(no) Strings Attached

Almost There

Wooyoung whimpered, body trembling with how full he felt, how perfectly San moved inside him. He could barely speak, could only cling tighter and let the wave of pleasure roll over him, soaking his skin and curling his toes.

San kissed the side of his face—soft, messy. Reverent. "I missed this," he repeated, fingers never slowing. "Missed you."

A broken sob of a moan left Wooyoung's lips as San crooked his fingers again, rubbing deliberately into that bundle of nerves that had his vision going white.

"I—I'm gonna..." Wooyoung gasped, body locking up as the pressure built.

San slowed down just enough to make him cry out in frustration, smiling darkly against his throat. "No," he whispered, nipping at his jaw. "Not yet. Not until I'm inside you. Not until I feel you come around me."

Wooyoung let out a breathless curse, his hand flying to San's chest, gripping him like a lifeline.

"Please," he begged again. "Please, Sannie. I can't wait."

That—that—broke whatever restraint San had left.

With one last curl of his fingers he retreated. "Then hold on," he said, voice wrecked, chest heaving as he lined himself up and pressed in—slow, aching, perfect.

Wooyoung arched with a gasp so loud it echoed off the walls. His eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent cry.

And San buried his face in the crook of his neck and melted into him, the heat, the tightness, the overwhelming rightness of it all.

"Oh god." Wooyoung swallowed a breath, his stomach tightened, his thighs trembled and his lungs closed in on him.

San moaned lowly, his brows meeting in utmost gratification. He dared lower his eyes to the part they become one; watching as he disappeared behind that tight ring of muscles, his own abdomen clenching in response.

San's jaw clenched. "Fuck, Woo..."

He couldn't look away—couldn't stop the way his hips twitched forward at the sight of Wooyoung stretched tight around him, pulling him in so sweetly. It was maddening. Addictive.

Wooyoung let out a shaky whimper, his arms trembling where they clung to San's shoulders. "You're... so deep," he whispered, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed.

San leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth, then lower—his jaw, his throat, his collarbone—each press of his lips slower, more merciless. "You feel unreal," he breathed. "Every time. But this... this is different."

Wooyoung nodded, barely. His voice was a whisper. "Because you mean it."

That pulled something raw from San's chest. He stilled for a beat, forehead pressed to Wooyoung's, breath mingling. "Yeah," he said roughly. "I mean it."

And then he started moving.

Long, deep thrusts. Not rough—intentional. Wooyoung could feel it, the difference. This wasn't just San fucking him. This was San loving him—with every roll of his hips, every sound he couldn't bite back, every time he reached down to stroke Wooyoung in rhythm, determined to take him with him.

"I'm close," Wooyoung gasped, head tilting back, exposing his throat as his body tensed. "San—please—"

"I've got you," San swore, voice ragged. "Come with me. Come on me. Right now."

One more thrust. One more perfect drag over everything that made Wooyoung see stars—and he shattered.

He came with a sob, white heat rushing through him, back arching off the couch in a beautiful curve as he pulsed between them.