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Smells like weed and teen spirit

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Some days, they go down into town and sit under the big oak tree in the cemetery. Sunny days, but most of the time, when it's soggy and gloomy out, mainly because there's more soggy and gloomy days than there isn't. There at the old, oak tree standing in the far back of the cemetery, the part where the birth dates on the gravestones date back to the 1800s, the part that no one ever comes to visit any more. Jungkook sits on one of the tree's thick roots, satchel balanced on his knees, and Yoongi sits on the shoulders of an angel statue that's fallen over years earlier. At the part where it's broken off, where, technically, would be underneath the angel's gown, the marble is pure white.


On the days that someone does stumble into that part of the cemetery; the middle-aged and old grandchildren of people who died forty years ago, Jungkook and Yoongi sneer at them as if they own the place.


They kind of do, Jungkook thinks, since that time in their third year in middle school when he carved both their names into the trunk of the tree, with the pocket knife that Yoongi got from some boy in the school yard. Jungkook hadn't asked, because he never asks where Yoongi gets anything from, but he'd carved JJK + MYG into the crumbly bark either way, really dug the knife in to make sure the letters would show.


From where he was sitting on the angel's chest with his legs folded, Yoongi had said, “Do a heart. A big arrow love heart.”


“That's really gay,” Jungkook had pointed out, and then he went over the Y in MYG with the knife again.


“I know, it's great,” Yoongi had said, and then he squinted behind his granny coke-bottle glasses and asked, beaming. “Our initials, huh?”


Some days, they switch places, and then Jungkook stares down at the angel's eternally serene face between his feet and talks to it instead of Yoongi. He traces the crack on the angel's neck, where the blinding white is peeking through as well, and says, “D’you think that maybe they meant to cut the head off first?”


“What do you mean, they?”


“You know, like. The people who vandalized this thing in the first place.” Jungkook leans back onto the cold stone of the angel's torso, then, after a moment of consideration, stuffs his satchel behind his head. He reaches one hand out to Yoongi, who's rolling cigarettes with his tongue clamped between his lips in concentration, and Yoongi pauses to bring one up to his mouth and light it.


He takes a deep drag and passes it over to Jungkook, and when he exhales, through the thick cloud of fog, he asks, “Why would they wanna do that?”


"I don't know,” Jungkook traces his finger over the angel's eyelids. “To minimize the suffering, maybe?” He sucks at the stick and shrugs.


Yoongi gives him a look. “Jungkook, it's a fucking statue.”


“Yeah, I know.”




They start doing it when they’re in second year of their middle school, Jungkook’s thirteen and Yoongi has just turned fourteen. It's early morning and Jungkook’s standing at the sink in the washroom on their floor, trying to tie his neck tie so it'll look neat. Yoongi is sitting on the toilet seat in one of the cubicles, knees pulled up to his chest with the door unlocked and left open just enough that Jungkook can see half of him in the mirror. There's no one else here yet, because Yoongi likes to be more than punctual, and also, because he likes to have a smoke in the loos early in the morning.


They'd both started doing that a few months earlier, just before summer began. That's to say, one day, when they were both out in town after school, Yoongi had pulled a little cigarette case he'd gotten fuck-knows-where from the inner pocket of his blazer. When Jungkook had protested, Yoongi had said, “Come on, Jungkookie, don't be like that. All the girls just love a guy who smokes, don't you know?” And that had lead to Jungkook taking a huge drag and coughing so hard, he could feel his lungs shake.


Now, though, right now Yoongi is taking a long drag and exhaling up at the crack in the ceiling.


“I really don't want to go to class today,” Jungkook says while his eyes are trailing the smoke from Yoongi’s cigarette. He's kind of craving a cigarette, and the stench sifting over isn't helping with that, but he's not going to do it before class. The smoke is going to cling to him and make his teachers ask question, and he's not like Yoongi, he can't lie with a straight face. Yoongi, he knows the names of all the guys in the senior year, specifically, the guys who smoke, and he's always ready to rat them out and say it was second-hand smoke that got into his clothes, if it means getting let off easy.


“How about," Yoongi starts, “we just don't go to class today?”


“What do you mean?”


“You know, cutting?” Yoongi stands up and takes a second to flush the butt of his smoke down the toilet, and then he's standing behind Jungkook at the mirror. “We could just sneak out.”


“We can't,” Jungkook’s voice goes a little bit squeaky. His voice has started cracking just a few weeks earlier, but most of the time, it still sounds the way it did before that, and sometimes, like now, it's actually embarrassing. “We'll get in trouble.”


“Come on, Jungkookie,” Yoongi coos. In the mirror, his reflection lights another cigarette. “Do you never want to have a bit of fun?”


“Why do you keep calling me Jungkookie?”


“It's your new name, I've just decided. It suits you,” the reflection says, and then Yoongi reaches forward and messes Jungkook’s tie up where he's only just gotten the knot right. “Now come on, we're in a hurry.”


And what Jungkook does is, he follows Yoongi out of the bathroom and down the corridor, down two flights of stairs, because that's a thing he does. When Yoongi tells him to jump, he jumps, or however that saying goes, and if Yoongi jumps off a cliff, he'll come running right after. Because he won't let Yoongi get into trouble all by himself, no matter how stupid that makes him. It's something he doesn't really get and he doesn't catch up with the fact that he's doing it again until Yoongi is dragging him across the campus by his wrist.


“Hang on a second,” Jungkook says, has to shout a bit just to make sure Yoongi can really hear his discontent with this whole situation. "I never said I was going to sneak out with you.”


Yoongi turns around to look at him, that stupid shark-like grin smeared across his face. “Yeah, but you didn't say you were not gonna, either.” The whole time, he doesn't stop walking, and then he yanks Jungkook’s wrist and almost makes him trip. “And shush, you're going to wake the whole school.”


The iron gate at the entrance is shut, as it always is from late evening until the end of classes, but Yoongi steps on the bottom of it and stretches for the very top, which isn't that high, less than seven feet maybe, and then sort of stretches himself upward, using the swirly design welded onto the bars of metal for support. Yoongi is quite skinny with barely any fat in his body, but he's grown approximately half a foot over the summer, though Jungkook is still taller than him by a whole foot, not to mention broader and more athletic. But still, Jungkook can't help but be a bit impressed when he just jumps off the gate and doesn't even wince.


However, Jungkook is pretty sure that when he lands, he bites his lip and makes a face, Jungkook knows, even if he can't see Yoongi’s face. That at least is a bit of a comfort for Jungkook.


“Jungkookie," Yoongi spits from his side of the gate. He lights himself yet another cigarette, the cherry of it almost the same orange glowing color as the slow sunrise. The way Yoongi is standing, his pale skin glows and it gives him a bit of a halo. Jungkook hates irony. “Hurry up, we'll get caught.”


“I'm still not sure we should do this.”


“C’mon, don't you want to have fun?” The tone in Yoongi’s voice is sneering and mocking, and Jungkook really wants to march right to their teacher and tell him off. Not like he'd ever do that, because Yoongi is his best friend, but it's not like he doesn't deserve it.


“You're really a handful, Yoongi.”


“Yeah, I am,” Yoongi grins at him again, that irritating grin with his pink gums showing. “C’mon, I'll help you and all.”


So Jungkook goes for it, he steps onto the bottom of the gate and has to jump a bit to reach the very top of it, and Yoongi reaches through the bars and helps him place his feet on the metal swirls. It's stupid, it's ridiculously stupid and it mainly just stings in Jungkook’s hands and makes him feel more than inept, but then he manages to get on top of the gate and not fall on his face when he jumps down.


“You okay?”


“Yeah, I think?”


“Good. Now, c’mon,' Yoongi urges, and then he's pulling Jungkook away by the wrist again.


Jungkook isn't sure where they're going, and he's also pretty sure that Yoongi doesn't know either, but when they've been running for maybe ten minutes, he regains his common sense for long enough when he sees a group of policemen standing across from them at an intersection.


“Cops,” Jungkook hisses, and maybe it comes out not really hissing, but sounding more panicked, but that's what he intended it to sound like, and then he's pulling Yoongi around the corner and through the nearest gate. He's dragged Yoongi most of the way around the building that vaguely registers in his brain as the old church when they stop and Yoongi pulls his hand away.


"What the fuck was that?”


“What was what?” Jungkook asks back.


“What did you think they were gonna do, arrest us for not being at school?”


“Maybe?” Jungkook’s voice is so squeaky he can feel the embarrassed blush rise into his cheeks and ears. “They'd probably call the principal on us." Jungkook sits back on a tombstone and immediately feels kind of bad about it, because there's a dead person underneath his feet, but on the other hand, he's also pretty sure that his knees are about to buckle underneath him, so there's that. “What if they call our parents?”


Yoongi laughs at him. “Calm down, Jungkookie. Have a smoke.”


“I’m not going to calm down!”


“Shh, shh,” Yoongi lights himself a smoke and puffs it once, then holds it up right to Jungkook’s lips.


Jungkook feels like an idiot for it, but he takes a drag, a bit too long, because he's near coughing up a storm again. At least, he no longer wants to cry at the thought of getting caught cutting class though, so that's a huge plus.


“Just chill," Yoongi says, voice low and reasonable again, the sneering tone gone, and drags Jungkook over to the huge looming tree growing right next to the cemetery walls. He sits on the chest of an angel statue that's lying on its back in the dry dead grass, and Jungkook perches himself on a thick root, carefully at first.


“Listen, Jungkook, we're not gonna get in trouble. We're just middle schoolers. No one's going to question us. We're better than that.” Yoongi digs into his satchel for the stupid sketchpad he's been given for his birthday that he's been doodling fuck-knows-what in ever since, and brings both his legs up to fold them criss cross apple sauce.


Jungkook looks down at the cigarette that has somehow ended up smoldering between Yoongi's fingers. “Okay.”


It becomes a thing after that.


Once or twice a week, if one of them decides that they just don't go to class today, the other one follows. It's usually Yoongi who decides it. It's always Jungkook who's a little bit hesitant about getting caught, about getting in trouble, or sometimes, about not being able to score the fence. At least, that stops being an issue after the first ten times or so.


Some mornings, they stop at the market halfway between school and the church and buy sweets and crisps, and no one ever thinks to question them, because Yoongi is right. Because in the eyes of the public, they're well-behaved middle schoolers from a prestigious school who don't cut class or smoke self-rolled cigarettes or hang around in cemeteries.




The day is sweltering hot and Yoongi is lying back onto the angel's torso, head in Jungkook’s lap on top of his folded-up blazer and hands working at his sketchbook. Jungkook reaches forward and nabs the cigarette he's got dangling between his lips to take a drag. The drawing that's slowly taking shape kind of resembles the leaves of the oak tree above them, but Jungkook knows better than to ask about it.


“Are you watching me?” Yoongi asks rather suddenly, head turning and his small eyes glaring owlish up at Jungkook who just shrugs in response. “Stop doing it.”


Yoongi reaches blindly behind himself, gropes for Jungkook’s hand and tangles his fingers with it. “Gimme my cigarette back.”


Jungkook does, he places it between Yoongi’s soft lips so the other doesn't have to let go of his sketchbook for even a second, and Yoongi gives him this dazed, closed-lipped smile. He sucks the cigarette down to the butt and Jungkook plucks it away again and stubs it out on the side of the angel. It's completely quiet for a few seconds, one of those summer days with no wind when even the birds and bugs aren't coming out. One of those days where the whole world feels deserted. Still, even with sweat sticking his school shirt to his back, Jungkook feels like this is still better than sitting in class for hours on end.


“Jungkook?” Yoongi asks, he'd already closed his sketchbook and put it on his chest, the place where, Jungkook knows, the hollow below his ribs, under his shirt. There's sweat gathering near his collarbones, where his shirt is unbuttoned to the third button.




“What do you think you want to do in the end?”


“What? After I graduate from school?”


“No, like,” Yoongi holds up the pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and Jungkook picks one out and sticks it between his own lips to light it. “When you die?”


“I don't know,” Jungkook says after a second. “You mean like, how I want to die or how I want to be buried?”


“Both, I guess.” Yoongi motions for him to pass the cigarette and Jungkook does. He exhales a big puff and Jungkook watches him disappear behind the smoke for a second, just as he says, “I think if I had the choice, I'd like to drown.” His fingers are clammy between Jungkook’s. “Like, not in a suicide way, but if I ever died in a freak accident, I'd want to drown.”


“Sounds painful,” Jungkook comments and takes the cigarette back to puff it again.


“I'm not sure,” Yoongi shrugs. “I dream about it,” and he grabs for the cigarette, “…a lot, you know.”


“That's just dreams, Yoon.”


“Yeah, but I feel like it wouldn't scare me any more. As if I already know what's coming.”


Jungkook looks down at Yoongi and blows out a stream of smoke aimed at his mouth. They understand each other.


“What about you?”


“Never really thought about it.” Jungkook’s fingers stroke over Yoongi’s soft palm. “I don't think I'd want a natural death or illness or anything.”


Yoongi nods. “Too slow and painful.” He sucks at the cigarette he's swiped from Jungkook’s hand. “Especially a natural death when you're old. You're literally just falling apart.”


“I never want to be old,” Jungkook says. He strokes Yoongi’s fringe, for such a brief second that he knows Yoongi can't register and complain. “I think when I die I want to be shot.”


“How d'you expect that to happen?”


“I don't know. Freak accident. Or maybe I get taken as a hostage or caught up in a robbery or something big like that.”


“Or you go crazy and shoot yourself,” Yoongi argues.


“Or that.”


“How do you want it done, then?”


“What d'you mean?”


“Temple, through the mouth, up through your chin?”


“What's the least painful?”


“They're all painful. Because there's a bullet going through your brain.”


“Yeah, fair enough.” Jungkook snatches the cigarette back from Yoongi. “I think when I'm dead I want one of these pretty traditional graves. One that says beloved husband and father on it, with a big angel statue on.” He pets the marble as an affirmation.


“Nice.” Yoongi takes a drag from the cigarette again and blows a huge cloud into Jungkook’s face. “D'you want to be cremated or just buried?”


“Don't know. Buried seems more festive. Having your coffin covered in flowers slowly descend into the soil.”




“And I feel weird about being cremated. Like, it's someone's job to burn dead bodies? They probably enjoy it or at least it's not disgusting enough to make them quit. Who the hell does that?”


“Crazy people,” Yoongi says and stretches his hand out to let the ash trail on the cigarette drip into the grass. His hair is fanned out around his head like a messy crown and Jungkook has this urge to touch it. “And we're not crazy, Jungkookie, are we?”


“We're not,” Jungkook nods. He leans down, careful not to disentangle their hands, and plucks a dandelion growing next to the angel from the ground. When he goes to weave it into Yoongi’s hair, he remembers something. “You know, I was talking to that nerd, Namjoon the other day and he said he's always wondered what it'd look and smell like when a human burns to death.”


“Gross,” Yoongi scowls and brings his hand up carefully to feel for the dandelion in his hair, but he doesn't comment on it. “We don't talk to nerd kid, remember?”


“He's funny.”


“He's funny because he's a nutcase, Jungkookie.”


Jungkook shrugs and takes the cigarettes and lighter out from Yoongi’s chest pocket to light himself another one.


“Bad enough that you know his real name.”


“Pretty sure his real name is not Nerdy.”


“Yeah, but.” Yoongi raises his hand. “Pass that over, yeah?”


“Here.” Jungkook hands the cigarette over and strokes Yoongi’s hair again. He reckons the dandelion in it looks pretty good, but it would look better if it's a whole chain of them. Or a daisy chain, maybe, but there's no daisies growing in the cemetery.


“So, anyway, I still think I'd want to be cremated.”


“Like, when you die,” Jungkook says, and then immediately feels like an idiot for stating the obvious.


“Nah, nah, not that,” Yoongi’s voice is slow and drawling and sticky like honey. Or tar, maybe. “Just, whenever. Surprise me, you know?”


Yoongi brings his cigarette down to his shirt, the side with the school's crest on it, and lets a bit of the ember of the cherry drip down onto the fabric. He lets the flame build for a few seconds, and Jungkook watches it eat at the white cotton. Then Yoongi blows on it, leaving behind only a small black burn, and he laughs.


Jungkook kind of wants to kiss him.




The very first time Jungkook tries weed, it's the winter that Yoongi is fifteen and Jungkook’s just barely still fourteen. This winter is a gross one, the cemetery covered in half-frozen brown grass and mud, and even with Yoongi sat way too close next to him on the angel and his coat and jumper, Jungkook’s still shivering.


“We should've stayed at school,” Jungkook says for the second time that day, through the scarf he's got pulled up across his mouth, and he sniffs with the crisp air burning in his eyes and nose.


“And gone through the whole first day of school formalities bullshit?” Yoongi huffs and flicks his lighter.


“Still better than catching pneumonia or something like that.” Jungkook takes the cigarette Yoongi has just lit and takes a drag, and he adds, “This freshman guy went to the hospital with that, I heard. Jimin or something.”


“Yeah, but Jimmy Something's not us.”


Yoongi smiles his stupid lazy smile, his mouth stretching out across most of what Jungkook can even see of his face. His fringe is falling all the way across his eyes, because Yoongi hasn't had a haircut in exactly ten months. Jungkook remembers that day very well, it had been his birthday and they'd smoked cigarettes and eaten cake with pink icing on it. Yoongi had pulled at his hair and said they can't make him cut it again, and Jungkook had just nodded and let him.


Right now, though. Jungkook shakes his head and says, “You're stupid, Yoon,” and wipes his nose on his scarf.


“And you're a crybaby,” Yoongi says, in this completely smooth and matter-of-fact way.


Jungkook hates him for it. “It's cold.”


“Settle down, Jungkookie.” Yoongi searches the pocket of his coat for something, just for a few short seconds, before he pulls out his rolling papers and tobacco, as well as this little clear plastic bag. “Have this.” He takes one wrapping paper and sets it down carefully onto his lap. He heaps a cigarette-sized line of tobacco onto it, before he opens the zip on the other bag and sprinkles some of what's in there onto it as well.


“Yoongi? What is that?” The stuff is vaguely green and brown, kind of crumbly looking, and Jungkook hopes that it isn't what he thinks it is.


Yoongi licks the edge of the rolling paper, slowly, and finishes packing his blunt, and then he says, “S’ weed. Marijuana. Mary Jane, you know,” his voice runs down Jungkook’s back slowly and sticky like black treacle, drawling and mocking.


“Where'd you even get that from?” Jungkook asks, and he can't hide the slightly panicked tone that's creeping into his voice now. He feels like a dirty coward, but then, on the other hand, he'd rather not get in trouble for doing illegal drugs. “That's illegal!” he exclaims out loud, just to prove his point, and even he, can tell how it makes him sound like a coward.


“Of course it is,” Yoongi says, rolling his eyes and looks at him. “I bought it off some high school dude, settle down.” He brings the blunt up to his mouth and lights it, and then he takes a deep drag.


Jungkook watches him exhale a huge cloud of fog and wishes he'd remembered to bring his own cigarettes.


“You should try it, Jungkookie. Might help with your neuroses,” Yoongi spent most of November in the library reading old psych textbooks and now he sometimes talks as if he's just eaten a copy of the DSM.


“I haven't got any fucking neuroses,” Jungkook insists. It sounds neurotic even to him.


“Yeah,” Yoongi starts, and his voice comes out even more irritatingly slow and drawling than it does normally. “Yeah, you kinda do.” He looks at the blunt where the cherry just went out and lights it. “Come on.”


“Stop peer pressuring me,” Jungkook says, but he laughs, and he figures that if he just takes one drag, maybe then Yoongi will stop bothering him about it. He takes the blunt and holds it carefully between his fingers, eyes it a bit skeptically, and Yoongi laughs at him.


“It's not going to fucking bite you, calm down.”


“I'm only doing this to shut you up, just so you know,” Jungkook says, sounding, he reckons, very smug. He kind of ruins it, though, when he actually brings the joint up to his lips and inhales, only to cough and splutter immediately. The smoke is acidic and burning, his eyes are burning and his throat and lungs are burning and his face is burning too. He coughs until his lungs feel bigger than his ribcage and then he's done and still aching all over.


Surprisingly enough, Yoongi doesn't laugh, not even a little, and somehow, that makes it worse.


“Fuck you,” Jungkook exclaims when he sees Yoongi’s completely straight face, because he just knows that right now, Yoongi is feeling smug and superior and grown-up and all these things and Jungkook wants to punch him.


“Hey, hey, are you okay?” 


Jungkook coughs again and hates himself for it.


“Let me just.” Yoongi plucks the joint from Jungkook’s fingers and brings it up to his own mouth. His lips are all ruddy red with cold when he exhales. “Let me help you out.”


“What d'you mean?”


“Come here.”


Jungkook inches a little bit closer and Yoongi presses his cold hand onto his cheek.


“Open your mouth.”


Jungkook does. He lets his lips open up like a fish's, and then he can feel Yoongi’s breath on his cheek, in his mouth, almost taste it.


He thinks back to one late night, when Yoongi had slipped into his bed because the heating in their room broke, and, at one point, asked, “Do you ever think about boys? Like, kissing boys?” Only to go, “Never mind, never mind, forget it,” when Jungkook had asked him, “What?”


Right now, with Yoongi this close to him, Jungkook can't help but shrink back a little, and asks, “What're you doing?”


“Relax, relax,” Yoongi says, voice once again all persuasive and sticky, and his hand moves to the nape of Jungkook’s neck and tilts his face a bit more. He brings the joint up to his lips and takes a drag, but doesn't exhale at first, and then he's close, too close, Jungkook can see his eyelashes flutter shut and every little imperfection on his face like the mole on his cheek and nose, the pores on his face, the tiny pimple on his chin. Still, Jungkook doesn't move away.


Yoongi exhales into Jungkook’s open mouth, slowly, slowly, and this time, when Jungkook swallows the smoke down, it's not nearly as bad. His head feels a bit floaty and Yoongi’s breath is too loud, the press of his fingers too strong. Jungkook thinks about the drawings he's seen in Yoongi’s sketchbook, of one dude from the other class who's got shiny hair and dainty features; plump lips and small face, but with a great physique; broad shoulder and tall stature, and finally, Yoongi pulls back.


“What the fuck was that?” Jungkook asks, but it doesn't come out sounding nearly as vicious as he'd wanted it to.


“But it wasn't too bad, was it?” Yoongi asks in response, that stupid smirk spreading out across his face. ''S how they taught me to do it.”


Jungkook thinks about that same pretty-boy tilting Yoongi’s head back and breathing into his mouth, and isn't sure whether to be disgusted by that or angry at Yoongi himself.


“It's still fucking gay,” Jungkook retorts, and hates how much he sounds like a child, but more than that, he hates Yoongi’s stupid condescending grin. He hates Yoongi.


“It's not gay, Jungkookie, calm down,” Yoongi says. “It'd be gayer if I kissed you.” He takes a deep drag off the blunt, and this time, when his hand goes to the back of Jungkook’s neck, Jungkook just opens up and breathes it in. “There we go.”


Jungkook keeps his eyes shut even when Yoongi pulls back.




It's a ridiculously early morning during the time of the year when the ground is mainly covered in soggy yellow-brown leaves and Yoongi is lighting another blunt. They're sitting side-by-side on the angel's chest, damp with rain and cold even through Jungkook’s parka that he'd folded up to sit on.


“Fuck," Yoongi exhales, and it makes his mouth look frankly obscene. “This stuff is good.” He offers Jungkook the joint, and Jungkook accepts. It really is, rich and earthy, not like the cheap weed they normally smoke.


“Where'd you get this from?”


“Did some favors,” Yoongi starts, his voice getting into that slow, sticky tone once more. “Nothing big, here and there.” He shifts on his folded-up coat, folds his legs, all skittish and fidgety like he gets when he's high. Then he must have noticed that Jungkook is oddly staring at him, because he smirks, “Not sexual favors, Jungkookie. You pervert.”


“Like you'd perform sexual favors on anyone other than me,” Jungkook points out.


Yoongi chuckles and passes the joint over. “Yeah.”


They smoke in silence for a few long minutes, and Jungkook can't help but still stare at Yoongi. There's something different about him today, it seems. Yoongi's a bit more nervous and hectic in his movements, or maybe that's just Jungkook imagining it. Maybe it's the weed. Good weed.


“Oh right,” Yoongi suddenly says, after he's smoked the joint down to a little stub and thrown it down into the damp mix of mud and grass and leaves next to the angel's torso. “I got you something.” He slumps downward to get his satchel, a rather awkward movement, and ends up giggling for roughly three seconds, which, in turn, makes Jungkook snicker along as well. They're both trying to choke it off while Yoongi digs through his books, looking for the thing he wants to give Jungkook, but then his head snaps upward and he's glowering at Jungkook with this deadly serious expression.


“Stop laughing at me, Jungkookie. This is serious.” In fact, so serious that at the end of the statement, Yoongi starts snickering once again. He chokes it off quicker this time, and then he's pulling a wrinkly white plastic bag out from his satchel. “Got it.”


Jungkook’s not sure why he's still laughing. He fucking hates weed. “What did you get for me, then?”


“Stop laughing already.” Yoongi kicks him in the shin, and that works.


Jungkook is no longer laughing. “Come on. What'd you get me?”


“Well,” Yoongi starts, and then his voice gets all soft and quiet when he says, “It’s not really for you. It's more like, for us.” That's when he pauses for a second, as if to think, if Jungkook didn't know that Yoongi chooses his words carefully. “For the both of us?”


Jungkook wants to laugh, but he knows he's not supposed to, so he doesn't. He just nods, and Yoongi hands the plastic bag over.


What's inside there is a collar. It's matte black leather, wide with a large silver buckle, and it looks roughly the size to fit around Yoongi’s neck.


“Oh,” Jungkook is quite surprised. They've never really talked about this before. “Well…” Jungkook pulls it all the way from the bag and runs his fingers along it, feels roughly as expensive as it looks.


“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, and now his voice is all soft and small. “I’ve been, you know. I've wanted to wear one for a while now.”


There’s a tag still stuck to the collar, Jungkook notices that only when he goes to rip it off, and he knows he shouldn't be laughing, he knows how Yoongi gets when it comes to those things, but he starts laughing either way. “For medium sized dogs?”


Yoongi still looks at him all confused and hurt and too much like a startled small animal, but he's laughing too. “It was the only way I could get one, all right?” He coughs and lights himself a cigarette. “I don't want to be your dog.”


Jungkook beckons for Yoongi to hand him the cigarette over. “Well, in that case I don't mind.”


Honestly, Jungkook doesn't think about these things a lot. He doesn't research them like Yoongi does, but he knows enough about them to realize what the collar means, and actually, he really likes the thought of Yoongi wearing it as well.


“Thanks.” Yoongi takes the cigarette back and takes a very long drag. “Can you put it on me, maybe?”


He's sounding all soft and sheepish, again, and it does things to Jungkook’s insides. Makes him feel more, maybe, in love with Yoongi than he should be.


“Yeah, sure.”


Yoongi shuffles a little bit closer, and then he's craning his neck for Jungkook, pulling the thick scarf he's wearing, away. Jungkook has to admit he's a bit hesitant when he unbuckles the collar and rings it around Yoongi’s throat. Yoongi is still all skinny, even now that he's only a few inches shorter than Jungkook, and with the thick band of leather around it, his pale neck seems even slender. Jungkook stops looking at Yoongi’s neck and looks at his face instead, at how glazed-over his eyes have gone when Jungkook fully wraps the collar around his throat, his lips red with cold and puffy. It's a look Jungkook’s already seen a few times, the times when Yoongi just went all limp underneath him, and it's a rather good look on him, at that.


“Is it okay like this? Not too tight?”




Jungkook’s careful when he buckles the collar, watches Yoongi’s throat constrict under his fingers as he swallows, and then, when it's fully closed, he can't help but press a quick kiss to Yoongi’s chin, just because. His insides feel too tight with this. All of it.


“Thank you,” Yoongi smiles, and then he's pulling his scarf back into place, effectively hiding the collar from view. “What do you think?”


“I think it looks good on you,” Jungkook mutters, and because he feels like he can, because he knows Yoongi would let him, he reaches under the layer of wool, for the O ring where normally a leash would be attached, and pulls Yoongi closer to kiss him properly.


“I like it a lot.”




The winter when Jungkook is fifteen and Yoongi has just turned sixteen, the heat in their dorm breaks just the week when the first snow falls. The first evening, when there's snow collecting on their windowsill and ice flowers growing up the pane, Jungkook puts on two woollen jumpers above his flannel pyjamas and his thickest socks. He wraps one of Yoongi’s scarves around his neck and burrows under his duvet and the two blankets they'd been given by the matron.


Yoongi is sitting on his bed, on his side of the room, the sheets on the mattress even paler under his folded bare legs. He's got a cigarette dripping ash in one hand, and Jungkook isn't even going to bother pointing out that he's going to get the stench into the whole room because there's so much of it already there. A little, he looks like something that should be a painting in the sparse lighting, all tiny and beautiful with feline-like eyes. His face is still soft even when the rest of him has grown, the same way it was two years ago, and Jungkook’s not sure when he started staring. Or why he started staring. He hopes Yoongi doesn't notice it, but then Yoongi turns his head and stares back.


“You gonna go to bed soon, or?”


“Yeah,” Yoongi replies, and then he stands up to crank the window open, mumbling “coldcoldcold” when the wintry breeze hits his face, and throws his butt out the window.


Jungkook can see the goosebumps creep up his pale skin, can see his nipples draw up tight and pointy, and at that point, has to stop staring once again. The cold gets to his own skin a split second later and he huddles into his pile of blankets even deeper. “Yoongi, it's cold.”


“Yeah.” Yoongi exhales in a cloud that looks just like cigarette smoke, except it's his own breath fogging up in the cool air. “Give me a second.”


Yoongi stands there and breathes some more, fills the room up with bit white puffs of fog, and Jungkook can feel his own skin slowly shriveling up with cold. He sniffs. And Yoongi finally shuts the window.


“Man, this school is a shithole,” Yoongi grumbles and stalks over to his side of the room to shut the lamp on his bedside off.


This time, he can't see it when Jungkook stares. And so Jungkook stares, rather unabashedly at that, at his boxers-clad ass and his skinny, white thighs.


“I can't believe my parents are paying a hefty amount a month for this and then they can't even be bothered with heating the place up.”


“Mm, yeah.” Jungkook’s only half listening. It's cold and Yoongi isn't wearing a lot of clothes and Jungkook isn't sure if he wants to know for how long that's been an issue. “You should put some clothes on.”


“I'm not gonna put on fucking clothes. See how they'd like it if I catch pneumonia or something just because they can't be bothered with keeping their school warm.”


“You're really a prick, Yoon,” Jungkook says while he’s shaking his head, chuckling. He is also not sure when Yoongi stood up and got so close to his bed.


“Rather be that than what you are,” Yoongi points out. “Scoot over, Jungkookie.'


And Jungkook does. Scoot over, very, very slowly, and then Yoongi is lifting the blankets, cold, and climbing in next to him. He kills the light on Jungkook’s bedside and then it's dark. Very, very dark.


“Jungkookie,” Yoongi drawls, low and heavy and close and annoying. “Scoot over some more.” His breath is very warm on Jungkook’s face, and when Jungkook reaches out his hand to feel for the wall, he notices there's pretty much nowhere to scoot over to. Well. He turns over so his back is towards Yoongi, to at least put some distance between them, even though there's barely left.


“No more room.”


“Okay,” Yoongi says, and then he's moving so he's pressed against Jungkook’s back, warm breath and warm, warm bare skin, and Jungkook just breathes. His skin is running freezing and he's pretty sure it's got nothing to do with the broken heating.


“Goodnight, Jungkookie,” Yoongi says, his hand settles on Jungkook’s ribs through the three layers of fabric, and then silence.




No reply. Yoongi can fall asleep on command, more or less. His hand is still heavy, though, his hand and his breath and all of him, and Jungkook’s left all alone with his thoughts. With his thoughts and Yoongi all over him and in his ear, and he's thinking back to the last time he shared a bed with Yoongi and not sure if he wants to cringe or not. Yoongi breathes into his ear some more, and he tries to struggle away, but that only makes Yoongi wind his arm around his waist properly.


Jungkook’s not sure how he falls asleep at all that night.


It changes the third night without heat in a row, after Jungkook’s spent another night having Yoongi nearly naked all over him and trying not to freak out. Yoongi gets into his bed, as he always does, curls up behind him and breathes into his ear, and Jungkook tries not to freak out. As always.


And as always, there's still that nagging memory deep in the back of his head, of Yoongi not a year earlier cuddling himself tight into Jungkook’s side and asking him about boys, kissing boys, and there's also the memory of the shiver of something – disgust or a lack of understanding or distrust or just something he couldn't put his finger to – that had run down Jungkook’s back at those words. And now, now Jungkook’s in the dark thinking back to those split few seconds for maybe the thousandth time, and he's not sure what to think of it. The room is cold and only getting colder, and on his back, Yoongi is only getting warmer, and Jungkook feels like it's only getting harder for him to sleep. He tries to scoot further towards the wall, into the wall, but there's only so much room and Yoongi’s hand on his side keeps him more or less in place.


Jungkook shuts his eyes and tells himself to just sleep. Sleep. Sleep is good.


It’s just... it won't come.


Jungkook thinks he's been lying there for an hour, maybe. Maybe half an hour. Maybe ten minutes that seemed way too long, when he feels it. Yoongi. More specifically, he feels Yoongi’s hips rub against his ass, his dick half-hard and red-hot even through the layers of his pants and pyjama bottoms and Yoongi’s boxers, and as soon as that really sinks in, he freezes up. Jungkook goes stiff and freezing and fucking terrified in Yoongi’s grip, because he's pretty sure something about this is incredibly wrong. He's not supposed to be here. He's not supposed to have his best friend and room mate who he's not supposed to be this fixated on near naked in his bed. He's not supposed to let that best friend who's got a hard on right in his bed use him as a humping post, so he shrinks away, except there's nowhere to shrink to any more.


Yoongi’s breathing goes heavy and labored into Jungkook’s ear, making his presence all that more obvious, and Jungkook has to stop this.


“Yoongi,” he whispers, as loudly as it's humanly possible to whisper. “Yoongi, wake up.”


No reaction. Jungkook turns around to face him, to physically shake him awake, maybe, but then he's got Yoongi’s erection pressing right into his thigh and he realizes he's made a terrible mistake.




This time, he does get a reaction, that is to say, Yoongi grinds himself further against Jungkook’s leg, breath quick and hard and sexual, the way it sounded that one time Jungkook accidentally overheard him jerking off in the shower. Jungkook’s got fucking goosebumps running up his back and his chest and everywhere, and in the little bit of light coming in, he sees Yoongi’s face all sleep-slack, with his mouth hanging open.




“Jungkookie,” comes the reply, but it's not Yoongi’s regular voice. It's the one that comes out when he talks in his sleep.


“Yoongi, wake up,” Jungkook insists, and now his hands are on Yoongi’s shoulders, shaking, waiting for a reaction. Maybe trying to throw him off the mattress.


“Jungkookie,” Yoongi breathes once again, soft and sleepy, but now it's filthy, filthier than any piece of dialogue Jungkook has ever heard in porn. He wants to pretend that his dick didn't just go from limp to rock-hard in a few seconds. His hands shake at Yoongi’s shoulders once more. “Jungkook, touch me like that, Jungkook.”


“Yoongi,” Jungkook says, louder this time, and makes a point of moving his hips away from Yoongi. “Yoongi, you're having a wet dream.”


“Jungkookie,” Yoongi says for a third time, and then he's scooting a bit closer to resume rubbing his dick against Jungkook’s thigh.


Jungkook really hopes that Yoongi can't feel his dick. He’s never been especially religious, but in that exact moment, he's pretty sure he's going to hell for this.


“Jungkookie,” and then Yoongi is so close that he's got to feel it now. “How can I have a wet dream when I'm not asleep?”


And that changes everything.


“What the fuck, Yoon?”


Jungkook’s first reaction is to try and wrench Yoongi away by his shoulders, and it doesn't work.


“I saw you.” Yoongi’s eyes are open now, dark and beady and shiny in the bit of light. Jungkook can't see anything but his mass of hair and button nose and those eyes. It all reminds him of some predatory bird, and he's the prey. “I thought this was what you wanted.”




The predatory bird says, “I saw you staring at my ass,” and now his voice is quiet and small but still too heavy, and Jungkook has given up on figuring out how he feels. “D'you fancy me, Jungkookie?” he sounds amused, but not malicious, for once.


Jungkook makes a motion with his head, which might be a nod. In the dark, Yoongi grins, pink gums out and teeth shiny with spit, and then their foreheads are touching. Yeah, that was definitely a nod.


“Holy shit.”


Yoongi is laughing, soft and quiet, his shoulders quivery under Jungkook’s hands, and somehow, Jungkook manages to laugh along. Then, Jungkook can't see anything any more because Yoongi is all the way in his face, pressing their lips together and slowly prying Jungkook’s mouth open with his tongue. Jungkook kind of forgets how to breathe. He's never kissed a girl before, but he knows Yoongi has, has heard all about how it feels, about what girls feel like, and he's not sure if that could ever take his breath away like Yoongi’s soft lips against his does right now. Yoongi’s hands scratch at Jungkook’s hips through the layers of jumpers and pyjamas, before they slip inside. Jungkook actually stops breathing at that point.


“You're really hard.”


“Yeah, I know,” Jungkook presses out, “Just don't,” he starts to say, “just ignore it,” but then Yoongi’s soft big hand is on his cock, pulling it out from his bottoms and stroking and rubbing circles, and he kind of cuts off.


Yeah, this isn't all that different from jerking off by himself, except for the angle, the angle is kind of weird, and Yoongi’s hand is a bit larger, can encompass a little more of Jungkook’s dick. But then, Yoongi is right in his face, breath soft and hot like his mouth that's slowly eating up every little noise that slips from Jungkook’s lips. And that-- that's so much more than what Jungkook ever had.


“Do you mind?” Yoongi asks.




“Are you going to go neurotic and weird tomorrow because I jerked you off?”


Jungkook just shrugs, or shakes his head or nods, he can't tell, but the next second, there's a different sensation. When he looks, Yoongi has his hand fitted around both their cocks, jerking them off both at the same time. He brings one hand down to Yoongi’s ass, over his pants, squeezes and pulls him a little bit closer, because he figures he shouldn't just lie there with his hands to himself, and Yoongi just sighs and goes back to kissing him, and, okay.


“Do you want to take over?”




“Do you want to take control?” Yoongi asks, his hand going a little bit faster. Jungkook’s already got that tightness in his skin, in his lower stomach and his balls, and he knows he's not going to be able to go for much longer. Then Yoongi says, “Because I would. I'd let you,” and his face is all soft and pretty now, and Jungkook’s not sure why, but he cums, right then and there.


“Fuck,” he breathes out, and Yoongi breathes back, “Oh my god,” with this weird tone in his voice that Jungkook can't place at all, and then he's cumming too, Jungkook can feel it.


It's quiet for a few seconds, a few seconds that Jungkook takes to get his breathing back in check.




“Yeah?” Yoongi asks back, and there's this stupid grin on his face that makes Jungkook want to punch him, makes him almost resemble the Cheshire Cat from the movie in the dark.


“I've got tissues on the bedside, if you could just,” Jungkook starts.


“Yeah, okay.” Yoongi cleans them up quickly, and then tucks Jungkook’s dick back into his pyjamas where it belongs, and then balls the tissue up and tosses it off somewhere into the dark. He moves in closer once again, fits himself against Jungkook, and Jungkook’s too slack to really move away, and also, not sure if he minds.


“Now that wasn't so hard, Jungkookie, was it?”




The spring that Jungkook has just turned seventeen, after exams, they sneak out into this club. Jungkook doesn't especially like clubs, the blaring shitty music and the mass of drunken people, and he knows Yoongi doesn't either. But this club seems to be an exception for him. They're in this stuffy little hotel basement and the DJ's playing this mix of northern soul and psychedelia, and come to think of it, his name from the flyer sounds kind of familiar but Yoongi didn't say anything so Jungkook isn't going to ask.


Jungkook’s drunk by now, not so drunk that his knees are buckling and he's got the desire to be sick all over the floor, but just the right amount of drunk where he's shaking his hips to the song that's playing and dancing with this pretty girl and also, just drunk enough to not think about the fact that he should currently be in his dorm room, sleeping, and that he and Yoongi are most certainly going to get in trouble if they're caught sneaking back in.


So maybe, he's actually a bit disappointed when Yoongi crowds in behind him and slurs, “Jungkookie? Hey, Jungkookie.”


“Hmmmm... what?"Jungkook turns around. He stops dancing and, out of the corner of his eye, watches the pretty girl dance away from him.


“How 'bout we get away from here?” Yoongi is hanging heavy onto Jungkook’s back, hands firm on his shoulders, his mouth almost on Jungkook’s ear, breath hot, but not quite as hot as the rush of blood that's going to Jungkook’s face at that second. And he's reeking, the stink of booze coming out with the words when he says, “I think you've had enough to drink tonight.”


Jungkook wonders how much he's had to drink already. “Yeah, 'cause you're one to talk,” he says, has to shout over the music, and then, when Yoongi fully wraps his arms around his middle and drawls “Koooooooooooook,” right into his ear, Jungkook adds, “I was having fun here, why're you being such a nuisance?” He swats at Yoongi’s big hands and only gets Yoongi pressing himself even tighter against his back in return.


“I was thinking,” Yoongi says, and he's heavy, so heavy, both his breath and his body against Jungkook’s, “Thinking we should go some place more quiet,” and, oh. Oh.


Yoongi’s hands dip down to tug at Jungkook’s belt loops, settled big and warm on his hipbones, and Jungkook isn't sure whether the rush of blood going to his face or the one going to his cock is stronger.


“Are we gonna?”


Jungkook looks around for a split second and there's no one staring at them yet, all the club goers too wrapped up in their music and each other, and he mouths, “Yeah.”


The bathroom stalls at the club are small and the door of the one that Jungkook crowds Yoongi into barely closes, but he can't bring himself to care at that exact moment. Yoongi starts gnawing at his bottom lip as soon as Jungkook turns back from the shoddy lock, hands working at his belt buckle and tongue reaching into Jungkook’s mouth. He tastes like booze, a lot of booze and cigarette smoke, and for a split second, all Jungkook can do is hold on to his shoulders and let him.


“Fuck.” Yoongi pulls away when he's got his hand all the way down Jungkook’s pants. Jungkook’s actually, actually embarrassingly hard already, but Yoongi has him pressed tight against the wall with his thumb doing that swirly thing around the head of Jungkook’s cock. “Been waiting all evening for this.”


Jungkook laughs, looks at Yoongi’s lit-up excited sex face and his swollen lips and says, “Should've said something maybe.” He feels Yoongi’s dick grind over his thigh, even through their two layers of trousers. “You're not this needy normally.”


Yoongi lays sloppy kisses onto Jungkook’s cheeks and Jungkook wonders when did he get this close, when did he get his free hand onto Jungkook’s ass to pull him in even closer.


“You're not normally dancing with strange girls,” Yoongi squeezes both his hands down tighter, so tight it borders on painful for Jungkook’s cock, and presses him a bit further into the cheap plywood of the partition.


“You were dancing with girls the whole time,” Jungkook points out. He brings his one hand up into the tangled back of Yoongi’s hair to pull him close and peck his lips. “You're a fucking flirt, Min Yoongi.'


“Wasn't.” Yoongi insists. His hips keep slowly, steadily grinding back against Jungkook’s, and his fingers are working at the waistband of Jungkook’s pants, pulling them along with his trousers down to below his ass. “Not like you were, you were looking at her tits.”


Jungkook laughs. He can feel how hard Yoongi is already, probably just as leaking-and-aching hard as Jungkook is himself. Half of him wants to reach down and help Yoongi get his trousers off, and then fuck him right into the grubby tiles on the back of their bathroom stall. But on the other hand, he's enjoying this, Yoongi clinging on to him and laying all his attention onto him, so instead, he just says, “Just a little bit of fun.”


Yoongi does that swirly thing with his thumb again and Jungkook hisses and holds onto Yoongi that bit tighter.


“I wouldn't even have slept with her,” Jungkook adds, because he wouldn't have. Wouldn't because he's got Yoongi who's so needy and willing for him, but he's thinking right now that if it's going to make Yoongi act like this, he should probably fool around with girls more often. Then, just to add to it, Jungkook says, “Didn't seem like the type who's up for a fuck in the bathrooms like you.”


Yoongi giggles, the stupid giggle he only gets when he's properly off his face. He hides his face in the crook of Jungkook’s neck, and then he licks over a faded mark that he'd left there maybe a week ago despite how much Jungkook had protested. The tingle from that sensation is the reason Jungkook decides to yield and work Yoongi’s belt buckle open. Yoongi’s cock is leaking wet when Jungkook gets his hand on him, jerks him a couple times with the same harsh rhythm that Yoongi's doing to him, and makes him make pretty, low little noises right up into his ear.


“D'you think I'm a slut, Jungkookie?” Yoongi asks, soft and heavy and breathy. His dick is so hot and thick, twitching just a bit in Jungkook’s grasp, and that in turn is making Jungkook’s own dick ache a bit more, even under Yoongi’s hand squeezing it without much care. Jungkook’s pretty sure that if he doesn't get it inside Yoongi in the next few minutes, he's going to actually die.


“You kinda are,” Jungkook replies, all while he trails his other hand back to Yoongi’s ass. The look on Yoongi’s face is completely ecstatic, far-away and dazed and hungry for it, even before Jungkook dips his fingers down between his cheeks and presses them over his hole. “You're only a slut for me, though.”


Yoongi giggles again, right into the junction of Jungkook’s neck and shoulder, and Jungkook can feel it where their chests are pressed together, can feel it where he's got two fingertips crammed inside Yoongi’s rim, too. They'd had sex the night before, quiet and urgent in Yoongi’s bed, and Jungkook figures that Yoongi should still be loose enough for him to just go right ahead.


“Get your pants off for me."


Yoongi pulls back to pull them down to his ankles with his pants, and the next second, he's already bracing himself on the wall, legs spread wide and lewd and fingers flat against the tile. “Like this?”


“Fuck,” Jungkook lines himself up behind Yoongi, can't help the grind of his dick against the crevice of Yoongi’s ass, and spits into his hand a few times, until he's sure it's enough to coat his cock. “You look like a slut, too. The perfect slut for me," he breathes out. “You don’t need some prep, right?”


“Nah,” Yoongi turns his head and looks at Jungkook from his shoulder, giving the latter a coy smirk. “Just played with myself before coming here.”


“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses and then, he licks a strip at Yoongi’s nape. “Got a condom?” he asks while licking the sensitive skin just behind Yoongi’s ear.


“We’re clean. Raw.. hah.. Jungkookie. Want it raw. Wanna feel your cock, please,” Yoongi breathes out while letting out moans in between, all needy and desperate.


“Okay,” Jungkook plants a small kiss on the top of his head, “Think we can do that.”


Jungkook slides his hand Yoongi’s shirt, against the dip of flesh between his pelvic bones and just this close to where his cock is precum-wet and so obviously needy for it. Yoongi makes a desperate tiny noise, so Jungkook decides to just go ahead and push in. It's a tight fit, incredibly tight, and the saliva alone isn't near enough for the friction to not be painful. Jungkook can actually see Yoongi’s hole straining around the girth of his dick, red and sore, and he spits down a couple more times and rubs it into the skin in an attempt to soothe.


Yoongi is making the worst noises, low and guttural and even louder than the muffled music from the other side of the bathroom door, but when Jungkook slows his thrusts, he only sounds even needier.


“Okay?” Jungkook asks, makes a point to lean all the way forward so he can whisper into Yoongi’s ear and grasp his cock, only to find that it's still hard.


“Don't stop,' Yoongi presses out, “Don't.”


“I'm going to hurt you.”


“Not gonna.” Yoongi moves his one arm to lay it out onto the wall, brace his forehead on it, and he asks, soft and low, “Just fuck me, please?”


“Okay.” Jungkook has to take a moment to inhale and exhale, get his breathing back to normal, and only then does he rock his hips back into Yoongi again, the tight heat of his insides. He watches Yoongi’s back shake with the little noises he lets out with every thrust, watches his hole twitch and goes back to stroking him, slow and teasing this time around, fingers lingering around the head.


“Fuck y-yeah,” Yoongi breathes after a few seconds, “Just like that, Daddy.”


Jungkook blinks for a second, tries to reassure himself that he didn't just hear Yoongi say that, but then he's giving a thrust that's a bit rougher than the previous ones. Yoongi’s insides squeeze all the way down onto his cock and he says it again, “Daddy, please, daddy.”


“What the hell are you doing?” Jungkook asks, has to lean up a little ways to get his mouth next to Yoongi’s ear. He places a bite onto his neck right beneath it, for good measure, and Yoongi hisses.


“Fuck me, daddy.”


“Shut up,” Jungkook insists. He's not sure whether he actually wants Yoongi to because he knows that the latter's just teasing him. But in an odd way, the way Yoongi says the word, all breathy and eager, it goes straight to his cock. Jungkook isn't sure whether he's okay with that fact, either. “What do you think you're doing, Yoongi?”


“Daddy,” Yoongi just repeats, and it's only sounding more desperate now and Jungkook doesn’t know whether he’s still messing up with him, or it’s because he's still thrusting up into Yoongi, with one hand on his cock, pleasuring him.


Jungkook thinks about telling him to shut up again, but then he realizes that if it didn't work at first, it's not going to work now.


“If you want me to shut up, then make me,” Yoongi groans, his neck contorted at an odd angle, lips so obscene and red that Jungkook is distracted by them for a split second.


He only gets his composure back when Yoongi presses out. “Faster, daddy,” under his breath. His first impulse is to reach out with the hand that isn't currently holding Yoongi’s cock and strike him across the thigh, right at the top where it melds into the flesh of his ass. There's a sting in his palm and the clap of flesh-on-flesh, and Yoongi yelps, and for a second, Jungkook is worried that he might have gone too far.


“D-daddy,” Yoongi breathes, just loud enough for Jungkook to hear it over the muffled music, “Fuck, daddy.”


“Do you like it when I do that?” Jungkook asks, looks down at where Yoongi’s skin is just a tint more red which is noticeable against his pale skin, and he feels a bit faint. Probably more faint than he should feel, but Yoongi is making tiny noises with every thrust and rolling his ass back like he's asking for more.


“I've been a bad boy, daddy,” Yoongi says, and even through the heavy sex in his voice Jungkook can pick out that mocking tone, and he knows that Yoongi is really riling him up.


When he reaches out to smack Yoongi again, he knows that it's exactly what Yoongi wants him to do.




The very first time they fuck, it's a couple of weeks after the first time they jerk each other off on that night. The heating got fixed after a week in total, but since then, Yoongi had still been sneaking into Jungkook’s bed every other night or so. Jungkook let him, every time, pressed him down into the sheets and kissed him until they both couldn't breathe and jerked them both off at the same time. A few times, he'd let Yoongi suck him off, too, watched him stare back up at him with big eyes and swollen lips. What got Jungkook about Yoongi, about fooling around with him, was the way he got all soft and pliant when Jungkook held his hand in one of his and worked both their dicks in his other one. Maybe the way he shut up for once when Jungkook was getting him off, too. Or that one time, when he'd asked Jungkook if he could blow him and then let him straddle his head and just thrust down into his mouth while he looked back up at Jungkook with his eyes blown all dark and wide. It didn't take either of them much time to cum that night.


Right now, right now they're lying in Yoongi’s bed and Yoongi has his one hand in Jungkook’s hair and the other stroking his cock, already breathing low and heavy when Jungkook is just cupping him through his pants and kissing all along his neck. He's got marks there, bruises and bites which are mostly from Jungkook, because he'd asked Jungkook to put them there. Yoongi’s fingers are all the way at the base of Jungkook’s dick, and when he squeezes down a bit tighter, tight enough to make Jungkook groan, that's when he says it.


“You should fuck me,” Yoongi whispers, soft into the top of Jungkook’s head, but he sounds so gone that there's no way it's not genuine.


“What?” Jungkook blinks twice, looking at Yoongi dumbfoundedly.


“You. Fuck me?” Yoongi laughs.


“Yeah, I got that. I just.” At that point Jungkook pauses. He's not sure exactly why he's hesitating, because he's pretty sure that actual full-on sex would feel even better than handjobs and blowjobs, but he still keeps hovering above Yoongi, hand tracing soft circles over the bulge in his briefs. “Wouldn't that hurt you?”


“It wouldn't hurt,” Yoongi insists. “You've just got to,” he pauses for a second and reaches down to work his pants past his hips, down to the middle of his thighs, and then, when his cock slaps back onto his stomach, all flushed and slick with precum already, he continues, “Slick it up a bit, and loosen it at first.”


Jungkook’s first instinct is to just stare back at him, and his face must have looked a bit uncomfortable.


Yoongi asks, “What?”


Jungkook wants to ask back why Yoongi would even know that, because he didn't even really think about sex like that until now. He hadn't thought about sex with Yoongi much at all before that one night, mainly because he wouldn't have let himself think about Yoongi like that. He doesn't want to tell Yoongi that, because he's pretty sure Yoongi would laugh at him and accuse him of repressing his homosexual urges. Even when his own homosexual urges are all out in the open.


“Nothing,” Jungkook says after a second. He presses a wet kiss right onto Yoongi’s mouth, and says, “So…”


“D'you wanna?”


“What?” Jungkook asks. He's maybe playing a little bit dumb.


“Wanna fuck me?"


“Well, if you're gonna let me.” Jungkook grinds his hips all the way down into Yoongi’s, feels the heat and the rub of their cocks together and shudders a bit.


“Of course I'd let you.” Yoongi laughs. “That's why I asked you to.”




“Okay.” Yoongi reaches out all the way onto the bedside table and reaches for a condom and a bottle of some type of hand lotion. Jungkook knows what it's for, of course, has seen Yoongi use it to lube them both up before, and now his breath catches on his throat.


“Where’d you get the condom?”


“Bought it for future purposes," Yoongi grins teasingly. "Do you want to open me up or should I just...?”


Maybe that's Jungkook’s favorite part about having sex with Yoongi, the fact that he gets all quiet and pleasant and open, and not abrasive and weird like he is around everyone else. Even his face looks softer when he asks, cheeks flushed and slightly sweaty and his eyes just slightly losing focus.


“You do it yourself,” Jungkook says. “I mean, it's your asshole.”


Yoongi snickers. “Okay.” He spreads his legs that bit wider, and when Jungkook helps to pull his pants all the way off his feet, he's smiling approvingly. Once again, he reaches for the lotion and squeezes a bit onto his three fingers, and then he's beckoning for Jungkook to move closer again. “You're a charmer, Jungkookie. No wonder you're never gonna pull a girl.” He gives Jungkook that stupid condescending smile, and kind of reminds him that way that he's still Yoongi, even when he's all naked and spread open for him.


Jungkook only considers being insulted for a small second, but then the condescending face screws up and Jungkook figures that he must have gotten a finger in now. He doesn't have the balls to actually check. “Like that's even an issue for you. Pulling girls. Since you're the one fingering yourself here.”


“Shut up, Jungkookie,” Yoongi breathes and pulls Jungkook in to kiss him, long and sloppy and deep, and even now that Jungkook isn't touching him, his hips are still working up.


They keep kissing, slow and intense, and Yoongi keeps rolling his hips, and after a long minute of silent making out, Jungkook finally asks, “Does that actually feel good?”


“Yeah.” Yoongi is still working his fingers, Jungkook can feel it from the brush of his arm between their bodies, and then he says, "Real good."


It's at that point that Jungkook wonders whether Yoongi has ever done this before, or rather, whether he's had anyone else ever do this to him, but then he figures that he doesn't really want to know. He keeps looking back at Yoongi, only at his face rather than his fingers, at the way his mouth is gaping around thin air with silent moans and his wide eyes, and maybe then he realizes just how much he needs contact on his cock, how much he needs to really fuck Yoongi. And maybe Yoongi can read minds, or at least, he's wiping his fingers on the sheets and saying, “Think, I'm good to go now.”




Jungkook opens the packet of condom and rolls it on his cock, albeit clumsily. He also puts some of the lotion onto it, figures he should, and only then he actually looks down and starts to push in. The rim of Yoongi’s hole catches on the head of his cock and he bites his lip, just at the sight of it, before he really thrusts in. Yoongi is still breathing harshly, his cock still lying there, hard, even before he starts to stroke it himself, and all of that combined, Jungkook is pretty sure, is better than porn could ever be. Better than any handjobs could ever be. It takes him a few seconds until he's all the way in, and by then, Yoongi is already groaning and twisting his free hand into the back of Jungkook’s hair.


“It’s okay,” he says, after he's pulled Jungkook all the way down to kiss him once again. “You can start moving.”


And Jungkook does, he thrusts in and out a few times and watches Yoongi’s face twist and his spread legs shake. He’s still got to adjust to the squeeze of Yoongi’s insides, rocks his hips softly yet frantically just to make sure he doesn't cum right away, and Yoongi makes a sound that Jungkook isn't sure is even human, but he's pretty sure that it's a good thing.


“Am I doing okay?”


“D-doing fucking brilliant, Jungkookie.” It's maybe the most affectionate Yoongi has ever sounded.




The fifth or sixth time Jungkook is fucking Yoongi, he's doing it at the very edge of the bed with one of Yoongi’s legs draped over his shoulder, and Yoongi is pulling his own arm from his mouth, the bit of it he's usually biting down on to muffle himself all red and spit-slick.


“Jungkook. Jungkook?”


“What?” Jungkook asks. He keeps thrusting hard, though, watches Yoongi’s chest heave with his heavy breathing and watches his cock bob, and he strokes it, just because it's there.


“I want you to hit me,” Yoongi says it incredibly casually.




“Hit me. Come on,” Yoongi says, and his one hand points to his cheek. He grins, and it's incredibly sexual. Masochistic, maybe.


Jungkook stares at him with incredulity. “I’m not going to hit you.”


“I want you to.” Yoongi swats Jungkook’s hand away from his cock to take over himself and says, “Do it or I'll scream.”


“You won't.”


“Hit me,” Yoongi says, and now there's an edge to his voice. He rocks his hips back quicker against Jungkook’s thrusts and his voice starts to rise louder and louder as he says, “Oh, Jungkook, Jungkook, fuck me, I love your cock, fuck me, fuck me, Jeon Jungkook...”


It's at this point that Jungkook decides he's had enough. “Shut up,” he barks, and isn't sure whether he meant for that much vitriol to come through with it, but he's most certainly sure that he'd meant to put that much vitriol into the slap that lands on Yoongi’s cheek.


And Yoongi groans, low and animalistic and moves his hand on his dick faster, and beckons, “Again.”


Jungkook has to admit that there's something he likes about the sound of his palm hitting Yoongi’s skin, about the way Yoongi instinctively rolls his head back into the pillow and the red mark it leaves on his beautiful pale cheek, something that makes him thrust that much quicker into Yoongi’s spread out body.


“Do it again.”


And Jungkook does.




In the end, when they're finally out of high school, after the big graduation party, they end up sneaking away to the cemetery again. One last time.


“It's tradition,” that's what Yoongi says when they score the fence of the cemetery, for the very first time because it's the first time they're there at night. “Just one last celebratory time.”


It's just as much a tradition that Yoongi rolls them both a blunt, but it's entirely not tradition that Jungkook ends up straddling Yoongi right there on the fallen angel statue and getting them off with both their cocks in one hand. Jungkook isn't completely sure if he believes there is a hell, but if there is, he's pretty sure that that's the last straw and the reason why he's going to end up there.


They're lighting cigarettes when they're done, when they've wiped their sticky hands on the cold marble. after it's been quiet for a long time, Yoongi asks, “Jungkook?”




"If you could have sex on anyone's grave in the world, who'd it be?'


“The fuck?” Jungkook lays his head back further in Yoongi’s lap. “I don't know whose grave I'd be having sex on. I don’t even want to think about who. The fuck kinda question is that.”


“It's a hypothetical question.”


“I don't know.” Jungkook sucks on his cigarette and lets some of the ash drip down into the dew-wet grass. “Maybe some public memorial grave for some world war hero who's been long dead with no surviving family.” He looks at Yoongi’s face looming above him, at Yoongi’s thin fingers grasping his own cigarette. “That’s a good enough answer for you?”


“Yeah, suppose.” Yoongi’s hand strokes down Jungkook’s chest, down the fancy shirt he'd been made to wear for graduation, and he says, “Sounds really boring, that's all.” He exhales a cloud of smoke and adds, “Kurt Cobain’s memorial stone.”


“What, because he was a good musician?”


“Cause people are always visiting his grave still. Nirvana fans and that. There's always flowers and candles there, it'd be kinda romantic.”


“You'd be in public cemetery then,' Jungkook points out. “Don’t tell me you’re an exhibitionist?”


“No,” Yoongi glares at him. “That's why I'm saying kinda.”


Jungkook laughs. His free hand finds Yoongi’s free hand and links them together. “You know, I really do like you.”


Yoongi squeezes Jungkook’s hand tighter, smiling. “Yeah. I really like you too, Jungkookie.”