my heart is filled with your traces; hoya/sungjong; pg-13; 1.9k words
nothing can feel better than this, howon thinks as he kisses him, deeper and hotter and rougher even though they both know that they have plenty of time to take their time.
the others either have a schedule or they’re out in the spacious living room with the tv humming quietly in the background and he knows they’re all probably sleeping and cuddling together to keep warm in their tank tops and sweats because they’re too lazy to get up and get blankets right at that moment, and it’s deafeningly silent in the room-- so loud that it could rival the sound of howon’s own thumping heartbeat ringing in his ears.
sungjong’s nearly gasping for breath when howon starts trailing his lips down the corner of his mouth and along his jawline and mouthing at the pale column of the boy’s neck. he’s making those special little whines that howon knows only he can pull out of him-- him who acts so cute at the fans and their expensive cameras that howon doesn’t know whether to puke or laugh; him who is so defiant in his expressions and actions around his hyungs that it’s almost like he’s the leader instead of the youngest; him who seems to enjoy it way too much when howon takes his sweet darling time kissing and licking and biting and nibbling and sucking on his neck that tastes of dried sweat even after showering.
when howon tries to kiss at the little mole right at the end of his ear, he barely pays attention to the slender fingers he knows so well tangling in his still-wet hair and eventually tugging hard enough where he hisses and reluctantly pulls back.
pulling back to see sungjong with his large eyes half-lidded and hazy, a light pink dusting on his cheeks and neck, his mouth parted and desperately rushing air back into his lungs with his pretty pretty scarlet lips (obscene, howon thinks), wet hair staining the pure white pillow even though sungjong had bragged about how quickly his hair dried with his hair all short now (and all howon could focus on was how he missed his longer hair and how it brushed against his neck and it was easier to run his fingers through his hair and how it added to the fact that sungjong looks like a cherub), wearing one of howon’s shirts, a bit too big for howon himself that was even bigger on sungjong and his tiny frame where it slid off one of his shoulders, hiked up on his stomach and gathered around his chest and showing off his pretty pretty skin and dusty nipples, shorts that he’s had for years that still fit him and showed just how riled up he was getting, and his slender legs parted and resting on each side of howon where he’s kneeled between them.
and howon can’t really help it when his chest aches a bit when the moonlight hits the window and the thin curtains in a way that he’s simply glowing-- leaving delicate little patterns across sungjong’s stomach and neck and under his eyes.
he surges forward and instead presses fleeting little chaste kisses against his mouth and sungjong grins and hums against him as his hands abandon the wrinkled sheets where he had been clenching them in favor of the hair that won’t keep out of howon’s eyes.
howon tries to detach himself and finally succeeds after many tries because sungjong seemed to not want to release the death grip he had on the back of howon’s head. he pulls back far enough to see the ridiculously innocent look on his face, as if he hadn’t nearly suffocated both of them because he wanted to keep licking into howon’s mouth.
he rolls his eyes and continues placing small little presses across his face-- his cheekbones, each of his eyelids, the center of his forehead, the left of his temple, trailing down and down and teasingly blowing air in his ear that elicits a whisper of a giggle that howon always teases him for, the mole at the end of his ear that sungjong says he pays way too much attention to (he can’t really help it) and biting under his jaw, harshly, just the way they both like it because it’s usually the loudest sungjong could ever get and howon just enjoys the fact that he could get that kind of response every time, except, this time, he whines so loudly that it could’ve woken up the other members.
howon slaps his hand over sungjong’s mouth in the middle of it, the warm gusts of air hitting his palm making the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, and the action seems to spur something in the younger boy because he just continues to mewl, obscenely and even louder, and lifts his hips up to shamelessly grind against howon’s hip.
and he could feel him, hard and warm, and howon wants to take him right there.
except, no, he can’t-- shouldn’t. because it’s been so long since they’ve had time to themselves and there’s a point in time when there’s just so many lingering glances and fleeting touches and fisting his cock so quickly and roughly he has to bite his tongue in the shower before it all becomes too much.
he makes himself take it slower-- wanting to drag this on for as long as possible until sungjong would rather kill him before getting off.
he takes off sungjong’s shirt and he’s just about the pounce in on all that clean skin that nearly makes howon’s mouth water when the hem of his shirt is being tugged at and he gets what sungjong is saying and quickly sheds his shirt before the boy gets impatient and pushes at howon’s chest until his back is on the bed and he’s in control for as long as he wants because he knows how much of a giant pushover howon is for sungjong and sungjong only.
there are hands all over him instantly-- grasping at his shoulders and biceps, running down his chest, lingering on the abs that howon believes he needs to work more on, and even touching the little dusting of hair that continues lower and lower and sungjong’s hands (warm and burning trails on his skin) come back up again to grasp behind howon’s neck and tug him down so forcefully he nearly falls on top of the boy as he’s the one being left gasping for air while sungjong licks his way roughly into his mouth.
howon pulls away and sungjong even chases after him and whines when he can’t reach up farther where he’s nearly sitting on top of his hips. he does that dumb little pout that he knows usually gets him what he wants, except howon’s not having any of that and pushes sungjong’s shoulders hard enough where he’s flat back on the bed and rolls his eyes because he knows that sungjong secretly likes it when he gets like this.
and howon likes it too-- giving him the opportunity to worship and take care of sungjong’s body like it deserves to be.
he comes back to his neck again-- lovely and clear and so much skin that it’s nearly begging to be marked again and again (and sungjong would let him except that they have some sort of schedule tomorrow and they both know how howon is with his sucking and biting at his neck and sungjong’s inability to keep his hands away). yet, howon bites and licks and sucks as much as he wants without letting himself get carried away and sungjong hums, his hands roaming into his hair and down his broad shoulders and down his arms and back up and trailing down his back and making a grab at his butt.
howon exhales through his nose in a sort of mix of laughter and surprise and he can feel sungjong’s shoulders shake as his hands continue to touch as much as he can.
and howon gets to the little scar underneath his chin from when sungjong had went hiking on his own because he likes doing that (for some strange reason) and he had come back with a bit of dried blood and everyone had been slightly panicking because sungjong’s skin. it’s small enough where the right touches of makeup would hardly make it noticeable, and it’s hardly noticeable now, yet it feels like it’s all he can focus on as he chastely kisses it.
and he can’t stop himself when he’s slinking down sungjong’s body and kissing everything that litters the clean expanse of his skin.
(a little dark mark near his eye because one of their stylists was a bit too sleep-deprived and was handed a straightener to use on an idol that has eyes on their body at all times)
(a crooked scar along his collarbone because he had insisted on holding the stray cat even when he had bled and bled deep and howon had always known one day that his love for all sorts of animals would bite him back)
(a tiny little mosquito bite that was nearly gone by now but still had sungjong scratching at it even more often than when he had first gotten it during a late night walk)
(a clean slanted line on the palm of his right hand that cut right through his life line when he was a bit overzealous while helping with the cooking and nearly bled into the soup)
(a tiny straight line on the hollow of his hips that sungjong refuses to talk about and it makes howon’s heart stutter)
(a fading bruise on the side of his thigh that resulted from dance practice and their slippery floor covered in sweat because all of them had been too lazy to wipe any of it away)
(a jagged line where he slipped on a stair and nearly cut himself open and what the hell was he supposed to say to that?)
he really wants to dedicate his time to each and every single blemish scarring his skin because he dislikes them as much as he likes them and he thinks that a boy this beautiful and young should be laughing in the sun instead of working himself exhausted during the night. there’s so many other interesting scars with even more interesting stories, and there’s even the little moles and dots that he feels like he doesn’t appreciate as much, except he can tell that sungjong is starting to get really impatient with his quiet little huffs and his complete stopping to touching every single inch of howon he could get and he could even hear his slowing heartbeat if he holds his breath and listens closely or wraps his fingers around sungjong’s tiny little wrists.
“take your time,” sungjong huffs again and howon knows he would be crossing his arms over his chest if he could, “it’s not like i’ve been incredibly turned on for longer than necessary or anything.”
he rolls his eyes, fondly, of course, and presses his palm against him, straining against too many layers of fabric. sungjong inhales sharply and his hips lift up against the bed, silently asking for more.
“oh, i know.”
“if you know then stop teasing and hurry up.”
howon shuts him up with a kiss and rushes to shove off his shorts and underwear at the same time.