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It numbs— Jimin has always thought— the bittersweet haze of soju lining his lungs. It leaves him that bit freer, tongue that little looser, and want to pool within. Yet it’s that same desire that leaves his heart to sink, heaviness lining his chest in a leaden weight with little reprieve on the horizon, and at twenty-three he shouldn’t be so caught up on it— Taehyung has always told him in due course it’ll happen— but as the command to drink left Seokjin’s lips in an innocent daze, what dagger coils within seemed to twist, dripping crimson regret into his veins. Jimin can’t quite say he ever thought much about it prior to the past few months, studies taking precedence over socialising, never one to find another to lie with beneath worn-in polyester, but watching his best friend find others to love leaves him that little disjointed and wondering just if love never finds him, could something else take its course?
Sex.
Quite an arbitrary concept really, something Jimin had never fancied partaking in until details tumbled from Taehyung’s tongue, then Jeongguk’s, then seemingly all those he knew mentioned it somehow . Perhaps in passing, perhaps conversations grazing Jimin’s ears leaving his mind all but consumed with it, but it’s something Jimin has never experienced, and that simple fact leaves guilt to settle with each passing breath. He shouldn’t rush, he knows, and it’s a concept built on societal standards he’s never been one to subscribe to, but he can’t get rid of that feeling tugging in his mind, persistent and aching, as if without it, he’s somehow failed at adulthood.
He sits on Taehyung’s threadbare sofa, all those he’s been drinking with staggering to bed but he can’t quite muster the courage to do so, the round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ in his mind as an almost taunt, that he was the only one whose soju never touched his tongue. So he lets what’s left in his hand line his throat, head thrown back as a sigh finds its part, yet he isn’t alone as Yoongi keeps a close eye on him— a man older, Taehyung’s brother who Jimin can never quite figure out; an enigma. Smart and handsome, a crush born in youth and never quite finding its falter, and perhaps it’s this that spurs him on into baring just all that leaves nights despondent.
“You alright?” Yoongi asks, as gentle as ever. Just as the insistence of the sun setting over jagged waters, Yoongi’s voice never changes, an unwavering warmth woven through each vowel that falls.
Jimin shakes his head, perhaps a little too harshly as his head spins and hair tumbles against his cheeks, prompting a little chuckle from Yoongi beside him.
“Seokjin hyung knows I’ve never fucked.” He mumbles, clambering for what small droplets remain in the bottle. “Careless fucking question. I don’t know why he asked everyone that—”
“Hey— hey , don’t feel ashamed. It’s not something you ever need to do, Jimin-ah. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it but it’s upset you and that’s not alright.” Yoongi soothes, a palm finding its tentative rest against his spine, right between his shoulders in grounding assurance that Jimin welcomes, leaning back into his touch.
“But I want to. I want to lose my virginity but I— I don’t know. I never fucking trust anyone enough to or something. Maybe I should just find some guy at a bar and let him fuck—”
“No. Jimin-ah, that’s dangerous.”
Jimin laughs, soft yet strained and settles hurt to pool within Yoongi’s chest. “ God , I shouldn’t be telling you all of this, I’m sorry, hyung. Must be weird to be talking about this with your little brother’s best friend.”
Yoongi shakes his head, the palm on Jimin’s back drawing soothing lines, a firm touch prompting small sighs to tumble from parted lips.
“Jimin-ah, I’m a dominant. I’m never one to shy away from talking about it— in fact, I prefer to talk about it if people ever need it. I’d prefer they talk to me because I know .” Yoongi’s voice seems to pierce what haze settles, never demanding yet leaving Jimin to turn to him with wide eyes and parted lips, distant hope that perhaps— even if his thoughts are liquor-lined— it may all change with a simple question, one lingering against his tongue and seemingly never able to be bitten down.
“Oh?” He settles on, not quite able to bare all with his mouth all but filled with cotton, time slowing around him and he knows he’s had too much, its taste deceptive mixed with the sweet fizz of soda, and once the lines begin to blur from reality, it’s simply too late. But he’s still of sound mind, thoughts never jumbled despite fatigue settling, never quite drunk yet teetering on its border, a fact Yoongi can quite clearly tell.
“I don’t do it so much now but I’ve been a dominant for a while. It’s good to be in control and care for someone who lets go. There’s something beautiful in that trust, I think.” Yoongi hums, a small sip of his own beer, bitter against his tongue as what tension strings between them grows palpably thick with each passing breath in silence.
“Would you fuck me?” Jimin says, breaking what tensity lines their skin. It’s an off-hand comment, one perhaps Yoongi would mistake for a joke and leaves small puffs of laughter to fall. Yet as he turns to Jimin, he sees his stance remains unchanging, a tease never woven into his eyes as sincerity takes hold. “Would you take my virginity?”
“You really have had too much soju, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi begins with a sweet lilt, fondness never faltering as he gently pries the empty cup from Jimin’s grasp, but Jimin simply shakes his head as he lets Yoongi place it on the table before them.
“I trust you, isn’t that what I need? I trust you’ll take care of me, hyung.” And perhaps Yoongi would deem himself a weak man presented with someone he’s always found pretty. Pretty little eyes, pretty little lips, giggles that have always left his heart to stammer against all that confines it, but it’s simply that, and whilst Jimin’s eyes do all that they can to plead, Yoongi could never take it— never intoxicated. But he also knows his words bear truth, that trust does string between them in golden strands, a kind born from living adjacent through years of mutual acknowledgment with Taehyung the bridge for their lives to entwine, and how foolish would Yoongi be to deny Jimin the safety that he knows he craves? Because it’s one that he could provide in spades.
“You— you really want me to?” It falls a little softer than intended, disbelief etched through each syllable that tumbles, but Jimin’s nod is firm and unwavering, and Yoongi’s inhale is sharp, sitting in the sheer weight of what engulfs him. “I’d like to talk more about this in the morning, yeah? We’ve both had a bit to drink and—”
“I want it if you do.” Jimin chokes out as if it’s his only chance to finally rid himself of what ails him. A burden he no longer wishes to carry, and a fear settling that should Yoongi leave him now, the regret of never doing enough to keep him in his grasp would sink into his veins.
Yoongi’s palm finds its rest against his spine once more, that little lower now, firmer and more trusting, soothing what leaves shivers to wrack Jimin’s frame.
“And that’s okay, but I don’t like to make decisions when I’m impaired, Jimin-ah. I’d like to properly talk to you all about this, and if we agree to it, I want us to both be very clear about our expectations, our limits— what we’re comfortable with…”
“So… so is that a ‘ yes ’?” Jimin asks, voice desperate and wavered, akin to the softest breath of spring’s newborn breeze.
“I’ll talk with you tomorrow. So it’s not a ‘ no ’.” Yoongi can’t quite bite down his smile, relief leaving Jimin’s cheeks crimson-flushed and eyes glazed, as if finally he can settle; finally succumbing to what fatigue lines him.
“Thank you, hyung.” It’s whispered and perhaps barely there, yet the only sound to permeate the stillness that shrouds them aside from shallow breaths, and as Yoongi watches Jimin’s face soften, he wonders just if this may be the best decision he’s ever held in his tender palm.
“Let me get you to bed, you seem tired, Jimin-ah.” And Jimin nods, standing on shaky limbs, a small stumble prompting Yoongi to hold him that little tighter in support. “I’ve got you, Jimin-ah.”
If their conversation hadn’t taken place, perhaps he’d never have noticed how warm Jimin feels in his grasp, and perhaps he’d never have noticed just how right Jimin feels beside him. Jimin stumbles, a small step separating the living room into tiles, one Yoongi’s toes know all too well through a childhood of limbs meeting their fall.
“Careful, let hyung take care of you, hm?” It falls laughter-lined, petal-soft and never taunting, gently guiding Jimin into the kitchen. Yet he wonders that with sobriety, will Jimin’s mind change, and when morning blankets the Earth in its distilled rays, will he ever turn to look at Yoongi the same? “Sleep in my old room, alright? I’ll sleep on the sofa. The others would’ve taken the spare rooms and I want you in a bed.”
“S’okay.” Jimin tries to protest yet it’s futile, dying in his throat as soon as he turns to meet Yoongi’s gaze.
“No, Jimin-ah. I’ll get you in bed and bring you some water in— you’ll need it.” Yoongi hums, his voice a soothing salve to what leaves Jimin’s head to spin, and as he guides him to his old bedroom— neat and upkept— Yoongi moves back the cotton sheets for Jimin to clamber beneath.
“Thank you ‘yung,” Jimin manages, head lolled to the side as a small smile tugs at his rose-dusted cheeks, sweet and demure— a vision that Yoongi wishes never to part with. Divinity itself could never quite compare, he distantly thinks; a man whom he’s never held the courage to unravel, now so delicately in his grasp and aching for more.
“I’ll be back with water but sleep, alright? Sweet dreams, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi tucks the cover beneath Jimin’s chin to stave off what chill lines the air, and as he leaves, he sighs, releasing what breath he never knew left his lungs lifeless.
It’s a solemn thought, he dares to believe, an answer so simple yet seemingly so far out of sobriety’s reach; Yoongi the man to assure and house security, and Jimin finally ridding of what burden lines his shoulders. He knows Jimin never needs to but in the same bated breath, sometimes— despite intentions— opportunities never present themselves, and sometimes hesitancy simply stands in the way. As he pauses, palms bearing weight on the kitchen bench and glass filled with water beside him, another sigh parts rose-parted lips. He wants nothing more than to provide, his nature calls for it, but he wonders if Jimin truly wants it just as he does and trusts him to care for him in the way that he deserves. Should Jimin withdraw, Yoongi would never press— the fact alone of Jimin’s trust to confide more than enough— but he worries just what may lie ahead should Jimin fall into the wrong hands.
Jimin’s soft snores are all that Yoongi stumbles into. His eyes are closed and lips sweetly parted, hair splayed in tousled curls against white cotton pillows and fingers bunched against sheets. Yoongi dares never to touch despite his hands aching to brush what strands tumble against his lashes, and as he places the cup of water and two capsules of painkillers on the wooden stand beside him, Yoongi can’t help but let his gaze linger at the sleeping man. Sweet and docile, cheeky and a man Yoongi has never quite known yet always harboured a delicate fondness for, and he wonders just if the stars above align in their favour, could something much more divine bloom between them? It’s a sobering thought, one quashed by the remainder of his beer, and Yoongi never dwells on it further as he tucks himself against the sofa— springs digging into his limbs and spine.
Jimin’s head is perhaps that little worse for wear as he wakes, asleep much later than those who have found their departure leaving him in the company of just Taehyung and Yoongi. Taehyung giggles as he watches Jimin stumble out of Yoongi’s old bedroom, eyes sleep-laced and a yawn parting lips, his skin still housing what clothes cling to all that they can. His body is sweat-slick from the alcohol’s reprieve, mind no longer hazed yet his limbs seem leaden and slow— movements languid— almost unable to muster a small smile as Taehyung hands him clean clothes to change into. His mouth is dry and throat seemingly closed, the water and painkillers Yoongi had laid out welcome relief but it’s that which never quite comes, not as Jimin walks into the kitchen to stand before the very man he bore all to the night prior. Perhaps regret clouds his mind or perhaps it’s simply delicate shyness, intimate parts of himself exposed to a man he barely knows, yet holds all of his trust nonetheless.
“Feeling alright? You seemed a bit worse for wear last night.” Yoongi asks, handing Jimin a glass of water who simply nods, a small ‘ thank you ’ clinging to his tongue. “I think we’re due a word, aren’t we? Changed your mind?”
And part of Jimin wishes to nod, not for the fact he has, but to save himself the embarrassment of truly meaning all that he let fall. It isn’t as if he hasn’t dwelled upon it, his thoughts all but consumed by Yoongi ; the man seemingly capturing him that little more with each breath. He lets himself wonder just how he’d feel beneath him, how his eyes would darken and lips would tug, how his guitar-calloused fingers would find refuge against his skin, strumming him just as delicately as he plays. And it’s this very notion that pulls him further into wanting Yoongi to have him, to be the man to assure him through each turn with cotton-lined words and praises, and kisses equally as so.
“No… I haven’t…” Jimin manages, eyes wide and lips parted, tongue stammering around vowels it can’t quite string together, and as he watches Yoongi’s lips curl into the softest smile, it leaves his heart to thrum.
“Come to mine tomorrow then, we’ll talk properly, yeah?” Yoongi pours boiling water into a cup, instant coffee lining its base. “Milk?” He flits his eyes up to meet Jimin’s own, questioning and slightly confused as sleep still impairs his thoughts.
“M-milk?”
“Coffee. Milk?” He asks with a sweet drawl, as if each syllable fights a gentle puff of laughter with lips upturned.
“Oh. Yes— thank you, hyung. And— and thank you for last night, I really appreciate it.” Yet neither hear Taehyung approaching, little more than a honey-laced hum drawing Jimin out of what clouds his mind.
“Last night? What happened? I thought you went to bed, Minnie?” Taehyung asks, brow raised as he reaches over Yoongi’s arms for a mug. “No coffee for me, hyung?” And despite their differences— age separating them— Yoongi has never been immune to his little brother’s pout, not least with sleep-tousled hair and puppy-lined eyes.
Yet Jimin stammers, seemingly unnoticed by Taehyung who gently whines at his brother for a coffee, one he happily obliges in indulging him, but perhaps Yoongi sees Jimin’s apprehension that settles thick against his tongue.
“You gave Jimin-ah too much soju Taehyung-ah— his tolerance isn’t like yours. I let him have my old room and gave him some water, nothing big. Be careful next time though, yeah? Let hyung make you a coffee— vanilla, hm? Still like them sweet?” Taehyung nods, not without a small grumble leaving his brother’s cheeks to tug, reaching over to ruffle what sweet curls line his scalp. “I can’t believe you grew taller than me— I deserve compensation for that, you know.” But it falls teasing, Taehyung leaning into his brother’s welcome affection, one Jimin knows is never sparse between the two, for Yoongi all but raised him as their parents did all that they could to provide and ensure their future sat delicately on the horizon. “You’re still a baby to me even if you’re taller.” He seals the words with a chaste peck against Taehyung’s head, ducking slightly to let Yoongi reach, yet it settles warmth within Jimin’s veins that what soju-induced decision lined his tongue the night prior is more than right.
Yoongi will keep him safe, just as he’s been Taehyung’s security throughout his youth, and it’s this alone that stains Jimin’s cheeks petal-pink.
The rest of the morning tumbles into the afternoon, Jimin finding welcome place beside Taehyung as video games are fought and won, yet Yoongi never quite leaves his mind despite his eventual departure with little more than the slight squeeze of his shoulder, a touch branding his skin aflame. His breath is warm and gentle, heated and settling a blaze to line his veins, and at the softest of goodbyes, Jimin feels giddy, knowing that the next time umber eyes find rest against his frame, no one will be there to shatter what shrouds them in fragility.
—
Jimin tugs the finely knitted sleeves of his cardigan over his knuckles, powder blue and impossibly sweet, shielding his skin from the knock that Yoongi seemingly anticipated, for he opens the door merely seconds later with a smile leaving Jimin all but breathless. Yet apprehension lines Jimin’s frame, never going unnoticed by Yoongi as his eyes soften and face falls just that little, a gentle hand drawing to his spine as he leads him into his apartment. Assurance remains unwavering and perhaps it’s what pushes Jimin just that bit closer into his grasp, never once falling into the belief that Yoongi’s motives may be insincere.
“Coffee?” He asks, voice honey-warm and deep, a soothing croon to what anxiety fizzles beneath Jimin’s skin who simply nods. “Don’t be too nervous, it’s just me. We’ll only talk today, alright? Nothing more.” It’s sealed with a petal-soft smile, gum-lined and one Jimin could house in his mind forever, easing the hesitancy just that little, enough for his limbs to halt their shiver and for breaths to deepen.
“S-sorry, hyung.”
“Don’t be. Sit on the sofa and get comfortable, yeah? I’ll come back with our coffee and we can talk.” Yoongi’s voice never hardens, still rounded by his tongue and lightly buffed by his lips to their finality, little more than a gentle drawl with words seemingly all but tumbling into one.
Jimin obliges, settling on the sofa awaiting Yoongi’s quick arrival, two porcelain mugs in tow and lips slightly pursed. Yet Jimin can’t quite help but notice just how gentle Yoongi is, each movement fluid and assured. He’s calm and his voice is ever-soft, fondness woven through all that he does with an air of stillness residing in his veins. And as Yoongi stands in a slightly fitted t-shirt, ivory against lightly blushed skin, Jimin’s eyes find their rest against his frame.
“So, I guess the first question is, do you still want to do this?” Yoongi asks seemingly unaware of Jimin’s gaze, the question garnering a small nod from Jimin— cheeks crimson-flustered and lips sweetly parted. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? It can be as big or small as you want, but it doesn’t make it any less daunting.” And Jimin smiles, what words line his tongue undaring to fall, afraid of what may find their tumble. “Talk me through what you’re feeling.” Yet Jimin simply giggles, a delicate sound shrouding Yoongi in warmth and prompting laughter to cling to his own lips as a smile remains unbitten, spreading wider against his cheeks with each breath that parts. “Be honest, Jimin-ah. I know we don’t know each other too well but I’ve always seen you around with Taehyungie— you’re sweet. I promise that you’ll be in safe hands.”
“I’m… I’m nervous and… a bit shy about it.” Jimin manages, eyes averted from Yoongi’s trained gaze. It’s soft and assuring, each iris rounded and lips following their course as he nods in understanding.
“Yeah? That’s alright. I wouldn’t expect you to feel any differently. What else? How would you like it all to go?” His timbre holds a soothing lilt, akin to the kind to calm an animal housing hesitancy— never to frighten yet in the same breath, he could never condescend. He takes a sip of his coffee as Jimin’s cheeks darken, lips stammering around vowels never quite finding their feet. “Would you want me to take care of you? ‘ Fuck ’ sounds too crude, doesn’t it?” And it falls with a puff of lazy laughter, breaking what tension lines their frames just that little and drawing out the same from Jimin’s tongue.
“Is— is that okay? I don’t… I don’t want to be on top.”
“Of course, it is, Jimin-ah. And this might be an invasive question— forgive me if it is— but do you watch any videos or have you tried anything on yourself?” Jimin parts with another stammer as he nods, shyness settling thick yet it never deters Yoongi, relishing in the sweet innocence he exudes. “Just so you know what you might like and what you don’t, that’s all.”
“I… I um… I don’t think I’d like to be spanked, sorry—”
“ God no — not for your first time, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi assures with words grazing Jimin’s own, and what coffee lines his tongue is more than welcome, staving off yet another stutter. “I promise you that won’t happen. I wouldn’t spank you.”
“B-but… sometimes I try to hold it to see how it feels. It’s stronger if I pause and then…” He manages after a breath, voice faltering to little more than a whisper as he swallows what honey-thick saliva settles. Yet Yoongi’s smile leaves his heart to flutter, small and in its infancy but spreads warmth all the same, and reassurance that what tumbles from hesitant lips could never be chastised, for Yoongi is a man holding unwavering safety.
“Yeah, it can help build it up a bit more— feels a bit nicer if you take your time. Sometimes when you’re by yourself, it’s a bit more rushed. Do you know anything about BDSM?”
“A bit. Jeonggukie and Seokjinie hyung do it… I think.”
Yoongi hums, a small nod as he finishes the remnants of his coffee, cold and bitter and ice-lined, milk never leaving it to soften. “Hyung’s a good dominant. It isn’t purely sexual but it can be, but as I said the other night, this is all about trust. I’m not suggesting that’s what this will be, but coming from a dominant, I want that foundation before we agree to anything.” And whilst the words never fall, Jimin nods, trust never stronger between another. “You must trust me enough to do this with, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“That’s a good start. Maybe I should tell you how I’d treat you, hm? If we were to do this, I’d take care of you. I’d tell you how well you were doing and I’d want you to just relax for me— let me give all that I can to you to make you feel good and safe. I’d want you to follow my lead and tell me if I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable. Does that sound okay?” Yoongi asks with a raised eyebrow, each word that parts petal-kissed lips leaving Jimin’s cheeks to flush that little darker, distilled want finding its course beneath his skin.
“Y-yes.”
“I’m not a mean dominant, I promise you. I’m actually quite soft. I’ve never been one for bratty submissives. But this isn’t all about that. I want to tend to you in the way I think will be best, and I think— whilst you aren’t a submissive, per se— having someone to guide you will be important with your first and if I can reassure you then that’s what I’ll do.” Yoongi aches to touch, to let his fingers graze newborn-soft skin, heated rounds of cheeks beneath him as his words sink into Jimin’s veins. But he doesn’t, content with taking his now-empty cup of coffee from his grasp and relishing in what small graze he lets himself indulge in.
“I’d like that— thank you, hyung.”
Sincerity laces Jimin’s words, eyes softening as Yoongi’s breaths seem to all but soothe. A man holding his entire faith— trust ever-strong and unfaltering— and whilst hesitancy still tugs within his mind, it falls to little more than a distant hum.
“Now, is it too personal to ask why you want this, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi asks, his voice that little softer now, nothing more than a hushed whisper with slight hoarseness woven through.
Jimin sighs, Yoongi’s eyes holding an unwavering softness he could never place, gentleness never quite encapsulating all that comprises the man. His eyes are fond and lips just lightly parted, palm finding tentative rest against Jimin’s thigh and thumb drawing light grazes against delicate skin.
“I feel left behind— I know there’s no problem with it but… but I also just want to know how it feels. Maybe I won’t like it, maybe I’ll love it, but I just don’t know .” It falls quiet, words never quite sure of themselves.
“Having a dominant for your first time isn’t uncommon, you know. As I said before, it’s all about trust.”
“I trust you. But… but Taehyungie… god— Taehyungie. If he finds out then—”
Yet Yoongi laughs— a soft, delicate thing leaving Jimin’s eyes to turn to him in confusion. “What my brother does is none of my business, just as what I get up to is none of his, so don’t worry, Jimin-ah. He’ll never find out if you’re concerned about that. I suppose the other thing I’d like to know is, what are you comfortable with? Some just want sex— nothing else— whilst others are okay with kissing, being held, touching… “ He trails off, lips rounding each word into a gentle hum.
“O-oh… I don’t— I don’t really know. I think it’d be okay. I don’t know if I could have sex without kissing or being touched.”
“It’s all down to your comfort. If you’re not okay with that, then I won’t. I won’t do anything that you aren’t alright with, I promise you.”
Jimin shakes his head with a smile tugging at his lips, cheeks still rose-flushed and perhaps Yoongi has never seen a man as sweet. “I’m okay with it, hyung. You can do it all, I— I think it’d help.” Those words fall that little softer as if baring a delicate confession on the tip of his tongue.
“I won’t write up a contract— it isn’t the place for that— but I want this to be as formal as possible for both of our sakes, so Jimin-ah, are you willing for me to have sex with you? You can tell me ‘ no ’ at any time and it’ll all stop.” Yoongi asks, eyes masking what apprehension lines his veins, and as Jimin simply nods, he can’t quite bite down what smile seems ever-growing. “I’ll need words, alright?”
“Yes. I am. I want it.”
And Yoongi lets himself relish in what they have so tentatively built, smiles wide and relief lining gilded horizons, and whilst hesitancy still settles within Jimin’s veins, with Yoongi’s hold, he knows safety could never taste as sweet, and perhaps he could never feel as divine as beneath Yoongi’s touch.
“Another coffee? I know we sort of know each other but I do like to understand people a bit more before we jump into it, is that okay? It seems almost clinical otherwise— no connection.” Yoongi hums, lips tugging into a delicate smile to which Jimin mirrors, albeit that little larger.
“I-I’ll help.” He stammers, taking Yoongi’s lead in turning to the kitchen for another coffee. Yet tensity still lines their frames, spurred by their conversation merely moments prior, but hope lingers against the horizon and leaves Jimin’s cheeks flushed, that now he has all he has ever wanted in his tender palm. A man who he trusts perhaps more than himself— never given a reason not to— and a man who spells assurance from his every movement, tongue following suit.
The kitchen is large, apartment decent for a man of his age and status, never too fancy yet holding all that he could need, and as he boils a kettle for another round of coffees, Jimin stands beside him, eyes flitting to all they can to avoid his trained gaze.
“So… Taehyungie’s… that was fun .” Jimin says, not quite sure how to fill what silence shrouds them.
“It was. Now that Seokjinie hyung and Jeonggukie are together, it’s strange to have my friends so close to my brother, but it’s nice. I can keep an eye on him that way— he still steals my clothes though. I guess things never change.” Yoongi’s voice houses a sweet lilt and a slight chuckle, fondness woven through each syllable as he talks about those closest. An unwavering affection for his brother that Jimin has always borne witness to; drinks and snacks provided after school as video games were played against Taehyung’s covers, and dinners cooked when Taehyung’s parents were still working to provide all that they could. But Yoongi largely kept to himself— never one to intrude on their time together— yet what glimpses Jimin saw of the man always left his heart to thrum.
“Thank you for letting me stay in your bed and taking care of me when… you know .”
And Yoongi laughs, that little brighter and certainly sweeter, and it’s a sound Jimin knows he could quite easily find his place within.
“It’s alright, those sofas aren’t the comfiest, are they? I’ve been telling my parents to replace them but they say they still have a few years left in them.”
Jimin turns to the fridge, pulling out the milk leaving a small gratitude to tumble from Yoongi’s lips, eyes soft and drawing Jimin that little closer, and perhaps it’s too soon to feel so breathless— he thinks— yet that giddiness finds its settle each time Yoongi’s gaze finds its rest against his own. And Jimin could never know just how smitten Yoongi already seems, heart all but against his tongue as his breath shallows, and from a boy he’s known in passing for most of his life, Jimin has certainly turned into the most divine man.
“I forgot to ask you about aftercare and safewords.” Yoongi begins, clearing his throat to tug himself out of what thoughts seem to consume him— thoughts solely comprised of Jimin . Yet Jimin’s eyes grow wide and face contorts in tender confusion, leaving Yoongi’s head to dip as soft puffs of laughter tumble. “After it’s all done, I don’t want you to leave and I won’t leave you, just until I know you’re okay. It isn’t a scene per se, but it’s important to be tended to afterwards. Sometimes it’s cuddling, other times it’s having a bath or shower together, but ultimately there needs to be a period of decompression for both so that you’re alright and I feel like I’ve done my job as a dominant, even if it isn’t a scene. It doesn’t have to be a big thing but you’ve entrusted me to do something new with you, so it’ll stir up emotions regardless, so I want to be sure you’re okay.”
Jimin smiles, a little shy with cheeks still dusted rose and Yoongi wonders if perhaps he’s ever laid eyes on a sight sweeter. “Are all dominants like this?” He asks, voice petal-soft and almost demure, leaving Yoongi’s knees just that bit weaker.
All Yoongi can do is shrug, nose tucked within the coffee cup as he takes a sip to hide his own reddening cheeks. “I think so, if not then they’re not very good.”
“So… I’m in safe hands then? I asked the right man?” Jimin turns that bit bolder, a look beautiful on him, Yoongi thinks, a smile never quite able to be bitten down tugging at doughy cheeks.
“ Ah , you’ll have to tell me when it’s done. Here—” He hands Jimin a coffee, a spoon of sugar laced within— remembering just how he used to ask for it with wide eyes and sweetly pouted lips in his adolescence. “I’d like some safewords. Usually, I do a green, yellow, and red system. Green is when you want to continue, yellow is when you’d like things to slow down, and red is to stop. Then we can discuss whether you’d just like a breather, to stop that particular thing, or stop altogether— all are okay. Does that sound alright?
“Yes, it does.” Jimin nods, taking a small sip despite what heat scalds his tongue.
“And you’ll have to tell me when you’re free, alright? At night would be best, personally, but whatever is okay for you will be perfect.”
“Friday? I don’t have classes late so…”
Yoongi smiles, wide and gummy and leaves Jimin’s breath to hitch, eyes swiftly averted and searching for purchase on all that they can find as Yoongi’s gaze firms against him.
“Friday sounds perfect. Don’t eat before, yeah?”
Jimin simply nods, not quite understanding why yet there’s a small glint within Yoongi’s eye that spells something ever-sweet. That he’ll be more than alright, taken care of and simply adored, and Jimin knows he could never have asked a better man to bare his entirety to.
—
The wait for Friday evening leaves days to drag and anxiety to find its settle within Jimin’s veins. Not born out of regret but simply apprehension, for lying with another leaves his heart to thrum and mind to cloud, wondering just if he could ever be enough. It’s this thought that lines all that he does, placid as the sun shines above yet one that leaves despondency to find its feet at moonrise, and part of him wishes to call it off for the sheer fact that Yoongi is so much greater than he could ever dare to be, he thinks; a man who seemingly has it all right in his guitar-calloused palm, but what Jimin never sees is how Yoongi diligently prepares for his arrival and bears those same fears— never enough to be the one to hold Jimin so delicately, and never enough to be the one to simply love .
But as Jimin stands before his door, he lets himself reside in the tentative excitement fizzling beneath his skin. Adorned by a sweet little cardigan— not dissimilar to the one he wore prior— brown against a fitted turtleneck and dark jeans concealing lace-lined boxers. They’re ones he bought to feel sweet , he had mentioned to Jeongguk one evening as their washing turned muddled, ones to lie in and turn in the mirror, demure and dainty and showing off all that needs to be bared. He toyed with the idea of wearing plain boxers but decided a slight tease may work in his favour, and may leave Yoongi to treat him that little softer, kiss him that little harder and make him fall apart that little more delectably within his well-versed grasp. And despite warnings from heavy research, he holds high expectations for the evening as Yoongi’s assurances never quite escape his mind, woven into his thoughts as he wonders just how it’ll all unravel. Yet it’s this that he’s quickly drawn out of as Yoongi stands before him looking neat, a smile tugging at petal-rose lips and thin-rimmed glasses grazing his nose, and perhaps if Jimin’s mouth parts in a stammer at the sight, neither acknowledges it.
“Come in. Feel alright?” Yoongi asks, honey-thick timbre shrouding Jimin in comfort, and as he nods— a small, shy thing— Yoongi smiles, placing a firm palm against his spine leaving Jimin to gasp. “Is this okay?”
“S’nice.” Jimin all but manages through bated breath, feeling Yoongi’s hand trail that little lower before its pause at the small of his back, where soothing lines are drawn against it in gentle assurance.
“I made us dinner, I thought it’d be easier and break the ice a bit, and I just want you to relax, yeah?” And Jimin nods, Yoongi’s eyes softening as his limbs shake just that little, nerves settling thick against Jimin’s frame. It prompts Yoongi to gently cup his cheek, halting their steps just before the kitchen bench and eyes to bore into the other, searching for any signs that regret has found its place. “Don’t be nervous, hyung’s got you. Are you still wanting to do this?” Yoongi asks, his voice that little softer, akin to the gentlest barbs of a feather, barely there between delicate fingertips.
Jimin nods, a whispered ‘ yes ’ tumbling from a hesitant tongue yet it holds no weight, simply giddiness for delving into the unknown with a man he’s quickly taken to.
“Good. You can sit, I’ll bring this all over. It won’t be long.” Yoongi’s voice never rises, simply the gentle lap of a full moon tide against salt-laced shores. Jimin obliges, settling against the dining table that Yoongi had so meticulously laid out moments prior to his arrival, and something tugs within spelling that this seems that little more than he could have ever expected— something mirroring that of a date. He knows it isn’t, simply Yoongi easing him into gentle comfort, the sweet dominance he never knew he craved, but from Yoongi’s tongue it’s all that Jimin ever wishes to follow and he lets himself believe that perhaps it may line his future as a constant and that something quite delectable can bloom between them.
Yoongi follows shortly with plates in hand, leaning that little closer than usual to place dinner before Jimin, and eyes ever-fond as they find their rest against him. He smiles, lips sweetly upturned and gaze commanding, prompting Jimin’s heart to thrum against all that shrouds it.
“You look pretty— that colour suits you, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi praises, taking a sip of soda. He lets Jimin’s name line his tongue, rolled and buffed into a saccharine haze. It leaves Jimin to flush rose, the tips of his ears crimson and his cheeks to follow as a small laugh tumbles from his stammering tongue.
“You do too, hyung.”
Dinner lines conversation, that little strained but with each passing moment Jimin seems to ease into Yoongi’s words. They’re delicate and tender, assurance never far from his grasp to engulf Jimin when his limbs begin to shake, and Jimin begins to believe that perhaps he could never have asked a better man to help him, each unfounded fear never chastised— simply worked through with understanding.
“Want to come with me?” Yoongi asks as they finish, plates cleared and stomachs full, yet he can see apprehension woven through Jimin’s irises, a dark crimson thread leaving hesitancy to tug. “My bedroom— I promise I’ll talk you through it all. Are you okay with that? If not, it’s alright. We can take as much time as you need, Jimin-ah.”
Jimin shakes his head, small and undefined and leaves Yoongi to wonder just if he’s truly ready, but regret never seems to settle, simply thoughts marred by what nerves find their feet.
“I’m fine— I’ll come.”
Yoongi’s bedroom is neat, cotton freshly washed and lights dimmed leaving little more than the faintest amber glow. It shrouds Jimin in what safety he’s come to expect from Yoongi, the kind to ignite warmth within and a burning smoulder at his core, desire seemingly never within reach until now.
“Sit on the bed— just at the end for me. You seem tense, Jimin-ah. It’s all new, isn’t it? I’ll help.” Yoongi all but croons, voice a delicate whisper in a honeyed timbre, and Jimin wishes for nothing more than to please him— obey his every cotton-laced command to draw out the sweetest praises meant solely for him. “You can close your eyes if you want, I’ll relax you.” His voice tumbles that little deeper as Jimin sits, Yoongi kneeling behind him with fingers tentatively drawn up to his shoulders, Jimin’s own tightly clasped against trembling thighs.
Calloused pads sink into him, only marred by what fabric lines Jimin’s frame and each ministration leaves sweet little sighs to part his lips. Deft fingers ease Jimin lower, ridding him of what apprehension courses his veins and at each sign that it dares to cling for safety, Yoongi presses that little harder to soothe him into gentle comfort.
“Relax your muscles, sweetheart,” Yoongi whispers, feather-soft words yet Jimin stiffens, tongue stammering around vowels at the delicate name. “Can I call you that? Can I call you sweetheart?” And all Jimin can muster is a small nod, what little sound falls from his tongue perhaps pathetic in a sense, but it leaves Yoongi’s lips to tug into a soft smile nonetheless as Jimin falls pliant within his hold. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. I just want you to relax, alright? Just relax for hyung.”
A sigh follows, Jimin’s frame completely limb beneath Yoongi’s learned hand and Yoongi knows . Jimin could never fight it, it’s never in his nature to, and Yoongi feels a delicate pride at being the man to uncover all that’s laid dormant for so long. As the moments pass, Jimin’s pliancy grows, head lolled to the side and lips parted sweetly, eyes fluttered closed and soft sounds never acknowledged, and as Yoongi halts languid movements, Jimin stirs.
“Alright? Feel a bit hazy?”
“Y-yeah,” Jimin chokes out, voice hoarse and eyes that little glazed, and Yoongi has perhaps never borne witness to a sight more divine.
“Hyung will take care of you, I promise you. Want to sit with me?” Yoongi lets his words fall slowly, akin to the change of seasons, a gentle descent with little urgency and leaving Jimin room to nod. They clamber up against the pillows, Yoongi taking time to let assurances find their feet which prompts a sweet flush to line Jimin’s frame in response, and each word sinking into tender skin in sincerity. “I want you to lie down as comfortably as you can. Can you do that for me?” Yoongi asks, and as Jimin simply nods once more, syrup-lined saliva taints his tongue leaden. “I’m going to need words, baby. Just so I understand you.”
“Yes. I can, hyung.” Jimin’s reply is petal-soft but definite, and as he lies down and gets comfortable, Yoongi can’t bite down what smile bares pink gums.
“You’re so good, aren’t you?” He hums, lying beside Jimin with little distance strung between them, never too much at once to ease Jimin’s nerves, a safety shrouding him with every saccharine word and assuring movement. As Jimin settles, Yoongi simply watches with fond eyes, waiting until he’s sure Jimin bears no regret before continuing. “I want to kiss you, is that alright?”
“I-I’d like that.”
Yoongi wastes little time yet each movement is languid; an unhurried palm drawn up to his cheek, thumb caressing petal-soft lines against flushed skin as he leans that bit closer, mint-lined breath grazing all that it can find. Yoongi dips, nose gently brushing Jimin’s own as his hand entwines with delicate fingers, small and sweet and perhaps, Yoongi dares to let himself believe, they could be forever his to hold. At the touch of their lips, Jimin grows that bit more rigid, only eased by Yoongi’s gentle hand as he presses firmer, but their mouths still move in a newborn-soft trance; a delicate rhythm, unguarded and gently letting walls tumble before them, and Jimin has never felt so assured. Yoongi’s palm trails down his jaw to rest on his neck, cupping it oh-so-sweetly and prompting a small smile to tug at Jimin’s cheeks. But despite all that Jimin had expected— a night of hurried urgency to rid him of what strain lines his shoulders— it never falls to fruition, Yoongi letting his lips trace Jimin’s own and learning them beneath his touch as time seems to still between them. Little more than the sounds of parting lips and shallowing breaths shroud them, yet it could never spell discomfort and perhaps Jimin never notices it, not whilst he’s beneath Yoongi— a man who commands even in the faintest of breaths— but it’s a command Jimin would gladly follow with little prompt, his entire faith held within Yoongi’s palm.
Yoongi pulls back, eyes ever-fond and lips just barely tugging at each corner, a small puff of laughter tumbling from his tongue. His lips are strawberry-bitten and delectable and perhaps Jimin could kiss them forever, he dares to think, and wonders just if Yoongi may be falling for him just as he’s falling for the man before him. But it’s a thought he never dwells on, for it may spell his demise should Yoongi never harbour those same feelings, so they’re bitten down in haste, his mind simply focused on Yoongi’s drawled words.
“I never asked you, have you ever done that before?” Yoongi asks, perhaps to gauge just how experienced Jimin truly is, and as he nods, Yoongi releases what shallow breath he never quite knew constricted his lungs, slightly more at ease for never asking prior.
“Only once. Never— never as good as you, hyung.” Jimin’s words fall as a delicate whisper, the kind Yoongi could quite easily kiss from his tongue leaving him that little more breathless. They’re soft and he knows they’d taste divine, as does Jimin— saccharine tongue with lips he could kiss for all eternity. His eyes are soft and Yoongi knows he’s never known a man as sweet— a man he wishes to take care of more— and he wonders just if the stars permit, could they hold something beautiful in their palms?
And it’s those words that push Jimin just that little closer into Yoongi’s hold, a smile ever-growing against his own kiss-flushed cheeks, knowing that what lines the horizon will be all that Jimin could ever wish for. “I’ll show you properly then.”
A small giggle falls from Jimin’s parted lips, and as Yoongi bends down once more— his own that little firmer against Jimin’s— it feels impossibly right. Yoongi’s tongue tugs past what thinly veiled barrier prevents it, letting it glide against Jimin’s, sweet sounds finding their feet as he stills beneath Yoongi’s touch. It takes him a while to sink into his hold, what hand had once found its welcome entwine now toys with the buttons of Jimin’s cardigan. It’s heady as Yoongi kisses him, eyes closed and mind a daze, yet it’s one shattered as Yoongi dares to let his touch linger, trailing down Jimin’s chest and prompting him to turn rigid.
“Too much?” Yoongi asks, immediately withdrawing as Jimin’s eyes widen, but he could never bite down his smile at Jimin’s sweetly flushed cheeks, hair that little tousled and hand reaching once more for his own. “Can I touch you?” And all Jimin musters is a small nod, yet it does little to satiate Yoongi’s need for affirmation. “I need words, alright?”
“Yes. You can.”
“Want to get that little cardigan off? Looks very sweet, Jimin-ah. So pretty on you.”
Jimin nods, sitting up just a little to tug the cardigan off of his frame. It leaves Yoongi to draw lines down his arms, a firm touch in assurance as sweet eyes bore into his own. Yoongi climbs over him that bit more, knees against thighs and chests all but pressed together, the weight of Yoongi against him grounding, Jimin thinks, and as he dips to once more brush his lips in a delectable whisper, Jimin has never quite felt as giddy. He feels impossibly small beneath Yoongi’s touch, a man whose fingers trail what fabric adorns his skin yet it’s delicate nonetheless— taking charge but never overpowering.
“We’ll go slowly, I promise you. I won’t keep asking if you’re green, but I want you to tell me if you’re anything but, yeah?” Yoongi asks, a palm drawn up to feather lines against crimson-flushed cheeks.
“Yeah.”
“So you’re green?”
“I am.” Jimin affirms with a slight smile tugging at his lips, and as Yoongi leans to press a chaste kiss to his nose, Jimin can’t quite help what giggle finds its falter.
“Never be afraid to tell me if you’re not. I never want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” Yoongi’s words tumble as a delicate whisper, cotton-soft and shroud Jimin in distilled security. It prompts Jimin to nod, his smile never faltering from his lips as he finds Yoongi’s hand, toying with the tips of fingers. “Keep going?”
“Yes, please.”
“So good,” Yoongi hums, each vowel pushed against Jimin’s kiss-bitten tongue. “So good for me, aren’t you?”
It’s unhurried as they kiss, Yoongi’s palm grazing all that it can find— never below his navel— drawing out shudders and sighs, each movement garnering a sweet response. Jimin is sensitive to every touch, each little ministration leaving him to lightly gasp, and as divine as his sounds taste against his tongue, Yoongi knows the longer he can let Jimin fall apart within his grasp, the sweeter it’ll all unfold. He wishes for nothing more than to take care of Jimin, watch his eyes fall half-lidded as Yoongi gives and gives, never relenting and never a quickened pace, simply a drawn-out evening lined with distilled devotion.
As they kiss, seemingly hours pass as seconds fall, neither aware of simply how long drifts but it’s time ever-sweet, and as Yoongi tugs at the hem of Jimin’s shirt, his eyes open and lips part, apprehension taking its course. But Yoongi simply waits for a small ‘ yes ’ to tumble before dipping beneath, fingers sinking into cotton-soft skin, a marshmallow-like pliancy beneath his touch that makes Yoongi’s heart thrum that little more. Built lean yet gentle, a sweetness shrouding his frame that Jimin can’t seem to see, and Yoongi vows to be the man to show him just how delectable he truly is.
“You’re so soft, Jimin-ah. So lovely.” Yoongi whispers, lips grazing Jimin’s ear as his palm traces all that it can, learning each curve and dip beneath a love-laced touch, trailing that bit higher. He spends time simply adoring before drawing back, eyes wide in question as Jimin falls apart that little more in his grasp. “Want to take it off? You don’t have to.” Yoongi asks in a honeyed timbre, watching as tender apprehension threads itself through Jimin’s irises— never regret. Jimin nods and his tongue stammers around vowels, and whilst Yoongi should perhaps push for a verbal affirmation, he doesn’t, dipping to kiss Jimin’s lips once more before sitting back against his calves. “Sit up for me then— good.” Yoongi’s praises leave Jimin’s cheeks to tint sweet rose, sitting up to let Yoongi tug the black turtleneck from his frame before discarding it against tarnished floors.
Jimin doesn’t miss Yoongi’s eyes darken, lips parting as his tongue lines them in syruped saliva, tracing each part of his body with his gaze leaving Jimin impossibly small. He draws his hands up to touch, languid movements as he gently pushes Jimin back against cotton-lined pillows with praises tumbling from his tongue. He takes his own shirt off, deft fingers unbuttoning silkened fabric before he leans closer and takes hold of Jimin’s palm.
“You can touch me, it’s alright.” Yoongi soothes, bringing Jimin’s hand to his neck as he shuffles against him, a knee between slightly spread thighs and chests against chests.
And Jimin does, fingers ghosting over his bare collarbone, skin slightly sweat-sticky beneath his touch. He lets fingertips wander his neck, cupping his jaw before trailing back down, each graze prompting goosebumps to dimple Yoongi’s skin in their wake. Yoongi’s breath stammers as he watches Jimin’s gaze follow lines cast by his hand, mouth parted and tongue slightly lolled out, eyes that little glazed and skin delectably flushed, and as time moves around them, they both still in what moment shrouds them in fragility, an unmarred tenderness penned by their every move.
“You’re very pretty, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi dares to break the silence, never shattering as words tumble whispered. “So beautiful.” And whilst these words leave Jimin’s eyes to widen— a rose tint darkening against sweetly rounded cheeks— he shakes his head.
“I-I’m not… really , I’m not.” Jimin breathes, yet they’re words Yoongi could never believe, not when faced with divinity itself.
“Hm? Trust me when I say you are, sweetheart. Will you let me show you?” Jimin nods, a small affirmation never quite falling from his tongue, and as Yoongi draws his hand up to cup his cheek, he lets his thumb dip between parted lips. “Tell me, use your words.”
“You can, hyung.” Jimin manages, Yoongi’s thumb letting his lips snap back in a delicate movement, yet his palm never relents as he kisses him sweetly before they trail that little further down, grazing and nipping at his jaw.
It’s soft, gentle kisses turning open-mouthed, what saliva lines his skin is lightly fanned by puffs of breath, and as Yoongi moves lower— collarbones sheened by Yoongi’s tongue— he lightly sucks, never enough to mark. What sounds he pulls out are heavenly, Yoongi thinks, Jimin’s head lolled against the pillow as dark strands splay on velvet-lined cotton, baring his neck for Yoongi’s teeth to tug. He lets his fingers line his frame, grazing skin before turning to toy at a nipple, leaving Jimin to still beneath him as a sigh tumbles. He never asks to halt yet Yoongi does, eyes wide in concern as Jimin’s hand finds its curl around Yoongi’s wrist, restraining his hand from moving further. And Yoongi knows it’s simply new , wanting to ground himself as his body sets aflame, embers strewn in the wake of every small touch, but he still dips and presses a chaste kiss to his lips before retreating, never wishing to move too fast and settle unease within Jimin’s veins.
“Are you green?” Yoongi asks, and Jimin whines, eyes pleading and lips parted, a heaven-sent vision of innocence sprawled out before him.
“Y-yeah.”
“Just sensitive, hm? That’s alright, baby. I’ll slow down a little— just for now.” And softness lines Jimin’s eyes as those words fall from Yoongi’s tongue in understanding, once more kissing him— that little deeper now, teeth tugging at kiss-bitten lips and fingers finding rest wandering against his stomach. “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? So beautiful.”
Each word sinks into Jimin’s veins, aided by Yoongi’s tongue that trails down his body. He settles against his chest, his stomach, mouthing at all he can to ease Jimin into sweet pliancy, a seemingly intrinsic submission. Each kiss follows a praise, an almost worship of all that comprises him leaving a flush to stain Jimin’s skin crimson, and as teeth begin to tug at all that they can, Jimin’s whines turn heady. Yoongi spends a while watching Jimin unravel within his palm, yet what praises fall from his lips seem to leave him to stiffen, too in his own head about his body.
“Don’t you believe me?” Yoongi asks as he settles back against his calves, bending just that little for trimmed nails to graze Jimin’s soft stomach. Jimin shakes his head, fear settling thick against his skin as guilt follows. “This?” Yoongi bends just that little, lips brushing Jimin’s stomach. “It’s perfect. You’re so soft, Jimin-ah— so lovely. Never feel ashamed about that. And these?” Yoongi shuffles down for his palms to kneed Jimin’s thighs, gently spreading them leaving a shiver to course Jimin’s spine. “They’re divine, sweetheart.”
He turns back to Jimin’s frame, kissing up his stomach and chest before settling around a nipple, lips soft and light before turning that little harsher, each suck prompting gasps to fall from rose-tinted lips and Jimin’s hips to buck for purchase. A smile tugs at Yoongi’s cheeks as his hands hold them down, little circles grazing against the sliver of skin above them as he never relents, only pausing for shallow breaths and teasing words.
“You’re a sensitive little thing, aren’t you?”
“ H-hyung ,” Jimin whines, that little breathless as his hands tug at dark strands, drawing Yoongi impossibly closer as he writhes beneath his grasp.
“I’m here, baby. Feels nice, doesn’t it?” And each whine that tumbles spurs Yoongi on, turning to the other leaving his hips to roll— friction palpably thick against his tongue. It’s honeyed and delectable, the result of drawing out each moment, both that bit needier despite appearances yet Yoongi knows he could never let his demeanour falter, for watching Jimin turn desperate is sinfully divine.
After a while, he turns to kiss pouted lips, lightly parted as Jimin’s brows furrow, heat igniting his body aflame with every breath that dares to graze it. Yoongi’s hand finds Jimin’s own, bringing it to his chest to lay Jimin’s palm flush against it, guiding it down warmed skin with a delicate touch. He’s soft— much like Jimin— stomach doughy and cheeks equally as so, and as he pulls back from their kiss, he watches as Jimin’s thumbs sink into him, lightly tugging at all they can.
“See? Nothing to be ashamed of, Jimin-ah. I’m not much different.” Yoongi mumbles, never once feeling scrutinised beneath Jimin’s adoring gaze. Yet as his own palms find rest at Jimin’s waistband, he whines once more, hips rolling for what little friction remains as a sigh falters. “Can I take your jeans off, sweetheart? I’ll take mine off too.” Yoongi asks with a cotton-shrouds assurance woven through each vowel, never wishing to let apprehension settle against Jimin’s skin.
“P-please, hyung.”
Yoongi clambers to the side, Jimin lifting his hips to let Yoongi swiftly unbutton dark denim, tugging them to his ankles before his own follow suit. It mars little time, never stalling as urgency now finds its feet, but as Yoongi’s eyes train on the sweet little boxers Jimin had largely forgotten about, he can’t help but simply touch. The lace is coarse beneath his fingers, dark against honey-lined thighs and leaving little to show, and part of Yoongi wishes to tug them aside— never letting them leave his pert little frame.
“Aren’t these pretty?” Yoongi hums, palms flat as he inches closer to Jimin’s inner thighs, a tease never lost on him as whines never seem to halt.
“I— I bought them to… feel nicer.”
“I bet your ass looks divine in them, doesn’t it?” Yoongi’s fingers tug at the waistband, his voice that little darker and hoarse, and perhaps Jimin is grateful thin lace shields his modesty, for his cock twitches at the simple sound. “They’re pretty, sweetheart. Very pretty. They look perfect on you.”
He settles lower, dipping down and spreading cotton-soft thighs apart, and at a small affirmation from Jimin, Yoongi takes time to let his tongue trace what lines comprise him, thighs honey-sweet against his tongue. Each little mark left in crimson and livid draws delectable sounds from Jimin’s lips, hips pushed down from their buck, toes curling and back arching to find what friction Yoongi staves off, and as whines turn to whimpers, breath shallowed into pants, Yoongi pulls off, his own length aching in its hold. But he’s never been a man to chase his own pleasure, instead wanting to draw out Jimin’s own before reaching their finality, and he knows that whilst most would do all that they could to finish, Yoongi wishes to savour him on his tongue and let him believe his worth— even just for a night. Yet as he pulls back, gazes meeting and Jimin’s hand finding its entwine with Yoongi’s own, Yoongi knows he’s simply falling, and he wonders just if he may ever clamber back up.
“Want me to take these off now?” Yoongi asks as he once more toys with Jimin’s boxers, thin lace rolled between deft fingers.
And Jimin nods, eyes pleading and lips lightly pouted in a whine. “Please, hyung.”
Yoongi does as Jimin lifts his hips, little circles grazing against his pelvis as he bares himself to a man holding what trust lines his veins. But it’s daunting, a mask slipping off as lace tumbles, no longer able to conceal all that he is. Yoongi’s own follow and it’s perhaps this that settles apprehension, fear taking its firm hand as his eyes widen and he sinks that little further into the covers, almost cowering at its reality. Yet Yoongi’s eyes are kind and lips are petal-soft against his frame, gaze never once devouring, simply assuring with each breath that finds its hasty part, and as Jimin’s mouth parts in a small stammer, Yoongi knows to halt.
“ Hey — hey, sweetheart. Tell me, what’s wrong?” Yoongi coos, a hand finding rest within Jimin’s own in tender affirmation that he has him, never to be harmed.
“Y-you’re really big and… it’s new… and— and I’m…” Words never quite find their fall, tongue unable to round vowels and seemingly too leaden between his teeth.
“You’re scared?” Yoongi asks with a honey-warm timbre, a soothing salve to what fizzles within Jimin’s chest. And he nods, eyes housing tentative guilt but they find their quick dissolution as Yoongi kisses him once more, no longer hurried as Jimin’s comfort takes precedence. “I’ll prepare you more than enough, I promise you. It might feel a bit uncomfortable but it should never hurt— tell me if it does. We can go as slowly as you’d like, alright?”
Jimin nods once more, a shaky palm drawn to Yoongi’s heat-flushed cheek as a small ‘ sorry ’ tumbles.
“Don’t apologise, Jimin-ah. Would you want to try?”
“Y-yeah. Sorry.”
Yoongi shakes his head, a small, hasty thing, yet it’s lined with little more than fondness. He kisses Jimin once more, a little deeper to ease his mind. Tongue against tongue, teeth tugging at kiss-bitten lips, and hands tightly entwined.
“Don’t be. Open your legs for me— good boy. You’re doing so well, Jimin-ah. It’s all so new but you’re doing so good for me.” Yoongi praises after each obeyed command, a palm gently prying Jimin’s thighs apart that little more to settle between them, eyes never lingering to prompt unease. But he’s divine— all of him— thighs blushed livid and mauve as bruises bloom beneath his touch, and skin flushed crimson, yet perhaps what’s most delectable is how his rose-tinted cockhead paints his skin glistening, precum smeared syrup-thick against his honeyed stomach.
Yoongi gets up, lube in hand before sitting back between them, watching as eyes soften against him as trust once more finds its feet. But apprehension remains and Yoongi knows Jimin’s nervous, the gravity of something he’s never felt lining the horizon in fear, but Yoongi’s the man to hold his hand and kiss his lips, whisper gentle assurances and take care of him in his entirety; a want to be that man forever, he never quite dares to think.
“I’ll just start with a finger— have you ever done this?” Yoongi asks, lips learning all that they can beneath their touch. The curve of his waist, sharp collarbones dipping into cotton-soft skin, and pert nipples that draw out heavenly sighs.
“In the shower. I… I never knew what to use so… I’d try soap but it hurt.”
Yoongi hums, concealing a slight wince at the words. “It would’ve, baby. Can I do that? I’ll go slowly so it won’t hurt too much.”
“You can— please… please be gentle…”
Yoongi dips to kiss Jimin once more, gently easing him back into sweet submission and leaving little thoughts to line his mind, but he knows it’ll never quite fall to fruition until he’s adjusted and never wants to rush and tarnish what gilded trust Jimin holds. He hoists Jimin’s legs up after kissing his chest, stomach spared as his flushed cockhead finds its rest, and as he trails lower, his thighs turn saliva-slick, mouthed and nipped at with delicate fervour. But Yoongi is a weak man despite appearances, and when faced with a sweetly pleading tongue, he can only indulge, taking Jimin’s cock in his mouth just barely, letting it roll between parted lips. It prompts a shudder, a whine-laced sigh and hips to buck, and Yoongi knows what lines the horizon will be euphoria itself and vows to take Jimin right to its edge.
“You’re doing good, aren’t you? So good for hyung. I’ll be as slow as I can, sweetheart.” Yoongi praises, tongue lolled out as kitten-licks draw breathless whimpers from Jimin’s own.
His hands scramble for purchase, woven through deep strands that graze his nape and all but claw at his shoulder. It’s an absentminded motion as Yoongi quickly coats his fingers in lube, freshly-opened nozzle gently placed past Jimin’s rim and squeezed— each precaution is taken never to tear— and his languid suckle against Jimin’s cockhead does its job as a distraction as whines turn headier, needier , the kind that if Yoongi didn’t hold control, he’d easily give into.
Yoongi draws a finger between each cheek in a tease, letting Jimin get used to the sensation as his other hand replaces his tongue, lazy ministrations against his throbbing length. It’s enough to let moans tumble yet never to bring to release, and as Yoongi’s lips tug at Jimin’s own, his finger finds its breach, each hiss swallowed delectably sweet. It’s painstakingly slow, Yoongi could argue, but as Jimin’s brows furrow in tentative discomfort, he could never bring himself to quicken his pace— Jimin’s sole comfort his priority— and as he reaches his knuckle, he pauses, little sighs deepening and a palm cupped to Yoongi’s cheek, and he wonders just how he could ever resist such a divine man. Their kisses are oh-so-soft as Jimin adjusts, a moment shrouding them in distilled safety and serenity— never to be shattered— and as he pulls back, a lazy smile tugs at Jimin’s lips, a silent ‘ thank you ’ leaving Yoongi just that little weaker.
“Feel alright?” Yoongi asks, eyes searching for what strands of regret never seem to thread through blown pupils, lids heavy and cheeks flushed, and Yoongi finds himself falling just that bit harder with each breath that parts.
“Y-yeah. Not painful. You can— you can move it.”
And Yoongi does to the sweet tune of whimpers, Jimin’s hips rolling as Yoongi begins to move his finger within. It’s still a slow pace for him to get comfortable, lips against lips, eyes heavy-lidded and fighting their close, and Yoongi is quite certain he’s never fallen as fast. Jimin begins to fall apart beneath him, aided by Yoongi’s unrelenting touch against his length, hand precum-smeared and sticky, yet he could never mind the discomfort if it meant watching Jimin’s face that little longer. His pupils sweetly wide and lips parted, a staccato of whines tumbling from his kiss-bitten tongue and fingers tugging at all they can to simply ground him, and as he turns that bit needier, Yoongi has never felt so good , knowing what pleasure courses Jimin’s veins is penned by his own hand.
At a delicate warning— a deeper kiss and quickened pace— Yoongi adds a second, asking before a hurried ‘ yes ’ leaves little room for regret, and as Yoongi quietly mentions the second strains the most, Jimin tugs him down for another kiss to ease the burn just that little. But it’s met with hisses tasting bittersweet such as burnt sugar against Yoongi’s tongue, delectable yet pools guilt within. It takes Jimin time to adjust, the stretch worse against thick fingers but Yoongi never hurries him, simply easing his fingers to their base, and as Jimin’s hips roll, Yoongi takes his cue to move. What hums cling to his tongue are saccharine, Yoongi thinks, and as his pace quickens, it leaves Jimin’s back to arch just that little, searching for something . Yet Yoongi quickly finds it, a learned hand brushing his prostate and leaving a staggered whimper to fall. Jimin’s length twitches as he does so, eyes tightly bound shut as his brow furrows, fingers tugging that little harder as Yoongi never seems to relent— graze after graze against what prompts heat within, leaving him just that little more breathless as his mind begins to haze.
“There we go. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Yoongi smiles as Jimin’s eyes flutter open, pleading for what Yoongi holds so tauntingly in the tender palm of his hand. And Jimin nods, hips grinding down to build what pleasure fizzles within, yet Yoongi halts him with a firm hand at his waist, a small shake to his head leaving a whimper to tumble. “I’ll be worth it— be good for hyung. Just do what I tell you to do, sweetheart. I promise you can just let go for me, alright?”
Jimin nods, tongue unable to stammer around vowels yet Yoongi never presses, simply kissing salt-laced skin before a second turns to a third, tumbling down into a fourth, and Yoongi has perhaps never seen a man so needy beneath his grasp, settling warmth within and a pride he never quite knew he could ever hold. The man to leave Jimin breathless for the first time, and the man to treat him with all that he so ardently deserves, and as four fingers do their best to stretch him, he bends to mouth once more at his cockhead, sinking lower until it lines his tongue. Never his best work, he knows with a hand focused between Jimin’s legs as the other is tightly held by Jimin’s own, small palm tucked against Yoongi’s much broader, but it leaves Jimin to buck his hips before Yoongi pulls off, eyes that little harder yet never too commanding, simply asserting gentle dominance in the way he knows best.
“Be good, Jimin-ah. Be good for hyung, yeah?” Yoongi soothes, lightly nipping at his thighs as Jimin whines.
“Wan— want it. Wan’ it ‘yung.” He all but slurs, lips unable to round against words that find their absentminded fall, and as Jimin’s mind turns that little more cotton-laced, Yoongi has him right where he wants him, a sweet submission bearing nothing more than distilled pleasure. No thoughts to mar him, no fears to line his skin in a leaden weight, and trust is all that strings between them as Yoongi vows to tend to him oh-so-delicately.
“I know you do, baby. Just a little bit longer, alright? Let me show you how good it can feel. You’ve never been touched here, hm?” He gently pries his fingers from Jimin’s grasp, whimpers falling from Jimin’s as he slowly pulls out and turns to his aching cock. “Never had a man go down on you, have you?” Jimin shakes his head, lips harbouring a desperate babble leaving Yoongi’s own to tug into the beginnings of a smile. “I’ll show you then— properly — but you can’t come, alright? Not until hyung tells you. Can you do that for me, baby? I want to come with you.” Jimin nods, head lolled to the side as Yoongi halts his movements. “Tell hyung. Use your words.” Each vowel that falls from Yoongi’s lips is one of assurance, gently coaxing Jimin into pliancy, trust— to fall into Yoongi’s waiting palm.
“Y-yes. Please .”
“Good boy.”
Yoongi settles that little lower, lips taut around Jimin’s length, palm stroking what his tongue can’t quite reach, and as he works in languid movements, Jimin’s hand finds rest thread through long strands, tugging as he wills his hips not to buck into Yoongi’s mouth. It prompts Yoongi’s hold on his thigh, a small whimper of gratitude as Yoongi continues to work with a learned hand against him. His tongue traces veins, outlining and learning all that comprises him, ingrained within his mind with little use, he distantly thinks, but despite his own desires to hold Jimin close— forever, he hopes— he knows he’s simply there to teach him all that there is to know. Trust ever-flowing between them, words and gazes fond as lips find home against each other, and despite how perfectly right it feels, Yoongi knows he can’t get too attached, for he could never know that Jimin feels the same. He spends little time as Jimin’s body tenses, staving off his impending release just as Yoongi had told him. Whines fall from his tongue, moans turning heady, and as Yoongi withdraws his touch, Jimin breathes, what heat lined his lungs in ash now finding its welcome reprieve.
“Do you think you can take me, sweetheart?” Yoongi asks, a palm drawing up to cup the heated round of his cheek, and as Jimin nods— a furious, needy, thing— Yoongi lets soft laughter fall, never chastising. “Words, angel. Tell hyung how much you want it.”
“P-please. Please , hyung. Please.” He all but begs, and perhaps Yoongi resides in the moment for a while, watching Jimin’s hurried breath ease that little as pleading eyes soften, knowing that Yoongi will take care of him wholly.
“You’re so good, yeah? So good for me.” Yoongi hums, reaching for a small packet before a broad palm tends to his own cock, thick and crimson-flushed, neglected yet the wait burns sinfully sweet. He rolls on a condom, sighs parting his lips as Jimin watches with glazed eyes, and it takes little time for him to tug Yoongi back down, kisses never far from swollen lips, cerise-lined and saliva-sticky.
Yoongi tugs his thighs up, honey-laced kisses against his chest as eyes house little more than sincerity, an unwavering devotion to tending to Jimin, to keep him safe and to treat him just as he deserves, and as he lines himself up, his kisses turn that little more languid in slight hesitation. They’re comprised of teeth and tongue, lips nipping at lips and fingers entwined, and Yoongi has perhaps never felt a love as whole as with Jimin, blooming so brightly within his chest.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Yoongi asks, unwilling to breach before a final affirmation, and whilst Jimin nods— a sweet, lazy smile tugging at his cheeks despite what want lines his veins— his lips part and his palm trails down Yoongi’s sweat-slickened neck, finding rest with fingers toying at his nape.
“M’sure, hyung. Wan’ you.”
And it’s these words that breathe life into Yoongi’s lungs, inching in with small ministrations. Each whine and gasp falling from Jimin’s lips is divinely swallowed and rolled against his own tongue, savouring its cloying, honey-sweet taste with each breath. He’s slow to move, slow to ease Jimin’s rim around him— girth thick and broad just like his hand, one wrapped around Jimin’s cock in languid movements. A scene exquisite, he thinks, what heavenly visions life may lead to are ones that could never touch what lies beneath him. Small whimpers, eyes that plead and lips tugging in pure submission, a man blooming so sweetly before him, and each response penned by Yoongi’s own tender hand.
“I need you to relax, can you do that for me?” Yoongi mumbles, a chaste kiss against Jimin’s shoulder as what tensity lines his frame leaves resistance to settle, and whilst Jimin never spells it, he relaxes into Yoongi’s hold, praises sinking into his veins born through each kiss.
The burn is delectable, palpably sweet in Jimin’s throat and his body is set ablaze as Yoongi’s lips do all that they can to soothe what embers line his skin, but it’s an inferno he’d die in time and time again just to feel Yoongi against him, and as his innocence finds its burn on what shaky pyre he holds within his grasp— ivory cotton bunched around white-knuckled fingers— and he could never be happier to watch it turn to little more than a smoulder before his eyes. That same ignition now lights within, his core fuelling heat to bubble beneath skin, against his tongue— words babbling into little more than dazed sounds as Yoongi moves, each thrust hitting his prostate and leaving sparks to course his spine. Yet trust never falters, Yoongi’s hold never relents, and Jimin distantly knows he could never be safer. Kisses turn to little more than mouths against mouths, lips lapping up sweat-lined skin as all Jimin’s resigned to is what haze clouds his mind, and it’s this that leaves him that little more pliant— trusting— and Yoongi knows that with each thrust, Jimin draws that little closer to his release, moans a steady staccato and heaven-sent. They’re sweet and thin and impossibly divine, a sound Yoongi wishes would line his thoughts until his finality, and as heat coils within his own core, he bends to kiss Jimin that little softer, assurance woven through each breath that tints skin crimson.
“Close, baby? Come for me— come for hyung.”
A piety to Jimin’s skin, Yoongi commands, tongue-worshipped and now his pillar— a pillar to devotion, his love — standing achingly upright as his pace all but quickens, and each sound that tumbles a sweet impetus to all that constricts his lungs. As Jimin’s eyes roll through release, fingers tugging at sweat-laden strands, his body stammers beneath Yoongi’s firm hold. Yoongi’s hand never relents, and neither does his pace falter, drawing out white strings garnering pearls against his honey-lined frame in a fierce shudder. Delectable moans cling to his tongue, a heavenly chorus coaxed by Yoongi’s own that find their part, and as his gaze lies against Jimin’s face— cerise-flushed and lips cherry-slickened— his own hips stutter, release prompting heat to course his veins in blazing embers. His pace draws languid and his hips roll, the air of dominance stalling for a brief moment as his head lolls to Jimin’s shoulder.
Silence stills around them, clarity following suit, but as Jimin’s breath evens, his mind clings to what haze lines it, little more than Yoongi’s gentle hum cutting through in comfort. So he tugs him tighter as Yoongi pulls out, quick to discard what lines his length before tending to Jimin’s limp frame. What hand is unmarred is drawn up to his cheek and kisses turn delicate, akin to the first newborn bloom of spring, perhaps a tentative hope woven through each breath, and as Yoongi lets praises tumble from his tongue, he knows .
He knows as Jimin’s eyes glaze, lips part and voice never finds its feet. He knows as his hands search for purchase for the man who gently eased him into what sacred haze blooms within, lips pouted and lashes heavy. And, as Jimin’s breath fans delicate heat against Yoongi’s bare skin— almost primal in its purity— he knows when he tugs him that little closer, seemingly unable to part.
He’s dropped so sweetly and Yoongi could never be more grateful to be the man to bear witness to this side of him— to tend to him, to hold him close and reside in what Yoongi’s so carelessly crafted in his mind, yet just for a night. To dare to think about another unravelling what has laid dormant leaves nausea to settle, never knowing just if they could treat him just as he needs— just as he deserves. So he waits until Jimin grows that little more aware, eyes widening and hands drawing up to cup his jaw, a petal-soft kiss the seal of gratitude.
“Can I leave for a moment, sweetheart? Just to get you some water. I’ll be right back, I promise.” Yoongi assures, fingers brushing back sweat-laden strands from their frame against Jimin’s skin, and as Jimin nods, Yoongi can’t quite will himself to move, never wishing to leave Jimin so vulnerable. “I need a word, baby.”
“You can.” He chokes out, words uncertain yet Yoongi knows the intent leaves little room for doubt, kissing Jimin’s head before quickly leaving for water to line his hand and a cloth to wipe all that leaves Jimin’s frame sticky.
Perhaps Jimin never feels Yoongi’s absence or perhaps it’s one achingly sombre, what haze has settled never seeming to falter as submission takes its firm hand against cognition’s best efforts of clarity. But Yoongi knows to tend to him, keep him close and his body warm, to whisper assurances that may seem to tumble mindlessly, yet they’re ones he’d spell time and time again just for Jimin to truly believe what lines his tongue. For Yoongi is a man hopelessly smitten, born through the beginnings of fondness in youth and now blooming into something much greater, and whilst it is hard to separate what floods his veins, he knows he needs to, simply caring for Jimin as a dominant, never the lover that he yearns to be.
As Yoongi returns, he gently wipes Jimin’s frame, ridding it of what honey-slick lines adorn it. He’s tender as he kisses, affirmations never far from his tongue as his lips tug at what skin blooms livid, and as he helps Jimin sit up, his palm draws to his jaw to gently tilt Jimin’s head back.
“I want you to drink this whole glass, alright?” Yoongi asks, voice petal-soft and mellow, and Jimin simply nods.
His eyes are glazed and lips parted and Yoongi knows when to press further, and he also knows that words never seem to form against Jimin’s tongue. A place where his mind seemingly rests, cotton-shrouded with little fears, and Yoongi never wants those to rise should he slip, so he holds him tight and tips water past flushed lips, thumb grazing damp skin as his eyes rest ever-fond.
“Good boy. You’re doing so well for hyung, aren’t you?” Yoongi croons as Jimin slumps against him, the glass of water now empty within Yoongi’s hold, and as words never tumble from Jimin’s tongue, Yoongi pulls him close in security, lips lining his frame as feather-light fingers follow suit. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” His voice turns that little lower, whispered yet assured and shrouds Jimin in distilled comfort, just enough to cut through what obscures tender thoughts.
He hums, a small pause as words find their feet, just that little slurred and languid as they finally tumble from smile-parted lips. “M’good. Tired, ‘yung.”
“A bit out of it? A bit hazy?” Yoongi presses, wanting to be certain that baring submission has tipped Jimin over the edge— Yoongi’s own duty to leave him secure. And as Jimin nods, Yoongi can’t quite help but tug him closer. His little fingers clutch around nothing, heat puffs from parted lips, and his eyes grow that little heavier with what breaths find their shaky part. “Would you maybe want a shower to clean up? Hyung will take care of it all.”
It’s a mumbled ‘ please ’ from Jimin’s tongue, never quite sure of itself yet definite in intention, and it leaves Yoongi to laugh gently, warming and assuring and leaving Jimin to sink that little further into his delicate hold. It prompts a fatigued smile to tug at Yoongi’s cheeks, his own crimson-lined just as Jimin’s so sweetly glow, and as he draws soft circles against Jimin’s heated rounds, he knows he could never be luckier.
“You’ve always been so sweet, haven’t you? So good.”
Yoongi’s touch never relents as he helps Jimin to his feet. A hand around his waist in comfort, fingers drawn down his goosepimpled spine, and as he turns on the water— a palm outstretched to ensure it’s never scalding— he notices what lines Jimin’s frame. Five little tattoos adorn his spine, the tender wax and wane of crescents leading to its birth in the centre, and perhaps if Yoongi knew, he’d have worshipped them just as divinely, for they could never be sweeter. He lets his touch trace each delicate inked line, its hue warmed against flush-honeyed skin and slightly tacky from what sweat clings to all that it can, and as Jimin’s cheeks redden that little more demurely, Yoongi can’t quite bite down what tugs at his own. It’s a smile born through utter devotion, the kind settling warmth to tint veins and tender hope to string against gilded horizons, and as he pulls Jimin’s frame closer, his lips dip to his lobe, words a gentle graze as they tumble in a whisper.
“Oh? You hid these from me, did you? I never got to see them.” Yoongi hums, teeth nipping at his neck, and it leaves a small giggle to tumble sleep-hazed from Jimin’s tongue, delectably syruped and sweet. “They’re beautiful— just like you. So beautiful, Jimin-ah. Pretty little moons for the prettiest man I’ve ever known.”
Jimin’s cheeks redden, crimson-tinted as laughter falls shyly and he buries his face into the juncture of Yoongi’s neck, and perhaps he’d never bare what thoughts line his tongue, for what shrouds him in a thick, cloying haze could never be more heavenly. Body sweat-musked yet impossibly Yoongi , warm and comforting and spelling home within each shaky inhale, and as Yoongi gently pries him away to stand both frames beneath running water, he turns to cling that little closer to him in security.
The soap is plain yet safe, scrubbed oh-so-delicately with a pale yellow puff against his skin, ridding it of all that lines it, and as Yoongi trails kisses against him, he dips just that little to let each moon have its turn, lips gliding languidly against each ridge of his spine. His hands trace Jimin’s waist, lines penned by his hand and as Jimin lightly whimpers— Yoongi’s hands that bit lower— Yoongi knows sensitivity has taken its toll. A man whose body remained unbreached, now swollen and reeling its aftermath, and as Yoongi mumbles feather-soft apologies for his own doing, Jimin gently shakes his head.
“A bit sore, baby?” Yoongi asks, prompting a small, hesitant nod from Jimin. So his lips line his own and tongues graze, assurance woven through every breath spelling that Jimin never needs to worry, for Yoongi has him in his entirety. “When we’re done, I’ll help, alright? Will you let hyung take care of you?”
“Mhm.”
“Good. Feeling alright, sweetheart?” Yoongi asks, gently moving Jimin to rinse as he quickly washes himself.
“Like… like I’m in— in a dream… a bit drunk.” Jimin whispers as his voice finds its falter, cotton-soft and never quite finding its feet, yet it never needs to as Yoongi’s hold firms, body pressed against his own in tender salvation. So he stumbles just lightly as Yoongi stands beside him, a slump against Yoongi and broad arms steady his frame, and Jimin could never be more thankful for Yoongi’s insistent care and watchful eye, knowing that he could never quite bear this alone.
“I’ve got you. You’re doing good, baby. You’re doing so good.” Yoongi’s croons spell safety, and whilst each word never settles within Jimin’s mind, they lull him that little further into Yoongi’s hold, just nearly believing all that tumbles; good .
As they stand, Yoongi kisses all that he can, hair water-laden and skin tinted crimson. His lips, neck, and collarbones are never spared from adoration as his hands follow what his tongue trails. Yet it never lasts too long, not as Jimin’s eyes grow heavy and lips part in a small pout, fatigue painted thick and fast against limbs and leaves Yoongi to stave off what chill lines the air with freshly washed towels. Fluffy and soft against delicate skin, and as Jimin’s cheeks turn that little more doughy with exhaustion, flushed and demure, Yoongi has never borne witness to a sight as divine— one he’d move heaven and Earth to simply call his own.
“Still alright?” Yoongi asks to a small smile; a smile leaving him just that little more breathless each time it rears its head.
“Y-yeah. I chose well.” Jimin all but slurs, missing what smile bares Yoongi’s own teeth, gum-lined and petal-soft as he turns to find some cream.
“We’ll talk about it later, Jimin-ah, but you really did so perfectly— everything I asked you to do.” His hand draws to his cheek, thumb grazing lines against blooming skin. “So good.”
“Wanna be good for ‘yung.” And it’s perhaps this that tips Yoongi over what delicate edge he so carelessly treads, heels having faltered, toes no longer clinging on, and as he tumbles, the descent could never be sweeter. His kiss is gentle— vulnerable— baring what lines his tongue in a tentative confession, yet words never find their fall, bitten down like honey-thick treacle, impossibly saccharine and just that bit cloying.
“You always are— always have been. Come to bed, yeah? I’ll get us warm and you can rest.”
But Jimin’s eyes widen, tentative fear settling that Yoongi may part— stranded and alone with a mind unable to decipher all that lines it— and as he shakes his head, Yoongi stiffens just that little, wondering what has changed.
“No? That’s okay, Jimin-ah, tell me what you need, hm?” Yoongi’s eyes house little more than distilled sincerity, slight hurt is never woven through yet it’s this that tints his veins.
“I— I don’t wanna leave… don’t leave me.” It falls pained and broken and scatters Yoongi’s heart in crimson shards, so he holds him closer, lips tugging at skin as his palm learns his spine.
“You’re not going to. I’m going to take care of you and I’ll be with you all night. We can sit on the sofa if you’d prefer, would you want that? Or my bed— I’ll change the sheets if you’re not comfortable.” And as Jimin’s lips simply part, eyes glazed and tongue stammering around vowels never quite stringing together, Yoongi smiles, a small, gentle thing. “Sofa or bed, sweetheart? I’ll never leave you, I promise.” It’s a tentative vow, one born through his own desires never to let Jimin slip through his calloused grasp, wanting nothing more than to love him, for he thinks he already might.
“Bed… please.”
Yoongi holds him close as they enter his room, skin soft and warm and eyelids heavy, and whilst he’d wish for Jimin to curl up beside him as he stands— card broad fingers through air-dried curls— he sees the tender wince with every breath. It doesn’t take him long to find clothes to line their frames, boxers and trousers all that they need as bodies house heat, and as Yoongi pops a cap, Jimin’s eyes widen, apprehension thick against his face.
“You look a bit sore, sweetheart? I have some cream— it’ll help. Would you let hyung put it on for you?” And Jimin nods after a moment of contemplation, a small noise of affirmation is all he can muster as sleep begins to tug him under. “Turn over— good. On your knees and ass up, alright? We want you to enjoy it all, don’t we? I don’t want you hurting.” Yoongi’s praises never halt. Never as Jimin obeys each cotton-shrouded command, and never as they still in relative silence, little more than the tender rise and fall of shallow breaths marring what lines autumn’s air.
He’s quick to coat his fingers, spreading hand-warmed cream against what tints crimson. Sore and blemished, rim puffy and aching as innocence has so sweetly found its death, and as Jimin mumbles a ‘ thank you ’, Yoongi’s lips spell what his tongue never parts with, perhaps savouring each kiss should it be their last. He lets Jimin dress as he quickly washes his hand, clothes pulled over his frame before settling beside Jimin. His body shivers and palms tug him closer, and Yoongi could never deny him of such a wordless request, for he wishes for nothing else than the sweet man in his arms. Jimin’s lazy smiles pull Yoongi further into his grasp, heart stammering against all that confines it, and as shallow breaths are replaced with those much deeper— soft heat puffed against his neck— Yoongi can’t quite help but brush away what strands fall against his face with delicate fingers and an even gentler smile. His hands wander in a feather-light touch, caressing and soothing, assuring and spelling what words never find their fall, and as he holds him much tighter than he’s held any other, Yoongi distantly hopes Jimin, too, harbours all that his heart yearns for— to love him wholly.
Sleep comes that little sweeter to both, Yoongi’s eyes fighting their close just that little longer to watch Jimin’s sleeping frame in an innocent gaze. Love-lined and tender, born from the beginnings of an affection he’s so long wished for. It’s soft snores from plush, pouted lips that tug Yoongi under, satiated that sleep has taken its firm hand and Jimin no longer resides in what fragile space his head had laid. And as warmth lines his frame, he’s never felt more whole as within Jimin’s arms, dreams lined with saccharine giggles and the most beautiful smile.
—
The morning’s pale glow replaces what amber light strung against their frames the night prior. Eyes peeking open, toes wiggling, and as Jimin gently stirs, Yoongi’s gaze rests ever-fond against him, perhaps etched with slight apprehension at his thoughts. As clarity settles, Jimin wakes with a start, eyes widening and lips parting and as his breath shallows, fear tugging at his skin, Yoongi’s hold firms in a lazy embrace. It’s the kind that bookends sleep-hazed Sundays, the kind to comfort and assure, and as Jimin sinks into his hold, Yoongi’s smile mirrors that of his touch, just that little bit softer around each edge that lines it. Jimin shouldn’t fall, he thinks as his cheeks, too, tug, but he simply has, unable to fight just how right it feels within Yoongi’s ever-tender grasp.
“Morning, did you sleep well?” Yoongi asks, his drawl that little thicker, huskier, still lined with the remnants of sleep that settle thick against his frame. A man born through divinity, Jimin is quite certain, as dark hair so sweetly frames doughy skin and lips tinted rose, slightly parted and begging to be kissed, yet he never dares to dip. As thoughts mar his tongue, Yoongi draws a palm up to tuck fallen strands behind his ear with a feather-light hand, eyes laced with concern leaving apologies to round against Jimin’s lips.
“S-sorry.”
“What for, sweetheart?” And Jimin can’t quite help but lean into what warmth Yoongi spells, chest housing a steady thump all but lulling him back into tender repose.
“I was— I was clingy and felt weird and—”
Yet Yoongi simply smiles, lips just barely grazing Jimin’s nose in a whisper. “I’d worry if you weren’t. You seemed a bit hazy, yeah? Your head felt fuzzy? You said you felt like you were in a dream.” Yoongi’s gaze is trained on each movement, watching as Jimin’s eyes fight their close once more. He nods, his face buried against sleep-warm skin, fingers finding their loose entwine within Yoongi’s own, and Yoongi can’t quite help but wonder just if mornings that line the horizon may mirror what distilled sanctuary they’ve so tentatively crafted. “And that’s why aftercare is so important and it’s why I’m here. Are you okay to cuddle for a while? Just like this?” Yet Yoongi never sees his cheeks flush crimson and never bears witness to what sweet smile Jimin so ardently conceals. “Because I’d like to, but only if you do.”
It takes Jimin a moment of collection before he rears his head, eyes averted from Yoongi’s own whose lips house the most divine, gum-lined smile. Perhaps it’s just that little taunting, knowing what lines Jimin’s thoughts and desires, but Yoongi never spells it, instead parting with a petal-soft laugh.
“Y-yeah. That’d be nice.”
What lines trimmed nails draw down his spine leave little sighs to tumble from Jimin’s tongue, cotton-rounded and delicate, the kind to leave a soft smile to tug at Yoongi’s cheeks.
“You did so well. How do you feel?” He lets his lips graze Jimin’s forehead, that little sleep-sticky but perfect nonetheless, and Yoongi is quite certain he’s fallen harder than he’s ever quite known how to traverse, holding such divinity within his grasp.
“Okay.” Jimin manages through a sharp inhale. Never one spelling anything more than fatigue still lining his frame, sinking against heavy-limbed skin and eyes that draw closed.
“You’re not sore, are you?” It’s a concern Jimin could reside in until his finality, Yoongi’s gentle timbre and even more delicate touch tugging him that little further into his hold.
“A bit. But you were gentle. Just— just a bit sore.” And he knows there is no use concealing truth, not as his mind casts back to the night prior. Tender fingers easing cream against aching skin, kisses never far from his lips and an embrace so secure he could do little more than simply melt into it.
“If it’s too bad, you let me know, alright? I have other things that can help.” Yoongi hums, the tips of fingers drawn up to his cheek as he gently grazes lines against doughy skin, lightly flushed rose and lips sweetly parted; a vision of purity itself, Yoongi believes, and just yearns to be the man to call Jimin his own. “But that’s good, I’m happy to hear that. And up here,” he taps Jimin’s temple, two swift motions before resuming his fingers’ course. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine, I don’t feel like that anymore. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I was so clingy. But… but thank you for taking care of me, hyung.”
And as Yoongi smiles, he can’t quite help but indulge in another chaste kiss, this time lining the tip of Jimin’s nose and lingering just that little longer than perhaps necessary.
“Some people need to be cared for afterwards and some people like to be that person to care for someone— I’m the latter. It’s why I became a dominant.” The words paint a cerise blush to tint Jimin’s cheeks, face nuzzled into his neck as his hold tightens, knee finding its way between Yoongi’s own and Yoongi’s broad palm flush against his spine, and as distant thoughts begin to take hold, Jimin knows he could never wish for another to treat him so delicately and to love him so tenderly.
“I liked it.” It’s whispered and sweet and impossibly shy, a saccharine confession prompting Yoongi’s heart to thrum and thoughts to cloud with innocent want.
“Yeah? I hope it was okay for your first time.”
Yoongi feels Jimin nod against him, what warm puffs of heat line his skin now replaced with what cool air stills around them as he lifts his head, a bashful smile tugging at sweetly-rosed cheeks. “More than, and… and,” he halts, tongue stammering around honeyed sounds, saliva its thick obstruction. “I want to do it again, I think.”
And Yoongi’s brows raise, question thread through umber strands as his breath shallows just that little in wonder. “Right now?” He asks, and for the first time, Jimin hears how his words never quite find their feet. Thin and strained and perhaps that little uncertain, leaving a soft laugh to tumble from plush lips.
“Not now, but sometime in the future. I guess I really will have to find a bar…”
The silence is cloying, too thick and heady and leaves their throats to dry with its weight, sucking what resides within their veins from their very beings, but as Yoongi’s inhale falls sharp, Jimin’s eyes turn to him in concern, and whilst words of just stay with me, I’ll treat you right line Yoongi’s tongue, they’re ones unfaltering as hesitation takes hold.
“Let hyung make you breakfast, alright? Unless you want to leave, but…” They’re words lined with delicate despondency, the barrier to all that he so ardently wishes to say yet never quite holds the courage to. It’s a funny thing, Yoongi begins to believe, that faced with Jimin, he turns into a man never quite before having reared his head, but it’s a man truer to himself than any other could garner.
Jimin shakes his head that little too quickly, eyes fond and lips tugging at the corners, a hand woven within Yoongi’s own in assurance. “No, I’m not busy today.”
Saliva is syrup-thick against Yoongi’s tongue, leaden and never daring to let words find their fall, so he breathes— perhaps that little too sharply and perhaps in turn, tugging Jimin just that bit closer before his lips spell sanctuary against his own in a brief, chaste kiss both wish would last until their dying breaths.
“We need to talk about it all properly but… I also want to ask you something.” And Yoongi knows if he is to hold Jimin once more, fears need to be borne, that what strings in gilded strands against decadent horizons will only ring true from confessions, ones he is certainly never versed in, and perhaps never with a man he’s begun to hold so dear.
Yoongi knows as his chest heavies, he’s fallen much harder than he ever has before. Tumbling with little to hold him, a direct descent into Jimin’s awaiting palm, yet it’s him who holds it all for a rare change— control no longer within Yoongi’s grasp. For if Jimin never wants him, he isn’t sure breaths would part on their own, mind cast to all he could ever wish for; Jimin . And he knows what he’d stumble into, a life muted and all but despondent, would pale in comparison what they could hold, yet he could never be the man to pressure someone so delicate— so perfect — setting Yoongi’s heart aflame with the faintest whisper.
Clothes find their rest against weary frames as Yoongi turns to the stove, Jimin sat oh-so-sweetly at the kitchen bench and Yoongi bites down what smile tugs at his cheeks, words of you’re so good lining his tongue. But no longer does Jimin seek praise and no longer is Yoongi’s assurance all that settles life into his lungs, for it’s all over and perhaps never a possibility to once more line the horizon. So Yoongi makes breakfast, french toast with peach syrup and cream on top, and as Jimin hums gentle gratitudes, Yoongi finds himself yearning for more. He wants mornings just like this, that little sleep-hazed and cheeks doughy, crimson-flushed as tensity finds its dissolution. Sundays lazy, skin warm and breaths against skin, fingers grazing scalps as praises never find their halt. He wants a life softer, sweeter, one that he knows will eventuate within Jimin’s hold, but he could never know that Jimin so ardently wishes for the same— a love within Yoongi’s tender care.
“I like to talk about what has happened as soon as I can. What you liked, what you didn’t, and just to give us a chance to talk.” Yoongi begins. It’s the aftermath that leaves Yoongi’s mind fuzzy, a slight concern settling at whether his submissives enjoyed themselves— felt safe.
“I liked it— a lot more than I expected.” Jimin hums, cheeks rounded by bread and leaving him just that little more divine, Yoongi thinks.
“Did you feel like you wanted to stop at any point?”
And Jimin shakes his head, a flush tinting skin rose as his eyes avert from Yoongi’s trained gaze. “I felt safe.” He misses Yoongi’s smile, gummy and slightly marred by food, but it’s one that quickly falters as Jimin sighs, body slumping just that little in defeat. “Why did you agree to it, hyung?” He asks, his voice little more than a strained whisper. It’s lined with pain, never regret, perhaps a sense of unworthiness at Yoongi’s supposed favour.
Yoongi’s inhale falls sharply against his tongue, the kind to breathe a chill akin to the harshest winter to line his lungs, giving him space for a single moment’s collection as vulnerabilities find their feet. “Because you seemed so broken, Jimin-ah. I thought if it wasn’t me, who would you go to? I didn’t think I could live with myself if you got hurt. You wanted it— I did too — but I wanted you to feel safe.”
As Jimin’s blush deepens, his tongue rounds against a stammer. Vowels never string into words, nor does he attempt to mask what shyness takes its firm hand, all under the ever-fond eye of Yoongi.
Yet he could never know what lines Yoongi’s own tongue, words of a confession too thick and leaden to tumble, so he swallows it such as bittersweet treacle, just hoping he’ll garner the courage to let them finally fall. “You— you said you’d like to do it again…” He stalls, a sharp inhale proceeding what fizzles within.
“It’d be nice to, I enjoyed it.”
“Don’t find a bar, Jimin-ah, that’s dangerous.” Is all he lets slip, knuckles whitening as his hold on his cutlery tightens, just willing his mind to provide him with what he needs to bare all.
Jimin shrugs, a small, bleak thing as if treading that same thin line Yoongi so carefully traverses, but he wonders just if he should be the man to tumble first— the man to catch Jimin within his grasp.
“Well, no one ever wants me…” Jimin’s words are petal-soft, laced with slight despondency as his eyes never quite reach Yoongi’s own, but they’re ones that widen as those words finally fall from Yoongi’s tongue— looser now, courage finally taking its firm hand.
“I do.”
Jimin stills, his mind simply unable to decipher what words have fallen, eyes wide and lips just gently parted.
“I— I do, Jimin-ah… and not just as a potential dominant. I really like you.” And as silence stalls time— breaths drawn out and movements languid— Yoongi continues. “You don’t have to like me back— I… I shouldn’t have said anything but—”
“Hyung… are you lying?” Jimin’s words graze Yoongi’s own, an interjection staving off what ramble lines Yoongi’s tongue.
“I’d never lie, Jimin-ah. I meant everything I said. You’re beautiful and— and I like you.”
As Jimin’s cheeks darken, sweet rose to now deep crimson, he dips his head in shyness, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as a petal-soft laugh finds its feet.
“I’ve always thought you were very handsome— always . Even when I was younger and I’d come to yours after school to see Taehyungie, I’d see you and I thought you were the man I’d always want. I knew it’d probably never happen— you’re older and probably never even looked at me as anything other than your little brother’s best friend, but I knew you were the type of man I’d fall for. You’re so kind and— and you’re gentle and attentive. That’s rare, hyung. You’ve always taken care of him and by extension, me. I like that.”
And as a bashful smile tints Yoongi’s face flushed, he, too, dips his head, gaze averting from its stance against Jimin’s frame.
“Yeah? I’d want nothing more than you, truly.” He manages, words that little softer as vulnerability weaves through each cotton-shrouded vowel, confessions tooth-achingly sweet as they string between them.
“It’s— it’s not just because of last night, is it?”
Yoongi’s quick to shake his head, perhaps that little too harsh and fast and it leaves a giggle to tumble from Jimin’s tongue.
“ God no , never. But caring for you like that— all of your trust in me— you’re so beautiful and lovely… it’s hard not to feel things for you.”
Jimin’s eyes turn to Yoongi’s own, thread with distilled fondness and hope, and as his hand finds its rest against Yoongi’s, what smile tugs at his cheeks leaves Yoongi just that little more breathless.
“You are too, hyung. So lovely— so beautiful. I’ve always thought it but never had the courage to tell you.”
“Want to stay for a bit? If you’re not busy.” Yoongi asks after a breath, stilling within what moment engulfs them. Paplably thick, toothachingly saccharine, yet it’s a moment Yoongi has so often longed for, and who would have ever thought it’d tumble before his eyes penned by Jimin’s own delicate hand?
Jimin’s nod is just that little timid as he laughs, ever-sweet and golden. “I’d like that.”
Silence shrouds them as they finish breakfast, little more than gentle hums and tender giggles falling from sugar-lined tongues, and as they clear up, Yoongi stands just that little closer, watching as the sweet rounds of Jimin’s cheeks tint cerise. He’s soft and delicate and divine , heaven-sent and simply perfect, and Yoongi knows now that confessions string between them— a mutual adoration remaining unfaltering— he may hold Jimin so carefully within his palm, and what future seemed all but lonesome may hold tender hope.
As they wash plates and saucepans, knives and forks, Jimin turns to Yoongi with parted lips and eyes housing wonder.
“Can I ask you, hyung… about being a dominant?” He asks, his voice is hesitant yet Yoongi’s kind eyes dispel what worry lines his frame.
“Of course, Jimin-ah. What do you want to know?” Yoongi halts, ceramic lightly chinking steel as he places a bowl back in the sink.
“Is— is it like how you were with me last night?” Apprehension never finds its dissolution, but hope strings through deep irises and Yoongi wonders for just a moment if he could have it all. “Because I liked that. You reassured me so much.”
“It’s more than that but in essence, yes . Assuring someone— in my case my submissives— is a big part of it.”
“S-sorry, but do you have any now?” Jimin’s voice thins, as if uncertain of what words may find their fall, but Yoongi dries his hands— warm, soft to touch— and draws it to Jimin’s cheek who can’t quite help but lean into it.
“Submissives? No, not anymore. Why do you ask?” And perhaps Yoongi does know why, what lines Jimin’s tongue is something that he so desperately wishes for himself; to have Jimin as his submissive, just as he’d want nothing more than for Jimin to be his love .
“You said you liked me…” Wide eyes meet those petal-soft, a fond gaze boring into Jimin’s own and spelling unwavering comfort, and as Yoongi’s thumb grazes small circles at the delicate round of his cheek, Jimin can’t quite bite down what sigh parts his lips in serenity.
“I do— a lot. If you’d let me, I’d love to take you on a date. Maybe— maybe it could turn into something more. I’d like it to.”
And as Jimin flusters, eyes averting and lips parting just sweetly, Yoongi moves that little closer. “Y-you would?”
“I’d love nothing more.” Yoongi hums, his face achingly close to Jimin’s own now, barely a hair’s breadth to part shaky breaths.
“Would I be a good submissive?” Jimin’s question falls uncertain but Yoongi’s palm trails lower, firming lines at the juncture of Jimin’s neck.
“You’d be so perfect. Would you want to try it, Jimin-ah? Properly .” And as Jimin nods, a small, shy thing, Yoongi simply smiles, thumb drawing to tug at Jimin’s lips and prompt a verbal affirmation. “I need words, sweetheart.”
“Yes. I do, hyung.” Jimin whispers, his voice just that little hoarse, akin to prey captured by what predator so tauntingly holds him, but he could never fear Yoongi’s hold for it’s ever-soft, assurance woven through all that he spells.
“And would you like me to be your dominant?”
“I would.”
“We’ll go slowly, I promise you. I want you to be comfortable but Jimin-ah, I also want to get to know you better. I want to take you on dates, romance you— it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. You told me that you thought I was handsome but I’ve always thought you were so sweet— so pretty.” Yoongi’s palms trail down bare arms, tugging at what sleeves obscure blush-tinted skin, and as he lets a hand cup his jaw once more, Jimin knows there’s perhaps no place where he’d rather be. “Can I kiss you, sweetheart? Will you let me show you just how sweet love can be?”
And as Jimin nods, words never quite rounding against his lead-lined tongue, Yoongi never presses, for what gentle smile tugs at Jimin’s cheeks is confirmation itself.
It’s tender as their lips meet, palms draw to graze delicate lines against skin, soft hums clinging to tongues, and whilst it never deepens past chastity, it holds a distilled assurance that Yoongi will simply love Jimin wholly. His fingers trail down his neck, face craning just that little to let tongues meet tongues, and Jimin knows he could never be held in a more divine hand, for Yoongi’s entirety spells safety— a comfort unlike any other. As they stand, teeth saccharine and lips peach-glazed, nothing could ever feel as right as their bodies sparing little distance between them.
His only, Jimin thinks, the man who can call Yoongi his own— dominant and lover— and what a gilded life he’ll lead beside him. And as the afternoon is lined with delicate kisses against rose-dusted skin, what tumbles into the evening is that little sweeter— an impromptu date penned by Yoongi’s own hand— an array of food against the wood-lined table. It’s a delicate request that Jimin could never deny as Yoongi gently feeds him, his palm drawn to his cheek, gaze never faltering as praises follow suit, and should life remain as such, Jimin knows it could never be more golden. What movie plays ahead is never heeded as they settle on the sofa, for Jimin finds distilled comfort tucked within Yoongi’s tight embrace with a blanket beneath his chin, and as broad fingers card through delicate strands, Jimin’s breath evens. Yoongi could never have imagined Jimin within his grasp— a man more divine than divinity itself, and all that is heaven-sent simply pales in comparison— for he finally feels the distinct tug of love bloom within what chest has only known loneliness, and he vows to show Jimin just how beautiful it can truly be.