"San," the other warns.
"Wooyoung."
The air between them feels suddenly thicker, heavier.
Wooyoung is staring at him, gaze darkening, jaw clenching.
"I can untie you right now if you want to," San says, gently caressing Wooyoung's ankle with his thumb as he sits back on his heels, eyes never leaving the other's face. "We can stop."
He's not sure if Wooyoung is considering it, but when the man speaks, his tone is stable, lower. Almost detached.
"Fuck me."
An order.
San doesn't move.
"I said," Wooyoung hisses, "fuck me."
San shifts slowly on the bed, bringing his body forward until his knees settle between Wooyoung's spread legs and his hands rest on the pillow on either side of Wooyoung's face, supporting his weight.
He lowers himself just enough to brush his mouth against Wooyoung's jaw, his chin, his nose, feeling the air escape the other's lips in short, shallow breaths.
"Beg for me," he whispers, looking into his lover's eyes, searching for any real hint of displeasure, discomfort, or even fear.
Listening for their safeword, in case Wooyoung decides to use it, which is something that never actually happens because San basically follows Wooyoung's requests and directions to a T.
Wooyoung's pupils are blown and his chest is heaving, and San can feel something akin to anger radiating off the body under him. He thinks he's about to get his nose broken by a headbutt if he doesn't retreat right now, but he decides to risk it anyway, and wait.
They stare at each other for what could be a minute or an hour, San doesn't know, too lost in the galaxies inside Wooyoung's eyes now to even remember what they were arguing about.
And maybe he misunderstood.
He knows Wooyoung trusts him to treat his body and his heart with respect and consideration, or he would have never let him get so close.
But he also knows Wooyoung struggles with giving up control for real, in every area of his life, always. He struggles with some toxic, twisted notion about what constitutes as 'weakness' drilled into his mind from a young age. He struggles with the walls he raised around himself, and with his excessive pride, its pervasive, wide roots reaching deep into his gut and poisoning him from the inside.
And most of all, he struggles with feeling safe with someone else during sex unless he's sure he's the one to call the shots, and that his position and authority, obviously within the limits of his partner's consent, won't be questioned.
A complex combination of factors that eventually result in one, inevitable outcome.
Wooyoung never lets go completely, not even when he asks San to restrain him and fuck him senseless. Especially when he asks San to restrain him and fuck him senseless, in fact.
He always keeps the biggest piece of power for himself, tensing up and snarling at the first hint of anything that could challenge it or threaten it.
So San is ready to pull back and untie him and give him what he wants, as he always does when suddenly something in Wooyoung's expression shifts.
It's a subtle change, but it's there, unmistakable and new, too different to be confused with anything else San is used to.
Wooyoung lowers his gaze for an instant, and when he lifts it again, it brings something foreign and fragile back up with it.
I've never felt this way for no one
Start from the beginning
