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“Youngie, we can't.”
“I know, puppy.” On the surface, Wooyoung sounds apologetic, but underneath, there’s a meanness to his tone that only makes Yeosang harder. “But you wish we could, right?”
There’s no point in denying it. Yeosang loves Yeonjun, but he wishes that he was going to be an hour late so that there was enough time for Wooyoung to fuck him right here, hips snapping hard enough to slam him into the wall, balanced on his tiptoes so that he could bite the back of Yeosang’s neck when he filled him up.
“Yes,” Yeosang answers, gasping as Wooyoung’s hand drifts down lower, past his navel and then lower still, curling around where he’s hard and aching. “Want that so bad. But we-”
“I may not be able to fuck you,” Wooyoung interrupts, breath hot against the curve of Yeosang’s cheek, “but that doesn’t mean I have to leave you high and dry either.” The pressure disappears on Yeosang’s cock, but only because Wooyoung has brought his hand up higher, bullying it between Yeosang’s chest and the wall until Yeosang can feel Wooyoung’s palm brushing the underside of his chin. “Spit.”