Jungkook is informed that Yoongi's apartment is ten minutes from the club, but they quickly can the idea of walking. Not only is Jungkook doubtful of his restraint in keeping his hands off Yoongi for that long, but neither is sure they can take ten steps in a straight line, and Jungkook is pretty sure that two men walking together with blown pupils, flushed faces and very obvious erections counts as public indecency.

And that last, most dangerous fear that neither of them voice—the shattering of this stupor of flippancy, the re-grounding which Jungkook isn't sure he'll survive. But he pushes it to the back of his mind, aided and abetted by the solid weight of Yoongi's presence, his touch, right there beside him. Whatever Yoongi might say, Scarlett O'Hara had it right—he'll think about everything difficult tomorrow. After just this one night of abandon.

Yoongi's hand is in Jungkook's lap as soon as they pile into the backseat of a cab, shaping out the hard line of his cock through his pants. Jungkook startles, glares at Yoongi—who simply shoots him a deceptively guileless smile, shifting his cock a little to give it more room to grow before he digs his thumb into the head, making Jungkook hiss even as he hardens further, gripping at the seat for composure. Completely regardless of the warning in Jungkook's expression, Yoongi hums—runs his tongue over his lips as begins to stroke him painfully slowly, leaning up to whisper into Jungkook's ear.

"Mmm, you're big, Jungkook," he bites at the side of his neck, and all of Jungkook's tendons strain with the effort of not retaliating, of not throwing Yoongi horizontal and wrecking him right here. He throbs when Yoongi laves his tongue over where he's bitten, clenching his eyes shut to try and hold on for a little more, avoid that breaking point Yoongi's blatantly looking for at this point. "Gonna rip me apart..."

"God, you're just asking for it now," Jungkook's gritting his teeth so hard that it comes out muffled— but it's the only way he can suppress the hitching of his breath and the low moan which starts somewhere deep in his throat when Yoongi quickens his movements. He's fucking trying to make him come in his pants— the bastard. Not that Jungkook isn't embarrassingly close, either.

"Really now," Yoongi's eyes are cloudy when he tilts his head up to stare right into Jungkook's. "And what would I be asking for, exactly?"

This, Jungkook wants to say, wants to fucking muscle him onto his back and bend his legs double, eat him out and spank him raw for his goddamned nerve until he's crying or coming— or both— but then Yoongi's hand slips inside of his pants and he forgets to want anything except for it to just keep moving like it is.

He's more grateful to the hum of the cab radio than he's ever been to anything in his life for muffling the squelching sounds his own precome makes against Yoongi's hand, his little choked-off sounds when he twists his wrist on the upstroke. Before he realizes it's happening, his nails are digging crescents into the foam of the car seat, his back is arching up off the seat, and— fuck, it's gone too far to force down the hot wave of pleasure rising in his stomach. It's all he can do to bite down—hard— on the back of his hand as the orgasm hits him like a sucker punch, hips convulsing up into Yoongi's touch and the moan in his throat ill-concealed even as his teeth break skin.

Yoongi strokes him through it, milking every last drop from him until he shivers from overstimulation. He withdraws his hand then, and, holding Jungkook's gaze in a deadlock so he can see the naked desire written plain across his face, brings it to his lips to lick it clean where he's carefully collected the hot spurts of his release. His pink tongue flicks over the spaces between his fingers like it's something delicious, and it's enough to send a new stab of desire shooting though Jungkook's belly. His spent cock twitches again where he's slumped against the seat, snapping his last thread of restraint, and he's about to lunge for Yoongi, cab or no cab, and give him some retribution, when they come to a halt.

Jungkook barely heeds the next sequence of events, and the happen in a sort of accelerated blur— Yoongi pays the driver, they make their inebriated way up to the first-floor apartment, him fumbling in his pocket for his keys, tension taut and palpable in the still air around them.

Yoongi has barely even closed the door before Jungkook's on him. In one harsh yank, he's turned him around— pausing for one split second with hands on his shoulders to take him in with unconcealed hunger before attacking. His lips first, as Jungkook pins Yoongi against the door with his body, grinding down rough into him— scarcely giving him room to breathe.

"What was that, huh?" he pants when their lips disengage for air, grabbing at Yoongi's hair again, fisting painfully tight, before kissing him— all bite and no breathing room. "Saying things to rile me up. Making me fucking come in my pants— you've been so fucking bad, Yoongi."

Despite the erection Jungkook can feel the hard ridge of against his own thigh, Yoongi opens his mouth to make some smartass retort—albeit not without a shiver of anticipation the younger can feel all over him. He doesn't give him the chance.

"But you got your wish—you got me fucking riled up," he continues in that same rough voice he still can't process is coming from him. They can both barely breathe, now, and Jungkook thinks they're well on their way to an embarrassing encore of the cab scene with how Yoongi's lips are dark, moist and bitten and trembling, his eyes hazy with want, so he shoves him onto his knees—alleviating the trigger point of his expression for a bit. "Now what're you going to do about it?"

Yoongi's hands are at his button before he's even finished, undoing it and—meeting his gaze with Jungkook's— using teeth to pull down his fly with surprising dexterity. He strokes his half-hard cock with just that amount of pressure in his grip to make Jungkook wince from the incomprehensibly addictive throb of oversensitivity—even as he's not quite recovered from the visual stimulation of it all. All things considered, therefore, it's only a testament to his self control that it takes him thirty whole seconds to stiffen completely, and—

"Ah—!"

That train of thought is left dangling somewhere in Jungkook's shorted out mind as Yoongi suddenly removes his hand—and straightaway swallows his cock down whole. The back of Jungkook's head makes contact with empty air as he instinctively jerks it back and up, eyes screwing shut and that embarrassing noise making its way out of his throat. It's a struggle to focus on anything but the hot, wet suction of Yoongi's mouth—but he wants to see this. Like he's trying to swim through jelly, he drags his head forward, forces his eyes open—and fuck. A burning, viscous sort of lust melts through his insides when he's faced with the visual of Yoongi bobbing his head, lips stretched obscenely wide around his cock. As if with a life of their own, his hands find his silky hair, pulling him off his cock before pressing him all the way down, back up and again till he's choking and coughing and his lashes are spiky with tears. He's a sadist, he's a fucking sadist—but fuck the way Yoongi's throat spasms around his length makes him hot in a way he's never been before.

"You little minx," he grits out when Yoongi removes the hand braced against his hip to press it against the hardness tenting his own pants. "You like this."

And Jungkook—not like he hadn't known it before—but it's really, really bad for his self-restraint when Yoongi just nods, mouth still tight and wet around his cock, with eyes wide and teary as he blinks up at Jungkook.

Jesus, Jungkook needs to get his hands on him now, or he thinks he might go insane.

So he yanks at Yoongi's hair again, thrusts deep one final time before pulling him off as he splutters and gags, and takes him in, spit-slick lips and eyes shiny and red blotched across his face and chest—before he speaks in that absolutely ruined voice and all his observations turn to static.

"Told you I'd make it good for you."

"...Hands and knees," it's all Jungkook can trust himself to say, really, as he steps away from the door to allow Yoongi into what he now takes in to be a tiny living room, kicking his pants and boxers off before making his way to where he can make the other out through the gloom, positioned with his supple ass facing him. He wants to take his time undressing him, he really does, but it's like a hair-trigger as soon he he touches him—the last vestiges of his composure crumble and it's all he can do to yank his jeans and underwear down to just below the curve of his ass, not even bothering with the button, before he takes the soft flesh of one of the globes between his teeth, biting and sucking just as he brings an open palm down on the other in a sharp smack. Yoongi cries out, hips jerking into the impact as he collapses onto his elbows.

"What did you think?" Jungkook purrs into his skin as he delivers another smack, another bite, laving his tongue all over the reddening flesh. "That you could tease me like that and get away with it?" Another hit, Jungkook reaching around to free his drenched, leaking cock with his free hand to squeeze, and smirking at the broken noise that escapes Yoongi. "That I wouldn't fucking ruin you for making me want it so bad?"

He switches cheeks then, sucking a fresh bruise into the reddened skin where he'd been striking him, bringing his hand down over teeth-marked, purpling hickeys—and he hopes to all hell Yoongi won't be able to fucking sit down tomorrow. He does it again, and Yoongi's cock spurts precome where his hand is closed around it.

"But look at you," he slaps his ass again, already craving that whimper, that twitching of his cock at it. "You're fucking getting off on it."

And without warning—because Yoongi fucking deserves the same whiplash that he's always dishing out to him—Jungkook removes his hand from around the older's cock to spread his cheeks and lick a wide stripe over his hole.

"Fuck—Jungkook, ah, fuck—!" Yoongi shakes violently, voice gone and shattered and so incredibly sexy, and Jungkook takes that as initiative to do it again, this time pointing his tongue to just slightly breach his entrance. He's rewarded with another loud, stuttering moan—and that's when some sort of demon possesses him with its unending dirge of more, more, more. Placing a few sucking kisses right over his hole to drive him even closer to the brink, he abandons all pretense of teasing and eats him out in earnest, licking over him and flicking it against his entrance to loosen him up, then driving his tongue inside again and again and again until he's fucking crying. When he's loose enough, he slips a finger inside along with his tongue, crooking it against his walls until he finds that bundle of nerves which makes Yoongi's moans go ragged and his entire body seize up.

Jungkook smirks, adds another finger to the brutal assault on Yoongi's senses, curling them right into his prostate, ignoring his increasingly frantic writhing and his litany of stopstopstopgonnacum, just increasing the force behind his fingers, humming low and satisfied against his hole. He only has to take one hand away from where it's still spreading Yoongi open and slap his abused cheek once more, harder than before, and Yoongi's body is tensing up, convulsing around his fingers, moaning high and desperate as he comes, splattering the floor beneath them.

"...Fuck." Jungkook breathes after a moment of silence, broken only by their heavy breathing. "You actually came untouched. That's so hot."

Yoongi's stare as he looks back at him promises retribution, but Jungkook just scoops him up, ignoring the start of surprise, and throws him over one shoulder. It's pretty much effortless—Yoongi weighs next to nothing—carrying him to the door he presumes leads into the bedroom. He throws Yoongi down on the mattress which takes up more than half of the minuscule room, barely stopping to pull off his jeans before trapping him between his arms, kissing him hard and deep before moving down to attack his neck. He tongues over that beauty mark that'd made him salivate earlier, biting down sharply and watching a hickey bloom there to obscure it, tracing over the bumps of his sternum before bucking his hips down to rub their cocks together. Yoongi makes a sound that's almost painful at that, and Jungkook instinctively pulls back, but then he thrusts up, mouths more, and Jungkook never could resist that face, those eyes.

"You're going to be the death of me, Min Yoongi," he mutters, ducks his head down to mark up more skin—the soft patch just below his ear, the juncture of neck and shoulder—while Yoongi's hands crawl up his torso, unbuttoning his shirt so it hangs down around them like a curtain, Jungkook's arms trembling where they're holding him up when he traces his nipples, thumbing over them and squeezing. Jungkook ventures lower in retaliation, and when the dark, soft fabric of Yoongi's t-shirt blocks his path, he gives it an impatient yank, only to be met with a rending of cloth as it rips wide apart. Yoongi's hips stutter in the rhythm they've established, and, when Jungkook looks up, his eyes are wide and dark.

"Jeon Jungkook," he breathes, spreads his legs beneath him, and something in his voice makes Jungkook drunk all over again. "Fuck me now."

Jungkook can't comply fast enough.

Yoongi's still fucked open from his tongue and fingers, and Jungkook only has to hitch a leg up over his shoulder and shove three fingers in at once, scissoring them fast and sloppy, to know by his urgent keen just how ready he is. He divests himself of his shirt, throwing it to the side with scant regard, and, with a hand gripping the base of his cock, enters Yoongi in one fluid motion. He's glad he gave it pause before he kissed Yoongi, because that window of opportunity allows him to see the play of raw desire on Yoongi's face as he takes Jungkook in, mouth slackening and eyes rolling back in his head. Jungkook fights the urge to do that same—Yoongi's so fucking tight it's hard to breathe, let alone maintain coherence. The heat enveloping his cock makes its way like sneaking tendrils to all over his body, clouding his mind, driving him almost mad with lust.

"Fuck, Yoongi," he groans, taking the older's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it as he makes an experimental, shallow thrust, waiting for him to adjust. "Can I—?"

Yoongi just arches into him with a bitten-off moan, nods his head deliriously, and Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief before pulling back, almost all the way out, before snapping back into him. Yoongi writhes under him as he sets up a punishing rhythm, angling his hips this way and that to find that spot inside him—and it's worth the effort when he hits it to make him keen and his head thrash from side to side, not knowing which way is up, whether to buck forward into the stimulation, or back, away from it. He surges forward, bending Yoongi double as he bites at his collarbone to ram him more deeply, the deep throb in his pelvis only exacerbated as he finds its echo in the way Yoongi clenches around him.

"Ngh—Jungkook, yeah, like that—," Yoongi only urges him on, nails digging into his back to pull him in further, tears building at the corners of his eyes. "Fucking—make me take it."

It's as clear and sharp as breaking glass when Jungkook's sanity snaps into half.

With a noise that sounds more animal than human, Jungkook lifts Yoongi's other leg up onto his shoulder, thrusting deep and stoking the pace into a dizzying blur. He's distantly aware of Yoongi's cries escalating in volume, his nails raking down Jungkook's back as his heels dig in, tinting the younger's vision red at the edges. The only salient thought as his mind disengages is the urgent need to chase release, and he slips a hand between them to grasp at Yoongi's dick, working him over fast and rough to push him further, further, in tandem with the coil building impossibly tight in his own belly. He only has to stroke him once, twice more, dig his thumb in at the head—and Yoongi pulls him in for one desperate kiss, moaning high into it while his body spasms violently, walls clamping down vice-tight around Jungkook as he comes and comes, slicking up their torsos. It's all the stimulation Jungkook needs for his vision to white out as his hips stutter, the pleasure excruciating, almost, as he releases in hot spurts inside of Yoongi.

It's a long moment before he pulls out, Yoongi still shuddering a little as Jungkook's cock drags against his hypersensitive walls. Immediately after Jungkook's out all the way, Yoongi's body goes completely slack, arms loosening from around the other as his lashes flutter, suddenly on the verge of sleep. It's to be expected, he supposes, from the alcohol and the—fucking mind-blowing, intense—sex, but it's still alarming to see Yoongi short out like that.

"Hey, Yoongi—," Jungkook shakes him lightly by the shoulder, "Don't pass out on me now."

But Yoongi's eyes are already closed, his breathing evening out—and Jungkook knows that nothing he says can revive him as he murmurs sleepily. "Stay, Jungkookie."

...stay

Yoongi's half-conscious, probably meaningless words hit Jungkook like a dart—and each second that passes with Yoongi's peaceful, pliant form in front of him aids the slow poison that it spreads through him, almost tangible enough that Jungkook can feel the second it saturates his resolve, feel it collapse under the potency, aided and abetted by the daze of copious amounts of alcohol in his system which refuse to metabolize.

It's probably not safe to leave Yoongi alone in his condition—Jungkook repeats it like a mantra as he gently lifts Yoongi to strip him of the ruined t-shirt, using it to clean off his chest, glancing down to where his cum is oozing out of Yoongi, caking on his thighs. The visual sends a fresh stab of heat through him, but he quashes it in favor of running his hand down Yoongi's milky thigh, feeling for the joint of his knee— and then stopping short. He'd wanted to bend his knee to try and clean him up the best that he could, but the abrasion he encounters on his skin makes him pause. It's too dark to see anything properly—but he squints at his leg to try and make out details. A scar—yes, that seems about it—except that when he recourses to touch again almost compulsively, like a moth fluttering in drunken circles as he runs halting fingers over the fever-hot limb, the raised skin of many, many identical ones throws up its guard against him. The scars— they meet him somewhere in the middle of his own derangement and Yoongi's façade, and something ugly twists in Jungkook as he puts the implications together.

"Don't fucking tell me—," he mutters to himself, reaching over for Yoongi's left hand. He doesn't even have to probe with his fingers—they meet a raised scar at first touch.

"Fuck, Yoongi..." he's lost for words; lost for observations, even. He's never seen it before—the fairness of Young's skin, his long sleeves— they mask them well, but as Jungkook traces his fingers over his arm, he can feel the burgeoning outlines of what is, undeniably, proof of Jungkook's suspicion—Yoongi can most definitely not be taken at face value. Yoongi is most definitely not normal.

The obvious questions echo in his mind as he, hands shaking, does the cleanup, drapes the coverlet on him—his original intention—with mechanical efficiency. Why, what happened—even as his head pronounces them, loud in the quiet dark, the acknowledgement of them only brings home their futility. Because, at the end of the day, whatever happened doesn't matter to Jungkook. But even as a part of him tries, in desperate shouts of approval, to smother it under yes you shouldn't be invested in this—he knows that's not it. That's never been it, and it's as simple as him thinking

Yoongi is beautiful

either way

And it's something of the black rage rising in his chest at the people who did this and something of not being supposed to feel that way, that intensely—but he's suddenly exhausted. His thoughts—the racing, the overdriving—is abruptly, ominously silent, but just this once, Jungkook takes it gratefully. Doesn't wonder why Yoongi makes everything slow down, why thoughts of him crowd everything else out. Why all that ever galvanizes his pen-and-ink scribbles any more is him. In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll address their whole tangled mess of a relationship, in the morning he'll deal with the fallout.

(in the morning he'll see Yoongi's unequivocally grumpy morning face, watch the early light stream golden across his hair and his skin)

((in the morning he'll put his arms around yoongi))

(((maybe kiss him)))