(no) Strings Attached

Lines Crossed

He wanted to kill him.

Or himself.

Just anything that would take him out of this situation.

Wooyoung's head snapped toward San—who was still watching him, eyes dark, lips curled in something dangerous.

"Well?" San tilted his head. "Scared?"

Wooyoung bristled. "Fuck off."

San leaned in, dropping his voice. "That's not a no, baby."

God, he hated him.

The room waited, anticipation thick. Wooyoung exhaled sharply, jaw tight. It's just a peck. Just a stupid party game. Just to shut everyone up.

"Fine."

San smiled. Smug. Infuriating.

He also hated how much their supposed classmates yearned for the sight. Eyes locked on them, Wooyoung could feel his skin tingling from.

The moment their lips met, the room erupted—cheers, laughter, drunken applause.

It lasted barely a second. Just the brush of lips. Quick. Meaningless.

Except.

It wasn't.

Because Wooyoung's stomach dropped.

Because the warmth lingered. Because he could still feel the shape of San's mouth against his own, and that—that was the problem.

He pulled away too fast, standing abruptly, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck. Nope. No. Done. He was done.

"Enjoyed the show?" he muttered, voice clipped, before turning on his heel. He needed to get out of here.

But San wasn't just any normal man. So, San followed.

He barely made it down the hallway before San's voice stopped him.

"Running away, again, baby?"

Wooyoung closed his eyes, inhaling sharply.

Ignore him. Keep walking.

But then—San was there, blocking his path, leaning casually against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

"You're acting weird," San mused, tipping his head. "Couldn't handle one little kiss?"

Wooyoung scoffed, glaring. "It was a party game, dumbass. Nothing to handle."

San hummed, unconvinced. He took a step forward—Wooyoung took one back.

San smirked. "Are you sure?"

Another step. Wooyoung's back hit the wall.

His stomach flipped.

San's arms caged him in, palms pressing flat against the wall on either side of Wooyoung's head. Not touching, but close.

Wooyoung's breath caught.

"You kissed me first, remember?" San murmured, tilting his head. "So why do you look so wrecked over it?"

"I'm not."

San leaned in, lips inches from his ear.

"Liar."

Wooyoung pushed him back in hopes to escape.

But San had other plans as he gabbed his wrists pinning them above, holding with just one hand.

"Well, now it's my turn. Game over, professor." he whispered against his lips as he closed the gap between them.

Wooyoung felt his head buzzing and he was sure alcohol had little to do with it.

He could pinpoint the exact moment he gave in.

His hands fisted into San's shirt, yanking him forward. He didn't think. Didn't hesitate.

He kissed him back.

And San?

San devoured him.

The second their mouths met, it was over.

This wasn't a peck. This wasn't a game anymore.

This was raw, messy, everything Wooyoung had been avoiding.

San groaned into his mouth, hands gripping Wooyoung's butt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

Wooyoung gasped against his lips—San took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against his in a way that made Wooyoung's knees buckle.

He grabbed at San's hair, nails raking against his scalp, swallowing the small noise it pulled from him.

San's hands were everywhere—hips, waist, tugging, teasing, claiming.

When San bit at Wooyoung's bottom lip, he nearly lost his mind. He actually moaned, earning a gut wrenching groan from San.

His head hit the wall, exposing his neck, and San took advantage. Lips trailing lower, teeth scraping against his skin—sucking, marking, making sure Wooyoung would feel this tomorrow.

"Fuck"

Wooyoung's fingers dug into San's shoulders, breathless, desperate. He was losing himself in it, in him.

A loud cough shattered the moment.

They froze.

Someone stood at the end of the hallway.

Jongho. Arms crossed. One brow raised.

"Well," he said, voice dry. "Guess I don't need to ask if you two are fine."

Heat flooded Wooyoung's face.

San just grinned, wiping his thumb over his swollen lips. "What gave it away?"

Jongho snorted. "I'll leave you to it." He turned, disappearing back into the party. He definitely was gonna get back for this to him.

Silence.

Wooyoung's breath was still uneven, his body still burning. His lips tingled, his neck ached, and he refused to look at San because if he did—

"Well," San finally said, voice lazy, teasing.

"Shall game round 2 begin?" he wasn't talking about truth or dare. And the younger was aware.

Wooyoung clenched his jaw. Murder was still an option.

But San's gaze was heavy. Dark. Unrelenting. Like this wasn't the end of the conversation.

Like this was only the beginning.

A/N
Woohoo I call this progress... 🥴