lovestrippedbare | 𝕞𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

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yoongi

𝕞𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

The last time Jungkook had touched the keys of a piano was well over a year ago. Pianos were temperamental instruments, in a way. Even if the strings were perfectly tuned, the music would not come without the right touch; a piano would easily reject anyone who abused its keys, rough and tinny to the ear.

For months, Jungkook had pleaded with the little piano in the back of their classroom, stumbling over chords and measures that were once so familiar. He knew he was pressing all of the correct keys in the right time, in the right order, but there was a certain dissonance to the sound, vibration cutting deep into the jaw. But never once did Jungkook lose patience with the instrument; it wasn't the piano's fault, after all. Day after day, he carefully shut the lid. Week after week, he would wipe away the dust which had settled over the weekend.

In many ways, the piano and Yoongi were one. Inseparable. And so Jungkook felt that he could not leave it, not over the summer, not even when his absences became obvious to the teacher, and the classroom the first place they would search.

He had come on his birthday, the bench creaking slightly under his weight, though he could not bring himself to touch the keys that day. Instead, he waited until the last stream of light failed to stream through the dirty panes of glass.

But the last time was after that, when Jungkook had worn his teacher's patience too thin. The first hit knocked him to the ground. And finally, the second hit landed, as it should have all those months ago. A third, a fourth — just as Jungkook had always suspected, not a single one hurt.

I was right. You shouldn't have protected me. And where are you now?

The last time was over a year ago, and now Jungkook stands in front of a small music store, staring at the silhouette of a piano tucked away in the back. Years ago, they had talked about visiting a shop. Talked about making the rounds to hear each piano's unique tone, talked about finally getting a chance to feel what it was like to press the keys of a grand. How they would be dressed up, but only a touch more than usual — showing their aspirations without getting ahead of themselves.

They never made it.

It's been years, long enough that there are days when Jungkook almost forgets. Days when he wakes up, and all that lies in wait is the monotony of his alarm's buzzing, the ache of his shoulders as he hefts his backpack. But then, his thumb brushes against the band still worn around his pinky finger.

There are days when Jungkook almost forgets, but most days are more of a mix between fear and anger, different shades of grief that all leave Jungkook struggling to breathe. What drove him away from the piano was guilt, but what keeps him from coming back is the growing sense of futility.

He can't visit his father's grave for fear that Yoongi might be waiting there too.

Anger wins today's tug of war when Jungkook's gaze drops, finding a rock by the sidewalk — or maybe it's a piece of concrete from all the construction in the area, Jungkook isn't sure and he doesn't care. All he knows is that the surface is rough, digging against his palm as he picks it up, tossing it a couple of times in the air before throwing all his force into a throw.

The glass cracks, and then it shatters, spilling across the pavement and glittering under the streetlights. (Jungkook remembers — splintered glass, bright green; Taehyung wasn't aiming at the street, not really.)

Eventually, when the tinny alarm doesn't draw any flashing lights or police sirens, Jungkook climbs over the window's ledge. Walks towards the back of the store and lets his hands act for him — gripping the familiar edge of a piano bench, the legs shuddering as they drag against the carpet. Even now, he lifts the lid carefully, exposing polished lengths of black and white; his fingers stop trembling the moment the tips rest against the keys.

This time, when Jungkook pleads with the piano, it answers. Soft and solemn, Jungkook leans in, eyes sliding to a close as he seeks out the melody, plaintive treble keys bright against the reassurance of the bass' rolling chords. Pathétique leads Jungkook with its steady rhythm, serene until it's suddenly not — until it chases after bright optimism, and Jungkook's fingers stumble.

And he can't continue.

It's the first time that he strikes the piano without precision, standing suddenly from the bench as his palm slams down, fingers stretching over the octave, notes clashing into noise.

Regret spills forth immediately, breath punched from Jungkook's lungs as he sits back down, the bench letting out a low groan under his weight.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, sniffing and letting out a slow exhale. "You didn't deserve..."

He tries again from the top, but this playthrough lacks any of the calm from the first, fingers getting ahead of Jungkook's mind, falling into muscle memory. But muscle memory captures so much more than the perfect performances — it also takes every repeated mistake and etches it into the brain, taking it from misstep to flaw.

Jungkook flinches when he hits the wrong key, chord still pressed in his left hand.

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Yoongi wavers, uncertain. It's hard to believe that anyone needs him now, that he could ever again be the kind of person someone needs. All he can do is let Jungkook down in time. Even in Jungkook's version of events, it's Yoongi who made the choice to strike the teacher, Yoongi who ran away. How could Jungkook need him? But, God, how badly he wants that to be true.

And maybe Jungkook is right, at least in part. Yoongi did all of this for Jungkook's sake. At least, that's how it started, but it's his own cowardice that's kept him away. Maybe back then it was true that Jungkook's life was better for his presence in it, but now — with the mess that he is — Yoongi can only imagine it's nostalgia and love that make Jungkook think Yoongi can be of use to anyone now. The life he has to offer is fragile and dangerous, a tenuous existence of privation.

"I need you, too," he says, squeezing Jungkook's hand, as if to reassure him of the truth of it. His life without Jungkook is unending misery. "But I'd still hit him." It's not that Yoongi sees that moment as somehow heroic. Saving Jungkook from a few blows can't have saved him from the other attacks he must have sustained over the years. But he remembers the rush of anger, the sickness in his stomach, and he knows he couldn't have done anything else. He might have done it to protect Jungkook, but it was purely selfish, a release for all the anger that came from not being able to do more. If anyone here is lacking or to blame, it's him.

"And I don't blame you for that," he continues. "I never have."

"I didn't think you would," Jungkook admits. It would have been easier, Jungkook thinks, if Yoongi had been angry with him. If Yoongi had indeed come to the realization, after the haze of new love faded, that all that he did for Jungkook wasn't worth it — because that, at least, is something that directs all the grief and anguish elsewhere. What hurts the most now is knowing how much Yoongi blamed himself for everything. How the hope that they had so tenuously built the night before had vanished in an instant, leaving Yoongi with only regrets that he mulled over for years.

How many dark days had Yoongi suffered through? Hundreds, surely. Probably every single night. Knowing that, Jungkook thinks that it's practically a miracle that Yoongi's here now, in his arms. If Jungkook had been tempted more than once to let it all go, to simply fade from existence, no doubt Yoongi's felt the same.

It's hard to wrap his mind around. How much Jungkook knows they're right for each other, how much he believes that they make the world better for one another, and yet how far they've managed to fall. He's tired of thinking about loss. He's tired of musing over all of the ways things could have gone differently. There's no turning back time anyway.

"Please don't blame yourself either," Jungkook whispers, sitting up straighter and pressing his lips to Yoongi's, careful at first but then quickly deepening. To find the right words is difficult, and so Jungkook can only find himself turning to touch, seeking out all the ways they fit together before. He raises a hand, brushing up the side of Yoongi's neck and weaving through his hair, cradling the back of Yoongi's neck and urging him close. "Yoongi-ah."

Guilt flickers in Yoongi’s heart, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Blaming himself is easiest, most natural; it makes the most sense. It’s hard not to do as Jungkook says, but he can’t let go of the shame.

Kissing Jungkook is much safer than thinking about all the ways he’s failed him, so he does, letting himself get swept away as Jungkook kisses him deeper. “Gguk,” he whispers, and maybe he should keep holding back. Maybe he should tell Jungkook he’s not expecting anything from him tonight. Maybe he shouldn’t take advantage of Jungkook’s vulnerability just because he misses the feel of skin against skin, misses the intimacy of being trusted with Jungkook’s body.

Instead he nudges forward, nose brushing nose, and then finds his lips again. “Missed you,” he murmurs. His hands travel down Jungkook’s chest to tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers tracing underneath to skim against warm skin. It’s not an answer to Jungkook’s plea, he knows that. He hopes Jungkook won’t notice or press the matter. “Missed this. Just holding you. Being with you.”

There's a flicker of guilt that passes through Jungkook's chest, seeing now that it's entirely possible Yoongi hasn't been with anyone else, hasn't had any type of intimacy since the two of them parted years ago. Jungkook's turned away all thoughts of dating, but there have been kisses here and there, mostly desperate attempts to fill a void, to numb the ache and loneliness. None of them really worked, once the moment passed. None of them even began to compare to this, the barest skim of Yoongi's fingers already enough to send a rush to Jungkook's head, soft gasps on his lips.

"Missed you, too. Being together. So much," he breathes, leaning back on the couch and sliding his fingers underneath the hem of Yoongi's shirt, palms pressed flat against skin. As his hand travels higher, Jungkook notices little differences. The sharper pattern of Yoongi's ribcage, his spine more noticeable than before. Sobering though it is, none of it serves to entirely slake Jungkook's desire as his hands sweep around to the front of Yoongi's chest, fingers easily finding his nipples and tracing small circles.

Maybe this is already taking too much liberty; Jungkook finds himself afraid to ask.

"Is this," Jungkook murmurs, another squeeze of his chest at even needing to ask. "Is this okay?"

It might be smarter to turn Jungkook down, to say he's not ready for this. Even as he considers it, Yoongi knows he won't. He doesn't want Jungkook to think that's his fault, too, and, anyway, Yoongi wants this. Jungkook's touch is gentle, exploratory, and he wants to feel it everywhere. Proof that he's here, that they still work. Proof that he's still alive, even as he lets himself waste away, body and soul.

"Yeah," he says, a soft sigh as he nods. "Yes. Touch me. Please." As good as sex is, as much as he misses it, he craves the intimacy of it even more. It's not like he hasn't thought about other people in his time away from home. He's considered it. In the end, though, a one-night stand takes more effort than he can muster and, even at 22, he feels far too old for clubs where he might find interested strangers. He's more comfortable in bars, and, anyway, a stranger couldn't give him what he's really looking for.

He traces fingertips along Jungkook's stomach, tugs gently at his waistband. Somehow, touching Jungkook so intimately is enough to make him stir, desire rising when he'd thought he'd all but forgotten what to do. Leaning forward, back arching, he kisses Jungkook again, tugging again at the hem of his shirt to try and remove it. "Is this okay?" It only seems fair to ask and give Jungkook an out.

He's not used to taking the lead — not now, and not before. Previously, doing so always sent a sort of thrill down Jungkook's spine; it would always be the result of his desperation, too long denied to be anything but eager. Maybe there's still a touch of that now as Jungkook quickly pushes Yoongi's shirt up and over his head, returning his hands to Yoongi's back as they drop his shirt to the touch, eyes roaming as hungrily as his fingers do. Yoongi is thinner now, but the frame is largely the same — still pale skin that he wants to put his lips to, wants to drop bruises against like he does now in his dreams. Like he did before.

"Definitely okay," Jungkook breathes, lifting his arms to let Yoongi remove his shirt, shivering as the cold, stale air of the studio hits his skin. He curls a hand around the back of Yoongi's neck, coaxing him closer, wanting nothing more than the press of skin to skin as he leans back to lay himself flat on the couch, a flush already rising to his cheeks. His hands alternate between a determined steadiness and the occasional tremble; it's still a little hard to convince himself that this is all real, even though touch tries to make it painfully clear that it is.

"Want you," he gasps, hips stuttering as Jungkook tries to hold himself back, to not push too hard or too fast with how he feels, desperate to remind himself of the intimacy they once had. Needing to know that it's something they can have again. "Min-ah, please..."

Yoongi's been so anxious to hear his own name, he nearly forgot this nickname, nearly forgot how it feels to hear such need in Jungkook's voice. For a moment, it overwhelms him, breath catching. Maybe he should pull back. Maybe this is too much like making a promise he can't keep, knowing he doesn't deserve this kind of trust anymore.

Maybe he'll feel guilty later. Right now, selfish though it might be, he wants this too much to hold back.

Jungkook is beautiful as ever beneath him, maybe thinner than Yoongi's memories, but still stunning. Still, somehow, his. Yoongi presses flush against him, the warmth of skin against skin as intoxicating as ever, and leans in for a kiss, fingers carding through Jungkook's hair. In his fantasies, he's always torn — missing this intimacy, anxious even about the fairness of relying on memories he may no longer have a right to. With Jungkook under him, the ethical line vanishes.

He wants to ask if Jungkook is sure. To say that this isn't why he asked him here tonight, that it's okay — more than — if they simply sleep, curled around each other the way they used to. But the desperation is evident in Jungkook's movements, in his voice, and Yoongi doesn't doubt this, at least. Instead, he shifts lower on the couch so he can kiss his neck, trailing down to his clavicle, sucking gently at the skin there. His hand roams over Jungkook's skin, mapping out the planes of his chest, thumb brushing over his nipple in soft circles. The taste of his skin, the soft sounds he makes, leave Yoongi feeling more grounded than he has in a long time. This, this is real, nothing Yoongi has to question or doubt, solid and trembling beneath him.

"Want to taste you," he says, lips brushing over Jungkook's ribs as he makes his way lower still. He glances up, head lifting slightly to meet Jungkook's eyes. "Is that okay?"

He remembers being more proactive, once. A time when the simple touch of Yoongi's hands would spur himself to action. It's not that he doesn't want it, nor that he hasn't used his hands already to stoke the fire — but now that Yoongi's hands are smoothing over his chest, over his skin, Jungkook finds himself at a loss, wanting to revel in the reminder of what it was like to be held by him. There are a few scattered bruises over his body, none of the direct patterns he used to suffer at his father's hand; all are now the consequence of fights Jungkook gets in, a result of the irreverence he shows those whose paths he crosses.

Jungkook would much rather have Yoongi mark him; he shivers at the thought.

Only once Yoongi slides further down the couch, his breath fanning over Jungkook's abdomen, does Jungkook move at last, hands reaching out to card through his hair, knuckles tracing down the curve of his cheek.

"Yeah," Jungkook murmurs, brushing his thumb over Yoongi's lips, a small smile working its way to his own. "Please. I've missed being with you. Not just for this, but..."

In a way, this would all be so much simpler if it were all Jungkook wanted from him. It would hurt, not to be loved anymore, but he could understand the desire. They were always so good together in bed. Even when they were fumbling through early exploration, it was good, as if they understood each other as instinctively as they loved. So if Jungkook only wanted to feel that again, he would get it.

But it was always that extra layer of intimacy that made it work so well, the love they shared spilling over into something tangible. "Everything," he says, quiet against Jungkook's stomach. It was never just about Jungkook's mouth on his cock; it was the way he watched him as he did it, the way he seemed to take such pleasure in Yoongi's pleasure. The love shining from him until he almost seemed to glow, golden and luminescent in the quiet of Yoongi's bedroom. It's the love he's missed more than anything. Jungkook touches him, so soft, so sweet, and Yoongi's breath catches again. In the old days, he remembers wondering what he did to deserve such love. He still doesn't have an answer; if anything, he's more confused than ever.

He inches lower, resting his head against Jungkook's thigh, not yet moving to undress him further, though his fingers hook lightly in Jungkook's waistband. "I know. I missed..." He sucks in a sharp breath, turns his face to hide against Jungkook's leg. "Fuck, I missed everything about you." After a moment, he lifts himself up again, starting to unfasten Jungkook's jeans, bending down to press a kiss to his stomach.

"Everything," Jungkook echoes. He's missed everything. All of it, from the companionable silences they shared while doing homework, to the rhythm of Yoongi's breathing against his chest when they were lulled to sleep. From the days when he would try everything in the book to coax a laugh out of Yoongi, to the quiet intensity of their shared practice at the piano. He misses even the dark days, when it grew so difficult that they hardly knew how to breathe, but there was trust there, there was love there, even softer than usual as they fell into one another. And of course he's missed this, the way they've always instinctively fit with one another, reading each other as well as they could the notes on a staff.

He wants to believe that they can return to that point. Already, this moment is reminiscent of so much, nights spent curled in Yoongi's bed, hushed for fear of alerting his father. Without so many words, they had to rely on reaction. Every sharp intake of breath.

I felt incomplete without you, Jungkook wants to say. Wonders if it's too much to do so. But it's true enough that in spite of all the hurt and the distance that time left, there's a part of Jungkook that feels more at peace than he has in years. Like he no longer needs to be constantly searching.

"I feel like I'm the one who's come home," Jungkook murmurs, barely above a whisper. He's not even sure if Yoongi can hear. Without pause, he cants his hips, against the soft press of Yoongi's lips. "Want you so much."

Maybe it's true, in some respects. Maybe Jungkook is the one coming home to him and this is where they'll start their life together. Maybe Yoongi can finally get it right. With Jungkook underneath him, his voice hardly more than a whisper, the room already feels brighter. Maybe he can have this, one good thing in a miserable life, but the only good he needs.

Jungkook lifts his hips and Yoongi tugs denim down around his hips, pressing a kiss to his thigh as he sits back. Casting the jeans to the floor, he lingers where he is for a few moments, hands running soothingly along Jungkook's shins as he takes him in. He's thinner and still littered with fading bruises, sending a flare of anger through Yoongi (how could he leave Jungkook with that man? How could he leave him alone in that house?). Even so, he's handsome as ever in Yoongi's eyes.

"You are home," he says, soft as his fingertips travel the inside of Jungkook's thigh, as he leans back over him to press a kiss to the jut of a hipbone. It's not much of a home, but maybe it could be. Hope is hard to come by, but he feels it now, flickering small and bright as a firefly. Inching back down the couch, there's limited room, but Yoongi finds he likes even that, the narrow space keeping them close together, his body bracketed by the frame of Jungkook's legs. There's a strange sense of security to it. He mouths at the outline of Jungkook's length through the fabric, his own desire swooping in his stomach, and reaches to finish undressing him. There's a tumble of nerves in his gut; even their first time together, he wasn't quite this unsure of himself. Excitement and need outweighed any anxiety, but back then, they could have done anything wrong and laughed their way through it. It seems to him like a lot more is riding on his shoulders this time around. Still, he wants.

He presses another kiss to Jungkook's hip, gazing up at him. "Still so beautiful."

By now, Jungkook's pretty sure that so much of this has been forgotten on his part, his head falling back against the arm of the couch and breath quickening as Yoongi's lips brush along the length of his cock, warm even through the fabric. Wanting Yoongi is a familiar ache, but the way that Yoongi touches him now — it's either different or Jungkook's simply forgotten, the way the fire seems to rise right under his skin, the air slipping between his teeth somewhere between a sigh and a hiss as he arches under Yoongi's fingers. He hasn't left himself much time for fantasies in the past year; sensuality is more a series of motions that he mindlessly goes through in an attempt to let off stress. It hasn't felt like pleasure, exactly, in a long time.

"Need you," Jungkook gasps, threading his fingers through Yoongi's hair and tilting his head up to watch, jaw slack and gaze transfixed. He remembers... the way it looked, Yoongi's eyes dark and wanting, Yoongi's skin pale under his hands. He remembers the love. But there's a desperation that seizes tight around his chest and Jungkook isn't sure how to satisfy it other than being together, other than wanting Yoongi now. He tightens the hold of his thighs on either of Yoongi's sides, shivers when Yoongi's lips drop to his hip.

Yoongi calls him beautiful, and Jungkook wonders if it's in the way that a butterfly is beautiful, even when its wings and torn and injured. Can Yoongi see how broken he's felt? His hands, somehow, seem to find all the right places. Sealing the cracks, piecing him back together.

"I love you," he breathes, blinking rapidly as he brushes a palm against Yoongi's cheek. "Please, Yoongi..."

It's been a long time since Yoongi last did this — not since that afternoon in his last lifetime, the pair of them curled up in bed, fantasizing about a future together that he erased with a single decision. Maybe, maybe, they can get it back. Even now, though, it's hard to imagine, possibilities flickering and fading in the back of his mind. Does he still know how to do this?

But, god, how he wants this. Even that comes as something of a surprise, simply because he so rarely has both the energy and the inclination to get himself off these days. Having Jungkook in front of him, though, he can feel how hard he's getting already. Like his body remembers what he hasn't let himself think of in some time. Running a hand along Jungkook's thigh, he lowers his head and drags his tongue over the tip, a soft moan escaping him even before he takes him into his mouth. He's not used to this anymore, taking his time acclimating to the feeling of Jungkook's cock filling his mouth, heavy on his tongue, the taste familiar as an old memory.

His hand comes to rest, fingertips pressing into Jungkook's thigh as he bobs his head. Gaze lifting, he meets Jungkook's eyes, whimpering, desire twisting down his spine. He always loved this, looking up to see how badly Jungkook wants him, the way his skin flushes, his eyes half-lidded, need writ clear across his features. There's something deeply reassuring about it; some things haven't changed.

The sudden heat surrounding his cock takes Jungkook by surprise, even though his eyes have been trained on Yoongi the entire time. Somehow, he still doesn't expect it — he gasps, one hand grabbing at the upholstery of the couch, the other fisting in Yoongi's hair, keeping himself busy to stop his hips from bucking. There's a flush that blooms over his cheeks, a twist in the pit of his stomach as Jungkook feels something not entirely unlike embarrassment for having forgotten so much. He feels clumsy, green again, his mind distantly trying to recall what he used to do, wondering if he's falling short.

But one thing doesn't change — the undercurrent of desire, bright moans falling from Jungkook's lips. He remembers needing to be quiet, once. Remembers the stretch of pale walls around them, remembers how conscious they were of every footfall they could hear from the hall. Here, the room is large, and all sounds have their echo; as Jungkook hears Yoongi moan, so he responds with a whimper of his own, loud and desperate as his head tilts back and eyes slide to a close.

"Fuck, you feel. You feel so good, Min-ah. So fucking good at this," Jungkook breathes, his legs writhing as his hand gives Yoongi's hair a slight tug. He's not going to last long at this rate, heavy against Yoongi's tongue, the press of his lips slick and tight.

"I'm close," he hisses behind grit teeth, tilting his head back to watch Yoongi, a thread of reluctance in his chest. He doesn't want this to be over so soon, wants the moment to last forever — he would revel in it, if only it could.

This might be the most relaxed Yoongi has felt tonight, so singularly focused on Jungkook's pleasure that it dulls the voices of doubt. Watching from this angle, taking in the soft expanse of Jungkook's throat as his head falls back, the fingers twisting in his hair — there's something comfortingly solid about this. Here, at least, even out of practice, he knows what he's doing. Tongue swirling over the head of Jungkook's cock, he knows he's doing something right by the way he hisses and moans. There's a certain relief in that.

There's life in it, blood pulsing, heart racing, desire flooding through him, all anchoring him in this moment. There's no room for uncertainty now, no need to question what's smart, what's best. He's desperate to be touched, desperate to make Jungkook feel good. The room feels more occupied, more like a home, than it ever has.

To think he'd planned on coming back, having a drink or two, and going to sleep. Will he ever be able to sleep in here again, Jungkook's soft cries echoing through his memories?

Part of him wants to slow down now, to draw this out, edging Jungkook until he can't take it anymore. It might just be that he wants to be good at something for a change, to get something right here. The desire to see Jungkook come is stronger, though. Humming contentedly, knowing how good that vibration can feel, he maintains a steady pace, hand stroking from hip to thigh. Maybe they'll be okay after all.

Edited 2019-03-26 03:25 (UTC)

The hum of Yoongi's voice is soft, felt more than heard, and Jungkook finds himself struck by how gentle Yoongi is being, even in the heat of the moment. Two years they've been apart, with little idea of how the other might be faring. Two years over which their feelings had time to settle and fade — and yet tonight, it doesn't feel like they have at all. Perhaps Jungkook no longer has a sense of presumed security, of having Yoongi just a call or text away, but somehow he finds himself feeling so safe here regardless. Finds himself comforted by the fact that Yoongi still loves him. Still holds Jungkook as he did before.

Jungkook's chest heaves as desire coils low in his gut, hands tugging at Yoongi's hair, sharp but also careful not to pull too hard, lest he hurt Yoongi in the process. His heels continue to dig against the couch, a soft, low moan building in his throat. "I love you, Yoongi, I'm — I'm gonna come, Yoongi, please—"

With a soft gasp, Jungkook's head tilts back against the armrest, hips trembling and bucking slightly as he comes, an extended climax as he bites down on his lower lip, groan barely restrained. By the end, his limbs are trembling, sapped of their strength even as Jungkook reaches out for Yoongi's cheek and strokes gently with his thumb.

"I wanna kiss you," he breathes, eyes briefly fluttering shut before he fixes his gaze on Yoongi again, on the damp skin around his lips, glistening even in the low light.

So much of this evening has left Yoongi feeling, at best, a bit rueful, more often guilty and hurt, plagued by uncertainty. This, though — this is perfect. He can see that he's doing something right; he can see, in every gesture, every glance, that Jungkook still wants him. Still loves him.

And it's a little bit terrifying, but it's so good, too. Maybe Jungkook is right. Maybe he's finally come home to Yoongi, though Yoongi's been the one missing all this time.

Watching him writhe and arch, Yoongi's struck not by shame, but, for a moment, with something like pride and relief. Easing slowly back, he licks his lips, trying to clear away any last traces before he shifts his weight, crawling back up the couch. "I love you," he whispers, though the words are still tinged with guilt in his mind. After everything he's done — or hasn't done —

He pushes the thought aside, leaning in to kiss Jungkook instead, slow and deep. As badly as he wants to be touched right now, he savors the moment, comforted by the easy glide of Jungkook's tongue against his own. So much has changed, but this still feels so right. Half-draped over Jungkook, he lifts his hand to his cheek, his heart leaping. Happiness. He'd nearly forgotten how that feels.

"I love you," Jungkook echoes, somewhere between a whisper and a murmur. Suddenly, the moment feels right — complementary contours finally finding their place. They love each other, always have and always will, and to experience that now in the press of skin to skin is just as fitting as it was the first time. No, perhaps more so. Jungkook knows that so much of his very being began to shift; for all that he and Yonogi were well-suited in the beginning, over those six months, they made space for one another in a way that only soulmates do. Moved together. Became practically one. And though time has worn both of them a little at the edges, it's only a matter of time before they mend that gap, Jungkook thinks.

Tonight's already a good start.

Jungkook's hands lift to cup gently along the sides of Yoongi's jaw, just in time to drink in his kiss. He moans softly at the taste of himself on Yoongi's tongue, and though the sharp need of desire has passed, Jungkook doesn't find himself wanting any less. The steadiness returns to his arms now, and Jungkook slides a leg up and around Yoongi's hip before one hand snakes down, palming heavily at Yoongi's erection through his pants before seeking out the waistband and tracing along the hem.

"Wanna taste you. Wanna make you feel so good," Jungkook breathes, fingers already deftly slipping the button free and nudging the zipper down, slipping underneath to tease at Yoongi over the fabric of his underwear. Jungkook's own breath shivers slightly, feeling a small, damp spot on the fabric. "Will you let me?"

For a moment, Yoongi can't help the flash of guilt, tugging at his heart. After the damage he's done, it almost seems unfair for him to get anything out of this. The way Jungkook touches him now, dragging a groan from Yoongi's throat, though, seems like a pretty good argument for just going with this. He can and will feel bad later, but it's been a long time since he felt good. Some days, he's not sure he feels anything at all.

"Fuck, yes," he sighs against Jungkook's mouth, kissing him again. "I want you — wanted you for so long." Even these memories have become torturous with time; he's never been able to separate the physical from the emotional when it comes to sex, which means fantasizing about the past only leads to present guilt and shame. Here and now, though, with Jungkook touching him, the pleasure is too immediate to let his mind wander too much. Instead, he presses his hips into Jungkook's hand, seeking more.

With Yoongi's confirmation, Jungkook pushes himself up on his elbows, deepening their kiss; he snakes a hand around the back of Yoongi's neck, cradling him, keeping him close. There's a small rush of breath whenever their lips leave even the slightest of gasps, but for the most part Jungkook simply focuses on tasting him, on mapping out the contour of his lips, tracing the tip of his tongue along teeth. Carefully, he wraps his arm around Yoongi's waist, then rolls both of their bodies carefully over, laying Yoongi gently down on the couch and sitting up on knees and feet, taking a moment to just absorb the view.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Jungkook murmurs, voice rough and low as he bends down, nudging Yoongi's pants down his legs until he's able to kick them away, taking his underwear in the process. Jungkook rakes his fingers through his own hair, pushing it back to make sure not a single bit of his view is obstructed as he then runs a hand down the length of Yoongi's chest, fingers teasing a little longer around a nipple before coming to a rest by the cut of his hip. "I thought I remembered, but... still takes my breath away."

There's a smile that briefly pulls at Jungkook's lips, though he doesn't give it the time to fully grow, doesn't know if he can manage it when his heart still feels like it's aching. Instead, Jungkook leans down, using his lips to trace the path his fingers took only moments ago, slowly shuffling down the length of the sofa until he's face to face with Yoongi's erection, hand wrapping around soft, heated skin and stroking from base to tip.

The smile that crosses Jungkook's face transfixes Yoongi, brief and wistful as the last days of autumn. It tugs at his chest, reminds him of the promises he made long ago. Making Jungkook smile, making him laugh, making him happy — these were his responsibilities, and the thing he most wanted to do besides. And maybe, on some level, they're happy here tonight, but he knows deep down that it's not the same now.

Not, at least, yet. The love is still there, though, that much he's sure of now. If they're willing to try, maybe everything can still work out — not in the way they envisioned before, but together all the same.

Soft, sweet kisses turn his focus from speculation to sex again, gaze fixed on Jungkook as he travels lower, sliding down between Yoongi's legs. It's hard to think himself beautiful now; too much about him has changed and most days he feels as if he barely even looks alive. What confidence he used to have in his looks has faded, like every other ounce of confidence he once possessed. But Jungkook touches him and that doesn't matter right now, a groan catching in Yoongi's throat as his head tips back, hips bucking instinctively before he can think better of it.

"Gguk," he says, soft, reaching out to stroke his fingers through Jungkook's hair.

The sudden jolt of Yoongi's hips brings a grin to Jungkook's lips, arching a brow as he glances up at Yoongi, convinced now that the elder has missed this just as much as Jungkook has. He presses one hand down on top of Yoongi's hip, the heel of his palm pressed at the top of his thigh, keeping him gently pinned as Jungkook leans in, experimenting first by swirling his tongue around the head of Yoongi's cock, sighing and moaning at the taste of him. Is it the same? Has it changed? Jungkook isn't quite sure — his brain tells him that there's something less familiar in the moment, but with the passage of time, it's hard to say.

It's new, but not entirely so — a bitterness and headiness that Jungkook recognizes, that he's only ever known from tasting Yoongi.

He sucks gently at the tip, pulling back to lick his lips, careful to mind any chapped skin before Jungkook leans back in and sinks his mouth over Yoongi's cock, a soft groan in the back of his throat as he takes Yoongi as deep as he can, sparking tears in his eyes, a slight stretch in the back of his mouth. He lingers there for a while, focused on the slide of his tongue before he pulls back up, then sinks down, gradually picking up a steady rhythm. Only once Jungkook's sure that he can ward off any gagging does he turn his gaze back up to Yoongi's face, watching for reactions, any kind of guidance.

Jungkook reaches up with his free hand, tracing his fingers around Yoongi's nipple, up to his collarbone, smoothing out over skin.

For just a moment, guilt flickers across Yoongi's expression, a weight in his chest at the thought that this is unfair. He abandoned Jungkook, abandoned all of them, and it's more than he deserves to have Jungkook trying to make him feel good now, after everything. He hurt them both and badly; it makes no sense to follow that with pleasure. Makeup sex would be one thing if they'd just had a little spat, but the level of cruelty he's displayed with his absence is nothing short of criminal.

But Jungkook is touching him, holding him down, and then his tongue, his mouth, are on him, around him, and all Yoongi can do is let out a whimper that turns into a moan. He's never been able to think clearly with Jungkook sucking him off and, for now, the worries fall away again — never far out of reach, but banished far enough to the back of his mind that he can enjoy the moment. His fingers curl in Jungkook's hair, his heart racing, breath coming in little pants. "Fuck," he sighs, "Gguk, fuck, like that."

Realistically, he knows, he won't last very long. It's been a long fucking time and Jungkook is still so good at this; it's like their bodies remember what they've tried to put behind them, what they could never really forget. Still, he means to enjoy every moment, as if they'll never get this chance again.

"Always so fucking good to me." His hand drops briefly to Jungkook's cheek before sweeping back into his hair again. There's little as mesmerizing or arousing as watching Jungkook like this, so deliberate and focused and yet half-dazed with lust as he sinks his mouth over Yoongi's cock over and over. He can't remember the last time he felt so absorbed in something so good. "Love you so much."

The more he hears the sound of his nickname — one that only Yoongi has ever used for him like this, voice deep and rough — the more memories start to flow through Jungkook's mind. All the times they've been intimate before, the sheets mussed underneath their weight, a flicker of smiles and the way they moved together, always together. Even from the start, the both of them clumsy and so inexperienced, there was never a moment when one of them left the other behind. It strikes Jungkook now that this is what he's always loved most about their intimacy — it's never been a one-sided grab for pleasure. It's always been about the exploration, learning each other's bodies and rediscovering what they've known before, slowly becoming one.

Jungkook can feel the way Yoongi trembles beneath him, breath ragged and thin, a heavy pulse underneath where his thumb presses by Yoongi's thigh. His gaze pulls away for a few seconds, singular focus paid to the length of Yoongi's cock, tongue pressing close and tight to the weight of him before curling just underneath the head, each time he draws back. By the time Jungkook glances up at Yoongi's expression once more, he finds himself unable to contain a slight whimper at the look in Yoongi's eyes, half-lidded and wanting, lips parted as though Jungkook is all he's ever needed to see.

There's a slight performative aspect to sex, Jungkook thinks, no matter how much the two of them are in sync.

Perhaps in the way this is, as much as any words could be, a declaration of their love for one another. That much hasn't changed, and Jungkook redoubles his efforts as soon as he hears those words soft on the shell of his ear — love you so much.

He loves Yoongi, too. There was no point ever trying to deny it.

Jungkook lets out a hum, though it sounds on the cusp of a whimper to his own ears, sinking down again and again to try and pull Yoongi close. He wants to watch the climax — those few moments for which there's nothing else in the world but the two of them, no worries and no fear.

In a way, it feels a bit like the first time, like they're still discovering each other. Maybe they are. Maybe they have to learn each other all over again; maybe they still have a lifetime to do so in. Yoongi doesn't dare linger on that thought for long, couldn't even if he wanted to, not when Jungkook looks and feels so fucking good. It's hard to think clearly about anything, other than the fleeting thought that the sounds Jungkook makes are almost as intoxicating as the way he works his tongue over Yoongi's cock. Both make him feel as if there's nowhere else Jungkook wants to be, nothing else he wants to do.

Groaning, Yoongi reaches out to clutch at the couch, his other hand curling in Jungkook's hair. "So close," he gasps, eyes falling shut. They don't stay closed for long, though. Yoongi can't resist watching Jungkook, mesmerized, gaze locked on Jungkook's own. His breath catches, his heart racing, pounding in his ears. Jungkook doesn't need to say anything. Love is in every glance, every touch, every sound he makes. "Gonna come, Gguk, I'm — fuck —"

His whimper sinks into a low moan, his head tipping, back arching, as he comes, his hand pulling tight in Jungkook's hair without his meaning it to. Pleasure sweeps over and through him, and in the moment he sees stars, it almost feels like the last two years have fallen away entirely.

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