(no) Strings Attached

Almost There

San's body was already responding—heat rising, blood pounding, hands sliding under Wooyoung's thighs to pull him in closer. He exhaled hard against his mouth when Wooyoung climbed into his lap, knees bracketing his hips like they'd done it just last week, not a lifetime ago.

Wooyoung was flushed, breathing hard. He rocked forward, just once—slow, testing—like he couldn't stop himself even if he tried.

San's head dropped against the couch with a groan. "Fuck, Woo—"

"I know," Wooyoung murmured. His lips brushed San's neck. "I know."

His hips rolled again, this time a little more certain. The friction drew a gasp out of both of them.

But then he froze—stilling suddenly, panting, forehead pressed to San's shoulder.

"Wait," he whispered, breath shaky. "Shit—wait, I—"

San stilled instantly. "Okay. Okay."

They both stayed there like that—close enough to burn, motionless enough to breathe.

"I want you," Wooyoung said, voice wrecked. "God, I want you. You know that, right?"

San nodded slowly, hands soft against his waist. "I know. Me too."

"But I don't wanna fuck this up again. I don't wanna fall into the same old rhythm and call it love just because it feels good."

San exhaled through his nose. His hands didn't move, but his grip tightened a fraction. "We're not the same people we were before."

"Yeah," Wooyoung whispered. "But my body still remembers you. It wants you the same. It knows you."

"That's not a bad thing."

Wooyoung finally looked at him—eyes wide and exposed, pupils blown from the heat between them. "So if we do this now..."

San understood. He lifted a hand to Wooyoung's cheek again, thumb tracing the flush there.

"If we do this now, it's not just a release," he said quietly. "It's not casual. Not anymore."

Wooyoung leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

"I want to feel close to you again," he admitted. "I want to forget everything that hurt for just a little while."

San tilted his head, mouth brushing against Wooyoung's temple. "Then stay with me. Right here. Like this."

Wooyoung kissed him again—slower this time, tender and raw. His hips still trembled from the want, from the ache, but the pace shifted. Something deeper, almost reverent, took over.

They stayed wrapped up like that on the couch—touching, murmuring, exhaling—all heat and memory and the careful rebuilding of something they both thought they'd lost forever.

And for once, their bodies weren't racing ahead of their hearts.

They were finally meeting in the middle.

It started slow, but the need threaded tighter with every second.

Not the desperate, rushed kind they'd once relied on. Not the frantic hands and buried groans just to forget.

This—this—was quiet at first. It was the slow drag of Wooyoung's hips as he kissed San deeper, kissed him like he couldn't believe this was real. Like San was something precious. Something forgiven.

San's fingers curled into the hem of Wooyoung's shirt, tugging it up just far enough to touch skin. Warm. Familiar. Home. Wooyoung let him, arching a little, gasping softly when San's hands mapped the sharp angles of his ribs like he needed to relearn him.