(no) Strings Attached

This Meant Nothing

For just a split second his hands let loose of the fistful he had around the other's skin.

It's going to be okay; he lied to himself.

He wants this.

He needs this.

With no further ado, he rose on his butt both knees caging San under him, a hand on the other's heaving chest.

He ground down on him, biting his lips when he felt the older growing harder as the grinds became heavier.

San however had other thoughts.

He flipped them over, hovering above the surprised brunette. "So pretty," he whispered, so close to Wooyoung's ear the latter felt the deep voice echoing in his head.

The older huffed before his eyes fell on the bruising evidence that what happened a few hours ago at the library wasn't a piece of his imagination.

Surrendering to the undeniable attraction and want he had for the younger he let his lips feel any exposed skin they could reach.

Wooyoung wrapped his legs around the other's hips on reflex, his skin tingling whenever San let his teeth graze his sensitive neck.

Something deep within him wished San wouldn't be so soft on him, so loving, so misdirecting.

Because he could feel the way his heart warmed up to the situation, he could feel the way his stomach twisted with something unrequited.

San's rough fingers patted his hips twice ushering him to detach from the bed as he felt the same fingers pulling on his tee. With no more warnings San pilled it off his body.

Then there was a tense silence that lingered a bit too long in the air, eyes locking into one another. It was almost fascinating.

The way San openly ignored his nakedness just to take in the familiar comfort only his beautiful eyes could provide.

It made Wooyoung dip into his own delusion for just a second. But that one second was enough.

That one second was enough for the walls to crack, just slightly. Enough for Wooyoung to forget how many times he'd promised himself he wouldn't fall again. Because San was looking at him like he mattered. Like he wasn't just a habit or a body or a distraction from loneliness.

San's hand moved—slowly, reverently—brushing a thumb just below his collarbone. Wooyoung didn't breathe. Didn't dare to.

"You always do this," San murmured, voice barely audible. "Look at me like I'm worth something."

Wooyoung bit the inside of his cheek, not sure if it was supposed to be a compliment or a curse.

"If you didn't want me to," he whispered, "you should've stopped coming back."

"You make me wanna be selfish." San replied without hesitation. And then he let the air shift to its original flow, his lips pillowing Wooyoung's plumper ones, one of his hands cupping his ass while the other had the audacity to interweave their fingers.

Wooyoung felt his body tremble at the level of intimacy he was experiencing.

The younger whimpered through his nose, his free hand having such a harsh grip on San's hair as if he was depending on it as to not slip way.

It wasn't just lust.

It wasn't hate.

It was something both were trying to let it go unvoiced.

Wooyoung gasped sharply when he felt San grinding against his crotch. His head tilted back, eyes closing. He felt drunk, he felt high on San.

"Gosh" San groaned lowly, his eyes following his hands that took in all of Wooyoung. Rubbing on his chest, his waist, his sides.