It usually takes quite a lot to wake Yoongi up; think house on fire, dying friend, end of the world, that sort of thing. So when he is reluctantly dragged from the comfort of a deep, dreamless sleep one night, he’s all kinds of furious and confused.
He isn’t entirely sure what woke him up. The room is dark, near-silent except for Seokjin’s slow breathing some distance away; the whole dorm seems to be silent, which only makes the situation all the more baffling.
Yoongi sits up begrudgingly, straining his ears. Something must have happened. As long as he can confirm that nobody’s trapped underneath a bookcase or something, or that no one has broken in, he can go back to sleep, and god, does he want to go back to sleep.
He hears a sound, distracting him from his longing, though it’s much too quiet to have woken him up. It seems to be coming from the bathroom, to which his bed is the closest. Now that he’s paying attention, he can hear running water, as though one of the members is taking a shower. It isn’t usually the sort of thing that’d wake him up, but perhaps they – I don’t know, fell over before getting in. Whatever. At least now he can sleep.
Yoongi drops back to his pillow with a long, relaxed sigh, curling up into a ball and wrapping his sheets more tightly around his body. Seokjin shifts on the other side of the room, grumbling a little in his sleep. Yoongi feels so warm, so comfortable, and he’s so close to dozing off, every single worry and responsibility driven from his mind.
That’s when he hears another sound. A whimper. Muffled somewhat, a little choked, as though it had slipped through the spaces between fingers, but Yoongi heard it.
Great. He’s woken up in the middle of the fucking night because one of the members has decided to jack it in the shower instead of biting their hand and doing it under the covers like a normal person.
He rolls over, wrinkling his nose and tugging his pillow from beneath his head with the intention of covering his ears or, you know, smothering himself to death, but, in the millisecond before he can do either, he hears something else.
Yoongi freezes. The pillow drops back down to the bed and he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a few seconds.
That was definitely Jungkook’s voice. And sure, the kid has a gorgeous voice, whether he’s speaking or singing, and there are worse sounds to wake up to, but – did he just say ’hyung’?
Yoongi knows he’s freaking out, knows he should be able to quite easily dismiss this embarrassing discovery and go to sleep, but his heart is fucking pounding and he’s waiting for another sound, another slip-up, just so he can be sure.
He’d never even suspected that Jungkook liked men, not for a second. Sure, the kid can be shy around women, but all of the members are, to an extent. Yoongi had always cooed over it, like everyone else, and expected Jungkook to grow out of it as the years went by. Apparently, he was mistaken.
Even more concerning, Jungkook said ‘hyung’. Is he touching himself to the thought of one of the members? And if so, which member? And why does Yoongi care enough to wonder? He stares blindly at the dark ceiling, lying flat on his back, desperately straining his ears. He should go to sleep. He should definitely be sleeping.
“A-ah, hyung, please –”
Yoongi can hear the wet slap of water hitting the shower floor as it slides off the maknae’s body and he’s really, really doing his best not to imagine it. He’s comfortable in his sexuality, and he’s always appreciated Jungkook’s – ahem – visual charms, but he’s not some kind of pervert. He’s not. He isn’t about to lie here and listen to Jungkook getting off.
That being said, he can’t be expected to control the sticky cling of his hardening cock pulling away from his thigh, no matter how he tries. Grimacing, he rolls over, pressing a palm against the front of his boxers in an attempt to keep the fucking thing down. Seokjin is only feet away from him, he can’t get hard now, not over Jungkook –
“Yoongi-hyung – god, yes –”
Yoongi has to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of shock and – and want that escapes him. If he wasn’t hard before, he definitely is now. It’s one thing to hear Jungkook pleasuring himself, another thing entirely to hear him moaning for his hyung – but this. This changes things.
Before he even knows what he’s doing, Yoongi’s hand has slipped beneath his boxers, wrapping around his cock, already hard, hot beneath his fingers and wet with precum. This isn’t okay, he knows it isn’t okay, but he can’t help himself. That’s Jungkook in there, just on the other side of the wall, pushing himself closer and closer to release over thoughts of Yoongi. The elder can’t empty his mind of thoughts of the maknae’s wet, muscled, gorgeous tanned skin, his head braced against the wall, his eyes closed and his pretty lips parted in a moan –
He can’t be doing this. He needs to stop. He lives with six boys, each as hormonal and needy as the next, and this kind of thing happens all the time. This situation is no different. It’s just little Jungkookie jacking off in the shower.
Only what if he isn’t jacking off, what if he’s chasing his release in a different way, those long fingers straining to reach places inside him that’ll have him whimpering, maybe even coming untouched –
Goddamnit. Yoongi bites down into the flesh of his free hand, twisting his slick palm around his cock at the thought. This is all kinds of messed up, but he’s too far gone to stop now, would never get back to sleep if he left himself hanging. Not to mention Jungkook’s whimpers and whines are steadily drifting through the wall now, punctuated by the occasional sucking, slurping sound, as though the boy is sucking on his fingers to busy his lips and tongue, and oh god, Yoongi’s losing his mind.
It’s not that he’s never noticed how attractive Jungkook has grown to be, slowly surpassing Yoongi in height, filling out and broadening but still managing to stay petite, narrow, slender enough to wrap your hands around. He’s definitely noticed. He’s just always stopped himself before it got to this point, not wanting to jeopardise the dynamic of the group. Jungkook looks up to him, he knows that, and it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of the kid.
But if Jungkook wants it, if Jungkook thinks about his hyung in this way, cries out his name and longs for his touch – well, then Yoongi won’t complain.
The slide of Yoongi’s hand is almost too loud in the quiet room, lewd and dirty, his palm suctioning around his leaking tip on every upstroke. He’s trying to keep it down, he really is, but Jungkook is driving him crazy, moaning around his fingers, his sounds climbing higher and higher. Yoongi can’t help but growl into the palm of his hand, his eyes pricking with tears because it’s so good, so absolutely filthy and he can’t possibly stop, not now, not when he’s so close –
“Nnnn-ah, ah, I can’t – I can’t – Daddy!”
Jesus fucking christ, Yoongi has to be hearing things, but he doesn’t have the time to make any sense of what he’s just heard before Jungkook is moaning desperately, so loudly it’s a miracle nobody else is stirring, and the sound is so completely filthy and – and jesus christ, did the kid just call him daddy?
His orgasm hits him like a punch in the stomach, his eyes flying open and the air rushing from his lungs as that one fucking word rips the pleasure out of him, so hard it nearly hurts. There’s a thud from the bathroom, as though Jungkook has slid to the shower floor, utterly defeated. Yoongi’s hand and boxers are covered in his own mess, his lip is bleeding where he bit through trying not to cry out in pleasure, and his head is fucked, completely fucked.
Yoongi feels like his veins are on fire. He just heard Jungkook come whilst calling him daddy. He just came to the sound of Jungkook calling him daddy. He came hard. Maybe he should feel guilty, a little ashamed, but he doesn’t. He just feels desire, unquenched and boiling, bubbling through his body.
He has to know for sure. Anyone else would probably dismiss it, forget it, never bring it up again, but if he heard right, if Jungkook really wants him, he has to find out. Yoongi gently cleans himself up and tugs a clean pair of boxers out of his bedside drawer, resolving to confront Jungkook about what he’s just heard – but first, he might as well have a little fun with it.
Breakfast the next morning is a quiet affair, as usual. Yoongi joins the other members around the kitchen table last, accepting a bowl of porridge from Seokjin and immediately reaching for the coffee pot. Everyone is focused on their food, puffy-eyed and bare-faced, and nobody seems to be acting any differently; perhaps Yoongi had been the only one disturbed by Jungkook’s nocturnal activities.
He takes a fortifying gulp of coffee, readying himself for the conversation. He isn’t nervous; rather, he’s a little excited, perhaps perversely so. He can’t wait to see Jungkook squirm, to see the boy’s pretty face turn a rosy pink, to watch him stammer with nerves. Yoongi chances a glance up at Jungkook and sees him looking completely unaffected, chewing sleepily on a piece of toast and scrolling idly through his phone.
“Hey,” Yoongi begins thoughtfully, toying with his porridge, and he is immediately fixed with six quizzical stares. This might be the first time he’s started a conversation before ten a.m. in all the years they’ve known one another. “Did anyone else hear any – I don’t know, weird sounds last night?”
Taehyung loses interest right away, clearly not knowing what Yoongi is talking about, whilst the others blink at him confusedly, tilting their heads. Jungkook, on the other hand, freezes mid-chew, his hand hovering in mid-air over his plate. Yoongi supresses a smirk.
“What do you mean, hyung?” Namjoon asks through a mouthful of rice.
“I woke up in the middle of the night,” Yoongi shrugs, wrapping his hands around the warm mug of coffee. “I thought I heard someone moving around.”
The others exchange glances, shrugging and shaking their heads. Jungkook busies himself once more with his toast, perhaps hoping his nonparticipation will pass off like Taehyung’s, as indifference.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Hoseok offers, pushing his lips to the side. “You sure you weren’t dreaming, hyung?”
“Yeah, positive,” Yoongi replies, watching Jungkook closely. A pretty flush has begun creeping over his neck to his cheeks and he ducks down, pulling his hoodie closer around his face. “Could’ve sworn I heard someone making noises.”
Jungkook splutters a little, quickly reaching for his glass of water. He glances nervously at Yoongi, his gaze darting away once he realises the elder is staring right back.
“Noises?” Jimin snorts, wrinkling his nose with mirth. “What kind of noises?”
“Mm, I don’t know,” Yoongi muses. A long few moments pass by and the boys return to their breakfasts, but Yoongi can’t let it lie. Not just yet. “Jungkook-ah, you didn’t hear anything, did you?”
Jungkook looks up like a deer in headlights, his huge, starry eyes terrified and dark. His gaze flickers around the table as though searching for help, but nobody comes to his aid. He clears his throat shakily, doing his best to arrange his features into something resembling nonchalance.
“Ah, n-no, hyung,” he stammers, and Yoongi is reminded all too vividly of the last time he heard that word tumble from the boy’s lips. Not now, Yoongi, not now. “I – I was asleep.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi drops his voice when he replies, and nobody else seems to react to what he’s said, but Jungkook flushes beetroot-red at once.
Maybe he’s been a little hard on the kid; Jungkook honestly looks petrified, as though expecting Yoongi to out him in front of everyone, tell the members what he said and embarrass him, like the elder would ever do such a thing.
He smiles, just a small quirk of the lips, but Jungkook’s terror fades to confusion, his head tilting and his brows pulling together. Yoongi quickly checks that no one is watching them before he lets his gaze rake over the boy, over the curve of his broad, muscled shoulders hiding beneath his hoodie, over his long, veined fingers wrapped around his glass, over the sharp line of his jaw and the tempting column of his throat.
When he regains eye contact with the maknae, Jungkook seems to have frozen again, his pink lips parted with dawning realisation. Yoongi drops his gaze back to his coffee, smirking to himself.
They finish breakfast in silence, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and swallowing. Nobody moves until Seokjin gets to his feet, collecting the plates and gently ushering them out of the room to prepare for the day’s schedule. Jungkook makes a mad dash for the door, perhaps hoping to escape before Yoongi can catch him, but Yoongi stands up and accidentally-on-purpose steps into the boy’s path, their shoulders crashing together.
“Ow - s-sorry, hyung, sorry,” Jungkook rambles hurriedly, his hand cradling his shoulder and his doe eyes sparkling with worry.
Yoongi smiles, gently chucking the boy under the chin. “My fault,” he says softly. Jungkook visibly shudders, going a little boneless at the elder’s touch. “Go get ready, Kook.”
The boy stumbles from the room blindly and Yoongi watches him leave, gnawing on his lip thoughtfully. If he can just get Jungkook alone, talk to him, find out what he wants – maybe Yoongi can give it to him.
They don’t find time to themselves for over a week after that, and Yoongi all but forgets about his intentions with Jungkook. They have a comeback fast approaching, and he needs to prioritise their album; who knows, perhaps Jungkook will still want him after they’re finished with promotions.
He’d spent all day and a good portion of the night in the studio, pretty much surviving solely on ramen and instant coffee for the last twenty-four hours. He must have fallen asleep at his desk, waking up to a text from Seokjin, reminding him that the elder is away filming tonight and won’t be around to manhandle Yoongi into his own bed. It’s with desperately heavy limbs and bleary eyes that he makes the short journey home to the dorms, a mask pulled over his face and a beanie pulled low over his eyes.
The dorm is silent and dark when he gets home, kicking his shoes off by the door, tugging off his mask and shrugging off his leather jacket. He nearly trips over the mess of footwear by the rack – sorry, Seokjin, nobody cares about that except for you – and swears under his breath, stumbling to the lounge to switch on the light.
Yoongi jumps at the sound, slamming the light on and spinning around.
Jungkook is clumsily sitting up, one hand thrown up to protect his eyes from the light. He’s surrounded by pieces of paper, notebooks and sheet music, his hair fluffy and creases imprinted into his face.
“What are you doing down here, Kook?” Yoongi asks, dropping his bag and moving to the sofa. Jungkook moves his feet so that his hyung can sit down.
“I – I must’ve fallen asleep,” he mumbles, blinking confusedly. “Sorry, hyung. I’ll – go to bed.”
The boy hurriedly albeit stumblingly gets to his feet, collecting his things into a messy pile and heading for the door.
“Jungkookie,” Yoongi begins, and the maknae freezes in the doorway, slowly turning to his hyung with an unmistakeable expression of dread. “I’d like to talk to you for a second.”
Jungkook movements are heavy, as though he’d rather do literally anything else than return to Yoongi’s side and face the elder, but he does as he’s asked, resting the pile of paper on the coffee table. Yoongi notices with a strange tug at his heartstrings that Jungkook maintains a distance between them on the sofa, his body tense and coiled tightly, as though preparing to escape at a moment’s notice.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Yoongi says gently, ducking his head in an attempt to catch Jungkook’s gaze. The younger glances up, doe eyes black with worry, then quickly looks back to his hands where they wring together in his lap. “I heard you the other night, Kook.”
The boy’s cheeks burn a deep, aching red, his curved nose scrunching and his eyes squeezing closed, like he’s trying to block out the sound of Yoongi’s voice. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to reply, and Yoongi straightens up with a sigh, but then the younger speaks. “D-don’t know what – what you –” he stammers, his voice tiny and afraid.
Maybe he shouldn’t, maybe it would be kinder to drop the subject, but something, something deep-seated and darkly curious coiling in Yoongi’s stomach, something pushes him to keep going.
“I heard you say my name.”
The words hang heavy between them. Jungkook’s face tightens even more, like he’s bracing himself, like he knows what’s coming.
“And I heard you say something else, too.”
“No,” Yoongi interrupts. He is pleased that he sounds fairly calm, despite the raging whirlwind of apprehension and anticipation and wonder and need in his chest. “No, it wasn’t ‘hyung’. It was a different word.”
Jungkook finally makes eye contact, his gorgeous eyes glassy and desperate. Yoongi notices the hard plane of the boy’s chest heaving beneath his oversized shirt, the neck hanging over one beautifully flushed collarbone. The elder has to swallow thickly at the sight.
“You can tell me, Kook,” he prompts, holding out his hand and letting it rest on the sofa cushions between them, an offering, an invitation. Jungkook stares down at it, his brows pulling together in confusion.
“You – you won’t make fun?”
“I’d never do that,” Yoongi replies quietly.
He watches silently, patiently, as the cogs of indecision whir inside Jungkook’s mind, beneath his fluffy mop of glossy chestnut hair. The maknae is gnawing on his lower lip, probably without realising, turning the flesh an aching, wine-stained kind of red. Then, slowly, so slowly, he reaches out, his fingertips barely coming to rest on the elder’s upturned palm. He touches so gently, like he’s afraid, like he’d much rather Yoongi take the reins, and Yoongi is all too happy to comply.
“You know what I said,” Jungkook mumbles, focusing on the breezing dance of his fingers over Yoongi’s skin.
“Kookie,” Yoongi breathes, and the younger glances up through his dark lashes. “I’ll help you, if you want me to.”
Jungkook’s cheeks flush again, such a pretty pink, his mouth falling open in a soft huff of breath. Yoongi thinks he might be going mad.
“Y-you’re sure?” the younger asks.
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow and glances down significantly to his lap, where his sweatpants are doing very, very little (if anything at all) to hide the swelling of his arousal. Honestly, he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job at restraining himself, at taking it slow for Jungkook’s sake, when all he wants to do is pin the boy down and mark him, mark him good and pretty, suck purple blossoms onto the boy’s throat, the translucent flesh of his delicate wrists, his inner thighs –
“Yes, God yes, I’m sure,” Yoongi exhales, his head falling back against the sofa. Get a grip, Min.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says desperately, and Yoongi hears the tears in the boy’s eyes before he sees them. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to be so beautiful, so good and gorgeous that it overflows. Yoongi can’t help himself; he moves closer, their thighs pressing together, taking the boy’s face tenderly between his large, trembling hands. “Hyung, I don’t want to complicate things, I don’t want to make things weird between us, I don’t – d-don’t want the others to – to know –”
Yoongi shushes him softly, thumbs brushing away the tears slipping from those star-filled eyes. “Listen,” he whispers, and he tries to restrain the thrill he feels when Jungkook relaxes into his hold. “You can trust me to take care of you, Kookie, and I want to, I’ll make you feel so good, but I need you to say you want it. I need you to say that it’s okay.”
The younger can only stare, his glassy gaze flickering between Yoongi’s eyes, his lower lip still trembling with emotion. Yoongi presses the calloused pad of his thumb to the swell of the boy’s cupid’s bow, feeling the heat of Jungkook’s breath on his skin. He can see the answer in Jungkook’s eyes, can taste it on his every exhale, but he needs to hear it. Needs to, to make sure the younger is okay, but for selfish reasons, too.
“You want Daddy to take care of you?” Yoongi asks lowly.
He feels Jungkook shudder in his hands, something strangely glazed falling over the boy’s face, something obedient and small and so, so fucking beautiful.
“Say the word, baby. Call me it.”
Jungkook blinks, pulling himself back into the moment with some difficulty, and takes a deep, trembling breath.
Yoongi isn’t quite sure how his chest contains the sheer explosion of pride and affection and desperation prompted by that one, tiny word.
“Good boy,” he breathes, and Jungkook melts, the most perfect whimper tumbling from his lips, and when Yoongi swallows the sound, finally, finally kissing the boy in his hold, Jungkook melts on his tongue, too, with all the sweetness of cotton candy.
He kisses with a kind of soft, responsive compliance, gently following Yoongi’s lead and sighing, whining, whimpering against the elder’s lips. Yoongi slots their lips together carefully but firmly, angling the sharp line of the boy’s jaw to better control the movement of the kiss, the pace, not wanting to overwhelm Jungkook too soon.
It quickly becomes clear that this isn’t a likelihood, as the boy’s hands creep up to clutch desperately at Yoongi’s neck, his body leaning in towards Yoongi’s and his impish tongue lapping shyly at the seam of the elder’s lips. He’s so eager, so quick to please, sneaking into Yoongi’s open spaces and filling them, wrapping around him, and the elder is helpless to resist. Yoongi indulges him, deepening the kiss, warm and wet and slow. Jungkook tastes like powdered sugar on his tongue and his gentle, breathy moans are sweet too, penetrating the silence of the dorm like shards of caramel.
Yoongi breaks the kiss, tracing a path along the boy’s jaw with his lips, one hand tangling in Jungkook’s hair to expose more of the younger’s deliciously tempting throat.
“You have to tell me what you want, baby,” Yoongi murmurs against Jungkook’s skin, nuzzling into the hollow behind his ear and scraping his teeth against the maknae’s earrings. “Tell me what you like, how you want me to treat you, what you want me to do to you.”
Jungkook seems to need to catch his breath, panting helplessly for a moment or two before he gathers his wits enough to reply. “I – I, um, I want to be bossed around,” he stammers, his hands clinging to the collar of Yoongi’s shirt. “I like it r-rough, and mean. I like not being able to breathe properly, or – or move how I want. I just – hyung –”
The ministrations of Yoongi’s lips, now nipping teasingly at the boy’s collarbone, seem to be proving too much. Yoongi takes pity on him, leaning back and angling Jungkook’s head to look at him. “Not hyung, Kook, okay? Not whilst we do this,” Yoongi tells the boy lowly, seriously, hoping Jungkook understands that the elder is giving him an escape route if he ever needs it. Jungkook flushes prettily, nodding in response. “Keep going.”
The boy’s eyes are already glazing over in Yoongi’s firm hold, his body going boneless. “I want – I want Daddy to make me cry,” he whispers, his chest heaving. “l want Daddy to keep – keep going, see how much I can take. I want to be a good – g-good boy for Daddy.”
Yoongi swallows thickly through his unimaginably dry mouth. This is happening. Jungkook is in front of him, spit-slick lips and glassy eyes, calling him daddy, begging for Yoongi to – to ruin him. He wants this, god he wants this, but he needs to do it right, needs to treat Jungkook properly, needs to make sure the boy is happy and comfortable. And that means getting the maknae, who seems to be slipping further and further into subspace with every second that passes, out of the very public lounge and into his bedroom.
His hands slip down to the boy’s shoulders, supporting him against the drag of his own body weight, longing to fall into Yoongi’s hold entirely. “We’ll go to my room, okay?” he says quietly, ducking his head to maintain eye contact. Jungkook nods dizzily, his lips parted and already swelling. “We gotta walk upstairs now. Come on.”
Yoongi stands up, holding out his hand for the maknae to take. It takes him a moment to react before he obediently links his fingers with the elder’s, his eyes glazed, tripping over his feet as he stands up. Yoongi leads them out of the room carefully, keeping his grip on Jungkook firm and comforting. The dorm is completely silent, nothing to cover the creak of their footsteps, and so they move slowly to Yoongi’s bedroom door, hands clasped together in the dark.
As the elder closes the door behind them, they are momentarily plunged into darkness, and Yoongi stumbles over towards his half of the room to flick on his dim bedside lamp. Jungkook hasn’t moved from his spot near the doorway, wringing his hands together and glancing nervously around the room.
“Baby,” Yoongi says lowly. Jungkook looks over, doe eyes wide like he’s been trapped in headlights. “Come sit down.”
He settles on the bed and waits for Jungkook to join him, gently smoothing his hand down the maknae’s spine, counting the vertebrae, feeling his deep, calming breaths.
“I – I –” Jungkook stammers, eyes downcast. “Um, I –”
“Hey,” Yoongi says soothingly, wrapping his arm around the boy. “It isn’t too late to go back to your room. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and no one will ever know this happened.”
“No!” Jungkook replies, his gaze snapping up to meet Yoongi’s. One hand has curled desperately around Yoongi’s wrist on the elder’s lap and his entire body leans into his hyung’s. “No, please, I just – c-can you kiss me again?”
Yoongi’s heart soars, there’s no other word for it, with pride and affection and a million other things he has no name for. He smiles, his hand twisting to catch Jungkook’s. “Magic word, baby?”
“P-please, Daddy,” Jungkook says immediately. His cheeks stain a pretty shade of pink, his eyes wide and imploring as they gaze into Yoongi’s. “Please.”
Honestly, Yoongi was expecting Jungkook to change his mind. Surely this boy, this gorgeous, talented, sweet and perfectly innocent boy wouldn’t want someone like Yoongi to put their hands on him. And yet, here he is, lips parted and body craning towards Yoongi, begging the elder to kiss him. Who on earth would say no?
Yoongi’s free hand curls around Jungkook’s nape, his fingertips burying in the maknae’s soft hair as he pulls the boy towards him. Jungkook’s pretty, dark eyes are already fluttering shut in anticipation and Yoongi has to take a moment just to marvel at the situation, at the chemistry churning between them, at Jungkook, before he closes the distance between them.
He tries to be gentle, to slow things down, if only to help Jungkook to relax and feel more comfortable, but the maknae seems to have other ideas. The second their lips meet, Jungkook is scrambling, his fingers curling into the collar of Yoongi’s hoodie and one leg hooking over the elder’s lap. His tongue flicks at Yoongi’s lips, hot and wet, and Yoongi tries to resist, he really does, and then – then Jungkook’s teeth sink into the flesh of his lower lip, and any caution or concern is promptly thrown out of the window.
The kiss is broken with a smack of lips, and Yoongi’s hand flies to his mouth, his fingertips tracing the puncture wound left by the maknae’s over-eager fangs, already pooling with blood and saliva. Jungkook has the decency to arrange his features into something resembling guilt, and the flushing of his apple-round cheeks suggest perhaps he hadn’t meant to bite that hard. No matter.
Yoongi’s voice is quiet and low, the slightest trace of a growl colouring his words. Jungkook visibly gulps before he shakily untangles his limbs from the elder, clambering to the head of the bed and settling on his back. He watches Yoongi with huge, anticipatory eyes, his fingers curled in the hem of his shirt.
God, he’s gorgeous.
Yoongi kneels, shuffling a little closer to Jungkook and positioning himself between the maknae’s legs. Jungkook doesn’t seem to know where to look, his dark, sparkling eyes darting from Yoongi’s eyes, to his lips, to the slow, careful movements of his hands as he spreads Jungkook’s thighs apart.
“Take off your shirt.”
Jungkook’s breath hitches prettily. “Daddy –”
He moves slowly, hesitantly, but Yoongi decides to let it slide. He’s new to this, after all – they both are, and Jungkook will learn. It must be an eternity later when Jungkook shyly tugs his shirt over his stomach, his chest, the strong curve of his shoulders. Perhaps Yoongi’s gaze should follow the path of newly exposed skin, beautiful, sun-kissed and firm, but he’s far too preoccupied with the way Jungkook’s hair has mussed up from taking his shirt off. Those huge dark eyes stare up at him innocently from beneath the mess of fluffy chestnut hair as he holds out his balled-up shirt to the elder, seemingly awaiting further instructions.
It’s a little strange, considering the situation, but Yoongi fucking melts.
Yoongi takes Jungkook’s shirt and throws it blindly behind him, immediately moving to cover the maknae’s body with his own. One of his hands curls around the side of Jungkook’s throat, thumb under his chin and fingers firm around his nape, holding him in place as their lips meet once more. Jungkook lets out a whimper against Yoongi’s mouth and the elder takes advantage, deepening the kiss and swallowing the younger’s sounds.
Surely it isn’t possible for someone to taste so sweet, to kiss so pliantly and eagerly. His tongue is the softest velvet against Yoongi’s and the elder chases the feeling, angling Jungkook’s head to kiss him impossibly deeper. He can feel the boy shaking beneath him, his strong hands curling and uncurling in Yoongi’s hoodie, keeping them close together, so close.
Yoongi begins to slowly trail the hand on Jungkook’s neck down, over the hard plane of his chest to his stomach, his fingernails lightly scraping a trail into the boy’s skin. Jungkook is burning up, his flesh hot and responsive beneath Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi breaks the kiss, a louder-than-intended whine escaping Jungkook as he follows the elder’s lips desperately.
Yoongi shushes him patiently, bumping their noses together. His hand hesitates by the waistband of Jungkook’s sweatpants, feeling every falter of the younger’s breath over his lips. “Gonna touch you now, okay?” he murmurs, only narrowly avoiding crashing their heads together when Jungkook nods eagerly in response. “You remember what to call me if you want me to stop?”
“H-hyung,” Jungkook replies, eyes wide.
“And you remember what to call me if you want me to keep going?”
Yoongi smiles, his heart doing something stupid and uncharacteristic in his chest. He isn’t entirely sure how, but Jungkook’s innocence, his unrelenting sweetness, is just making the elder want to ruin him. He wants to make Jungkook fall apart beneath his fingers, his tongue, wants to hear the symphony of sounds capable of slipping from the boy’s lips.
As his hand slides over the front of Jungkook’s sweatpants, rubbing perhaps a little too lightly over the already hard, firm flesh of the younger’s cock, Jungkook arches up into Yoongi’s body, his eyes fluttering shut and his head falling back into the pillows.
“That’s it,” Yoongi breathes, pressing his mouth to Jungkook’s throat. “That’s a good boy.”
Jungkook lets out a sigh, relaxing into the sensation, his hands burying in Yoongi’s hair to keep the elder at his neck. Yoongi presses his palm to the outline of Jungkook’s length, his fingers dipping to the maknae’s perineum, feeling the way the boy rocks into his touch. He can’t think straight – he can taste Jungkook’s skin on his lips, can smell whatever floral perfume the younger put on this morning. He desperately, desperately wants to touch Jungkook, to taste him all over, but he can’t bring himself to pull away.
“Does it feel good, baby?” he whispers, leaning back to rest his forehead against Jungkook’s. The boy nods, his eyes squeezed shut, still rocking his hips into Yoongi’s hand. “Tell me.”
“Y-yes, Daddy, more,” Jungkook mumbles.
“More?” Yoongi asks, teasing. He quirks an eyebrow as Jungkook looks up at him, questioning through the haze of desire. “Has anyone ever touched you like this before?”
“Hm? No one?” Yoongi leans down, brushing his lips lightly over Jungkook’s jawline. “Only Daddy?”
Jungkook lets out a whine trailing off into a whimper, bucking into Yoongi’s touch as the elder’s thumb drifts over the head of his cock through his sweatpants. Yoongi watches as a pretty blush spreads over Jungkook’s cheeks, the colour staining his throat and collarbone. “Y-yes, Daddy, don’t tease,” the boy moans pitifully, trying to hide his face behind his hands.
Something roars to life in Yoongi’s chest at the realisation that he’s the first, out of the thousands of people who’ve wanted to touch Jungkook this way. Possessiveness churns through his body, making him hold onto Jungkook a little tighter. “Have you ever fingered yourself?” he asks, his voice low and rough. Jungkook nods shyly, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze, his hips still writhing beneath the elder’s firm hand. “Yeah? You like that, Kook?”
“God, just touch me, please,” Jungkook begs, so desperately his voice cracks. “Please, I’ve – I’ve waited, I need – I need –”
Yoongi shushes the boy gently, pressing a kiss to his lips before he ducks down and moves lower, his mouth trailing over Jungkook’s body. He can feel the thrum of the maknae’s frenzied pulse beneath his lips as he presses light, open-mouthed kisses to Jungkook’s sternum, can feel every jerk of his muscles as he trails a path down the boy’s stomach with his tongue. His fingers curl beneath Jungkook’s sweatpants and he begins to slowly, slowly inch them down, kissing the newly exposed skin as he moves, and then –
The kid isn’t wearing any fucking underwear.
Yoongi isn’t sure what he did to deserve this.
He has to swallow thickly around his suddenly too-big tongue as Jungkook’s cock springs into view, achingly pink and already damp with precum and hard, so fucking hard. Yoongi glances up to see Jungkook’s face hidden, his arms thrown over his eyes, though the visible skin over his throat is a burning red.
More to distract himself than anything else, Yoongi takes his time removing Jungkook’s sweatpants, dropping them off the edge of the bed before turning back to settle between the younger’s thighs. Jungkook subconsciously spreads his legs a little wider, letting out a soft whine of need and embarrassment.
Yoongi’s arms curl around the boy’s thighs and he nuzzles into the soft flesh at the crook of Jungkook’s knee, pressing a gentle kiss there. There’s just so much skin spread out before him, soft and golden and toned, and he can’t help but want to leave blossoms and spreading wine stains of colour, deep purple and red and pink, all over Jungkook. That possessive urge awakens in his chest once more, and he does his best to repress it as his lips and fingers work Jungkook’s thighs.
“Please,” the maknae whimpers again, his hips bucking into the air weakly. “Please touch me.”
“Mmm,” Yoongi moans into the boy’s skin, shifting to the other leg and beginning a slow, torturous path up to Jungkook’s inner thigh. “Wanna eat you out, baby.”
A shiver visibly runs through Jungkook’s body before he hurriedly, clumsily leans up on his elbows, fixing Yoongi with a wide-eyed stare, his cheeks staining an impossibly deeper pink.
“Y-you – what? But – but that’s –”
Yoongi holds Jungkook’s gaze, slowly sucking and nipping a mark onto Jungkook’s thigh. The younger watches the ministrations of his lips, seemingly transfixed.
“Don’t you want me to?” Yoongi asks eventually, leaning back to admire his handiwork. A pretty bruise has begun to blossom, small and faint, but there’s plenty of time to mark the boy up.
Jungkook’s chewing on his lower lip, his brows pulled together. “I – I don’t know,” he admits shyly. “Does it feel good?”
Yoongi smiles, easing up on his grip on the younger’s thighs and gently stroking his thumbs over Jungkook’s hipbones. “Daddy will make you feel good, baby, I promise,” he purrs. “I’ll stop right away if you ask me to, you know that.”
The boy is squirming beneath him, his cock lying untouched and leaking all over his stomach. He seems to deliberate for a moment before nodding, a tight, short little movement, then he drops back down to the bed and takes a deep breath.
“Okay, Daddy,” he says quietly. Yoongi’s heart leaps and his stomach twists and something curls in his abdomen, deep and hot and wanting.
Slowly, so as not to overwhelm Jungkook, he slides his hands to the underside of Jungkook’s thighs and gently eases them further apart and up, pushing his knees to the boy’s chest. Yoongi’s mouth is already dry as he watches Jungkook’s clean-shaven skin come into view, baby pink and soft, his pretty little hole clenched tight with nerves.
“Stay there,” he says quietly. He kisses Jungkook’s thigh comfortingly and leans off the bed, fumbling for his bedside drawer and retrieving a few small bottles of lube. Jungkook squirms at the sight again but does as he’s told, holding his legs beneath his knees as he waits for Yoongi to select the bottle with the pinkish label – cherry flavour.
Yoongi slicks up two fingers and warms the lube against his skin before touching Jungkook; the boy’s chest is already heaving, his throat already a burning pink. It wouldn’t do to over stimulate the maknae before they’ve even begun.
With the pad of his finger Yoongi gently presses against Jungkook’s entrance, slowly circling and trying to relax the muscle. At the first touch, Jungkook arches off the bed, a helpless, breathy whimper tumbling from his lips. Yoongi crawls over the boy’s body, his clean hand burying in Jungkook’s hair.
“Do your best to relax, baby,” he coos, his lips brushing against Jungkook’s, the younger’s laboured breathing huffing over his face. “I know you need it, but you’ve got to be patient for Daddy.”
Jungkook doesn’t reply, opting instead to lean up and crash his lips against the elder’s. Yoongi chuckles into the kiss, letting the younger take what he needs, all swollen lips and needy, desperate moans. Jungkook relaxes just enough for Yoongi to press the tip of his finger inside, only up to the first knuckle, another whimper seeping into the kiss.
Yoongi’s achingly hard inside the confines of his sweatpants, longing to rut forward into Jungkook, wondering what it might feel like to have the younger’s pretty, leaking cock sliding against his own. He groans at the thought, a second finger stroking around Jungkook’s hole where it swallows the first. Jungkook’s hips twist this way and that, desperately trying to tempt Yoongi’s fingers a little deeper, but the elder doesn’t relent. He can’t let Jungkook get too carried away with his fingers, not before he’s buried his tongue inside the younger’s tight little hole, already loosening up around him.
As Yoongi eases his second finger inside, Jungkook breaks the kiss, throwing his head back and moaning, far too loudly in the silence of the night.
“Not too loud, Kook,” Yoongi whispers, nipping playfully at the skin of the younger’s throat. Jungkook seems beyond a response, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his sinful sounds as the elder moves back to settle between the boy’s thighs.
Still only one knuckle deep, Yoongi gently scissors his fingers, quietly noting how much Jungkook seems to like the sensation of being stretched out. Every time he spreads his fingers, a visible shudder ripples over Jungkook’s thighs, his hips bucking weakly. Yoongi honestly just wants to eat the kid alive, though he does his best to curb that particular urge; instead, he leans forward and presses a dirty, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of Jungkook’s inner thigh, his tongue laving over the impossibly soft skin and his teeth pressing down teasingly.
“G-god Daddy please, please, just – duh-deeper I need it please –” Jungkook’s voice is just barely gritted out against the palm of his hand, positively dripping with desperation.
Yoongi groans against Jungkook’s flesh, pulling back and admiring the light bruise blossoming so close to where the boy wants his hyung’s mouth. He only now realises he’s panting, his mind foggy with desire and his fingers trembling as they curl once more around Jungkook’s thighs.
“Fuck, I love when you beg,” Yoongi says, his voice rough even to his own ears. He decides that he’s made the poor boy wait long enough; he ducks his head, gently easing Jungkook’s legs apart that little bit wider to spread his cheeks, and lets his hot breath fan over the lube already smeared around Jungkook’s stretched hole.
“Daddy,” Jungkook whimpers weakly.
Yoongi has to inhale sharply as Jungkook’s rim flutters around nothing, and his mouth isn’t dry anymore – now his mouth waters, the heady smell of cherry and Jungkook’s skin overwhelming his senses. “So pretty, baby,” Yoongi murmurs, before leaning down, taking pity on his sweet little maknae and soothing his tongue over the boy’s achingly needy hole.
Jungkook gasps, leaning up on his elbows to stare down at Yoongi with huge, enchanted eyes. His mouth hangs open, framed by those swollen, glistening lips, panting with tiny, audible little whines. “Oh – oh god,” he breathes.
The elder lets out a low sound of approval, staring up into the younger’s doe eyes. He gently latches his lips around Jungkook’s hole, sucking the cherry taste into his mouth and ever so slightly scraping his teeth over the ridges of the boy’s rim. The noises Jungkook makes are unlike anything Yoongi’s ever heard before, unlike anything that’s ever come out of the boy’s mouth; high-pitched, irrepressible keens, choked-off gasps leading into helpless moans, a symphony of pretty sounds, and Yoongi can’t get enough.
He pushes the tip of his tongue against Jungkook’s entrance until he feels the boy relax against him, allowing the hot, wet muscle to dip into that velvety heat. Jungkook immediately arches off the bed, and Yoongi knows how overwhelming it is to feel something so different to a finger pressing inside, knows what the boy must be feeling right now. He seems beyond sounds, his head thrown back so that all Yoongi can see is the sharp, flexed line of the boy’s jaw.
As his tongue slips further inside, deeper, he curls it against Jungkook’s walls and tastes him, the taste that’s so Jungkook, on the most primal level. Jungkook writhes beneath him, one hand reaching down to hesitantly push Yoongi’s bangs away from his face. His gaze is hooded, the pleasure so intense that he can barely keep his eyes open for longer than a few moments.
Yoongi moans in approval, the sensation momentarily doing something interesting to Jungkook as a tremor rips through his core, and reaches up to bury Jungkook’s hand further in his hair. The maknae seems to understand, curling his fingers deeper into the silken strands, holding Yoongi in place and pushing down, down onto Yoongi’s tongue, chasing the pleasure. Yoongi pushes deeper still, starting a gentle, slow back and forth, fucking Jungkook with his tongue and helping the boy tilt his hips to reach all the right places.
“Fuck, oh my - god I can’t, I can’t it’s too much it’s –” Jungkook gasps, his voice low and broken. He can’t seem to decide whether he wants Yoongi to stop or keep going, his hands flying between Yoongi’s hair and his own.
“Hey, hey,” Yoongi coos, pulling back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s okay, it’s alright.”
He crawls back up to press a comforting kiss to Jungkook’s cheek, seeing the boy’s eyes filling with tears. Jungkook is still trembling, his hands clinging to Yoongi’s biceps, his abdomen wet with precum. “Please, please Daddy give me your fingers, please,” he begs, shaking and shameless.
“Are you sure, baby? It won’t be too much?” Yoongi asks, leaning back to peer carefully into the boy’s eyes. They sparkle with unshed tears but his pupils are still blown with need, still dark and desperate.
“I need to come,” he pouts, his lower lip jutting out. “K-Kookie needs to come. Please?”
Yoongi feels like all of the wind has been knocked from his lungs. Jungkook is a sight to behold; sparkling, glittering, glassy eyes, wide and imploring; his plush lower lip still swollen, trembling with need; his bare, flushed body spread out before the elder, completely pliant, willing to take anything, anything Yoongi has to give him.
Wordlessly, Yoongi reaches down between Jungkook’s legs, two fingers slipping easily into the younger’s lube- and spit-soaked hole, his free hand holding himself above the maknae. Only once Jungkook feels Yoongi’s long fingers probing as deep as they can reach does the crease between his brows vanish, an expression of utter bliss washing over his face.
“Yes,” he breathes, sinking back into the pillows. “Like that, Daddy, yes.”
Yoongi is stricken with a sense of needing to memorise every detail of the moment, needing to commit Jungkook’s perfect, euphoric expression to memory, the feeling of the younger around his fingers, the sounds spilling from his swollen lips. He hasn’t let himself think of Jungkook like this before, not once. It isn’t that he’s never wanted to; it’s simply far easier to ignore any attraction he might feel to the other members, for the sake of their group’s longevity. But now that he has Jungkook in his grasp, falling apart just for him, it’s far more difficult to ever imagine letting this go. To write this experience off as a one-time thing. As a mistake.
“Kookie,” Yoongi rasps, trying to focus on what he wants to say rather than the delicious feeling of Jungkook’s hole clenching around his fingers. “Baby, Daddy needs to ask you something.”
“M-mm,” Jungkook hums, fixing his gaze on Yoongi with great difficulty, his lips pushed between his teeth.
“Do you,” he begins. Nerves crawl their way up his spine and curl around his throat as he tries to speak. The room is too hot, the air is too thick, Jungkook is too perfect. “Do you want this to just happen once? Like – we’ll forget about it? Or do you want me to take care of you whenever you want?”
Jungkook blinks blearily, heaving a deep breath. One hand curls around Yoongi’s wrist, keeping his fingers deep inside the younger. He leans up, his other hand wrapping around his hyung’s shoulders. His hair is wild, bed-mussed and fluffy, the apples of his cheeks a pretty cherry red. “I’ll never want to forget this,” he pants, rocking down onto Yoongi’s fingers. “Let me be yours, D-Daddy, I want to be yours.”
“Yeah? You want that?” Yoongi asks lowly, stilling his movements for the moment. Their eye contact becomes something intense, something impossible to break, the rest of the room vanishing around them. “Wanna belong to me, Kook?”
Jungkook whimpers at the lack of stimulation, his hand around Yoongi’s wrist desperately trying to prompt the elder to move once more, to fuck him that little bit deeper. “Yes, god, so badly,” he whines, staring down unhappily at where Yoongi’s fingers disappear inside him. “Need you, Daddy.”
Yoongi relents, pressing his fingers deeper and watching the boy collapse back against the bed sheets. Jungkook moans, his hips working against Yoongi’s hand, chasing the pleasure. “In that case, Daddy has a few rules, baby boy,” Yoongi says as he scissors his fingers apart, the obscene squelching bringing a blush to Jungkook’s cheeks.
“Is that alright?” he asks. He keeps the movements of his fingers slow and slight, needing Jungkook to properly listen. The boy nods weakly, looking up at Yoongi with hooded eyes. “I don’t want you touching yourself. If you want to come, you need to come to Daddy and let him take care of you. Understand?”
Jungkook whines, long and high-pitched, kicking his legs either side of Yoongi in a kind of tantrum. He doesn’t argue, though, his hands weakly reaching up to the elder’s collarbone and smoothing over the skin. “Y-yes, Daddy.”
Yoongi curls his fingers, seeking that spot inside Jungkook that will have the younger arching, cursing, seeing the stars that Yoongi has always seen in his maknae’s eyes. After a moment, with a little help from Jungkook, he finds it, pressing the pad of one fingertip into the soft, sopping velvet of Jungkook’s prostate. The younger’s head snaps back, his eyes flying wide open, his nails pressing little half-moons into Yoongi’s skin.
“My second rule,” Yoongi goes on, raising his voice just a little bit to ensure Jungkook hears him past the supernovas of pleasure bursting inside his body. “Always do as Daddy asks you, yeah? Always try your best to be a good boy for me, baby.”
“A-ah yes Daddy, want to be good for you,” Jungkook rambles, his head tossing back and forth as Yoongi repeatedly abuses his prostate. The boy’s cock twitches on his stomach, leaking, flushed, hard.
“And you should always, always let Daddy know if you’re uncomfortable,” Yoongi continues, his tone conversational though the wet sound of his fingers fucking into Jungkook punctuates his words. “You call Daddy ‘hyung’ if you want him to stop, right? Or you pinch my arm, babe, and I’ll stop right away.”
“Yes Daddy I know but please don’t stop –”
“Lastly, Kookie –” Yoongi leans down, his lips brushing the shell of Jungkook’s ear, sweat-dampened and burning skin pressing against him on all sides. “Don’t you dare come without asking Daddy first. You say your ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, yeah? And maybe Daddy will let you come.”
Jungkook’s arms fling around his shoulders, holding him close in a grip that’s so tight it’s almost painful. “Wanna come wanna come Daddy please,” the maknae slurs, his words running together.
Yoongi ignores him, now forcefully fucking his fingers in and out of Jungkook’s hole, catching his prostate every time with a firm, dizzying press that prompts the most beautiful sounds from the younger’s lips. He leans back, his clean hand gripping Jungkook’s jaw and forcing the younger to meet his gaze with watery, starry eyes.
“If you break any of my rules, baby boy, I’ll punish you,” Yoongi breathes, watching a tear slide down Jungkook’s face as he squeezes his eyes closed. “Is that clear?”
“Yes!” Jungkook wails, and it’s too loud again but Yoongi doesn’t care, barely notices, focused only on taking Jungkook apart piece by glorious piece. “Yes I understand Daddy please can I please come?”
“God, gonna come untouched for me?” Yoongi growls, sinking his teeth into Jungkook’s lower lip. “So fucking hot baby, come on, come for me, there you go –”
He pushes his fingers deep, as deep as he can, right against the spot that will drive Jungkook wild, pressing unrelenting circles over the boy’s prostate, keeping up a litany of low curses and praises right against Jungkook’s lips, until – until –
God, he’s a sight to behold, coming so perfectly all over his lean, flushed abdomen. His back arches high off the bed, the top of his head barely brushing the pillows as he shakes, head-to-toe, through his orgasm. Ribbons of white coat the flexing muscles of his stomach, his lips spilling moans that sound torn straight from his gut, long, breathless, almost pained.
Yoongi eases him through it, his fingers gentling and his praises soothing, until eventually Jungkook collapses, utterly spent, his face soaked with tears.
“Baby,” Yoongi coos, unable to say anything else, too overwhelmed by the piece of art beneath him. He keeps his fingers inside Jungkook for the moment, his clean hand moving to wipe away the drool beneath the boy’s lips. “Pretty baby, did so well.”
It takes a few moments, but Jungkook’s eyes open, tears clinging to his eyelashes. His irises are so warm, a beautiful chocolate brown, staring so trustingly at his hyung, his Daddy. Yoongi is about to suggest that he goes to fetch Jungkook a towel, maybe a warm drink, maybe just a shower of kisses, when –
“Daddy,” Jungkook whimpers, and there goes his lower lip again, trembling and glistening in the dim lighting. “Daddy, will you fuck me?”
Yoongi pauses. His cock throbs at the boy’s words, still achingly hard and untouched, but – he couldn’t, not when his boy is so fucked out, so sleepy and clingy and so, so gorgeous.
“B-baby,” he begins gently, his hand pressing lightly to Jungkook’s flushed face. “You just came pretty hard, right? Don’t want to hurt you, love, not ever.”
“More,” Jungkook bleats, and as though to prove his point, he rocks his hips onto Yoongi’s fingers, his eyes drifting shut blissfully and a soft moan escaping him.
Yoongi looks down, surprised, to see the younger’s cock still hard against his stomach, covered in come and neglected but still so, so achingly hard.
“You–” Yoongi says, tripping over his words. He can’t think straight, knows he needs to come, but – but Jungkookie, his Jungkookie – “You’re sure? You’ll tell me if it hurts? We don’t have to, don’t do this for me.”
Jungkook lets out an impatient huff of breath, tugging Yoongi down and kissing him lazily, deeply, his tongue lapping up the taste of artificial cherry from the elder’s tongue. “Need it,” he whispers between kisses, hips still working back and forth. “Need it.”
The elder swears, defeated, and gently eases his fingers out of Jungkook’s entrance, softly shushing the younger’s whine at the unwelcome emptiness. He scrambles out of his clothes clumsily, throwing his hoodie away and pushing his boxers down with his sweatpants before he kicks them off the bed. Jungkook whines once more at the sight of the elder’s cock, hard and curving towards his stomach, damp with precum. As Yoongi picks up one of the forgotten bottles of lube he feels a shy, warm hand curl around his cock, and he shudders, gasping, his fingers slipping on the container.
“P-patience, baby, c’mon,” he purrs, smiling when Jungkook pouts again, an endearingly familiar sight in a completely alien situation.
Yoongi slicks himself up best he can, his fingers trembling desperately, all too aware of the gentle movements of the younger’s hips, the tears welling in those pretty eyes.
When he settles back between Jungkook’s legs, the boy wastes no time in winding his arms tightly around the elder’s shoulders, keeping him close. Yoongi can feel Jungkook’s cock against his stomach, can feel every stuttering roll of the younger’s hips as he gently grinds against his hyung’s abdomen.
“Please,” Jungkook says, again, and Yoongi loses all self-restraint.
He reaches down and lines up, the head of his oversensitive cock pressing against Jungkook’s soaking entrance, and then he’s sliding inside, little-to-no resistance meeting him because his boy is just - that needy, that desperate for him, and the noise Jungkook makes at finally being filled is the most heavenly thing Yoongi has ever heard.
The boy’s heat surrounds him, greedily swallows him whole, and he can’t help but plunge deeper until he bottoms out. Yoongi has to press his face into the crook of Jungkook’s neck to calm himself with a few steadying breaths. How can the boy still be this tight after being finger-fucked not minutes ago? How is he so pliant, so needy and eager for everything Yoongi has to give him?
“Daddy,” Jungkook whimpers, already trying to fuck himself on Yoongi’s cock, and the elder has to reach down with an iron grip to halt Jungkook’s hips.
“Won’t last, baby,” Yoongi grits between his teeth. The build-up has been too much, too intense. Though he’d love to pin Jungkook down and grind his cock into the boy for hours, hours on end, he knows, can feel that it won’t happen. He’s desperate to come, desperate to just have his way with Jungkook, to see those pretty tears in the boy’s eyes once more and to fuck Jungkook so good the kid will be feeling it for days to come. “C-can’t –”
“Fuck me, it’s okay,” Jungkook breathes, smoothing his hands over Yoongi’s shoulder blades. “I won’t last either. Please, need you to come inside me, please.”
Yoongi isn’t entirely sure but he thinks he lets out a growl, his hands tightening on Jungkook’s perfectly tiny waist as he holds the boy steady beneath him. The first thrust of his hips is overwhelming, so impossibly tight and warm around his cock, so unimaginably good after hearing Jungkook’s moans of climax without even being touched. Jungkook’s hole greedily sucks him in, taking it so well, and the boy is already falling to pieces in his grasp.
“God yes, love your cock, so good,” he whines mindlessly, one hand knotting in Yoongi’s hair at his nape. “Fuck me please, please Daddy, give it to me, need it, need it –”
“S-so needy, baby,” Yoongi moans, though he acquiesces, dragging his hips back with huge effort and slamming back into Jungkook, the resounding slap of skin-on-skin nearly, nearly making him flush.
After that, he just loses it. He can’t help it. He can’t help but fuck hard into Jungkook, again and again, not too quickly but jesus so hard. Perspiration runs down his spine in rivulets, slipping over Jungkook’s fingertips. The air around them is charged, frenzied, every deep breath of hot air completely unsatisfying. Jungkook slips on the sheets with every thrust, holding onto Yoongi for dear life as the elder slams into him.
Jungkook seems too tired to colour the air with his gorgeous moans, opting instead to whisper, whimper, whine against Yoongi’s ear, strings of filthy encouragement that only make Yoongi go harder, “yes Daddy like that fuck like that”, “fuck me so good I fucking love your cock”, “don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop–”
Yoongi is shaking all over. Everything is too much, everything is just enough. Jungkook’s sopping cock grinds firmly against his stomach, the boy’s dull nails scratch a masterpiece into his shoulder blades, the boy’s desperate hole flutters around his cock like he’s close, like he wants Yoongi to be close, and he is, oh, he is.
“’M close, baby,” Yoongi grunts, sinking his teeth into Jungkook’s throat. The taste of Jungkook’s sweat coats his lips wetly, and he’s seen the boy sweat before, on stage, in dance practice, trapped in the back of a van in the peak of summer in Las fucking Vegas, but never, never like this.
Jungkook whimpers, baring his neck invitingly, squeezing ever tighter. “Wanna come, Daddy,” he mewls, boneless in Yoongi’s hands.
“Beg,” Yoongi says, so fucking close but forcing himself to wait, to hold on, to watch Jungkook fall apart. “Beg for me.”
The boy wails, somehow so pretty even when he’s so desperate, his chestnut hair plastered to his forehead and he’s drooling again, so messy, so pretty. “Oh god,” Jungkook sobs, actually sobs, and Yoongi has to pull back, pushing the boy’s hair away from his face and wiping away his tears. “Please, please, it’s so much Daddy, please let me come.”
Yoongi’s tumbling ever closer to the edge himself and he can’t hold on, can’t, but somehow does. “Go on love, I’ve got you,” he purrs, his hands on the boy’s face, his lips kissing away every stray tear smeared over Jungkook’s skin. “Come on. Come with Daddy.”
The first time Jungkook came, it’d been an outward explosion, arched back and tousled hair and beautiful, beautiful sounds. This time, he curls in on himself, on his hyung, wrapped tight around the elder’s broad shoulders and narrow hips, and he shakes. He whimpers and sobs and he shakes head to toe, grinding his cock weakly against Yoongi’s stomach until he’s coming, and Yoongi feels it between them, feels it around his cock, pulsing and hot, and then Yoongi comes too, holding onto Jungkook desperately as they ride it out together.
When Yoongi comes down, it’s to the sound of Jungkook sniffling into his shoulder, still wound so tightly around the elder that it’s a wonder he hasn’t gone completely numb.
“Baby,” Yoongi says softly, gently extricating himself from the maknae’s limbs. Jungkook lets himself be manoeuvred, melting back into the mattress. Yoongi is a little worried, his fingertips stroking over Jungkook’s long eyelashes, over his cupid’s bow, until the boy cracks open an eye and smiles sleepily.
The elder chuckles fondly, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek. He slips out of the younger and it’s a testimony to how absolutely fucked out Jungkook is that he doesn’t even whimper. Yoongi scrambles to the edge of the bed, nowhere near steady enough to wobble to the bathroom, and instead snatches up an old t-shirt, turning to gently, gently clean up his baby. Jungkook only squirms a little, sleepy sounds slipping from his dark lips and his hands reaching for his hyung.
Yoongi helps Jungkook to sit halfway up, propped on his elbows, and hands the boy a bottle of water, fondly wiping away a dribble or two of overflow that trickles down over his jawline.
“Hyu-ung,” Jungkook whines when clearly Yoongi is taking too long to settle, impatiently tugging the elder down with a surprising strength for a kid who’s just climaxed twice in the space of thirty minutes. “Sleep. Please.”
Yoongi relents, wrapping Jungkook up in his arms, fitting the boy’s narrow back against his chest, winding an arm around the younger. Jungkook holds Yoongi’s hand between both of his own, pressing kisses to the elder’s knuckles and suckling playfully at his fingertips, the movements gradually slowing as the boy drifts off.
Sleep isn’t that far away from Yoongi, either, the velvety black comfort nearly enveloping him entirely when a soft, breathy voice eases him back to reality.
“Mm?” Yoongi hums sleepily, tightening his grip on Jungkook and pressing a kiss to the boy’s nape.
“Thank you for takin’ care o’me,” Jungkook mumbles against Yoongi’s skin, muffled, maybe already asleep, but it doesn’t matter.
Yoongi melts, for maybe the fiftieth time tonight, and nuzzles into Jungkook’s neck.
And he means it.