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“It’s your fault,” Yoosung cries into V’s shoulder. V holds him closely, tenderly, voice a soft rasp, “It’s my fault.”
Yoosung repeats himself, borrows closer. He can feel his tears, can feel their wetness on V’s clothing and it’s unpleasant, but it’s real and if anything it makes him sob harder, the words coming again and again, “It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault…”
“It’s my fault,” V agrees, his hands ghosting over Yoosung’s shoulders, his back, before moving up into the blonde waves of his hair and ruffling through the silky strands as he turns him slightly, ever so slightly, “It’s my fault.”
Yoosung is looking at V now – or looking at him as much as he can through his veil of tears. V’s eyes are unfocused, lost, bared by the loss of his shades and it’s clear he can’t see very well. He’s close to blind, gaze uncharted, but still there are tears there as well and then V’s angling his head and his lips press against Yoosung’s. It’s not a kiss, so much as a damp passing of mouths.
A choked noise bottles in Yoosung’s throat, system shocked still as V’s lips have yet to leave his. His own hands rise up, rest on V’s shoulders and he’s intending to push him away. He is. But his fingers, his palms…they don’t shove or push or claw. They don't struggle for release. They just…rest there. They rest on V’s shoulders and then their lips…they move. Or maybe just V’s move. Or maybe just Yoosung’s…either way, lips, mouths, are moving and it’s becoming a kiss.
A kiss that is strange and wholly unexpected. V’s tongue…it’s wet and stealthy, the perfect infiltrator. It moves into Yoosung’s mouth. It skims over his tongue, his teeth, his gums, the inside of his cheeks and Yoosung makes the choked sound again, but this time it’s…deeper. Hungrier. Less confusion, more…
And his fingers are finally claws - but not to push away. Instead they cling to V’s cardigan, dig into the soft material, feeling the hard, solid form of his shoulders beneath and holds him there, holds him in place against Yoosung. The kiss is a wild, living thing between them. A life growing in strength and intensity, taking on a vibrant existence all its own.
Yoosung breathes in loudly through his nose, hums, as V’s fingers hold his skull so delicately. They're mutually exploring one another’s mouths and Yoosung’s tiny dorm is filled to the brim with the sounds of it. The slick clicks and huffed pants, the liquid noises of…is this pleasure? What is this? Yoosung pulls back just enough to ask, their lips still wetly connected, “…what?”
V doesn’t answer with words. He just presses his lips back to Yoosung’s again, giving kiss after kiss after kiss. Yoosung tries a second time, tongue licking at his lips in an effort to push V’s away so he can speak, “V…why’re you…?”
“Please,” V begs, pressing even more into Yoosung, their noses rubbing against one another, “Please…”
“We-we can’t…”
“‘We’?” V asks with the barest thread of teasing, “Not…not ‘you’? ‘We’?”
Yoosung curses – something he almost never does. It’s a rare, ugly word that leaves him, but it comes because he knows he’s been caught. His fingers fall from V’s shoulders, move to his sides and squeeze there, “Well…I…I let you…”
“Let me?”
Yoosung shakes his head very lightly, “No…I…participated…wanted…”
Neither of them seems capable of talking and Yoosung is frustrated by it. But, more than that, he’s…bewildered. Bewildered by what just passed between them. They…kissed. More than once. What about the newest member of the RFA? What about the girl he’s purporting himself to love? Or to be falling in love with? And Rika…Rika…
He blinks, lashes still gummy from tears and he sucks in a lungful of air and looks up at V and V’s face is blank. No. Not blank…vulnerable…
Yoosung curses and kisses him again. He kisses him hard. They had been sitting on Yoosung’s bed and now they fall back against it and Yoosung…he’s over top of V. He’s pushing him down on the mattress and kissing him. And Yoosung feels…good. Powerful. He likes being over top of this man, this person who always seems to hold so much power over him, over all of them, and he's made of secrets and charisma. Of lies and truths. He has so much sway. V…he’s kind of like their leader…that’s what Zen said and this is terrible, terrible...
He’s been romancing someone else, hasn’t he? His new relationship is new and fragile. Or is it? Is…is she as interested in him? Or maybe, just maybe, it's him. Maybe he’s not interested in her at all. He compared her to Rika. Time and time again and Rika…he didn’t love her. Not like that. Right? She was his cousin and V…
V…
He’s kissing V. He’s rolling his hips against V’s hips and clutching at him and oh god, oh lord, oh no, no, no…
Yoosung’s gripped by a heady wave of hysteric desire. He groans; the sound long and low. Their kisses have a frantic note to them now, a ravenous desperation and V’s fingers – those artistic, graceful fingers have moved down from Yoosung’s hair to his ass. He cups it, grips it, each individual finger digging in and he shoves him down, rises up. and oh, ohhhhhhhh…
Yoosung hears himself moan and V moans right along with him. At some point, Yoosung grew hard and his erection…it's dragging alongside V’s. V’s hard too. They’re both aroused and confused and panting and rocking against one another, their lips still connected as they kiss messily and work towards…something. And then V moves fast – faster than Yoosung expected and he finds himself beneath him. V is over top of Yoosung now, grunting and growling and V’s body undulates against his.
Christ, they're…they're dry humping…that’s…that’s what this called. Right? Yoosung seems to recall Seven making some jokes about it, but this isn’t funny. This is raw, unfiltered lust and V’s hands have found Yoosung’s wrists. He’s pining him down as he rubs against him and Yoosung rubs back. He can’t believe it, but he’s moving back against V and he finds – he finds he likes V clutching at his wrists. Finds he likes being bound by V’s grip as he lets out a mewling sort of wail. Fuck, he’s never been so hard. So clouded with the need for release and the other members of the RFA joke about how Yoosungs’s so innocent, so pure, but he’s not. Not completely. He’s a hot blooded young adult and he’s touched himself. Naturally he's explored his own body. He’s reached climaxes at his own hands, his own actions, but this…this…
Sweat beads V’s brow and he’s making this repetitive noise, this strangled sound of desperation as if he’s searching for something, needing something. Dying because he doesn’t have it and Yoosung recognizes it. Knows it. Release…V is chasing his release, chasing his pleasure and Yoosung…oh, yes, yes, please! Yoosung wants to give it to him. Wants to get his own and Yoosung captures V's mouth again, kisses him, and it’s wet and sloppy and perfect.
There’s saliva and heat and Yoosung’s cock throbs from the friction, from the weight and the pure force of their actions. His balls are drawn up tight and animalistic snarls are leaving him followed by odd, drawn out squeals that should be embarrassing, that make his cheeks go red, but they really only serve to heat his blood hotter because he’s almost there, almost there, so close, so close, so…
“Ohhhhhh! Oh! Ohnh!” Yoosung hears himself, hates it, but for a fraction of a second because his body can withstand it no longer, bursting apart at the seams. Ecstasy rings throughout every vein and he feels his whole being pulse, wetness forming right behind the fly of his pants as he cums and V…thank all, V comes right after, huffing and puffing and bellowing Yoosung’s name like it’s being dragged right from the center of him.
But this doesn’t end it. Not instantly. Even when their climaxes come, they still roll against one another, drawing out every last string of delight, every last ounce of joy that a really good orgasm can bring. They still move against one another, weak and lost and boneless. Their bodies are still fully clothed yet caked in sweat, in the slowly cooling results of their union. Yoosung’s mind is blank, hazy, but still lost in wonder.
Wondering how this happened, wondering what led to this. What brought them to…
Then he remembers and finds himself breathing, “It’s…your fault.”
V’s body is pressed against his. It collapsed, surrendered under the force of his release. He’s still holding Yoosung’s wrists, but his grip is looser, thumbs carefully caressing the skin as he gives in to an almost imperceptible nod, “It’s my fault.”
And as they both lie there, bodies intertwined, they question the deep validity of that statement. And the consequences it will bring.