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On nights like this, Yoongi will sneak onto the rooftop of whatever building he’s in and sit near the edge so he can watch the city.
It feels like a reverse kind of stargazing, looking down instead of up. The city’s alive enough that so many lights stay on no matter how late into the night it gets, the people acting like sleep is never an option for them. Yoongi guesses he understands, since he likes to pretend it isn’t an option for him either, straining his body near its limits until he can no longer keep his eyes open.
Tonight is another instance of that. He sits on the concrete and dangles his legs over the edge of the building, bringing with him a bottle of wine that he occasionally sips from. It’s one he stole from the kitchen of the building’s function room that hosted an elaborate birthday celebration, and the bottle is only about a quarter full after the night’s events. Yoongi thinks that after spending so many hours on his feet, offering champagne flutes and serving food to people who couldn’t be bothered to spare him a single glance, he deserves a little winding down himself.
It’s not like anyone would miss a near empty bottle of wine. And if they did, it’s not like Yoongi gives a shit.
The wind nips at his cheeks, bites his skin even through the fabric of his white button-up. He hasn’t bothered changing out of his uniform, just pulled at his stupid bowtie so it hangs loose beneath the collar of his shirt and discarded his vest somewhere behind him. He’s also ditched the apron he had to have tied around his waist the entire night, which he hated—he’d flung the material right off the edge of the building first chance he got. At least his slacks are comfortable enough, loose around his legs so that he can move about with more freedom, swinging as though he can physically kick the cold away. Plus the alcohol is good. Keeps him warm enough that sitting out here is bearable.
“I figured you’d be here,” a voice says from behind him, then, and Yoongi scoffs. Footsteps approach and stop right by his side, but he just continues to gaze out into the smattering of lights across the city, even as the newcomer adds in a teasingly condescending tone, “And I figured you wouldn’t have gotten through being in a room full of snobs without stealing something.”
“Shouldn’t a little prince like you be home by now?” Yoongi says, lifting the bottle to his mouth. “What is it, midnight? Way past your bedtime, kid.”
A scoff, and the sound of shoes scuffing against the concrete as though the other just childishly kicked at the ground. “It’s cute that you think calling me a spoiled kid would get me worked up.”
“ Kid, ” Yoongi says, and he’s grinning now, though he still doesn’t grace the other with a glance, “I don’t even have to look at you to know you’re seconds away from throwing a tantrum.”
“Am not, ” is the response he gets, and then the other is sitting down beside him, snatching the bottle from his hands.
“Hey,” Yoongi says, finally turning to look at the other, and as he expected he’s greeted by a stubborn frown that’s just one lip jut away from being a pout. He can feel his mouth twitching into a grin even as he reaches for his stolen bottle back, says, “Give it, haven’t you had enough drinks in that party down there?”
“No,” is the reply. “And I want to drink with you.”
Yoongi pretends to sigh, but ultimately lets the other be. “You, Park Jimin, are a spoiled little ass.”
Jimin grins, bright and mischievous, as he lifts the bottle to his lips. “Oh hyung, you know perfectly well there’s nothing little about my ass.”
Right you are, Yoongi thinks with a dry snort, eyes flickering down automatically. But since he can’t really see said ass right now considering they’re both sitting down, he drags his gaze back up and opts to observe the other’s face instead.
Jimin makes for quite a sight, really. Moonlight caught in his soft hair that he recently dyed blond, making him look something angelic, though the way his eyes glint with promise tell a different story entirely. He’s dressed in his party clothes still, a shimmery gray jacket thrown over a form-fitting black shirt, and it probably would’ve looked a little ridiculous on anyone else but him.
Then there’s that mouth. Pink and glossy, pouting around the rim of the bottle.
It made focusing on work a little harder, having Jimin in the same room and being constantly aware of his presence. Knowing that Jimin was just as aware of his presence in return and that afterwards, something was inevitably going to happen. Yoongi couldn’t steal anything he normally would’ve throughout the entire night, not even a single watch, so he had to resort to stealing wine from the kitchen.
They probably look odd to anyone seeing them from the outside. It’s only in cliche-filled dramas that a spoiled college student and a struggling dropout would meet and fall in love, after all, but here they are anyway.
Yoongi guesses the three thousand years they’ve spent together, in a previous life, has a lot to do with it.
After he’s done taking a gulp, Jimin lowers the bottle and licks his lips a lot more suggestively than is necessary. He smacks them together, loud in the silence between them, and Yoongi feels his fingers twitch against the concrete. “Give me that,” he says, taking the bottle from Jimin, “you drink alcohol like it’s fucking water.”
Jimin just giggles, undoubtedly already tipsy from the party. Yoongi wonders whether Jimin’s parents know just about half of the other rich families in the city, because they keep running into each other like this.
Even the first time they met many months ago (in this life, at least) had been the same. Meeting eyes across the room as Jimin stood by his father’s side and smiled distantly at acquaintances, while Yoongi walked around carrying a tray full of champagne flutes and took note of which guests have been rude to him. When a drunken man with graying hair started screaming in Yoongi’s face about how slow he was in bringing drinks, seconds before staggering into Yoongi’s arms due to how inebriated he was, Yoongi had stared Jimin right in the eye as he slipped the watch off of the man’s wrist and tucked it into his pocket. As though daring him to speak up, call attention to the fact that Yoongi was stealing from guests.
But all Jimin did was smile secretly and mime zipping his lips shut, even throwing in an exaggerated wink at the end. After the party, Yoongi didn’t see him anymore, though he knew it wasn’t going to be the last time they run into each other. All that history between them that he knew Jimin also knew was too much to keep them apart.
He was right, of course.
Now, he takes a sip from the bottle and finds that Jimin has downed half of what’s left. He’s barely swallowed his mouthful before Jimin pushes the bottle aside, its remaining contents spilling onto the concrete wastefully, just so he can press Yoongi flat on his back and slide onto his lap. Yoongi’s legs are still dangerously dangling over the edge of the building, bent at the knees, and Jimin’s back is exposed to the open night air without anything stopping him from free-falling onto the sidewalk if he were to lean back and lose balance.
But it’s part of it, the thrill. The rush that comes with knowing that once, long ago, they were both close to invincible.
“Why do you like staying out here so much?” Jimin asks, that pitch to his voice that tells Yoongi the alcohol has gotten to him, just a little. His mouth is stained red, so close to Yoongi’s when he leans down and flutters his lashes.
Yoongi has a hard time focusing on just one feature on Jimin’s face, gaze flickering from his pretty lips to his flushed cheeks to his eyes that hold a promise for tonight. “It helps me imagine what it was like before.”
Jimin blinks down at him, tilts his head to the side. “I see.” Then he adds, mostly to himself, “I don’t have enough clear memories about what it was like looking down onto the world.”
“Oh?” Yoongi asks, hands settling on Jimin’s hips and squeezing once. He can feel the warmth of Jimin’s breath brushing over his own mouth, now. “Then what do you remember most from before?”
Jimin grins, shifting so that he’s straddling Yoongi more properly. He places a hand on Yoongi’s chest and the other beside his head, says, “I remember you.”
When Jimin finally kisses him, Yoongi thinks it ultimately doesn’t matter what the past was like, as long as he gets to have this in the now—Jimin’s body pressed onto him, Jimin’s hands in his hair, Jimin’s heart beating against his own. Alive.
***
Yoongi was eight when he first got an inkling that he had been a god once, after he climbed the tree in their backyard and sat on its highest branch.
He could see well into their neighbor’s yard from here, and if he turned his head a little he’d also see out into the street of their quiet little neighborhood. If he craned his neck some more, stretched himself a little higher, he could see even further—well past the roofs of his neighbors across the street and towards the line of trees that mark the beginning of the small forest that surrounded their town.
It made him feel powerful. And somehow, somewhere deep down, he knew that the feeling of power had been very real, once.
It took a while before memories came back to him in fragments, sometimes in dreams, sometimes in daylight. Living on top of a tower he created on his own, sitting out on a balcony overlooking empty land that he would design and redesign. Using the bare landscape as a blank canvas he’d paint over as he pleased, some flowers here and a few trees there, a brick cottage one day and a raft on a glittering river the next. Watching it all crumble back into nothing with a simple snap of his fingers.
There were others like him. Not a lot, but enough for Yoongi to take notice. Somehow, they knew what the other had been as well, some innate knowledge awoken the minute their paths crossed.
There was his playmate from the neighborhood, Taehyung, who realized what he used to be even before Yoongi did, who figured out that Yoongi was just the same as him shortly after Yoongi came to his own realization. There was his roommate during his first year of college, Seokjin, who had been older than Yoongi by five centuries once. There was this freshman he tutored on music theory, Jungkook, who only had a thousand years under his belt before getting casted out and reborn as a human. There was his former coworker at the bookstore he once did shifts in, Hoseok, who still had the brightness of a god whenever he smiled.
And there was Namjoon, Yoongi’s roommate who he found through a handwritten poster asking for someone to split rent with. Namjoon, who Yoongi knew well even before . They had been best friends, a lifetime ago. And it seemed fitting that they continued to be so now, after finding each other again.
They had all been casted out for a reason, though Yoongi never pried. He knew Namjoon had protested against the new laws too vocally and Jungkook had too much power in him that others deemed it threatening, but that’s only because they opened up to Yoongi about it. Oddly enough, however, Yoongi couldn’t remember his own reason for getting casted out.
He remembered the crisis, the older gods talking about the imbalance of power that was happening due to reckless use. He remembered the blame being put on younger gods, primarily, and laws being rushed to completion in a desperate attempt to restore balance. He remembered being accused himself, not even getting a trial as he was brought before the older gods, and then—and then nothing.
The next memory he had was of himself as a three-year-old kid sitting in the backyard of his family home, soaking up the sunlight. Human.
He couldn’t remember the reason for his exile. Couldn’t fill out the gaps he knew were there.
But then, Jimin came into the picture again.
***
Sometimes, Yoongi imagines what it feels like to have power thrumming in his veins instead of blood, wonders if it comes as close to the heady feeling of this.
Jimin underneath him, drenched in moonlight, lips parted in an endless call of his name.
Or maybe, he thinks as he presses his mouth over where Jimin’s heart beats frantically against his ribs, maybe it didn’t compare at all. Maybe Jimin had always been the only one to make him feel invincible, powerful. The only one to bring him that rush of something electric whenever they tiptoed the limits of what they could do together. It was worth everything, then. Getting kicked down here, surviving with this all too-fragile mortal body gearing itself towards an inevitable end. It’s all worth it.
Jimin is worth everything to Yoongi.
He thinks Jimin feels the same, especially when Jimin clutches onto him like he never wants to let go. Like he never wants to lose Yoongi again.
They had stumbled back into the building, the cold of the rooftop eventually becoming too much for both of them to handle, and blindly rode the elevator down to the underground parking with their mouths attached to each other. Yoongi hadn’t drunk enough that he couldn’t drive Jimin’s car, but Jimin had been impatient, telling him to park somewhere instead of waiting the twenty minutes it would take to get them to his apartment (a place Yoongi had familiarized himself with well over the past eight months).
It’s something they’ve never done before, fucking outside of a bed. Or a couch. Or the kitchen counter, one of Jimin’s favorite places. But it’s always been inside a room, whatever that room is. Never outside. Certainly never in a car.
Yoongi doesn’t have complaints, though. Especially not with the way faint light falls onto Jimin from where they’ve left the car door open, too caught up in each other to close it properly during their shuffle towards the backseat. It makes him look all the more gorgeous, ethereal almost. Even if Yoongi hadn’t already known, he would’ve believed anyone who told him that Park Jimin was once a god.
“Beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, parting his lips so he can scrape his teeth over Jimin’s skin, the promise of a mark there making the younger arch into his touch. He brushes his lip over the warmed skin, flicks his tongue out for a taste.
“Hurry up,” Jimin says, fingers tugging at Yoongi’s hair urgently. Yoongi laughs into his skin and bites.
Their shirts have been discarded somewhere on the passenger seat, and Yoongi indulges Jimin when he feels hands tugging at his belt. He pushes up into as much of a sitting position as he can, perched on one knee with Jimin laid out on the leather seat, and gets to work unbuckling his belt. Jimin tries to help, reaching forward to fumble with the button of Yoongi’s slacks, and he giggles at the small hiss Yoongi lets out when his fingers brush over the half-hard outline pressing into the fabric.
“A bit eager there, hyung,” Jimin teases, forgetting his own desperation in favor of being a shit.
In retaliation, Yoongi abandons trying to remove his pants and presses a hand down between Jimin’s legs where he’s already hard, fitting his fingers around the shape of it and squeezing. Jimin yelps in surprise, but it quickly turns into a drawn-out moan that has his eyes fluttering shut.
“Who’s the eager one now, huh?” Yoongi asks, smirking. He feels a fire in his gut when Jimin obviously struggles to open his eyes again, shooting him with a weak glare. He coos, “I’ll take care of you, baby.”
Jimin bares his teeth playfully, pushing his hips up into Yoongi’s hand. “Then get on with it. Or are you all talk?”
Yoongi laughs, though he can’t say the words don’t spur him on, don’t make him want to make Jimin feel so damn good he’ll end up swallowing his own words. He loves this, the rush that comes with Jimin playfully snapping at him. He especially loves snapping back.
“You’re such a spoiled fucking brat,” he says, undoing Jimin’s zipper and tugging down. “You get reborn into a rich family and this is what you become.”
“I’m only spoiled when it comes to you,” Jimin says, though his voice comes out slightly breathier as he lifts his hips so that Yoongi can pull his pants down. “And from what I remember, you’ve always been spoiling me.”
Yoongi remembers the same, if he’s going to be honest. He manages to remove Jimin’s pants off of one leg, and it’s easier to pull the other down until it’s been completely discarded. “I remember well, believe me. You’re the reason I got into trouble.”
“ We got into trouble,” Jimin corrects, taking care of his own boxers and pulling them down. He’s already hard, and it’s so easy for Yoongi to wrap a hand around him and pull, making Jimin stutter mid-sentence, “And look at w-where it— shit —got us.”
“I created those worlds for you, ” Yoongi says, almost casual, as he moves his hand painfully slow. “I destroyed them for you.”
“You didn’t have to,” Jimin says, breath hitching. Hair falls over his forehead as he turns his head to the side, and Yoongi leans down to press a kiss against his jaw.
“But you liked it,” he says. “You liked all of it.”
He feels the shift of Jimin’s smile against his mouth. “I did. I really did.”
It hadn’t been the wisest thing, pulling spaces into existence and building false worlds at such a rapid pace, only for them to bring everything crumbling down and start over. But it was their thing. Jimin had all these ideas about worlds, all of which fascinated Yoongi, and there was a thrill in bringing those visions to temporary life before them. It felt like an adventure every single time. It was theirs .
“I don’t regret a thing,” Yoongi confesses, and he knows that he completely means it, “not a thing.”
“Neither do I,” Jimin admits in return. He turns his head, hands coming up to hold Yoongi’s face, a short moment of calm and tenderness amidst the urgency. “As long as you’re with me.”
Yoongi kisses him, then, steals the breath right out of his lungs. Jimin gasps so prettily beneath him, almost squirming with the need for more, and Yoongi soothes him by running his hands wherever they can reach. He maps out the lines of Jimin’s body, presses his nails into skin every now and then just to hear the noise of surprise Jimin makes at the sting, until he’s squeezing the firm muscle of Jimin’s thighs.
Jimin pulls back, panting for breath, and Yoongi latches onto his neck to suck a mark.
“Up on your knees,” he says once he’s satisfied, pulling back to see the way red blooms on Jimin’s skin. He smacks the side of Jimin’s thigh, getting a yelp in response, and Yoongi laughs as Jimin glares up at him. “Come on, lean over the backrest.”
While Jimin gets into position, grumbling unintelligibly underneath his breath all the while, Yoongi bites back a smile and sinks onto the floor. He’s glad Jimin’s car has a lot of leg room, because it makes kneeling behind him not as uncomfortable as it would’ve been had the seats been cramped together. He traces the line of Jimin’s back with his gaze, admiring the subtle shift of his back muscles and the gorgeous way his spine dips, and he’s unable to stop himself from pressing an appreciative kiss on the back of Jimin’s thigh.
Jimin jumps at the small touch, before stilling once more. Tensing for what’s to come.
Yoongi starts kneading at his thighs with both hands, taking in how his fingers are able to span the entire width of them. He starts kissing his way upwards, scraping his teeth over skin, and when he finally breathes over where Jimin is most sensitive he feels a small shudder beneath his palms.
“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin says, and nothing else.
Yoongi decides to give Jimin what he wants, then, parting his cheeks until the pink pucker of his rim is exposed to the cool night air. Jimin shudders again, body shifting backwards slightly, and Yoongi wastes no time before pressing his lips over his hole and licking over it once with the flat of his tongue.
Jimin audibly sucks in a breath, body tensing further. Yoongi laps over his hole a couple more times, making sure to get him nice and wet with spit, continuing the motion until Jimin releases a shaky sigh and his body loses some of its tension.
Yoongi takes it as his cue to really start, flicking over the puckered skin with the tip of his tongue. His fingers dig into Jimin’s ass as he spreads him further apart, making it easier for him to press further and brush over Jimin’s rim with harder licks. He gets the both of them so messy whenever he does this, and this time isn’t any different. Already, Yoongi can feel spit beginning to spill past the corner of his mouth, and he’s certain it won’t take long before it drips down his chin and Jimin’s ass.
Jimin likes it, though. Has told Yoongi before that he enjoys Yoongi making a mess of him. It gets Yoongi running even hotter, knowing how much Jimin enjoys this, and it spurs him into groaning, the vibration of it making Jimin bite down on a moan.
Digging his thumbs in further, Yoongi nudges Jimin’s cheeks apart even more so that he can start prodding further in with the tip of his tongue. He licks into Jimin as much as he can, relishing in the noises coming out of Jimin’s throat. He doesn’t mind the ache starting at his jaw, ignores it in favor of continuing to press further into Jimin, thumb rubbing over the slick skin of his rim.
Removing one hand from its grip on Jimin’s ass, Yoongi reaches around to wrap his fingers around Jimin’s cock. Jimin’s hips startle at the sudden stimulation, jerking back-and-forth between Yoongi’s hand and mouth. Yoongi just presses on, dips his tongue back in and starts a slow, steady rhythm of pumping Jimin’s cock.
It’s addicting, knowing how good he can make Jimin feel. Yoongi hums as his eyes fall shut, sending vibrations running up Jimin’s spine. He hears a soft fuck from above him, louder again when he flicks a thumb over the head of Jimin’s leaking cock, and then Jimin seems to be collapsing as his knees give in.
Yoongi pulls his hand and mouth away, trying not to smirk too much. “You okay there?”
“Shut up,” Jimin says, blindly swatting a hand behind him and managing to hit Yoongi’s shoulder.
“Let’s turn you around,” Yoongi says, lifting up on his knees a little so he can help Jimin onto his back. Jimin whines but lets himself get moved, making a face when his sweaty skin clings onto the leather. Yoongi pushes himself up further to kiss the younger on the nose once he’s settled on his back, face pleasantly flushed. “You good?”
“More than,” Jimin says, and he’s breathless, beautifully so.
After kissing him once more, this time on the corner of his mouth, Yoongi settles back down between Jimin’s splayed thighs and rubs a hand over them. He nuzzles against the inside of Jimin’s thigh, playfully biting down and causing Jimin to yelp.
“Just get on with it.”
“Pushy,” Yoongi murmurs, but dutifully pushes Jimin’s legs up so that he’s exposed to Yoongi. Jimin makes a small noise like he’s embarrassed, but otherwise holds his own legs up so that Yoongi can use his hands on him.
Yoongi gets back to it, but this time he slips a finger in along with his tongue. Jimin chokes on a moan, probably not expecting it this suddenly, thighs tensing. Yoongi keeps his finger still as he licks around it, letting his spit pool out of his mouth again, repeating the motion until Jimin relaxes and nudges back onto his hand.
It’s easy, then, to crook his finger inside and nudge against Jimin’s walls, before slowly pulling it out. He lets his spit ease the way back in, and it isn’t long before Jimin is shifting his hips in a way that Yoongi knows means he’s ready for more.
So he pushes back in with two fingers, crooks them immediately once they’re pressed inside until the second knuckle. Jimin’s legs shake, his fingers slipping on his thighs. It certainly doesn’t help trying to keep holding onto them when Yoongi leans in and drags his tongue around where his fingers are disappearing into Jimin.
“Shit, hyung,” Jimin moans, and Yoongi takes pity on him, pulling one leg over his shoulder and holding the other up with his free hand. Jimin breathes out a shaky sigh as he relocates his fingers into Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi grunts slightly when the younger tugs.
Soon enough Yoongi has three fingers pushing into Jimin, and when he looks up he sees the way Jimin’s hard and leaking onto his stomach. He feels a grin tugging at his lips, cocky and self-satisfied. “Having a good time?”
“Sh-shut,” Jimin says, no real heat to it. “Just fuck me. M’ready.”
Yoongi doesn’t make him wait long, because if he’s going to be honest he’s also dying to fuck Jimin now. He undoes his slacks and pushes them down to his thighs along with his boxers, fumbling around for Jimin’s pants when the younger tells him about the lube packet in one of the pockets.
He makes a mess when he tears it open, his hand slipping in his haste and making the tear uneven. Jimin laughs at him and Yoongi mock-glares, feeling smugness take over when Jimin’s laughter changes into a hungry expression upon seeing the way Yoongi lubes up his own cock.
They don’t say anything as Yoongi gets back on the seat, one foot planted on the floor of the car. Jimin shuffles into his position from earlier, laid out across the seat, even though the leather is probably annoying now as it clings to his back. Yoongi pulls him closer by the hips, lifting them up by pushing Jimin’s thighs to his chest, and then he’s lining up and pushing in and they’re both releasing a loud breath.
It’s always overwhelming the first time Yoongi presses all the way inside. For both of them. Jimin is so hot around him, squeezing him so tightly and pulling him in that Yoongi’s always afraid things will end before they can even start. So he pauses, clutches onto the backrest of the seat and waits for Jimin’s face to smooth out into something more relaxed.
“Fuck,” Jimin says, after a while, eyes fluttering open and meeting Yoongi’s gaze. A smile tugs at his mouth. “Always feel so damn good, hyung.”
Just like that, Yoongi feels himself relax as well, the tension easing from his shoulders. He removes his grip from the backrest and puts a hand on Jimin’s thigh, tugging it towards him so he can kiss the inside of his calf. “You’re one to talk. You feel fucking perfect.”
“Well,” Jimin says breathily, shifting slightly. The leather squeaks beneath him. “You once called me perfect, so if you could start fucking perfect now that’d be great.”
Yoongi lets out a surprised little snort. “Smart-ass.”
Jimin laughs, and Yoongi takes pleasure in the way it breaks off into a whine once he starts up a rhythm.
It’s just short movements at first, shallow little thrusts that tease them both with the promise of more. Jimin keeps trying to push back, roll his hips into Yoongi’s thrusts in hopes of getting more, and Yoongi lets him, mesmerized by the fluidity of Jimin’s movements.
Perhaps out of frustration, Jimin rocks back onto Yoongi hard after a while and clenches down in a way that’s obviously on purpose, throwing Yoongi off of his shallow rhythm. He glares down at Jimin, and the younger fights back with a glare of his own as he, very pointedly, repeats the action.
Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. Then he holds onto Jimin’s hips, firmly, preventing him from moving any further. He opens his eyes again and sees the expectation on Jimin’s face.
So Yoongi moves, fucks into Jimin properly with thrusts that pull halfway out and slam back in with an audible slap. Jimin keens, throwing his head back with a high-pitched yes , and Yoongi’s gaze finds the mark he left on Jimin’s neck earlier.
The sight of it spurs him into fucking Jimin a little faster, his fingers digging into Jimin’s hips tightly. Jimin squirms a little, letting out a gasp once, and Yoongi tries to keep that same angle as he thrusts into him.
Jimin doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. His hands scrabble above him, hitting the open door of the car once, gripping momentarily onto the edge of the seat, before one of them settles on the backrest and the other on Yoongi’s arm. His mouth falls open, eyelids fluttering, and Yoongi thinks he looks like a gorgeous wreck.
He slows his hips down once he starts feeling the strain of it, tightening his grip on Jimin so that he can push and pull him onto his cock while he catches his breath. Jimin’s back drags across the leather unpleasantly, but he makes no complaint, probably too far gone to notice all the small inconveniences.
Suddenly, Jimin’s nails bite into Yoongi’s arm, stopping him. Yoongi looks down at him in question, and Jimin just takes a moment to gather his breath and himself. Then he croaks, “Wanna ride you.”
“Fuck,” Yoongi says.
Jimin pushes himself up shakily, slumping forward onto Yoongi and nuzzling into his neck. “Wanna ride you,” he repeats.
There’s really no way Yoongi can say no to that, so he settles back, leaning against the backrest as Jimin straddles him. He accepts the kiss Jimin gives him, catches Jimin’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs. Jimin whines. Yoongi gives him a playful smack on the ass for it, and Jimin retaliates by punching him on the shoulder.
All playfulness vanishes once Jimin sinks back down onto Yoongi’s cock, however, knocking the breath out of their lungs. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut once he’s settled down all the way, and his hands are tight where they’re gripping onto Yoongi’s shoulders. “You’re so much deeper like this,” he says. “Oh, oh gods .”
“Bit inappropriate to be calling onto those bastards right now, don’t you think?” Yoongi manages, though the laughter he lets out is strained because fuck does Jimin feel amazing on his cock.
Jimin opens his eyes just to give him a half-hearted glare. Then, balancing properly on his knees, he starts fucking himself onto Yoongi with a refined kind of eagerness.
It’s really mesmerizing, the way he rolls his body on Yoongi’s lap. He’s almost dancing with the way his hips move, and Yoongi just sits there a bit dumbly, trying to take all of Jimin in.
Hair sticking out in places where hands both Yoongi’s and his own have tugged, mouth kissed and bitten swollen, and a perpetual flush spread across his cheeks down to his chest, he looks like a complete and utter mess. Yoongi still can’t believe it, sometimes, how Jimin allows him to break him down like this.
But Yoongi returns that trust just as much. He’ll let Jimin build him up only to turn him into a wreckage, until they’re both shattering into beautiful, wonderful pieces. Even now, even in this all too-fragile human body, Yoongi thinks of how powerful Jimin is, how other-worldly. Thinks of how powerful they can be together, even as mere mortals who have nothing but each other and a distant recollection of the past.
The both of them have always been gearing towards an explosive end, attracted to the notion of creating controlled chaos together. Yoongi thinks none of that has changed as their bodies move, simultaneously together and against each other. Nothing has changed, as Yoongi looks up and watches the way Jimin stares down at him with an expression that seems to say there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather be with. Nothing has changed.
Yoongi would still burn the world down for Jimin. Knows that Jimin would drown it for him in return.
“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, reverently, as he cups Jimin’s face.
Jimin holds onto one of his hands, the other remaining on the backrest for balance. He nuzzles his cheek into Yoongi’s palm, lashes fluttering. “You’re just as amazing.”
Yoongi pulls him in for a kiss, Jimin’s pace stuttering as he eagerly returns it. Yoongi pulls one hand away so he can wrap it tightly around Jimin’s waist, pulling him closer until there’s no space remaining between them. Planting his feet firmly on the car floor, he begins fucking up into Jimin, chasing the heat beginning to wound tightly in his stomach.
Jimin lets out a broken moan against his mouth, one that Yoongi echoes. He can feel Jimin’s cock dragging wetly against his stomach, trapped between their bodies, and judging the way he keeps sporadically clenching around him, Yoongi knows they’re both close. He begins fucking up even faster, short and quick thrusts that almost feel like grinding, and Jimin doesn’t pull away even as his entire body begins trembling near-violently.
His thighs squeeze around Yoongi, a cry spilling from his lips as he releases between them. He clenches tightly around Yoongi’s cock as he comes, and Yoongi grunts, his own movements verging on desperate as he chases after his own release.
He fucks Jimin through his orgasm, feeling the way Jimin trembles against him in the aftershocks. Lips find his jaw, mouthing at his skin desperately, and all it takes is a quiet little hyung, please from Jimin before he’s coming as well, holding Jimin so tightly to him he wouldn’t be surprised if they both bruised.
Jimin whimpers at the feeling of Yoongi coming inside him, squeezing tight to let Yoongi feel as much pleasure as possible. Yoongi’s hips stutter for a few more seconds as he comes down from it, drawing a couple of gasps from Jimin’s lips. Once he’s done, he slumps onto the seat and releases a long, long breath.
They don’t let go of each other for a long time after.
***
The first time Yoongi and Jimin touched was weeks after the party, a firm grip around a delicate wrist, and Yoongi had a sudden recollection of the very first moment he laid eyes on Jimin from before.
It had been during one of the numerous feasts the gods loved to throw in their own honor, something Yoongi had heavily considered leaving until he saw Jimin walking into the room in the midst of the celebrations. He had looked regal, untouchable. Utterly breathtaking, even amidst several other gods who stitched their robes with lights from the galaxies and adorned their hair with stars plucked right out of the sky.
Yoongi had opted to dress more simply that night, long black robes trimmed with blood red silk, but seeing Jimin made him wonder if he should have put more effort into his own appearance. Jimin’s blue robes trailed behind him as he walked, flowing like he had sewn the entire ocean into the fabric of it. His hair was silver and his eyes were ice. Yoongi was considering slipping out of the room unseen when Jimin’s gaze caught his, and it was like he was frozen.
Jimin had approached Yoongi, then, and lightly brushed a hand over his dark hair sprinkled with silver dust. He said, “You look like you ripped the night sky right out of the heavens and wore it as a crown.”
Then he had smiled.
Jimin as a human looked different from when he had been a god. No longer an ice sculpture which warmth was breathed into, but rather a walking autumn afternoon. His hair was a faded orange, eyes brown. It was almost enough to throw Yoongi off, but he focused back into the present, shaking himself to get rid of the sudden awoken memories.
He looked down at Jimin’s wrist trapped in his hand, said, “Are you really trying to pickpocket me?”
Jimin didn’t look apologetic in the slightest, grinning widely as he released Yoongi’s phone and let it fall back into his pocket. “I just wanted to get your attention.”
“A simple hello would have worked just fine.”
“Yeah, but,” Jimin began, not really making an effort to take his wrist back from Yoongi’s hold, “have we ever been simple, Yoongi? Far from it, don’t you think?”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “That’s hyung to you now. And unlike your spoiled human self, I am living a simple life. Not all of us could be reborn as a rich heir or whatever it is you are.”
“Stealing from people is your definition of a simple life?” Jimin asked, but he wasn’t judging. On the contrary, he was teasing, evident in his tone and in the way he took a step closer to Yoongi. “Still can’t keep away from trouble, I see.”
“I mean,” Yoongi replied, absentmindedly stepping closer as well, “here you are in my life again, so I guess you’re right.”
“Oh?” Jimin said, and it came out breathier than was necessary. Dimly, Yoongi registered that they were standing on a sidewalk, people glancing at them curiously as they passed by. It seemed like Jimin didn’t care. “You sound like you’re planning on keeping me around again.”
“Only because you sound like you’re planning on sticking around again.”
Jimin grinned. That was all Yoongi needed for him to press Jimin into the wall of whatever establishment they were standing in front of and kiss him like he had been starving for years.
***
Later, Yoongi stands in Jimin’s apartment on the very top floor of a skyrise.
The wall facing the street, though it’s hardly visible from this high up, is made of a floor-to-ceiling window so that the entire cityscape is within view. Yoongi presses a hand against the glass and leans forward, catching a faint outline of his reflection. He doesn’t think much has changed about his appearance now, though obviously he’s a lot less godly and a lot more human, none of that regal aura about him anymore. The one glaring difference he can see apart from that is that his eyes are no longer crimson.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jimin asks, approaching from behind. Arms drape themselves over Yoongi’s shoulders and lock at his chest, Jimin’s weight settling against him like some kind of overgrown cape. “Definitely better than all those rooftops you keep climbing.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Yoongi says, just to tease. “I might still need some convincing.”
Jimin’s pout is audible. “You used to have taste.”
Yoongi snorts at that. “I mean, I’m fucking you. ”
Jimin pulls away from him with an indignant yelp, and then a moment later there’s a hand slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re so rude.”
“Hey.” Yoongi grins, turning his head slightly so he can look at Jimin. He’s gotten out of his glittery clothes now, just wearing an oversized white shirt that Yoongi knows is his sleepwear of choice. “I’m not the one who implied that I have no taste.”
Jimin looks like he wants to kick him, but instead settles for crossing his arms and staring out into the city.
They watch the night for a few minutes. Yoongi traces the outline the buildings make in the distance, takes in how the sky expands even beyond that, all-encompassing. It used to make him feel small, seeing how vast everything above him is, and the knowledge of what he once was capable of didn’t help.
But now he doesn’t feel bitter. Probably never really did.
He glances beside him and sees Jimin already looking back.
“Do you think you miss it?”
Yoongi only has to figure it out for a second before he has his answer. “How could I, when the only thing I could possibly miss is right here with me?”
The blush that colors Jimin’s cheeks is beautiful. He reaches for Yoongi, fingers wrapping around the hem of his shirt, then he slides himself between Yoongi and the glass, leaning back so that his head is pressed against the window. “It’s probably for the best that we’re down here now, to be honest.”
Yoongi steps closer, hands naturally finding their place on Jimin’s waist. “Yeah, I think so too.”
“I think we would’ve inevitably sent everything into ruins for real,” Jimin says, voice dropping into something like a murmur as he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s neck. His eyes flutter shut when Yoongi presses him further against the glass, one of his legs coming up to wrap around Yoongi’s hip. “I also think you should fuck me again. Right here, right now.”
Yoongi laughs. “Trying to convince me that the view from up here is better?”
“Maybe,” Jimin says, coy. He blinks prettily at Yoongi, pulls him even closer with the leg around his hip. “Is it working?”
Yoongi takes in the way Jimin looks right now, outlined by all the lights, and the decision is made for him. “Yeah,” he says, leaning in and kissing beneath Jimin’s ear, “it’s working.”
This, Yoongi thinks as Jimin turns his head to kiss him properly, this is what it must’ve been like to feel as though the entire world is at your feet.
He never wants to lose it again.