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The door was closed and then locked. A faint, brief click echoed into the chamber.
Wooyoung looked out over the terrace, swallowed by darkness. From where he stood, with the curtains open, he could see the moon and stars in the clear, empty sky. There were no clouds that night.
He watched San’s reflection in the glass, saw him coming closer until he was right there. Then he felt San’s strong arms wrap around his waist, pulling him in until there was no space left between them.
His back fit perfectly against San’s chest, so right it almost brought him to tears.
“San,” Wooyoung’s voice was thin, faint somehow, charged with emotions. “Why does it feel like this only with you?”
He often wondered about this, though he rarely admitted it, even to himself. Wooyoung tried to shove away uneasy thoughts, but what he and San shared was so beautiful, so perfect, that it felt absolute. There was no room for anything or anyone else, not in this life or any other, unless it was San — his lips, his arms, his eyes, his smile, every part of him. The idea of being touched or kissed by someone else felt unthinkable.
“What do you mean?” San asked, only tightening the embrace. “Is it a good or bad thing?”
Wooyoung chuckled softly. “A good one, you silly.”
He let the silence settle between them, not as a barrier but as something gentle, wrapping them in a sort of dream.
“I mean—,” Wooyoung tried to say, but he stopped halfway. “The way you make me feel, San, it happens only with you.”
He wasn’t sure San understood, and truthfully, Wooyoung wasn’t certain he understood himself. Explaining feelings this intense was never simple.
“How do you feel?” San spoke so close to his ear, still hugging him from behind. “Tell me.”
Their reflections merged on the glass, nearly becoming one. He wished this moment could last forever, untouched by endings.
“It’s your eyes, San. I can’t always read you, but something always escapes from them, just a little,” Wooyoung tried to explain, struggling to open up. “Looking into your eyes feels like diving into the sea.”
San stiffened, then gently turned him around within the embrace.
“Storm sea or calm sea?” San asked. His eyes were sharp and dark, full of things Wooyoung still didn’t know how to read.
But there was time, plenty of it. The rest of their lives would be enough, he hoped so.
“Neither. It’s like swimming in it, trying to find where it hurts, where it hides, and where it might let me stay.”
“I don’t get if this is good or bad,” San replied with a frown.
Wooyoung let out an awkward laugh, trying to brush it away.
“I’m telling you, every time I look into your eyes, it feels like discovering an endless sea. So yes, it’s good, and I want to drown in it.”
“Why drown?”
“Because every time we…” Wooyoung whispered, but his voice cracked. “Every time we make love, it feels like going under, into something deep, and I can’t come back up.”
A part of him remained there, wherever the ocean’s depths might be.
San’s eyes narrowed, as if weighing every word. Maybe it was a lot to absorb.
“Too much?” Wooyoung asked, a hint of fear in his eyes and voice.
San leaned in, hands steady on his waist, lips brushing his with a slow, tentative touch. The almost-kiss ached with intimacy. Wooyoung wrapped his arms around San’s neck, opening himself to the kiss, loving him with every breath.
“Of course not,” San said in a murmur, breaking the kiss just to reassure him with words. “I love you, and I want you. You’re mine, Woo, and I’m yours.”
A light flickered in San’s eyes as he spoke, trembling through him just as Wooyoung’s body trembled in response.
“I love you, too,” Wooyoung whispered, resting his head on San’s chest, listening to the wild, unsteady beat of his heart.
San’s hands slid from his waist to his hips, lifting him with a gentle strength. Wooyoung chuckled softly as San laid him down on the mattress, hovering above, ready to claim what was already his.
Wooyoung parted his thighs wider, a clear invitation, open and needy. The room filled with anticipation as San’s gaze changed, his usual calm slipping to show something raw and hungry. A flash of possession and heat ran through Wooyoung, making his breath catch.
✦
San’s hand moved slowly from hip to waist, tracing every line and curve, enjoying the shiver he caused on Wooyoung’s skin. When he finally wrapped his fingers around Wooyoung’s throat, it felt like both a promise and a claim. Wooyoung gasped, his body arching, letting go of every defense.
San’s lips pressed down, fierce and hungry, swallowing any protest or plea, and leaving only desire and heat.
When he broke the kiss, it was only to undress him. He lifted Wooyoung’s shirt, carefully removing it, and then he unbuttoned his jeans, tugging them down along with underwear, leaving him naked, shivering and beautiful as ever.
He moved towards the bedside tablet, opening the first drawer to pull out the bottle of lube. He opened it, poured some into his fingers, and left it on the bed. His hungry, feral gaze traveled along Wooyoung’s bare body, already quivering in anticipation.
Wooyoung spread his legs and thighs apart even more for him to watch. He could feel his cock getting hard just by looking at him, Wooyoung’s eyes trailing off his bulge.
“Take off your clothes, must be uncomfortable,” Wooyoung’s voice was made of honey, lapping every spoken word.
San got rid of his clothes, throwing them on the floor carelessly.
He pushed his slicked fingers between Wooyoung’s thighs and slid one inside.
Wooyoung stiffened at once, his hands flying to San’s arms. He kissed him hard, breathless, almost desperate — but San could feel the way he was holding himself still, holding the air in his lungs against the intrusion.
Then San withdrew just enough to look at him.
Only then did Wooyoung exhale. His body loosened beneath him, little by little, his eyes wide and blown open with want.
“You okay?” San asked, looking at him as he caressed one side of his face.
Wooyoung only nodded in assent, but a slight smile curved the corners of his mouth upwards. As if all of that care, no matter how long they’ve been together, didn’t fail to amaze him.
San braced himself over him, one arm planted beside Wooyoung’s head, close enough that his body seemed to erase the space between them.
He pushed his finger deeper, crowding him, hovering over him, practically engulfing him.
And Wooyoung only arched beneath him, body loosening little by little, chest rising and falling in a rhythm he couldn’t quite control. His hips bucked forward, chasing the touch, the push, the everything San kept giving him so painfully slow.
He bent down to kiss him, when he added a second finger. Swallowing all of Wooyoung’s moans, he kissed him deeper.
Wooyoung only spread his legs apart even more, if that was possible.
His fingers ghosted over San’s wrist, San’s forearm, San’s arm, while his hips kept pushing forward. Impatient, yes; but satisfied, too. He enjoyed being overpowered like this, only slightly — staying still, receiving, letting San take him apart so slowly it stole the breath from his lungs.
He traced kisses all over Wooyoung’s collarbone, then went up to suck and bite on his neck. He stole another moan, a higher one this time.
“San,” Wooyoung called him, voice sweeter and breath quicker. “I want you so bad.”
By then, Wooyoung was shaking, restless and flushed, his patience stretched to the breaking point.
He moved before San could stop him.
With a sharp roll of his hips and a shift of weight, San suddenly found himself underneath. Wooyoung leaned over him, breathing hard, his eyes full of challenge as he guided himself into position.
Then he lowered himself.
He moved with just enough speed — not slow enough to be careful, not fast enough to be reckless. It was enough to make San’s head fall back against the mattress, a rough groan escaping as his hands grabbed Wooyoung’s hips.
Wooyoung barely managed to steady himself before San’s grip tightened.
“Don’t get too proud,” San said, already guiding him into a rhythm. “You’re only moving because I let you.”
“Shut up,” Wooyoung shot back, his words edged with a playful smile.
Wooyoung moved over him in the rhythm San’s hands gave him.
Steady at first, then slower whenever it became too much — whenever they both got too close, too fast, and San’s fingers dug into his hips to hold him there, to keep the moment from breaking too soon.
So Wooyoung dragged it out.
A slower roll of his hips. A shaky breath. His stomach exposed and trembling slightly with every movement, soft under the yellow light spilling from the bedside lamp. His narrow chest, his slim arms, the curve of his neck, the sweat gathering over his skin until he seemed to shine in pieces.
San couldn’t stop looking at him.
His boy, flushed and breathless above him, glowing like something fragile and obscene. Entirely his.
San watched him for another second.
The trembling stomach, the sweat on his skin, the way Wooyoung kept trying to move even when his thighs were already shaking. The way he looked ruined and still somehow too proud.
Then San had enough.
His grip tightened on Wooyoung’s hips, and with one sharp movement, he turned them over again, pushing him back into the mattress. Wooyoung’s breath broke on impact, legs falling open around him almost instinctively, like his body had been waiting for San to take it back.
“Too slow,” San said, voice rough against his mouth.
And then, he moved. Harder this time. Deeper. Every thrust forcing the air out of Wooyoung’s lungs, every sound out of his throat, until the rhythm stopped belonging to either of them and became something desperate, brutal, impossible to resist.
Wooyoung’s hand found his own cock again, but San caught it, pushed it away, and wrapped his fingers around him instead.
“No,” he breathed. “I’ll do it.”
Wooyoung’s head tipped back, mouth open, body tightening beneath him as San fucked into him and stroked him at the same relentless pace. Too much, too fast, too exactly what he had asked for.
“San—”
“I know.”
His hand pumped him through it, forcing him over the edge before he could beg properly, and Wooyoung came with a broken sound, shaking apart under him, clenching so hard San almost lost the rhythm.
San buried himself deeper, hips stuttering, jaw tight, his forehead dropping against Wooyoung’s shoulder as pleasure finally tore through him too. He came inside him with a low, wrecked groan, holding him there, filling him, keeping him pinned beneath his weight until neither of them could move without trembling.
San pulled him close after, one arm locking around his waist, the other hand slipping into his damp hair. Wooyoung’s body was still trembling against his, breath broken against his neck, and San held him tighter, as if the room itself might try to take him away.
If loving Wooyoung was like drowning in the ocean, then San thought he would stop fighting the water.
He would sink.
He would open his mouth and let it fill his lungs.