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Summary
"does he fuck you like this?"
hoseok's panting comes in harsh, staccato huffs against the sweaty expanse of his nape and yoongi can't stand this. him. can't stand any of it. he'd come to the studio to get away from thoughts of jung hoseok, not to end up dancing with him to a slow, sultry r&b song - let alone while they were both shirtless and perspiring, labored breaths mingling in the heavy heat of the mirrored dance studio.
the question that hangs over yoongi's drooped head is punctuated by the taller's sharply thrusting hips, conveniently placed directly behind his own. with every pulse of the scattered trap beat, he can feel hoseok's pelvis jerk and stutter and he kind of wants to die. just a little.