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“Where do you want me?”
Maybe in the janitor’s closet later, if you’re feeling nasty, is what Joshua wants to say.
Instead, he dutifully consults the spreadsheet open in front of him.
“Room 208.” He holds out a thin package. “Here are your score sheets. Be sure to drop off your ballot by the end of the round.”
Wonwoo just smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s not his fault that he looks good today, dressed down in a crewneck and dark jeans, hair just this side of long and beginning to curl at the ears.
It’s not even his stupid hormones. His heat is still months away. He has to remind himself that Wonwoo’s brand of insufferable smugness just comes naturally to him, and that it doesn’t mean he can actually read his mind.
“Go,” he rolls his eyes. The round is about to start, for god’s sake.
Wonwoo gives him one more glance over, in a manner entirely inappropriate for a place crawling with high schoolers, but walks off obediently. Asshole.
It’s all a front, of course. If there’s anything Joshua’s learned, it’s that nine times out of ten, Wonwoo’s just winging it. ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’ he says, while Joshua personally prefers ‘plan until abject failure, then lie down and rot.’
He hands out ballots to the rest of the volunteer judges, assigning them each a room to go to.
Every high school debate club in the city is on campus today for their tournament. Their university is known for hosting one of the most prestigious competitive events of the year, and it only took three colour-coded excel sheets, two all-nighters, and one ill-advised mental breakdown to plan.
As sitting society president, Joshua has a reputation to uphold.
Which is why he cannot afford to be distracted.
“That’s him?” Minghao smirks, watching him go.
Minghao is a self-proclaimed pacifist who “doesn’t believe” in the sport of debate, but has somehow wormed their way into volunteering. Not as a judge, but as a general support, whatever that means. So far, they’ve flirted with every judge who’s come by their table, and are currently in the process of refashioning the box meant for housing anonymous equity complaints into a sort of avant-garde paper sculpture. It’s sort-of Louise Bourgeois meets the crumb-covered receipts at the bottom of Joshua’s bag.
It says something dire about the state of their social lives that Minghao doesn’t have anything better to do on a Saturday morning, but that’s what they get for living such co-dependent lives. Joshua will most certainly be glomming himself onto whatever art-related side quest Minghao finds themself on next weekend. He’s secretly glad to have a calming presence at his side for what is about to be a very stressful weekend.
He can practically hear the gears churning in Minghao’s head, weighing up everything Joshua has ever drunkenly confessed about “the guy he’s seeing” while shitfaced on soju. He gets very candid on soju.
Minghao cranes their neck. “He’s got like, no ass.”
He groans.
Things between him and Wonwoo are still swimming in the nebulous waters of… what, he doesn’t know. An unlabelled relationship, perhaps. Joshua would say things were casual, if there was even a single cell in his body that was capable of “casual”. Minghao would say he’s too intense for that sort of thing, and they would be right.
In any case, Joshua and Wonwoo probably sailed straight past casual when their first ever amenable conversation was had with Wonwoo’s mouth over his cunt. But that’s neither here nor there.
Getting to know Wonwoo has been pleasant. Surprisingly so. He’s patient, and kind, and when he’s not purposefully ratcheting up Joshua’s blood temperature for the sake of foreplay, he’s actually really sweet. Joshua doesn’t do relationships, he’s got enough on his shoulders to worry about a boyfriend on top of it, but if he were to consider it, Wonwoo would be his first pick. But admitting that would be to concede a long and embarrassing list of truths that Joshua is not ready to see the light of day, and he’s certain that Wonwoo’s smug face would only get impossibly smugger if he found out how much Joshua actually likes him. So he’s keeping that information to himself. For now.
“Joshua,” a harried looking freshman comes up to them. “Olympiads B didn’t show up to their room. We need someone to sub in.”
He checks his watch. The round should have started ten minutes ago.
Minghao puts their hands up. “Don’t look at me.”
He sighs and closes his laptop. “Which room?”
The freshman checks their clipboard.
“208.”
—
Joshua climbs the stairway two steps at a time. Room 208 is a miniature lecture hall tucked into the corner of the Arts and Sciences building he once took an Intro to World Religion class in. Today, it’s one of the fifty rooms on campus booked off for their little tournament. He doesn’t expect anything noteworthy, subbing in when there’s an odd number of teams is standard procedure.
Except when he gets to room 208, Wonwoo is sitting at the back in the judge’s seat with an exceptionally smug look on his face.
”Mr. Hong,” he says, grinning like a shithead. “Nice of you to join us.”
Of course. Joshua can barely stop himself from rolling his eyes. The kids are too busy stressing about their cases to notice, but the way Wonwoo is looking at him makes him think he somehow planned this on purpose.
Joshua pointedly avoids his gaze as he announces the start of the round.
The first team gets off to a shaky start, which is to be expected at a high school tournament. There’s always a range of experience levels, and as the rounds go on, teams will be sorted into brackets and compete in more evenly matched rooms.
Joshua is subbing for a closing half team, so he just sits and watches the opening half, occasionally jotting down notes. He quickly forgets that Wonwoo is judging, it’s just interesting to watch what pitfalls the junior debaters fall into, what arguments that they miss. He usually spends the bulk of these tournaments doing tabulations in the back room or running around putting out fires, so he misses out on watching how the rounds actually play out.
When it’s his turn to go up, it’s easy to set his mouth on autopilot. He throws in some nuanced analysis and refutation but generally sticks to a simple framework. This is the easy part. The hard part is ignoring Wonwoo’s gaze, burning a hole into the side of his face like the butt of a cigarette. It feels different from the times they’ve gone up against each other as opponents. Joshua feels a bit more vulnerable up here, a bit more exposed. He delivers the whip speech to the wall behind him.
When the round concludes, the room clears out for Wonwoo to do his adjudication. Normally, Joshua would stay in the room and offer his opinion, but he feels antsy, the open classroom air suddenly turned stuffy. He goes out into the hallway with the kids instead, chatting with them and assuaging nerves where he can. He learns that it's the opening government team’s first tournament, and offers some encouragement. He remembers what it’s like being fifteen and petrified of public speaking.
As it turns out, it’s not just first round jitters– the kids are all terrified of Wonwoo. His reputation as a college debater precedes him, it would seem. They’ve all seen the video of his upset at WUDC last year, pulling a Hail Mary case out of a gov-leaning motion. One of the kids whips out his phone to show him, and it’s got almost half a million views on YouTube. Joshua tries not to laugh, and he assures them that Wonwoo is actually a big softie. They don’t seem to believe him.
After a few minutes, Wonwoo sticks his head into the hallway to call them back in.
Without much fanfare he gives the team ranking, and the opening opposition team exchange high fives. Joshua is omitted from the scoring, for which they’ll account in the tabs later.
Wonwoo goes down the list of speakers, giving each of them a few bullet points of personalised feedback, when—
“… lastly, Mr. Joshua Hong. Your rebuilding could have capitalised on the areas of clash even further. Both sides used significantly different framing, so try harder to lean into that contrast next time.”
Wonwoo continues on with a series of increasingly nitpicky critiques, some constructive, some having nothing to do with the content of his speeches. Joshua doesn’t really catch most of it, anyways, over all the blood rushing through his ears.
He concludes his spiel, and the room goes silent.
So much for rehabilitating his scary image. The kids gape at Wonwoo like he just committed a crazy faux-pas, which to be fair, he technically has. Joshua is the director of this tournament. Judges don’t give feedback to swings.
They all swivel towards Joshua, waiting to hear what he has to say.
Joshua just smiles serenely.
“Thank you for the feedback.”
Wonwoo flips his notebook closed, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “That’s all. If anyone wants more comments feel free to come find me later.”
The students file out of the room in a daze, collecting their things while looking between the two of them like it’s a table tennis match. Wonwoo and Joshua sit across from each other, frozen in tableau as the last student shuffles out the door.
The door swings shut.
Joshua isn’t an expert at chess, but he dabbled in his younger years. It’s just moves and countermoves. He picks up his pawn.
“I was thinking about you last night.”
The air between them shifts immediately.
“I couldn’t sleep because of how wired I’ve been this week, so I wanted to take my mind off work for a bit.” He sighs, putting on blasé airs. “And I was thinking about the last time we got together.”
He digs his teeth into his lower lip and releases it, allowing the skin there to bloom with colour. Wonwoo’s gaze drops to track the movement.
“The last time they got together” was three weeks ago in Joshua’s dorm room on his cramped twin bed, preluded by an intensely fierce argument about the ethical implications of Tamagotchi. It ended with tear tracks staining his cheeks as Wonwoo folded him into the mattress. His slick got everywhere.
If his face is any indication to go by, Wonwoo remembers that night pretty vividly, too. Joshua can smell his arousal from here, stirring like a cat waking from a nap.
He licks his lips.
“My fingers weren’t enough, though,” he continues. “I kept wishing that you were there with me so I could feel full again.” He shapes his full mouth into a pout, eyes flicking upward to watch his words take effect.
Wonwoo’s mouth falls open on cue. He almost wants to laugh.
Instead he sighs exaggeratedly. “It’s too bad, really. I was going to ask if you wanted a quickie between rounds in the janitor’s closet.”
A pen clatters to the floor.
Satisfied, Joshua plucks the ballot dangling loosely from his fingers.
“Make sure you don’t miss the start of round two!” he chirps on his way out.
—
So.
The gauntlet has been thrown down.
It should come as no surprise that their sex life is just as ridiculous as they are. It feels like a natural extension of their relationship, a tug of war until one of them gives. The tension settles in the base of his gut, a rubber band waiting to snap.
And more often than not, it ends with Joshua on his back, so it’s not like there’s a real loser in this game.
That doesn’t mean he’s okay with losing, though.
When he gets back downstairs, Minghao is perched on a table in front of another volunteer, a lanky guy with a mouth too big for his face that Joshua recognizes from the circuit. Jun, he thinks, is his name. He’s watching raptly as Minghao talks, narrowly dodging their gesticulating hands. Minghao would make an excellent debater, save for the fact that they’ve never met an institution they didn’t want to topple.
After checking that all the ballots from round one are accounted for, he goes into the tabs and assigns Wonwoo to judge the lowest bracket on the sheet. It’ll be good exercise for the kids.
Minghao comes up to him afterwards. “These debate nerds are no joke.”
”Hey,” Joshua says, out of principle more than anything.
“I think I’m developing an appreciation,” they say contemplatively.
Joshua gives his friend a look. “You just like tall dorky guys with big hands.”
Minghao makes a big show of looking around. “Speaking of which?”
Speaking of which, Wonwoo enters the hall with the remaining dregs of judges, followed by a group of students all clamoring for his take on the previous round. He finds Joshua’s gaze through the fray and sends him a cryptic wink.
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
I was thinking about you the other night, too
[img.546]
A grainy photo pops up on his feed. It’s low-lit and a little blurry but unmistakably Wonwoo. With a hand down his sweatpants. They have a dark wet patch on the front of them.
You look so pretty when I’m inside you
With my cum dripping out of you
[img.547]
Another photo loads. It’s a photo of his hand, palm up and lit with flash, smeared sticky with white.
A hot flush crawls over his body. Joshua stares at the photos for another ten seconds before remembering that he is surrounded by people.
Fuck you, he types back shakily, shoving his phone into his pocket.
His face is so hot it feels like it’s glowing, and he doesn’t even want to think about how he smells.
He can see it in his mind now, Wonwoo’s deep ragged timbre echoing around his room as he jerks himself off. Cumming his brains out and snapping a quick photo before tossing his phone onto the sheets. His jaw aches, and he realizes he’s clenching his teeth so hard he’s giving himself a cramp.
A minion taps him on the shoulder and tells him they’re ready to start the next round.
Joshua takes the mic and almost forgets to announce the next motion. He doesn’t try to look for Wonwoo in the crowd but their eyes lock anyways, an annoyingly pleased look on his face.
Oh. It’s on.
The rest of the tournament goes by in a blur, and before he knows it, day one is over. They’re back in bright and early tomorrow morning.
Joshua calls in a favour on his phone. Ten minutes later, he’s tucking a set of keys in his pocket, and he hunkers in to stay behind and pack up. The students filter out, and the last organisers leave for the night. The hall feels bigger with no one filling it, grand but deserted. It’s just him and the quiet hum of the overlights, a hundred empty seats and no one to watch.
—
From here Joshua looks small, almost dainty, like Wonwoo could fold him into origami. Even like this, running on little sleep and caffeine, he’s untouchable, cardigan perfectly buttoned and not a hair out of place. Wonwoo watches as he putters around the room, cleaning up long after everyone else has gone.
He clears his throat.
Joshua almost drops the stack of ballots he’s holding. He gets so jumpy when he’s alone. When he turns, Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat.
The look in his eye is feral.
It’s that inner turmoil that’s always drawn him in. The fact that, underneath all that poise and politeness, there’s a volcano bubbling dormant beneath the surface.
Before this, before any of this was remotely a possibility, he would watch from afar as he— this anomaly took the circuit by storm, commanding a room as easily as anything, wrapping anyone around his finger with a tilt of his head and a smile. Joshua was breathtaking to watch, head held high, eyes sharp as his tongue, daring anyone to challenge his right to be there.
Wonwoo wants to trod through him like freshly-driven snow. He wants to find the bruises on his soft spots and press.
He wants him to see him ruined.
“Come here.”
Drifting closer, Wonwoo can smell what the scent blocker doesn’t conceal. Faint tendrils of want and arousal waft in the air between them. The thought of Joshua walking around like this all day makes Wonwoo’s head hurt.
There’s a delicate hand on his chest, and then Joshua tips his chin, flashing those big doe eyes up at him like he’s some innocent little thing. Wonwoo’s convinced he does it just to fuck with him, given that Joshua’s not actually that much smaller, but his alpha hindbrain wags its tail anyways. God, he’s easy.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” Joshua whispers, accusing.
”Sorry,” Wonwoo breathes.
Joshua loops his arms around his neck and leans in close. He smiles, and Wonwoo’s heart drops into his stomach. “Let me return the favour, okay?”
Fuck.
—
Joshua wouldn’t say this is the wisest choice he’s ever made.
He can’t bring himself to care, though.
—
He should’ve known better than to push the envelope. Joshua is, for the most part, as patient as a boyfriend could be. An angel in human form. For the most part.
The clouds of his doom gather overhead when Joshua captures him in a kiss, pushing him deeper into the lecture stage until his back hits the chalkboard with an oof.
Wonwoo was hoping for, at best, to sneak a quick and dirty makeout session before driving Joshua back to his dorm. His private dorm, where they can fuck in the peace and quiet of his bed.
He isn’t expecting, in any universe, in the middle of the lecture hall, to an audience of a hundred empty seats, for Joshua to drop to his knees in front of him.
This is a hallowed hall of education. There’s at least three century old paintings hanging in the hall outside. He thinks the wood panelling might be mahogany. And Joshua is smiling in front of him. On his knees.
Wonwoo glances around frantically, trying to assess the risk of someone just bursting in through the doors unannounced. They have glass windows, for fuck’s sake. Joshua unbuckles his belt. Wonwoo prays that no one has left anything they’re coming back for. Thank god Wonwoo doesn’t attend this school, but if he gets caught they still might put his head on a platter. What the fuck are they doing.
The sensation of warm lips kissing up his navel tugs his attention back to Joshua. He shivers as they drag over his stomach, drifting down, down, down, until Joshua’s mouthing directly over his briefs, where his dick has been pathetically half filled out since mid-afternoon. Insanely enough, the prospect of doing this in a semi-public space hasn’t flagged his hard-on at all. He’s not proud of what that says about him.
He bites back a weak moan as Joshua ghosts a breath over his trapped cock, smirking to himself when it twitches to life. Demon.
Joshua sits back on his heels, hand placed conspicuously next to his waistband. “Wonu-yah.”
Wonwoo summons every ounce of composure he has left in his body to sound unaffected. “Yes?”
Joshua narrows his eyes and yanks the front of his briefs down. The head of Wonwoo’s leaking cock plaps against his stomach in a rude betrayal of his enthusiasm. Joshua snakes his hand around the base of it and tilts his head at him innocently.
“Is there something you wanted?” He strokes him leisurely.
Wonwoo does an amazing job of feigning indifference, even as his entire body temperature ratchets up by three degrees. He pretends to think, just to be an asshole about it. ”Something I wanted? Hm… I don’t knoaunghh!“
Joshua, without breaking eye contact, leans forward and sucks down two of Wonwoo’s fingers.
Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck—
He pulls off of them with a wet pop, kissing the pads of his fingers for good measure. Joshua looks up at him expectantly. “You were saying?”
A single thought remains in the smoking crater that used to be his brain, and it's the velvet heat of Joshua’s tongue.
Wonwoo’s throat bobs uselessly. He could continue being a dick. Or, he could shut the hell up and get his dick sucked by the hottest person he’s ever seen.
“Y-your mouth,” he stammers.
“Hm? My what?” Joshua teases, teasing him with featherlight touches. He smushes his pout against the leaking tip, and Wonwoo’s vision goes a bit dark around the edges. He’s grateful for the solid surface behind him.
“Please, ‘Shua,” he begs.
Joshua hums contentedly, leaving a line of kisses up his shaft. “Want me to blow you, baby?”
Wonwoo nods dumbly. His pupils are probably the size of Saturn’s rings.
Joshua shapes his mouth into a distracting little O. The glint in his eye spells nothing but suffering for him.
“Here?” he says, faux-scandalized, making a big show of looking around the vast lecture hall, as if he didn’t plan this exact scenario down to a science. As if his entire life isn’t spent plotting Wonwoo’s systematic demise, deciding his fate on his behalf like he’s playing dolls. Joshua gives him a pitying look, as if he’s the degenerate here.
“That’s filthy, Wonu-yah. Don’t you know I’m a role model at this school?”
Sometimes, Wonwoo is in such disbelief of Joshua’s full-fat audacity that he circles back around to second guessing his own sanity.
Sometimes, he thinks Joshua just likes to see how far he can push him until he breaks.
And sometimes, Wonwoo takes a plunge based on nothing more than a hunch.
“Actually, ‘Shua,” he murmurs slowly, carefully, the way he’d approach a wild animal, “I think you’ll take what I give you.” A shiver runs through Joshua, his pretty round eyes going wide. Bingo. “Won’t you?”
He scrapes a hand through Joshua’s hair, fist closing in on just this side of tight. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He yanks lightly and Joshua whines, twin pink blotches appearing on his cheeks. “Need someone to tell you what to do?”
He grabs the base of his cock, holding a squirming Joshua still as he smears the wet stickiness across his cheeks. He looks absolutely wrecked, which is coincidentally also how Wonwoo feels. He thumbs Joshua’s mouth open, tapping his cock against his lips.
“Say ah, slut.”
Joshua opens his mouth to protest, and Wonwoo takes the opportunity to cram himself down his throat.
If Joshua had any objections, this is the part where he would bite Wonwoo’s dick off.
Instead, he relaxes his throat and blinks up at him with big teary eyes, allowing himself to be used like a fleshlight. His perfect, rigid self melts into putty under Wonwoo’s hands.
Joshua doesn’t want to ask for this outright. He wants Wonwoo to make him take it.
A dawning clarity unfurls inside him.
He focuses all of his concentration on making his voice come out steady. “I think I like you best like this, ‘Shua,” he says conversationally, gathering his hair in one hand and pushing in a bit deeper. “On your knees, too busy to talk.”
He doesn’t mean it, but Joshua’s answering whines tell him everything he needs to know. Press on bruises. Don’t play nice.
He picks up a shallow rhythm, experimentally slow at first, and then begins fucking his mouth in earnest, and Joshua just lets him, pliant and helpless.
“I think your time would be better spent like this, anyways. Who needs to study hard when you’re this good at sucking cock, right?”
Joshua makes a wet choking noise that, for all intents and purposes of determining Wonwoo’s worth as a human being, shouldn’t make his dick throb as hard as it does.
Tears form at the corners of his eyes, drool sliding down his chin, and only Wonwoo gets to see him like this, gets the privilege of ruining Joshua and building him back anew. A hot possessive streak rips through him.
If Joshua wants him to take him apart piece by piece, then he’ll burn himself to the ground to do it.
Wonwoo wishes he could say he lasted longer. That he was a man of impeccable self-control. That Joshua, on his knees, being made to slurp down his cock with tears in his eyes, is not the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.
He comes like he’s been gut-punched, doubled over and fisting his cock so hard it might fall off. His vision blurs, but the image of Joshua sticking out his tongue to catch his come permanently embeds itself in his brain.
For a moment they just catch their breath, sitting in the wreckage of their depravity.
Slowly, Wonwoo kneels to the ground and gathers Joshua up in his arms, who climbs into his lap like he’s the smallest thing in the world. He holds him like that, caressing him gently.
“Good?” Wonwoo asks, voice hoarse.
Joshua gives a small nod, and it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen, which feels at odds when Wonwoo’s cum is striped across his tear-stained face. He disentagles himself to soak some paper towels with water, and gently wipes his face clean. Wonwoo gives him the rest of the water, so he can take some baby sips and gargle his throat clean.
They pack up their things and get dressed (Wonwoo does, at least) when the sound of Joshua’s scratchy voice shoots pure fear down his spine.
“Jeon Wonwoo, you did not just get cum in my hair!”
—
After ten minutes of using the sink in the all-gender bathroom (“we’re going straight home anyways!” “if you think I’m getting in the car with cum in my hair—“), they finally head to Wonwoo’s car, and Joshua lets them out into the parking lot with the spare keys lent to him by the janitor.
Wonwoo stares at him slack-jawed when he produces them from his pocket.
“You locked the building so we could have sex on campus?”
Joshua scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He locks the door behind them.
“The janitor did. I tutor his daughter sometimes.”
Wonwoo looks at him with a mixture of awe and fear.
“You’re scary, hyung.”
It’s a quiet drive back to his dorm, the previous exhaustion from the day permeating Joshua’s keyed up energy. He’s reached a state of truly delirious being.
It doesn’t help that Wonwoo drives like a dickhead. He doesn’t mean he abandons traffic rules, or cuts people off. He means that Wonwoo drives with one hand under the steering wheel and the other draped leisurely over Joshua’s thigh, spread back in his seat like he isn’t slowly driving Joshua insane.
Because the fucker just got his dick sucked, and the scent of smug, lazy satisfaction is rolling off of him in waves, and there’s only so much a cracked window can do for the heady scent that’s filling up the car.
He is going to cause a traffic accident on purpose.
When they get home, Wonwoo is either blissfully unaware or purposefully ignoring the fact that Joshua is two seconds from jumping his bones.
Who is he kidding? He knows he can smell him.
“Are you hungry?” Wonwoo says.
”Are you hungry?” Joshua mimics very maturely, thank you very much. He sets his bag on the floor and kicks off his shoes. “Shut up and come here.”
Wonwoo looks vaguely amused as Joshua pulls him down for a bruising kiss, finally free to swap spit in the sanctuary of his dorm. Wonwoo is a good kisser, he uses the perfect amount of tongue, and he always holds Joshua like he’s precious, all cradled up in his arms. He savours it for about thirty seconds, and then shoves him onto the bed.
“I’m going to sit on your face now,” Joshua pants, already shimmying out of his clothes, “and you’re going to eat me out until I come.”
The look on Wonwoo’s face would be funny if he weren’t so turned on right now.
“Ow!”
Joshua’s head snaps up from where he’s peeling off his jeans. “What’s wrong?”
“Just pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming,” Wonwoo says with a goofy smile.
“Ughh,” Joshua groans. He climbs the bed, now completely naked, and hovers himself over Wonwoo. He’s dripping wet. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”
He thinks Wonwoo makes a noise like, “hngngh.”
And then he sits on his face.
Wonwoo’s mouth is hot and wet, and his resounding moan ripples through Joshua’s core deliciously. Joshua sighs, and wiggles himself around until he’s found a comfortable angle. He wants to appreciate all the planes of his face, if you know what he means.
With Wonwoo’s nose nudged perfectly against his clit, Joshua grabs the headboard for balance so he doesn’t crush him under his weight.
”Pinch me when you need to breathe,” Joshua instructs.
He feels a puff of warm air, then Wonwoo’s hands come up to his thighs to tug him down further.
“I’m going to suffocate you!”
Wonwoo actually moans at that, and grips Joshua’s hips harder, hard enough to leave little indents.
“Oh, you like that? Such a perv, Wonu-yah.” He grinds himself down on Wonwoo’s tongue, letting out a pleasured little exhale.
Joshua looks down, and almost laughs at the blissed out expression on Wonwoo’s face. He looks like he’s in heaven, eyes rolled back as he languidly works Joshua with his mouth.
“So good with your tongue,” he coos, pleasure zipping up his spine. A warm flush starts to creep its way down Joshua’s chest, honey flowing through his veins. He rocks his hips in time with Wonwoo’s mouth, getting lost in the soft waves of pleasure. He could spend hours here, riding Wonwoo’s face to his heart’s content.
After a bit, Joshua eases up to let him catch his breath, and there’s a string of slick connecting to Wonwoo’s spit-red mouth. His glasses are askew and the lower half of his face is sticky and shiny, and he looks completely fucked out. “Look at you. I’m making such a mess, aren’t I, baby?”
Wonwoo licks his lips, mumbling something along the lines of “keep going.”
Joshua can’t resist scooting down his body to capture his mouth in a messy kiss, a debauched makeout session that’s more spit than sanity. It should be kind of gross to be tasting his own slick on Wonwoo’s tongue, but the fact that he’s the one who smeared it there just makes heat pool in his stomach. Joshua licks a feral stripe up his cheek and feeds back into Wonwoo’s slack mouth, soft and pliant like melted butter. He should ask how he feels about Joshua spitting in his mouth. He tucks the thought away for next time.
He plants one last sloppy kiss and then knee-walks himself back up the bed, thighs straddling Wonwoo’s head. “Ready?”
Wonwoo nods enthusiastically and guides him down to his face this time, positioning Joshua’s hips so that he can get to his clit. He flattens his tongue against it and Joshua keens, stars sparking behind his eyelids.
“Oh my god, do that again.”
So Wonwoo does it, again and again, letting Joshua set the rhythm as he licks and sucks at his clit like gummy candy. The steady repetition of pressure builds up in no time, and the telltale tremble of his thighs begins to give him away.
“Fuck— Wonwoo, baby, I’m— I’m gonna come soon,” he whimpers, rutting against the soft pad of Wonwoo’s tongue.
A divine ache balloons in his core, rising higher and higher, and Joshua slams a hand onto the headboard as the feeling takes him, rocking him over the cliff edge as he falls into an abyss of pleasure.
He rides out the shockwaves of orgasm, a string of babbling moans leaving his lips, and he’s almost finished when suddenly a familiar pressure blooms in his gut, and he doesn’t have time to cry out a warning before a flood of slick gushes out of him, drenching Wonwoo’s face and soaking the pillow below him.
He fucking squirts all over Wonwoo’s face.
He doesn't even have time to savour the sparking aftershocks before mortification floods through him. He forgot that his body was even capable of that, because it happens so rarely and it’s never happened with a partner before. He feels Wonwoo tense up underneath him, and his brain goes blank as he stammers out an apology.
“Oh my god, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that was going to happen…” He slowly pulls off, revealing a Wonwoo who looks absolutely gone from this world. He’s dripping wet. His hairline, his glasses, even the collar of his shirt are absolutely soaked.
“Shit, I… Are you…?”
His rambling trails off when he spots a telltale wet patch on the front of his jeans.
“Oh.”
A wet patch. He drags his gaze up to Wonwoo’s face.
Ruddy cheeks.
He puts two and two together. The flush isn’t from the friction of Joshua’s thighs.
It’s from the blood flowing back to Wonwoo’s face.
Because he just came.
He came untouched.
After Joshua squirted on his face.
“Oh my god,” Joshua repeats, for wholly different reasons this time. “You… you liked that?”
Wonwoo may as well be comatose, for all that no one’s home behind his eyes. Joshua pats his cheek, tacky with slick.
“Baby, you’re scaring me. Please say something.”
Wonwoo finally makes a weak sound from his chest like he’s dying.
Joshua sighs in relief and flops down next to him.
“Gonna give me a heart attack. You’re freakier than I thought, Wonu.”
After what feels like five minutes, Wonwoo finally rolls over in his puddle of bodily fluids.
“I think you permanently broke my dick,” he mutters into the pillow.
Affection swells in Joshua. He leans over to plant a kiss, as gross as he may be. “Well, that won’t do. I wanted you to fuck me with it later.”
“Mmh. Give me fifteen minutes,” Wonwoo says, closing his eyes in the afterglow of Joshua’s drying slick on his face.
Joshua laughs, climbing off of his bed that desperately needs to be stripped. “Come on, get up. If you’re good, I’ll even let you shower with me,” he says.
That gets him up, eventually.
—
After they’ve cleaned themselves, fed themselves, and swapped out the dirty sheets for clean ones, Joshua falls back into bed clutching his debate notebook.
“What did you think of round three?” He asks, settling into his nest of pillows and clicking his pen. “I heard some judges say the motion leaned op.”
Wonwoo settles between the vee of his legs, resting his head on Joshua’s stomach. He told him once it’s his favourite place to lay.
“It was pretty balanced in my room. Mostly because no one really got far enough to draw clashes in the first place,” he says with a soft pinch to Joshua’s thigh. He swats at him in retaliation.
“Mm,” Joshua hums thoughtfully, jotting down some of his notes. He keeps a running list of motion ideas, and documents how they play out if he ends up running them.
Wonwoo rucks up the front of his shirt, nosing at the skin there distractingly. “I talked to your friend Minghao today”
“Oh, yeah? What’d they say?”
“They cornered me in the hallway after round four and asked me a bunch of scary questions.”
Joshua reminds himself to text Minghao about it later.
“And what did you say?”
Wonwoo gets a coy look on his face. “That’s between me and Minghao.”
Oh, he’s so prying this out of them later.
“Keeping secrets from me, huh?”
“Some things are sacred, even between boyfriends.”
He pauses in his scribbling. “What?”
“Some things are sacred,” Wonwoo repeats.
“No, the other thing.”
“Between boyfriends?”
Joshua puts down his pen. “Are we boyfriends?”
Wonwoo has flipped himself around, so he’s now looking at Joshua upside down. “Uhm. Yes? Is that a trick question?”
“No, I just–” He sits up slightly, worrying a thumb between his teeth. “We never talked about it, I guess.”
Wonwoo sits up too, and swivels around so they’re facing each other. He gently takes Joshua’s hand out of his mouth.
“Do you not want to be my boyfriend?”
“Yes–” Wonwoo’s face falls, “I mean– no, I just. I haven’t really thought about it.” Yes, he has. Joshua flounders, flustered. “I don’t do boyfriends,” he says, more as a mantra to himself.
Reluctantly, the corners of Wonwoo’s lips tug upwards. “Oh, you don’t, do you?”
“I really don’t.”
“So, what do you call the guy who buys you takeout, drives you around, listens to you complain about calc homework, fucks you so good you forget your last name–”
Inexplicably, tears prick at Joshua’s eyes. Wonwoo backtracks immediately.
“I-I mean, maybe you call him a friend– a really close friend –but still, just a friend…”
Suddenly, Joshua can’t find a semblance of the protective shell he keeps around his heart anymore. He buries his face into Wonwoo’s chest.
“I don’t want that,” he whispers like a secret confessed, blinking his tears away.
Wonwoo’s shoulders slump in relief.
“No? You wanna be mine?”
Joshua nods. He doesn’t think Wonwoo will mind if he uses his t-shirt as a rag. It’s his t-shirt after all.
“I’m going to need to hear the words out loud, baby.”
Joshua pulls his head out from its safe burrow. Wonwoo is looking down at him, fondly amused.
“Will you be my boyfriend, Jeon Wonwoo?”
His expression is replaced by one of solemn earnestness. He cups Joshua’s face in his hands.
“Hong Jisoo, I want nothing more than that.”
He sniffles. “And you’re not just saying that because I blew you three hours ago?”
Wonwoo laughs, and there’s that beautiful lopsided grin. He likes him so much. “I would feel the same way if you never blew me again.”
Joshua leans up for a kiss, and Wonwoo meets him halfway, soft and affectionate and easy. He wants to keep him like this forever.
He nestles his head against his chest. Wonwoo strokes his cheek with a gentle hand.
“That being said, please feel free to continue blowing me whenever– OW!”
—
To Minghao
what did u say to wonwoo earlier
lol
I asked him if jun was single
oh
hahah
he made it sound like you asked him something scandalous
well
I also asked if it was true that he helped you through your heat before knowing what your major was
XU MINGHAO