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high on (you and me)

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neon lights and pulsing beats, and a single star in a sea of dark.

 

 

that's how yoongi will later say it started; with hues of blue and purple and pink and red, and one radiant star. and then many stars, and then heat, and then the morning sun. it'll be sappy, and he'll only tell the story once, but it'll be too late either way.

yoongi falls at—





 

 

blue. it starts with rich, dark blue lighting up the club, dim white marking the edge of the dance floor and the bar around him. the beats are heavy and repetitive, bass seeping into his bones, alcohol warm down his throat, a mass of people pressing together around him. it's all clouding his senses a little, like he's underwater. it's not unpleasant, tonight.

yoongi doesn't do this often: go to clubs, dance, party. he's usually not the type for it, but whenever his friends do drag him to one of these places, that's what he does. sit at the bar and drink, enjoy the atmosphere and music a bit. he absolutely won't join hoseok on the dance floor, and he most likely won't join namjoon in discussions about existentialism that start only two shots in, passionate hissing into strangers' ears almost lost in the noise. he'll drink, and he'll sway with the rhythm; even bob his head, if he's in the mood that night.

they've got their exams behind them, fresh out of deadline-induced isolation fueled by caffeine diets and stress, and yoongi's mood this night is freed from hell. he closes his eyes and lets himself sink.

—and maybe that's where the irregularity takes root; pretty, sweaty and not as usual. yoongi notices him after the third glass of concerningly cheap soju.

yoongi doesn't usually notice people; not in clubs, not in this way.

he's only a side-glance away, not too far from the bar, a little to the right behind hoseok— a boy that looks almost too young to be in here with them.

yoongi notices not because the boy's pretty, which he is from this distance, or because his upper arms curve nicely in his loose-fitting button-up, which as far as yoongi can tell they somehow do, or even because he dances so well, which he sure as hell does judging from the fascinated gazes he draws all around him.

yoongi notices because the boy is positively glowing; head thrown back, eyes closed, laughing open-mouthed and so wide his nose and eyes are scrunched up and– beautiful. there's a boy so beautiful and radiant in a sea of grey, swaying bodies that it cuts straight through the drunken haze, that yoongi swears he's staring at the only goddamn star in a pitch-black night sky.

yoongi doesn't usually wax poetic like this; not quite this cheesy, not about any one specific person.

he watches, because he can't not do it. there's something about it; an exception to the rule, the unexpected. he watches, trying to see more, to catch more glimpses.

the boy moves to the beat effortlessly, simple white shirt unbuttoned more than necessary, shifting teasingly across his chest. pretty smile. the gods may be in a favorable mood tonight, who knows— the crowd shifts around him, pushing him further out to the edge of the dance floor. his shirt is tucked into his jeans at the front, a flash of a belt— ripped jeans taut around muscular legs. yoongi downs his drink in one go and asks for another.

hoseok doesn't take notice, further to the left, but others certainly do. people press especially close to the unnamed beauty, moves clearly suggestive in the amount of physical contact. yoongi watches him dance with girl after girl after boy after boy, hips circling and thighs flexing, heat simmering low in yoongi's gut with sip after sip after gulp after gulp. the boy doesn't mind, dancing with everyone and nobody at all, enjoying himself most of all. yoongi can't deny he might be enjoying it, too.

he thinks he should, though, when local dance club adonis catches yoongi's eyes, and yoongi's breath catches in his throat.

he should and he wants to deny it, look away and pretend to have been listening to namjoon's tipsy rant about the psychological toxicity of societal pressure in the context of generationalism all this time. he wants to—but he doesn't. he keeps his eyes glued to the boy's, drink in hand forgotten halfway to his mouth, and the pretty stranger– looks surprised for a moment, but then his gaze grows shy as he timidly but definitely checks yoongi out, giving him a once-over that's as subtle as yoongi's staring must've been. yoongi feels tingling all over his skin, warm, cold, running down his spine, down, along with something else he chooses to ignore. he's self-conscious for a second or two, but he's in all black, short-sleeved shirt, some silver jewelry, his tightest pants; it should be alright, thank hoseok. the boy looks bashful, but he keeps eye contact as his lips quirk in a tiny smile, and yoongi swallows hard– and then mimics him, gaze obviously roaming down the stranger's body and back up again.

yoongi doesn't usually flirt; not with strangers, not seriously.

he wants to blame it on the alcohol: how he doesn't break eye contact, and doesn't feel awkward about it. the boy looks timid but interested, so yoongi lets himself appreciate whatever he can make out from the distance—the soft smile, the bottom lip tugged in between teeth, the big, questioning eyes; he wonders what color they are. he stares, and stares, and stares shamelessly until namjoon elbows him in the shoulder—not even to catch his attention, but accidentally, gesturing animatedly to make a point—and the boy with the pretty smile finally snaps out of it, it, whatever it was, acknowledges namjoon, averts his gaze in embarrassment. yoongi suddenly remembers his soju, remembers how to move; will remember being checked out by a ridiculously attractive guy and grins into his drink.

that's all it was, and it was nice, and his ego feels satisfied. that's all. he's fine with that, doesn't want to follow up on it, doesn't do one night stands. but warmth spreads in his chest, and it has to be the alcohol, or the ghost of curious eyes all over him, or– whatever, it doesn't matter, doesn't affect him at all. he stares down at the bar counter, edges blurring in purple.

he makes an attempt to listen to namjoon, then. he tries, because he ought to, because he loves his friend that's all brain and flailing limbs; but also because his eyes threaten to wander too much, want to meet one certain pair again. and he can't help himself, so they do, every now and then, briefly—the pretty boy keeps looking back at him, too. it's all curiosity and shyness, all kind of high school crush. yoongi feels silly, but warmer than before.

he tries. he tries to listen very seriously and is successful for a maximum of about three consecutive sentences at a time, and then he inevitably loses the train of thought, loses control, and his thoughts wander, eyes wander again and– then, suddenly, the boy is gone. yoongi looks over to hoseok, and hoseok is there, further in, a sea of people is there, but there's no—

a body presses close to yoongi's, cutting off his line of sight.

oh.

there he is, the pretty stranger, who's already way, way prettier from up close.

he slides onto the bar stool to yoongi's right, huffs lightly, forearms coming to rest on top of the counter. close. he orders a beer, sweet, with lemon, and yoongi doesn't know what to do; doesn't know if he noticed who he sat down next to, at all.

"it's on me," yoongi realizes he's saying, motioning to the bartender and pointing back at himself to make his point. he says it casually, holds himself like it's no big deal, like he does this all the time, except he has no idea and feels his stress-levels rise; he's never actually done this before. he might get approached by people, or introduced to people, or– messaged by people that he wonders where they got his number from (hoseok if it's an annoying private matter, namjoon if it's a questionable business call). but this—buying a drink for an attractive stranger at a bar, of his own volition, in hopes of– nothing, really, nothing at all—he doesn't ever do this. he's pathetically out of his depth.

the boy dares to look at him properly for the first time since coming over, turning his head, close, and yoongi kind of short-circuits with the flood of information, observations, tiny details even in the bad lighting, something in his chest doing weird things. his eyes have a beautiful shape, his nose is cute, there might be a scar on his cheek, it's charming, his jawline should be illegal, his cupid's bow is so pretty, his bottom lip is fuller, is that a mole right below it? there's a mole, a mole right below his lips, his lips— yoongi has to mentally kick his shit-brain back into function. he snaps his eyes back up; kicks himself again.

he wonders if he's acting too bold, coming off too strong, because the boy looks taken aback, eyes fixed on yoongi's, who– feels like a creep and also a dick, a truly unfortunate combination of both, for all the outright ogling like he can't control himself. yoongi's about to put his hands up, apologize, assure he's not planning to jump him—but then the other is already leaning in, quick and smooth and biting his lip.

"what's that for, sunbaenim?"

and yoongi—isn't sure. what that was for, or what he wants, or what exactly it is that he's doing at any given point in time, in the grand scheme of things. but the universe probably doesn't care, so he doesn't dwell on it. he does note with some surprise that it must be a student at his college who's seen him around, or has heard of him, yoongi doesn't know; he doesn't recognize that face, which is a shame. he shifts closer, and the boy meets him halfway.

"uh, the staring, i guess. sorry about that. have we met before?"

he sees the other's eyes flicker down to his mouth as he speaks, and okay, that's—

"not really. but you could dance with me, instead."

—unexpected. or maybe it shouldn't be, what with the mutual sort-of interested eye contact, but it is, to yoongi. yoongi didn't expect anything. the guy could be making flirty eyes at people all the time. he could have changed his mind when he saw yoongi up close.

yoongi isn't usually being flirted with; not so boldly, not so– honestly.

the boy raises a hand to his beautifully wavy hair, combs his fingers through the strands. "i mean, too, you could dance– too. that's why we're here, right? in a dance club—"

yoongi wasn't even convinced that it was a serious offer at all, and now he isn't sure whether that offer was already taken back. he's really not sure of anything in general.

he smiles, lopsided, and doesn't risk it. whatever. maybe the boy is just awkward and doesn't know he's also unfairly charming at the same time. it's not his fault. maybe he just likes making smalltalk. yoongi gives him an out.

"nah it's alright, i am here," yoongi taps his finger against the dark wood of the counter, "for a reason. i don't dance."

well, let's say it was an offer— he just definitely rejected it himself, either way. there's muffled frustrated groaning somewhere in the back of his mind.

the boy blinks at him for a moment, just blinks, thinks, considers; his eyes so intense and pretty yoongi almost fidgets– and then his lips twitch in—amusement, maybe? suddenly, something shifts, clicks, somehow, yoongi can't explain it—there's a certain spark in his eyes now that yoongi thinks he could both love and hate at the same time.

"you that bad?"

there's something about this—something in the air around that, in the tone, playful and easy, that has yoongi's shoulders relax. he knows how to roll with that, it's instinct. he snorts, "maybe i just don't feel like it," plays up his defensive tone with a pout, "maybe my ideal fun night out is getting shit-faced, then leaving."

"sure, you just get drunk in a dance club and go home."

"you wanna judge a man for his life choices?"

"a little." the boy might be hiding an amused smirk behind his glass, yoongi can't be sure, doesn't want to stare again, while he regards yoongi thoughtfully. that glint in his eyes is still there, teasing and so, so captivating. or maybe it's just his eyes. "i'll just have to assume you're a terrible dancer."

"that kind of breaks my heart, but i'll try to live with it."

yoongi truthfully doesn't even mind dancing as much as he says or tells hoseok, but the banter comes naturally, he can't help himself. he's vaguely aware that the boy could just back off at any moment, which yoongi doesn't want, but—he flashes yoongi a wide, toothy grin, and yoongi has a weird feeling he won't.

he stays quiet for a while, silence not unpleasant, music now filtering back into yoongi's consciousness, as well as namjoon's voice to their left, but it's not directed at them. the boy finishes his beer, and for a second yoongi worries that that was already all, but then he shifts a little, turns towards yoongi more, hesitant smile on his lips. it's so soft and innocent and not a warning at all.

he leans in close, closer, breath hot on yoongi's ear, "and if i say please?"

his voice is lower than before, yoongi's pretty sure. yoongi guesses. yoongi has no idea, shiver running down his spine, fingers digging into his knee. the boy pulls back enough to cock his head towards the dance floor in emphasis. please, he said, almost nervously, yet his eyebrows raise in challenge. this is– really not the personality yoongi expected. yoongi's ready to fight.

before the boy can back away, yoongi loosely hooks a finger into his collar, barely brushing his collarbone, to keep him close.

"so who exactly am i supposed to be dancing with?"

he stares at yoongi for a beat too long, caught off-guard, but then his lips curl into a self-satisfied grin.

"jungkook. incredibly handsome guy? i think you've seen him around."

"yoongi." he lets his hand fall, gaze fall, down and back up jungkook's body in a quick once-over. he shrugs, "no idea who that is."

jungkook pulls back, back to the dance floor, smile easy and pretty, aggravating, fitting, on his boyish face. "see for yourself."

yoongi wants to level him with an unimpressed glare, but it's surprisingly hard, because he has to suppress a smile of his own. still, yoongi's ego is too big not to at least try to play it cool. he finishes his drink, absentmindedly patting namjoon on the back to signal his leave, and gets off the stool.

yoongi doesn't usually dance; not on just any night, not with just anyone.

he follows a blinding smile into the dark, vision turning a neon pink.

 

 

the main dance area is cramped, even more so than it looked like from the side, but he follows; follows jungkook through the push and the pull around them, right into the heart of it all. it's hot, and they're close, and yoongi isn't sure whether that's good or bad, or maybe both. part of him is finally catching up to what he's doing, yelling at him to go back and leave this whole budding drunken clubbing fiasco to someone else—but there's another part, deeper down, down, sitting low in his stomach, that's buzzing with excitement. soju; it's probably the soju. he tells both of them to shut the fuck up.

he also realizes, maybe too late, that hoseok will never let him live this down if he finds him here, on the dance floor, dancing, with someone other than himself. yoongi's been turning him down for years after one mortifying night that won't be repeated or ever spoken of. he hopes hoseok is too busy or too drunk to remember him.

jungkook falls into a rhythm easily, follows the music with both grace and power. his moves are sharp, yoongi can tell, and yoongi doesn't care about dancing at all, but. but maybe he's got to make some sacrifices every now and then, so he takes in the low bass, the beat, and lets his body flow with it, understated but instinctual. he knows his moves aren't as pronounced as jungkook's, not as overtly sexy, but jungkook doesn't seem to mind, gaze caught somewhere clearly below yoongi's chest level. yoongi has fleeting pride tugging the corner of his mouth into a smirk, his eyebrow up into a question. jungkook takes a while to notice.

"so why were you glued to the bar, again?"

"i told you it's not my thing. not usually."

jungkook's gaze carries way too much, is too hot on yoongi's skin, "it could be your thing."

trying to talk over the music in the middle of the dance floor proves to be an even worse idea than having profound life-altering conversations at the bar—bless namjoon's philosophic heart for making an earnest effort every time—because now they have to speak directly into each other's ear to be heard at all, and– and jungkook's jaw, his neck– is right there. yoongi doesn't question what his dazed brain will use that information for.

"yeah? you seem to know."

"i do."

jungkook's not breaking eye contact, still, surprisingly intense about it all; yoongi's gaze can't resist the pull down, down to jungkook's lips, and he wets his own. it's more subconscious than intentional, but jungkook follows the movement, now fixated on yoongi's mouth, licking his lips too; some shared thought, feeling, interest here, who knows— yoongi can't help but smirk at that, confident but probably mostly buzzed, and jungkook bites down on his bottom lip.

his eyes are big but hooded and pretty and shine in a way they shouldn't, all youthful wonder and hesitance and some darker intent. it doesn't make sense, yoongi can't read them right; he feels good, and excited, and nervous at the same time. when they catch yoongi's again, yoongi averts his, it's— a lot. physical attraction is one thing, fine, they're in a goddamn dance club, and both adults, it's fine, but that look

there's not a lot of space to move or dance or even be, and everyone around them is apparently having the time of their lives, so it's no surprise. that people brush against them, bump into them, shove them to the side. it can't be helped. it can't be helped that they seem to be pushed even closer together, already very unsafe distance getting much, much less safe. it can't be helped, he knows, but.

jungkook's hips lightly graze his, the barest of contact at the front of yoongi's jeans, possibly– probably an accident. yoongi flits his eyes over the boy quickly, but he certainly doesn't look embarrassed or guilty or aware of yoongi choking on his breath. that's fine.

it's not. it happens again, more insistent, and when yoongi dares to make eye contact for more than a second, he realizes, belatedly, that he probably never stood a chance.

jungkook looks bashful, more than anything else, bottom lip between his teeth again, but there's a certain determination in his eyes—his pretty hooded eyes, dropping to yoongi's parted lips as he sucks in a breath—and a tentative hand hovering over yoongi's hip, a timid finger hooking around his belt loop. yoongi's stomach drops, composure drops, tension heavy; pulling yoongi's eyes down, blood rushing down, down, to jungkook's hips moving against his, jungkook's leg sneaking in between his. yoongi's breath comes all shaky, all wrong, and he wants to— he doesn't know what, or he does, but he wants.

he holds onto jungkook's shirt for purchase, wants to pull, pull, or maybe he should push, a bit, he can't think. he needs to back up. he needs jungkook to back up, but there's nowhere to go, and no other way to do this.

"aren't you a little young for me?"

his mouth is dry and it's hard to make himself heard over the music without practically pressing himself against jungkook to yell into his ear. he tries not to press himself against jungkook. he really, really tries, but he's weak, and jungkook's body is ridiculously toned in contrast to his baby face, minus the killer jaw, all firm and warm beneath yoongi's ghost of a touch, and— and yoongi's an idiot and should've asked before following jungkook into this death trap of no personal space and body heat. he's younger than yoongi, alright, but he should at least be of age, theoretically, if he's in college and was allowed in and can drink, but then the staff only cares theoretically, and who knows, who knows— he should be of age, needs to be, so yoongi doesn't have to high tail it out of here and feel ashamed and creepy and maybe deserving of a lawsuit and incarceration. sexual harassment of a minor, failure to be a decent human being. if not by official forces, he could incarcerate himself in his room for the next week, at least; refuse visitors, write letters of apology for being a disappointment to hoseok and namjoon, maybe his parents—

"i'm 20," gorgeous jungkook, who is of age, breathes into yoongi's ear.

yoongi exhales in a huff, relieved, but also not. he's of age, fine, but it's still—still, well—a bit young, if someone asked, yoongi usually wouldn't— wouldn't press his hands to the chest of a boy that's barely legal, but he is, in fact, pressing his hands to jungkook's chest, who is barely legal, and whose chest is firm and warm and yoongi needs a drink. he wets his lips.

"i'm 24. am i not too old for you then?" yoongi doesn't want jungkook to think him too old, he doesn't know what he's saying.

"i know," jungkook leans in, in, as close as he can and yoongi can't focus with his smell and neck and body right there, "so take care of me, hyung."

jungkook circles his hips against yoongi's, and who knows whether it's the friction or the word or the tone in his voice that makes yoongi groan low in his throat. "fuck."

it's too hot, they're too close, their bodies are touching too much. but yoongi can't say he wants to stop— he doesn't. his brain is swimming, his body floating, jungkook's grip on his hips anchoring him. every press of jungkook's hips is making the heat in yoongi's gut surge, making him lose focus more, and he's only vaguely aware and barely ashamed at all that they're quickly getting close to some full out dry-humping in the middle of the dance floor, soon to be featuring some awkward hard-ons for everyone's viewing pleasure. barely ashamed. but he is, a bit.

he pushes against jungkook's stupidly lean body, enough to look him in the eyes. jungkook licks his lips, breath uneven. he looks aroused, unabashed, wanting; he frowns at yoongi drawing back.

"not here." what yoongi means is: i'm about to pop a boner because you're incredibly hot and grinded on me and it was great but we're in public so we can't have that. maybe if we were somewhere else, some other time—

what jungkook apparently understands is: not right here. he turns his face away; yoongi follows his heated gaze to the restrooms, and feels way in over his head. feels and feels and flushes hotly, grabs a fist full of the other's shirt.

jungkook looks at him questioningly, but is already swaying from his spot, slowly moving towards the exit. yoongi's knees feel weak, so he follows, because he can't think and he can't let go and his hand happens to be caught in jungkook's clothes, his eyes in jungkook's eyes. funny how that happens.

they squeeze their way through the masses, out of it and into an empty hallway. yoongi follows, follows, walks jungkook backwards into the men's restroom, or maybe jungkook is pulling, he doesn't know but they're stumbling into a stall, not letting go. yoongi closes the door behind him, turns them, pins jungkook up against it with his body. his hips find jungkook's again, finally, finally, he's missed it— jungkook whimpers, yoongi can hear it here, music muffled a bit, intoxicating and pretty.

yoongi pushes a leg in between jungkook's, one hand on his hip, and jungkook throws his head back, panting. his neck is right there. yoongi's mouth wants it, and they're in private now, this is alright; yoongi latches onto jungkook's throat, kisses him open-mouthed, wet. jungkook moans, too quiet, it's all yoongi hears, hands grasping at his back. he grinds his hips forward, and jungkook moans again, breathless and beautiful. yoongi can feel jungkook's growing erection against his own hardening cock, and it sends a jolt of pleasure and excitement through him, hot, too hot, melting; his head's a mess, it's all blurry, urgent, he wants so bad, it's all red red red.

then someone flushes a fucking toilet.

both of them freeze, breath stuck in their throats.

there's a stall unlocking, footsteps, then someone's washing their hands. neither one of them dares to move, their breaths quiet and shallow. there's some rustling and shuffling, and then the footsteps make to leave.

"uh, sorry about that. have fun in there." the guy leaves; the door falls shut. yoongi suddenly can think way too clearly.

he's in a fucking stuffy dance club, in a stuffy dirty restroom of a dance club, out of breath and halfway to a boner, seconds from humping or maybe blowing this guy he's never seen before. an interesting, cute guy, but still.

yoongi doesn't usually— do this. wouldn't usually do it. like this.

he draws back, untangles himself from everything jungkook; which is hard. for a moment. just to breathe.

jungkook's face kind of, somehow, hurts him. jungkook's eyes are big, too big, frozen in confusion, or disappointment, or– rejection.

"i don't—" yoongi's throat doesn't work right, doesn't supply him with air right, doesn't make the right sounds. he clears his throat, smooths his hands down his shirt. "i don't wanna– not like this—"

not like this, not now, but how, when? yoongi wants. jungkook's eyes are so pretty, but they're cast down now, focusing on getting his own appearance back to normal, back to looking put together; like yoongi didn't have his hands on him, didn't push himself against that body.

fuck it. fuck the usual.

"not in here, this is—" yoongi waves a hand around the tiny, frankly disgusting toilet stall, "i mean, we could—" he swallows, throat dry, "if you wanted to, we could go to my place? it's 10 minutes from here, you could go back anytime—"

"okay."

jungkook answers a bit too fast, a bit too winded, still. but yoongi, too. "okay."

yoongi searches jungkook's eyes, and he's nervous, but not uncomfortable. not against it. yoongi smiles at him, one-sided and a bit awkward, and jungkook mirrors it, reaching for him. he loosely grabs yoongi by the hem of his shirt, pulls him closer. his eyes are on yoongi's lips. yoongi is too tipsy to understand, but not tipsy enough not to.

yoongi leans in slowly for this, draws it out; takes in jungkook's breath on his mouth, the stutter in it. feels the softness of jungkook's lips, the lightest touch; then a bit more, leans in more, fits his lips in between jungkook's. there's a hand on his spine, another on his hip, and jungkook's pulling, pulling, he feels so good. he parts his mouth, tempting, and yoongi can't not lick into it, smooth his tongue over jungkook's, soft soft soft.

jungkook whimpers into it, high, grasp tightening. his hips press forward, searching, teasing against yoongi. it's good, so good, yoongi wants more.

not here.

he drops his head on jungkook's shoulder, shifting his hips away into a safe distance from this menace of a boy. huffs without bite, not even a question, "could you stop trying to seduce me for two seconds."

jungkook chuckles, and yoongi can feel it, "is it working?"

for that, yoongi does grind his still half hard cock against jungkook, pushes him back into the door. well. "what do you think?"

jungkook's voice is all breathy, all shaky, too low. "lead the way, hyung."

he'll drive him crazy, yoongi has that feeling. jungkook will drive him crazy.

he draws back, successfully this time, doesn't let jungkook distract him from having his own free will. it's hard, embarrassingly so, but he manages. he reminds himself how to breathe, and how to calm down, and how to not have all his blood stuck in his goddamn dick. they check their appearances in the mirror before they leave, but it doesn't help much.

"how much have you had to drink?" yoongi isn't great with keeping things in the right priority order. he looks over at jungkook through the mirror. there's some lipstick and– stuff smeared on the bottom.

"a few beers? i can think straight, i promise," jungkook's messing up his hair even more, or differently maybe; there's some sort of science to it. "or gay. whatever. and you?"

it takes a second— yoongi's kind of really into the sight of jungkook's hands tangled in his soft locks— he snorts. "not enough."

and then yoongi's making his way through the crowd, pushing, jungkook on his toes, fingers in his back pocket, grazing his ass. not a help at all.

he passes by the bar, all but shouts into namjoon's hear, "i'm leaving, cover for me." doesn't elaborate, because he doesn't really want to. not now, or in person, or ever. not with jungkook right there.

the night air feels heavenly on yoongi's heated skin, all tingling and itching and craving touch. it's much cooler than inside, but warm enough not to be cold, pleasant and most importantly fresh. he can finally breathe again.

yoongi leads the way, jungkook falling into step with him by his side. he isn't holding onto yoongi anymore, although he still touches his elbow or wrist briefly when pushing through the stream of party goers. it's barely midnight, the bars and food stalls swarmed with college students, some from yoongi's, some from the others, but yoongi wouldn't recognize any of them, either way. yoongi doesn't go out a lot, but he knows the district well enough, navigating around the most crowded street.

jungkook doesn't talk, but yoongi feels his gaze on him, sometimes. it's heavy.

"you come here a lot?" it's not the smoothest yoongi's ever been, but the atmosphere is— weird.

"not here, no. i've been to the club a few times before."

yoongi's leading them away from the nearest campus and its dorms, where jungkook probably lives. maybe. yoongi, namjoon and hoseok live a bit off to the other side, in a small apartment someone's friend's aunt's husband owns, or something. the only guy they've ever talked to about housing or rent was some eccentric senior, now alumnus from their college, anyway. senior. yoongi wonders if he should feel weird about the fact that jungkook is closer to being a minor than to yoongi's age—

fuck. namjoon and hoseok.

they're almost at their apartment complex when he remembers a crucial thing and fishes for his phone, deep in his pocket.

suffer squad (3)
[0:07] yoongi: hey lovely bestest humans
[0:07] yoongi: friends,
[0:07] yoongi: pls kindly fuck off 2nite
[0:08] yoongi: to somewhere else, sleep somewhere else
[0:08] yoongi: don't come home.
[0:08] yoongi: for ur own safety
[0:08] yoongi: i'm very busy
[0:09] yoongi: thx

he deems it clear enough and sets his phone to silent. his hands are little clumsy, a little stiff when he reaches for his keys next. the complex they live in is nothing special, a bit run-down, a bit ugly from outside; still, good enough. the entrance is coming up too soon, hallways lit too bright; yoongi squints down, struggles to find the right key. the night air was a bit too cool, the group chat messages a bit too real. his head feels a bit clearer, a bit— nervous. he chances a look at jungkook.

jungkook seems a bit tense, shoulders raised and hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. it's not cold, that's not it. maybe… maybe. what if.

yoongi unlocks the door, says it casually, because it's alright; steps into the dark and makes space if jungkook wants to follow. "you don't have to, you know that? it's okay if you changed your mind—"

but then there are soft lips on his, and a firm body pinning him against the closing door. yoongi makes a surprised sound that turns into something of an appreciative groan into jungkook's mouth.

jungkook's mouth— it's soft and gentle in an almost shy way, but eager, so eager at the same time, pushing against yoongi's. his hands are warm on yoongi's hips, and yoongi's own slide up his chest, over his collarbone, along his neck, to cup his jaw. yoongi can feel jungkook's pulse, speeding up, and it makes his own heart hammer against his rib cage that bit faster.

well, he's glad for the reassurance.

yoongi pushes his leg in between jungkook's, arches his hips off the door in a way that has jungkook break the kiss to gasp for air instead. yoongi drops one hand down to jungkook's back, his waist, savors the feeling of his curves as yoongi cups his ass and squeezes, pushes their hips together again. jungkook lets his head fall forward against the door— moans right into yoongi's ear, heavenly, breathtakingly— takes it as encouragement to grind yoongi against it. yoongi didn't know he'd be into the pressure of muscles at his front, a hard surface in his back, this display of strength– but he finds he is most definitely so absolutely into it.

he groans low into jungkook's hair, places open-mouthed kisses on his neck, can't resist the urge to bite into his pulse point, hungry, barely restrained. jungkook is everywhere, everything; so hard against yoongi's cock, heaving against yoongi's chest, moving under yoongi's hands; his breathy moans right in yoongi's ear, his smell, his addicting smell making yoongi dizzy and reckless. yoongi's brain has long since relinquished control to his dick instead, which is to say he's not under any control at all, because he just wants wants wants

he reaches to the front of jungkook's jeans, his belt, tries to figure out how to open it without seeing a thing— jungkook inhales shakily, stiffly, shoulders straightening, lifting off of yoongi's body. something's wrong but yoongi doesn't know what.

"hyung, i—"

he doesn't want to, jungkook doesn't want to but why, he did want it, he started it, but— regardless, he doesn't want to anymore, yoongi went too far, too fast, he fucked up, did he fuck up?

he removes his hands from jungkook's belt, lets them hover over his waist awkwardly, "sorry, i'm sorry, if you—"

"i've never done this before."

fuck.

jungkook's 20 and drop-dead gorgeous and charming and yoongi assumed, dreaded, maybe, that he does this regularly, has done this before, for sure— but concern has yoongi's body stiffen too, clear through his tipsy haze; if this is his first time, if yoongi's his first—

"i mean, hooked up– i've never– i've never gone home with anyone, before."

it's a slight relief, jungkook's hands warm and calming against yoongi's sides. jungkook curls his fingers in yoongi's shirt, suddenly sounding unsure, breathing still a mess. he looks winded, aroused in the dim moonlight filtering in, beautiful; lips plump, parted, red, yoongi wants to kiss them again so badly. he shakes his head, wills the impulse away.

yoongi doesn't usually give in to impulses; not spontaneously, not this desperately.

he straightens, places a hand against jungkook's chest, "yeah, i– me neither. i don't usually– hook up." reality creeps up his back, cold, sobering. "it's okay, we don't have to, if you don't want to—"

"i didn't say that."

yoongi tries to read jungkook's gaze but he's honestly either dense or still way too drunk; the boy looks both hesitant and determined, equal parts timid and bold. it could be plea or command, yoongi isn't sure, but something in his chest does a little flip, so it doesn't matter: yoongi would comply, either way.

jungkook leans back in, question in his careful movement, and yoongi breathes an "okay" against his lips. kisses him gently now, closed-mouthed, pulls a bit on his bottom lip. jungkook exhales unsteadily, pressing closer again. "just tell me to stop whenever you want to."

"okay," jungkook mumbles into yoongi's mouth, eyes cast down, lashes long and pretty and so so close. his hands snake down to yoongi's hips, and then under the hem of his shirt, warm curious fingers on his skin, over his hip bone. yoongi takes a steadying breath, tries to, stutters with it. his own fingers curl on jungkook's chest, wanting to move, explore, touch more. he pushes.

"bedroom?"

his voice is weak, careful, wanting.

jungkook nods, but doesn't move; hands moving up yoongi's sides, up to his ribs. yoongi nudges him gently, pushes him backward with his own body, hands on his hips to guide him. jungkook follows, lets yoongi walk him backwards, but doesn't let up, still. he buries his face in yoongi's neck, leaving distracting kisses on every inch of skin he can reach. yoongi has a worst case scenario of them both tripping over something and cracking their skulls open to be discovered like that in the morning by namjoon and hoseok flashing through his mind. his dick unnecessarily reminds him that he also has yet to get laid, that he really, really wants to fuck jungkook if jungkook will let him, or yoongi might even– well, whatever jungkook wants to do, yoongi's open to experimenting. as long as he's alive for it.

his outstretched palm touches the door to his room before he can accidentally walk jungkook into it, and he lets them both in, jungkook still paying more attention to caressing yoongi's neck and bare skin than anything else. yoongi's breath is irregular, distracted— jungkook has one hand wandering around to yoongi's ass, pushing their hips together teasingly. yoongi groans and almost loses balance.

"jungkook—" he wants to scold, but it comes out hungry, low. jungkook pulls back a bit and has the audacity to look smug, one corner of his mouth quirked upward, eyes hooded. yoongi forces him another step back, pushes him down onto his bed, blood rushing in his ears, red in his vision. jungkook bounces on the mattress a little, lips stretched into an aggravating grin. he sits up, eyes not leaving yoongi's— and stills. a noise catches both of their attention.

jungkook's hand is touching a plastic bag next to him, resting on yoongi's bed. yoongi pauses; he's never seen it before. jungkook moves to push it aside, and the contents spill— packs of condoms, in all kinds of sizes, variations, a whole pile of them, there are so many– sliding out of the bag across yoongi's bed covers, and yoongi's soul is spontaneously trying to slide out of him. there's something else, bigger and heavier, still in the bag, unmoving.

yoongi blinks at the bag, then up at jungkook, who mirrors yoongi. they stare at each other for a beat too long, a certain kind of tension in the silence.

then jungkook's mouth twitches, contorts– it's kind of a grin, and kind of a grimace, and there's something in his gaze, in yoongi's chest, it hurts a bit. jungkook huffs a shaky laugh, eyes on yoongi's jaw, "you prepared for someone, huh?"

someone, it sounds wrong here, in the air between them and no, no no no, abort, this is not how this was supposed to go— yoongi didn't plan to just fuck anyone, fucking hell, he never brings anyone home, why did his roommates have to leave their kinky shit in his room on this night, of all nights—

a memory flashes in front of his eyes: how adamant hoseok was about yoongi having to get out again, how he practically forced yoongi out of his studio, made him dress up, nicely, how namjoon looked hesitant about it but didn't disagree—

if jungkook leaves now, feeling tricked and humiliated and a faceless anyone out of everyone, yoongi will have to find hoseok and namjoon and kill them, slowly; he will have to go to jail for two murders, but maybe jungkook would agree to visit him, if he got a chance to explain at some point.

yoongi puts his hands up as if it could stop jungkook from assuming whatever terrible thing he looks like he's assuming about yoongi now, "that's not mine, i didn't– my roommates—"

his words come out all stilted, awkward, and his hands do some kind of nervous vague gesturing that neither gets any point across, nor helps reassure jungkook. yoongi groans, looking over the mess on his bed helplessly.

"they're assholes, they must've thought– i don't know, that it would be funny— they dragged me out to that club tonight too, so they must've– left this…"

it's hard to combine the right words, thoughts, to explain this: that his headass best friends apparently thought yoongi should get out and bone someone, and that— going by a rough estimate of the condom pile of shame on his bed— about 30 times. he had a reasonable chance to get 1 in, but that chance looks pretty slim right now. which— isn't even the problem, god, can his dick shut the fuck up and deflate in silence.

the problem is that this boy, jungkook, this pretty, cute boy with the infectious smile is looking at yoongi with wide eyes, hint of hurt in them. yoongi doesn't know why, but it looks wrong, it makes yoongi feel— wrong.

he touches a hand to his hair, not knowing what else to do with himself. "i'm not that kind of guy, i mean– you don't know me, but—" he wets his lips, exhales heavily, gaze down. they didn't take off their shoes at the front door, great. "i don't just take anyone home, not that there's anything wrong with it, if that's how you roll, but it's not what... this is," his voice fades out. he sighs again.

when yoongi chances a look at jungkook, he's frowning down at their feet, eyes darting around like he's trying to find some answer there. apparently he does— he stills, eyes widening a bit, and then they snap up to yoongi, lips parting. pretty, pretty soft lips.

"hyung," the word sends a shiver down yoongi's spine. jungkook's voice is timid, airy. pretty. his gaze is averted, now directed somewhere off to the side, studying yoongi's work desk intently. he looks embarrassed, suddenly, arms drawn close to his sides, fingers curling in the covers. "it's okay, i mean, it's none of my business how many others you bring home or not," the light from the street lamp outside his window isn't enough to be 100% sure from this angle, but jungkook's cheeks look like they're– darkening. he's blushing. he brings up a hand to cover his face, pretends to scratch at the bridge of his nose and somehow, magically, yoongi feels his own blood rush to his face at the sight. what a sight. "—but i believe you, so. it's okay."

"okay," yoongi breathes. he's transfixed, and confused, and relieved. jungkook is biting on his bottom lip, fidgeting a bit, still not meeting yoongi's eyes. he's so endearing, and so fascinating, and so incredibly attractive to yoongi. when their eyes do finally meet, jungkook is looking up at him through his lashes, somewhat shy, but also— clearly, very clearly suggestive. yoongi's stomach flips, heat coiling around his insides. he takes a step towards the bed, and jungkook parts his legs to let yoongi stand between them, still looking up at him with those pretty big eyes, open and inviting. seductive. yoongi's too weak.

he drops to his knees between jungkook's legs, not breaking eye contact. jungkook visibly shudders, mouth falling open. his breath stutters; he's so, so gorgeous. yoongi raises a hand to his jaw, and jungkook leans into the touch, gaze flickering down to yoongi's mouth. yoongi won't deny him: they kiss slowly first, carefully, before arousal takes over again and makes yoongi touch his other hand to jungkook's knee, sliding up his thigh, squeezing greedily, and jungkook whimpers against yoongi's lips, parts his own to let yoongi's tongue in. he's so responsive and pliant under yoongi's mouth, firm strong muscle flexing under yoongi's hand, that yoongi could honest to god lose his mind. probably.

he has half a mind to ask jungkook to take off his shoes as he's trying to get out of his own, and it comes out like a command, low, urgent. because maybe it is, because yoongi really needs jungkook on his bed right now, preferably five minutes ago. they throw them to the side.

yoongi straightens up, drops his hands to the bed on jungkook's sides; raises himself up over jungkook's body, who leans back, not willing to break the kiss. yoongi makes jungkook move backwards, further up the bed, crawling over him, following, pushing. jungkook shoves the bag and the condoms aside carelessly, and they drop to the floor with a thud. yoongi follows him up to the headboard, covers his body with his own; jungkook has his knees bent on either side of yoongi, and yoongi can't help but grind down, cock slowly but surely beginning to strain against the inside of his jeans again, aching for friction. jungkook moans, high and melodic, and it's so beautiful, he's so beautiful: breathing unevenly beneath yoongi, head thrown back, soft brown hair falling on yoongi's pillow, hands grasping at yoongi's shoulders, his back; hips rising up against yoongi's, needy, hard. yoongi moans, low in his throat, it's too much. this boy is too much and too perfect and yoongi doesn't know what to do with himself.

he keeps circling his hips slowly, rhythmically; jungkook makes all of these little noises, huffs, hums, groans; all so pretty, heavenly, intoxicating; yoongi doesn't want to stop. he runs a hand up jungkook's thigh again, can't not touch him, and jungkook sucks in a sharp breath as yoongi presses his fingers into the inside of his thigh, close, so close but not quite there. "hyung," it's a plea, maybe, yoongi wants it to be. he slides his hand further up, up, shifts his hips so he can get his hand in between them instead. jungkook whines as yoongi runs his hand up over his erection, hard and straining in way too tight jeans. yoongi wants to help, wants to make jungkook feel good, wants to touch more; wants wants wants. jungkook stutters on his inhale as yoongi sits up to open his belt, hands a little clumsy, a little shaky— leftover alcohol and hormones and jungkook in his system, clouding his head.

still, even through the fog, he hears it— muffled, but just enough: ask again, jackass. his dick is a powerful influence, but his brain never really shuts up. thankfully. it's right. yoongi wants jungkook, but more than that— yoongi wants jungkook to want him back. there's no point to it otherwise.

yoongi wills his hands to stop, stop, wait for permission first. his voice is more hesitant than he would've expected. "can i?"

jungkook is looking right back at him, chest rising and falling too fast, lips parted. yoongi ignores all the things he can think of that involve jungkook's pretty spit-slicked lips, his mouth. not now.

jungkook nods, jerkily, the tiniest bit. there's something wrong in the crease between his eyebrows, the tension in his jaw. his fingers are gripping the bed covers too hard. yoongi's horny, right now, but he's not a horny idiot. his shoulders sag. he kind of knows.

"are you sure?"

jungkook wets his lips, swallows. opens his mouth wider to speak, but doesn't. he averts his eyes, biting on his bottom lip.

yoongi exhales slowly, tells his heart to calm the fuck down. he removes his hands from jungkook's pants, lifts himself off of the boy; sits himself down on the edge of the bed next to jungkook instead. it's a bit awkward, but yoongi touches a finger to jungkook's chin, makes him look back at him to get his sincerity across, voice calm, gentle, "it's alright. we don't have to."

"i guess it did look a bit weird," he's grimacing down at the condoms to his feet, and what he's pretty sure is a bottle of lube still wrapped in the white plastic bag.

"no, that's– not it…" jungkook doesn't meet his eyes when yoongi looks back at him, staring out the window to the side. he's chewing on his lip, tension visible in his jaw, his shoulders. "sorry, i just— it's just me, i shouldn't have—"

somewhere, a tiny part of yoongi jolts in hurt because that feels wrong, he didn't want that— he didn't want jungkook to regret following him, talking to him, meeting him at all. he doesn't think of himself as that bad of an acquaintance.

yoongi doesn't usually care what people think of him; not when they're strangers, not when they're mistaken.

but a bigger part of yoongi realizes that it's not about him at all; that jungkook's face is closed up and tight, he's apologizing, his eyes— are way too glossy in the light. yoongi doesn't know what this means to jungkook, but it means something.

"it's okay," he interrupts the boy, cuts off the unnecessary apology, "you didn't do anything wrong, and you don't owe me anything—"

"i said it was okay, and i really– i wanted to, but—"

"hey, it's whatever, i really don't—"

"—i'm sorry, i can't do it after all, it's not on you, sorry," and then jungkook is slipping away, suddenly: he's sitting up, moving away, arms drawn close. he won't look at yoongi, he's so upset, yoongi doesn't get it; but he's so upset. yoongi doesn't want that. it feels wrong, somehow. somewhere beneath his ribs. "i'll just– i'll just leave, sorry, i'm sorry."

his voice is strained, tight; wrong. this is all wrong, yoongi didn't want this. jungkook sounds like he's about to cry, and it does terrible things to yoongi's heart. yoongi tries to come up with something to say, or do, and quickly, before he has this wonderful boy walk out in tears.

"want to watch the avengers?"

truthfully— yoongi didn't know he was going to say that until it accidentally left his mouth; his brain really didn't run that one past him at all. but the situation already is as bad as a spontaneous hookup can probably get, and they won't hook up at all, anyway, so. what use is logic now, really.

jungkook's eyes snap up at him, wide, vulnerable. he's gone completely still, not trying to run away for the moment. he breathes a tiny, "what?"

yoongi runs a hand through his hair, and he's aware he's messing up whatever semblance of a hairstyle hoseok helped him achieve there, but that's had a fairly low priority ranking to begin with, and right now— he's embarrassed, he doesn't give a shit. he has to improvise.

bless hoseok for having brought him what's probably the whole collection of marvel movies ever produced to this date; never mind that yoongi wasn't going to watch them, and hoseok knew. yoongi squints at his pillow at that. hoseok is, overall, still at fault for everything.

"i mean…" it's not a bad idea, right? he'd ask namjoon, but he's also at fault, and also not there, which is excellent for namjoon's safety. "i just thought– i don't want to have ruined your night, and i have the dvds here, so we could just…" admittedly, it's a weak attempt. kind of sad, too. yoongi's too sober not to know.

jungkook hasn't moved a muscle, staring at yoongi like yoongi's gone mad. which he maybe has. he's never done this. any of this.

"you'd– watch a movie… with a random guy you took home for sex," jungkook's voice is timid with a dash of incredulousness. yeah, yoongi can accept that, mostly. "—who turned out to not want to have sex, so he's just some random guy in your room, and you want to— watch movies?"

jungkook stares at yoongi, and yoongi stares back. he clears his throat. "okay it sounds weird when you put it like that, but," yoongi's hands are clammy for some reason, that's gross; he wipes them on his jeans, fiddles with the seams. "i figure we were both out to relax a bit and have a good time, yeah? nothing wrong with movies."

jungkook's wringing his hands in his lap, clenching and unclenching his fists. his brows are furrowed; he seems to at least be considering it. it looks a hundred times better than the hurt just moments ago. whatever the hell yoongi's doing here can't be that wrong. he thinks back to when jungkook first spoke to him, flirty, when yoongi paid for his drink. he shrugs with one shoulder. "i have drinks here, too? if you don't want to be sober when putting up with my face."

at that, jungkook lets out a snort. quick, accidental; beautiful. he tries to school his features back into neutrality, but it's too late. there's a quirk to his mouth that yoongi wants to burn into his memory; wants to remember, and see again, and kiss. they aren't going to have sex anymore though, so that doesn't make sense.

it's quiet, and a bit— "okay then." —aggravating.

"so that's where you agree? free alcohol to forget whose company you're burdened with?" yoongi touches a hand to his chest in mock-hurt, but his tone is flat. jungkook freaking giggles— yoongi almost spontaneously combusts from that— and then hides his grin behind his hand. a shame, and also useless, because yoongi can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. it's hard not to smile, too.

"i'm a poor college student, hyung," jungkook's tone is still hesitant, but also more playful again. it's right, like this; even when his eyes now sparkle mischievously through his lashes, and that can't be good for yoongi. he is a weak, weak man. "i won't say no to free drinks."

yoongi stands up with a grin, feels the solid ground under his feet, the relief in his bones. he offers jungkook a hand and pulls him up off the bed; doesn't need to, but guides him to the small living room by the hand, only lets go when jungkook sits down on the couch. yoongi's fingers tingle.

he turns on the tv and hoseok's playstation, grabs the stack of borrowed dvds from the sideboard to hand them to jungkook. he gets some of namjoon's snacks, glasses, a bottle of his own soju; considers the whiskey for a second, but doesn't want to get shit-faced anymore, not for this. then he remembers the beer with lemon that jungkook had ordered at the bar, and takes some of that sickly sweet fruity champagne, or whatever the hell that mixture is, that hoseok keeps in the fridge. he spreads it all out on the coffee table, offers his friends' stuff to jungkook, and feels marginally better about the backstabbing. whoever said revenge was sweet obviously knew what they were talking about.

jungkook doesn't say a word in the meantime, taking the apartment in, then looking through the dvds as yoongi busies himself. he looks shy; obviously a stranger between their mismatched but well-used furniture, the excessive dvd (hoseok) and cd (yoongi) collection in the shelf in the corner, the mostly second-hand books that threaten to fall apart at the first touch (namjoon) in the one next to it. and then stuffed into every other available space, old but still functional music equipment, keyboards, speakers, microphones. a dead plant on the window sill that namjoon insisted on growing. yoongi told him to throw the evidence away a week ago.

jungkook looks obviously foreign because jungkook looks— heavenly. gorgeous. too flawless, too good, too young on that old couch and yoongi truthfully has no idea what they're doing. why jungkook even agreed to stay, when he's obviously not going to get an orgasm out of this. it's not all that yoongi has to offer, he'd say, but that's what they originally came here for, and now he has no idea what jungkook expects of him. if anything at all.

when yoongi puts down the glass in front of him, jungkook still has his eyes cast down to the dvds in his lap, hands gently tracing the sides of the plastic case. he doesn't react, lost in thought; yoongi clears his throat. jungkook looks up at him and for a second, it's— wrong, again. something. yoongi doesn't know what.

"decided on one?"

jungkook takes a moment to just look back at him, study his face; it makes yoongi shift from foot to foot, flicker his gaze down between them for a second.

"you're really offering your drinks and couch and marvel dvds to some stranger you picked up in a club, just because? out of the goodness of your heart?"

yoongi wonders if jungkook maybe doesn't believe him; maybe fears that yoongi will try to pull some shit on him when he's distracted. yoongi's stomach churns unpleasantly at that. but then, jungkook's tone isn't as serious as much as it is— timidly challenging, maybe. however much sense that makes.

"you almost sound like you don't like it, but i see you eyeing the potato chips."

jungkook grins, wide and shameless. beautiful. "just wondering if this is still part of your ideal fun night out."

yoongi mirrors jungkook's expression, lets his smile grow and grow and rise up to his cheeks, narrow his eyes, his own words from earlier echoing in his mind. "sure it is. you wanna judge a man for his life choices?"

jungkook looks down, bottom lip caught between his teeth, fighting down a smile, color to his cheeks. beautiful. echoes, "a little."

some insignificant organ does some cartwheels or whatever dumb shit in yoongi's chest. totally whatever.

"and anyway, you're not some stranger," he mumbles, not liking that it's slipping out but somehow needing it to, "you're jungkook. you're 20. presumably a marvel enthusiast? i can work with that."

yoongi sticks out his empty hand to jungkook— cheeks flushing, he feels it, damnit— and jungkook gives him captain america: the first avenger, not saying anything in response, but lips curled in a bashful smile. truthfully, yoongi can see vague beginnings of insanity awaiting him trying to logically analyse what the hell exactly his body cells and atoms and the higher powers above are doing right now. so he just puts on the goddamn movie.

 

 

it's somewhat okay, and somewhat of a mild disaster.

yoongi knows barely anything of the marvel universe, and he isn't entirely sure he isn't supposed to have watched some other movie before this one, but he trusts jungkook, and frankly– he doesn't even like superhero movies all that much. but he's not going to say that out loud. because as much as jungkook is subtly radiating nervous energy from next to him, his eyes also never leave the screen, and sometimes he smiles before a funny thing happens, so yoongi's hunch must've been correct. which is good enough for yoongi, then.

the irony here is that yoongi is kind of nervous, too; for a myriad of reasons. all events that took place and are still taking place here, on this supposedly normal but completely abnormal night— hell, the entirety of this night and select events leading up to it— are so far out of yoongi's comfort zone, he's sure he'll need to book a plane flight to get back into it. figuratively.

he's never hooked up with anyone before, for starters. he's been in a few relationships that he can't quite reconstruct how he got into them, but he's been in them. he's had sex before. within those relationships. but never one night stands. never anything in some dirty stuffy bathroom of a dance club, drunk and horny like in some mediocre teenage slash coming-of-age movie. and anyway, if this was a regular hookup, he could improvise. he's seen it in movies.

jungkook is nothing like the movies. except he kind of is, because he's gorgeous, and charming, and flirty and shy at the same time and nothing really makes sense. yoongi briefly thinks of soulmates, destiny, some divine intervention.

he can't concentrate on the adventures of this lanky american guy so he's being a dumb idiot instead.

they're not having sex, and he himself asked jungkook to stay anyway, and jungkook surprisingly did, and now yoongi's hyper-aware of this incredibly pretty boy next to him on his ragged ugly couch. he's bathed in the flickering lights from the tv, face turned towards it, sitting up straight with his hands in his lap, fidgeting around the bowl of chips that he claimed for himself. he sucks his lip in between his teeth, lets it slip out slowly. shy and bold, innocent and seductive. he's kind of out of this world. out of the world yoongi's known so far.

jungkook looks over, and yoongi realizes he's been caught staring.

he reaches for jungkook's glass, and it's almost empty, so he refills it. he offers the drink to jungkook. "here. don't mind me."

jungkook chuckles softly, takes the glass from yoongi's hand. his touch kind of burns. "do you settle everything in alcohol?"

"i don't see you refusing."

there's some shifting at his side, but yoongi doesn't look. jungkook's voice is a bit closer this time, the other finally having relaxed, at least physically, against the backrest. he speaks softly, low. "i do appreciate it. thank you." there's more to it than free drinks in the way he says it, yoongi thinks. hopes. it feels a bit heavy.

yoongi playfully flicks a finger against jungkook's knee. god, they've rubbed their clothed hard dicks against each other already, but somehow this gesture almost feels too intimate now. yoongi flashes his brain the middle finger; his dick cheers with the memory and gets a middle finger, too.

he tries to sound casual, joking, "good. otherwise i'd ask you to return said alcohol."

jungkook meets his eyes, mouth closing around a sip of red liquid, wet lips slowly leaving the glass. he pauses for a second or two, jaw moving, tongue tasting the sweetness of the drink; yoongi swallows, own mouth way too dry. jungkook does the same, and yoongi's eyes traitorously, so obviously drop down the bob of his adam's apple, his throat. he shivers.

yoongi looks back up, but jungkook has turned his attention back to the tv. yoongi throws his dick two middle fingers, runs a hand through his hair, feels— upset. jungkook told him he didn't want it, that, them; whatever. yoongi should be able to keep his goddamn eyes off of his gorgeous body. that's not all jungkook is, yoongi knows that. even though yoongi knows nothing of him. the way he smiles, and overflows with joy, all bright and blinding; how he pushes and nudges and pulls yoongi in when he wants to; how he's endearingly shy when out of his depth, but still asks for what he wants. yoongi's fingers itch, his skin tingles. he gets up.

"hyung?"

jungkook pauses the movie, but yoongi just has to move. just for a second, just to breathe a bit. he goes to grab a blanket from his comfortable leather armchair and kicks a few of the cursed condoms under his bed out of principle and frustration. he hears sirens, somewhere, and ignores them.

he throws the blanket over jungkook's legs and settles back next to him; maybe a little closer than before. jungkook doesn't mind. he resumes the movie and nestles into the blanket, their shoulders almost touching.

it's alright. it's a nice friday night.

 

they don't talk much until the movie is over, but jungkook has relaxed against yoongi at the end of it, a pleasant warmth at his side. yoongi has no idea what happened on the screen except that the good guy won, somehow, and is now buff, so that's amazing. jungkook bends down and then hands yoongi the dvd for iron man. yoongi stares at it.

"there's more?"

jungkook snorts, and grins at him knowingly. "you don't really care for it, do you?"

"oh, no i– i'm definitely interested," yoongi waves his hand vaguely, and jungkook's face is doing that thing again, that beautiful brilliant wide smile thing, yoongi has to flee. to put the next dvd in. he feels jungkook's eyes on his back.

"so," yoongi hears jungkook move on the couch, but no footsteps, "do you actually make music, or do you just keep all this stuff around so the hordes of people you bring home think you're cool?"

yoongi dumbly smiles at hoseok's playstation 4 for some unknown reason. "you think i'm cool?"

"i wasn't talking about me."

yoongi turns back to jungkook, who has his knees drawn up to his chest, buried under the blanket. yoongi wants to bury himself somewhere, too.

jungkook's teasing tone is provoking, but also reassuring.

"well, i'll have you know," he straightens his back for full effect, "the hordes of people i bring here every single night, like, 10 per night, at the same time," he stretches out his arm and makes a circular movement across their tiny cramped living room that has barely space for 2.5 college students, they've tried, "they think i'm very cool."

jungkook's eyes are alight with amusement, a smile on his pretty lips. "then what's one person who doesn't, right?"

"you wound me and enjoy it."

jungkook flashes him a wide grin. "a little."

in a burst of courage, from who knows where, and who knows why he needs it, yoongi ruffles jungkook's hair. not very gently, though; he messes up what was a hairstyle, and shakes jungkook's head a little with the motion. it's irrationally intimate, and playful, and yoongi feels like he's forgotten something important here.

the sound of jungkook giggling is unreasonably cute, but then he laughs— it bursts out of him, unrestrained, mesmerizing. his eyes are scrunched shut, mouth open wide, all teeth and mirth and he whines, laughing, "hyung—"

yoongi's useless heart trips, falls, struggles to get up again.

jungkook composes himself too quickly, too self-conscious; his shoulders still shake a little, but he's only grinning now, boyish and happy and so pretty. yoongi's hand is still in jungkook's hair, but he can't remove it. doesn't want to. jungkook tilts his head up to meet his eyes, questioning, but then— then they stare at each other, because yoongi is weak, and an idiot, and still has his fingers tangled in soft brown locks. he blinks at his hand in betrayal, but the most it will do is subtly move its thumb, gently stroking jungkook's head. and jungkook—

he's so, so beautiful. body hidden beneath yoongi's softest blanket, profile bathed in hues of blue, looking up at yoongi, just looking, not rejecting him, not moving— big, wide eyes searching yoongi's, sparkling, alive, reflections like stars in them. it's the silliest thought. there are stars in them.

there's— an urge, a vague one, somewhere in yoongi's stomach, or chest, it's too high up. he drops his gaze to jungkook's lips. they're parted, pretty. jungkook wets them, and yoongi's eyes snap back up. jungkook's eyes are way too dark, it raises the hairs on yoongi's nape.

he remembers suddenly: that jungkook came back with him for sex, that jungkook put a stop to it. that jungkook looked close to tears, uncomfortable. that yoongi inexplicably just wanted— to make jungkook smile again. he doesn't want jungkook to do anything. he doesn't need to.

"you're staring."

yoongi gently pushes jungkook's head down, breaks the tension; runs his hand down over jungkook's eyes, shields them, shields himself from them. there's a warmth to his cheeks that he wants to remain unseen if possible, please and thank you.

he plops down next to jungkook with force, making them both bounce a little. he shuffles under the blanket, close to jungkook, pressed to his side. he throws an arm around the other over the backrest, ruffles his hair again. briefly, this time. "don't you have like, your favorite movie to watch?"

jungkook is quiet for a while, but then huffs a soft laugh through his nose. he puts a bit of his weight against yoongi, sinks further into the couch. it's alright. yoongi likes that.

 

they don't drink much at all, but instead destroy all evidence of namjoon's movie marathon snack stash, the mmss™. yoongi isn't sorry; yoongi feels vindicated. namjoon the accomplice had it coming. they wanted him to take someone home, have some fun? he took someone home. he's having fun. they can suck it.

iron man is an alright dude too, yoongi can admit that. he's got money, and that takes a lot of effort, and yoongi respects hard work. and money. the suit is cool, too. jungkook's eyes light up in the prettiest most inhuman way at that admission. yoongi likes it.

 

 

at the end of the second movie, jungkook's gotten quiet, head on yoongi's shoulder, hand resting half on top of yoongi's leg. yoongi's hand is absently caressing the back of his head. rather, yoongi will pretend it was absentmindedly if ever questioned on it, but it's not, he just doesn't— want to stop. jungkook didn't say anything. yoongi still has weird things going on inside his chest, but more than that, it's pleasant— jungkook is excitable about what he likes, and made witty remarks, and only teased yoongi about having never watched the movies a little bit. it was pleasant. it was fine. it's almost 5 am.

yoongi stirs; he straightens up a bit, squeezes jungkook's neck before he removes his arm from around his shoulder. "jungkook."

"mm?" he mumbles, probably tired.

"i don't want to alarm you but it's 4:51 am."

"oh."

yeah. oh. it's how yoongi feels about this, too.

what does he do now? was that it? does he walk jungkook to the front door and wish him a good life and never look back on this absurdity? does he offer what is essentially a stranger to just sleep on his couch, because it's late, and he doesn't know how far it is to wherever jungkook lives, and jungkook looks sleepy and comfortable and way too pretty with mussed hair? those are valid arguments.

jungkook is slowly sitting up, stretching his legs, removing himself from under the blanket. yoongi fiddles with his until now forgotten phone, waiting for what jungkook decides to do next.

there are way too many unread messages for his liking, and he briefly worries that maybe hoseok and namjoon were trying to tell him that they can't crash at anyone's place and might burst in at any second.

[0:08] yoongi: don't come home.
[0:08] yoongi: for ur own safety
[0:08] yoongi: i'm very busy
[0:09] yoongi: thx

[0:10] namjoon: uh okay. wow. gr8.
[0:10] namjoon: have fun i guess

[0:19] hoseok: DUDE
[0:19] hoseok: listn i was gnna introduce u i had it all planned out
[0:19] hoseok: drinks music sweat a rly hot guy
[0:19] hoseok: like RLY hot objectivly i dont look @him like tht
[0:19] hoseok: ur type 2
[0:19] hoseok: no offense u needa get laid m8
[0:19] namjoon: that is disgusting
[0:20] namjoon: mATE
[0:20] namjoon: but congrts hyung. i told you if you really reflcted on it and opened yuorself up to mor espontanous encounters
[0:20] hoseok: m8 m8 m8 he h8s ur speeches, show him!!
[0:21] hoseok: jk he doesnt theyr gr8
[0:21] namjoon: grEAT
[0:21] hoseok: no but hyung!!!!
[0:21] hoseok: u did it all on ur own!!!
[0:21] hoseok: how did u kno
[0:21] hoseok: tell me evrything l8tr
[0:21] hoseok: not EVERything everything but
[0:22] hoseok: anyway have fun!! be safe!!
[0:22] hoseok: be nice!!
[0:23] namjoon: actually nice
[0:23] hoseok: especially nice!!! ;)
[0:23] hoseok: bt also safe
[0:23] hoseok: fun stuff on ur bed
[0:23] hoseok: dvds next to the tv
[0:23] namjoon: show him th tongue technology
[0:23] hoseok: yw
[0:23] hoseok: ohhh show him!!!
[0:23] hoseok: make him breakfast
[0:23] hoseok: remember ur manners
[0:23] hoseok: & to make me ur best man
[0:24] namjoon: maybe find some manners first. then use them
[0:24] namjoon: remember our histry that is obectively longer than yours and hoeseoks
[0:24] hoseok: fuckin rude. i called dibs anywayy i did this
[0:24] hoseok: he was against it,

[0:28] hoseok: we believe in u
[0:28] namjoon: good luck
[0:28] hoseok: good luck

[1:36] namjoon: dont do it on the couch
[1:36] namjoon: i swear to god
[1:39] namjoon: in whom i still dont believe in that supposed form but acknowledge they ok we had this talk before

he hates them. he hates his idiot friends so much. yoongi can feel the embarrassment in the tips of his ears as he stares at that mess, stunned. what the hell are they even on about—

there's a soft snort next to him. oh dear god in heaven and jesus christ.

yoongi shuts off his phone and shoves it under the couch pillow for good measure, heart hammering in his chest for some reason. it's stupid. it's just hoseok and namjoon talking shit. when he glances over at jungkook, he's perched on the edge of the seat, like he couldn't really decide whether to sit or stand, and he's— red. adorably red in the face.

"did you— sorry. those are my asshole friends, they– forget it."

yoongi waits for some kind of response, but jungkook takes his time, jaw moving, tensing and relaxing visible on his skin. he opens his mouth, closes it, swallows; clears his throat. almost whispers, carefully, "i guess i should go now."

yoongi tries to swallow down the lump in his throat, but it doesn't move; his voice slips out in pieces, weak, "if you– i mean, you—" he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, or ask, or accomplish here. something just— isn't right, with it ending like this.

jungkook eyes are big and questioning and maybe hopeful and full of stars. he touches a hand back to yoongi's knee, feather-light, and yoongi stops breathing; he slides it a bit further up, holds, squeezes a little. his lips are parted and his chest rises too much with his breathing and yoongi's stomach is twisting itself into knots, heart speeding up speeding up speeding up—

jungkook leans in quickly, easily; presses his soft lips to yoongi's gently. it's not like the kisses before, it's different, heavy, yoongi can't breathe. he gasps, and jungkook draws back, eyes wide, deathly still. their breath is all shaky, all wrong.

"sorr—"

yoongi takes the apology out of his mouth, breathes it back into him, soothes the regret with his tongue. jungkook whimpers into it, eager; yoongi cups his jaw like he's fragile, about to break, or run, or both. it feels a bit like fear, a bit like desperation, and yoongi realizes he was trying to fool himself when he thought he was okay with not kissing jungkook ever again. he kind of never wants to not be kissing jungkook from now on.

jungkook leans in, in, and then yoongi's falling backward on the couch and jungkook's crawling over him, elbow next to yoongi's head. yoongi can't let go, and jungkook seems to be trying to mold himself against yoongi's body, pressing close, holding tightly onto yoongi's shirt.

it's when jungkook breaks the kiss to catch his breath that yoongi dares to speak up; not because he doesn't want this, he does, god he does, but he has to. he's weak and attracted and so, so lost.

"jungkook," and jungkook breathes it in, gently bites on yoongi's bottom lip. yoongi kisses him again, because he can't not do it, because he's weak. "don't take it the wrong way, this is great, but—" jungkook tenses above him, but yoongi strokes his jaw, kisses the corner of his mouth, "i gotta say i'm a bit confused here, you know?"

jungkook huffs a tiny laugh and drops his head on yoongi's shoulder. his breath is warm through yoongi's shirt. "yeah. me too."

yoongi isn't sure whether it's himself or jungkook, or a mixture of both, a synchronisation, but all he can hear is the pounding of a heart, shaky breath. he cradles jungkook's head with one hand, slowly strokes his back with the other. "that– doesn't exactly reassure me."

"yeah," jungkook buries his face in yoongi's neck, mumbles, "me neither."

"listen," yoongi tries to concentrate on his thoughts, words, the feeling of jungkook's spine beneath his fingers. "you can blueball me all night, that's cool," jungkook's body jerks with his snort, and yoongi cracks a smile, too, "although i'd really rather you don't, i hope you have mercy, but you could. you can do whatever you want and i'll accept your decision—" jungkook's giggling against him, and it feels and sounds downright magical.

it's tragically true, too, yoongi thinks. jungkook could probably do whatever he wants, and yoongi's traitorous weak-ass piece of shit heart would do pathetic cartwheels at how pretty he looks doing it, how cute his nose is, how well he does that whole existing thing. his overbite is adorable, and isn't that the pinnacle of unfairness.

yoongi combs his fingers through jungkook's hair, scratches gently at the back of his head. "i'm just a little at a loss here on what to do, you know. or not to do." he runs his other hand down to jungkook's side, down to his hip bone and back up to his ribs. jungkook sucks in a deep breath. "whether i can– touch you, or not. whether you want me to or not."

there's no response for a while, but there's no real tension, right now. sure, yoongi's uncomfortably aware of his reawakened secondary intention down in his pants, but that's– secondary. he keeps stroking up and down jungkook's side, listens to the heart beat hammering in his ears. the quiet panicked voice in the back of his head makes him add, again, "it doesn't really matter, though. iron man was alright. it's okay."

he keeps himself from saying it for two, three, four heartbeats, but still wants to say it, so he does: "just talking to you was enough. it was nice."

"i was just—" jungkook starts, quiet, almost too soft to be heard, "i was nervous, i guess, and i was thinking– i don't really know you after all, and what if i made a mistake and ended up regretting it later and couldn't take it back because i was too goddamn hasty to finally get somewhere—"

it bursts out of him, rushed, warm against yoongi's skin.

"—which, i mean, sex was the whole point, i went home with you, but still, i—" he draws a shaky breath, and yoongi doesn't like how watery it sounds. "but then you were really understanding and watched something you didn't care about for hours and didn't push me or touch me or like, shove your dick into my face—"

"okay, hey, what kind of person do you think i—"

"—you just left me be and that kindofmakesme wantyoureallybad."

he breathes it all out as fast as he can, words smashed together so much, so airily, that yoongi barely catches it. he squints up at their ugly ceiling. it's bathed in blue now, not quite white the rest of the time.

"so... you are turned on because i wasn't?"

jungkook kind of squeaks into his neck, "essentially." he presses his face against yoongi even more, fingers curled in a death grip at his side. he's embarrassed. yoongi feels relief flood his veins, tug at the corners of his lips.

"okay, but to be honest," yoongi starts, serious, "you deserve to know that i've admittedly been at least 10% turned on at any given moment since i first saw you, so—"

"hyung!" jungkook groans, muffled, and digs his fingers into yoongi's side. yoongi isn't ticklish, but he jolts, and jungkook playfully bites at his shoulder, too.

"i'm just saying," yoongi laughs, laughs, genuinely, because this is nice. this is really nice. he's almost not angry at hoseok and namjoon anymore.

then there's jungkook's mouth on his neck, and yoongi forgets all about everything.

jungkook first presses soft kisses into his skin, tries it out; yoongi inhales shakily, grips jungkook tight, and then jungkook is kissing up his throat, open-mouthed, greedy.

"jungkook," it's barely a breath, a plea, yoongi just has to say his name, wants him on his tongue. jungkook gently bites at his earlobe, pulls his earring a bit. yoongi groans in appreciation, but it just makes him impatient, tension itching beneath his skin. "jungkook," his fingers, his hands, they want to move. "can i—"

"please."

yoongi grabs a handful of jungkook's ass and pulls his hips down, closer, against his own. jungkook moans, too quiet, too muffled, yoongi wants to see him.

yoongi secures an arm around his waist— slim, fascinating, tempting waist— and props himself up on the other one, shifting his hips and hooking a leg around jungkook's— and then he flips them, not exactly a lot of strength in his arms, and jungkook's kind of heavy, but it's enough; jungkook gasps, wide-eyed, as yoongi lays jungkook on his back underneath him. yoongi wants wants wants, eyes dark, and jungkook shudders visibly.

he's even more beautiful like this, so yoongi allows himself a moment to just stare. jungkook licks his lips, "i didn't think you could do that."

"should i not have done that?"

"i want you to do it again?"

yoongi kisses him for that, slow and thorough; licks into his mouth, takes in all of the pretty sounds. and yoongi's aching aching aching— he nudges jungkook's legs apart with his own, makes space for himself to grind his hips down, deliberate.

jungkook's lovely and pretty and hard and moans hyung for him, it all makes yoongi a little dizzy. he grinds down again, and again, and again, slowly, jungkook's shallow breath in his ear, fingers crawling up his back beneath his shirt. it's all so much, suddenly, he can barely hear himself, "what do you want me to do?"

jungkook arches up for a kiss, pulls yoongi back down with it, his lips slick, soft, warm. he's so eager, so responsive, humming in the back of throat, yoongi gets lost in the smooth glide of their tongues for a while. then jungkook murmurs it into his mouth, factually a statement but somehow a question, "just– no fucking? anything besides that."

yoongi thankfully has not a single cell in his body that is stupid enough to feel disappointed about this— his brain teams up with his dick on this one to offer him one idea after the other, only making more and more heat gather low in his gut.

his voice is deep, hoarse, it slips out, "of course, baby."

jungkook makes a desperate noise, nails stinging a bit in yoongi's back.

yoongi makes a mental note of that before he runs a hand up jungkook's thigh, fascinated with it, loving how he can't contain it between his fingers. thinks about fucking them, jungkook's thighs, gliding in between the hard flesh, muscles flexing. his cock throbs at the image, but it's too much, too soon, it's not what yoongi feels is right.

he raises his hand further up, doesn't touch jungkook's own hardness; leaves a feather-light touch up from his waistband to over his ribs, under his shirt, jungkook fidgeting under it. he finds a nipple and presses down, circling his thumb, marveling at how jungkook arches into it, the sweetest melody of moans on his tongue.

"take this off?"

jungkook is compliant, unbuttoning his way too revealing white shirt way faster than should be possible, but demanding as well. "yours too."

so yoongi pulls his shirt off and throws it aside, busy taking in the sight of jungkook. god, god, god, he wants to pray. this one human is too gorgeous, all boyish but lean; yoongi will lose his mind. he can't keep his hands off that skin, and it burns burns burns.

jungkook's eyes are hooded, staring right back, and yoongi lowers himself back down— sets up a slow rhythm with his hips again, kisses him, drinks all his sounds in.

yoongi thinks about jungkook's mouth; the perfect curve of his lips, the tempting mole right beneath, the dizzying red; how he can't get enough of the softness and warmth. he thinks about licking into it, jungkook sucking on his fingers, thinks about fucking his mouth. yoongi's whole stomach flips, it's maddening, he wants it so bad.

yoongi leaves jungkook's mouth to kiss along his jaw, lick along his throat, fingers caressing his nipples again and jungkook whines, needy. it makes yoongi hungry, vision red red red, so he buries his face into jungkook's neck, licks at it, runs his teeth across the flawless skin. jungkook combs a hand in yoongi's hair then, holds him there, bares his neck. yoongi gently bites down with a growl.

"hyung," jungkook's breathless, bucking his hips against yoongi's, it's too much. he's so much, yoongi can't stand it.

he slides his hand down to jungkook's pants, again, shamefully needy himself. "can i touch you?" he whispers it into jungkook's ear, and he nods, urgent.

"you can."

yoongi makes quick work of jungkook's godforsaken belt this time, sitting back on his knees. he looks up at jungkook in question before he tugs his jeans down a bit, jungkook sighing in relief. yoongi's so hard in his own pants he's aching, so he opens them too to let himself breathe, but it's— not good enough, not what he needs—

yoongi searches jungkook's gaze, but jungkook's eyes have dropped low, lower, staring hungrily at yoongi's clothed but visibly hard cock. he wets his lips, swallows once, twice. it runs quick and hot through yoongi's body, burns; how much jungkook wants him, too.

he's too aroused, jungkook staring at him too intensely, to feel weird or embarrassed: yoongi slowly brings his hand up to his crotch, lets his fingers teasingly run up his hard length, shuddering at his own touch. jungkook sucks in a stuttery breath, eyes only fixed on yoongi's hand, and it's good, but not good enough. yoongi moves his hips, pushes his cock against his own hand with a groan, once, twice, lets his eyes flutter shut, just one more time— jungkook all but growls, strained and low, and yoongi stills, eyes snapping up. he hadn't considered that.

then yoongi thinks— he could fuck himself. thinks about having jungkook watch him, yearning and desperate, like this, as he teases his own leaking cock, fucks up into his own fist. thinks about letting jungkook taste his pre-come off his fingers, coming hard on jungkook's thighs; having jungkook watch as he tastes himself. yoongi's cock twitches at the images, and jungkook whines.

"hyung, please."

neither of them know what jungkook's asking for, but at the same time, yoongi understands. they've been dancing around each other with this tension all night, and it's enough foreplay, too much of the teasing. yoongi wants it now. wants jungkook.

yoongi holds jungkook's gaze as he crawls back over him, deliberate. just one more thing.

he kisses jungkook slowly, lets his tongue glide against his; sucks the fuller bottom lip into his mouth, nibbles on it gently. presses another kiss to the mole under his mouth. admires the red. "baby," he catches jungkook's fluttering eyes, needs to gauge the reaction; whispers, breathes into the boy's mouth.

"i want to suck your cock."

jungkook sucks in a sharp breath, a high whine caught in his throat, "fuck—" he scrunches his eyes closed, one hand flying up to cover his face. yoongi catches it, presses a kiss into his palm and jungkook makes a pained noise. "fuck, hyung—"

"will you let me?"

yoongi's gently sucking a mark into jungkook's neck and he sneaks one hand up to the waistband of jungkook's boxers, tracing the hem teasingly, longingly. "hm?"

jungkook's flushed, he's red red red, he can't make eye contact. "y-yeah. fuck— yes. yeah."

yoongi licks over the blooming purple and blue beneath jungkook's skin, above his collar bone. it's pretty. it doesn't make sense that jungkook can still get prettier.

"tell me if you want me to stop."

yoongi kisses down jungkook's chest, sucks one nipple into his mouth, then the other, and jungkook's writhing under him. "hyung, i—" he gets stuck on his words, and yoongi has a feeling they both know this anyway, "i can't– i won't– last long, i'm s—" yoongi shushes him there, he's so goddamn endearing. yoongi's heart spontaneously removes itself from the context of reality and does some somersaults. it's disorienting.

"it's okay." yoongi rests his forehead against jungkook's stomach, taking some steadying breaths as he slowly tugs jungkook's boxers down. it really is. he can admit it. "you have no idea how close i am because of you. it's fucking laughable."

he feels jungkook's hand slide into his hair and looks up. jungkook looks perfectly wrecked already; his hair is a mess, his chest is heaving, red red red from anticipation. yoongi can see it in his eyes, too. how they're both so worked up from nothing, from hours of maybes and whatifs and almosts— how it made no real sense why it all felt so heavy to begin with. maybe that's chemistry. maybe it makes perfect sense that jungkook stood out to him on some atomic level, to some spiritual higher being.

yoongi strokes along jungkook’s pretty cock, briefly; takes him into his mouth in one motion, and jungkook moans moans moans, loud loud louder. he lets go, unrestrained, and beautiful, and yoongi— likes… enjoys— his cock in his mouth. it's not a false statement. it's true. his blood pump needs to chill the fuck out.

yoongi doesn't tease, now. he strokes the base with one hand, swirls his tongue around jungkook's length; all he can hear is jungkook's pleasure, jungkook feeling good, jungkook feeling so good because of him— jungkook's cock hard and heavy on his tongue, filling his mouth so well, yoongi's own cock aches for attention, for anything, but he keeps his hands on jungkook. he can jerk off in his bathroom afterwards, it won't take long, it doesn't matter. but jungkook.

he tries not to, but he can't stop his hips from arching up into yoongi's mouth, and yoongi gladly takes it. accepts all of jungkook until he feels him at the back of his throat, sucks around him, swallows. jungkook moans beautifully, hypnotizing, out of this world. it's almost a shame yoongi can't record this, duplicate it, spread it to the whole world; his brain says that's creepy, his dick says he's right, yoongi doesn't care— it's pleasure, and passion, and all the beauty of life and creation, in that one melody. yoongi wants to make songs with it, about it, about—

"hyung—" it's high, and urgent, and jungkook's hand curls in yoongi's hair, pulls, he's not breathing right, and yoongi hums around him—

jungkook comes with a beautiful moan, the prettiest that yoongi's name has ever sounded, will ever sound, from now on— satisfaction in every note, all the soundwaves around them, everywhere in the air. it jolts yoongi, leaves him breathless, too. it's magical.

yoongi's mouth is warm and full, and he swallows around jungkook but bobs his head two, three more times, gently, soothes jungkook through it, then pulls off.

he tugs jungkook's boxers up again, fixes his jeans. pulls the belt closed the same way it was before yoongi touched a hand to it. he wants to suck a mark on jungkook's hip bone, make it prettier, but doesn't. he crawls up over the gorgeous boy, sits down on the edge by his side. jungkook has his eyes closed, trying to calm his breathing, but he turns towards yoongi, anyway; pulls up his knees a bit, curling his body around yoongi, resting his forehead against yoongi's thigh. yoongi's hands shake a bit when he pushes the damp hair out of jungkook's eyes.

"you're unreal," he marvels, secret pouring out from his lips. it's a bit heavy; the situation a bit too tense.

jungkook giggles into yoongi's leg.

"says the guy who made me see stars with his fucking tongue."

yoongi doesn't know how he could ever get used to these contrasts; how jungkook looks sated and cute, giggles, even, but lets whatever he wants to slip out of his mouth, however unexpected or bold. how jungkook looks a bit shy, maybe, but has that fire burning in his veins. yoongi— hears sirens.

he wants.

he turns away, fidgets, makes to get up and grab their shirts; they really fucking did that on the goddamn couch. jungkook presses his hand to his thigh.

"hyung."

yoongi shivers at the tone, wants it, has kind of been hoping for this the whole night, but.

jungkook sits up, movements a bit unsteady. he shifts closer to yoongi, closer, presses his bare chest to yoongi's back. a hand snakes up yoongi's side, over his stomach. he can feel jungkook's breath on his neck.

jungkook presses way too sweet kisses to yoongi's shoulder, all the urgency drained from his body for now. "what about you?"

yoongi puts his hand over jungkook's on his stomach, can't decide whether he's keeping it there or about to pull it off. like this, he's just— kind of holding it. he lets go. "it's okay, i'll take care of it. you don't have to."

jungkook nuzzles into yoongi's nape, and that is— awesome, amazing, this is fine. fucking hell.

"what if i want to?"

yoongi swallows, hard and dry. jungkook presses closer, still, murmurs right below his ear, lobe catching between his teeth, "let me blow you, hyung."

"fuck– ing hell."

jungkook must feel his shudder, must hear his pounding heart. he licks a teasing stripe up yoongi's shoulder, up over his neck; bites at his earlobe again. he's unreal, and a demon, and too observant, learns too fast. yoongi should've known— did know, he knew he couldn't handle him.

jungkook pulls him back, throws his leg around him to straddle his hips. he's still shirtless himself. his waist. yoongi brings up his hands to hold him, just hold, just— a bit. yoongi's hands look so big on jungkook's slim waist. yoongi doesn't know what to do with that knowledge. jungkook hums at the touch, kisses him on the mouth; pushing, gently; coercive. seductive. yoongi stands no chance, lets himself be guided backwards, down, along the length of the couch. the blanket is warm but damp on his back from when jungkook had laid on it.

jungkook looked incredible gazing up at him from beneath, boyish and wide-eyed and trusting. now jungkook is hovering over him, eyes cast downward, hooded; whatever bullshit yoongi thought about him having a baby face doesn't apply from this angle, jawline sharp in the blueish light, gaze hungry. jungkook is guiding him now, hands a bit clumsy with nerves but impressive in his clear intent. he has his hands roaming all over yoongi's skin, caressing, stroking, biting into his lip. yoongi can't stop the shivers. he didn't consider this.

then jungkook digs his knees in on either side of yoongi, and simply pulls him up a bit on the couch, letting yoongi's head be propped up on the armrest.

yoongi feels like some fundamental part of his world just crumbled and rebuilt itself in that one second. breathing doesn't appear to be that important from where he stands in life at this very moment. lays. where jungkook just put him. "jesus christ." is not what his dick has to say about this.

"hyung?"

"that's fine."

"i— everything okay?"

his breath is wrong, he knows it, jungkook knows it, why isn't this the same as before. why isn't he just horny anymore. he is horny, truly, there's a half naked jungkook in his lap, but that's not the point.

"i'm sorry, i just wanted to—"

"no, i mean yes, i— it's okay," he stutters, he never stutters, thank fuck nobody is going to walk in to witness this disaster. "i just—" he runs his hands up and down jungkook's thighs, calming, both jungkook and himself, "maybe had an out of body experience there. for a second."

jungkook frowns down at him, but yoongi can see the exact moment he understands; to his credit, he tries not to look too smug, but he does. yoongi— doesn't dislike the smirk.

then jungkook's kissing and licking down yoongi's body, determined, breathing into his skin. "i'm pretty sure i could just lift you," and that's fine, truly, "hold you up against a door next time," nothing really matters, yoongi doesn't process a thing, he's gone. why promise him a heart attack for some other time when it'll happen any second now.

his zipper is still open, so jungkook carefully tugs his pants and boxers down in one go. that's okay. he takes a moment to just stare at yoongi's hard cock, and that's okay. then he leans down and throws him a glance up through his lashes, opening his mouth to tentatively lick at the head, and that's—

"fuck," yoongi breathes harshly, embarrassingly, maybe. he wouldn't know. he's been high-strung for too long, this is heavenly.

jungkook rightfully takes it as a compliment, and slowly takes the head into his mouth, sucking a bit. yoongi groans on his exhales, tries to keep it in his throat, too self-conscious about being loud. he cards his fingers through jungkook's hair instead, strokes his scalp. jungkook hums around him, and fuck fuck fuck.

whatever yoongi imagined this feeling like earlier, he had no idea, he is an idiot. the feeling of jungkook's hot wet mouth closing around him, sinking deeper and deeper, is nothing yoongi has words for. jungkook circles his tongue like yoongi did to him, keeping a hand at yoongi's base, pumping a little. then he draws back, breathing heavily; licks into his slit.

yoongi has a fist clenched in the blanket beneath him, careful not to pull on jungkook's hair with the other. it's hard to talk through his shaky breath. "jungkook."

he hums, god, he hums around yoongi's cock. yoongi almost doesn't whimper.

"fair warning, this won't take too– holy fuck—"

jungkook tries taking him deeper, and yoongi's about to lose his mind. he can feel the heat building, low in his gut, he can't stop. jungkook's mouth is so soft around him, eager to please, take him in, eager to have yoongi let go; he feels weightless, drifting, only knows jungkook's mouth all around him. it's too good.

"jungkook, i'm– it's enough, i'm close—"

yoongi gently pushes at jungkook's head, wants him to pull off, but jungkook only bobs his head faster, increases the pressure with his tongue; he won't pull off, will have yoongi come into his mouth, and that's about enough, too much, he's so close— jungkook sinks down again as deep as his throat will take yoongi in, and moans, vibrates, hot and tight around yoongi, and that's it.

yoongi moans low, hoarse; voice breaking on jungkook's name, spilling hot into jungkook's mouth. jungkook digs his fingers into yoongi's hip, but keeps closed around him until yoongi shoves at his shoulder again. yoongi's overwhelmed, and feels high, and barely manages to blink up at jungkook as he tentatively moves his tongue around in his mouth, "it's okay, just—" and swallows.

"jesus fuck." yoongi can't do anything but pant, lungs and heart working in a different rhythm from him, staring up at the ceiling. "fucking unreal."

jungkook fucking chuckles.

he falls forward, on top of yoongi, and yeah, yoongi can accept that. "you're heavy," he mutters out of principle.

"deal with it," jungkook nuzzles into his hair, which is honestly unfairly adorable. yoongi just came down his throat. he swallowed. jesus christ.

"jesus christ."

"jeon jungkook."

"what?"

"that's my name, hyung."

yoongi groans into his hands, and he wants to hate it, but he's laughing, and then jungkook's laughing, too. they're sweaty and a mess and yoongi's softening dick is uncomfortably squished in between them. that's okay.

that's okay for tonight.



 

yoongi wakes up with the beginnings of a headache and decides not to be awake. he guesses he fell asleep on the couch, because his neck is bent in a concerning way, and his body feels heavy and tired all over. he's too hot, and uncomfortable, and alright, he'll get up.

he blinks into consciousness to the view of an angel, and isn't that weird. yoongi always assumed he'd be dropped into hell.

the angel is on top of him though, and heavy, and kind of the reason why yoongi's own body feels so squished, in general. yoongi remembers his voice, crystal clear, sweet, singing yoongi's name; remembers what else that mouth did.

yeah, yep, he's awake, that's jungkook, he picked him up in a club, he had his dick in his mouth. funny how life works. he looks angelic in the morning light, though, so yoongi maybe stares at him a little. a little much. his hazelnut brown hair, pretty pink lips, the cute slope of his nose, the scar on his cheek, all the moles, stars and landmarks on his skin. yoongi can't remember having done drugs, but who knows. his chest feels tight.

jungkook stirs, and slowly opens his eyes to look right back into yoongi's. yoongi's chest hurts, he's dying. this is his last moment on this godforsaken dirtball.

he inclines his head and presses the ghost of a kiss against jungkook's lips. jungkook gasps softly— then presses back, parts his lips to fit them better in between yoongi's. it's languid and sleepy and yoongi lets his head fall back to stare up at jungkook in confusion.

jungkook's lips twitch in amusement, maybe; curl up, up, stretch; joy blooms on his face just like that, magical, spreads his lips and colors his cheeks and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkle in their depths. they're a rich, endless brown. it's the first time yoongi sees him in proper colors. it's magical.

yoongi's face is subconsciously mirroring jungkook's. concerning. but also magical.

"morning, hyung," his voice is deep with sleep, warm with contentment. yoongi feels like touching his hair, so he does; combs his fingers through the soft strands, not wavy and curled anymore, but mussed from slumber. on yoongi's chest. jungkook closes his eyes, hums a bit. pretty.

"morning," yoongi's morning voice is hoarse and grating at best, and he never feels like talking much right after waking up anyway; jungkook still smiles at it.

the daylight is still weak, a little greyish; yoongi feels up among the living too early. his phone says it's just before 10 am, it's saturday, it's ungodly. he drops the phone without checking the messages. people don't exist to him yet.

"hyung," jungkook's call is airy, smooth. he tightens his grip around yoongi's waist, shifts his body a bit, his hips, and yeah, yep, they both have penises attached to their bodies, they're touching. yoongi tried to ignore it as best he could. he tried. "i'm hungry," jungkook whines, still dazed and soft, but tucks his head under yoongi's chin instead of moving to get up.

"we should get up," yoongi mutters, but closes his arms around jungkook's shoulders, holds him in return.

maybe they don't really know each other, and maybe this is all they will have, and it's weird and doesn't follow any sensible guidelines, but— it feels nice, like this, so yoongi closes his eyes.

 

 

his phone blaring out his ringtone wakes him up again close to 11 am, and he really needs to pee, and jungkook definitely is too heavy like this, alright, yoongi got the message. hoseok is offendingly bright and loud in yoongi's ear.

[good morning! did i wake you guys up? it's late already.]

jungkook rolls off of him, now awake too thanks to the noise; he slides off the couch and to the floor clumsily, legs tangled in yoongi's sweat-damp blanket.

yoongi grunts at hoseok. "i'm awake."

[just you? you alone, singular you, it's not plural you?]

[what if it's always plural him, be more specific.]

[multiple individual people physically present and awake with you at this time?]

"what."

[anyway, you can talk about that later. listen, tae and jimin are worried, turns out they do think you're satan, and namjoon wants to go home, and let's say things happened and i really need a change of clothes. can we come back now?]

not everything hoseok says makes sense to yoongi, but that's the default, so nothing's out of the ordinary. yoongi watches jungkook stretch his limbs, tall, lean; he has imprints on his side from lying on the cushions weirdly.

"...yeah? sure."

[he's gone?]

"who's gone?" jungkook peeks over, eyes glinting.

[jungkook? the boy— you took him home, don't you dare tell me you don't remember, he—]

"i have no idea what you're talking about, please at least be sober when you wake me up before noon." he hangs up. jungkook grins over at him.

"believable, hyung."

"i don't understand words before 12."

jungkook laughs, bright and loud and wonderful.

 

they wash up as much as necessary, rumpled clothes reminding them of the more embarrassing parts of their last night. yoongi scrapes together something that works as breakfast, makes himself a coffee; some sugary milk with a hint of coffee for jungkook.

they're more awake, and remember more, and somehow it's terrible; awkward tension palpable between them, sitting opposite each other at the tiny kitchen table. jungkook hasn't quite looked him in the eyes since he came back from the bathroom, nervously playing with his phone.

"you, uh—" yoongi clears his throat, "need to leave?" he reaches for his own phone to have something to do, feeling left out of this avoidance strategy.

"no, i— i mean i should, soon, yeah, but i—" he runs his finger along the curve of his mug, traces the shape of its handle. "unless you have plans, i can leave—"

"no– no, i don't, you don't— have to."

"i don't want to impose, hyung—"

"you're not, it's— alright."

yoongi considers stabbing himself with his butter knife to put an end to this tragedy, but he'd probably fail at that, and just make a bigger fool out of himself. he's pretty sure they weren't this awkward some six hours ago. he blames hoseok. namjoon too, by association.

speaking of which, his goddamn phone won't stop lighting up.

[11:37] namjoon: can you animals please quit the fruitless act of reproducing. you two biologically can't do that with each other. there's no point in going through the motions
[11:37] namjoon: you can stop.
[11:38] hoseok: you had at least an hour for optional morning nastiness
[11:38] hoseok: it's been great here but i need to leave
[11:41] namjoon: just tell me you didn't weewoo on the couch
[11:41] namjoon: it's the only right spot for reading, you know that
[11:41] hoseok: weewoo
[11:41] namjoon: fuck all of you honestly
[11:42] namjoon: not jungkook
[11:42] namjoon: stop fucking jungkook, hyung
[11:42] hoseok: stop weewooing, hyung

yoongi feels his soul request to leave his body, but it's stuck, they all have to live with this now. together. he shows it to jungkook.

jungkook goes a little pink around the nose, but there's that dangerous glint to his eyes that yoongi– appreciates. he makes a grabby hand at yoongi's phone, and yoongi gives it to him. distantly, he thinks he wants to give jungkook lots of things: like his food and money and phone number, his house keys, his car keys if he had a car; love and affection, kisses, orgasms every now and then, maybe often, his heart and a kidney or two— if he needed any or all of those. jungkook deserves lots of things. the best of things.

jungkook types for a while, slender fingers moving quickly, efficiently. yoongi wants more time to truly appreciate those attractive hands. they eventually slide his phone back in front of him.

[11:43] yoongi: we are not engaged in any animalistic acts of immorality, or any weewooing
[11:44] namjoon: god, finally. thank you
[11:44] yoongi: not on the couch
[11:44] namjoon: wait where else
[11:44] hoseok: don't
[11:44] hoseok: say it
[11:45] yoongi: not in this specific moment in time
[11:45] namjoon: oh my god you did it on my couch

yoongi snaps his eyes up at jungkook, who grins at him without the slightest hint of shame. something's crawling up yoongi's stomach, past his lungs, up his throat; he swallows. it gets stuck. he slowly raises an open hand in between them, and jungkook gives him a gentle high-five, still trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible. about half of yoongi's muddled brain zeroes in on the feeling of jungkook's warm hand, and the other half only supplies that he wants to hold it. so now yoongi's really only sure that he wants to hold jungkook's hand. again. longer. for science.

he wets his lips and tries to stay on topic; it's an important topic. the lump in his throat makes his voice come out all heavy and low, "i'm thinking i'll leave the living room as it is. let them walk into the crime scene."

jungkook's gaze is weighted and careful, and he replies in the same deliberate tone, conspiratory, "desecrate their beds, leave empty condom wrappers under their pillows. have them find the evidence."

yoongi hears a dull thud from what was his heart flinging itself into jungkook's direction and slamming against the inside of his ribs painfully. there are also sirens and fireworks and someone's cheering, a choir, maybe wedding bells. maybe the anguished screams of all the souls they could potentially dominate and enslave with their combined forces.

his throat is dry, a desert, "we could desecrate them for real." he stares at jungkook, dazed. jungkook stares back.

what yoongi says is: we're both most definitely sober now and it's awkward as hell, and i'm still attracted to you. what he might mean is: i'm trying to find an excuse for you to stay a bit longer. what he probably feels, somewhere lodged in his throat, is: i don't want sex right now, but i want you. he can hear sirens, everywhere.

it's the first time this morning that one of them breaches the topic of what was last night's main show at all. for some reason yoongi's heart feels a bit like some rubber ball bouncing off his ribcage with too much speed.

jungkook snorts quietly, propping his chin up on his hand. he's blushing faintly, but his mouth is quirked in a dangerous way. dangerous for yoongi, his friends, probably jungkook's friends, everyone walking this earth with him, paling in comparison. "they're probably already on their way though, they'd catch us in the act."

yoongi shrugs easily, "even better? can't argue with that kind of proof."

jungkook laughs; devious and innocent, bright, beautiful. "they did kind of set this up in the first place. and kindly provided us with resources to use, too. we'd be honoring their will."

more sirens. a car honking. a real one, from outside. yoongi grins at jungkook, a bit in awe, a bit in— "chaotic evil?"

jungkook's mouth stretches too wide, blinding, beautiful, "true neutral." he draws his cup of coffee-flavored sweet milk towards his chest with both hands, eyes down, lashes pretty. he shrugs one shoulder, bashful, "with my friends, you need to learn how to live in this cruel world."

that's it. that is it. yoongi doesn't know what is what, but his chest is about to explode.

yoongi— needs to do something, he knows that now. he might have known before, when he woke up, maybe even earlier, at some point further back, the timeline is hazy. but he should have known.

knows it maybe because jungkook seems to be an excellent partner in crime, or because he's ridiculously cute in bed– in the mornings. although that's a late discovery. maybe yoongi should've known all along because he's gorgeous, and his smile is pretty, and so infectious yoongi can somehow feel it in his own chest. or maybe it was hearing that jungkook actually believes in superheroes: not in the flying and the superpowers, but the human selfless intent. should've known when jungkook didn't want to be just anyone last night, and yoongi found he didn't mind him becoming a someone. or even before that: how jungkook had enough guts and good instinct to push yoongi the right way, be the right amount of brat and sweet kid; both aggravating and irresistible in one damning combination. it's one or all of these and maybe even hundreds more. yoongi will figure the specifics out.

what this is, is: yoongi likes jungkook. is beginning to like jungkook. likes jungkook as much as he can, with as little as he knows so far. likes what he knows and wants to know more. he wants. so much more.

the sirens have stopped; yoongi's shoulders sag in relief. it's really quite simple. he clears his throat, reaching for his phone. jungkook raises his head.

"so, uh," correction, it's simple in theory and fiction, not so much face to face with some gorgeous otherworldly being that makes yoongi's insides feel tangled up in each other, "you know how i said… i don't do hookups."

he searches jungkook's expression, but it falls with a soft ah. it falls, closes up, it's wrong. his lips make a thin line as he's staring into his mug. "yeah. sorry, i'll—"

"so—" yoongi speaks with all the volume and confidence he can scrape together to hold onto this– him. "i'm min yoongi, 24, from daegu. i study musical composition and theory because i kind of hate myself." jungkook's raised his big eyes to look at him questioningly. "uh, i have two idiot best friends that i live with, and i don't go out much, because i'm honestly locked into my studio more than what's healthy, and— okay maybe that's boring, but," jungkook's lips twitch, curl, the tiniest bit, "i like movies that make you think, and night drives, dogs, lamb skewers, the color blue… uh—"

jungkook's watching him, smile a tiny brittle thing, like he's amused but still expecting some kind of bad ending to yoongi's speech. honestly, it probably is bad, really fucking bad, but hopefully only because yoongi's making a huge fool of himself. why can't he remember how this works?

"you basically know me now, so." eloquence has always been more of a namjoon thing; yoongi comes in a solid second, hoseok third, but he feels laughably incompetent right now. he's opened up a new contact form on his phone; jungkook. he slides it across the table, in front of jungkook.

yoongi doesn't usually voice his most intimate emotions; not to a stranger, not this painfully obviously.

"do you want to— have a coffee with me sometime?"

yoongi sees and feels and kind of trips over how a smile blooms on jungkook's face, first timid and slow and then taking over, growing, cheeks coloring, eyes crinkling at the corners. he raises his mug with 5% coffee into their line of sight.

yoongi shrugs. "want to go have me pay for a coffee sometime?"

jungkook bites his bottom lip a bit, trying to push the smile down, "it's not actually all about free drinks, hyung."

he's not saying no he's not saying no he's not saying no and yoongi's soaring. internally. "would you go on a date with me, where we can do— stuff? that you like?"

"we already watched iron man last night."

yoongi half groans, half snorts; has to run a hand over his face to force down the dumb smile tugging at his lips, the warm flush crawling up his cheeks. he's so— endeared. because jungkook. because.

jungkook's nose and eyes scrunch up, and he raises his not-really-coffee mug up to his face to hide behind it, giggles pouring from him like tiny drops first, then more, then suddenly overflowing.

yoongi doesn't usually fall for people; not quite this hard, not quite this fast.

maybe he fell at—

"i'm jeon jungkook, 20, from busan. i major in painting. i like iron man, and disney, and a lot of milk and sugar in my coffee, you know that already," it's a whisper, jungkook's voice all honey and fairytales, sunlight, bright blue sky— and yoongi's a sap and his brain and heart are doing handstands right now but don't actually know how to do them so they fall and yoongi falls and it's okay. it's okay.

"i like bright colors, and red, and i—" his eyes are everywhere, shy, "i really like your music, it's– intense, but heartfelt, it makes me want to paint more than i'm able to, honestly, and—"

"wait, so you—"

jungkook sucks in a breath, lets it all out. "i live with jimin hyung and taehyung hyung, they kind of look after me—"

"the evil twins? raised by devils, alright—"

"—and i like dancing, as a hobby, in the course hoseok hyung helps teach and—"

"okay, slow down, jungkook—"

"—and he was the one who told me i had to definitely be there last night and he got the dvds and namjoon hyung didn't object, and jin hyung had always talked highly of you, so... i think maybe the hyungs tried to set me up with you, i'd told them not to every time, but… then you looked over by yourself and you didn't know who i was but you were so nice and i knew you'd be and– so i—"

it rushes out of him, held on to for too long. he's red all over, endearing, breathtaking. yoongi wants to calm his nerves, say it's okay, but yoongi is honestly a bit— overwhelmed, and flattered, and surprised as fuck. "i… was nice?" not the point.

his brain tries to multitask and pull up some information on who jin hyung is, he knows that name, distantly... distantly— fuck all that is holy, seriously, kim seokjin. biological science, ridiculous face, the guy they for some reason pay rent to. what the fuck does a kim seokjin know about yoongi's life—

"you are. nice." the honesty in jungkook's eyes is kind of blinding. yoongi doesn't know how he deserves it. jungkook swallows hard.

his voice is small and raw, offering all of this to yoongi, just like that. yoongi's brain decides to forget everything else.

"i've– kind of had a crush on you since high school, so," it's breathless, airy, magic in yoongi's ears. "so if you wanted to, i'd like to go on a date with you," it's shaky, heavy under its weight, "i'd like it very much."

"i want to. please," yoongi whispers, weakly, dazed. that's too much. too much for a morning, or a night, or two days or a whole year if anyone asked him. nobody asked him. nobody told him, for who knows how long. fucking fuck these damn fuckers.

"but i have to strangle my friends? if that's alright with you? hoseok and namjoon are overrated. who the fuck is jin hyung even."

jungkook exhales, long and nervous and yoongi wants to– cuddle him, fuck. "i'd rather you don't? i mean, murder and all, bad stuff, jail. unless you absolutely must?" his smile is lopsided, gorgeous.

"depends. why the fuck did everyone keep your existence a secret from me, exactly?"

jungkook looks a bit guilty, scratching at the wood of the table, "i– i didn't think you'd... like me, anyway."

yoongi stares at him, long and hard, as jungkook fidgets under his gaze. that's okay. that's deserved. yoongi reaches over to flick his forehead, hard.

"ow, hyung—"

"oh my bad, i didn't realize you were blind and stupid—"

"hyung, wait—"

yoongi leans over the table to aggressively ruffle his hair, frankly quite a bit offended, and jungkook flails in his chair, giggling, whining; then he laughs, open and loud, all sunshine and teeth, bright, so bright, yoongi– loves, feels something a little like love, a possible glimpse of it, maybe— maybe kind of loves it, that unrestrained joy.

it feels right.

 

jungkook saves his number in yoongi's phone, and then calls himself on it. he asks for another cup of mock-coffee to sip on slowly. he tells yoongi how many more movies there are after iron man, and that they're all connected and you need to have seen it all to understand, and yoongi already started, so he's tied to it now. ignores yoongi's questions about how long he's known of him, how long he's stayed quiet, been crushing on yoongi. on yoongi, get this. jungkook is stalling. yoongi rolls with it.

they don't clean up the living room, and jungkook watches, equal parts delight and embarrassment at the implications, as yoongi makes a mess of his absent roommates' beds, empties some condom wrappers to throw them across the floors. properly closes the doors again, as they were. it's what the universe wants. hell, it's what yoongi wants, fuck the universe. fuck the 94s.

he considers sending a text along the lines of thanks i guess, reconsiders in favor of you're fucking dead, but decides he wants to use the element of surprise and not warn them beforehand.

 

 

they're slowly, very slowly cleaning up the kitchen when the front door opens and closes with an obnoxious yell, "we're back, don't be naked!" and then there are murmurs, shoes being taken off, steps going directly to the living room first. their groans of distress make jungkook grin at yoongi, and yoongi grins back.

hoseok cautiously peeks into the kitchen then, a pained and somehow still shit-eating grin spreading on his face. his hair is a bird's nest, his shirt stained red, his jeans open. namjoon trudges in behind him, shoulders hunched from, who knows, maybe the burden of knowledge.

"there the lovebirds are! dressed and proper! that's great."

"great," namjoon echoes. the echo has a bit of a bite.

"firstly, can you fucking close your fucking pants right now, that's disgusting."

"can't, they broke the zipper." hoseok stuffs his mouth with a leftover toast from jungkook's plate, shrugging. he leans against the fridge, leering at them. "so~ yoongi hyung, jungkook-ah—"

jungkook pointedly turns away, busying himself with the empty mugs in the sink. yoongi rolls his eyes, "no, hoseok—"

"—seems it all worked out, huh? looks like you two had a very… enjoyable night, you're welcome." hoseok's wiggling his eyebrows; namjoon only sighs, slumped in yoongi's chair.

yoongi steals a glance at jungkook next to him. he's beautiful, and interesting, and yoongi has his number in his phone. and a date. so it's probably all okay in end, through all trials and tribulations, all the internal yelling and the mountain of condoms. probably— almost.

yoongi blinks lazily at the two disturbances, calm and content. he snakes one arm around jungkook's waist to gently stroke his side. "we fucked in your beds."

hoseok yelps and chokes on the stolen toast as he should, namjoon’s groan mixes with the thud of his forehead dropping to the table, and it's right. because jungkook is red red red all over, beautiful, from his ears to his cheeks and his pretty bitten lips— but he's shaking with quiet laughter, eyes scrunched shut, it's so beautiful. magical. maybe, maybe, beginnings of love.

yoongi thinks: this probably isn't how it usually goes. feels: this is right.

jungkook nudges him in the ribs, eyes sparkling with mischief— then he leans in, kisses yoongi hot on the mouth; bold press of his lips, hesitant fingers in yoongi's shirt.

someone's making gagging noises. yoongi grins, laughs, flips them off as he pulls jungkook back in.




 

yoongi fell at—