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Aesthetic Yoonmin Mood Board

 

When Yoongi finally got home from work, it was already half past midnight. And he immediately knew that Jimin was awake; awake and sitting in his room doing god-knows-what.

 

"Probably talking to that Taeyong boy again," Yoongi grumbled underneath his breath, hyper-aware of his words reverberating in the cold dampness of their apartment. Honestly, the thought pissed him off.

 

It pissed him off because once upon a time, back when they were still kids, Yoongi had promised to give Jimin so much - everything he'd ever wanted - and Jimin had only smiled, silencing Yoongi with a finger to his lips.

 

("All I want," he’d said as he kissed every one of Yoongi’s worries away, "is you."

 

"Us.")

 

"Bullshit," he'd spat at Jimin's face just a few days ago, face contorted in rage and going beetroot red. "Isn't this what you wanted?" Isn't this what he'd wanted? Isn't this what they both wasted time talking about, deep into the night, back when they were still young?

 

He walked over to the kitchen, tugging his coat and tie off. They were discarded on the kitchen island as he ducked to pull a bottle out of the cabinet under the sink. That's where he stored his stash of alcohol - the really strong liquors and pungent vodkas. It was the only place they were safe, away and out of Jimin's reach.

 

"Fuck this," he griped, settling on a shiny, black bottle of Pincer Vodka.

 

The amount he poured himself was probably a health risk, but quite frankly... who cared? Obviously not Jimin, he thought as he rolled his eyes.

 

The heavy ticks and low tocks from the mounted clock mocked him as he downed more and more of the clear substance. He didn't care for how the rich, sharp liquid burned down the back of his throat, or how it stung his eyes, and how he knew Jimin was awake; awake and laying in his room, knowing how hell-bent Yoongi was on ending the night in the ER.

 

Which reminds me, he thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, I need to remove him from my emergency contacts.

 

He hated this.

 

He hated being home - hated that his home was this empty. It was veritably one of the reasons Yoongi willingly stayed at work until these late hours instead of going home. Yoongi sighed, feeling oddly sobered.

 

Can you even call this a "home", anymore?

 

It was a question he often asked himself, trying desperately to convince himself that, Of course it is, Min Yoongi, what the fuck are you on about?

 

That line of thought always seemed to end up right back where it started, with an answer he'd known for too long now. (No.)

 

This wasn't a home; it wasn't even a house. Not anymore. Yoongi felt caged and shackled by its very walls. This was his confinement and he absolutely despised it. Despised himself even more for not making an effort to break free when he had all the methods at his disposal.

 

His animosity only heightened, bubbling inside of him. The more he drank, the more he thought. Fuck you, Jimin, he cursed inwardly.

 

He eyed the many dinner plates set on the kitchen island, taking another swig from the bottle, grip tightening around the neck. Yoongi knew Jimin had purposely prepared a meal for two (despite how Yoongi told him not to bother time and time again) and had left it out, neatly plastic-wrapped for Yoongi. And oh, how he hated the sentiment. Because regardless of how late he'd get back home, Yoongi knew Jimin was always awake; awake and wasting away in his bedroom just as Yoongi did, right outside.

 

"I hate you," he mumbled, his heart thudding uselessly against his ribcage, trying to escape its cell for its welfare (though, Yoongi never quite could) instead of sitting there and rotting its life away, eating dust (just like Yoongi was). All this hatred and negativity he forced himself to harbour, ate away at the memories of the loving embrace he once held Jimin in... All this loathing he continued to keep, took a toll on him. Yoongi knew what it was doing to him.

 

It was like an acid that ate away at him from the inside and corroded his relationship with the person who was supposed to bring out the best in him.

 

And it was due to this exact enmity that he flung his bottle of liquor across the room, watching it crash and shatter into pieces against the wall - the pieces he was in.

 

His breath was laboured as his hand uselessly clutched at the fabric over his heart - or where it should have been anyways.

 

"FUCK YOU!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, voice cracking as he lunged forward to wipe the marble countertop of anything and everything, especially the dishware Jimin had placed so carefully. He watched the delicate china fly across the room, the sound of it breaking masking the ones from within him.

 

The sound of his own heart cracking as he continued to use, abuse and bruise it.

 

And the worst part about it all? Jimin was awake; awake and listening to all the havoc Yoongi was creating. But he knew full well that the man would not step a foot out that goddamned room to check on him. You know what?

Fine. To hell with him. If Jimin wasn't coming out then Yoongi was going to have to go to in.

 

Stupid fucking piece of shit, he inwardly cursed, staggering out of the kitchen and into the gloom of their living room. As much as he tried to convince himself that it was Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, he knew it wasn't Jimin - it never was. It's never you... His head was throbbing and he felt like he was falling apart, But what are you doing to me...

 

There was light pouring out through the crack in the door and, Hah, see? He'd been right: Jimin was awake. Yoongi threw the door open, knowing the man never bothered to lock it even though they'd separated their rooms a long, long time ago. The door handle hit the wall behind it with a loud bang.

 

The documents sitting on the desk were the first thing that caught his attention (lies, it was Jimin immediately shoving his phone into the pillowcase.) They looked alarmingly similar to the ones he'd torn to shreds just a few nights ago. When Yoongi had been slumped on the couch and Jimin had the audacity to approach with these papers, a pen and one demand on the tip of his tongue, "Sign these, I'll take care of the rest."

 

Judging how violently Yoongi had shoved Jimin away and stormed to his room, slamming the door shut... they both knew what he could've done when he walked in the room. And Yoongi knew he should've left right then and there, but he couldn't go, couldn't find it in himself to go, couldn't make himself leave now.

 

But then again, Yoongi was infamously self-destructive, so it didn't come to him as a surprise.

 

"How many times do I have to tell you..." He made sure to close the door behind him and Jimin felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle at the sound of the soft click of the lock. Yoongi walked over to the desk.

 

"...that I am not signing these?" With one hand stuffed inside his pocket, he traced the bold letters framing the front page with the other. The words "Divorce Decree" had left a bitter taste in his mouth and he found himself wondering why Jimin hadn't hired a lawyer yet: why hadn't he taken the case to court if he really wanted it this badly?

 

When he turned around, the sight of Jimin standing in front of him didn't even make him bat an eye. His mouth was downturned and his eyebrows knitted, expression full of scorn and disdain. Yoongi couldn't help but smirk, his rationality drowning in alcohol and mind swimming with thoughts of all the wonderful things he could do to the man standing before him. He chuckled darkly, stepping closer into his husband's personal space. Jimin didn't budge, instead surprising Yoongi with a provocative step towards him.

 

The nerves of this man. "Don't..." Yoongi began, voice low and grating (still dripping with the vodka he'd drank earlier). He roughly grabbed the other man's chin with his pale hands, threatening: "Don't make me hurt you."

 

As if he'd ever.

 

He stared right through Jimin's glassy orbs, his own piercing stare making Jimin's breath hitch in the back of his throat, lungs frozen. He allowed himself the sick satisfaction of the fear flashing in Jimin's eyes. But Jimin knew their little quirks and secrets all too well (knew Yoongi... all too well): knew how he'd say anything just to get the reaction he wanted. So he swallowed down the lump forming in his throat and managed to stammer, "Y—I'm not scared of you."

 

"How condescending," Yoongi tutted, turning Jimin's head to the side in disapproval. "Your breath begs to differ." He highlighted his point by running his fingers down Jimin's torso, secretly relishing in the way his chest stuttered, mouth slightly parted.

 

"You can't get rid of me, Jimin-ah," Yoongi taunted, hands slipping around his husband's slim waist and pulling him flush against his body. Standing chest-to-chest, toe-to-toe. His grip was bruising. "You know why?" They were almost touching foreheads and Yoongi knew he'd torn Jimin's breath right out of his lungs. "Because I..." His voice was hushed and coarse and he knew what effect it had on his lover.

 

He leaned forward, lips ghosting against the shell of his ear as he whispered, "I am your life, darling." His voice dropped octaves lower, scraping at Jimin's insides in the most addicting way possible. "Were you not paying fucking attention?" He growled, hand gripping the back of Jimin's neck to prevent him from springing away. Yoongi's damp breath brushed against him and his deep, husky voice hit all the right spots. "I am... the chosen one for you," the words dripped off his tongue like poisoned honey and when he pulled back to meet Jimin's eyes again, Jimin saw venom.

 

He saw fire.

 

Yoongi's stare jabbed daggers into his side and he didn't even realise he'd been holding his breath until Yoongi yanked him forward, holding onto the base of his neck and crashing his lips onto Jimin's. Their teeth clinked and collided angrily before Yoongi forcefully thrust his tongue into Jimin's parted lips. Jimin tried pushing against Yoongi's chest, trying to get the man off him - but the more he struggled, the harder Yoongi seemed to pull. He blindly pushed at him but Yoongi nipped and bit at every part of Jimin's mouth, tongues furiously clashing against one another.

 

Yoongi's hand slid down Jimin's back, groping at his ample bottom as Jimin groaned into Yoongi's mouth. He wantonly rolled his hips forward and feeling Jimin already hard in his jeans was all it took for Yoongi's pulse to hit critical mass.

 

"You're the only one for me," he murmured against Jimin's lips, breath hot and dizzying as he felt the smaller male's body trembling against his. "But you don't seem to realise that, do you?" Yoongi scolded, taking one step forward and effortlessly manoeuvring Jimin until his back collided with the bed. He pushed Jimin back onto the mattress, towering over his small frame. "I think you need some discipline, baby."

 

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Jimin's cock twitch in the confines of his pants. "Y-Yes," Jimin squeaked out. Yoongi smiled that smile; the one that sent shivers up Jimin's spine because he knew it was going to be one of those nights, he knew what he had gotten himself into.

 

"Look at you," Yoongi spat, hands resting on his belt, contemplatively, his mind racing with thoughts of what he'd like to do to his lover tonight. How he was going to endlessly wreck him till he was the last and only coherent thought on his husband's mind.

 

"Such a fucking slut, aren't you?" He followed the compliant bob of Jimin's adam's apple as he swallowed thickly, the arousal having built up from the moment Yoongi had stepped into his room.

 

"I bet you don't care who it is," he rasped, rubbing his fingers on the faux leather belt. "You're satisfied from just having a dick up your ass, right?" He snarled, kneeling forward to push a thigh up against Jimin's clothed erection. "I bet you're already fucking leaking." Jimin shamelessly grinded up against Yoongi's thigh, grasping at whatever friction he could get, desperately clawing at the bait Yoongi was luring him in with. "And I haven't even gotten started with you," his smile betrayed his smugness as he deftly removed his leg, leaving Jimin scrabbling and gazing up at Yoongi with those bedroom eyes, plump lips, and flushed face.

 

Yoongi was going to fucking ruin him.

 

"Why don't you suck me off?" He hummed. Jimin obediently scrambled up onto his feet before getting on his knees. "Whore." Yoongi ran his fingers through Jimin's matted hair, taking a fistful of it and yanking the man's head back. Jimin flinched, painfully aware of how Yoongi was watching his jaw straining; the veins contrasting the smooth, honey skin stretching across his pretty neck. Yoongi couldn't get the picture out of his head, the thought out of his mind: his hands around that slender neck. He wanted Jimin under him.

 

He wanted to be the blood flowing in Jimin's veins.

 

"Fuck you," he growled as he shoved Jimin's face into his crotch. "Fucking suck like you mean it," Yoongi commanded.

 

Jimin nodded fervently with shaking hands, knowing that his actions were being closely monitored. So he sucked a sharp a breath in and tugged at Yoongi's pants.

 

("I love you."

 

"Shut the fuck up."

 

Why were they like this?)

 

The thick material of his slacks slid off with ease, revealing Yoongi's erection which sprung up, hot and heavy and pulsing in Jimin's hands. He felt Yoongi's thigh spasm beneath his hand and he knew he wasn't the only one who wanted.

 

"Go."

 

His brow was furrowed, creases running deep on his forehead, hand still tangled in Jimin's dark hair. Jimin's palm was wrapped softly around the base as he flicked his tongue out to barely lick at the tip. He peppered wet, open kisses down Yoongi's shaft, mimicking tiny kitten-licks as Yoongi's breath hitched, the muscles of his lower belly pulling taut.

 

"Yeah," the moan rose from the back of his throat when the tip of Jimin's nose brushed the velvety skin of his cock, running the flat side of his tongue across the underside of Yoongi's member as their gazes locked together.

 

"That's all you're good for, isn't it?" Yoongi growled, baring his teeth when Jimin closed his mouth on the crown of Yoongi's cock, lips tightly sealed around the ridges as he gave a few tentative sucks. "Perfect," Yoongi purred as Jimin slowly took more and more of Yoongi into his mouth, twisting his mouth around his husband's dick, observing Yoongi coyly through his thick eyelashes. Yoongi's member twitched violently, sitting hot and heavy in the wet heat of Jimin's mouth because Jimin knew exactly what Yoongi liked and how he liked it.

 

"Look at you," Yoongi groaned, mouth hanging open slightly as he brought his hand down, pressing his thumb into Jimin's bottom lip, forcing him to open his mouth even further. "You love this, don't you?" A sigh left his own lips, pushing his hips forward and sinking into Jimin's warm, compliant mouth. "Such a good little slut for me." All this pseudo-praise, degradation disguising itself as approval; all of it went straight down to Jimin's cock, causing him to tent in his sweatpants.

 

He secretly thinks that he might be a little sick in the head for the pleasure he got when Yoongi's cock hit the back of his throat, when his nose burrowed in Yoongi's pubic hairs and he couldn't fucking breathe, drool dripping down his chin.

 

"Like choking on my cock, don't you, baby?"

 

Yes, maybe he was a little bit filthy for getting off on this. Despite these unbidden thoughts, there was molten steel in the look Yoongi shot him, which sank into the pits of Jimin's stomach and validated him.

 

Yoongi kept desperately thrusting into Jimin’s mouth, his thumb harshly pressed into his bruised bottom lip as his other hand clenched the back of Jimin's head to keep him from pulling away. Jimin remained pliant as Yoongi guided his cock deeper into his throat. Despite the tears welling at Jimin's sparkling eyes, how his throat tightened and flexed as he tried to swallow around Yoongi's cock... he knew he could take it.

 

Besides, it wasn't like Yoongi could restrain himself now; Jimin’s mouth was so warm and soft and wet and god—

 

All too abruptly, Yoongi paused, curling his fingers through Jimin’s hair and pulling his head backwards. He cupped Jimin's jaw, hand wrapped around his painfully hard, now spit-slicken cock. He hummed to himself, slapping his cock across Jimin's plump lips, pre-cum splattering against his cheek. Yoongi's eyes glimmered dangerously, seeing Jimin's tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth to collect the beads of cum dribbling out, face heated a delirious pink and eyes hazed and half-lidded.

 

"Are you my good boy?" Yoongi crooned.

 

Jimin nodded frantically, his eyes suddenly damp. But the man should've known better because all of a sudden, Yoongi's iron grip was on his arm and Jimin was being pulled back up to his feet.

 

"Well, guess what? I don't think so, darling," Yoongi spat, chucking him back onto the bed. "I don't think that you are, baby," he clicked his tongue in disapproval, mapping Jimin's body with eyes full of lust and something borderline despicable.

 

There was something in his eyes that made Jimin's skin crawl in the best way possible.

 

"Strip for me," Yoongi commanded and Jimin had no choice but to comply, head ducked in submission as he pushed himself up on his elbows.

 

Jimin secretly got off on this hostile tension between them, despite all those efforts he made and even going out of his way to keep peace. This was the one time Yoongi knew Jimin wouldn't dare step a toe out of line. He watched, his arousal pulsing as Jimin's small hands came to unbutton his shirt. He slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor.

 

His zipper was quickly undone, the sound reverberating in their room as Yoongi watched with intrigue as Jimin's cheeks burned a furious red. He pushed the jeans off himself, revealing the plush span of skin hidden beneath. Yoongi was going to cover him up. Mark him as his own so Jimin knew exactly who he fucking belonged to.

 

Yoongi didn’t want there to be a single shred of doubt left in his mind about that.

 

"Shame on me," Yoongi frowned, running a hand through his blond hair as he dived right in. With a hand running up Jimin's chest, he pushed his lover back down onto the bed. He forcibly parted Jimin's legs and his cock twitched, curving over his abdomen, red and leaking. Jimin thrust his hips in the air as soon as he felt Yoongi's hot breath fanning so close to his cock, over his perineum.

 

"Shame on me, I guess," Yoongi repeated, murmuring as he poked his tongue out to flick at Jimin's clenching hole, "Whore fooled me twice." Jimin didn't even have time to process the implications of what Yoongi had said because suddenly Yoongi was pressing his tongue flat against Jimin's skin.

 

Jimin could only see the top of Yoongi's head, his bleached hair showing, as his muscular forearms snaked themselves around and under Jimin's plush thighs, pulling him closer by the hips.

 

Maybe Yoongi's fingers dug a bit too deep, a bit too hard into Jimin's inner thigh because suddenly, he was pushing back against Yoongi's face, grinding for any kind of friction to get himself off.

 

"Don't pull that shit on me," Yoongi warned and Jimin's mind was already so frazzled, mouth hanging agape in a voiceless moan as he felt Yoongi place a few kisses on his pucker, sucking on his rim. "And you said I wasn't like anyone else," Yoongi tutted, condemning and scornful. He knew Jimin would be lying if he said he didn't like Yoongi like this.

 

"Filthy lying bitch," Yoongi muttered, his brows furrowed, forcing his tongue inside Jimin's wet heat and this time, Jimin couldn't hold back the moan that spilled from inside him, hands clutching at the loose sheets beneath. Fuck, Yoongi wanted to destroy him. He wanted to take him apart and fucking leave him that way. With all those intentions and more, he looked up to meet Jimin's glazed-over eyes with his own.

 

"Why don't you take it out?" Yoongi suggested and there was this purple glint lining his dark, piercing orbs and if Jimin was a lesser man, he knew he could come just from the way Yoongi looked at him. The purple glow was almost identical to the one on his ring. Vibrating ring, to be exact. But then again, Jimin was probably being too desperate. He hoped Yoongi didn't catch on because he knew how his husband got when Jimin acted like a brat, asking for things he clearly didn't deserve.

 

Yoongi raised two fingers up to Jimin's mouth in a wordless command while he worked on pulling the silicon down to the root of his aching cock, having retrieved the ring from his bedside drawer just moments ago.

 

"I'll let you set the pace."

 

Oh? That was... new. But Jimin certainly wasn't complaining. He took Yoongi's fingers, slicking them up. There was something thick and palpable in the air as they kept their eye contact, as Yoongi pressed his fingers down onto Jimin's tongue, toying with the hot, wet appendage. Yoongi intentionally dragged his spit-coated fingers over Jimin's bottom lip, watching as Jimin bit down, kissing the tip of Yoongi's pointer finger.

 

Fuck off.

 

"Turn it on," Yoongi teased, retracting his hand, "I know you want to."

 

The vibrator was sitting in between Jimin's shaft and his scrotum, set right up against a nerve. Jimin fiddled with the remote, switching it on the lowest setting just as Yoongi thrust his middle finger into his tight little hole without warning, without lube because Yoongi wanted Jimin to hurt just as much as he was.

 

But that was okay. Jimin could take it, he could endure the slight pain before it dissipated because he was in no state to be resisting Yoongi right now. So if this is how Yoongi wanted him then so be i—"Shit!" Jimin gasped as Yoongi inserted another finger, not giving the smaller man any time to get used to the previous intrusion.

 

"You're such a pussy," Yoongi derided. Jimin knew exactly what he was talking about and yet, the blond made no show of trying to snatch the remote out of Jimin's hand. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you're gonna forget your own name," Yoongi growled, curling his fingers as he worked Jimin open.

 

But that's not what he really wanted to say, was it? I'm gonna fuck you so hard you're gonna fucking forget his stupid name, Yoongi made a promise of it.

 

"You're going to forget everything but my name." The vibrator was still buzzing around Jimin's cock but something about the way Yoongi had been deliberately avoiding Jimin's prostate, made him shiver.

 

Nearer.

 

Closer.

 

"God, Yoongi, yes," Jimin hissed as soon as Yoongi's deft fingers came into contact with the gland, massaging and stroking it. Suddenly, Yoongi was scissoring his fingers. His face dipped between Jimin's thighs and he felt something wet and hot poking at his rim, tracing languid circles around it.

 

Perhaps, Yoongi was just in the particular mood to watch Jimin squirm and writhe because this time, instead of plunging his tongue right in, he gave Jimin's entrance tiny licks, gently probing just the tip inside before it was gone, entirely.

 

"Yoongi-yah," Jimin began to whine but quickly clamped his mouth shut when Yoongi looked at him with those powerful eyes.

 

Jimin should've known Yoongi didn't want that from him, yet. He was always just that much more satisfied when Jimin was silent until he couldn't be anymore. Till the pleasure took over and the only thing he let out were strings of incoherent, jumbled words that sounded a little like Yoongi's name. Sometimes, though, when Yoongi was feeling much more resentful, he'd shove Jimin's face into the pillow; just to hear his muffled cries and whimpers as he'd watch him rut uncontrollably into the mattress like a bitch in heat.

 

But that wasn't for tonight.

 

Tonight Yoongi wanted Jimin writhing underneath him as he took his husband and fucked him until his mind short-circuited.

 

"Think you deserve my cock yet, baby?" Yoongi drawled, scissoring his fingers inside Jimin to stretch him out. "Think you deserve to have your brains fucked out by daddy?" Jimin's breathing was already coming out in short pants and it was slowly driving Yoongi mad. He tsk-ed at the smaller man, wriggling his tongue inside Jimin's tight heat, thrusting it inside between both his fingers.

 

"I could make you scream," Yoongi hummed, contemplating the idea, "I could tie you up and have my way with you." He sucked around Jimin's hole and Jimin began moving his hips to fuck himself back onto Yoongi's mouth, Yoongi's fingers, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. "You'd let me, wouldn't you?" The long, drawn out moan that escaped Jimin's lips answered in his stead and he felt Yoongi's smirk taut on his skin. "I bet you'd like that."

 

The dark-haired man looked down at Yoongi with hooded eyes and nodded, voice cracking as he uttered a single response: "Yes, pl—please." His voice was low and husky and ready and he was always so ready for this.

 

Yoongi’s cock twitched helplessly; it hurt how hard Jimin made him. It pissed him off.

 

"What do we say?" He was all mock-polite, but make no mistake: Yoongi wanted to destroy him. Wreck him thoroughly; wreck him for everyone else so that nobody was ever enough for Jimi—

 

So that no one would be as good as Yoongi.

 

"I'm a fucking—" Jimin rasped, "I'm a slu—I'm a fucking slut and I nee—" His voice hitched in a high-pitched moan when Yoongi's skilled fingers attacked his prostate, once again. He greedily pushed back onto them. "—need your cock, please," Jimin begged and he sounded so, so fucked out when Yoongi used his tongue to press the vibrator deeper into Jimin's sensitive skin. "Need you to—fuck me, pleas—sh." He was already flushing a bright scarlet from his own kink and whimpering when Yoongi pulled away entirely, leaving him empty and aching with the sudden hollowness he felt.

 

He wanted, needed more.

 

"That's right," Yoongi chuckled, straightening up. "Hands and knees, baby, c'mon." Jimin frantically scrambled up, turning himself around as Yoongi had commanded, anything for Yoongi. "I think about you kissing him baby," Yoongi's tone was soft, smoothing a hand down the expanse of Jimin's back and Jimin being the pliant, needy baby boy he was for his lover, allowed his body to be manoeuvred into whatever shape and form Yoongi desired.

 

The vibrator was still throbbing lowly and there was this burning intensity in Jimin's stomach that pulsed throughout his entire body, leaving a light sheen of sweat over his forehead and back.

 

The second Yoongi realised how he was gradually softening, his hand was back in the roots of Jimin's hair, pulling his head back harshly. "Tell me, Jimin-ah."

 

His other hand was on Jimin's ass, kneading at the soft flesh. "Did you think about me?" His fingernails dug into Jimin's skin, leaving little crescent-shaped welts. "Did I even cross your mind?" Yoongi growled and his head was fucking spinning and everything was dizzy and red again and fuck, why did he choose to hurt himself like this?

 

("I'm sorry..."

 

"Get out of my fucking sight."

 

...He hated himself.)

 

Jimin swallowed thickly, arms already beginning to tire from holding all his body weight up.

 

"Tell me, Jiminie," Yoongi's tone was unusually soft and he let go his grip on Jimin's hair, head lulling from the sudden release. "Did you even feel... bad?" He asked, not knowing who he was hurting more: himself or the man underneath him. "...When you cheated on me?" And Jimin fucking keened, his entire body jolting, cock rubbing against the sheets.

 

The resounding sound of the slap of Yoongi's palm landing on his ass fragmented as it echoed around them.

 

"Fughu—" It was more than a little choked gasp and it only made Yoongi slap his cheek harder, in the same spot. "Y'n—gi," Jimin's head hung low between his shoulders, eyes clenched shut as the warm sting spread all over his body and settled deep into his flesh. Yoongi grabbed at his hair again and Jimin's scalp burned with the raw pain of it. Slap. "Yes," he hissed and Yoongi pulled his head back up, exposing his bare throat.

 

Even though he isn't even facing the man above him, Jimin felt like helpless prey caught in the trap of a ruthless predator.

 

Yoongi landed another hit on Jimin's sensitive skin. Another. One more. Barely giving Jimin any time to breathe and it didn't help that the skin over his trachea was pulled taut like that.

 

Yoongi settled and pushed his hand into the small of Jimin's back forcing it into an unnatural curve. Jimin's backside felt hot but Yoongi was relentless, spanking him again. This time, it landed right at the juncture between his ass and thigh and Jimin yelped out loud, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. Yoongi stared in awe; his lover's ass glowing a bright red, his handprints all over Jimin's milky skin.

 

"Yoongi," Jimin snivelled, closing his thighs together in an attempt to bring himself some relief. "N-No more, hyung, please," he croaked but his actions said otherwise: jutting his behind out even more and he fucking mewled when Yoongi landed a few perfectly timed hits to a particularly sensitive area.

 

"Please," Jimin pressed his face into his arm, "Please hyung, want you to—want you to..." He'd never wanted anything more in his entire life. "Want you to fuck me with your fat co—ah!" God, he needed this so, so bad. "Want you to fill me up, please," Jimin sobbed helplessly, feeling the crown of Yoongi's thick cock nudging at his hole.

 

Fuck, they weren't going to use lube. Fuck, he realised, this is gonna hurt.

 

But there was something about it; something sinister and malicious that had Jimin reaching out for the vibrator's remote.

 

He could feel Yoongi smirking behind him, watching as he turned the speed up by a notch. "You're insatiable." His hand was soothing, smoothing carefully over the red, stinging skin of his ass. "I didn't even have to tell you, baby, look at you," Yoongi groaned, pinching the base of his cock, aligning it with Jimin's pink pucker. "You want it so fucking bad, baby," Yoongi dictated.

 

Jimin was already too far gone.

 

He wasn't even aware of how he was chanting, murmuring under his breath "yes, yes, yes, please" until Yoongi was finally, god, finally, pushing into Jimin's tight heat, the pain of the stretch so delicious that Jimin suspected he was drooling.

 

Ahh, h—ha—Yoo—” The noises Jimin was making and yet; Yoongi wasn't even inside him yet. They were utterly filthy and tears were streaking down Jimin’s cheeks as he rutted his hips into the air, desperate for some kind of friction. His hips were pulled up, held in place with Yoongi's commanding hands; his cock was hanging, leaking and the vibrator was buzzing and god, all he could feel was the way Yoongi's girth is stretching him out, fuck, Yoongi, please.

 

"You're so... tight, babe," Yoongi moaned out loud, settled deep inside Jimin, the tip already teasing his prostate. "What do you want, darling?" He drawled, slowly pulling out, cock all slicked up from Jimin's wetness.

 

"Want me to fill you up with my come?" He snarled, snapping his hips forward and Jimin was already sobbing Yoongi's name into the pillow. "Fill you up until you're fucking dripping everywhere." That's the pace he kept up with: ramming into Jimin with an unabating force that had Jimin's eyes rolling into the back of his head, the pressure constant on his prostate.

 

Then slowly, so meticulously - Jimin knew he was doing it on purpose - pulling right back out.

 

Staying.

 

Waiting until Jimin got a bit too needy; a bit too impatient and vainly attempted to fuck himself back onto Yoongi's cock.

 

"Fuck me, prop—" The words weren't even out of Jimin's mouth yet but Yoongi was already pulling out, hand back on the small of Jimin's back and pushing. Hard. His body was flush against the mattress and suddenly, the vibrator was pressed up against a nerve and if Jimin's throat wasn't so hoarse, he'd probably have screamed.

 

"Properly?" Yoongi seethed and Jimin couldn't contain the whimper that slipped past his lips. "Do you think you still have the fucking right to ask me of shit?" Yoongi hissed and fuck, Jimin was so close now. "Stay in your fucking place, pathetic bitch."

 

This wasn't okay. Yoongi knew it. But he couldn't help himself; his anger simmering under the surface, wanting Jimin to hurt so badly.

 

All of a sudden, the weight was lifted from Jimin's back. "Turn over," he ordered.

 

Jimin compiled because that was all he could do - this was the only way Yoongi would take him and it was the only thing Jimin could offer to his partner.

 

The shame of it all.

 

Rising.

 

Swelling.

 

Bubbling inside him.

 

If his heart wasn't as shielded and he wasn't as cold then maybe, seeing Jimin's tear-stained face flushing a ghastly crimson, lips trembling... Yoongi might've taken sympathy, might've gone easier on him.

 

"You're fucking pitiful." His own words only spurred Yoongi on even further and the insults just kept coming. They became more and more visceral, more and more cutting as they all culminate in Yoongi grabbing Jimin's leg, hooking it over his shoulder and sliding back inside without any hint of a warning.

 

Jimin felt the air being ripped right out of his lungs - it was almost too euphoric: loud and hot and fucking everything he’d been craving. And despite it all, he knew he was just a little obsessed with how Yoongi snapped his hips with utmost precision, how his deft fingers left dime-sized bruises on his tiny waist.

 

"Fuck you over and over," Yoongi gritted through his teeth. "Until." Thrust. "You can't." Thrust. "Take it." Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Anymore." He swung his hips around and pumped right back into Jimin, filling him up to the hilt.

 

Jimin got himself off on the burn, on the pain, on the humiliation.

 

Yes, deep down, he knew how wrong it all was but he really couldn't bring himself to care. Not when he could barely even hear his own panting and the moans that kept spilling from his parted lips, with the blood rushing to his ears and his heart thudding in his chest, the slick, wet squelches and sounds of skin slapping onto skin as Yoongi kept up his relentless pace.

 

Yoongi's cockhead found Jimin's prostate at a new angle with practiced ease, and Jimin didn't even notice himself crying out, keening and mewling, sobbing, until his throat felt as if it was cracking and bleeding from how raw it was. Yoongi watched him with dark eyes, and Jimin found himself preening under his lover's hot gaze. He didn't even register Yoongi reaching over for the remote by his head until his cock spasmed as the vibrator was turned up to the max and it hurt.

 

God . "I fucking hate you." The pain was sharp and bracing, but it ground him, causing him to hyperfocus on the push and pull and drag of Yoongi inside of him, the erratic pace. "I really fucking hate you," Yoongi kept repeating under his breath, to keep reminding himself. "I hate you, I hate you."

 

I love you, I love you, I love you, please, please, stay.

 

Jimin's head was thrown back, baring his neck and he felt Yoongi's calloused fingers tighten around his throat. He was so fucking delirious with pleasure that his lungs couldn't take in a single drop of breath and his blood was liquid fire. All he could focus on was the feeling of Yoongi's cock still rutting against his prostate, the constant pressure of it, and it was all too much, he can't—he can't... he ca—

 

His cock twitched and seized violently and with Yoongi's name dripping like burnt honey from the tip of his tongue, with the feeling of Yoongi all around him, above him, in him, he let go. Spilling all over his abdomen, clamping down on Yoongi's cock; hard.

 

His husband must have been close too because the man suddenly pulled out, jerking himself off until Jimin felt a warm, thick liquid painting his frontside in those white ropes of cum.

 

("I'll fucking digest you, one kiss at a time.")

 

His thighs trembled, chest heaving, head was spinning and fuck, he felt as if he were intoxicated. His vision was still hazed over; he shuddered, mind gone haywire, twitchy all over, tasting salt in his mouth.

 

He felt so fucking dirty and empty and stupid and Yoongi probably thoug—

 

Yoongi...? Fuck, fuck, Yoongi.

 

He was gone. Yoongi had left Jimin here, like this, all alone.

 

I deserve this. He suddenly found himself crying all over again but this time, it wasn't Yoongi making him sob from oversensitivity and he wasn't trembling from the overwhelming pleasure. It's all my fault, he curled in on himself, covered in semen. He was cold, pathetically crying in the dark of his own room.

 

Yoongi was there, though. Sliding down onto the tiled bathroom floor, back against the closed door. It hurt. He hurt. His body hurt. His heart hurt. It hurt everywhere because, How much longer can we keep this up? He clenched his eyes shut so hard he could practically count the colourful specks of static behind his eyelids.

 

Don't cry, don't cry, don't you dare fucking cry Min-fucking-Yoongi, he kept it up like a mantra, the grip he had on his own hair beginning to hurt as his fingers tugged mercilessly at the roots of his blond locks. Fuck you, Jimin, I hate you so fucking bad.

 

But he hated himself even more.

 

Maybe even the most.

 

 

[x-x-x]

 

 

Sometimes, he wondered why things were, simply, the way they were; why it had to be, plainly, the way it was; why they dealt with it, frankly, the way they do.

 

("I love you."

 

"I love you, too, baby."

 

Once upon a time, they'd both smiled.)

 

Maybe, in an alternate world, they could've done it differently. Perhaps, in that ideal world, he wouldn't be suffering as much as he is now.

 

What do I when I can't think of anything except you and I?

 

Sometimes, on the weekends, Yoongi forced himself to stay up into the ungodly hours of the night - countless beer bottles cluttering their coffee table and a few LSD wrappers strewn in the mix, too. It was when he couldn't think; couldn't eat; couldn't breathe; couldn't speak; that he'd turn the television volume to its highest so that it was loud enough to drown out his raucous thoughts. Wondering why he was still here.

 

On nights like these, his mind was just as scattered as the mess in the kitchen - shards of what was once, fancy crockery and classy glassware - and he kept his gaze fixated on the broken screen of their LCD, refusing to let his eyelids rest, out of fear that he may slip into a deep slumber before Jimin returned home.

 

It was on nights like these when he wondered why he hadn't pulled out yet.

 

What the fuck are we supposed to do about you and I?

 

And on such nights, when the moonlight slipped in through the parted curtains and illuminated their living room, highlighting all his mistakes and elucidating every wrong turn he'd taken, he wondered what went wrong, where it did. How his desires corrupted his senses and when their communication had deteriorated, why their connection had died.

 

Sometimes, his ears picked up the monotonous ticking of the clock over the drone of their television set and his body dissociated, melding into the rough fabric of their sofa. His head lolled back, only to be supported by the backrest and he thought back to where it all began and wondered why he chose to put himself (them) through everything.

 

It doesn't matter what I do, all I can think about is you and I.

 

The bottle would slip from his hand and land on the carpeted floor with a muffled thud, staining it with its murky contents.

 

Into the depths of the night, he quietly recalled the glances that had initiated whatever they had. The passionate fire that burned behind those orbs and just how smitten he'd been; just how enamoured he had once been with his husband (still was).

 

Where'd it all go? He didn't trust his voice with the painful lump he just swallowed down his throat. To shit, he thinks bitterly. It wasn't supposed to hurt as much as it did. But it did, somehow. And maybe, it was his fault for pushing more than he pulled, for getting involved with someone who desired to be desired, loved to be loved, craved to be craved.

 

What the fuck am I supposed to do about you and I?

 

Their boss had finally given them all a well-deserved bonus after their years worth of hardwork had finally come to fruition. The employees had decided to hit the club; drink the night away; party and celebrate their success. Yoongi remembered asking Jimin that night if he'd like to join them and now that he thought back to it, maybe Jimin's nod had been a little too enthusiastic. It hadn't been that big of a deal until Yoongi was past his fifth shot, surrounded by his co-workers who were all shooting the shit and regaling each other with dumb stories.

 

From the corner of his eye, he spied Jimin.

 

Jimin perched up on a bar stool, next to someone, giggling and stroking their brown hair. But it wasn't just someone, no. The new intern. What's his name? Yoongi wracked his brain, Taehyon? No... Taeyon? Taehyung?

 

Ah, yeah, Taehyung.

 

Yoongi wasn't some emotionally-stunted lover with a jealousy complex; he trusted Jimin with all his being. So when he spotted Jimin's thigh all pressed up against the brown-haired boy's, it didn't phase him one bit.

 

Or, not at first.

 

Because then Taehyung had leaned in a little too close to whisper something in Jimin's ear and brought a hand up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind it. That was when Yoongi had finally shot Jimin a warning glare, Don't get too comfortable, because he was only human, after all. Everybody had their limits.

 

But there had been that peculiar twinkle behind Jimin's eyes like he'd suddenly decided that this was his new favourite game for the night: seeing how far he could go, exploring what he could get away with before Yoongi finally snapped.

 

All I ever want to do is think about you and I.

 

Yoongi should've gone up to him right there and then.

 

But that was just it: he hadn't.

 

Instead, he'd sunk a few more pints, watching Jimin pulling the both of them onto the dance floor. Maybe Yoongi had been a little too drunk - his mind had been all muddled - because seeing Jimin hook his fingers through Taehyung's belt loops should've sent red lights going off in his head.

 

And it hadn't.

 

He'd just sat there. Watching his own husband grind up against some other man. All raunchy and intimate.

 

He really wished he'd confronted Jimin afterwards because it was barely even a few days later when he'd unearthed underwear a pair of anonymous, unfamiliar boxers stuffed inside the crevice between the sofa cushions.

 

Who was he kidding? He knew exactly whose they were and he fucking hated himself for the snide comment he'd passed over breakfast:"You might want to return those."

 

Jimin had only quirked an eyebrow at his husband but like clockwork, that evening he texted Yoongi saying that he would be back late. He really should've specified how "late" he was going to be because Yoongi had stayed all the way up to three in the fucking morning and what did he ask when Jimin finally decided to come home?

 

"How'd it go?" And Jimin had given him that brazen smile, slipping into their bathro—Wait. Is that a fucking limp?

 

I'm thinking about you and I again.

 

This went on for weeks and Yoongi still refused to bring up the questionable red marks blooming on the base of Jimin's neck (he didn't know how far down they went and he didn't want to, either.)

 

Which turned out to be the last straw because that evening when Yoongi returned from work, he was greeted by Jimin's beet red face. His features all scrunched up in anger - if Yoongi had squinted, he probably would've seen steam actually emanating from the top of his head, that's how fuming he was.

 

"What is it?" Yoongi had tried to be as nonchalant about it as he could've, pulling off his tie.

 

That night was the first time Jimin had ever raised his voice at him, "You got him FIRED?!"

 

When Jimin lost his temper, Yoongi did too and he was sure the neighbours probably heard their frank exchanged of words that night. But who gave a shit? It'd been so freeing to finally address the elephant in the room, it felt like Yoongi could finally breathe for the first time in months. "

 

You've been going behind my fucking back!"

 

Only to be chained down, once again by something else, something different, something so fucking rotten and horrid it made him want to puke his insides out. "You're the one who's been whoring around!"

 

Jimin had turned it straight back onto him.

 

"Maybe, if you paid attention to me! Maybe, if you didn't always put me second to your work, I wouldn't have to look for comfort elsewhere!"

 

That had pissed Yoongi right off. "So instead of coming to me, instead of addressing the problem like an adult - as my fucking husband - you decided it was better to cheat?" Jimin shut up.

 

Despite the caustic haze that clouded his judgment, Yoongi began to question his own intentions for continuing to stay in this relationship (if you could even call it that, at this point). Maybe he was just a little masochistic for having walked away from Jimin back then, locking himself in his room and burrowing the subject beneath all those piles of paperwork he still had due.

 

Maybe... he was a little more than "just" masochistic because he was staying up even now, counting every other after-second that passed with Jimin still not having returned home (if you could still call it that because the rational part of him begged to differ.)

 

No, no, no, no, no.

 

With his mind locked in its never-ending cycle of self-deprecation, he barely registered the front door rattling open and the familiar weight of plush thighs slide onto his lap, a warm body pressing flush against his chest.

 

"Baby," came a fruity drawl as arms came to wrap around his shoulders and Yoongi's hands instinctively went to rest on the small of Jimin's back. It still sent tingles through him (and he hated himself for that).

 

He cracked his eyelids open only to be met with a calm, sated smile.

 

"Who was it tonight?" He wanted to ask.

 

Or "How many?"

 

No..."What did I do?"

 

That wasn't quite right, either. "Why not me?"

 

" Why am I not enough?"

 

" Why?"

 

" Why?"

 

"Why?"

 

(He hated himself for this. "Why?")

 

His bones turned to mercury and there was molten lava flowing in his veins and he, so badly, wanted to scream in his lover's face even if he had no right to. It's not my place, he told himself, remembering the way he had once watched Taehyung unfurled under him.

 

He’d fucked into the younger intern with every ounce of resentment he had in him. He'd fucked into the brunet in some dingy hotel room, trying to burn his stinging tears away. He’d fucked into the boy, hands digging into the other's hips and he’d made sure he left marks that would burn for the longest period time. 

 

"What does Jiminie see in you?"

 

So yes. It wasn't Yoongi's place.

 

"What do you have that I don't?"

 

(Not anymore, at least)

 

"I love you." But that's not what he really wanted to say, was it? Jimin draped himself over Yoongi, lips moving over the velvety, pale skin covering Yoongi's throat. "I love your hands around my neck."

 

Yeah... That was more like it. Jimin giggled, all girly and ditzy and Yoongi knew he'd had more than just a few drinks.

 

"Say it louder, baby." But he was a slave to these make-believe things Jimin said (still says) to him. So Yoongi slamed his palm over Jimin's mouth - because he would never give him what he wanted (he had Taehyung for that, after all) - and pounded his husband into the cushions. All that came out of him was a deep groan that rumbled in Yoongi's core. "Who's gonna touch you like me?"

 

Yoongi felt his sharp hip bones dig into Jimin's ass with each thrust and he knew it was going to leave bruises and fuck, if he wasn't looking forward to that. Though he knew Jimin was going to be bitter, moaning and groaning about the pain later but that was the last thing on his mind right now, because Yoongi gave it to him good and Jimin couldn’t ask for anything better.

 

"You’re gonna… gonna make me comeshit, Yoongi.” Yoongi continued to hit his spot, again and again without pause till Jimin’s eyes went wide and come coated his lower belly, his cock twitching with every spurt.

 

("Why'd you do it, Jimin?"

 

"Because when I closed my eyes, he looked just like you."

 

Yoongi wanted to die.)

 

They remained like that for a long moment, hearts beating to the same rhythm as they lay hot and sweaty in each other’s arms.

 

Jimin finally opened his eyes to look at Yoongi, smiling up at him, "I love you."

 

The statement was not what it should've been.

 

But he was high and inebriated so he allowed himself this small lease. He allowed himself just this much, taking a heaped spoonful of the honeyed lies he was being fed with.

 

And fell further.

 

"I love you, too."

 

 

[x-x-x]

 

 

("Hey, Taehyung."

 

"Hm?"

 

"He's not mine, is he?"

 

"What?"

 

"And he'll never be, will he?"

 

"..." )

 

 

[x-x-x]

 

 

toska

/ˈtō-skə/

ORIGIN   RUSSIAN

noun

1.  a dull ache of the soul

2.  a longing with nothing to long for

3.  the desire or nostalgia for somebody

4.  a sick pining; yearning; a vague restlessness