Yoongi sees Jimin sneak into his room, the small crack of light peaking past the frame of the door and small sniffles the only things detailing his presence, but as his shadow tentatively turns towards him, Yoongi can't halt his arms reaching for him.
"Jimin-ah," he begins, his breath no more than the hushed whispers of winter's breeze. "You'll tell hyung what's wrong, won't you?"
And Jimin lets himself be held, salted tears leaving their stain down his cheeks as what hold his teeth have against his lip remains futile at curbing what shiver seems to engulf him.
"M'lonely." He mumbles, cotton sleeves pulled taut over whitened knuckles.
"How so?" Yoongi perhaps knows he shouldn't pry, but Jimin has never been one to shy away from him.
"H-have you ever kissed someone before?" Jimin asks with words all but broken, and as Yoongi mumbles a small response followed by a nod— barely visible in what dim light all but shrouds them— Jimin can't quite bite down what whimper tumbles. But he continues, eyes never meeting Yoongi's own which are woven with uncertainty and the wish for the man he holds in his arms to once more find that smile he has so ardently come to adore.
"Did it feel nice?" What loose thread has found its way into his tender grasp is rolled in rhythm, soothing and affirming letting his mind ease enough for breaths to fall that little more steady.
"It was, kissing is nice. What's this all about, Jimin-ah? Are you hurt?"
Jimin shakes his head, strands tumbling against his crimson-blotched cheeks, tear-stained and warm beneath his touch.
"I-I just realised," he managed, a deep inhale parting his words. "I've never been kissed."
Silence settles between them for a moment, little more than hushed breaths piercing what air lines their skin, and as Yoongi dares to move, he feels Jimin tense in his hold.
"There's no rush to. You don't have to have been kissed by now." He soothes, but they're words Jimin doesn't quite need to hear. They're words he's been told until they're all that settle in his mind, such as silvered strands, ones glimmering with hope but that hope never finds its resolution.
"Is it bothering you?" Yoongi continues, fingers feather-light as he tucks a small strand behind his ear. "Is it bothering you that you've never been kissed?"
And as Jimin nods, Yoongi can't quite place what erupts within— what courses his veins in a smouldering heat. As if fireworks dazzling in technicolour, the first fall of snow leaving cheeks aching beneath the weight of smiles, and whilst he knows it could never mean what he wishes for it to, but he wonders just if it ever could. It's a thin wire— footsteps one inch from tumbling over the edge— but he'll sacrifice his own heart if it means Jimin's remains whole, he thinks.
"Would you like that to change?" Yoongi whispers, voice honeyed and deep.
"Yes. What if I'm bad at it— what if I find someone who wants me and I've never..." He falls quiet, Yoongi's silent assurance enough for the words to rebuild against his tongue. "I've never kissed anyone. What if they won't want me because I've never kissed?"
"They wouldn't think that, Jimin-ah, they'll love you for who you are." And Yoongi tries to let each syllable fall without intention— without the ache that he harbours that love.
"Y-you can say no," Jimin begins, tongue stumbling over each sound. "But would you? Kiss me? To try."
"Would you want me to?" And whilst Yoongi knows his own answer— one that he's perhaps always wished for— he knows that he's simply the only person available to hear Jimin's words. Jimin could never love him, it's a fact he's resigned himself to over years of pining, but if Jimin trusts him with what he has so often longed for, how could he ever deny him?
"I do."
"Get on my bed then, hm? It'll be more comfortable. Just sit, it's alright." Yoongi's voice is a salve to what has torn through Jimin's chest, the ache of loneliness having once more found its firm feet.
Yoongi quickly follows, saving what work he had open to a quiet apology from Jimin, yet it's one that never quite falls to fruition as Yoongi soon settles beside him.
"You sure?" He asks, fearing Jimin may hold regret, but as he nods once more— a small 'yes' tumbling feather-soft— Yoongi's breath all but clings to his throat. "I'm going to touch you, is that alright? My hand on your face."
"S'fine."
Yoongi does, drawing his palm to Jimin's cheek— warm beneath his touch— and as his hand lingers, Jimin's breath falls as a stammer, lips parting and eyes glazing in hesitancy. Yet Yoongi knows it's simply apprehension with regret not resting thick against his eyes, and as he mumbles for Jimin to simply breathe, neither can quite hold down what small smiles tug at their lips.
"Ready? You can move your hand too or—"
"C-can I hold yours?" Jimin whispers, voice still unsteady, and Yoongi wastes little time entwining their fingers in a loose hold, assuring and familiar. "M'ready."
"Close your eyes and follow, alright? Don't worry if you can't." Yoongi soothes, lips tugging that little higher as Jimin's eyes flutter closed.
He takes a brief moment to simply watch; how his eyes flit behind heavy-lashes lids, pillow-soft lips part in anticipation and tongue lightly darts out, leaving a saliva-silkened sheen in its wake. He watches how Jimin's fingers toy with his own in their hold, gentle ministrations as nerves course his veins in blazing heat, and what small, shaky puffs of breath find their stammered fall is all Yoongi has come to find solace in, through nights tucked beneath cotton sheets as the weight of expectations feels that little too burdensome. It's familiar but foreign all the same, Jimin within his hold yet perhaps more intimate than either could have ever imagined.
He leans in, heated breath dimpling Jimin's skin with each shaky exhale that parts, and as his lips graze Jimin's own in a tentative whisper, he swallows a syrup-lined gasp. Jimin stills beneath his touch, undaring to move as Yoongi's lips cautiously glide, and whilst he never lingers long, Jimin's skin feels aflame beneath his every touch. It feels drawn-out and hurried in the same breath, the wait between dusk and dawn stretching against their frames yet equally as rushed as the last whispers of sunset— horizon all but swallowing each ray leaving little more than indigo skies to blanket the Earth. And Jimin lets himself reside in what tentative serenity is penned by Yoongi's lips against his. A saccharine tongue, comforting hum and honey-laced touches leaving him all but shrouded in sanctuary. Now he has had a taste, he isn't quite sure he could ever live without the brush of lips against his own.
Yet all too soon Yoongi pulls back, just enough for their eyes to refocus and shy smiles to tug at blush-tinted cheeks, and if Yoongi had any intentions of drawing back, what houses within Jimin's eyes halts him.
"Again— c-can we do it again? Until I've learnt— until I'm good." Jimin stammers, and Yoongi knows agreeing may hurt him— the final dagger to kill what is all but left of his heart— but he could never not indulge in Jimin's wishes, and if it means he's the only man who can taste what rests against his tongue, then perhaps that itself is cold comfort.
He nods, nose brushing Jimin's own before he mumbles, "I'll teach you, Jimin-ah. I'll teach you how to kiss."
Perhaps he shouldn't, yet each brush of their lips feels that little sweeter than the last, and as Jimin's palm cups his neck in a feathered touch, Yoongi's can't bite back what sigh falls.
After a while, Jimin grows that bit bolder, lips tugging at Yoongi's own as they begin to find a steady rhythm, and whilst he knows what fire fizzles beneath his skin could never be what Jimin holds— a firm friendship and nothing more— it's just enough to keep him in his arms. Kisses turn that little deeper with tongues and teeth tentatively pulling out gentle gasps, and whilst he knows it'll only hurt him, it feels all but addicting— a sensation he could never tire of. Selfishness invites Jimin to stay the night despite his room being mere metres from his own, and greed never pulls back. Under the guise of 'teaching' Yoongi finds what illusion he's unwilling to part with, tucked against Jimin's firm embrace.
Until he's learnt, he said, but Yoongi isn't sure he's ever willing to let go.
—
It burns at night, such as rum on open flames, embers strewn within Yoongi's mind. The syrup-lined taste— delectable and impossibly sweet— and how his lips moved in a silkened touch beneath his own. They fit just right, he can't help but think, Jimin's that little plumper, encasing his own with every breath that parted, ones finding their feet as soft sighs and gentle hums. His hands branded his skin as his, every touch lingering in a blazing heat, yet despite what smoke filled his lungs, he's still desperate for more.
He craves the very air that he breathes, his tongue beside his own swallowing each whine— every sound that makes its fall. He wants to hold him, little frame tucked within broad arms, palms splayed against all that it can find in silent assurance, that each kiss is more perfect than the last, and that despite the hours that pass, they're ones that never need to find their halt.
Yoongi had thought it may help what ache already settled for him, the unrivalled love that those he's kissed before could never quite reach, and whilst he'd tell them they're his only, Jimin had held his heart from first glance, never daring to let go. But it never did help, and such an ache that began as a gentle flicker now courses his veins with fervour, an undeniable torment only he could ever put himself through. Yet the want stings more than the ache, and the want of Jimin's heart never to shatter takes precedence over his own, so despite internal protest that he knows he should take heed, should Jimin ask once more, Yoongi will be at his mercy.
He had spoken to Seokjin, words falling without much thought as crimson strands found their thread against his eyes.
"It isn't just work," Seokjin had said, eyes assuring as he tugged Yoongi into his room. "Tell hyung what's wrong." And he did, and whilst he denied what feelings clawed up his throat just aching to bare themselves, each treacle-lined word found its swallow. "You're a fool, Yoongi-yah," Seokjin finally said, laughter light against his tongue. "Such a fool."
Neither Yoongi nor Jimin mentions their arrangement until a week later, both finding themselves alone in the apartment once more, and whilst the familiar ache of guilt settles within Yoongi's chest, Jimin seems unfazed.
"Hyung," he begins, voice petal-sweet and Yoongi has always been weak to what golden symphonies tumble from his lips. "Was it okay last time? Teaching me? Could we maybe do it again?"
"Y-yeah, we can," Yoongi replies without much thought, heart sinking as his own words fall. "Did you like it?" And Jimin's giggle perhaps tugs him that little further under, completely at the mercy of the man before him whose eyes crinkle and teeth bare in a wide smile.
"I did. A lot. You're a good kisser, hyung— not that I have anyone to compare it to."
Those words prompt the pang of jealousy to take its course within Yoongi's veins, wishing to be the only to hold him, to kiss him, to treat him with the delicacy he knows that Jimin so ardently deserves.
"Did you want to try now?"
Jimin nods, socked feet stumbling to Yoongi's bed where they sat prior, bodies eventually finding their rest with spines against cotton sheets. He sits with feet dangling off its side, Yoongi making little attempt to move from his desk as his mind all but blanks.
"Don't you want to? Was kissing me all that bad, hyung?" Jimin asks, words broken by a gentle laugh, and as one that little more strained fights its fall from Yoongi's tongue, he takes his place beside Jimin, not before closing his door for good measure.
"Not at all, but... d-did you want to try anything in particular?" Yoongi isn't quite sure why his mouth turns to cotton in the presence of Jimin, and why, at each smile lined with sincerity, he finds himself all but weak to his every request.
"Where did I lack? I want to improve, hyung." And he could never expect any different, Jimin wishing to be perfect at all that he sets his mind to, but Yoongi can't let slip his true feelings; that Jimin is simply that— perfect— kisses and tongue included.
"You didn't, but um..." Yoongi feels his cheeks heat, and whilst he can't bring himself to let his eyes rest against Jimin's own, he wonders if perhaps Jimin feels the same— the weight of tension that lines their frames one that little more welcome than first thought.
"We could try a bit more. Soft kisses are good but... are you sure you want to do this, Jimin-ah? Won't you regret this?"
"Regret? I trust you, hyung. If you don't want to, it's fine. I could ask someone else or—"
Those words are ones Yoongi has feared, someone else assuming what post he has all but ached for. For Jimin in his arms and against his lips, the man he has loved since his eyes first found their tentative rest on his frame. The man who encourages him just as he provides it in return, and giving up what he delicately holds in his grasp— however much it leaves hurt to flicker within— is something he isn't sure he could ever do. He could endure what guise he has shrouded them both in if it means that Jimin remains happy, and remains seeking out his comfort. Perhaps, he thinks, that it's selfish, that if Jimin ever found out his heart would break for him in crimson shards Yoongi could never quite piece back together, but it's a risk he is more than willing to take to unravel his love within his hold even if he may never love him in return, and even if it leaves him all but shattered.
"I do. I'll teach you. Get yourself comfortable, hm? Lie down, it'll be easier. What's your aim? To feel good? To— to make your partner feel good?"
Yoongi asks through bated breath, saliva bitter in honeyed strands against his tongue.
"I guess just... to feel good. Both." And as time draws on, Yoongi knows each parting breath is a mistake, but he can't seem to tear himself away.
Jimin lies down beneath him, eyes wide with question, and his lips tug into what smile he has come to adore with corners upturned sweetly, it takes all that resides within Yoongi not to bend down to press petal-soft kisses to each side.
"Follow my lead then, and use your hands more. Don't be afraid to touch— it's just me, yeah?"
Jimin's giggle falls gently, as if the first breath of spring that has found its firm hand, cotton-shrouded and newborn, and it prompts Yoongi's breath to stammer in his throat. His knees are either side of his thighs, a hand all but caging him in against the pillow as the other's palm finds its tentative rest against his cheek, and as he leans in, Jimin's eyes flutter closed, and what solace he has handcrafted through the very lies he has told himself feels all but bittersweet.
It starts slowly, lips finding rhythm against the other, but Jimin takes what loose advice Yoongi had let slip, threading his little fingers through what strands graze Yoongi's nape. He can't quite help but sigh, feeling the tug of a smile against him as Jimin hears of his contentment, and as Jimin's nails lightly graze his scalp, what fears had settled find their quick dissolution. No longer does Yoongi worry about the consequences to his heart, he has Jimin firmly within his grasp, and for a brief moment he can pretend that perhaps Jimin loves him back, and that each kiss that they share is one born out of tender affection— the first buds of young love entwining their souls in a crimson-tinted thread.
They pull back as their lungs burn, and as Jimin's loose grasp keeps Yoongi close, perhaps what lines his eyes is something he could never quite expect. There is little regret to be found, no teasing smiles or taunts to follow, but a fondness he can't place threads itself in golden strands, strewn against the deep umber Yoongi has come to simply adore.
"Is it wrong to say that I like this, hyung?" Jimin asks after a while of lips finding tandem against each other, voice decidedly unsteady as each syllable falls as a whisper. It's a low drawl, honeyed and each edge cotton-rounded by kiss-bitten lips. "Because I do. I really like kissing you."
"I— I don't know, Jimin-ah." Honesty has always been a trait that Jimin admires, and self-reflection one he wishes to mirror, but as he sees hurt string behind what facade Yoongi so delicately upholds, he can't quite keep what words cling to his tongue from their tumble.
"We'll stop this, I've been selfish." He says, yet Yoongi never pulls away, enough for a final kiss against his nose, perhaps what Jimin has so often wished to do. "I spoke to Kookie— I'm sorry— but I'm hurting you, aren't I? He told me so."
"Y-you aren't," Yoongi's protest is futile, one blocked by the smile that leaves his heart to thrum against what walls house it.
"I am, hyung. He says that you love me— they all did. You'll want a word with them, you know, spilling your secrets like that. And you're pretending that you aren't hurting so you can help me. I know you too well, my sweet hyung." Jimin draws his palm up before him, tentative fingers tucking what strands find their fall behind Yoongi's ear.
"But then why did you ask me again? If you knew it'd hurt then why did you—"
"Because maybe I love you too, and maybe I'm as terrible with my feelings as you are." He lets a small giggle part, a breathy thing, leaving the corners of Yoongi's lips to tug. "You're so lovely, hyung, who couldn't fall in love with you? But I could never confess— do you know how intimidating that is? So I started thinking that if the one person I've loved for all of these years could never love me in return, then maybe— so selfishly— he could be the one to kiss me, and then perhaps I could get over it. But I didn't and I loved you so much harder; you've never left my mind, hyung."
And what words Yoongi wishes would tumble seemingly never do, just lips finding their way back to lips, palms pressing that little firmer to both of Jimin's cheeks, and neither quite mind tongues prompting lips to house thick saliva-slick sheens, as it feels impossibly right.
"I'm sorry," Jimin tries as they find their brief part, euphoria clinging to their veins with each parting breath, but Yoongi simply kisses him once more— slow and languid— leaving both chasing what breaths linger against lips before what pull tugs them closer once more.
"I'm a fool, Jimin-ah." Yoongi eventually mumbles, each word pressed against Jimin's tongue. "Seokjin hyung was right, I'm such a fool. I love you— I always have, back from when I first told you I wanted you on our team. I never wanted to lose you so I never told you but... Jimin-ah, I love you."
The night falls in such a way, Jimin tucked within the embrace he has so often longed to be held in, and kisses never quite find their halt, perhaps Yoongi's favourite feeling, he mumbles. He simply feels Jimin beneath his touch, innocent grazes against his spine, palm ducking beneath loose cotton and learning the gentle curve of his waist, and as smiles break their lips apart, what their eyes house is little more than sincerity and adoration. Both find their eyes fighting sleep as they can't quite part, tongues tentative against tongues and lips all but finding their solace pressed against each other. Fingers are entwined and as mumbled I love you's take hold, strung through hushed whispers, giggles follow. It feels right, impossibly so as they shuffle that little closer, and as sleep finally tugs Jimin under, Yoongi is the last to succumb to its temptation.
"It hurt so much, Jimin-ah," he begins through a feather-soft whisper. "But I'd hurt a thousand times just to keep you from feeling that ache. Thank you for trusting me, and I'll treat you with all that you deserve, my sweet baby. I love you— I always have and I always will."
And both reside in what delicate yet unwavering love they have hand-crafted through years of adoration, support never faltering, and whilst neither detail their newfound relationship to others, they seem to know yet never pry. Fingers card through tousled hair against the sofa, movies playing before them but neither quite pay attention as whispers find their string between close frames, and as kisses are all but concealed, some still see, quickly averting their eyes to provide them what sliver of privacy that they can muster in their shared apartment. Yoongi's room houses little more than equipment, opting for Jimin's bed to let lips slowly graze lips, the tips of fingers finding solace wherever they can as bodies become spectacle, what was never dared to touch now aching to be held, and whilst they never venture further than tongues blooming livid against skin, it leaves saccharine giggles to part as both find their time to simply love one another. Nights feel that little less lonesome, Yoongi thinks, and each kiss that follows is more delectable than the last, impossibly sweet and golden— a honeyed tongue heavy against his own as fingers linger against his neck, and as Jimin never halts from all that he has learnt, Yoongi has never held something so precious within his grasp.