(no) Strings Attached

This Meant Nothing

"What.. what are we doing?" San questioned, and it almost made Wooyoung back away. His hands didn't move though. Still clutching at Wooyoung's waist, like his body already knew what he wanted even if his heart was still catching up.

Wooyoung didn't even know what he was hoping for. A miracle? An apology written in touches? The truth was, he didn't think San would ever say the right thing. So maybe he could feel it instead. Maybe if San held him like he meant it, it would count for something.

But he spent a couple long hours thinking over their interaction in the library.

San felt too sincere. Too heart wrenching for Wooyoung's poor and weak heart.

All it took him to start this self destructive behavior was the What Ifs. What if this is all San needed to finally start seeing this for what it was instead of pushing him around like a lifeless doll he busied himself when he was bored?

What if just this once Wooyoung spoke in San's language? Isn't this was San does? Doesn't he communicate through sex?

And if this is what widens the possibility of this actually turning for the better then Wooyoung is willing to hurt himself one more time.

The last time he promises.

Before he actually gives everything up and really starts focusing on himself.

He promised himself it would be the last time. One final cut before he bandaged himself up and walked away for good. But somewhere deep down, a voice whispered that he was already too far gone.

Wooyoung didn't reply. He just ducked his head downwards, burying his face into San's warm neck before his teeth sunk into its skin.

San grunted in response, his hands slipping southwards to the curve of Wooyoung's ass.

After biting down to his heart's content, Wooyoung pulled back, lips red, swollen. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, making him shine in the dimness of the room.

"What does it look like?" He panted, his breath fanning San's lips. If it wasn't for the tangled and messy situation they'd might be snickering at themselves but San couldn't but notice the way his own breath stuttered.

"B-but Wooyou—"

San's voice got muffled by desperate lips on his own. Wooyoung made his hesitation slip between his very hands, soft whispers reflecting the despair of the rough kiss.

"Shut up and fuck me San." Wooyoung's hold on the other's warm skin tightened as if he was willing himself to not back down. Not now. Not when San was reacting.

And that was San's last straw. He was physically unable to reject the younger. Not when he looked like he'd start crying if he did. Not when he could see his heart breaking if he paid close attention in Wooyoung's warm sea of brown glimmering on top of him.

"Are you sure?" He growled, incapable of not trying to push Wooyoung away. "That you're not going to run away from me tomorrow?"

Something in the way San's usually confident tone lowered to something nearly vulnerable had Wooyoung's stomach churn.

"Are you?" He counter attacked, a brow raising in doubt. "After this, you're going to beg me to, professor, I'm warning you." San grunted, his hand that itched to feel Wooyoung's perky ass, finally, gave into the temptation. He squeezed the globe, eliciting a haunting moan from the younger.

Wooyoung's heart couldn't but thump in his chest.

What did that mean?

But the gratifying pull his body felt around San didn't allow him to think deeper than that.