When the door to his room shuts behind the two of them, Jungkook can tell Yoongi wants to look around, run his hands over the titles on his bookshelf, the piano like Jungkook had done at his house so many eternities ago. But the younger doesn't give him the chance, distracting him by occupying his field of vision, fisting a hand in his hair to pull him closer and sliding their tongues together in a way that has Yoongi muffling a groan into the kiss. He only takes a second to smirk in satisfaction as he walks them backward to the bed, throws Yoongi onto it, and for a moment, the white explodes into fractals of effervescent pastel where he touches it. 

In another instant, Jungkook is on him, pressing him back, the vividness of those patterns seared into the backs of his eyelids. He probes deeper with his mouth, his hips rutting down where Yoongi is already hardening, Jungkook notes with satisfaction.

"You wanted to see my room, am I right?" he murmurs into Yoongi's ear, licking around the shell of it to make him shudder. "Well, here it is. You're going to remember the shape of the mattress while I fuck you into it, aren't you?"

There's spite behind his words, and Jungkook knows Yoongi can feel it in the way he stiffens under him, but he doesn't give him the opportunity to react to it, just yanking his sweater up and off.

"Fucking beautiful," he breathes into Yoongi's skin, chasing the flush that's spread from his cheeks down to his neck in the path of bruising hickeys. When his teeth latch onto the sharp jut of his collarbone which never fails to make his gaze stutter and his fingertips tingle, Yoongi whines, hips jerking up. His gaze pleads with Jungkook, but the younger man is merciless.

"I don't know what you want, hyung,"he whispers when he detaches his mouth after sucking hard enough to leave a mark that'll throb for days. When Yoongi just shakes his head, stubborn to the bitter end, Jungkook moves to his pebbled nipples, flicking them just that side of harshly so he can see the tenuous boundary between pleasure and pain shatter for Yoongi. Before the sting has had time to subside, he laves over them with his tongue just to make him cry out. "You'll just have to tell me."

"Over my dead body, bas—ahh!" Yoongi is barely halfway through his response when Jungkook cuts him off by pressing an unyielding hand against the front of his jeans, the shape and feel of his cock making heat flood between his own legs. And for some reason, the memory of that first time at the club floods him, the contrary Yoongi of now with his averted gaze and repressed moans in stark juxtaposition against the one who had whispered filth in his ear and run his hands over Jungkook's body like they belonged there.

And he's definitely in too deep when he realizes that either and both of his faces make his blood run hot where it pulses under his skin, his limbs thrill with adrenaline where they cleave the reins of his better sense to touch, to push Yoongi's fey body to its very limit.

Jungkook shakes off the disconcerting thought in favor of moving his hand, rhythmically massaging the hardness he feels under his touch, rough in the way he knows Yoongi likes it. Sure enough, it takes about half a minute for Yoongi's frayed restraint to snap, and he arches into Jungkook with a surprised moan when he presses down hard.

"Feel like talking now, hyung?" Jungkook's tone is conversational, even as he unbuttons Yoongi's jeans with one hand, the other supporting himself above the other man. He unzips, pulls them down with little finesse before Yoongi is kicking them off to some forgotten corner of the room. When Yoongi just glares at him in response, Jungkook smiles. "No? I guess you want me to play dirty, then."

He licks over his free hand with a slow swipe of his tongue, eyes locked with Yoongi's as the older man swallows a moan—Jungkook can see the tendons of his throat strain, and tries not to think about how effective that would be lower down— and reaches it into Yoongi's boxers, finally—fucking finally—closing his hand over the velvety skin of his cock which he's been after ever since they walked into this damn room. Jungkook allows him no buildup, just a vice-grip around his arousal before moving fast enough to make Yoongi throw his head back and to the side, baring the smooth column of his neck to Jungkook's ruthless canines. He bites down hard, pulls the skin between his teeth in some sort of perverse revenge, and Yoongi's throat vibrates with the force of his moan. A sudden slickness in Jungkook's movements on Yoongi's cock makes him suck in a breath. He twists his wrist to gather the precome that's started to ooze from the tip, pinning Yoongi's hips with his own when he tries to rut up into the friction.

"No, hyung," he clicks his tongue at Yoongi. "I'd ask you the same question again, but we're a bit past speech, aren't we? So I'll give you options. Fingers, tongue, cock. It's your choice."

He punctuates the end of his sentence by digging his thumb into the slit at the tip, and whatever Yoongi was going to say breaks up into a high, desperate keen.

"What was that, hyung?" Jungkook teases at the tip of Yoongi's cock for a bit more before resuming the strokes. "I didn't catch it."

"Ngh—," For a moment, Yoongi looks like he's honest-to-god going to punch Jungkook, but then he closes his eyes and grits out, "...your cock. Give me your cock please."

Jungkook's breath goes choppy and short at that admission, but he pretends to consider. "Hmmm. No."

Yoongi's eyes flutter open at that, but before he can remonstrate, Jungkook is sucking a trail of bruises down his body, down, down, until his knees hit the hardwood floor and he's eye-level with Yoongi's dick, hard, flushed, and leaking at the tip. Delicious.He has to palm himself a few times before he can gather himself enough to speak.

"I think I'll play with this—," he licks the head, kittenish, and Yoongi's hips buck up into nothing. "A little more."

Without warning, he takes a breath and swallows Yoongi's cock right down to the base, willing down his gag reflex to look up at the older man, teary-eyed. Yoongi stares right back at him, eyes like molten fire, and Jungkook sees in his face that Yoongi can feel every flutter of his throat around his cock. He stays like that for as long as he can, coughing when he pulls off to resume the deadlock of their eyes.

"C'mon, hyung," he rasps, and Yoongi's cock twitches at the sound of his voice. "Fuck my mouth. You know you want to."

"Fuck." Yoongi needs no further encouragement, sinking his hands into Jungkook's hair and clenching them tight enough to make his eyes water. And then he forces Jungkook down on his cock almost—angrily. Almost like he hates him, and it has Jungkook's hand making short work of his own pants, the one not bracing himself against Yoongi passing over his cock in quick, uneven strokes. He moans around Yoongi's cock on every upstroke as his head is shoved down again and again, and when Yoongi's rhythm falters, he bends his knee, takes his fingers away from pleasuring himself to cover them in the slippery mixture of precome and spit dribbling down from the juncture of his mouth to slowly slide one inside Yoongi.

Yoongi's hips stutter at it, and Jungkook pulls off his cock, chest heaving, trying in vain to catch his breath even as he moves the finger. Yoongi's insides are feverishly hot, suctioning onto his digits like they want to keep it in, and it's a distraction for both of them when he suckles gently at his cock while adding another finger. He spreads them out before curling them to jab straight into the spot he knows well by now, sneaking a glance up at Yoongi to find a flush high on his cheeks, eyes teary even as he clenches them shut to moan at the sensory overload.

"What about it, hyung? Think you can take another finger?"

Jungkook doesn't know why he even asks, the permission is written out across Yoongi's legs which fall open wantonly, his hips which push back into every motion of his fingers. And yet, the frantic nod, the hiss of yes is music to his ears.

He pushes in another finger, Yoongi's cry only spurring him on, and, in one cruel motion, presses all of them against his prostate. And the way all of Yoongi's back arches up off the bed, the way an angry purple creeps into the flush of his cock, is something beautiful—Yoongi is so, so close.

As if the devil himself is yanking on his puppet strings, Jungkook stands like a man possessed, ripping his t-shirt over his head—if he tears it, he doesn't care. He feels positively feral as he flips Yoongi over, shoves him lengthwise on the bed with sheer brute strength, hitching his hips up and pushing in with one sure thrust.

"Ah—," Yoongi tries to push himself up on all fours, but his arms give out under him and he collapses into the bed. "Jungkook—fuck—,"

The sound of his name on Yoongi's tongue—Jungkook only realizes how much he's missed it when it comes ringing out, high, broken, and trembling.

"You're really not helping your case here, Yoongi," Jungkook growls out, pressing his body up against Yoongi's so that his cock drives in deeper inside him.

"Don't—hnn—don't want to," Yoongi shivers, and Jungkook can taste the anticipation rolling off him. "Now move, Jungkook. Move."

"You asked for it," Jungkook mutters, snapping his hips as hard as he can, like his body's screaming at him to do. He chokes off his moan into the back of Yoongi's neck, biting down hard as he sets up a punishing rhythm. He lets his hands trail down Yoongi's body, pinching a nipple between his fingers, but going nowhere near his cock where he knows it's pulsing out streams of precome on his stomach. He can sense Yoongi's frustration in the sharp, aborted thrusts of his hips, in the little fucked-out moans punched out of him with every snap of Jungkook's hips.

"Turn me over, please Jungkook," Yoongi manages, voice hitching like a prayer as the fervency of Jungkook's movements increases. "I want—ngh—want to see your face—ah!"

And really, how can Jungkook argue with that?

He pulls out of Yoongi, both of them shuddering at the drag of it, to turn him onto his back. Jungkook gives him barely a moment's respite before he's canting his legs over his shoulder, bending him double as he buries himself to the hilt. Yoongi screws his eyes shut at the overwhelming pressure before, with an obvious effort, he opens them to stare right into Jungkook's. And there's—something there, something different from lust, that makes Jungkook's pace falter, thrusts coming slow and deep.

"I can make you happy, Yoongi," he echoes Jungkook's words from so long ago, that inscrutable emotion trembling in his voice. He's—crying. "Why did you ever say that? Why did you make me hope?"

"I—," Jungkook begins to say, the phantom sand cascading down though his ineffectual grip faster than ever, those three damning words at the tip of his tongue, but then he shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut and letting them all filter out into his muscles as he redoubles his thrusts. Silently praying that Yoongi can tell from the press of their bodies, as he angles his hips to make him sob, what Jungkook wants to say.

"Just this once," Yoongi whispers into Jungkook's ear, and before Jungkook can ask him, he rakes his nails down the younger man's back, mouths more with the tear-tracks still glistening on his cheeks—and Jungkook's mind is gone, the trail of reddened skin at his back going straight down between his legs even as he hisses at the burn.

"You're going to regret that," he murmurs, attacking Yoongi's neck with harsh bites as his hips piston into him, angled to hit the same spot which has Yoongi's head thrashing from side to side, not knowing which way is up.

"Ah—there, Jungkook—Jungkook—," Yoongi moans, delirious with pleasure, hands clawing their way down Jungkook's back like he's forgotten everything except this feeling and the person giving it to him. It makes the coil in Jungkook's stomach tighten dangerously even as he bends to nip at Yoongi's ear.

"Gonna come?" he whispers into the delicate skin under Yoongi's earlobe, sucking a dark-edged mark there.

"Yesss," Yoongi chokes out, hands fisting in Jungkook's hair. "Yes, please, Jungkook—I'm gonna—,"

"And why exactly should I let you?" Jungkook's voice is threatening to crack even as he tries to hold back, to push Yoongi even further. But then Yoongi pulls back, looks straight into his eyes and says,

"Because you love me."

Because you love me.

And oh, god, it's true. And somehow the chilling realization, as it makes its icy way down Jungkook's spine, has him fucking Yoongi faster, faster than he thought possible, has him wrapping a hand around Yoongi's cock to bring him off in the rhythm of his thrusts, his own muscles tensing as he sees reality shatter for Yoongi, who arches up into Jungkook and screams as he comes in hot, hot pulses over both of them. It's more potent than any aphrodisiac, and Jungkook only gets in one, two more thrusts before he's swept along in the inexorable draw of the siren-cry of pleasure.

"Yoongi," he grits out a second before the world goes white.

When they come down from their highs, Jungkook pulls out, hissing at the friction on his oversensitive flesh. The scratches on his back throb, his head feels heavy, and he'd really, really like to just lie down and wrap his arms around Yoongi, let sleep carry them past the nightmares he never seems to have with Yoongi in his arms. But Yoongi has straightened himself up to sit cross legged on the bed, and Jungkook knows there're answers he needs from the older man first.

"So, you know. What you said during—," he gestures vaguely, trying to encompass the act, the tears that had glimmered on Yoongi's cheeks like figments of shattered crystal, in words he doesn't want to say.

"Why?" he finally settles, unable to find the words that'll adequately convey the—everythinghe wants to know.

Yoongi lets out a laugh which sounds more like a sob, and takes a deep breath, seeming to compose himself—but when Jungkook looks closely, his cheeks are wet again.

"Because you love me," he repeats himself in a queer, choked voice. "And because you'll never admit it."

Jungkook casts about for a response to this, all the while feeling like his tongue's been glued to the roof of his mouth—where he can still taste Yoongi, he thinks, inanely. Yoongi just watches his for a moment before he makes that same laugh-sob again, moves over so close to Jungkook that their noses touch. He kisses the younger man's lips, then his head.

"Goodbye, Jungkook."

And Jungkook can do nothing but watch him dress, and then leave, as the last of the sand runs out between his fingers, leaving him to clench at empty air.