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Jungkook couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Jimin. If asked, he’d never be able to say the exact moment it happened: it could have been as early as their debut days, when Jimin was all cheeks and bright smiles, always managing to loosen the knots of anxiety tangled in Jungkook’s chest. Or maybe it was a few years later, once Jimin began to grow into himself and his newfound confidence paved the way for his natural charm to work its magic. It sometimes seemed that no one was immune to him, and Jungkook surely wasn’t an exception.
At the end of the day, it didn’t matter when it happened. What did matter is that Jungkook was going to tell him tonight, on their final evening in Tokyo.
The biggest problem was, he had no idea if Jimin even felt the same way—he‘d always been open with his affection, and he was a self-proclaimed natural flirt. But Jungkook was banking on the idea that maybe, just maybe, the little voice in the back of his mind saying that the way Jimin treated him differed from the way he treated others.
They’d spent a lovely weekend celebrating Jimin’s birthday (albeit belatedly), exploring the city and eating food until they were stuffed full, drinking liquor until their cheeks were dusted pink and their eyes were glassy, falling over each other with giddy laughter at every little joke, even the ones that weren’t particularly funny. And so Jungkook had nearly forgotten his plans to talk to Jimin at all, his anxiety taking a backseat to living, exploring, enjoying himself.
“Do you want me to shower first, or—” Jimin said, peeling off his leather jacket and chucking it into the suitcase in the corner of the room. He was already going for the button of his jeans as he spoke, and Jungkook quickly averted his eyes, pretending to be more interested in his camera.
“You go first, hyung,” he said a little too quickly, and Jimin hovered in the hallway for a few seconds before humming a little affirmation and slipping into the bathroom, letting the door fall shut behind him.
Jungkook dropped his camera on the bed and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until bright flashes of color blossomed behind his eyelids. He could do this. He could absolutely do this.
He swung his legs off the bed and tugged his hoodie over his head, letting it fall on the floor at his feet, and then poked around in the hotel’s mini fridge, pulling out a beer and popping the cap off with the edge of the television stand before chugging half in one go.
It felt like an eternity for Jungkook, standing alone in the middle of a hotel room waiting for Jimin to finish showering, panic slowly creeping in and settling deep in his bones. Until finally the water turned off and Jimin emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of sweet-smelling steam, a pair of joggers and a loose t-shirt already pulled over his small frame. He looked comfortable and soft, and Jungkook’s heart swelled with the desire to pull him into his arms and press his cheek to damp hair to drink in the clean scent of his shampoo.
“You go ahead,” Jimin said, toweling at his head and flopping onto the end of the bed.
“Actually, Jimin—” Jungkook said, every syllable punctuated by his heart hammering against his chest. “Can we talk about something?”
Jimin’s eyebrows quirked. “Sure?”
He hesitated, nosing the toe of his boot against the carpet (why was he still wearing his shoes?) before mustering as much courage as he could possibly manage and shuffling to cross the short distance between them. He sat on the bed next to Jimin and rested his palms on his knees, squeezing gently and staring at the whitened skin around his knuckles.
“I just,” he started, but cut himself off to take a deep, shattered breath. Jimin waited, patient as always, and Jungkook could feel his gaze burning into the side of his head. It made bile rise in his throat, knowing Jimin had every bit of attention on him, knowing he was listening to every single word he spoke.
“Is something wrong?” Jimin said, worry lacing his tone, and Jungkook’s anxiety spiked. Jimin was stressed, and that was the exact opposite of what Jungkook had intended to do.
“No, no,” he stammered, twisting his body to face him. “I just… there’s something I need to tell you.”
Jimin’s gaze didn’t waver, his eyes full of concern but drinking in the lines of Jungkook‘s face, ready to listen to whatever Jungkook needed to tell him without question. Without pushing, without asking for too much, with no pre-judgment.
Jungkook blinked once, twice. Opened his mouth but no words came out.
Jimin seemed to sense his discomfort, and he reached forward as if on instinct, curling his smaller fingers around Jungkook’s thumb in a comforting gesture. His fingers were familiar—Jimin had always been so good at showing physical affection, at making all of them feel loved and comforted no matter what they were going through.
Realization mixed with a fresh wave of panic hit him at that thought. Jimin was affectionate with everyone. Everyone. Who was Jungkook to deem himself more important than the others? Why should it be any different when Jimin wraps his hands around Jungkook’s when just the day before they left he had been cuddling in bed with Taehyung?
His fears made way for the big question, the major fear: What if Jimin didn’t feel the same way?
No, Jungkook realized. Not if.
There was no way Jimin felt the same way. Jungkook was being ridiculous. Jimin saw him as a brother, a friend. If he confessed, right here and now, he could ruin everything they’d worked for, everything they’d built. They lived together, for god’s sake. They were part of a family, a unit. Part of something bigger than just Jungkook and his silly dream of Jimin being his, something he’d let himself get lost in during their weekend trip to Tokyo.
Tomorrow they’d go back to Seoul and the doorway to their home would shatter Tokyo’s spell like it had never existed, and Jungkook wasn’t keen on breaking it any earlier than necessary.
“I’m worried about the song I’m working on,” Jungkook lied, hoping his voice sounded more convincing to Jimin than it did to his own ears. Something flickered behind Jimin’s eyes, his grip on Jungkook’s hand loosening and falling away. “I was wondering if you wanted to listen to it and tell me what you think.”
Jimin paused, his lips pursing into a tight line. “A song?”
“Yeah, I just—I can’t get the melody right. Something is missing and you’ve always had such a good ear for melodies. I think you could help.”
Jimin ran his tongue over his lower lip and pulled his hands onto his lap. It was like Jungkook could see a distance growing between them, like he could see Jimin putting up a glass wall, but he didn’t know what he'd done to cause it. He longed to reach forward and break it, to pull Jimin into his arms, to whisper to him all the things he’d imagined saying over the years.
“Yeah- yeah. I’d love to.” His tone was sharp as a knife, and Jungkook opened his mouth to speak again, the words catching in his throat, but Jimin cut him off. “You should go shower. I’ll go grab some ice from down the hall, I could use a drink.”
Jimin flew across the hotel room, catching the ice bucket by the handle on the way and then slipping through the door into the hallway, leaving Jungkook staring at his hands in the empty hotel room, wondering what he’d done wrong.
Jungkook had broken the spell early without even intending to.
They didn’t talk much on the way home. Jimin spent the flight with his eyes glued to his phone and thick headphones over his ears, and even when Jungkook tried to get his attention a few times to ask him a question or see if he wanted a drink or something to eat, Jimin paid him no mind. It seemed too deliberate to be brushed off as an accident, and it settled something sour in Jungkook’s gut.
He’d gone over their conversation a hundred times, not getting even a moment’s sleep in favor of figuring out exactly what he’d done wrong. Jimin had drank a few beers, mostly absorbed in playing a game on his phone and giving Jungkook curt, one-worded answers, until he’d stopped trying at all and settled in to watch a movie on his own. He wondered if it had something to do with the song, but Jimin had always been so supportive of Jungkook getting his own studio and working alongside their hyungs to produce music, knowing how important it was to him. He knew it had to be something else.
When they got home, Jimin breezed through the door to his shared room with Hoseok, slamming the door behind him. Namjoon raised his eyebrows over his bowl of cereal, eyes darting from Jungkook to Jimin’s bedroom door.
“Welcome home?” he said, and Jungkook just shrugged and retreated to his own room.
Jimin didn’t speak to him for seven whole days. An entire week. The silence was unbearable—Jimin had always been a permanent fixture in his life, so overwhelmingly so that sometimes it felt like they revolved for each other. Jungkook never realized how much he took it for granted until it wasn’t there anymore. Instead of staying late at the studio after practice to go over the routines, just the two of them (which usually devolved into them watching funny videos on their phones while sitting on the floor), Jimin went home without even showering. Instead of swinging Jungkook’s door open without knocking and tossing himself onto his bed, whining for Jungkook to play with him even if Jungkook was busy, his door stayed shut tight. The only person who dropped by was Hoseok, claiming that the atmosphere in their bedroom was frigid and he needed to get away for a little while. Jungkook missed crawling into Jimin’s bed with him at night when he craved the comforting warmth of his body, missed the way Jimin’s arms always wrapped around him without question even if he was fast asleep. Like it was muscle memory to pull Jungkook against him in the dead of night.
Jungkook had planned on making a travelog of the trip, but every time he looked through the footage on his camera a wave of nausea washed over him. It was all of Jimin—Jimin walking through the streets of Tokyo. Jimin doing silly dances in the street. Jimin shoveling mouthfuls of beef and rice in his cheeks until they puffed out and resembled the soft lines his face once had before they melted away to sharpness.
He posted G.C.F in Tokyo on November 8th, 2017.
Truthfully, he wasn’t planning on posting it at all. It was something he’d intended to be for Jimin’s eyes only. But without them being on speaking terms, he didn’t feel like he could just drop the video in his kakaotalk with a “hey, I know you hate me, but here’s a video I made about you.”
So he did the next best thing he could think of. He posted it online for millions of their fans to watch. Jimin would surely see it then.
Except… he didn’t.
The second Jungkook hit post, he sucked a deep breath of air in his lungs and immediately spun to look at his door, as if Jimin would burst through it right that second. Which was ridiculous, he knew.
But minutes turned to hours, which turned to an entire day. The other boys saw the video one by one. They praised him, told him he had a natural eye for editing, said Jimin was going to love it. But Jungkook didn’t care about any of the compliments, because none of them were from the person he wanted them to be from.
Two days after he posted it, he met eyes with Taehyung over the dining room table. Jimin hadn’t eaten dinner with them since Jungkook had posted the video, and Jungkook was beginning to think that maybe he had made things even worse. He’d contemplated just deleting it, but that would look a lot worse than owning it and just leaving it up. Not to mention that their fans would feel betrayed if he took it down after sharing something so intimate with them, a little piece of their personal trip that they didn’t usually get to see. He gave Taehyung a little eyebrow raise, his eyes flitting to Jimin’s bedroom door. Taehyung shook his head and turned his gaze back to his bowl. So much for asking him. Despite how close he and Taehyung had grown over the years, it was clear that Taehyung’s loyalties would always be with Jimin.
Just when Jungkook was giving up hope of Jimin acknowledging the video at all, that night after dinner there was a soft knock at his door.
Jungkook’s hair stood on end. It wasn’t like Jimin ever knocked, but somehow he still sensed it was him.
“Come in.”
Sure enough, there he was, dressed in a large hoodie that pooled around his hands and a pair of short lounge shorts just peeking out from under the hem. It was almost surreal to see him standing in his room after two weeks of avoiding him, but Jungkook wasn’t about to ask questions that might scare him away again. They stared at each other for a beat, as if they were readjusting to each other after days upon days of silence.
And while Jungkook didn’t expect Jimin to come and act like nothing was wrong, he didn’t expect Jimin to be so… angry.
He stomped across Jungkook’s room and chucked his phone onto the bed, but Jungkook didn’t have to look to know what it was—with the phone next to him he could hear Troye Sivan’s There For You chiming through the speakers.
“What is this?”
Jungkook blinked at him. “What?”
“You know what. This.” He gestured wildly at the phone before crossing his arms back over his chest.
“A travelog?”
“A travelog. A travelog. Are you even serious right now, Jungkook? Honestly, are you fucking with me? Because I can’t do this, okay? I can’t do this anymore. Please just stop.”
Jimin looked so small. So, so small. Jungkook scrambled up to his knees, resisting the urge to reach out and pull Jimin to his chest. He had no idea how what he’d done to upset him, but he needed to know so he could fix it. He needed Jimin back in his life more than he needed the air in his lungs.
“Hyung,” Jungkook said, carefully turning over every word before he said it, making sure to not say anything that might scare him off. “I made this for you because you were mad at me, I thought you’d like it. I’m sorry, I can delete it if you—”
“Mad?” A dry, sarcastic laugh bubbled from Jimin’s chest. “Mad. You think I’m mad at you?”
Jungkook stared at him. “Yes?”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. He crossed the room and settled on the bed in front of Jungkook until their knees were pressed together, picking up his phone and staring at the video with his eyebrows knitted together. He watched every second until it faded to black, and then he locked it and slipped it in his pocket. “Tell me what this means.”
“It’s a trave—”
“It’s not a travelog,” Jimin whined with frustration. His hands went out to catch around Jungkook’s wrists. “Please tell me it’s not just a travelog.”
When Jungkook met Jimin’s eyes, it was like seeing his own thoughts reflected at him. Desperation. Longing. Fear.
The realization hit him like a lock clicking into place, and then he finally understood.
“Jimin,” Jungkook whispered, scrambling forward until their faces were only inches apart, so close he could see the tears clinging to Jimin’s eyelashes, but he didn’t know if they were old or new. Jimin just stared at him, their breaths mingling in the small space between their lips, a hopefulness in his eyes that made Jungkook’s heart drop into his stomach like a brick.
“Jungkook,” Jimin whispered back at him, his fingers curling impossibly tighter around Jungkook’s wrists. “Tell me.”
Jungkook leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, never taking his eyes off Jimin’s.
“It’s not,” Jungkook choked. “It’s- it’s.” he froze, not knowing what to say. He’d rehearsed how and where he’d confess to Jimin a thousand times, always grand gestures of romance. In front of the eiffel tower in Paris. While watching the fireworks at Disney. Written between the lines of a song.
But somehow, none of that mattered. The gestures didn’t matter. All that mattered was Jimin.
“It’s you,” he whispered. “It’s us. It’s—everything.”
Jimin pressed the air from his lungs like the next would be the last breath he’d ever take, and then suddenly, Jimin was everywhere.
Jungkook didn’t know how many times he’d thought about kissing Jimin, but nothing compared to the real thing. His lips were plush against his, moving tentatively but still with purpose. His tongue was timid, brushing featherlight against the seam of Jungkook’s mouth to ask for entrance, to which Jungkook complied without question.
He was dizzy from Jimin, drunk with the smell of the orange blossom cologne he always wore mixed with freshly scrubbed skin. His hands roamed Jimin’s back, fingertips smoothing the wrinkles in his hoodie, longing to touch skin but not knowing how far he could go, what Jimin would allow. He wasn‘t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating everything because he missed him so much, and his would disappear in a puff of smoke if Jungkook pushed his luck too much.
When they pulled back for air Jimin’s eyes were glazed and hazy and Jungkook knew he must look the same way. Jimin brought a hand up to Jungkook’s cheek, the pad of his thumb cold against the heated skin.
“Jungkookie,” Jimin whispered into the space between them, his gaze flitting between his eyes, his nose, his mouth, like he didn’t know where to look.
“Yeah,” Jungkook breathed, his hands curling into the material of Jimin’s hoodie.
Jimin hesitated, and then he was gently pushing Jungkook back against the pillows, crawling over him until his knees caged his waist. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook repeated, too dazed to say much more.
Jimin’s fingers trailed over his skin as he pushed his shirt off and wrestled it over his head before tossing it in the corner, and then in one swift movement he was tugging his own hoodie off and tossing it in the same direction.
He wasn’t wearing anything underneath it, and Jungkook let his eyes roam over Jimin’s chest, dipping into every curve of muscle and the thick line of his waist. When he met his eyes, he noticed Jimin was drinking him in as well, like he was in awe, with a reverence that made heat spread in Jungkook's cheeks.
Jimin leaned back on his heels until he was seated full in Jungkook’s lap, his palms pressed flat against Jungkook’s stomach.
He suddenly felt very small, very nervous. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and squirmed a little beneath Jimin’s weight, feeling embarrassed that he was already half hard just from a couple minutes of kissing. He didn’t have much experience—well, he didn't have any experience, really, and he wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to be doing.
It was like Jimin knew all of that without Jungkook even speaking up, because he slid his palm up Jungkook’s chest to his chin, running his thumb across his jawline. “Hyung will take good care of you,” he whispered, almost too quiet for Jungkook to hear. “Relax.”
And at that, Jungkook felt the tension fall out from his muscles. Jimin always had that effect on him, the ability to make him feel at ease no matter what. He supposed some things never changed.
After that, everything happened so fast, faster than his brain could keep up with. Jimin was all over him, pressed chest to chest, his tongue licking into his mouth, his fingertips running up and down his ribs. Before long he was so hard it hurt, and Jimin tentatively slotted his hips between Jungkook’s legs and rocked down against him.
A high pitched whine spilled from Jungkook’s lips, an immediate reaction that made him want to slap a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. But Jimin, Jimin—when he pulled back to look Jungkook in the eyes he had a dazzling smile spread over his face, the one that lit up his eyes all the way to the corners. He worked his hips down again, a breathy little gasp expanding his chest against Jungkook’s own, and then his arm crumpled from his weight and he pressed his forehead into the pillow behind Jungkook’s shoulder.
“Don’t be shy, baby,” Jimin murmured against Jungkook’s skin, dragging his lips down the line of his neck to mouth at his collarbone. “You sound beautiful.”
Jungkook could feel how hard Jimin was, too, and it gave him the courage to throw out his embarrassment—he let his head loll back to expose his neck for Jimin to lick and mark as he pleased, not even caring if he would get scolded for it tomorrow.
Before long they were desperately rutting against each other, panting into each other’s mouths with breath mingling like it was the only thing keeping them grounded. Jungkook could feel himself getting close, and he knew Jimin must be close, too, from the way the movement of his hips grew more frantic and his breath hitched every time be pressed down into him. But Jungkook didn’t want to finish like this. He felt like they were only getting started, and he was desperate to feel every part of Jimin, to really do this the right away. He didn‘t want it to end quite yet.
“Hyu- ah,” he said, wincing at how needy he sounded. “Hyung, wait. Hold on.”
Jimin stilled at once, pulling his lips away from Jungkook’s neck to look at his eyes, a hand flying to tangle at the hair at his nape. “Are you okay?”
“No. I mean yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’m fine. This is… great. I’m- great. But, um.”
He paused. He wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted outright.
“Tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” Jimin breathed more than said, stroking at Jungkook’s hairline with the tip of his nail, breath ghosting over Jungkook’s nose. It smelled of the sweet apple he’d snacked on after dinner, and it was so Jimin that Jungkook was almost overwhelmed for a second, like Jimin had reached straight into his chest and squeezed the blood from his heart, letting it drip nauseatingly into his gut.
“I want you,”Jungkook whispered. “I want—” he covered his eyes with his palm, taking a deep, shaky breath in and out. Jimin lifted his hips from where they pressed between Jungkook’s legs, spreading them apart and pulling back on his elbows.
“Jungkookie, look at me.”
Jimin tugged his hand down from his eyes, and when they wandered and Jimin’s again, his breath was knocked straight out of his chest; Jimin’s eyes had always been beautiful, warm and golden brown, a pool he could get lost in and never climb out of. But the sincerity in them was almost numbing, raising goosebumps all over Jungkook’s skin.
“We can do anything you want, okay? But you have to use your words.”
Jungkook nodded, maybe a little too vigorously—Jimin gave him a soft little smile, and Jungkook did his best to push down the fluttery nerves and excitement rising in his chest.
“I want to feel you… everywhere,” Jungkook whispered, pleading at Jimin for him to understand, too shy to say it outright. To make the meaning clear, he wrapped his fingers around Jimin’s wrist and dragged his hand down to his zipper, poising his smaller fingers over the button. “Everything.”
“Okay,” Jimin whispered, and Jungkook didn’t miss the way Jimin’s voice was a little shaky, too. It was comforting, knowing Jimin was just as nervous as he was, but he unsnapped Jungkook’s zipper with a flick of his wrist and tugged off his jeans before moving to his own shorts, until they were both wearing nothing but boxers, Jimin perched on Jungkook’s knees, and he ran his hands up and down Jungkook’s ribs, urging him to take deep breaths. Jungkook’s heart filled again with warmth and fondness as how Jimin treated him, like he was more fragile than delicate glass beneath his fingers.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s okay,” Jimin said. “I promise I’ll take good care of you, okay?”
Jimin curled a hand around Jungkook’s ribs, urging him to turn over on his stomach, but Jungkook planted his knee into the mattress, giving Jimin a soft head shake.
“I want to look at you.”
“It will be easier and feel better for you this way, baby.”
“No—if I can look at you, it’ll be better like that.”
Jimin breathed an amused little huff of air, his grip loosening from Jungkook’s side. “Okay. Whatever you want.”
Jungkook, delighted, leaned over and pulled open his nightstand, retrieving a little bottle of lube he’d bought to experiment (but he’d only used once), and dropped it on the mattress.
Jimin took his time making sure Jungkook was comfortable, propping extra pillows under his shoulders and under the curve of his back, and then his fingers hesitated over the elastic band of his boxers.
“You’re sure this is okay?”
“Yes,” Jungkook answered back, no hesitation, and then Jimin peeled off the last layer of clothes between them.
Jungkook had seen Jimin’s cock before but never hard; it was thicker than he’d thought it would be, and for the first time Jungkook was a little nervous, not knowing exactly how it was supposed to… well, fit.
And Jimin—the look in Jimin’s eyes was the same as the one he had when he looked out at the crowd after a long performance, when he stroked the shining silver of an award, when the first notes of one of their new tracks first played through his headphones. His eyes shimmered even under the dim lights of Jungkook’s bedroom as he flattened his palms over his thighs and ran them up and down his legs, up his abdomen, over his chest, down his ribs—it was like Jimin wanted to touch every inch of skin he’d never been able to touch before, his lips parted in a little gasp caught in his chest, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
“You’re so pretty, Jungkookie. So handsome.” Jimin inched forward until his knees were pressed against Jungkook’s ass and then he pushed his thighs and knees back into his chest. “Can you hold your legs for me?”
Jungkook did as he was told, and once he was in a comfortable position he gave a little nod. Jimin reached for the little bottle of lube, snapping the top open.
The snap was shockingly loud in the quiet room, bringing with it the the gravity of the situation and crushing him with it. For some reason Jungkook felt an overwhelming urge to respond.
“I was going to tell you in Tokyo.”
Jimin paused with the bottle upturned over his palm, but he didn’t turn to look at Jungkook, his gaze focused, unwavering, on the little bottle pinched between his fingers, the sticky liquid drizzling out onto his hand.
He took a second to snap out of his daze, and then he dropped the bottle on the bed beside them and rubbed his fingers together.
“What were you going to tell me, baby?”
“Th—” Jungkook’s words died in his throat the second he felt Jimin’s finger press against his entrance. It was a strange sensation; he’d experimented on himself before, but it was different when it was someone else. Jimin laid his free hand on Jungkook’s abdomen, whispering for him to breathe while dragging soothing fingers over his skin, and Jungkook forced himself to relax.
“That I’m in love with you.”
Jimin pressed his finger ever so softly, against Jungkook’s rim, asking for entrance, and Jungkook relaxed his body as much as he could, concentrating on the comforting weight of Jimin’s solid hand on his stomach. He stared directly at the little beauty mark on his neck to keep him grounded, to ignore the discomfort and the tiny pinches of pain as Jimin kneaded the pad of his finger around his hole to loosen him up.
“Why didn’t you?”
His question wasn’t angry, wasn’t accusatory. It was curious. An invitation for an explanation, but not a demand.
“I was s-scared,” Jungkook said, gasping when Jimin’s finger slid fully inside to the first knuckle. Jimin gave him a moment to adjust to the stretch, pushing forward on his knees to move his hand to Jungkook’s face and brush his knuckle over his cheek. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to ruin anything between us.”
Jimin gave him a soft smile, but it was sorrowful rather than happy. “Jungkookie,” he said, brushing the hairs away from Jungkook’s eyes. “I understand more than you could ever know.”
Jimin wiggled his finger experimentally and Jungkook‘s muscles instantly locked up when a sharp shock of pain spread through his body—Jimin reacted immediately, surging forward to brush Jungkook's lips, whispering comforting words that got lost in his mouth.
Once Jungkook had relaxed again and become used to the stretch, Jimin warned him that he was about to add another finger. Jungkook worried his bottom lip between his teeth, a little nervous but nodding to give Jimin permission.
The second finger met less resistance than the first. He was already stretched from Jimin thoroughly working the first finger around his rim, and he was prepared for the sensation now so his muscles didn‘t tense in nervousness. Despite that it still hurt a little, but around the edges it was starting to feel like something more—Jimin slid his fingers in and then out in a careful rhythm, dragging slowly over his walls, and Jungkook felt his now-softened cock slowly stirring with interest, his body molding to Jimin’s touch.
Jimin stayed close to him the whole time, bent in a position that must have been uncomfortable, his back arched to allow him to press his lips against Jungkook's neck and whisper breathy little praises and words of affirmation against his skin—and then Jimin’s fingers curled and hit Jungkook with a wave of pleasure that punched a gasp straight out of his chest, one of his hands flying from his thigh to yank at the hairs at the back of Jimin’s head, a little too rough.
“Ah.” Jimin pulled his hand away from Jungkook’s forehead to untangle his fingers from his hair. “Careful.”
“Sorry hyung,” Jungkook breathed, dropping his hand onto Jimin’s shoulder instead. “It felt good.”
“That means it’ll feel great from now on then, okay? You got through the hardest part, you did so well.”
Jungkook nodded, screwing his eyes shut and sinking back into the pillows a little more. He felt Jimin lean down into him and pepper little kisses onto his jawline, distracting him while he added a third finger.
By now, the stretch was feeling good, no longer uncomfortable. Jungkook resisted the urge to roll his hips down onto Jimin’s fingers, desperate to get back the shock of pleasure he’d felt just a moment ago. He didn‘t have to wait for long, though, because when Jimin curled his middle finger again Jungkook slammed his head back against his pillow with a high pitched keen.
“There, hyung, there, again—” Jungkook whined, digging his fingernails into Jimin’s shoulder, as hard as he could without hurting him. “Feels so good.”
Jimin slid his fingers in and brushed that spot again, and Jungkook was so hard now he was leaking onto his stomach, his breaths shallow and rigid. He’d felt nothing like that before, the pleasure almost too overwhelming for him to bear, and suddenly all he wanted was for Jimin to be kissing him, for Jimin to be inside him, for Jimin to be pressed against him.
“I’m ready,” Jungkook gasped, scrambling his fingers against Jimin’s sweat-slicked skin for purchase, desperate to pull him down on top of him. “I need you.”
“Patience, baby,” Jimin said, but he did as Jungkook told him and slipped his fingers out. Jungkook felt so empty, Jimin wasn’t on him or inside him and it hurt so bad to not have him close that he resisted the urge to whine, stopping before he embarrassed himself.
The sound of the lube flicking open filled the air again, and then came the wet sound of Jimin slicking himself up, and finally, finally, Jimin was lowering himself onto Jungkook’s chest, his knees coming up behind Jungkook’s thighs, his breath hot against his ear.
“Let go of your other leg,” Jimin breathed, and Jungkook obliged, flexing his fingers, not realizing how hard he’d been gripping onto them in both nervousness and desperation. He moved to Jimin’s shoulders instead, his palms sliding over the sweat-slicked skin there, and feeling the weight and heat of Jimin under both his hands made everything feel that much realer.
Jimin reached between them and pressed his cock against Jungkook’s entrance.
“Exhale,” he instructed, and Jungkook let a long breath out of his lungs as Jimin pushed the tip inside.
It was a shock of pain and pleasure all at once—he wasn‘t that much wider than three fingers but his cock was much warmer and heavier, and it stretched him open enough to make him feel so full even with only a few inches. Jimin stilled, letting him get used to the stretch, and then he canted his hips forward, inching in just a little more.
“You’re doing so well,” Jimin murmured, brushing his lips over Jungkook’s cheek, his hand a comforting presence on his hip. “So, so well.”
Once Jimin was fully seated inside him, he pressed his palms into the pillows on either side of Jungkook’s head, and Jungkook opened his eyes to looked up at him. He was so beautiful like that—his face flushed with arousal, a bead of sweat dripping from his jaw, unstyled hair hanging limply over his eyes. They stared at each other, unblinking, as Jimin slid out.
“Hyung,” Jungkook choked around a shattered exhale as Jimin pushed back in, gentle and cautious.
“Jimin. Call me Jimin, please—”
“Jimin, you can go a little faster, I’m okay.”
“Yeah,” Jimin breathed, pulling his hips back and then gently pushing all the way back in.
It didn’t feel like much at first—he was a little uncomfortable, like there was a pinching feeling inside him, like Jimin felt impossibly heavy; but he could see how much restraint Jimin was showing, how his arms shook with the the desire to snap his hips forward, the thin concentration line between his eyebrows growing thicker with every shallow thrust and strangled breath.
And Jungkook thought even if that was all there was to this whole thing, it was fine. He had expected something more, something explosive that made him want to whine and cry out, to writhe under Jimin, like stars bursting behind his eyes and blood pounding in his ears. But Jungkook truly didn’t care about that; all that mattered was having Jimin impossibly close, like sharing the same body, the same heart. It was enough to make Jungkook’s breathing tremble in his chest.
“Hy- Jimin,” Jungkook gasped, his fingers tangling around the hair at Jimin’s nape to pull him down so they were pressed chest to chest, crashing their lips together before Jimin could react—his arms gave out and his elbows slammed against the mattress on either side of Jungkook’s head instead, their skin pressed so close together that it was almost unbearably hot, but Jungkook didn‘t care. He licked into Jimin’s mouth with more purpose than before, their tongues swirling together around Jimin’s gentle gasps every time he bucked his hips forward.
But then Jimin shifted to get more comfortable, to deepen the kiss and spread Jungkook’s legs wider for him to push in a little deeper, and Jungkook felt it—an even greater shock of pleasure than before, one that made him keen Jimin’s name and tighten his grip on the back of his neck to mash their lips together, all sloppy and wet and knocking teeth.
“There,” Jungkook said into Jimin’s mouth, and he knew Jimin couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter—Jimin could tell by the way his body reacted to it, and he pulled out and snapped his hips forward, hitting that spot again.
“Harder, Jimin, harder,” Jungkook babbled as Jimin picked up the pace and fucked him, the tip of his cock brushing that spot inside him every time that made Jungkook feel boneless. He was overwhelmed with pleasure, with emotion, with Jimin, squirming every time Jimin thrust into him, his nose filled with Jimin’s scent and his skin lit up with nerves everywhere he touched. He was so distracted and overwhelmed he didn’t even realize he was crying until Jimin was peppering soft kisses all over his face, picking up the drops with his lips to pull them away, dragging his thumb under his lower lashes.
“I’ve got you,” Jimin whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of Jungkook’s mouth, tasting the salt of his own tears on Jimin’s lips. “I’ve got you.”
“I love you,” Jungkook gasped, his nails scrambling over Jimin’s back. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Jimin said, his eyes lit with warmth, one hand stroking Jungkook’s hair from his face.
“I’m close,” Jungkook said—Jimin’s words had filled him with so much relief, his entire body relaxing, making way for his body to recognize the heat rushing downward and coiling tight in his belly. Jimin’s thrusting became more erratic as Jungkook tightened around him, but they didn’t take their eyes off each other once when Jimin whispered for Jungkook to let go, to come for him, and Jungkook did, their lips falling together to pant and babble into each other’s mouths, a mess of praises and chants of each other’s names. Jimin finished shortly after, his entire body tense under the gentle press of Jungkook’s palm, groaning low and deep into his ear.
And then it was over fast as it started—Jimin rolled off of him and reached for the tissues on Jungkook’s nightstand, gently wiping the come off Jungkook’s belly and the head of his cock, smiling that cute half-moon smile when Jungkook jerked away and whined with oversensitivity. He then wiped the come dribbling from his hole clean and chucked the tissue on the floor, mumbling something about picking it up tomorrow.
“Come here,” Jimin whispered, flopping on his side with his arms held out, and Jungkook wasted no time crawling into them, setting the crook of his neck into Jimin’s elbow and pressing his cheek against his chest.
“Jimin.” The word sounded strange on his lips now that they were finished, like he wasn’t allowed to say it, and he froze, waiting for Jimin’s reaction, worried he’d crossed some kind of line. But Jimin didn’t react at all—he hummed to show he was listening, gentle fingers stroking at the hair on the back of his head. “I’m sorry.”
Jimin froze. “Sorry?”
“I didn’t mean to make you mad… with the video, and the thing at the hotel. I messed up. I’m so sorry.”
“Baby, no,” Jimin said, a little frantic, clutching Jungkook harder against his chest. “I was never mad. I could never be mad. I was just. It’s been hard for me, you know?”
“Hard?”
“You may have just realized your feelings, Jungkookie, but I’ve been living with them for a long time.” Jimin’s whisper was a little broken, a little rough around the edges. “I… when you took me to Tokyo, and we did all the things I’ve always dreamed about us doing, I’d convinced myself that you felt the same way, and… and when you didn’t say anything, I thought I’d been an idiot. It was like getting my heart broken all over again.”
Every word stabbed Jungkook straight in the chest. All he had to do was tell Jimin how he felt to begin with and he could have avoided the whole mess, the whole fight. He could have had him, this, a long time ago.
“I’m still sorry then,” Jungkook said. “For making you wait.”
“Jungkookie.” Jimin kissed Jungkook’s temple, his forehead, the hair at the top of his head. “I would wait a lifetime for you.”