of total shock – with eyes wider than the moon and his mouth agape.
While Sang-woo struggles to understand what just happened, Gi-hun is calmly prying his arms away from Sang-woo’s torso. With one of their brains working perfectly normal, the other has turned blank — a white void.
“Sang-woo, look at me,” Gi-hun gently pushes, and moves his hands to Sang-woo’s face, slowly guiding him to raise his eyes and just see Gi-hun, who is just looking at him with the kindest expression. One thing about Gi-hun… he will never, ever be judgmental of others.
Sang-woo can hardly look at him, but when he does, Gi-hun’s intense, unblinking stare strikes him like a dangerous flash of lightning. A red alarm flashes in Sang-woo’s mind.
He wants to get away — or maybe, he wants to escape before Gi-hun can even have the chance to abandon him.
“When was the last time you allowed yourself to have something you wanted ?” Gi-hun asks, searching his eyes. Sang-woo’s fingers fidget with the hem of his own shirt, as his eyes dart all around Gi-hun’s face.
“I-I—“ Sang-woo’s mouth moves a little, but only croaks out a fraction of what he wants to say. Gi-hun’s made him lose his footing, and he hates the loss of control that has come with it.
“Please, can I kiss you?” Gi-hun asks, closing in close on Sang-woo — but far enough so that Sang-woo can still say no. The consequences being awkward is an inevitability, but they could probably come back from this — if Sang-woo were to push him away, and shake his head.
Contrary to what would save him and his heart, Sang-woo takes the risk.
He nods his head, maybe with more force than he intended, and Gi-hun smiles, whispers, “ thank you,” and softly presses his lips against Sang-woo’s slightly agape mouth.
They gasp into the kiss, not expecting that influx of warmth and humidity from one another. Sang-woo shivers from the temperature change, deciding he’d rather seek more warmth from his mouth than the room around them. In fact, he’d purposely keep his room freezing if it meant that Gi-hun could kiss and engulf him like this again — like he requires him just to breathe. Gi-hun’s already moaning and whining against his mouth, trying to get inconceivably closer to Sang-woo when their bodies are already pressed together so closely.
As the kiss deepens with tongue and Sang-woo gains his confidence, his hands come to rest atop Gi-hun’s hips, pressing him down into the sofa.
They definitely can’t come back from this.
It doesn’t even matter. This has been something that Sang-woo has irrefutably experienced in his dreams, his haunting nightmares — every single daydream has contained Gi-hun.
Since Sang-woo discovered that he liked boys, it only made sense for his mind to fixate heavily on his one and only best friend, the only boy he has ever really laid his eyes upon and felt some other feeling, in addition to the default envy he has towards every single boy of his age.
Typically, there’s envy of other smart boys of his age, for the fear that they’ll surpass him in intellect, wit, or academic success.
When thinking about envy, Gi-hun makes him feel some sort of envy, but not really in the way that other boys have previously.
Not competition, not something skirting atop shallow waters, nor is it rooted in selfishness.
It’s something far darker, deeper.
That sickly green envy felt when he sees Gi-hun finds itself in knowing that Gi-hun is far better than himself, that he deserves something brighter, happier, easier to handle than Sang-woo. And even with that, Sang-woo still pines after him like a lovesick puppy.
He’s sick with the unwavering, painful truth.
“Sang-woo-ya,” Sang-woo heard him murmur, all with great effort while still being practically attacked on the mouth. Sang-woo pulls back to see him, a string of saliva still keeping them intact, and his hands slowly detach from his hips as he takes his appearance in.
An all but extremely flustered Gi-hun, with hair ruched and mussed up, the brightest eyes and widest blown pupils, flushed cheeks and blushy, bitten, red, wet lips, stares up at him with glistening eyes, like he hung the moon and stars.
“Sang-woo, I-I…”
Sang-woo sits up, the wave of realising how he was practically manhandling Gi-hun washing and crashing over him. He definitely came across as desperate.
For him, that’s really embarrassing.
Cho Sang-woo doesn’t beg, doesn’t search, doesn’t plead anybody for what he wants — he just earns, gains, takes without the extra steps.
The white crawling heat of shame traipses up his neck when he sees that he completely let himself loose.
When Sang-woo makes to move further away, Gi-hun makes his feelings crystal clear when he wraps his hand around his wrist.
“No, stay,” he mutters, pleading with his eyes — a stark contrast to how Sang-woo believes himself to go about things, and it’s Gi-hun’s sheer display of want that strikes Sang-woo.
There’s nothing to be concerned about, Sang-woo realises, when Gi-hun moves closer to him once again, and totally assuages his each and every worry.
Without a second to hesitate, Gi-hun pulls on his wrist, pulling him right back in. As he presses his lips back onto Sang-woo’s, he’s already panting with need into his mouth.
Quickly hooking a leg over Sang-woo’s lap, Gi-hun doesn’t waste any time as he settles himself atop Sang-woo. Once he pulls his mouth away, his hands frame his jaw like a pretty picture.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Gi-hun comments under his breath, nearly unnoticeable had Sang-woo not been tuned in for every single thing that Gi-hun utters.
A blush creeps onto Sang-woo’s face, and he would turn away — to just escape — if Gi-hun didn’t have him fixed solidly in place.
Gi-hun brushes a strand of his fringe off of his face with his thumb, before he plants a tiny, tiny kiss on his forehead. He whispers a mantra of praises, each one linked to the next, with comments like, “pretty boy,” which evoke Sang-woo’s hips to drive up, as if he wasn’t already humiliated enough.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Gi-hun murmurs against his skin, before he pulls back to search his face, thumbs now caressing against Sang-woo’s plump lower lip, dipping into the wet warmth of his mouth.
“Mhm,” Sang-woo affirms tensely, with the painstaking effort of holding himself from plunging right back in and kissing Gi-hun until he’s gasping for air, or maybe licking and sucking on the flat pad of his thumb.
The strained effort leaves him like a hot spring day would — humid, aching for the saving grace of some water to hydrate his scratched up throat. Yearning to escape the suffocation of an impossibly hot day.
The stress troubles him so much that he can’t even bring himself to smile up at his hyung, foolishly enough, even with Gi-hun sitting prettily in his lap and leaving feather-light kisses all over his face. “What is it?”
Gi-hun leans in much closer to his friend, angling his face down towards Sang-woo’s bared neck, and breathes out right by Sang-woo’s ear.
This fucker .
He’s obviously trying to make him squirm, trying to shake him up, and it’s certainly working on him.
“Just tell me, hyung.” Sang-woo grits out quietly, hands clenched in the bedsheets beneath his body. It’s a wonder how he hasn’t torn the microscopical fibres apart with his nails digging in deep.
“I’ve always wanted you.” Gi-hun whispers, almost silent, unabashedly, and yet Sang-woo feels the resounding power in each of those four words.
“Gi-hun-hyung,” Sang-woo pleads, his hands pushing himself up to sit upright before kissing Gi-hun, unable to wait any longer again.
Usually he’s not reduced to begging, but this time, he finds himself teetering on the edge.
He has been expected to wait ten, painfully long, arduous years, to finally have Gi-hun, and he can’t hold himself back now. Not now, that Gi-hun is so clearly meant for him.
Sang-woo doesn’t need words to show how much he shares the same sentiment, not right now. Right now, he knows, he’s confident that Gi-hun will know exactly how he feels with every single kiss, and every single soft tug on his hair.
His hips drive up to meet Gi-hun’s, rutting against him desperately .
Gi-hun pulls himself away, laughing a little at Sang-woo’s eagerness, “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Sang-woo replies, totally dazed and breathtaken, and leans forward again to capture Gi-hun’s lips in his.
“Wait,” Sang-woo manoeuvres them both so that Sang-woo’s lying lengthways across the sofa, and he skillfully removes his glasses with just one hand and discards them to the coffee table. With Gi-hun still attached to his lap, he leaned down to reconnect their lips immediately, upon settling down into the sofa.
Gi-hun is largely curious as to whether he’s done this before, and it’s shocking that he seems so confident with what he’s doing, with how he’s kissing Gi-hun, or gripping his hips without an overly anxious grasp like a first-timer would.
Maybe living in Seoul rewards you with more freedom in sexuality, something Gi-hun hasn’t really had a whole lot of while living in tiny, conservative and closed-minded Ssangmun-dong.
He’s more than confident that Sang-woo wouldn’t have done anything sexual while he lived in their hometown, but as soon as he left the ball and chain of the village they grew up in together, surely a more adventurous side of Sang-woo came to play.
Gi-hun’s hypothesis is confirmed when Sang-woo tells him to sit on his face, to which Gi-hun speedily strips himself off his clothes out of unbridled manic excitement, energy thrumming through his bones as his fingers flit around in flashes of peachy colour.
When it comes to Gi-hun about to remove his boxer shorts though, Gi-hun suddenly gets cold feet — his pleasant excitement brewing in the pit of his stomach rapidly transforms into a cold rock of anxiety.
“Are you okay, hyung?” Sang-woo asks, hand reattached to his thigh, caressing gently. Gi-hun has suddenly gone silent, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Ah, this is just quite new... to me.” he admits sheepishly, scratching his head.
It’s not a lie — he’s never sat on somebody’s face before. It’s not something he’s ever sought to endeavour, primarily out of fear of actually crushing the person underneath him to death. Nothing too intense, of course.
“Are you comfortable?” Sang-woo’s voice comes out, sounding far more distant than it truly is, and Gi-hun’s breath grows light and airy.
“Yes! I mean, yes. I feel fine. I’m just nervous.” He breathes slowly to level his agitated nerves out.
Sang-woo doesn’t do anything for a few moments, before he presses back up to kiss Gi-hun sweetly, just a peck, as he interlinks the fingers of their hands together.
“You’ll be fine. I feel nervous too. We don’t have to do this,” he says quietly.
If it were anybody else, it would be rude to say something as seemingly dismissive as that. It seems to work its magic on Gi-hun, however, who’s now starting to thumb along the waistband of his boxers with a newfound self-belief — a feeling that washes away the rising anxiety.
“I want to,” he says, peeling the last article of clothing off his body. He doesn’t miss the way Sang-woo’s eyes drift across his body, and how they crinkle slightly from smiling up at Gi-hun straddling himself over Sang-woo’s chest.
“You sure about this, Sang-woo-ya?” Gi-hun asks, rubbing a stressed hand over his face in a way he hopes is nonchalant.
“I’m sure. You can sit down.” he persuades him gently, hands resting on Gi-hun’s legs.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to crush yo-”
“Don’t care.” he mutters, pulling down on Gi-hun’s thighs with more effort. “Sit.”
“God – fuck, Sang-woo–” Gi-hun gasps out loudly when Sang-woo’s tongue pokes out, teasingly tasting his rim now that he’s slightly lower. The anxiety within him just moments before, that’s long gone now. “That feels… oh wow—“
They’re both really lucky that Sang-woo can afford his own apartment, also that his room is completely soundproof, because Gi-hun is vocal . His reactions are enough to make Sang-woo’s dick grow painfully hard, so much that he has to purposefully direct all of his focus onto Gi-hun. He can’t risk thinking about anything else.
Sang-woo’s hard-on becomes almost unbearable for him, and he desperately fights off the temptation to palm himself for just a little bit of release, or to drag a pillow down to rut up against. He pushes his face in further, pulling Gi-hun down even more — he’s not close enough.
Actually, he’s hovering, and Sang-woo doesn’t like that Gi-hun’s holding himself back . “Come on, hyung.”
With Sang-woo’s strong pull, Gi-hun loses his balance, his knees slipping down on the covers. Suddenly, his body drops down onto Sang-woo’s face, sandwiched against him, moaning as his tongue practically slips inside.
Gi-hun exclaims, screwing his eyes shut, and taking a hold of the back of Sang-woo’s sofa for some stability, “Fuck—!“
With the way Sang-woo’s hands are kneading into Gi-hun’s thighs, and him licking and biting at Gi-hun above him, it drives Gi-hun closer to wanting to let himself move in motion with his mouth, even with that lingering fear of crushing Sang-woo.
Surely , he would tell Gi-hun if the weight on his face grew to be too much.
His hips involuntarily buck up a little, but with Sang-woo’s iron-grasp on his legs, he’s not evading his unwavering clutch any time soon as he eats him out with such passion.
Sang-woo’s laboured breathing is impossible to miss, and when Gi-hun becomes okay with the idea of riding his face like his life depends on it, Sang-woo actually lets out a groan .
Throwing his head back with his little waves cascading onto his shoulders, his right grip on the sofa is the only thing keeping him upright. The rush of blood down south inebriates him, making him woozy and drunk off the pleasure, and his cock presses against his lower belly, leaking and dribbling all over himself.
His riding could be enough to snap Sang-woo’s neck in half, but he’s seemingly having the time of his life, with Gi-hun, gorgeous and naked, sitting right on his face and being completely at his mercy.
It's almost enough to get Sang-woo to cum untouched onto his belly, and he often thinks about touching himself, but for their first time together — he just wants to be good for his hyung. He knows he’ll have his chance.
Gi-hun’s worries of crushing Sang-woo rapidly leave his brain as he already teeters right on the edge of his release, precum spurting from the tip and dripping slowly down his length. A finger joins Sang-woo’s tongue, working its way deeply inside of him, which makes Gi-hun yelp out a small cry.
“Sang-woo-ya, I’m gonna cum from this— ah— please—” Gi-hun grits out, and even with the warning, Sang-woo’s free hand clutches at his thigh even tighter, with his nails dug in with the effort of making their bodies become one . His finger lodges in deep, drawing a pained cry from Gi-hun. With Gi-hun’s writhing and squirming, he needs to keep him still.
As his tongue is searching impossibly deep, slipping in and out of his much-more stretched hole, and with a finger massaging his sweet spot, Gi-hun cries out when he comes, completely untouched. It lands on his lower belly, his thighs and drips languidly down the length of his dick. Even though he’s fully aware of how he just finished, Sang-woo can’t find the restraint within himself to stop eating Gi-hun out.
Gi-hun’s moans eventually ease off as he rides his orgasm out. They turn more into whimpers of overstimulation, as he tries to pry himself away from Sang-woo’s mouth and finger. Sang-woo clutches him, and pulls his thigh down tighter with a low growl, one that sends a full-body shiver throughout Gi-hun.
“No,” he’s muffled, but Gi-hun hears the protest loud and clear.
“Sang-woo-ya!” Gi-hun whines out, his cock already twitching at the sensations again. With his body reacting so rapidly, he doesn’t even realise he inadvertently begins riding his face again.
Gi-hun’s never experimented like this before. He’s never cum without a hand on his cock, let alone two times in a row, and he truly hadn’t expected the first person to do it for him would be his best friend.
A second finger joins the first, and Gi-hun’s vision short-circuits instantly, sending a zap of satisfaction through the cloud of overstimulation.
“Ahh—ah,” Gi-hun shivers out, his dick growing to full hardness in record time, and leaking small drops of precum down his length.
“Fucking hell , Sang-woo,” he whines, hips rolling naturally when he continuously hits the same part every single time.
”Don’t hold back,” Sang-woo mutters in between licks, his voice still completely obstructed by Gi-hun’s body solidly pressed on top of his mouth.
“Does it— ahh — does it hurt?” He asks, casting his gaze downwards to Sang-woo below him.
“Not at all,” he says, and Gi-hun takes his word as gospel, because Sang-woo might be many things, but a liar is one thing he isn’t .
Gi-hun’s body jolts, hips bucking up, when Sang-woo rubs against a particularly sensitive area, causing him to convulse and tense up. He doesn’t stop crying out and moaning quietly, mewing with tears that start spilling over his waterline onto his cheeks.
Sang-woo is fucking relentless with it, with his fingers being so skilled and loyal to the same spot inside of Gi-hun, and the clearly-practiced tongue licking and eating at him. Gi-hun can’t find it within himself to ruminate over the details of Sang-woo’s sexual history — not right now, when he’s receiving the most incredible sex that he’s ever had in his life.
“I’m— I-I’m about to cum, Sang—“ Gi-hun doesn’t even finish what he was about to say, for his body completes the sentence for him. He spills over again, crying and riding himself through his orgasm. Sang-woo only forgivingly lets go of his body once Gi-hun has ridden his tension out.
Gi-hun’s completely dazed and fucked out from cumming a second time, with tears that have tracked down his face and half-lidded eyes. He finally lifts himself off Sang-woo, whose face is red and puffy with sweaty locks.
“Gi-hun-hyung…” Sang-woo heaves out. “Come down here.”
Gi-hun looks to see that Sang-woo had kicked off his joggers and briefs, to let his dick at least breathe. It’s bright red at the tip, painfully hard and leaking out precum. He hasn’t even been touched yet, and Gi-hun has already cum twice.
“You could’ve gotten off while you were doing that, y'know," Gi-hun laughs, all loosened up and relaxed.
“I wanted to save it all — for you,” Sang-woo says. He’s still gasping when Gi-hun settles himself back atop his lap, weight not crushing like an anvil but pressing down firmly, pleasantly.
Before Sang-woo can lose his nerve, he quickly goes, “Could you get my lube from the drawer?”
Gi-hun raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and opens his desk to find it.
“Don’t think you’ll need it,” he mutters slowly, but he still passes the bottle – that was admittedly easy to see — to Sang-woo, and settles back on his heels, flush against Sang-woo’s body.
Sang-woo winces at Gi-hun’s ass resting itself right on top of his cock. It takes so much self-restraint to not just slip himself in right now — he knows he could, and it probably wouldn’t hurt Gi-hun, but in the case it does — he would hate himself forever, even more than he already does.
The fact that Sang-woo has turned Gi-hun into such a hot mess — with his hair sticking out in every direction, cum painting his legs and thighs all over, and his eyes fiery and bright — only serves to exacerbate his impulse to manhandle him some more. Sang-woo did that to him.
As for Gi-hun, it’s a wondrous thing — to suddenly discover so many intimate details about a best friend, in such a strange, unexpected manner. Tiny hints of Sang-woo’s lifestyle rise up to the surface, only goading more inquisition.
“How long have you had this – the lube?” Gi-hun asks incredulously, unable to bite his tongue.
It’s not jealousy , seriously, it’s just curiosity. If it was jealousy, he’s pretty sure that knowing those sorts of details would be the worst thing to ask for, surely.
Or maybe it’s morbid curiosity — like a precarious, violent car crash, an unexpected one that takes you by storm. Even with the most deadly and bloody scenes to onlookers, nobody can really seem to tear their eyes away from it.
“Lemme stretch you a little,” Sang-woo breathes as he squirts the lube out messily onto his fingers, completely unaware of the internal battle within Gi-hun right now.
“I don’t know if I opened you up enough, ‘n I don’t wanna hurt you.” He doesn’t address Gi-hun’s pressing question immediately, but eventually settles on, “and I don’t really want to tell you that.”
“I’m sure you won’t hurt me–”
“Gi-hun-hyung.” He mutters, just a smidge of venom in his tone. Gi-hun knows him well enough now to never take it personally, and to not tread lightly around him. He can be himself, as can Sang-woo.
A finger presses against his rim warningly, and slips in with so much ease. The extra preparation was frankly unnecessary, and yet, Sang-woo would rather spend an hour doing it if it proposed infinitely more pleasure for Gi-hun.
“And — ahh — Sang-woo-ya, I won’t make fun— ah, I promise, I’m just curious—,” Gi-hun insists, moaning out, shifting his hips around to adjust to the feeling.
Truly, what is there to lose, at this point? He just requested — no, commanded Gi-hun to sit on his face — and there really can’t be many more embarrassing things to do… or confess to, in that manner.
“I use it to masturbate, so I’ve had it for a while,” Sang-woo confesses honestly, closing his eyes and turning red. He wants to curl up and die in a hole, but at least he can avert his eyes from Gi-hun’s judgmental stare.
“Wasn’t so hard to say, was it? Sang-woo-ya, I’d never make fun of you,” Gi-hun presses a small kiss, again, against his cheek. Gi-hun’s small sign of affection shocks him, and he opens his eyes.
“Yes, yes you would.” Sang-woo responds sternly, indignant like a toddler in a tantrum. He pulls his finger out, and adds a second already, as he pushes them in.
“Ah-ah… you’ve done this before,” Gi-hun mutters in a low moan, biting down on his lip. Sang-woo knew he would be loud, but not this loud.
“How do you know that?” Sang-woo is present in the conversation, but it’s clear that his mind is deviating elsewhere. His focus is on opening Gi-hun up just a little more, with the least pain manageable.
“You’re too good with your tongue to be a virgin,” he jokes, and links his hands together around the back of Sang-woo’s neck, resting against the nape of it and gently caressing the satin-like, black hair. “Also, you don’t have to stretch me out this much , it’s a little overkill, no?”
Sang-woo’s hand slows down to a halt, and he finally meets Gi-hun’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He changes the topic, and completely ignores Gi-hun’s crude comments.
“Didn’t tell you what?”
Riddles and enigmas, ones that are left for somebody to figure out by themselves, aren’t usually Sang-woo’s style in conversation. Typically, he can be so blunt, that nothing is left to the imagination with him. But then again, Gi-hun doesn’t exactly require such bluntness from Sang-woo. Not anymore, when he’s been completely sussed out.
“That you were into… into guys.” Sang-woo plays it safe, this time. He doesn’t specify that he’s really only talking about himself, and tries to not let it be so clear that he’s searching for the answer to a completely different, far more complex question.
He couldn’t give a damn about the other men Gi-hun might have or might not have slept with before him — other than to serve as a toxic catalyst to fuck him even better so he never craves anybody other than him . The envy, the mental imagery of other men satisfying him is there , but he always does his best to push it away.
“It’s never come up,” Gi-hun muses, and pauses. “You never told me, either.“ he tries to find a defence, one that seems to fall flat instantaneously.
“I thought it was obvious.” Sang-woo comments, and, deciding to be vulnerable for once, says. “I, um. Never wanted to make you feel weird.
Gi-hun hums, eyebrows knitted together. He opts to not reply to the first part, because yes, it was obvious, but Sang-woo doesn’t need to know that — he’d probably stop this whole thing, merely out of shame. “Why would that make me feel weird, Sang-woo-ya?”
“Because I’ve liked you for a long time.”
Curiosity gets the better of Gi-hun, and he wants to ask so bad. He wants to, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. With confidence, even despite the anxious energy moving through him at a concerning pace, he asks. “How long?”
Sang-woo’s cheeks grow flushed, and he mutters, “A few years,” as he averts his eyes and looks anywhere but at Gi-hun.
Gi-hun beams. For Sang-woo, Ssangmun-dong’s Golden Child, to admit — to confess — his feelings to Gi-hun. Finally, after all of these years, he affirms what he had assumed.
It’s something that Gi-hun has definitely picked up on before, yet with their dynamic being the way it is — Sang-woo living in Seoul, detaching completely from Ssangmun-Dong, him being an academic, obsessed with success — he truly believed it would be a fleeting crush.
A crush. That’s all it is, all it was, all it ever was and ever could be. A crush that would pass easily, and even more so, once he found a nice, intelligent, quiet boy to settle down with. Not brash Gi-hun, clumsy and annoyingly loud, who can’t ever keep a thought internal.
Even with their time together in school, and their closeness as adults, they both secretly know that they are polar opposites – it would truly be a miracle for anybody who knows them, or who had ever even been in any general proximity of them, to not pick up on their wild duality.
So, organically, the true eventuality for Sang-woo was presumed to be him in a beautiful big house in a nicer area than Ssangmun-dong, growing old and grey with somebody, with children. Maybe even grandchildren.
It was, of course, going to be somebody with a good job, or maybe he would’ve attended university, possibly even achieved a masters in something rewarding, something that would serve others. A doctor, a surgeon maybe. Somebody with more wit, more awareness, and a bigger brain. A once-in-a-lifetime person.
A sensational person.
Somebody that wasn’t Seong Gi-hun.
Somebody better than him.
The thought of Sang-woo finding somebody else used to reassure Gi-hun.
Prior to seeing Sang-woo, he would use it regularly to settle his nerves — to regulate himself, and convince himself that this wouldn’t be his problem for long, and that his own feelings would calm down once Sang-woo met somebody new.
As soon as Gi-hun could let go of this false hope that Sang-woo could ever love all of him — his flaws, his oddness, his quirks, and obsessive, addictive nature — they could continue being friends as normal. It was a matter of waiting, and those pesky, bothersome emotions would soon dissipate, and fade away into nothingness like they were never there. Such a bitter perspective, and yet, the only way that Gi-hun could face still contacting Sang-woo.
Now, right at this very moment, the thought of Sang-woo meeting, dating, even marrying somebody other than Gi-hun… it’s unexplainable, that horrendous sickly feeling setting in even right now as he ponders the possibility. He’s got him now, and he’s not letting go.
“Maybe we should talk about this after this… your finger’s still inside of me.” Gi-hun chuckles, shoulders shaking a little with the tension in his body . He has that self-control — he can hold himself back from this. He can wait.
They have the rest of their lives to figure this out.
“Right,” Sang-woo blushes deeply — Gi-hun loves to see him embarrassed — and looks away. “You’re right,” he affirms nervously.
“You can fuck me now, you know?” Gi-hun suggests calmly, eyes half-lidded and a small smile on his face, reassuring and kind as ever.
Sang-woo knows this, and yet there’s that nagging thought in his mind of him hurting Gi-hun. With the amount of prep prior, having had Gi-hun sit on his face, realistically he should be completely fine.
Once he’s removed his fingers, Sang-woo takes a hold on Gi-hun by the hips and lowers him onto the head of his cock, with great care and precision.
Gi-hun’s wet, and so so hot, and it takes the tension and tightening of every single muscle in Sang-woo for him to not rut his hips up into his warmth, and to instead let Gi-hun sink down onto him slowly.
“Oh-h,” Sang-woo stammers out, and bites his lip to hold back any other noises as he sinks lower, even though Gi-hun sees that internal struggle, and he really wouldn’t mind hearing more of him. He reaches the hilt, fully engulfed by Gi-hun.
“You okay?” Gi-hun asks, apparently totally cool and collected, even with a dick in his ass.
“I should be asking you that,” Sang-woo mutters thunderously, beads of sweat forming above his brow and with great effort to not immediately start fucking up into Gi-hun.
“I’m fine. It aches a — ah, little bit,” Gi-hun winces slightly, but still taking it like a champ.
“Have you done this before?” Sang-woo asks incredulously, in shock from Gi-hun’s confidence and ease with being stretched out.
“You did stretch me out for a while.” Gi-hun says lightly, and then drops a bombshell, “Plus, I’ve been pegged before,” not seeming to want to linger on that for too long.
Sang-woo can’t help himself from snorting out a laugh — he’s completely caught off guard.
“Sorry — pegged ?” he splutters out.
“Yes! Yes… and I liked it.” Gi-hun doesn’t rush to confess, and grows quiet as he tacks on that final, shameful fact.
Sang-woo’s not even sure if he wants to know the details, but before his brain can catch up with his tongue, he comes out with an uneasy, “Who…?”
Turns out, Gi-hun’s just as reserved about responding. “Well… do you remember Eun-ji?”
“Yeah, I d– wait, her ?!”
“Do you remember that day at school… we had phys ed, and I had to miss the whole period—“
“Because you were limping. Oh fuck.” Sang-woo’s laughing, loudly , his forehead resting against Gi-hun’s shoulder. It’s not very often that Gi-hun gets to see Sang-woo laugh this hard, something that doesn’t fail to make his heart jolt foolishly.
Gi-hun nods, grimacing at the memory. “Yep. The first time was… well, it was fucking awful. I don’t think we knew how long to prep for. Then we tried a few more times, and I started to love it, like I started to ask for it out of nowhere, love it. More than regular, heteronormative sex. It’s partly why we broke up," he says wistfully, clearly reminiscing their school days from years and years ago.
He adds, “She said it threatened my masculinity ,” framing the words with air quotation marks, with an underlying resentful tone in his voice.
“You lied to me! You told me you twisted your ankle,” Sang-woo’s still chuckling a little to himself, and as he speaks he brings his hands up to Gi-hun’s hips, caressing the skin there with his thumb. As he intends to be reassuring, he doesn’t exactly use words for that purpose, but it seems to have an effect on Gi-hun, who’s smiling a bit wider.
“I don’t think you ever told me the reason behind you and Eun-ji breaking up,” Sang-woo comments after a few moments of quiet, feeling far more at ease and less tense. It’s strangely nice, he decides, to just have a conversation, practically in the middle of sex.
If the two weren’t so close, or if it was an unknown face as he had been bedding for the last seven years, maybe this would feel worse, or awkward, or maybe he would just start thrusting to get it over with. But with Gi-hun, it’s not like that.
“The other reason was because she thought I had eyes for somebody else — well, for you .”
“Was she right?” Sang-woo surprises himself with his shameless confidence in asking, even if his face burns with the question.
“You tell me,” Gi-hun mutters, suddenly grasping a fistful of Sang-woo’s hair and tugging his head back so he bares his neck. He accentuates his words with a roll of his hips and a kiss to Sang-woo’s neck.
Sang-woo gasps out audibly, a low pitched whine comes out of the depths of his throat. “H-hyung,” he stammers out, and Gi-hun repeats the same motion, with his lower lip trapped beneath his teeth.
“Oh, hyung, keep going,” he moans quietly, mouthing at and digging his teeth into Gi-hun’s shoulder to silence himself — a futile act. His nails find purchase when dug into Gi-hun’s hips, clamped in.
Gi-hun’s fingers tighten in Sang-woo’s locks and keep his head pressed against him as he rides him with vigor. As his body reacts and slowly recalls previous, archaic times with Eun-ji, muscle memory kicks in and leaves her behind in the dust, leaving room for only Sang-woo to pave the way for reformed memories.
“Ah—ah Sang-woo-ya, I’m—ah,” he slurs a little, drunk off the way his head rushes and tingles, and how his cock is reacting a third time. His hands leave Sang-woo’s scalp, and instead discover the arm of the sofa. Sang-woo wraps his fingers around Gi-hun’s dick and jerks him off lazily, as he presses kisses onto his bare neck.
“You feeling good, hyung?” Sang-woo mutters muffledly into his neck, one hand holding firmly onto Gi-hun’s hip, guiding his rhythm, as his other works up a rhythm on his cock. Being good for his hyung is what matters most to Sang-woo, and his own pleasure can come later.
“Considering — oh — considering how you’re about to — ah, ah — make me cum three times,” Gi-hun tries to whimper his words out, but now Sang-woo’s learning his rhythm, and they move together – familiar with the history, the tension, the context behind them, as if it’s far from the first time.
And yet, it’s so entirely raw — with the freshness of a novel partner, learning ways that they tick or react. With Sang-woo’s hips strongly driving up and fucking against Gi-hun in this brand-new way, Gi-hun struggles to remember how to even speak .
This is unlike anything he and Eun-ji did, even with a strap-on. Even with that, she would go down on him and open him up with patience and goading, but the way Sang-woo had him sit on his face, without room for refusal, and made him cum twice with seemingly no effort — it’s such a contrast.
Quickly enough, he decides he’s much happier with the real thing. He’s never been stunned into silence like this, or forgotten how he can possibly articulate himself.
Sang-woo never struck Gi-hun as the intimate type. He honestly assumed he was a virgin before, and never believed he would’ve had any clue about kissing somebody else, let alone having sex.
Gi-hun would’ve done a whole lot to see this happen. And the way Sang-woo melded to his hands, to that chaste kiss on the cheek, was perfect, and not what he had expected at all. For an innocent kiss to unravel into something like this — knowing Sang-woo as the typically nontactile type, it must’ve been a long time since he’s been touched like that.
The thought alone makes Gi-hun burn with want .
Had Sang-woo reacted normally , in this, basically not turning non-verbal at the mere display of affection, Gi-hun might not have climbed into his lap and let him have his way with him.
Thus, Sang-woo acting this way has made Gi-hun reconsider his next steps — of course it did, and he soon came to terms with how yes — Sang-woo does like him back. Him placing that much importance on Gi-hun made Gi-hun’s heart pick up its speed a little. He just had to see it through.
Gi-hun whining and moaning, letting Sang-woo know it’s okay to be loud, to be uninhibited in sex, was the final straw for turning Sang-woo on completely.
Sang-woo’s nails dig impossibly deep into Gi-hun’s hips when he spills over inside of him, probably littering tiny, red crescents on him and painting his insides white. He pulls Gi-hun down so close to him, flush against his hips, and finishes incredibly deep inside. He fucks him through his own orgasm, whimpering and whining muffled into the junction of Gi-hun’s neck.
Once Sang-woo’s hips slow, and his hands relax their grip on Gi-hun’s supple skin, he pulls his mouth away from Gi-hun’s neck.
“Kiss me,” he murmurs to him, slurring slightly. Gi-hun complies immediately, wrapping his arms around Sang-woo and pulling him in for a sweet kiss to the lips, moaning quietly into his mouth.
When Gi-hun’s tongue slides in next to Sang-woo’s own in his mouth, and his hips against his body, he becomes overstimulated and shivery, and Sang-woo pulls back from kissing him for now.
“Get on the sofa.” Sang-woo murmurs, still feeling dizzy from his orgasm. Gi-hun obliges by rolling off of Sang-woo’s lap.
As Sang-woo moves down the sofa and off, he ends up with his knees planted to the floor. He tugs Gi-hun by the hips towards the edge of the sofa, getting him to sit upright closer to him. His cock stands proudly on its own, and Sang-woo’s on a mission to milk him for all he’s worth. Sang-woo watches his own cum drip out of his ass slowly, and has to mask a groan.
Before Gi-hun can process literally any of what just happened, Sang-woo wraps his wet, hot lips around the head of Gi-hun’s cock, and can hardly hold his breathy moan back at the mere taste of him.
“Ah — Sang-woo-ya,” Gi-hun mutters, pushing his nimble fingers through Sang-woo’s hair.
He realises Sang-woo’s bossiness travels into his bedroom habits, but only slightly. Turns out, Sang-woo turns slack like a ragdoll if his hair is pulled or tugged on in any single way, and becomes entirely brainless.
When Sang-woo bobs his head up and down on his cock, drooling and dribbling all over his length and balls, Gi-hun controls how fast or slow he goes with a clutch at his hair, or a grasp of his lax jaw. Sang-woo simply loves to surrender. It’s a pleasant contrast for Gi-hun to see, instead of the control-freak nature he typically assumes.
“You’re so good at this,” Gi-hun praises, throwing his head back onto the sofa cushion behind him. He relishes in the way the praising comments make Sang-woo’s eyes roll into the back of his head, with a roll of his own hips against the sofa leg.
Any final dribbles of precum from Gi-hub’s cock are instantly lapped up by Sang-woo’s eager tongue with a whine. Sometimes with him grinding against the leg of the sofa because again, it’s impossible for him to not be turned on when being manhandled by his best friend.
Pulling back, Sang-woo spits messily onto the head of Gi-hun’s dick, and dives right back in, continuing to tongue and lick him closer to his orgasm. He pushes his lips right down to the base of his cock, so he’s gagged with his length, before pulling back and repeating each motion. Sang-woo staying rooted on his knees, putting all of his effort into satisfying him really starts getting to Gi-hun, who’s now unable to inhibit himself from bucking up into his throat.
Sang-woo, with mussed up hair and red, bruised lips, pulls off his cock. Saliva connects them together, and he clears his throat to mutter out a croaky, “Fuck my mouth, hyung.”
He’s flushed as he’s saying it, with his prepossessing dark, berry-black eyes staring up at him.
And that almost does it for Gi-hun.
Gi-hun nods fervently, “O-okay,” and takes a fistful of his hair, turning Sang-woo completely lax. He slips his cock back inside his warm, yearning mouth, and it only takes a few more thrusts against the hilt to have Gi-hun cumming down Sang-woo’s throat.
A shockwave of pleasure rips through Gi-hun’s whole body as he grinds up and against Sang-woo’s mouth. He just takes it, and Gi-hun whimpers out a litany of praise again, telling him how good he is for taking it, how pretty he is when he does take it, until Gi-hun’s hips slow right down and he starts to shiver from the wetness of Sang-woo’s saliva on his cock.
Resting his head against Gi-hun’s thigh, he shuts his eyes for a few seconds, basking in the silence. When Gi-hun eventually does speak, it doesn’t seem to shatter their calmness, and it’s instead quite endearing. He whispers a timid, “Are you okay?”, to which Sang-woo nods his head.
“You sure? I didn’t go too far, did I?” Gi-hun mutters, worrying his lip between his teeth.
“Not at all,” Sang-woo murmurs, unable to talk at a regular volume for the sake of the pain in his throat.
“I’ll make you some tea,” Gi-hun muses, stroking Sang-woo’s hair gently.
Sang-woo stands to help Gi-hun off the sofa, because if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll fall asleep kneeling on the floor with Gi-hun’s hypnotising hand in his hair.
Once Sang-woo stands up though, Gi-hun has already started to drift away to sleep. So much for the tea.
He manoeuvres him, shifting him closer to the edge of the sofa so he can hook an arm underneath his knees. With his other arm wrapped around his neck, he can carry him through his tiny flat into his own bedroom with ease — he doesn’t weigh all that much. Gently lowering him down onto his bed, he thinks to drape the covers over him, but makes sure to clean him up first.
Once he returns to the bedroom, newly equipped with a cloth to help Gi-hun, he’s suddenly stirred and is now awake.
“Hey,” he murmurs, and shoots a flirty wink at Sang-woo. “You carried me in?”
Sang-woo nods, and drops to his knees so he can clean Gi-hun out with more precision.
“Aw, my prince.” He comments, obliging when Sang-woo gently pries his legs to spread apart.
“Do you do this for all of your boyfriends?” Gi-hun jokes lightheartedly once Sang-woo starts cleaning the sensitive, raw skin. He takes the washcloth to his most intimate areas, and gently paws until the cum practically stops leaking out.
“What if I said I do?” Sang-woo says, deadpan but definitely teasing, and Gi-hun knows he’s joking, but there’s a feeling in him that can’t really tell whether to take him seriously.
“That’s rude. Come to bed,” Gi-hun mutters, and tries to dismiss his personal concerns.
Now that they’ve had sex, and Gi-hun can see just how experienced Sang-woo is, it’s threatening for his own ego. He’s never been with somebody with seemingly more experience than him, and he didn’t expect that person to be Sang-woo — of all people.
“Please, come to bed,” he reiterates, with well-deserved manners after everything Sang-woo just did for him, while reaching out into mid-air and making grabby-motions.
“Do you need any - any water, or food—? I can make us some bancha—“ Sang-woo starts, but is interrupted.
“No… I just want you here,” he murmurs, arms dropping down onto the bed when he hears Sang-woo shift closer, footsteps lightly padding on the carpet. A smile replaces his previous frown. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming in, hold on,” Sang-woo says under his breath, rolling his eyes at Gi-hun.
He lifts the covers, only for Gi-hun to shiver in response. “Don’t be dramatic, hyung. It’s not that cold.”
“Yes it is. You can just warm me up,” Gi-hun puts on a false sultry voice, and Sang-woo would be lying if he said it didn’t make his stomach flip over a few dozen times.
It’s sufficient to convince him — as if he wasn’t already persuaded enough — to finally slip into bed beside Gi-hun.
Not even giving Sang-woo a single moment to settle in, Gi-hun wraps his arms completely around Sang-woo’s frame, and shuts his eyes.
“Sang-woo-ya…” Gi-hun whispers, nuzzling against him and caressing his chest with his hand.
“Yes, hyung?”
“Do you like me?” He mutters, hiding his face in Sang-woo’s neck.
“Yes — what kind of question is that?” Sang-woo replies, astounded .
”Good.” He says under his breath, and Sang-woo can feel his toothy smile pressing into his neck, “That’s all.”
Sang-woo shakes his head, smiling to himself. Gi-hun falls silent, and Sang-woo’s hand caresses his shoulder gently. Their breathing falls into a synchronised rhythm, as they press themselves close together to keep warm.
Just when Sang-woo thinks he’s drifted off to sleep for the night, Gi-hun speaks again.
“What time is it?” Gi-hun mutters sleepily, yawning midway through his question.
Sang-woo looks over at the clock resting on his bedside table. “It’s just past midnight.”
Gi-hun grins to himself, then angles his head up to look at Sang-woo.
“Merry Christmas.” He hums, and kisses Sang-woo square on the lips.
Sang-woo snorts, and snuggles closer to Gi-hun, and nuzzles his face into his neck, nosing along the column of his throat.
“What a way to celebrate.” he mutters, smiling just as wide as Gi-hun.