Jungkook

We make it to my apartment somehow between all the kissing. He releases me long enough to let me unlock the door, but he loses his patience as soon as it’s unlocked. I laugh when he shoves the door open and pushes me inside. He closes the door, locks it, and turns around to face me again. We look at each other for several seconds.

“Hi”, he says simply.

I laugh, “Hi.”

He looks around the room nervously before his eyes back to mine. “Id that good enough?” he asks.

I my head, because I don’t really understand his question. “Is what good enough?”

He grins. “I was hoping that was enough talk for tonight.”

Oh.

I get his question now.

I nod slowly, and he smiles, then steps forward and kisses me. He bends slightly and lifts me by the waist, wrapping my legs around him. He secures his arms around my back and begins walking me toward my bedroom.

As many times as I’ve seen this happen in movies and read about it in books, I’ve never actually been picked up and carried by a man before. I think I’m in love with it. Being carried into a bedroom by Jimin is quite possibly my new favorite thing out of any and all things.

That is, until he kicks my bedroom door shut behind him. Maybe Jimin kicking doors shut is my new favorite thing.

He gently lowers me to the bed, and even though I’m sad that he’s not carrying me anymore, I’m a little bit happier to find myself beneath him. Every single move he makes is better and ier than the last one. He pauses for a moment as he hovers over me, and his eyes roam sensually over my entire body, until they come to a pause on the hem of my jeans. He reaches down and pushes it down, and I lift myself up off the bed just enough for him to pull it off of me.

He in a breath when he looks down at me and sees that the only thing coming between him and a completely me is a very thin layer of boxers. He begins to lower himself on top of me, but I push on his chest and shake my head, tugging on his shirt to let him know it’s his turn. He grins and quickly pulls his shirt over his head, then leans in toward me again. I push against him once more, and reluctantly lifts up, shooting me a look of amused annoyance. I point to his jeans, and he backs away from the bed, and in two swift movements, the rest of his clothes are somewhere on my bedroom floor. I don’t quite catch where he tossed them, because my eyes are sort of preoccupied.

He makes his way on top of me again, and I don’t stop him this time. I welcome him by wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his back and guiding his mouth back to mine.

We mold and fit together so perfectly it’s as if we were made for this sole purpose. His left hand fits perfectly into mine as he brings my arm above my head and presses it into the mattress. His tongue melds perfectly with mine as he continues to tease my entire mouth as if it were made for this very purpose. His right hand seamlessly conforms to my outer thigh as he digs his fingers into my skin and shifts his weight perfectly against me.

His mouth leaves mine long enough to taste my jaw…my neck…my shoulder.

I don’t know how being consumed by him could lend clarity to my purpose in life, but it absolutely feels that way. Everything about me and life makes so much more sense when we’re together like this. He makes me feel more beautiful. More important. More loved. More needed. I feel more everything, and with every second that passes, I become more and more greedy, wanting all of every single part of him.

I push against his chest, needing space between us so I can sign to him. He looks down at my hands when he realizes what I’m doing. I hope I get it right, because I’ve practiced signing this sentence no fewer than a thousand times since I last saw him.

“I have something I need to say before we do this.”

He pulls back a few inches, watching my hands, waiting.

I sign the words “I love you.”

His eyebrows draw apart, and relief floods his eyes. He lowers his mouth to my hands and kisses them, over and over, then quickly pulls farther away, unwrapping my legs from around his waist. Just when I begin to fear he’s come to some absurd notion that we need to stop, he lowers himself to my side but leans over me and presses his ear against my chest.

“I want to feel you say it.”

I press my lips into his hair, then lightly secure him against me. “I love you, Jimin,” I whisper. His grip tightens around my waist, so I continue repeating it several times.

I keep his head pressed against my chest with both hands. He releases his grip on my waist and trails his hand over my stomach, causing my muscles to clench beneath his touch. He continues his hand in sensuous circles over my stomach. I stop repeating the words and focus on where his hand is traveling, but he stops abruptly.

“I don’t feel you saying it,” he says.

“I love you,” I quickly repeat. When the words leave my lips, his fingers begin moving again. As soon as I’m quiet, his fingers stop.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out what game he’s playing. I grin and say it again.

“I love you.”

His fingers slip inside the top edge of my underwear, and my voice grows quiet again. It’s really hard for me to speak when his hand is that close. It’s really hard to do anything. His fingers come to a pause just inside my underwear when he doesn’t feel talking. I want his hand to keep moving, so I somehow breathe the words.

“I love you.”

His hands slides further inside and stops. I close my eyes and say it again. Slowly.

“I…love…you.”

What he does next with his hand causes me to repeat the words again instantly.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again and again and again, until my boxers are somewhere on the floor, and I’ve said the words so many times and so fast that I’m almost screaming them now. He continues to prove with the expertise of his hand that he’s quite possibly the absolute best listener I’ve ever encountered.

“I love you,” I whisper one last time between faltered and shallow breaths. I’m too weak to utter the words again, and my hands fall away from his head and land against the mattress with a thud.

He lifts his head away from my chest and scoots upward until his face is so close to mine our noses brush. “I love you, too,” he says with a smug grin.

I smile, but my smile fades when he rolls away from me, leaving me alone on the bed. I’m too exhausted and spent to reach out for him. However, he returns to the bed as quickly as he left it. He tears open a wrapper and keeps his eyes focused on mine, never once looking away.

The way he’s looking at me, as if I’m the only thing that matters in his world, makes