02. 💣

[starrystarrynight]

Wild Child
Sugakook
3605 words

Jungkook’s eighteen.

Yoongi has to remind himself frequently, because if he doesn’t do that he’ll lose whatever grain of respectability he’s managed to hold onto over the past few months. He’s fought tooth and nail to maintain it, stubbornly clinging onto the belief that he’s still a semi-functioning adult who has his shit together. Who has no problem in making practical, healthy life decisions. Who wouldn’t be at all tempted to do anything to jeopardize the relationships that actually matter to him.

All of those things were a given before things started with Seokjin’s brother. Yoongi can accept the fact that he won’t be winning any best friend of the year award, but that doesn’t make the secret any less damning--or any less difficult to keep. Some days it feels like an actual weight at his side, a nasty little thing that gives pointed jabs whenever Yoongi finds himself in another white lie. As if he needs any more reminders.  

Jungkook’s eighteen. But the last time Yoongi saw him was nearly four years ago before he left for college, back when the kid was scrawny and still obsessed with Nickelodeon, existing on the perimeters of his focus. The last thing he had expected to see coming back home was Seokjin’s cute baby brother suddenly fill up so much space in the room, now several inches taller than him and sporting the striking, youthful kind of features he saw splashed atop glossy men’s magazines.

Oh, and he acquired thighs. God, did he have thighs.

Jungkook’s eighteen, and Yoongi won’t touch him. Call it self-preservation, call it delaying the inevitable, but that’s the only way he can justify the heat that follows a single, well-aimed look from the high schooler. Bullseye every time--and no hands it is.

At first, Yoongi thought the younger boy would fight the condition (“It’s not like Korea, hyung--I’m already legal here.”), but he proved to be an unexpectedly willing participant. It didn’t take long for the mental calculations to happen, doe eyes growing decidedly less innocent when Jungkook refigured Yoongi’s restraint into a language he understood: a challenge.

“That’s okay. There’s still lots we can do,” he had assured, looking pleased with himself, while Yoongi sort of wanted to throw his body out of the bedroom window.

He was leaving his sanity in the hands of a teenager who had muscles in places Yoongi didn’t even know existed. Of course he was fucked.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch Jungkook. It’s that he’s never wanted anything more. More than finding that old box of CD’s at his parent’s house. More than a Chicago that doesn’t have below freezing wind chills or a Daegu that doesn’t leave him homesick during the holidays. More than proving to Namjoon, once and for all, that Agust D isn’t an unfortunate rap name.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what it would mean if he went ahead and acted on all the impulses stirring fitfully inside of him every time Jungkook so much as walks in the room. He barely understands what’s going on now.

Jungkook seems to know, though--and he had spent the whole summer exploring their lots they can do. Kisses against the shell of Yoongi’s ear, rosy chapstick lips warming up pale skin that--to the younger boy’s endless amusement--just never takes to the sun. Sometimes he would boldly claim Yoongi’s waist out in the open, testing the waters, only drawing back at the sound of approaching footsteps. There were gazes that always lingered just a bit too long, that could make practically any social interaction feel like an exercise in torture.

And when he dragged Yoongi into the bathroom during his parent’s Fourth of July party, promptly locking the door and shoving the older man onto the toilet seat, the only fireworks Yoongi saw that night were behind closed eyes, violent, gorgeous bursts as Jungkook sucked him off for the first time.

Not to say that Yoongi didn’t have his fun, either. He became quite partial to the boy’s school tie, using it as leverage to keep Jungkook exactly where he wanted him at any given time--choking on his dick, arched into pretty, depraved angles on his own bed, so many possibilities. One day he had spent the better part of his afternoon laying beside the kid, pressing lazy filth into his ear just to see the way his jaw clenched, if he could harden from his voice alone. Jungkook didn’t disappoint--and he didn’t last long, either.

It’s only gotten worse as Yoongi’s departure date looms closer, to go back to his Daegu apartment to figure out what it is he can do with a Creative Writing degree and all the music in his head. He doesn’t even act surprised anymore when Jungkook barges in unannounced, and his grumbles about the boy’s lack of knocking (really, a lack of regard toward his privacy in general) have long since lost their bite.

“Do you always make that face when you’re writing?”

Yoongi glances up at the source of the unexpected/expected intrusion, watching Jungkook walk inside his room and flop gracelessly down on his bed. He’s still wearing that mustard yellow school uniform that, objectively, shouldn’t suit anyone, ever. Yoongi doesn’t understand how Jungkook manages to look good in it, and something in his stomach is immediately triggered at the sight of the younger boy splayed out on his comforter like that.

“It’s the only face I have, so get used to it,” Yoongi answers flatly, swiveling his chair back to face his desk, where it’s safe. “I thought you had soccer?”

“Cancelled,” Jungkook says, breathing out a long sigh. “Coach is sick.”

“That’s too bad,” Yoongi murmurs, scribbling some more lyrics into his notebook. Honestly, concentrating on anything else when Jungkook is around is usually short-lived, and Yoongi doesn’t exactly hold high expectations for himself in that department. Sometimes when Jungkook comes by he’ll ask what he’s working on, or he’ll chatter away while Yoongi listens to Korean rap that’s too fast for the kid to understand anyways. But he doesn’t get that feeling now, especially not when he all he hears is Jungkook shifting behind him, the silence dragging on.

“You’re leaving on Friday, right?”

This time, Yoongi slowly turns to the bed and stays put. “Right,” he nods, although it’s still a little strange to think about. Surreal, even. He hasn’t put any effort into packing, despite his mom’s nagging--and for once, it isn’t due to his idleness. He just genuinely keeps forgetting his three months at home are almost over. Apparently, time flies when you start a sordid gay affair.

“Isn’t it annoying, going back and forth between countries?” Jungkook presses, something curious in the set of his brow. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just live here?”

It isn’t the first time Jungkook’s asked him questions like these, intent in a completely different way than usual, and they always leave Yoongi wondering. “Traveling isn’t that bad,” he ends up shrugging. “And I like living in Daegu...just haven’t decided if I’ll stay long term yet.”

Jungkook gets quiet again, thoughtfully plucking at his comforter. Whatever he seems to be mulling over, the moment quickly passes, and he moves to sit back up, legs swinging off the side of Yoongi’s bed. There’s a telltale glint in his eyes, the one Yoongi is weak for, the one he knows Yoongi is weak for. The corners of his lips lift in a soft, unassuming smile as he reaches out to roll Yoongi’s chair closer.

“Hyung, you can write anytime. I want us to have fun on your last few days.”

Jungkook’s always the first one to undress, impatient with the buttons and clasps of his uniform, but he likes to take his time with Yoongi. Maybe it’s because he’s so receptive to it, shivering at the thorough attention Jungkook pays to his chest against his worn T-shirt. Jungkook slowly rubs up and down, fingers snagging on the dark buds peeking through the white cotton, toying with his nipples until Yoongi’s breathing turns shallow. Jungkook simply looks on, no longer smiling, before roughly hiking up his shirt.

“Fuck,” Yoongi grinds out, head rolling back against the chair when Jungkook’s tongue dives in next to his fingers, sucking him in hungrily. “S’been a while.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jungkook quips, punctuating with a couple bites that literally make Yoongi jerk in his seat. The kid’s bunny teeth haven’t changed with time, thank god, but they don’t fucking mess around. Yoongi has to grip the armrest just to manage through the sweet stings fluttering down his chest, marking up his small belly.

“We were getting too obvious.”

“Please. What could happen?”

“Seokjin walks in and skins me alive? Isn’t that hypothetical scenario enough?” Of course Jungkook chooses to have these discussions when Yoongi can’t properly make a case for himself, panting under the boy’s relentless mouth--which also just happens to be inches above the pretty obvious tent in his jeans.

“He won’t find out,” Jungkook hums, the exact same thing he had first said weeks and weeks ago. “I trust us.”

Yoongi’s 100% sure he doesn’t trust either of them.

But that doesn’t mean he plans on stopping.

Jungkook, to his credit, at least is consistent in his refusal to even consider that as an option. It’s no different now, the boy eventually pushing Yoongi’s shirt up and off his body, flinging it into some pile he’ll forget about packing for a little while longer. When his hand smooths all the way down to Yoongi’s lap, palming his half-hard cock, it might as well be game over.

“Can we…?”

Yoongi glances up, meeting the other’s expectant gaze. Jungkook’s still sitting on the edge of his bed, down to nothing but briefs and a thin undershirt, neither of which leave much to the imagination. His tanned skin is even more stark against the pale clothing, tie hanging loose around his neck, legs instinctively spreading at the way he’s being watched, all flushed cheekbones and needy anticipation and Yoongi’s head is a mess because he’s gorgeous. He’s so fucking gorgeous.

“Yeah,” he manages to breathe out, because what the hell else is he supposed to say?

Jungkook tugs him into bed, and Yoongi follows. He supposes he should feel grateful for the fact that the younger boy decided not to be adventurous today and pull him somewhere else just for ‘the fun of it.’ Bathrooms, closets, even the diner a couple blocks away were all privy to at least one encounter or another, despite Yoongi’s insistence that no, he really did want to go there just for the burgers, thank you very much.

Then again, maybe it isn’t that surprising. There’s something different in today’s mood in a way he can’t explain, but can certainly feel as Jungkook guides him on top, their bodies naturally falling into place like old puzzle pieces.

Soccer practice wasn’t cancelled at all.

Yoongi knows in that bone-deep kind of way he hears grandparents talk about sometimes, and he’s not sure which is more alarming--that despite all his friends’ jokes, he might actually be turning into an old man, or that he suddenly got the sensation because of Jungkook.

It’s all too welcome when Jungkook goes back to touching him, forcing every other thought out so all Yoongi can focus on is how incredibly warm his fingers are, tracing the outline of his cock through his boxers. Jungkook had wasted no time shucking off his pants, and that’s something he is grateful for, relief and tension twisting dangerously in his blood as the boy keeps teasing.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs, rutting up gently into Yoongi. He’s hard too, from next to nothing, and the mess in Yoongi’s head gets that much messier.

“Need more,” he grits out without thinking, already having a difficult time in holding his body up, hovering any sort of distance above Jungkook. Everything in him burns for movement, for anything, and Jungkook must take pity on his hyung because suddenly there’s an impossibly tight heat surrounding him, smearing precum all over the length of his cock. The slick sounds only get Yoongi more aroused, opening himself up further as the boy works his way up and down every single inch. Pauses, then uses two hands to do it.

“Shit, hyung,” Jungkook laughs, a shaky little sound that makes Yoongi twitch in his grasp. “How do you feel bigger than what I remember..”

Jungkook’s eighteen, and the weight at Yoongi’s side turns into a completely different kind of physical ache whenever he says shit like that. He wants to touch him. He wants to touch him he wants to touch him he wants to touch him and never stop touching him.

Yoongi’s knuckles turn white clenching the mattress, struggling to keep himself steady as his other hand reaches for the tie still loosely secured around the boy. Fingers tangle in the silky material, and Yoongi wordlessly yanks it up against the pillow. Jungkook lets out a shuddering gasp as his neck is pulled taut, stretched out so Yoongi can drink in the attractive curve of his nape sloping into a sharp jawline, veins visible and pulsing hot.

“Feels good,” Yoongi admits, voice thick. Jungkook stares up at him with a glazed expression, as if he’s already forgotten the question he had asked mere minutes ago.

His hands, however, never miss a beat--jerking Yoongi off faster, slick skin on slick skin that seems to be driving him just as crazy as Yoongi. Jungkook writhes underneath him, or as much as he can in the elder’s firm hold, hips desperately searching out the same pleasure he’s giving, knowing he won’t find it from the same source.

Fire licks up Yoongi’s spine as he continues to keep him, watch him, imagining what it would be like to taste all the sweet spots he knows are buried underneath his skin--to give him what he really wants. Because he could do so much more than this. So fucking much. Describing it was precisely what made Jungkook come undone the last time they were in this bed, embarrassingly, perfectly hands free.

“Touch yourself.”

Jungkook doesn’t need his permission to do so--and he would never ask for it. But that doesn’t erase the electricity that shoots through both of them at his words, something like validation in Jungkook’s impossibly dark eyes.

Besides, it’s better getting off together. Isn’t it always?

The younger boy tugs his cock out of his briefs like he’s a dying man reaching for water, stroking himself into a small frenzy, the muscles in his arm flexing and shifting and--fuck, that alone could make Yoongi lose it. He’s also refused to let go of Yoongi, hungry enough for the both of them as he keeps pushing them closer and closer to the edge. Sweat gathers in the dip of his collarbone, beading along his forehead from all the stimulation, and what he wouldn’t give to just indulge, to fucking touch...

“Yoongi,” the boy whimpers beneath him, shuddering uncontrollably as he bucks into his own fist--and Yoongi knows. The kid’s been worked up for much longer than he has, probably before he even stepped foot in the bedroom. He’s done so well. He’s so good. All Yoongi can do is tighten his grip against the tie, watching it start to dig into Jungkook’s throat right at his pulse point. After those praises start pouring out, hot breath against hotter skin, it’s already far too much for the teenager to compete with.

Fingers fall slack against Yoongi as the boy’s orgasm rips through him without any warning, coating his fingers before he can even pull back to see. The impatient little creature is true to form, that’s for damn sure. And despite the heat swooping low in Yoongi’s stomach, the fact that he’s been painfully hard for what feels like ten years (and all of them being Jungkook’s fault), he can’t help but loosen up into a grin at the sight.

Jungkook tumbles bonelessly back against the bed, a collection of shaking muscles and limbs once the high starts to ease. “Oh my god” is the only substantial thing that comes out of his mouth, like the wind’s been fully knocked out of him. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from lightly smacking against Yoongi’s shoulder, in what he can only assume is a simultaneous thank you and why would you do this to me.

Yoongi only chuckles. “That good, huh? Forget about me that soon?”

He expects another hit, but Jungkook just opens his eyes slowly, so slowly, catching on the older man with a sharper intensity than before--if that was even possible. “I want you to come on me.”

Well, that’s one way to continue ruining his life.

“What?” Yoongi nearly chokes on his tongue, thoughts racing. He’s never let him finish like that. Ever. Hell, Jungkook barely survived swallowing his cum the one time he steeled himself to do it, acting like he was going off to his own personal war. Jungkook brushed his teeth three times afterwards and flossed until his gums were raw and still complained the aftertaste was there. He refused to eat anything for the rest of the day. For his part, Yoongi found the whole ordeal hilarious--but that was neither here nor there.

“Are you serious?”

“No, I lied,” Jungkook rolls his eyes in equal parts exasperation and amusement. “I meant do it on your Kumamon collection.”

“Okay, three figurines don't make a collection,” Yoongi counters, immediately on the defensive for completely the wrong reason. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You have more stuff in your closet,” Jungkook says, smirking in that stupid way of his that also happens to be infuriatingly attractive for no good reason at all. “Pajamas, too. But don’t change the subject.”

“Brat,” Yoongi mutters, which seems like a good enough comeback to save his honor (and that of his poor Kumamon toys) when all he can focus on is the echo of Jungkook’s words in his ear. And, you know, the fact that he’s been left high and dry, Jungkook abandoning his dick in favor of hoisting himself up further against the pillows.

The boy settles back comfortably, all limber and sated, eyes only on Yoongi.

“I mean it. Come on me.”

While he wouldn’t exactly mind being told an additional time (or several times), Yoongi’s own patience is effectively shot at this point. Arms now completely turned to jelly, he rocks back until he’s on his knees instead, sitting back on his ankles. The position leaves him hovering over the younger boy again, just inside his spread legs, which are only stretching further in encouragement.

Yoongi’s heavy, rock solid in the palm of his hand, breath stuttering as he gives himself a couple measured strokes. From his vantage point he has the perfect view of Jungkook’s thighs, thick and spread obscenely wide, the boy’s ass tucked just underneath, absolutely nothing hidden with the way the briefs have been shoved away. Jungkook’s so shameless about it too, dragging a languid hand down his chest to play with his spent body. Little keens escape his throat as he touches his softening cock, still hypersensitive, Jungkook’s eyelashes fluttering prettily.

He’s eighteen--how is he fucking eighteen?

“Shit, kid,” Yoongi rasps out as though it pains him, in absolute awe over every single inch of the boy. He can’t even settle on one thing to jerk off to, pace quickening. “You look so hot like this, look so good for hyung. Gonna make you look even better.”

Jungkook’s soft, answering moan comes like a punch to the gut, Yoongi bracing a hand against the headboard because all of a sudden it’s far too much. Every time has been incredible with Jungkook this summer, every shared moment branded into his skin, but nothing has ever felt this good. The kind of good that makes him completely forget why he ever cared at all in the first place, because this good is real and wild and alive, and how could there be anything wrong with having that feeling fill you up until it overflows?

Yoongi lets it happen (as if he has a choice)--does exactly what Jungkook asks for, one long, wrecked groan as he spills all over the boy’s thighs, abdomen, chest. He leaves nothing untouched, drawing out the pleasure for as long as he can, as hard as he can, until there’s nothing left inside of him to give. Until there’s nothing but Yoongi himself, small and ruined, slumping on his back next to Jungkook.

“I think you officially broke me this time,” he acknowledges after he finds his voice again, somehow, amidst all the wreckage. Jungkook laughs at the scratchy words, cleaning himself up before rolling across the mattress like he's back to being a little kid, huddled close to Yoongi’s side.

“Good.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Means you have to stay.”

“I’ll visit,” Yoongi hears himself saying, way too honest, strangely almost reassuring. He knows Jungkook had just been playing around, that it was clearly meant as a joke, and yet…he wonders.

He also wonders if Jungkook can feel his heart pounding when the younger boy shyly hooks his chin on top of his bare shoulder, offering nothing more than a simple “You better.”

It’s only after they rest there for a while that Jungkook seems to remember it, drawing himself even closer to Yoongi’s ear. He shares it like it’s one more secret between them, the playful little whisper awakening that thrill in Yoongi all over again.

“You know, hyung...I’ll be nineteen when you come back.”