(no) Strings Attached

Almost There

San lifted his head, hand trailing down Wooyoung's side with a reverence that made the younger shiver. "Then let me prove it," he whispered. "Let me show you the way I should've from the start."

"Show me, please."

San groaned at the pure plea, the whimper that accompanied those needy eyes.

Smirking at how perked up the nub had become, he wasted no time wrapping his mouth around it, tongue flicking over it motivated.

Wooyoung hissed at the sudden pleasure, back arching slightly. Like a second nature, his legs raised to lock San between them, tightening around the older's waist.

San groaned again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating against Wooyoung's chest. His hands slid under Wooyoung's back, pulling him closer, as if the distance of even a breath was too much. He licked again, then grazed his teeth just slightly, dragging another moan from the younger's throat.

"God, Woo," he breathed against damp skin. "You feel so fucking good. You always do."

Wooyoung's nails dug into his shoulder blades, not enough to hurt—just enough to ground them both. His head fell back against the cushion as he gasped, body caught in that hazy space between memory and now.

"Don't stop," he choked. "Please, San—don't stop."

And San wouldn't. Not this time. Not when Wooyoung was clinging to him like he mattered. Like he trusted him again.

"Not stopping," San promised, his voice rough with restraint. He shifted lower, trailing kisses down the dip of Wooyoung's stomach. His tongue followed the tremble of muscle, the stutter of breath. "I'm going to take my time. Gonna make you forget every second you spent wondering if I loved you."

Wooyoung's thighs tightened again, framing him like a plea, a prayer.

"Make me remember instead," he whispered. "Make me remember what it feels like to be yours."

San looked up—eyes blown wide with something reverent, desperate, and completely undone. "You already are," he said. "You never stopped."

And then he sank lower, lips and hands worshipping him in full.

"Fuck— shit. Yes, I—" Wooyoung choked on nothing, his stomach clenching when San sucked just beside his hipbone, his thighs almost closing around the taller's head.

"I'm yours, San. I am" his eyes fluttered with lust when he was finally out of his tight pants, the air on his sensitive hardness making him shudder.

San's eyes darkened at the confession, his breath hitching at the sight of Wooyoung laid out like that—panting, flushed, vulnerable and unguarded in a way he hadn't dared to hope for.

"Say it again," he rasped, kissing the skin just above where Wooyoung throbbed, lips ghosting but not touching. "Say it when you're like this—when you're aching for me."

Wooyoung's hips lifted helplessly, his hands fisting in the cushions. "I'm yours," he repeated, voice thin and breaking. "I'm—fuck, San—please."

That was all it took. San dipped lower, his mouth finally wrapping around him, slow and deliberate. The cry that tore from Wooyoung's throat made San groan around him, one hand gripping his thigh to keep him open, to keep him grounded while the other splayed over his stomach—holding him down when his back arched sharply off the couch.

Wooyoung was trembling, the heat building too fast, too high. "I—I can't—" he panted, trying to chase his own breath, trying to ride the line.

"You can, baby," San murmured between licks, voice wrecked and deep. "You can for me."