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it wasn’t the piercings that got him, first. it was the blond hair.

that’s how jungkook noticed him the first time, just like he notices him every time now: bright, bleached hair. a physically unassuming figure, slouched posture, shoulders hunched—but an aura around him that reaches all the way across the room, makes goosebumps crawl over jungkook’s skin, tingling. then they lock eyes.

“are you listening? jungkook?”


“i asked you to pass me the beer.”


jungkook unfreezes and hands jimin one of the bottles he brought from the kitchen. it’s not exactly a house party, but it’s not coincidental hanging out, either: there are snacks, there’s alcohol, a couple of people he’s not seen before, but that’s no surprise. he doesn’t know seokjin well yet, has only met him a handful of times over the past months but he knows jimin; jimin knows taehyung, taehyung knows hoseok, hoseok knows namjoon, namjoon knows seokjin and here jungkook is, the newest in their group. this is seokjin’s house, his parents are gone, the beer is free. jimin said it was expected of them to take advantage of it.

it was the blond hair, first, sticking out like a sore thumb in a mass of muted colors and unfamiliar bodies, much like now. his gaze came second, then: sharp, observant, catching jungkook’s and not letting go until jungkook forgot where he was, forgets, much like now, when he turns his head back towards those eyes. too intense and too attentive, staring right back as if challenged.

an elbow finds itself in jungkook’s side; taehyung’s joined them. jungkook takes a few sips of his beer, self-conscious, caught in the act. what act? he didn’t do anything, there’s no reason not to look over, but maybe he should be more subtle. about what, he can’t exactly name.

jimin throws taehyung a certain look, so he may have failed at subtlety this time, too, much like every other time.

but he doesn’t even need to look, to see, to have his attention caught again.

blond hair, fierce eyes and when he got close enough, it was his voice, next: a low drawl, lazy, filling jungkook’s mind with a deceptive calmness, not directed at him; warmth and anxiety and anticipation running hot over his skin when it eventually was—is.

“hi, jungkook.”

hoseok called him hyung, namjoon introduced him as yoongi—jungkook didn’t say much more than his own name. he ended up staring at blond hair, an undercut, the piercings in yoongi’s ears. jimin’s teasing went on for weeks.

yoongi’s eyes are glinting in that particular way they always do when they catch jungkook’s. jungkook swallows and excitement bursts in his gut just like the first time, only marginally less anxiety. ever since the first time, there’s been something—there. in jungkook’s throat, chest, stomach whenever he sees yoongi.

“hi, yoongi hyung.”

yoongi’s mouth curls in a faint smirk, that particular subtle curve that never quite leaves him when talking to jungkook. taehyung and jimin snicker behind jungkook’s back but acknowledging them would only make things worse, so he doesn’t. it’s not about them.

that first time was about five months ago. yoongi is a friend of namjoon’s, originally, a senior—they don’t run into each other much. every now and then, when the group manages to meet up and yoongi happens to have time and it’s not that often.

it’s been a couple weeks since the last time, yoongi too busy with his own projects to hang out much. taehyung had texted jungkook he’d be here tonight and so jungkook had to be here tonight.

“sorry i haven’t been around much, i have to—”

“oh no i—i know, that’s okay.”

yoongi touches a hand to his neck, earrings clinking faintly.

after his voice, to avoid his gaze, jungkook noticed the piercings: multiple ones in his lobes, the double helix on one side. yoongi’s wearing different jewelry this time, heavy-looking, longer chains and a cross moving with the tilt of his head.

“i have something i wanna show you later.”

jungkook flicks his gaze up to catch yoongi’s, breath getting stuck in his throat. oh.

yoongi is a composer—the best one on campus, if anyone asked jungkook.

after his hair and eyes and voice and earrings came his soundless chuckle at one of jungkook’s awkward attempts to be funny; came the shaking of his shoulders, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, a flutter in jungkook’s chest. they don’t talk much, not necessarily, but they do so easily. and then, somewhere between too long too heavy glances and a handful of sentences, a few exchanged music recommendations after yoongi had complained about taehyung’s playlist under his breath one time—yoongi offered to let jungkook listen to his songs one day.

then came the almost nervous aura around him when he opened the door to a tiny studio room in one of the music halls, let jungkook in, watch; then the calm that settled between them, the silence comfortable as if they’d cultivated it over years and years.

then came the subtle flush around his nose when jungkook found enough courage to compliment him, after the swell and fall of a melody that had tugged at jungkook’s breath, taken it away with ease.


warmth floods his body.

“oh—i’d love to.”

yoongi holds his gaze like that means something: that jungkook wants to listen. as if there is any way for jungkook not to want to.

jimin shoves against jungkook’s back, propping his head on his shoulder.

“aw, hyung, you never show us.”

“aren’t you ashamed of this favoritism, hyung?”

taehyung joins on jimin’s other side and yoongi rolls his eyes. jungkook drops his gaze down, to the carpeted floor, over to the coffee table, the couch, there are people sitting there he doesn’t recognize. might recognize if he paid attention to their faces.

i want to show you.


his own face is so warm, his chest swelling.

“i tried letting you uncultured folk listen ages ago. you fell asleep once.”

the way yoongi’s lips purse and curl is pleasant, visually, aesthetically nice to look at, quite objectively; it’s hard not to look. they move around his words in a pout as he bickers with them, there’s the silver of his earrings, the blond of his hair. the dark undercut contrasting with his longer strands. his messy bangs fall to the sides of his eyes, in a middle part today; the leather jacket he seems to love over relaxed, wide shoulders, his hands deep in the pockets of his ripped jeans.

after the studio, the song, the quietness, jungkook noticed yoongi’s hands: veiny, large, bony fingers that spread magic wherever they touch—the controls on the mixer, the piano keys, all deliberate; then jungkook’s shoulder, later his hair, careful careful, soft and gentle, down his neck, briefly brushing his side. magic, warmth, sparks with every touch, spreading all over jungkook’s skin, taking root deep in his chest.

sure, jungkook likes skinship with his friends, likes hugs and nudges and falling asleep half on top of them on the couch.

with yoongi, though, it’s different.

taehyung laughs and falls against jimin who falls against jungkook and yoongi scolds them, crease between his brows but twitch to his lips. he loves his friends a lot. his mouth is pretty.

and then, then: silver does jungkook in.

not on yoongi’s gorgeous fingers, or around yoongi’s neck, or high on yoongi’s ear. this is new. this was not there some weeks ago. how many weeks has it been?

it’s in his mouth.

his lips are pursed and his mouth moves around his words in the same lazy way as ever, attractive, but jungkook’s never seen that before. sometimes, sometimes—there’s a glint of silver visible on yoongi’s tongue.

something hot and urgent shoots through jungkook, up his body, gets stuck in his throat. oh. oh no.

a tongue piercing.

jimin’s draped himself over taehyung, wagging a finger at yoongi and yoongi is scowling at them and perspiration is dripping on jungkook’s fingers from the beer bottle and it must be the little bit of alcohol bubbling in his gut, oh, a new piercing. yoongi got a tongue piercing.

eventually namjoon, or someone whose general shape looks kind of like namjoon in the corner of his eyes, comes over to either join the commotion or calm it down, jungkook can’t tell, can’t hear jimin or taehyung over the pounding in his ears because yoongi has a tongue piercing. why did he get a tongue piercing?

jungkook’s never thought of it.

of course, clearly, factually, tongue piercings exist in this world and some people have them. of course yoongi clearly, factually, already had piercings. in his ears. not in his tongue. used to not have a piercing in his tongue and now he does and it’s there, in his tongue, in his mouth, his pouty wet hot mouth—

jungkook inhales, stuttery, air won’t fill his lungs the right way.

the bodies to his right leave, someone waves their arm at them, or swats at them, who knows. what does it matter? yoongi has a shiny piece of silver in his tongue. his tongue.

there’s this specific way in which his lips curl around his words, nonchalant and effortless and they’re full and pink and pretty and oh, they stretch in a way that makes goosebumps crawl over jungkook’s skin, hot and cold, yoongi is way too devastating when he smirks. he’s smirking.


oh, that’s him. jungkook, that’s his name.


yoongi’s eyes are sharp and dark. he has to know. jungkook swallows with great effort but it doesn’t help with whatever he hoped it would help with. there’s a lump in his throat the size of—something… big. something, whatever, whatever, he can’t go there.

not tiny like the silver ball in yoongi’s tongue.

yoongi, the tease, sticks his tongue out.

jungkook inhales deeply, too loudly—

there it is. silver on his tongue.

“it’s new,” yoongi says, amusement clear on his face. jungkook must not be subtle at all. indeed it is new. it wasn’t there before.

it’s not easy to catch sight of it when he talks, yoongi almost slurring his words most of the time. but it’s there. it definitely is there. all the time now.

is it not a bother? always there, on his tongue, it must press against the roof of his mouth, catch on his words; must be so noticeable, the solid piece of jewelry—in a kiss, against someone else’s tongue, sliding over skin, oh—

“what does it feel like?”

it’s an out-of-body thing, how jungkook’s own voice sounds foreign out of his mouth, how he wasn’t aware he was going to ask that before he asked that, a tremble to it he wouldn’t want to explain.

yoongi’s gaze is dark, so dark, burning—there’s something so intense to it jungkook can’t name, hasn’t seen before, not like this, not until now.

he licks his lips and jungkook mirrors the movement, dazed, he couldn’t explain why.

yoongi hums, pursing his lips. his pretty lips. then they get close, closer—

a hand touches jungkook’s jaw, gently, it’s yoongi’s—yoongi’s leaning in, slowly, slowly, he’s asking, question in his eyes. jungkook can only see his mouth.

yoongi parts his lips.

they’re soft, soft soft soft on jungkook’s, his hand warm in jungkook’s hair, his chest firm under jungkook’s hand, his shirt so thin. then he licks into jungkook’s mouth and oh, oh.

there it is.

the tongue piercing.

it’s foreign and new and electrifying, the little ball of silver. it contrasts with the smooth caress of yoongi’s tongue, yoongi’s tongue in jungkook’s mouth, the piercing caught between them. jungkook sighs and pulls and yoongi’s so close, his mouth so warm, fingers tight in jungkook’s hair, someone makes a noise. maybe he made a noise. yoongi hums against him, against his lips, oh my god that’s yoongi. that’s yoongi kissing him.

and then he pulls back, way too soon, jungkook chases his soft mouth for a second but oh, there’s someone next to them, there’s the quiet bass of some background music and muffled voices and they’re not alone.

yoongi’s eyes are on jungkook’s mouth, dark, he licks his lips.

“like that.”

what was the question? jungkook has to let his shirt go, the distance between them is weird like this.

“uh,” yeah, that’s namjoon, “what the fuck, hyung.”

yoongi blinks a couple times, hand flying up to his own hair. he drops his gaze.

“i’ll,” there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips though, utterly devastating, “get another drink.”

he raises his bottle, it doesn’t look empty yet, but he turns to leave.

“jungkook,” namjoon starts.

“me too.” there’s nothing but the rush of blood in his ears, a loud thumping, an incessant voice encouraging him to finally take a hint or a couple hundred. “drink.”

the bottle in his hand is still almost full but he leaves with it, follows yoongi’s back through the crowd he doesn’t look at, out of the living room left down the hallway and into the kitchen. yoongi walks up to the counter, there’s more beer on it, soju, soda, he stops like he’s considering it and jungkook steps close, close, almost touching, almost chest to back. yoongi puts his bottle down, jungkook does too.


there’s not enough air in his lungs, his words almost make no sound but yoongi turns around, looks up, his eyes are so dark, there’s a hand reaching for jungkook’s waist and jungkook’s head tilts down, down, yoongi’s tilts up—

yoongi kisses him greedily, with pressure, one hand at his side and one to his back and jungkook brackets his around yoongi, flat on the counter, pushes him back. there’s no memory, no single occurrence of jungkook being this bold, he’s surely never been, he doesn’t have the courage for this.

he licks into yoongi’s mouth this time, eager, so curious to find it again: the piercing. the softness, the wet glide of yoongi’s tongue, the quiet noises in the back of yoongi’s throat. yoongi bites at his bottom lip, hand back in his hair, pulls on it gently. heat coils deep in jungkook’s gut, from the piercing or the kissing or just because—it’s yoongi. finally, finally, yoongi.

he groans, low, shoves at jungkook’s chest until jungkook’s up against the counter instead and presses close, hips to hips, jungkook whimpers into his mouth. he kisses down his jaw and over his neck and jungkook can’t decide what to do with his hands, whether to hold on to yoongi’s back or his shoulders or pull at his sides, he isn’t close enough yet.

yoongi scrapes his teeth over jungkook’s throat and oh, oh, this must be it. what jungkook wanted and tried to be subtle about.

jungkook slides his hands down yoongi’s back, over his hips, wants to hold and squeeze and pull and it’s all heat, all urgency in his veins. he leans down, down, grabs at yoongi, yoongi’s thighs, grips him firmly—

lifts him up, up and around, his mouth hot at jungkook’s neck, fingers digging into his shoulders, until he can place him on top of the counter, press close between his legs.

yoongi almost growls, pulls jungkook into a kiss by the hair.



his mouth is so nice, so soft, the little piece of jewelry sliding along jungkook’s tongue every now and then, jungkook can’t help but chase after it. yoongi’s lips curl against his.

“i’ve been wondering if you wanted me to do that.”

“i’ve been wanting you to do that.”

their words don’t quite make it out of their mouths, caught between them, breath mingling. jungkook runs his hand up yoongi’s thigh, squeezes, yoongi tightens his grip on jungkook’s hair.

yoongi chuckles quietly, not unkindly, relief genuine in the way his gums show and his eyes turn into crescents and it makes jungkook’s heart pound that much harder against his ribcage, it’s hard to take. he buries his head in yoongi’s neck instead, licks over the skin, up to his ear and dares to bite at his lobe. yoongi hums, his other hand grasping at jungkook’s waist.

“what are you—oh my god.”

they startle, flinch apart at the loud voice, right, right, they’re not alone. they’re in seokjin’s family’s kitchen.

seokjin stands in the doorway with a grimace.

“could you maybe not—god, congratulations but why the kitchen? get a room.”

yoongi pulls jungkook back towards him with a snort.

seokjin walks over to reach around them and grab a few beers, nose scrunched in distaste all the while. jungkook doesn’t move, tries not to react to yoongi’s hands wandering up over his chest. seokjin’s almost out the door but then he stops to swirl around on the spot, frowning.

“not here, do not get a room here. they’re our rooms. bathroom, if you must.”

he points a warning finger at them, hands full of bottles, and yoongi’s not even watching. yoongi’s mouth is back on jungkook’s neck and whatever, whatever. yoongi’s mouth is on his neck.

“why in my house? why not in namjoon’s last month? jesus—”

yoongi’s chuckle is warm against jungkook’s skin, not more than huffs of breath through his nose when they’re alone again and then he stops his curious hands, straightens on the counter. what on earth possessed jungkook to lift him up on the counter? he’s never done that before.


there’s that faint smirk, but it’s different. not as dangerous, not as playful. his gaze is warm, hands warm, he cups jungkook’s jaw on both sides so gently.

“hey,” jungkook echoes.

yoongi’s eyes flicker down to jungkook’s mouth and he licks his lips, traces jungkook’s bottom lip with a thumb.

jungkook’s breath comes out all stuttery, in pieces, he can’t recall how he got here. what he did right to get here somehow.

“i don’t really—uh.” yoongi blinks for a few moments, gaze somewhere off to the side, mouth moving with no sound. “this isn’t—just me trying to get laid.” a hand in his hair, behind his ear. “i’m not—”

there’s a quiet little gasp out of those gorgeous lips when jungkook leans in to kiss them, gently, just a soft little peck.

“me neither.”

yoongi kisses back slowly, not so much urgency and not so much heat but just enough warmth, a thumb caressing the skin below jungkook’s jaw. jungkook should pull back and maybe say more, explain, but he leans in again instead, and again, presses closer and more firmly and yoongi’s hum against him is so tempting.

jungkook kisses along his bottom lip, to the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw and along his neck and this must be obvious enough, clearly, he’s been so bad at subtlety.

yoongi scrapes his fingers along his scalp teasingly, down to his nape, touch gentle.

“so,” he sighs so beautifully when jungkook licks up his throat, the rush of want spreading everywhere in jungkook’s gut again, “do you—”




yoongi snorts above him and jungkook swats at his thigh but he’s grinning at himself, not much space left for shame in his brain at this very moment. he’s got yoongi on a counter in front of him, holding him close. what is there to be ashamed of? he should go and tell everyone about it. later.

“i’m serious, we don’t have to just because i—”

“hyung, shut up.”

it’s not about getting laid, it’s not, it’s really not, but yoongi smiles against his mouth when jungkook shuts him up and his hands are so kind and his body so warm and he’s always been like this. kind and warm and wonderful. jungkook doesn’t have to be told, jungkook knows well enough.

he licks into yoongi’s mouth and there it is again, the tongue piercing. now, that: that is new. that he doesn’t know well enough yet. what it feels like against his own tongue, over his skin, down his chest, further down—

“should we maybe,” yoongi’s voice sounds even better against his own mouth, low and breathy, “get out of the kitchen or—”


“so move.”


yoongi kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him—

jungkook can get familiar with it soon enough.