License to Cuddle

6

—"When you and I are in this room together, the only thing I'm focusing on is you."

≣

"Our sixty minutes start now."

Great.

Cool.

Um . . .

Now what?

Jungkook sunk his teeth into his lower lip as he waited . . . waited . . . and waited. Something was supposed to happen, right? Like body-on-body contact or neck nuzzling, perhaps? Or at least some form of touching? God, Jungkook knew he was a novice when it came to this cuddling thing, but he assumed that the start of the session meant that the session would, well, start.

But he wasn't moving.

And Taehyung wasn't moving.

Fuck.

Warmth slowly crept up Jungkook's neck, undoubtedly painting his skin in a red and blotchy hue. Which was fantastic. Real attractive. Not . . . Not that he cared about looking attractive. He didn't. Really. But maybe if he wasn't so flushed—or if his knee wasn't bouncing or his arms weren't squeezing a pillow in a death grip—Taehyung would be more tempted to slide closer. To hold him. To cuddle him, damn it.

But no. Taehyung did nothing but gaze back at him with kind, patient eyes.

Watching.

Waiting.

Jungkook exhaled loudly and deeply. Why the hell wasn't Taehyung doing anything? His hyung was the professional part of this whole professional cuddling equation; shouldn't he have taken charge by now? Shouldn't he have suggested a starting position before carefully melding their bodies together? Shouldn't he have taken the lead and—?

Oh. Oh, shit. Taehyung was waiting for him—Jungkook—to do something, wasn't he? They literally just had the conversation about him taking charge, him taking the lead, him calling the shots. All Jungkook had to do was ask for what he wanted or what he thought might feel good, and Taehyung would do it in an instant.

But . . .

Jungkook didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know what might feel good. Even if he did, what was he supposed to do? Catapult himself at Taehyung and say snuggle me? Or was their lengthy talk of consent and boundaries—not to mention accidental boners—supposed to have instilled Jungkook with a secret knowledge that would make him a master cuddler?

God, he was so clueless that it wasn't even funny. But he couldn't just sit here, staring back at Taehyung in silence while freaking out on the inside. Not for an entire sixty-minute session. He'd never survive the awkwardness.

So instead, Jungkook forced himself to relax his hold on the pillow and calm his bouncing knee. He could do this. He could think of something. He could . . . Ah. He could ask to try one of the positions he saw in The Cuddle Sutra, like the one where one person rested their head on the other's chest. It was called the Sweetheart, right?

Jungkook shifted his focus to Taehyung's plaid-covered torso, cocking his head to the side as he considered. Should he just go for it? Should he shift closer, slowly and intentionally, before lowering his head to Taehyung's heart? No, he absolutely should not do that. He had to get consent, to first ask if that would be okay. But if it were, would Taehyung like that position? Would he mind Jungkook that close to his body, hair tickling his chin and hand dancing over his stomach?

Wait, hold on. Taehyung was very clear about his hand-on-stomach preferences: Jungkook couldn't touch him there. So the Sweetheart wouldn't work unless . . . unless they switched? Maybe Taehyung could lay his head on Jungkook's chest and touch his stomach instead?