He'd been ignoring you all damn day, giving short replies to your texts by telling you he's at the studio. Busy, busy, always busy, always working. It'd been nearly two weeks since you'd been able to spend any alone time together, let alone any naughty time, and the craving for Yoongi to be buried deep inside of you has burned a hole in your chest, has ruined your favorite pair of panties while you lay in bed with one of his shirts, thinking about him.
About how lovely his hands would feel sinking into the curves of your body, gliding over your skin, down your stomach, between your legs... You're desperate, eyelids fluttering closed when you rub your thighs together for some sort of friction that's so unsatisfying compared to him it hurts. The only thing you can think about is him. He'd hardly come over, opting to stay in the dorms with the rest of the boys since it's a great deal closer to the studio. He probably hasn't been eating very well, if at all. And he definitely hasn't been eating you. Which are both big problems.
Licking your lips, you roll from the bed and pad across the heated floor into the closet, standing on tiptoes to reach up and get the long box from atop Yoongi's shelf. You hadn't gone over to the studio unannounced before, and you definitely hadn't arrived with the intention of riling him up. But lust has completely consumed your judgement, and suddenly you're sitting on the ground to roll a pair of thigh highs- adorned with pink bows at the top, up your legs, and the matching silk slip to replace his shirt. You're suddenly glad for the cold, happy to have a reason to put on the big oversize trench coat you bought to hide the lingerie.
The studio is hardly a twenty minute drive across the city, praying to whatever God there is that traffic doesn't appear once you hit the highway, blazing through the night streets with a hand between your thighs to soothe the fiery need. There's something so erotic about blazing through the dead streets at nearly eighty miles an hour while rubbing yourself roughly to the sound of the engine purring. How was it possible that Yoongi sounded deeper than that? More raw and holistic.
Only getting caught at one stoplight, your knees are weak with excitement as you dash into the studio building and take the elevator to the tenth floor. Please still be here, please still be here. You're praying internally, hoping he hasn't already left for the night even though you highly doubt it.
The light that illuminates the glass of the studio door tells you he has not, and the shadow that walks behind the perforated glass also tells you he's not the only one there. "Hello?" You call, knocking on the door a few times until the unknown person nears to open it.
"Y/N? What are you doing here?" Jimin stands before you, in jeans and a plain white tee shirt, hair mused and ruffled, lips wet from the opened bottle of water in his hands, "did you tell Yoongi you were visiting?"
"No..." you begin, venturing into the space when he steps aside to let you in, "he's still here isn't he?"
"Yep, he's been going at it for hours," Jimin sighs, "I swear he'll work himself to death."
You look him over, suddenly smiling with scheme, "I'll wait a bit then," you touch his arm and guide him to a seat at the conference table in the center of the room before hopping up on the table and swinging your legs like an amused child.
"Keep me company until he's done?"
* * *
"What are you doing here so late?" He decides to ask first, obviously biting his tongue.
You'd talked with Jimin for a half hour until Yoongi came out from the private office to see what the noise was, being curt but pulling you into the space with him as soon as he got the chance, obviously as deprived as you were by the possessive look in his eyes when he looks at you from his desk chair, arms folded atop his lap, head tilted to the side, leg propped up on the other.
