A Rocket to the Moon

Blueberry Muffins

Through crisp nights when sleep couldn't grace his burning body, when the frustration inebriated painfully beneath his soft olive skin and when his feet pushed him towards your cotton sheets.

Jungkook knew he was in trouble.

The sexual tension etched into his core precipitated sleepless nights, and the skin you'd unknowingly expose around him tantalised his wildest fantasies. He never thought of you in a way that would disrupt the fragile foundations of your cohabitation, but the thoughts that played squash on the part of his brain telling him that you were a land no man should ever explore, provoked a desire to do exactly that.

The thought of you writhing beneath him, the swell of your breasts between his fingers, hands on unexplored skin and the symphony of his name falling from your languid lips.

When Jungkook could steal himself a minute in the quiet of his office or in the shower after work, he'd think of you. He'd lean against the tiled wall or back against the leather of his seat, spit into the palm of his hand and imagine his cold wet fingers were replaced by your smart mouth.

He can see you through his office window now flicking a pen in between your fingers, with hair lapping and devouring your pale and pensive face.

Jungkook wants to send you a picture of his hand working himself just so he can watch a slither of an expression that isn't stress or frustration, but looking at the pile of work now sitting on your desk, he knows the distraction would never be welcomed.

So much like his attempts to physically woo you in the break room, in the filing room and on the way to work, you were indolent and Jungkook closes his curtains after watching you bend over to retrieve a runaway pen from underneath your desk, to once again, relieve himself for the second time that day.

Work was tiring for both you and Jungkook, then again, it always was around the end of the year, but in November it was especially crazy. Your manager had taken time off to spend time with his family before the inevitable beehive your office would become during Christmas, and his work had naturally been passed down to you.

You weren't complaining though, the mountainous piles of paperwork beside you had become a welcome respite from addressing the sexual tension between you and Jungkook.

You just weren't ready to talk about it.

So as you hide behind piles of paperwork, proposals and reports, working till the late hours of the night. It was in the claudenstine of the filing room or over meals in the break room, where Jungkook would finally be able to see you and hold you after days of missing you by the skin of his teeth.

Jungkook hated the idea of never getting to see you almost as much as he hated himself for getting off to your panties in the laundry room on nights when he knew you'd come home late. He felt pathetic, and nostalgic of the girls he could get in between his sheets with a single wink.

Jungkook could feel his patience wear thin at your indolence, he was sick of rolling with the tide and the rubber band within him that kept him calm and collected at the sight of you, was at breaking point.

He was about to snap.

And you were about to break him.

Turning up Frank Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon, you start compiling ingredients as you dance in the kitchen. You don't notice the audience you have watching you have fun on your own, but Jungkook's there leaning on his bedroom door, wondering why you've suddenly left the solace of your bedroom to bake. Sundays were your days of solace and Jungkook's day to binge watch the anime he missed out on with his busy work schedule.

"Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on a-Jupiter and Mars...."

When you use the whisk as a microphone, Jungkook crosses his arms over his bare chest and laughs quietly to himself. He missed this, he missed you. He missed you alot.