Knotty

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/49728334.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V, Jeon Jungkook & Kim Taehyung | V
Character: Jeon Jungkook, Kim Taehyung | V
Additional Tags: Porn with Feelings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Explicit Sexual
Content, Top Kim Taehyung | V, Bottom Jeon Jungkook, Smut, Hyung
Kink, Dirty Talk, Rimming, Anal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Strangers to
Lovers, Alternate Universe - College/University
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of Massage Envy
Stats: Published: 2023-08-30 Words: 40,888 Chapters: 1/1

Knotty
by leanondrabbles

Summary

A sequel to Kneady.

In a life where equilibrium is paramount, Jungkook's world is chaos. As he anxiously

anticipates a reunion, he knows that privacy is assured, but expectations are not.

Taehyung, as unpredictable, challenging, and irresistibly magnetic as ever, steps back into
his life after a mere two-week hiatus. In this carefully crafted reunion, Jungkook will
discover that equilibrium is just an illusion, and sometimes, the knots that bind us are meant
to be unraveled.

It’s deep in his gut.

Uncomfortable with how heavy it grows, Jungkook’s knuckles turn white as the rest of him
squirms restlessly.

His knee has bounced to the moon and back more than twice, and he regrets not paying tribute to
the normal operation of his lungs in time.

He gets nervous before tennis matches, less so but still a little before tests, more so when unknown
strangers deliver unwanted touches. Yet, absolutely none of these have prepared him for managing
the tidal wave of acid sloshing inside his abdomen right now, the feeling impossible to pinpoint as
excitement, fear, pain, or fucking adrenaline.
All he knows is that when he pictures the cause of it, when he reconstructs it behind his eyelids for
the millionth time, that complex and unnamable thing inside twists and wrecks his nervous system,
palpitating his heart and suffocating his lungs.

So, not an ideal state to be operating a vehicle in.

He manages to avoid other cars, manages to stop where required. A miracle, given how his mind is
anywhere but the present.

He hasn’t been able to focus on anything in front of him for about two weeks, four hours, and
thirty-seven-eight minutes. Give or take.

It’s unfortunate that final exams occurred during that window of existential consideration but thank
fuck for his good study habits all semester relinquishing the need for last minute cramming. The
only new information his brain has been able to store recently can’t be vocalized in the light of day
without significant blushing and blistering shame.

His search history is no one’s business.

His unmarked packages aren’t either.

Upon reflection, he should’ve had a better game plan, should’ve known Jimin would pester and
push. It had only been a few days after, enough time for certain bruises to fade, and he really did
want to see his friend, to test a theory mainly.

Jimin's waist was still too small, still too soft, and he still found himself pulling away from the side
hug as soon as it had begun. He despised the way the tiny digits clung to his clothing, even briefly,
and nearly collapsed in a hot flash when he envisioned longer digits, the things they did to him.

Your little hole is so warm

He sputtered and coughed so much, true concern laced Jimin’s repeated you okay’s, but he’d never
be able to put words to how not okay he felt, how not okay he’s been ever since.

It almost helped, the mindless way he shrugged off that brush to his shoulder. An aspect of him
that wasn’t frighteningly new and attempting to shred his stubbornly crafted identity.

Though his mouth responded with nonchalance, his body did not.

Because when Jimin prodded for more details, his mind produced an image as vulgar as-

Tae-lower-fuck! Need you-shit-

Need me where baby?

Tae-

Tell me angel, or this is all you’re going to get. Baby-

Lick my asshole, Taehyung. I want your tongue in my tight little-

Jimin looked shocked stupid at Jungkook’s strange behavior, cheeks flushing and breaths
shortening.

He tried to get a grip but then Jimin asked about the masseur, something normal like was he good
with his hands, and Jungkook just, he just-
Want you to take me

Oh baby-

Want your fingers and tongue inside and want you to rip my hole open with your thick cock

Fuck an-

Make me your slut, hyung. Wanna be your dirty slut, want you to-

And it was his fault for thinking he’d recovered enough, for thinking he’d ever recover.

He feigned illness he thinks, lust having blurred his surroundings. He does remember the distinct
impression that whatever bullshit be spewed, Jimin wasn’t fucking buying.

The worst part about his new internal temperature setting has been the profound resilience of it.

Ice baths, cold compresses, running his AC to near mortgage level expense, nothing has rid his
body of that thin sheen of sweat, now permanently adorning him, incriminating him.

Whenever he thinks about it, without fail, his stomach swoops, for some reason giving his veins
the audacity to transform into molten lava.

And that lava leaves no land uncovered, gushes to every extremity like when he ran out of a fluid
mechanics review session, sweating and half-hard because of a differential-

Oh wait, sorry, I guess they don’t teach you things like that in calculus

You know your face looked a lot less stupid buried in my ass

And your face looked a lot less stupid begging to be my slut

He felt like a dirty slut all over again, bookbag generating an audible thud followed by the slapping
of his damp clothes, strewn carelessly.

Even writhing atop his covers, cherry skinned and mortified, didn’t make it stop.

It’s so wet, I-I’m so wuh-wet

Oh baby, you like being wet? Wet for me like a little slut?

Yes sir, like…it

Go on and say it, baby. Tell me exactly what you like

Like being sir’s dirty, wet slut

His hazy mind didn’t prevent determined fingers from securing a bottle of lube in his palm and
squeezing with enough force to literally inject it.

His chest was nearly convulsing with anticipation as he spread the substance messily, reaching a
sob when his quivering entrance took two fingers to the hilt without resistance.

He felt full but he needed to feel utterly stuffed.

Stretching and scissoring, his stocky fingers gave a commendable performance.

And it wasn’t even close to enough.

Eventually, he ripped his hand away in frustrated exhaustion, memory not bothering to spare him
any pity at his only remaining option.

Rest assured angel, once you’ve had my cock, dildos will never satisfy you again. You’ll be ruined.

Tae-ah-fuck, ruin me. Fucking ruin me.

He had brought on his own demise, and he’d never learn.

He didn’t get the relief he craved that night, jacked his cock until it nearly bled, only to earn a few
pathetic dribbles from the tip and barely a foreshock of an orgasm.

Still, it prevented him from doing something very stupid in his very unwell state of mind.

That wasn’t even the closest call.

Knowing that he could, the only obstacles being social destruction and self-hatred, increased the
temptation to a painful extent.

Access is a mother-fucking bitch to an addict.

Because, yes.

Taehyung- that beautiful, god-like fucker with a cock as big as his ego and a sense of humor quick
enough to make up for it- had texted him.

A mild panic had already set in when the ding came after the sun set that same day. There were no
less than five false alarms, starting with the ever persistent, ever-fucking-nosey Jimin, until finally
a foreign number penetrated his irises and his heart dropped so hard, he swears a little more cum
leaked from his asshole.

He hadn’t tried to keep it in. He’s not a freak. He hadn’t tried particularly hard to clean himself out
either.

As if he hadn’t gotten fucked enough, Taehyung sent him sweet apologies for not texting sooner
and a godforsaken care list. Ibuprofen, fluids, and rest were just what the doctor ordered. An
egregious amount of time was spent googling “massage aftercare” and “anal sex aftercare” trying
to research his way to whether or not his heart should stop beating.

He did not realize that the question of aftercare intent would be a gateway drug to crippling self-
doubt enabled by far too refined analytical skill.

Taehyung had given him just enough evidence to make resolving his confusion in either direction
impossible.

They texted every day.

For the first few, he thought Taehyung was intentionally teasing him by not bringing it up.

He was positive that in the middle of the kind of teasing banter about modeling and engineering
and even banana milk adopted as their baseline-
So, remember how my cock was buried in ur ass and u begged to be my cockslut and we fucked
each other dumb? That was neat ;)

He had gone so far as-

What Jungkookie, did you honestly think I wouldn’t bring up a glorious ass like yours?? I promised
to ask you out, didn’t I?

Didn’t he?

Tonight?

And it’s his fucking fantasy. He deserves to be optimistic.

Marry me?

So yeah,

Totally fucked.

Despite his mind teetering in an inescapable limbo, his body hasn’t synced to the latest update and
keeps desperately yearning for Taehyung in those unmatched physical capacities.

He just feels so empty and so fucking horny, like he’s a preteen again having just discovered porn
and his right hand.

And it’s a little like that because he’d never felt anything like what Taehyung made him feel, never
felt ready to admit where things lacked with women, never accepted the inarguable reality that he
is really, actually, without any underlying repression, super gay.

So, his body yearns to make up for all his stubborn mind has kept from it. Everything reminds him
of Taehyung. Therefore, everything is a major fucking turn on.

Yet, Taehyung has equal parts awakened and damned him.

That closest call came during one of these endlessly turned-on moments, sweating and writhing
against the fabric of his sheets, fingers achy and pathetic thoughts deliriously asserting that
blacking out would deliver a reprieve from the throbbing of his cock, the longing in his gut.

He rolled onto his toned stomach, barely enough energy to slide his knees under his weight, widely
spread and exposing his drenched hole to stale air.

He had never touched himself ass up, always afraid of the lewdness of it.

The position is now heavily associated with Taehyung’s hand down his spine, Taehyung’s praise is
his ears, Taehyung’s fingers abusing his prostate.

He let those thoughts fill him alongside his largest and most favorite dildo.

The feeling of it paled in comparison to the sound of it, his loose and sloppy hole squelching
around the intrusion of the glass object. A simultaneous gasp and shiver shuddered through his
frame when the base brushed against his rim, spreading him open.

Face smashed hard enough into the mattress to suffocate, he tried to pull and push the object, tried
to angle it just right, tried to take himself apart.

But-

Tell me you feel me, baby

Ngh- I feel you, hyung

Yeah? You like how my fat cock feels inside your pretty ass?

Yuh-yeah-yeah

Fucking himself relentlessly, grip white around the base, he tried to stop thinking for long enough
to zap the tension in his core. But the memories wouldn’t show mercy, and his gut began to churn
viciously with the need to be stuffed properly and fucked completely.

What does it feel like?

Fuck, feels so good, I love it, love your cock

Of course you do, acting like a good cockslut already

For a moment, he thought it would happen. But he used so much lube, and his slipping grip began
to affect his accuracy.

Wanna be good

I know, angel. I’ll tell you exactly how to be good for me. Just tell me when you feel it

Straining, working his fist, gasping into the sheets, he tried to forget. He tried to bury the memory
of how deliciously Taehyung’s cock had probed crevices deep within, of how delirious he became
when the plunges became spongier, hard rod poking into a place so intimate and so acceptant of
rhythmic abuse.

After the first sob strained his throat, the dam broke wide open, hands automatically leaving their
post to cradle his face and catch his tears.

It was then, sniffling and shaking on his side, that he had the marvelous idea to begin recording.

He couldn’t, nor would he want to articulate exactly what that video contains.

Using a little deductive reasoning, he can guess that it has to do with Taehyung’s cock and the way
Jungkook is a needy, helpless whore for it. Whether he called him Taehyung or something else,
god only knows.

In his hazy stupor he had argued with himself, though easily became overwhelmed at having to
make a decision. Exhaustion won, saving him from the annihilation of all self-respect.

The following day, he had tried to take early action, sending texts he felt very obviously exposed
his intention.

God, I’m soooo tired of studying

Doesn’t help that it’s hot as fuck in my apartment

Seriously. Four o’s.

Four o’s dripping in implication, and Taehyung managed to miss every single one.

Sounds like the perfect job for banana milk

He had almost typed back-

Yeah if banana is code for cock…

I want your cock

Then, he remembered to not be himself.

Overall, it’s impressive that he manages to pull into the average looking apartment complex
unscathed given the zombie-like state of total disassociation uninvited thoughts have driven him
to.

The scorching hot leather of the steering wheel sears his forehead as he squeezes his eyes tightly
shut and tries to steady his breaths, his heart.

He gives up the useless plight immediately, rubbing up and down shaky knees, hoping that black
sweatpants don’t show sweat.

Forget adrenaline, excitement, pain- he’s fucking terrified.

It’s because he doesn’t know.

He has not even an idea of what’s waiting up there, and the inability to manage his expectations is
absolutely crippling.

Because he has them. He wouldn’t have put so much effort into getting certain things ready
otherwise. He’s been imagining an unconscionable number of different scenarios involving him,
Taehyung, and the bottle of painkillers secured in his glovebox.

It’s not a date.

It was Taehyung’s idea after finals week concluded. He had wondered in a pathetic rage if a bunch
of dumb tests had been holding him back from getting some.

Apparently, he had not experienced the full extent of Taehyung’s magic, masseur hands during his
first “massage”. Even though he wanted to be teased mercilessly about why the first massage had
veered of course, Taehyung merely suggested a solution. A follow-up appointment. A private one.
At his apartment. Casual.

Except there’s nothing supremely casual about-

Are you giving me your dirty little hole?

Ah-fuck! Yes!

Who does this hole belong to?

You! Yours! Fuck! All yours

What’s my name?
Tae-huh-hyung

Who does your hole belong to?

Taehyung-AH!

Who do you belong to?

Kim-Tae-Hyung

Here’s hoping that sweatpants can hide more than sweat.

The pounding against his ribcage reaches his eardrums as he takes each step with an unsteadiness
totally uncharacteristic of the bulging muscles in his thighs.

At the top of the stairs, he doesn’t know if he wants to sprint or stall, and god fuck his chest is
going to explode either way.

His feet move, and he starts panicking about anything and everything.

Is his outfit okay? Does his hair look effortlessly tousled? Fuck, did the steering wheel leave a
mark on his face?

He rubs over his brow, reminding himself that he already freaked out about his choice of clothing
for an hour before deciding on literally all black- sweats, t-shirt, combat boots- because he’s cool
and not trying too hard. He took the black ballcap on and off about seven times before deciding
that his hair actually looked somewhat sexy all wild and wavy and longer than it should be.

Make-up had been a more complex internal struggle. He owns foundation and eye liner and maybe
some candy pink lip gloss left in his drawer by Jimin.

The foundation had only been used to cover the occasional offensive blemish, and the eyeliner had
been for a Halloween look. He got used to pretending the lip gloss was cursed.

A newly self-admitted gay man- gay bottom, he’s not sure if/how certain aspects of his physical
appearance might/should change. More or less-

Is he a twink now?

The next logical question certainly isn’t-

Does Taehyung want him to be?

Two weeks of texting about favorite foods and annoying family members hasn’t revealed this
critical information.

Should he be pretty? Dainty? God forbid-

Well, what if it’s not about me?

What do you mean?

You know what I mean

And what if I want to hear it from your filthy mouth?

I don’t want to come. I want you to come. And I want you to use my hole to do it. Use me

Then, the door is there, and so is his fist, and if he hesitates it won’t happen.

The shuffling makes him nearly convulse into a fit of dry heaves.

Only a panel of wood separates them, and his body knows it, thrums with the proximity.

It’s going to happen, it’s already happening- his ears ring along with the creaking of the hinge, eyes
practicing bulging as they lift-

“Hi.”

Oh Jesus fucking christ.

Getting hotter should’ve been impossible. Or at the very least illegal because-

Fuck.

His mouth parts as he doesn’t reply, but stares, shocked.

If Taehyung in all white had been an ethereal deity, Taehyung in all black-

I’m not hyung right now

His painfully wide eyes nearly dry out gaping at the lithe figure in the doorway. Every single detail
feels like a personal attack.

The sweater dips below the tips of his collarbones while otherwise being traditional, tucked neatly
into a pair of slim dark slacks with a chic brown belt highlighting his narrow hips.
Uncomplicatedly classy.

The gulp comes unannounced when he traces the bunched-up sleeves around his elbows, noting the
contrast between thin, delicate bracelets and thick, sturdy veins.

His-

Wow, you really like my hands that much?

Fuck.

He delays eye contact until it’s awkward, though still ends up feeling grossly unprepared.

Just-

How?

His eyes are half-moons, rounded and glowing with reflected light yet shadowed enough to be
mysterious. They are a contradiction, big enough to exude a puppy-like innocence, tapered enough
to embody the prowess of a tiger.

Favored strands of hair create a cloudy frame, while a gray headband subdues the remainder of his
unruly, midnight mane.
It’s too much, the exposed forehead, the locks tucked behind his left ear divulging a simple gold
hoop, the brownish hue of his full pout, the way his skin has clearly enjoyed basking in the
summer sun’s rays, bronzed and golden and radiant.

The blurry memory, the images studied during countless hours of scrolling, nothing had been able
to contain and convey the breathtaking elegance, the overwhelming aura, the unmatched essence of
Kim Taehyung.

They appraise one another for too long, as if the full magnitude of the previously shared experience
is a large file downloading under a restored connection.

I want it to be you

There are scattered fragments of Taehyung, the professional one with skilled fingers, the model
one with a backstory, the sexed up one with a glorious cock, the cute one behind an emoji string; he
scrambles with difficulty to stitch them into one coherent pattern.

He wonders what Taehyung has crafted of his own patches.

The answer isn’t in his eyes because they’ve fallen, searching over Jungkook’s exposed,
unblemished neck.

Mmm-you like being branded, baby? You want everyone to know that you’re mine?

He’s on fire, breathless, and hasn’t even stepped through the doorway.

When Taehyung’s eyes begin a slow descent towards his chest, he coughs because the air is plenty
crushing enough.

Taehyung rights himself, and thankfully (or not) still maintains function of his impossibly deep
voice.

“Come in.” He steps aside, one hand clutching at the door’s edge, the other smoothing hair behind
his unfathomably appealing ear.

Jungkook takes a large step forward, a large breath in, and enters the tiger’s lair.

The apartment is far more put together than it ought to be, Jungkook decides, eyes absorbing the
open floor plan dotted with crisp, modern furniture and accented with color from eclectic art
pieces.

Still hauntingly aware of Taehyung’s heavy presence, he steels himself to focus on the paradox of
the ugly structure of the unit adorned with such intention.

It isn’t fanciness, but the fingerprint of culture from an individual with a uniquely perceptive eye.

Taehyung radiates aesthetics at all times, and it shouldn’t surprise nor charm Jungkook as much as
it does that his apartment is but another vehicle for it.

There are enough dark tones to create a sultry and modern vibe, but his investigation halts at the far
end of the den where a black-framed room divider splattered with a cherry blossom tree sections
off a small area.

It’s pretty, and before he determines whether it’s hand-painted, the hairs on the nape of his neck
stand at attention.

“And?” Too close, and not close enough.

He clears his throat while twisting only at the torso to play dumb, “And..”

Taehyung only has to flick his eyes over to the rest of the room to communicate the message, and
the smirk on his lips just makes Jungkook want to kiss him, but he settles for chuckling (not
giggling) instead.

“Hideous.” He smirks back because this is what they do.

They shimmer together, eyes connected, light and easy.

The moment takes too long, smiles dropping, silent expectations coupled with uncertainty giving
way to awkwardness.

He really doesn’t know how to act, and a tingle rips up the center of his asscheeks at the thought of
being wrong or right.

“Well-uh,” he crams his endowed hands into too tight pockets while cantering away, and it’s
interesting, “I’ll show you-yeah. Follow me,” seeing Taehyung in such a state.

Not in the obvious/normal-people way, but still wielding less swagger, less sheer fucking
command in his aura. Jungkook is holding a magnifying glass, trapped in his head, speech reduced
to mitigate the risk.

They walk past black kitchen cabinets, past a white sectional, towards the most intriguing part of
the space.

“Alright-yep, so-” his hands clap together, gorgeous fingers meeting in front of his chest. “Thank
you for trusting me with your massage today.”

The word and the reveal of the hidden area slam into him with one conclusionary punch straight to
his blunt nose.

Candles, oil diffuser, a large leafy plant, soft meditative music, and the hard-to-miss, impossible-
to-mistake feature right at the center of the display.

For massages.

Which is what Jungkook came here for, yes.

“Do you have any specific areas you’d like to focus on?” More confident, professional…scripted?

His eyes don’t leave the bed, don’t even blink as he downloads the scene, uploads a slew of new
expectations for this non-date appointment. At the pulsating crimson in his face along with the
knot in his gut, he reluctantly admits that a part of him had not prepared for an actual massage.

Fuck- I can’t get enough of you

Jungkook had believed it. Taehyung made him feel so supremely desired, choice had no room.

These had been a busy last few weeks. Sexting isn’t for everyone.

He could do it, justify the idea that Taehyung invited him here to screw his brains out.
Next time, baby. I can’t wait any longer

He’s still waiting for the chance.

“Kook-ah?” It’s startling, and his body jolts his mind back. “Is full body okay? Are there areas that
need more attention?”

“Yeah-mhm,” his throat feels scratchy and more constricted. “That wor-good, s’good.”

“Okay.” The edges of his mouth turn rectangular when he smiles big enough. “Again, thanks for
doing this, Jungkook-ssi. And sorry if I’m a little nervous,” confidence through his vulnerabilities.
Annoying. “You’re actually my first one.”

The confusion is dizzying, and it must show. The answer doesn’t clear up how the fuck my angel
has turned into Jungkook-ssi.

“Out of my apartment I mean-hah.”

“Oh, you’ve never-uh before?” He never needed the chunk of skin he bites from his thumb
anyways.

“No, actually.” He’s graceful as he moves towards the wall, late afternoon light penetrating
through the blinds enough to illuminate his lean silhouette. “Always had interest from clients,” he
pauses to chuckle at Jungkook’s involuntary eye roll, “but I guess I never really had the need to.”

Chaos in his stomach, “And..now?” He wants to be the reason, yearns to hear it. Then, Taehyung
can drop the act and wrap him up.

“Well..,” his strong hands need to move from the windowsill. To his waist. “I didn’t know how
to..”

Jungkook will forgive, he can be generous, he will be so mindblowingly generous as Taehyung’s

angel as his baby as his-

“The spa fired me.”

Breath leaves him frozen. “What?”

“Yeah, that-uh, that day,” he rubs at those strands of hair that just won’t stay put, “I mean, I was
actually surprised, even though-” a big sigh and exasperated chuckle leave Jungkook jealous of the
ability to breathe, “I was still surprised.”

The guilt comes first, hot and heavy, it’s embarrassing and humiliating that he cost Taehyung his
livelihood acting like a desperate whore. “You didn’t-” he’s itchy, and what the fuck is in his
throat? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I mean,” his arms cross over his chest, material softly bugling over his biceps, hips remaining
supported from behind. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty about it, you didn’t,” he looks up for a
split second, eyebrows scrunching, “I only blame myself.”

It’s a knife. Acid spews from the gash until nothing remains. Taehyung doesn’t see the stains
growing on everything in sight.

“I started brainstorming right away,” he’s looking at all the pieces of his at-home massage studio,
conveniently missing the bloody ones from Jungkook’s chest. “Just put the final touches on and
wanted you to be first.”

It’s said as if Jungkook should feel flattered, but he’s never felt more utterly worthless in his entire
fleeting existence. To be first would require there to be others. And not only does Taehyung regret
what happened, he’d been called as a client for a new business venture and will probably be
expected to pay for it.

Suddenly, the clouds of confusion part for something decisive and ugly, and the only thing he can
regret is how personally his stupid heart mistook all of the beautiful things it heard in the heat of
passion.

“Hey,” he moves like he’s going to reach out, though re-routes to his front pockets when Jungkook
flinches. “Fuck- I knew it would make you feel bad,”

He doesn’t know a thing.

“Please try not to feel guilty, okay?” His eyes are whole planets, and Jungkook is lost. “Seriously,
it is completely fine and I’m not sure yet, but I might make even more money like this.”

“Right,” it sounds wrong, but he has to respond for the conversation to end, “yeah-no I’ll..that’s
great.”

Taehyung is formidable, looks straight into him.

He’ll have to try harder for applause, “And will I be letting the gaggle in one by one or all
together?”

His laughter is soft yet glowing, like the first rays of sun over the ocean. “Let’s not keep them
waiting.” The wink isn’t necessary and doesn’t make him feel reluctantly hot. “Clothes off, under
the sheet, face down.” Nevermind.

Once again, his body doesn’t sync up with his mind, heart and cock heavy. At the gates of hellish
clarity, he longs for that hazy, under-appreciated, purgatorial waiting room.

Hooking his thumbs under the fabric, he’s torn.

He’d meticulously removed and folded every other article of clothing, boots taking the longest,
grumbling internally about how Taehyung stepped away in presumed revulsion. As if he had not
already seen everything his mother gave him, as if he had not touched, kissed, licked, sucked, bit,
bruised, fucked his body like he owned it. As if Jungkook could’ve handled it had he stayed.

The fabric is scratchy against his hip, and he looks determinedly away while his jittery fingers trace
over the pattern.

His ass jiggles a little with the motion, and he’s curious, drags them back up. Sighing at the
feeling, he wonders what Taehyung would prefer, loathes how much he has thought about-

“Ready?”

He’ll never be.

He’s scrambling, flinging himself under the sheet to hide, heart racing from nearly being caught.
Responding with a not yet and approaching the matter logically occurs to him much too late,
headrest hugging his huffing cheeks and arms tucked along his sides, obedience prevailing even in
his chaotic mind.

“Okay..ready now?” Taehyung’s voice skips with a chuckle, incriminatingly close.

“Would it matter if I said no?” Even through the cushion it’s snippy, and he recognizes how
abrasive his personality becomes under duress.

“Feisty already.” Taehyung seems unphased, delighted even, “I like it.”

There’s a familiar clinking of tin on glass along with an excitement in his chest because of a very
beautiful man’s addictive attention. He can’t help it, can’t stop the words fist fighting in his brain,
trampling one another to escape because he needs to be witty back. Unfortunately, I like you and
something to the sexual extent of I know some other things you’d like are the only coherent forces
on the frontline, and he guards them fiercely with pursed lips.

He feels somewhat restless, face adjusting itself needlessly to be centered, arms twitching for
maximum comfort while fingernails find random folds in the white fabric to smooth. Unseen,
Taehyung’s presence is still so known like a radiating ball with a gravitational pull. The sun, yeah,
like that.

When the soft padding of bare feet gets louder, head in orbit, he doesn’t even try to snatch a
glimpse. The storm in his stomach kicks up, of a different category because he hasn’t really been
touched even non-sexually since the last massage, the first one. It’s when the sheet begins its
tortuous descent that the hurricane becomes recognizable as an innocent desire, the primal thing
that craves basic human contact. The drought has rendered his nerves overly sensitive, firing
chaotically as the material grazes his skin before coming to rest at a place just above where the
panic would begin.

“Ready?”

His snort chuckle is the only response, and he can hear Taehyung grinning right back. However,
his persistent smile instantly falls when a firm warmth engulfs his shoulders.

“Ah.”

He doesn’t have time to stop and dissect how stupidly easy it is for Taehyung to coax a reaction
from his traitor mouth because he’s hyper focused on the sensation.

It doesn’t necessarily hurt, but it’s strong, those large hands pressing into all exposed flesh across
the penultimate pads of his back and sides of his neck. They are hot and moving, in a way that feels
fluid like the summer ocean, individual strokes as impossible to identify as crunchy grains of sand.

Out and back in, shoulders, collarbones, neck, up and down, his hands are everywhere all at once
until the tissue becomes jelly, until there is no remaining fight in his ligaments.

The release allows Taehyung to dive deeper into the muscles that carry the massive burden of his
head every day, and his breaths are shallow because he doesn’t know if it hurts or not, if he should
speak up or not. Taehyung is certainly not taking it easy.

Then, a hand slides confidently around the ball of his shoulder, fingers gripping underneath before
pulling powerfully up-

“Breathe out.”
Even though there is no air in his lungs, he fucking does, not even pausing to reveal in the sexiness
of the deep, commanding voice, because there’s another hand is at the base of his neck pressing
down, and he’s actually terrified that Taehyung is trying to snap his limb clean off.

When his lungs are so empty he nearly chokes, Taehyung releases the tension only for a moment
before the pulsing starts.

“Ah-ah-ah.” Three little huffs escape in tandem with the shaking of his shoulder, more air
evacuating from absolutely nowhere.

He only has time to inhale a gasp of air before it’s on the other side and it’s in his ears again.

“Out.” Taehyung pulls on his shoulder while he pushes out a long and loud stream of air, a
demonstration for Jungkook to follow.

Which he does without hesitation. The whole thing is just too fast and aggressive for him to find
the time to question it.

Three little huffs, familiar, led by a steadier example from above.

Again, on the other side, this time the long fingers pull hard enough to lift his shoulder off the
fucking bed, chest muscle screaming because of the foreign onslaught. Before it snaps, before a
screaming chorus, there’s brief relief. His lungs empty with Taehyung’s- one, two, three, and he’d
like to ponder how it feels to be synced, but the other side of his chest is too loud.

It’s all just a lot. It’s so much and-

“AH-”

There are more surprises in store when Taehyung wrenches his arm behind his back, bent at the
elbow, and yanks under his shoulder once again until his entire upper body is nearly hovering in
midair.

And the breath that comes out isn’t even on purpose anymore, he just can’t control it. The
aggression, the crack of several vertebrae, the intensity of the stretch in his chest, shoulder, and
arm, it starts to become a little difficult to comprehend.

So outrageous, so unexpected, it's hilarious.

Jungkook starts to find it very funny, in fact, his body being thrown around like a dead fish as if he
has no qualms, no bones at all.

Exasperation leaves him- one, two, three, irony accidentally bumping into his vocal cords on the
way out. Taehyung doesn’t recognize, or rather acknowledge, moves to the other side, twists his
arm like a fucking kung fu master, and of all the things- it’s the memory of the Ibuprofen in his
glovebox, how he’ll still be popping them back like skittles after this- that cracks the dam.

It’s more of a dry wheeze because his chest currently lacks the freedom of movement required for
normal laughter. It’s still obvious, though, even more so when Jungkook hears the inhuman noise
from his own mouth in contrast to Taehyung’s steady and professional exhale- one, two, three- his
head is swirling with thoughts fast enough to make him lightheaded, thinks of what he’s hiding
under the sheet, thinks of that video buried somewhere in his phone, thinks of the humiliation, the
things he had so shamelessly wanted from a perfect stranger.

Everything is just so ridiculous in this moment, but he doesn’t feel shame, feels like it’s happening
to someone else, someone seriously pathetic, which makes it purely fucking hysterical.

When Taehyung lets go, he cackles, outright, like it truly isn’t him.

“Yes?”

God, even the way his deep voice sounds sort of annoyed makes it funnier, literally this loser can’t
even behave correctly for a basic massage.

His laughs come harder one after the other, connected with no room to breathe in between;
Taehyung and his hands become eerily silent.

He gets it all out, his belly contracting until his abs become sore. At the height of it, no noise
comes from his pried open mouth, there is only the convulsing of his diaphragm, tears collecting
into steady streams soaking soft fabric.

Eventually, it vacates from his body completely into the otherwise quiet air. Even after a few final
snorts shake his shoulders with the weight anchoring him back down, the tears continue, many not
even appreciating his skin enough to cling to it, dropping straight from his pupils to the ground. It’s
better that way, without a trace. He forces out a few humored huffs so that the dripping justification
doesn’t evaporate, but it doesn’t break-up the storm clouds in his chest.

“Your muscles should not be ticklish.” Taehyung speaks professionally and not in the
reprimanding tone Jungkook elects to hear. “It means they are tense,” his big hands return, again
with the kind of pressure that doesn’t seem necessary, “Haven’t been touched enough.”

No shit his muscles haven’t been touched enough. Who else is there to do it but Taehyung? No one
has since, and he wonders, out of newfound habit, if Taehyung would enjoy that knowledge.

“Do you stretch regularly?” The top of his neck creaks, and he wonders how much more force
would snap it.

“Uh-uhm,” he clears out the weird strain of his soft palette and fights the urge to wipe at his itchy
nose. “Yeah, we stretch at practice-ngh.”

Fuck his stupid mouth.

Please.

Taehyung runs his nimble fingers rather painstakingly over each nub comprising the back of his
neck, really taking inventory of the dips and crevices.

“And that’s what, three times a week?”

“Yeah.” He plays it extremely cool, because Taehyung’s guess comes from an astute observation
based on just their purely friendly texting conversations. He’s cool and doesn’t let the sun peak
through his chest at such a tiny scrap of attention.

“And outside of that?”

“Uh-” his fingers encircle the sloping sides, never not moving, but only in his imagination do they
clench and restrict his airway. “Don’t really outside of that.”

“I would’ve guessed.” The way his thumbs press and swipe becomes detectable, warmth spreading
from the repeated swirling friction. “You’re tight.”
Jungkook is only a man. A newly awakened gay man, with another man’s fine fucking hands
around his neck and godlike voice calling him tight. His nervous system is wrecked, though he
manages to stop the moan by clamping down harshly on the wet muscle in his mouth. Still, the
way his body coils up even more at the words is far too noticeable.

He’s just nervous, he’s nervous and his stomach is churning as if trying to form mountains from
the hot magma inside, but Taehyung only clears his throat at the reaction under his fingertips.

Instead of some flirty acknowledgement, something bordering on the banter he can recall with
effort from before-

It is too easy to make you moan for me

Taehyung says, “You should be stretching every day for at least twenty minutes.”

It is professional enough to paint every word before it a color of inappropriate. His voice is full and
strong, kind yet firm, the kind of practiced control that protects against admonishment. Yet, the
guilt still churns jaggedly behind his ribs, because has he not worked hard to take care of himself?
He pushes himself at practice, he eats well, he-

“The worst offenders are always the ones with no excuse, the ones that know how.” He plants each
of his examples on the notches comprising his neck, “Doctors, nurses, and athletes.”

“Huh-unh.”

“All know how to stretch, that they should, yet don’t make the time.” Fingers ascending, groping
underneath his shaggy curls that get unceremoniously pushed out of the way.

If Taehyung had touched his hair more delicately, had given any indication of playfulness, he
would have let the teasing words tumble out.

I’d stretch a lot more if I had someone to help me

It’s painful almost, the extent to which he just wants to play. Wants to tease and be teased.
Mentally and otherwise.

But the vibe isn’t right, something is off kilter in Taehyung’s touch and tone, and he can’t place it
nor work up the courage to address it.

Especially when those adept fingers scrape across his scalp and curl around his skull, tips digging
into the base firmly.

“Ah.” Traitor.

“You get headaches, right?” Pressing, pulsing.

“Uh-nuh,” doesn’t he? “Yeah,” way too breathless, “A few a week, nothing unusual.” They hurt
like a bitch, but it’s nothing a few “skittles” and a decent nap won’t fix.

“Oh, how long do they last?” His fingers haven’t moved, just vibrate a little in place, denting the
edges of his skull with shallow circles. It’s immobilizing.

“Few hours. After a workout or if I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Here?” His fingers collect at the lowest point of his skull right where it connects to his spine, and
push.
“Ngh.” Why the fuck is he so vocal today? Jesus fucking christ, he’s flushed for too many reasons.

“That’s it, right?”

Fuck, he’s distracted by the fingers that feel like they are pressing a hole right through the most
tightly wound tissue of his brain. “Mmhm.” It’s more mewly than he intends. “Yeah, right there.”

His breathing has become audible, and Taehyung just drills further in, pulls the edges out, but is
still not satisfied enough to prevent his thumbs from taking over and doubling the entire sensation.

He’s maintaining that insane pressure then allowing long fingers to cup his whole head again, lithe
pads discovering new lands like the one that makes his jaw clench tightly.

“Relax your jaw.” Somehow, he is even more devoid of emotion, impossible to read. “Those are
tension headaches, and though common, I wouldn't call them normal.”

He only grunts because his entire jaw has seized in an eruption of unpleasant prickles.

“Relax your-”

“Mmmmph!”

“You have to-” He tries to soothe the area, but it’s only sharp pain worsening, concentrated at the
hinge as if he ate the world's most sour gummy.

“OW-nghhh!” His gritting teeth muffle the sound, but the knife under his ear only sinks deeper.

“Jungkook-”

“Fuh-” he makes a decision to withstand it.

But his body is not his own, and his reflexes take over every conscious thought, flinging himself
up whilst simultaneously dispelling the imminent threat via a brute swinging arm.

He meets a pair of wide-open eyes, concerned and surprised- just like his own.

Taehyung has his hands pulled back, holds them up defensively as if Jungkook is a wild animal
that might strike.

He wishes it were less true while supporting his upper body on his forearms, spine curved like a
cobra.

Then, it's just breathing, enough of it filling the air between them to be suffocating. The tension is
heavy, eyes locked, and only grows tighter when he violently blanches, don’t escaping as a labored
exhale upon seeing the slightest movement of an arm.

Mentally, he is fine, knows everything is fine.

Physically, his body has not synced. His heart continues to race, and his lungs shrink, each breath
becoming more taxing.

“Fuck.” His head drops, hanging from his shoulders, and he’s not sure what happens next because
Taehyung is supposed to be the exception. The only person whose touch doesn’t make him feel
this way.

Breathe. In. Hold. Out. Hold.

He clasps his hands together to ride it out. This didn’t happen before.

His body welcomed Taehyung’s touch, and he had felt, however misguided, safe and special and
cared for and safe.

He knows as little about what he is to Taehyung now as the first time, but his touches are different,
his words are different, and Jungkook’s body just knows. And refuses.

“I-” is it only his body that does so? “I’m-”

“Hey-don’t explain.” He doesn’t want to see a perfect face marred with pity.

He breathes again, and again, and keeps breathing, can’t stop thinking. Fleetingly, he had felt
euphoric. Accepting another’s touch easily until it made him burn with desire. However unusual in
the rapidity of the development, the overwhelming comfort of it became a reservoir of normalcy.

Normalcy that now feels shredded as he accepts his failure at something as basic as human contact.

Ridiculous, is what it is. And Jungkook is no fucking quitter.

He takes the largest breath yet and lets his face press back into the headrest, finding an immediate
reprieve in being at least partially hidden by it.

“Sorry-hah.” His laugh sounds exactly as misplaced as it is, but he needs the air to loosen up for
this to work. “You can,” in, hold, out, hold, “You can start again.”

There are a few beats before the response comes, “Are you sure?”

Of course not, can’t you see my throbbing heart? “Yes.”

Still, a few more beats pass. Eventually, he feels a warm hand between his shoulder blades. It
doesn’t move much at first, resting, testing. Unfortunately, it regurgitates-

“Angel.” Taehyung sounds out of breath, and he comes closer. “Are you-fuck.” His hand follows
the exaggerated curve of his spine. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Now, it’s Jungkook who wants to die, having remembered that hand in the same spot on his back,
in a very similar yet vastly different context. What had he done wrong? He tried to be so good.
Why isn’t he ever enough?

“Shit, you’re shaking.” His voice is perplexed, laced with concern that Jungkook doesn’t have the
capacity to recognize. “I’m not touching you like this.” The warmth leaves, but the crisis sticks
around.

Yeah, he’d leave himself too if he could. So many beautiful boys, Taehyung certainly doesn’t need
to keep around the broken ones.

“Just-one second.” And from farther away, “Stay there.” Leaving would be more embarrassing
than sticking this out, needs to grin and bear it.

He hears the faint padding of Taehyung’s bare feet as he shuffles away, but it’s soft compared to
the loud buzzing inside his brain.

Had he missed the signs that Taehyung was no longer interested? Had Taehyung not had a life
altering sexual awakening? Had he not spent every spare moment of the last two weeks
reminiscing on all that they did while also imagining- in vivid detail- all that’s left to try?
“Shit baby.” Taehyung moves less and less and Jungkook moves more and more, slowly getting the
hang of bouncing on a dick. He milks Taehyung until the twitching completely stops and enjoys the
view the entire time.

Knowing that he’s able to make Taehyung feel so good without getting off himself is just doing
things to him, making him feel so horny despite not being hard.

He thinks he’d really like to try riding Taehyung for real sometime, next time, maybe.

Maybe that’s the most prominent of them, cock twitching in its confines just at the thought. The
view was the best part, loved being able to see every scrunch of an eyebrow, every tooth-shaped
dent in a full bottom lip, his eyes, how expressive they were especially when locked onto his own.
He loved watching Taehyung’s pleasure manifest in his perfect features, loved being responsible
for it, loved being a good boy and getting the feedback immediately. He had bounced on his cock
well, hadn’t he? He can do so much better. He wants to show him so badly; there is so much that
he wants.

All things that will be fairly challenging if his body won’t allow itself to be touched.

But he does want Taehyung to touch him. God, he does. Just not in the way he’s been doing so
today. Wants to be touched like before, with care, wants to be called angel, wants to scream
Taehyung, Taehyung! while he makes a mess. Wants to be called good boy. His good boy, you’re
doing so well for me.

“Ngh- do you luh-like it?” His thighs bulge around Taehyung’s narrow waist, flexing harshly as
he works himself up and down.

“Of course I do ang-fuck!”

“Oh!”

A loud clap causes them both to cry out, and Jungkook feels it so deep he grapples onto the wrist
attached to his hip for steadiness.

“Hyung is so duh-deep inside-can feel him-mmmpph.”

“Show me,” darkness simmering, “show me where you feel your hyung.”

He looks at him from underneath wet lashes, mouth and everywhere else dripping, and-

“I don’t know if this will work,” it’s the voice in his fantasy bringing him out of it, not using the
correct script. “but I’d like to try.” Determined and annoyingly optimistic.

He nods because his throat is still dry and tight, and he doesn’t know what might come out if his
lips part.

“Jungkook-ssi,” why is he still fucking calling him that? “Words please. Can I try?”

His throat purges any uncertainty before he responds with what will bring about the bittersweet end
sooner, “Yes.”

Nothing happens immediately like expected. After a long exhale, Taehyung adds more hesitantly,
more intimately, “Are you sure?”
For fucks sake, “Get the hell on with it, Taehyung-ssi.” Oops. Softer, guiltier, “Please.”

God, can he manage not being himself for a measly hour? He doesn’t mean to snap so harshly,
especially on someone he’s paying for a service. He usually reserves the rougher edges of his
personality for those who won’t leave or those he wants to.

Taehyung-ssi doesn’t fall into either group, could drop him anytime. On the other hand, Jungkook
doesn’t think he can deal with him staying in any other capacity than the one his body pathetically
craves.

There had already developed a steady heat under his flushed skin, but the sensation that brings him
out of his tortuous thoughts is much warmer.

It’s a smooth heated surface, slightly heavy, and contained into a small circular area near the
middle of his back. Only once the second one is placed on the opposite side of his spine, does his
mind produce the full comprehension of the weight of two rocks.

He doesn’t want to be annoyed, at the seconds his masseur gives him to adjust to the feeling of
them, he’s not a child and he’s not an experiment either. As such, he bites his tongue back, contains
sharpness with dull thoughts that a service is being provided, that Jungkook had no goddamn
reason to procure such a visceral delusion about receiving it.

“Is it-” this is the crux of it, the only thing he truly has to know before the clock runs out. He wants
to be brave, so he leans up and looks him in the eye. “Always like this for you?”

Taehyung studies his face, takes a breath, and replies simply, “No.”

Unwelcome confusion. He can’t stand this uncanny ability to recount everything said between
them. There are theories that fit a fleeting moment though are not unshakeable laws. Some are
meant to be adjusted with time as more information becomes available, which could have been the
case for Taehyung outside of the steamy fog of their sex-saturated proximity. For Jungkook, it had
gotten worse, barbaric desperation increasing since the first trip, an unquenchable thirst for his
specialized drug.

The things Taehyung did to him, the way he spoke, touched, fucked, are seared into his being in a
way that could potentially ruin. Has already ruined. Not just in those distinctly physical ways. Not
just in his dildos’ inability to spread him wide enough, fill him deep enough, squirt inside him with
enough warmth and wetness to leave him bred and satiated.

Even as he trained his curious eyes on an exploratory screen, he preferred the vision behind his
black eyelids, the vibrant memories constantly living there, as opposed to the naked strangers, as
opposed to the too high-pitched voices, too stale scripting, too stereotypical role-playing.

One macho daddy, one dainty baby boy.

The stones begin to move slowly and intensely, yet he doesn’t think too much of it, eager to
untangle the jungle in his skull.

“Okay?” It’s tentative as if he’s afraid of the question as much as the answer; Jungkook finds
annoyance in the question, and in the hesitant way it’s asked.

“Fine.” He hates his reaction most of all. “Yes.” Firm, because he wants to get back to his
thoughts.

Taehyung allows him a quiet freedom with only the soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing in
response.

As he watched the smaller one, how they bent easily, body pliant but undeniably weak, he could
not find the necessary measures to fully associate. His own body is strong, thicker than Taehyung
everywhere except maybe his waist, which by genetic advantage is impossibly small, small enough
to warrant obsession by nearly all of his ex-girlfriends who would gush with jealousy, able to look
but never touch. Certainly never grab as Taehyung had, wrap as Taehyung had, claim.

Despite him being thick almost everywhere, thunder thighs unarguable, he loved how Taehyung’s
long and slim fingers wrapped completely around this glaring dainty quality, secured him in place
so that he could take. He could take what Jungkook gave. In a fight, in a physical match up, his
muscles would overpower, but in a separate context, a sexual one, he prefers giving himself over to
feline eyes, a full pout, and perfect fucking fingers that hold him so well.

Something about the power Taehyung holds, with his penetrable gaze, with the depth of his voice,
with nothing but his aura, no pretenses of superficiality, just makes his lips twitch and his knees
shiver with the longing to sink submissively and permanently into the ground.

As he watched the bigger one, he found the overemphasized display of strength arrogant and off-
putting, similar to a specific spa associate named Christian. He watched as the larger man took
more so than the smaller man gave.

The smaller man might not have had a choice, but Jungkook does because he’s strong, strong with
his body and smart with his tongue. And he likes using both to tease Taehyung because he’s an
equal, they are equals. He misses that, the banter, the intellectual stimulant. It’s hard to find people
that are just on the same wavelength, nothing to explain because they just get it, get him.

But that indescribable thing hasn’t made an appearance today, hidden behind clouds of ambiguity
and insecurity.

It only makes him crave for it harder, rocks moving lusciously down the sides of his spine until it
nearly takes all the remaining breath from his lungs.

He always took from those that were unworthy.

Taehyung is glorious. An ethereal creation with the kind of beauty that only comes around a few
times a century. He’s lucky to have set his eyes upon it, to have witnessed the kind of mind that
instills an aggressive chant of worthy, worthy, worthy.

His body, redefined. Each part assigned the utmost value. Not of a solely sexual sort, but just
inherent and unadulterated worth. After so many years of not being enough, of letting his major
flaw define him, he, for the first time, feels totally and completely free. If he is worthy of
Taehyung’s adoration, he is worthy of anything. If only for this fleeting moment, he is worthy. He
is worthy.

He feels worthy when he’s with him, and maybe that’s what makes him worthy in turn.

Doesn’t change, fuels rather, the fierce craving to please, to drop down to suck his massive cock, to
ride him until his thighs ache, to give every hole, every part of himself over for usage, for pleasure,
for praise. Because his existence is the first to exude out from it, and encompass within it, that
unmistakable thing that changes every other thing.

That distinct feeling of difference has allowed him to accept that whatever he felt/didn’t feel for all
the women he fucked is pale. It’s bland and white where Taehyung is blood red and bursting with
vivid color. He’s gay, but only for Taehyung, is there a word that assigns that kind of singular
orientation? He doesn’t salivate for any man on a screen, or passerby’s, or anyone he can recollect
knowing. He wants Taehyung, and the inexplicable pull he feels towards the godly man is brand
new, different, and it makes Jungkook different too.

Would a before version of himself been able to click that button, open that box? Maybe. If it were
for someone else and certainly not him, never him.

Those stones have gotten mighty low. He feels the heat seeping through the edge of the sheet and
worries childishly that it will render the fabric translucent, revealing something hidden that should
remain so.

“Still okay?”

He jolts at being addressed, somehow Taehyung possesses the inexplicable talent of reading his
body and mind. Knows when he’s gone and when he returns even though they’re subtle, the tells.

“Fine, yeah.” He doesn’t like his voice, doesn’t like the sound because it doesn’t convey his mind's
intention.

He’s annoyed, maybe? He feels unsettled for some reason. Either because the stones are moving
with far too much practice and ease, professionalism, or because, in general, none of this is going
how he pictured. God, how he pictured.

He should really gather more control over his thoughts, but the stones are moving up around his
shoulders and he can’t be bothered to be bothered by the comfort in it.

He doesn’t want to dwell, but he can’t help but acknowledge the aspects that were-well, pleasing.
In the basal, instinctual sense.

It’s normal, inevitable really, a reaction. It’s fucking porn for a reason. Just because the overriding
stereotypes do not properly suit his taste, doesn’t negate certain appealing elements.

Like an asshole getting pounded open, legs thrown over shoulders, degrading dirty talk, yeah, filthy
fucking, he’s all over it, super into it.

Super into hard cocks, the wet squelching of more than enough lubrication, teasing, banter,
screaming, cumming, gasping, he loves it.

Loves it when they cry, when they beg, when they don’t get to cum, cock head red and angry and
leaking, and loves it even more when they take it without complaint, take what they are given,
gratefully moaning once given their reward and getting off to being a good boy, his baby boy,
defiled in pretty, lace-

God damn it.

He doesn’t intend to take it there, doesn’t know the reason roads keep teasing him before curving
and dead ending in the same fucking baseless spot. But, the stones are near his shoulders, so he
doesn’t figure it out, instead draws the motion of the heat in his mind as hazy neon swirls.

“Is it too hot?”

Honestly, he wants the talking to just stop. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t want to be reminded that
Taehyung is actually right there when he could instead pretend to be somewhere else just
fantasizing about him. In his fantasies, Taehyung wants him back. In this reality, he has no idea.
“Your back is red, just-please tell me if it’s too hot.”

He doesn’t say anything because the warmth is actually pleasant, and he’ll survive this if he can
forget the even warmer sound of Taehyung’s voice.

The stones travel to different spots of his body instantaneously as if different scenes are splicing
together to form an incoherent moving picture.

His thoughts are scattered, nonsensical.

He’s so tired. How had he not realized how exhausting it is failing to meet everyone’s
expectations?

The pressure becomes lighter and lighter until he can’t feel it at all.

In the blackness of his dream, a rumbling in the ocean whispers for him to sleep. And he obeys.

For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is. It’s dark, even beyond his eyelids, and he feels
pressure on his face, a cool draft against his fiery, bare back.

He wiggles his toes, legs immediately searching for a cool reprieve until one slips off the edge, and
he jolts forcefully, flings his eyes open, and remembers.

Oh god.

He fell asleep hard during his massage, and he doesn’t know for how long, knows the sun has long
set.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, lets them blink sleepily open a few times so that he can peek
around. The open window is spotted first, and the rest of the features of the room slowly come into
focus under the haze of the artificial light from streetlamps and a little of the natural kind from the
moon. Thankfully, it is not quite high yet.

Those painted flowers are visible on the room divider, and he feels entranced by it for a moment
until a voice sends his body jolting again.

“Oh.” Taehyung stands there frozen, hands supporting two rocks in a cloth, eyeing a fluffed up,
sleepy looking Jungkook whose head has twisted over his naked shoulder towards the noise. “Well
shit, I didn’t-wow,” he chuckles in surprise, glancing briefly toward the little nighttime sounds
floating in through the window, “-didn’t think you’d notice so fast.”

“Hm?” His throat is tight from being unused, and he attempts to clear it, wake it up. Wake the fuck
up.

Taehyung walks closer, eases the angle required to keep their eyes on each other. “The rocks were
cold, and you seemed-” he smiles at his feet in a soft kind of way that almost seems bashful but is
most certainly adorable in a way that hurts. “You were sleeping..soundly.” His smile is brighter
than the moon, than the sun perhaps. He sets the rocks down, so he can lean sexily back on his
favored part of the sill. “I wanted to warm the rocks back up, didn’t think you’d wake up if I
stopped for just a moment.” He’s pleased with what he implies, and it shows.
“Oh.” His throat hasn't loosened a bit. “Mmhm-sorry.” The time is completely off limits; he can’t
handle the confirmed picture of Taehyung standing there, caressing his sleeping form for hours.

“It’s okay, seemed like you needed it.” His hand tucks those hairs behind that cruel headband and
now his attention is torn between perfect fingers and a perfect goddam forehead. “Rest, I mean.
You were really tense.”

“Mmm.” He doesn’t deny it. He’s been tense, restless, and indescribably horny for a while. The
sleep he just got has been the best in two weeks.

Though, the tension still wrings him from the inside out, still pulls all of his limbs taut, and with
Taehyung’s heavy gaze in the darkness of the night, he could positively combust from the
throbbing in his body. The throbbing all over. He has always woken with a certain pressure in his
groin, even without the presence of a dark-haired, ethereal, dreamboat of a man.

So, he doesn’t even try to think of anything to say, anything funny or cute or even just boring to
ease the tension. He just lets himself look, propped on his forearms, head twisted to the side, he
looks Taehyung up and down, and lets the tension thicken until it kisses tingles into his skin and
lands on the tongue he tests for dryness.

It’s so quiet that it’s deafening, and he wishes to unnotice Taehyung’s quickening breath and the
grip he has on the windowsill turning his elegant fingers white.

He tests the dryness of his lips too.

And fuck, his heart races as Taehyung fucking stares at it, swallows at it.

He really can’t take it, can’t be here anymore if Taehyung doesn’t do something to ease him. There
is nothing to discuss really, and he doesn’t have the energy to try and win Taehyung over with
words, to try and seduce him with charged banter. If he wants it, then he’ll come and get it.
Jungkook is not going to throw himself at a stranger; he feels pathetic enough thirsting so hard for
him, he’d never survive the rejection with everything out there.

Taehyung is eyeing his lips, eyeing his exposed skin, and even Jungkook’s self-deprecating mind
can recognize some kind of hunger there. He thinks for a second he will come. He will come and
erase all of the confusion and replace it with certainty, with unmatched ecstasy.

God, how he wants him to come, close.

How he just wants. He doesn’t say it with his mouth, but it’s there, so prominent, in his eyes.

He moves, and Jungkook’s body ignites.

But he shifts his gaze away, goes to the small table, and seizes the massage oil, instantaneously
shattering the moment into jagged pieces. “Did you want to finish the massage? I can use the
stones, or I can try with my hands again.” He fiddles with the bottle, unsure and not like himself,
and utterly clueless to what Jungkook actually needs. “I-um was thinking that maybe I was using
too much pressure. It seems like you just need to relax, so I could try again if you like.”

It’s sweet, probably. But, Jungkook doesn’t take it that way and his heart promptly splatters all
over the ground. He just feels abnormal and broken and so astoundingly inadequate.

And he just can’t bear it any longer.

“Actually, I think I should-uh,” he looks around for a damning clock or for anything to give him
direction, “What time is it?” It feels right to ask even if he doesn’t want the answer. He starts to sit
up, carefully flipping over in the process.

“Oh.” Taehyung sets the bottle down and manages to maintain a frown while smiling. “Right,
yeah, it’s getting late.”

It’s not an answer to his question, thankfully, but the damage is already done.

Jungkook keeps the sheet modestly over his waist as he slips his legs over the side of the massage
bed to sit up fully.

Taehyung doesn’t stop him, so he acquires his sweatpants with some adrenaline fused acrobatic
ability, reaching for them while making sure to keep his hidden desire concealed.

Taehyung is silent as Jungkook slips the material under the sheet and over his hips and insecurity.

The silence remains as his bare feet land on the ground, as his eyes find his t-shirt, and as he squats
to the ground with his back to Taehyung and too little thought as to what that could reveal.

“Jungkook-ssi.”

He keeps the shirt under his arm and shoves the rest of his things into his pockets, reminding
himself that the door isn’t all that far. He’s going to make it.

“Jungkook-ssi.”

He’d expected some other kind of experience, but he does feel rested. He’s glad to have an
awareness of his gayness, to have an inkling of what he has the capacity to feel and is grateful for
having crossed orbital paths with the celestial Taehyung if only for a fleeting moment. At least, he
hopes he will be someday.

For now, the rejection stings hotly across his stomach, and he only makes it two steps towards the
door, avoiding that face the whole time, before his knees nearly crumble on the spot.

“Angel.”

In an instant, he’s immobilized.

It takes a moment for him to register that the word has truly been spoken aloud and is not a product
of his wildest dreams.

He remains in place, mid-stride, dumbfounded and unable to behave even with the certainty that it
had been real, that Taehyung had really called him that again.

“What are you wearing?”

The panic is inevitable, and he regrets every decision in his life that has led to this moment, to this
level of pure and burning humiliation.

Does he need to respond? Taehyung wouldn’t ask if he didn’t know the answer, and Jungkook has
questions of his own that aren’t absolutely extraneous.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes despite having only been looking at the marble flooring,
“Why didn’t you bring it up?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He opens his eyes only to find that same spot on the floor, to ensure
he’s truly alive experiencing this conversation.

“You didn’t either.”

The defensiveness lights every single nerve up because Jungkook has always been too good at
arguing, at recognizing an encroaching battle, and at protecting the fragility of his ego. “You
promised to find my number, you promised to reach out while running out of the room, and you-”
he chokes at what he wants to say and the emotion it rips from his chest. Ultimately, if there is
nothing to lose, he’ll regret not forming the words, even if his nails may break the skin of his
palms in the process. “You fucked my ass, Tae.”

“And how was I supposed to know you didn’t regret it?!”

He turns, then. “What?!”

Taehyung looks as baffled as he feels, and how could he even think that, how could he ever think
that. “You had never been touched!”

It’s searing, and it renders him helplessly mute.

“You had never even been touched, didn’t even know you were gay, and I did all of those things to
you.” Taehyung’s eyes bounce back and forth between his, full of an emotion so well concealed
until this tipping point. Jungkook is close enough to feel it radiating from his core, to see it building
in the lower lid of his vulnerable eyes. “I took it all.”

He doesn’t have to think to respond, “You didn’t take anything I didn’t give.”

“In the moment.”

“Still.” He moves closer.

Taehyung looks away, steels his expression while fiercely wiping a wet cheek. “I took too much.”

Jungkook looks away cursing the world, poking his frustration into his cheek to prevent his actual
thoughts from escaping. He doesn’t talk to people about feelings, doesn’t like to, though there are a
separate set of rules for interacting with Taehyung that still require some adjusting to comprehend.

“You may not hate me for it now, but you will someday.”

He whips his gaze back, “What?”

“When I’m not even remotely enough for you.”

He just stares, body alight and shocked, because what is this? What in the hell even is this?

“You look at me like-fuck,” his face contorts in a pained expression that is painful to even witness,
“Like I’m going to hand you the fucking world.” He rips the headband off his head aggressively so
that he can sink his fingers into the locks and yank them. “What happens when you figure out that I
can’t?”

His heart pounds because he doesn’t want to understand what Taehyung is saying, sees too much
brimming emotion for this to be a rational conversation, but he gets it regardless. “Tae-”

“What happens when you realize that you’ve given away everything precious to someone who will
never give you what you need?”
Now he’s mad too because Taehyung is assuming things and spiraling and maybe that shit is
contagious. He moves closer to spit, “What the fuck do you know about what I need?” If Taehyung
had a fucking clue, they sure as fuck would not be talking, arguing, right now.

“It’s always the same fucking thing!” He can see how his face flushes with the passion that surges
forth in his speech, and it doesn’t come across as condescending as it does hurt. “You want the
bullshit, right? Anniversaries and meeting the parents and frolicking in a fucking field of pansies.”

His eyes have gone wide, and Jungkook doesn’t know who Taehyung thinks he’s talking to, but it
sure as hell isn’t him. “Wait-”

“You’re obsessed with me, right? Never known anyone like me?”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook really thought he was the only majorly fucked up one in the room, but
apparently being an irresistibly attractive model really does a number on a person.

“Yeah, tell me how much you’re in love with me already, how no one has touched you like I have,
go ahead.” He goads and crowds into Jungkook’s space while he says it, just an elbow length
separating the rattling of their hearts. His features are twisted and though attractive, entirely
hideous for the first time.

“Watch it.” He realizes it’s a projection, but he’s not a pin cushion for every past hurt. His chest
inflates as he holds his stance despite the proximity. Those flowers are close, and he decides that
Taehyung probably did paint them, though it was a different version of himself than the one
spitting fire now.

“You haven’t stopped thinking of me, right? Haven’t stopped imagining me fucking your tight
virgin hole?”

“Taehyung, shut the fuck up.” He’s calm but firm, doesn’t want to escalate whatever this is, but
doesn’t want to hear anything else either.

Taehyung won’t listen, he won’t. His eyes widen, crazed, yet telling. “I’ve been picturing it,
god-you’re a good fucking lay do you know that? But honestly, a lot of fucking work just to even-”

Slam.

Jungkook isn’t a physical confrontation kind of guy, actively avoids situations that present it, never
finding it necessary to resolve a point. But, Taehyung is spiraling down some kind of psychotic
rampage.

And he’s had quite enough, honestly.

So, he’s not thinking of the contact or what it should mean for him specifically when he grabs
Taehyung by the shoulders and with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, slams his
back into the goddam wall.

“Ah-OW!” Taehyung grunts at the brutal contact, then looks at Jungkook with teary and vulnerable
eyes, brimming with a pain that has risen to the surface and is so very visceral.

He lets him catch a breath for a moment, the emotion of the fight settling somewhat, but doesn’t
release the grip of his shoulders, doesn’t move away from the pants hitting his face, doesn’t care
that they are touching. The rules are not the same with Taehyung, have never been the same.

Jungkook clears his throat because how could he enjoy this? “Who did this to you, Tae?”
He looks away and the shame is quick and palpable, hand briskly swiping across his leaky nose.
“M’sorry,” he whispers.

“Who?”

Taehyung meets his gaze, and his soul is just right there, reflecting the universe. “I did this to
them.”

And Jungkook knows what it is to be unable to prevent the broken pieces from cutting.

The noise Taehyung makes is alien and heart wrenching when Jungkook pulls him close, tucks his
head into his neck, and envelopes his entire being with a fierce hug. He’s stiff and still vibrating for
a moment, until letting it all go in the strong hold of Jungkook’s bare arms and chest.

He stands for the both of them, supports his lean frame that has never seemed smaller.

He should be angry, should be slamming the door behind a dramatic exit. But, Jungkook pulls him
closer like he would with no one else.

He will continue holding him like this until Taehyung forces him away because the rightness of
their bodies pressing close is overwhelming and unavoidable.

So, it is a really good thing that Jungkook is stronger.

After forever, Taehyung lifts his face and hooks his chin over Jungkook’s shoulder. He asks
quietly and with the confidence of a small child, “Why are you still here?”

Jungkook rubs his palms up and down his back like a reassurance. “Because I want to be.”

“Why?”

He tries to pull back and look at Taehyung then, but isn’t allowed quite yet. “I don’t know.” He
does, though it isn’t the right time to say it.

“You don’t hate me?” He finally pulls back, pouts, and Jungkook recognizes that he would let this
face be the literal ruin of him.

“No.” He brings his hands up, swipes at his cheeks, and desperately wants to soothe away every
discomfort. “But I do want the truth from you.”

“Which truth?”

“Any that you can share.”

He smiles a bit, and Jungkook wants to keep making him do that.

“Do you want to sit?”

“Hm, no.”

“No?”

“No, want you to keep holding me.” And now Jungkook smiles. “Or maybe I should hold you so
that you can’t change your mind and get away.”
Gently, he swipes the curls out of the way to press his lips comfortingly into Taehyung’s forehead,
it’s platonic, mostly. “Whatever you want, Tae.”

Taehyung leads him by the wrist to the couch where he plops down against one of the arms,
spreading his legs enough for Jungkook to slip between.

He anxiously settles his ass into the cushion and sinks his naked back into Taehyung’s awaiting
chest while trying not to think about the proximity of his crotch.

Taehyung’s hands snake across his abdomen and clasp together near his belly button. He has to try
to not think about that too.

“Is this okay?”

“Don’t ask me that.” Normal people don’t need to be asked that.

“But before-”

“I will tell you if I don’t like something.” And he says it with the conviction he feels.

They breathe together for a moment, and Jungkook really likes feeling Taehyung’s lungs inflate,
feeling the beating thing inside his chest. He wonders if they could fuck like this, he could hold
himself up while- inappropriate. He wants to be what Taehyung needs, in more than just that way.

“Tell me something you mean.” He thinks maybe Taehyung wants it drawn out of him, that he
wants Jungkook to earn access to his inner thoughts.

“What kind of thing?” His chin presses into the top of his head.

“Something easy, whatever comes to mind.” He’s nervous but drapes his hands across Taehyung’s
anyways.

“You’re pretty.” Taehyung spreads his fingers so that their hands are fully woven together.

“Yeah?”

“Very.”

“What’s pretty about me?”

Taehyung mumbles into his hair, and the warm breath of every word travels all the way to the
scalp. “Eyes, really big eyes, and you have a very cute little nose, delicate lips, a head full of hair,”
he speeds up once he starts, ticks off every feature, and Jungkook deserves this little gift after the
previous slinging of shit. “Such a perfect neck-fuck. Actually, I can’t talk about your body right
now.”

“Why not? I wanna hear it.”

“I will tell you all about it, but I wanna tell you other things first.”

“Okay, like what?”

“Like-I’m sorry. Really fucking sorry, Jungkook-ssi.”

“Yah-I,” if they are being honest, “I don’t want you to call me that.”
“How do you want to be called?”

He squeezes their fingers tight, and is so glad that they are not looking at each other when he
admits with a profuse blush, “Call me angel, or call me baby.”

There’s a subtle movement against his hair and before he can prepare for it, Taehyung’s lips are
brushing against his temple then trailing to his unprepared ear. “Angel.”

Oh god.

He holds in a moan but still shivers because his voice has such a reverberating depth along with a
heavenly timbre and is even better, ever more present, than the one in his dreams.

Taehyung’s hands tighten even more around his own; it is painful how hard they grip each other,
joint mass digging harder into his twitching abs. His hair rustles when Taehyung maneuvers to the
other side, drags his puffy lips up and down the soft shell of cartilage, and uses the same goddamn
voice to whisper, “Baby.”

“Oh.” And he really does moan it out loud, and he is not equipped to handle this given the weeks
of drought previously endured.

“Fuck- you’re really sensitive, do you know that?” Instead of breaking every one of Jungkook’s
fingers, he violently untangles them to get his charged palms all over Jungkook’s poor,
unsuspecting body.

It has been two weeks, and Taehyung is giving him some really heady attention that injects cotton
into his brain and electricity into his veins. So, forgive him for giving into it immediately. “Ah.”
He whimpers as Taehyung forcefully drags his splayed hands up the entire length of his exposed
torso, and goddammit he arches into it like a true and proper slut.

Taehyung is breathing directly into his ear, and Jungkook is dumbly watching some beautiful
hands angrily search all over his chest, touching, rubbing, and just feeling.

When Taehyung finds his nipples, he’s fucking gone. He writhes, watches it flow through his hips,
his entire body, pulling away from adept fingers then pressing tender and exposed nubs right into
the sensation again, secured by violent nails into the couch cushion. His ass rubs against Taehyung
crotch with the erotic waves surging through his body, and he’s ascending fast when he feels the
growing hardness there.

“Oh holy fuck- okay, okay, let’s-ngh,” Taehyung secures his hands to drag both of them into a
more upright position where his crotch doesn’t have the pressure of Jungkook’s needy ass all over
it.

He keeps his hands firm but still, lets Jungkook catch his breath even if he whines through it.

“Baby,” Jungkook whines some more and isn’t even embarrassed. His cock is poking a tent into
his sweatpants, and he just needs Taehyung to take care of him so badly. “Shh-baby, listen. I am
going to give you every single thing you need tonight-hey, hey,” he secures Jungkook’s body that
had begun to whimper and writhe again. “Stay with me for a little while longer, okay? Just a few
minutes and then I swear to you, angel. I swear I will show you heaven.”

Jungkook might have let out an actual tear with his sob at the impossible request. He’s wound
tighter than he’s ever known possible, the entirety of the past two weeks culminating in this precise
moment. Taehyung is saying things that his mind cannot fully process without going fuzzy, and the
physical stimulation makes it incomprehensible to stay sane.
But, he has to come back down.

It’s only for a moment, then Taehyung will let him soar.

He breathes, tries to remember his breathing, twitches his toes a little to remind himself of the
control he has over his own body.

Finally, after moments pass and tension eases from his body only slightly but enough, he wipes at
his face and speaks, “Okay.” Another deep breath to his lungs that he sighs out with squished
eyelids. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not apologizing for anything. I’m apologizing, I’m the asshole.”

“Tae-”

“No.”

“But you were right, I want it. Haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“No.”

“I’m obsessed, I know that. You weren’t wrong.” He’s lucid but still feels that raw vulnerability
guiding his words.

“Stop.”

He listens with a pout that Taehyung doesn’t see.

“I want to make it completely clear, I meant none of what I said in that moment and wish-shit” his
exhale is heavy, “I wish I could make you forget it all.”

He doesn’t respond, just replays those words in his mind instead.

“I was-fuck. You scare the living shit out of me.”

You’re obsessed with me, right?

“I don’t have the best..track record.”

Tell me how much you’re in love with me already, how no one has touched you like I have.

“With others, they fall for me fast, and-” he clears his throat of emotion.

Haven’t stopped imagining me fucking your tight virgin hole?

“I can’t reciprocate it, can’t ever give them what they want.”

But honestly, not worth the work just to even- “Give me something else to think about. Please.”

“What?”

“You say you didn’t mean it, and I believe you. But you were right about some of those things,
Tae.”

“I’m-” Taehyung sighs, frustrated. “I’m not good at this-fuck. I’m not used to feeling anything at
all, and I-shit,” the breath is sharp, “I am obsessed with you.”
It’s silent.

“I haven’t experienced anything like this. And-,” he hesitates, “You haven’t left my mind for a
goddam second.”

He waits, dumbstruck.

It all comes rushing out in a whirlwind. “Fuck-I’m so into you. I am petrified of not being what you
need. And I am even more petrified of how badly I want to be.”

He is tired of looking at the ceiling hearing these kinds of words. So, he sits up, flips around, then
takes his rightful place straddling Taehyung’s lap. His large hands immediately secure his waist,
and they just fit together so wonderfully.

Carefully, he cups his beautiful face and speaks from a breaths distance away, “Say it again.”

Their eyes bounce between each other’s, glittering with emotions that are surely too soon to feel.

Slowly, Taehyung breathes him in and whispers to his soul, “I am so helplessly and endlessly
enraptured by you.”

And Jungkook has had enough, leans in before he even realizes it.

But- Taehyung’s hands quickly jump to his cheeks and hold him still, desperately close but
infinitely far from the kiss he craves. “Baby, I want to do things with you.” They are close enough
that barely any sound is enough.

“Yes, do them. Please.”

“No-baby-fuck-I mean,” he lets out a huge breath that Jungkook shamelessly opens his mouth to
drink, crotch and mind on fire. “Do you know what a sub is?”

He pulls back from Taehyung’s face to read him. “What?”

“A submissive, someone who-”

“I know what a sub is.”

They just blink at each other slowly, understanding passing between their shared gazes.

“You,” he swallows, thinks of each word before speaking them clearly, “You want that?”

“Yes. If you do.”

It’s a lot, though not necessarily surprising when he thinks about it hard enough. Actually, it
generates a lot of things deep in his gut when he thinks about it hard enough.

“Do you?” Taehyung looks away for a moment before reconnecting their eyes with open
vulnerability.

He pretends to think about it, as if knowing that Taehyung wants it isn’t already enough. “I
haven’t-uh, before. But, I want to try with you.”

Taehyung listens intensely, then smiles broadly, “Oh angel, you are-god, use your colors, okay?
You know your colors, right?” He’s speaking rapidly, getting closer, and Jungkook will literally
say anything so that he doesn’t stop.
“Yes, yes, I know them, hyung, I know.”

And then Taehyung is consuming him without hesitation, and Jungkook lets him in shamelessly.

It’s less of a kiss because their mouths are already open, lungs desperately sharing with each other
as tongues collide in a dance already written.

Jungkook’s legs part so that Taehyung can sit up and press their bodies even closer, chests and
hearts fully aligned, lips sealed tight.

He’d stay just like this, forever.

His hands are locked into wild midnight curls, though Taehyung’s are roaming everywhere,
squeezing him tight around the waist, dragging up and down his bare spine, dipping into the band
of his sweats.

He realizes their faces haven’t budged much, tongues tangling, but lips steady. It’s like they are
savoring just being connected again, like they could be more than content only wrapped up in each
other.

It’s with a squelching misfortune that Taehyung presses firmly at the base of his spine and pulls
away. Jungkook hasn’t had nearly enough, and whines to make his case.

“Angel.”

His attempts at diving back in are thwarted, and Taehyung needs to quit making him pout.

“Fuck- you are exquisite.” There’s a kiss on his forehead, a hand on his neck, and one still firm on
his lower back. It’s not terrible. “Missed your taste, missed it all.” He loves the attention to his
forehead, but he can feel Taehyung’s excitement under him and would very much like to do
something about it.

“Hyung.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Will you touch me now?” He squirms to strengthen his argument.

“I will.” He moves his wet lips to his ear and taunts, “But first, I want you to show hyung your
dirty little secret.”

“Ngh,” he should be embarrassed but instead moans at the fingers digging into the plush of his ass
through the thick cotton of his sweats, moans when the other hand joins in and spreads him apart,
and moans so filthily when Taehyung drags his hips sharply forward.

He gets two love pats before Taehyung removes his hands completely and cajoles, “Now stand up
and show me.”

He’s flustered and flushing and flimsy on his legs when he rises off of his preferred place to sit and
turns around under the deadly gaze of the most handsome man on earth.

Taehyung eyes him over thoroughly before turning his body, man spreading all over the cushion of
the couch, and leaning back with crossed arms and searing nonchalance. He is..god, he is so sexy.
Not just his features individually, but his entire aura is just captivating and entrancing. The curls
are taking over much of his tilted back face, and his skin looks quite dark in the small amount of
present light. The small smirk he props on his lips makes Jungkook leak a little.

“No need to be shy now.”

Oh, but he is. Facing the very thing has stifled his confidence, and though his muscles are literally
bare and bulging from his torso, he feels powerless and tiny.

But, Taehyung called him pretty.

And he liked it, liked the way that word landed against his soft skin, latched around his feminine
waist.

What will Taehyung call him when he discovers what he’s done?

He pictures the box, opening it, closing it quickly, afraid.

He hadn’t been able to stand looking for long, wouldn’t even dare looking at them on his body,
and regrets not doing so. How will he know if it accentuates the right places, has the right effect?
And what effect is he hoping for? What if Taehyung is disgusted or worse, bored? What if he isn’t,
what words does he want to be called? What does he want Taehyung to do? Fuck- a new wave of
regret and embarrassment pulses into every extremity. He doesn’t even know why he did it.

“Baby, look at me.”

He tracks his eyes up Taehyung’s perfect form, slowing down until their gazes intercept. He is
wide eyed and vulnerable like this, putty for Taehyung to mold.

“Show me.”

He looks down and the band of his sweats as if it’s an insurmountable obstacle-

“Eyes on me.”

He’s several feet from the edge of the couch, and it’s not far enough to break the tightrope pitched
between them that keeps growing more taut and reducing the allowed space for air in his lungs.

Delicately, he dips one finger in, tests the resistance while teasing his skin a bit, delaying. There
are goosebumps there, maybe everywhere Taehyung’s eyes rest.

He thinks of the box and he finds the other kind of material underneath, scratches at it. Makes sure
it’s real. This is all real, and Taehyung is staring him down darkly, and he tries to push all
expectations aside, steels his nerves just enough to hook a second finger underneath and, in a single
motion, sharply shove his sweatpants to the ground.

And Taehyung has good control over his expressions, but Jungkook isn’t able to miss the change in
his eyes even if he doesn’t dare assume its meaning.

He steps out of his pants one foot at a time, then stands there profoundly exposed, waiting for
triumph or monumental disappointment, very naked. Except- for a simple pair of black lace
panties.

He fights the urge to cover himself, instead pressing his clammy palms against the outside of his
thighs, letting his nails dent into the skin there. The harder task is keeping his gaze steady and
trained on Taehyung’s. Though he finds himself curious, despite how terrified, to see a reaction as
soon as it shows itself across his flawless features.
He doesn’t get it though, utter blankness staring back. It doesn’t feel like nothing when those dark,
feline eyes begin to drag down. In fact, he feels the gaze on his skin as if it were his long fingers
teasingly dragging down the column of his neck, tracking all over his rising and falling chest.

His gut kicks hard when he knows his crotch is within focus. Shit, is Taehyung even into this kind
of thing? Once again, he has no idea why he did it, what the point was, what anyone stood to gain.
He just feels dumb, even dumber with his cock already half filled out, thin material doing little to
conceal it, and the profuse flushing disturbing the paleness of his skin.

Too late to turn back, or hide, he just looks at Taehyung looking. Waits.

He hopes Taehyung is at least gentle with his delivery of disappointment.

His stomach is completely knotted by the time he hears it.

“Turn.”

He gulps, heart rate running absolutely wild. This should be the embarrassing part, most everything
on display back there in a way he’s never observed on himself. But he can turn his head along with
his body, eyes unlatching with the movement. Without having to look, he’s just a regular gay guy
hanging out in his underwear. His heart knows better, doesn’t slow down a bit.

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

It’s been an eternity since he stepped out of his sweats, and it’s only making that carnal monster in
his gut writhe and twist angrily. Either because it’s deeply uncomfortable or fucking hungry.

Fuck. He loathes how much power Taehyung has over him without effort. A less acknowledged
part of him loves it. Loves how his being hangs on every second, suspended midair, going nowhere
until Taehyung decides when and where and how far.

He shifts on his feet some, flexes a little, maybe.

“Angel.”

Are they both out of breath? He can’t fucking see, can’t tell.

“Do you want to explain to me what you think you’re doing?”

He gulps, feeling overwhelmingly affected at just the sound of his low and gravelly voice. It’s soft,
when he responds meekly, “No.”

Taehyung chuckles far too innocently given the situation, and Jungkook can’t control the corners
of his mouth either. They’re a little past ridiculous.

“Will you?” There is still a glint of humor in his voice, everything feeling lighter than it should.

He doesn’t speak, just grumbles intelligibly while pouting. He’s already standing bare, what is he
supposed to do all the work too?

“Well…” he can hear Taehyung getting off the couch, the rustle of the material. “Would you at
least answer one question?” He’s closer. “An easy one?”

“What?” It’s soft, but it comes out.

“Do you know what you look like?” The breath catches in his throat because Taehyung is close,
and it feels like it is right in his ear.

His response gets trapped in his throat, heart pounding against his ribcage, but he manages a slight
head shake.

“I said,” Taehyung’s voice comes from the other side, closer still, and he’s spitting the words
rather than speaking them. “Do you know what you fucking look like?”

He can’t explain the reaction his body has, fire blooming first deeply in his gut then spreading
everywhere else, cock becoming fully hard just because Taehyung sounds a little bit angry, a little
bit mean, and a small gasp isn’t even a conscious choice.

“Is baby too dumb to speak now?” He taunts with his words, confidence dripping from them, body
only a breath away but not touching, only making Jungkook more desperate in a completely
uncontrollable way.

“I-”

“Can’t hear you, angel.” The breath comes out over the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he
can almost make out the black hair tickling his periphery.

He wants to speak, maybe, but the proximity of demeaning words looms alluringly. Frankly, he
wouldn’t mind being smushed under Taehyung’s thumb.

“Answer, now. Do you know?” He pulls away and commands it clearly, and Jungkook feels
obligated to connect the wires in his brain enough to comply.

“No-I don’t. Don’t know.” He’s totally breathless but the words come out. His heart doesn’t slow
down.

“What do you mean?” Probably to allow for this conversation, he’s keeping a very slight distance.
Jungkook hates it.

“I-” his eyes bounce to random features on the wall, fingers digging into his exposed outer thigh. “I
didn’t-can’t look at-uh..myself in..,” he audibly gulps, “it.”

“Baby- if you can waltz in here like a proper slut, you can surely say it out loud.”

Maybe his part in the script is over because Taehyung crowds his back, closer than before, and
brushes the tips of his fingers along the lace material up and around his hips, eliciting millions of
tiny eruptions across the delicate skin underneath.

“What did you put on for me?” it’s not only his fingers, but his lips paired with a deadly voice
brushing along the outermost shell of his ear. “Hm?” Fingers slip under the material moving back
and forth against his hip, and he feels the touch all over his scorching body. “What did you have in
that filthy little mind?”

Jungkook is having a hard time. His tongue has swollen and grown so heavy in his mouth that he
couldn’t speak words if his fucked-out brain bothered to send out the command.

“What did you expect to happen, huh?” Taehyung just continues to taunt, voice descending deeper,
hands trailing behind in a way that makes his knees tremble. “That you would strut in here wearing
a fucking thong,” the moment the word permeates the air, he roughly curls the material between
his fingers and yanks.
Jungkook gasps.

Taehyung takes cartilage between his teeth, growling, before continuing without near enough time
for catching breath, cutting between Jungkook’s plump asscheeks with the coarse lace. “That I
would drop every pretense just to stick you with my cock?” He grinds forward, pressing his fabric
covered length against his asscrack where the stretching material still strains against his raw hole.

Jungkook breathes heavily through his nose, trying with all his might not to moan and give away
all his hidden desires. His eyes are clenched, head tilted towards the ceiling even though no god
can save him.

“You didn’t even expect an actual massage today, did you?” Another hand trails towards the front,
the other punishes in the back, and there is just so much of Taehyung everywhere all at once it’s
suffocating. “Fucking slut. If I needed your hole that badly, you would’ve walked through the door
already stretched and bent over for me.”

“Oh.” The moan finally succeeds at clawing from his chest and revealing how appealing he finds
the concept of being a toy for Taehyung’s pleasure.

“Or did you already prep your dirty hole?” He laughs darkly right into his ear, teasing the front of
his panties with one finger. “Plug yourself up nicely so you could perfectly take a sloppy cock all
the way to your belly.”

“Ngh-Tae.” His moan is shameless now because fucking fuck. Uselessly, he flaps his hands,
longing to reach back and feel up that hard rod pressing along his crack, free it. All the time apart
has culminated in a wave of arousal so strong, he will do anything for the singular sensation of
poking that spongy head into his puffy hole.

“Do you even care if it’s mine? Or are you just a pathetic cockslut for anyone that will give it to
you?”

Jungkook does, and he isn’t. But he whimpers like he’s never seen a tennis ball or held a graphing
calculator. They keep responding to each other so inevitably- Taehyung pressing himself more
firmly against his backside causing Jungkook’s dick to twitch against Taehyung’s nail scraping
over the scratchy fabric. He desperately needs it to continue, can’t form the words but whimpers
and pants breathily in hopes that Taehyung knows. Please don’t stop. He doesn’t know who he is
anymore, but that, he’s sure of.

“God- you sound almost as good as you look,” Taehyung continues outlining his dick with a single
nail, seemingly unaffected, but Jungkook sweats from the heat against his ass, pushes back
minutely into the dully throbbing hardness that says completely otherwise. “Fuck, you want me
that bad?”

You’re obsessed with me, right?

He does. And he is.

He rumbles agreement deep in the back of his throat to prove it.

“You should see yourself like this.”

“Ah.” If he could think, he’d disagree, but he can’t because hair is being uprooted from his scalp
and dragged along with his body across the goddam living room.

His vision is blurry, but he’s able to make out the length of the mirror near the front door that had
been missed initially given the distraction of casual Taehyung’s effortless beauty.

When the ground stops moving, he shuts his eyes without a hint of curiosity as to what’s waiting
for him.

“Ah!” Which, of course, Taehyung doesn’t allow, tugging harshly enough to jut his chin out and
peel open his hazy eyes in alarm. They resolve to stay only half open, but it is still open enough for
him to take in a sight so unholy, his knees tremble with a divine force pressing from above to kneel.

He didn’t want to look then, doesn’t want to now, but it’s too late because he catches sight of his
own reflection and is too horrified to look away.

Red- he’s pink everywhere- but his face is tomato red and splotchy from either shame or
overheating or both. He didn’t realize he was crying but sure enough, there are a few fresh tracks
along his cheeks, the red so overpowering it permeates even to his eyeballs.

Frankly, he looks totally fucked.

As he dazedly takes in more, he finds his chest heaving, his nipples hard, his abs flexing as if
trying to find relief for the vibrating tension emanating from the crown of his head, connected by
invisible strings to every extremity of his body.

Taehyung’s large palm with spindly fingers splays across his belly in lieu of maintaining taut lace,
as if unable to refuse the urge to steady him, contain him.

He keeps huffing, can’t seem to stop, as the black fabric comes into view, and he begins the
process of dissociating himself with the image in the frame.

It’s fucking- it’s pretty, he thinks. Slim, so very slim with the angled lines coming together at a
milky and smooth crotch, a ripe crotch, above the mountains of thighs bulging in a way that’s
strong but not bulky. Built to look like heaven but take the roughest kind of fucking from hell.

He wonders, with too much interest, whether Taehyung sees the same.

He seems affected at least, pressing his rock-hard length against the side of his leg while keeping
his stomach and hair under a possessive grip. God, is he into this? Fucking hell, he can’t stand the
anticipation wracking through his body in little tremors, eyes half-lidded but locked on how that
honey kissed hand lays over porcelain skin. More of Taehyung needs to be all over this trembling
figure in the mirror, fast.

“And?”

Taehyung is pulling and pressing, and it is hard to think about anything else.

“What do you see?”

He’s back to whimpering, not daring to raise his gaze enough to see his pathetic reaction or
Taehyung’s intimidating stare.

“I’ll tell you what I see.”

“Please.” He musters it because he wants to-needs to know. His entire identity rests on what
Taehyung thinks of him in this moment, and he has to know.

“Baby wants to know what I think?”

“Nnghh.” He tries to confirm, to nod.

“Look at me first.”

He obeys, instantly, heart ready and racing.

Taehyung’s eyes are dark and burning, and he doesn’t hesitate. “You are the most alluring and
delicious delicacy I have ever tasted.” Jungkook moans, thrashing against the grip on his scalp.
“And if you let me, I intend to get completely drunk off you tonight.”

Jungkook can’t help the way his hips thrust, not held back by that palm, overwhelmed by the
sedation of his most viscous anxiety about this meeting.

“I could have never pictured you in something like this before, but now that I have seen it,” he runs
his teasing tongue over the shell of his ear before uttering the words that make it all worth it. All
the fear, all the self-doubt and trepidation, all worth it when Taehyung utters with an air of
inarguable finality, “I will never stop.”

“Taehyung.” He gasps, overwhelmed.

“Fuck.”

The fingers in his hair only loosen enough to slide down and press into the base of his skull. It isn’t
strength necessarily, but a deadly precision with which Taehyung exerts his dominance. His feet
comply as if a portion of his brain has been discovered by thin fingertips and held captive.

When he’s close enough to the mirror to have visual evidence of how rapidly his breaths come,
Taehyung gives him barely a beat to follow the next command.

“Hands on the wall.”

He does and it is a good thing because Taehyung slips a foot between his, knocks them apart, then
digs his palm into the top of his spine so that his newfound anchor must prevent his nose from
crashing into the mirror.

While fucking presenting and panting, Jungkook finally witnesses the profound tension stored
behind Taehyung’s confident demeanor as he completely unleashes it.

“God fucking dammit.” He doesn’t even have time to process how sexily affected he sounds,
because two hands have flown to his hips, and his entire ass is being encompassed by the insatiable
heat of Taehyung’s burning crotch. Lined up directly behind him, they both groan shamelessly in
unison, mirror providing the incorruptible link between their desire.

As he slips his fingers under the fabric at his hips, tangles the digits up in it to the point of painful
cutting, and thrusts himself forward, Taehyung- in a fashion only discovered recently- just kind of,
loses it.

Jungkook can’t stop looking through his own teary gaze at Taehyung eyes, and the fucking
depraved essence they’ve adopted while obsessing over the fabric turning his own fingers purple.

He thrusts again, and Jungkook cannot find it in himself to judge the loss of coherency because of
the dizzying noise that comes out of his own mouth.

They’ve fucked, but something about the way Taehyung is clawing at his skin, curling more of the
poor fabric into his grasp, and whimpering, has Jungkook completely lost in the clouds.
“So fucking..” Taehyung gasps, throwing his head back and seemingly overwhelmed by the sight
of the ass sticking out for him, split only by that naughty strip between reddening cheeks.

Jungkook gives him a filthy moan in response, thinks an entire droplet of condensation forms on
the mirror because of it but is only looking at the parted pillows of Taehyung’s pout, red and
delicious and breathless.

“Gorgeous- can’t fucking-” Taehyung keeps thrusting, eventually letting up on the vice lace
entanglement in order to splay both of his hands entirely out underneath it, fingertips denting
Jungkook’s plump ass as much as possible.

His thumbs dive in boldly to play with that slutty center strip, alternating popping over his tailbone
with his thumbs and his less precise, clothed erection.

Jungkook’s arms fight his weight and beg to collapse, but his eyes fall down to his own body and
that sight spurs him on far more than it should.

Which makes two of them, because Taehyung starts fingering towards the front of the lace devil,
and Jungkook naturally lifts up with strength he doesn’t have to see and make room.

Taehyung still seems frantic in his need to touch and manipulate every single fiber of the lace
garment. He discovers, maybe for the first time, a tiny lace bow that would sit at the top of
Jungkook’s pubic hair if he weren’t desperate enough to have it all ripped out, skin moisturized to
silky perfection. His nail scrapes over it in fascination several times before getting bored and
deciding to coax a reaction by gathering the front piece, yanking it tight, and moving it side to side
over his throbbing dick.

Jungkook, almost upright now, watches Taehyung smile sadistically at his red, weeping cock
twitching at every pass and threatening to turn purple from the obnoxious amount of denial in the
past two weeks.

Taehyung lets go of the fabric begrudgingly, now satisfied enough to run his hands up and down
the length of bare and exposed torso.

Jungkook huffs, and he doesn’t know why, but Taehyung simply smiles and buries his face in the
comforting crevice of his neck. He doesn’t kiss but nuzzles his face determinedly while inhaling
deeply to mark his scent.

He wishes, with ardor, that it didn’t feel this right to be completely wrapped up in Taehyung, a
small smile momentarily breaking out on his own lips at their unabashed attraction to each other.

He knows somewhere in his gut, that something that feels this good, comes with a price. He has
seen the baggage and can get a clue. Taehyung is a heartbreaker, and if he isn’t the one to change
him, it's going to hurt like a motherfucker.

But why should the future invade the present? Should he evade the present for an uncertain future?

Truthfully- he’s never felt anything like this. And his future self can go fuck himself.

So, he moans like sin incarnate and slams his forehead into the mirror.

“Hyunggg.” Present him is going to get what he fucking wants, and he’ll present to do it. “Need
you.” He arches his back and shuffles to secure a grip on his asscheeks. “Here.”

Taehyung watches with unblinking eyes as Jungkook pulls himself apart.

For a moment, a hot plomb of anxiety grows in his chest because Taehyung’s body retreats.

However, he readjusts his head with difficulty, focuses his gaze through the haze, and finds
Taehyung digging a tooth down on his lip, darkly glaring at his flushed backside, and lazily
rubbing over his own bulge at the sight of it all. And fuck if it isn’t the single hottest thing
Jungkook has ever witnessed.

“Do you-shit,” he barely sees Taehyung huffing out the words because of the angle, “Do you even
realize how fucking slutty you look right now?”

Thank fuck because he is ready. Really ready. Ready ready. “M’yours.” So, he lets himself have it,
sink into it, drown in it, murder his self-respect for it.

“You wanna be my slut?” He pauses for a fraction of a second then adds in a whisper, like a secret,
“Again?”

Smack. “Fuck!”

“And here I thought you were a sweet, innocent angel...” Taehyung tsks. “All the while you were
actually fantasizing about being my filthy little pain slut, weren’t you?”

The memory is vicious and scorching, and he just wants. “Yes-again. All the time. I’m your fucking
slut, hyung.” It’s breathless and heavy handed and Taehyung matches him, raises him.

“Good.” The foggy sight of him smirking and stroking is surreal, and so is, “Show hyung your little
hole, baby.”

He’s just, fuck. It’s addictive. He’s addicted.

“Go on, don’t be shy. Show me how good you prepped yourself, how ready you are for it. Did you
use a nice, thick plug?”

“God.” His fingers start to twitch with the need to follow the command, soft flesh jiggling as
several fingers inch closer in.

“Fuck yourself loose and sloppy for me? Shit,” his hand moves ardently over his crotch which
becomes difficult to focus on as Jungkook finally teases the fine strip of lace with a single nail.
“You’d look so sexy like that, spread open on your bed whining for me.”

He murmurs it like a story for himself, low and sultry, and it would be impossible to respond in any
other way than curling the tip of his finger around that debauched material and scraping it harshly
aside to reveal his red and shy taint.

“Mmm, my gorgeous angel, so perfect.”

He mewls, face contorting against the mirror making the utility of it harder to access especially
considering his foggy, labored breaths.

“But where's your pretty plug? Thought you’d be ready for my cock.” The pouting should be cute,
but it makes his tummy burn instead, the idea that the loss of that specific damning action could be
disappointing.
“Nuh-no.” He can almost make out the shapely cock, bracketed by the dark fabric of his indented
pants, and it is so overwhelming how patient Taehyung can become when Jungkook’s skin is
needles. “Didn’t want-couldn’t.” Shit. Words, please. He shuts his eyes tightly, blocking out the
sight he could barely see anyway but could still wreck him. “I couldn’t do it right-didn’t feel as
good. And-” his forehead slips around because of the excess of condensation and his own
disgusting sweat, “I wanna be-” He pauses, embarrassed, before realizing he’s already
compromised, “Tight. For you.”

“Shit, an-”

“Wanna hurt when you finally fuh-fuck me.” He turns himself on when he says it, groaning and
turning to press his nose squarely into the uncomfortable surface.

“You are really-” Taehyung breathes, loudly. “There’s not even a word for what you are.”

Jungkook pulls harder at his flesh, curling that one guilty finger enough to dig a nail in, as if it
could ground him now.

“Keep holding yourself wide open for me, just like that.” His voice comes out husky but articulate,
and closer, far more in control than sane Jungkook prefers and far more in control than this
Jungkook can resist. “Let me hear you, tell the neighbors how good my slut gets it.”

That’s the only warning he gets before he hears a rapid, shuffling movement, and an overwhelming
wetness envelops his most sensitive, most desperate place.

He screams. Not because he’s been instructed to, but not not because of that either.

It’s because he had become so overheated in that precise spot, the feel of Taehyung’s tongue laving
against his asshole actually feels cool on the blistering, puckered skin. Maybe also because- fuck
yes.

The mirror rattles with the force his jerking head applies, like it will shatter in place or collapse off
the wall, neither of which would be enough to stop him from receiving this most blissful pleasure.

Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind all the noise, snakes his hands up around the tops of his thighs,
and pulls at that soft inner skin so hard it almost throws his balance.

His neck starts to break in an effort to gather more surface area for steadiness or maybe for the
inadvertent way his back arches slightly more, ass popping out slightly more, but just enough.

“Oh-fuck me.” His voice is bad because of the fucked-up position of his throat and the tongue
pressing flat and strong, and it’s just-fuck, he dreamed of this. Not just the sensation but the reality
of having Taehyung behind him, touching him, intimate. He’s so hot, so fucking-, “You’re so guh-
good at this.”

He wants to hear Taehyung reply, hear dirty words in that unmatched timbre, but instead he only
feels a tongue grow more pointed and draw circles.

And it, “Feels so good. So good, hyung.” He babbles a bit, but he means it. Not that physically it’s
good (it is), but mentally he feels transported to a headspace where nothing else has to matter.

Taehyung is good at being so dominating with his aura, that Jungkook naturally wants to submit
and can let himself.

“Nnghhh-ah!” He cries out, still holding himself open, arms beginning to shake, as Taehyung dives
that flexed tip straight into his hole.

The breech only goes slightly past the ring while throat hums add tingly vibrations. Little
movements in and out along with the compressing fingers on his thighs make his own fingers
tighten, and he undeniably desires the marks from both.

“God-Tae,” he whimpers, he doesn’t know what to say- prefers the back and forth- but Taehyung
rubs softly with one hand and shoves his tongue in deeper in lieu of words. It’s enough, it’s plenty.
“Mmmmph-ah-ah.”

Taehyung pulls his tongue back to inflict long stripes, balls to tailbone, and Jungkook’s body jolts
with each one, nose ready to break through the mirror.

“Tae-Tae-fuck-oh god,” he starts to get loud and whiny, because every time the tongue retracts, he
feels huffs of air that cool the spit covered skin only to overheat again when the wet muscle
returns.

Taehyung seems to approve, rubbing more insistently along his inner thighs, and speeding up the
onslaught of his tongue. It peeps in and out of his hole as it passes by, and there are too many
sensations for Jungkook to maintain coherency.

“Fuckkk, s’good, s’fucking good hyung.” He might be making himself bleed by how harshly he
pulls his cheeks apart, anchored by sharp nails. That stretch of fabric shifts, and he’s reminded of
its position across his dick because it twitches and dribbles in response.

Taehyung grunts and speeds up, like a tiger trying to clean a dirty cub.

“Nnggh, yes-yes-yes,” he’s moaning, putting on a good show, and the moment he feels spit
dripping down the back of his leg, something unfurls from inside his gut. “Making me so dirty,
hyung, so fucking wet for you-fuckk, love being your slut.”

That seems to do it, because one of Taehyung’s hands unhooks from around his thigh and-

“OH god! Hyung!” Fingers splaying out just above his crack, Taehyung stops his tongue to punch
a thumb directly into his wet opening.

“Yeah? You like that, baby?” Taehyung is panting from the effort of eating Jungkook’s ass (fuck),
“You’re fucking tight, what if I put my cock in you like this? Jesus.”

“Nggghhh-” he moans while simultaneously and involuntarily clenching down, maybe it’s slightly
voluntary because look what I can do, how good I can be.

“Fuck-tight everywhere-” he sounds ruffled and not finished with his sentence when his mouth
engulfs both of Jungkook’s balls, praising them for being deliciously taut too.

“Ah,” he keens because along with literally sucking his balls, Taehyung begins to fuck his thumb
in and out of his greedy, throbbing asshole. “Ah-ah-fuck.” His entire face writhes against the
mirror, smearing every fluid substance possible all over the no longer pristine surface. How
embarrassing. “Would let you.”

Taehyung pops off. “Fuck-Jungkook-”

He whines-because.

“Don’t fucking say that.”

“Want you to rip me open.” His eyes are closed, and his body has started to go numb from
improper blood flow to many important places.

“God-you shouldn’t-god.” Taehyung tries to argue but his thumb is fucking in faster, deeper, and
he’s reluctantly moaning.

“Thought I was your slut? Don’t you want to-nngh fuck me?” He’s not thinking but shaking
noticeably from the sheer effort. His prostate hasn’t even been thought about, yet electricity is
sparking all over his body as if summoned.

“Of course I want to fuck you-gonna fuck you, mmmph,” he kisses then licks at his perinium,
drooling spit shamelessly, “Taste so good-fucking love your taste.” His tongue gets more of the
delicious flavor, savoring the bottom of his debauched rim, and he seems at odds between tasting
him and airing out his dirty thoughts, “God-love playing with you.”

It’s not sir, that’s just plain Taehyung being painfully honest, and he can’t help just Jungkook
responding. “If you love it, why’d you go two-mmph weeks without it?” As if he’s actually in any
kind of position to have a rational conversation, voice completely hoarse and face probably
blistering red from rubbing against the unyielding, reflective surface.

Taehyung doesn’t go still or awkward like what’s feared, he keeps fucking his thick digit in and
out, more determinedly even, and groans from the sight or frustration. “Because I’m a goddamn
idiot.”

“You could,” he chokes on some spit because he’s losing some bodily function at this point,
“Make it up to me.”

“And what do you suggest?” He’s working that digit, stealing little licks like he doesn’t want the
wetness or flavor to fade.

“Could give me your cock already-fuck.” He rocks back as if taking it inside his aching body.
Luckily the top of his head catches him when he falls forward again, eyes facing the ground but
still very much shut.

“Are you sure you deserve it?” He taunts in a way that contradicts the actions of his finger and
tongue. “Baby didn’t tell me what he wanted either.”

Jungkook mumbles and pouts in secret.

“What’s that?” The breath comes out across his wet asshole which winks around Taehyung’s
thumb.

“Cause I’m the baby.”

“Is that right?” Taehyung chuckles, rubbing Jungkook affectionately, cheek to cheek.

“Yes-nnghhh!”

That moment is evidently the right one for Taehyung to set his thumb free, twist his hand around,
then replace it swiftly with two flush fingers.

He doesn’t seem that patient about it, immediately burying them all the way to the hilt before
pulling back to the top knuckle, a quick and precise rhythm setting off to punish.

“Oh fuck!” Jungkook continues gasping, clenching hard trying to adjust to the violent intrusion. It’s
far more stimulation, and it’s impossible not to let his satisfaction show. “Yes- god yes, Tae.” He
moans with every slap of knuckles, grateful but hungry for more.

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” Taehyung growls, material rustling as he shifts his body from the
ground. “You like being fucked on my fingers?” He looms closely behind, and it’s confirmed
when his other hand leaves his thigh to grasp at his unruly hair. “I want you to come on my fingers,
doll.”

“Fuckkk hyung.”

“That’s right, you feel me inside you? So fucking warm and tight.”

“Nghhh-oh! Oh!” Jungkook squeals, body mush. Taehyung is far stronger than he appears, though
has the wit to match because he remembers exactly where and how Jungkook likes to be touched.
“Give it to me, gimme-gimme-hyung.”

Taehyung does. “That it? Is this where you need hyung, baby?” He hammers his hand relentlessly,
audibly, while tugging on his bouncing locks.

“Yesssss,” the electricity jolts inside, stronger than before, and the storm descends as quick as a
downpour during summer. “Yes-yes-yes,” his entire body is numb except for that blazing spot that
Taehyung pounds into with his match stick.

“Fucking gorgeous doll, taking it so well.”

“Mmmmph-god-Tae,” he whines and tries to thrash his head, but it is kept in place by Taehyung’s
entire hand locked around it, fingertips tense.

“Yeah baby, take what I give to you.”

“OH! Ngh!” His chest heaves as little lightning bolts charge up, tingles erupting in those telling
places that drive his sanity into oblivion. “Right there- fuck me!”

“God baby-yeah, come on for me.”

“Yess, hyung-ah!” He briefly feels a slight pressure of Taehyung thrusting something hard against
his thigh but can’t take his focus away from the fire in his ass for long. The fingers digging into his
skull immobilize his entire body for some reason, and something primal begins taking over in his
gut at being touched in his special inside place.

“Go on, angel.” Taehyung leans forward to dare him, hand squelching in its relentless effort to
make him cum.

“Nggghhh-ah,” he whines loudly, whole body swirling around that one spongey vat of sensation,
rim loosening and opening up to take in more, more. “More-ah, more.”

“I know you’re close, come on.” Taehyung pants, thrusting but Jungkook is beyond the ability to
feel it.

But it’s not enough, he didn’t realize until having something there that he needs to be full, needs to
be stretched wide and split open, needs a fucking dicking by a big, fat cock. “N’enough, need your
cock.”

“You-fuck, you’re really just a fucking cockslut, aren’t you?”

“Mmph-wan’cock.”

Taehyung growls, voice descending, “Come on my fingers, doll.” He aggressively spits straight
down, the sound and slip increasing immediately, “A whore like you doesn’t deserve my cock.”

Taehyung is still pounding, harder even, into the right spot, knuckles nudging his wet rim wider
and wider, and Jungkook's body can only take so much.

“FUCK!” He screams when it starts, and the fingers don’t let up a bit.

The electricity seems to land right where Taehyung’s fingers press the deepest, shooting outward
while awakening and tensing every muscle in every extremity.

“Ohhhhhh,” this one feels less like being struck by lightning, and more like being zapped awake in
a flowing river of current.

“That’s it.”

“Fuckkkkkk,” little sparks tickle all over, almost bringing his body back to life after two weeks of
drought and dread. “God- feels good.”

“Good, doll.” Taehyung's hard length registers as a little shock on his leg as he continues writhing
through his first orgasm since the masseur’s hands left him.

If only he hadn’t made him leave, if only he hadn’t shown so much of himself. Maybe, he could’ve
avoided the desperation the drought unfurled. Maybe, he could’ve maintained any inkling of
dignity instead of waltzing to this appointment in lingerie expecting to get utterly railed by the out-
of-his-league model.

“Ngh-ahhh.” He lets the final ripples seize through the rest of his muscles, now feeling strangely
aware of himself, and how badly he needs to move his body from this position.

“Gorgeous angel, did it feel good?” Taehyung releases his head, allowing Jungkook to find his
footing with a slight stumble and finally release his own asscheeks.

“Yeah.” He immediately folds his arms against the mirror to rest against, unconcerned about
smudging, and pants while curling his toes repeatedly to make sure they’re there.

“That’s good.”

Jungkook realizes that even though he’s upright and his asscheeks are plumply covering his hole
again, Taehyung still has not removed his hand from in between them.

In fact, he has plastered his body to Jungkook’s side, and continues rubbing deep into his prostate
with the lazing curling movements of his fingertips. “Baby deserves to feel good.”

He gulps, breathing quieting.

“Doesn’t he?”

Jungkook shudders as the fingers pick up a little confidence, intentions clear.

“Answer, doll.”

Jungkook whimpers as his prostate comes back to life, though the pleasure has sharpened and is
book-ended by a distinct kind of pinch. “Yes-wan’to feel good.”
Taehyung is closing all the distance between them, snaking a hand up Jungkook’s uneasy chest,
bodies suctioned tight. He whispers, “I’ll make you feel so good, like you’ve never felt before.”

No one has touched you like I have.

“Fuck- no one touches me like you do.” It’s whiny and honest, directed into his forearms as
Taehyung's hand inches closer to his throat.

“That’s right, angel. Only me.” He rubs insistently.

You haven’t stopped thinking of me, right?

“Haven’t stopped thinking about you, can’t stop.” He’s more airy than whiny, though Taehyung
doesn’t notice.

“Me too baby, me too.” He nibbles at Jungkook’s ear while tracing his collarbone with one hand
and abusing his prostate with the other.

Haven’t stopped imagining me fucking your tight virgin hole?”

“Thought about you fucking me, but when I thought about your cock- nothing else was good
enough.”

“Fuck- you only want-”

But Taehyung doesn’t notice that Jungkook isn’t listening anymore. “Don’t deserve hyung’s cock,
too much of a whore-”

“Baby’s a whore for-” Taehyung tries to tease but is cut off again.

“Only thinking of hyung, obsessed with him. How he touches baby. The only one who can touch.”

“Wait-” Taehyung tries to stop, and Jungkook nearly yells.

“No! Don’t leave baby. Said he deserved to feel good.”

“Jungkook-” Taehyung sounds uneasy but continues curling his fingers in fear of stopping.

“Don’t call me that. Baby can prove himself to hyung. He will make hyung happy enough to stay.
He will-”

“Baby you don’t have to-” Taehyung tries to make him listen, abandons his neck to caress
concerningly over his erratically breathing chest.

“Feel baby come for you, hyung. He will show you, inside.”

His body- only wired to please- begins writhing with far too little stimulation, but this orgasm is
merely a piggyback on the one previously built.

He clenches down, hoping to earn that delicious cock his craves, moans wantonly while throwing
his head back and praying that it’s enough. That he’s enough, this time.

“Uhhhhhh-coming-hyung.” His prostate pulses against Taehyung’s fingers, asshole refusing to let
anything out, and he huffs and huffs until the ripples cease, and his muscles can relax.

Taehyung is quiet, only shushing him from continuing to heave and whine. Then, he finally frees
his fingers so that he can wrap both arms around Jungkook tightly, protectively.

Jungkook melts into his arms like jelly, ready to be molded into whatever Taehyung wants. He can
be exactly what he wants.

“Is hyung happy with baby?”

“Hyung is always happy with baby.” He wraps Jungkook up tighter as if compensating for his
inability to say anything better.

“Does baby deserve hyung’s cock now?”

“I can’t fuck you like this.”

“But-”

“No baby, no.” He turns Jungkook’s head just enough to softly capture his lips and anything further
that shouldn’t be said.

Jungkook can’t think much past the feel of Taehyung’s lips sliding against his, the sweet taste of
his perfect mouth. He readily gives himself over, opening his mouth for the taking, tongue soft and
pliant. With every slippery slide of their tissue, he wills himself to be enough.

They kiss for a long time. At least until his breathing regulates into easy puffs in and out his nose.
He doesn’t even feel his legs being lifted from the ground, but Taehyung's hidden strength carries
his muscled body all the way to the bedroom.

He does feel the soft bedding against his back, though doesn’t appreciate any other aspects of
Taehyung’s interior design because he refuses to let their lips break.

Taehyung doesn’t want to break it either, crawling on top of Jungkook first, then falling over to the
side to kiss lazily, clothed limbs tangling with naked ones.

Perfect hands caress all over his body, tracing the lines of hard muscle and drawing soothing circles
on his back. His lips are a constant, flowing like the perfect wave, tongue crashing into his before a
tingling retreat.

It feels so steady.

His body notices more and more sensations, the softness of Taehyung’s sweater where it’s bunched
in his fists, the roughness of Taehyung’s jeans where it brushes his hooked calf, and the sticky
thong between his legs.

He releases his fists to give them color again, but not enough to let Taehyung go.

When he blinks and tries to pull back from the kiss, Taehyung lets him.

They stare from a breath’s distance.

He doesn’t know what to say or if his voice even works. But he knows that Taehyung is beautiful,
painfully so from this close, and his voice carries the depth of the ocean even as a whisper.

“Angel.”

Will he ever tire of hearing that from Taehyung’s lips? Will he ever tire of Taehyung’s lips? He
leans back in, intent on discovery.
He isn’t stopped, is allowed to take from that mouth what’s desired before building the courage to
pull back again. He doesn’t have it quite yet, slips and slides across delicate flesh first, then dips
his tongue inside the warm center only to have the tip suckled on, which immediately sends a
shockwave of warm tingles all the way to his toes. He’s feeling warm, and the flicking on the roof
of his mouth dares him to grow hot. He doesn’t think growing tired is within question; he focuses
on endless pools of depth to exit.

Taehyung’s eyes could never be as life riddled in image as in reality. Nor could they have such a
high level of concern.

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook is now confused because he can’t remember a time being more okay. His body has
melted into the soft bed underneath and thrums peacefully with the post bliss from two orgasms
(hopefully and counting). But the concern doesn’t fade, even as he softly smiles and rubs a thumb
over the perplexed eyebrow.

Taehyung’s eyes bounce rapidly between his own two eyes doing the same.

“The best I’ve been in two weeks, you?” His voice actually reflects how he feels, warm and easy.

“Oh-uh, fine but..” Taehyung seems confused now, and actually stutters trying to respond. Which
is new.

“Should I not be okay?” His cheek is so soft, contrasts with his sharp jaw. But something heavy
drops in his gut when Taehyung sours with pity.

Jungkook looks away, inadvertently creating a slight distance. Taehyung's warmth now feels
overbearing, and his skin begins to itch with the need to free itself.

“Please don’t look at me like that.” He unhooks his calf, retrieves his leg, takes a big breath.

“Jungkook-I,”

He huffs, rolling his eyes and putting that final inch between them that allows his body to be his
own again.

“Angel..”

He looks back at him. Fuck, why does he have to look like that? “You’re looking at me like I’m
helpless and broken.” Dancing around things doesn’t pay the bills.

“Baby-” he whispers placatingly which makes it worse, but Jungkook doesn’t mean to flinch when
his hand extends- it’s instinctual.

Then, that perfectly symmetrical face twists with hurt which makes the heavy thing in his gut
heavier.

Taehyung is supposed to be his savior. He is supposed to be fixed.

They’re looking distinctly away from one another, contemplating.

Until, Taehyung shuffles away and slides off the bed eliciting a minor panic attack inside the
individual still laying there, naked-ish, watching with big eyes.

He’s prepared to be escorted from the premises when the beauty with tan skin and tousled black
hair reaches- not for the door handle- but for his belt instead.

He’s craning his neck up, hell- he’s propping himself up on an elbow to see this. Graceful as ever,
Taehyung swiftly discards his belt before tugging the hem of the dark sweater loose.

If the penetrating stare didn’t stir his nerves, the tummy skin peeping out certainly does.

He doesn’t adjust, doesn’t have nearly enough time to adjust when the whole sweater comes off,
sliding off the edge of his finger like a fucking treat.

The real treat is the sight he licks his lips at, the sight of his bare and perfect chest, gloriously
golden, perfectly soft, except for the pair of brown nipples which stand proud and erect.

There’s a lot to admire, to take-

His pants come off.

And his nipples aren’t the only thing erect.

But Taehyung may be the only one breathing.

His entire core is molten, his eyes burn from the fucking sight. He actually wants to cry because
sometimes beautiful things do that.

Underwear follows.

Oh, sweet mother of god.

He doesn’t even take in the sight of the red and hard dick before it’s moving towards him, and he
imagines briefly if Taehyung pranced over and just shoved it into his mouth without saying
anything, thrusted into his throat-fuck, that’s hot. He’s on fire when Taehyung reaches the foot of
the bed, nearer to the side where Jungkook lays with muscles on guard and mind dumbfounded.

It is a nice bed, black and modern and very Taehyung which he’s recently learned how to identify.

And Taehyung is crawling onto it. Crawling towards him, on all fours, dick hanging heavy
between his legs.

He’s about to scoot back, feeling crowded by something very predator-like, and having no idea
what to expect if caught.

However, the smirking, yet somehow still serious, man stops at a respectable distance, close
enough to brush Jungkook’s extended toes as he lowers onto folded legs and lays truly spectacular
hands softly across his bare lap.

What is happening?

“What is happening?”

Jungkook can’t breathe and will never breathe again, while Taehyung sits right there carved like a
Greek sculpture, head barely tipped forward maybe to gaze at his target or to appear-well. He looks
submissive.

“Touch me.”

Jungkook hears the words but must repeat them in his head five times to understand the meaning.
“What?”

“Touch me. Want you to.”

“Why?” He really shouldn’t be arguing, why is he like this?

“Because I want you.”

“Yeah but-”

“And you just being you is enough for me to want you.”

Oh.

The suspicion must be all over his stupid face.

“Not for you. But because of you, because you make me-fuck.” He spreads his knees apart in a
truly wicked and vile fashion. “You make me so horny.” His hand traces down his own chest,
pausing to tweak a nipple and let out the sweetest little ah from it.

The fuck was Jungkook’s problem exactly?

“Went two weeks without you too, and I-mmph” he moans after rubbing the other nipple before
descending south.

Jungkook is transfixed.

“I think I was hard the entire time, couldn’t stop it when I thought about everything we did. All the
things you let me do.” He whimpers when his hand caresses over the masculine swatch of hair, and
then gasps when his large hand latches around his throbbing dick. “And now you’re wearing that,
looking at me like that.”

Jesus.

“So are you going to touch me, or are you going to watch?”

It takes one tug for Jungkook to move.

Funny how he lifts Taehyung from the bed only to slam him down again, except on his back and
splayed out completely for Jungkook to fucking take. The way he groans doesn’t seem disgruntled,
though. In fact, Jungkook is going to make a point to put his strength on display more often.

“Goddammit Taehyung.” He growls in his face while pinning his wrists, straddling his narrow
waist, and wondering where the hell to even begin.

The kill, of course. He goes for the neck.

It’s supposed to be a kiss, but he comes in with too much force and a few teeth get caught up in the
mix. So yeah, he bites the shit out of him, but Taehyung moans like he likes it, so he keeps doing it,
lighter though, doesn’t want to leave that kind of mark. He does suck the skin into his mouth until
it’s purple, and doesn’t feel bad about it at all. Even after the tenth time.

Taehyung doesn’t speak- words. He moans though, and the sound is euphoric.

Finally, when Taehyung’s neck looks red and purple in most places, he laves over the damage
lovingly with his tongue, plants small kisses, sucks on that honey skin just one more time. That’s
when he notices the desperate little thrusts.

Taehyung is trying to lift his hips up to meet Jungkook’s hovering frame for some kind of friction
on his cock. But, Jungkook has had weeks to prepare for this, and he now has Taehyung in bed and
horny. His mouth leaks just like the dick under his ass. They’re both beyond ready, he decides.

“Fuck hyung, you want me to touch your cock?”

“Yes.” His answer comes immediately, and would he get whiny if left unattended? “Yes, baby,
please.” There’s definitely hope for it, another time.

Jungkook releases his wrists to slide down his body, wanting to take more time on his chest but
unable to hold back. He stops when his breath hits the swollen tip.

Taehyung throws his head back and cusses at the implication.

His four limbs are holding him up, and he still feels unsteady looking down at the thing.
Because-fuck if he hasn’t already fantasized a million ways to get Taehyung in his mouth.

There was that one where he was literally-

“You want my cock that bad, baby?”

“Yes, fuck.” His voice comes out strained.

“Good, open those pretty lips.”

He whimpers as his jaw drops open and the blood rushes to his head.

Taehyung circles his lips with precum, before groaning and pushing inside.

He suctions his mouth around the length instantly, desperate to taste him, to savor him.

They both moan together, and Taehyung doesn’t hesitate to go further, delving into what they both
crave.

With a little push he’s sliding all the way into a choking Jungkook.

“Fuck-baby, I can see it-god, I can see it in your throat.”

His fingers trace the perfect view he has of Jungkook’s upturned neck, head completely displaced
off the side of the bed, mouth stretched open, wide and ready to take a fucking-

“Angel, please.”

Right. He finds himself in the actual, real world with Taehyung’s dick in his face, waiting to be
sucked, a land where somehow his dumb personality and excessive baggage haven’t fouled
everything up. Yet.

He’s not throwing away his shot, and his mouth feels full already with the salivating it’s been up
to.
His eyes flick up to Taehyung before his lips part and let it all dribble out.

Taehyung makes, in his subjective opinion, the sexiest motherfucking moan when drool lands on
his cock.

The massive member kicks, almost smacking Jungkook in the face, which makes him grin like a
maniac before leaning all the way forward and spreading his natural lubricant around by tongue.

“Oh holy-” Taehyung gets loud, and Jungkook gets happy. “Fuck.”

Then, he moves to the head.

“Baby-baby.” As the subject writhes, he keeps his eyes locked up, rubs his flat tongue all over
where the head and shaft meet in a perfect little dip. That seems to drive Taehyung absolutely wild,
legs unsettled, pupils blown out.

He likes it. So much. Did he get to do this before? God, how stupid is he for fuck’s sake? This man
is beautiful, heavenly, and Jungkook never wants to not please him now.

He wonders how he might react to-

“Ohh.”

Jungkook sucks the entire cockhead into his hot mouth. It’s heavy on his tongue, and he finds the
weight comforting and sexy in his pursuit of mapping out every ridge and valley. Some drops of
precum ooze from the slit and bathe his taste buds in salty bitterness.

“Mmmphh.” He moans with the cock in his mouth, because that flavor is Taehyung’s arousal. And
nothing is more divine.

“Fuckk.” Taehyung moans right back, hips twitching with need, and face contorted in an
indescribable way.

He is so lucky to see him this way, Jungkook thinks as he blankets his tongue over every square
inch of dick in his mouth, swirling and curling and licking with the effort the fine specimen
deserves.

It’s shocking how much he enjoys having this cock, his very first, in his mouth.

In his fantasies, he got off on the dynamic of serving. But it isn’t just the power play affecting him
now- no, it’s the delicacy of skin, the squishiness of the swollen head, the silky texture of his
precum, even the musky smell of his sweat, and just the overwhelming fullness of consuming
something so purely Taehyung.

It’s curiosity or possibly early onset obsession that drives him to move past the ridge of the head
and begin his assessment of the valley of veins.

His mouth salivates enough to create rivers which flow past the confines of his lips and down the
thick shaft, adding a lovely slip to how he takes in the next few centimeters.

“Oh-your mouth-mmppf.”

Jungkook remembers to gaze up, having lapsed unconsciously, and he mentally notes the twist of
Taehyung’s face when his eyes open wide, and his lips slide down an inch further.

Must be an important inch, because Taehyung gives another loud and sultry moan as Jungkook’s
tongue presses hard enough to detect a dull but rapid throbbing.

He flexes the end of his tongue to run it over the hearty vein, compressing and decompressing it
just for the thrill. They are everywhere, and he traces over every one as he circles the member, a
task becoming more difficult as the greed sets in.

“Mmmf-ah,” Taehyung moans when he flattens his tongue, circles persisting, and takes a sharp
breath into his nose while driving it down.

He’s starting to just-wow, he’s really into it.

A desire to just blow Taehyung’s mind awakens, and- even though the angle is harsher- he keeps
his eyes up while sinking down as far as he can.

“Ah.” Taehyung winces at the edge of a snagged tooth, but Jungkook is too busy gagging and
trying to mentally process that Taehyung’s dick is poking the entrance to his throat.

The beautiful man recovers quickly, moaning while Jungkook adjusts to the new feeling of having
his mouth stuffed and throat tickled.

He sits there on Taehyung’s cock, for a while, nose breathing forceful enough to rustle a few pubic
hairs but steady. It’s so filling, his cock is quite big, and he doesn’t know if it’s more unbelievable
that he has Taehyung like this or that he likes it this much. It’s long enough for the man to gently
urge with a pained expression,

“Move, baby, please.”

He, of course, obeys instantly. Eyes beginning to blur, he rises enough to swirl around the head,
finds that he wouldn’t mind doing that some more maybe forever but refrains in order to- minding
his teeth and with a little added speed- drops.

“Yeah.” Taehyung sounds relieved, and Jungkook isn’t anything other than focused.

He can no longer keep his eyes open as he works himself up and down, playing with the tightness
of his lips based on the volume level of his subject which essentially sums up to- the tighter the
better. That makes Jungkook simmer because his ass must be twice as tight.

Despite his sloppy fervor, he’s still a novice, and it shows. His effort remains towards the center,
moving only a couple inches in either direction, cock head rebounding off the back of his soft
palette with every bounce.

Taehyung is merciful (exceptionally so) as he coaches, “All the way back up-mmhm.” He hums,
pleased, as Jungkook rises all the way to the tip, lips rippling over the sensitive ridge around the
head, and back down. He knows it’s sensitive because Taehyung makes a little noise each time he
bumps over it, and it only takes a few passes for him to use that observation as a weapon.

“Fuck baby- fuck.”

Jungkook fights the smile threatening the corners of his mouth in order to cinch tighter where he
bobs over specifically that ridge again and again until Taehyung seems to go mad.

“Baby.”

He obliges, taking him to the throat again and indulging in full strokes that return all the way to the
tip and back, again. And again.
The teeth hadn’t been that bad, but Taehyung gently guides him with words instead of allowing a
newfound confidence to grow, “Cover your teeth with your lips, angel.”

He says it sweetly, but it’s not taken that way by the competitive perfectionist who furrows his
brow to try. After adjusting several times, he finds a comfortable way to cover the sharp edges of
his teeth which must cascade more pressure through his lips because Taehyung responds
beautifully, hips even twitching sexily with the need to just fuck into something. If his body could
heat up any more at that, it would.

Jungkook isn’t satisfied, hates needing assistance and deeply craves to show Taehyung some god
given talent. It’s in that fateful moment he remembers the existence of his hands.

His wrists are harshly supporting the weight of his body, split and hovering over Taehyung’s lithe
length. Teetering, he finds a way to pry one free for better use.

Continuing his vertical, spit-generating movements, he watches, with glossy vision, trembling
fingers wrap around that section of cock completely inaccessible to his nubile mouth.

He re-experiences the thickness all over again as its girth presses back against his palm. The
warmth, the way it pulses so astonishingly full of life and zeal, the contrast between the firm
strength and the delicate layer containing it- overwhelms him beyond attraction and into a far more
terrifying state of admiration. Again- he is struck by regret, not having taken his full fill the last
time.

All the power he thought he possessed leaves him, as he transforms into a total simp for
Taehyung’s large and hard dick. Oh, how easily he could become a cockslut for that throbbing
stick of veins and flesh. Fuck, his mouth starts to water, and he must’ve been too obvious poking
his tongue at his cheek.

“Next time, baby. I can’t wait any longer.”

Next time next time next time-

In his next time, he doesn’t waste time.

His fingers curl until a grunt confirms the desired pressure, and the overabundance of saliva
provides all the lubricant he needs to fist into his lips and slide back to the base.

“Mmmmm-yes-baby.” Taehyung oozes pleasure with the pleasant murmur of his words that blanket
them both in a charged fog.

Jungkook lets the thickness of air and the rhythmic motions of his fist and lips hypnotize his mind.
He loses track of how many times he pounds the back of his throat with Taehyung cock, how many
times he gives that extra squeeze just at the base to make it all last longer.

Taehyung grunts and moans baby and angel, but if Jungkook’s an angel it’s only because of a
recent ascension to heaven. He’s a blinking haze when he pulls off to gasp, absolutely lightheaded
but burning with the need to serve better, to serve best.

Before thinking, or maybe because he lacks the ability, he shuffles one knee at a time between
Taehyung’s willing ones, and they look each other in the eyes while Jungkook kneels, and
Taehyung boldly parts his legs wide.

The shock of his beauty happens so frequently, he should not be Jungshook once again at the sight
before him. But Taehyung is just astonishing, even down there, the whole of his intimate bits on
display and somehow radiating heat all the way to where Jungkook gawks.

Taehyung is a soft dusty brown where Jungkook is all pink, and the black of his pubic hair
completes the impossible task of making him appear more manly and simultaneously more
delicate. He’s a vision, from the inside of his plush thighs to the pinched hole of his ass to the
dangling globes of his balls, and utterly unashamed. Jungkook finds himself envious and attracted
to the confidence and the way he embraces so many aspects of his persona from the dominating
variety to the reserved kind.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know which words would even summarize half of what he’s
thinking, instead choosing to communicate by walking both hands up the silky interior of his thighs
towards that heady oasis.

The urge to jump straight onto his stiff cock is strong, he’d even worked out how he’s going to
work himself on Taehyung lap in the recent bonus of leisure time. He reminds himself to get his
fill of the present, because next time is never promised- hasn’t even been hinted- and he can’t
afford to leave anything desired, lest he be left to writhe and cry for it alone.

He quits stalling, harnessing just a fraction of the total confidence in the room to boldly cup one
hand under Taehyung’s balls, latch the other around his shaft, and point the dripping head directly
into his waiting, open mouth.

His quick learning capability and natural talent at almost everything have never held him back, and
they certainly don’t now.

He forces Taehyung’s cock as far as it will go until his throat violently rejects it, then repeats. All
the while continuing the motion of his fist up and down and twisting around the shaft and adding
the new motion of fondling two heavy lumps between the fingers of his other hand.

Multi-talented, he is.

The result speaks for itself, well- himself.

“Oh god!” Taehyung realizes some kind of alien, garbled gasp before babbling in between breaths,
“Jesus fucking- baby, baby, baby-nngghh.”

His canines dig into the tender flesh of his inner lip, but he remains steadfast, allowing them to dig
in and create more pressure and more pleasured sounds.

“Who have you-shit,” Taehyung probably looks super sexy, but Jungkook’s eyes are shut despite
the leaking to concentrate on the task. “Been fucking practicing on-mm, hm?”

He doesn’t answer because he’s otherwise engaged, but he hums and digs his tongue into the slit
on the next pass, greedy for the musky taste of him.

He’s greedy for some other things too, apparently.

Taehyung’s words, praises and moans fade as he keeps trying to penetrate the entrance to his own
throat. It’s just that it won’t budge. He’s slamming the soft head as hard as he can, as far as he can,
desperate to deepthroat the man, but the channel either won’t open up or the organ is just too big to
fit.
Every time he gags or coughs, spit flies from his mouth coating all below, and he starts to hear the
squelching and nasty mouth sounds of this addictive blowjob. He can call it that because even as
his breaths become impossibly harsh, like snot-shootingly aggressive, and his knees protest, and
his lips ache, he still wants nothing more than the cock filling all his senses so completely.
Taehyung will have to cum or push him away for it to end.

More, the need for it, drives him to keep fucking himself on that cock harder and harder, and the
barely restrained kick of the moaning man’s hips tells him that they’re both greedy. Taehyung’s
hands tell too, one lifting from its limp position to weave through his wild hair.

“Hmmm.” He hums which tightens the grip at his roots and elicits another one of those addictive
little thrusts. The idea of being forced, of Taehyung dragging him up and down his thick cock by
only a carnal hold by the strands of his head, is so fucking provoking that he mentally tracks the
hot lava from his boiling gut, through the neglected shaft of his cock, to where it tickles the head of
his red rod as it oozes out stark white against the black lace of his panties.

An act he had never before considered is now a feeling he’ll never be able to live without.

As Taehyung grows firmer and pulses heartily against his tongue, he speeds up with intent and
earns a tug hard enough to lift his mouth clean off.

“Ah-nghh.” He gasps not having realized how tiresome sucking dick can be. Taehyung though-
goddam- he looks fucked out. Plump lip bitten red enough to be bleeding, a rare pink dust high on
his cheekbones, and pupils blown out on his heavy-lidded feline eyes. Of course, he still looks like
a god- it’s Taehyung.

Jungkook must not be faring any better, because a comforting hand emerges from the forest of his
hair to caress the rose of his cheek and clear from it several freshly fallen raindrops.

“Stunning like this.”

Jungkook is red-blooded and red-faced absorbing the praise like sunshine, and he nuzzles happily
into the stiff stem erect in his face.

Taehyung coos at his precious kitten licks and sweet face, and he could peacefully bloom this way.
The soft caresses and tenderness make him feel warm and glowy, and he could last a while on it
alone.

But-

He’s also thirsty.

He’s a thirsty fucking whore for Taehyung, and though he may even look the dainty flower part in
certain lacy ways, he can also nail the role of a fucked-dumb, defiled little temptress.

Shit- he wants to levitate out of his fucking body and get completely high off Taehyung’s potent
nectar. He digs the tip of his tongue into the fountain of it, eyes round and perceiving, then retracts
to lure with his most innocent timbre, “Fuck my throat, hyung.”

The Adam’s apple of Taehyung’s neck bobs devilishly, and Jungkook doesn’t need to be a psychic
to know that the godlike man wants it bad.

Which is why it’s all the more confusing when Taehyung drops his hand, casts his eyes away, and
calls him by his fucking name.
“But you’re so good all by yourself Kook-ah, hm?” Baby would make a fine tattoo, across his
mother fucking forehead.

“Please?” He dips down slowly as Taehyung flicks his eyes back, and it’s for their common good
when he noses at the dark skin and pops a heavy ball into his hot mouth.

“Nnhhg,” Taehyung moans exasperatedly, and he sucks on the other one before the feeling can
settle or grow stale.

He rubs up on him with both hands, massaging and gliding and pressing into those places which he
knows from experience feel incredible.

It is too easy for them to get lost in each other though, Jungkook eventually kissing and tonguing
his way up the shaft so that his lips can suction around the head and glide down with a dirty
squelch.

“Fuck.”

He moves with vigor, hungrily taking the thick dick, groping all the sensitive places, and
devouring everything in between. The intent is clear when he removes his hands and shoves them
under Taehyung’s squishy ass.

His raw lips pause on that delicate ridge, and he fights to set his sight on Taehyung’s contorted face
before pushing his palms up sharply.

There’s a flash of lust but also something like fear in his eyes, but Jungkook has to shut his because
of the intrusion that is so close to where he needs it.

He actually considers whether Taehyung is withholding purposely when those hips lower down
and do nothing resembling coming back up.

Has he been unclear?

His brow furrows on its own, and he lets his confusion be known when he pulls off and asks, “Do I
need to beg?” It’s whiny but he doesn’t care anymore. “Pretty please, hyung, need it.” He licks his
cock with eyes as big as they’ll go. “Need you so bad.”

“Shit.” Taehyung seethes through gritted teeth, and it makes no sense why he says, “No, baby,
no,” because the tip of Jungkook’s tongue literally has a giant dribble of precum on it.

Taehyung is a silly, silly man to challenge how good Jungkook can beg, how filthy he can be.

He swallows with a dramatic groan before putting on the best pout his fucked-out face can manage.

“But hyungg,” he lets all of the great disappointment show, “Baby needs you in his tiny-”

“Fuck Jungkook- no.” He shakes his head, hands ripping into the sheets for relief. “S’not a good
idea.”

“But-” Maybe, his button lip pops out just a bit, “Your little slut wants to be full.” He positions the
stick directly under his willing mouth, even though Taehyung looks like he might hurt himself or
cry. “Don’t you want to fill your slut up from both ends?” Then, he slides down.

“Oh god.”

Jungkook pumps Taehyung’s hips from underneath a few times before deciding it’s both too tiring
and not giving the required force to break through that impenetrable barrier.

On a stroke of genius, he uses the advantage of his build to slide onto his tummy, dig his knees into
the bed, and with a deathly grip on Taehyung’s asscheeks- flip them clean over.

As soon as the full weight of Taehyung’s body crashes down, the cock positioned in his mouth
rams straight through the back of his mouth, bending to sink past the tip down Jungkook’s throat.

“Shit-Kook-shit!”

Jungkook doesn’t hear the panic because he’s coughing and gagging with no ability to ask for
relief.

He’s helpless, a cock painfully shoved down his throat. Forced to take it.

He loves it.

And he’s having a peachy time nearly dying of asphyxiation, delighted when Taehyung struggles
to pull slightly back because he thinks it’s finally happening.

Taehyung is going to go straight up carnal and give it to him.

It takes an unusual amount of time to process what happens next, because of how alarming it is,
how it almost makes his heart stop.

Taehyung sounds absolutely terrified when he gasps out like it’s his last breath,

“Red. Fuck- fucking red, red, red. Fuck.”

His blood is ice.

Only when he comes to his senses a few seconds later does he realize the vice grip he had
maintained on Taehyung’s ass, pulling him down, preventing him from escape.

His palms fly up like Taehyung is now the temperature of the sun, and Jungkook shuffles with a
mixture of ardor and trepidation to free himself, newfound horror of Taehyung being upset or hurt
hitting him like a runaway train.

He has never been more afraid searching for Taehyung’s eyes.

He feels all kinds of things when they look back, thank god not carrying a reflection of physical
pain, but glazed with a heavy dose of pity.

He is mostly confused, but also feels a heavy dose of guilt, concern, fear, embarrassment, and
actually- anger.

“Are you okay?” His voice doesn’t even sound real, much less like his own. He has to know
whether he has harmed Taehyung in some way. There will be no forgiveness.

“I’m not hurt, I’m-,” his neck cranes from the position on his stomach, arms engaging to lift his
chest and head from the bed. “I’m not hurt.”
Jungkook will be damned before coming up with what to say next. It feels like instead of lips, he
has lead, and it matches the thick column rising through his torso, shredding everything in its path.

He stares while Taehyung turns over. Keeps staring as he draws his legs up. Keeps staring as he
crosses them at the ankles stark naked and staring right back.

He has no idea what to do. And he will keep staring forever until Taehyung chooses for them both.

“I can’t-” instead of something constructive from that starting point, he diverts to, “You’re not in
the right state of mind for that.”

He’s not- what?

What?

He doesn’t count the seconds he sits there like a fish, but he’s well aware when his limbs regain
autonomy and get him off the damn bed.

It’s pointless to respond, because if Taehyung could say that then he’s not ever going to say what
Jungkook needs to hear.

He lets his legs carry him, in solidarity, to the exit of the bedroom.

“Kook-ah! Hey!” Taehyung follows. They’re both feeling more naked by the second.

He doesn’t respond, heads towards wherever the fuck his pants are so he can fucking leave.

He finds them.

“Hey, where are you going?” Taehyung tries to reach out, but it’s too late.

He slides the material over his hips and bum and all the stupidest ideas in his existence.

How did it crumble apart so fast?

The door is in sight, and he’s ready to escort himself directly out of it and begin the torture of
trying to forget all the best things he’s ever felt.

“Wait!”

He ignores it, walks forward.

“Wait-please, Kook-ah.”

God, his voice is so annoyingly sexy.

“Can you-jesus.” Taehyung makes an annoyed grunt before actually sprinting butt-ass naked to the
front door, using his arms as an impassable barrier to the outside world.

Jungkook is plenty strong enough to remove the impedance and sling it over his shoulder. But he
can’t see or touch the impedance because it has the face of his personal brand of kryptonite. He
isn’t strong enough in every regard.

So, he halts a couple feet away, weary of getting too close, eyes on his toes, arms full of the rest of
his shit.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer that.

Taehyung huffs. “Why are you trying to leave?”

It’s difficult not to tilt his chin up when Taehyung’s gaze burns a hole through his skull.

“Can you tell me what I did?” He’s getting worked up, and Jungkook’s being upset doesn’t make it
more pleasant to hear. “Fuck- I don’t know, I’m not-fuck.”

Jungkook's second toe is longer than his big one.

“I was looking out for you! Protecting you-”

His head whips up, “You’re not protecting me, you’re coddling me.”

“It’s my responsibility-damn it! I’m supposed to keep you safe!” Taehyung is not concealing
anything where Jungkook is protecting himself with impassivity.

“No- you’re supposed to respect my boundaries, not decide what they are for me.”

“You can’t know your boundaries in that headspace! Do you even realize how far you’re
dropping?”

How frustrating. He’s about to fidget a hole through the floor. It’s annoying that he’s even
entertaining whether Taehyung has a point.

“I can’t be responsible for doing something to hurt you.”

“I’d be responsible for it.”

“Okay fine- but I’d still suffer because of it.”

More like unbearable.

He looks away, concerned at how his feet have somehow inched their way forward to assert his
opinions.

“I don’t know how this can work if you’re too scared to give me what I want.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes, and Jungkook is perplexed to discover that he’s excited for his
reaction.

“I’m not scared-”

“You are.” He smirks because of how bothered Taehyung seems, effortless, glorious Taehyung, a
whole sun thrown off orbit. “And I have no idea why, you know- with your level of experience and
all.”

Taehyung has his head tilted back atop a flushed neck as he assesses before speaking. “What do
you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said.” Taehyung is kind of cute when he’s bothered.
“I don’t have a lot of- I mean, I don’t have the right kind of experience.”

“What does that mean?”

Taehyung smirks and something interested in taking flight flutters around in his stomach as if this
isn’t an argument in the slightest, as if they’re not standing in front of the damn door. The man
breathes deeply before responding, “I haven’t done this with as many people as you think.”

“What’s this?”

He didn’t mean to ask that. Oops.

For some reason Taehyung looks a little less concerned and a lot more amused when he responds.

“Do you want it to be anything? You were on your way out.” His arms fall from barricading the
door to his hips, and Jungkook tries not to glance down.

When he gives in, he finds Taehyung not completely soft and doesn’t think further about the
ridiculous notion of leaving.

“Stop diverting.” And they’re both full on smiling in the middle of this disagreement. His arms feel
incredibly loose around his shoes.

“It’s kinky.” Taehyung admits while sucking in a breath.

“Yeah?”

“And also..intense.”

“Yeah.”

They’re staring, but he feels a lot less disturbed by it. In fact, he’s digging it.

“I’m not used to it.” There’s no trace of malice ever existing in his perfect voice.

It’s similar to a confession and makes Jungkook say in fairness, “We haven’t gone anywhere near
my limits, yet. And I’ve-god,” he swallows to get a grip, “I’ve really, really enjoyed it, all of it.”

Trust me, Jungkook begs with his eyes.

Be patient with me, Taehyung responds with his.

But- Jungkook isn’t very patient, and one of them has to make things move along, so he tightens
his grip around everything in his arms and steps close.

“Are you going to give me what I want, or should I move you aside?” He doesn't say it like a brat,
but his competitive nature naturally detects a challenge for what it is.

Taehyung reluctantly casts his eyes away, and Jungkook will work hard.

He leans close, again, enough to rustle Taehyung’s eye lashes with his breath, “You know what I
want.”

Taehyung's eyes close like he’s trying to block out sensory stimulation, and Jungkook’s belly
responds to it.

“I want you..” Jungkook places his hand on the door and whispers in his ear, “To lose control.”

Taehyung gulps, and yeah they’ve had a discussion or whatever but honestly what the fuck is
holding him so far back? It certainly wasn’t a problem last time. And also-

“I’m the one that gets in my head, not you. What are you doing in there?” He taps on his temple to
prove his point, breath dancing on his cheek.

But Taehyung just stands there trying to unite with the door instead of Jungkook, and maybe they
won’t get on the same page today. Maybe, they never will.

He sighs and pulls back because forcing Taehyung’s hand feels cheap and unsatisfying. They have
to want this together, mutually assured destruction. Jungkook can face his fears, let Taehyung be
the death of him, embrace the risk.

He wore (is still wearing) a fucking thong for fuck’s sake.

Taehyung’s shoulder seems small for the first time when one hand engulfs it and slides the
attached body out of the way.

His heart cracks a little when Taehyung lets him.

The door handle is cold but nowhere near the chill of dread inside every limb because this can’t be
the end.

The warmth of a hand ignites his nerves as his ears absorb Taehyung's beautiful baritone whisper,
“You’d really go?”

“You’d really let me?” He sounds angry, because he feels angry.

“I should.” Two hands now, all over his stomach from behind stealing unfair touches and lighting
an uncontrollable fire.

“Why?” He speaks it to the door, straight toned and aggravated.

Contrastingly, Taehyung sounds like a philosopher on a cloudy day when he responds, “I’ll hurt
you.”

Jungkook rolls his unseen eyes, “I like that, I don’t know how many ways I have to say it.”

A long exhale against the back of his neck, and did Jungkook mention he’s not very patient? “But
in ways you're not prepared for.”

“What ways, Taehyung?” With enough force, he could bang his head right through the door.

“Not the physical ones.”

“Okay, okay, then I’ll go.” His stupid voice cracks and reveals his stupider desires.

“No.”

Literally, he’s caught between a rock and a hard place- the solid door and Taehyung’s hard place.
Because as a body suctions to his back, a very bare, awfully hard cock pokes at his sweatpants.
“Just- let’s, what if we go slow?” He presses his hips indulgently forward, like he needs the
pressure. “I’ll take you slowly, it will feel good baby. Really good.” He breathes heavily like he’s
picturing it as much as Jungkook is.

“Why? How’s that going to help?” He knows the answer, knows that Taehyung won’t feel out of
control that way, but that’s not what he wants. So, he flips around, “I didn’t come here with this
on-” he gestures towards his hips, “to get fucked slowly.” He drops, more like throws all the shit in
his arms, because he’s d.o.n.e. talking, “I came here in a thong so that you could tear it apart.
Because-” he gets all in Taehyung space; it’s his final shot, “I wanted you, want you, to tear me
apart.”

Taehyung’s eyes bounce furiously between his own two.

He remembers something incredibly important, a hail Mary that very well could tip this thing in
his direction.

Ignoring the confused look on Taehyung’s face, he digs into his sweats, fishes out his phone, and
desperately acts before his brain can put a stop to it.

He presses send.

Then, runs out of the door almost naked because he cannot stay put. This will either work, or he’ll
never see Taehyung again. Simply.

He doesn’t keep running though. After a few paces, his body just stops as if the red string between
them has run out of length. He’s been waiting all this time, he can stand just a few more minutes.
He watches the door with a brand-new intensity.

He intentionally doesn’t know the exact length, but he thinks Taehyung must’ve gotten pretty close
or all the way through when the door flies open again.

Butt-ass naked, Taehyung stalks out into the very public hallway, with blazing eyes and a terrifying
expression, grabs Jungkook by the nape, and throws him back inside the apartment.

After that, it becomes very blurry.

The door closes, and somehow his stomach ends up roughly planted against it. He opts for a bruise
on his cheekbone instead of breaking his fucking nose, and Taehyung doesn’t waste a single second
to shove his sweatpants down and smack his ass with a ferocity not previously witnessed.

“You’re a motherfucking slut, do you know that?”

Smack. Oh, he knows, hopes Taehyung finally does too.

“Sending me nasty filth then running off like a shameful little boy.”

Smack. He’s spitting, at least it sounds like it to Jungkook’s ringing ears.

“I tried to show you some goddamn respect and just some-” *smack* “-human decency, which you
clearly don’t deserve.”

Smack.

Each slap lands entirely over his asscheek, with full force, and he knows it’s already blushing a
bright red. He moans.
“Fuck- you’re making me fucking crazy.” He disconnects the other hand from a hip bruise to grasp
a lace piece and rear it back hard enough to audibly slap the crack of Jungkook’s asshole when
cruelly released. “Dirty-” snap “-little-” snap “-slut.”

“Yes-Taehyung-fuck-”

“Shut the fuck up.” He spanks him even harder, and it’s hard enough for Jungkook to hiss, knees
twisting and back contorting to absorb the blows. “I’ll tell you when to speak.” Spank. “And you’ll
address me properly.”

But Jungkook has a hard time keeping anything in, because Taehyung keeps mercilessly snapping
his asshole with the lace fabric, landing harsh spanks on his cheeks, and it’s exactly what he wants.
This generates an erroneous perception of who's in charge.

“Yes-fuck-”

Taehyung spins him around too fast for his restrained ankles but ends all incoordination via a
crushing force around his throat.

Jungkook wheezes. Gets a good look at the scorching devil in front of him. Broad and golden chest
pumping, black hair matted, and eyes darkest underneath. He’s mad.

“Do you ever shut up?” One hand twists around his throat hard enough to burn, and the other twists
around his lace thong hard enough to tear.

Jungkook’s gasp at his freed, aching cock turns to a garble when the gap is forcefully filled with
soiled material. It’s-god, everything is so rough that his nostrils flare in overdrive trying to get
merely a bubble of oxygen to pass through his collapsing trachea.

“You talk too damn much.” Two long fingers forcefully shove the ball of material further back into
the cavern of his mouth, a rogue snapped strand hanging out distressed. “Listen, now.”

Jungkook’s face is only pressure, intense pressure as blood builds up and there is no oxygen
anywhere, lungs or blood, there is only a black-dotted Taehyung spitting in his face.

“Those who beg like that, don’t get to choose.” He squeezes to the point where a brain vessel
might actually burst. “Hands go on the door.” He speaks too articulately. “If you want to stop, they
come off.”

The beat Taehyung waits looking preemptively disappointed and bored makes him squirm before
he remembers his hands and slams them backwards. Does Taehyung realize he can’t breathe-he
can’t breathe-

The pressure around his throat releases, but instead of breaking through the surface and taking in a
lungful of fresh air, he gets whatever his nose can supply tainted with the stale stench of his
precum soaked underwear.

Despite the bombardment, his body remains board still; he really doesn’t want to piss Taehyung off
more.

“Nod if you understand.”

He blinks, initiates the journey of several tears, then obeys. The effect of Taehyung dropping to his
knees is not something he expects.
Even as Jungkook towers over the man with a glistening set of full lips and an expectant posture,
he feels completely powerless. Feet are bound by his dropped sweatpants, mouth silenced by his
own poor decision making, and palms glued to the wooden door by his own desperation to make it
all continue. His head spins uncomfortably when Taehyung commands,

“Fuck my mouth.”

What? He can’t speak it, only heaves louder with a furrowed brow.

“So desperate for it, show me how it’s done.” With that, he lines up his jaw and drops it open.

Fuck- his cock is so hard for some reason, and Taehyung’s tongue looks so soft and pink nestled in
his warm and inviting mouth.

His hands twitch, the need to guide himself inside strong. But there was only one rule given, so his
palms remain as fixed as gravity.

He alternates swiftly between two giant eyes peering up, before thrusting his dick forward.

It’s a miss. His puffy head grazes Taehyung’s cheek, but he blames it on himself, on his
overstimulation. Suspicion does not present until the second time, when a tiny smirk conspires with
a dent on the other side.

For a moment, he freezes, having no clue how to escape or whether he wants to.

Seeing no other choice, he tilts his hips forward again, this time sliding under Taehyung’s chin
down the bob of his Adam’s apple.

Well, fuck. Just the minuscule touch makes his sensitive cock kick against Taehyung’s jaw, and it’s
frustrating that he doesn’t want to quit.

On the next attempt, he notices the subtle movement of Taehyung’s head which directs his
uncontrolled dick beside his nose.

“Silly boy, don’t you even know where my mouth is?” Taehyung goads with an expression that
does not exude an attitude of servitude.

He grunts or potentially whines before pushing his pelvis forward again, this time catching on the
outer edge of a slick lip, allowing the tip to slip in for a brief, dizzying moment.

Shit- his mouth is warmer than it looks, and he wants to be inside, completely sheathed in that
heaven.

But Taehyung is too far away, and his cock falls right back out and hardens. Those eyes look up at
him as if he is a child, incapable of anything, and he’s hard from it. Taehyung could be his teacher-

He thrusts again, catches another corner of the parted lips, and feels the ghost of that slithering
tongue along his slit. It makes him shiver; everything feels like so much.

“Is baby figuring out how to fuck?”

He heaves forward again, winded from nothing and tenting fingers into the wall for leverage. God-
if Taehyung would scoot closer, he could fit so much more in.

The leaky tip pokes a wet tongue repeatedly as he works to get as much sensation as possible, and
his body locks up on a particular thrust when Taehyung suctions his lips tight around him.
“Nghh,” he moans through the obstruction, just fuck-

He goes again and his eyes roll back at the bump of Taehyung’s lips over his ridge. It’s not much,
but he’s greedy for it and speeds up to feel that addictive pop as he plunges the head completely in
and out.

The heat coils slowly but steadily as the movements add up to a rolling ball that he’s somehow
pushing and chasing simultaneously.

Taehyung never allows more than the tip, but he doesn’t care, just moves as much as his position
allows towards that ball.

Fuck- he’s getting there, his locked-up thighs begin to cramp, but he ignores the shaking for just a
few more.

That’s when Taehyung sneaks a hand up to help.

He’d smile or laugh or something if he could, as long fingers wrap around his cock towards the
base. He’s going to come so fucking hard.

It’s only a moment of that beautiful sensation around his shaft before it turns painful.

Taehyung squeezes right at his base, hard, and Jungkook’s eyes almost pop out of his fucking
skull, cock screaming purple and ball rolling completely away in revulsion.

Taehyung pops off, “Did you think this was a reward?”

Jungkook might accidentally inhale this fabric because his lungs are screaming, and there is a
strong urge to cry about it.

“For what? Walking out? Or being a filthy whore?”

He says it so casually, still gripping onto him, but Jungkook is feeling anything but overwhelmed
with sensation and emotion.

“Keep going until I’m satisfied.” Taehyung loosens his grip but leaves his fingers with the worse
kind of pressure, lips immediately parting for the assault.

The denial of his orgasm still leaves him physically reeling, his attention consumed with the
pooling cum in his balls, viscous and swirling, ready to be ejected onto Taehyung’s face-god. How
pretty would he be with the slimy white splotches of Jungkook’s desire splattered onto his
cheekbones, his lips? His tongue.

The thought of cumming possesses him wholly, and it is the only thing which drives his hips
forward another time.

Taehyung takes him in, hand wrapped and aiming, lips generously sliding with the excess of
escaping spit.

He thrusts again, one track mind focused on the objective, half of his cock buried in Taehyung’s
wet heat until he pulls back and repeats. He doesn’t even notice the slight shuffling of knees which
admits another inch into the drenched oasis, he just grinds his teeth down on the soaked material.
The taste of his own precum makes him create more, ready to completely unravel the heavy weight
in his groin.
“Mmmpphh.” He garbles, eyes shut so unable to warn him about the psychic hand reaching for his
dangling globes and cupping them indulgently.

His cock feels rock solid as he slides it lusciously in and out of Taehyung’s mouth, balls tingling
with massaging caresses, and blood vessels about to burst from unnerved pressure.

Taehyung’s mouth produces these dirty noises but when all the sudden he chokes, Jungkook nearly
shoots off.

Fuck- he’s a real horny mess with his pants down, hands curled, and hips rutting like a breeding
stud. His chin tilts up, and he prays for Taehyung’s mercy as that simmering satisfaction in his gut
turns violent.

The pressure nearly sends him over the edge before it turns crushing.

“Nnnnnnnn-” he tries to object through this demented sexual haze, but Taehyung’s fist closes, and
the pain is undeniable.

His attention switches to the discomfort, and everything else fades away in a devastated retreat.

They both pant, Jungkook doesn’t look because he’s so frustrated and has no idea how to channel
it.

“You’re sexy when you want to come.”

I’m sexier when I get to

He can only grunt.

“Fuck- you’re really sexy.”

He hasn’t recovered when Taehyung’s mouth is on him again, and maybe their attraction is just too
strong, because getting each other off feels so good that it blinds everything rational.

He gives in and finds his purple weeping head hitting the back of Taehyung’s mouth with enough
force for him to scream through the lace.

It feels fucking amazing, and he pulls out and thrusts harder.

The thing is- Taehyung isn’t a novice. He knows how to angle himself, how to open up, and when
Jungkook casts his dick forward, Taehyung takes it down the back of his throat with a potent grunt.

Jungkook slams his hands flat again at the incredible pressure torturing his cock, an insatiable fire
making him pant with the need to fuck.

Taehyung is loud around his cock, until he isn’t.

Apparently, the dizziness is contagious, because only one beat of silence passes before Taehyung
has risen, pried the lace thing loose, and decided to consume him alive.

He only gets half of the involuntary inhale his burning lungs demand before the passageway
becomes obstructed again by Taehyung’s flexed tongue.

Forceful hands take complete control of his head, finger pads directing with enough pressure to
bruise. It’s right, then it’s left, then it’s right where Taehyung can best dominate the inside of his
mouth. Rather than a partnered dance, Taehyung just annihilates everything, claiming the wetland
as his own.

Jungkook’s mouth is open wide and drooling because neither cares about messes nor decency.

In fact, the drip and squelch of Taehyung probing around makes those simmering tingles in his gut
turn pointed.

He grunts as Taehyung compresses his body into the door completely, lining up all the important
bits precisely enough for moans to echo in the chasm of their joined caves.

Taehyung is rock hard too, and Jungkook’s shaft has to be blooming a deeply disturbing color due
to the forest of nearly bursting purple veins.

He wants to cum and doesn’t consciously decide to rut like a dog into the hard and available
surface of Taehyung’s thick cock.

Goddammit- even the ill aimed friction of their cocks throws his head into a delicious swirl that
makes it harder to hold back his own hunger.

Taehyung isn’t holding his back though, he keeps a thumb under his jaw, tongue persisting, while
shoving the other hand between his backside and the door. Squeezing around his entire cheek with
his massive hand, Taehyung grinds right back with a possessed fervor.

It’s really fucking aggressive the way Taehyung fucks against him, and even the mindless way
Jungkook’s body responds- writhing and whining and just shamelessly exuding the all-consuming
need he feels. He needs Taehyung, so bad.

He tries to kiss back, but Taehyung has his own needs and nips his bottom lip in correction before
continuing with complete control. He moves Jungkook’s lips, tongue, head, exactly where it all
goes for him to take what he wants. And-god, it feels good to let him.

His mind is foggy when he realizes Taehyung’s hand harshly grabbing toward his inner cheek, and
it completely blanks when he feels something rough scrape across his unsuspecting taint.

Some kind of strangled groan escapes, and it’s already happening again before he figures out that
Taehyung is using his beat-up thong to rough up his hole.

Taehyung gets more crazed by the action, rubbing Jungkook raw and thrusting forward hard
enough to splatter his poor body all over the door.

He’s being attacked from every direction and wails to let Taehyung know to not stop, never stop.

“Fuck.”

There are teeth on his neck, bite marks that will be a living testament to this unbelievable stroke of
luck, and he lets Taehyung know what he thinks about it.

“Taeeeee.”

“I know.” He sucks a prominent hickey into his neck before popping off and nipping his ear lobe,

Jungkook shives at the vibration in his ear canal, every orifice thrumming with jealousy. He wants
Taehyung in all the ways his body can have him.

“Hands, baby, you can.” He breathes out quickly before diving right back to Jungkook’s gaping
mouth, devouring it whole.
He had forgotten about their existence plastered to the wall, but with permission he frees them and
uses their utility to drag Taehyung’s hips harder against his own.

As their bare groins grind faster and firmer, their mouths do too, and Jungkook's mind is off the
ground before he realizes one of his legs is too.

Taehyung roughly hikes one up and out of his pooled sweatpants, grabbing underneath the muscle
of his hamstring which frees enough space for the lace clad pointer finger of the other hand to dip
inside his raw opening.

“Mmmmpp.” He thrashes in ecstasy at the attention where he’s most greedy, hips kicking up as his
back rests against the door and heel hooks somewhere behind Taehyung.

“Fuck- do you like that?” Their saliva stays connected as Taehyung gruffly whispers against his
lips.

“Yes-mmphh.” He barely confirms before Taehyung is back, eating him up, grinding in between
his legs and pumping the covered tip of his finger ruthlessly.

How long can any sanity be sustained at this rate? Jungkook is losing it, body convulsing in
Taehyung’s hold and unable to beg for his primal and uncontrollable desire.

“Angel-I-” Taehyung pants in his ear, dousing it in wetness, tuning every nerve to him alone. “I
need you.” He rolls his hips sharply.

Thank fuck. “Me too-”

“You can’t leave again- you can’t-” their hips gyrate, motion restless and frantic like their speech,
but their foreheads press together solidly, iron still.

“I won’t-” Jungkook moans, ready to jump off the ground so that he can open up fully and feel all
of that exquisite pressure directed precisely and without impedance to his dripping heat. “Need you
too.”

“Baby.” Taehyung moans, breaths becoming louder in the small, shared space which has
eradicated the importance of any other space, focus solely on one another and how tangled they
can become.

“Tuh-take me Tae-ah-” his groan is out of control because of an entire finger sinking inside his
sensitive center, and he snakes his arms up to hold on.

“God.”

“However-ngh,” he can’t deal with the sensations, can’t deal with how wrecked Taehyung sounds,
can’t deal with not being his for another fucking second, “However you want, take me please.”

His final leg frees from the ground because please, and he wraps around Taehyung so tight and so
completely that he has no fucking idea how he ever made it out the door. How could he even
consider denying Taehyung a single thing ever?

His crotch is so deliciously exposed for Taehyung to abuse, which he does, fingers moving to grip
both of his asscheeks entirely, supporting him but also dragging him closer because it is still not
enough.

“I won’t stop.”
Jungkook pants into his mouth in response, digs his elbows down onto a broad frame, and curls his
hips up so that a warm and hard length slips down and slaps back over his tender asshole.

“Fuck- I’m gonna-ah get addicted.”

As possessed little drags give them both friction where it is sorely needed, he can’t help but sigh
out, “It’s oh-kay.” His whiny voice doesn’t produce anything near the target of reassuring
nonchalance, but nothing about the dry and hot pull of Taehyung’s rod across his rim is that low
key. “Can get your fix whenever-unhh-” god- it feels good to feel him there, “-you want it.”

Taehyung squeezes his ass hard enough to pop it, fingers carving craters into the reddening globes,
as he rubs himself on the puffy pucker in between. “Holy fuck, angel-god.”

“However you wuh-want me,” Jungkook wiggles as much as physically possible unconcerned for
the uncomfortable way his upper back painfully sticks and peels from the door from sweat and
heat. He feels so consumed trying to find the red head of Taehyung’s cock, squeezing and fluttering
as the pulses of need throb deep inside.

“Shit.” Taehyung cries out, unraveled, when the head catches on a particular thrust, when it pulls at
the rim, bending, before bouncing back as a flat and hot pressure seeping into their shaking cores.

“Yuh-use me.” If Jungkook didn’t need both arms and then some for support, he would reach down
and stick it in himself. Instead, he keeps curling and flexing trying to just get it inside already.
“Hyung.” Fucking please, “Put it in.”

“Oh-” it's the closest thing to a whine Taehyung has ever produced, pitch high, and sexy as fuck.
“Baby.”

Jungkook is whining nonstop, maybe crying a little, he just needs that cock so fucking bad, and
Taehyung needs to give it to him. “Hyunggg- use muh-me-ah!” A harsh flick against his rim
almost makes him scream, because it’s so close. “I’m yours, please, I’m your baby-ah” he can’t-he
can’t, “Use your baby- use your baby- puh-lease-fuck-your-baby.”

“Nggghh-fuck!” Taehyung slams Jungkook’s aching shoulders into the door harder, hard enough
to rely on its support to send one hand from the blue cheek to the ruby center.

Up against the wall, forearms roughly propped on Taehyung's shoulders, legs struggling to clasp
behind Taehyung’s back, and asshole grossly unprepared and dry, Jungkook feels Taehyung aiming
his own cock and jamming the tip inside.

“Fuckk!” Taehyung cries out, head collapsing onto Jungkook’s shoulder, pulling hard under his ass,
hands spreading while his cock stretches.

Jungkook is rendered mute as he gasps repeatedly, praying to god his body adjusts, but each exhale
is brand new, and the sensation of it, the sheer intensity of it does not quit.

The attention, the way Taehyung is hyper focused on Jungkook alone, on how to fit their bodies
together, makes him preen with satisfaction. He will take this cock, dammit. And he’s alright with
remembering it.

So, he digs his ankles around, demonstrating how they’ve come to slip due to sweaty skin, and
whines. “Hyunnngg-”

Taehyung is just so bright.

He immediately pushes into Jungkook harder, which causes an achy centimeter to give and breaths
to quicken, then secures one forearm after another underneath Jungkook’s trembling thighs. Then
lifts.

“OH!” His voice finds him, because his hiked-up legs open his ass up enough for another several
centimeters to plummet deep in between, and holy shit-holy shit- Taehyung’s going to fuck him like
this- up against the motherfucking door. “Big, so-so biggg.”

“I know-mmpph, you’re the tightest thing I’ve ever felt- shit.”

Jungkook’s ass might be knives and fire, but his mind is unadulterated bliss. So heavenly that he
grinds his ass down hard, desperate for more pain, more sensation, more togetherness with him.
He wants to be inseparable, never able to part again, a permanent piece of Taehyung carved into
his being.

Even though his parched skin is soaking it all up, there is just enough precum and sweat for him to
inch down with a burning press.

“Oh my god.” Taehyung sounds messed up, forehead nuzzling, sweatily not sweetly, into the curve
of Jungkook’s pink neck.

It feels like so much already but there’s more and he’s clenching hard in fear of releasing and
letting the rest spear him in half.

Taehyung pants, limbs going bone still and sending hot curses down Jungkook’s spine to his
curling toes.

Using leverage from his shaky, useless limbs, he humps himself with little jumps because he’s
strong and will muscle his way onto this fucking cock if necessary.

Which it is, because Taehyung is thick and endless, and the way he stutters around him isn’t
cutting it but it’s cutting Taehyung who has started grunting in agony, mouth opening and sucking
on exposed flesh desperately for grounding.

He won’t disappoint Taehyung, never again.

“I’ll let you, ah,” he’s not even sure Taehyung can hear, but he warns with resolution in his heart,
“I’m gonna let you in.”

He gives the best bounce he has, chooses consciously to let go and allow the stiff and still rod to
spread him wide open and plunge completely inside with a nasty and resounding thump.

There was so much of him left that Jungkook gasps to retrieve all the air knocked free from his
lungs. And he isn’t alone.

“OH-oh-my-” the noise that comes from Taehyung’s mouth is not human but a strangled sort of
cry which filters through teeth that pierce uncaringly into Jungkook’s neck.

Immediately, Taehyung's previously ice still hips fuck up slowly but violently, as Jungkook keeps
himself open, presses his knees out to feel it deeper.

There’s a certain rhythm to how Taehyung yells and fucks, no sliding, but just buried deeply and
grinding out the delicious pressure between their crying parts. He doesn’t place it until the brutality
retreats, until Taehyung shivers and gyrates slower, then easier.
It’s a little bit of a tickle, a sting around his hole and-

“Oh hyung-” it’s fucking hot. “Did baby feel that good?” He makes little circles, wants to draw it
out and spread it all around, can’t describe the satisfaction of being so thoroughly filled.

“Fuck, baby felt so good.” He laves at the bite mark which Jungkook will have later to be proud of,
for now he’s proud of the slip beginning to aid his circles, basking in the guttural pleasure of being
properly connected to the one he belongs to. “Fucking-” the man is still out of breath, tongue
loose, “Exquisite.”

He will blossom straight out of his own skin knowing that Taehyung’s cock shot off the second it
fully sat inside Jungkook’s tight, unprepared hole. He is going to picture that exact moment
forever, because the kind of primal depravity he felt from it and feels because of it is addictive, a
high like no other.

He rides it out with glee, curling and driving his hips as much as Taehyung’s hold allows. It’s
plenty to hear exactly what’s escaping from his ass, it’s just enough to coat his cinched muscle
with a stinging dampness, enough to stretch him just that much more. His breath eludes him as
Taehyung catches his.

“Angel-fuck,” Taehyung finally pulls his forehead up to gaze at Jungkook’s disheveled state,
unable to keep any part of himself from twitching, writhing, leaking, needing.

“Nghhhh-hyung.” He moans back loud and lost in the desire to get fucked into disassociation.

“You’re a dream-I-shit,” Taehyung curses because Jungkook is getting worked up, working his
hips up enough to drag. “Can’t believe you’re real, can’t believe you’re with me.”

“I’m with you-” he might be crying with how bad he just needs. “Not going-I won’t go.”

“Good, baby, so good.” He nuzzles their noses, arms steady and strong under his flailing legs, but
Jungkook needs friction somewhere else, can Taehyung not see that?

“More-need more-nghhh.” He pushes down as hard as he can, just trying to get something on that
special place inside.

“I have more, baby, don’t worry.” Taehyung sounds far more normal which is great, but Jungkook
is dying. Especially when a whisper scorches his eardrums, “I’ve saved up so many loads for you.”

Then, Taehyung hitches Jungkook legs up higher, pulls out the tip in a disgustingly easy slide, then
elicits every erotic sound imaginable when he slams to the hilt in a single, continuous fuck.

One is the squelch of their skin, swollen privates soaking in Taehyung seeping cum, wetness
itching between Jungkook’s cheeks, drips dropping all the way to the solid floor.

Louder is Jungkook’s garbled cry, because Taehyung’s cock seems to travel through him, and he
feels a shot all the way through his core to the base of his throat.

“This what baby wants?” Taehyung taunts as he splits him open again, slow enough to feel the
drag, hard enough for Jungkook’s head to crack backwards.

“Yes-hyung-yes-AH!” He’s fucked against the wall another time, quicker, and thank god he doesn’t
have eyes to witness how high his knees raise towards his ears (he does stretch), how small his
body can truly curl when only orientated for cock, and how slutty his face looks drooling, flushing,
and begging for more.
He’s a hole. He’s a hole Taehyung knows well how to fuck.

With more strength than what looks to be possible given his lean arms, Taehyung holds Jungkook
up firmly against the door, and the pace devolves into something instinctually driven, something
decided by nature as essential for reproduction.

They can’t procreate, but their bodies either don’t know or don’t give a single fuck.

“Fuck baby-fuckk.” Taehyung bangs him hard enough that he finally becomes aware of how easily
the sounds may be reaching unaware ears.

“Nnngggg-fuck meee,” and it turns him the hell on to imagine others imaging them. Fuck- he gets
it good, and everyone should know. He moans loud, purposely so.

“Yeah? Want them-ung all to know what I’m doing-nuh to you?” Taehyung fucks fucking loud.
“Tell them.”

“Hyung’so good-s’good,” he just lets himself bounce and thud against the door, minding nothing
of the bruises and scrapes that will result.

“What’s hyung doing-hm?”

Jungkook wails because Taehyung’s cock pulls out to the tip with every thrust, and he feels the
entire thing enter him like new every other second, pelvic bones harshly digging into his asscheeks
in a rhythmic, erotic massage. “Giving baby his cock, cause baby duh-deserves cock.”

“This cock?” he slams hard for emphasis, and Jungkook’s eyes have rolled back even under the veil
of his lids.

“Yea-yuh-yeah.”

“Fuck- it missed your little hole so much.” Taehyung pants, breaths and words coming quicker in
the exertion and exhilaration of pounding into Jungkook’s ass, “Do you feel that-ung,” his moans
are breathless and indulgent, cotton candy to the brain, “How much it missed you?”

“Missed you too-yea-buh-bad.”

“I know exactly how much your selfish hole missed me,” he’s picking up the pace, slamming into
him quickly, and it’s a brutal, highly physical thing, reducing Jungkook to a boneless piece of meat.
“Your slutty little video-fuck, begging for me like a dumb-nghh-”

But- Taehyung swears and cuts himself off, both his words and his breakneck pace.

Jungkook doesn’t even have the ability to hold back his petulance.

“No baby- it’s okay, see?” Taehyung sounds slightly anxious recovering a breath while slowly and
tortuously rolling into him.

Jungkook continuously whines, blinking open teary eyes to see the dark but determined face staring
back intently.

“Hey- this feels good too, you can feel me so good like this.” He speaks to himself as he glides
inside with a soft tap, “You like this too.”

Jungkook isn’t able to stop his reactions including the little unh-unh-unh’s that hiccup from his
throat with each soft collision. How could he? Taehyung is so beautiful, teddy bear eyes oozing
with the same tenderness as his cock, both caressing rarely accessed places inside him. Of course
he likes it.

He just wants something else. And his face shows it.

“Angel.”

God- it’s not fucking fair.

Taehyung crowds into him, grazes against him with a perfect nose to compound with the sound of
his perfect voice, “Come here.”

Taehyung is buried in his ass, but Jungkook knows and tightens his arms anyway, automatically,
circling his neck and pulling their chests close enough to tuck his chin over a golden shoulder.

There isn’t such a thing as close enough.

“Wrap around me.”

Jungkook buries his face into Taehyung’s neck as his legs are freed and after a quick shuffle, hands
under his ass hold him close.

Jungkook weaves his legs around Taehyung like a koala, cock reaching deeply inside his ass, and
every part of their torsos pressing together. He holds on strongly enough for Taehyung to
comfortably move a hand from his ass to cup the back of his head.

“I’ll take care of you.”

And something about the words and the hold makes him feel held, and he melts.

Taehyung is there, letting him sink and not letting any piece of him spill.

It’s so light and steady as they float to the bedroom.

He waits for the fluffy compression on his back, but Taehyung doesn’t set him down, he sits down.

“Ngghh.” He moans as his ankles remain locked but his ass plants firmly into Taehyung’s lap, cock
probing further towards his stomach.

Taehyung keeps a hand on his head and glides the other one up his back. Seated on the side of the
bed, they share the most intimate kind of hug.

“There.” He sounds so pleased. “Won’t hurt you, won’t mess up this time.” He pulls back with a
nuzzle, “Need you here.”

Jungkook gazes into his eyes, so wide and beautiful, where his own are glassy and confused.

“Need you here.”

He tries to ignore it, but the plea is honest and he jumps from the cloud with an annoyed huff.

Taehyung is patient as his eyes return to normal, as his body becomes his own once again. “That’s
good, so good.” He pulls a hand around to cup his cheek and keeps the gentle encouragements
steady until his breathing is too.

He nods when ready.

“Will you try with me?”

Jungkook has no idea what he means, but he never stopped nodding.

“Let me love you the right way, let me try.” Taehyung seems so sincere, the way his hands touch
him, the way his eyebrows furrow with conviction.

He doesn’t know what the right way is or why it’s necessary. He surely enjoyed all of the wrong
stuff.

“You are too special.”

Shit. He’s fucking weak. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mmhmm.” He brushes their noses close like he discovered he likes. “Whatever you want, Tae. I’m
already yours.” He is, he just is.

“Oh, angel, you’re perfect.” Taehyung smiles brighter than every star, then plants it on Jungkook’s
muted one.

He’s fucked.

After a sweet touch of tongues, Taehyung pulls back, hands adoringly exploring skin and ribs.
“We’re going to take our time.” It seems innocent in a way that it isn’t. “I’ll show you.” His voice
drops.

“Ngh-fuck.” Tingles tear through him.

“We will stop when your legs give out.” Taehyung’s hands are everywhere, as if he hadn’t
properly touched him yet- it’s sweet though, unlike his words but like he wants to be acquainted
with all of him, know all of him.

Is there anybody that doesn’t want to be known?

So, he’s giving in, giving himself over, clenching and rolling softly to seal his agreement. Their
bodies truly fit so well. Like this they’re close, and he rather appreciates how all-consuming and
invading it is.

“Words, angel,” he whispers with a little thrust, “Baby,” on the other side.

“I’m yours.” If Taehyung wants to take him slow, let it be.

There’s a wet press to his forehead, then everything shifts.

Taehyung scoots all the way onto the bed, shuffling until his back can be propped with a pillow
against the headboard and his arm can reach over and into the nightstand drawer. All while jostling
a deeply impaled Jungkook.

The effort exerted to keep them connected despite rearranging manifests first as a smile, then as a
giggle the longer Taehyung’s hand rummages in clanging contents.

“Nn-aha!” A boxy smile greets him as they right themselves and settle into the coziness of being
close, sharing breaths, and staying connected.
He still feels light when Taehyung nuzzles in softly, then pops the cap open. Carved collar bones
jut out enough for his hooked fingertips to grip as wet ones reach around.

“Ah.” The lube isn’t cold anymore, but he still finches when the warm press of heavy balls is
replaced with the drag of a finger along the curve of his stretched rim.

“Look at me.” Taehyung instructs. bringing his attention back. “Always at me.”

He nods.

Taehyung lifts an eyebrow.

“Yes, hyung.”

Taehyung smiles brightly, then draws another soaked finger across his rim.

“Mmm.” He reacts as Taehyung widens his legs and bends slightly at the knee, foot soles rolling
onto the soft bedding to prop Jungkook up and gain more access.

“Can’t have you drying out.” He now has an inch of exposed cock he can rub the slimy substance
around, which he utilizes. “Ah-want it really wet.”

“M’already wet.” Jungkook keens as the fingers work at the shaft brushing his entrance
occasionally enough to have him on edge.

Taehyung has the brazen audacity to look shy. Jungkook hasn’t looked away because he can follow
instructions. “I-well.”

“I like it, hyung.” He whispers.

“Fuck- everything about you just feels-fuck.”

“Feels like what?” The fingers dig in a little harder.

“Like nothing before you.”

Jungkook blooms some more, delighted in how effervescent and unique the sun makes him feel.

“But- my…yeah, isn’t enough, I want you…properly.”

Once again, Jungkook is struck with an overwhelming love for all things improper and cannot
understand the beautiful man’s newfound agenda. But- he gave him a promise, and he will work
hard to keep it. He wants to be what Taehyung needs, like this and otherwise. His hands travel
behind Taehyung’s neck as his hips move up and down slightly, aiding in the process of lubing up
his entrance and the shaft that spreads him open.

“There we go,” Taehyung mutters as the slide transitions from a natural stickiness to an artificial
glide. Still, he adds more. “Want it slick, want to hear it,” he squeezes the bottle again and again
until all Jungkook feels is an ocean beneath him and a profound pressure inside his gut.

When the cap clicks closed, he braces himself to get fucked, flipped maybe, but he’s certainly
unprepared for Taehyung to lock his dirty fingers on his hips and command,

“Ride me.”

He freezes, fingers tangled, and wrists propped on wide and golden shoulders, his own eyes even
wider and startled.

“I’ll show you the pace. Just ride my cock, baby.”

He supposes Taehyung does look quite comfortable, quite settled in his humored expression and
laid-back position- a contrast.

A bottom lip bit all the way to the mole uncharacteristically holds something in before letting out,
“Or does this sweet angel need to be taught?”

“No-I,” this is what he practiced for. “I can do it.” Ever competitive, his fingers grip firmly onto
Taehyung’s frame, and with clear and connected eye contact, Jungkook cautiously tucks his hips.
He doesn’t make any noise, but his mouth pops open, and he watches Taehyung’s eyes intently
track the pleasure overtaking each of his features as the cock inside him shifts to a new angle,
presses inside in a noticeable and different way.

His fingers dig further into Taehyung’s shoulders because fuck. He slowly allows his hips to relax
and return, hyper-focused on how he can feel Taehyung so precisely inside his own body.

They both become strangely silent as he rolls his hips forward once more, excruciatingly slow with
none of Taehyung’s shaft escaping, only changing angles. He hears himself glide along the waves
of lube as he slowly returns and sets a steady grinding pace.

Taehyung laser focuses on his every expression, and it feels vulnerable to be read so blatantly, for
his reactions to be tied so specifically to a singular sensation. Yet, he remains open. Even when a
particular roll rubs him in a special way and his eyebrows furrow, top lip raises. He continues to
roll and roll and roll his hips, abs flexing and expanding with his breaths, louder as the pace
accelerates.

Taehyung appears enthralled in Jungkook’s faces, especially as the feeling becomes even more
special and the rolls develop into a quicker and sharper jerk.

His jaw drops completely open, still silent, expression shamelessly twisting, and he feels the chase
begin right before Taehyung’s large hands squeeze on his hip and prevent him from fucking
himself forward and back until release like he fully intended to.

“Slow down baby.” Taehyung breaks from his trance and leads with a solid pressure, pulling and
pushing.

Jungkook huffs as the special feeling slows way the hell down. His edged and teased cock must be
pissed, though he doesn’t spare it a glance.

“That’s it, there you go.” Taehyung coos, grip grounding, gaze locked on his own as he slowly
grinds.

It’s quiet except for his deep breaths and undoubtedly the disgusting squelch of the excess lube
now lathered over the entire region of Taehyung’s crotch. The movements are slow, but the friction
heats the substance quickly. His entire ass feels warm, all around and inside. He wonders if
Taehyung feels warm too where they’re connected. He doesn’t ask, but he communicates by biting
his lip, by denting skin with nails instead of finger beds.

He thinks Taehyung understands, because of a small lift on the corner of his brown lips, because of
the swipe of a thumb up and down across his hip bone.

It’s fun to communicate that way, with just their bodies. He’s oddly relaxed, gyrating on
Taehyung’s lap, invested in the subtle changes of how they touch, how they look at and to one
another.

Taehyung is truly unmatched. The angle that his back rests against the headboard displaying a
perfectly smooth yet soft chest and stomach, his mostly empty expression save for a slight smirk
and mirthful eyes, the black tousled curls falling perfectly over his strong brow, the tone of his skin
and the chiseled edge of his collarbones- everything- makes him appear non-human. Like a god.

A god that Jungkook gets to ride.

So, he does. The heat is turning hot, moving up from his ass to his lower belly, and he can’t speed
up so he just grinds down harder, pressing with more force down and into Taehyung’s lap.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, but he certainly notices because his fingers tighten and help. Their
faces are glued together, and as his hips work intensely forward and back, a slight burn beginning
because of Taehyung’s few pubic hairs, his mind becomes focused and blank.

He’s spellbound by Taehyung’s face and how it feels to have all of his attention.

The heat builds and builds until it’s scorching. There’s sensation but not enough of the special kind
for him to pinpoint and develop. It’s good, really good, but he doesn’t think he can get there.

His face betrays all.

“Patience baby.” Taehyung encourages, head slumping backwards with a thud, soft smile peeking
out. He’d appear nonchalant, if his fingers weren’t bruising, if his arms weren’t flexing to crush
Jungkook down onto his cock with a force nearly preventing movement entirely.

He just keeps rutting, fingers unsettled and grasping along the slope of Taehyung’s pretty neck,
mind praying to his god.

Taehyung punishes his persistence, abandoning the cinch of his hips to slide his palms up his
sweaty abdomen. Jungkook’s own hands retreat to cup Taehyung’s shoulders anxiously before
falling away. The loss reduces the press inside, diminishes the fiery friction between their smashed
bodies, and he can’t help it, pouts because there is nothing programmed in his brain to rewire the
emotions that reach his face. The same face which also betrays the specific kind of electricity that
Taehyung guides up his torso, then injects into his nervous system by taking two overfilled
handfuls of his chest and squeezing.

“Beautiful, beautiful boy.” Taehyung’s eyes are heavy-lidded, posture lazy with his chin up and
long neck on display. It gives him an urge to stick his tongue out, and drag it up the tan, sweaty
slope of it. But he doesn’t altogether know how to treat a deity, so he tastes the sex in the air
instead, lets his fingers land on his own folded, bulging quads.

Taehyung stares at his mouth darkly, regrips and twists his fingers into his well-endowed chest
again. Jungkook lets his tongue peek out beyond his bottom lip, soft, teeth testing how full the
muscle feels, how the swell prevents utterance. His skin prickles with how the air tightens under
Taehyung’s radiating interest.

“Have you always known you were pretty?” It is so sweet, but Taehyung’s voice says it with an
unconcealed darkness, a gravelly and low thing that wrecks Jungkook’s gut even more than the
thing he’s speared on.

He shakes his head, letting his tongue loll out carelessly as his hips resume that slow and desperate
kind of grinding with no grounding. Pretty never crossed his mind until Taehyung appeared and
showed him the meaning of it. His fingernails scrape skin cells away, until Taehyung pulls them to
his soft waist for leverage.

Taehyung comes back greedier, fingertips moving to twist his nipples harshly enough to initiate a
new and profound jolt low in his stuffed stomach. His throat is too clogged to make a sound, but he
pants with inefficient lungs and begs with teary eyes.

It’s a relief at first when Taehyung lifts up and leans forward. His elbows give slightly so that their
faces can hover close together. It’s relief but it isn’t because the proximity makes him burn hotter,
and the disastrous way Taehyung massages his nubs creates sparks that have his hips reacting, little
twitches that permit his cock to barely tap against Taehyung’s stomach.

“Pretty, pretty.” Taehyung uses only the volume required, a dark husky whisper that Jungkook
feels prickle every pore of his skin. One hand remains milking his nipple, while the other plucks
up his milky neck to prod at his exposed muscle.

He tries to figure out the way to breathe under pressure; it isn't squirming in his seat. He realizes
with horror how pathetically he’s trying to get those fingers inside, and further. Only when he
calms down, focuses on his hip’s extremely limited range of motion, does Taehyung reach inside,
flatten two fingers, and press.

“Pretty mouth.” Taehyung whispers, watching a bit of drool collect itself and escape, unconcerned
with Jungkook’s thrashing. “Pretty chest,” he twists a nipple. “Pretty boy.”

Jungkook shoots snot from his nose trying to breathe and he can’t. It’s too much, and it’s not
enough.

Taehyung begins tilting him back by denting his chest and shoving two fingers down his throat.

His hands clench along with somewhere else, and it feels like falling until his back hits Taehyung’s
propped up knees. He feels an intense pressure around his own knees, joints folded to the given
limit.

“Untuck your knees baby.” Taehyung keeps his tongue pressed and clogging up his throat, keeps
working at his live wire nipple. “Take what you need.”

Slowly and one at a time, he rocks side to side and untangles his legs, heels planting into the
mattress on either of Taehyung, knees bent at a more agreeable angle. As soon as he rests back,
Taehyung doing the same against the headboard, he feels it and chokes.

Taehyung with his dark smirk, dark curls, and dark complexion looks more like a sex god than the
ordinary kind and his retreating limbs have no regard for Jungkook’s stuttering breath as his special
place radiates shockwaves.

Jungkook's mouth gasps at the onslaught of new sensation and aches for the familiarity of those
fingers to return; his nipple pouts and twitches also missing its visitor.

“Such a pretty thing.” Taehyung wraps his long fingers around both of Jungkook’s calf muscles, a
position that accentuates his elegant shoulders and all the prominent veins spiraling down.
“Deserve to feel pretty.” He whispers to himself, “Nothing else.”

His elbows are extended, still reaching for Taehyung’s stomach, but he’s burning. He wants his ass
to explode, deserves it. So, his hands escape and search backwards, eventually finding purchase
cupping the tops of Taehyung’s knees.
Using all the leverage he can find, soliciting full engagement from his abs, he slides just barely up
Taehyung’s cock and rocks right back down.

“Huh-hyung.” His voice is already wrecked. He’s been on Taehyung cock for ages but only now
does his ass open up, suck in the feeling of it, get greedy.

“Your body baby-fuck.” Taehyung lightly grips and massages his calves, whispering praises to him
like a secret.

Almost as if he wants Taehyung to see more of it, give him more reasons to comment, he lifts up
again while rotating his knees outward, spreading himself wide to give Taehyung a perfect view of
his bulging thighs, of his rippling stomach, his bouncing cock, and of how his raw rim ripples
around the throbbing intrusion.

“Fucking unreal.” Taehyung growls low in his throat, and the vibrations seem to travel inside of
Jungkook’s ass, heat swirling as he slowly lowers and compresses their parts together again with a
wet tap. “Can’t believe I have you on my cock.”

He feels his breath quicken, little whimpers escaping, brain too focused to put together anything
else, but he doesn’t speed up. He just keeps his eyes locked right on Taehyung’s feline ones, and
pushes himself up and down. The movement is languid, nearly excruciating, because Taehyung is
angled directly at his prostate, and each press into it makes him quiver.

The fire roars, and he’s not able to drag very far up, only a couple inches of Taehyung’s cock
escape with each lagging round, but the angle is so specific, and the press is so deep- every muscle
tensed just to move that miniscule amount- the urge to catch something nearly blinds him because
of how it twists and writhes so deeply inside his loins.

He wonders if the fire possessing his body reaches his eyes, because Taehyung cusses and cinches
his circled fingers tight around his shins. Almost as if he’s preventing himself from putting them
anywhere else.

“God-I-mmp.” Air hastily leaves Taehyung’s nose as he loses the ability to speak, heaving at the
sight, at the show of Jungkook’s sweaty and sensual body feeding on Taehyung’s cock.

“NNGGH,” Jungkook whines, nastily and loud, he feels his hole loosening, gushing, crying for
more punishment, while deep inside he pinpoints the individual throbs of his spongey place, can
detect the way it swells and absorbs more and more of the poke of Taehyung’s head.

Taehyung in a matter of minutes has devolved into the likes of a demonic presence, hissing,
entrapping his legs, and staring into his soul with devouring intent.

His muscles complain as even the disgusting sound of squelching becomes a turn on, and he rebels
against the pain, digs his heels in harder, finds some purchase which allows him to bounce down
with added weight, and his entire body vibrates as his throat cries out.

“TAEE-RUH-AH!” A tear slips down his flushed cheeks, but he doesn’t care. His body shakes like
an earthquake as he rises again, drops down, and sobs, “Right there.”

“F-fuck.” Taehyung, sexy dom Taehyung, whimpers.

They are both completely gone.

With his entire body visibly trembling, tears cutting into his blotchy cheeks, cock throwing flying
dribbles, and hole frantically clenching around Taehyung’s throbbing stick, Jungkook feels the
spark ignite from where Taehyung presses deeply, clamps down hard, throws his head back, and
cums.

His scream sounds like another creature from another dimension, and the explosions of neon
behind his black eyelids transport him there. His muscles lock up, then seize with each heart
stopping zap of his orgasm. He’s somehow moving up and down, milking his prostate for every
jolt. It’s only when he peels open his eyes that he sees where Taehyung has captured his waist,
where he guides his hips to draw it out. His eyes also capture the globs of cream all over
Taehyung’s cinnamon torso.

His cock kicks and shoots out more pent-up arousal from the previous, excessive edging, and they
both watch. Violent shivers wrack up his entire frame carried along a tsunami of chills that
heighten every brush against his skin. When he looks at Taehyung controlling the aftershocks
inside his body with strong biceps, he widens his eyes, vulnerable and impressionable, and lets the
dark god see the scraps of his possessed soul.

“Fuck.” Taehyung releases a bloody bottom lip to curse, and Jungkook just watches him openly,
lets him see his body pleasured and dripping. Lets him put eyes on his fucking property.

As his breaths even out, his eyes don’t relent, and he twitches and jerks enough to feel how hard
Taehyung still is. He can see the pained desperation painted under Taehyung’s dark facade.

“Hyung,” he says hoarsely, grateful that Taehyung will hear how wretched he feels right now.
“Where are all the loads you have for me?”

“Jungkook.” He is uttering a warning and snarling through erratic panting, clearly at a point break.

“Taehyung,” he enunciates with the sliver of the scowl his empathy fails to prevent. He removes
his palms from where they leave behind a deep red mark on Taehyung’s knees, and interlaces their
fingers on his own hips, a final jolt eliciting an indulgent sigh. “Am I strong?”

“Jungkook,” he sighs with placating frustration, and it is the worst version of his name yet.

“Am I?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, grimacing at the little wiggle Jungkook tortures him with for revenge.
“You were right, I’m-” a gasp slices his sentence clean in half, along with Jungkook’s heart. He
said he would be what Taehyung needed, he promised.

“Hey-I know,” he tilts forward with genuine concern, takes a warm cheek into his palm and grazes
over all the most beautiful features he has ever seen. Gone is the point he intended to make, how
he can withstand anything Taehyung has to unleash. “It’s okay, I know.”

Taehyung just heaves like his chest is too heavy, and Jungkook knows that too. He swings his legs
around, settling his weight on his folded thighs again and getting close enough to cup both of
Taehyung’s cheeks with strong intention.

“I’ll take care of you, now.” He touches their foreheads as Taehyung shakily exhales into the
shared space. “Lay down, hyung, I’ve got you.”

He guides his body, slides him down the bed even as his cock slides out, makes him extend his
legs fully, laid out comfortably and completely. Still straddling his relaxed figure, he hovers over
his precious lips and places a gentle promise there.

Scooting down quickly, he lines himself up over Taehyung’s abused member, and slips it in easily.
Taehyung groans softly, eyes closed and looking like he’s from and on another planet.

“Pretty, Tae.” He doesn’t waste a second, rolls his hips on top of him, scrambles for the lube to
keep them lathered up just how Taehyung loves.

Taehyung looks nearly peaceful, eyes droopy, as he lets Jungkook treat him, releasing little noises,
some deep, some dreamy. His sides are soft and plush as Jungkook rubs his hands up to his ribs,
tracing over the skin with reverence, pressing his prints in between the bones like a seal. Maybe
treating a deity comes down to not treating them like one at all but handling them as if they
actually can break.

He experiments with the motion of his hips when Taehyung gets too quiet, plants the meat of his
palms under his chest, careful not to knock the air out of his lungs with the leverage required.

Trying to remember what he practiced, mostly in one too many fantasies of the mind, he calls upon
his mountainous quads to rise as his hips tuck forward, dragging along Taehyung’s shaft a few
inches before sitting back down on the length.

The soft moan from below tells him everything, and he focuses even harder on isolating and
emphasizing the circle of his hips as he embarks to hear it again. Taehyung’s cock slides so
smoothly in and out of him, and he utilizes every tiny muscle in his inner thighs, glutes, and
hamstrings to continue the slow yet consistent gyrations.

A slight obsession nestles in his mind as he becomes singularly oriented with keeping the glide
constant up and down Taehyung’s shaft. He imagines but cannot care that he’s literally having his
way with Taehyung’s cock, entire body pulsing into every undulation, while the other lies there
nearly unresponsive save for his quiet groaning and exasperated head twists. It’s a mindfuck that
Taehyung is allowing him this, and it’s a mindfuck that he’s not taking advantage, rolling so
tenderly.

He finds the capacity to expose more of the shaft with each cycle, his body eagerly learning per
usual, and he nearly halts at the sparks of facial expression that pop over Taehyung’s closed off
features. He persists, seeks even more, finds a spark inside of himself at a particularly adventurous
fuck.

He doesn’t think- he just leans forward slightly, avoiding that place because it has nothing to do
with his intention.

The exertion makes him pant, but he recalls something Taehyung said before.

And he desperately wants Taehyung to come. Over and over. Wants to bring him to and from
ecstasy and receive nothing in return, not even the special kind of satisfaction that his seed sows.

Plus, he wants to learn. Taehyung’s balls may be heavy and full from separation, but they aren’t
bottomless, and he needs to know how to pleasure Taehyung for hours on end, wants to be
Taehyung’s addiction.

So, he untangles spindly fingers from the sheets, and brings an overheated palm to his own hip with
sweet instructions,

“Show me how.”

He has to continue holding Taehyung’s digits down because Taehyung is too out of it to grip him,
too out of it to understand the assignment.
Jungkook is an athlete, moves the same way with only one arm anchored for support, the other
bent at the elbow with a tricep bulging out. He’s also a competitor, and he absorbs all the data
accessible, every sound and twitch, to ascertain his victory.

He feels Taehyung grow harder as he works him up, feels his fingers randomly clutch, sees the
evidence of the approach in his squished eyebrows and accelerating moans.

He holds steady, and when Taehyung gasps and snarls his lip, he slows almost to a stop.

Taehyung’s eyes fly open and instead of being rolled back in bliss, they shimmer with confusion
and betrayal.

He winces at himself, picking back up immediately, feeling guilty for unintentionally edging the
man.

But- he’s also delighted at the gaze now traveling up and over his body, and the way Taehyung
finally tightens the hold on his waist.

He presses harder into Taehyung’s ribs, making sure his arms are flexed, and rolls erotically on top
of his body, hips grinding in a sensual circles so that he strokes a large portion of Taehyung’s cock
with his rim.

Fuck- he likes being watched. It’s so much sexier this way, seeing how sexy Taehyung looks
getting turned on by how sexy Jungkook feels.

He knows he’s sexy because of how much quicker Taehyung starts to pulse, how much quicker
that brow furrows as an orgasm approaches. Just because of the view.

“Fuck.” Taehyung looks good, and he’s there, really there, and Jungkook feels good.

“All the way.” Taehyung breathes out kindly but with a hint of a threat, lip twitching with a
particularly wonderful slide.

Jungkook isn’t trying to argue when he says, “Don't want you to cum.”

“Baby-”

“Don’t want you to finish.”

Taehyung just tries to focus through the rapidly approaching orgasm, and struggles.

“Wanna-let me-want you to..” he gestures wildly with one hand, still rolling on his cock while
hoping to god that Taehyung gets it, “Without..” he makes a more obscene kind of gesture and
feels embarrassed.

Even more so when Taehyung’s entire face stretches, lips pulling wide into a unique kind of box,
and his blinding smile illuminates every corner of the dimly lit bedroom.

It'd be beautiful, breathtaking probably, if it weren’t letting its own breaths out at Jungkook’s
expense.

He pouts and when Taehyung coos, he pouts some more. He keeps fucking himself up and down,
huffing and rolling his eyes because, he is a tempter. A sex demon in Taehyung’s bed with a divine
charge to seduce his soul, goddammit.

Taehyung mutters something that sounds a lot like cute, and Jungkook is sexy, not cute. So, he
untucks his legs one by one, this time aiming to plant the soles of his feet into the mattress in a
deep and pronounced squat.

Then, he sinks all the way down.

“Oh g-god.”

Taehyung’s smile is gone in half a second, replaced by pained surprise. Jungkook knows that it
isn’t pain though, not at all.

It makes his own mouth pull up into an ironic grin, the entirety of his front two teeth beaming at
the sight of Taehyung losing his breath every time he musters the courage to look.

He only moves as fast as can get away with, but he moves steadily, knees wide and sharply bent to
allow him full range of motion. He can’t help his giggles, delighted in the sweet revenge, feeling
light and happy hopping like a little froggy on Taehyung’s cock. Maybe, he does find himself cute.
But, he’s not telling.

The full power of his legs moves him straight up and down the shaft, and it’s enough to take him
from an achingly deep base to the very tip. And again.

And again.

He fucks himself on Taehyung’s perfect cock, and he loves it. Loves how it fills him so
thoroughly. Loves it even more when Taehyung finally recovers from shock and locks their gazes.

The stimulation has to be greater because Taehyung squeezes his hip after only a short time,
whispers instructions, never straying into the tone of command.

“Nice and slow, yeah.”

Jungkook complies, lightness, something akin to giddiness growing.

“Okay now-nghh-” Taehyung sharply closes his eyes, overwhelmed with the sight of Jungkook so
open for him, body oriented so specifically to squeeze him. His grip tightens as his lip snarls,
“Slow-slow-slow-don’t-stop-”

He slows. He doesn’t stop. He watches in absolute wonder.

Taehyung’s hand relaxes almost imperceptibly, but Jungkook senses are sharp like he’s Spider-
Man on the first day of his powers, “Keep go-OH-ing, oh fuck me.”

He’s not, but hearing Taehyung say that in that voice makes him moan immediately. He kind of is,
though, because he’s doing all of the moving, all of the work. Fuck- Taehyung looks good when
his body seizes, telling him that it’s starting.

His plush mouth opens around a long moan, interrupted only by the repeated jolts of his orgasm
taking flight. When his hand clutches hard again, he knows without being told to ease up.

His eyes stay glued to Taehyung’s blissed face, jerking as the sensations spread apart and retreat,
and he keeps his senses tuned to everything the man does, focused on him, on bringing him
pleasure.

This should feel good for Jungkook too, and it does, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He dwells on
Taehyung’s completion, on the way his body relaxes into the sheets, on the beads of sweat forming
on his brow, on the few curls that get caught in it as Taehyung slings an arm over his head.

“Fuck.” He breathes out with shielded eyes before cleaning off any black nuisances from his
forehead with running fingers.

His head lifts as his eyes return to Jungkook who still pulses in a low squat, ass sucking in a well-
endowed Taehyung with ease.

“Fuck.” He repeats, throwing his head and eyes back.

So, Jungkook starts again.

He moves languidly, a few full strokes up and down, before asking, “How many can you do?”

He involuntarily clenches when he speaks, so the only response is grunt and a heady exhale.

“I wanna find out.” He bounces.

His precision gets better, his pace becomes steadier, and he adds more lube and lightly smiles as
Taehyung writhes a bit and sinks back into muffled, drawn-out groans.

Taehyung is drifting into a personalized heaven, leaving himself behind while Jungkook feels more
like Jungkook with every press through his heels. It’s just that he’s never felt right. Always felt
ahead of his peers but behind his own expectations, always felt too evolved to require human touch
but too righteous to admit when he craved it, always achieved every goal set but never the one that
let him be proud of it. He’s just always felt that he was too much or too little, too often or too
infrequent, too passionate or too passive, like trying to maintain a middle of the road speed only by
alternating between the harshest alternatives, when all he’s ever aimed for is to be warm, is to be
content, is to be steady, is to be just right. To be good enough without giving too much.

Being with Taehyung feels like everything settling in place. Jungkook feels made to be with him.
Made to take his cock, like his body is a Taehyung shaped hole. Made to adore his features the
way they deserve, his obscured dark eyes, his parted and panting lips. Made to be utterly devoted
to him, body and soul.

As he fucks himself up and down relentlessly, bodies clicking together like two perfect pieces, his
mind clicks too. In it, is the picture of being his. Where he will always belong, always be good
enough, and will always be, for him, just right.

It scares him, but not as much as it pleases him to be guiding Taehyung to his next peak, to feel the
throbbing arousal inside his body, to watch the erratic motion of his lungs struggling to breathe.

He drops himself down hard, not with speed but with clear intention, and Taehyung communicates
through a vice grip of his hip, tightening when the edge is too close, loosening when the coast is
clear.

“Oh.” Taehyung breaths as the spasms begin, low and sultry and distant.

Jungkook blooms a little more, grows an entire home sitting on Taehyung's cock, taking care of
him like he believes no one else can.

He has to nearly stop when Taehyung's grip turns bruising at a cruel clench, but the waves retreat,
and as soon as the last one does, he begins again.

His legs turned to fire a while ago, but it’s hard to pick apart the flames of exertion versus those of
desire.

He follows the heat, lets it guide him, enters his own kind of trance.

Taehyung’s next comes even quicker, and that’s when he stops counting. His body becomes
trapped in a loop, moving up and down like a demented animal possessed by hunger. It happens
quicker and quicker each time, but the orgasms last longer and longer.

When everything turns to a hot and sweaty blur, Taehyung’s hand continuously clenching and
unclenching, voice cracking and hoarse, sweat keeping them slick instead of lube- he hears a
command, a plea.

“You too-fuckk.” Taehyung breaks out into a sob, and Jungkook feels just as woozy, a sick
satisfaction lifting him to the clouds.

He knows what Taehyung means, but he doesn’t comply. This is about Taehyung only.

“Jungkook.” Taehyung uncovers from his elbow what must be the most debauched face ever
produced, flailing his hand to Jungkook’s shoulder to pull him down.

He knows that Taehyung can’t take much more, and he will give him everything.

So, when their chests touch, and he shimmies just right, and the angle miraculously opens up his
prostate, and his sopping wet cock rubs against Taehyung’s soft tummy, he knows it’s time to
finish.

He fucks Taehyung’s cock deep into his ass, feels it start to pulse in time with his own hard rod,
once and again, but when Taehyung’s lip gives tell to the impending release, he ignores the chase
in his gut, lifts up, and eagerly and with all remaining energy, he flicks repeatedly over the ridge of
his head with the clenched rim of his asshole.

Taehyung dryly screams as he pumps wet cum inside a never ceasing Jungkook.

Squirt after spurt, a shiver erupts after each one, running up his spine, terrorizing his neck, but
soothing his spirit.

As if his body knows when the task is complete, before Taehyung can even pull him completely
down, before his still red cock can be noticed, he collapses onto Taehyung’s barely recovered
body, exhaustion evident only past the finish line.

The water hits him like a wall of concrete, senses overwhelmed and ringing, but the warmth of
Taehyung’s chest and the comfort of the softening cock nestled in his ass keeps him stable.

Before he drifts off, he tries to think of another time he acted in anyone else’s interest, put aside his
characteristic selfishness, and he comes to the surface devastatingly and blissfully empty.

Dreamlike humming lures him to feel soft waves kissing his skin, shells uncovered down the shore
of his neck.

Only when he blinks the sand from his lids does he see the foamy ripples lapping against his legs,
does he see the tan fingers caressing his middle.
Taehyung plays with his belly button like a curious child, dipping the tip of a finger in and
watching the bubbles surge out. It’s interesting to be touched so mindlessly, and to not hate it.

When he feels lips on his neck again, softly brushing his flesh, he shivers from the warmth that
tingles down his arms.

It’s pleasant, alarmingly so.

He’s never bathed with another individual, and now he’ll need to forever. It’s scary that it can’t be
anyone, can only be the one, but the softness of Taehyung’s touches soothes the discomfort. He
wonders if Taehyung knows that his whispers possess an advantage no one else will ever have.

“Don’t leave.”

His head rests on Taehyung’s chest and leans into the words and into the comfort of his lips. He
feels so clingy even though they spent the better part of the evening physically inseparable. His
hands come to, resting bonelessly on Taehyung’s thighs, and he tests each finger out on the pretty
skin.

He doesn’t bother responding because he’s already told him, and even if he hadn’t, Taehyung
should know by now. Pretending that he could, for any discernible length of time, keep himself
away was the biggest bluff of his life. Taehyung has the proof on his phone.

His cock sways in the water only half hard, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to suffer the
embarrassment of being a horny fuck in his sleep. Or rather, Taehyung knowing about it.

“You didn’t cum.”

Technically he did, but he didn’t come again when his cock grew back, when he had the chance to
show Taehyung his equivalent deprivation. Pride tip toes around his heart, and he feels nervous for
Taehyung to discover what it means for him to so willingly sacrifice his needs for Taehyung’s. It
wasn’t required; he sought out the imbalance.

“Was it not good for you?”

The question is too stupid to deserve more than an annoyed grunt.

“Why then?” Taehyung chuckles at the petulance, taking a nibble from his ear as if that’s a regular
part of everyday conversation.

He shuffles a bit, brings a bit of blood back to his backside before testing his vocal cords,
“Wanted-mmhm,” he starts again, softer, “Wanted you to feel good.” He fidgets with the skin of
Taehyung’s knee and barely whispers. “Wanted to be good.”

Taehyung is silent for a little too long, and then his breath pushes out of his lungs at an alarming
rate. “You are-fuck, you really are.”

It’s only then that he notices the water’s lukewarm approach, the bubbles’ retreating state, and
Taehyung’s anxious paws dragging over him as if he had had time and then some to recover and
stew and premeditate.

”So good, my good boy.” His voice sounds less controlled, similar to the automatic way his fingers
shake trailing up notches of abs.

The words make him feel like he’s sinking into the water for the first time, despite the wrinkles of
his fingertips. He is good, he knows. And it feels good.

It feels good how badly Taehyung wants him still, how his torso is pulled closer by a luscious hold
on his tits, how a hard cock pokes boldly against his spine.

They’ve been tugging at each other for hours, and Jungkook feels satisfied in certain ways, has
found some quality inside himself which laid previously dormant. He is able to care. He is able to
consider Taehyung’s needs. He could sit here between Taehyung’s legs and wait for the other to be
ready. Not forever, but it’s still progress.

Taehyung isn’t acting like he just had his cock treated and milked; he’s acting desperate and
conflicted and desperate as good boy falls from his lips, as he attempts to inject the words through
his nipples.

“Such a special boy, a perfect boy.” He pinches the buds and lowers his lips to his exposed neck
like he needs to.

“Tae.”

“Were so patient, so good,” he babbles softly and urgently. “Should’ve never let you leave, my
perfect, perfect boy.”

“Hyung,” he swallows his own rebuilding arousal, doesn’t want to, but needs to be responsible
because Taehyung is important now, because Jungkook cares now. “Need to know, need you to
tell me what you want.”

“Want you.” Taehyung groans into his neck, biting in little nips that make it more difficult for
either to continue speaking.

“How?” He fights the urge to moan, to flip around and plop down on his ready cock again. It
would slide in so fucking easy. Taehyung’s endurance is so unbelievably sexy, as is the lust
between them that doesn’t fade regardless of every unholy act committed.

“Every way, want all of you baby.”

It’s sweet, but Taehyung’s still dragging a tongue behind his ear and humping his cock forward
like a dog. They won’t get anywhere like this.

“Okay-mmhm,” Jungkook pushes forward only to be snapped back and bitten on the nape by a very
possessive mother bear clutching her cub.

“Can’t leave-”

“Christ-” he escapes no thanks to his noodles for legs, sloshing and slapping Taehyung’s paws
away manically until he sits facing the man, from a safe distance.

Taehyung looks betrayed.

“M’not leaving.” Jungkook defends with raised palms, extending one leg out so they can have the
comfort of that touch.

He pulls it back when Taehyung eyes his big toe like a snack.

It brings a smile to his face though, the pout and the desire and the confidence that they’ll figure
this out in time.
Jungkook knows he’s going to have to ask, and when the ripples smooth out he does.

“What do you want us to be?” The delivery is solid even though his heart takes off, thumping and
flipping, and he can’t remember another human ever having this kind of effect.

Taehyung’s eyes soften as he nods, acknowledging that it needs to be acknowledged. His fingers
play with his own skin instead of Jungkook’s, and talking feels intimate when they’re both naked
and exposed.

Just when Jungkook thinks about rephrasing and probing again, Taehyung speaks softly to the last
few floating bubbles.

“Want everything for us, Kookie.”

And that just-

Jungkook feels an iceberg crack from his frozen glacier of a heart.

The nickname, the us, the everything, his chest squeezes so hard that it reaches his eyeballs. His
throat is tight when he chokes out,

“I want that too.” He blushes at how emotional it sounds and adds comedic relief for his own
sanity, “Taehyungie.”

The square smile on his perfect face captures all of his attention, and Taehyung doesn’t seem like
any of the various personas shown- doesn’t seem cool or sexy or cute- he just seems like a boy who
wants to love and to be loved.

To be one is to see one.

He smiles with every fleck of his front teeth, and everything that isn’t said in words passes between
their eyes, sparkling with the galaxies of their cosmic connection.

Well except that one thing-

“You asked me about submissives.”

Taehyung’s smile drops, and he visibly gulps.

“Even though you’ve never done anything like that..” he speculates.

Taehyung doesn’t deny it.

“But you asked me about it.”

They sit there naked in the cold tub staring each other down until Taehyung finally nods.

“Hyung,” Jungkook adjusts himself, rests his long arms on the porcelain edge to broaden his chest,
and his eyes glimmer with something new when he pointedly asks, “What exactly are you holding
yourself back from doing to me?”

By the look in Taehyung’s eyes-

The moon is still waiting to peak.

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