Yoongi had finally settled into what he deemed the perfect sleeping position—a state of blissful comfort he'd been chasing for hours. Just as he was drifting off, the bed began to creak. He ignored the first few groans, attributing them to the old springs. But the creaks escalated, growing faster and more frantic. He rolled onto his side, refusing to open his eyes. This was beyond ridiculous.
“Jimin,” he said, drawing out the name with a deliberate pause.
“Yeah?” Jimin grunted, a low sound muffled by a pillow.
“Please stop humping the pillows.”
“Why?” The response was laced with disbelief, as if Yoongi was asking the most absurd question imaginable.
“Because it’s two in the morning. I should have been asleep at six, but you convinced me to binge-watch some trash cartoon with a nihilistic old man and a stuttering teenager. I admit, it was… entertaining. But it’s time to sleep, and I absolutely do not want to deal with your nocturnal pillow-thrashing.” Yoongi’s ears twitched—a subtle movement, almost imperceptible—but the exhaustion was beginning to weigh on him, and he lacked the energy to fully articulate his frustration.
Jimin had moved into the house a few months ago, and Yoongi had complained incessantly. He’d refused to eat in the same room as the “dog hybrid,” as he called it. The situation had worsened when the dog had attempted a playful scuffle with the cat, resulting in a flurry of scratches across Jimin’s face.
He refused to admit—even to himself—that he’d begrudgingly accepted Jimin into the house. But he would never, ever, accept the dog’s insatiable libido.
“But hyung,” Jimin whined, finally ceasing his aggressive movements against the pillow, which at least calmed the bed’s erratic dance. “I haven’t had anything to thrust against for three days, and my dick is deprived of some thorough loving.”
“Do whatever you need to do,” Yoongi snapped, “but do it gently.” He loathed sharing a bed, especially on nights like this. Why couldn’t they have two separate beds? The logic of it all felt… pointless.
“Okay, hyung!” Jimin flashed a sleepy grin, even though Yoongi could barely see his face. When had he even opened his eyes?
Great. Now Yoongi had to bother closing them again.
....
I am far too young to be writing this kind of thing. Oh well, it’s almost my birthday anyway, so one less year to feel guilty about reading—and now writing—smut!