BTS Boy x Boy One shots and Drabbles

Yoonmin

Yoongi counts the stars in Jimin's dark irises and wonders if one of them is shining for him. They're bright, like supernovas, and a small piece of Yoongi's soul, his heart, wishes that they'd never burn out. So he leans forward to capture them in his hands, catch them with his lips and never let go.
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Jimin is made of reckless mistakes Yoongi commits over and over again. Jimin is traps covered with sweet kisses and lips that feel just right against Yoongi's so he moves closer until distance melts to nothing and Jimin is his, their hearts beating in sync, skipping the same beats. Their breathing is irregular, blood boiling, rushing through veins, heating otherwise cold skin.

Yoongi has been lying too long to himself, he's being racing time without seeing the finish line, he never admitted how he felt, never said it aloud, never dared to but he didn't have to because some words have more power when they're left unsaid, when they're shown through gestures and affection and fingertips drawing familiar patterns on Jimin's neck too many times. Jimin always smiles and moves closer, too close for comfort and Yoongi finds satisfaction in the way Jimin shivers slightly when Yoongi's fingertips touch that particular spot in the base of his neck.

They meet in the middle of nowhere, on the thin line between friends and lovers, one of them too inexperienced; the other worried about the consequences that careless actions carry. They meet in the no man's land, foreign soil under their feet, their heartbeats only compass guiding them home hidden in butterfly kisses and touches that burn. Yoongi too easily loses control and dives in unknown, not sure whether his love is enough, whether he can love Jimin the way he wants to.

It's a game of secret glances and signals, of codes that can't be cracked and sloppy kisses in dressing rooms and dark hallways, of sleepless nights spent on the rooftop of their building, stars shining in Jimin's eyes instead of the black infinity above them. Yoongi pins him down, Jimin's back against the damp concrete, smell of summer rain still in humid air, scent of vanilla in his disheveled hair. Jimin laughs and it echoes in empty night, city skyline their only company. He watches Yoongi, mischievous smile on his lips, as the older leans forward and kisses plump lips that taste like dark chocolate.

Yoongi's kisses aren't gentle, aren't timid, they're a force of nature, plush lips and sharp teeth drawing red drops of blood and Jimin is bittersweet, candy melting on the tip of Yoongi's tongue so he playfully bites Jimin's bottom lip and a whimper breaks free from his throat, melody to Yoongi's ears.

His hands are exploring, searching through too thick layers of fabric, of cotton and denim and he tucks at the hem of Jimin's shirt before pulling it off. Jimin's skin resembles honey, in perfect contrast with Yoongi's pale features, and Yoongi kisses every patch of exposed canvas, marking it with his teeth, crimson roses blooming behind his lips.

The boy under him is reduced to nothing but whimpers and silent pleads leaving his swollen lips. Syllables rolling off his tongue are cacophony of sounds, of wishes he was never aware of, and Yoongi listens to every one of them, making sure that he can make all of them come true.