(no) Strings Attached

Just Us, Always

"Can I...?" he asked, breath catching.

Hongjoong lifted his arms silently. "Always."

The hoodie came off with a soft drag, revealing warm skin and the familiar dips of Hongjoong's chest. Seonghwa's fingers ghosted over the curve of his collarbone, down his ribs.

"I've never... really gotten to look at you like this," he whispered.

"You can," Hongjoong said, voice barely a breath. "Take your time."

Seonghwa did. He traced each inch like it was holy—like it was his to memorize now. His to learn, without shame. His to touch, because he wanted to. Not because he had to meet a need or fill a silence or prove anything.

Just because he loved him.

"You're beautiful," he murmured.

Hongjoong chuckled quietly, cheeks flushing. "That's my line."

Seonghwa smiled, fingers flattening over his chest. His palms pressed firm. Anchored.

Then he leaned in again, kissing along Hongjoong's throat. Down to his chest. Slow. Devout. Each kiss a thank you, a yes, a please don't stop me now.

His voice, when he spoke again, was near a whisper. "Will you let me show you how much I want this?"

And Hongjoong, stunned silent, could only nod.

"Then let me," Seonghwa breathed, sitting up slightly, hands falling to the hem of his own shirt. "Let me catch up to all the times you held back for me."

Hongjoong swore under his breath, eyes wide—because this, this wasn't a boy hiding. This was Seonghwa choosing to be seen.

And he'd never looked more radiant.

Hongjoong sat still, not daring to move more than necessary. His hands rested on Seonghwa's waist, light but grounding. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice lower now, thick with emotion and restraint.

Seonghwa nodded, hands still trembling slightly on the hem of his own shirt. "I don't want to be scared of touching you anymore. Or of being touched like... this. Not by you."

Hongjoong's jaw tensed, like he was swallowing down every instinct to take control—to flip them over, to chase the heat already simmering between them. But this wasn't about his want.

It was about Seonghwa's.

The younger pulled his shirt up slowly, lifting it over his head. He sat there—bare, vulnerable, breath shaky—but didn't shy away.

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, fingers tightening where they rested. "You're fucking beautiful," he said, voice wrecked.

Seonghwa blinked, and for a moment Hongjoong saw the trace of uncertainty creep in—but then Seonghwa leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough to make it clear: he wanted this.

"Touch me," he said softly. "Please, just... don't let go of me."

That was all it took.

Hongjoong let his hands slide up Seonghwa's back, tracing the delicate curve of his spine, pulling him closer until their skin met again. He kissed him deep, lips parting in sync, the pace slow but no less intense.

"Tell me if anything's too much," he whispered between kisses, "or if you need me to stop. Just say the word."

"I won't," Seonghwa replied, breathless. "I trust you."

The sound Hongjoong made then was almost a growl—but still, he held himself back, letting Seonghwa move how he wanted. The younger shifted in his lap, gasping at the friction, and Hongjoong's hands clenched hard against his hips.