The Hickey Conundrum

(BTS: Suga)

“Hey,” Yoongi prompted, poking my side.  I shifted away from him and mumbled a complaint.  He only pressed closer, jarring me from my seat on the couch.  We were watching TV in the dorm, “were” being the key word.  He was now apparently bored, and decided to take it out on me.

“Alex, let’s do something,” he insisted, snaking his arms around my waist.

“I’m tired; can’t you sit still for like, ten minutes?” I complained.  I could almost feel him frown.

“No, not when my beautiful girlfriend is right in front of me,” he said, using compliments to get his way.

“No way, believe it or not, I’m actually tired.  And you always want to sleep, why don’t we lie down and just take a cat nap or something?” I offered, finally turning to face him.  He wore his stereotypical dark mask, complete with pointed eyes and a set jaw.  But I saw through that, taking note of the way a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“But I’m not tired right now,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  I sighed, leaning into him.

“But I am,” I whispered through a yawn.  His fingers threaded through my belt loops, tugging my body to face him completely.  My head tiredly lolled to the side, and I leaned my hands on his shoulders to keep upright.

“Hey,” he prompted, but with my head resting on my own shoulder, I only let out a sigh to acknowledge his presence.  “Alex,” he continued, but I could already feel the tugging sensation of sleep, only growing as the warmth of his body seeped into mine.  Then, suddenly, chaste lips on my neck shocked me into consciousness.  With a yelp, I shot up.

“Yoongi!” I exclaimed, trying to pull away from the tickling sensation.  But he pulled me closer as his lips worked over my collar bone.  “Let go,” I demanded as he lowered me onto the couch.  “Yoongi!”

His lips covered mine, blanketing them and enveloping all my protests in a single lip-lock.  I almost pushed him away, knowing he’d back off if I really wanted him to, but I didn’t, the feel of his body so close to mine too intoxicating.

“We aren’t the only ones in the house,” I managed to get out in between breaths.  He didn’t seem to care as his lips moved over mine.

“Jungkook’s out on a date.”  His hand cupped my face and fingers entangled themselves in my hair.  “Jimin and Hoseok are down in the dance room.”  His face tilted to catch my lips better.  “Seokjin is at the café with Samantha, trying to plan a day for us all to get together.”  My arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer.  “Namjoon and Taehyung are in their rooms, doing god-knows-what.”  His breath washed over my features.  “And we’re out here.”

His tongue ran across my bottom lip and I forgot about the uncomfortable seams digging into my back.  I forgot about everything as he took control, the smell of his cologne in my nose and the sound of his breath in my ear.

His lips left mine, trailing hot kisses down to my neck again.  They traveled slowly, leaving me breathless just from the proximity of our bodies.  Then I felt his teeth; anxiety sparked and I started to pull away, but he kept me in place.  He continued to nip and kiss my neck at the same time, no doubt leaving my skin red.  His tongue darted out and I gasped, causing him to smirk against me.

The kiss got even more heated as hands left my face and travelled down to my waist slipping under my shirt.  His fingers danced up my spine and around the confines of my tank top, playing with the clasps of my strapless bra.  I tensed slightly, but his lips reassured me as he continued to fiddle with the thin piece of clothing that held my sanity together.  He managed to get it undone, when sudden footsteps were heard down the hall.

“I’m getting a water, want one Taehyung?” Namjoon’s voice cut through the heavy silence and forced us apart.  As we separated, his hand quickly jerked away, pulling my bra with it.  I hissed a curse at him, but he didn’t care as we looked to see each other with heavy breaths and red faces.  He sat up with me (stuffing my bra into the folds of the couch) and we quickly resumed sitting as we were when we were just watching TV; but our eyes were anywhere but.

He looked at the skin above my shirt, where his teeth, tongue, and lips had just been, and I saw him smirk at me.  As Namjoon entered the room, I raised a hand to the side of my neck and wiped at the sore area.  I grimaced as I pulled my hand away, wet with saliva.  Namjoon gave a glance as he walked by, but did a double-take as his eyes rested on me.  I prayed to God that my baggy sweatshirt and tank top hid the fact that I was currently bra-less.

He narrowed his eyes and gave Yoongi a pointed glare.  He in turn only smiled and sat back, content.  Namjoon’s eyes flitted to my exposed neck, and he gave me a small smile; other worries began to develop as I thought about how hard Yoongi at my neck.

“Hey Noona,” he greeted me hesitantly.  I slowly raised a hand and waved, too nervous to speak.  “Why don’t you go check yourself in the mirror, and, uh~” he tugged at the neckline of his shirt, raising it.  “Put a sweater on, why don’t you.  One that covers your, uh, neck.”

My suspicions were confirmed.  Turning to Yoongi, I pulled away from him roughly.  “You didn’t…”  He smiled.  “NO!  I have work tomorrow!” I proclaimed, standing up and rushing to the bathroom.  Three red bruises dotted the soft skin of my neck.

“Like it?” a voice asked, and Yoongi bounded into the room, sliding behind me.  He hugged my waist, bringing his lips to the hickeys he had so graciously bestowed upon me.

“Not one bit” I complained, pulling away from him.  “I have co-workers you know,” I said with my arms crossed.  He only smiled back sweetly.

“So what; now they know you’re taken,” he explained.  I frowned and sunk lower.

“B-b-but, they already know!  Remember my birthday last year?  You made it pretty clear, you jealous moron,” I scolded, thinking back to the large bouquet he had delivered to my workplace, by the entire cast of my favorite TV show.  -Signed with love, Min Yoongi (Your handsome rapper).

“You enjoyed that though,” he retorted, swaying over to me and trailing his fingers down from my shoulders to my hands.  “You also liked what came after,” he whispered seductively, and I rolled my eyes.

“You arrogant idiot,” I said unconvincingly, swinging his hands from side to side.  “You only think about yourself,” I teased.  “So everyone will know I have a boyfriend, great, what’s step two, huh?  Concealer and a lot of makeup?  My parents are coming to see me in two days, and you’ll have to be there too.  Imagine what my father will do to you,” I threatened, knowing few things frightened the all-powerful Min Yoongi more than my overprotective, military father.

He paled and his smirk quickly died, halting his bloated ego.

“Can’t you, umm…”  He gulped.  “Just wear a turtleneck, ok?” he more so demanded of me than asked.  I nodded and sighed, pulling my shirt up higher.  Taehyung suddenly shouted in joy as, I assumed, Namjoon returned with his drink.

I took one last look at the teeth marks before stalking out, semi-annoyed with Yoongi.  But instead of making my way back to the couch, like I intended, I was yanked back and down the hall by a pair of arms.  I squirmed to evade his grasp, slapping at his hands and dragging my feet, but it just so happened that at that moment, Yoongi chose to leave behind his lazy self and become strong, using muscles I hardly knew he had.

“Yaa!” I complained, but he quickly shushed me as he towed me into his bedroom, which surprisingly didn’t contain his roommate, Taehyung.  But I didn’t get much time to ponder his location before being pushed onto the bed, the slamming shut of a door signaling that I wasn’t getting out any time soon.

Yoongi pinned me down and picked up where he left off, planting his lips all around my face, avoiding my lips, teasing me.  My anger bubbled away and I pressed my hands up against his chest, gripping his shirt tightly. He played with the strings of my hoodie, bringing my body even closer to his, and lowered his face until our foreheads were touching and our lips were aching to crash against each other.

I could practically smell the burning passion that bubbled under his skin, hear the individual swishes of his dark eyelashes, taste his tongue with mine.  But he taunted me with a smirk, running a hand down my side and gripping my belt loop again, slowly tracing my hipbone with a calloused thumb.

“Still mad…” he whispered huskily, and I gulped, shaking my head.  “Good,” he breathed, and finally slammed his lips against mine, our mouths moving in sync and tongues dancing to a rapid choreography fit for professionals; luckily, he was one.

I miraculously could hear the boys in Namjoon’s room over the sound of my beating heart, and suddenly worried about one of them coming into the room.  But he wouldn’t let me pull away, and I succumbed to his advances.

Love has many faces and in turn, many different roles to play.  People come and go, bringing hatred and appreciation, leaving behind ruins and castle walls that will last us a lifetime.  Even fewer stay, stake a plot in our lives and hunker down for the trip.

Min Yoongi was always one to stay, to stay loyal, to stay forever unchanged by the sands of time, to stay real.

So lying in that bed, locked in passion’s grip, there was no one, not a single soul either living or dead, I would have rather spent my night with; because he was the strongest kind of love.

The kind that warmed you with their breath and forever-safe arms.

The kind that would sing a short tune, even if they were terrible, just to help you fall asleep.

The kind that whispered sweet everything’s in your ear, because every word they spoke to you did indeed mean the world to you.

He was the kind to laugh at things that were and weren’t supposed to be funny.

He was the kind to get jealous at the slightest glance I received, snaking a non-too obvious arm around my waist.

He was the kind to shout and yell when mad, and I was the kind to scream and cry.

He was the kind to sulk for days, writing lyrics about our faulted love.

I was the kind to sob alone, because I had always been emotionally independent.

He and I were both the kind to come hesitantly walking back, unable to admit we were wrong.

He and I were both the kind to give up and give in to the other’s swollen eyes and ragged state.

The kind of love that enveloped you in an embrace too strong to break away from and smelled of all your hopes and dreams.

The kind of love that wore thin at the edges but always held strong.

The kind of love that kissed away tears and worries.

Min Yoongi was that love…