The ground is shaking under Jungkook’s feet. The air quivers with the force of the tremors and vibrations. Bass boosted beats reverberate in his ears. Even from this VIP cut out section—private and spacious—the energy of the crowd is suffocating. Exhilarating.
In the flashes of red, orange, white, Jungkook sees the vague cluster of human figures in front of the stage, and he wants to be part of it. All swaying bodies and wayward elbows. Pressed space and sweat slicked skin, moving in time next to a stranger. Hands outstretched like a cry for help, like praise, like worship to the music, right down the the soul. Anxiety and euphoria rolled into one heart pounding ball stuck in the back of his throat, adrenalin rushing through his veins.
Air pushes through his lungs in fast pants, in time to the words echoing throughout the venue.
Fast curls of the tongue. Smooth rhythms, designed to entice. Those familiar lips pressed against a microphone that picks up even the quick, wet gasps between the syllables. Jungkook’s body is buzzing, moving on its own accord, under control of the man walking across the stage in wide steps and udulating hand movements.
The man, dressed in jeans made of more hole than material and a long, red jacket, grips a water bottle in his hand and swings. Droplets of water shining like gems fly over the crowd, and despite his distance, Jungkook can almost feel water hit his skin. Feel it soak in, through the dermis to his core, and he’s drenched, yet still thirtsing for more.
On the wide double screens on either side of the stage, the man raps past a spit-slicked smirk, his pink tongue swiping low over his bottom lip, a gesture that sends the crowd screaming. This man knows his effect, knows the hysteric cheers that meld into rugged moans and groans are all for him. The man laughs, a cocky giggle into the mic, flowing with the music, riding on the beat, and a fire is burning low in Jungkook’s gut.
Come to one of my shows, Yoongi told him after one of Jungkook’s own several months back, smiling that sweet, gummy smile—innocent and enthusiastic at the time, but something sharp and sensual stinging behind his eyes. I’ll show you how I do it.
And it is so different to Jungkook’s area of expertise. A completely different category. There’s no choreography. No twinkling, flowing stage effects or prettily floating confetti. No swaying lightsticks, or the calm, smooth, steady tenor of Jungkook’s voice. Jungkook’s a romantic, through and through, and it tends show in his performance. The aura of Jungkook’s stage is sweet—the soft twang of a guitar in a love song, the gentle press of a piano, and bright, happy synth. Excited and bubbly. In love.
This is a different type of infatuation. Yoongi throws himself across the stage, no pattern to his movements. He moves on instinct, wherever and however the music compels him at that exact moment. His fingers are tight around his mic. His voice cracks, and he’s breathing heavily, panting past words. The stage lights are bright and aggressive, rapid and very red. Smoke machines dust the stage with gray.
This is different, but just as good. It’s so good. This is raw passion and brazen lust, let loose grit and grime. Pain and pleasure rolled into one. Desperation. Power. Fire.
His emotions are all over the place. There’s hype, and there’s deep, raw honesty. There’s vulnerability and fear and anger and hatred. But then there’s hope. There’s pride. There’s the song Yoongi had him sing backing vocals for. Hearing it live for the first time ever sends a sharp stab of happy sadness through him.
At the very end—after what feels like hours, yet also like mere seconds—AgustD gives an ending mention that quells some of the flame in Jungkook’s gut, softening it with a smile and fondness filling his chest to bursting. He pulls out his phone and records a snippet for himself and to trim and post on Twitter later, because the fans aren’t unaware of their friendship. If only they knew.
There’s an encore of the title song. Yoongi goes hard, gives his all, and he’s so admirable and passionate and attractive that Jungkook’s wound up all over again, fire blazing, heart pounding in his chest.
The venue goes black, and he’s breathless.
“What’d you think?”
The question is asked in a soft tone past a shy smile. Yoongi has his hands linked in front of him, peering up at Jungkook past his lashes. His cheeks are flushed and his hair damp with barely drying sweat and water. The dichotomy between the man on stage and the man backstage—between AgustD and Min Yoongi—is so stark it leaves Jungkook reeling.
“I don’t think I thought at all,” is what Jungkook responds with airily, his own hands shoved in his pockets, pointedly not touching the elder, even as he leans forward a bit. “But the way I felt...”
All he can do is stare at Yoongi and hope the elder gets the message. Judging by the pleased tilt to the elder’s lips—the sparkle in his eyes—he does.
“You’re amazing, hyung,” Jungkook tells him seriously, remembering the strength of the other’s stage presence, still reverberating through his bones. “I’m speechless, really.”
The smile on Yoongi’s face stretches to a wide, beaming grin, his shoulders hunched a bit in embarrassed pride. He’s happy. Jungkook’s opinion means a lot to him, a fact that fills Jungkook with his own giddy kind of pride. “Thank you, Kook.”
Glancing around them casually, finding no one in the shadowed hall they’ve secluded themselves in, Jungkook pulls his hands from his pockets and asks, “Can I hug you?”
Before the words completely leave him, Yoongi’s arms are spreading open and welcoming him. Jungkook surges forward, melding against the shorter’s body. They collide a bit roughly—Jungkook underestimating the strength he throws himself at Yoongi—and bump against the wall.
It’s been months since they’ve last touched—Yoongi’s been on tour, and Jungkook had his own appearances, interviews, and photoshoots to worry about. Every spot of contact sends shivers down Jungkook’s spine, and his body (and heart) aches for more.
The force he holds Yoongi with is aggressive, but Yoongi embraces him just as tight. Pressing the elder further into the wall, Jungkook skims his lips across Yoongi’s cheek.
“I missed you,” he admits, voice gruff, low, and slightly hesitant; scared of crossing a line, of being too much, maybe. Because what they are isn’t defined in explicit terms. But Yoongi has always embraced him with open arms, honest and straight to the point.
“I missed you, too,” Yoongi tells him, and something heavy lifts from Jungkook’s chest, a feeling Jungkook wasn’t completely aware of replaced with relief.
With a sigh, Jungkook melds into Yoongi, pulling the elder as close as he can possibly be, the lines of their bodies pressing together until he can feel every intake and outtake of Yoongi’s breath. The tip of his nose skims along the cool, damp skin of Yoongi’s neck, which should be gross, but Jungkook is well accustomed to Yoongi’s sweat, as gross as that is. The elder huffs fondly, a bit strained, lifting a hand and running it through Jungkook’s hair.
“Jungkook-ah,” he mumbles, twitching with a sharp inhale as the younger noses at his ear, breath warm against his neck.
Every point of contact tingles, sends waves of warm and ticklish feelings through Jungkook’s body. Every scrape of Yoongi’s nails against his scalp. It just feels good. To touch and be touched. Especially after so long.
(Because there is no one else. There is only Yoongi. Only Yoongi’s hands and lips and body. Hopefully soon, his heart.)
“Can I kiss you, hyung?” Jungkook whispers against the curve of Yoongi’s shoulder, eyes closed.
Yoongi nods. “Quickly,” he responds, fingers settling on the nape of the younger’s neck. “My manager thinks I’m in the bathroom. He’s going to freak out if I take any longer.”
“Don’t worry,” Jungkook mumbles, lifting his head and leaning forward. Yoongi meets him halfway.
For a moment, they simply breathe against each other, foreheads pressed together. Their lips are mere millimeters apart. Jungkook can feel the pull—a string that tries to tug him closer, his lips almost tingling in anticipation. That heavy emotion is back, along with the weight of the words Jungkook so longs to say sitting like lead on the tip of his tongue.
Maybe Yoongi senses it. Maybe he feels the same, because with a shaky intake of air, he raises his chin and closes the gap between them. The kiss is soft. Jungkook sighs, enjoying the sweet contact for a few seconds before tilting his head and deepening it. Their mouths meld together like slow burning embers, glowing and shifting and warm—and Jungkook just wants to be as close as possible, wants to feel the weight of Yoongi against him, impressed into his skin.
His hands skim along the elder’s sides, lowering to run over the gentle curves of his hips. Their lips part with a click as he ducks down. Yoongi makes a confused sound that turns knowing when Jungkook grips the backs of his thighs and lifts him.
“Jungkook,” Yoongi complains, kicking his feet lightly as Jungkook settles him against the wall. Still, his arms slide around the younger’s neck, one hand threading through Jungkook’s hair, despite his protests. His voice drawls in a quiet whine. “This is too much already.”
Jungkook can’t help but grin, fingers digging in to the meat of the elder’s thighs. Yoongi is a comforting weight in his palms. The effort to hold him up—not that it takes very much—makes Yoongi feel real.
“Just tell your manager that your stomach was acting up,” Jungkook tries to convince, ducking his head forward to press his face against the slope of the elder’s neck. He nibbles on the skin there persuadingly.
“And have him make me see the doctor?” Yoongi grumbles, throat vibrating under the tip of Jungkook’s nose.
“You can get yourself out of that just fine.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. It’s true. Yoongi’s not even very good at coming up with excuses, but everyone seems to go along with him anyways. He gets away with everything.
“I’d rather be on the ground,” Yoongi mutters, tilting his head to the side to give Jungkook better access to the smooth skin of his neck.
Jungkook huffs out a laugh, arching a brow. “That can be arranged.”
It gets harder to hold the elder when he starts swinging his legs vindictively, kicking at the backs of Jungkook’s knees. His hands lightly swat at the younger’s shoulders in protest. Jungkook’s quiet, breathy laughs crescendo into giggles, echoing down the hall too loudly. Yoongi hushes him sharply, and when Jungkook only keeps laughing, he ducks down to press their mouths together.
“Stop that,” Yoongi hisses, little teeth gently latched onto Jungkook’s bottom lip, but it does nothing to deter the younger’s laughter. “Stop,” he whines.
“Sorry, hyung,” Jungkook chuckles, breathy, words mumbles against Yoongi’s lips. (He’s not even sure why he’s laughing so much. He’s just happy, he supposes. Yoongi’s presence does that to him.)
Yoongi rolls his eyes, retracting his teeth and kissing Jungkook, a sweet peck that affects Jungkook more than it should.
“Hurry up and put me down,” Yoongi tells him, fingers rubbing against Jungkook’s scalp. “I need to get back.”
With a reluctant sigh and one last kiss, Jungkook does. When Yoongi’s back on his feet, the elder pats his chest and looks up at him with a small smile. “Come over to mine?”
Jungkook grins. “I’ll beat you there.”
“Probably.” Yoongi sighs, smoothing over the material of Jungkook’s jacket. “No speeding, Jeon Jungkook. I know you like to play street racer, but I prefer you in one piece, alright? Both hands on the wheel.”
“Hey, I’m a very responsible driver,” Jungkook pouts.
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Yoongi scoffs, nose scrunching in memory.
“Well, then.” Jungkook pulls the older closer by his belt loops, eyes twinkling and lips curled into a playful, suggestive smirk. “You’ll just have to come for another late night ride with me, hm?”
“Alright, smooth talker,” Yoongi laughs, pushing at Jungkook’s chest lightly. “I need to get going.”
Jungkook moves back, clapping a hand onto Yoongi’s shoulder, massaging his fingers in. “Okay, hyung. See you in an hour.”
“Mhm.” Yoongi smiles.
They hold each other’s gaze. Jungkook wants to reach out, want to trace his fingertips over the round of the elder’s cheeks and kiss him one more time. Instead, he watches silently as Yoongi gives him a subtle nod and turns, making his way down the hall in tiny, quick steps, shoulders hunched as he jogs away lightly. Jungkook feels his lips curl at the elder’s cute gait.
Then, he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks in the opposite direction.
There’s a room in Yoongi’s apartment—penthouse—that Jungkook has sort of claimed as his own. It’s on the lower level, near the kitchen, and has a pretty view of the Han River. He has clothes hung in the closet and folded in the dresser drawers. There’s a stray sock strewn across the floor, and a jacket folded over the back of an armchair in the corner. One of his black bucket hats sits on the nightstand. The bed is made, but the pillow is indented with the shape of his head.
Yoongi doesn’t necessarily host a lot of people, but when a friend happens to visit, this room remains untouched. No one uses it. No one except for him and Yoongi. The simple exclusivity is enough to make butterflies swell in Jungkook’s stomach, bubbling up to his throat.
He’s stayed here plenty of times—and, he’ll admit, one or two nights (or maybe more) while Yoongi was on tour. Not without permission, though. After they’d become friends—before they’d become... involved physically—Yoongi gave him the passcode to the front door and an open invitation.
Jungkook likes to be alone, likes to take long walks and travel on his own to disconnect from reality and find himself again. It helps, to get away from Seoul, and sometimes from Korea as a whole, because even in his hometown, he’s highly lauded, showered in praise and constantly being watched in public. (Along with The Nation’s Sweetheart, they call him Busan’s Pride.)
Yoongi is like those isolated walks. Yoongi is like escaping to a foreign place and being stripped of expectation and reputation to nothing but who Jungkook truly is. Yoongi is so similar to him, Jungkook supposes being with him is often like being with himself. Comfortable, simple, pleasantly quiet, but still just as fun and enjoyable. Slowly, it feels like he’s started migrating to Yoongi’s home, finding himself there more than his own apartment.
This room, this home, over the past several months, has become a sort of safe space for him. Surrounded yet completely isolated from the hustle and bustle of being Jungkook, the nation’s sweetheart, and a place where he can simply be... Jungkook.
As expected, he arrives before Yoongi. Shoes off at the door and in socked feet, Jungkook pads his way across the dark, silent space towards his room, knowing the path by heart.
The bed is a blessing. Jungkook tugs off his jakect and jeans—the tight material of his pants pulling his socks from his feet as well—leaving himself in a loose white T-shirt and boxers. Mostly free from the stuffy constraints of his clothing, Jungkook throws himself onto the bed and wastes no time in getting comfortable, wiggling under the blankets and closing his eyes. The buzz from the rush of the night slowly fades from his system.
At the top of the apartment building, the only sounds that reach Jungkook’s ears from the streets below are the occasional distant honks, and a siren, maybe, as well as the drone of a passing plane overhead. Jungkook melds into the mattress and forgets his existence for an immeasurable amount of time, until a faint beeping alerts him about the opening front door.
Yoongi doesn’t come to him right away. The elder shuffles around in the kitchen, sneezes near the laundry room, and noisily climbs his way up the stairs to the second level, where his bedroom and home studio are located. After a minute, Jungkook hears the stuttered start of the shower.
Which means Yoongi will be upstairs for the next half hour or so. The elder always looses track of time in the shower. Jungkook considers dragging himself out of bed and joining him, but he’s lazy and warm, and the sound of running water is soothing.
He smiles fondly when he hears Yoongi’s voice through the ceiling, the elder singing and humming to himself—playful yet better than he’d give himself credit for. Jungkook closes his eyes, snuggles against his pillow, and lets his mind drift a little longer.
The bed dips, and Jungkook’s eyes snap open, disoriented and hazy. Yoongi wiggles closer to him under the covers, sliding his arm over the dip of Jungkook’s neck. The elder’s face is dusted pink from the steam of the shower, his hair still kind of damp, curled around the edges. Yoongi sees him staring and holds his gaze.
“Dry your hair properly,” Jungkook finds himself saying, voice still slurred with sleep.
Yoongi frowns, lips pursed forward. “I did. Mostly. It’ll air dry,” he dismisses with a small wave of his hand. “Were you in a deep sleep?”
“I don’t know.” Jungkook yawns, letting his hand reach forward and slide over Yoongi’s side, over the material of his shirt. “Too out of it to remember...”
If anything, Yoongi’s pout deepens, eyes soft and round in that cute, kittenish way of his. “Are you very tired?”
Jungkook hums, slipping his hand under Yoongi’s shirt and flattening his palm against the small of his back, smiling when Yoongi’s lashes flutter at his touch. “I should be asking you that, AgustD.”
Yoongi snorts, scooting closer to Jungkook until the younger can press his face against his neck and he can hide his face in Jungkook’s hair. “Yeah, I’m super fucking tired,” he admits. “But I don’t mind staying up a bit longer with you...”
Jungkook grins against the elder’s collarbones, his fingers tracing along Yoongi’s spine. Flashes of the concert replay in his memory, and suddenly he’s wide awake, too. “Yeah?”
In response, Jungkook leans forward, slowly easing Yoongi onto his back, and settles between the elder’s thighs. His chin rests on Yoongi’s chest as he stares at the elder’s profile. Yoongi gazes back at him, expression blank but eyes soft.
“You really are amazing, hyung,” Jungkook says sincerely, tone tinged with awe. The words dust over the elder’s chin.
Yoongi’s bottom lip is drawn between his teeth. He gnaws on it, eyes averted shyly. Light as a feather, his hands wrap around Jungkook to rest on his shoulders. “Thank you, Jungkook-ah...”
“I mean, I already knew that, and it’s not like I’ve never heard you rap before,” the younger rambles, “But seeing you on stage is completely different.” Jungkook pauses to take in a breath. He grins, sly. “You’re a dangerous man, Min Yoongi.”
“So I’ve been told,” Yoongi mumbles, ears looking a little pink, fingers fiddling with Jungkook’s shirt.
“I felt like I couldn’t breathe,” Jungkook tells him breathlessly. Phantom adrenalin pumps through his veins, memories of the rush of the concert making his heart skip all over again. “You were...”
In a quick flutter of lashes, Yoongi glances at him—feline like eyes expectant and slightly embarrassed—and Jungkook is starstruck. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth, and he can’t find the right words to express all that Min Yoongi manages to make him feel. They won’t form.
Then, Yoongi’s lips quirk in a sudden imperceptible smirk. Jungkook knows he knows his effect. The younger is no different from the sea of people chanting Yoongi’s stage name—just as suceptible to falling under Yoongi’s charm. Even more so, all things considered.
“I was...?” Yoongi questions, eyes glimmering in satisfied expectation.
That smug look on his face has Jungkook torn. On one hand, he could hold back, could keep his compliments in check even as Yoongi not-so-subtly requests to hear them, because as much as it makes him meek and shy, as much as he acts unaffected and uncaring, Yoongi lives off praise; or he could shower the elder in pretty words and watch the pretty flush that will inevitably start to dust his cheeks. The way his eyes dart every which way in weak attempt to maintain his cool.
The second option calls to him.
“Good,” Jungkook murmurs to him sweetly, smiling when Yoongi’s tiny smirk shakes a bit. “You were so good.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Yoongi rolls his eyes and lets out a scoff. It’s not nearly as harsh and unaffected as he wants it to be.
“Okay.” Jungkook intentionally takes the phrase literally with a sly grin. “Your legs.”
Yoongi frowns. “What—”
Jungkook grins. “Something about your thin, little legs running all over stage made me emotional.”
Arms around Jungkook still, Yoongi swats his shoulder, speaking in loud complaint: “You’re the worst.”
“Hey,” Jungkook laughs, twisting awkwardly to catch the elder’s arm, intertwining his fingers with Yoongi’s and pressing them against the bed. Jungkook meets his eyes sincerely; Yoongi’s mouth presses into a thin, wobbly line. “I’m serious. You’re so strong, hyung, and you work so hard. Seeing you give your all inspires me.”
“You could’ve just said that,” Yoongi scolds weakly. “No need to bring up my legs. You know I have a complex about them,” he mumbles sadly, dramatically batting his lashes at the younger in perfect picture of despair.
“What?” Jungkook gasps, entertaining him. “But hyung! Your legs are the best!” Using his free hand, he emphasizes his statement with a squeeze of the elder’s thigh.
Yoongi yelps, kicking at the younger’s side. “Ow! Jungkook-ah, that hurt,” he complains.
“I barely even squeezed,” Jungkook protests in defense, aghast.
“My skin is sensitive. I bruise easily. Like a peach,” Yoongi sniffs primly.
Jungkook giggles and gives him another soft squeeze. “This I know.”
“Did you come here to just to feel me up?” Yoongi fires out, pulling Jungkook’s hand away from his thigh, letting their fingers intertwine and fall against the mattress, mirroring their other hands. Jungkook’s weight presses down on him.
“Let go of my hands, and we’ll find out.” Jungkook wiggles his brows.
Yoongi lets out a groan. “I can’t even deal with you right now,” he grumbles, lips pointedly pursed in a point.
“You’re so whiny,” Jungkook laughs, easily picking up on the elder’s petulant tone, leaning forward and pecking along the elder’s jaw. “What’s wrong, baby?”
The pet name slips past his lips easily. It’s so easy to call Min Yoongi sweet things, to shower him in endearment. Jungkook can often rarely hold himself back. Especially when Min Yoongi, despite initial impression, is the epitome of cute.
“I’ve been in this bed for a good half hour and you still haven’t kissed me,” Yoongi tells him in a blunt burst of honesty—something that happens often enough, but somehow always manages to catch Jungkook off guard, despite how well he knows Yoongi.
A flustered laugh slips past Jungkook’s lips. It’s moments like these that assure him that Yoongi wants him as much as he desires the elder. “You’re so demanding,” he teases, attempting to play off the pleased, happy smile taking over his features. “A kiss, huh?”
Instead of responding with words, Yoongi lifts his chin a tiny amount, raising their interlocked fingers to point at the soft curve of his mouth. It’s a clear request. Jungkook giggles softly, and accepts, knees digging into the bed as he uses them to shift up Yoongi’s body—enough that their faces are level. Yoongi’s head rests back against the pillows, hair splayed over the fabric, and Jungkook hovers over him.
“Did you really miss me so badly?”
Part of the question is to simply tease Yoongi further, but most of its purpose is sincere curiosity. Even though he’s heard it before, Jungkook needs to know Yoongi misses him when he’s gone, needs him to say it more, because when Yoongi’s not around—Fuck, Jungkook misses him.
“Of course,” Yoongi tells him, giving Jungkook the words he needs to hear so readily. There’s a twinge of a pained something in his eyes, an emotion that makes Jungkook’s pre-existing ache increase by double. “I missed you...”
Jungkook wastes no more time in closing the gap between them. Yoongi’s chin juts up to meet him, his lips instinctively parting at the first contact. Jungkook licks at the seam of the elder’s lips and lets his tongue slip past. The slide of Yoongi’s tongue against his punches an appreciative groan out of Jungkook, a noise that Yoongi immediately echoes weakly. Jungkook’s lips are warm and tingling, spit slick and quickly puffing, the mirror image of Yoong’s red flushed mouth.
Tilting his head, he kisses Yoongi with more force, melding their mouths together sensually, a push and pull game of tongue and teeth, until every breath Yoongi releases becomes his own, until Yoongi’s fingers are twitching against his, their intertwined hands tightening into a vice like grip against the bed sheets. Until the only sounds that leave them are soft pants, choked moans, and hitched whimpers.
Their bodies are pressed so close together that Jungkook isn’t sure whose heart it is beating rampantly against his ribcage. There is no start or end to Jungkook; he melds into Yoongi and they’re one. He couldn’t move away if he tried.
“Kook,” Yoongi simpers, head tossed back when Jungkook gives a lazy grind of his hips.
The elder’s lips press together into a thin line, smothering the sounds that try to leave him, and Jungkook, for now, is more focused on freeing his hand to hitch Yoongi’s thigh over his waist than to encourage Yoongi to free those pretty noises. Besides, it doesn’t take much to break the dam of Yoongi’s resistance. It takes only a few sweet rolls of his hips, a scrape of teeth against his neck, and Yoongi’s jaw goes slack with a low, drawn out moan, his toes curling against the backs of Jungkook’s thighs.
Touching Yoongi is all too familiar, is the long-term habit that he’s come to accept he’ll never break. Jungkook’s body almost moves on instinct as he rolls his hips against Yoongi’s, feeling the both of them ever so slowly wind up, sleepy and heated.
But then Yoongi gives a big yawn, tongue almost lolling out of his mouth from the force of it. Jungkook hears the heaving intake of breath, feels underneath him the sigh that escapes the elder, and glances up at him, eyes softening at the elder’s scrunched nose.
“Oh,” he whispers, heart twinging fondly.
Yoongi shakes his head, finishes his yawn, and wraps his free arm around Jungkook. “Sorry, Kook,” he lisps. “Didn’t mean to yawn in your face.”
Jungkook hums, kissing the soft corner of his mouth. “It’s okay, hyung. You’re tired. We can sleep.”
“Is that okay?” Yoongi asks, kind of shy. In a mumble, he explains himself, “It’s just been a long day, and concerts are always exhausting, but I miss you and I’d like to keep kissing you, but you make me so warm and sleepy—in a good way, of course—”
Jungkook kisses him, interrupting his nervous rambling. When he moves back, he meets the elder’s eyes sincerely. “I’ll be here in the morning, Yoongi-yah.”
Yoongi holds his gaze, lips pressed together and eyes blinking slow and obviously sleepy. A pink, pleased flush climbs up his neck. Quietly, he says, “But I miss you now.”
Jungkook smiles softly, giggles a bit as he kisses him before sliding off the elder’s body. Curling his arm around Yoongi’s waist, Jungkook turns them onto their sides, using a hand to guide Yoongi’s face into the crook of his neck, cradling him there.
“I’m here, now,” Jungkook tells him, hugging him close and pressing his nose to the crown of his head. Part of him hopes Yoongi can feel the way his heart flutters. “There’s always tomorrow, hyung.”
Yoongi hums, slipping his leg between Jungkook’s, clinging onto him. He mumbles something low and unintelligible, already sinking into sleep. Jungkook strokes his hair, nuzzling and pressing kisses to his head as he slowly drifts off.
“I love you,” Jungkook murmurs after a while.
There’s no reaction—just Yoongi’s soft breath against his neck. Jungkook sighs; he feels kind of dumb, whispering it out once he’s certain Yoongi is asleep like some kind of drama love interest, but mostly he feels relieved at simply saying it to Yoongi, even if the elder is asleep and unable to hear and respond.
Sleeping with each other seemed simple. It was something cold cut—pure physical relief—that could easily be stopped, as they both knew their limits. Emotions, on the other hand, aren’t so simple. There’s risk that comes with loving Yoongi. With Yoongi possibly loving him, too—which Jungkook doesn’t think he can doubt, because Yoongi may not say how he feels often, but it pours into his every action.
But Jungkook... he’d known he shouldn’t have become involved with more than friendship with Yoongi, but did so anyways. Looking back, he thinks—no—he knows he’s always felt something towards Yoongi that’d been written off as lust. To him, the risk had always been worth it. Even more so now, now that he loves Yoongi.
Pressing his lips to Yoongi’s hair, Jungkook holds him closer and lets himself drift off, comfort and relief sitting warm in his chest with Yoongi back in his arms. He loves him, so much. More than he’s ever felt before.
It’s simple as that.
The next morning, Jungkook wakes in slow motion. His eyes squint open, lips smacking together as he shifts under the covers. Immediately, he registers that something feels off, his hand naturally fumbling across the mattress. His fingers don’t touch skin—only the rumpled, cool sheets. Lifting his head, he peers around the room, frowning when Yoongi is nowhere in sight.
“Hyung...” Jungkook calls, his voice more of a groan, falling back against the mattress. “Yoongi.”
There’s a distant hum coming from somewhere. The sound is relaxed, dismissive, and Jungkook grumbles when no footsteps come his way. Faint noise from the television drifts down the hall. Huffing, Jungkook drags himself up from the bed and shuffles out of the bedroom.
The wood floor is cold under his feet. Jungkook steps down a short set of stairs into the lowered platform that makes up the living room, making his way straight for the couch—a plush, downy feather sectional.
Sat there, Yoongi glances at him, smiles, and turns back to the television. “Good morning,” he says, using a fork to pop a piece of sliced mango into his mouth, leaning to the side when Jungkook comes to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the television.
The glass bowl in his hands is nearly empty, so Jungkook doesn’t feel too guilty about pulling it out of his hands, ignoring the elder’s soft complaint, and setting it on the coffee table. Gently, Jungkook pushes at his shoulders, making him lean back against the arm rest. Yoongi stutters, flustered, but moves easily under his hands. When he’s situated the way Jungkook wants, the younger climbs between his legs and presses his face against the crook of his neck.
“Weren’t you saying how much you missed me last night? How dare you get up and leave me,” Jungkook complains, turning his head and looking at the television in contempt, recognizing the actor on screen. “For Kim Seokjin.”
Yoongi snorts, petting his head apologetically. “I promised him I’d keep up with his drama. I’m behind because of my tour. The rerun episodes air in the morning,” he explains.
Finding himself immersed in the drama, watching Yoongi’s friend on the screen speak about some elaborate plot with a sly smirk, Jungkook hums. “I have no critiques. He’s an amazing actor.” That much he can tell, already sort of familiar with Seokjin.
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, refocusing on the television. “I think he enjoys this one a lot more than the last. Villain type roles really suit him. He likes that kind of thing.”
“Must be fun,” Jungkook mumbles, turning his face back into the crook of Yoongi’s neck. “I should try acting.”
Amused, Yoongi hums. “You’d be good at it, Jungkookie.”
“I don’t think I’d be very good,” Jungkook sighs, nuzzling his nose along the line of elder’s neck. “I should stick to improving my performance.”
“Improving? Oh, hush,” Yoongi counters, rolling his eyes. “Out of 100, you’re 102.”
Jungkook giggles appreciatively, satisfied with the compliment. (Maybe that was his goal; compliments from Yoongi.) “There’s always room for improvement, hyung.”
Conversationally, Yoongi says in a wry tone, “Any more improvement, and you’ll be a god. Leave some for the rest of us mere mortals, Jungkookie.”
“Ah,” Jungkook sighs pleasantly, sweetly pecking the elder’s neck. “I feel nice.”
Underneath him, Yoongi’s breath hitches.
“Shut up,” he mumbles, fidgeting. He flushed faintly. “Stop distracting me.”
Chuckling, Jungkook tilts his head up to nibble at the lobe of the elder’s ear. “Tell Seokjin-nim to pause,” he murmurs, kissing down the line of Yoongi’s neck. The elder’s head lolls against the arm rest, giving him more access. “Come back to the bed. I’ll show you how much I’ve missed you.”
Yoongi whines weakly. “You’re so mean.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’ll carry you,” he tempts, slides his hands down to the sides of his thighs.
“You’re going to anyways,” Yoongi complains, wrapping his arms around Jungkook, clinging onto him.
The younger laughs because he’s right and shifts onto his knees, digging them into the couch, using them to heft the elder up—hands firm under his thighs—and stand on his feet. The television long forgotten—Yoongi will complain later about leaving it on—Jungkook walks them to the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them and gently depositing the elder on the bed.
Yoongi kneels on the edge, gripping Jungkook’s hips when the younger tries to climb on after him. He glances up at Jungkook with heated eyes, pulling him closer. Jungkook swallows, stomach tensing when Yoongi nuzzles against the material of his shirt.
There’s question in his gaze, eyes soft and pleading. Jungkook reaches out and runs a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily when Yoongi rests his chin on Jungkook’s stomach and tilts his head back with his touch, closing his eyes, lips parted. He rakes his other hand through the elder’s hair as well, watching his lashes flutter. Yoongi licks his lips, a movement Jungkook zones in on, biting his own lips.
“Let me make you hard,” Yoongi whispers, hands sliding from Jungkook’s hips to his thighs, skimming under the hem of his boxers. “It’s been so long... Want you in my mouth so bad...”
A hitched noise gets caught in the back of Jungkook’s throat, his dick twitching in interest at the sudden arousal rushing through him.
“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes, smoothing over his hair again.
Yoongi shuffles back, pulling on the younger’s shirt. “Lay down...”
Wasting no time, Jungkook clambers onto the bed, settling back against the pillows. Yoongi crawls between his legs, nudging his bent knees apart, and Jungkook already feels blood rushing south at just the image—Yoongi’s face between the thick of his thighs, mere inches away from—
“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses as Yoongi curls forward, the elder keeping his hips elevated as he tucks his arms under Jungkook’s thighs, curling them around to hug him close.
Warm breath fans over the front of his boxers. Jungkook shivers, slipping his hand into the strands of the elder’s hair as Yoongi pushes his shirt up and noses along the hem of his boxers. He glides his lips along the soft skin of Jungkook’s lower stomach. The sensation tickles. Jungkook’s hand tightens in his hair, and Yoongi moans softly.
Yoongi moves his mouth to the inside of his thigh, sucking a mark into the skin there, knuckles kneading into the muscle of his outer thigh like a pleased cat. The anticipation aches. Jungkook fights back the instinctive urge to put Yoongi where he wants him, to press him close and grind against those soft cheeks—the ticklish kisses driving him mad. A stream of curses rush out of him when Yoongi finally moves up and traces his lips over the growing outline of his dick lightly, his thighs tensing.
“Oh,” Jungkook gasps when Yoongi kisses up the length of his growing erection. The elder reaches the head and parts his mouth, sucking softly. Jungkook throws his head back with a groan, bucking up weakly.
Yoongi hums quietly, sucking harder, punching another moan out of Jungkook. Feeling too stuffy and constrained, Jungkook uses the hand in his hair to nudge him back, quickly sitting up to tug off his shirt and toss it somewhere onto the floor. Yoongi’s eyes are blown wide and hazy as he lurches forward and licks at the soft indentations of Jungkook’s abs.
It makes it harder to kick off his boxers, but somehow Jungkook manages, breathing coming in heavier, and Yoongi kisses his way down, right back to where he was.
“Missed you so much,” Yoongi mumbles suddenly, and for a moment, Jungkook thinks he’s talking to his dick, the idea comical enough to him that he giggles.
“Definitely missed you, too,” Jungkook chuckles airily.
Yoongi glances up at him, demure and smiling without fully understanding why Jungkook’s laughing, and wraps his hand around the base of his dick, pressing the tip against his lips. Holding Jungkook’s gaze, he rubs the head over his mouth slowly. Jungkook shudders, twitching in his hand.
An imperceptible smirk curls Yoongi’s lips, and he slides the head of Jungkook’s dick along his cheek until he’s—until he’s nuzzling along his length, pumping his hand for a few slow strokes and kissing the base sweetly. A drop of precome beads at the tip of his cock, completely erect, and Yoongi laps at it eagerly, digging his tongue against the slit with a hum.
Jungkook moans, thighs closing in on either side of Yoongi’s head. The elder whines appreciatively, opening his mouth wide and taking the head of Jungkook’s cock between his lips. He halts there and looks up past his lashes, silently pleading with the younger. Picking up his cue, Jungkook readjusts his hand in the elder’s hair and gently bucks up, into the warm wet of his mouth.
“Feels so good,” Jungkook praises breathlessly, his voice more of a moan than anything else. He settles into a relaxed pace, fucking in and out of Yoongi’s mouth, slowly pushing him down until he’s taking Jungkook’s entire length down his throat. The elder’s tongue scrapes against the underside of his cock with every thrust, throat tight on the head, sending tingling shivers down Jungkook’s spine.
Yoongi groans around him, his hips shifting in the air. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through Jungkook. It’s been too long. He pulls Yoongi off his dick, and grips the base tightly, warding off the sudden orgasm that’d quickly creeped up on him. Yoongi whines, tries to pull against Jungkook’s hold in his hair, his slick, red lips parted pleadingly.
“Jungkookie.” His voice is rough, used. His eyes are wide and round. Oh, he’s pouty.
“Lay down, baby,” Jungkook says, still kind of panting, and Yoongi moves so quickly, so eagerly, scrambling up the bed to lay beside Jungkook. It’s adorable. Yoongi is.
The elder sprawls onto his back, legs spreading readily when Jungkook sits up and moves between them. There’s a dark patch on the front of his boxers. The hem of his shirt is bunched up, revealing his soft belly. Hands up by his head, Yoongi flexes his fingers and breathes hard, cheeks and lips flushed, tongue tracing over his mouth, relishing in the tingling sensation the friction of Jungkook’s cock created.
Using both hands, Jungkook flattens his palms against the elder’s stomach, petting over his skin gently. Completely wired, Yoongi arches into his touch, exhaling sharply. Jungkook understands how he feels. It’s been so long, since the elder was away on tour (about five months), that every touch sends jolts of electricity through his body. His nervous system is shot.
Jungkook trails his eyes over him, pushing his hands up, taking the elder’s shirt with him. Yoongi twitches when Jungkook’s hands brush over his nipples, sitting up just enough for the younger to help him free of his shirt—which also gets tossed to the side haphazardly. When Yoongi is back against the mattress, Jungkook leans down and licks at his stomach.
“Jungkookie, please,” Yoongi gasps.
Instead of traveling down, Jungkook licks his way up, clamping his mouth around a pink nipple, sucking and scraping his teeth mercilessly. Using his hand, Jungkook pinches at his other nipple, rolling it between his fingers.
“Oh my god,” Yoongi whimpers loudly, squirming against the touch. Jungkook is relentless, and Yoongi kicks at him weakly, until he can’t take it any longer and a burst of pleads leave him. Every sound and whimpered word goes straight to Jungkook’s cock.
Sneaking a hand down the elder’s body, Jungkook grinds the heel of his palm into the tent of his boxers without warning, rubbing firmly. Yoongi yelps, his hips rolling against Jungkook’s palm. His legs squeeze against either side of Jungkook, trying to close but unable to with the younger in the way, bent knees flapping open and closed aimlessly with each roll of his hips.
“You’re so wet,” Jungkook teases, kissing the elder’s collarbones, his fingers flat over the wet patch of his boxer, gliding against his straining erection.
Yoongi’s hands cling onto his shoulders, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. “As if you aren’t leaking against my thigh,” he grits out past clenched teeth, lips pressing together firmly as a moan tears out of him.
Humming, Jungkook sits back, watching with keen eyes as he dips his fingers under the hem of Yoongi’s boxers and eases them down, off his body. There’s a wet noise as Yoongi’s erection, leaking and throbbing, springs free from its confines and hits his stomach. Jungkook giggles, finding it endearing, weirdly enough.
Yoongi whines, knees curling higher like he’s trying to hide behind them. “D-Don’t laugh,” he protests, cheeks bursting with red.
A tender coo slips past Jungkook’s lips as he glides his nails along the length of Yoongi’s sensitive inner thighs, watching as another blob of precome leaks from his cock. The head of it is flushed a deep pink, giving little twitches under Jungkook’s gaze, under his teasing touches.
“Ah, I can’t help it,” Jungkook says sweetly, tracing a finger up the underside of his erection. It jumps under his fingertip; Yoongi pants lightly, arms thrown over his heated face. “Look at that. You’re just so cute.”
“How many times did you think of me, away on tour?” Jungkook asks conversationally, playing with the head of his cock, gliding his own against Yoongi’s thighs with gentle rolls of his hips. Yoongi shakes his head, biting his lip.
Jungkook lets go of him, gripping his own length and lining it against Yoongi’s. He smirks wordlessly at the image, at the difference, and Yoongi—peeking out past his arms—jabs him with his knee lightly, shuddering out a groan. Jungkook giggles promptly drops himself onto the elder, pressing their chests together, down to their hips. They both moan, their cocks sliding against each other, tight between their stomachs.
“I thought of you so much,” Jungkook says, panting as his begins rolling his hips, grinding them together. Yoongi groans and wraps himself around the younger, legs hitched high. “So much, all the time. Did you?”
“Everyday,” Yoongi answers breathlessly. “Fuck, harder,” he pleads, curling his hips up against Jungkook. “Everyday, Kookie. In my hotel, in the car, f-fucking on stage. I thought—I think of you everyday.”
Jungkook curses, shoving his face in the crook of the elder’s neck, reaching down a hand to squeeze at his ass, using the grip to push him up harder. “Yeah? Think about me when you’re up there rapping about mouth jobs?”
A long, drawn hum from Yoongi vibrates against Jungkook’s lips as he nips at the base of his neck. “Yeah,” the elder whispers, bucking his hips up. “About that cock on my tongue, down my throa-oh—”
Yoongi tosses his head back as Jungkook thrusts hard and quick against him, the skin of their stomachs wet, warm, and sticky. Jungkook pants against his neck, the base of his spine tingling in arousal, his entire body yearning for release. Sitting up a bit, his hands spread Yoongi wider before reaching for the elder’s hands, pinning them against the mattress above his head, his hips grinding down roughly. Yoongi keens, squirming against his hold.
“After this, I’m going to eat you out,” Jungkook breathes, holding his gaze hotly.
Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut, a wanton moan tearing out of him. He nods quickly, very much liking the sound of that. His breath escapes him in sharp pants, and he shudders at one particular grind, mewling out a gritty, “Fuck me.”
Jungkook whimpers, his hips rutting faster, rapid and forceful. One hand holds the elder’s wrist and the other his ass, both grips bruising. “I will,” he promises shakily. “We’re not leaving this bed. Fuck, I missed you.”
“Fucking good.” Yoongi agrees, before he keens desperately, “I’m close, I’m close, fuck—please, Jungkook.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook moans. He leans down, capturing Yoongi’s lips in a fierce kiss—tongues and teeth clashing, moaning into each other’s mouths. In a sudden move, Jungkook slaps his hand against the elder’s outer thigh, and fucks against him hard, murmuring, “Yeah, that’s my good kitten.”
Yoongi shudders violently, body quaking in forceful spasms as he cries out, back bowing against Jungkook’s hold on his wrist. Jungkook feels the warmth of his orgasm spill between them and whines, moving against him still, going faster and harder, chasing his own release. Yoongi squirms, heels digging into the mattress and toes curling at the overstimulation. Such a pretty stream of loud, hiccuped whimpers leave him, traveling straight to Jungkook’s cock, and it doesn’t take much longer for the younger’s orgasm to wash over him.
Jungkook slumps down onto him, bucking his hips weakly as his body shakes with the force of his release. He lets go of Yoongi’s wrists as he mouths at the skin of his neck, sucking a harsh mark behind Yoongi’s ear as he comes down. In his daze, Jungkook registers the gentle sighs of his name that spills past Yoongi’s lips. The space between them is messy and wet, now disgustingly uncomfortable now that the haze of arousal is gone and their cum begins to cool.
Yoongi’s fingers begin to card through his hair, gentle and tender. Jungkook nibbles on his neck and sighs pleasantly, even as his heart begins to ache. It’s soft, vulnerable moments like these that are the most difficult. Moments where Jungkook just wants to tell him how much he loves him.
Something sad and possessive in Jungkook rears its head, and he takes to marking up the elder’s neck seriously, mouthing across his collarbones and up to the underside of his jaw, before moving up to capture his lips. Yoongi lets him in easily, slack jawed as Jungkook laps at the seam of his lips.
“Jungkookie,” Yoongi mumbles, nudging his shoulders. “Sit up. Feels gross.”
Their skin parts with a sticky noise when Jungkook moves back, the both of them grimacing. He grips the sheet, using it to wipe at his front, and then Yoongi’s. The elder makes a soft noise of complaint, but doesn’t make to stop Jungkook from wiping his belly clean. Shoving the soiled sheet aside, Jungkook reaches out to stroke over Yoongi’s hair fondly.
“I’m happy you’re back,” Jungkook tells him softly. “Don’t go on tour for a while now, okay? I was lonely without you.”
Yoongi snorts, tugging him close. Jungkook falls beside him, snuggling up to the elder. “Aren’t you the one going away next?”
Shushing him, Jungkook hugs him close. “Not until spring, but let’s not talk about that.”
“We should collab,” Yoongi suggests, half-joking. “Then we could tour together.”
“We should,” Jungkook agrees, grinning excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to try rapping. Next comeback,” he says, holding up a pinky.
“Mhm,” Yoongi hums, reaching out and curling his pinky around the younger’s. “You’d be good at it,” he says, smiling sweetly at the younger. His face is flushed, pink patches over his cheeks, and his slightly sweaty hair falls soft over his forehead, against the pillowcase.
Jungkook’s smile softens. “Thanks, hyung.”
Ducking forward, Jungkook kisses him, hand raising to caress the elder’s cheek. Yoongi’s hand settles on the crook of his neck, rubbing circles against his collarbone—so gentle and tender—and Jungkook bites back the sudden urge to cry.
Clearing his throat, Jungkook leans back and captures the elder’s attention, smiling reassuredly at the confused, slight worried look in Yoongi’s eyes when he meets Jungkook’s gaze. Jungkook lets his smile turn playful and mischevious, reaching down and smacking the elder’s ass hard without warning.
Yoongi jolts with a startled yelp, spitting out with darkening cheeks, “What the fuck?”
Jungkook giggles, lets Yoongi chase away his heavy thoughts, and brings his hand down again, the elder jumping. “Flip over,” he tells him. Yoongi gives him wide, disbelieving eyes, so he huffs. “I told you what I wanted to do, didn’t I?”
The elder looks scandalized, mouth flapping open and closed. He looks like a fish, Jungkook thinks fondly. “You can’t just...!”
“What?” Jungkook pouts, confused. “I thought you liked when I spanked you.”
“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, covering his face in embarrassment. “Don’t say that,” he whines.
Yoongi keens quietly, trying to curl away from the younger. “This is so embarrassing.”
Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. He glances down.
“Oh. You like it a lot, I see.”
A flustered yell tears out of Yoongi, the elder kicking at him vindictively. “Literally never say anything again,” he warbles, trying to scoot away.
Jungkook giggles, clinging onto him. Yoongi’s breath hitches when the younger’s thigh rubs where he’s half-hard. “I’ll do it some more if you flip over,” Jungkook chimes convincingly, in a sing-song tone.
A conflicted noise slips past Yoongi’s lips. “I’m turning, I’m turning,” he grumbles loudly, swatting Jungkook away from him. He rolls onto his stomach, hips wiggling against the bed imperceptibly. Jungkook grins wickedly and swats at his backside again. Yoongi presses his hands to his face, squealing in quiet frustration.
“You’re so cute.” Jungkook laughs.
Yoongi mumbles something unintelligible against the pillows. Jungkook smiles and sits up, stroking down his back before leaning down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. Slowly, he mouths down the curve of the elder’s spine with curled lips, to the sound of his hitched breaths.
“Do you think we can put the drama on the television in here?”
Jungkook lifts his head, staring down the slope of Yoongi’s elevated hips, pausing in disbelief. His gaze wanders to the television mounted on the wall across the room. Scoffing, he rolls his eyes.
“My tongue is literally in your ass,” he deapans, squeezing his palms against the curve of the elder’s cheeks for emphasis.
The kick Yoongi tries to aim at him misses miraculously, his foot swatting in the air, not even close to hitting Jungkook. It looks funny, with how he’s raised on his knees. Jungkook snorts out a laugh. The way Yoongi gets so flustered over crude words when he’s not in his rapper persona is hilarious (and adorable). Yoongi lets out a huff and turns his cheek onto his crossed arms, foot sinking back to the bed in defeat.
“How many episodes do you need to get through anyways?” Jungkook asks him, turning back to the task at hand and leaning down to pepper kisses across the globe of his ass. The skin there is painted pink in the shape of his fingers.
Yoongi laughs nervously. “The entire current season? And half of the last one?”
A noise of surprise slips out of Jungkook as he licks over where Yoongi is loose and gaping. He rubs his thumb there, dipping the digit inside as he shakes his head, drawling out: “Wow. So you didn’t watch it even before leaving for tour? Shame, hyung. Kim Seokjin would cry.”
“Can you not say his name while your finger is in me?” Yoongi asks, overtly sweet.
Jungkook pops his thumb back out. “You brought it up,” he defends himself.
“I was getting bored,” Yoongi mutters after a hitched breath, lips pursed primly. “It’s been almost an hour. An hour. If you’re going to take forever, at least entertain me.”
Jungkook laughs, repeating: “My tongue is literally—”
“Okay!” Yoongi interrupts, huffing before his tone turns bratty, borderline condescending, as the elder puts on an unaffected facade and provokes: “You must not be doing a very good job, then. Huh, Jungkookie?”
As if he wasn’t pleading for Jungkook’s fingers ten minutes ago. Still, the elder’s words stir something competitive in Jungkook. The satisfaction of proving himself—of surprising others, catching them off guard—is a feeling he’s shamelessly addicted to. He knows Yoongi is trying to goad him on, and he lets himself fall for it—lets Yoongi’s words sink into his skin and crawl. It’s a pleasant sensation.
“Oh?” Jungkook breathes, his easy, amicable tone—like the calm before the storm—making the elder tense. The pad of his thumb is replaced with the tip of his forefinger, slowly pushing inside. “We’ll see about that. Won’t we, hyung?”
Yoongi lets out a slow breath, thighs quaking when Jungkook curls his finger and rubs, trying his hardest to bite back his noises with gritted teeth.
“You’re all talk,” he hisses, toes curling.
Jungkook huffs out an amused laugh.
“Okay, baby. Let’s put that to the test.”
The space between them is warm and sticky. The quiet is only broken by heavy breaths and the smacking of their lips. Jungkook has his arms wrapped snuggly around Yoongi’s waist, holding him close. The wood of the headboard is a cool relief against the heated, sweat slicked skin of his back. In his lap, Yoongi squirms, rubs his leaking erection against Jungkook’s stomach as he traces his palms across the younger’s chest—rubbing over his nipples and up his neck to hug around his shoulders.
The elder is tight on his cock, hips flush against the thick of Jungkook’s thighs, muscles shifting and squeezing tortuously.
“Are you done?” Jungkook whines against his mouth, pinching the curve of the elder’s ass. Yoongi hisses, a sharp intake of air whistling between his teeth, and clenches in retaliation. Jungkook chokes out a moan.
“It’s been a while, okay?” Yoongi flares up, grinding his hips down. “Not my fault you’re so big,” he complains, but the way his tone melts into quiet, awed pleasure betrays him.
Jungkook’s eyes roll—half in exasperation and half in pleasure as Yoongi lifts an inch and slams back down. “Please,” he scoffs, his hands moving down to grip the elder’s ass, helping guide the pace he builds. “I’m pretty average.”
“I’m willingly offering to inflate your ego,” Yoongi gripes. A soft, raspy moan slips past his lips as Jungkook rocks against his prostate.
“My ego is perfectly intact.” Jungkook snorts—albeit weakly—leaning forward to bury his nose in the crook of the elder’s neck, nuzzling along the curve of his shoulder. Yoongi’s fingers card through his hair. His quiet breaths—quickly turning to pants from exertion—brush against the top of his head.
The arms around his shoulders tighten a minuscule amount. Yoongi leans forward until they’re pressed close, hugging him securely. Jungkook sighs in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut against the elder’s neck as he begins to ride him in earnest. Yoongi’s thighs shake in effort, digging into the bed on either side of Jungkook’s hips.
The soft slaps of their colliding skin fill the room, along with the obvious creaking of the mattress below them. Jungkook moans—every nerve lit and focused on their point of connection, on the feel of each slide in and out. Pleasure tingles in the base of his spine, in his gut, through every vein down to his fingertips. The elder’s cock tickles against his stomach—warm and wet and hard.
There’s an endless mantra of Yoongi’s name sounding in his brain. His toes curl into the sheets, knees bent as his hips kick, bucking up into the elder.
“Jungkookie,” Yoongi’s voice moans low into his ear, nails digging into the younger’s shoulder blades.
“Hm?” Jungkook breathes out, guiding Yoongi’s hips into a deep grind rather than the hard bounces that he knows can he hard on Yoongi’s knee. Yoongi sniffles gratefully against his hair.
A grumbling rumble interrupts him. The both of them freeze, blinking wide eyes. Yoongi leans back enough to meet Jungkook’s gaze in surprised curiosity.
Before he can finish, Jungkook’s stomach gurgles again in response—drawn out and muted, yet still loud—like distant rolling thunder. Yoongi breaks out into laughter as Jungkook pouts in embarrassment. In effort to ignore the hunger (which he hadn’t been aware of) making itself very obvious, he tries to get Yoongi moving again, gripping his hips, but the elder is still on top of him, giggling.
“Break for lunch?” Yoongi grins, arching a brow, and Jungkook’s expression must be absolutely scandalized, because Yoongi rolls his eyes and says: “Not now, dummy. After we’re... done.”
Jungkook sighs, hiding his face against the elder’s neck. Bucking his hips up weakly, he mumbles out a quick, “Okay,” trying to get back to the matter at hand. Yoongi rolls his hips, squeezing around Jungkook to pacify him as he wonders aloud quietly, mostly to himself:
“I don’t think I have meat or chicken here... Maybe japchae?”
Jungkook and his stomach groan in tandem. He nips the sharp line of the elder’s collarbone in retaliation. “Can you stop interrupting?”
“You interrupted first.”
“I can’t help whether or not my stomach growls,” Jungkook huffs. “You could’ve ignored it,” he adds on petulantly.
“You’re the one who immediately pounced on me without eating first,” Yoongi counters, tone heavy with pleasant amusement.
“Mango hardly counts as a meal.”
“Sure it does. I’m feeling pretty satisfied.” The double entendre is accompanied with a teasing grind of Yoongi’s hips, digging in a circular motion, in fluid figure eights.
Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth; he also can’t help the way bickering with Yoongi riles him up in all the best ways. “Do you ever stop talking?” He quips, fingers gripping bruises into the soft skin of the elder’s hips.
Yoongi nuzzles his nose along Jungkook’s, the both of them going a bit cross eyed to maintain eye contact. “I thought you liked my voice,” he pouts, tilting his head to brush his parted lips against the mole under Jungkook’s bottom lip.
“Most times,” Jungkook mumbles. He tries to capture Yoongi’s lips, but Yoongi jerks back with a chuckle. Jungkook huffs, dropping his head to suck and nibble on the curve of the elder’s shoulder, lips lathering wet over his skin. And he aches—burns low in his gut and longs for more.
In a sudden move, Jungkook gathers the elder in his arms and rolls the both of them—lays Yoongi against the pillows—swiftly gripping the gentle pudge of his outer thighs and spreading them enough to fit himself between. Leaning forward, Jungkook presses his face to Yoongi’s panting chest and drives his hips in deep. A soft, surprised keen slips past Yoongi’s pink parted lips.
“There,” Jungkook whispers, trailing his lips up to the elder’s ear, fucking into him slow but hard. Yoongi moans, wraps himself tight around Jungkook and arches up into his touch.
“Jungkookie,” he rasps, he mewls. Maybe he plays up his noises for Jungkook—purposefully stretches them out and lets them ring. Either way, each sound tingles down Jungkook’s spine, pleasure and heat coiled tight in his gut.
“Pretty,” Jungkook whimpers quietly, heart pounding in his throat as he fucks Yoongi—gentle yet intense, tender in all the right ways. “Keep moaning for me, sweetheart.”
And Yoongi does, clinging onto him like he never wants to let go.
The porcelain bowl of freshly cooked japchae slides across the smooth wood of the table—friction raising a grating sound of glass against wood. Slumped over in impatience, Jungkook straightens up eagerly, reaching for his chopsticks as Yoongi slips into the chair across from him. Just as he takes a bite, the elder’s foot taps his calf. His little toes try to pinch at the flat skin there.
“Put clothes on, barbarian,” Yoongi scolds. Then, he mutters, mostly to himself, over his own bowl: “Seriously, sitting ass naked at my good, Christian table.”
“You don’t have a religion,” Jungkook fires back at him past a mouthful of vegetables and noodles, despite knowing it’s a joke. He glances down at himself. “And I’m wearing boxers.”
“Still 95% naked,” Yoongi counters, pursing his lips pointedly.
Jungkook huffs and tilts his head up. “80%,” he argues, for the sake of arguing.
The elder rolls his eyes, already knowing what he’s trying to imply. “Good to know you see yourself as 20% pelvis. I guess. Aren’t you too hungry to talk?” He asks, slightly exasperated.
Jungkook points his finger in a wordless you got me there. Yoongi clicks his tongue, but Jungkook sees the way he hides his smile behind his chopsticks. It’s infectious. Jungkook feels his lips curl up, too. His chest fills with a sort of happiness that he’s written songs about.
(Admittedly, he has written songs about Yoongi.)
Thoroughly reacquainted with each other, they bask pleasantly in each other’s company. Jungkook slurps up another mouthful of noodles and groans appreciatively at the unique taste of Yoongi’s home cooking—which he’s missed almost as much as Yoongi himself.
“This is amazing,” Jungkook mumbles, still so eager to speak with Yoongi that he doesn’t bother swallowing his food first. “Marry me right now.”
He glances up in time to see how Yoongi ducks his head, his ears tinting pink with the praise. Then, Yoongi says, shy and grinning gently to himself:
“Bring the marriage document, then.”
Jungkook blinks, kind of freezes in place. At his silence, Yoongi bites his lip and glances up. They meet gazes, managing to hold the eye contact for a few seconds. Then, they both break it at the same time. Yoongi coughs, raising a fist to his lips to distract from his blazing cheeks. Jungkook shoves another mouthful of noodles in his mouth and tries not to choke with the way his heart flutters in his throat.
“So...” Jungkook begins a few quiet, flustered minutes later. “How was your tour, hyung? Tell me more.”
Yoongi picks up the topic easily. “It was great. I don’t want to touch an airplane for another few months, ideally, but other than that, it was great. I don’t know what I was so terrified about, when my album was released back in the summer.”
The elder’s eyes go dark in rememberance, conflict flitting over his features. Jungkook watches him, frowning, and shifts his feet under the table, pulling Yoongi’s ankle between his own.
“You tried a different style, and you were worried how it would be received. Everyone loved it, in the end. All your shows sold out. But you didn’t know that then. You were nervous, hyung. It’s okay. I’m proud of you.”
Yoongi, holding his gaze through his spiel, averts his eyes to his bowl, swirling his food idly. “Thanks, Kook.”
Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in excitement. “How was the performance with RM in Japan?”
A small, happy smile stretches Yoongi’s lips. “Perfect. It was good to see him. I’ve missed him a lot.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, inhaling.
“And, yes. I asked him. He said he’ll be in touch with your company.”
Jungkook’s hands slam onto the table, his bowl shaking. “Seriously?!” He exclaims, jaw slack in disbelief.
“Oh my god,” Jungkook laments, sitting back in his chair. He sighs heavily—almost dreamily.
“Are you going to cry, Jungkookie?” Yoongi teases, giggling.
“That’s only been my dream colllaboration since I was thirteen,” Jungkook responds, tone thick and heady. “So maybe.”
“Kookie,” Yoongi croons, eyes shining in amusement as he reaches forward to slip his fingers between Jungkook’s. His touch is gentle and warm. Soothing. “Well, he said he looks forward to it.”
Jungkook sighs again—a soundless slip of air between his lips—his eyes focused on the elder’s profile. Yoongi catches his stare and tilts his head in question. Jungkook uses his thumb to stroke the back of his hand, rubbing soft circles into the skin there. Grazing his fingers higher, he curls a loose fist around the elder’s wrist.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” he murmurs.
The elder waves his free hand dismissively. “All I did was convey your message,” he downplays.
“Still, it means a lot to me.”
Yoongi grins shyly, accepting his thanks with a nod of his head. His gaze lowers to Jungkook’s hand on his wrist, soft and subtly happy. Gently, he pulls away, fingers brushing over Jungkook’s as he gestures for him to continue eating.
“How’s the preparation for your comeback coming along?” Yoongi asks, bumping his foot against Jungkook’s.
“Great,” Jungkook responds with a grin, twirling noodles around his chopsticks. “I’ve got the choreographies down, so Hoseok’s relaxed a bit. He told me there’s no need to practice as long, but... it feels wrong when I don’t.”
Yoongi hums in understanding, even as his brow arches at the thought of the notorious Jung Hoseok being relaxed—a kind, easy-going man, but a fearsome dance instructor and choreographer. It says a lot about Jungkook’s capabilities.
“How’s your schedule?”
Jungkook lets out a sound of relief. Not hyper aware of his manners around Yoongi, he speaks as he chews. “Blissfully empty. The album’s done, so other than rehearsals and a couple of variety show prerecordings, I’m free. I’ve been relaxing, spending time with friends. Just the other day, I went to the beach with Taehyung and Jimin.”
“That’s good, Jungkookie.” Yoongi smiles. He looks down at his bowl thoughtfully. “So... You have a lot of free time?”
“Mhm,” Jungkook hums, eyeing him curiously. The elder’s extremely casual tone makes the question anything but. “Why, hyung?”
Yoongi fidigts nervously, his fingers raising to brush the skin below his ear—a shy gesture. (A coy, pretty gesture to Jungkook.) Yoongi’s nerves make him fluttery, his fingers twitching around his chopsticks. Jungkook lowers the utensils to his bowls.
“What?” He questions, laughing a bit.
Yoongi’s lashes flutter against his cheeks as he keeps his gaze down. “I’m visiting my brother in Daegu next weekend,” he starts, voice timid. “I was going to ask... if you’d like to come with me? If you can.”
Jungkook stammers, cheeks flushing. “To meet your brother?”
Yoongi retracts his hands to his lap, shoulders hunching. He nods.
“Does he know—” Know what? That they’re involved? That they fuck? Jungkook chews his lip. He knows how close Yoongi holds his older brother to his heart, knows how solid and authentic their bond is, and if he wants them to meet...?
The elder’s cheeks are flushed a deep pink. “I... mention you to him a lot. He asked if we were, you know... Together.”
Jungkook’s heart beats strongly in his chest. “What? Are you going to ask me to be your fake boyfriend?” He jokes weakly, fingers curling into a fist over the table.
Yoongi’s head snaps up. Alarm is written bluntly over his features. “No! No, I wouldn’t...”
Something in Jungkook’s chest sinks. His heart, probably. “Ah...”
“I mean,” Yoongi stutters, a little crumple formed between his brows. Jungkook wants to kiss it, smooth it away with his fingertips. “What I mean is that—”
“Hyung, it’s okay,” Jungkook attempts to ease him gently. “I was teasing. I’d love to—”
“As my real boyfriend,” Yoongi says in a rush.
Jungkook inhales sharply. He holds his breath for a few seconds, eyes locked on Yoongi’s flustered expression. “Oh,” he finally breathes, when the reality of the situation half sinks in. “... Is that what you want, hyung?”
It’s obvious Yoongi wants to look away—with the way he shrinks under Jungkook’s intense gaze—but he doesn’t. He stares up at Jungkook past his lashes, the corners of his mouth pinched together. Yoongi looks half determined and half terrified.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “If that’s—If it’s what you want, too?”
Jungkook laughs airily. He feels like he’s floating, a bit. When he reaches across the table, Yoongi’s fingers meet his halfway. “That’s not even a question. Without a doubt: yes.”
A slow smile spreads Yoongi’s lips, until he’s beaming, eyes scrunched into crescents as he giggles out softly. “Good,” he says, raising a fist to his curved mouth and clearing his throat. “Great.”
Jungkook smiles back at him brightly, giddy and excited. In this moment, he feels like he could run ten miles and scream his feelings from the rooftops, could go to his social media and tweet in all caps: I’M IN LOVE WITH MIN YOONGI. MIN YOONGI IS MY BOYFRIEND. REALLY. He can’t do that, actually, but it’s nice to imagine.
(One day, maybe.)
“Good,” he repeats. “Great.”
They smile at each other, stupid with happiness. Until, Yoongi blinks and reaches forward to smack his shoulder—the hit resounding loudly against his bare shoulder, making it sound harder than it actually is.
“Why would I ask you to be my fake boyfriend?” Yoongi critiques, scrunching his nose in displeasure.
Jungkook huffs, rubbing his skin with a pout. “Isn’t that how it goes? First, we pretend to date for your brother, and there’s tons of tension and unspoken feelings. Then, we’re forced to share a bed—”
”We already do that!”
“—and we realize our feelings, but still don’t act on them because we’re unsure if they’re reciprocated. And then—”
Yoong laughs. “Can you stop? God, I’m exhausted just imagining all of that emotional turmoil. Are we in a drama?”
“Apparently not,” Jungkook snorts. A sly grin curls his lips as he adds on, “Boyfriend.”
Yoongi ducks his head. With a shaky nod and red cheeks, he gathers his bowl and scoots back his chair, the legs dragging against the tile floor noisily. Jungkook watches him walk to the sink. The faucet handle turns with a creak, the sound of running water filling the kitchen. Jungkook glances down to his empty bowl and stands, picking it up from the table.
When he approaches, Yoongi turns wordlessly and pries his bowl from his hands, dipping it under the water and beginning to wash it. Jungkook watches the way he scrubs the dish, arms tucked close to his body. The elder jumps a bit when Jungkook steps closer—close enough that his breath brushes over the curve of his shoulder.
Gently, he slides his arms around Yoongi’s waist, pressing himself along his back. Yoongi relaxes, leaning into his hold. Resting his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder, Jungkook watches him rinse the bowl and set it beside his own on the drying rack.
“Hey, Yoongi-yah,” he prompts, after the elder uses a rag to dry his hands. Yoongi hums in question. Jungkook leans back and places his hands on either side of the elder’s hips, nudging him until he turns.
When Yoongi faces him, Jungkook smiles sweetly and hugs around his waist, pulling him close. Yoongi gazes at him and lets his hands slide up his arms to curve around Jungkook’s shoulders. He lifts his chin readily when Jungkook leans down to kiss him, his eyes fluttering shut.
Their lips meet in soft, simple touches—with no intention other than to express affection. Jungkook lets Yoongi pull his bottom lip between his own, and then tilts his head to pucker his lips against the corner of the elder’s mouth. He pulls back with a quiet click, leaning his forehead against Yoongi’s.
Yoongi clears his throat. Gently, he says, “Kookie, it won’t be easy...”
“Being with you is the easiest thing,” Jungkook whispers, not wanting to be rational at this moment. They can worry and stress and think critically later. Right now, he just wants to feel and love.
“You know what I mean....”
Jungkook sighs, nuzzling his nose against the soft curve of the elder’s cheek. “I do,” he admits. “But, hyung...” Leaning back enough to meet the elder’s troubled gaze, he hugs him tight and lets his own eyes shine with the force of his adoration.
“I love you,” he tells him. The words are a heavy weight off his shoulders, no longer sitting forbidden on his tongue, and now, he feels like he can breathe easy. It’s all he wants to say. “I love you. I love you. I love—”
Yoongi drops his head against Jungkook’s shoulder, hiding in the crook of his neck. “I heard you the first time,” he mumbles, almost whimpers.
“Still, I love you.”
Yoongi sighs serenely. Curious, he asks, “Since when?”
Jungkook rocks them from side to side a bit and hums in thought. “Well, if I’m honest,” he purses his lips, “I think I was a little infatuated with you from the very moment we met.”
Yoongi clings onto him. “Stop being so... romantic,” he whines quietly. “You’re killing me...”
Jungkook laughs, bright and bubbly like the giddy sensation in his stomach. “It’s true!”
“If anyone was in love from the get-go, it was me,” Yoongi argues, starting off defiant, but his tone melts to a quiet shy by the end of his sentence. “You—You’re Jungkook.”
Jungkook inhales sharply, heart skipping. “What do you mean?”
Yoongi lifts his head from Jungkook’s shoulder, looking up at him reverently as he tries to explain. It’s hard, admittedly, to try and word Jungkook’s natural charm.
“You just... You’re so... warm? And genuinely sweet... You didn’t have to speak to me, but you saw me seated alone and did anyways. And when you smiled at me—when you laughed—my heart almost exploded,” he mumbles, recalling their first encounter. “I was blushing so hard...”
“I couldn’t tell,” Jungkook pouts. The corners of his mouth twitch in effort to smother his pleased smile.
“Of course not,” Yoongi huffs. “It was an award show. I was wearing make up.”
“To be honest,” Jungkook grins bashfully. “I only approached you because I was alone, too. We were both solo artists. I love your music and respect you a lot, but I didn’t know I’d like you so much, on a personal level. The first time we met up as friends cemented that.”
“I’m happy you did... And same—though I definitely loved you first,” Yoongi claims. Jungkook opens his mouth to argue, but then breaks out into a pout.
“You still need to say it,” he remembers, lightly pinching the soft skin of the elder’s side.
Yoongi chews his lip for a moment. Jungkook raises a brow, amused at the way he hesitates from shyness. Yoongi averts his gaze, his fingers rubbing the curve of Jungkook’s shoulder absentmindedly. Jungkook lifts a hand to brush over his hair, letting him take his time. Yoongi closes his eyes, leaning into his touch. Slowly, he glances up, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.
“I love you,” he says, confident and crystal clear. Immediately, he drops his head to press his warm face against Jungkook, nearly burrowing into his neck. Jungkook giggles, hugs tight around his waist and lifts him until his toes barely brush the ground.
“Aw, hyung,” he croons loudly in the elder’s ear, wiggling him around; Yoongi’s dangling legs knock against his own. “You love me!”
Yoongi groans, rubbing his face against Jungkook’s skin roughly. “I’m gonna take it back,” he threatens.
Jungkook gasps dramatically, setting him back on his feet with a wide grin. “You’d never!”
“I might,” Yoongi sniffs primly, scrunching his nose and tilting his chin up.
“Nooo,” Jungkook drawls, leaning forward to peck his nose. “No take backs. Forgive me.”
Yoongi gives in easily to the force of Jungkook’s puppy eyes. “Okay,” he says softly. “After you give me a kiss.” He raises his chin and puckers his lips pointedly, his eyes squeezed shut. It’s a cute, over the top expression that makes Jungkook want to squish his cheeks between his palms.
Jungkook chuckles and leans forward to kiss his cheek. Yoongi huffs and blinks open his eyes to glare at the younger, his lips pinching in a scowl. Jungkook kisses his chin.
“Oops, I missed again,” he teases, poking at the pouted puff of the elder’s cheek.
“Jeon Jungkook,” Yoongi deadpans. “If you don’t hurry up and kiss me, I—”
Jungkook laughs, leans down, and does.