Jungkook's eyes are narrowed, torn between closing them to focus fully on the sensation and wanting to watch every move Yoongi makes. In the end, he opts for the latter, lips parted and mind buzzing as he watches the deep pink of Yoongi's tongue brush over his cock, the way Yoongi's eyes flutter shut, like Jungkook's the best thing he's ever tasted. Small moans slip at every brush of Yoongi's tongue, punctuated with brief gasps whenever Yoongi switches direction, the teases building low in Jungkook's spine.

But any restraint is torn away entirely when Yoongi sinks himself down over Jungkook, lips pressed tight and tongue wet, hot, rough where it brushes over the swell of the head. "Ah, fuck," Jungkook groans, voice drawn out and rising at the end of his breath. His toes curl, knees pressed clumsily out, legs askew like the wings of a butterfly, giving Yoongi space. Keeping Jungkook's hips from bucking. He doesn't feel that he has the permission — no, doesn't feel that he can move without ruining something sacred, the fan of Yoongi's lashes serving as the curtain to Jungkook's altar.

"Please," he gasps, stuttered prayers on his lips, hands trembling as they fight against the restraints. "Please, Yoongi. You feel — please, don't stop."