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The apartment was warm and still, thick with late-afternoon haze. Wooyoung stepped inside quietly, loosening his tie with one hand and kicking his shoes off at the door. His body ached from a long day, but more than that — he missed home. He missed him.
“San?” he called out, softer than usual.
No answer. Not at first.
Then—just barely audible over the distant hum of the city outside—the sound of his name, cracked and breathy:
“…Woo…young…”
Wooyoung froze mid-step. That voice—it wasn’t just a call. It was a moan.
He followed the sound down the hall, eyes narrowing with concern, but the closer he got, the more he realized there wasn’t pain in that voice.
There was need.
The bedroom door was open, light spilling across the threshold, and when he stepped inside, he stopped short.
San was on the bed.
Sitting in the middle of the mattress, his back against the headboard, legs spread wide and relaxed. He was only half-dressed—an oversized, well-worn t-shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder, just barely long enough to reach his thighs. His swollen belly stretched the fabric taut, round and full, the shirt riding up in soft wrinkles just under his chest. No pants—only a pair of pale panties clinging between his thighs, the cotton darkened visibly in the middle.
He looked utterly wrecked already.
His cheeks were flushed, mouth open and glistening, his hair mussed where he’d been rubbing it back in frustration. His heavy breasts rose and fell with each shaky breath, dark nipples poking through the thin fabric of the shirt, already damp with milk.
“Woo…” he whimpered again when he saw him. “You’re home.”
Wooyoung didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He was staring, helpless, his bag slipping off his shoulder and landing softly on the carpet.
San was 9 months pregnant now. Gloriously round, impossibly soft. He looked so full—his belly heavy in the center of his lap, his thighs wide and trembling, the outline of his puffy cunt visible through the soaked cotton.
“What…” Wooyoung began, voice rough. “What are you doing, baby?”
San whimpered again, wriggling slightly in place. “I got needy…”
He sounded miserable about it—but not really. He sounded desperate.
“I wanted you. I tried not to—but the baby was kicking and I kept thinking about you—your voice, your hands—how full I am for you—” His voice broke into a moan, high and breathy, and Wooyoung almost fell to his knees on the spot.
San reached out for him, eyes glassy. “Come here…”
Wooyoung moved on instinct. He crossed the room quickly, but gently, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. San didn’t wait. He climbed straight into his lap, straddling him with effort, breathing hard as he settled against Wooyoung’s chest.
The weight of him—his belly pressing between them, his thighs shaking, his pussy leaking through the thin barrier—hit Wooyoung like a drug.
San leaned forward and kissed him.
Wet. Open-mouthed. Needy.
His hands clutched Wooyoung’s shirt like he couldn’t bear any space between them, tongue sliding past his lips without hesitation, sucking on him like he needed to drink him.
Wooyoung groaned against his mouth. “Fuck. You’re so wet.”
“You make me like this,” San gasped, pulling back just an inch. “You got me pregnant, and now my whole body just… wants you.”
He rolled his hips forward once, and Wooyoung felt it—the heat and wetness through both layers of clothing. The smell of him. The need.
“I’ve been like this all afternoon,” San whispered. “Leaking, aching, swollen. I kept touching myself—just over the panties—but it wasn’t enough. I need you, Woo.”
Wooyoung swallowed thickly, hands tightening around San’s wide hips. “Baby…”
San shivered as Wooyoung’s fingers skimmed beneath the hem of the shirt, palms resting reverently on the curve of his stomach. His bump was massive now—round and warm and taut under Wooyoung’s hands, his skin stretched over their child.
“I’m so full,” San whispered, lips brushing his ear. “I want to feel you stretch me more.”
And that was the end of it. Whatever restraint Wooyoung had left began to snap.
But he moved slowly.
His hands slid up—one to San’s breast, still clothed but heavy and damp; the other to the bump again, rubbing lazy circles as he breathed against San’s neck.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Swollen, leaking, dripping for me…”
San’s moan was high and soft and helpless, trembling against his lips.
---
Wooyoung couldn’t stop touching him.
San was in his lap, soft and flushed and trembling, his round belly warm between them, rising and falling with every needy breath. He was already a mess—his panties soaked through, thighs damp and quivering, but it was the way his shirt clung to his chest that finally unraveled Wooyoung’s last thread of self-control.
The fabric was stretched taut over San’s breasts—so full and swollen, heavy from late pregnancy, the dark outline of his nipples obvious beneath the cotton. Damp spots had bloomed over both peaks, slowly spreading as more milk leaked through, warm and sweet and steady.
Wooyoung swallowed hard. “Take this off,” he said quietly, tugging the hem. “Let me see you, baby.”
San hesitated, squirming a little as he raised his arms. “It’s embarrassing…” he whispered. “I’ve been leaking so much today…”
“You’re glowing,” Wooyoung murmured, reverent. “You're perfect.”
He tugged the shirt upward slowly—inch by inch—exposing San’s stretched belly first, then the underside of his breasts. The shirt stuck slightly to the skin where it was wet, peeling away with a sticky sound that made both of them shiver. By the time the shirt was off, Wooyoung’s breath had completely left him.
San flushed all the way down to his chest. “Don’t stare…”
“I can’t not stare,” Wooyoung whispered. “God, look at you.”
San’s breasts were stunning—high, round, impossibly full, the skin flushed and tight, nipples thick and glossy with fresh milk. It dripped in slow beads, sliding down the curve of his chest, tracing paths toward the swell of his belly.
“You’re leaking just from sitting here?” Wooyoung asked, eyes locked to the way the milk gathered and spilled, rhythmically, endlessly.
“I can’t help it,” San whimpered. “I kept thinking about you. My boobs feel so full all day, so hot. I’m soaked by the afternoon and I haven’t even touched them—just thinking about you sucking them—ah—!”
He gasped as Wooyoung leaned in and kissed the tip of one, barely grazing the nipple with his mouth.
“You’re so sensitive,” Wooyoung whispered. “You need relief, don’t you?”
San nodded quickly, shame flushed across his cheeks. “Please… It hurts a little. They’re so heavy.”
“Then let me help, baby,” Wooyoung murmured.
He cupped one breast in both hands, marveling at the weight, the fullness. Milk beaded at the tip again, and Wooyoung caught it with his tongue. San gasped.
“Woo—ngh!”
He latched on.
San cried out immediately, voice cracking as Wooyoung suckled deeply, the first real pull sending a hot rush of milk onto his tongue. He groaned low in his throat, swallowing slowly, his lips sealed perfectly around the swollen nipple.
San’s fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, hips rocking helplessly in his lap.
“F-Fuck,” San moaned, already panting. “It’s—it’s so much—I can feel it coming out—!”
“You taste like heaven,” Wooyoung mumbled around his mouthful, suckling again—slower, stronger this time, tongue swirling. The milk spilled over his lips, trailing down San’s chest. He didn’t stop to wipe it—he chased it with his mouth instead, licking his way back to the leaking tip.
San was crying softly now, overwhelmed. His hands went to Wooyoung’s head, clutching at his hair as he whimpered, “Please—more—suck harder, I can’t—need you to take it—my boobs feel like they’re gonna burst—!”
Wooyoung let out a growl and obeyed, wrapping his lips tighter, suckling harder now, using his tongue to stimulate the tip with every pull. He felt the milk let down again, warm and fast, and he swallowed hungrily, greedy for every drop.
San sobbed above him.
“Ahhh—yes—yes—oh my god—Woo—feels so good—” His fingers pushed Wooyoung’s head down, forcing him to take more, to suck deeper. “Please—don’t stop—don’t stop, just keep drinking—!”
Wooyoung groaned, switched to the other breast, and did the same—licking, latching, suckling. He massaged the base of the breast as he drank, coaxing out the milk with every motion, and San shuddered violently, his thighs shaking around Wooyoung’s hips.
His nipples were dripping now, both of them red and swollen from stimulation, and milk was smeared everywhere—on Wooyoung’s lips, on San’s chest, down his belly.
San was trembling, overstimulated, writhing in his lap.
“Too much—” he choked, but his hands never left Wooyoung’s hair. “You’re making it worse—I’m so full, I c-can’t think—”
Wooyoung suckled deeper in response, eyes dark and desperate.
“I want it worse,” he whispered between sucks. “I want to make you cry with how good it feels. You’re mine. You’re full for me. This body’s making milk for me.”
San let out a strangled moan, hips jerking. His pussy clenched on nothing, soaking his panties again, dripping down onto Wooyoung’s thighs. His belly bounced slightly with each movement, his breasts slick and heavy, his whole body caught between relief and need.
“I l-love you,” San sobbed. “I love you so much—I’m losing my mind—”
“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” Wooyoung murmured, kissing him gently between sucks. “I’ll take every drop. You don’t have to hold back.”
He suckled again, then groaned as milk spilled onto his tongue. He let it drip from his lips on purpose, then leaned down and licked it back up from San’s chest, kissing his swollen nipples again and again until San was a shaking mess.
Finally, he pulled back. His lips were slick with milk, his eyes heavy with lust and awe.
“You’re everything,” he said hoarsely. “You were made to carry my baby. To feed me like this. Look how good you are for me.”
San’s lips quivered. He looked wrecked—crying a little, flushed deep red, nipples still dripping even now.
“I need you,” he whispered, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “Woo… please…”
Wooyoung kissed him deeply, milk on both their lips.
“I’m not done taking care of you,” he promised. “Let me worship the rest of you.”
---
San was already trembling by the time Wooyoung eased him back.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Wooyoung whispered, pressing soft kisses to the corner of his lips, to the flushed curve of his cheek. “Lay back for me, baby. Let me see all of you.”
San whimpered, his body aching with need, but he let Wooyoung guide him—his fingers gentle, reverent—as he lowered him slowly onto the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath them, and San sank back against the pillows, flushed and panting, his arms stretching up for Wooyoung even now.
His thighs instinctively parted—wide, welcoming—and his belly settled heavy and high, round and perfect, rising with each desperate breath. His shirt was gone, his breasts still slick with milk, his nipples pink and raw from earlier, still gently leaking down the curve of his ribs.
But his panties were still on. Barely.
Soaked and clinging, pale and nearly transparent now—a damp, trembling barrier between his puffy heat and the cool air. And Wooyoung’s gaze landed there like a blow.
“God…” he whispered, moving slowly lower over San’s body, hands bracketing his belly as he kissed every inch on the way down. “You’re soaked, baby.”
San moaned and tilted his hips upward as if begging for attention. “It won’t stop,” he whispered, voice wrecked and high. “Every time I think of you—every time I feel the baby move—I just get so wet. I keep leaking through my panties like a stupid slut—”
“You’re not a slut,” Wooyoung said sharply, sitting back on his knees to look at him. “You’re mine. My husband. My everything. And you’re like this because I made you this full. You’re carrying my baby. Your body wants me because it remembers.”
San choked on a breath, squirming as Wooyoung dragged two fingers slowly over the front of the soaked cotton. His touch was feather-light, but the fabric stuck to the heat beneath, outlining everything—every fold, every throb, every wet pulse of his swollen, shamelessly puffy pussy.
“You’ve been dripping for me this whole time?” Wooyoung murmured, pressing a kiss right over the dampest part, through the cloth.
San arched, a whimper slipping out. “W-Woo—!”
“You’re so puffy,” he breathed. “So ready.” He mouthed at him again—open-mouthed, wet—pressing slow, filthy kisses through the cloth, letting San feel the heat of his breath against his slick, pulsing core. “You smell so sweet. Like mine.”
San couldn’t speak. He was gasping, moaning, grinding helplessly against the press of Wooyoung’s mouth, leaking steadily into the fabric.
“You want these off, sweetheart?” Wooyoung whispered, looking up at him through hooded eyes. “You want me to take them off for you?”
San nodded frantically, already sobbing. “Please—please, they’re too wet—I feel like I’m gonna go crazy—!”
Wooyoung groaned low in his throat and kissed him again—slow and possessive—then moved lower.
He pressed his face between San’s thighs, and with a low, sinful sound, took the hem of San’s panties in his teeth.
San gasped. “W-Wooyoung—!”
Wooyoung didn’t respond. He just dragged the soaked cotton down, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, using only his mouth. His hands cradled San’s thighs, keeping them wide open as he peeled the ruined fabric off—the scent of him hitting like a wave, thick and warm and utterly intoxicating.
When the fabric finally slipped free from between San’s thighs, Wooyoung dropped it beside the bed without a glance.
Then he looked up.
And froze.
San’s pussy was completely glistening, shamelessly puffy and flushed, dark pink and trembling with need. The lips were thick and swollen, visibly throbbing—his entrance twitching, aching, already leaking. Slick dribbled from his folds without pause, glistening trails down to the sheets beneath him.
Wooyoung’s eyes went wide. “You’re… fuck, baby, you’re dripping for me.”
San turned his face away, overwhelmed. “Don’t look—”
“Don’t look?” Wooyoung whispered, crawling up again until his face hovered over the mess between his thighs. “How could I not? This is for me. You’re this wet because I made you pregnant. You’re this swollen because you’re about to give birth to my baby.”
He kissed the inside of San’s thigh, then the crease where belly met groin, then moved closer. But not inside. Not yet.
His hand slid down first, and with careful fingers, he brushed gently over San’s outer lips—just enough to make San jolt and sob.
“You’re so thick here, baby. Your little pussy’s so puffy and full, like your body doesn’t know what to do with itself anymore,” Wooyoung whispered, kissing his hip. “So swollen, so soft... I could stare at you for hours.”
San moaned, legs shaking, back arching lightly as Wooyoung pressed down with his palm.
“Y-Yes—please—touch me—”
“I’ll go slow,” Wooyoung promised. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He brought one hand up, using his thumb to gently spread San open—and the sight made his breath catch.
San’s entrance was soaked, fluttering, visibly pulsing with need. His inner folds were slippery and pink and gaping slightly already, his boycunt practically begging to be filled.
“Fuck,” Wooyoung breathed. “You’re beautiful.”
And then—finally—he slid one finger in.
San gasped, whole body arching, back curving off the bed. “Aah—!”
“You’re gripping me already,” Wooyoung whispered, barely able to move inside him. “So tight. So wet. God, you were made for this.”
He stroked slowly, carefully curling his finger as San moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets. His belly trembled with each jolt, his breasts swaying slightly, still damp with milk.
Wooyoung added a second finger—slow, deliberate—and San keened, thighs clamping around his waist.
“W-Wooyoung—can’t—too much—!”
“You can take it,” he whispered. “You’re strong. You’re carrying my baby. You need this, don’t you?”
San was sobbing now, but nodding, rocking into the slow, curling touch of Wooyoung’s fingers, leaking with every breath.
“I need it,” he gasped. “I need you inside—want to feel full—want to be stretched more—please—”
Wooyoung kissed his belly, then his soaked folds, then his trembling thighs.
“You’re already perfect,” he said softly. “But I’ll make you feel even better. I’ll make you feel everything.”
Then—carefully, reverently—he slid in a third finger.
San cried out loud, body arching sharply, legs quivering with the pressure. His entrance was stretched wide now, clenching down hard around the three fingers inside, slick gushing around Wooyoung’s knuckles.
“You’re so full here,” Wooyoung whispered, voice hoarse with worship, eyes locked on how San’s pussy hugged his fingers. “Your little hole’s so greedy—look at you—swollen, pulsing, soaking me—”
He pumped slowly, curling his fingers deeper with every stroke, spreading them just enough to stretch San more. His thumb brushed the edge of his outer lips, then down lower to stroke between the puffy folds, teasing where the skin was most tender, most swollen.
San was a mess now—moaning openly, gasping with each thrust, his hands gripping Wooyoung’s arms like lifelines.
“You like that?” Wooyoung asked softly. “You like when I stretch your puffy cunt like this?”
San only sobbed harder, nodding fast, breath stuttering as his belly jumped with each movement.
“You’re so full everywhere,” Wooyoung whispered. “Your belly, your tits, your pussy—just overflowing. All of you. Just for me.”
And his fingers pressed deeper still.
---
San’s orgasm crept up slowly—then crashed over him without mercy.
It started with the curling of Wooyoung’s fingers—just right, just deep enough to stroke that swollen, aching spot inside him—and the soft, dirty words pouring from his mouth like worship.
“You’re made to be like this,” Wooyoung whispered, breath hot against his inner thigh. “So soft and swollen, taking all of me. Look at you—your body just opens for me.”
San cried out, his voice thin and high, back arching violently off the bed as his pussy clamped down, fluttering around Wooyoung’s fingers. “Ah—ah—! I—Woo—!”
His whole body jerked, thighs squeezing tight, his belly trembling. His entrance spasmed wildly, gushing slick around Wooyoung’s hand, soaking the sheets in a warm rush.
“That's it, baby,” Wooyoung murmured, pressing a kiss to San’s thigh. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
San sobbed through it—completely undone. His hands scrabbled at the sheets, his chest heaving as his pussy clenched and pulsed around the stretch of three fingers, milking them, begging for more even as he came hard.
“F-Fuck—! I’m c-coming—I’m—ngh—!”
And then he squirted.
It hit Wooyoung’s wrist first—a sudden gush, hot and slippery, spraying past his fingers with the force of San’s orgasm. Wooyoung gasped, his cock twitching painfully in his pants as he watched San fall apart.
The sight was obscene.
San—flushed red to the chest, tits leaking, belly bouncing with every convulsion—was spread open under him, his pussy dripping and still pulsing around nothing now that Wooyoung had pulled his fingers free. Slick and squirt mixed on his thighs and sheets, glistening in the dim light, and his hole was still twitching—wet and swollen and begging.
Wooyoung couldn’t wait anymore.
He shoved back onto his knees, hands frantic at his belt, unzipping his pants with shaking fingers. His cock sprang free, flushed and hard, the tip already leaking.
San’s eyes widened when he saw it. His mouth dropped open.
“W-Woo—” he gasped, voice still shaking. “So-so big—”
Wooyoung’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?” he rasped, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking once, slow. “You think you can take it, baby? You think you can stretch that pretty, puffy pussy for me?”
San nodded, whining softly, writhing against the sheets. “Please—need you inside—I want it—want to feel you so deep I can't think—”
“You’re such a mess,” Wooyoung said, crawling over him, guiding his cock down. “Look at you. All red and wet, dripping like a whore, begging to be split open—”
San moaned loud, hips jerking. “Yes—yes—please—stuff me full—I want it too much—I can’t stop leaking—”
Wooyoung lined himself up.
The thick head of his cock pressed against San’s entrance, and San nearly screamed—his body jolting, thighs trembling as he felt the stretch begin.
“W-Wait—” he gasped. “S-So big—too big—”
“I’ll go slow,” Wooyoung promised, gripping his hips. “Breathe for me. You can take it. You’re mine.”
He pushed forward—slow, steady pressure—and San’s body gave way, tight and dripping, sucking him in with a wet, obscene sound.
San threw his head back with a cry. “Aah—! Fuck—so deep—oh my god—”
“Shh, that’s it,” Wooyoung whispered, kissing his cheek, his temple, his lips. “You’re doing so well. Let me in, baby. Let me fill you.”
Bit by bit, he sank deeper.
San was impossibly tight, hot and pulsing, his cunt stretched wide around the thick length of Wooyoung’s cock. His belly trembled with every inch, his walls fluttering, slick gushing around him in waves.
Wooyoung was nearly shaking with restraint. “You feel like heaven,” he groaned. “So wet—so fucking snug—your little cunt’s swallowing me—”
“Ahh—Woo—” San sobbed, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders. “I feel everything—you’re so deep—it’s too much—!”
“You can take it,” Wooyoung growled, thrusting in the rest of the way—slow but firm—until their hips were flush, San’s ass pressed to his thighs.
San screamed.
“F-FULL—I’m so full—I can’t—”
“You can,” Wooyoung said, voice low and dark. “You were made to take me. This pretty pussy belongs to me—look how perfect you are around my cock.”
He started to move.
Slow thrusts, deep and purposeful, grinding into San’s swollen body like he wanted to carve himself into him.
San was immediately wrecked.
Every stroke dragged a fresh moan from his lips—whiny and high-pitched, broken into pieces by the sheer force of being filled. His voice was nothing but breathy gasps and desperate cries, hands clawing at Wooyoung’s back.
“Ah—ahh—yes—yes—more—deeper—please—I need more—!”
“You’re drooling on the sheets,” Wooyoung whispered, fucking him deeper. “You’re dripping all over me. Your pussy’s milking my cock like it’s hungry.”
San let out a long, ragged moan and tightened around him, and that’s when it hit—again.
His second orgasm was sudden, wild.
He arched, cried out, and came hard, squirting again—hot and sudden—spraying over both their thighs as Wooyoung kept thrusting.
“Holy—fuck—” Wooyoung groaned, hips stuttering.
San was trembling violently now, still coming, his pussy fluttering and soaked, milking every inch of Wooyoung’s cock.
“Too much—f-fuck—it won’t stop—” San sobbed, his voice high and sweet and cracked. “I’m gonna break—”
“I’ll hold you together,” Wooyoung whispered, kissing his neck as he fucked deeper, harder. “You’re so good for me. So beautiful. My perfect boy—my perfect body—pregnant, leaking, crying on my cock—”
And that’s when he saw it—again.
Milk was leaking steadily from San’s breasts—both nipples slick and glistening, dripping with every bounce of his body, staining the sheets beneath him. The sight undid Wooyoung all over again.
Still thrusting slowly, he shifted downward—carefully keeping his cock buried inside as he lowered his mouth to San’s chest.
San cried out as Wooyoung latched on again.
“W-Woo—!”
Wooyoung groaned around him, suckling hard as he fucked him deep and slow—tongue swirling over the nipple, drinking the milk that spilled freely onto his tongue.
“You’re leaking for me again,” he murmured, lifting his head just long enough to breathe before suckling again. “You’re so fucking full.”
San was a mess—moaning wildly, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, body arching into every thrust and suck. “I c-can’t—I’m gonna—ngh—!”
“You taste like everything,” Wooyoung growled, switching breasts and latching on again, thrusting slowly, milking him from both ends. “You’re made to be mine. Look at you. My beautiful, ruined boy.”
San was beyond words—sobbing, crying out, his pussy fluttering hard as another orgasm crashed through him, milk spraying into Wooyoung’s mouth as he suckled and fucked him through it.
He squirted again—helpless, overwhelmed—coating Wooyoung’s thighs, his belly, the sheets beneath them.
Wooyoung groaned, finally losing control.
He lifted his head, locked eyes with him, and came—hard.
Thrust deep. Held still.
And filled him.
Hot, thick, endless. Spilling inside and dripping out around where they were still joined. San sobbed and trembled, milking him for every last drop, belly quaking, tits leaking, thighs shaking.
Wooyoung held him close, panting.
And looked down at what he’d done.
San—spread open, soaked, wrecked—eyes glassy, mouth open, pussy leaking and twitching around his cock. His milk still dripped down his chest, his belly round and heaving.
He was the most beautiful thing Wooyoung had ever seen.
“You’re everything,” Wooyoung whispered.
San shivered beneath him.
“Again,” he whispered, lips trembling. “Don’t pull out yet.”
And Wooyoung kissed him—mouth full of milk, cock still inside—and whispered, “Anything for you.”
---
The room was quiet now.
Heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, milk, and love. Their bodies still tangled, breath syncing gradually as the intensity ebbed, replaced by something softer. Warmer.
Wooyoung didn’t move at first—just stayed there, cradling San’s thighs, still buried inside him. San was twitching occasionally, overstimulated and spent, his arms limp at his sides, his lashes fluttering weakly with each slow breath.
“You okay, baby?” Wooyoung whispered, brushing sweaty hair off San’s temple.
San blinked up at him, dazed and soft, lips parted just slightly. “Mmh,” he managed. “M’okay.”
“You’re more than okay,” Wooyoung murmured, finally—slowly—pulling out. San gasped, his thighs twitching around the sudden emptiness, and Wooyoung immediately leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
San’s pussy was still leaking—glistening and puffy, dripping with cum and slick—and Wooyoung’s heart squeezed at the sight of it. He didn’t say anything though. He just reached for a warm towel from the basket near the dresser—he’d started keeping them ready lately, just in case—and returned to the bed.
“I’m gonna clean you up, sweetheart,” he whispered.
San gave a sleepy little nod, barely lifting his hips as Wooyoung dabbed between his thighs with practiced, gentle hands. He was careful around San’s puffy folds, murmuring soft praise the whole time.
“You did so well for me. So fucking beautiful, San. Took everything I gave you, didn’t you? Still dripping like a dream…”
San whimpered faintly, eyes fluttering shut. “Y’re talkin’ again…”
Wooyoung grinned. “Always talk after. It’s my thing.”
Once he’d finished, he helped San sit up just enough to slide a fresh pair of soft cotton panties up his legs—loose, comfortable, and dry—and then carefully pulled one of his oversized sleep shirts over San’s head. The hem barely reached past the curve of his belly.
“You look like a dream,” he whispered. “My pretty little angel.”
San groaned, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “Stop…”
But he didn’t mean it.
Wooyoung climbed back into bed, curling close. One hand gently slid up under the shirt and settled on San’s bare belly, stroking reverently. His other arm tucked under San’s neck, pulling him in close.
San’s skin was still flushed, warm beneath his palm. The baby kicked faintly beneath the surface—just once, a sleepy little thump.
Wooyoung smiled. “You know,” he said softly, “you’re gonna pop any day now. I keep thinking about it. You lying in bed like this, but next time it'll be with the baby sleeping right there on your chest. You’ll be leaking again, probably, and I’ll still be wiping you down like this.”
San let out a little whimper that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re gonna cry when it happens…”
“I’m already crying in my heart,” Wooyoung said dramatically, rubbing lazy circles into the curve of San’s bump. “You’ve been carrying our baby for nine whole months. Do you realize how insane that is? You grew a person, San. A whole human! And you’re still so pretty—look at this belly—it’s glorious—”
“Woo…”
“—like, so round. It’s got stretch marks and everything. Literal tiger stripes. You're a warrior. My warrior. You should model for one of those maternity photoshoots where they paint moons on your belly and put a crown of flowers on your head—”
San groaned and threw one arm across his face. “Stop talking…”
Wooyoung didn’t. He was on a roll.
“I mean, you were already hot before, but now? You’re glowing. You’re sexy and soft and full of milk, and your tits are huge, and your ass—don’t get me started on your ass—”
San gave a little snore.
Wooyoung blinked.
“…Babe?”
No answer.
He pulled his arm out from under San’s head and peeked down.
San was asleep.
Face smushed against the pillow, mouth open just slightly, belly rising and falling in soft, even breaths. His lashes were dark against his cheeks, and the edge of the sleep shirt had ridden up again—just high enough to expose a little sliver of his skin.
Wooyoung smiled.
He leaned forward and kissed the swell of San’s belly, then the corner of his mouth. “You did so good today,” he whispered. “Rest now, love. I’ll be right here.”
And he stayed like that—watching him sleep, one hand on his belly, his heart so full it ached.