There's too much to take in all at once, the cool brush of air against damp skin as Yoongi withdraws, the deep red flush that's already risen to the surface of the skin. Jungkook licks his lips, suddenly heady with the thought that only Yoongi can ever touch him there — only Yoongi will ever leave a mark that looks like that, clearly left from the lingering touch of lips and tongue.

But no amount of a mark can keep Jungkook's eyes from roving over to Yoongi as he starts to stroke himself, legs pale and lean, fingers long and gripped tight. He drinks in every last detail — the perfect lines of Yoongi's body, shadows cast from various angles, the contrast of skin to skin. The way his lip looks, pursed underneath the press of teeth.

"Of course I want you to touch me," Jungkook murmurs, dizzy from the sight, his vision swimming. He can feel himself leaking already; the absence of touch is almost painful. "But watching you is... everything. Fuck, Yoongi. I wanna taste you so badly."