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“Laopo?”
The fan approves it, smiling brightly and congratulating him in both Mandarin and Korean even though Hongjoong is aware he completely messed up the intonation.
“Wooyoung is a laopo?” He asks in english, she nods excitedly. “What does it mean?”
She giggles, and it’s Hongjoong turn to smile guileless. The second time was even worse than the first. But she seems content with his sloppy pronunciation.
“Wife,” She explains in broken Korean, but the connection lags, and Hongjoong misses it. He tells her, and she repeats it, slower and using English too. “Wi-fe.”
He laughs, autopilot. She looks a bit embarrassed and he wonders the real roots of the nickname. It fits Wooyoung, all right. He says so, to her utter delight.
“He’s a good cook, and he’s really pretty. Like, like,” She gushes. Hongjoong has half the mind to play jealousy. But she had showered him with compliments as soon as the call started, and the numerous Wooyoung posters behind her discourage him a little. It’s not like she’s lying anyway.
“Like a wife?” He adds when she starts to get lost in her rambling. She nods again, eagerly.
There's around a minute left for the call to end, and she must realize it too because soon she’s back at thanking him for leading ATEEZ so well and asking him to stay healthy. Hongjoong thanks her back, tries his luck with what he remembers from his Mandarin classes. We appreciate your support. I love you. Let’s meet soon.
The minute is over. She’s gone and someone else is on the line. Hongjoong shares a glimpse with Wooyoung, three chairs away from him, and feels something inside his chest swell with the pale smile on the younger’s face.
Wife, huh?
…
Summer’s been cruel.
It’s Saturday and Hongjoong went back to the dorm to take a shower and maybe annoy Seonghwa to relieve some stress. His nape is damp, and there’s a thrum under his skin that he can’t quite pinpoint.
The air is humid, but the rain season is taking its sweet time to pour over them. The response is shirts clinging to your back, the sun bright and merciless. It’s tiring to speak, and it’s tiring to get up and go to work. Hongjoong hates it.
The housekeeping service keeps the dorm in order whenever comeback month is on them, and despite their best efforts (most Seonghwa’s, if he’s being truly honest), the difference is stark. The entryway has shoes scattered around, San’s sneakers without laces on top of Yunho’s slippers.
Hongjoong groans, already gearing up his ‘keep your things in place or I’ll kill you’ speech. He half-willingly picks the shoes and tucks them inside the cabinet along with his own pair.
He’s ready to go straight to his room but the smell of meat has taken over the kitchen area, distracting. Hongjoong does a mental check-list of the member’s whereabouts (Yunho and San are in the gym, Seonghwa is napping, Jongho and Yeosang are recording and Mingi is in the studio).
He doubts Seonghwa already woke up, considering they were all on their feet before the sun was out. Which leaves only one person left.
Wooyoung is wearing a white apron Hongjoong's never seen before. It’s tight around his waist, the string pressing in a way that can’t be comfortable against the skin of his nape. It might redden when he takes it off.
Hongjoong first considers leaving the kitchen, letting the other cook in peace. He’d noticed Wooyoung mulling over something for the past few days and the politics between them is to always wait until the other is ready to come so he’s not going to push.
Wooyoung leans over whatever is stirring on the pot, dipping a spoon inside and bringing it to his mouth, tsking after and turning around to look for what’s supposedly lacking. He catches Hongjoong staring, and god, what kind of expression is that?
His eyes narrow, eyebrows quirking. He cocks his hip to the side, hands settling on his sides. Plush lips parting.
Maybe it's the apron, that's white and makes Wooyoung look extra soft. Or Hongjoong, who's fucking starved.
Wooyoung opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Hongjoong is cutting him.
"Did you know," Fuck. His throat is so dry it hurts. "Did you know some fans are calling you wife?"
Wooyoung frowns. "What?"
Hongjoong wore a button-up today. There was a reunion early in the morning, he was representing all the members. Dressing up is important. He pops open the first three buttons, rolls the cuffs up to his elbows, flexes his fingers.
Wooyoung watches him approach warily.
"Chinese atiny, I think. Laopo."
He has been practicing it, the term rolling smoothly on his tongue. Nearly perfect. 老婆.
Hongjoong corners Wooyoung against the stove, reveling in how the younger let him do as he pleases even if he's not quite where Hongjoong is yet.
He leans forward, mouthing at the tender skin of Wooyoung's neck, "I wonder… Who's the husband, laopo?"
Wooyoung is deliciously sensitive. Touch-starved even though Hongjoong can’t keep his hands off him. His body always ready to respond to the feeblest of the touches. He squirms, fingers surging up to pull at Hongjoong's strands, a surprised squeak leaving his mouth.
"Hyung! What are you doing?!" He whispers-screams. "I-ah. What's wrong with you?"
Hongjoong slides his hands under the other's shirt. Wooyoung smells like vanilla. He probably changed his body wash, which used to be neutral. Hongjoong wants to bend him over the counter.
He settles his hands on Wooyoung’s hips, taking two steps back to put space between them. Wooyoung is a mess already, gaze hazy, all fight gone from his body. Hongjoong flips him around, pressing their bodies together and Wooyoung’s front against the stove.
“Hyung, I’m cooking…” Wooyoung moans, low in his throat when Hongjoong takes advantage of the position and sinks teeth on his shoulder over the cloth of the shirt.
Hongjoong thinks he’s losing it. The clothes are tight on him, everything feels too much. Wooyoung shivers against him, and he’s so quiet, so...
“Then cook. I’m not stopping you.”
It’s the conjecture of things, he decides. Vanilla, white apron, cooking for his members even if he’s just as tired. It’s Wooyoung as a whole. The summer heat makes things less bearable, Hongjoong is struggling to keep his craving in check. He needs to eat.
Wooyoung turns the fire off, “How, with you all over me l-like this?” Hongjoong peers over his shoulders to inspect the pots, beef sauce, how cute.
“You want me to stop?” He asks, though his fingers stay restless. Wooyoung swallows dry but says nothing. “I asked a question, laopo.”
Hongjoong tucks his face in, his teeth grazing lightly over skin. He wants to mark, doesn’t matter tomorrow the managers are going to give them hell for it. The urge to have Wooyoung covered in pretty red is filling up his mind quicker than any other thought and there’s only so much Hongjoong can work hard for.
“Not here,” Wooyoung’s voice is shaky, but his hands are firm where he stops Hongjoong’s wandering ones. Hongjoong almost pouts, he was this close to his nipples. “Yeosangie, he’s… Hm, schedule?”
“Recording,” Hongjoong reminds. He lets go of Wooyoung, smirking when the other’s hands fly to the stove’s edges for balance. He breathes out harshly, the apron untied from all his fussing. “He and Jongho. They’ll be back in two hours or so. Yeosang said something about eating out.”
He helps Wooyoung put the apron properly again, tying the string with more force than necessary. Wooyoung doesn’t even blink, seemingly caught on in another thread.
“Eating out? After I told him I’d cook? That ingrate.”
Hongjoong laughs. “Oh my god, they should be calling you mother instead of Seonghwa. What’s up with the attitude?”
Wooyoung pouts, wrapping around him like an octopus, “I’m trying to do something nice here, hyung.” He whines.
Hongjoong cradles his neck with both hands, and Wooyoung leans on the touch eagerly. He looks worn out, a certain redness around his eyes. As a leader, he knows he needs to sit him down and make him talk. As whatever else they are, he wants to kiss the worry out of him. The difference is not subtle at all.
It’s the heat making him choose wrong.
“You’re not going to fuck me in this apron,” Wooyoung states on their way to the room he shares with Jongho and Yeosang. Hongjoong barely builds his complaint and is interrupted. “I bought it yesterday and I’m not letting your weird kink ruin it, hyung. Don’t even think about it.”
“I can buy you another."
“Nope!” Wooyoung replies, running the rest of the path to the bedroom.
With just a touch around his elbow, Hongjoong gets Wooyoung on his back. It gives him a lot more space to work with and consequently forces Wooyoung to open up. It’s rare for them to fuck in this position, the younger always too stubborn to give in. But today he’s pliant like a doll. Hongjoong sits between his legs, pushes and his back meets the mattress. Wooyoung is still in his briefs and oversized shirt, jaw hanging low. Hongjoong can see his Adam’s apple moving while he works to swallow saliva down his throat.
Like this, he’s the complete opposite of sin. If Hongjoong ever thinks about it, the corrupt one has to be himself. Trying to taint the angel’s ivory wings with dark desire.
He nudges the other’s thighs apart with his hands, slowly, guzzling all the embarrassed sounds that keep escaping Wooyoung’s lips.
Hongjoong dips his head, bringing the cloth of Wooyoung’s underwear between his teeth and dragging it down his legs. Now that’s obscene. He thinks as Wooyoung’s cock springs up free, fully hard and shading an angry red.
“No, hyung, ah, that’s not…” He trails off when Hongjoong lets go halfway, licking the extension of his cock once then enveloping the head with his mouth entirely.
He is far from a die-hard fan of blowjobs, nothing like Wooyoung, who’d suck him off in public if he didn’t set up limits (which Hongjoong understands, somehow. If he had a mouth like that, he’d probably want to give head every given time too). But he’s in the mood, invested in having the younger crumbling under him.
Funny enough, Wooyoung is not the type to try and claim control. He stuffs two of his long fingers inside his mouth to shut himself. It’s good as nothing, the noises coming out louder, sloppier, wetter.
He sets hands on each side of Wooyoung's hips, stopping him from bucking up, and takes in his whole shaft. Usually, Hongjoong needs time, teasing the other until he’s stripping off shyness, maybe shedding a tear or two. Today, his impatience is ticking all the wrong sides of his brain.
He bobs his head up and down, drool rolling down Wooyoung’s cock. The pace is messy, no rhythm at all and in case Hongjoong was a bit more himself he’d laugh at them for getting off with possibly the worst blowjob in history.
It’s only when Wooyoung’s whimpers change into moans and his thighs begin to quiver under his grip that Hongjoong pulls off. Wooyoung whines, sniffling a little when Hongjoong hushes him.
“Are you going to get mean on me, now?” He asks, voice hoarse, bordering on brittle.
“Mean?” Hongjoong repeats, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought I was just giving you what you wanted, laopo.”
“Stop calling me this,” Wooyoung bristles. Hongjoong laughs, the laopo doesn’t like getting called laopo. How hilarious.
He leaves Wooyoung unattended for a moment to go in search of the lube he knows the other keeps stacked in his bottom drawer. He takes off his clothes, not caring in the slightest if they rumple up on the floor.
In his absence, Wooyoung also did quick work of his clothes, underwear, and shirt out of the way (probably in a pile similar to Hongjoong’s).
Prepping is heaven in this position. Wooyoung spreads his legs even more, hooking them on each side of Hongjoong’s waist to give him space. His face is flustered and his lips are bitten raw, tiny cuts here and there.
Hongjoong is close to slobbering, hunger has reached peak point and food is on the table.
From then on, it’s all fogged up. Hongjoong mouths at Wooyoung’s nipples as he works him open, both because he knows it eases the pain and because Wooyoung’s moans hitch lewd when he’s near overstimulation. Wooyoung cries and paws him away when Hongjoong starts to get too engrossed.
“I-if you m-make me come I, I won’t have energy,” He stammers, though the constant swaying his hips work against Hongjoong’s knuckles never really stop. But he’s right, nonetheless and Hongjoong draws his fingers out.
It’s a sweet scene. Wooyoung pants, drool running the corners of his mouth.
“Like this or you prefer to ride me?” Hongjoong doesn’t care. Wooyoung is the one that gets bossy when it comes to details.
The younger looks at him through half-lidded eyes, “Like this. Feels you better.” Hongjoong swallows dry. It must be bad if he’s down this soon.
When he lines up against Wooyoung, it’s with his face buried against the crook of the other’s neck. Hongjoong pushes in with his senses tuned, waiting for any sign of discomfort, except he bottoms out and Wooyoung is quiet if not sharp intakes of air.
Hongjoongs twists around so he can pat the younger’s head, an odd gentle gesture in their current situation, but not uncommon when it comes to them. Hongjoong often finds himself fond of Wooyoung in the weirdest times. When he’s screaming so loudly Hongjoong can hear from his bedroom, when he washes the dishes despite being someone else's duty, when he comes back from home complaining about Kyungmin but proceeds to wreak havoc through the dorm with San.
Hongjoong has come to think of loving Wooyoung as something adjacent to being human. It makes it easier to think it’s not only him. His feelings have less of a chance of getting too bare on his lyrics.
He rolls his hips in tandem with Wooyoung’s ragged breathing. Wooyoung is tight. His insides flaming hot, cramped walls working to expel him while his hands hold Hongjoong in like a lifeline.
A constant contradiction.
A clearer part of his brain murmurs he should savor up, and Hongjoong finds on him to straighten up. This way he has the god-sent view of Wooyoung plastered on his cock. He’s flexible, Hongjoong could bend him in half if they had time.
“Fuck. Look at you, Young-ah.” He’s half-delirious. Talking about eating when Wooyoung is the one taking him this well. “So, so pretty. Hyung wants to keep you forever.”
They’re both talkers, each in their own way. Hongjoong is all about making his partner feel good. Wooyoung… Well, Wooyoung runs his mouth.
“Am I?” He starts, eyes wide-open when Hongjoong jostles inside him harsher than expected. “Pretty, yet you leave me on my own all day long, yeobo.”
Hongjoong halts, his mind filling with balloons and static noise for a second. Wooyoung smiles at him, the freshness of recently shed tears making him look like the hand-painted beacon of innocence.
When consciousness reaches him, Wooyoung has crossed ankles on his back in a display of slyness that doesn’t match the desperation in his eyes. Hongjoong seizes his thighs in a bruising grip, slamming straight against his prostate.
Wooyoung’s head lolls back, exposing the extension of his neck, veins jutting out. The sounds he makes, Hongjoong is not strong enough for this.
He goes deep enough there’s nowhere else to go, and it’s obvious he’s hitting all the right angles because Wooyoung is sobbing under him. The tears flow freely down his cheeks, and he sounds wrecked without reversal.
“I-it’s b-been days, yeobo,” Wooyoung cries. “I-if I’m so pretty y-you should fuck me e-everyday.”
In his primal-driven brain, Hongjoong considers it. Fucking Wooyoung over the counter like he pictured earlier, on the couch, against the bathroom walls. Just the two of them, he’s not a fan of sharing. Fantasy blends with reality, and he sees every time he comes from the studio, exhausted, and Wooyoung is around, waiting. That one time Hongjoong didn’t mind his tone and ordered Wooyoung to get his food ready.
It’s stupid but gets him snapping his hips faster than ever.
He comes first, closing his teeth around Wooyoung’s ribs to muffle himself. Wooyoung shrieks and when he detaches himself from the other, there are prominent marks of teeth on his skin. Hongjoong winces, making an internal note to apologize later.
“Want me to jerk you o-off?” Hongjoong asks, stumbling on the last part. He feels like he just fought off a fever.
“C-can you keep going? I’m almost there,” Wooyoung mumbles. He’s still crying, though quieter now.
Hongjoong smiles, nodding and digging his fingers in Wooyoung’s tummy just to see him mewl.
Cute, cute.
Wooyoung comes with Hongjoong’s shallow thrusts, true to his words, not long after. Hongjoong pulls out, watching his cum trickle out the other’s hole. He drops by Wooyoung’s side and entangles their legs together.
“Are you mad at me?” He checks to make sure, nuzzling against Wooyoung’s nape. It’s the vanilla scent. Hongjoong doesn’t even like post-sex cuddling. Besides, Wooyoung looks like he needs it.
The younger sags against him, “Mnh, no. I’m just tired. We’ve been busy.”
Hongjoong hooks his chin over his shoulder. “Wanna talk about it later?” A nod. “If we get up now, I think we can manage a longer shower and a quick change of sheets.”
He knows Wooyoung is scrunching up his nose without seeing him. The cum between his legs must be drying.
Hongjoong kisses his cheeks, pressing his teeth against the flesh lightly. Wooyoung complains.
It’s good to be home.