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"there are so many stars here — even more than busan."
yoongi stares as jungkook looks up to the constellations above them, the intricate patterns of the universe just barely a glimmer in his pupils. his words are sort of slurred out together, convoluted vowels making everything sound hazy. "yeah," yoongi says, gently taking the almost empty soju bottle from jungkook's hands. "we should go back to the hotel."
norway is far enough to make them feel a false sense of namelessness. they all feel as if they are no longer faces, but people, albeit the reality is different, of course. however at night, way into it, bergen is asleep, safer — but never safe enough, never deeply asleep, so when jungkook doesn't come to the room they share, yoongi follows him out. "it's coming of age day, hyung," jungkook is still gazing up. "i'm allowed to be reckless for once."
"no, you're not," yoongi sighs, then takes a swing of the bottle, the liquid aching as it goes down his throat. jungkook looks at him. "this is disgusting."
"why are you drinking?"
"so you won't." jungkook's stare feels ebullient, eyes big and questioning. the attention and the alcohol making yoongi uncomfortable. he clears his throat, bothered. "you still look like a kid."
"and you just look old, hyung," jungkook laughs, a breathy sort of cackle that sounds ridiculous. yoongi can't help but laugh, too, shoulders shaking. it gets quiet too soon, jungkook slides closer on the bench, yoongi shrinks just slightly. "— it's cold."
the alcohol magnifies jungkook's natural clinginess, and his first touch is prying, experimental, the tips of his fingers against the patch of skin on yoongi's wrist. it doesn't take long until he's pressing down onto the soft spots of his palm, fingers pushing through the crevices between yoongi's. their silent hand-holding feels unnecessarily good, their hands match oddly well. "let's go back to the hotel," yoongi says, ignoring the messy beat of his heart. "come on, jungkook."
it takes a little pulling and demanding from yoongi to get jungkook to concede. they stand, yoongi letting go of jungkook's hand, watching him take faltering steps. jungkook both hums and sings all the way to their hotel, and on the lobby he slides his arms around yoongi's waist, their feet stumbling together, making it hard to walk. the elevator ride feels like a million years, jungkook's body close to his own, pressing and pressing and pressing, fingers curled on the fabric of his jacket, his breath shallow and hot against yoongi's neck. their hotel apartment is as quiet as the streets.
jungkook goes straight for the cake leftover as soon as he sees it. yoongi stands idly by him, watching him eat. "here, hyung," jungkook offers, fingers full of chocolate and icing, and it should look appalling and even mildly improper, but the effect is nowhere near it.
"no, thanks," yoongi manages to say, stepping back.
"come on, hyung," he gets closer, yoongi can smell the chocolate. there's something else in jungkook's stare, something shifty, reckless. "it's just cake. you didn't have it before."
"i don't—" but yoongi has to hold his breath, because jungkook touches his lips with his thumb, grasping against his teeth, leaving a smooth trace of icing all over them, his eyes following the movement almost wolfishly. he's drunk. yoongi pushes his hand away softly, licking the icing, feeling himself grow warmer by the second. "jungkook, don't — do that."
"touch you?"
in most cases and scenarios, the sentence would've sound like playful teasing, followed probably by childish tickling or ribs being poked. it's not the case this time. the air hangs around them, awkwardly heavy. "stop that," yoongi exhales, the sweetness of the icing layering his words. "i'll make you some coffee."
he has to search around the kitchen for a bit until he can find a proper coffee pot, and jungkook observes him from the door frame, arms crossed against his chest. yoongi feels smothered. still, he goes through with it, until he gets jungkook to drink the full mug of bitter, sugarless coffee. his eyes look less opaque after some time. yoongi glances at his watch. thirty to five. "go to bed," yoongi orders, washing the empty mug. "i'll sleep on the couch."
"why?"
"because," he doesn't really have a reason. "just go to bed, okay."
yoongi turns to leave, and he's a step away from the door when jungkook speaks again. "i'm sorry, hyung," he mumbles. "i don't want you to sleep on the couch because of me." yoongi stops, shoulders dropping. jungkook sounds sheepish, small. yoongi is undeniably weak against it.
"okay, just," yoongi finally says. "— let's go, then. it's late."
the bed is big enough for the both of them — big enough to put space in between their bodies, needed space, yoongi thinks briefly. jungkook's touchy, he's used to that, he doesn't think too often about it, it's just jungkook. yoongi stares at the back of his head, troubled, and the younger almost seems to know, because he runs his hand over his neck, fingers sort of caressing the skin, pressing down on tense muscles on his shoulder. it's a mindless touch, but yoongi's body reacts to it involuntarily, and it's embarrassing.
he turns his back to jungkook as soon as his breath starts to stutter. jungkook stops moving for a few minutes, or at least long enough that yoongi starts relaxing again, sleepiness slowly sinking in. jungkook's voice pulls him out from slumber, though. "my head hurts," he whines. yoongi sighs.
"sleep, it'll go away."
"i never got kissed," jungkook carries on, and yoongi feels the mattress dip as jungkook moves closer.
"you will," he finds himself replying. "plenty of girls out there who'd like that."
a small silence follows, before jungkook fills in the spaces again: "— only girls?" yoongi almost winces, a bitter redness spreading around his face, unwanted. the question leaves too many vacancies in between them.
"you can kiss whoever you want," yoongi finally says, having to push the words out, eyes trained on the wall. "now sleep." it gets quiet for a just a moment, their slow breathing coming out in pace with the tick tock of the room's clock. and then yoongi feels the bed move again, and the softest of the kisses on the crook of his neck. he coils, oversensitive. "— stop, jungkook," he hisses. it comes out cruel, and he regrets it at once.
the room is lit enough that he sees jungkook's wide eyes as soon as he turns to look over his shoulder. "i," he starts, panicking. "i'm not — i just —" words fail to come through.
"shit, i'm sorry," yoongi says, then, holding jungkook's arm gently as he rolls his body towards him again, their knees touching under the blankets. "it's okay, i didn't mean to sound like that, i'm sorry."
it is okay until it's not. it's okay until jungkook is pressing his lips against yoongi's. it lasts barely a few seconds, but yoongi stops breathing altogether. it's a drama kiss, artificial and chaste, yoongi doesn't have time to close his eyes, staring at the darkness in jungkook's eyelashes, but still his body burns copiously. jungkook pulls away, looking stunned by his own boldness, and yoongi watches him lick his lips.
"are you going to tell the others?"
yoongi stares at him. are you going to tell the others that i kissed you? are you going to tell the others that i wouldn't mind kissing boys? he shakes in head, finding hard to use words. jungkook has rendered him mute, breathless, even, with barely a peck. "no," he manages to say. it doesn't matter to him. jungkook smiles almost tenderly, looking like the youth he is. yoongi loses the grip on his arm. "sleep," he says, and it's probably the thousandth time.
"i can't," jungkook complains.
"you're making this harder than it needs to be, jungkook," yoongi sighs, annoyed, touching jungkook's face with his fingers, closing his eyelids. his eyelashes feel soft. "there you go."
but jungkook leans forward, kissing yoongi's palm, his tongue hot like his breath trailing yoongi's love line. the sheer intimacy of the act makes yoongi's gasp come out broken, stuttery as his insides boil, burning a fever that feels almost painful. jungkook gets crimson. they stare each other down.
it's a split-second of a decision, and yoongi can't really remember what the options were in his head. it all turns into shaky blurness as soon as he hastily pulls jungkook closer by the collar of his shirt, the kiss not really sweet, but messy, rough. jungkook makes a satisfied noise as he parts his lips, a moan, and yoongi struggles with his heartbeat.
jungkook's too forward for someone who never kissed, too feisty, too eager. he searches for yoongi with some sort of desperation, fire under his fingertips, fueled by loneliness and arousal, the mixture perilous. "that's — that's enough, now," yoongi halfheartedly says, raspiness staining his words, syllables crooked. jungkook gets closer, body heavy hovering over his, pinning yoongi down on the bed — but when one of his legs finds a way in between yoongi's he stops, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights, breath hitched. yoongi's body is too responsive, and his pants are not exactly hiding anything.
"you're staring," yoongi comments, weakly, and his sight wanders to jungkook's lips briefly. they tasted of cake.
"i can't help it," jungkook replies almost demurely, in complete disregard to the position they're in, face so close to yoongi's, pupils blown like crazy. he looks lovestruck, the edge of the alcohol still lingering in his words, but faintly now, lips just a bit swollen from kissing. he also looks every bit of young he is, and that scares yoongi. "i want to—," he shifts slightly, and his sentence is left unfinished as their bodies grind against each other, very slowly and maybe even very deliberately. yoongi's lungs go into overdrive. "god, hyung — your face just now."
"— tell me what you want."
a dangerous order. the silence seems to consume the oxygen around them entirely, and they choke on carbon dioxide instead. it drags. yoongi's hyperaware of jungkook's body and all the things he wants to do with it. "i want to touch you."
to be under jungkook's stare like that feels like carrying a heavy crown, the burden too difficult to bear. yoongi breaks under its weight, when maybe he shouldn't, couldn't. "do it," he whispers, because his voice has given up on him.
their teeth clash when jungkook kisses him again, unrelenting, and yoongi thinks he'll stop breathing at any given minute as jungkook's hand find his way down his pants, fingers curious and inexperienced, but oh so good. yoongi has to bite back whatever sound that wants to spill out of his throat. jungkook speaks against his lips: "hyung, i've never — to somebody else—"
"you're doing real great, kook," yoongi finds the syllables hard to put together, and it all comes out slurred, as if he's drunk on the things jungkook's doing to him. his face burns, and his brain is a clash of wrongwrongwrongwrong and thoughts that are too dark to share. jungkook thrives on the compliment, as usual, grip getting more daring, strokes more controlled, thumb rubbing against the slit, exorcising all demons from under yoongi's skin. "— just, fuck."
every breath jungkook takes brings yoongi closer to the edge of the abyss. the kisses down his neck get rougher, stingier, and yoongi thinks, slightly unhinged, that he might have to wear high collars for a while. jungkook grinds on his thigh, needy, breath hot against his collarbones. yoongi shudders.
"hyung, i need—"
"yeah, yeah," yoongi agrees to whatever jungkook wants to say, pulling jungkook's hand from his pants, and he struggles a bit to roll their bodies until he's on top of jungkook, knees close to his ribs, sitting up on his crotch, making him squirm. they stare at each other, bodies still, only chests heaving. the tension between them is almost visible, tangible — it has always been there, looming like a curse, reminding yoongi of things he can't have. now the lines are all blurred.
jungkook makes the first move, grabbing the sides of yoongi's shirt, pulling it up. yoongi tosses the shirt off the bed, feeling jungkook's hands splaying against his stomach, touch delicate, as if yoongi's made of every precious metal there is. "tell me what you want," yoongi repeats, tone demanding, urgent.
"— you."
it's a miracle, yoongi thinks, he doesn't come right there in his pants. jungkook's slightly sheepish tone of voice messes him up bad, and his eyes are like black holes, all-consuming and quietly violent, blown with lust. yoongi leans down to kiss him, tongue still saccharine, and they kiss until jungkook starts grinding against him again, burning for the friction, body jittery, endless breathy noises pouring out of him. it's a sinful orchestra, and yoongi is the maestro behind it. "you need to keep quiet, jungkook," yoongi mutters as he removes jungkook's shirt. "and stop wearing my clothes."
"they look good on me," jungkook dares to say.
"everything looks good on you, you're so—," yoongi has to swallow dry, staring at jungkook's body under him, every little curve so beautifully carved. oxygen fails him entirely. "you're so beautiful." the blush that creeps under jungkook's skin stains his whole chest, heating yoongi's fingertips as he gently touches it, exploringly. yoongi can't really help himself anymore, words that he's kept in eerie corners of his brain just leaving his mouth to their own accord. "your collarbones," he starts, indulging on how goosebumps crawl on jungkook's skin as he touches it. "your neck, that scar on your cheek, god — your thighs, your hands, your skin, your freaking soul is beautiful."
"i'm not—" jungkook sounds small. yoongi's chest is filled with the kind of yearning that doesn't really go away. it smears and smears, his wants and needs turning into messy, gray and red watercolors.
"shut it, kook," he replies, voice coming out weak, but jungkook's smile turns into a panicky expression as soon as yoongi tries to take off his sweatpants.
"hyung."
yoongi stops. "you don't want to? i won't if you don't."
jungkook breathes in sharp cuts, eyes searching yoongi's, cheeks red. "i just never—" he looks nervous. yoongi's nervous too, heart a mess, head pounding. "but i want to."
and it's sooner than later that yoongi finds himself between jungkook's legs, holding onto his thighs firmly, and jungkook is vocal, too vocal, streams of messy syllables escaping his lips even when he bites it down. yoongi grinds against the sheets because he's so, so hard, the sounds of licking and sucking and jungkook's mad, hushed whimpering getting too obscene.
he never really gave anyone a blowjob before — but it doesn't seem to matter, as jungkook buckles up his hips, pushing the air out of yoongi's lungs, fingers tugging painfully on his hair, and his throat aches in a good way. he knows jungkook's close when his body gets violently shivery, and he whimpers, incongruous, mindless words, an arm tossed over his face. "hyung, please, please." but yoongi pulls back, to breathe, to let jungkook wait.
"i need you on your stomach," he mutters. jungkook does so, burying his face on a pillow, ears red, neck red, shoulder blades red, he's all red, red, red. yoongi trails soft kisses on his lower back, arching it up, kneeling between jungkook's legs, hands on his thighs, touch tender.
"what are you—" jungkook seems to choke on his words, body convulsing as soon as yoongi's tongue touches him. he squirms, tense, breath shallow, and yoongi goes slow, until jungkook's sentences become a convoluted mash of ohgodfuckfuckfuckhyunghyunghyung. yoongi is careful not to hurt, not to scare, but he does get more daring as jungkook's tense whimpers become strangled, muffled moans, tongue pushing in as jungkook melts under him. "hyung, god, ah— shit."
maybe he's being a bit too overly careful, but yoongi eats him out slowly, steadyly, ripping every plead he can from jungkook's throat, a choir of dirty words and broken hallelujahs. he feels jungkook unravelling with each brush of his fingers, with each kitten-lick, fingers curling around the sheets, pushing against him, a hand stroking himself. "god, kook—"
"i— fuck, hyung."
"language," yoongi mutters, and maybe he does something with his tongue that seems to be just right, because jungkook sounds like a bloody wreck. "do you like that?"
"do it again," jungkook demands, voice sounding hazed, his strokes chaotic now, weak. "please—"
yoongi doesn't really give him what he wants at first, just because he likes how jungkook writhes and demands in tear up, messy words. "come on, baby," he says before flickering his tongue just the right way.
the pet name seems to get to jungkook, and it's a mess when he comes, body stiff and then soft, stuttery moan against the pillow. yoongi hums, content, working him until jungkook pushes away, quivering, eyes white, a sob escaping his lips, too much, it's too much, hyung. yoongi lets his body collapse besides jungkook's, heavy with leftover want.
it takes a moment for them to catch their breath, it lingers, solid around them. yoongi stares when jungkook brings his own sticky hand to his mouth, sucking at it, tentatively at first, watching yoongi under lightless eyes, mouth parted, breathing through his teeth harshly. he's a vision, he isn't real, yoongi muses, breathless, grabbing his hand.
jungkook sucks his breath as he brushes his thumb against yoongi's bottom lip again, getting closer, mouth against yoongi's jawline, sliding a hand under the band of yoongi's pants, and yoongi presses his eyes shut, groaning. they kiss sloppily, wet, salty, and it doesn't take long until yoongi is coming too, face buried on the crook of jungkook's neck, biting down on flesh and bones. they're wrecked, stained, lungs anxious. dangerous thoughts go through yoongi's mind, am i in love, i want to fuck you, let me touch you again, love, love, fuck, love, love, fuck, lovelovelovelove. then there's quietness as the wavy spasms of pleasure die out. then there's shame, as the weight of their actions settles in. then there's fear — raw, unyielding fear.
"you okay?"
the question hangs, unaswered, for a while. yoongi notices vaguely how the sky is starting to change shades, the night gradually giving in to the faded, white norway sun, shifting the colors in the room, coloring jungkook's skin the prettiest hues. yoongi's rattled in too many ways, and he leans in to kiss jungkook's forehead, out of sheer impulse. "yeah." he doesn't look okay, and yoongi grows worry, a sickening feeling crawling under his skin. "— hyung," jungkook starts again, looking up at the ceiling. "is this alright?"
"what do you mean?"
"us," the word gets pushed out weirdly, and jungkook seems too flustered to say it properly. us is a pronoun with too many implications. "this."
"are you alright with this?"
"i guess," jungkook shrugs, blushy. "i liked it." yoongi finds himself smiling, and it gets wider even when he tries to control it, relief sinking in. jungkook touches his hand carefully, holding it, bony fingers against his own, strangely fitting. it warms yoongi from inside out. the sigh he lets out is faint-hearted, feeble.
"i like that you liked."
when jungkook doesn't say anything back, yoongi leans him to kiss his neck, smelling hints of cologne on his skin. "it's daylight, hyung." jungkook mumbles then. "we have to get up soon."
"i'm jetlagged, i'm not leaving this bed."
"— you need a shower, hyung."
"i'm tired," yoongi complains, bringing jungkook closer, finding no resistance. they are silent for a little while, and yoongi almost falls into slumber, pressed against the sides of jungkook.
"hyung, shower," jungkook pokes him before he can actually fall asleep. then he's muttering in yoongi's ear, tone brash. "we can go together." yoongi has the decency of not making any noises.
"jeon jungkook—"
"it's coming of age day, hyung. i'm allowed to be reckless."