#welcome to your late twenties where getting a shoulder massage is sexy

[gay-kurapika]

It's actually kind of funny that lower back pain runs in my family and I somehow thought that wouldn't apply to me

#uhhhhh anyway if youre experiencing pain in your lower back and sciatic nerve you probably need to start stretching on a daily basis #welcome to your late twenties where getting a shoulder massage is sexy

[theforbiddenfruitily]

likes me / likes me not

pairing: yoonkook, side vmin rating: e  words: 10.7k tags that aren’t actually tags: makeup/nail artist jungkook, humor, fluff, smut, mutual pining, sexual & romantic tension, pigeons for some reason, yoongi has tattoos for purely self-indulgent reasons

for cypherkooks ♡

summary:

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” yoongi says elusively.

“hyung,” taehyung sighs, “you literally come here to hold hands with the pretty nail artist.”

“what are you doing here,” yoongi says bluntly when he finds kim taehyung hanging out with some pigeons outside his apartment on a cloudy saturday afternoon at exactly 3:05 PM.

“good afternoon, hyung, so nice to see you too, i’m good, thank you, how are you?” taehyung rattles off, and yoongi rolls his eyes as he nudges the door shut behind him. he buries his hands into the pockets of his embroidered leather jacket and skips down the stairs, taehyung casually awaiting him down the courtyard. “your text said you were going to the beauty salon today. so here i am, ready to rock’n’roll.”

“yeah,” yoongi knits his brows, “that wasn’t an invitation?”

“oh, i know,” taehyung says in a pointed tone as he falls into step beside yoongi, “because you never invite me. why do you never invite me, hyung? i thought i was your best friend. yet here you are. ditching me weekly to go drink margaritas on a poolside with cucumber slices over your eyes and five fit dudes massaging your feet.”

yoongi glances at him incredulously.

“do you think that’s what happens in a beauty salon?” then, “why would it take five dudes to massage my feet?”

“i don’t know why it takes five dudes to massage your feet,” taehyung says, “because you never ask me to come with you.”

yoongi groans quietly.

“i didn’t think you’d be interested?” he offers.

“in self-care?” taehyung asks in the driest tone known to man, and, fair.

“maybe it’s one of those things that i’d rather do alone,” yoongi tries again, “me time?”

“your idea of me time is downing a bottle of whiskey while watching reruns of home renovation shows and then sending all of your friends long-winded messages where you go into detail telling them why you love them,” taehyung remarks as they stop at a red light. he looks at yoongi, and pokes him in the arm with an index finger. “i know you, hyung. i know when something’s up. i know you have a specific reason for always going alone. a secret reason. i’m also pretty sure i know what it is, and i’m here to confirm my suspicion.”

“what are you talking about,” yoongi sighs, “it’s really not that deep.” taehyung makes an unconvinced sound. the feeling of his eyes on the side of his face is unnerving, and yoongi shifts uneasily, pretends like he isn’t sweating under the leather jacket. “since you’re coming, you should decide what you want in case they take walk-ins. they do manicures, facials, hair, makeup. pretty much everything.”

“do they do feet stuff?” taehyung inquires, and yoongi makes a face at him.

“yes, but please don’t call it that.”

/

the bell on the door chimes gently. the scent of fresh shampoo and essential oils rolls over him in a wave, drowning him in a good way.

“damn, it smells good,” taehyung mumbles as he trails in after yoongi. “and i smell like pigeons, oh my god.”

“i really doubt you smell like pigeons,” yoongi comments, sparing a glance back over his shoulder, “but, dude, you have to stop feeding the pigeons in my yard. it’s technically not allowed and they’ve started acting real bold. in the last tenant meeting, the lady with all the hats complained about ‘intimidating pigeon behavior’.”

taehyung pshhs. “the lady with all the hats complains about everything. my pigeons only intimidate those who deserve it. they can see into your soul.” after a beat, he adds: “she’s got cool hats though.”

“yeah,” yoongi says distractedly as he surveys the space. everything’s located on a single floor; a few of the hair and makeup stations are busy. yoongi’s become quite friendly with a couple of the hairdressers here; hoseok, who’s currently buzzing some girl’s undercut, and—

“welcome—ah, yoongi. not letting your drunk friends cut your hair again, i hope?” park jimin, forever reminding him of the time he let seokjin cut his hair with kitchen scissors and had to have jimin do damage control. jimin seems to have sort of assumed seokjin must have been drunk because of how fucked up his hair was. he’d been completely sober and on top of that claimed he’d done a fantastic job. jimin eyes yoongi from behind the reception desk, chin propped up on the heel of his palm, mouth curving into a lazy smirk. “you’re here for jungkook, right? he’s keeping you all to himself, lately.”

“my hands happen to be very important for my work,” yoongi says mildly. “my hands are insured for two million dollars.”

“wow, jungkook’s a lucky guy, getting to exclusively enjoy such expensive hands,” jimin grins.

“here’s a glimpse,” yoongi says as he flips him off. jimin laughs delightedly, tipping his face towards the ceiling, eyes squeezing into tiny lines.

“jungkook will be with you soon,” jimin promises, fixing his hair by shoving fingers through it, and then dances around the desk not unlike a beam of moonlight or some semi-real faery creature. he stops with a hand on his hip, and gives an intrigued glance at taehyung. “and who’s this?”

yoongi waits for taehyung to introduce himself for three full seconds before realizing it’s not going to happen. he turns to him with a raised eyebrow; turns out taehyung is busy staring at jimin like jimin is the headlights of a sexy truck and taehyung is a gay deer in the middle of the road. ah. yoongi should’ve anticipated this. jimin tends to have this effect on people. he kind of had an effect on yoongi, when he first met him, but thank god that only lasted for about two seconds and then yoongi realized the thing jimin makes him feel is not lust but some repressed primeval rage. and, well. then he met—

“kim taehyung,” taehyung blurts, jolting out of his trance. “is… my name. has been, for twenty-three years. hello. how are you. i’m single.”

yoongi’s mouth falls slightly open as he looks at taehyung. then he looks at jimin, who looks vaguely amused but mostly just enchanted.

“pleasure to meet you, taehyung, my name is jimin,” jimin murmurs, and something about the way he’s smiling at taehyung is making yoongi feel like he really shouldn't be here. “can i do something for you today?”

taehyung takes a deep breath.

“not to sound creepy or inappropriate,” he says very calmly, “but you can do anything you want to me.”

“oh, my god,” yoongi whispers.

“yoongi-hyung,” a bright voice calls from across the room, and yoongi immediately thinks, oh, thank god, while another, just as prominent part of him goes, oh, no.

jungkook is a beam of light and a set of offensive body proportions across the room. yoongi feels instantly a little bit warmer, feels a whole bunch of prickly fluttery things at the mere sight of him. jungkook’s grinning at him, and yoongi can’t help but smile back, can never help; he ducks his face, rubbing at the helix of his ear for no reason, and the thing is that he’s aware how disgustingly obvious his crush is to someone like taehyung who’s known him since grade school.

somehow, though, the stars aligned. the gods decided to favor yoongi. park jimin decided to exist. taehyung is oblivious to everything that isn’t jimin, in the process of repeatedly running his hands through taehyung’s hair. taehyung looks like he might pass out. yoongi decides it’s time to leave. he gives a small smile and a wave to hoseok on his way to jungkook.

he’s observed everyone here has their own style when it comes to physical contact. hoseok hugs each of his clients before and after like he’s known them for twenty years. jimin goes for the hand-clasp shoulder-bump thing.

jungkook and him—they bump fists. yoongi recognizes they’re like one step away from calling each other bro, which is hilariously sad on many levels. he sort of likes it, though. it’s like easing into the amount of touching that would occur in the next hour.

“your friend?” jungkook inquires with a nod past yoongi’s shoulder after rapping his knuckles against yoongi’s.

“at least he invades my home on a regular basis and eats all my food,” yoongi shrugs, “so like, a pest or a best friend. he’s also in cahoots with all the pigeons residing in the vicinity of my building.”

“oh, my god,” jungkook wheezes as he leads the way to his corner of the shop, “i’ve never heard a real person say in cahoots before, hyung, what are you?”

“i know you think i’m cool,” yoongi only says, and more sees than hears jungkook laughing, his shoulders shaking.

jungkook’s nail studio is its own secluded area in the salon. there are no walls or doors but there are screens and abundant houseplants to give a sense of privacy.

jungkook listens to the most infuriating, least relaxing music in the world. bass-boosted edm and justin bieber remixes. yet yoongi honestly, genuinely doesn’t hate it.

that’s a pretty good indication of how deeply fucked he is.

right now there’s some top 40 list playing on the bluetooth speakers as yoongi shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror on the wall, roughing up his black hair. the black t-shirt hangs loosely off his frame, in contrast with the bright red of the old school roses barely peeking out of the neckline and sleeves. so maybe it was on purpose. jungkook said he liked his tattoos.

be it the tattoos, be it his outfit, be it something else—as he turns, he catches the tail end of what was jungkook’s eyes on him. he watches jungkook busy his hands with his tools; in his mind, picks petals off a daisy: he was checking me out / it’s wishful thinking; i’m not reading this wrong / i’m imagining it.

jungkook gives him a smile as he sits down cross-legged across from him, and places his hands palm-up on the table between them as if he were about to predict yoongi’s future.

“let’s get it,” he says purely because he knows yoongi hates it.

“why do i come here,” yoongi says dryly.

“‘cause i’m amazing at what i do,” jungkook says without a hint of irony, “give me your hands.”

yoongi licks his lips, slowly lowers his hands into jungkook’s.

“before you say anything—”

“ah, hyung,” jungkook scolds, “stop gnawing on your finger.”

“sorry, sorry,” yoongi snorts, and then falls silent as jungkook carefully strokes along the chewed edge of his thumb. can’t take his eyes off the delicate sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

“you’ve been stressed,” jungkook says. a statement, not a question. he spends enough time with yoongi’s hands to be able to read certain things from them.

he knows that when yoongi is stressed and worried, he bites his thumbnail down to nothing. knows the remnants of old nail polish mean he’s been too busy and overworked to get rid of it and do his nails properly. knows ink stains on his fingers mean he’s writing again.

it is sort of like having his palms read, that way.

“had some trouble with a track,” yoongi murmurs as jungkook wipes his hands down with sanitizing wipes. “it worked out, though.”

“a track… for a new mixtape?” jungkook glances up, eyes bright. yoongi’s heart leaps in his chest.

“maybe,” he hums, tries to suppress a smile. jungkook makes a pleased noise as he reaches for the nail polish remover pads.

“i love your stuff, hyung,” he chats, “i really do. and so do others. i played your song here. um, so far away? and my client asked who it was. she said she’d check you out.”

“oh,” yoongi breathes. is a little bit speechless. navigates through a maze of feelings, and after a minute, comes out with: “see, you do think i’m cool.” what he means is thank you. is pretty sure jungkook can hear it.

“i think agust d is cool,” jungkook says with a sly grin. “min yoongi is the type to say in cahoots with pigeons.”

yoongi rasps out a laugh.

“yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

jungkook smiles in that endearing, uneven way, his front teeth poking out. yoongi swallows, his smile muting into a soft close-mouthed thing as he averts his gaze to their hands.

“so, how are you, otherwise?” jungkook asks as he works. his hands are always gentle and warm and soft, and yoongi thinks he might be slightly addicted to them. or maybe—just jungkook. he makes yoongi feel so at ease and so tight-wired all at once, like there’s dormant fire beneath his skin.

sometimes he only lathers yoongi’s hands in soap water and scrub that smells really good and massages the exhaustion out of them. sometimes he goes all out in the nail art department and does the most beautiful, intricate designs out of the vaguest, most unhelpful prompts from yoongi. (maybe something, uh, like, dark blue? got him the entire fucking night sky, complete with constellations and the wisp of aurora borealis. another time he said flowers but make it punk and jungkook gave him the life cycle of a rose from his pinkies to his thumbs.)

sometimes they carry an easy-flowing conversation for an hour and sometimes jungkook senses yoongi would rather not talk, and works quietly or humming along to a song while yoongi watches on the brink of falling asleep with his knees drawn to his chest and his face tucked into his knees.

this time, yoongi tells him a little bit about the projects he’s working on, then his trip to daegu to see his dog last week which gets them sidetracked for a minute because jungkook demands to see pictures and yoongi’s never going to not show someone pictures of holly when they ask; least of all jungkook. yoongi’s pretty sure it’s actually illegal to deny things from him when his eyes are shining like that.

“you look really happy when you talk about your dog,” jungkook grins, “ah, hyung, your smile—”

likes me / likes me not

“my smile is what,” yoongi prompts, barely louder than a whisper when jungkook doesn’t finish.

“c’mon,” jungkook huffs, face tipped downwards, but yoongi can see the small smile pulling at his mouth. “you know. you’re just looking for an ego boost.”

“i don’t read minds, jungkook-ah,” yoongi arches an eyebrow. jungkook rolls his eyes slightly.

“terrible,” he says, still not looking at him. the tips of his ears look slightly red. “just terrible, your smile.”

“is it, now,” yoongi says quietly, heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

“yes,” jungkook says very resolutely, biting down on his bottom lip. finally glances up at yoongi; stares him down for a couple of seconds, looks almost conflicted. then he stands up so fast yoongi nearly snaps his neck following the movement. “i’m out of hand lotion,” he murmurs, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “i’ll go get more. just a second.”

he slips out like a river. yoongi releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

he was blushing / it was the lights; he finds me attractive / he’s just nice because it’s his job.

“ha!” someone whisper-shouts, and yoongi jumps, curses roughly under his breath. taehyung’s poking his head in behind some houseplants. his head that is covered with a see-through plastic cap.

“dude,” yoongi says, “did you run away in the middle of getting your hair dyed?”

“i knew it,” taehyung announces, swooping in and pointing a finger at yoongi. yoongi spreads his hands to indicate he has no idea what he’s being accused of. taehyung stops directly in front of him. “i knew you looked less i’ve had this eye makeup on for a week straight and more sexy grunge goth vampire on the days you had an appointment.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” yoongi says elusively.

“hyung,” taehyung sighs, “you literally come here to hold hands with the pretty nail artist.”

yoongi feels a flush creeping onto his face. his eyes dart past taehyung as if expecting jungkook to materialize behind him in that second. obviously taehyung is not wrong, but he doesn’t have to be so loud about it—not when he has no idea which petal is the true one and is testing waters, is honestly content with nothing ever happening because jungkook is more than yoongi’s feelings of attraction towards him.

“shut up before i cram this entire thing of cotton balls down your throat,” he hisses.

“you’re threatening me with cotton, hyung,” taehyung shakes his head, “cotton. even your hypothetical attempts on my life are soft.”

he flinches when yoongi dips his fingers into the bowl of soap water and splashes him.

“begone, demon.”

“your attempts are futile,” taehyung narrows his eyes, “that’s lavender-scented soap water, of the ordinary unholy kind. why won’t you go for it, hyung? jimin said jungkook’s a great person. jimin said lots of things, actually.” he knits his brows thoughtfully. “damn, he did not hesitate to spill his long time friend’s secrets to a guy he just met.” he pauses. “i might be in love with him.”

“congratulations,” yoongi says, “and it’s not like that. he doesn’t—i’m just a client. i’m literally paying him to—”

“jimin knew you had tattoos on your back,” taehyung cuts him off, and yoongi freezes. “he knew because jungkook knew. there are two things we can draw from that. one: at some point, you were here shirtless, showing jungkook your tattoos, probably because he asked. two: he was thinking about it enough to talk to jimin about it, probably along the lines of oh my god, jimin, he has tattoos, he’s perfect, what am i gonna do, he’s so fucking hot—”

“kinda sounds like it’s you who thinks i’m hot?”

“please,” taehyung says, unfazed. “i’m an actor. i can easily adopt people’s mindsets and become them. and i also think you’re hot, on a good day. i have no problem admitting that.” yoongi’s feeling pretty defeated at this point. taehyung tilts his head and gives him an intrusive stare. “i can’t believe you took off your shirt for him and you still think he only sees you as a client. do you think he just does that with everyone?”

“alright, sherlock,” yoongi bites, “get out before—”

“taehyung-ssi?”

of course jungkook is standing right there behind taehyung eyeing him quizzically and yoongi has no idea if he heard that. he buries his face into his hand as taehyung spins around.

“ah, good,” taehyung says, clapping his hands together, “i’m here to invite you both to jimin and i’s wedding. may fifteen, 2025. yes that’s seven years from now because i am unemployed and cannot burden jimin with supporting us and our five children alone. also we met like half an hour ago.”

“yep,” yoongi says lifelessly.

“children?” jungkook asks blankly.

“my five blue-tongued skinks,” taehyung elaborates, touching his fingertips to his chest, “but we’re going to share custody, obviously. so. may fifteen, 2025. save the date.”

he shoots finger guns at both of them and slaps jungkook’s shoulder on his way out. yoongi pretends not to see him in the entryway miming something potentially inappropriate. it’s hard to tell because it’s a lot of violent pointing and incomprehensible facial expressions.

“well,” jungkook laughs quietly as he comes to sit back down, “i’m happy for them. i think jimin really likes him, too.”

“they’d go well together, i think,” yoongi hums low, eyes carefully following jungkook’s movements, desperately trying to determine if he heard something, if he’s aware, at this point, that yoongi thinks about him too much, likes everything about him, likes even the parts he hates, like his terrible song choices and embarrassing catchphrases, and when yoongi took his shirt off for him and felt his fingers trace the flowers on his shoulder blades, he felt like an entire meadow, felt it blooming everywhere, everywhere, with every heartbeat a new flower pushing through his skin.

likes me / likes me not

he wants to ask so badly, but instead he’s talking about jimin and taehyung, pretending like the question isn’t hanging on the tip of his tongue. instead he’s saying, “taehyung is… pretty much the most amazing person in the world. and i’m sure i could learn to tolerate jimin.”

and jungkook is not saying whether he knows these things about yoongi. instead he’s massaging the hand lotion into yoongi’s skin with care, huffing out a soft laugh. “i know you guys like each other, even if you pretend you don’t.”

yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. jungkook’s hands on yoongi’s are warm and soft and slow, slower, until they are not moving at all. he’s staring down at his own hands covering one of yoongi’s, and yoongi is staring at his face, breath held captive in his lungs, heart skipping beats left and right.

“hyung,” jungkook says, and yoongi sees him swallow, his fingers curling against yoongi’s hand for the briefest moment. jungkook lifts his face, looks at him with his eyes wide and starry. “can i do your makeup sometime?”

yoongi blinks. once, twice. he couldn’t have anticipated that.

“you want to do my makeup?”

jungkook clutches at his hand and nods timidly.

“really want to. been thinking about it for a while. been thinking about… this one look on you. and if you let me, i’d like to try it. you don’t have to pay me, obviously, since you didn’t book it.”

“you don’t do makeup here, do you?”

jungkook shakes his head. “not professionally. i have a flat upstairs? i do makeup for my friends there sometimes.”

“—sure,” yoongi says after a moment of processing, all in vain because he’s still stuck on been thinking about this one look on you. “yeah. why not.”

jungkook exhales softly.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” yoongi confirms with a nod. jungkook’s fingertips are still gently touching him. “when do you want to do it?”

“you’re my last appointment today,” jungkook says, teeth sinking into his bottom lip briefly, “are you on a tight schedule?”

/

yoongi hangs out in the front of the shop while jungkook closes up, spinning around in one of the empty salon chairs, annoying hoseok and not thinking about going up to jungkook’s apartment. he hasn’t figured out how to achieve either of those things yet, but hoseok has to have a limit, and focusing on finding it helps with the second part. his natural target was jimin, but jimin’s nowhere to be seen. neither is taehyung, who hasn’t replied to yoongi’s text telling him to leave without him.

“oh, yeah, that was weird,” hoseok furrows his brow while snipping at a pixie cut. “he said he was going to show jimin his lizard, and then they disappeared. i haven’t seen them since, so i’m guessing… lizard is a euphemism for something else.”

“oh, no, he means his actual lizard,” yoongi says in an enlightened tone, tipping his head back against the backrest. “he’s showing jimin pictures of his lizards somewhere. and he’s got five. so it’s going to take some time to go through each of their backstories, personalities, and future plans.”

“ah,” hoseok says, staring at yoongi with his brow still creased. yoongi figures he’s not a fan of reptiles. he then spins the scissors in his fingers with practiced ease, and flips them into the tool belt on his hip. hoseok is one of those people who can be openly scared shitless of most things in the world and still appear effortlessly cool. “you’re waiting for kook, right?”

“...yeah,” yoongi says, warily glancing up at hoseok. he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a subtle hint of a smirk on his face. yoongi spins away from him.

“hey,” comes hoseok’s voice, firm but gentle, and yoongi makes his way back around. hoseok’s combing slender fingers through the client’s hair and applying hairspray, but his eyes are on yoongi, a funny look on his face. “i know you’re a good guy,” he begins, and pauses. yoongi waits, confused, not sure if he should thank him. “i know you’re a good guy, and it’s not really even my place to give you the whole speech, but still… jungkook’s like family. and, just, uh. be good to him?”

yoongi blinks up at him for several seconds. he opens his mouth twice before sound comes out.

“he’s just… going to do my makeup.”

“hmm. i see,” hoseok says, completely unmoved. “i think you should still remember that, just in case. i know 37 ways to kill a man with scissors and make it look like an accident.”

yoongi thinks maybe he doesn’t want to annoy hoseok anymore.

by the time jungkook comes out, his bag slung over his shoulder and keys jangling in one fist, yoongi has quite successfully mastered not thinking about him or his apartment because he’s now just thinking about hoseok stabbing him to death with barber scissors. he gets up, rubbing at the back of his neck, and jungkook gives him a gentle smile.

“ready?” yoongi’s already turned his back so he doesn’t see them, but hears jungkook mumble to hoseok the same thing yoongi said: “i’m just going to do his makeup.”

“you guys have fun with that,” hoseok says like he’s holding back a laugh. when jungkook breezes past yoongi and shoulders the door open for him, he looks faintly pink.

“you don’t have a jacket?” yoongi notices.

“we’re only going one door down,” jungkook says, “seems redundant.”

and he really shoves the key into the more plain-looking door next to the beauty salon, but yoongi still wants to give him his jacket with the way the hairs on his forearms stand up.

they trudge up two narrow staircases. the building looks fairly old and doesn’t smell like the shop downstairs; it smells more like setting powder and mild perfume. as yoongi hangs back and waits for jungkook to unlock his door, he realizes he’s nervous. of course he’s nervous. he’s liked jungkook for ages and he’s now alone at his apartment and they are going to be physically closer than they’ve ever been.

“sorry if it’s a bit messy,” jungkook murmurs, letting yoongi in, “um, make yourself at home? i’m just going to change out of work clothes quickly—do you want something to drink?”

yoongi nurses a glass of water by the kitchen counter as jungkook disappears into the bathroom, and scans over the room. it’s a small studio apartment, but plenty of space for one person; it has a high ceiling, lots of windows, and a classic french vibe with the decorative wrought iron balcony railing. yoongi can see jungkook’s personal touch and the resemblance to his studio; succulents on his bedside table, a shelf of music, half-burned candles and the remnants of a sweet vanilla scent. the only part that is messy is the makeup desk by the far right wall.

yoongi instantly loves it. but he also feels like he’s stepped into some very private part of jungkook’s soul, and is afraid of touching anything.

jungkook comes out of the bathroom—he’s changed into a plain white t-shirt, the front tucked into his jeans. he wears dark shades at the shop—for nail polish stains, he told yoongi—but light looks good on him. really, really good.

“you should wash off your makeup,” jungkook says, and yoongi realizes he’s very much staring. he bites his lips, turns to set his glass on the counter.

“sure.”

jungkook left him a face wash and a towel in the bathroom, and yoongi gets rid of the subtle makeup on his face, the black around his eyes. taehyung was right. he does put a little more effort in on days he sees jungkook.

he rakes a hand through his damp bangs and tries to decide how weird he’ll look to jungkook without makeup. it’s not that yoongi thinks he looks bad bare-faced. just different. more… well, bare, in every sense of the word.

jungkook’s organizing his myriad things on the desk, and it looks considerably neater already. he looks up at yoongi when he exits; just looks, his mouth slightly open like he just forgot to close it. then he snaps out of it, eyes flitting to the desk and back to yoongi.

“good, um. sit down please?”

yoongi lowers himself into the desk chair next to jungkook’s stool, feet planted on the floor instead of instinctively lifting off the surface like usually and that may be visual proof of how nervous he is. their knees knock together when jungkook shifts, chooses a moisturizer from the products on the desk.

“i like your place,” yoongi murmurs. jungkook gives him a small but genuine smile.

“thank you. i used to live here with jimin, if you can believe it. back when we were just starting out at the shop. all this tiny space.”

“yeah?” yoongi hums, watches jungkook dispense moisturizer on his fingers. “what was that like?”

“probably exactly what you’re picturing,” jungkook snickers softly. “you good to go?”

“kinda self-conscious,” yoongi admits, shoulders jerking as he breathes a laugh, a shy gummy smile directed at jungkook’s collar bones.

“don’t be,” jungkook says, and when yoongi glances up, he’s watching him unexpectedly intense and serious, with something indescribable and sincere. he swallows, adds quietly: “you look good. you always look good, hyung.”

when he says it, yoongi believes him.

his heart hammers restlessly as jungkook leans closer, hands hovering up to his face, tells him he’ll start with moisturizer. yoongi closes his eyes just so that he doesn’t have to watch jungkook watching him.

“let’s get it,” jungkook mumbles as he gently pats down the moisturizer, and yoongi laughs despite himself.

jungkook goes through the steps meticulously. his hands are still gentle and warm and soft as he applies the base makeup, and yoongi mostly keeps his eyes closed. it’s nice in a way where it also hurts; just how gentle he is with yoongi and how he tenderly brushes his hair out of the way. it makes yoongi’s chest overflow painfully.

“i’ve been thinking about what kind of makeup i want to do for you.” jungkook’s voice is a soothing low murmur. it makes him feel like he’s dreaming. “your face is—it’s—intriguing. it’s… captivating. it’s very… it’s soft and sharp at the same time, you know? so i want to… emphasize that softness and sharpness. i want to do something… delicate. a soft plum smokey eye and a bit of a wing. shimmery highlighter. rose pink lip tint.”

“sounds like you know what you’re doing,” yoongi mumbles, “i trust you. make me pretty.”

“because that’s, like, a challenge,” jungkook mutters. yoongi cracks his eyes open as jungkook’s hands leave his face—he only has time to kind of see jungkook, jungkook with that look in his eyes, faint red blossoming on his cheekbones—”close your eyes,” he tells yoongi, the words tumbling from his mouth in a hurry, “i’m gonna do your eye makeup.” only saw him briefly, but the image sticks to the backs of his eyelids, sends his heart running. his nails curl into his palms on his thighs.

he thinks i’m pretty / doesn’t mean he wants me like that

jungkook shifts closer. yoongi doesn’t see him but he hears and feels him. his leg is slotted in between yoongi’s, yoongi’s knee pressing up against the inside of his thigh. feels him hover, feels his fingertips gently ghost against his brow to move his hair; he’s pretty sure he shivers, and prays to whoever’s listening that it’s not noticeable. feels the feathery bristles of the brush on his eyelid. so, so careful and yoongi can’t stand it.

jungkook doesn’t say much as he does yoongi’s eyes; it requires concentration, yoongi supposes. as he’s applying the winged eyeliner, a couple of soft, frustrated grunts escape his throat, though, and a smile rises to yoongi’s face, slow and silent like the moonrise because he doesn’t want to fuck up his work.

“god, hyung,” jungkook whispers, so quietly yoongi almost thinks he imagined it. jungkook doesn’t elaborate. breathes in, and leans away; yoongi can somehow feel him leaving his perimeter. “open your eyes.”

yoongi opens them slow. blinks languidly at their knees still slotted, adjusting to light. jungkook is waiting for him to look up so he does. jungkook, for a moment, doesn’t say anything. stares at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, as if he’s been put under a spell.

“hyung,” is all he says, “fuck.”

yoongi subtly raises his eyebrows.

“i, um, i’ll just.” jungkook turns towards the desk and manages to knock a bunch of things over. “don’t look yet! let me just finish.”

yoongi doesn’t close his eyes this time when jungkook swipes shimmering powder highlighter on his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, and his cupid’s bow, or when he takes the lip tint, touches fingertips to yoongi’s jaw, murmurs, part your lips. he keeps a careful hold of yoongi’s jaw, his eyes carefully fixed on yoongi’s mouth, and he’s so close yoongi can see every beautiful detail of his face and the warm flush standing out fiercely against the white of his shirt.

yoongi wants to kiss him. really badly.

“can i be honest?” jungkook asks suddenly, his tone low and quiet. it’s probably a rhetorical question, but yoongi makes a short affirmative sound. “i wanted to do your makeup since the day i saw you. from the moment you walked in—it was so hard not to look at you.” he’s still holding the applicator to yoongi’s bottom lip, but yoongi doesn’t think he’s doing much with it. “you—your face, your hands, everything about you... is so pretty.” yoongi watches the tip of his tongue glide across his bottom lip. “your voice, your music. your tattoos. you... drive me insane, hyung. and it’s not only…” he lowers the lip tint, but still stares at the same spot on his mouth. “when you walked in, i thought, maybe he’s an asshole—not that i thought you were, but that would’ve been… easier for me. but you weren’t, you weren’t at all, you turned out to be… you, the kindest, softest...” he breathes in, and finally meets yoongi’s eyes—his brow twitches, almost as if he were in pain. “i don’t do that with everyone.”

yoongi can barely remember how to speak.

“what?”

“i don’t just ask people to show me their tattoos, i don’t ask to touch them like that, oh my god, hyung—”

yoongi hooks a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him in, and kisses him.

eyes closed, just the press of their lips, until yoongi eases his grip slightly, and ventures a tiny tentative movement against him. jungkook’s lips, like his hands, are soft—

the lip tint clatters somewhere on the floor. jungkook makes a tiny sound, and only a second later, he’s kissing yoongi back fervently, so hard it almost hurts.

“oh,” yoongi breathes, jungkook’s fingers clinging onto his shirt front and digging into his thigh.

“yoongi,” jungkook says like a plea. oh, yoongi thinks again, and pulls him back in, his heart beating out of his chest. holds his face in both hands and kisses him properly, or as properly as he can with jungkook so eager, crashing into him first like a wave and then like rain, coming down on him ceaselessly and with abandon, making yoongi dizzy with every kind of want. he pries his lips apart with his own, licks into his hot mouth, and the sheer noise jungkook makes is enough to make heat coil in his belly.

“fuck, jungkook,” he groans into his mouth, “fuck, what the fuck, are you serious—”

“what do you mean am i serious,” jungkook laughs, but it’s half breathless gasps. he pulls back to look yoongi in the eye, and fuck, he looks beautiful, looks like a mess already, his pupils blown, his mouth swollen and red—an imprint of yoongi’s lip tint probably somewhere on it. “i’ve liked you since forever, how could i not—i was trying to muster up the courage to ask you out for coffee, this isn’t really—how i meant for it to happen—”

“we can do that,” yoongi agrees hurriedly, only sort of processing what he’s saying, “coffee, yes, let’s do that—but can i kiss you more now? really wanna kiss you more—”

“yes, yes please,” jungkook breathes, and then his mouth is back on yoongi’s. jungkook kisses with the intensity and heat of a thousand burning suns, and it’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to yoongi, even if he thinks it might kill him. he thinks he knows how icarus felt for the first time in his life.

jungkook’s trying to tug him close, but the chairs and their legs are in all the wrong places, and after some frustrated fumbling, jungkook pulls away again, their mouths separating with a wet sound; looks at yoongi with dark eyes, panting, and before yoongi can make himself form words to ask him what he’s doing and why he isn’t kissing him, jungkook mumbles, hold on, and leans further back. at first yoongi thinks he’s asking yoongi to wait; then it occurs to him he might also be literally asking him to hold on, because jungkook draws his knee up towards his chest, the sole of his foot aimed at the edge of the chair between yoongi’s legs, and breaking into a blinding grin at the last second, kicks yoongi across the room.

the chair rolls to the far wall, gradually slowing down until it’s not so much a collision as it is a gentle bump.

yoongi is astonished.

his mouth falls open first; then a single disbelieving laugh punches out of his throat. jungkook follows after him in unhurried strides, still grinning wide—but as he comes closer, it morphs into something slightly different, something that makes yoongi close his mouth and swallow. he allows his gaze to trail down and back up jungkook’s lean body, his teeth unconsciously sinking into his bottom lip as he locks eyes with him. jungkook’s eyes are magnetic and dark and his smile is almost a contradiction, close-mouthed and pretty, and yoongi reaches for him automatically.

“you,” he huffs, and sounds absolutely gone for him but doesn’t even care right now, “you’ll pay for that.”

“yeah?” jungkook grins. yoongi’s hand finds his waist, and without hesitation, jungkook climbs into his lap, knees on either side of him, forearms bracketing yoongi’s head on the backrest. yoongi sucks in a breath; with his eyes never leaving jungkook’s, wraps his arms around his middle, palms traveling firm and slow across his ribs and the expanse of his back over his shirt, feeling how he fits into his arms, feeling his lithe body respond to his touch. “hyung,” jungkook gasps, apple red mouth parted.

“kiss me,” yoongi asks quietly, and jungkook surges down, kisses almost like he’s angry, deep and thorough and bruising, hands sliding into yoongi’s hair and tugging just enough to make him groan, make him tighten his hands around jungkook’s waist. jungkook’s thighs slide farther apart until he’s fully seated in yoongi’s lap, heavy and solid against him, and yoongi makes a pained noise, fists the back of his shirt. he tugs at jungkook’s bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a soft whimper from him, and it pours down his throat like hot liquid, pools in the pit of his stomach. “fuck, jungkook,” he manages, and jungkook makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“touch me more,” he whispers, arching in his touch, “touch me more, please, yoongi—”

yoongi is more than happy to comply. slips his hands under his shirt, splays fingers across his back, his hot-running skin and the hard muscles. jungkook feels so good, his ridiculous tiny waist fitting into yoongi’s hands perfectly; jungkook, he mumbles into his mouth in some kind of awe, and jungkook moans, fingers tangled in yoongi’s hair and clinging to his shoulder, dipping under his neckline. yoongi drags nails up his abdomen, feels the muscles constrict, and he wants more, wants to see—

“can i take this off you?” he whispers, and jungkook wastes no time sitting back to pull the shirt over his head, giving yoongi no time to prepare whatsoever. suddenly he’s got a lapful of half-naked jungkook, and yoongi knew he was hot, but this is just—this is outrageous.

“oh,” he says, strained, and clutches at jungkook’s hips as though hanging on for dear life, “warn a guy, jesus christ, jungkook—”

“are you angry at my abs?” jungkook asks breathlessly, laughter in his voice, and yoongi looks up at him, brow furrowed and swollen mouth open.

“yes,” he bites out, “they are just—unreasonable, and you can’t just—do that, you’re sitting on my damn lap, think of my, my pulse—”

jungkook laughs with his eyes closed, barely making a sound, flushed cherry blossom pink, and yoongi’s never wanted to kiss someone’s teeth before yet here he is. he’s, like, in love, he’s completely and utterly gone and they haven’t been on a real date yet.

“i take that as, mm, as a compliment?” jungkook hums, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, and instantly the heat is back as he leans over yoongi, shifts in his lap, and yoongi is reminded he’s been half-hard since jungkook straddled him. he makes a low soft sound from his throat, runs his hands over jungkook’s thick thighs, up his sides. jungkook brushes his lips against his cheekbone, drops devastatingly gentle feathery kisses along the side of his face. “‘m not prettily inked like you—”

“you don’t need it,” yoongi tells him, and he has no idea when his voice got so rough, “don’t need it to be absolutely fucking gorgeous—” jungkook makes a breathy high-pitched sound and rocks into him at the praise, face tucked into his neck, and so yoongi keeps going, hands sliding on bare skin, keeping him close. “so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, “been wanting you for ages—”

“yoongi,” jungkook grunts, and crashes their mouths together again, kissing with fervor, with teeth and tongue, his fist in yoongi’s hair keeping his face angled the way he wants, body rolling against him, hips grinding down, and yoongi loves it, this insistence and intensity, it’s so fucking hot; he moans into the kiss and grabs jungkook’s hips, encouraging his movements.

jungkook’s hands between their bodies are tugging on yoongi’s shirt.

“hyung, yoongi, take this off, please—”

it takes a bit of maneuvering, and jungkook almost clocks him in the jaw as he yanks the shirt off his body with more force than necessary, but after apologizing profusely whilst giggling helplessly, he’s back in yoongi’s lap and skimming his fingers over the roses on his collarbones and upper arms, making yoongi shiver.

“pretty,” he’s whispering, “pretty hyung, so pretty—”

yoongi flushes even more just from that, and tugs him back down by the back of his neck.

he thinks about the coffee date for a fleeting moment, and wonders if they’re moving too fast—decides fuck it approximately 1.8 seconds later, because they both want this, and the way jungkook sighs into his mouth is a pretty compelling argument. he glides his hands up jungkook’s stomach, his chest, teases fingertips over his nipples, and jungkook squirms against him, gasps into his mouth, and yoongi definitely wants to explore his unexpected sensitivity more, can’t wait to learn what makes him writhe and gasp, what makes him feel good and what makes him feel like he’s been sent to heaven—preferably when they aren’t making out in a creaky office chair.

for now, jungkook grinds against him increasingly desperately and yoongi grazes his fingers just above his waistband, mumbles, “what do you want? tell me what you want. anything.”

jungkook inhales unsteadily.

“touch me,” he whispers, “please—”

gently, his fingers wrap around yoongi’s; yoongi lets his hand be guided down, down where he is hard in his jeans; his own dick jumps, arousal so tightly-wound in his belly he thinks he might burst. he applies pressure, palms him slowly, and jungkook lets out the most beautiful ragged moan, clings to his shoulders and rocks into his palm. yoongi slides his other hand into his hair, mouths along his jawline, presses teeth and tongue against his skittering pulse until jungkook’s breath stutters.

“more—yoongi, wanna feel your—your hands—”

“fuck,” yoongi manages, and fumbles with the button of jungkook’s jeans. employs both of his hands to tug them open because no one’s grading technique here. “okay?” he checks, barely dipping a fingertip under the elastic waistband, and when jungkook rattles off a litany of yes yes yes, slips a hand into his briefs. his other palm firm and grounding against jungkook’s back, merely strokes him gingerly with his long fingers first, taking it slow more for himself than for jungkook, because his heart is about to punch out of his ribcage. jungkook makes breathy little sounds, and yoongi sees his toes curl and uncurl behind him. it’s the most devastating thing he’s ever seen.

he wraps his fingers around him, and takes him out. jungkook is leaking, hard and heavy, and yoongi swears roughly into his sweat-coated neck, leans his forehead against his shoulder to watch his own fingers skim over the flushed tip, slick and sticky, watches precum string between them. jungkook’s gripping his hair so tightly it almost hurts.

“pretty,” yoongi tips his face up to mumble nonsensically into the hollow of his collarbone, “you’re so pretty, kook-ah, so beautiful.”

jungkook moans weakly into his ear, his hips stuttering forward into the ring of his fingers. yoongi pumps him loosely a couple of times and rubs his palm over the wet head, trying his best to take note of his reactions and learn what he likes, jungkook’s nails scraping across his shoulders, jungkook gasping hyung or yoongi or fuck fuck fuck.

he’s sure jungkook has lubricant in some shape or form somewhere around here, but he also doesn’t see either of them getting up in the near future; so he briefly takes his hand off of jungkook to bring it up to his mouth, and rather unceremoniously licks a wet stripe across his palm, all the way up to his fingertips. tastes jungkook on his tongue, and while he’s never been a fan of the taste of precum or cum, jungkook doesn’t taste bad.

“oh, my god,” he hears a strained gasp, and locks eyes with jungkook, who sits back to watch yoongi. he looks so wrecked with his bitten mouth and glazed-over eyes that yoongi isn’t half as embarrassed as he usually would be, but instead finds himself wanting to put on a show; looks at jungkook under his lashes as he sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, gets them wet and messy, and pulls them out slowly. jungkook looks dazed, his fingers working against the muscles of yoongi’s shoulders; finally he blinks, tugs his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down hard.

“fuck, yoongi,” he says low, a dark shadow passing across his face, and closes the distance, kisses him the most urgent yet, so much power behind it that yoongi forgets what he was doing for a second, just groans and gives into it, mouth pliant and inviting the drag of jungkook’s tongue against his own. he remembers soon enough, with jungkook poking wetly at his abdomen, and reaches back down, takes him into his fist. jerks him fast and tight, wanting to give him what he needs, wanting to see him come apart.

jungkook’s getting close, there are several tells: his body squirming so erratically yoongi thinks he might fall right off of him, his thighs shaking, the continuous whiny aah aahs from his mouth. coming in his pants like a sixteen-year-old is a very formidable threat to yoongi.

“wait, wait,” jungkook breathes, seizing his wrist, and yoongi stops moving immediately; waits in the silence of their heavy breathing, and jungkook swallows, blinks at him, eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings, so, so pretty. he releases a laugh in the form of an exhale, and looks at yoongi, the flush on his face darkening like ripe cherries. “didn’t wanna come yet—wanna touch you first.”

“oh,” yoongi says, and sounds like he’s in pain, “oh, god, jungkook—”

jungkook drags a hand down his chest, fingers skittering at his waist, hooking over the waistband of his jeans.

“wanna touch you, hyung,” he mumbles, kissing the corner of yoongi’s mouth sloppily, “can i?”

“yes, please, kook-ah,” yoongi rambles, near delirious with how much he’s aching for it. jungkook works his jeans open quickly, and knocks their damp foreheads together to peer down at his hand as he rubs it over the soaked through spot on yoongi’s light blue briefs. a breathless haah falls out of yoongi’s mouth, and jungkook nudges at his face with his own, seeking his lips until he finds them. it’s less like kissing, more like them slotting their mouths together and panting, jungkook’s teeth grazing his bottom lip; experimentally, he bites a little bit harder, catching onto the fact that yoongi likes it from the filthy, unadulterated moan pouring from his throat and his hips rolling up into jungkook’s palm.

“yoongi, fuck,” he hears jungkook say, and his eyes have closed but jungkook sounds dark and ruined and like he’s witnessing something wondrous. yoongi tips his head back against the backrest as jungkook peels the thin fabric out of the way; jungkook’s saying more things, saying, pretty hyung, the prettiest, wanna make you feel good. yoongi swallows roughly, head rolling on the backrest in a way he can’t entirely control as jungkook takes him into his hand, mimics what yoongi did to him, running his fingers over the wetness and up and down his length. keeps his grip maddeningly light as he moves his hand rhythmically, caressing him more than anything else, and yoongi lets out a breathy whine, fingers digging into jungkook’s thighs, hips attempting to rise under his weight.

jungkook hums against his neck, and goes on to mouth at the roses on his collarbones, trace them with his tongue, and yoongi wonders hazily if he’s been wanting to do that for a while. he nips and bites and sucks at the skin until there are marks of a different kind blooming above the roses.

“is it good?” he whispers, breath tickling yoongi’s neck, and for some reason yoongi’s finding the fact that he’s seeking confirmation unbearably adorable. “does it feel good, hyung?”

“so good, kook-ah,” yoongi manages, and jungkook makes a pleased little noise. yoongi’s chest is so full it hurts. he blinks his eyes open, fumbles between their bodies gracelessly until he finds jungkook’s slick fingers. “here,” he murmurs, pulls jungkook’s hand up, and takes his fingers into his mouth. jungkook inhales sharply, and yoongi watches his face go through the five stages of grief as he sucks around his digits the way he did with his own. jungkook watches him darkly, presses the pads of his fingers against his tongue, and yoongi moans quietly, his dick twitching, finding the act of emergency lubing much more enticing when it’s jungkook’s fingers in his mouth.

jungkook mumbles something that sounds like killing me, and ruts against him, working his hips against yoongi’s in tiny circles, forearm propped against the backrest for support, his biceps bulging in a way that’s just uncalled for. yoongi pops his fingers out of his mouth, tugs him into a sloppy kiss, and guides jungkook’s hand back down, his movements hasty and urgent.

“kook, kook, kook-ah,” he’s murmuring for no reason, their tangled fingers closing around the both of them, and jungkook moans in arpeggios.

it’s so messy, there’s little to no finesse, but it’s so good, the feeling of them rubbing together and the slide of their slick fingers, jungkook fucking into their fists and letting out soft grunts and moans, biting on yoongi’s lips until yoongi whines and drags his nails down his side.

“‘m close,” jungkook mumbles, fingers curling in yoongi’s hair, pushing his face up into the nook of his neck, “yoongi, yoongi—”

“come on,” yoongi encourages, taking control when jungkook’s fingers stutter and slide away, dig into yoongi’s hip instead. keeps murmuring things to him, encouragements and praises pouring from his mouth in a steady stream, and yoongi never talks this much during sex but it’s effortless now, he doesn’t even think about it, feeds on the way it makes jungkook writhe and gasp.

jungkook’s moan sounds like it was cut clean off with a knife; his body tenses, arches, and then he’s coming all over yoongi’s stomach and chest. yoongi slips an arm around him and pulls him close, keeps him steady as jungkook goes boneless against him, catching his breath with his forehead sliding on yoongi’s shoulder.

“oh,” he gasps, “oh, shit.”

“yeah,” yoongi chokes a laugh, fingers skimming up his side, over the bumps of his ribs, his heaving chest. kisses his mussed up hair, his sweaty temple, then his slack mouth when jungkook lifts his face. “you good?”

“i’d say so,” jungkook says, and breaks into a grin, tired and happy and fucked out. yoongi’s looking at him like he’s in love.

he’s also still hard between them, which jungkook doesn’t neglect much longer. all he does, pretty much, is apply some pressure, scrape his fingernails against his scalp, murmur, come on, wanna see you come, wanna see you, and yoongi comes, just like that. feels like he comes for ages, feels like jungkook’s physical weight on him is the only thing preventing him from astral projecting right out of his body.

he doesn’t know what his body, his face, his voice do, but after the white washes over him, jungkook’s breathing, oh, oh, yoongi, running gentle fingers down his neck and shoulders. his hands: gentle and warm and soft. yoongi rolls his head down the backrest back onto his shoulders, waiting for his breath to calm, and jungkook holds his jaw in his fingertips, kisses him sweetly on the mouth.

“you know, i can’t even be bummed that your makeup is sort of ruined,” he hums, looking at yoongi with lidded eyes and softly caressing his jaw, “because you look so good like this.”

“oh,” yoongi blinks. “oh, my god. i forgot you did my makeup.”

jungkook laughs quietly. “i take that as a confirmation it was good?”

“so good.” yoongi swallows, closes his eyes, and lets the back of his head hit the chair with a muffled thud. “now it’s kinda gross though. sticky and cold.”

“i’m not sure my legs work,” jungkook evaluates. yoongi cracks one eye open to glare at him.

“are you trying to get me to wheel us to the bathroom?”

jungkook looks at him. “is it working?”

yoongi actually tries, after they are tucked back in and still kind of gross; spins them around and tries to use the wall as leverage to propel them across the floor, an attempt which ends in them almost toppling over after two meesely feet and then almost toppling over again when their laughing makes the chair wobble around uncontrollably.

when yoongi inspects himself in the bathroom mirror five minutes later, he determines the makeup still looks good. the eye makeup is a little bit smudged but the glossy highlighter has stayed on. some of it could be the post-orgasm glow, though.

“it looked good, i promise,” jungkook says, leaning on the doorframe behind yoongi. he’s cleaned up already, and looks wildly good, his hair swept off his forehead and tousled like it’s had wind in it. he’s wearing his shirt, and is holding yoongi’s in his hand. “i did an amazing job. you just have to take my word for it.”

“i guess you have to do it again,” yoongi hums, “and this time try not to, like, jump my bones.”

“wow, the nerve,” jungkook says, aghast, “you kissed me first.”

he pelts yoongi with the shirt, and yoongi grins, catches it before it slips to the floor. as he shakes it out, jungkook gravitates closer. yoongi meets his eyes in the mirror, and jungkook gives the smallest, softest smile, before dropping his gaze like he’s shy; he gently lowers his forehead on yoongi’s bare shoulder, and yoongi’s heart hurts.

“do you still wanna get that coffee?” jungkook asks in a tiny voice. he’s tracing the flowers on yoongi’s shoulder blades with his fingertips. yoongi doesn’t say i’d go anywhere with you. but he thinks it.

“let me just put on my shirt,” he says with the warmth of the thing making a home out of his chest. jungkook peeks up from behind his shoulder so that only his big eyes are visible. but yoongi can tell he’s smiling.

/

“wanna know something?” jungkook asks in the stairs that are almost too narrow to walk side-by-side while holding hands, but yoongi has been quoted as saying he’s willing to die for hand-holding, so it’s a challenge he’ll take. he hums affirmatively, adjusting his fingers in the spaces between jungkook’s. “when you came out of the bathroom after taking off your makeup… the first thing i thought was is this how he would look every morning.”

yoongi turns to look at him. jungkook’s looking at the steps, bottom lip between his teeth. yoongi looks forward again so as to not stumble and die.

“i wanted to… see you like that every morning,” jungkook continues quietly. “want to. um. not every morning. not right away. but… some mornings. as many mornings as you want. i’m saying… i want to wake up next to you and do all the boring morning stuff with you. oh my god.”

they are at the bottom of the stairs and they come to a stop. jungkook’s looking decidedly away from yoongi, at the opposite wall, and his neck is faintly pink. he’s holding onto yoongi’s hand really tightly, though.

“it wasn’t that embarrassing,” yoongi consoles, bringing the back of jungkook’s hand up to his grin, and pressing a fleeting kiss to it. jungkook makes a mortified sound. yoongi gently tugs him along towards where it’s still light out. “and i want the same thing.”

“you do?”

he pulls them into the street, and turns around to face jungkook, who’s finally looking back at him, bright and beautiful. yoongi tugs him close, and tells him, “i want to do all the boring morning stuff with you too. how could i not.” how could i not. he really means it. jungkook seems to think getting to wake up next to him every morning is anything less than a privilege.

he didn’t really consider it earlier because they were sitting. but he has to stand on his tiptoes to kiss jungkook. so he does just that. he holds his face and kisses him gentle warm and soft, and jungkook’s arms encompass him, and yoongi doesn’t really want him to ever stop holding him. he feels the outline of his smile in the kiss.

and it’s a good kiss but yoongi still doesn’t expect the eruption of cheers that abruptly rings out on his left. he jumps a little, and stares at jungkook, wide-eyed. jungkook blinks back at him. they turn to look at the same time.

it’s a jarringly familiar sight.

“what are you doing here,” yoongi says bluntly when he finds kim taehyung hanging out with some pigeons outside the beauty salon and also jungkook’s apartment on a clear saturday evening around maybe 7:30-ish.

“hello, hyung, very nice to see you, how are you?” taehyung grins up at them from where he’s squatting by the buildingside doing something that yoongi hopes to god isn’t hand-feeding pieces of bagel to street pigeons. “i’m just hand-feeding bagel to these pigeons.”

“i can see that,” yoongi says flatly.

there are two other people who contributed to the cheering. jimin’s endorsing taehyung, hovering at his side holding the bag of bagels with his other hand buried in his pocket, smirking at them knowingly. hoseok is eyeing the pigeons cautiously from a safe distance on the other side of the pavement, but still looks very happy for them.

taehyung’s hair is—different. it’s so light brown it might actually just be blonde, and whatever jimin did to it to make it look like it would smell like seawater and sand and the sun, works really well for taehyung. yoongi locks eyes with jimin when taehyung is focused on cahooting with pigeons, points at the surfer curls, and raises his eyebrows. jimin makes a pair of horn signs with his index and pinky fingers. it’s the closest to a civilized conversation with a heartfelt compliment and a thank you they’ve ever had.

“were you… waiting out here for us to come out just so you could prove i didn’t actually do yoongi-hyung’s makeup?” jungkook says with disbelief.

“of course not,” taehyung says, standing up and shaking bagel crumbs off of his palms. “we were waiting in the café across the street. but the rest was pretty accurate.”

“well, i did do his makeup,” jungkook narrows his eyes.

“yeah,” jimin begins, “either this really isn’t your best one—” he gestures broadly at yoongi’s general being, “or you were purposely going for this makeup was impeccable and then i had heated sex with my makeup artist in a desk chair which, by the way, is actually jimin’s and you were supposed to give it back a year ago.”

yoongi and jungkook share the same horrified silence.

“wait—” jungkook starts weakly.

“dude,” jimin sighs, and waves a hand at the building. “your apartment has, like, a billion windows.” jungkook goes pale. yoongi just stares at jimin, whose mouth quirks devilishly. “don’t worry, you could only see, like, the top of jungkook’s head. but i mean, no one has conversations that long while sitting in someone’s lap facing them.”

“yoongi actually does that, sometimes,” taehyung says contemplatively. “so i don’t know. we shouldn’t rule that out.”

“you can keep the chair, by the way,” jimin says genially.

“thanks,” jungkook says in a dead voice.

“oh, my god,” yoongi says, “i’m going to cross this street to the café now and i’m going to be hoping a car hits me.”

“wait,” yelps hoseok, who’s been chased by a pigeon even further down the pavement. he’s cornered at some motorcycles parked on the side of the street. “congrats! and i’m sorry i threatened you, yoongi!”

“it’s okay, no hard feelings,” yoongi shouts back. it’s very difficult to feel threatened by someone who’s shrieking at a group of pigeons and seems to think taehyung has some kind of control over them because he’s pleading, call them back, tae.

“if they intimidate you it’s because you deserve it!” taehyung’s yelling as yoongi escapes across the street, jungkook’s hand in his, jungkook’s breathless laugh in his ears and in some place more permanent, in a safe, in a box in his heart where he’ll reach when he needs it, when he needs to be reminded of the good things in the world.

jungkook slows them down outside of the café.

“before we go in, i need to do something,” he says, squeezing yoongi’s hand and biting down on his bottom lip.

“okay?” yoongi says as jungkook takes hold of his upper arms and steers him to stand in front of him in what feels like a very formal manner. he seems serious and vaguely nervous and yoongi finds it perplexing but also endearing. jungkook inhales deeply.

“okay,” he says, looking yoongi firmly in the eye, “so we already got each other off and established we want to be gross and domestic together. but i want to do this properly, so…” his posture shifting, relaxing, he rubs at the side of his neck, and he grins, slightly embarrassed but with the sun trapped behind his teeth. “min yoongi, i like you. will you date me?”

that’s how yoongi starts dating jeon jungkook: uttering the easiest yes he’s ever said, smiling like a lovestruck fool in front of some old guy just trying to enjoy a cup of coffee on the patio, with taehyung very distinctly screaming about pigeons in the background. it’s exactly what he pictured.

/

—likes me.

#yoonkook #bts fic #idk how i should tag this i dont have a system yet

[msbigredmachine]

Into The Deep End - Chapter 44

Sasha has always tried to play it safe, to keep her life as simple and risk-free as possible. Things change, however, when she garners the interest of a handsome, charming, younger man from a completely different world than hers. As she starts to question her own rules, is she ready to take the biggest chance of them all? Will she let herself take that dive? Roman Reigns/OC.

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CHAPTER 43

WARNING: Mature scenes.

A lazy yawn slipped from between Joe's lips as he turned away from yet another Joffrey Baratheon rant on the TV screen to glance towards the kitchen. "Nani, what are you up to?"

Sasha was settled at the kitchen island with her back to the living room, Joe's MacBook in front of her. "Checking out the Grill's new website," she replied. "Why? You lonely over there, baby?"

"Kinda. And them tiny-ass booty shorts are callin' my name."

Sasha laughed and took a drink out of her carrot juice, one of the few healthy drinks Joe had introduced her to in the course of their relationship. They were back in Tampa and things had returned to normal between them. Today she kept him company at his home while he rested after another grueling morning of rehab. "Gimme a minute. I'll be right there."

"Or I could come over there." He got up from his recliner and strolled over to her, stealing a sip of her drink as he looked at the laptop screen. "You took these?" he asked, gently rubbing her shoulders.

Sasha nodded, scrolling down the web page. "Yeah. We set up a lot of displays and I took shots of all of them and put the best ones up on the site. It was tough trying to narrow a hundred shots down to thirty though."

"They're nice. You're quite good, you know. Josh and Jon's pops really liked the photos you took of him and baby Brandon at Reggie's party," Joe said, bringing a grin to his girlfriend's face.

"Tell him I said he's welcome." She leaned back and moaned softly at he continued to massage her shoulders. He was amazing with his hands. "Mm. Don't stop doing that."

He kissed her cheek and whispered, "I prefer hearing those words from that pretty little mouth of yours when you're naked."

Laughing, she tipped her head back to glare at him upside down. "You turn every innocent conversation into something else, perv!"

Joe chuckled and pecked her lips in the upside down position, his right hand slipping slowly down her body. "You like me that way."

"That's because you've corrupted me," she said, casting her eyes down to watch his fingers slide down the front of her shorts. She tried to finish her thought. "You're a bad influence, Leati."

With a satisfied smirk, Joe rubbed his palm over her panties, relishing the feeling of her wet heat against the cotton fabric. "You make my name sound so sexy."

"Yeah?" she breathed, stopping cold when he slipped a digit inside her. "Oh shit," she gasped, throwing her head back against him. Licking her lips, she moaned and then grunted as he crooked his finger back and forth inside her, stroking her like he was dipping into frosting. "Ahh..."

He pursed his lips against her throat, her heavy breathing music to his ears. "You like that, baby? Does that feel good?"

She started to respond only for her words to dissolve in a gasp as another finger plunged inside her. She spread her legs wider, planting one on top of another chair, then grabbed his wrist with both hands to guide his hand at the pace she wanted. There was little time for intimacy lately because he was busy with rehab, and Sasha hoped they could make up for lost time tonight since she was sleeping over at his, albeit with the kids as well. Joe's low, lustful growl rumbled against her neck, and she sighed once more, her body awash with heat as his fingers gently probed her while he worshipped her neck, and soon her lips, with his mouth. God, his tongue felt so good.

The jarring sound of her phone ringing broke through the mounting haze of passion. "Don't answer it," Joe murmured against her lips.

She didn't want to, but the ringing became persistent, and eventually she was forced to break the kiss with an annoyed sigh. "It could be important," she reasoned, reluctantly removing his hand and sitting up to grab her phone. "Shit, it's Mia's school calling." Instantly worried, she placed the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, Sasha? It's Juliet. I was wondering if you were on your way to pick up Mia. Pam hasn't shown up yet so I figured one of you is running late?"

Sasha expelled the breath she'd been holding. No one was injured. Good. But she inwardly smacked herself for completely forgetting that Pam and T.K. had hectic afternoons so neither could get Mia. "Pam can't make it today. I'll be there soon to pick her up."

"Okay. If you could hurry that would be great. Everyone leaves school in half an hour," Juliet said.

"Alright. Thanks Juliet." She hung up and smacked her forehead. "That was the secretary at Mia's school. Shit, I completely forgot about Pam's appointments! T.K. has practice and now Mia's stuck in school. What's wrong with me?"

"I can go get her," Joe offered.

"Really?"

"Sure." He was already picking up his car keys. "I know where the school is. Mason Hill Elementary, right? It's no big deal. I can get T.K. too if you want."

Sasha shook her head. "No need. He won't be done for another two hours. But he knows his way here so it won't be a problem."

"Cool. I'll go pick up Mia then."

"She'll be in the Principal's office when you get there. Just tell Juliet that you're from me. By the way, please make Mia sit in the backseat. You know how she is. She'll hustle for the front and I never like it when she sits in front. She's so small and it doesn't feel safe for her to sit there. And make her buckle her seat belt, please."

"Yes ma'am," he smirked.

Sasha smacked his arm. "Do not call me ma'am. Ever."

Joe laughed and tossed the car keys in the air. "Call the school back and tell them I'm coming for Mia. I'll pick up pizza and wings for dinner."

"Okay." She smiled as he bent down and gave her a kiss, the kind that made her toes curl and made her feel feminine and beautiful and loved. He pulled away and winked. "I love you. See you in a bit."

"I love you too." It was hard not to worry, but she forced herself to relax. She was the one who handled everything, so seeing him step in to help willingly was, though a little strange, very heart-warming.

----------------

Joe drove down the road, glad that Sasha had allowed him to do this. He knew it was never easy for her, giving up control, but she was proving her trust in him, which made him all sorts of happy.

It was odd walking into an elementary school for the first time in twenty years, bringing back memories he would rather do without. He had only been an average student, quiet and shy. No fangirls had been digging on him in the fourth grade, and he recalled a painfully unrequited crush on a girl named Cara. But that was a story for another day.

Joe pushed open the office door and found Mia sitting on a chair talking to a blonde woman in her twenties with a tag dangling from her neck that indicated she was a staff member. Giving him a wave, Mia picked up her backpack and went over to him. "Hi Joe!"

"Hi, little lady," said Joe, their fists meeting for their special handshake. "How was school today?"

"Good. Where's Mama?" Mia inquired.

"She's at mine, sweetheart. She's busy at the moment so she asked me to come get you."

"Okay. We're staying over at your house, right? Can I go swimming in your pool?"

"Of course you can. I bought the Mario Kart game so we can all race each other on the Wii. All after you finish your homework, of course," he quickly added, figuring it was something Sasha would say.

"Cool. We made friendship bracelets in Arts and Crafts class today with wood beads and elastic." She wiggled her right arm adorned with a number of beaded bracelets. "I made one for Mama and T.K. and you too."

Joe blinked slowly. "Me?"

"Yeah. Here." She pulled one off her skinny hand and rolled the black beads onto his bigger wrist. "I used dark beads for yours and T.K.'s so they won't look girly."

He didn't know what to say. "Wow, little lady...this is awesome."

Mia smiled, then smacked her forehead. "Aaaand I forgot the rest of my Art project in my class. I'll be right back."

As she dashed off, Joe stared at the new piece of jewelry on his right wrist. It wasn't the most masterfully crafted piece of work he'd ever seen, but the fact that she'd taken the time and effort to make one for him made it more precious than any expensive trinket he would ever own. He was never going to take it off.

"That's really sweet."

Joe turned to the woman with the name tag who was watching him intently. Perhaps she was a fan and recognized him. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Joe and I'm here on Sasha Morgan's behalf. Do I need to do anything or can I just grab Mia and go?"

"No, it's perfectly fine. Miss Morgan gave us a call." She smiled brightly. "I'm Whitney Clark. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Joe eyed Whitney Clark, noticing how she smiled and flipped her blonde hair back.

"The handshake thing was really cute too. Is she your niece?" she asked, an obvious attempt at small talk.

"No." Joe kept his answer short and to the point without sounding rude. "You're one of her teachers?"

"I'm the school's assistant Secretary." Another smile, and this time she leaned closer to him. She zoned in on his bare ring finger. "You're a big guy. Are you a pro athlete or something?"

Not a fan, then. "Yeah. I'm a wrestler."

"Oh. That WWE stuff, right? Interesting."

Yeah, definitely not a fan. He looked around, wondering what was taking Mia so long. He was getting the "come hither" bedroom eyes from Whitney and he wanted no part of it. She was uncomfortably close now, and her smile grew even sweeter. "So, just out of curiosity..." she went on, "Are you seeing anyone?"

"He's my mom's boyfriend." Mia materialized out of nowhere, not-so-subtly inserting herself between the two adults, and Joe saw the little girl give Whitney a stank eye that had her aunt Pam written all over it. "We're staying over at his house tonight and we're gonna go swimming in his pool and play Mario Kart. Right Joe?"

Joe grinned, liking the way the kid thought. Mia was obviously feeling territorial and that pleased him a lot. "Right," he said to both Mia and Whitney.

"Oh. That's nice." Whitney faked a smile.

Mia looked at Joe. "I'm ready now. Bye, Miss Clark." Without waiting for the woman's response, she slipped her arm around Joe's much bigger one and led him out of the building. She proceeded to talk about her day at school, her tone cool and casual as though she hadn't just called out a woman thrice her age. But to do what she did, to mark her mother's territory on her behalf, left Joe with a very satisfying feeling and a fresh wave of affection for the little girl he'd fast become attached to.

-----------------

Dinner was an interesting spectacle. After an enjoyable round of swimming – in which Sasha refused to participate and ended up getting splashed mercilessly for her troubles – the four of them feasted on pizza and wings on the living room floor. T.K. and Joe exchanged cynical glances as Sasha and Mia debated over who was the better boyband between the Backstreet Boys and One Direction. Joe complained as Sasha kicked his ass at pool like she always did, but he got his revenge by beating her at Mario Kart. It was a fun evening overall; that seemed to be the running theme whenever the four of them spent time together.

"What time is it?" Sasha yawned, meeting Joe in the kitchen island after the kids had gone to bed in the guest room downstairs.

"Little after midnight," Joe said, switching off the lights and plunging the entire house into darkness, save for the lights underneath the kitchen cabinets. He drew his girlfriend into his arms, dipping his nose in her coconut-scented hair as she wrapped her arms around his waist. They stood in the middle of the kitchen, enjoying the silence together. "Today was nice," said Joe, his voice muffled in her hair.

Sasha nodded. "Yeah, it was," she replied, looking up at him. "You cheated at Mario Kart, but it was great."

"You're such a hater," Joe taunted. "I beat your ass fair and square every time."

"Yeah right. You kept distracting me! Either nudging my arm or killing me with that stupid blue shell!"

Joe tsked. "Excuses, excuses. Just admit I'm a better racer than you."

Sasha rolled her eyes and grinned, watching him look at his new bracelet with a smile on his face. "So Mia made this for me," he announced, flicking his wrist.

The pride in his voice made her heart swell. "She did," she said, tracing her boyfriend's goatee with her finger. "She cares about you. Talks about you a lot."

"I care about her too," Joe replied, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. "And her brother. And her mother."

"We know," she smiled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at his suddenly intense stare. "What?"

"Nothing, just thinking," he began, his voice much huskier than a second ago, "About finishing what we started this afternoon." His hands slid from her back to her backside, and the mother of two felt a sudden spike in her body temperature. "Here? But what about the kids?" she said.

"They're fast asleep. The house is big enough. There's little chance of us being heard or interrupted." He gently backed her up against the counter, and Sasha felt her loins moisten when his tongue swished hungrily over his lips, his ash eyes dark and deep and filled with tantalizing promise. She caressed his huge bulging biceps which taunted her, begged her to lick each of them. She wondered if it was natural to be this sexually attracted to one man, but she couldn't help herself. He was so hot, so sexy and so good at making her feel good. He was in an adventurous mood and honestly the idea of doing it out here in the open, was exciting. The thought made her chew on her bottom lip.

Uttering a low growl, Joe grabbed her chin between his fingers. "You keep doing that and I'm gonna bite off your lip," he warned.

Well damn, he was using that commanding, dominant tone of his again. "You don't know what you do to me when you talk like that," she said, right as their mouths collided in an urgent kiss, tongues clashing aggressively, hands grasping eagerly. Sasha scavenged his mouth with hers, demanding more of his addictive taste. His soft lips were a drug that she could never resist. A sharp gasp escaped her as he made good on his threat, nipping her lower lip hard with his teeth. The small of her back dug into the edge of the kitchen counter, but the pain was wiped away by his body smothering hers, the sensation of his hot mouth roaming her mouth, jawline and neck. He dropped to his knees, pushing her t-shirt up to lay soft kisses on her abdomen. His tongue laved the new piercing on her belly button. "This is so hot, baby girl. I love that you got it," he commented.

"Thanks," she said shyly, watching him hook his fingers over the top of her shorts and pull it down along with her underwear. With effortless swiftness, he propped her right leg over his shoulder, pushed his face against her center and penetrated her with his tongue. Crying out in pleasure, she quickly bit her lip to suppress any more sounds. She could be loud sometimes and the last thing she wanted was to wake the kids up. But man, was it difficult with the havoc currently being wreaked on her body. As the pressure from Joe's mouth increased, his huge hand molded her ass, his warm breath fanned her inner thigh, his tongue finding every crevice of her core and every drop of her essence. Then his long fingers invaded and the sensations nearly destroyed her. "Fuck!" Sasha's jaw dropped, tossing her head back and lowering it again. "Jesus, Joe, you're really fuckin' great at this."

He simply hummed in response. The Samoan was ruthless and yet generous at the same time. He kissed her folds the way he would kiss her mouth with his thick, luscious lips, then alternated with long licks and quick laps of his talented tongue. Sasha was gasping, her hands desperately gripping the counter behind her. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to fight for control but Joe was having none of it. "Look at me," he instructed gruffly.

"Baby..."

"Look at me Sasha, or I'll stop."

"No!" Her head snapped forwards, locking eyes with him, and the knowing, mischievous look in his ash-colored irises spread another wave of desire through her like wildfire.

Joe smirked. "Good girl." And from there, holding her gaze, he started doing the most delicious things to her, seducing her juices out of her pussy lips with his fingers and tongue. Slow, then fast, until she lost the ability to speak or think or do anything other than moan in encouragement. She grabbed the back of his head, holding him firmly in place as her hips began to roll, grinding into his face with desperation, not stopping until she reached her orgasm. And man, was it good. Good and long and hot and intense, made even more incredible by his warm, persistent tongue lapping up her essence. "Oh, my...fuck."

"Mmm, my tasty pussy," Joe whispered, giving her one last lick. "So sweet every time."

Sasha slumped against the counter after he was done cleaning her up, weak-kneed and struggling to catch her breath. "Please tell me you got a condom with you," she panted.

"You know I'm always prepared, beautiful." He pushed her legs apart to expose her to him, and the vision before him made his groin ache. It amazed him every time how much he wanted this woman. Standing back upright, he pulled off his pants, then stroked inside her again. Sasha watched him spread her essence over his length with pure exhilaration in her eyes. "Yeah, lube that big dick with my pussy juice, babe."

An amused smile tugged his lips. "You got a dirty little mouth, don't you, baby?"

"Well, like Tyson said," she shrugged one shoulder, "I got a slutty side to me."

The Samoan groaned. "Now why you gotta bring that fool up when we about to fuck."

"Sorry."

"Nah, be sorry for him. Talking like he know what's up. He clueless as a motherfucker. When he knocked you up, he got lucky. He don't know what to do with a woman like you. I do, and in case you've forgot, I'm gonna give you a little reminder."

Ooh, she'd inadvertently fired him up. That was good. For her. Sasha made a show of rubbing her temples. "I think I have amnesia, baby. I don't remember a thing. Please remind me."

His grin widened. "With pleasure. Turn around and spread those legs for me, baby." His hands met her waist to encourage the movement. Sasha didn't hesitate, turning and placing her hands on the cool, black marble surface. The sound of a condom packet being ripped open caused her delicate loins to clench in expectation. Joe licked his lips as he traced the softness of her thighs, her rounded hips and supple backside, all inviting and mouth-watering as she bent over. He grasped his cock and slapped her naked ass with it, and Sasha moaned in response, her entire body alight with heat and longing.

"This fat ass, shakin' in my face all night, teasing me." His voice was rough and hungry. "You think I didn't notice? I notice everything about you too, nani." He dick-slapped her ass again and rubbed the stiff aching length in between her plump cheeks, bending down to nip her earlobe. "And you are my slut. No one else's." He knew how good she was at playing a slut, but it was all an act, an act just for him. That was the difference and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Coming from Tyson, the word had made her feel dirty and disgusting. From Joe, it sounded like the most amazing compliment ever. "Yes. Your slut." She thrust her butt impatiently against him. "Now quit fuckin' around and put that dick in me."

Ah, she was just as riled up as he was. This was going to be fun. "Since you asked so nicely..." Positioning himself at her entrance, he entered her in one smooth stroke. Sasha moaned and her entire body quivered. He thrust good and deep, liking the way his abs bumped against her ass, enjoying her little whimpers as his thickness stretched the moist heat of her walls. "Damn babe, your pussy is so fuckin' wet," he stated and bent down to suckle her neck, reaching inside her T-shirt to cup her breasts. He caught a glimpse of her face; her eyes were closed, her kiss-swollen lips parted as she enjoyed him inside her. He knew he hit her spot whenever her eyelashes fluttered and her heavy breathing actually stopped, her mouth open in a silent cry. "Uhhh," she said when she remembered how to breathe, "Fuck, babe."

"That's right slut, take my big dick in your tight cunt." Joe rumbled fiercely in her ear, his long fingers twisting her nipples, his hips pumping pleasure through their half-naked bodies.

Sasha twisted her upper body to stare down her lover. "Spank me."

His eyes lit up. "You want it rough, baby?"

"Hell yeah. Smack my ass like the dirty little slut I am," she said gruffly, grinding said body part against him. She wasn't sure where her depraved behavior was coming from but she was so turned on she could barely think straight. She needed him, badly, and could only function after she got what she needed.

Grey eyes glazed with excitement, Joe brought his right hand down on her ass cheek. The sound echoed in the darkness, her supple skin bouncing from the impact. She purred with satisfaction and circled her hips again. "Fuck. Do it again," she ordered.

Man, it was so fucking sexy when her voice got all breathy like that. He smacked the other side and pressed, groaning when her pussy clenched his length hard in reaction. "You like that, you slut? Like me smackin' that fat ass?" Another spank, and her walls squeezed him again. The fact that she enjoyed a bit of pain and aggressiveness with her pleasure was a big turn-on for him. It kept him on his toes when they made love and he liked that very much. His large hand closed around her neck, and Sasha whimpered as he tightened his hold a little, hot, delicious sensation stirring in her lower belly. "Yeah big boy, fuckin' choke me," she said, her hand spanning over his. "Choke your slut."

Smirking at the euphoric expression on his woman's face, his tongue darted out provocatively over the seam of her parted lips. "Such a filthy little mouth. I love my dirty MILF."

"Love you too, baby. Now shut up and make me come," she whispered back, hushing him by shoving her own tongue into his mouth.

Moaning, harsh breathing and naked flesh meeting naked flesh resonated around the open space. The prospect of getting caught perversely added to the thrill of their escapade. Joe decided to switch things up, lifting Sasha's left knee and placing it on the countertop, opening her wider to him. Pressing her body down against the cool surface, he shifted his hips to thrust into her from a different angle, and was rewarded with an expulsion of air followed by, "Fuck yeah! Right there, right there." She was trapped between the hard surface of the countertop and his big body, his hand in her hair and the other one squeezing her ass cheek; both her feet off the floor, unable to do anything except endure every inch of his deep, surging thrusts. She tried not to scream outright as he seemingly lost all control of his hips, drilling her throbbing pussy with reckless abandon. "Shit! Yes yes yes Joe, fuck me!"

Driven mad with need, Joe rode Sasha hard, fast, a husky groan slipping from his lips as each wave of ecstasy grew more incredible than the last. Sasha couldn't hold back any longer, crying out with pleasure as she constricted almost painfully around him. It was one curse after the other from her as he rammed into her pussy from behind, the friction between them growing more slippery from her gathering moistness. Joe knew that she was close just like he was close. "Come on this dick," he said roughly, tightening his grip on her hair. "I want that pussy cum all over my dick. Do it."

His deep voice was an irresistible caress she felt all the way to her toes, a command her body could never disobey. She screamed as the orgasm ripped her apart, rendering her weak and helpless and a trembling mess on the countertop. Behind her his movements intensified, his moaning culminated in an animalistic grunt as he pushed into Sasha one last time, pulsing balls-deep inside her. "Fuck, nani." Spent, he fell on her back, leaning heavily on her and breathing hard into her hair. Sasha wriggled underneath him, forcing his numb self to move to avoid squashing her with his weight. Sasha was sad when he withdrew from her, instantly missing his heat. Gingerly – and surprised that she could move at all – she sat upright on the counter and buried her face in his chest, planting a kiss on the broad expanse as he caressed the back of her head. "God that was risky," she said, a tinge of terror laced in her sultry little giggle. "You think we woke 'em up?"

"Nope. Stop panicking." He pressed his lips to her forehead, then carefully dispensed with the used condom and gathered their pants and underwear on the floor. Sasha put on her shorts and grabbed her boyfriend before he could walk off. Her lips wrapped around his resolutely, her tongue darting out to taste his. Lust, awe and adoration clouded her eyes as she caressed his face.

"You are definitely the best dick I've ever had," she whispered.

Joe grinned and kissed her again. Hard. "Ya damn right. Now come on, let's disinfect this table."

--------------------

I'm a pervert, aren't I? Lord help me, lol.

By the way, relating toSasha and Mia's little debate, One Direction are not fit to even tune Backstreet's microphones. Pfft. No brainer. #BSBGroupie4Life

CHAPTER 45

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #into the deep end #jasha #msbigredmachine