It isn’t a problem until it is, suddenly—Jeongguk’s massive, disgusting crush on his roommate. He’s gotten used to the butterflies that flutter in his stomach every time Yoongi ruffles his hair or makes him soup when he’s sick or asks about his projects at school and—maybe it’s nothing special, but that’s the point. The point is that Yoongi does the little things, always, the point is that every silly mundane thing he does for Jeongguk is done with love and it’s. A lot, sometimes, when Yoongi just looks at him and Jeongguk feels like a character in a trashy teenage romance novel and it’s fine. It’s always been fine.
It’s just that—Yoongi is nice. Yoongi takes care of him and Yoongi is good at cuddling and Yoongi looks terrifying, sometimes, with his dark hair and his dark eyes and his dark clothes, but he’s soft on the inside. Jeongguk was terrified of him for two months straight when he first moved in, but he gets it now, why all of Yoongi’s friends always seem to be a little in love with him. It might have been hero worship at first, just grateful to have someone who could actually cook but—it’s been three years. It’s been three years and Jeongguk’s heart still does a funny thing every time Yoongi smiles at him.
But three years is a long time. And Yoongi is older, successful, has his own life and his own friends and Jeongguk is just his roommate, the kid he practically took in off of the street at eighteen. So Jeongguk doesn’t think about it, and it’s not a problem. It’s not a problem.
And then Jeongguk wakes to soft fingers carding through his hair, a warm weight pressed against side where he’s curled in bed. He shifts a little, something low sounding his throat, and he curls a little more into whatever is pressing into him, seeking warmth and comfort and—oh, he thinks, as he hears humming. Oh, he knows what this is.
This is Yoongi coming home from his night shift at the hospital, smelling a little like old people or whatever it is. Jeongguk doesn’t have to be up for class for a few more hours, and Yoongi’s probably tired from a long shift, because he’s always tired after his shifts, and he’s—playing with Jeongguk’s hair, humming a familiar song. He does this, Jeongguk knows. He comes home and makes dinner in the morning for himself, leaves enough for Jeongguk to take to school. He comes home and answers the little notes that Jeongguk leaves before he goes to bed, sometimes with a whole page of—nothing, everything.
He does this—he says goodnight, good morning all in one fell swoop, and sometimes Jeongguk wakes up, but he never wakesup. He misses Yoongi a lot even though they live in the same apartment, but—Yoongi works night shifts a lot, and Jeongguk goes to school during the day, and waking up when Yoongi comes home wouldn’t be hard, but he likes this. Likes when Yoongi doesn’t know he knows, when Yoongi’s guard is down just that inch more.
Namjoon once told him that you could tell a lot about a person from how they treat someone when they don’t think anyone is watching.
He doesn’t want to read into it, but—Yoongi’s fingers leave his hair, not to go entirely, but to begin lightly tracing Jeongguk’s eyebrows, his nose, the edges of his cheekbones. Yoongi does this, too, sometimes, like he’s trying to memorize Jeongguk’s face even when it’s halfway pressed into his pillow. Jeongguk struggles, somewhat, to keep his breathing even, deep, like he’s still asleep and not with his heart pounding too hard, too hard.
It’s not a problem. It’s not.
Yoongi stops tracing his face, stops humming. Jeongguk wants to whine and keep him there, hope that Yoongi just thinks it’s a dream, but—he feels lips brush against his forehead in a gentle kiss, Yoongi’s tired, tired voice murmuring, “Goodnight, Guk,” and then he’s gone, with all of it—the warmth, the weight. This time, Jeongguk does whine, just a little delayed, when Yoongi is already out of the room and Jeongguk is left with this heart that he isn’t sure what to do with. His forehead burns where Yoongi kissed it. His chest burns where he wants to open his chest to give his heart to his hyung, but it’s—it’s fine.
When he wakes up again, two hours later, it’s to a fridge full of food that Yoongi cooked when he got home and a smattering of notes telling him to study well and be nice to his professors and call home in case of an emergency (and one that sadly says not Iron Man, an answer to the note Jeongguk left him last night asking if their Friday night movie date was still on). Yoongi’s shoes are lined neatly at the door, his coat hung in the closet, and everything is a little cleaner than Jeongguk remembers leaving it, and—it’s strange, really, that they live together but are more like the realms of day and night. Only ever coexisting for moments at a time, and, oh, that makes his heart hurt a little.
He considers, for a moment, sneaking into Yoongi’s room, closing the door behind him, crawling into bed. Yoongi wouldn’t mind, he knows—he’s done it before, when he’s feeling particularly touch-starved or had a bad day at school—but he thinks that might make it a problem and he’s trying very, very hard not to let it be.
Instead, Jeongguk packs up his school bag and heads to university. It’s easier that way. And it’s certainly not a problem.
It doesn’t become a problem for a while, because Jeongguk is good at ignoring it. Not ignoring his crush, really, the thing that makes him feel like a teenager again even though he’s twenty-one and has been in university for almost three years—just ignoring the possibility of what it means, ignoring the fact that Yoongi doesn’t know and Jeongguk doesn’t know how to tell him, and should he tell him, and what if Yoongi doesn’t like him back, and oh, what if he does?
He ignores it. He ignores it by letting Yoongi take care of him how he can, by focusing on his schoolwork, by revelling fully in the little time they’re actually awake at the same time. Yoongi is coming off of a string of night shifts and Jeongguk knows he’ll be back at day shifts next week which means—nothing, it should mean nothing because it’s not a problem, but he can’t stop thinking about eating dinner together and hearing Yoongi hum as he reads or does the dishes. Can’t stop thinking about Yoongi’s fingers in his hair as they cuddle on the couch.
He ignores it because sometimes he forgets that Yoongi has other friends, friends that he doesn’t get to see much, either, because of the night shifts. Jeongguk isn’t bitter when Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok come over on Saturday night, though, when Yoongi finally doesn’t have to be away or asleep at silly hours. They’re Jeongguk’s friends, too, although less close than he is to Jimin and Taehyung, maybe; it was Jimin who introduced Jeongguk to Namjoon, anyway, who in turn suggested that he move in with Yoongi when he was first starting university. He has a lot to be grateful for.
It’s just—Hoseok is so touchy with him. He watches them from the sofa in the living room, where he’s trying to work on some homework with their laughter as his soundtrack, and he can’t stop looking at the way Hoseok is touching Yoongi’s thigh under the table. Friendly, sure, but Seokjin keeps kind of smacking him too when he makes a bad joke, and he’s always known Namjoon has had heart-eyes for practically all of his hyungs.
They’re friends. But something ugly rears its head in Jeongguk’s chest, anyway.
“Jeongguk-ah,” he hears, snapping him out of his strange jealous stupor, and he blinks to see all four of them looking at him from the table. It’s Yoongi who’s spoken, face a little flushed from the alcohol he’s been drinking, and Jeongguk’s bad mood melts away. “Why don’t you join us? You can do your homework tomorrow.”
He looks down to the little pile of books and paper, knows that he really can’t just do it tomorrow but—it’s Yoongi. It’s always Yoongi.
So he says, “Okay,” and puts it all aside. It’s a good idea until he realizes the only seat left at the table is as far away from Yoongi as possible, and it’s not like he needs to be beside him all the time, but now he just—has a front row seat to watching Hoseok touch him, Seokjin laugh at his jokes. He laughs, too, but it feels wrong. He’s never been jealous of the others before, because there’s nothing to be jealous of but—
Jeongguk realizes, with a beer in his hand and Hoseok’s laughter echoing in his head, that it is indeed a problem.
It’s a really, really big problem.
In hindsight, the best option might have been just talking to someone about it—if not Yoongi, then Jimin or Taehyung or even Namjoon. But he can’t tell Yoongi because he’s not supposed to have a crush on his roommate, the one who took him in when he was fresh out of Busan and unsure about where he fit. He fits pretty well with Yoongi, though, and he can’t ruin that because he’s a silly kid with a crush. Jimin and Taehyung both know, but he can’t talk to them either because then they’ll make him do something about it. Jeongguk really, really doesn’t want to do something about it.
So he gets drunk instead.
Jeongguk doesn’t often use alcohol as a method of avoiding his problems, but it seems like a good idea anyway. The day after the Realization, he texts Jimin and Taehyung, who are all too eager to go out, too. Jeongguk knows they’ll get ‘lost’ half an hour into the night, which really means they’re doing something fishy in the bathroom, but that’s fine. It’s really, really fine. Jeongguk cares less about having fun with his friends and more about drinking until he forgets that he really, really likes Yoongi, and Yoongi probably really, really doesn’t like him back.
“Make sure you call me if you need anything,” Yoongi tells him when he’s putting on his shoes, because that’s what he always does. “And promise me you won’t go home with someone who has one of those douchebag haircuts.”
“Hyung, I’m not—” Jeongguk begins, flushing red, red. Yoongi jokes about it, sometimes—potential hook-ups for Jeongguk, and maybe that’s just another sign he needs to say something. Instead, he slips on his coat and says goodbye and runs away.
As is expected, Jimin and Taehyung disappear after a record twenty-three minutes, leaving Jeongguk at the bar with not enough alcohol in his system. He doesn’t bother to find them, just downs a few more shots of soju and counts on his low alcohol tolerance to do the trick. Someone offers to buy him a drink, and he accepts, flirts just enough to get what he wants because he doesn’t actually want to go home with someone else, but he doesn’t want to pay for his own drinks.
One, two, three, Jeongguk loses count and all he can think about anyway is Yoongi’s hands. Yoongi’s big hands, veiny and smooth, Yoongi’s hands in his hair early in the morning, and Yoongi’s hands holding his chopsticks, typing away at his laptop. Yoongi’s hands holding his face, holding his waist, and his fingers would feel so good in Jeongguk’s ass, opening him up and getting him ready for something bigger, thicker—
Jeongguk hiccups, too far gone now to really stop that train of thought, but someone is handing him a shot so he takes it and then he can’t stop thinking about Yoongi’s throat, the way his Adam’s apple bops when he swallows or speaks, and Jeongguk wants to touch it, mark it up, he’s stumbling a little trying to find the bathroom because he might be half-hard in his pants and he can’t stop thinking about Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.
He’s always thinking about Yoongi. It’s a little pathetic when he thinks about it, but in his drunken stupor, he can’t find it in himself to care and maybe this was supposed to be about forgetting Yoongi but now he misses him, wishes he had just stayed home and watched a movie with the older man because that would be better than this: hiccupping, colliding painfully with the bathroom door as he finally makes it in and stumbles into one of the stalls.
Jeongguk shuts the door behind him, sits down on the seat. His vision is blurry and his speech is slurred but Siri understands him anyway when he tells her to call Yoongi and then he’s trying to ignore the fact that his vision might be blurry not from the alcohol but from tears, and why is he crying anyway?
Yoongi picks up on the second ring, a worried little, “Jeonggukkie?” greeting him, and Jeongguk is caught between sobbing and sighing, but all he knows is that he’s so warm, suddenly, filled up from the top of his head to the tips of his toes with this calm and safety that comes with hearing Yoongi’s voice.
He’s so focused on it that he forgets to reply, and then Yoongi asks again, more worried this time—“Jeongguk, is that you? Are you okay?”
“Hi, hyung,” he hiccups, head pressed to the side of the stall. Jeongguk closes his eyes in case that makes things stop spinning, hears the relieved sigh on the other end.
“What’s going on, Guk-ah? Do you need something?” asks Yoongi.
Jeongguk sniffs a little. “Jus’—missed you,” he admits, feels a little small while he says it.
“Missed me, huh?”
“Jiminie and Taehyungie-hyung left me,” he mumbles. It occurs to him, then, that they might be in the bathroom with him but he can’t hear anything beyond the loud music of the club and someone pissing in the corner, so—“Miss you,” he repeats.
“Are you having fun, Gukkie?” asks Yoongi.
Jeongguk has to think about it. And then—“No,” he sniffs. “I only came here ‘cause I didn’t wanna think about you and now I can’t stop thinking about you anyway and I really like your hands, hyung.”
Yoongi’s chuckle crackles in the phone, and oh, Jeongguk had almost forgotten about his laugh. He likes Yoongi’s laugh, too, likes when he’s husky and breathed into his ear, likes when it’s not even a sound. Likes it all, always. Likes everything about Yoongi.
“Thanks,” is what Yoongi says. “I like your hands, too.”
“No,” insists Jeongguk. “I like your throat, too. So pretty, hyung.”
Yoongi is still amused, and that’s—that’s kind of the opposite of what Jeongguk wants, but it’s better than nothing. “Not as pretty as you, bunny,” says Yoongi, and the warmth wells in Jeongguk again. He likes that. He likes that a lot.
“I’m your bunny,” he mumbles.
“You’re my bunny,” repeats Yoongi.
And then—“Like you so much,” whispers Jeongguk. “I want you to fuck me but I just wanna hold your hand, too, like I bet your dick is as pretty as your face but I don’t want you to think I just like you for your dick ‘cause I’ve never even seen it but I bet it’s nice. Wanna put it in my—oh, fuck.” He stops when he feels his stomach roll, tips himself off the seat so he can get his head in the toilet instead, just in time to vomit. Tears prick at the backs of his eyes, thinking about how he wants Yoongi here, smoothing back his hair, rubbing his back. He’s going to cry.
He waits until he thinks he won’t vomit anything more and brings the phone back to his ear to hear a worried monologue from Yoongi. “Hyung,” groans Jeongguk, slumping against the side of the stall again. “Hyung, I—”
Yoongi cuts him off with an, “I’m coming to get you, Gukkie,” and his voice is still worried but there’s something more, some edge to it that Jeongguk can’t quite make it when how drunk he is and how bad he feels, but either way, he just nods.
“Okay,” he mumbles, hears the door slamming on the other end of the line. “Okay, I’m gonna—yeah.” He struggles to get to his feet, leaves his vomit in the toilet as he manages to get out of the stall and stumbles back into the club. Yoongi’s still talking to him on the other end, telling him to stay where he is and not accept alcohol from anyone else and maybe find Jimin and Taehyung if he can, but then Jeongguk physically bumps into someone else, and everything’s a little blurry, too, except the nice man is asking him if he’s alright and if he needs help and he kind of forgets about Yoongi. Puts his phone in his pocket. Lets someone else take care of him because Yoongi isn’t here.
By the time Yoongi shows up to the club, Jeongguk has been taken outside by the nice, nice man he bumped into. He’s throwing up again, out on the curb, and his mouth feels awful and he’s crying a little, head pounding and everything is still a little hazy. There’s a hand on his back, though, rubbing comforting circles, and it’s too small to be Yoongi’s but it’s—something. It makes him feel better, anyway, as he’s doubled over on the curb and heaving. This isn’t what he wanted. He wanted to just—have a little fun, forget about the knots in his stomach that always come with Yoongi’s presence or even his absence, but it’s stupid, isn’t it, how no matter what he does, he can’t escape Yoongi.
Yoongi is in everything. He is everything. Jeongguk wants to cry.
The man is trying to speak to him, talking in reassuring tones and asking questions that Jeongguk isn’t listening to, because it’s not the voice he wants. And then, as though he somehow summoned Yoongi just by thinking about him, he hears his name from across the street.
Jeongguk raises his heavy, heavy head, hands still braced on his knees, and blinks through the haze and darkness to see a familiar figure approaching. He blinks, trying to see straight, but he’d know that gait anywhere. He’d know that flash of dark hair, know that stupid massive hoodie that Yoongi insists is his but Jeongguk knows isn’t because Jeongguk distinctly remembers his brother giving it to him for Christmas one year, but he doesn’t mind because he likes Yoongi in it anyway.
Somehow, that thought is what pushes him over the edge, sniffling as he tries to straighten up with a pathetic little, “Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi is at his side in an instant, and Jeongguk tries to focus on his face—the worried crease in his eyebrows, dark eyes darting from him to the man who is still standing behind him, hand on Jeongguk’s back. Jeongguk has forgotten about him, focusing too much on the presence of Yoongi and Yoongi’s fucking hand on his cheek, suddenly, wiping away a tear he hasn’t realized slipped out of his eye.
“Jeonggukkie,” says Yoongi, like a sigh, like a prayer. “Are you okay?”
The man behind Jeongguk answers for him—“I found him stumbling around the club and he said he was—”
“Did I fucking ask you?” snaps Yoongi, and Jeongguk blinks a little, surprised at the hardness in the man’s eyes as he looks over Jeongguk’s shoulder. “Thanks for your help, you can leave now.”
He seems to hesitate, because the hand is still on Jeongguk’s back and Jeongguk sniffs again, drawing Yoongi’s attention. “Don’t feel good, hyung,” he mumbles.
“I know,” says Yoongi, back to being soft and gentle as he focuses on Jeongguk. “I’m gonna take you home, okay, Gukkie? Are you okay with that?”
“I think—” begins the man.
“I said,” snaps Yoongi. “You can fucking leave. I can take care of him. Right, baby?”
Jeongguk blinks. Oh.
Suddenly, in his drunken mind, it’s all he can focus on—baby, baby, baby. He doesn’t hear what the stranger says, doesn’t hear what Yoongi says, just closes his eyes and nuzzles a little into the hand still on his cheek as the one on his back finally leaves. He feels warm all over, and not from the alcohol anymore, not from anything but the thought of being Yoongi’s baby, and he’s here, he’s taking care of Jeongguk.
He’ll think later, maybe, about possessiveness. For now, he thinks about Yoongi wiping at the last of his tears and whispering soft things to him and taking his hand and leading him across the street, into Yoongi’s car. This was the opposite of what he was supposed to do, but this is better: Yoongi’s thumb rubbing against his knuckles where their hands are still linked over the counsel of his car. Yoongi talking to him in a low voice as Jeongguk presses his head against the cool car window and tries not to fall asleep. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.
Baby. His stomach is in knots again, but it’s not the type to make him vomit again. That’s okay.
They get into the apartment somehow—Jeongguk isn’t really paying attention, too blissed out and sleepy and focused on Yoongi’s arm around him, leading him, caring for him. But then he’s inside, the door closing, and Yoongi is leading him into Jeongguk’s bedroom, groaning out, “You’re too heavy for this, Guk-ah,” as he lets the younger man flop onto the bed.
Jeongguk hums. “Cuddle me,” he whines, because Yoongi is too far away—he’s over there, tugging off one of Jeongguk’s shoes and then the other, and that’s nice, but it’s not what he wants. The warmth of being called baby is wearing off already because it feels so long ago, and he wants it again but he doesn’t know how to ask for it.
“I gotta get you out of these clothes first,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk closes his eyes because his head still hurts, but he imagines Yoongi neatly placing his shoes in the closet, where they belong. Where Jeongguk rarely puts them. Yoongi is in everything. Then there are hands on his ankles, gripping for a moment before he hears the incredulous, “Did you have to wear the leather pants tonight?”
“Yeah,” mumbles Jeongguk. “My ass looks good in them.”
“That it does,” he thinks Yoongi mutters but—he can’t be sure because Jeongguk is still kind of drunk and also half-asleep, but he just hums again, waits until he feels Yoongi’s hands on his waistband before he opens his eyes again and peers up at the man. Normally, he’d want this in a different context, but he’ll take what he can get.
“Hyuuuung,” he whines, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, and he lazily raises his arms so he can grab whatever part of Yoongi he can. It ends up being his bicep, which Jeongguk tugs on, to no avail. “Hyungie, wanna cuddle.”
“I know, baby,” says Yoongi, and—oh. Oh, yeah. Something bursts in Jeongguk’s stomach.
“You’re so nice, Yoongi-hyung,” says Jeongguk somewhat wistfully as the other finally manages to get his button open, and then Yoongi is attempting to tug the leather pants off and Jeongguk’s mind is going places it shouldn’t but—“You’re so nice but you don’t love me.”
Yoongi pauses, looking up at him. “Who says I don’t love you?” he asks.
“You don’t,” sniffs Jeongguk. “Not like I love you. ‘Cause I’m just your—your dumb kid roommate and you make me food and clean my room but I wanna hold your dumb hand and kiss your dumb face.”
There’s a bit of silence that Jeongguk, of course, takes the wrong way, and there are suddenly tears welling in his eyes so he throws an arm over his face, trying to hide. “See?” he asks. “See?”
“Jeonggukkie,” says Yoongi, voice so soft and gentle and reassuring, and it just makes it worse and Jeongguk is crying, a little, but even with his pants halfway down his thighs, Yoongi just stops. Jeongguk feels a hand on his wrist instead, trying to tug his arm away from his face, and he whines again, trying to fight against it even though he’s too lethargic to really fight. His arm is pulled away to reveal Yoongi’s face inches from his own, a frown on his pretty lips. “You’re not just my dumb kid roommate,” is what he says. “You’re my bunny.”
Jeongguk sniffs again. “Am I your baby?”
“If you want to be.”
“Yeah,” breathes Jeongguk, wide eyes watching Yoongi’s expression change to something much softer, much fonder. “Want you to take care of me.”
“I am taking care of you,” says Yoongi. “Or—trying. Your pants are really hard to get off.”
Jeongguk giggles a little, the warmth flooding back in and it’s not really the answer he’s looking for, but he’ll take it. “Can you hurry so we can cuddle?” he asks, and Yoongi obliges.
Once he’s managed to get most of Jeongguk’s clothes off, wrapping him up instead in sweatpants and a hoodie because Jeongguk complains about being cold—and after he’s given Jeongguk a glass of water and made him eat something to help with the hangover in the morning—he tucks Jeongguk into bed. It seems fine until Jeongguk realizes that Yoongi isn’t getting into the other side and then he’s whining again, horrified—“Hyung, you promised,” he says, eyes wide, and Yoongi gives him an amused little look.
“I’m just going to change into my pajamas, baby,” he says, like he knows that’s exactly what will sate Jeongguk until he get back and—he’s right, anyway, because even with the effects of the alcohol wearing off, the boy finds himself drunk off of something else, off of the attention and the warmth and the need to be as close to Yoongi as possible.
It only takes a few minutes for the elder to return, anyway, and then he’s slipping into the other side of Jeongguk’s bed, waiting for Jeongguk to scooch over and cuddle close, chest to chest, legs tangled under the blankets and Jeongguk’s face pressed into Yoongi’s collarbone.
For a moment, neither of them says anything, and then, with his hand trailing up and down Jeongguk’s side, Yoongi asks, “What did you mean when you called me?”
Jeongguk opens his eyes, tries to remember the phone call. It’s all a bit of a blur, but he vaguely remembers saying something about Yoongi’s dick. “About what?” he asks anyway, words muffled against Yoongi’s shirt and the bit of skin peeking out; Jeongguk wants to kiss it, tells himself not to. It works, for now.
“You said you only went out because you didn’t want to think about me.”
“Oh,” says Jeongguk. He squirms a little, presses himself closer like he can delay it. Yoongi’s hand continues its slow trail, fingers pressing into different parts of Jeongguk’s body. A grounder, a reminder. “Yeah.”
Yoongi hums low in his throat, the vibrations nestled against Jeongguk’s forehead. “Why was that?” he asks.
It’s a little embarrassing and Jeongguk is glad for the darkness of the room, glad that Yoongi can’t see the flush on his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol—“I got jealous,” he whispers, looking down at where his own hands are bunched up in the front of Yoongi’s shirt, tugging a little before letting go. Repeat. “Of Hobi-hyung and Namjoonie-hyung and Seokjinie-hyung.” It sounds even worse saying it now, out loud, to the person he should have just gone to in the first place.
Yoongi doesn’t laugh, though, just moves his hand up to Jeongguk’s head and begins playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Why were you jealous?” he asks.
“Want you to be mine,” mumbles Jeongguk, pressing the words into Yoongi’s skin.
Jeongguk swallows. He tugs on Yoongi’s shirt. “Want you to be mine,” he repeats a little louder. “Wanna be yours.”
His cheeks are warm from the embarrassment of it, especially when Yoongi says, “You know I can have other friends, right?”
“Yeah,” whines Jeongguk, just a little. “Can’t help it.”
Yoongi does laugh this time, a chuckle as he slips his hand into Jeongguk’s hair and begins sweeping his bangs back, and he imagines the older man is trying to get a good look at him but Jeongguk refuses to lift his head. He’s too sober for this now, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to snuggle further into Yoongi, locking their ankles together more tightly like he’s afraid Yoongi is going to leave because of the roundabout confession.
“You’re so cute, Gukkie,” says Yoongi, to which Jeongguk whines again, not wanting to hear it. Even though he does. “My cute little baby.”
“Hyung,” he breathes.
“You can’t start drinking every time you have a problem, though, okay?”
“Promise me you won’t do that again.”
Jeongguk bumps his head against Yoongi’s neck.
“Look at me,” says Yoongi, moving his hand to the side of Jeongguk’s face and tilting it upward. For the first time, Jeongguk is forced to look at him, at the stern look at Yoongi’s face. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” whispers Jeongguk, pouting again as his eyes flicker to Yoongi’s lips and—it’s not the time, really, but he wants it. He wants it so badly. He can’t stop thinking about Yoongi’s hands. “Can I still be your baby?”
“If you’re a good boy,” says Yoongi, and something coils tight, tight in Jeongguk’s stomach. Something that wasn’t there before.
“I’ll be a good boy,” whispers Jeongguk. “I’ll be a good boy for you, hyung. I promise.”
“You really like me, huh?” asks Yoongi, watching him carefully. Jeongguk can’t help but think that he’s prettier like this, shrouded in darkness with all this softness about him. All this want, all this command. He’s always had power over Jeongguk, but there’s something about the way he’s holding Jeongguk’s face, something about that look in his eyes—the something in Jeongguk’s stomach coils tighter. Hotter.
But there’s no use in lying about it now. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Like you so much, hyung. I wasn’t lying about what I-I said on the phone.”
“Like you too, baby,” says Yoongi. Just like that.
Jeongguk’s breath hitches in his throat, trying to find the lie—or the truth—in Yoongi’s eyes. All he sees is soft. “Really?” he asks, trying to decide if it Yoongi is telling the truth. If he’s been pining the way Jeongguk has.
“Really,” whispers Yoongi, thumbs rubbing at Jeongguk’s cheeks. “But I’m not going to fuck you. Not when you’re still kind of drunk, anyway.”
Jeongguk can’t help but pout. “What about when I’m not drunk?” he asks.
Yoongi sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and Jeongguk wants to kiss it. “We’ll see,” says Yoongi and—it’s a promise of sorts, which is better than nothing.
Still, Jeongguk sighs, letting his head fall back onto Yoongi’s chest anyway. “Can we do the hand-holding too?” he mumbles, warmth blossoming in him everywhere, everywhere because—Yoongi likes him back, calls him baby, wants to take care of him but won’t take advantage of him and that’s good, that’s. That’s what he wants. Wants to be Yoongi’s, but properly, when he wakes up. Maybe he’ll be embarrassed about it in the morning but he knows his feelings won’t change.
“Of course,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk closes his eyes to a gentle kiss pressed to the top of his head. “We can do whatever you want, baby.”
It’s a problem. But maybe there’s a solution.
Like so many mornings before, Jeongguk wakes with fingers carding through his hair, to low humming. This time, though, he can practically feel the vibrations of the sound against his own skin, and he wrinkles his nose as he comes to consciousness in time to realize that his face is not pressed into a pillow, but a solid body, that there’s one hand in his hair and another tracing patterns on his arm. It doesn’t occur to him that it’s a little too intimate to be anything other than what he wants, but he’s fine with that.
Jeongguk makes a noise low in his throat, the humming stops. But he snuggles further into the body, the warmth, pressing his nose into what he realizes is a shirt and breathes in. It smells like Yoongi. He makes another noise, this one of contentedness, and then all at once, the hand is gone from his arm, from his hair. By then, he’s more awake, and when the body underneath him shifts, Jeongguk lifts his head to look up at Yoongi, who is—trying to sneak away?
“Where are you going?” mumbles Jeongguk sleepily, reaching out with a hand to blindly grab at any part of Yoongi he can reach, just to keep him there. His hand contacts the elder’s chin first, a lame punch, before he grabs at Yoongi’s shoulder.
“I’m gonna make breakfast,” says Yoongi, but it sounds like an excuse. Why does it sound like an excuse?
Jeongguk pauses to swallow tightly, only then realizing how dry his mouth is. How badly his head is pounding. “Come back,” he whines, pushing his face into Yoongi’s chest again, like that will do the trick. The man stops moving, but he doesn’t put his hand back in Jeongguk’s hair.
“Guk,” says Yoongi, like he’s already trying to argue with something Jeongguk hasn’t said.
“You promised,” grumbles Jeongguk, finally managing to wrap his arm around Yoongi’s waist, and then he holds on tightly, refusing to let go. The previous night comes to him in bits and pieces, and although his head hurts and some bits of it are a blur, he remembers enough. Of course he remembers enough. “M’not drunk anymore.”
Yoongi goes very, very still beneath him.
There’s a beat—two. Then Jeongguk lifts his head again, blinks blearily up at Yoongi, who is decidedly not looking at him. Looking rather guilty, instead. “Hyung,” says Jeongguk, and he’s hungover but he didn’t black out last night, and he remembers it all, and what if Yoongi didn’t want him to remember it?
“Jeongguk-ah,” says Yoongi, eyes shifting down to look at him, and they are guilty and Jeongguk suddenly feels his throat get a little tight. He shifts, letting go of Yoongi so he can push himself into a sitting position, feeling a strange sort of dread filling his stomach.
“Hyung, you said—”
“I know what I said, Jeongguk,” says Yoongi, and why does it sound so harsh?
“So…” Jeongguk can’t meet his eyes, just fiddles with the hem of his shirt instead. He’d confessed to Yoongi and it’s only now he realizes maybe Yoongi only said it back because he didn’t think Jeongguk would remember. He’s so stupid.
“Look, Guk-ah,” begins Yoongi, and it’s a rejection. Jeongguk already knows, his eyes getting a little misty already, and he won’t look Yoongi in the eye. Can’t. “I do like you, but I just—I don’t know if it’s a good idea right now, you know? You were really drunk last night and I think half of what you said was just you being horny or something.”
“No,” says Jeongguk, shaking his head. A tear escapes him, pathetically, and he wipes at it without looking up, hating that Yoongi is treating him like a child. “I meant everything I said. I don’t even remember some of it but—but I meant it, hyung, I really like you.” He braves looking up only to see that Yoongi isn’t looking at him, anyway, just staring at the ceiling. Jeongguk sniffs again.
“I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” whispers Yoongi.
And—“Are you… friendzoning me?” asks Jeongguk, and he wishes he could laugh at it because it’s funny. It’s fucking hilarious.
“No,” says Yoongi quickly, finally looking at him. He reaches out. Jeongguk flinches. “No, Gukkie, I—I like you, too, okay? Believe me. I just don’t think we should rush into anything and we should think about it. Really think about it. I mean, if we’re going to like… be. More.”
Somehow, that feels worse—the excuses. Jeongguk tries not to think about the way Yoongi had looked at the stranger last night, the one with his hand on Jeongguk’s back. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi had come for him, had helped him, had cuddled him and promised him, and how all of it had been a lie because he was trying to appease a drunk college kid.
Now he’s just sitting in his bed, staring down at his hands. He can’t stop crying. Yoongi’s hand creeps into his peripheral, reaching for him, and Jeongguk just—gets out of bed, leaving it at that. It’s not an acceptance of what Yoongi is saying, but there’s nothing else he can do. He refuses to look at Yoongi’s guilty face, refuses to think that this is anything more than Yoongi not wanting to be with him.
It’s a problem. It’s a new problem, one he likes much, much less than the last one, but he learned from the last one, at least. So instead of going out, he finds other ways to deal with it. He avoids Yoongi at all costs, which is hard because Yoongi is working day shifts this week and he’s always there, waiting when Jeongguk gets home, making him food, asking him to watch movies or go out for drinks. It’s obvious that Yoongi is trying something, trying to mend whatever he broke, but Jeongguk won’t have any of it.
He goes to school, he comes home. He hides in his room. He eats whatever Yoongi makes because he can’t cook to save his own life, but he doesn’t answer the notes that Yoongi leaves. He doesn’t think about crawling into Yoongi’s bed.
He definitely doesn’t think about how much he likes Yoongi, and how much Yoongi doesn’t like him back.
It works for a week, until he feels like he’s going to unravel from all of this nothing that has welled up within him. He’s always gone to Yoongi when something bothers him, but now that Yoongi himself is the problem, he has to find something else. The next weekend, then, he invites Jimin and Taehyung over, knows that Yoongi is home, too, and they’ll be effectively shutting him up in his room, but maybe that’s fine. Maybe that’s the point. Jeongguk is sad, but—he’s angry, too. He has a right to be a little vindictive.
He brings them over and pretends this is what he wants, pretends that they can fill the void caused by Yoongi’s absence. It doesn’t really work, but he tells himself that it does.
“Anyway,” Jimin is saying, digging into the massive pile of food he and Taehyung brought with him for the occasion, “you should have seen it: Tae running across campus in nothing but his tightey whiteys, the campus police chasing after him with their batons ready for the beating. It’s a shame they’re all kind of fat, because I would have paid to see them catch him.”
“Hey,” snaps Taehyung over the sound of Jeongguk’s cackling laughter. “Why would you want them to catch me?”
“Because I wanted to see you getting dragged to the admin building in your underpants!”
“Why do you live for my humiliation?”
Jeongguk almost chokes on his food, doubled over laughing as his friends bicker. “Wait, how did you get away?” he asks, wiping away tears of laughter.
“Well,” says Taehyung, shoving Jimin away from him, “I wasn’t a sprinter in high school for nothing. And with less clothes on, it adds for better air-speed velocity.”
“I don’t think that’s the right term,” says Jeongguk, but Taehyung is already jumping up to re-enact his skill at sprinting.
“I don’t have the right visual,” says Jimin, reaching over to tug at the hem of Taehyung’s jeans. “I think you—” He stops as Yoongi’s bedroom door opens, all three of the boys snapping their heads toward the sound to see Yoongi standing in the doorway, staring back. He adjusts the hood of his hoodie on his head, mumbling something about needing food before he shuffles past them and into the kitchen.
Jeongguk suddenly feels a little sick to his stomach, glancing over his shoulder at Yoongi before he turns back to his food, decidedly not looking at Jimin and Taehyung. The thing is, he didn’t really explain the gravity of the situation to the two of them, just that he and Yoongi were having a bit of a rift. He doesn’t want to talk about it.
He hears the fridge open, and then looks up at Taehyung. “You were going to…” he begins, gesturing with his chopsticks. He sees Taehyung glance upward, no doubt looking at Yoongi, before he shrugs and gets back into his running stance.
“No,” says Jimin. “I said you have to take your pants off!”
“Why do I have to take my pants off?” crows Taehyung, and Jeongguk is laughing again, trying not to be self-conscious about it. “You already saw it once!”
“Yeah, but Jeonggukkie didn’t,” says Jimin, throwing a ridiculous wink in Jeongguk’s direction.
The fridge door closes. “Oh, you want to see me in my tightey whiteys?” asks Taehyung, wiggling his eyebrows as he takes a step toward Jeongguk, who is already sputtering, giggling as he tries to brandish his chopsticks at the other. “I mean, they’re black today, but the visual still stands—”
“No!” shrieks Jeongguk, but Taehyung is already unbuttoning his goddamn jeans and—
There’s suddenly a hand on the back of his neck, curling around it firmly, and the room falls silent for the second time as Jeongguk’s head snaps upwards and over his shoulder to see Yoongi glaring at Taehyung.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks, dark eyes trained on Taehyung, but Jeongguk knows he means him, and it doesn’t sound like there’s any room to argue, so he throws a panicked look at both of his friends before Yoongi’s hand is curling a little tighter around the back of his neck and he sputters out an acceptance before he gets to his feet.
Yoongi drops his hand, only to curl it around the back of Jeongguk’s bicep, practically marching him out of the room, and Jeongguk catches the vaguely worried expressions on Jimin and Taehyung’s faces before he’s being lightly shoved into Yoongi’s bedroom and the door is closed behind him.
Jeongguk turns to face his roommate, arms already crossed over his chest as he asks, “What are you—”
“Can I kiss you?” asks Yoongi.
“I—” Jeongguk begins, at a loss for words before he clamps his mouth shut and just. Stares. “What?”
“Can I kiss you?” repeats Yoongi, voice lower, slower. He’s staring at Jeongguk with something dark and deep in his eyes, something that seems eerily familiar to Jeongguk, and it takes him a moment to place it from that night at the club. The man with his hand on Jeongguk’s back—and Jeongguk gets it, then, just a little.
Still, he stands in the middle of the room and he stares at Yoongi and he doesn’t know what to say because he does want Yoongi to kiss him, of course he does, but he’s trying to be angry, trying to understand—except his body doesn’t seem to get that because even when his mind is running through the questions, his mouth just whispers, “Okay.”
It doesn’t happen how he always hoped it would—Jeongguk always hoped it would be on their couch after a movie, or early in the morning after he snuck into Yoongi’s bed rather than going to school. Once or twice, he imagined it as something cliché like a movie scene, in the middle of the pouring rain or at the top of a ferris wheel.
It’s not that, but it’s. It’s Yoongi’s hands coming to rest on the sides of his face, holding him in place. It’s Yoongi’s lips gently pressing against his, a little tentative at first, like even though he’d asked and looked at Jeongguk with that fire, he’s still uncertain or trying to give Jeongguk a chance to change his mind.
Jeongguk doesn’t. What Jeongguk does is presses back, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands until Yoongi slips one of his hands around to cradle the back of Jeongguk’s head, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck and he’s tilting his head, opening his mouth, deepening it, and Jeongguk finds his hands balling into the front of Yoongi’s shirt to pull him closer.
He’s never been the best kisser, but Yoongi takes the lead—tugs at Jeongguk’s hair a little, making him gasp, and Yoongi takes the opportunity to drag his tongue over his bottom lip. It’s sloppy from the beginning, something burning in Jeongguk’s chest as he whines high in his throat, tugging harder on Yoongi’s shirt, but he lets Yoongi in. He always lets Yoongi in.
Yoongi’s lips are soft, like he imagined, and he tastes a bit like stale coffee, but it makes sense; Jeongguk has imagined this so many times and his head is spinning, heart pounding, he’s not sure he can breathe but it’s okay because he has Yoongi and he can breathe Yoongi in and he can breathe Yoongi out. Yoongi is in everything.
It’s a little less gentle then, as Yoongi’s other hand slips down to Jeongguk’s waist instead and curls around it, just like Jeongguk had imagined; he whines again, and Yoongi hums low, and Jeongguk stumbles backwards as Yoongi pushes, and Yoongi’s licking into his mouth, biting at his lips a little, and it’s a lot, it’s so much—the backs of his knees hit Yoongi’s bed and he’s falling backwards, tugging Yoongi with him.
Their teeth knock together and Jeongguk hisses, pulling back in time to register that Yoongi is moving onto attaching his lips to Jeongguk’s jaw instead and—“Wait,” he breathes, surprised to hear how breathy and cracked his voice sounds. “Wait, hyung, hold on—” And that was certainly never part of his fantasies about this, but he’s breathing heavily, feeling too hot and he doesn’t know what’s happening.
Thankfully, Yoongi stops, lifting his head enough to level Jeongguk with a heady look.
“I thought—” Jeongguk swallows tightly, wills himself to stop staring at Yoongi’s lips, spit-slick and swollen. His cock is taking too much of an interest in this. “I thought you didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”
Yoongi practically growls in response, half on top of Jeongguk, and he finally places his hands on the bed on either side of Jeongguk’s head, licking his lips. “I was wrong,” he admits, doesn’t sound the least bit shameful about it. “I thought—yeah, I thought so, too. Remember when you said you got jealous?”
Jeongguk squirms a little. “Yeah,” he admits.
“I guess I did, too,” says Yoongi. Jeongguk takes a moment to admire how flushed he looks, hair a bit of a mess, eyes dark and dark. He likes it. “I realized I don’t like seeing you with other people when you’re not mine.”
Jeongguk wills his dick not to twitch at that. “Isn’t that kind of unhealthy?” he asks.
“I mean… probably.”
Jeongguk considers it, licks his own lips. He wants Yoongi to kiss him again, but he feels like he shouldn’t let it happen; Yoongi hurt him, even if it was unintentionally, and maybe they shouldn’t base part of their relationship on possessiveness, but he finds that he doesn’t particularly care about it. He cares about Yoongi, cares about the way his chest is heaving a little, the way he’s watching Jeongguk like he wants to devour him whole.
It doesn’t take much thinking.
“I’m not drunk,” he whispers, testing it. Yoongi smirks, just a little, but before he can dive back in, Jeongguk stops him with a hand on his chest. “I should probably—Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung.”
It’s like Yoongi only then remembers that they’re not alone in the house, and Jeongguk doesn’t want things to get awkward. Yoongi removes one of his arms and Jeongguk offers him a flushed grin before he slips off of the bed, hurrying toward the door and only opening it enough to poke his head out. His face and hair will surely be enough to alert them to what’s going on, but he doesn’t need them to see that he’s already sporting a semi.
“Um,” he begins, awkwardly clearing his throat as he sees that Jimin and Taehyung have already begin packing up their food.
“Yep,” says Taehyung, pointedly avoiding Jeongguk’s eyes as he grabs a container of food and makes a beeline for the door. Jimin isn’t much better, sparing a glance at Jeongguk before he smirks and trails after Taehyung.
“Sorry!” calls Jeongguk, because he does feel bad; he’s never had to sexile anyone before, but he tries not to dwell on it. He’s more interested in the hands that are suddenly on his waist, trying to tug him backwards as he hears Jimin call, “Don’t forget to use protection!” before the door closes and shuts.
He lets Yoongi tug him backward then, spinning around when prompted, and then Yoongi presses him up against the door with a wicked smirk on his lips. Jeongguk suddenly feels very, very small, and very, very excited.
“Hi,” he mumbles, and the look Yoongi gives him is downright predatory.
“Hello,” comes the reply, and Yoongi leans forward enough to press a kiss to Jeongguk’s lips. “I take it they’ve gone?”
Jeongguk flushes. “I feel bad,” he whispers, although all thoughts of his friends are slipping farther and farther away with every new kiss that Yoongi peppers to his face, lips, jaw. He grips Jeongguk’s waist just right, and Jeongguk thinks about what he’d thought about when he was drunk. Yoongi’s hands on his waist, Yoongi’s fingers in his ass. He almost groans at the very thought.
The thing is, he’s thought about this, too. Fantasized it plenty of times, hand down his pants, but suddenly he’s a little self-conscious as Yoongi kisses him again and manages to clumsily manoeuvre the both of them to the bed. For now, they’re just kissing—Yoongi’s weight pressing him down, Yoongi’s mouth on his. Yoongi’s hands holding him down, taking his time exploring Jeongguk’s mouth and getting him worked up little by little, and Jeongguk doesn’t know how he seems so calm about it all when Jeongguk wants something more already.
He says so, whines it into Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi says, “I know, baby,” and Jeongguk is. Hard. Yoongi finally, finally moves his hand down, pressing into the outline of Jeongguk’s cock through his sweatpants, and Jeongguk keens into his mouth. But Yoongi is just—a tease, of course, tracing his cock and biting at his lip, not doing much touching in favour of ghosting his hand where Jeongguk wants it. But it’s not enough.
“Yoongi-hyung,” whines Jeongguk, tugging at Yoongi’s hair like that’ll do anything—
And then Yoongi is placing one last lazy kiss on his mouth and then he’s shimmying down Jeongguk’s body, hands going with him, and then Jeongguk realizes a little belatedly what is happening as Yoongi tugs down both his sweatpants and boxers in one go.
Jeongguk hisses a little, head thrown back as he tries not to look at the sight of his own hard cock bobbing onto his stomach like he’s an overeager teenager, but Yoongi is just kind of—giggling, taking Jeongguk into his hand like it’s something casual. Jeongguk throws an arm over his face.
“What are you laughing about?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even as Yoongi strokes him once, twice.
“You’re so cute,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk peeks out from under his arm to see the other peering up at him from between his legs, pressing a kiss to Jeongguk’s stomach.
Jeongguk lets out a shaky breath. “Okay,” he says, like he has to agree with that. He tries to sound firm about it, thinks maybe he ought to be a bit of a brat as he says, “Are you going to—”
Yoongi cuts him off by sinking down on his cock, the entire thing in his mouth in one go like that’s just—okay to do, and Jeongguk practically chokes on his own spit as he throws his head back again. Yoongi pulls back, kisses the tip of Jeongguk’s cock like a sort of apology, and then just—keeps going. Sinking down and down, like he’s trying to show off and Jeongguk is already swearing, can’t keep his mouth shut as he tries not to buck up into Yoongi’s mouth.
It’s just—hot and wet and too much, and Jeongguk’s already blabbering as Yoongi hollows out his cheeks, drags his tongue over again and again. He pops off audibly after a while, hand working at the base of Jeongguk’s cock as he takes to swirling his tongue around the head instead. Jeongguk can’t really breathe.
“Fuck,” he says, still hiding behind his arm because he can’t—look. He’s thought about this enough, but he’ll probably come on the spot if he looks down and sees Yoongi’s bright eyes looking at him with his mouth around Jeongguk’s cock, if he sees his flushed face and red lips. He can feel something coiling in his stomach at just the idea, and he bats it away as Yoongi kisses a line down his cock. “Fuck, hyung.”
“Yes?” asks Yoongi, a little cheeky, voice a little rough—Jeongguk takes a moment to look down, taking his chances, and he immediately regrets it when he sees Yoongi staring up at him with some stupidly innocent expression on his face, even as he licks a stripe up Jeongguk’s cock and then takes it into his mouth again.
Jeongguk can’t help it—he bucks up a little, feels himself hit the back of Yoongi’s throat and hears the sputtering noise, but Yoongi is determined, just. Takes it as an invitation to start deep-throating him. “Jesus Christ,” moans Jeongguk, rocking up a little into Yoongi’s mouth because it feels so fucking good, so hot and tight and he’s trying to hold back from doing something he’ll regret, but he can’t stop blabbering swears and chants and Yoongi’s name.
It’s when Yoongi hums, Jeongguk’s cock still halfway down his throat, that Jeongguk lets out something of a cry. The vibrations make him shiver, one hand pressed harder against his face and the other curled into a fist on Yoongi’s bed sheets. “Fuck, fuck—ah,” he lets out as Yoongi finally pulls back, and there’s so much spit everywhere, the sounds slick and wet and delicious.
“Gonna come for me, baby?” asks Yoongi, voice rough and hoarse and shit. Jeongguk tries to shake his head because he doesn’t want to, not really, not when he wants to hold out—if he comes, Yoongi will stop and he doesn’t want it to stop. What if this is it? What if this is all and Yoongi will change his mind because Jeongguk came just from that—
Yoongi strokes him lazily, like he’s just waiting for an answer. Jeongguk breathes in shakily, trusting himself to remove the arm from his face and look down at Yoongi for the second time. He’s flushed, lips dark and swollen, hovering between Jeongguk’s legs and just watching him. Bemused.
Jeongguk sniffs. “If you want me to,” he finds himself whispering, and Yoongi twists his wrist just right, making Jeongguk groan a little.
“Always want you,” says Yoongi, bending down to press another kiss to the base of Jeongguk’s cock, and then another higher up, and up and up until he gets to the tip. Jeongguk is still watching him and Yoongi is watching him back and he’s still watching as he sinks down again, going and going until he can’t anymore, and then he hollows his cheeks on the drag up, hot and tight and it’s like the permission that Jeongguk didn’t really need.
He stops trying to ignore the heat in his stomach, gives into it as Yoongi quickens his pace, and it only takes one, two, three more seconds before he’s letting out a moan of Yoongi’s name, coming into Yoongi’s mouth with his head thrown back and his toes curling.
Jeongguk breathes heavily as Yoongi strokes him through it, sloppily finishing it, and. Jeongguk can’t look at him anymore, honestly feels a little bad about coming in his mouth before he feels Yoongi crawling back up his body, hovering over him.
After a moment, Jeongguk opens his eyes and—“Did you swallow?” he asks a little incredulously.
“‘Course,” says Yoongi, grinning as he swoops down to press a kiss to the side of Jeongguk’s mouth, his cheek, his nose. Jeongguk tries to catch his breath, and it only takes a few more seconds to remember his concerns from only a minute before—is that it? If Yoongi was just feeling possessive of Jeongguk, does that mean this is all he wants?
He sniffs a little. “Okay,” he whispers, doesn’t trust his voice. “I’ll, um—handjob?” He gestures downward in the vague direction of Yoongi’s own undoubtedly hard cock, figuring the elder just wants to get it over with and then they can go about trying to be awkward roommates who have touched each other’s dicks.
Except Yoongi cocks his head a little. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” he says, plain and simple.
Jeongguk blanches. “I-I mean, yeah,” he says. “But I thought—”
“I think we should stop thinking wrong thoughts,” says Yoongi. “You talk to me, I talk to you. Rather than assuming.” It feels a bit odd to have a conversation like this in the middle of—whatever they’re doing, but Jeongguk swallows tightly, lifts his gaze to Yoongi again. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
It’s not much of a question. “Yes,” whispers Jeongguk.
“Good,” says Yoongi, leaning down to kiss Jeongguk again. “Because I want to fuck you. And then I want to hold your dumb hand and kiss your dumb face every morning and be your dumb boyfriend.”
“Oh,” says Jeongguk.
“Unless… you don’t want that,” says Yoongi as he pulls back a little, forehead pinched.
“No!” exclaims Jeongguk. “No, I mean—yes. Yes, I want you to be my dumb boyfriend. Not that you’re dumb or whatever, but like—yes. Please.” He flushes, biting at his bottom lip as Yoongi grins and grins, like Jeongguk hasn’t seen in a whole week, and his chest hurts, suddenly, but it’s not because he’s having trouble catching his breath. It’s something more, something deeper.
Somehow, that gives him the courage to say what he’s been thinking this whole time—what he’s been thinking for months, really, maybe even years: “Can I ride you?”
Yoongi blinks. “Jesus,” he mutters, kissing Jeongguk again—harder this time, with more fervour, and then he’s adding, “Yes, of course. Whatever you want, baby.”
It takes a little more manoeuvring from there, clumsy and eager with limbs in odd places and Yoongi still trying to kiss him a little until they get into the proper positions, more or less—Yoongi propped up against his headboard, Jeongguk straddling him, all of their clothes discarded on the floor and the necessary supplies thrown somewhere to the side.
Jeongguk, likely not the more experienced of the two but eager anyway, takes hold of Yoongi’s face and crashes their lips together, hot and heavy and needy, wanting more as he grinds down in Yoongi’s lap and hears the responding gasp. He gets caught up in it for a moment, can’t breathe properly when he’s licking into Yoongi’s mouth and catching his top lip again and again, grinding a little until Yoongi’s hands find his ass and squeezes.
He lets out something akin to a squeak, shifting slightly before Yoongi chuckles, and—he pulls back, flushing again as Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Wanna open yourself up for me?” he asks huskily, and Jeongguk’s cock twitches in interest even as he flushes again, like that’s harder to handle when Yoongi’s mouth had literally been on his cock two minutes ago.
Still, there’s an embarrassed lilt to his voice as he agrees to it and then moves to actually get off of Yoongi—until Yoongi catches his wrist, giving him a knowing look, and Jeongguk catches his bottom lip between his teeth. Oh. He gets the message, staying where he is and pushing himself up on his knees as his hands fumble for the bottle of lube on the bed without taking his eyes off of Yoongi, who is watching and watching.
It’s strange because—he can feel Yoongi’s cock but there’s a sort of vulnerability in this that he isn’t used to. He’s nervous, he realizes, trembling a little, and Yoongi. Yoongi notices, because he always notices.
“Hey,” he says, taking the bottle from Jeongguk and opening it for him, grabbing Jeongguk’s hand next and taking the liberty of drizzling a generous amount onto his fingers. So Yoongi likes it wet. “You’re good,” he adds. “Just relax. It’s just me, okay?”
Jeongguk nods as Yoongi tosses the lube sideways again, surges up to press a kiss to his mouth, chin, nose. It’s not like it’s the first time Jeongguk has ever fingered himself, but it’s the first time he’s done it in front of Yoongi. He’s liked Yoongi for so, so long that it feels a bit like a fever dream, but then he knows he just has to go for it, willing the butterflies in his stomach to calm down as he places on hand on Yoongi’s shoulder for balance and moves the other between his legs.
He watches Yoongi as Yoongi watches him—first his face as Jeongguk circles his rim, breathing deeply as he prepares himself for the intrusion, and then as he pushes his index finger in. Jeongguk’s mouth falls open, closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see how Yoongi looks at him—he has to like it, has to be working himself up over it, and he feels Yoongi’s hands come to rest on his waist, holding him steady. It’s a bit possessive. Jeongguk’s getting hard again.
Slowly, he pulls his finger out again, then pushes back in, going slowly at first so he can get used to it, and he lets out a little whimper as he tightens the hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. It’s like Yoongi knows—of course Yoongi knows—and he’s leaning forward to press kisses to Jeongguk’s chest, something like comfort. Jeongguk moves faster, adding a second finger with a little moan. He works himself with it, stretching himself open as Yoongi’s hands start wandering, up and up and then to his chest, where he tweaks Jeongguk’s nipples.
“F-fuck,” he stutters, head falling forward as his fingers still for a moment, and even though his eyes are still closed, he can still see Yoongi’s smirk.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” says Yoongi, and the praise has Jeongguk’s cheeks colouring a little, fingers moving again—faster this time, growing more and more eager as Yoongi begins playing with his nipples properly, the stimulation pushing him further and further to whatever edge he needs.
When he’s ready, he adds a third finger, hissing a little even though he’s distracted from the stretch by Yoongi’s fingers on his nipples, lips still trailing kisses over his chest. He’s panting, stumbling out swears at how good it feels, even though it’s still not enough, and Yoongi keeps murmuring praises about how good he is, how well he’s doing, and it’s a lot but he wants more, scissoring himself open in earnest. He could come like this, probably, and he’s distracted enough that he doesn’t realize Yoongi only has one hand on him until he feels one of Yoongi’s finger pressing against his rim, stretched around three of Jeongguk’s own fingers.
He lets out a bit of a yelp, tipping forward into Yoongi entirely, and Yoongi just—laughs. “Sorry,” he mutters, and Jeongguk’s hand has stilled by Yoongi pushes the tip of his index finger in along with it, almost experimentally. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“S’okay,” says Jeongguk, shaky as he finds his balance again, but now that his eyes are open, he’s kind of—preoccupied with the sight of Yoongi’s cock, knows that he’s stretched enough and he wants it and then he’s pulling his fingers out of his ass, wiping them absently on Yoongi’s sheets as he shifts forward a little.
“Ready?” asks Yoongi, looking up at him with less of a smirk and more of an awed grin. Jeongguk tries to imagine what he looks like now—face and chest flushed, sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead. He’s nothing that Yoongi should find beautiful, but he feels it anyway, just from the way the other is looking at him. He nods, a little shyly, and then Yoongi is grabbing the lube again, along with a condom.
Jeongguk ties to calm down the rabbit beat of his heart as Yoongi rolls on the condom and then lubes up his cock, but the anticipation is like a rock in his stomach, weighing him down and he kind of wants to throw up, not because he’s scared but because—he’s wanted this for so long and he kind of wants to cry already, even though nothing has really happened.
Yoongi looks up at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay?” he asks, and Jeongguk tries to shake himself out of it.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, just—I love you.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it’s the revelation he has anyway, and—Yoongi is grinning so, so wide, pulling Jeongguk closer by his hips so he can press a kiss to his lips.
“You’re just saying that because you’re about to sit on my cock,” he says, and Jeongguk lets out a giggle. The weight feels less heavy, suddenly, and he doesn’t mind that Yoongi didn’t say it back because he knows anyway. He can feel it. So he shifts, helping Yoongi line himself up and taking a breath before he grabs both of Yoongi’s shoulder and begins to sink down on his cock.
He takes a sharp breath when the head of Yoongi’s cock gets past the first ring of muscle, squeezing his eyes shut as Yoongi massages his hips. It hurts, just a little, but he knows he stretched himself enough and it’s just overwhelming as he keeps going and going, letting Yoongi fill him until he finally bottoms out and just—sits there.
After a moment, Jeongguk opens his eyes to see Yoongi staring at him, pupils blown wide. It burns, it’s hot, it’s been a while but it’s good, just from the knowledge that it’s Yoongi. It’s Yoongi and it’ll always be Yoongi, and he gives himself time to adjust, thumbs rubbing patterns into Yoongi’s shoulders as he waits.
“You’re so pretty,” says Yoongi. “My pretty baby.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m sitting on your cock,” Jeongguk throws back, a little cheeky, and the moment he sees Yoongi open his mouth to tease him back, he grinds down.
Yoongi lets out a choked, “shit,” instead and Jeongguk giggles again, decides he’s had enough waiting before he lifts himself up slowly before sinking down again. And then it’s not really funny anymore, a moan escaping him at the slow drag of it as he keeps going, shifting up and down again and again as he fucks himself on Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi’s hands are still digging into his hips, almost hard enough to bruise but he doesn’t mind, uses it as encouragement as he keeps going.
He works up a rhythm, moving faster and faster as he bounces in Yoongi’s lap, letting out little moans and whimpers and breathy hyungs before Yoongi’s turning his face upward and attaching their lips in a heated kiss. It’s less of a kiss and more of something desperate, Jeongguk whining into it. His thighs are already starting to burn, but he works through it, just wanting to be full and open and everything for Yoongi, only for Yoongi.
He knows that Yoongi promised, but he can’t help worrying that this is it. That this is the only time, that Yoongi will decide he doesn’t actually want Jeongguk and so he needs to make it good, needs to make it right. He changes the angle a little, lets out a stutter of Yoongi’s name and a gasp when he feels Yoongi’s cock hit his prostate because of it, and Yoongi’s hands are still wandering a little. Jeongguk hadn’t realized how sensitive he is until he shivers at the touches, unsure what to focus on and figuring he should just—let himself go a little blank, trying to keep up the rhythm with it.
“So good,” Yoongi mutters into his mouth, forcing Jeongguk’s hips down and keeping them there, so Jeongguk grinds onto his cock again, gasping into it. “Make me feel so good, baby.”
“Yeah?” breathes Jeongguk, one of his hands slipping into Yoongi’s hair as he presses their foreheads together. He grinds down again, letting out a drawn out moan. “Just wanna—ah, be good for you, hyung.”
Yoongi’s hands start wandering again, moving over his stomach and chest and pointedly avoiding Jeongguk’s cock like a tease, and Jeongguk huffs as he takes the opportunity to start bouncing again, straightening up and throwing his head back as he does so. He’s beginning to get a little overwhelmed, the feel of Yoongi’s cock inside of him not enough and too much all at once, needy whines escaping him even when he tries to stop them, and Yoongi thumbs one of his nipples again.
“Fucking—” Jeongguk cries, feels tears prick at the backs of his eyes as he fucks himself harder and faster, making Yoongi moan and it’s—low and cracked and gorgeous, heart hammering in his chest before Yoongi suddenly gets hand on his cock.
Jeongguk lets out a wanton moan, body reacting almost violently to the touch as he falls forward, pressed chest to chest with Yoongi. His arms circle Yoongi’s neck, holding on as Yoongi strokes his cock once, twice, and he doesn’t want to come, not yet—so he whines, burying his head in Yoongi’s neck and stopping the movement of his hips in hopes that it’ll keep him from doing something he’ll regret.
But Yoongi’s chuckling again, turning his head so he can press a kiss to the side of Jeongguk’s. He doesn’t get it—can’t get it, because he takes it as a cue to take over instead, and while he removes his hand from Jeongguk’s cock, he does something much, much worse.
With a murmur of, “Doing so good, baby,” Yoongi wraps both of his arms around Jeongguk’s back, plants his feet on the bed, and begins fucking up into him instead.
This time, Jeongguk does cry—just a little, and he’ll never admit it, tears springing to his eyes from how good it feels as Yoongi starts up a quick rhythm, pistoning his hips up again and again as Jeongguk holds on tighter, presses his face harder into Yoongi’s neck. He feels raggedy, suddenly, boneless already at the sound of Yoongi’s hips hitting his ass over and over.
It’s satisfying—and it feels good, full, like everything he wanted as he moans out Yoongi’s name, and Yoongi tightens his hold on him, still fucking his hips up as his lips find Jeongguk’s ear and he growls, “Mine.”
Jeongguk doesn’t really know what he means, but—he comes anyway, the swooping in his gut unexpected as the very idea combined with Yoongi nailing his prostrate over and over doing something more to him. He squeezes his eyes shut as it happens, and Yoongi’s hips don’t stutter for a second as Jeongguk tries to press himself ever closer.
“Yours,” he breathes, hands in Yoongi’s hair and chest heaving as Yoongi keeps fucking him. “Only yours.”
It does the trick for Yoongi, too—he thrusts up one last time before he stills, coming with a moan of his own pressed into Jeongguk’s skin. And Jeongguk can’t move—won’t, anyway, holding Yoongi as tightly as possible because he’s still overwhelmed and crying a little, pathetically, and he isn’t sure he wants Yoongi to see that.
It’s still, silent save for their panted breathing, and then Yoongi moves, just a little. His hands move up and down Jeongguk’s back in comfort, pressing kisses into his neck and shoulder because he can’t reach Jeongguk’s face.
“Baby?” he asks, and Jeongguk sniffs. He still doesn’t want to move.
Still, he mumbles, “Hyung.”
“You did so good, Guk-ah,” says Yoongi, because he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. “I’m so proud of you.” Then, after a moment—“Can I kiss you?”
Jeongguk thinks it’s a little silly to ask with his cock still buried in Jeongguk’s ass, but it does the trick away because Jeongguk nods a little before pulling his face out of Yoongi’s neck, wiping at his teary eyes as he’s finally able to take in Yoongi’s face—flushed, hair a mess, but. He’s smiling so, so wide, hands coming to cradle Jeongguk’s face.
“So pretty,” he whispers. “The best baby bun in the whole world.” Jeongguk sniffs again, feeling overwhelmed from stimulation and the praise and Yoongi in general—the knowledge that Yoongi likes him, that this is real, that it’s what he wanted but is better somehow. Yoongi kisses him, then, like he said he would, and it’s gentle and full of love and makes Jeongguk want to cry.
After long, long moments, he lets out a whine. “Hurts,” he mumbles, figuring that Yoongi will get it, and he does—he gently lifts Jeongguk’s hips off of him, pulling out before both of them seem to realize they’ve made a mess of each other. Jeongguk needs cuddles, because he always does, so Yoongi is quick about cleaning them both up and helping Jeongguk back into his sweatpants before they crawl into bed.
“Was I good?” asks Jeongguk when he’s got his face pressed into Yoongi’s chest, all wrapped up in each other. He knows Yoongi told him already—multiple times—but he needs it again.
And Yoongi doesn’t complain anyway, just presses a kiss to the top of his head. “The best,” he says. “You really don’t have to worry about that. You could have the sexual prowess of a dead fish and I’d still think you’re the best.”
Jeongguk giggles, lifting his head so he can look Yoongi in the eye. “I don’t actually have the sexual prowess of a dead fish though, right?” he asks. Just in case.
“Of course not,” says Yoongi, grinning. He sweeps Jeongguk’s hair off of his forehead. “You’re far above average. Eleven out of ten, if you will. Definitely would bang again.”
“I hope so,” muses Jeongguk. “You told me we could be boyfriends now so I’m gonna need to sit on your dick like, twice a day.”
“Jesus,” mutters Yoongi. “My dick is literally going to fall off.”
“I’ll take good care of it,” grins Jeongguk, snuggling back into Yoongi’s chest. “As long as you take good care of me. You have to make good on all those promises you made.”
“Suddenly, I don’t remember,” says Yoongi.
“I’m gonna hold your hand all the time,” says Jeongguk, sighs a little wistfully. “And kiss your face and—” He yawns, pressing his face into Yoongi’s skin. “And be your baby. Okay?”
Yoongi snorts. “Okay, baby,” he says. Jeongguk closes his eyes, focuses on the beating of Yoongi’s heart in his chest, the feeling of his fingers in Jeongguk’s hair. He’s already sleepy, slipping off no matter how much he wants to hold onto this, but—he has to remind himself that this is the first of many nights like this. The first of everything.
That’s how he falls asleep—surrounded by Yoongi, warm and protected and belonging to something. To someone. There are worse ways to fall asleep, he thinks, as he presses himself ever closer to Yoongi and hears the tell-tale humming of the elder against him. There are worse solutions to his problems.
There are worse problems to have in the first place.