(no) Strings Attached

Almost There

San bobbed his head with an odd mix of paces. He switched between fast and relentless to slow and torturing; coaxing Wooyoung to his climax.

And Wooyoung went there fast.

He shattered with San's name falling from his lips like prayer—like salvation—every nerve singing with it.

San didn't stop until he'd taken everything. Only then did he finally rise again, kissing along Wooyoung's trembling abdomen, his ribs, his throat. His arms caged around him like a shield.

"You're so fucking beautiful." San whispered yet again, his lips latching on Wooyoung's throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

A mark that tomorrow would remind him of this precious moment. Of the moment where they officially become one.

"D—damn San" Wooyoung whined, his cock already feeling stiffer.

"I'm glad you missed me as much as I did." San chuckled darkly, thrusting his hips forward almost violently to let their hard-ons collide tastefully. To make a point.

Wooyoung gasped, his nails digging into San's shoulder blades. The friction made his thighs twitch, his breath catching in his throat.

"You cocky bastard," he panted, but there was no real bite to it—just hunger. Just affection buried under desperation.

San smirked against his throat, licking over the bruise he'd left. "You like it when I remind you," he murmured, voice low and wrecked. "Don't pretend you don't."

"I don't," Wooyoung shot back, even as he rolled his hips up for more. "I love it."

That made San still for half a beat.

Love. Again.

Wooyoung blinked up at him, face flushed, eyes honest. "I love you."

San leaned down and kissed him hard. Not rushed—deep. His hands slipped beneath Wooyoung's hips, dragging him closer until their cocks aligned, pressed hot and leaking between sweat-slick stomachs.

He rutted slowly, letting the slide tease them both, grinding down like he was trying to carve himself into Wooyoung's memory. "Then let me show you how much I love you back," he groaned, voice trembling with restraint. "Let me in, Woo. Let me have you. All of you."

Wooyoung's thighs tightened around his waist. "You already do," he breathed. "You always have."

And with a low curse and a reverent kiss to his temple, San reached for the forgotten Vaseline container on the coffee table. His fingers trembled as he coated them, as he kissed Wooyoung through the first slow press inside, both of them groaning like it was the first time all over again.

It wasn't just sex.

It was everything they'd ever been afraid to say, every moment they thought they'd lost—found again in the way their bodies moved, the way San held Wooyoung like he was irreplaceable.

Because he was.

And San was done pretending otherwise.

"Is this okay?" San asked sweetly, his fingers curling between Wooyoung's velvety walls searching for that spot that made Wooyoung moan louder. The spot he oh-so-easily found.

Wooyoung nodded hastily, too lost in the bliss to actually hold any type of conversation. When San added two more fingers, brushing his weakness, Wooyoung let his teeth sink into the older's broad shoulder blade; a muffled cry leaving his throat.

San hissed through his teeth, but his other hand only gripped Wooyoung's thigh tighter in response. "Good," he growled, his breath hot against Wooyoung's ear. "You can take it. You want to take it, don't you?"