He can hardly look away. Jungkook is so utterly stunning like this, eyes bright and dark at once, skin rosy as he trembles beneath Yoongi. He sounds half-delirious with desire, and that in itself would be enjoyable, but what he says gets under Yoongi's skin, too. Even as Jungkook hastens to submit, Yoongi finds that only makes him want all the more to give him exactly what he's longing for. He's practically shaking himself, fucking Jungkook faster, driving in deeper, the air heavy with the sound of skin against skin and the way they both gasp for breath. He rests a hand at Jungkook's waist, grips him tight enough he thinks he might leave his fingerprints burned into his skin.
"Such a good boy," he groans. "Taking me so good. You feel — fuck, Gguk, like you were fucking made for me." It's not like he has anyone else to compare him to, not like Yoongi really wants to have any grounds for comparison, but, god, he can't imagine anyone else could feel like this. Nothing could be better than the way they fit together or all the beautiful little sounds Jungkook makes. Every mewl, every keening cry, sends sparks dancing across Yoongi's skin, a shiver down his spine. How anyone can sound so gorgeous, he doesn't know, but he loves it, loves angling his hips just so to pull another whine from Jungkook or dragging his nails along Jungkook's thigh for a gasp, until he's learned how to play him like the best instrument Yoongi's ever known.
But no matter how intensely Yoongi might play at times, he knows he won't get anywhere if he doesn't take care of his instruments, and nothing and no one could be as precious to him as Jungkook is. He lets go of Jungkook's waist, lifting his hand to smooth his knuckles over Jungkook's cheek where he can see the faint indentation that tells him what the younger is doing. "No biting," he pants, letting his hand trail down to rest against Jungkook's throat. He doesn't apply any pressure, doesn't dare try until he's done some kind of research to learn how to do it safely, but he hopes that the very suggestion he might choke Jungkook will be enough for now. "I like hearing you."
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"Such a good boy," he groans. "Taking me so good. You feel — fuck, Gguk, like you were fucking made for me." It's not like he has anyone else to compare him to, not like Yoongi really wants to have any grounds for comparison, but, god, he can't imagine anyone else could feel like this. Nothing could be better than the way they fit together or all the beautiful little sounds Jungkook makes. Every mewl, every keening cry, sends sparks dancing across Yoongi's skin, a shiver down his spine. How anyone can sound so gorgeous, he doesn't know, but he loves it, loves angling his hips just so to pull another whine from Jungkook or dragging his nails along Jungkook's thigh for a gasp, until he's learned how to play him like the best instrument Yoongi's ever known.
But no matter how intensely Yoongi might play at times, he knows he won't get anywhere if he doesn't take care of his instruments, and nothing and no one could be as precious to him as Jungkook is. He lets go of Jungkook's waist, lifting his hand to smooth his knuckles over Jungkook's cheek where he can see the faint indentation that tells him what the younger is doing. "No biting," he pants, letting his hand trail down to rest against Jungkook's throat. He doesn't apply any pressure, doesn't dare try until he's done some kind of research to learn how to do it safely, but he hopes that the very suggestion he might choke Jungkook will be enough for now. "I like hearing you."