No matter what the situation is, it usually comes down to giving Jungkook more. More time, more encouragement, more care--more shoulder rubs and train tickets and jokes to get him giggling at his side. Yoongi's never had this much more to give, because with Jungkook it feels completely, amazingly effortless. And he wants to do it. Yoongi wants to give the younger boy so much that it makes him swell with the same love and affection he carries in his own chest. He's totally whipped for the kid, a fact his best friend never lets him forget, and to be honest? He's also totally okay with that. It's worth it for a million reasons--like being right here, in Jungkook's bed, with Jungkook in his arms, lost to their own world. Jungkook's ass grinding restlessly against him, meeting every stroke head on in his own desperation has Yoongi seeing damn constellations in that dark room, panting out curses when he feels the younger boy unconsciously tighten around him.

It's too much, just like the stimulation is too much for Jungkook. Yoongi keeps it up just to hear those broken, whiny little sounds he adores so much, fingers scrambling everywhere on his chest and arms and neck, Jungkook frantically trying to anchor himself while Yoongi slowly picks him apart. By now he's probably painted the boy's chest pretty watercolors, has probably fucked him past any semblance of coherency. Yoongi swears he grows even harder inside Jungkook just from his voice. Like a damn siren's call, and god, Yoongi can't resist him--not those pretty lips he steals a kiss from or those trembling thighs he grips with firm fingers, steadying the boy against him. "My name, baby." Yoongi's hips snap harder, just at the right angle. "Wanna hear you say it when you ask to come."