Yoongi's resolve crumbled as Jimin's burning words spilled into the hot air between them.
His fingers found their way to Jimin's soft, candy dyed hair, and he dragged him into a heated kiss, his lips like pillows, smooth and gentle, and ever so sweet, but forceful with barely contained lust.
They seemed to lose a sense of self control within the heat.
Jimin had been hesitant until this point.
Hesitant, and afraid.
And that was why Yoongi was so cautious and so careful, so terrified of hurting him, of scaring him, of doing something wrong.
But Jimin was clutching onto him so tightly, grasping at his shirt, leaning into his touch, moving closer, impossibly closer.
He whispered against his lips, mouthed against his skin.
"Please, please, please,"
His lips tasted so sweet.
His words did too.
He was gorgeous, fuzzy and warm around the edges, his plush mouth and warm tongue clashing with his.
Gently, but desperately.
He had never felt loved in this way before.
No one had ever touched him in the soft, tender way Yoongi was now.
His palms gliding over the small of his back and tracing patterns over the dip of his spine, brushing through his hair, not yanking his head back in order to force himself in, force his pleasure, a pleasure that came from his pain, from using him like a rag doll, but rather as though he were precious, as though he was addicted to him, but felt he would disappear from him hands, was afraid that going too quickly would not leave the remains of warmth and flowers as proof of his love.
Of Jimin's beauty.
He didn't want Jimin to cry because there were fingerprints on his hips and scars in his mind and echoes of bruises and cries and words that were not promises that would flourish in his heart long after that encounter, but knives thrown at his vulnerable form as he laid shaking. If tears should fall, they should be born from happiness.
Because these bruises were not bruises at all.
As his fingers gripped his waist and his pretty mouth trailed over his neck, his beautiful moans were his to hold.
His hushed words were his to hear.
Jimin was his to love.
And there was trust here.
Seo-Jun fucked Jimin, but that was all it was.
He never told him that he was beautiful between each kiss.
He never hummed into his bones how perfect he was, how pretty he sounded, how he was so lucky to have him.
He never brushed away his tears, paused in his movements to make sure he was okay, jumped in fear at the thought of hurting him, asking for his consent at every new touch.
He never once said,
"I love you."
And Yoongi...
Yoongi said it so many times that Jimin didn't know what to do with all of the flowers he'd left him with.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Wanna Be Your Boy | Yoonmin
Fanfiction"I'm s-scared Y-Yoongi h-hyung..." "It's okay to be scared, I'm right here, and I'm not going to ever leave you. I'll protect you, okay?" "T-thank y-you h-hyung..." In which Jimin has mistaken pain for love and Yoongi wants to show him what it feels...
