Chapter Text
“Baby.” It comes out whiny and breathless, a world away from the usual confidence that spills off of his tongue. He’s half delirious, grip imprinting itself into the yielding flesh of your thighs. Each noise he makes sounds like it’s about to fully form before dropping off, stolen by some bliss that seems to reside back behind his eyelids. It splits and breaks over and over, murmurs of your name and affection and whatever else he can think of in the moment.
You love when he’s like this. Love that you can bring him to this - a man on his knees (or, more literally, on his back).
“Hm?” Laughter crawls off your tongue, slinking into the heavy air and dripping into the spaces between you, like the sweat that creeps down your neck and beads at his temples. You punctuate the question with a deliberate roll of your hips, single hand splayed out across the delightfully firm expanse of his chest.
The noise he makes is sinful - almost beguiling enough for you to stop the slow torture - but you think better of it when he meets your motion with one of his own. It’s disjointed, far less measured than yours, and driven by a need he can barely articulate.
“Use your words, Kookie.”
His childhood nickname shouldn’t sound the way it does - like fucking in powder rooms and secluded cabanas. It should spring forward light and airy, more childhood friendship than unbridled twenty-something year old lust.
You don’t think he minds, though. He certainly doesn’t look like he minds.
“Baby, please.” He moans it so prettily - like he’s begging for all the stars in the sky - that you want to give it to him. Want to, but won’t, because that’s not how this goes and you know he’ll thank you for it later. He always does.
“Please what, Bunny ?” You’re really teasing now. You wonder if he’ll hold it against you when he’s back to his senses.
Back to being Jeon Jungkook, the man with everything.
“You’re being mean.” How he manages to huff it when he’s hardly lucid, you’re not sure. You have to applaud him - reward him - so you do, dragging your fluttering walls off his cock, and all but dropping yourself back upon it. It’s the first inch you’ve given all afternoon - the first taste of anything other than slow and steady wins the race.
The grip on your hips borders on painful, the neatly trimmed edges of his nails digging into the pliant tanned skin. Your own fingers readjust, tweaking his nipple in the way you know he loves, and he nearly flinches away before leaning heavily into your touch, entire chest heaving.
“Fuck me,” he whines, again, in that voice. You snicker above him, soothing the red assault lines you’ve left across his torso with sweet brushes of your fingertips and the occasional graze of your lips.
“I am, honey.”
You know he tries to hold in the pent-up energy that radiates through his entire body, buzzing from his toes all the way up his spine. He bucks beneath you, seeking more, more, more like the greedy brat he is.
“Nuh uh,” you repeat, like a scolding school teacher. “You take what I give - or I’m going home.”
The threat is very real - you’ve done it before - and he immediately stills, eyes flashing wide and earnest up at you. His thumb rubs soothing circles across your hip bone - right where he’d dug his fingers in only moments earlier.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks and you know he means it. You can hear it in the way he can hardly speak. He tries again, softer now, with his charm turned up to eleven, tongue swiping over the spit-slicked edge of his bottom lip. “Please, angel?”
One hand is halfway up your side, moving with purpose until he finds the sensitive edge of your ribs, touch trailing over where he can feel each individual bone. He repeats the motion once, twice, before pressing the broad palm of his hand over your right shoulder blade, splaying digits across your back. You both know how easy it would be for him to drag you chest-to-chest, but he refrains - just looks up at you with those big doe eyes of his.
“Give me what I want, princess.” He’s pulling out all the stops - dressing you in every pet name imaginable. “I’ll make it worth your while - make that pretty pussy all messy for me.”
You don’t miss how he’s slowly grinding into you, the friction against your aching clit buzzing in the back of your mind as he whispers his sweet nothings.
“I don’t know, Bunny.” You’re playing a very specific role now. The role of aloof prey-turned-hunter, not a care in the world in sight. It doesn’t matter that maybe - just maybe, it’s all a very carefully practiced facade. It’s what he - and you - both need.
Each time you don’t flat out deny him, he’s emboldened. He ruts his hips into you a little more firmly, fucks himself into you with a little more intention. You hardly even notice the coil of his hand until the heat from his palm is searing through the delicate skin of your neck, his fingers pressing into the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
You want to rebuff him a bit longer but Jungkook knows all of your weaknesses and exploits them like a power hungry tyrant. “I don’t hear a ‘no’ , baby.”
Not like you can say much of anything when he’s got his hand around your throat. He knows that just as well as you.
“Tell me you want this, too.” He doesn’t need the affirmation but he craves it from you - demandsit by dropping his other hand from your waist to the apex of your thighs. He repeats himself as he swirls his thumb over your clit, circling it with the lightest of pressure.
His grip on your neck even relents enough to allow an answer to slip past your lips. In his mind, he’s being very, very lenient.
You do your best to refrain. Frankly, you think you do better than most women would. But there’s still only so much you can take and a sharp, tantalizing pinch to your most sensitive bundle of nerves is not one of them.
It sparks an inferno through you, heat devouring every ounce of sensibility.
“Okay, okay!” You’re matching him in tone, petulence tearing off your tongue. “I give.”
He grins - that slow, cat-ate-the-canary thing that demands attention and steals hearts. The same smile he’s carried his entire life, buck-toothed and adorable. “That’s right, baby. I always win.” Triumph colours his words and you almost roll your eyes; he stops you with an abrupt repositioning, your sweat-slicked frame pushed off him in a single fluid motion. You feel like a ragdoll.
You don’t have time to reprimand him before he’s got you, crowded against your back with his face buried against your nape and his cock brushing through your folds. Your knees are kicked apart, spread obscenely around him. His favourite position, you think, though he’d claim otherwise.
“Jungkook!” You snarl, growing impatient with how he teases you, forearm caged right beneath your breasts and the other resting against the mattress.
For all his bitching and complaining, he’s being a real big asshole now.
“What - no more Bunny?” The words roll hotly into your ear, followed by the sharp edge of enamel as he nips at the delicate cartilage and tongues right below your lobe at the spot that makes you keen. He’s mocking you, dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit over and over but never giving you more - never taking you in the way he’d begged to do.
“If you don’t smarten up right now—” It’s a hiss that leaves no room for argument. “—get the hell off me.”
Maybe it’s sixteen years of friendship or maybe it’s how hot you sound when you’re pissed off. Either way, it’s the last straw and he’s burying himself to the hilt, filling you up so well that you can’t help the way you moan, lewd like a well-paid pornstar.
“Better?” He huffs, somehow, in between his hard unrelenting thrusts that bounce you across his thousand thread count sheets.
His lips find a spot right between your neck and shoulder and he mouths greedily over it, saliva soothing the roses that bloom beneath his teeth. He does this every time - marking you in ways you can’t stop, placing a glaring neon sign that reads JEON JUNGKOOK .
“Stop talking.” Not that you don’t love his voice - not that you don’t love him, deep down - but because you can’t focus. You’re far too tightly strung from your earlier activities and your insides feel like they’re melting, molten lava seeping through your system each time he presses back into you.
You can feel every ridge and vein, anchored with nowhere to go by his weight. It’s absurd how he stretches and fills you - like you can feel him all the way in your throat. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Don’t get mouthy,” he returns, playful as ever. A small part of you wonders how he looks - if he’s got that stupid grin on his face - but you know you can’t turn. He’s calling all the shoots now, just like he loves to do. “C’mere, angel.” You’re up and back in the next instant; he’s holding you flush against his chest with ease, hips hardly missing a beat as he pulls you upright.
Damn him and his strength.
The sound you make when his cock drags against that particular spot inside you is almost laughable. “Kook .” His name is hardly that - more of a garbled plea. You briefly wonder if you look as stupid as you suddenly sound.
Satisfaction practically rolls off him in waves, suffocating you just as his right hand does, the left darting to focus on your clit. “That’s right.” He’s saccharine sweet, nipping and nibbling at your pulse as he feels it jump beneath his tongue.
You’ve done this enough times that he knows you’re close and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t, too.
“Come on, baby. Let go - I know you want to.” You can’t stop yourself when he’s whispering so nicely, coaxing you into a state of euphoria with his hand and his cock and his goddamn good-for-nothing mouth. You’re mewling nonsense, meeting his every movement like your life depends on it. You’re so close, tittering on the edge of an impossibly dark abyss; you think you might cry.
Then all at once, with a particularly rough snap of his hips and just a bit more pressure on your clit, white hot heat sears through you. It starts in your core and pulls through your limbs, dissolving your bones into nothingness as you reach your long-awaited high.
Tears are spilling over before you can register it, wetness heavy in your throat and the line of your lashes.
“That’s right. Cream all over this cock, baby. Good girl.” Jungkook never ceases his quiet words of encouragement or how he rocks against you, your name rolling off his tongue like a balm to soothe the burns he’s left behind.
Even while he’s chasing his own release, he never forgets about you, humming reassurances into your curtain of dark hair.
You try to return the favour - it’s an almost impossible feat - when his hips stutter and he loses his rhythm. Fisted into the sheets, your hand finds his, thin fingers coiling around knuckles that strain white beneath permanent ink.
“Kook. Kook. Please cum for me.”
You’re begging him in a way he can’t resist and he spills inside of you then, filling you so well you can feel it slick down your thighs as he rides out his high.
When he’s spent and satisfied, he breaks away and tosses himself at your side, rolling onto his back. He sounds like he’s run a marathon when he speaks, out of breath and giddy. “God - you’re so good for me.” He says it almost like he means it as more than it is - more than a casual fuck on a Friday night.
You’re up before he has a chance to pull you to him, picking up your discarded clothes as you move towards his bathroom.
“You’re leaving?” Why he sounds so surprised, you’re not sure but you’re grateful for the closed door and the inability to see his face. You can only imagine how it looks, framed by his just-fucked mess of hair and bathed in the afternoon light.
You emerge from the bathroom fully clothed, strands of your own swept into a haphazard braid that hides the mosaic he’d painted with his mouth. You’re careful not to meet his stare as you retrieve your bag from his immaculately kept desk, sliding it over your shoulder. “I have a report I need to submit tonight.”
“You can do it here.” He’s not wrong - you’d done most of your university coursework in his living room.
But that was then and this is now and it’s hard enough sleeping with your best friend without feelings getting in the way so you shake your head and laugh, nonchalant as you can manage. “You have coffee with that girl from Wednesday at 8 AM and I’m definitely not in the mood for an early morning tomorrow.”
You can practically see the gears turning in his head - the proverbial gun he’s about to use to riddle your reasoning with holes - and raise a hand to silence him before he can begin.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” Then you’re gone, half your heart in your chest and the other in the hands of your stupid, oblivious best friend.