Absolute Fire - Tumblr Posts
Bet On It | MYG
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: smut, fluff, enemies to lovers, non-Idol!AU
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: swearing, kissing, drinking, fingering, getting frisky in a public bathroom, uh i'm gonna say light bondage, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Yoongi is a blond menace, undercut warning
Word Count: 6.5K
Disclaimer: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: What's a little wager between enemies? How about if it's your body on the line?
A/N: Sooooo this was supposed to be a drabble, part of my Milestone Celebration. The prompt was “That was the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.” I wrote 500 words... and then another 500... and then bloop! It became a one-shot. Originally I intended to post this on his birthday, but I'm impatient to get started on my next fic idea, so.... here you go!
Thanks to @thatlongspringnight and @namjinsmoonchile for brainstorming trivia team names.
Unbeta’d as usual. I would love to hear what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕
Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜
“Okay, you motherfuckers, let’s do this. Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war!” With a vicious grin, you raise your pint in a toast to your teammates.
Blank stares greet you from around the table.
“She’s doing it again,” Jungkook says.
“I know. Just ignore her,” Seokjin replies.
“Oh, come on,” you sigh. “Help me out here! It’s been three weeks with no wins. You’re our leader, Seokjin–give us a rousing speech! Do something to rally the troops!”
Jungkook frowns. “Jin, you promised you’d talk to her about the military metaphors.”
“I did! And do you know what she said? ‘Roger that!’ Then she saluted!”
“I’m sitting right here, jerks. You’re not even pretending to whisper!” With a frustrated pout, you turn your attention to the busy room around you.
The Blue & Grey is packed once again as you sip on the pub’s latest brew (an apricot wheat, perfect for early summer) while you wait for your trivia match to begin. It’s your Friday night post-work routine, just as it’s been for the last five months, ever since your coworker/work spouse Seokjin invited you to join his team, the Real Jiniuses.
He’d heard through the office grapevine that you liked games. And were a little competitive. Clearly, his source understated the facts.
You love trivia. And you fucking live for the thrill of competiton.
So once you’d stopped mocking him for the team name, you’d agreed.
Seokjin leans forward, long black hair flopping over his forehead as he gently clasps his large hand over yours. He utters your name calmly, like a parent trying to reason with a bratty child. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too seriously?”
“Pfft, I think you’re not taking it seriously enough! Do you really want to lose to You Just Got Served? Again?”
You Just Got Served. Aka the Real Jiniuses’ rivals. Led by Hoseok from Legal aka Hardass Hobi as you and Seokjin refer to him. So named because of his ruthless attitude in the office.
Also he had a peach so firm you could bounce a paperclip off it. Not that you, the head of HR, had ever tried that. Ahem.
Normally, your teams trade the top spot in the match rankings, but they’ve been kicking your asses for the last few weeks. And you know it’s all thanks to one man.
Min Yoongi. Your nemesis.
He’s You Just Got Served’s ace. The man with all the answers. The man who annoys the fuck out of you. Because just as quickly as you marked him your biggest competition for ultimate trivia master, he sussed you out as the same.
A sneak glance at his team’s table confirms what you already knew. He’s watching you. Which only adds to your irritation. Sure, his whole team is technically your competition, but all your ire is reserved for the annoyingly sharp, vexingly handsome man studying you from across the room.
Make no mistake, he is handsome. As he gazes at you now with those cat-like eyes, newly bleached-blonde hair hanging messily over his brow, examining you from behind a pair of thick black frames, your pulse quickens slightly, despite your best efforts to appear calm and unperturbed.
“Do I want to lose to Hardass again and have to deal with him bringing it up in our Monday morning meeting? No. But it’s a minor annoyance in the grand scheme of things.” Seokjin pauses. “Do you really want a repeat of Trivial Pursuit night?”
“You always bring that up!” A few weeks into your time with the team, Seokjin had invited you to his apartment to play board games with some of the others. It had not gone particularly well. The ‘take no prisoners’ approach to trivia you’ve got makes for a bad scene when your opponents are your friends. “I said I was sorry!”
And you’d been permanently banned from board games night.
“You made Jungkook cry!”
You scoff, sipping your pint. “Oh, like that’s hard!”
“Hey!” Jungkook protests with a tiny sniffle. You gesture emphatically.
“Fine, point made,” Seokjin concedes, lovingly rubbing his boyfriend’s back while carefully avoiding his glare. ”Can we just have fun tonight? Please?”
Only because he’s your favorite coworker, and only because you don’t want to lose yet another friendship over a game, you give in. “Yeah, yeah, fun, whatever. I’ll get the next pitcher.”
The bar is horribly crowded as you approach. Apparently all the other players have decided to place their drink orders at the same exact time. Tapping your fingers on the smooth wooden surface, you’re patiently waiting to catch the bartender’s eye when a velvety voice rumbles in your ear.
“Back for more, huh?”
The devil himself. “Hi, Yoongi.”
He slips in beside you, propping himself up on an elbow on the bar. If you were friends, you’d tell him that you think his fresh undercut is striking, and paired with his newfound blondness, makes him look like a goddamn snack.
But you’re not, so you just ignore him and keep focused on flagging down the bartender.
“I never pegged you for a masochist,” Yoongi notes, tongue licking at the corner of his mouth. You try not to follow the movement with your eyes but it’s like breathing - happens completely involuntarily. “Yet here you are again, looking for more pain. Which I’m more than happy to provide.”
You finally place your pitcher order with the bartender before sizing up the man beside you. This is your other Friday night routine–trading insults with Yoongi. It’s how you prepare for the game, exchanging verbal jabs with the enemy. Though lately it’s been more innuendos than barbs, especially on his end, and these back-and-forths leave you feeling more heated than ready for battle.
Damned if you'll let him know that, though. Admitting that Yoongi has some sort of power over you feels like admitting defeat. And that’s the one thing you’ll never do.
“God, I can’t wait to make you choke on those words when we beat your ass tonight.”
His lips twitch mirthfully. “Oh, now you want to choke me? And there’s the sadism. Fascinating. I’m just learning all sorts of new things about you tonight.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you groan, rolling your eyes. He’s so transparent with these attempts to get under your skin. It’d be hilarious, if only they didn’t work. “Maybe you should spend less time learning about me and more time studying up on your trivia? Then you won’t have to resort to these childish attempts at riling me up to feel superior.”
“Please. We both know I don’t need to do any of that. When it comes to trivia, I’m the king.”
“You’re the worst, your highness,” you proclaim, tone dripping with disdain.
He sidles closer, near enough that you breathe him in. Despite all his sharpness, his scent is so soft–lavender, with woodsy notes, mixed with the spice of the whisky cocktail he exhales as he peers at you through those dark glasses. Warm and inviting.
“Oh, I like that. You can call me that from now on, if you’d please.”
“Fuck off. Prepare to be dethroned, asshole.”
“Ha. You making a run for the crown? Good. Bring it. But know that I never back down from a challenge.”
Your retort is cut off by a voice behind you. “Yoongi, did you–oh.” It’s Hobi, looking devastatingly gorgeous as usual in a perfectly tailored suit. Since most of the players here come straight from your place of work, it's a rather well-dressed bunch of nerds. No complaints on your end. “I was gonna ask what’s taking you so long with my drink, but nevermind. I see now.”
“Just having a friendly little discussion here.”
“I’m sure.” Hobi nods coolly at you before he nudges Yoongi out of the way to speak to the bartender. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“Oh no, please do,” you quip. “I insist.”
Yoongi pouts, pretty lips puffing up before that cocky grin reappears again. It’s never far when he’s talking to you. “But we were having such an illuminating conversation.”
“You mispronounced ‘torturous.’”
His smile widens and you realize you’ve once again led him where he wants the conversation to go. It’s incredible. You never intend to set him up like that and yet there you go walking directly into his traps every time.
You sidestep.
“Well, it depends on–what? What are you looking at?” He slaps a hand to his slender neck suddenly, rubbing as though he’ll find something staining the skin there, based on the way you’re squinting as you stare at his throat.
“Sorry, I’m just marveling at the structural integrity of your neck.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“It’s amazing that something so thin can support something so big.”
His eyes flash before he smirks, opening his mouth.
“If you’re about to make a big dick comment, I swear to God I’ll kick you straight off this team right now,” Hobi promises from over his shoulder, and Yoongi swiftly closes his mouth. “Come on, enough harassing the competition.” He tips his drink towards you. “Best of luck.”
Hobi leads Yoongi back to their table, and you know you shouldn’t ogle him openly, but Yoongi’s tight pants hug his ass so obscenely that you can’t stop yourself and oh, great, he caught you looking. Hastily, you grab your pitcher and bolt for your table, which is close enough to where Yoongi sits that you can hear him chuckling delightedly.
The quizmaster welcomes everyone to trivia night, and your thoughts are quickly replaced by the only thing that could drive Yoongi out of your head–the exhilaration of the game.
Two hours later, sitting at the bar, you’re trying to drown your sorrows with yet another pint. You Just Got Served’s winning streak continues.
“That was the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.”
You frown as Yoongi takes a seat on the barstool next to you. “What sound?”
“The little noise you made when your team lost.” He sips his drink casually, eyes once again fixed on your face, observing your reaction closely.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you sniff, crossing your arms. “I didn't say anything.”
For once, you hadn’t. You’d been so sure that your team was going to pull out the win with the final question tonight that you were left completely speechless by the results. Unlike last week, when you’d let loose a flurry of loud expletives, much to Seokjin’s absolute embarrassment.
Okay, maybe tonight you’d made a little exclamation of protest. Just a tiny one. But there was no way Yoongi could’ve heard it.
“You absolutely did. Kinda sounded like a… a needy whine?” The smirk returns. “I’ve never heard anything so sweet.”
Your eyebrow quirks. “Is that because you’ve never made a woman whine before?” Yoongi scowls as you raise your pint to your smiling lips.
Hobi suddenly materializes at your side like a sexy but stern magician. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You should really consider joining our team,” he says, motioning to the bartender for a refill. “Aren’t you tired of losing?”
“Cross over to the Dark Side? Aren’t you supposed to entice me with saving my friends or offer me cookies or something?”
“Fuck, even for a nerd, you’re a nerd, you know?” Hobi sighs. “Which is why you should be with us. You’re absolutely wasted on the Jiniuses. Don’t you want to be on the winning team for once?”
“Save it, Hoseok.” With one hand, you shoo him away. “Go gloat elsewhere. It’s bad enough I can never shake this one,” you thumb at Yoongi.
“Yeah, weird how that always happens,” Hobi comments drolly, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder as he drifts off to bother Seokjin.
“Anyway…” Yoongi drawls as if he were never interrupted, “what will it take to get you to make that noise again? I miss it already.”
“God, what will it take to get you to shut up about it?”
“How about a little wager over next week?”
“Mmmm, not much of a gambler.” Contests, you like. Gambling, not so much. You don’t believe in luck. Just in yourself.
“Afraid you’ll lose? I would’ve thought you’d be used to that by now.”
He’s such an ass. “Fine, let’s say I take you up on this. What’s in it for me?”
“Name your prize.”
“Okay, how about… if my team wins, you pick up our tab for the night.”
He taps his glass thoughtfully. “Is that all?”
“What, that’s not enough?” He has no idea how much Seokjin alone can drink.
“I’m just saying. Make it worth your while.”
Tossing back the rest of your drink, you reconsider. What do you want? “All right. You pick up our tab, and you have to stop annoying me every week. Which means no more comments about stupid shit like imaginary sounds.”
He’s silent for a moment, still examining you as he mulls your words. You wonder if you’ve made a mistake with your choice of prize. Don’t you enjoy being the center of his attention every week? Crave his fiery words and longing looks? There’s a weird sense of panic growing in the pit of your stomach while you wait for his response.
“Okay,” he finally replies, setting his empty glass on the bar. He tilts towards you, and the loud din of the room around you dies away as he murmurs, “But when my team wins, I’m finally going to take you home and do everything I’ve ever wanted to do to you, over and over, until you can only make that sweet little sound.”
A jolt ripples through you. Shifting in your seat, squeezing your thighs together, you inhale deeply to control your breathing, so you give nothing away. “Are you kidding me? You really think I’d agree to that? To offering myself as a prize?”
“Yes.” Stated so matter-of-factly.
“And just why the fuck would I do that?”
“Because you want to come home with me. You’re just too proud to admit it. So I’ll make it easy for you. When I win, you’re mine for the night.” He lightly skims a long finger down your arm, and goosebumps rush to fill the space where his skin touched yours.
The satisfied look in his eyes as you struggle to compose yourself is the only thing anchoring you to reality, keeping you from grabbing him by the tie and dragging him straight into the bathroom.
You won’t let him win that easily.
“Well. That is simply not going to happen. I’ll take the bet, because I know it’s the only way to get you to stop bothering me, and because I know I’m going to win.” Gracefully, you climb off your stool, thankful that your legs haven’t turned to jelly after what he said. “You’re going down.”
He winks. “Well yeah, fingers crossed, love.”
Your scowl leaves him laughing as you stalk away.
“I’ve been dreaming about that noise all week long.” Yoongi’s voice drifts over the clatter around you. After another long week, it’s Friday again, so you’re at the bar, ordering provisions. And of course Yoongi’s here, too, wearing a grey three-piece suit, running his hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, looking delicious as always.
How annoying.
“You’ve been hallucinating an imaginary sound? You should probably get that checked out.” The bartender slides a cocktail towards you and you give them an appreciative nod before taking a sip.
“Really?”
“Really what?”
He grins, pink lips revealing a gummy smile. “Is that the best you’ve got tonight?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“You’re not stressing about the match, are you? Wouldn’t want to win because you’re not on your game.”
“I’m always on.” Maybe it’s the exhaustion of a long week getting to you, but his snarky comments are even more irritating than usual tonight.
“Good. Because I want to know I’ve beaten the best.” The corner of his mouth lifts, that familiar crooked smile igniting a flame inside you.
You quickly tamp it down.
“Always so damn confident, aren’t you, Yoongi? Talking so big. Even if you win, do you really think you can make me make that sound again? Or any sounds, for that matter?”
He watches you over the rim of his glass as he takes a long dram. Something flutters against the bare skin of your thigh and you glance down to see his other hand brushing lightly along your leg.
“I assure you that I can and I will. But if you’d prefer a demonstration…?”
The hem of your skirt is pinched between his fingers. He rolls the fabric up slightly and you inhale sharply as his thumb strokes the smooth skin beneath. Tearing your gaze away from his hand, you find him studying your reaction. Waiting.
The quizmaster for the evening announces ten minutes until the match. You snap out of your trance and swat his hand away, hoping your bored expression is more convincing than it feels. “No need to embarrass yourself now. Save it for the quiz.”
Even though you know you shouldn’t, you glance back over your shoulder as you saunter away. Yoongi leans against the bar, tongue poking his cheek as he watches your hips sway and fuck, he’s caught you looking again. That spark inside you burns as he winks, and you turn away, in desperate need of your drink and a distraction.
Without a doubt, trivia night is always the highlight of your week. But tonight you’re too keyed up to truly enjoy it. Every round has you on edge, wondering if you’re one step closer to winning or losing the bet–and trying to figure out which outcome you’d prefer. All of this means a quieter, more subdued you than usual. Naturally, your friends notice.
“You feeling okay tonight?” Jungkook asks between the second and third rounds, nudging you gently with his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You flash the briefest of smiles. Jungkook jerks his head at his boyfriend, who shrugs and raises his eyebrows. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here looking right at you.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Seokjin exclaims.
“Please. Your face is louder than a fire alarm.”
“You say you’re fine, but you’re still on your first drink, and you haven’t made a single warfare reference all night,” Jungkook states. “So obviously you’re not.”
“It’s nothing! Just a little out of it after a rough week,” you lie, trying to summon some enthusiasm. “Don’t worry, I’m ready for the next round! Once more unto the breach!”
Jungkook wrinkles his nose adorably as Seokjin grants you a half-grin, but you know they’re not fully convinced.
Is this Yoongi’s evil plan? To psych you out with this bet and mess with your mind? Prevent you from playing your best? If it is, it’s really working, goddamn it.
Somehow, despite your inability to relax, the match flies by, a blur of questions and answers and shouts of victory and defeat. It comes down to a repeat of last week, the Real Jiniuses and You Just Got Served neck-and-neck to the very end, with everything hinging on the final question.
“Alright, the category tonight is ‘Literature of Future Past.’ If you don’t know this next question, don’t blame the stars. What famous phrase from classical literature was infamously uttered by General Chang, the Klingon villain from the 1991 film ‘Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country?’”
As your teammates whisper to one another, hazarding wild guesses, you glance at Yoongi’s table. Like your team, he and the others sit with heads bent towards one another. But you have a clear view of Yoongi’s face, all furrowed brows and pouting lips.
For once, he doesn’t look confident.
“Hey!” Seokjin’s voice brings you back to the group. “You haven’t said a single word in the last five minutes. Do you have a guess or what?”
You don’t need a guess. Calmly, you whisper the answer to Seokjin. Everyone else seems uncertain, but you’ve never been more sure in your life.
“And the answer is–“
You can’t hear what the quizmaster reveals because one of your teammates begins screeching in your ear. Your eyes are fixed on You Just Got Served’s table as the scores are revealed.
Yoongi’s expression says it all.
You won.
There’s a lot of cheering and even more drinking after the results are announced. You’re thrilled that your team has finally snapped their run of losses. But you hang back a bit, watching your friends carry on carousing without you.
The celebrations eventually die down and your teammates begin to drift away. Soon, you’re the only one left, nursing another drink at the bar. You know you should go home, but you feel antsy, like you’re not quite done with the night yet.
“Congratulations,” Yoongi mutters, shouldering his way next to you. He motions to the bartender that he’s ready to close out his tab, which is undoubtedly astonishingly high given how much your team imbibed after you told them it was on him.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that?” Mustering up a playful grin, you cup your ear.
His mouth sets in a flat line before he speaks again. “Congratulations. You won. I’ll stop bothering you.” His long fingers drum quietly on the bartop as he waits for his card. There are no quippy comments, no teasing smiles, nothing but silence and distance.
Well, you don’t care for this at all.
“How disappointing,” you remark, twirling the stir stick from your cocktail between your fingertips. “I guess you talk a big game, but just can’t deliver, huh?”
Yoongi turns to you with narrowed eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“For your information, I didn't miss a single answer tonight, other than the last one! Any other night, that would’ve been enough to beat you,” he sulks. “That final round was bullshit. Who’s even watched that stupid old movie?”
Wow. Someone’s a sore loser.
“Except it wasn’t any other night, it was tonight, when you really needed to dig deep and secure the win, and you just… couldn’t.” You tip your head, giving him an appraising look. “And now you’re just giving up, huh? Throwing in the towel, because you lost one match.”
“Throwing in the - what are you talking about?” he hisses, attention fully focused on you now. You can feel the heat of his body where his arm presses against you, jostled closer by the other patrons vying for the bartender’s attention. “The bet’s over! You won. I lost.” His jaw twitches slightly with that last declaration.
Oh. You understand instantly. He’s mad at himself for losing.
It’d be so easy to reach out and grab his chin, look him in the eye, and tell him that you don’t care about any stupid bets. You want him to take you home. Make you his. But that requires you to surrender yourself to him, and that’s not the way you play.
“You know what I want?” The last dregs of your drink flow down your throat as you tip your head back to drain your glass. Yoongi watches closely, eyeing the graceful line of your neck with interest. “What I want is for you to show me that I beat the best tonight. Didn’t you say you never back down from a challenge? Then prove it.” He’s breathing hard as you smirk, twirling his black tie around your fingers. “Show me that you can deliver on that offer you made earlier. Make me whine, Yoongi, right here, right now, and I’m all yours.”
His eyes are darkened pools as he studies you. God, how you long to dive in. “Are you serious?”
"Mmmhmm. If you still want to take me home, you gotta make me want it. Show me what you can do.” Gently, you untwist his tie, smoothing the silky fabric, letting your fingertips skim against his chest as you gaze at him through lowered lashes.
“Fuck,” he whistles a low note. His tongue dances over his lower lip. “Come on.”
His hand grasps yours, pulling you off your seat. Most of the trivia crowd has cleared out by now. The quizmaster has been replaced by a deejay currently spinning something loud and fast. You wind your way through the crush of bodies on the dance floor as Yoongi leads you into the back hallway of the pub.
He pauses for a second at the door of one of the bathrooms. When no one answers his questioning knock, he quickly urges you inside and locks the door behind you.
In the flickering fluorescent lighting of the restroom, Yoongi removes his glasses, tucking them into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. His gaze slowly roams over your body, a nakedly hungry look on his face. Gone are the winks, the smirks, all those cocky little gestures he loves to tease you with. This is the expression of a man who wants to devour you whole, in no uncertain terms, and he’s dying for you to know it.
One of his hands cups your cheek while the other slides up your thigh, bunching your skirt as it goes. “If at any point you want me to stop, just say the word,” he instructs you. “This is only fun for me if you’re into it, too.”
“Okay.” Your breathing is a little shaky. The intensity of his gaze has you rattled. But you’ve already decided you want this, so you don’t plan on saying a word.
In fact, you don’t plan on making any noises at all. You’re not giving him an inch, or rather, a whine, unless he earns it from you.
With a tilt of his head, he pulls you into a kiss. A hint of whisky still clings to his lips, sweet and smoky, but it’s the bite underneath that has you leaning into him, seeking more, getting drunk on him. You curl your fingers into the lapel of his suit as he slides his hand around to your ass. He palms you through your panties, then lifts your leg to wrap around him as he grinds himself into your core.
He’s so hard against you already. Knowing that you’ve done this to him spurs you on, your lips falling open enough for him to lick into you. His hands find the zipper on your skirt and in an instant it’s crumpled around your feet.
“You taste so good,” he whispers, kissing a trail down your neck. “Do you taste like this everywhere?” You nearly moan his name, but bite your lip in time. Abruptly, he drops your leg and pulls away, and you teeter for a moment before catching yourself. In your head, you call him a few choice names, but you say nothing out loud.
His smirk reappears as he drops to his knees. “Better hold on to something.” He buries his face in your heat, kissing you through the sodden silk and lace he finds there. A keen bubbles up but you swallow it back down as his nose finds your clit and rubs against the sensitive nub. “You can start with me.” He grabs your left hand, placing it in his hair. Instantly, you card your fingers through his platinum locks. With your right hand, you grip the sink, needing something steady to keep you in place.
The man between your legs yanks your panties to the floor and dives in with no hesitation. His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit before he begins to swirl it around your clit and then his hands join the fray, fingers prying back your folds as he slips inside.
Your own tongue is speared between your teeth, to the point that you begin to fear you might chomp clean through. But if you let go, there’s no telling what sort of sounds will escape your lips, so you continue to hold it. Releasing his hair, you clutch at the sink with both hands.
Yoongi chooses that moment to replace his tongue with his index finger, and your mouth falls open as you rock your hips forward. How did he find that spot so quickly? He’s playing you like a musician plays an instrument, all deft fingers and graceful tongue, making your body sing.
“You like that, love? Hmm? Want another?” He adds a second finger.
Swiftly, you stuff the palm of your right hand into your mouth, gnawing to suppress any whimpers. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel yourself nearing your peak, continuing to rut your hips brazenly as you chase your high on his thrusting fingers. God, you’re going to cum if he keeps this up, but there’s no way you can possibly do that silently.
“Oh, look at you,” Yoongi groans happily, mouth lapping at the wetness clinging to your thighs. “Humping away, so needy. Are you wishing that was my cock inside you? Hmm?” He nips when you don’t reply. “I asked you a question, love.”
His fingers suddenly withdraw as his tongue stops.
Your eyes fly open. Releasing your palm, you glance down to find him resting on his heels, watching you with a wicked glint in his eyes.
“So that’s your game, huh?” he rasps, grabbing the hand that was just in your mouth. His thumb rubs over the teeth marks there. “Muffling yourself, so you won’t make any sound?”
You shrug, crossing your arms. “Maybe. Does it matter?”
“I think it does. Seems a bit like cheating to me.”
“It’s not cheating,” you petulantly claim, frustrated beyond belief. Can’t he just let it go and get back to proving his skill? You were so close. “It’s just… it’s like the final round. You know, it’s meant to be a challenge, not a walk in the park.” He doesn’t make any movements, continuing to observe you closely, and you pout. “Come on, I thought you didn’t back down from anything!”
Yoongi tips his head to the side as he considers your words. “I suppose you’re right.” He stands, loosening his tie. “You never really set any rules for this… challenge… of yours, so I can’t really say it’s not fair. But, you also didn’t specify what I could or couldn’t do, so....” He yanks the silky material from around his throat. “Turn around.”
He grips the tie tightly as you shoot him a curious look. “And what exactly do you think you’re going to do with that?”
He doesn’t answer, just takes a step forward and lightly grasps your chin. “Turn. Around.” The tone of his voice is commanding, but there’s a question in his eyes. A way out, if you want it.
You turn around.
“Clasp your hands together.” Silently, you obey, and he wraps the tie around your wrists, binding them together. “Too tight?” Testing his work, you find that you have a little give, but not enough to get loose. Once you shake your head, he spins you around to face him again.
“Let’s see how quiet you can be now,” he murmurs, lowering his face to your neck and sucking at a sensitive spot beneath your ear. You huff a breath through your nostrils, still determined to keep completely mum.
Yoongi’s hands run over your blouse before tugging it up, sliding it over your breasts. His lips glide down until they meet your bra. He mouths at your nipples through the dark lace and you arch into him, wishing your hands were free so you could remove all the fabric preventing his hot kisses from touching your bare skin. Having him so close is torture.
Which is obviously the point.
You’re shifting around, trying ardently to get him to slide your bra down without actually saying anything, when there’s a knock at the door.
You both freeze. Yoongi lifts his head.
“Maybe we should–”
“Do you want to–”
“Hello, is someone in there?” More knocks. “Come on, there’s a line!”
“Do you want to stop?” Yoongi asks.
“God no,” you answer immediately, without a trace of shame.
A full gummy smile crosses his face. Then he turns and bellows, “FUCK OFF!”
The knocking ceases.
“I guess I should move things along,” he hums, tracing his hand down your torso. “As much as I wish I could take my time right now, I can’t. But that’s okay. After this, we’ll have all night.”
Without warning, he pulls you flush against him and kisses you fiercely. Your cry of surprise is swallowed by his greedy mouth. With your hands bound, you can’t run your fingers through his hair or cling to his shoulders or touch him in any of the million ways you’re dying to right now. You can’t even hold yourself up, melting into his embrace. He’s completely in control.
So you surrender.
His kisses grow messy, more desperate, until you’re both gasping for breath. His hand finds its way between your legs, stroking and plunging, one finger, then two, before he’s on his knees again.
“Lift this for me,” he bids you, bending your left leg. “Just let it rest here.” You wobble a little as you try to balance your thigh on his shoulder, puffing a frustrated breath, but before you can keel over, his strong hands grip your waist. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, love. Just lean back.”
Your back tilts against the cold sink. Yoongi’s supporting most of your weight as his hand splays on your stomach, holding you in place so you’re angled just right, completely open to him, just as he desires.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs reverently. “Such a shame I can’t savor you right now. But I promise I will later.” And then his mouth is on you.
The rude interruption seems to have lit a fire under him, because as soon as he sets a relentless pace, he doesn’t stop. He keeps finding that spot inside you, lithe fingers brushing over it again and again, making your eyes roll back in ecstasy. As he tongues at your clit, treating the tiny bud like a drop of the sweetest nectar, you realize your end is approaching quickly again.
You try to keep quiet. You really do. But all your effort is completely useless against Yoongi’s talented hands and tongue. Once your mouth goes slack, it’s over.
You begin to wail.
“Yoongi, oh fuck!” The floodgates open and you gasp, you moan, you scream his name. “Jesus, fuck, oh my god!”
He’s laughing into you, and you struggle hard against the tie, fighting to slip a hand loose so you can get your fingers on him, grab his hair, touch him, but in addition to being a trivia master he’s also apparently a fucking knot expert, so you’re not getting free. With a frustrated whine, you drop your head.
Game over. He wins.
He replaces his mouth with his thumb as he watches you through heavily-lidded eyes. “There it is, love! There’s that beautiful sound I’ve been dreaming of. I knew I could get you there.”
All you can do is groan his name. “Yoongi, please!” Not even sure what you’re pleading for, just knowing that you want whatever he’s willing to give.
The fingers pumping in and out of you make the filthiest background noise as he babbles on, caught up in the rush of victory. “Fuck, love, everything you do is so fucking hot - the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you moan my name. You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t wait to have you tonight. You ready to get fucked by the king?”
“Yoongi.” He’s still the fucking worst and you hate how much you love it, clenching at his words. “Oh fuck, please don’t stop!”
He feels you tightening around him and growls. “Say it. Say I’m the king.”
Right now you’d say anything he told you to if it meant he’d keep going. “You’re the king! Ah, fuck, you’re the king!”
With another thrust of his hand, you come undone. The burning inferno inside you spreads, consuming you so completely that your right knee buckles and you pitch forward. Yoongi holds you up, one hand on your torso, the other gripping your left thigh, still lapping at your cunt until you can’t take any more.
Panting, you protest. “Too much, Yoongi, it’s too much.”
He stops, glancing up at you. A glossy sheen of sex is smeared all around his nose and mouth, and as you fight to catch your breath, he removes his hand from your core and sucks each finger clean, one by one.
“God, you’re so over-the-top,” you huff as he laughs. “Will you untie me now?”
He rises to his feet. “Say it one more time and I will.”
“Say what?”
“You know what.” He blinks languidly, a proud smile curling his lips. “Tell me I’m the king.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Just say it.”
He’s unbelievable. You try appealing to his baser instincts. “Please, Yoongi, I wanna touch you. Don’t you want me to touch you?” Bringing your knee up, you rub against the massive tent in his pants, smirking as he exhales forcefully.
Yet he doesn’t cave, running a thumb over your lips. “Come on. One more time. I wanna watch this pretty mouth say it.”
You want to kiss him and curse him all at once. Pleasing him wins out.
“You’re the king,” you sigh. “Now untie me and fuck off.”
You start to turn, but Yoongi stops you with his hands on your hips, and leans in for a kiss, slow and sure. Something must be seriously wrong with your knees because they’re seconds from giving out again. His fingers pick at the knotted tie, releasing your wrists. As soon as your arms are free, you loop them around his neck, never breaking the kiss for a second.
Until there’s another knock at the door.
“Hello? Look, whoever’s in there, can you please wrap it up?” the bartender hollers through the door. “Other people need the restroom, you know.”
“JUST A MINUTE!” you boom, giggling at Yoongi’s startled expression. “Sorry.” “I’m assuming my demonstration was satisfactory, given the many, many sweet sounds you made. I didn’t hear a single complaint, but I think I did hear you call me the king once or twice….” he trails off, grinning as you push him away and adjust your blouse, straightening the wrinkled fabric over your stomach.
“Oh, fuck all the way off, will you?” You reach for your panties but he swipes them up first and stuffs them into his pocket.
“What?” His tone is airy and innocent. “I earned these.”
No argument there.
Once you’re both looking respectable enough to leave the bathroom, he pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “I know what you said earlier, but you’re not under any obligation to–”
“Yoongi.” His voice falters as you place your hand on his chest, fingers curling around his tie. “Take me home.”
With a smirk, he opens the door.
© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.
