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Chapter Text

There was this lyric that had been mulling about in his head, spinning, like a vinyl on a turntable. Slowly ambling around and around, the laggard sound of a velvet scratch as the stylus slides along the ridges. Words flowing to fill the spaces between pauses in a conversation. Where tension lingers in those empty places. 

He almost had this lyric like a cat almost has a mouse. 

Sometimes, in song writing, Yoongi found himself more of the mouse than the cat. Sometimes, the melodies and harmonies assaulted him, ripped him apart with concepts and left him to bleed out execution. He knew the next big song, the next big thing, he knew it lurked inside. He knew he was on the verge of something amazing, something better than anyone had ever heard before. Unique, rare, fucking viral. He could feel that it was in him. 

But these lyrics weren’t flowing right. 

He huffed, rubbing a hand harshly against his neck, frowning. In spite of his enthusiasm for this piece, it was also his greatest disappointment of the moment. Yoongi shut his laptop with finality, dropped it into his backpack like a penny in a wishing fountain. He didn’t have any more time to be the tortured artist of today. He had a meeting to attend to. 

Music was his passion, surely, but it wasn’t a lucrative one. One day, one day I won’t have to do this, he promised himself while grabbing a duffle bag and shoving in his clothes. Packing wasn’t his forte, probably because he always waited until the last minute to do it. He hardly looked at the things he flung inside, all of it was monochromatic and casual. 

The duffle swung from his shoulder and slapped against his knees as he moved into the bathroom, quite literally knocking products into the unzipped top. Toothbrush, toothpaste, mouth wash, shampoo, conditioner, cologne, all falling on his minimalist wardrobe. He walked to the door, looking around the small white walls encasing his tiny apartment on the very edge of Seoul.

Forgetting something? He wondered, scanning, deep in thought. What else could he need? 

Ah. Would be helpful to actually put the backpack on after putting electronics in it. 

Sufficiently weighed down between what he carried on his back and what was whacking into his bony knees like a hammer on a rope, Yoongi headed out the door. He locked it behind him, key ring jingling loudly, sounding akin to a crypt keeper. His key situation was out of control. He kept meaning to create some sort of organisation to the chaos, but then he found himself continuing to add keys. He memorised their owners by the patterns of the ridges. 

Yoongi walked down to his car, parked on the street, grateful for another day to not have a broken window or stolen stereo. A twist of the key in the ignition, his engine sputtered to life with a touch of exasperated drama. Putting off car maintenance in favour of buying that APC was maybe not his best move, but it was bringing him more joy.

That’s what life was about, right? Finding those little pockets of joy?

Until he was shelling quarters from torn pockets to catch rides on public transport because his car finally died. 

The drive to his client’s house was mundane. Traffic was fine, the weather was fine. He knew he’d scored a good one when he met these people, and not just because of their warm demeanour over messages. They had a house. A big house. He was usually staying in apartments all over Seoul, luxury high rises, but they had a whole house. 

He parked in the driveway and grabbed his belongings, slamming the car door with his heel, and hurried blithely inside. 

Eun-Woo greeted him at the door with a martini in hand. “Yoongi!” She glowed, ushering him to put down his gear and accept the beverage. “We just got this amazing new vodka from Russia, you have to try!”

Her husband, Jeong-hoon, was standing near the island in the kitchen. “Yoongi!” He smiled. He had an amazing smile, blinding white teeth and his eyes crinkled with the signs of a man who loved to laugh. “I just finished bragging to the Kim’s about how lucky we are to have the greatest house sitter in Seoul!” 

“The flattery,” Yoongi gave a little proud smile, taking a sip of the cocktail. “Where are you headed to this time?” 

“Italy,” Eun-Woo said. She did a nonchalant shrug at the name of the country. They’d been there so many times. 

“I think the first time I house sat for you was an Italy trip,” Yoongi said fondly. They’d brought him inside and immediately fussed about what size robe and slippers he wore, because they wanted to make sure he was immersed in comfort as quickly as possible. Opening their doors to him like he was family, and not just a stranger they’d contacted through a house sitting service. 

“Yes! Our anniversary! Yoongi, you always remember the details,” Jeong-hoon complimented him affectionately, reaching out to caress his wife’s hip in reminiscence. 

“But this trip won’t be as much fun. We’re going to meet a new wine distributor, there’s a restaurant opening in a hotel in downtown Seoul that’s wants the best,” Eun-Woo mocked the way the front of house manager had spoken. An accent dipped in gold and spritzed with Joy Baccarat for good measure. 

“You forget who pays for this lovely home,” Jeong-Hoon chuckled, now swatting his wife’s arm playfully. 

“And you forget who swore they’d rather be penniless than suck up to some-“

“Hongjoon was very nice! It isn’t his fault you were cursed with a punk rock heart. The same one you passed along to our son,” he laughed. 

“Son?” Yoongi perked up, curious, still holding the icy stem of the martini glass.

“That’s why we wanted to see you before we go! And so that I can make sure you remember to feed yourself,” Eun-Woo eyeballed him. “I will be sending you some food delivery cards, Yoongi, if I see a balance left on any of them!” She shook her finger playfully. 

“I might not always feel lucky, but I know I must be a little bit, because my mother is in Daegu and the chance of winding up in a room with both of you is low,” Yoongi smiled. He took another drink, savouring the flavour of a well made martini that only Eun-Woo could concoct. 

“Before she goes off on another tear about the bourgeoisie ruining the planet-“

“Darling, you married me, you know what I’m about,” Eun-Woo batted her lashes at her husband and then turned her full attention back to Yoongi. “Our son will be here while you’re here, we would’ve warned you but. We didn’t know that until about an hour ago.”

Jeong-Hoon smiled, tight lipped, which Yoongi noted with curiosity. Why would anyone not take a trip with such amazing parents? He either had a good reason or a horrible personality. 

“Jungkook is a good boy, he’s very. Marches to the beat of his own drum. The worst he’ll do is steal food that isn’t labelled-“

“Your son will steal food even if it is labelled,” Jeong-Hoon corrected with a wink.

“His big move is leaving his jackets on the back of every chair between the front door and his bedroom,” Eun-Woo smiled, her sweetest smile, that always made Yoongi melt. It felt like she was sharing a dear secret that no one else was privy to. Some piece of schoolyard gossip, too salacious to be spoken near the diligent ears of an adult. “But we would like to pay you extra, if you don’t mind staying here while he is here too.”

“You don’t have to pay me extra, I’m sure I won’t even notice he’s here,” Yoongi said. He already sometimes felt like the Jeon’s overpaid him, between the cash, the snacks, the near demand that he open their liquor cabinet and soak his tongue in their new aged barrel bourbons or imported tequilas. The way they insisted on bringing him back little trinkets from their travels abroad. He couldn’t begin to ration why they’d pay him extra just to put up with a punk eighteen year old.

“We just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in our home, and, we love our son but he’s gone with school and sports so often. It’ll just be so much better for us if you can be here instead of leaving him alone,” Jeong-Hoon confided. “And, a word of advice, don’t leave anything white in the bathroom.”

“White? Why?” Yoongi asked, glancing down at his own white t-shirt in confusion. 

“Kookie is going through a phase where he dyes his hair whenever he has a big feeling. Nothing is safe anymore,” Eun-Woo giggled. “But aside from him, it’s all business as usual here. My plants always thrive under your affections.”

Yoongi struggled to understand how that was possible, considering his lack of a nurturing nature and the fact that he couldn’t keep anything alive in his apartment. His friends had nicknamed it The Dead Zone for reasons beyond his pallid skin. 

“I promise, it’ll all be fine. How long are you gone for?” Yoongi asked, glancing down at his phone to see if he’d had the wherewithal to write it down himself. 

“Three weeks,” Jeong-Hoon said. 

Three weeks house sitting a lavish property with a possible budding teenage anarchist? 

“Sounds great,” Yoongi smiled, finishing his drink. 

<<>>

Yoongi awoke in darkness to the feeling of a warm, wetness dripping down his chin. 

Ah fuck. 

He’d fallen asleep sitting at the dining room table, his chin perched on a closed fist. His laptop had long gone into sleep mode, like its owner. He wiped the spit away with his knuckles, then dragged his wet hand along his torn jeans. 

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching alerted him that he was not as alone as he’d like to be. He froze, the big footed boots continued stomping, up the stairs. A door slammed shut from who knows where. 

Kookie? Ah, no. What’s his name? Jungkook? 

He’d locked all the doors, so the only way in had to be with a key, right? And the only other person with a key had to be the surly teenager they’d warned him about. His phone glowed to display the time: 2:30am. Who comes home so late and so loudly?

At that thought, music began to blare from the upstairs. Heavy bass and a hard drum beat. The sound ricocheted from the walls and filled the entire house with an anthem of angst and petty misery. Yoongi already longed to go pull the plug on the speakers. But his anxiety took the better of him, despite having years on the student moping in his room, he didn’t want to risk creating a hostile home merely 14 hours after assuming residence. 

He shut his laptop with an eye roll and put it away, swinging it over his shoulder. He tiptoed up the stairs to the guest room, conveniently located across the hall from the rock concert. Why he was bothering to be quiet, he didn’t have the slightest notion. Something inside of him simply demanded silence and respect. The door closed quietly behind him and he collapsed onto the bed in genuine exhaustion. 

The song changed to something he knew, one he’d heard before, and he fell asleep to the melody of a California punk group crooning do you think I’m cute? Is it too late to check? But I don’t care, you’ve got your tongue against my neck…

<<>> 

Sunlight was peaking in through the blinds, the duvet cover warm from his sleeping body heat.  Yoongi awoke calmly to his lonesome self. He yawned, fully stretching out. The joy of house sitting, no longer being cramped in a slightly desolate twin, with the fitted sheet peeling away from the edges due to restless sleep. In other people’s houses, he always slept more peacefully. 

His phone informed him that it was 10am. Yoongi shambled across the room to trade yesterdays garb for basically the same thing, another pair of skinny jeans and oversize t and. Fuck. Where was his hoodie? He looked around, mentally flipping through the Rolodex of all the places he’d been inside that were probable final resting spots. 

On high alert he retraced his steps from the guest room, down the stairs, to the table. Ah, of course, slung over the back of the chair he’d nodded off in last night. He slipped into it, feeling instantly cozy, and stalked back into his room to retrieve his toothbrush. 

The bathroom as at the end of the hall upstairs, with a huge basin sink and gigantic mirror. He wondered if they’d ever had these interiors featured in a magazine, making a mental note to ask the home owners when they returned. Eun-Woo would surely fluster over the compliment, Aish Yoongi! You’re too kind! And just the thought of her response made him beam.

He spat the toothpaste from his mouth into the sink and rinsed, haphazardly placing the toothbrush into the allocated cup. Now what? 

That was truly the question. The plants wouldn’t require care until tomorrow, which gave him the entire day to kick back. He walked into the kitchen, jolted by the surprise that it wasn’t tidy. Pans sat on the stove, one caked in oil from frying something. Silverware on dirty plates that hadn’t even made it into the sink, piled on the counter. He narrowed his eyes in annoyance. That goddamn kid! He sighed, reaching already to begin washing. 

It didn’t take much scrubbing, the mess must’ve been recent, but by the time he was wiping down the counters, he’d been cleaning for a good thirty minutes. The front door opened and shut loudly, and Yoongi felt the urge to duck, but he didn’t want to be discovered hiding at the sink. His heart was racing a little at the prospect of meeting a new person this early into his day. He hadn’t had the chance to become a human friendly level of caffeinated. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall as the intruder made their way closer. Would this whole house sitting gig just comprise itself of Yoongi listening to the sound of Doc Martens slapping against hardwood? 

Probably. 

With all the strength he could muster, he tore his eyes away from the dreaded doorframe and resumed staring at the sink, grabbing for the sponge to clean the basin. He washed, waiting to hear either a new voice or the door slam again, but neither occurred. It was just the sound of his huffy breath and quiet fizz of soap bubbling. When he was appeased, he turned the faucet on, hot water erupting from the stem and spraying away the suds. Spotless white greeted him in the absence of bubbles. 

“Wonderful,” he muttered to himself, rolling his neck and exhaling satisfaction at the audible crack.

“I didn’t realise the house sitter doubled as a maid.”

Yoongi whipped around so fast he almost lost his footing, swallowing too fast and coughing on his spit. “What?” 

Fucking hell. Standing there, in the doorway, just like he’d been waiting. Silent. Arms crossed in front of him. A hulking figure. 

Okay, hulking was maybe a little bit dramatic, but he was certainly tall. And big. Taller and bigger than Yoongi, even if he was keeping up with his protein shake regime to bulk up. Even if he stood up as straight as possible. He would be clearly littler. 

But that wasn’t the most striking thing. It was his long, blue hair. Anime blue. Shoulder length and choppy and styled within an inch of an editorial feature. He was wearing a loose button up over a tight black band shirt and ripped jeans. Yoongi got visual confirmation of the Doc Martens. He looked like a bad boy in every sense, right down to the tooth pick poking out of the corner of his mouth. 

His face was a sight, too. Yoongi wondered if his skin came from a sacred regime or simply good genetics. He saw the glint of a silver eyebrow barbell. The sharp angles of his nose. Yoongi knew the Jeon’s were good looking people, but, he hadn’t expected this specimen to be their son. 

He blinked rapidly, garnering back up his composure. Hopeful he hadn’t let his mouth accidentally hang too far open. If he said anything, Yoongi will just say that he was sizing him up, and that will be good enough. 

“I said, I didn’t realise the house sitter my parents hired doubled as a maid. Where’s the frilly french dress?” Jungkook asked. He didn’t take a step further into the room, but his existence  at the only exit was notable. Yoongi was trapped in this conversation. 

“In the wash, it was filthy after I finished cleaning the kitchen,” Yoongi retorted. The words came quicker than he had the mind to leave them unsaid. 

Jungkook laughed. He wasn’t expecting that answer. 

“Shame. I’ll have to make a bigger mess next time, I’d hate to miss that view,” he smirked. Yoongi bit his tongue in annoyance. 

“Do you need anything?” He finally asked, letting go of the muscle held under dubious control by his teeth, his voice came out in bored monotone. 

“No, you took care of my needs already,” Jungkook winked, about to go, when his head lolled to the side and his body followed the languid turn. “Do you have any that I could take care of?”

Yoongi’s eyes widened and his ears turned red. Goddamn his sympathetic nervous system for this betrayal. He will never forgive his wretched being. 

“Cute,” Jungkook mused. “I’ll see you around, house mate.” He sauntered away, soles of his boots slapping loudly. 

Yoongi listened to him clamber up the stairs lackadaisically, each heel hitting the ground felt like it could’ve been on his heart instead, the way it was beating so hard and fast. His quickened breath fell in short pants from his mouth, tongue peaking around his lips to wet them in near autonomy. 

He could not tear his eyes away from the space Jungkook had just occupied, as though able to see in thermal vision. The imprint of his standing form remained fresh with the residue of his body heat. His smell lingered in the air, Yoongi swears, he could taste it - musk and wood and cotton. He tangled his fingers in the drawstring of the hoodie and pulled the opening snug around his head. Fucking fuck.

A maid? ME? A maid?! Kept going through Yoongi’s head. Maybe I’ll buy a fucking maid costume and then HE can wear it! And. And then. That’ll. Teach him! Even the voice in his head knew that such a pedantic, hopeless idea. Oh god, what if he made me wear it? 

And, from the repressed, squishy part of his back brain: Ooh, god, what if he made me wear it?

Yoongi realised that this was a cycle which would only go from one extreme to another: his grumpy old man side, hungry for the petty vengeance against a hoodlum teenager skateboarding on the sidewalk of his conscious. Trapped in a one on one against his horny side, starved for affection and desperate for a love which left him red - red in the cheeks, red on the knees, and red handprints littered across his expanse of skin from shoulder to thighs. 

He hated himself more than anyone else in the world right now. Which was impressive, considering that he hated so many people. The Jeon’s would not be happy if they came home to their house sitter railing their son. 

His squishy, repressed back brain had a sharp, cackling laugh at the notion.

<<>>

HowToWasteAnAfternoon.wav was progressing beautiful. If your hallmarks of beauty revolve around slow (bordering on non-existent) headway and plain. If they did, you would’ve believed this thing to be a Renoir, so heralded you’d find yourself in response to the immaculate beauty of a simple piano tune playing, accompanied by a sick drum beat. 

Tragically, the song needed words, and more tragically, Yoongi did not have those words. He’d tried to rock up to the word shop and found the shelves amiss from any nouns, verbs, even a fucking adjective. Nothing. He went through his phone, little one liners and throw aways, stolen snippets of strangers conversations. 

Garbage. Garbage. On fire garbage.

Yoongi frowned deeply, removing his headphones for a minute. Maybe he could find inspiration elsewhere? He made it a point to try not to smoke so much while at clients houses, but, he could really go for an Esse right now. He stole away outside, through the back door, trying to scrunch up small against the far wall of the house. Honestly, he was mostly hiding because he did not know if he had the strength to bear the brunt of Eun-Woo’s surely swift admonishing: MIN YOONGI! FIRST YOU COME TO MY HOUSE LOOKING PAPER THIN, AND NOW I CATCH YOU POISONING YOURSELF IN MY OWN BACKYARD? 

He shuddered. She would kill him. Her husband wouldn’t have time to hold her back. 

His lighter made that scraping sound as it ignited and lit the end of his cigarette. The sun was starting to set, the sky and everything under it was suddenly divinely enhanced by the golden glow it bestowed upon the world. He held his inhale, as though the nicotine might whisper some great revelation into his lungs, and on the exhale he would speak prophecy. 

Frankly, though, it didn’t even need to be deep. If he could muster up something funny, some little silly wordplay even, that would be enough. 

Yoongi was torn away from his thoughts at the sudden rapping of knuckles on a window. He looked down and around, wide-eyed and terrified, nearly burning himself. 

“DOWN HERE!” Someone shouted. 

He realised where he’d hidden away against the side of the building had him basically sitting on a window. Yoongi had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t paid attention to anything other than avoiding potential cameras.

Jungkook was standing there, grinning ear to ear, looking devious. Even more devious than their last encounter. Although, less in an I want to eat you alive way and more of a you suddenly owe me your life because I know your secret way. 

Fucking fuck, Yoongi thought again, because just when he thought his luck might set course in a good direction, he remembered that he’d been cursed with tragedy and thusly would always be found by it. Dragged out to sea and given the option to sink or swim in it. Either way: surrounded.

“What?” Yoongi finally asked, squatting down a little so they could make eye contact through the window. 

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asked.

They were both quite literally screaming at each other to hear through the glass, but neither of them seemed interested in making conversing any easier. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Yoongi questioned, taking another sharp drag. “I’m working on a song.”

“Oh? What part of the cigarette do you hold to make it play sound?” Jungkook taunted.

“If you hold the cherry against someone, it’ll make them scream,” Yoongi replied curtly. 

“Care to have the theory tested?” Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows and Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“No, Jungkook, that’s fine,” Yoongi shook his head. 

“When you’re done, come down here,” he said, making a come hither motion with his fingers. 

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I will tell my mother-“

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Yoongi promised. 

“You know what’s weird?” Jungkook shouted after one minute of silence, while Yoongi stewed and attempted to enjoy what remained of his Esse. 

“What?” Yoongi, once again, shouted through the glass.

“They say smoking is unattractive, but, I think it looks good when you do it. To be fair, you weren’t facing me,” Jungkook smirked, then closed the blinds. Of course he would try to rile him up. That stompy leather monster. 

Yoongi angrily huffed down the rest of his smoke, which didn’t taste as good as it normally did, and he didn’t have any big ideas about songs or lines because he was too busy replaying Jungkook’s little interruption over and over in his head. Why would he even be looking at me like that? He didn’t want to dwell on it, but he did nonetheless. 

He stubbed out the cigarette and put it under a very special rock, like he always did, and it was always the very last thing he checked before he left. Just to be on top of things. 

Because that’s who Yoongi is - someone who is on top of… things. 

On top? His squishy back brain questioned, and god, if only he could reach through his skull and pluck that voice out. He would put it in a Petri dish and watch it bake under the summer Seoul sun. He would listen to it plead for mercy, and grant it none. 

Yoongi wandered back into the house, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Ah, um, Jungkook?” 

“Yes?” Jungkook shouted. His voice was much smaller, much more far away, and Yoongi wasn’t sure where to even begin looking.

“Ah. Where. Where are you?” Yoongi tried again, looking around for a sign of life. 

“Colder,” Jungkook yelled.

Yoongi frowned and walked towards the side of the house he’d been stood at before.

“Warmer!” 

“How can you see me?” Yoongi asked, still searching. 

“Oh, Yoongi hyung, I know everything,” Jungkook shouted. 

“Creepy,” Yoongi whispered. 

“Hot,” Jungkook materialised behind him, quickly reaching out and pinching his hips on either side, which made Yoongi let out a very manly and very unafraid and very unbothered, high-pitched squeak. Like a kitten. 

A very manly and very unafraid and very unbothered kitten. 

“Found you first,” Jungkook smirked. 

“I didn’t even know where to look!” Yoongi argued, because apparently a round of hot and cold was serious business, and he wouldn’t have his good name besmirched. 

“I assumed, as our house sitter, you would’ve known all the good spots,” Jungkook’s eyes lingered a little too long on Yoongi’s throat when he said good spots, and Yoongi tried to ignore the thoughts which commenced at the comment. 

“You set me up to lose,” Yoongi huffed and crossed his arms. “What did you want me to come in here for, anyway?” 

“To see if you’d come when called,” Jungkook said.

“You’re joking?” Yoongi tried. He was blinking like he might find a factory reset button in his brain if he batted his lashes enough. 

Jungkook hummed a little and shrugged, playful, teasing in nature. “Maybe,” he grinned. “What do you do for fun? Besides falling asleep at your laptop and sneaking cigarettes?” 

Yoongi blushed a little, realising Jungkook must’ve seen him that other night, drooling on his fist in front of a screen. “I’m a musician,” he corrected. “And I read comics. And I like basketball.”

“Do you play?” Jungkook’s eyes lit up at the mention of the sport. “I prefer soccer but I bet I could dominate you,” he paused, watching Yoongi’s posture shift. “At basketball.”

“I’m more of a spectator since I had surgery on my shoulder,” Yoongi mumbled, trying to just ignore his physical response to Jungkook’s casual innuendo. “But I like to play too.”

“I’ll go easy on you. We have a court out back. But what are we playing for?” Jungkook asked, once again that scheming look was on his face. He wore it so well. 

“Bragging rights?” Yoongi tried. 

“That’s a given. How about, if I win, we have to drink a cocktail that I make. If you win, we drink yours.”

“You’re not allowed to add drugs,” Yoongi said firmly. 

“Killjoy,” Jungkook scoffed. 

“That’s my term, take it or leave it,” Yoongi extended one hand for a shake of agreement. 

“I can already taste my victory,” Jungkook grinned his cutest, most innocent bunny smile. For a split second, Yoongi forgot this was the same demon who had been casually eye fucking him from behind the downstairs window. Who spoke in a series of loaded innuendos like a top prophet. For a split second. 

Jungkook’s fingers shot out to interlace with Yoongi’s, an odd method for a shake on a friendly wager, and the inferno looming behind his dark eyes reminded the older that he wasn’t dealing with some naïve cutie. 

But it was too late. He’d sold his soul. For a fucking basketball game. 

Chapter Text

The first mistake of this game was that they did not have a referee. 

Realistically, the first mistake was agreeing to play, but Yoongi skipped past that. 

Without a referee, there was no one to call fouls. With no one to call fouls, they were left to be self governing bodies. Which simply meant neither of them were willing to accept their own fouls unless they were grievously apparent. And that? That meant Jungkook had gotten 0 fouls since the game started. 

Yoongi wasn’t on his best. His shoulder ached, although not nearly as bad as it would’ve before his operation. Still, he’d made two 3 pointers, but Jungkook was up to four. 

The second mistake of this game was that they hadn’t decided when to play until. Yoongi had somehow managed to reach 12 points, which felt like victory, but he had a long way to go to clear Jungkook. The younger was already sporting an 8 point lead. 

“Getting tired, hyung?” Jungkook asked, stealing the ball right out from under his palms and taking a 2 point shot. 

His body panged for him to say yes. His tongue remained heavy with defiance. 

The third mistake of this game was Yoongi’s entirely - he hadn’t anticipated that Jungkook would remove his shirt after the first ten minutes. He didn’t even seem tired or sweaty. Yoongi’s face was glistening, like flower petals kissed by the morning dew.

“We can take a break, if you’re asking for one,” Yoongi offered. It hurt his cheeks. He didn’t realise how out of shape he was until he needed not to be. 

“I’ve got you in the bag by eight,” Jungkook pointed out, trying again for a steal, but this time Yoongi maneuvered around him and made another shot on the 3 point line. “You can’t make up a five point lead before I widen it.”

“What are you proposing?” Yoongi challenged. 

“Admit that I won, and we can stop, and I’ll make us drinks,” Jungkook started. They’d both stopped moving, watching one another very carefully, waiting for the other to begin his ploy. “Or we can both take shots from the 3 point line. Winner take all. But if I win, since I’ve technically already won, then you have to do whatever I want for. For a week. And next week, we can play another round.”

Whatever Jungkook wants for a week? 

Yoongi weighed the options heavily. He was right. Jungkook had him. If he admitted to his loss, he’d only suffer a hit to his pride. If he tried and won, he would be a winner. But if he tried and lost… the maid outfit fluttered around in his head. 

Jungkook wouldn’t actually make me do that, Yoongi argued with himself. He’ll probably make me clean his room and cook his dinner and do his homework. 

Despite acknowledging that, he just couldn’t help himself. 

“Deal. Take the shots. Winner take all.” 

Jungkook raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Alright, Yoongi, feeling lucky today? You first or me?” 

At the question, Yoongi immediately wished he could take back his decision. This was a bad idea. He made a bad choice. He was always making bad choices. He was chronically unlucky and inundated in likely defeat and. Now was a bad time to have this spiraling episode. So he caught himself, he stared at Jungkook, mirroring his cocky attitude. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and show me what not to do,” he threw the ball at Jungkook’s open hands, hitting him hard in the palms, and crossed his arms. 

Jungkook stared at him for a solid thirty seconds in amused disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it instead, turning to line up and - 

CLANG! The ball bounced loudly off the rim, fell back onto the court, and ambled back to their feet. 

“Did I psyche you out?” Yoongi teased now, although Jungkook’s expression didn’t falter. He didn’t even flinch. He knew he wasn’t gonna make that shot. Every shot he made was with the power of momentum and lucky angles. Yoongi knew. He was suddenly feeling a lot more confident. He knew that without having to worry about out running Jungkook in order to make his shot, this was strictly physics, and math was very palatable to him in this moment. 

Jungkook waved his arms towards the hoop, gesturing for him to go, and Yoongi did. He nearly closed his eyes, but he remembered that he was stealing Jungkook’s hotshot attitude. He wanted to watch his victory. 

The swish. The most beautiful sound. The rubber of the ball sliding through the netting, dropping ceremoniously to the ground. If only there was confetti to pour from the sky or someone to fire off a t-shirt cannon. Hell, he’d even take the remnants of a Gatorade container being poured over his head. 

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Jungkook said. It was clearly a compliment, tinged with his trademark implications. Something about the way he exaggerated the word full. Something about the way he pulled his shirt over his head and shook out that blue mane. Something about how he zipped on Yoongi’s hoodie. 

Wait. 

“That’s mine,” Yoongi said, still feeling the glow of victory pumping through his veins. 

“This? It’s mine.”

“No, I’ve been wearing it all day.”

“I left it on a chair last night, in the dining room.”

“That’s where I left mine,” Yoongi argued. His high was fading. 

“You did,” Jungkook agreed. He sounded like he was making a deal with a toddler. Yoongi wanted to balk, remind him of his hyung status, but he refrained for the time being. “So I moved yours to the guest room. Must’ve picked the wrong one.”

Yoongi felt his cheeks begin to redden, as if a freezing gust pelted his face. “I’ve been wearing your hoodie all day and you didn’t tell me?”

“I thought you looked cute in my clothes,” Jungkook said casually, then he looked down at the garment he’d put on, stripped it off, and tossed it over to Yoongi instead. “Here, big winner, why don’t you put it on again? You look so small in my stuff.”

“I-“ Yoongi protested, but Jungkook turned and walked away to get the basketball, and he knew the conversation was over. He huffed a little and then resigned himself to still putting the hoodie on. It smelled good again, and Yoongi jarringly realised why it felt so much cozier this morning too. 

“Better blow my mind with this cocktail. I’m calling second round, though, Mom and I have been trying out some new recipes. I know she’d love to hear how sweet I was to make one for you.”

<<>>

Yoongi is standing behind the bar downstairs, trying desperately to remember how to make this one drink. 

Jungkook, the loser, was eyeing him with a mischievous smirk. 

“Why are you watching me so closely?” Yoongi asked. His face was a little flushed from the look the younger wore. 

“Looking is free,” Jungkook shrugged, pulling out a barstool so he could take a proper seat to the spectacle. “How much does touching cost?”

Yoongi flushed darker and turned around, looking at all of the bottles of booze on the glass shelves. He finally spied the Grey Goose and got up on his tiptoes to reach, pulling it down and placing it on the counter. Under the bar there were built in refrigeration units containing mixers. He found the orange juice and two red bulls. 

“Do you have Collins glasses?” He finally asked when he discerned he couldn’t find them. 

“Yeah, behind you on the ground. You might have to crawl.”

Yoongi got down on his knees, looking around the shelves closely and inspecting their contents. He heard a clang of glass hitting the counter and stood up, watching Jungkook place the very glasses he’d been looking for in front of him. 

“Oops,” Jungkook sat back down. 

“Demon,” Yoongi muttered. He prepared the drinks with only lightly shaking hands, mentally chastising himself for even caring how Jungkook reacted to his concoction. The kid has been hell on wheels since we first crossed paths, why would I ever give a fuck about his opinion? He poured the red bull into the glass, sans ice, and then added the orange juice and Grey Goose. On TV once, he’d seen a show where they taught you how to count the liquor in seconds and ounces. No sooner than one second after he started, he recalled the critical detail that you need a pour spout to do that accurately. So he kind of just eyeballed it, and then pushed the cold Collins glass towards Jungkook like it might be radioactive, and cocked an eyebrow. 

“You realise that my parents are professional mixologists?” Jungkook murmured, looking around for a metal straw. He pulled one from a cup on the centre of the bar and swirled it around the drink for a second, then took a long sip. Yoongi thought he was doing a  performance piece with the way he hollowed out his cheeks, as if a straw needed that much suction. He swallowed harshly when he saw exactly how much of the drink Jungkook managed to take in one go, downing nearly 1/3 of the tall glass with ease. “Very strong, for such a little thing.”

Yoongi understood the insinuation of the little thing comment, but he chose to ignore it best he could, mimicking Jungkook’s straw sucking technique. He dropped his own into the glass and it landed with soft thunk. He sipped politely, with less intense perversion, but he also managed to down about 2/3 of the cup before he felt how strong of a drink he’d just mixed for himself.

“You like that, huh?” Jungkook asked, still nursing his own Karbomb. “Little sweet for me, but, I did really enjoy the making of.”

“Well? If you aren’t going to finish it, then why don’t you get back here and make your haute cocktail,” Yoongi teased. He knew that much energy drink and vodka was a lot for him on an empty stomach, but after that basketball game, he could use a little pick me up. And with the way he consumed Americanos, what was the worst that could happen? 

“I’d love to,” Jungkook pushed back from the counter, exiting his chair softly, and walked away.

“Uh, hey, JK. Where are you going?” Yoongi asked, trailing behind him far enough that he had to holler to be heard. 

“If we’re going to be haute, I can’t be wearing gym clothes,” Jungkook said simply, retreating to his room. 

Yoongi stood there, now at the base of the stairs, watching Jungkook strip off his sweaty shirt and drop it on the floor carelessly. His arms moved and Yoongi could just make out Jungkook shimmying out of his basketball shorts, probably kicking them into another heap elsewhere on the floor. What he didn’t expect was for Jungkook to turn back around, stepping into Yoongi’s line of sight, completely naked aside from the tight black briefs practically painted around his hips.

Now, as an artist, Yoongi was struck immediately by a wave of horny inspiration, the likes of which he imagined fuelled Michelangelo through his hours tapping away at fine marble. Although the particular fire burning through him was more akin to perhaps a Jackson Pollock, at least, in finish. Jungkook, he marveled, was strength embodied, encased by a flawless complexion veneer. Seeing him now, so close to fully nude, looking down at him with this silver screen siren come hither expression. He longed for his laptop, to compose the music that this moment was offering him. An entire soundtrack in five seconds. Jungkook climbing the stairs, shedding his clothing like a snake sheds it skin, taunting Yoongi to follow for the strike. Venom so sweet it must be ambrosia. 

Yoongi blinks, a few times, long and slow. The way a kitty cat tells a person that it trusts them. 

“See something you like?” Jungkook asked, bending to lean over oh so casually on the bannister. 

Words. Talk. Do words. Yoongi licks his lips and then, in a small voice, “Am I supposed to change too?” 

“Only if whatever you wear includes my hoodie,” Jungkook smiles. A real smile. A sweet smile. Almost innocent. Like in middle school when a kid steals another kids hat and wears it around because they don’t have the words or know how to just confess their crush, but when they go to give it back awkwardly, the other kid is all no, keep it, it looks cute on you because they liked the thrill of being chased. 

“I don’t have anything haute,” Yoongi added as he started to climb the stairs. 

Jungkook abandoned his post, walking into his bedroom but leaving the door open. Yoongi could hear him riffling through clothes.

“You’ll look hot no matter what,” Jungkook said. So helpful. “I’d offer you something of mine but I think it would just fall right off of you.” 

“I’m not that much smaller than you,” Yoongi protested again. He didn’t like the way his dick twitched in great interest at that comment. Didn’t like it one bit. With a grumble, he opened the door to his room across the hall, and surveyed his few and humble outfit options. He hadn’t brought his Sunday best, or his Sunday okay.

At the very bottom of his bag, he found a plain black button up. He shimmied out of the jacket and peeled off his sheer white t, quickly doing up the dressier shirt. Yoongi switched his joggers for a pair of ripped jeans that left from about mid thigh to the top of his shin mostly exposed. 

He was just about to put the hoodie on when he was overtaken. His vision went black, his body was somehow trapped. He froze in fear. What the fuck was happening? 

“This goes nice over that shirt,” Jungkook said, helping Yoongi’s head through the top of the oversized jumper. The light of the room flooded his senses and, once again, he was disappointed in his own manhood because if his dick twitched before, his junk jumped right then. “It has some tears in it on purpose, it’s avant garde,” Jungkook promised. 

Yoongi pulled his arms through the sleeves and then looked down, admiring the soft stripes on the garment. It was way too big on him, and it made him feel very small, and it reeked of Jungkook. 

“Do you wear cologne?” Yoongi asked, sniffing at the edge of the sweater. 

“Why? So you can go buy a bottle to spray your pillow with?” Jungkook bantered, taking a step back. 

“I was just wondering what to avoid. It’s so overpowering,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“Here I was, getting the vibe that you liked being overpowered,” Jungkook said. 

“And here I am, waiting on this drink that you’ve now made us both get changed just to consume,” Yoongi said flatly. He did finally steal an eyeful of what Jungkook had changed into. And. Oh hell. Wasn’t he already a work of art in less? Now he’s added layers, the classic white button up with a leather halter, with a goddamn black pearl choker. The tight pants with the straps and. 

His brain was short circuiting as it tried to process how sexy each piece was on their own. But all together on that refined physique? Full body glitch. 

“You look. Very. Dressed,” Yoongi complimented. In his head, that was supposed to be a really well intentioned and borderline flirtatious line. But each syllable sounded stunted as it fell from his cotton mouth. 

“Likewise,” Jungkook winked. 

He walked down the stairs and Yoongi followed once again, descending down the staircase and back to the bar. This time, the younger took up his position as barmaid, allowing Yoongi to sit at one of the expensive tufted full back bar stools. 

Jungkook gestured to the wall of alcohol behind him. “See anything you like?” He asked, his back now facing Yoongi.

“Uh-“

“Cat got your tongue?” Jungkook asked, suddenly holding a metal shaker. He filled it with ice and set about pouring in gin, passion fruit liqueur, violet liqueur, and sweet vermouth. Yoongi watched his tattooed hands work with the utmost curiosity. 

Jungkook lifted the cold shaker and did his best bartender impression. Flashing a wide smile and holding the canister near his shoulder to ensure his facial expressions weren’t hidden behind the silver. 

Yoongi couldn’t stifle a giggle as he looked on, the younger seemed like a cheerleader making expressions to the judges at competition. 

Expertly, he removed the lid and poured the pink concoction into two already placed martini glasses, no garnish. Jungkook slid one towards Yoongi, raising an eyebrow in anticipation.

“I thought most bartenders explained the drink?” Yoongi asked in an attempt to be coy, that sounded more like just confused. 

“Most bartenders usually get a tip,” Jungkook said, now placing two shot glasses on the rubber mat on his side of the bar. He carefully poured a dense butterscotch schnapps in, watching it settle without any vibration, and then the steadiest of hands he layered the Tequila Rose on top. Instead of sliding this drink, he lifted it so as not to disturb his craftsmanship, depositing it softly in front Yoongi. “I’d rather give you mine.”

“What’s this?” Yoongi eyed it, his fingers already wrapping around the cold shooter, ready to swig. 

“It’s called a Pink Pussy shot. Pairs excellent with the Alley Cat cocktail. Both selected with tender care to suit their connoisseur.” 

Yoongi’s eyes tripled in size and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to process what the fuck did he just say. 

“Oh. Uh. You’re very. Established mixologist,” he nodded stiffly, meekly watching the drink before him. 

“Don’t you want it?” Jungkook finally prodded after a minute of tense silence on the older’s behalf where he eyed the drink cautiously. 

“I’m making sure it isn’t a potion,” Yoongi finally said, picking up the shot glass again when he’d decided it certainly wasn’t somehow contaminated by a magic spell.

“What do you think it would do if it was?” The blue haired man purred, leaning forward over the bar to rest on his elbows. Yoongi swallowed thickly when he glanced up into the mirror reflecting over the bar and saw the way his ass was pushed out.

“Turn me into a girl or something?” 

Jungkook nodded thoughtfully. “If I could make a potion that turned you into a girl, I think it would take more than two layers of alcohol.” He took his shot with a well practiced backwards toss of his head, consuming the alcohol with ease. Yoongi mimicked him a second behind and lacking grace, letting it pool in his mouth and puff out his cheeks for a second before finally swallowing the mixture all the way. “But I don’t need magic potions to turn you into my bitch.”

Yoongi tried to process the words, but a series of complicated error messages flashed behind his eyes and he gave up, instead just letting the feelings of confused, embarrassed, and horny wash over him like the hot spray of a shower on freezing skin.

“What do you say when someone makes a nice drink for you?” Jungkook prodded softly, pinching the stem of the martini glass between his fingers while taking a delicate sip. Playing tenured coy. 

“Another,” Yoongi grinned. The liquid courage was going a long way for his confidence.

“You want more?” Jungkook chuckled a little. Yoongi had only just started nursing his martini, but his wide smile and eager nod had him looking like the more youthful of the two. “Hyung, if you want it, you need to ask for it,” he prompted. His eyes traced the outline of Yoongi’s lips as they pressed against the chilled glass.

Yoongi was suddenly stone cold sober. The drink clicked as the base connected with the counter, despite him trying to put it down softly. He took a soft breath in, and on his exhale, “I want it. Please. Jungkook.”

He brushed back his long hair and flashed a cheeky smile, leaning over the counter to bop Yoongi on the nose. His touch was delicate as a feather, but his fingers were hot despite the cold stem he’d been holding. “No.”

“What?” Yoongi furrowed his brow, wrapping his arms around his torso. The motion made his chair swivel, so he was casually swaying while pouting over this betrayal to be denied another craft cocktail. 

“I said no,” Jungkook reiterated. He finished his drink and placed the glass in the sink, along with the now empty shot glasses. “Are you gonna finish that? Or do you need me to finish it off for you?”

“Do you only speak innuendo?” Yoongi grumbled, but he did knock back the remaining liquid.

“Sometimes riddles too, sometimes jokes,” Jungkook nodded. 

He walked around the bar, joining Yoongi on the same side, and slid into a tall bar chair. 

“How come you won’t make another?” Yoongi tried to ask without sounding like he was whining. He wasn’t sure how successful he was at controlling his tone.

“Don’t want you to get drunk on the job,” Jungkook confessed. He darted his eyes away, upwards, holding his own gaze in the mirror above them. 

“That’s fair. I’ll take care of the dishes, too, it’s the least I can do considering I’m being paid to watch the house. And you, I guess,” Yoongi mused.

Jungkook shoved his arm hard enough to get his point across but not enough to really hurt him. “You think they paid you to watch me?” Jungkook scoffed. 

One large hand encapsulated Yoongi’s slender forearm, tattooed fingers just tensing their grip to make a point or a promise. His eyes widened but he didn’t know where to look so he just stared at Jungkook’s neck, which seemed safe, but the way that black pearl choker was laying against his summer skin was making Yoongi feel a lot of surprisingly needy feelings. 

“Then watch me,” Jungkook said smugly. His other hand pinched Yoongi’s chin between thumb and index finger, turning his line of sight to gaze upwards at himself in the mirrors. Jungkook angled his head and leaned in, Yoongi watched it happen in slow motion despite only being a matter of seconds, and was helpless to hold in the squeaky gasp as he felt Jungkook begin to kiss his neck. 

He was slow, he was calculated. He took his time nipping at his carotid, seemingly savouring  the way Yoongi’s blood pulsed faster. Traveling lower, to where neck meets shoulder, he latched on harder and sucked the skin. The hand holding Yoongi’s forearm snuck down to the wrist, and tightened. Middle finger gliding back and forth over his knuckles. 

Yoongi’s eyes fluttered closed as he moaned, and embarrassingly, bucked his hips upwards in a weak willed attempt to at least get some friction on his more than interested member. 

“I thought I said watch me,” Jungkook murmured against his skin. 

“I was,” Yoongi immediately started to argue, but faltered and trailed off as Jungkook pulled away and ran another hand through his hair.

“You like my hair, don’t you?” He smugly asked.

“That colour is very flattering for your face,” Yoongi replied like he wasn’t blushing.

Jungkook nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you, I like yours too,” he said finally. He reached out to grab at Yoongi’s hair, twisting his fingers into the dark locks. “That’s what you should say when someone does something nice for you, like makes you a nice drink, or gives you a compliment,” he gave at a tug for emphasis.

“T-Thank you,” Yoongi parrots on cue.

“You’re so easy,” Jungkook laughed, tightening his grip to pull Yoongi towards him once more and lock his lips in a kiss. Yoongi tried to take control but was no match for Jungkook, who slipped his tongue past his open lips when they pulled away for a panting breath, now sliding the muscle along his teeth and controlling the rhythm while their tongues circled one another. 

Yoongi nervously let his uncontrolled hand wander to Jungkook’s thigh, placing it there with splayed fingers. 

When Jungkook pulled away, but he kept his hand fisted in Yoongi’s hair. He turned his head back and forth, admiring the way he complied, no straining muscles attempting to fight the forced movements. 

“I didn’t want to drink more because I wanted to make sure I had your full attention.”

“Oh,” Yoongi blushed and understood . 

“Do I?” Jungkook asked softly.

“Do you what?”

“Do I have your full attention?” 

“Yes,” Yoongi said. The fingers in his hair released and pulled away. In an unconscious response, he retracted his own digits from the younger’s thigh. 

“I wish my parents had warned me about who they’d hired. I was expecting a curmudgeon, not some fluffy haired little thing with bags under his eyes and a feisty attitude,” Jungkook smiled the sweetest sugary smile and Yoongi willed himself to hold his gaze despite the blood rushing to paint his cheeks a rosier hue once more. “I also wish I had a little more self control. I would’ve loved to really watch you come undone in anticipation. But, I suppose, we’ve got lots of time. Lots of time to wait. Lots of time to make you anticipate.”

Chapter Text

Yoongi’s dick ached, pressed tight against his jeans. He couldn’t tell if it was from the threat of denial or the promise of prolonged release. Maybe both.

“I wasn’t expecting anything like this either,” Yoongi mumbled, chewing on his lip. “I was just gonna work on my music and catch up on sleep.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping now?” 

“It’s the afternoon,” Yoongi furrowed his brow at the question. “I’m not tired in the afternoon.”

“You mean, you haven’t been tired out this afternoon? Basketball wasn’t enough for you?” Jungkook was teasing him once again. Yoongi could tell he was ramping up. He wanted it. “What would it take to tire you out, Yoongi?”

He shrugged, wishing now more than ever for another drink just so he could have something to do with his stupid hands. “Jerking off makes me tired?” 

Did I seriously just say that? Echoed through his head, brain reeling at its own bluntness. Sure, he had an affinity for being the deadpan friend, but he usually wasn’t so forthcoming with such personal matters. 

“Well, well,” Jungkook was smiling again, albeit this time with a much more sinister intention. “How would you feel if I said you aren’t allowed to jerk off?”

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed.

“If you want to jerk off, don’t,” Jungkook shrugged.

“And. What should I do instead?”

“Come find me, tell me, and I’ll decide what we should do from there.”

“That… that is cruel,” Yoongi glared through his amusement. Not jerking off for three weeks? He could totally do it. As long as Jungkook locked himself in his room or stayed in another house. No problem. It was never an issue when he was alone, house sitting, it was hard to get himself in the mood while smothered in a stranger’s sheets. However, the concept of this challenge was appealing to the same defiant side that demanded his success on the court earlier. He would not lose, his winning streak was hot. “Shouldn’t be too hard, though,” he added with coquetry lacing his consonants, seeping into the vowels. “Nothing here a cold shower can’t distract from.”

Jungkook scoffed at that. “Aren’t you going to ask what happens if you disobey?” 

Disobey. Yoongi hadn’t fully understood what was happening here, but that word alone put the puzzle pieces together. This wasn’t a little game, or some flirty wager. This was control. This was Jungkook having the authority, being handed it on a silver platter, to sort out such a personal act of self pleasure. “Jungkook, I. I’ve never,” he swallowed, but his mouth was dry. “I’ve never been in this sort of. Situation.” 

Jungkook licked his lips and regarded his face fondly, the expression in his eyes softening to a more fond amusement. “Cute,” he said. “You’re really cute, did you know that?”

“You thought I was cute when I kicked your ass earlier?” Yoongi wiggled his eyebrows a little, but he’d never been very good at doing that, so he was mostly just squeezing his eyes shut back and forth. 

“I thought you were cute until whatever that was,” Jungkook laughed. “You’ll have to prove to me that you can be cute again.”

“Why should I do that?” 

“Yoongi,” Jungkook said his name languidly, as if he was drinking in the letters individually, swishing them around on his tongue for tasting notes. “Have you ever been dominated?”

“I usually top, if that’s what you’re asking,” Yoongi noticed the eyeroll his answer garnered. “What? I do!”

“I believe you,” Jungkook said, while very clearly sitting there not believing him. “Okay, do you have a safe word?”

“Mochi,” Yoongi smiled in tiny, just the left corner of his lip twitching upwards. 

“Already starting to prove how cute you are,” Jungkook nodded. “So you say that if you need a hard stop, okay? And if you want to slow down and reassess, why don’t you say baesuk, yeah? You can do that?”

He waited to keep going until Yoongi repeated the words back to him. Jungkook was still holding Yoongi’s hair, tenderly now. The warmth of his hand against his scalp was grounding. 

“Yoongi-ah, I know you didn’t ask, but I’m going to tell you anyway. All that pretty little head needs to do is listen. You look all tough, in those oversize clothes, with the scowl. But I think, in there, you’d love it if I was telling you what to do. Maybe you’d brat a little, maybe I’ll have to bend you a bit, but you already want it. The way you’ve been throwing those fuck-me eyes from across the counter. Those little quips, like you want to see what happens if you push me too far. Am I right?” He paused for only a second. “Don’t even answer, doll,” his hand ghosted over his dick, rock hard and aching against his zipper.

Yoongi exhaled sharply, hanging on to every word. A faint blush dusted his ears at how Jungkook called him out for being so simultaneously obvious and oblivious. He wasn’t the most experienced but. Whatever this was, whatever it would become, his body was buzzing. He felt like a honeycomb hive, about to be devoured by a bear. Wrecked and licked clean. Sticky, sweet, destroyed, consumed. He wanted all of it.

“The things I want to do, just seeing the way your cheeks turn red. So easy, you’re such a slut for this, aren’t you? Being talked down to, just a little? Like when someone gets in your head and makes it work for you? It’s easier that way, just let me think all the hard thoughts for you. All you have to do is be pretty. And you’re already so, so pretty,” Jungkook leaned in to kiss his neck, soft lips against soft skin. He felt the way Yoongi’s breath stuttered and dug his fingers in deeper on his thigh.

Jungkook enjoyed the thrill of the chase, but he also enjoyed making a meal of his prey.

“That was a compliment, Yoongi, didn’t I tell you how to react when someone compliments you?” He pulled away, to look into his eyes and watch his response. His tone was curious, wanting to see how much control he could exert, how much Yoongi had been listening to him when he spoke.

“T-thank you. Thank you Jungkook.”

“Jungkook-hyung,” he corrected.

“I’m not calling you hyung, I’m clearly older than you.”

“You’re right, hyung is the wrong thing for you to call me, Yoongi,” Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with devious delight. “You have to say oppa.”

“I’m not a girl!” Yoongi balked, face growing flush. He was surprised there was enough blood in his head to heat his cheeks, or maybe part of the embarrassment stemmed from how he felt himself grow even more stiff at the command. 

“You’re prettier than most girls,” Jungkook teased. “Such a pretty bitch,” he leaned back in, hovering at the nape of his neck and breathing in deeply through the nose. “I think you should come find me whenever your pretty parts need some attention, yeah? And you say, ‘Oppa, will you please play with my little clit’. Can you do that, hyung, can you come beg oppa for attention when that cocklet needs someone who knows what to do with it?”

Yoongi’s mouth had long fallen open into a wide O. He was taking shallow breaths, turned on beyond measure, trying to just stay present if nothing else. “Y-yes.”

“Yes who?” Jungkook prodded.

“Yes oppa,” Yoongi gasped and moaned as his correct answer was rewarded by Jungkook sinking his teeth back down into his neck, tugging with the hand fisted in his hair. 

“Good slut,” he kissed the hickey, finally releasing his clenched fist and Yoongi’s head in the process.

Yoongi shuddered in his seat, staring at Jungkook in upbeat prospect. 

Jungkook stared back.

No one blinked. 

“Um-“

“Don’t you have something you need to tell me?” Jungkook pressed. He finally broke their contest to look down at Yoongi’s crotch and then back up at him.

He blushed bright red, as if his face had Christmas lights installed just below the dermis, and a choked sound came from his mouth as he tried to form the words. “I. Uh. Ah.” He hung his head, now looking exactly where Jungkook just had.

Jungkook took his hand and put it on Yoongi’s chin, picking it back up. “I’m not mad, I just wanna hear you say it.”

Yoongi could barely whisper, Jungkook skimmed his thumb along his jaw and then rested it on his lower lip while he spoke. “Oppa… my. Um. My little dick. Needs. Um. Needs help.”

“Beautiful, very good job. Who needs to help it?” He pushed a little further.

“Y-you, oppa, please,” Yoongi’s transfixed look gave way, his eyes seemed to glaze over as Jungkook sweetly guided him into a more submissive space. Yoongi had expected him to be rough, hard, tough. Like the leather he wore, like the stomping boots, like the loud punk music that had been echoing through the hall. Like the taunting innuendos. 

He wasn’t. 

He was sweet. He was tender. He was soft. His dominance was in his subtlety and expectations. He knew what he wanted, he knew he would get it, and he knew that he could do that without a threat. Yoongi hadn’t realised how badly he wanted to please him until it clicked in his head that ever since he got there, that’s all he’d been trying to do. Washing his dishes, proving he was a good basketball player, coming inside when Jungkook wanted. He thought he would be this ultra-masculine, classic bad boy archetype. But he wasn’t. 

The sweetness of his voice, even while so thoroughly housing him in waves of humiliation, it just made Yoongi yearn to please him more. Make him happy. 

“You’re so easy, Yoonie,” Jungkook praised him again. It made him melt. “Wanna come upstairs into my room so oppa can take a look? See if he can help?”

He bit his lip and nodded. 

“Bet I can pick you up!” Jungkook jumped up from his chair and before Yoongi had the opportunity to attempt escape from being lifted, Jungkook had his arms wrapped around him and tossed him over his shoulder. 

Yoongi squeaked, thrashing at the sudden change in gravity, but apparently he was light as a feather because Jungkook did not flinch in the slightest. He carried him up the stairs, into his room, and dropped him on the bed in a giggling heap as he fell on top as well. 

“I didn’t think you’d be able to do that,” Yoongi confessed, looking at Jungkook in awe. 

“I can do a lot of things,” Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows and elicited more laughter from the smaller man. “Alright, let me just-“ he softly put his hand on Yoongi’s crotch, feeling how the denim was straining against his erection. Pretending to be shocked, as if he hadn’t been able to feel the bulge pressing on his shoulder as he’d carried him. “You really do have a little problem there, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Yoongi whispered.

“Is your dick already leaking?” He teased lightly, palming him harder to confirm the wetness of the fabric. “Oh, it is,” Jungkook established. He shifted, getting up onto his knees and spreading Yoongi’s legs apart to get in between them, pinning his arms on either side of his torso to prevent him from squirming away. “All the things I want to do with you,” he tutted. He looked down at him, despite his long hair falling over his face and casting a blue shadow. “All the things I know you want me to do to you.”

“P-please,” Yoongi whined, arching his back. He rolled his hips, seeking friction, and found  none. 

“I want to taste you, but I don’t think you’d be able to hold back,” Jungkook smirked. 

“I can,” Yoongi protested.

“Really?”

“Yes!” He agreed feverishly. 

“Mm, I bet that little cock is as pink as your cheeks,” Jungkook leaned down, pressing kisses all over Yoongi’s face. The warmth of his chest felt like a glimpse of the sun on a rainy day in October. 

Want vitamin D, the squishy part of Yoongi’s brain murmured.

Jungkook traced his hands down Yoongi’s sides, reaching the hem of his loaned sweater. “Knew this would look so big on you, little thing,” he pulled it upwards softly, along with the button up underneath. He pushed them so they were scrunched underneath Yoongi’s ribs, exposing his milky white skin. “You think you can last?”

“I think I can try,” Yoongi said, coming as close to admitting defeat as he was willing. 

“Hmm. I want to believe you,” Jungkook’s long fingers tapped on the button of his jeans. Even the faintest vibration it caused made Yoongi bite back a low moan. “But you’re so cute and pathetic, it’s not your fault, is it? You just can’t help it, can you?” Jungkook leaned down and licked his hip bones, where they were sticking out above the waist of the denim. “It’s only fair if I let you struggle, I suppose. But I won’t make it easy on you.”

Yoongi moaned in spite of his chagrin. 

“Musicians make the prettiest sounds,” Jungkook mused, dreamily, undoing the button on Yoongi’s jeans and tugging down the zipper. He hooked his fingers in the belt loops, giving a sharp tug, tugging the material down to his knees with ease. “Bigger than I thought,” he arched a brow and licked his lower lip. “Smaller than mine, though,” he smiled wickedly. “And look at how wet you are, isn’t that uncomfortable for you?”

Jungkook bent down and sucked the head of his dripping cock clean. Yoongi’s hips bucked upwards to chase the stimulation of his wet mouth and talented tongue, like a high schooler getting their first blowie under the bleachers. 

“J-Jungkook,” he whimpered, inhaling sharply as the younger pulled away and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Look at that, and you’ve already lasted longer than I thought. Good boy,” he praised in a low voice, using his fingers to stroke the ticklish skin of Yoongi’s sides, and then bring their lips together in a heated kiss once more. Jungkook moved slowly, lazily, changing angles. Yoongi tried to slide his tongue into his mouth but Jungkook didn’t let him, pulling away to catch his eyes, a primal lust burning behind the black of his pupils. When Jungkook captured his mouth once more, it lacked the yearning innocence. 

Yoongi wondered if this is what it felt like to be taken by an incubus. 

Jungkook thrust his tongue into Yoongi’s mouth and tangled a hand in his hair, no longer a sweet kiss, now a filthy, open mouthed make out session. It was apocalyptic. The way he manipulated the muscle around, at some point Yoongi’s eyes rolled back. 

Jungkook pulled him up, off his back, wrenching the jeans all the way off and tossing them to who knows where. Who cares where. He tugged Yoongi onto his lap, pulling away from his now reddened lips to suck marks along his throat where a collar might lie. Yoongi moaned his name when he got too close to his Adam’s apple, grinding himself against Jungkook with no reservations. 

“Suck me off?” Jungkook finally asked, tossing his head back to pant a few breaths. 

Yoongi nodded and dropped down onto the floor. He hastily removed the rest of his clothing before doing so. He knelt, dressed only in the purple bruises blossoming along his throat, and let his hands cup Jungkook’s knees before sliding with intent up his brawny thighs. Underneath his palms, the muscles twitched, a clear sign that despite Jungkook’s outward ambiguity he was also attempting to keep his desires at bay. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook hissed when Yoongi moved in closer, ghosting his mouth over the fabric of his pants, letting his tongue hang like a dog and soak the fabric until the outline of his stiffened cock cast shadows through the wet material. “Sloppy,” he groaned, undoing his pants and peeling them down. Yoongi shuffled backwards to avoid being hit by errant denim when Jungkook furiously kicked them off. 

His dick was big, the head flushed a pinkish-purple and glimmered with traces of precum that oozed from the tip. Yoongi salivated, willed his mind to snapshot. 

“Admiring your new toy?” Jungkook smirked. He lazily used his left hand to pump himself a few times, giving a twist of the wrist as he reached near the head and squeezed it tighter. 

Yoongi crawled closer once more, straightening up his back so that he could really get on top of it. He opened his mouth and, with restraint envied by even clergymen, only poked his pink tongue out to lap at the head. Swirled around the tip, never closing his lips, letting the flat panes of his tongue warm up the flesh. 

“Does it taste good?” Jungkook asked, and Yoongi nodded quickly. “I wonder how much you can fit in that little mouth, gonna stretch your jaw all the way out and you’ll maybe get halfway down,” Jungkook said. He released his dick at the mention, giving Yoongi freedom to explore on his own. 

Without using his hands, Yoongi finally wrapped his mouth around and twisted his head to the left and right as he worked his tongue against the appendage, licking so salaciously, so wet the spit was already trailing down his chin and running down Jungkook’s thick cock. He sucked suddenly and harshly, pulling a gasp from the younger, then a grunt of approval. Yoongi used his leverage to sink his mouth down further, pressing his thumb into his palm in a bid to keep his gag reflex at bay. 

He wasn’t really sure how far down he got. It was enough to make Jungkook hiss in pleasure, especially when he felt Yoongi’s throat contract around him.

Moreso when making himself gag only pushed Yoongi on, trying to swallow. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Snot ran from his nose. He kept sucking, pulling back a little, then forcing himself down more. Like he was flagellating his throat with dick. He felt so tiny and pathetic, unable to even choke himself on Jungkook’s length.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook panted. 

He finally looked up at him, a blinking seraph, mouth wrapped tight about halfway down his shaft. Spit was all over his face and Jungkook’s lap, all hot and slobbery. The noises, the squelching of the suction from Yoongi’s efforts, Yoongi’s little moans muffled by the huge member he just couldn’t mouth fuck properly. But when he looked up, through his lashes, Jungkook smiled with pride that lit Yoongi’s determination twice over.

“G-God you just want all that inside of you, do you hear yourself? Do you see what a fucking mess you’re making? Of your face, my dick, fuck. Fuck you’re such a good boy, so good for me,” Jungkook was heaving. He couldn’t resist reaching one hand down to tweak Yoongi’s hardened pink nipple, and fuck the way he arched his back and moaned around his dick sent vibrations through Jungkook’s stomach.

“Off, stop, fuck,” Jungkook finally gave up, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer with the performance. “Baby all wet between his legs? Dripping everywhere? What’s a bigger mess, your face or the tops of your thighs?”

Yoongi released with an audible pop, sheepishly used his hand to wipe away some of the drool that had accumulated all over the bottom of his face. “Jungkook,” he whined, looking down at his own dick bashfully, the way he had started leaking all over his lap again. “Please.”

“Please who?”

“Please… me?” Yoongi tried. He shakily motioned to climb up from his knees, onto the bed, and Jungkook allowed him to curl up beside of him. Yoongi kissed a trail from his shoulder to collar bone, so sweet it was easy to forget the absolute wreckage that same mouth was capable of. 

“Who am I to you? What did I tell you to call me?”

“Hyung,” Yoongi whined, growing impish as he tangled a hand in Jungkook’s hair and gave a little tug to the blue mop. 

“That doesn’t sound right,” Jungkook let his head loll to the side Yoongi was pulling at, trying to crane his neck to steal a kiss. 

“Oppa,” Yoongi whispered in his ear. His tongue traced along the shell, hot breath tickling the sensitive hairs within, eliciting a shudder. 

“There we go,” Jungkook smiled and turned to embrace him, wrap his arms around his small frame, and turn him over so he was laying on his back. “You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook whispered, taking inventory over every inch of Yoongi’s skin. The way his milky flesh so elegantly draped over his lean muscle and prominent bones. “Want me to get you ready?”

“Yes, yes,” Yoongi nodded. He blushed at the compliment, as though the look in Jungkook’s eyes had even needed words to accompany. His gaze was unyielding and romantic. Yoongi could’ve fallen apart from just the way Jungkook’s eyes roamed his body. He’d never felt such a strong attraction, and maybe that was why he gave in to every impulse, pushed himself beyond anything he’d considered with another partner. 

“Have you ever?” Jungkook asked as he returned with a small bottle of lube, squeezing it between his palms to warm up the fluid. 

“I. I told you, I usually top,” Yoongi confessed.

Jungkook barked out a laugh that made Yoongi roll his eyes, although he rushed to apologise. “Sorry I just. I heard you before but. You? Really?” 

“Maybe you’ll get to experience it. If you’re lucky,” Yoongi said, bending his knees and spreading his legs open at the sound of Jungkook uncapping the lube bottle. “Bet you’d feel some sort of way when I made you cum all over yourself just from getting fucked right.”

“Wow, someone got his bite back,” Jungkook grinned wickedly and poured the lube onto his fingers. He brought his index finger to Yoongi’s hole and watched his face carefully, he nodded in approval, and then slid inside. 

He went slow but did not still, pumping his finger in and out a little. Yoongi’s face contorted in something, vague pain, maybe apprehension, but his expression relaxed within a minute. 

“I’m gonna add another one,” the younger warned, and Yoongi gave a tight nod. The second one always did the trick. Jungkook scissored his fingers, watching Yoongi’s chest rise and fall quicker, quicker, quicker, until he was panting moans. 

“I-I’m ready,” Yoongi hitched, tossing his head and arching his back. 

“I think you need a third,” Jungkook said. He was only teasing a little at his eagerness and defiance, but mostly he did believe what he said. No way Yoongi could take him after only being stretched with two fingers. He added the digit, pumping in, out, in, out. 

Yoongi moaned louder, losing all sense of inhibition, scratching his own hands down his chest to leave twin trails of red claw marks. They matched his hickey collar, as so often sin pairs gorgeously with gratuitous grandiosity. 

The sound of Jungkook’s lube coated fingers fucking into him was perverse, borderline disgusting, and pay per view pornographic. To put a cup against the wall and listen in on the two of them right now would’ve cost the whole night in a New York hotel room. 

“That’s it, take it, what a good boy,” Jungkook spurned him on. The undertone of a growl in his voice was not lost upon Yoongi, who ever in his rapidly clouding brain, could tell the younger was hardly maintaining composure. “Think you’re ready, baby? Or can you not even think at all?” He pulled his fingers out, wiping them carelessly on the sheets, and wasted no time in repositioning Yoongi’s body. He pulled him forwards like he was weightless, grabbing both wrists with one hand and restraining them over his head. Jungkook aligned himself with Yoongi’s glistening hole, the head of his cock hot against his pucker, and then.

Nothing.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi whined, refusing to open his eyes. He wiggled his fingers, sure that Jungkook could feel the tendons shift and flex under his vice grip, but still. Nothing.

Until the whispers of Jungkook’s soft hair tickled his cheek and his hot breath was right against the shell of his ear, “Oppa’s gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll be begging me to own you. So hard you squirt all over both of us, baby. And when I’m done, I’m gonna make you clean my room, covered in filth, until I decide to make you dirtier.”

Yoongi screamed as Jungkook entered him, tossing his head back. His mind went blank. All his synapses fired simultaneously, he became aware of nothing aside from the heavenly fullness while his body stretched to its limit accommodating the younger. 

“Dumb cockslut, too full of dick? No room for brains?” Jungkook fucking laughed at him, and Yoongi could only reply with pitiful whimpers. No one had ever made him feel so utterly important and entirely inadequate, but the combination was a proper mindfuck, throwing his body into sex overdrive.

His hips were snapping to try and meet Jungkook’s, but the rhythm was all off. His mouth yearned to speak, but the words were all gone. 

“You’re so useless, stop trying,” Jungkook said it so sweetly though, talking down to Yoongi with the most tender of affections, cooing over his pathetic state. “Just let me wreck you, little thing, let me show you all you’re good for.”

A pitiful, lowly whine was Yoongi’s response. He’d long ago stopped blushing from the humiliation of the degradation, because shame had no role to play in this endeavour. Some people gush over a rope taut around the wrists, some people are pressing their thighs together while candle wax drips down the nape of their neck, and Yoongi found climax deeply rooted in his own chagrin. 

“Please, good, please,” he finally said, the words heaving out from his puffy, chapped lips. 

Jungkook kept fucking him, hard and deep, and his breathing was ragged and intense. “Is that. A question. Or do you. Want me. To call. You good?” Jungkook asked, his pace acting as the metronome to his lilt. 

“Oppa, tell. Tell me I’m good, or bad, or dumb, or more. I want more,” seemingly, once the cat released his tongue, Yoongi actually did have quite a bit to babble out. 

Strangely, Jungkook found this even more endearing. The scrappy, little emo musician and  house keeper his parents cherished and revealed in so profoundly was now a wet, blethering mess stuffed full of his dick and calling him oppa. It’s always the ones you least expect it from. Or maybe the ones you yearn for it from the most feriociously. And with great ferocity was what Jungkook acted with. 

Yet, as Yoongi blithered with his eyes shut tight and Jungkook’s tempo changing from fully feral to long and slow, bottoming out and letting his hips swell, then pulling back so he could get the full sensation of immersion once more, he wasn’t sure if he wanted more to tease or please. Never before had he been with someone who he was so keen to give them both - usually his partners elicited one side of his personality or the other. Usually, the meaner one, but hey.

“You’re so cute, Yoongi, what a pretty thing. Drooling all over yourself, aren’t you?” Jungkook finally let his wrists go, but Yoongi didn’t bother to move them, letting them continue to hang over his head. Jungkook trailed his hand down his cheek, wiping away some of the slobber that had collected, and bringing the finger coated in Yoongi’s spit to his own mouth and sucking it off. “Every part of you tastes good, you know that?” 

“Jungkook-“ he started, his eyes fluttering open. 

Maybe the degradation didn’t bring heat to his cheeks but the way Jungkook’s eyes were boring into his own certainly did. 

“W-why are you staring?” Yoongi tried to toss his head and turn away. In response, Jungkook’s hips sped up just a little bit, just enough to keep him a little more fuzzy headed.

“I like the faces you make,” Jungkook leaned closer to kiss his nose, then his lips, and a tight heat started to form under his belly button. His orgasm was fast approaching. “I can’t believe you’ve managed to go this long, baby, did you forget how to cum when you forgot how to talk?” Jungkook’s hand reached up to caress Yoongi’s hardened nipples, tweaking them a little. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I know some girls need you to play with their clit at the same time to really get the job done.”

Yoongi muffled a moan against Jungkook’s mouth, but the younger just kept kissing him, pinned down underneath of him. He was fucking him so slow now, the friction of his dick dragging against his walls was driving Jungkook insane. After fucking for this long, Yoongi to still be this tight, seemed impossible. The hand playing with his nipples moved down, wrapping around his cock.

All it took for Jungkook was some thrusts angled with good intention, knowing now exactly where every time he brushed it seemed to send a wave of goosebumps erupting over the pale man’s skin, and a tight pumping and squeeze of his palm.

Yoongi’s back arched up off the bed, his head shoved so hard against the mattress underneath of him, and he moaned so loudly and with such intensity it sounded like a fucking cliche. He came so hard, true to Jungkook’s word, it sprayed all over both of their stomachs. His legs literally twitched and spasmed, unable to maintain the bend of his knees, and the overstimulation as Jungkook continued to fuck and pump and kiss while he writhed in orgasmic and post orgasmic haze brought tears to his eyes. When he clenched all his muscles with one final, very dramatic sound, Jungkook could not hold himself back.

He shot his load, deep inside of him, crying out a mixture of “Yoongi” and “baby” that was officially his new favourite word. 

Jungkook pulled out and rolled over, totally exhausted, trying to catch his breath in the wake of his for sure number one best lay he’d ever had. Somehow, he expected Yoongi would just disappear, immediately retreat back into his hermetic grumbly nature, and it kind of bummed him out. But he knew how these things usually go, sure it would be awkward having to exist around one another for the next few weeks in this house, but he could figure it out. 

Then he realised all of that had been a dialogue existing solely within his head, as he turned to look to the left and found Yoongi staring back at him. Not just staring. He looked so tiny, all pale and soft and vulnerable. 

There was shooting your shot to get someone into bed and there was shooting your shot at giving them intimacy after, and Jungkook was instantly resolved to have his go.

“Hey,” he smiled, using his clean hand to move some of Yoongi’s hair around and keep his sweaty bangs from his eyes. “You’re, like, really cute. Did you know that?”

The way Yoongi blushed hot pink like Jungkook hadn’t been calling him a dumb whore ten minutes ago.

“M’ not, not cute,” he adverted his eyes, sucking the corner of his upper lip into his mouth, biting it between his upper and lower jaw.

“You’re suddenly even cuter,” Jungkook laughed, and now he rolled all the way over, curling his arms around Yoongi, only to roll them back with the older on top. 

“Aish, what is this?” Yoongi immediately grumbled, fighting the bonds of his captor only momentarily, before nestling his head in the crook of his shoulder like a tired kitty. “That was, uh, that was good. For me.” He finally said.

An awkward silence ensued for almost a minute, then they both broke out into a fit of laughter. 

“I’m glad it was good for you, it was awful for me,” Jungkook teased, but the way he was rubbing his hands up and down Yoongi’s bare back implied otherwise. Especially the way he couldn’t help but reach down and pinch his ass, just a little, he was only a man after all. 

“What do you mean it was awful for you?” Yoongi demanded. The roll in his eyes was audible.

“I couldn’t decide if I wanted to tease you for being too cute or make you feel too dumb,” he smiled, bending his head a little to kiss Yoongi’s hair. 

“Feel like you did both,” was all Yoongi could say, but the way his words sounded tight alluded that his come down was ending and ramping up could very easily start all over.

“Yeah? I thought you got all subby for a little bit there, does that happen to you a lot?” 

“Not really, honestly, I’m kind of. Y’know. In my head a lot,” Yoongi said. He’d reached up to twirl some fingers in Jungkook’s hair, playing with the strands and their inky darkness. “It’s hard for me to get out of it.”

“Did you like it?” Jungkook finally asked. This was the worst part. The absolute worst. The post fuck, obligatory Yelp review from a new partner. Partner? I mean. Well. He didn’t have enough functioning brain cells at the moment to even fully understand what he really wanted, so he decided to accept everything at face value. He wanted to know. He had to know.

“Did you?”

“I asked you.”

“Best I’ve ever had,” Yoongi said quietly, still playing with his hair, like he was afraid that admitting his enjoyment might somehow make the entire moment vanish. 

“You know, you can just sleep in here for the rest of the time you’re house sitting,” Jungkook tried to sound so casual and not like an utter simp, but, he way Yoongi laughed… he knew he maybe saw through the thinly veiled attempt. 

“I’d hope so,” he finally murmured. He moved a little so that his mouth was against Jungkook’s neck now, lips moving against him as he spoke. “It’ll be really inconvenient to walk from my room to your room at night when my little clit needs attention.”

He licked his neck, the tip of his tongue all kittenish, dragging along the sweat soaked skin. For however unusual, in this case, the cat had been overpowered by the mouse.