Sometimes Yoongi doesn't quite understand why Jungkook trusts him so much. He doesn't know what he's ever done to prove he's worth trusting like this. Still, the fact remains that Jungkook does, and it's so good, so pure, so loving that Yoongi is overwhelmed by it. Jungkook doesn't just accept or like the hand at his throat; he presses into it, as eager for this as for anything else, and Yoongi vows — albeit very quickly and distractedly — to do all the research he can very soon, to make sure he can choke Jungkook properly later without hurting him.
For now, thumb stroking against Jungkook's throat, he ducks forward to press a kiss to his forehead. "Made for me," he says again. He's too far gone to clock why that seems to have struck a chord with Jungkook, but not enough to miss that it did, and, god, he means it. Nothing feels as good or as right as this, the way they're tangled together, as inseparable physically as they are in their souls. They fit together in a way he's pretty sure people rarely do, and, anyway, he doesn't care if fucking everyone finds this eventually; the fact remains that there's something impossibly special about what they have.
He's starting to tremble himself, breath falling in heavy pants and groans, knowing he's close, too, but he's not about to stop before they both come. He could reach down and stroke Jungkook, get him off that much faster, but he doesn't want to let go of his neck, and anyway, he's kind of curious if Jungkook will come largely untouched. "Come for me," he murmurs, hips crashing against Jungkook's. "So good, all mine, you're mine." He's said a thousand times that he belongs to Jungkook, heard the same in return, but he's not sure he's ever followed that through to its logical conclusion aloud — that Jungkook belongs to him. That he's his. Something about the very idea sparks something in him, strikes a nerve, adding to the increasing pressure running down his spine, tugging at his gut. They've both spent too long without someone to belong to or anyone who belongs to them. How lucky they are, he thinks, gazing down at Jungkook, to have each other. "So close, Gguk. Wanna feel you come for me."
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For now, thumb stroking against Jungkook's throat, he ducks forward to press a kiss to his forehead. "Made for me," he says again. He's too far gone to clock why that seems to have struck a chord with Jungkook, but not enough to miss that it did, and, god, he means it. Nothing feels as good or as right as this, the way they're tangled together, as inseparable physically as they are in their souls. They fit together in a way he's pretty sure people rarely do, and, anyway, he doesn't care if fucking everyone finds this eventually; the fact remains that there's something impossibly special about what they have.
He's starting to tremble himself, breath falling in heavy pants and groans, knowing he's close, too, but he's not about to stop before they both come. He could reach down and stroke Jungkook, get him off that much faster, but he doesn't want to let go of his neck, and anyway, he's kind of curious if Jungkook will come largely untouched. "Come for me," he murmurs, hips crashing against Jungkook's. "So good, all mine, you're mine." He's said a thousand times that he belongs to Jungkook, heard the same in return, but he's not sure he's ever followed that through to its logical conclusion aloud — that Jungkook belongs to him. That he's his. Something about the very idea sparks something in him, strikes a nerve, adding to the increasing pressure running down his spine, tugging at his gut. They've both spent too long without someone to belong to or anyone who belongs to them. How lucky they are, he thinks, gazing down at Jungkook, to have each other. "So close, Gguk. Wanna feel you come for me."