THE REAL DEAL ;ppppp (smirks)
San wakes in the morning with his head pounding and sweat-drenched sheets wrapped around his legs.
The bright morning sun hits red against the back of his eyelids and he winces, pulling the sheets up to his face to hide them from the light. He usually closes his blackout curtains before he goes to bed but he must have been too drunk last night to remember to do it before going to sleep.
He groans, turning his face into the pillow. He feels like someone is taking a blunt metal object to the back of his skull and his mouth is so dry his throat feels like sandpaper.
He tries to remember what day it is— does he have a job today? No, he did Wooyoung's makeup for the big magazine interview yesterday, which means today he can do whatever he—
Wooyoung.
Panicked, San flips over in bed, wincing when his head pounds in protest at the sudden movement. He sits up, scanning his room in a panic, last night's memories flooding back to him. The other side of his bed is empty, Wooyoung nowhere to be found, but now that San's sleep-induced haziness is fading away, flashes of last night keep popping up in his memory, heightened by the soft floral and cinnamon scent of Wooyoung still clinging on his sheets.
"Fuck me harder, alpha," Wooyoung had pleaded, hands wrapped around the iron headboard, back arched as he fucked himself back on San's cock. Bright red handprints on his ass and hickeys trailing down his thighs with slick dripping down them and pooling into the bedsheets— San fucking into him hard and fast, Wooyoung taunting that he wants more, wants San to knot him, to stretch him so full it hurts.
San's cheeks flush hot red and he scrubs his hand up and down his face, still sticky from last night's sweat and who knows what else. It's all a blur, but he remembers how good it felt to have Wooyoung shaking and moaning underneath him, simultaneously begging for San's cock but also taking control at the same time.
If it wasn't a dream— which San isn't convinced of— it was the best fucking sex he has ever had and could ever dream of having in his life.
Which puts him in an even bigger dilemma than he was in before. It was enough when he was in love with Wooyoung and thought he was the most beautiful being in existence, but if they also have sexual compatibility then he isn't sure if he can physically even handle being around him anymore.
So basically, life sucks.
He forces himself out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweats, cringing at the stickiness on his thighs. He's desperate for a shower but wants to find Wooyoung first, feeling bad about sleeping in so much later than him and not giving him a proper breakfast after bringing him back to his place last night.
But when he opens the door to the living room and scans it, Wooyoung is nowhere to be found.
He cringes at his roommate's pile of dishes in the sink, embarrassed that he even let Wooyoung come over in this state, but then again Wooyoung knows all about his trainwreck of a roommate and he was probably too drunk last night to care or notice it, so he supposes it doesn't matter. But he makes a mental note to spend the day cleaning his place.
"Wooyoung?" San calls out tentatively, as if he's hiding behind a door or something, but he knows he must have left already. Based on the sun beating through the window it must be at least noon, so he probably left already to attend a schedule or something for his new song release, and San can't blame him for leaving in a rush.
He pads back into his bedroom to find his phone— it takes him a second to find his pants, which are still belted and crumpled on the floor next to the bed.
