Archive of Our Own

x

Jungkook shouldn’t have taken the goddamn bus.

He tries to maintain his composure, but he’s never been very good at that. His leg jiggles, he chews his cheek, his fingers fidget. Just a few more stops, he can make it. He thinks. He hopes.

If only this ahjumma would stop staring.                                         

Maybe glaring is a better way to put it. Her gaze is heated, accusatory, enough to make Jungkook sweat. Embarrassment runs hot through his veins, because honestly, he can’t blame her.

Jungkook would stare, too.

He looks an absolute mess. Every other block, Jungkook will peek at his reflection in the bus’s window to his left, and every time, he flinches at what he finds. Last night, his hair was gelled to perfection, but now it’s sticking straight up on one side, glued to his skull on the other. His sexy smoky eye is smudged beyond repair, his lips are swollen and split.

But the main attraction is his torn-open shirt and the deep purple hickeys running down his bared chest. If the ahjumma could see the bruises all along Jungkook’s inner thighs, she would probably launch into orbit.

Jungkook looks and feels like he’s been mauled. He can’t even say the hookup was worth it, because he can hardly remember a single minute of it.

Go figure.

You would think after…well, Jungkook’s kind of lost count. Let’s put it this way: after making a hobby out of fucking every pretty man he can sniff out for a large chunk of his adult life, you’d think Jungkook is used to braving the dreaded walk of shame.

Yet here he is.

Not even walking, still very much ashamed.

After what feels like three lifetimes, the bus finally makes it to Jungkook’s stop. He lurches out of his seat and shuffles out the swinging doors so quickly he trips over his own feet, trying and failing to ignore the ahjumma’s judgey scoff. It’s just his luck that when he turns on his heel to make a beeline for his apartment building, he runs directly into something solid.

“What the fuck?!”

Oh, perfect. It’s a human.

“S-sorry!” Jungkook gasps, gripping the stranger’s shoulders to keep him upright. They’re nearly nose-to-nose, and Jungkook hopes the guy can’t smell last night’s alcohol on his breath because fuck. It’s not just a human, it’s a man, and he’s pretty – we all know how Jungkook feels about pretty men. “I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine.”

He squirms out of Jungkook’s hold and creates some distance between them, giving Jungkook room to scrape his eyes from the crown of his head to the tips of his chelsea boots.

And – double fuck.

Pretty is the understatement of the century.

The stranger’s hair is a rat’s nest, but somehow it’s still stylish. His eyelids are puffy, but it’s so cute Jungkook could cry. They’re not puffy enough to conceal his dark, sultry eyes, though. Jungkook would get lost in them if he wasn’t busy staring at his lips. God, his lips. They’re lush and wet and red and perfect. Jungkook imagines what it might feel like to–

“Looks like you had a rough night, too.”

Jungkook blinks out of his horny reverie. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with him? He’s still got one guy’s spit drying on his dick and he’s only a few thoughts away from getting hard looking at another.

“Huh?” Jungkook squeaks.

Only then does Jungkook realize the man had been staring at his chest, following each and every hickey until they disappear beneath Jungkook’s waistband. Jungkook quickly shoves his shirt back closed, holding it together with a white-knuckled grip.

The man’s eyes flick back up to meet Jungkook’s.

“Nevermind,” the stranger chuckles.

He then starts limping away.

Jungkook stands there like a silly statue for one, two, three seconds, until he finally realizes what that might mean.

“Hey, wait!” Jungkook hollers, jogging to catch up. The stranger turns around, looking very, very tired. “Wait, are you okay? Fuck, did you twist your ankle or something when I ran into you?”

The man stares at Jungkook with amusement twinkling in the depths of his eyes but says nothing.

Jungkook sighs.

“Here,” he urges, holding out his arms. There is a 99.9% chance Jungkook is still drunk, because no sober person would say the next thing that flies out of his mouth. “I’ll carry you to the hospital. It’s my fault, let me help.”

The man is still staring, and the amusement is still there. But now he’s biting his lip, too, holding back a laugh.

“Are you for real right now?”

Jungkook’s arms fall a little. “Yes?”

“Cute.” 

The man chuckles. Jungkook blanches.

“You didn’t do this,” he continues, gesturing at himself, from his mussed-up hair to his wrinkled pants. “I’m just…a little sore. My date last night was pretty rough.” Then he looks Jungkook up and down again, pausing on his mottled neck. “Though, by the looks of it, you might’ve done a better job than him.”

Wait. What?

Jungkook blinks.

Oh. Oh.

The realization must show on Jungkook’s face, because now the stranger lets his laugh free. It’s just as pretty as the rest of him. Jungkook’s mind goes fuzzy, all his words stuck in his throat. The horny thoughts are back with a vengeance, not even allowing Jungkook’s blush to bloom in his cheeks, all of his blood racing south instead.

“Anyway, have a nice day.”

This time, Jungkook doesn’t chase the stranger when he noncommittally waves, turns back around, and heads down the same path as before. He limps right along, ignoring the stares from passersby as Jungkook stands there in the middle, letting everyone flow around him. His cheeks burn with his embarrassment, but beneath all his shame is a tiny flicker of awe.

In all his years of dousing himself in hookup culture, he’s never seen such a shameless walk of shame.

x

The second time Jungkook sees him, he’s surprised.

They both are, really. On the outside, Jungkook probably looks a lot more put together than he did the week before, but on the inside, he feels like a dead man walking. Jungkook rarely gets hangovers, but when he does, they’re evil.

After stumbling off the train and dragging himself out of the station, Jungkook struggles the rest of the way home. He has to lean on buildings or poles or fences when he can, doing his best not to pass out in the middle of the sidewalk.

On second thought, maybe he does look worse than he did last week. Because when Jungkook turns the corner just outside of his neighborhood, here comes the pretty, shameless man from before, and the minute he sees Jungkook, his face twists in concern.

“Oh my god. Are you alright?”

“Go away,” Jungkook groans, weakly swatting at him when he rushes over, trying to support Jungkook’s weight. At least Jungkook’s shirt is intact today. But there is a mystery stain up near the collar. Ugh. “Why are you here.”

“You look terrible,” the man tsks, ignoring Jungkook’s question. Things are made worse when Jungkook realizes the guy looks even prettier than he did last week. His clothes are less disheveled, his hair is damp from a shower. His cheeks are rosy, and he smells sweet. Jungkook tries not to cry. “Like really terrible. You’re green, dude. I’ve never seen someone look so pale.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook croaks.

Again, the man tries to sling Jungkook’s arm over his shoulder. Jungkook’s rebuttal is a pathetic whine accompanied by a weak shove.

“Fine, have it your way.”

The man retracts his support, leaving Jungkook reeling, and turns on his heel, marching away. In true, embarrassing fashion, Jungkook almost calls out for him to come back. But his voice never comes, because his throat is blocked by something else.

Oh no.

That something else is on its way out.

While Jungkook is violently sick in a nearby bush, he hears a set of footsteps approach him, then the rustling of fabric as someone crouches next to him. Then there’s a soothing hand rubbing his back.

By the time Jungkook is finished, his dignity has left the country. As much as he would love to run away and pretend this random, pretty man hasn’t just witnessed Jungkook making a fool of himself yet again, he physically can’t. The only reason he’s able to get on his feet is because of the sturdy hand he’s offered.

“’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles.

“You’re fine. We’ve all been there.”

Jungkook nods, feeling zero percent better.

“Do you think you can make it home okay?”

Fuck, he’s pretty and kind.

“Yeah, totally.” Probably. “I’ll just…” Jungkook points over his shoulder with his thumb in what he thinks is the direction of his apartment, hoping his face doesn’t look as sour as he feels. “Thanks for the, uh.”

Helping hand? Humiliation?

“Don’t worry about it.” Jungkook can tell he’s trying not to smile. He isn’t very good at it. Though Jungkook feels a little bit like becoming one with the earth, he has room to be endeared. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Jungkook nods and stands there like a total dumbass, watching the kind, pretty man walk away. Almost like he can feel Jungkook’s eyes, the man peeks over his shoulder and catches Jungkook staring, mouth hanging open and everything.

Jungkook’s jaw snaps shut, and he waves, sheepish.

The other waves back, giggling.

And for some reason, call it a gut feeling – a very different gut feeling than the one we’ve just witnessed – Jungkook believes him.

He will see him around; he doesn’t doubt it.

x

Which is why Jungkook is the least bit surprised when one week later, he runs into him again.

As a nice change of pace, Jungkook feels great.

Well.

Besides being soaked to the bone.

It had started drizzling the night before as Jungkook and his twink-of-the-week tumbled into bed, decorating the unfamiliar apartment’s windows with refracted beads of light. But by the time Jungkook escaped this morning, the drizzle was a downpour.

So here Jungkook sits, shielded beneath a bus stop, his t-shirt plastered to his chest, his hair plastered to his forehead. The weather is starting to get colder as fall runs its course, so Jungkook wore a jacket, but it isn’t doing him much good now. It’s soaked, too, weighing heavy on his shoulders. Don’t even get him started on his pants – wet jeans are the devil’s doing, and Jungkook’s long been damned.

But! Jungkook was responsible (a rare feat) and drank loads of water between beers last night, so his head isn’t aching and neither is his stomach. In fact, it’s growling; the cup ramen in Jungkook’s cupboard is calling his name.

He’s debating whether he should stop at the corner shop on the way to pick up some gimbap, too, when someone plops down beside him on the bus stop’s bench with a wet, unfortunate squish.

And guess who it is.

“Looks like I’m not the only one that forgot an umbrella,” Jungkook says, turning to face the now-familiar pretty stranger, donning his best nose scrunch.

But the man doesn’t respond.

He’s hunched over, eyes on his knees, shivering and sniffling. Though Jungkook can only see his profile, he can tell the stranger maintains his prettiness even when he’s dripping all over like a snotty, drowned rat. His cheeks are bitten pink, his lips are, too, and when a drop of rain slides down his perfect button nose, Jungkook has to stop himself from catching it off the tip with his thumb.

“I would offer you my jacket, but it’d just make matters worse,” Jungkook chuckles.

And he means it, wholeheartedly. Watching his companion’s shoulders shudder feels a little like torture. The man finally turns – only just a breath – to cough out an unconvincing laugh, meeting Jungkook’s eyes for half a second before gluing them back to his lap.

That half second is enough for Jungkook to see the real reason the stranger trembles where he sits, and it isn’t the rain.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs, reaching out a hand to soothe before his brain catches up. He pulls back. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook’s concern must catch the man off guard, because he fully turns, now. He blinks wide, red-rimmed eyes. Then he reaches up to wipe at his rosy nose with a knuckle. Jungkook can’t help but notice how cute that knuckle is.

“Yeah,” the man rasps, weakly nodding. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook’s heart aches. “Are you sure?”

The man’s face crumples.

Tears fill his eyes, his mouth twists, but Jungkook can’t really see the teardrops as they slide down his cheeks. The rain runs with them, hiding them, but try as it may, the storm can’t disguise his hurt. Even then, Jungkook doesn’t think he’s ever seen a face so lovely, and he’d rather never see it sad ever again.

He looks around, asking the universe to lend a hand. There are other people waiting for the bus under the dry cocoon of their umbrellas, some staring at the crying man at Jungkook’s side, some watching the bus finally pull up to the curb. But the universe must be on Jungkook’s side, because a hop skip and a jump away there’s a little café, warm ambient lighting bleeding through the windows, splashing onto the street.

“Do you want some coffee?” Jungkook asks, voice sounding as desperate as he feels. Relief rushes over him, because it seems his question has once again caught his bench buddy off guard – enough to stave off his tears, leaving him blinking, his brow furrowed. Jungkook barrels on. “Tea? Hot chocolate? Cider? Wine? Beer? Wa–”

“What?” the man squeaks.

Jungkook nudges a thumb over his shoulder.

“There’s a café.”

The man stares at Jungkook for a few seconds before glancing over Jungkook’s shoulder to confirm there is indeed a café. They both startle as the bus rumbles away, leaving the two of them alone once again.

Still soaked to the bone. Still awkward as hell.

“You’re a complete stranger,” the stranger says.

Jungkook shrugs.

“You’ve seen me barf in a bush. Even my best friends haven’t seen me that low,” he says. “And now I’ve seen you cry. How many people can say that?”

“Too many.”

Jungkook barks out a laugh, then holds out his hand.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

There’s an awkward pause, one long enough Jungkook thinks he’s going to tell him to get lost. But then, after a dramatic sigh, the man meets Jungkook in the middle.

“Park Jimin.”

The pretty stranger has a name.

Park Jimin’s hand is cold and wet when he hesitantly takes Jungkook’s, but Jungkook can still feel how soft it is, how sweetly it fits in his own.

x

Jimin wraps his hands around his mug of hot cocoa, blowing on the steam before taking a tentative sip. Jungkook knows he’s probably being creepy, but he can’t stop staring. Jimin’s fingertips are pink from the cold, just like his lips and the tip of his nose. When he pulls back, there’s a dot of whipped cream clinging to his cupid’s bow.

Jungkook licks his own.

“What?” Jimin says, a tiny frown only making the foam on his lip even cuter. “What are you staring at?”

Jungkook knew he wasn’t being very discreet, but damn.

“You’ve got a little…”

Jungkook points at his own amused lips, and Jimin’s eyes go wide before he furiously scrubs his mouth with the back of his hand.

“And here’s your food,” the server interrupts, placing a heaping plate of croffles drizzled in what looks like three types of syrup on the table in front of Jimin.

“Oh,” Jungkook mumbles, tearing his eyes away from Jimin to meet their server’s bright smile. The rain outside has nothing on this dude’s sunny aura. Jungkook can’t help but smile back. “Thank you, but we didn’t order any food.”

“It’s free, on the house,” the server says, pointedly nudging it towards Jimin. “My name is Hoseok, by the way. If you need anything, just holler!”

After Hoseok strides away, Jimin stares at the croffles, and Jungkook stares at Jimin.

“Do I really look that miserable?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook takes in Jimin’s swollen, bloodshot eyes, his pouty mouth and puffy face, then vehemently shakes his head.

“No, no, not at all! You look good! Great!”

Jimin snorts, eyes downcast.

“Do you want some?” he asks, pushing the plate back to the middle of the table.

Jungkook’s stomach rumbles.

“No, I’m okay.”

The silence that follows is uncomfortable, enough it’s impossible for Jungkook to sit still. His leg jiggles, he chews his cheek, his fingers fidget. His eyes can’t even stay in one place, now, at the risk of getting caught staring again. He studies the frayed ends of the sleeves of Jimin’s jacket slung over the back of his chair. He reaches back, makes sure his jacket hasn’t run away. He sips on his iced americano, he looks around the café, glancing over the cutesy wall décor, sympathizing with the baristas running back and forth behind the counter.

Then he jolts when he meets a pair of stern eyes. It’s their server – Hoseok – and he’s giving Jungkook a look.

Jungkook glances around, checking if there is anyone else’s attention Hoseok might be trying to catch. When it’s obvious Hoseok is looking at him, Jungkook looks right back, pointing a confused finger at his own chest. Hoseok nods very animatedly – seems like he does everything very animatedly.

Jungkook gives Hoseok a look that says, Huh?!

Hoseok sighs, then points at Jimin, then at Jungkook, then back at Jimin. Jungkook chances a peek at Jimin, a little relieved to find him focused on breaking his croffle into a bunch of bite-sized pieces. The relief flits away when he sees some more tears fighting their way through Jimin’s pretty eyelashes.

And Jungkook gets it.

Well? Comfort him! Hoseok’s look screams.

Kinda weird for a server to care so much, but Jungkook can’t deny he’s right. What did he bring Jimin here for in the first place, anyway?

So, he clears his throat.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jimin flinches. “About what?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, waiting for Jimin to finally look up at him. When he does, Jungkook expects to see annoyance or sadness, maybe even anger, but instead, Jimin’s face is blank. The tears in his lashes have disappeared.

“You know what, Jimin-ssi.”

They having a staring match across the little table between them. Jungkook refuses to blink, even when his eyes start burning. Fuck, now he’s going to start crying. But then Jimin looks away and sighs, and Jungkook blinks so hard he sees stars.

Success.

“I hooked up with my ex last night.”

Well, fuck.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, scratching the back of his neck. He didn’t think it would be that easy to get Jimin to talk, but okay. Alright. How does one have a conversation, again? “I’m guessing he’s still your ex, then? Even after last night?”

Jimin quirks a brow. “She.”

“Oh.” Awkward. “Sorry. I just, ah. Thought you were gay, because after that first morning…”

“Bisexuals exist, Jungkook-ssi.”

“I know that.” Jungkook bristles. And just like that, a wall slams back down over Jimin’s features, his eyes back on the table. Jungkook deflates. He looks up to see Hoseok watching him fuck this all up, disapproval written all over his face. Jungkook sighs and tries again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. Go on, I’ll shut up now.”

Jungkook mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. That doesn’t get the reaction out of Jimin that Jungkook was hoping for, but he gets something at least.

That something is a shrug.

“That’s pretty much it.”

“You can tell me,” Jungkook says, trying to make his voice soft, nonthreatening. “My friends tell me I’m a good listener.”

“This isn’t a therapy session.” Jimin looks up at Jungkook again, and that wall is held firm behind his eyes. “How do I know I can trust you? You’re a complete stranger.”

“Exactly, I’m a stranger!” Jungkook says, scrambling. “Who am I going to tell? It’s not like I’m gonna post a picture of latte foam art on Instagram with the caption, Today I learned Park Jimin’s ex-girlfriend is a conniving twat.”

That finally cracks Jimin’s composure, making him giggle, which Jungkook doesn’t expect at all. It’s a tiny giggle delivered with a tiny smile, but Jungkook eats it up. Warmth blooms in his chest, bubbling up his neck in what he’s sure is a blush.

“You don’t seem like the Instagram type,” Jimin says. He’s avoiding eye contact again, but at least he’s still got the ghost of a smile on those pretty pink lips.

“I mean. You’re right, I’m not. I deleted all my social media accounts a long time ago,” Jungkook says, squinting. Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to be suspicious. “How did you…?”

“I’m good at reading people,” Jimin says, another limp shrug. “There’s still some mystery to you, though. What’s your story, hm? Who’s attacking your neck every weekend? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“Huh?” Jungkook’s hand flies up to his neck, though there’s nothing to hide. There are no fresh marks, and the ones from a couple weeks ago are pretty much healed. “I – I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. I don’t really date.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

Jimin takes a measured sip of his hot cocoa, all of a sudden making some decisively bold eye contact. Jungkook’s focus goes right back to droopy eyes and luscious lips and other things best left unsaid.

“Dating?” Jungkook watches Jimin suck his bottom lip into his mouth, whisking away the hot cocoa left behind and swallows hard. “It’s not really my thing, I guess.”

“Oh?” Another sip. “Are you aromantic?”

Jungkook blinks. “Am I – what?”

“Do you not feel romantic attraction? Only sexual?”

“That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”

“I thought we were asking personal questions.” Jimin shrugs again. He’s really good at shrugging. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Jungkook shifts in his chair, shakes his head.

“No,” Jungkook says. “No, I’m not aromantic.”

“But you don’t date.”

“No.”

“So you like to make a habit of running away from your feelings,” Jimin says sagely, nodding, taking yet another sip of his drink. “Got it.”

Jungkook’s face bursts into flames.

“That is not true!” Jungkook gasps. He points an accusing finger across the table. “There are many reasons people choose not to date. What if I’m a busy man? Maybe I don’t have the time to date! You…hey. Wait a minute.” Jungkook lowers his hand. Jimin grins around the lip of his half-empty mug. “This is supposed to be about you! Not me!” Jimin giggles again. Jungkook pouts. “You did that on purpose.”

Jimin looks very smug. “Maybe.”

They have a staring match across the table again. This time, Jungkook looks away first, watching condensation drip down his glass and over his knuckles, feeling sheepish.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Jungkook’s insides are feeling very wonky. He’s annoyed. He’s impressed. He kind of wants to leave, but he could also stay here all day, letting Jimin make a fool out of him. Jimin seems like the type of guy he should steer clear of – too fucking pretty. But Jungkook can’t deny how drawn to him he is. Figuratively and literally.

What a mess.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Jungkook finally says, drawing pictures on the table with his wet, pruney fingers. “I’m sorry for pushing. It’s none of my business, anyway.”

When Jimin doesn’t respond for a while, Jungkook timidly looks up. The way Jimin looks back has heat returning to his cheeks.

He looks…fond.

“I have always been a serial monogamist,” Jimin starts, setting his mug down.

Jungkook shoots up in his chair, eyes wide. He kind of wants to laugh at Jimin’s words, but Jimin looks very serious, lacing his fingers atop the table, staring at them while he speaks. So Jungkook bites his lip and lets Jimin talk.

“My ex and I have been together – had been together – for years.” Jimin winces at his own words. “We started dating my last year of uni, and–”

“When did you graduate uni?” Jungkook interrupts. Jimin’s mouth forms a firm, thin line, but his eyes kind of look like he’s laughing. Jungkook ducks his head. Fuck, he did it again. “Sorry. I promise I’ll shut up for real this time.”

Jimin’s laughing eyes spark.

“We dated for four years, and I started uni when I was twenty,” Jimin says, pausing so Jungkook can do the mental math. Jungkook has never been great at math. When Jungkook’s brow pinches, Jimin exhales a laugh. “I’m twenty-eight, Jungkook-ssi.”

Jungkook nods, totally nonchalant. “Cool.”

That means Park Jimin is his hyung. Jungkook tries not to explode with the revelation, tucking it away for safekeeping and turning his attention back to Jimin’s story. He thinks he feels his left eye start to twitch.

“Anyway, before Sujin, I was in steady relationships, all the way back to middle school,” Jimin says with a frown. “None of them were as serious, but still. I’ve literally never been single. Well. Until now.”

Jungkook wants to say, That sounds terrible, but he holds his tongue and hums instead.

“When I got my master’s degree, Sujin and I started renting an apartment together.” Jungkook’s mouth pops open. Jungkook has a master’s degree, too! But Jungkook’s words die in his throat with a pathetic little squeak. He’s supposed to be listening. Jimin watches his internal struggle with a knowing smile. He seems to wait for Jungkook to say something, but Jungkook is being good, so he doesn’t. Jimin continues. “We stuck with that one-bedroom shithole until I caught her about a month ago with her ‘best friend’ in our bed. On my birthday, no less.”

“Fuck,” Jungkook gasps.

“Yep, that’s exactly what they were doing.”

Jungkook winces. “I’m sorry.”

Jimin waves Jungkook’s pity away.

“Karma got her in the end. Apparently her friend was only in it for the sex, but Sujin had fallen for her. Which led to Sujin texting me, asking me to come over to comfort her, because she ‘couldn’t be alone.’”

Jimin says it in a high, mocking voice. Jungkook thinks it’s very cute, despite the shittiness of it all.

“So me being me, I went to her. One thing led to another. It was…good. Like it always had been. I thought things would go back to the way they were. But this morning when I asked if I could move back in, she said she didn’t think that was a good idea. That she wants to continue exploring her sexuality, that she shouldn’t commit to something serious right now. That if I ever needed someone to – fuck, or whatever. That I could give her a call.

“Which is so fucking funny,” Jimin wetly laughs, devoid of humor. “Since we broke up, I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m finally in my slut era and loving it. But I’m miserable. This shit sucks. My feelings get in the way of fucking everything, and I hate it.”

Tears start welling up in Jimin’s eyes again. Jungkook has to press his fist to his lips to keep himself from speaking aloud some colorful choice words about this Sujin.

Turns out she is a conniving twat.

Jimin seems to be done, though. He’s looking at Jungkook expectantly, like it’s finally Jungkook’s turn to say something of worth.

So, like the comforting king that he is, Jungkook says, “This is precisely why I don’t date. Never have, never will.”

Jimin’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. For a second, Jungkook thinks Jimin’s going to start crying again and considers jumping out the window.

But then Jimin laughs – short and loud.

“Never?!”

“Nope.” Jungkook pops the ‘p’. “Never been in a relationship, on a date, none of it. And I plan on keeping it that way.”

Jimin looks shocked.

“But…why?”

“Honestly?”

“No, I want you to lie to me.”

Jungkook snorts. “Sassy.”

Jimin sits and waits for Jungkook’s explanation.

Jungkook sighs, slumping back in his seat.

“People in relationships are always so mopey. All they talk about are the annoying things their partners do, or how they’re hurt by something they did. When they inevitably break up, all they talk about it how sad they are, how much they miss them and want to get back together. When they’re single, all they talk about is how much they wanna be in a relationship. It’s a vicious cycle. It’s exhausting. So I just…don’t.”

Jimin looks a lot less scandalized than Jungkook was expecting. In fact, he looks like he’s analyzing Jungkook. Jungkook can feel his heavy eyes all over his face like he’s watching for Jungkook to break composure.

But Jungkook doesn’t budge. He looks right back at Jimin until the Jimin finally puffs out an exasperated breath.

“So what do you do, then?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I fuck. A lot.”

Now Jungkook gets the scandalized reaction out of Jimin he was looking for.

“Oh my god!” Jimin gasps, then barks out a laugh. His cheeks are pink, as are the tips of his ears peeking out from his hair. It’s nearly dry now, a little poofy, wavy in places, curled a bit at the ends. “What happened to the cute, shy bunny from before, huh?”

Jungkook pouts. “I’m not cute.”

“See? That, what you’re doing now,” Jimin says, leaning forward in his seat. Jungkook only notices now that he’s been leaning in, too. “It’s very cute.”

“Nuh uh! I have tattoos. And muscles,” Jungkook argues, petulantly crossing his arms across his chest. The movement attracts Jimin’s gaze, and it lingers on Jungkook’s taut forearms, on his squished pecs. “And a motorcycle, and lots of piercings. And I box. Nothing about me is cute, got it?”

“Oh my god,” Jimin groans, rolling his eyes, but Jungkook doesn’t take it to heart. Jimin’s still smiling, so he must be doing something right. “You’re a fuck boy, aren’t you?”

“And if I am?” Jungkook puffs his chest, squares his shoulders. Jimin laughs again. “My fuckery comes in handy, thank you very much. I could teach you a thing or two about the art of not catching feelings.”

At that, Jimin pauses, once again studying Jungkook like he’s an equation that needs to be solved. This time, Jungkook studies him right back. Everything about Jimin is soft – his face, his lips, his hands – but there’s an edge to him that Jungkook can’t stop tip toeing around. Jimin is pretty – he’s beautiful – but Jungkook can tell he packs a punch.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jimin says.

“…huh?”

“We’ve run into each other every weekend this month,” Jimin says, absentmindedly tracing his lips, pinching the bottom one. It’s very distracting. “We might as well make an arrangement out of it.”

“I’m not following, Jimin-ssi.”

“We both have something that the other could use, right?” Jimin smirks. “I need to learn to guard my heart. You need to learn to open up. We’re both fucking the phone book.”

What.

“You’re emotionally compromised,” Jungkook mumbles, uneasy. “You aren’t making any sense.”

“This café can be our home base! Every Sunday after a night out, we can convene and collaborate,” Jimin says, nodding and smiling like he’s said something really great. “There are pros and cons to every one-night stand. We could swap stories and help each other out, there’s so much–”

“Let me get this straight,” Jungkook says, holding up a finger to halt Jimin’s train of thought. More like a trainwreck, but Jungkook’s not going to say that, he has manners, for fuck’s sake. “You wanna meet up for breakfast after our hookups to discuss the dirty details?”

“And give each other advice.”

“I don’t need advice.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Jungkook-ssi.”

Jungkook blankly stares. Jimin shrugs.

“You’re a mess. I’m a wreck. What’ve we got to lose?”

Jimin leans across the table again and Jungkook is met with the scent of chocolate and rain. Dark, blown-out eyes bounce between Jungkook’s, Jimin’s maniacal smile squishing them up. Even this close, Jungkook can’t see where Jimin’s pupils end and his irises begin.

Too fucking pretty.

Jungkook can’t believe this – except he totally fucking can. Something tells him he wouldn’t be able to say no to Jimin even if he tried. So he huffs a laugh, shakes his head.

A surrender.

“Well, when you put it that way…”

x

Precisely one week later, Jungkook walks into the very same café smelling like the packet of lube that exploded in his pocket last night and the dog of the guy that took him home.

Jimin is already at the same table they sat at before, chatting with the same server. When Jungkook stomps over, Hoseok greets him with a smile, asks him for his drink order, and scurries away. Then, Jungkook plops down in the chair across from Jimin and relinquishes a dramatic sigh.

“Hobi-hyung thought we were having a lovers quarrel last week,” Jimin says, eyeing Jungkook over his steaming mug.

“Hobi-hyung?” Jungkook grunts, rolling his shoulders. The futon he slept on last night left him stiff and sore. He can still feel the cold cement wall against his cheek. It was a very small futon, one that wasn’t made for two adult men, let alone two adult men plus an overweight, smelly dog. “Who is Hobi?”

“Hoseok, our server,” Jimin says.

“Didn’t know we were on a nickname basis.”

“We’re going to be seeing him every weekend, I figured we might as well be friends,” Jimin says, accompanied with one of his famous shrugs.

“Does that mean I can call you hyung, too?” Jungkook asks, grinning when Jimin’s brows shoot up to his hairline.

“I’m older than you?!”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Hoseok chooses that moment to drop Jungkook’s iced coffee off.

“Thanks, Hobi-hyung,” Jungkook chirps.

Hoseok is already five steps away, but he freezes, does a double take, and sends Jungkook an over the top “You’re welcome!” complete with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“You said you’re twenty-eight, right?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin nods. “Well, I’m twenty-six. So, yeah. You’re my hyung.” Jimin still looks shocked, which tickles Jungkook pink. “I mean, you can call me hyung, if you’re into that. No judgment here.”

“Absolutely not,” Jimin laughs, shaking his head. But Jungkook still catches the blush that dusts Jimin’s cheeks. Jungkook takes a happy sip of his cold brew. “You can call me hyung, that’s fine.”

“Thanks, Jimin-hyung.”

Jungkook waggles a teasing brow.

Jimin’s blush deepens. He tries to hide behind his coffee mug, but Jungkook can see.

Now that there’s a lull in conversation, Jungkook fully takes Jimin in. Unlike Jungkook, Jimin looks like he had a good night’s sleep, maybe even a shower this morning. Even in the warm, caffeinated air of the café, Jungkook can catch traces of what he thinks is fruity shampoo.

But while Jimin looks and smells good, Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Jimin shifts in his seat. It’s like he can’t get comfortable, even wincing when he sits just right.

Understanding washes over Jungkook.

He cracks a smile.

“So, Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook drawls. “How was your night?”

Jimin’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Oh, I’m just asking,” Jungkook says innocently. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To swap stories? Fuck and tell?”

Jimin snorts at that. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So how was it, hm?” Jungkook prods. “How do you feel?”

“It was good. I feel good.”

“That first time we met,” Jungkook says, casually swirling his coffee in the air, “when I ran into you, and I thought I hurt you. Because you were limping. You said that guy had been rough, do you remember?”

At this point, Jimin’s blush is permanent.

“Yes, I remember.”

“You like it like that, don’t you.”

Jungkook doesn’t say it like it’s a question.

“Like what?”

Jimin crosses his arms, jutting out his chin, and Jungkook takes a measured sip from his straw.

“You like it rough, Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook says, probably a little too loud for the intimate setting of the café. Jimin’s face is beet red. “You like to feel it the next day, don’t you? Like the reminder of what you did.”

Jungkook is surprised when Jimin sniffs, holding his head high, meeting Jungkook’s eyes across the table, unwavering despite the visible heat crawling up his neck.

“Yes, Jungkook-ah, I do.”

Jungkook chuckles, pleased, and says, “I’m guessing the guy you were with last night did a good job, mm? If the way you’re shifting in your seat is any indication.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Girl.”

Suddenly, Jungkook is the one blushing.

“Huh?”

“I went home with a woman last night,” Jimin says, looking very pleased with himself.

“But you’re…” Jungkook trails off, unintelligently waving a hand at the way Jimin seems to be sitting on only one asscheek instead of two.

“A woman with a very large strap, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin tuts, speaking to Jungkook like he’s an idiot. Which he is. “She fucked me into her silk sheets until I cried. And then I fucked her until she cried. Is that what you wanted to hear? Was that enough detail?”

Jungkook feels like he’s swallowed his tongue.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. “Plenty.”

“Good.” Jimin takes a pointed sip of his drink. “So what about you, hm? How was your night?”

“Oh, me?” Jungkook blinks. Jimin takes an expectant sip from his mug. “Well. Um. It was…”

Snapshots of the night flash through Jungkook’s mind. Dancing at the club that turned into grinding at the club that turned into the Great Lube Explosion of ‘23. Stumbling through the streets to yet another stranger’s tiny apartment, this one coated in dog hair. Bam is going to be so pissed when Jungkook gets home and smells like a cheater.

The sex was mediocre at best, at least what Jungkook can remember. The dude all-out starfished, which Jungkook doesn’t mind. He can do the work. But what he did mind was the dude’s asshole dog trying to lick Jungkook’s asshole while Jungkook fucked the dog’s owner’s asshole.

It was an all-around strange evening.

Jungkook tells Jimin in as much detail as he can without running the risk of getting kicked out of the café, and Jimin laughs so hard he nearly falls out of his chair.

“It was an off week,” Jungkook mumbles, trying to defend himself. “Not every week can I find a 10/10 bottom with a clean apartment and a sense of humor.”

“So I’m guessing you’re a strict top, then,” Jimin says, like he’s asking if Jungkook’s favorite color is blue. “Am I right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

“No? Are you vers, too?”

Jungkook contemplates his preferences, and, well. He does top 99% of the time, definitely prefers it, but– “I only let the people that I trust top me.”

Jimin gives him a look.

“I thought you only sleep with strangers.”

Jungkook scratches his chin.

“I have a couple friends…like, they’re a couple. A couple of friends that are a couple.” Jungkook looks at Jimin sheepishly. “I let them fuck me, sometimes.”

“Like…at the same time?”

Jungkook’s eyes bulge out of their sockets.

“Absolutely not! Double penetration is a hard pass for me, I think I would break in half.”

“No, you dummy, I mean, like…” For some reason, Jimin can’t look Jungkook in the eyes when he says, “Like, a threesome?”

“Oh. Yeah, like a threesome,” Jungkook confirms. Jimin nods at the table, an attempt at being nonchalant. “Why, haven’t you had one before?”

Jimin snorts.

“You say that like it’s a rite of passage.”

“I mean…”

“No, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says, sounding a little exasperated, a little embarrassed. “No, I have not had a threesome. Remember? Serial monogamist?”

“Oh,” Jungkook says again. “Well…do you want to? Have a threesome, I mean?”

Jimin quirks a brow. “Are you offering?”

It is way too early to be having this conversation.

“No, hyung, I’m not offering,” Jungkook huffs. Or was he? “I’m just asking if you think you’d like having a threesome, like, in general. If you’re going to catch feelings it might complicate things, depending on the situation, but they’re really fun if you’re up for it.”

Jimin taps his chin like a cartoon while he considers what Jungkook has said.

“I don’t think so. I think I would get jealous.” Jimin scrunches his nose and it is perhaps the cutest thing Jungkook has ever seen. “I prefer all the attention to be on me. I don’t like to share.”

“Interesting.” Jungkook hums, the wheels in his head turning. “I can see it. Sounds on brand for you.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when he does it, like he’s pleased he has a brand that Jungkook already seems to be familiar with.

“Anyway!” Jimin slaps a palm on the table, making Jungkook jump, and a few café patrons turn to stare. Jungkook shrinks in his seat, but Jimin doesn’t act like he notices the extra attention. Also on brand. “What else?”

“What else what?”

“What else are you into?”

Jungkook draws a blank. “I dunno.”

Jimin pouts, like he isn’t ready for the conversation – if it can be called that – to end.

“Tits or ass?” Jimin blurts.

Jungkook throws his head back and laughs. When he can open his eyes again, Jimin is watching him with a satisfied smile.

“I’m gay, Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook says, still giggling. “Like, extremely gay. I don’t think I’ve looked at a single boob in my life.”

“Men have boobs, too!”

“Okay, then. Ass.” Jungkook’s cheeks hurt from grinning. “I’m an ass man, and let me guess. You’re a tits man?”

At that, Jimin’s eyes grow dark and the lighthearted atmosphere disappears. Something curls low in Jungkook’s stomach when those dark eyes drag down his chest, blatantly checking out his pecs. Jungkook is just wearing a black t-shirt – only accentuating the layer of dog hair that coats him – but Jimin licks his lips like he’s wearing nothing at all.

“I sure am,” Jimin murmurs.

Jungkook swallows so hard his throat clicks.

“I, uh, must have made a good f-first impression then,” Jungkook stutters, gathering his bearings. This man is dangerous. He tries to flirt back. “That morning I ran into you, I was so pissed about my busted shirt. It was one of my favs. But you probably liked my chest all out in the open like that, didn’t you?”

Jimin shrugs, a teasing smile on his lips.

“The bruises were distracting,” he says.

“You didn’t like them?” Jungkook asks, edging toward seriousness as embarrassment sinks in. “I like getting marked up. Don’t you?”

Jimin makes a face.

“Like…hickeys?”

Jungkook flushes.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not all,” he says, ears burning when Jimin’s eyes go dark again. “Biting, scratching…I like it all.” Jimin doesn’t say anything, so Jungkook adds, “It’s not for everyone.”

“No,” Jimin says, voice so smooth it sounds almost like a purr. “It’s just that I would rather give them than get them, is all.”

If he wasn’t sure before, he’s positive now:

Jungkook is doomed, has been from the start.

x

Jungkook didn’t expect it to be so easy to open up to Jimin, but as the weeks go by, he finds that Jimin probably knows more about him than those he’d consider his closest friends.

But it’s all kind of…unconventional.

Especially since sandwiched between what others would consider ‘normal’ conversation, Jimin and Jungkook discuss the explicit details of their weekly hookups.

One minute they’re talking about the guy Jimin took home the night before, how he got his come in Jimin’s hair before stealing one of Jimin’s favorite sweatshirts and three pairs of socks. The next they’re talking about what they each wanted to be when they grew up, without discussing their current careers as a rule.

(Jimin wanted to be a police officer. Jungkook wanted to be a pro gamer. Turns out neither of them fulfilled their childhood dreams, thank god.)

They’ve almost convinced Hoseok that they are just friends – friends that discuss preferences and kinks and fantasies and the like, but Hoseok doesn’t have to know that much. But sometimes the waiter will pull up a chair and chat with them when the café traffic is slow, listening suspiciously when Jimin and Jungkook come up with made up stories of how they met and became acquaintances.

(Jimin says they grew up together, both hailing from Busan – which ends up being true. According to Jimin, Jungkook was a loner that needed a friend – which is also true, but Jimin and Hoseok don’t need to know that. Jimin says he had to step in and take Jungkook under his wing, helping Jungkook grow into the cutie pie he is today. Jimin’s words, not his.)

Jimin and Jungkook talk about their favorite trips that they’ve taken (Jimin’s is Malta, Jungkook’s is New Zealand) and their favorite genre of movie (Jimin’s into romance, Jungkook pretends he isn’t, too).

They talk about the best fucks they’ve had (Jimin’s was last week when a guy gave him the best blowjob of his life, which Jungkook mentally takes as a challenge. Jungkook’s was in college when he had a guy in his dorm room bunkbed for 24 hours straight), and the worst fucks they’ve had (Jimin’s was his first time, of course, and Jungkook’s was that one time a guy accidentally kept him handcuffed to his bed all day, which is how Jimin learns Jungkook is a little into bondage).

They talk about the best super powers (Jimin wants to grow wings and fly, Jungkook wants to read minds) and their irrational fears (Jimin hates butterflies, Jungkook hates microwaves).

They talk about their most embarrassing moments (one time Jungkook gave a presentation with his spiderman boxers hanging out of his fly, and one time Jimin accidentally sexted his great uncle).

But as long as they could sit at their table and talk about sex and their dreams, real life always finds a way to interrupt.

“Ready for your check?” Hoseok asks.

Jungkook has come to hate those words.

“Yeah, I think we’re finished,” Jimin sighs.

But Jungkook hates those even more.

Every time Hoseok goes to grab his tablet so they can pay, Jungkook grasps for one last bite of conversation with the effervescent man sitting across from him. Even today with Jimin’s hair sticking straight up in the back and his shirt on inside-out, Jungkook thinks he’s the prettiest one in the entire café, but you’ll never catch Jungkook voicing these feelings, let alone facing them.

Speaking of feelings.

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve been struggling with your heart these days, Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook says, reaching across their tiny table to tug on Jimin’s sleeve, pulling him out of whatever he was daydreaming about. “Has my influence been that strong?” Then, to test the waters, “Are my services really needed, anymore?”

Jimin blinks his tired eyes and gives Jungkook a crusty look that Jungkook translates as, I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or just being a shithead.

(Both are true.)

“I think the real question is whether my services are still needed,” Jimin says, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “Have you been opening up at all? Hm? Haven’t heard you weave any personal growth into the stories you’ve been telling, Jungkook-ssi.”

Jungkook sticks out his lip.

“What am I supposed to do, whisper my deepest, darkest secrets in my hook up’s ear as I fuck him from behind?”

“Might be hot.”

“You have some weird kinks, Jimin-ssi.”

“Here you are,” Hoseok sing-songs, placing his tablet directly into Jungkook’s hand so that he can swipe his card and pay, just like Jungkook asked him to after he and Jimin made a spectacle fighting over the bill that first week they came. Once the transaction is complete, Hoseok gives them his best heart-shaped smile. “See you guys next week!”

Jungkook waves happily at Hoseok and then curses under his breath when Jimin kicks him under the table. Jungkook’s about to scold Jimin, but the words dissolve right on his tongue when he realizes Jimin has left his leg tangled up in his.

“Are you ever going to let me pay?” Jimin asks, his pout giving him a sweet little lisp.

It takes Jungkook a few seconds more than it should to respond. The weight of Jimin’s ankle crossed over his takes up all of his thoughts, like Jimin’s sucking up all of Jungkook’s sense through his touch.

“Probably not,” Jungkook mumbles.

And even though he’s supposed to be mad at him, Jimin smiles. Jungkook probably isn’t supposed to see it, but he knows Jimin’s face too well, now, would notice even the slightest shift from across the room.

“I should probably go,” Jimin says.

Like always, Jimin gets up first. But this week, he shucks Jungkook under the chin before walking out the door. Last week he had ruffled his hair. The week before that he nudged him in the shoulder. This is the first time since their handshake in the rain that Jungkook’s felt Jimin’s touch, skin to skin.

It’s hard to leave, after that.

Then again, it gets harder every week.

x

By the time December rolls around, Jungkook stops going out to the clubs, stops taking men home, just…

…stops.

“You look suspiciously well-rested,” Jimin says, eyeing Jungkook’s freshly washed hair, the touch of concealer under his eyes.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

And it’s true. Jimin looks like he’s showered recently, too. His clothes aren’t wrinkled. His eyes are dark as ever, yet they’re somehow bright.

Jimin shrugs.

“Going home with women is a completely different story than going home with men,” Jimin says, and Jungkook pretends that doesn’t drop a stone in his gut. “Their sheets are clean, their beds are comfy, their showers are lined with all the products you could ever need.”

“Guess I wouldn’t know,” Jungkook mumbles. He’s staring at his fingers, watching them pull and twist at each other, a distraction from the icky taste in his mouth. But when Jimin doesn’t say anything, Jungkook snaps his head up. Jimin is holding him down with one of his scrutinizing looks. It feels like he’s slowly peeling back the layers of bullshit Jungkook’s been struggling to keep up. It makes Jungkook panic. So, he scrambles. “Tell me more about her, then. What was she like?”

When Jimin does what Jungkook asks of him, giving him the play-by-play of his night with this woman with the clean sheets and the comfortable bed and the well-stocked shower, Jungkook tells himself he doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t mind the way Jimin grins at the memory of her biting his bottom lip hard enough to make him bleed, doesn’t mind the way Jimin touches a hand to it like he wants to feel it again.

And when it’s Jungkook’s turn, he tells himself it isn’t wrong for him to lie about his own night.

Because he can’t tell Jimin that when he was in another woman’s bed, Jungkook was in his own, wondering what it would be like if Jimin was with him instead.

x

Jungkook is nearly halfway through his drink when Jimin finally walks into the café. He opens his mouth to tease Jimin, that Hoseok threatened to give their table away and make Jungkook sit up at the counter, that he almost gave up and went home, that the cinnamon latte he ordered for Jimin was probably cold by now.

But when Jimin sits down, looking more miserable than Jungkook has ever seen him, Jungkook throws his teasing out the window.

“Hyung,” he says instead, reaching across the table to take Jimin’s hand in his, running the pad of his thumb over Jimin’s pudgy knuckles. He doesn’t hesitate to comfort him, this time. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Jimin isn’t crying, but Jungkook thinks tears would be better than this.

“Nothing,” Jimin says, voice hoarse.

“Hyung–”

“It’s nothing.”

He pulls his hand away from Jungkook’s touch, placing it in his lap, all the while staring at his latte, making no move to drink it. The shadows under his eyes are so deep they look bruised, his lips are dry and cracked, his skin dull.

Jungkook’s thoughts immediately plummet.

Jimin must have slept with his ex again. Or maybe he’s been keeping something from Jungkook, maybe he did catch feelings for someone, maybe they rejected him, too.

“Jimin, you’re scaring me.”

That gets Jimin to at least meet Jungkook’s eyes. He must see the genuine worry there, because Jimin sighs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Jimin groans. “I’m fine, I promise. It – it’s stupid.”

“Nothing that makes you feel like shit is stupid,” Jungkook urges, frown so deep he can feel his cheeks sinking with it. “Did you and Sujin…?”

Jimin lowers his hands again, sighing out of his nose. One short, quick exhale.

“No,” Jimin says.

He peeks up at Jungkook through his lashes, almost like he’s being shy. Jimin? Shy? Jungkook never thought he’d see the day. All it does is make him worry even more.

“Hyung, please.”

Jimin sighs again.

“Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Of course I won’t.”

“Okay,” Jimin says. Then, so quiet Jungkook hardly hears him, Jimin mumbles, “So, I really like to cuddle.”

For a second, Jungkook thinks he misheard.

“Did you just say–”

“I like to cuddle, yes,” Jimin says, looking anywhere but into Jungkook’s very confused eyes. “It’s fucking stupid. I know.”

“Stop saying that,” Jungkook scolds. “Just tell me what happened. It’s not stupid. So, you like to cuddle.”

Jimin releases one more dramatic sigh.

“Cuddling is very important to me, especially after sex,” Jimin says, picking at his nails. Jungkook nods, because this is a completely normal, common thing. “Especially after rough sex, and last night, the guy I slept with was…really rough.”

Jungkook doesn’t like the way Jimin says that.

“What did he do,” he all but growls.

“He didn’t do anything wrong!” Jimin raises his hands like he wants Jungkook to calm down, which is silly because Jungkook is totally calm. Besides the way his heart pounds in his throat and his fists clench on the table and his legs tense like he’s about to pounce out of his chair and sprint out the door to find the guy that made Jimin feel this way. “He didn’t, Kook, I promise.”

The nickname helps a little, Jungkook won’t lie.

“The sex was fine, it wasn’t anything I didn’t ask for,” Jimin continues. Jungkook’s fingernails break into the skin of his palm. “It’s just that afterwards, I’m always a little sensitive and want to be held. But when I asked, this dude acted like it was the strangest request he’s ever gotten in his life. So he cleaned himself up and I cleaned myself up, and then when I got back into his bed, he acted all surprised that I wanted to stay the night.”

“I hate him.”

“I know, but I’m not done yet,” Jimin sighs. “He then said that he can’t sleep with someone else in his bed, which is valid, so I offered to leave. At that point I wanted to get the fuck out of there, anyway. But he insisted I just sleep on his bed, and he took the couch. I felt terrible, so I stayed. I didn’t sleep at all, obviously. And in the morning, he came into the room and crawled into bed and I thought he had changed his mind about cuddles. But he just wanted to fuck again.”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook hates him.

“So I let him fuck me again.”

“Jimin…” Jungkook feels ill.

“I love morning sex. I love morning cuddles and I love morning kisses, but I genuinely think this guy ruined it for me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook chokes out. Before Jimin can say it’s okay, it’s stupid, Jungkook says, “It was fucked up for him to do that to you. Completely fucked up.”

Jimin nods, saying nothing else.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, either, because the things he wants to say would not be helpful. He’s thinking of all the ways he could kick this faceless man’s ass when Jimin says something that brings him right back.

“What would you have done?”

“What would I have…what?”

“In his place, what would you have done?”

Jimin is looking directly at Jungkook, now, and it knocks the breath out of him. Jimin’s eyes are pleading across the table, but Jungkook doesn’t know what he wants Jungkook to say.

“I don’t…”

“What would you have done if I–” Jimin freezes, backtracks. “If a guy who took you home asked you to hold him after you slept together? Would it be stupid?”

There’s that word again.

“No, it wouldn’t be stupid,” Jungkook says. “Of course it wouldn’t be.”

“Would you do it, then?”

Jungkook holds Jimin’s gaze, putting all the intention into his voice he can muster when he responds, “I would do anything you wanted, Jimin.”

“Ready…for…your check?”

Hoseok arrives at their table in typical, exuberant fashion, but his voice trails off when he sees the look on each of their faces, realizing too late he’s burst whatever bubble they’ve found themselves in.

“Yeah, I think we’re finished,” Jimin whispers.

They sit in heavy silence until Hoseok brings the tablet over. After Jungkook has paid – without any rebuttal – Jimin gets up to leave. But before he can walk past, Jungkook grabs his arm, stopping him. Jimin looks down at him and gives him a cautious little smile. Jungkook gives him one back.

“I’ll see you next week,” Jimin says.

“See you.”

It takes Jungkook another fifteen minutes before he’s able to get up and walk out the door, running through their conversation ten times over, wondering if he took it too far, if he could have done better. But by the time he’s hopping on the bus, on his way home, he’s content. He wouldn’t take any of it back.

He meant every word.

x

Their next meeting isn’t awkward, until it is.

“A guy asked me for my number last night.”

Jungkook’s straw pauses halfway to his mouth.

They hadn’t been discussing their Saturday night at all, and Jungkook was keen to keep it that way. He’s getting tired of coming up with stories, but he still doesn’t have the guts to say he sat in his apartment until four in the morning singing karaoke and eating chicken with Bam.

And then Jimin dumps that on him.

“…oh.”

That’s something else Jungkook hasn’t had the guts to do – ask Jimin for his number. It’s been nearly two months of this, of meeting up and talking and learning and laughing, and Jungkook still doesn’t have Jimin’s number. Seems like whoever Jimin slept with last night is braver than him.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, all nonchalant. Jungkook tries to focus on breathing. “I didn’t feel comfortable giving him mine, but I let him give me his, and…I don’t know. What do you think?”

Jimin gives Jungkook one of his rare, shy looks through his eyelashes. Jungkook’s thoughts were already a mess, but that look cements it. Pure static, nothing else.

“…huh?”

“Should I text him?”

Jungkook repeats Jimin’s question in his head three times before he’s able to piece together what the words mean. All the while, Jimin is looking at him with his dark, probing eyes, watching Jungkook’s reaction for every twitch, every breath.

“Do you want to?” Jungkook finally asks.

Jimin shrugs, brow furrowed like Jungkook’s question confuses him.

“Do you like him?” Jungkook tries again.

Jimin shrugs again.

Which is good, because Jungkook isn’t sure he would be able to act normal if Jimin said yes. And yet, Jungkook says the thing he least wants to, each word like chalk on his tongue.

“I think you should,” he says. He can’t look at Jimin when he says it, so he looks at Jimin’s hands instead, wrapped around his mug, the most welcome, familiar image in a most unwelcome situation. “Why not?”

He can still feel Jimin’s eyes.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook lifts his head, meeting Jimin’s look. For the first time since he’s met him, Jimin’s walls are back up. Jungkook doesn’t know why he doesn’t say what he really wants, how he really feels. It’s all he’s ever known, so he mumbles, “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Jungkook thinks he hears Jimin’s breath stutter out, but he can hardly tell around the roaring in his ears.

“I thought you were supposed to keep me from catching feelings, Jungkook-ssi,” Jimin murmurs, eyes on the table.

Jungkook regrets the words before they even fall from his lips. “Sorry to fail you, Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin nods at nothing, huffs a quiet laugh.

And for the first time, after he pays, Jungkook’s the one to leave the café first.

x

Jungkook shouldn’t be surprised when the next week, Jimin doesn’t show.

“Aw, it’s Christmas Eve!” Hoseok says, cheery as heck. He’s across the table, sitting where Jimin should be, and the combination of sunshine and Not-Jimin makes Jungkook more miserable than it should. “Don’t worry so much. I bet he’s with family. He probably couldn’t make it!”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Hoseok says, pouting when Jungkook’s face stays shadowed. “Why don’t you just text him and ask?”

Jungkook clunks head onto the table. “I don’t have his number,” he says, miserable.

“You don’t?!” Hoseok squeaks. “Well, do you want me to give it to you? I have it.”

Jungkook sits up in a flash. “You do?”

“We swapped numbers, like, the third week you two started showing up,” Hoseok says, shrugging like it was the easiest thing in the world. If Jungkook wasn’t immeasurably fond of his Hobi-hyung, he would consider throwing his shoe at him. “How have you guys been meeting up for so long without even having each other’s numbers?”

“It’s just…the arrangement,” Jungkook mumbles, this time gently laying his head on the table. He has one of those terrible headaches that blooms from holding back tears. Hoseok has seen him pathetic before, but not that pathetic. Jungkook Does Not cry in public. “We never needed each other’s numbers.”

“Do I even wanna know what this ‘arrangement’ is?”

Jungkook groans. “Probably not.”

Hoseok reaches over and ruffles Jungkook’s hair before singing, “Well, puppy, just say the word and his number is yours.”

Tempting, but.

“No,” Jungkook sighs, cheek squished against coffee-ringed wood. “I wanna get it directly from him. Getting it from you feels like cheating.”

“If you say so.” Hoseok chuckles. “Do you want more coffee? Or are you ready for your check?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook sighs. “I think I’m finished.”

Turns out he still hates those words, even when he’s the one saying them.

x

“How long are you gonna sit there and pout, Kook?” Namjoon asks from across the room, seated on his recliner, eyes peeking above his book. “Do you not like your gifts? It’s okay if you don’t, you can tell us. We kept the receipts so we can return them.”

“W-what?” Jungkook stutters. “No!”

He straightens up from his slump on the floor. He had been zoning out, mind drifting between this and that – read: Jimin – with his Christmas presents strewn around him (a new stand for his drawing pad and an artist glove adorned with cats from Yoongi, and a replacement set for Jungkook’s noise-cancelling headphones that Namjoon busted last month).

They all still sit in their sealed, plastic packaging, so Jungkook can understand how that might look.

“He isn’t upset over that, babe,” Yoongi says, voice carrying from their open kitchen where he sautés vegetables for japchae. Namjoon mumbles a quiet, Oh yeah, and Yoongi clucks his tongue. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen you like this, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook groans and flops back onto the floor with a dull thud.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” Jungkook whines, sounding very much like a hormonal teenager. He feels like one, too. “I never get all emotional about stuff like this. I never get emotional, period!”

Namjoon snorts. “Please. You’re the most emotional lil guy I’ve ever met.”

Jungkook pouts. “I’m not a lil guy.”

“How long has it been since you got laid?” Yoongi’s always one to ask important questions. “Maybe that’s why you’re so pent up.”

“Like a month,” Jungkook grumbles.

Namjoon whistles low, impressed.

“I think that’s a new record.”

 “Probably.”

“We can help with that, you know,” Namjoon adds, watching Jungkook writhe on their rug over the horn-rimmed glasses perched precariously on his nose.

“It’s been, like, over a year since we fucked,” Jungkook huffs, frowning at the ceiling’s beams. “It would be weird, don’t you think?”

Namjoon hums a non-answer.

There’s a long silence only broken by the sizzling and popping coming from Yoongi’s cooking and the whispered brush of Namjoon turning a page of his book.

“I think I’m going to pretend he never existed,” Jungkook announces. He can hear Yoongi’s annoyed sigh all the way from the kitchen. “I’ll be fine once everything goes back to normal.”

“Running away from your feelings isn’t the same as not having them,” Yoongi drones.

Jungkook snorts. “You sound like him.”

“Smart guy,” Yoongi quips. His voice is closer than Jungkook expected, making him jolt. He cranes his head to look up and back, discovering Yoongi standing above him. Jungkook always forgets how quickly he can sneak up on you (y’know, like a cat). “You should call him.”

“I fucking can’t.” Jungkook throws a dramatic arm over his face to cover the way it crumbles, he’s fucking ruined. “I don’t even have his number.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” Namjoon sympathizes.

“Come on, try to quit worrying so much, it’s Christmas,” Yoongi scolds, poking Jungkook’s head with a socked toe. “I’m sure he’ll be there next week. Now both of you, get up. Dinner’s ready.”

While they eat, Jungkook tries to quit sulking, but even Yoongi’s cooking can’t distract him from his grabby thoughts, all of them pointing back to a pair of dark, pretty eyes.

x

The following week brings with it New Year’s Eve and another empty chair sitting across from Jungkook.

Hoseok does his best to console him – again – but in the end, Jungkook decides he’s not going to let it bother him. He isn’t going enter the new year pining for somebody out of his reach.

So that night, he goes to the club.

Jungkook feels like a baby fawn on new legs. He’s been to this club more times than he can count, but there’s something about it that feels brand new. The crowd is suffocating, the lights too bright, the bass too heavy.

Within ten minutes, Jungkook finds himself parked on a stool at the bar in the corner, nursing a whiskey that tastes like fucking ass. He really wants one of those pretty sweet drinks a group of girls just ordered, but that wouldn’t put off the brooding, mysterious vibes he’s going for.

So he sits there and suffers through his drink, until he hears a voice that is sure to multiply his suffering at least by two.

Because Jungkook’s body is a traitor, it automatically turns toward the ruckus, and because his eyes are weak, they glue themselves Jimin, and to no one’s surprise, what a vision he is. He’s wearing a royal green, velvet top that makes his honey skin glow. His hair is done and his makeup is flawless and he laughs and laughs as another man hangs off of him.

Before he gets caught staring, Jungkook slouches back into the bar. His stomach turns. Even looking at his drink makes him feel sick, so he closes his eyes, breathing deep through his mouth. Even through the chaos of the club, he can still hear Jimin talking, though he can’t make out what he says. His voice fades, but it doesn’t disappear completely.

Jungkook chances another peek.

It looks like Jimin and his…and the other guy found an empty booth. A hopeful shot of relief zips up Jungkook’s spine when he spots another man in the booth, sandwiching Jimin between them. But then the one hanging off of Jimin leans in and speaks in Jimin’s ear. The way Jimin leans in too – the way his eyes soften and the way he smiles, so close, face to face – translates to Jungkook into something that transcends friendship.

Jungkook keeps staring this time, hoping like hell that Jimin will feel his eyes on him, that he’ll turn and see him and smile at Jungkook the way he’s smiling at this other man.

But Jimin doesn’t.

So Jungkook looks away.

He really wants to leave, but this whiskey was way too expensive to leave half a glass. So he keeps sipping and suffering, ignoring everything else.

Until someone nudges into his side.

“Hey, sssexy.”

The last person Jungkook expects to see when he turns to face the syrupy voice at his side is the man who’s been all over Jimin, looking at Jungkook like he’s going to eat him. Jungkook didn’t notice before, but this guy is wearing a sash that says ‘BIRTHDAY QUEEN’ in hot pink, glittery font.

“Um…” Jungkook glitches.

“You,” he says, adorning the word with a boop to Jungkook’s nose, “look like you need a shot.”

“O-oh, no thank you, I–”

“Bartender! Come hither good sir, we require your assistance,” the man slurs, waving a long-fingered hand like he’s Victorian royalty.

The red-faced bartender gives them a look that says he isn’t going to serve either of them for the rest of the night. Embarrassment creeps up Jungkook’s neck.

“Which would you prefer,” birthday boy asks Jungkook, draping himself over the bar in a way he probably thinks looks seductive, “a buttery nipple or a blow job?”

“Taehyung! There you are!”

The flush on Jungkook’s neck and ears spreads to his entire body when Jimin barges in, grabbing the forward, drunk man – Taehyung, apparently – by the arm.

“Jimin,” Jungkook whispers, shocked, soft enough Jimin definitely doesn’t hear him.

“Go back to the booth, Seokjin-hyung needs you,” Jimin urges, going so far as to grip Taehyung’s chin so he’ll face Jimin, the fog in his eyes keeping him from maintaining his focus. “Go on.”

“Mnkay,” Taehyung hiccups. “Bye, handsome.” Then he departs with as much flair as he arrived, blowing Jungkook a kiss and holding a hand up to his ear, mouthing call me.

“I am so sorry,” Jimin says, giving Jungkook a look that isn’t as apologetic as it is anticipatory, like he’s bracing himself for Jungkook’s response. “That was Taehyung. He’s my best friend, the one I moved in with after Sujin and I split, and it’s his birthday. Well, obviously. But actually, it was yesterday, but he likes to celebrate it today because he can get more free drinks that way, and you don’t really need all this extra information so I don’t know why I’m still talking.”

“Oh.” Jungkook blinks a few times, then mumbles, “Well. He seems…fun.”

Jimin laughs at that – not a half-hearted laugh, but a full blown, head tossed back, sparkling eyes laugh, and Jungkook finds himself just watching him, taking it all in, absorbing every detail to memory, just in case.

When Jimin settles, he looks at Jungkook and tilts his head. His smile gets smaller but it’s still there. Jungkook’s palms start to sweat.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin asks.

“I – I’m just…” Jungkook trails off. He looks at his half-empty whiskey, at his loose suit jacket and jeans. “Hanging out.”

Jimin nods, waits to see if Jungkook will say more. When he doesn’t, Jimin furrows his brow and purses his lips, looking down at his shoes.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it, then,” he murmurs, shifting his weight to turn away, but before he can, Jungkook catches his arm.

“You can stay,” Jungkook blurts.

Jimin looks back at the booth with Taehyung and the other one. It looks like Taehyung is trying to crawl on top of the table to dance, and the more sober one has to keep pulling him down, ears glowing bright red.

“I should probably go back,” Jimin murmurs. “I told Tae I would take care of him, make sure he doesn’t go home with any fuck boys.”

Jungkook flinches.

Of course Jimin notices, and of course he immediately backtracks. Jungkook has let go of his arm, but now Jimin reaches out, gripping Jungkook’s shoulder, bunching his jacket up in his fist.

“Fuck, I didn’t – that’s not what I meant, I–”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, a humorless laugh punched out of him. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

Jungkook is humiliated when he feels the sting of tears pricking his eyes. He jerks away, dipping his head so that Jimin can’t see. And because he’s feeling raw and embarrassed – how much worse could it get? – Jungkook mumbles the only phrase his brain has been capable of producing since he heard Jimin’s voice.

“I miss you, hyung.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a really long time. When Jungkook thinks he has his treacherous tears under control, he lifts his head, only to find Jimin staring at Jungkook with watery eyes, too, chewing his cheek, shaking his leg.

“Hyung?”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, voice uneven. Dread drips down Jungkook’s throat. But then, “I miss you, too.”

Relief floods Jungkook’s veins like a drug, and his tears are forgotten.

“Why are you sorry?” he laughs, grabbing Jimin’s wrist and pulling him closer, until Jimin’s standing between Jungkook’s spread legs, shiny eyes bouncing between Jungkook’s. “Don’t do that to me, I almost threw up.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Jungkook playfully swats Jimin’s hip.

He decides to leave his hand there.

“I’m a coward, that’s why I’m sorry,” Jimin says, twisting his pretty mouth. Jungkook’s having a hard time not staring at it. “I shouldn’t have run away like I did. Hobi-hyung texted me and told me you still showed up – not once, but twice – and I just. I’m such a coward.”

“So am I,” Jungkook frowns. He hooks his index finger in Jimin’s belt loop and runs his thumb over the soft velvet of Jimin’s shirt, discreetly tugging him even closer. He would have thought being this close to Jimin would have scrambled up his thoughts, but his head has never been clearer. “I shouldn’t have told you to text that guy, whoever he was. Of course I didn’t want you to. That was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever said, which is really saying something.”

“I never did, anyway,” Jimin says with a little laugh. “I didn’t even go home with anyone that night. I haven’t since–” Jimin lowers his gaze. “–since the anti-cuddle guy.”

“I haven’t since November.”

Jimin’s eyes flash back up. “What?”

“Yep,” Jungkook says, scrunching his nose in self-deprecation. “If anyone’s a coward, it’s me.”

Jimin stares at him open-mouthed for a few seconds, hands gripping the tops of both of Jungkook’s thighs like he needs an anchor.

“But…I thought…”

Jimin somehow squeezes closer.

“Yeah, me too,” Jungkook breathes.

Jungkook isn’t looking at Jimin’s eyes, but he has a feeling he’s looking at Jungkook’s lips the same way he’s looking at Jimin’s.

And then–

“Jimin! Jimin-ah, we – oh. Oops, sorry.”

“Seokjin-hyung!” Jimin squeaks, jolting where he stands, taking one of his hands off of Jungkook’s leg to press it to his heart. “You scared me!”

The man with the red ears is standing next to them, acting like he’s about to grab Jimin and pull him away. Jungkook is immediately on the defense, wrapping his arm fully around Jimin’s waist and keeping him close. He’s also probably glaring, an angry notch formed between his brows.

“Jeez,” Seokjin says, squeaking out a nervous laugh, looking Jungkook up and down. “Nobody’s gonna take him from you, bro, relax your hand.”

Jungkook will do no such thing.

“What is it, hyung?” Jimin asks, giggling.

“It’s time to go home.”

Jungkook holds on tighter.

“Why?” Jimin asks. He wriggles a bit, not resisting the cage of Jungkook’s arms or anything, just reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone and check the time. “There’s still an hour until midnight!”

“Taehyung is done,” Seokjin sighs.

Jungkook and Jimin look over to the booth, and sure enough, Taehyung is sprawled over the table, looking like he’s passed out cold.

“Oh,” Jimin says.

“So, you gonna help me get him home or not?” Seokjin asks, very sassily, Jungkook might add. “We can take him back to my place, since it’s closer than yours.”

Jimin looks at Jungkook, then, and Jungkook gives him his best puppy eyes, trying to silently communicate he doesn’t want their night to be over yet, please please please.

“Do you want to help us?” Jimin asks.

That’s not really what Jungkook was hoping Jimin would say, but he’ll take it.

“Sure,” Jungkook says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, like he’s never been so ecstatic in his short adult life to not be abandoned by a pretty man at the bar.

“Alright, then.” Seokjin claps his hands together like they’re in a team huddle. “I’ll take his legs. You two take his arms. We’ve got this.”

“Got what?”

They all startle when Taehyung pops up out of nowhere with a brand new drink in his hand.

“What – how–” Seokjin splutters, but he recovers quickly. “Taehyung-ah, put that drink back where you found it. It’s time to go home.”

“No, thank you!”

“That wasn’t a question,” Seokjin huffs, but Taehyung is already marching to the dance floor. Seokjin deflates, then looks at Jimin and Jungkook with defeat in his eyes. “You two can go.”

“What! No, hyung, I told Tae I would–”

“Ah!” Seokjin hushes Jimin with a finger to his lips, eyebrows raised to the heavens like he’s daring Jimin to talk back. “Go. Let me take care of the birthday gremlin. We’ll be fine.” Then he eyes Jungkook up and down again. “And use protection.”

With that, Seokjin stalks off in pursuit of Taehyung who seems to have found a bachelorette party, swapping sashes with the bride.

Jimin faces Jungkook and grins.

Guess that’s that.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he asks, eyes tracing Jungkook’s features. “Me and Taehyung’s place isn’t very far.”

“That sounds nice, hyung,” Jungkook says, voice steady despite the hurricane wreaking havoc where his heart should be.

They leave the bar, heading to the front entrance of the club to collect their coats, then out the door, hand-in-hand.

Jungkook doesn’t plan on letting go.

x

“How much further?”

Jimin giggles, squeezing Jungkook’s hand. Jungkook shoved their interlaced fingers into his coat pocket a few blocks ago, so Jimin is extra close, their sides brushing as they walk.

“Why?” Jimin teases, knocking Jungkook’s hip with his own. “You getting cold?”

“No,” Jungkook scoffs, even though he can’t feel his toes. “I’m just wondering. We’re heading toward my place, too. If I’m closer, we might as well go there.”

Jimin looks up at Jungkook, curious. Little puffs of his breath condense between them, framing Jimin’s face like the pretty painting he is.

“Wait a minute,” Jimin says, eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you live in the same apartment complex as I do.”

“Which one are you in?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin tells him, and Jungkook fully stops in the middle of the sidewalk so he can double over and laugh. When Jungkook’s body shrinks with his laugh, he accidentally tugs Jimin closer and closer, and eventually Jimin starts laughing, too.

“We – we aren’t in the s-same complex,” Jungkook wheezes, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes before they freeze. “But I am in the complex across the street from yours.”

“You’re kidding.”

Jimin’s eyes reflect the lights all around them, but his joy outshines it all.

“No wonder we kept running into each other,” Jungkook says, smiling so hard his cheeks are starting to hurt. “We’re basically neighbors!”

They start walking again, even though they still have the giggles. But eventually they grow silent, taking in the buzzing night around them, all the bars full, windows lined with lights.

“Wait a minute,” Jimin says again. Jungkook sends him a questioning look. “So…you live in the fancy, rich people apartments?”

Jungkook shrugs.

“Oh my god,” Jimin gasps, then screeches loud enough people around them start to stare, “Are you rich?!”

“Shh,” Jungkook tries to shush Jimin, but it’s hard to through his laughter. “People are looking.”

“What do you do for work?” Jimin asks, still full volume. “Are you a prodigal surgeon or something?”

Jungkook throws his head back and laughs some more but manages to say, “No, no, nothing like that. I am technically in healthcare, though.”

“Are you a dentist?”

“No.”

“A dermatologist?”

“Nope.”

“An optometrist? A pharmacist?”

“No and no.”

“Are you a foot doctor?” Jimin asks, starting to sound desperate. “What the fuck are those called, I can’t remember. They’ve gotta make big bucks, right?”

“A podiatrist,” Jungkook says, extremely amused.

“Yeah! A podiatrist!”

“Also no,” Jungkook says, having way too much fun. “You’re never gonna guess it, hyung.”

“Then tell me, dammit.” Jimin pouts, pinching Jungkook’s arm. “This game isn’t fun anymore.”

“I’m a medical illustrator.”

They take a few steps in silence. Jungkook can almost hear the gears turning in Jimin’s head.

“So…you draw medical stuff?”

Jungkook snorts. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So what you’re telling me,” Jimin says slowly. “Is that you draw all those anatomy images in the textbooks we had to use for health class.”

“I mean, yeah,” Jungkook says. “I draw lots of other stuff, too. I just finished a huge project creating ophthalmological references for–”

“You’ve drawn dicks, haven’t you!”

Once again, Jungkook halts in the middle of the road. He looks down at Jimin, trying his best to look shocked. His gigantic – apparently permanent – smile doesn’t help his case.

“How fucking old are we?!”

“Come on, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin prods, poking Jungkook’s side through his puffer jacket. “Dicks are funny at every age. Fess up, you’ve drawn them, I know you have!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tries not to giggle like a tween, but he can’t lie.

“Yes, I’ve drawn dicks,” Jungkook sighs. “Lots of them, and I get paid really well to do it.”

Jimin erupts beside him, laughing so hard Jungkook worries he’s actually going to topple over. But he would never let that happen, so he keeps a firm grip on Jimin’s hand in his pocket and holds him and holds him until Jimin’s calmed down enough they can start walking again.

“I can’t believe you draw cock for a living,” Jimin says, still giggling in little bursts.

“You are ridiculous,” Jungkook says with so much adoration in his voice even Jimin notices, looking up at him through his lashes with a soft, knowing smile. “So what do you do for work, then, hm?”

“Guess,” Jimin says, eyes sparkling.

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” Jimin says, bumping Jungkook again with his hip. “I’m a mental health counselor.”

“That makes so much sense!” Jungkook gasps, and Jimin gives him a confused look, so Jungkook explains. “You’re always looking at me like you’re reading my mind. Such a counselor thing to do.”

“That’s because I am reading your mind,” Jimin says mysteriously.

“Yikes.” Jungkook grimaces, sucking a breath through his teeth. “Sorry for whatever you’ve found in there. Can’t be pretty.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, pulling Jungkook closer even though they’re as close as they can get with two gigantic coats on.

“You have a lovely mind,” Jimin murmurs.

Jungkook’s suddenly very warm.

“So what more don’t I know about you, hm?” Jungkook asks, playing with Jimin’s fingers in the warm cocoon of his pocket.

Jimin takes his time to think.

“I love cats but I’m allergic to them,” he says, watching their feet as they walk. “I almost joined a dance crew after university but decided to get my master’s instead. And you’re not the only one with tattoos, by the way. I have a few, too.”

Jungkook can’t help the places his thoughts go with that last tidbit of information.

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Jimin says, still looking straight ahead with a sneaky smile. “Your turn!”

Jungkook stares at Jimin’s profile, wanting him to turn and meet his eyes even though Jungkook can’t say what he would do, if he did. When Jimin keeps looking ahead stubbornly, Jungkook sighs, letting his breath cloud his vision until he steps through it.

“I have a dog that is probably bigger than you,” Jungkook says, chuckling when that gets Jimin’s attention, his hyung’s eyes wide as saucers.

“What’s his name?”

“Bam,” Jungkook says, heart flying out of his chest at the prospect of them meeting each other. Bam’s probably gonna love Jimin more than he loves Jungkook. Jungkook wouldn’t blame him. “I make the best ramyun secret sauce on this side of the Han.”

“Will you make it for me?”

“Of course I will,” Jungkook smiles. Jimin hums, content. “Last but not least…” Jungkook pauses for dramatic effect. Jimin’s so eager he’s bouncing on his toes. “I have a twitter account with more than fifty thousand loyal followers where I post SatoSugu fanart. And before you ask, yes. It’s NSFW.”

“No. Fucking. Way!” Jimin squeals. Jungkook laughs hard, even harder when Jimin slaps his coat-padded chest a few times, then the hardest when Jimin hisses, “You draw so much dick!”

They’ve stopped walking again to catch their breath and clutch their sides. Jungkook hasn’t laughed this much in forever. The stitch in his side is completely worth it.

“Wait,” Jimin says, straightening up. “Listen.”

“What, what is it?”

But then Jungkook hears it, too.

“Ten! Nine!”

From inside the bars, from the apartment building balconies, from the speakers and televisions and radios in at least five different shops.

“Eight! Seven!”

Jimin looks at Jungkook with an emotion written on his face that Jungkook doesn’t have a name for. All Jungkook knows is that he feels it, too, like he’s overflowing, like he can fly.

“Six! Five!”

“Jungkook-ah,” Jimin breathes, snaking his hand free from the confines of Jungkook’s coat pocket, but he doesn’t go far.

“Four! Three!”

Jungkook reaches forward to hold Jimin’s flushed cheeks. Jimin reaches up to hold Jungkook’s wrists. Jimin’s fingers are ice, and Jungkook knows his hands are, too. But Jimin only grips him tighter, pulls him closer.

“Two! One!”

It’s like Jungkook’s holding the world.

It holds its breath; Jungkook does, too.

“Happy New Year,” Jimin whispers.

And as cheers erupt around them, fireworks lighting up the sky, Jimin throws his arms around Jungkook’s neck and yanks him down, pressing his wish to Jungkook’s lips.

It’s like a dam bursts. The fizzing and popping and bright lights in the sky are nothing compared to the flurry that explodes from Jungkook’s chest. He channels it all in to the kiss, nipping Jimin’s cupid’s bow like he’s wanted to since that first morning in the café. He swallows Jimin’s gasp when he sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth, tracing its sweet swell with his tongue.

Then he wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist and hoists him up off the ground, crushing Jimin to his chest.

“Jungkook-ah!” Jimin laughs against Jungkook’s lips, noses brushing, tightening his hold around Jungkook’s shoulders. “Put me down!”

Jungkook looks up at Jimin, now, stomach swooping at the way Jimin looks down at him. Jungkook can’t help himself. He cups the back of Jimin’s neck and pulls him in for more, letting Jimin slowly slide down his body until he’s back on his feet.

The celebration around them has quieted some, but Jimin and Jungkook still stand there in the middle of it all. When Jimin teases the seam of Jungkook’s lips with his tongue, Jungkook opens for him, meeting him in the middle. The taste of Jimin is addicting, Jungkook never wants to stop. He hates their coats, wants to explore the lines and curves of Jimin’s body the way he explores Jimin’s mouth.

Jungkook whines low in his throat when Jimin pulls away, heavy-lidded eyes never leaving Jimin’s face. Jimin reaches up to place his palm on Jungkook’s cheek, thumb stroking his skin. Jungkook leans into it, their heavy breathing fogging what little space is between them.

“We should…probably…” Jimin says, staring at Jungkook’s lips. Jungkook’s answer is to dip down and kiss Jimin one more time. Okay maybe two more, three more, each one soft and chaste, mouths closed. Between them, Jimin sighs, “Jungkook-ah – baby – we–”

Baby.

Oh, Jungkook is toast.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whines, pouting, sneaking one (two) more in. “Mmkay, ‘m done.”

“Are you sure?” Jimin asks, a teasing glint in his eyes. Jungkook shakes his head no and steals one more, extra-long and hard. When he’s finished for real (he’ll never have enough), he presses his forehead to Jimin’s, and Jimin says, “We’re going to go to my place.”

It isn’t a question.

Jungkook’s nodding before Jimin even finishes his sentence. He said it a few weeks ago – he meant it then, and he means it now. He’ll do whatever Jimin wants. Anything, always.

“Okay,” he says, grabbing Jimin’s hand, tucking it back safe into his pocket. “Then let’s go.”

x

The rest of their walk doesn’t take long, but Jungkook still has to pull Jimin into a couple alleyways to press him to the wall and kiss him until they both see stars, so it takes a little longer than it should.

“So, this is our place,” Jimin says, suddenly shy. It makes him want to gather Jimin in his arms and kiss all his insecurities away. “Taehyung won’t be back until late tomorrow. I doubt it’s as nice as your place, but–”

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook murmurs.

The only light on in Jimin’s space is a lamp in the far corner, casting the room in shadows. From his peripheral, Jungkook can see a living room with a modest television and a worn-in couch, bare surfaces and walls except a couple framed photographs on a tiny stand.

But Jungkook’s eyes don’t leave Jimin, not when he toes off his boots or when he shrugs out of his coat.

Jimin doesn’t look into Jungkook’s eyes, but he looks everywhere else. He watches Jungkook’s hands as they shake out Jungkook’s coat, then his chest and neck when Jungkook leans close, hanging it on a hook behind Jimin. He looks at Jungkook’s lips when Jungkook doesn’t take a step back, only leaning further into Jimin’s space when he takes hold of Jimin’s zipper and carefully drags it down, ridding him of his coat, too.

Then he closes his eyes when Jungkook pulls him close by his beltloops, bringing him in for a kiss.

They pick up where they left off when they were out in the cold. Jimin opens up for Jungkook this time, so Jungkook sighs into his mouth. Though his hands are still cold, he grips the velvet of Jimin’s shirt and untucks it, only to tuck his hands up under the hem, palming up the length of Jimin’s torso, over his sides, across his back. Jimin shivers at the same time goosebumps raise up.

Jungkook pulls away from the kiss to watch Jimin’s face when he shifts his hands forward, thumbing at Jimin’s peaked nipples beneath his shirt.

“F-fuck,” Jimin gasps when Jungkook does it again. They look at each other now, Jimin’s eyes darker than they’ve ever been. When Jungkook drops his hands down and out of the confines of Jimin’s shirt to tug on his belt buckle, pulling the end through the loop, Jimin whimpers. “Jungkook…”

Jungkook slides the belt off, letting it drop by their feet. He pulls Jimin flush against him, finding Jimin’s skin again, hand flat on the small of his back, skin smooth and warm. Then he slips it past the waistband of Jimin’s loosened pants and palms the globe of Jimin’s ass over his boxer briefs, kissing him hard so he can taste Jimin’s moan.

When Jimin starts pushing him backward, making Jungkook stumble a small pile of shoes, they both laugh, teeth on teeth.

“Where are we going?” Jungkook asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. He kisses down Jimin’s jaw but keeps walking backwards, trusting Jimin to steer him in the right direction. Which is silly, because he then collides with the couch. He chuckles against the skin of Jimin’s throat. “You must be a terrible driver.”

“I’ll have you know, I–” Jungkook cuts Jimin off with a kiss, but then Jimin just talks around it, words garbled. “–got a perfect score on my driving test.”

“Of course you did,” Jungkook murmurs.

Suddenly, they’re in a hallway, and a few steps later, in a different room. Then, with a little oof, Jungkook falls back onto a bed. Jimin’s bed. Jimin crawls into his lap, and Jungkook soon has another handful of Jimin’s ass.

They sit like that for a while – Jungkook on the edge of Jimin’s bed, Jimin clinging to him like a koala, their mouths glued like they’re each other’s only source of air. At some point they take off each other’s shirts. When Jimin starts gently rocking his hips, searching for friction they’re both desperate for, Jungkook’s hands roam Jimin’s bare back, obsessed with the way the muscles there flex and relax.

Just when Jungkook’s thoughts start going fuzzy, everything falling away except the warmth and weight of Jimin, Jimin pulls back. He strokes Jungkook’s hair back from his face, eyes bouncing between Jungkook’s, hesitancy hidden there.

“What?” Jungkook asks, voice soft. “What is it, Jimin? Are you okay?”

Jimin immediately smiles to reassure Jungkook, dipping down to drop a couple quick kisses. But when he pulls back, he takes a deep breath and asks, “Can we try something?”

“Yes,” Jungkook answers automatically.

Jimin giggles, but he sounds breathless.

“You would have to trust me.”

“I do.”

The smile Jimin gives Jungkook is as radiant as it is rambunctious. It makes Jungkook’s heart stutter in his chest and his cock twitch in his pants.

“Wait here,” Jimin says, scrambling off Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook doesn’t think his legs would work if he wanted to go anywhere, anyway, but he keeps that to himself. “I’ll be right back.”

While Jimin rummages around in what appears to be a small closet, Jungkook scoots back to sit in the middle of Jimin’s bed, looking around his room. Its walls are bare, too, but the room is clearly lived in. There’s a bookshelf in one corner bursting with manga. A chair next to the bed has a mountain of clothes on it, which makes Jungkook smile, and there’s a little plant in the windowsill (looking a little sickly, but its pot is really cute – hand-painted yellow with multi-colored spots).

“Okay, so,” Jimin mumbles, kneeing onto the bed. Only now is Jungkook noticing the stark lettering across his ribs. When Jimin is close enough, he reaches out to touch. Jimin chuckles under his breath, side crunching like he’s ticklish. “You don’t have to, but I thought…”

He holds something out, and Jungkook takes it.

It’s floppy and black, feels like it’s made of silicone. Jungkook turns it over in his hands a few times, confused. But then it unfolds, falling open, and Jungkook understands.

“Are these handcuffs?” he says, voice sounding far away.

“Yes,” Jimin says, voice timid. “I’ve had them for over a year, but my – um. I never got to use them. And ever since that one day at the café, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them. About you. About…putting them on you.”

Heat pulls low in Jungkook’s stomach, and if he wasn’t sitting down, pants bunched up, he’s sure his erection would be embarrassingly obvious.

“Yes,” Jungkook says, nodding, holding the soft cuffs back out towards Jimin. “Put them on.”

When Jimin takes them, Jungkook keeps his hands held out, wrists up, like he’s waiting for Jimin to do it now. But that makes Jimin laugh, so Jungkook puts his hands back in his lap, a blush warming his cheeks.

“So eager,” Jimin says, looking pleased.

“Just a little,” Jungkook mumbles, and he can’t help but laugh a little, too. Jimin crawls closer again, until he’s above Jungkook, straddling his lap. Jungkook heavily swallows. “What – where – how do you want me, hyung?”

Jimin doesn’t answer right away, grabbing Jungkook’s face – silicone pressing into his left cheek – and kissing him deep. Jungkook’s hands grip Jimin’s hips, skating up his back, feeling him everywhere while he can. He’s right to, because just a few moments later, Jimin pulls away.

“Lie back,” Jimin murmurs.

Jungkook does as he’s told.

His head hits Jimin’s pillows, and Jimin sits, resting on Jungkook’s hips. Jungkook can’t stop the way his muscles tense, the way he presses up against Jimin’s weight. He can tell Jimin feels his erection when Jimin’s eyes widen before they darken.

“Hands up.”

Jungkook lifts his arms above his head, his hands meeting the vertical bars of Jimin’s iron headboard. When Jimin shimmies up a little, straddling Jungkook’s waist, Jungkook cranes his head so he can watch Jimin slip Jungkook’s hand through the ring on one side. Then he threads the cuffs through his headboard and fits the other end on Jungkook’s free wrist.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, eyes darting all over, watching the way Jungkook’s chest moves with his quick breaths.

Jungkook tugs on the restraint, and it gives a little. The material is a little stretchy, enough he could easily pull his hands free. But that doesn’t matter to Jungkook. It isn’t the way certain restraints cut into his skin that Jungkook loves about this. It isn’t being held back by force, isn’t the helplessness of the position.

It’s the way the cuffs tug on his wrists, a reminder whenever he shifts his weight, when he’s mindless and wants to touch. It’s the way he’s opened up to Jimin. It’s the way Jungkook just lies back and takes it when Jimin runs his hands flat down Jungkook’s chest and his stomach, scooting back down Jungkook’s body, kneeling between Jungkook’s spread legs. It’s the way he looks down at Jungkook like he’s something to eat, like he’s been starved of him. It’s the way Jungkook’s the one prickling with goosebumps, now, spreading down his neck through his limbs.

It’s the way he hands himself over to Jimin, giving him permission to do whatever he pleases.

“Feels really good, hyung.”

“Fuck,” Jimin breathes.

Then he starts to undo Jungkook’s pants.

He’s a little frantic about it, which only makes Jungkook’s blood run hotter, all of it going straight to his cock. Once Jimin has dealt with the fly, Jungkook lifts his hips, quickening the process of getting them shoved over his hips, down his thighs, off his feet and tossed to the floor. When Jimin then starts to work on his own, Jungkook groans, biting his lip, toes curling at the sight of Jimin finally stepping out of his trousers, adonis belt cut sharp down his groin, tight little boxer briefs wrapped around his tight little waist.

“Hyung, please,” Jungkook whines.

“I’m here,” Jimin whispers, crawling over him.

He holds himself up with his hands on either side of Jungkook’s shoulders, lowering down to give Jungkook little kisses, not nearly enough. When he pulls away, Jungkook whines again, but Jimin hushes him, looking down their bodies to watch the way he slowly presses his clothed cock to Jungkook’s, testing the waters, rolling his hips.

“Fuck,” Jungkook gasps.

Jimin does it again. This time he moans.

Then he slams his mouth onto Jungkook’s, and all the urgency floods back.

Their kiss is all teeth and tongue. Jimin keeps rutting against Jungkook, and Jungkook uses all of his core strength to press back. He has to grip the rungs of Jimin’s bed for control, cuffs stretching and springing back every time he unconsciously tugs.

The feeling of Jimin’s cock on his own even through their underwear is rocketing Jungkook to a place he thinks he’ll never want to leave. He’s already leaking, can feel his cock pulse with precome every other press of Jimin’s hips. The rhythm Jimin’s set is steady but not slow, hard but not rough. It’s driving Jungkook crazy.

At least he thinks so, until–

“Baby, hm,” Jimin hums, kissing down Jungkook’s cheek to his jaw, nipping his earlobe before whispering, “Can I mark you up?”

“You’re trying to kill me,” Jungkook groans, hips bucking only for Jimin giggle and grind down even harder, Jungkook’s fingers going numb from how hard he’s holding on. Jungkook thinks he can feel his own precome soaking through his briefs. He wonders if Jimin can feel it, too. “Yes. Fuck – please, yes.”

At that, Jimin moans in Jungkook’s ear – which sends a shudder down his spine, he’s never heard something so hot in his life – and then starts kissing down the side of Jungkook’s neck.

Jungkook braces himself for the bite of a hickey being sucked into his skin, but Jimin doesn’t stop there. He keeps kissing down, sloppy with teeth and tongue, laving over Jungkook’s collarbones before repeating the same thing on the other side, from Jungkook’s ear to his chest.

The noises Jungkook is making should be embarrassing, but he’s far past that, now. Every other kiss, Jimin will smile, teeth pressing to Jungkook’s skin. Jungkook thinks he’s probably laughing at him, and he genuinely could not care less. So he keeps gasping and moaning and sighing and whimpering as Jimin kitten licks his way lower and lower until Jungkook suddenly cries out.

He cranes his neck again, straining to look down his body so he can see the bite mark Jimin left on his tit.

“Hyung,” Jungkook rasps, voice wrecked.

“Too much?” Jimin asks, voice genuine, soft. He kisses Jungkook’s skin where it throbs, leaning back just a breath to watch the skin bloom. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Jungkook hisses when Jimin sinks back down and suckles the reddened skin into his mouth, tongue tracing the indentations his teeth left behind. “Hurts, but – fuck, hyung, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

So Jimin does it again, and again.

With one hand he cups Jungkook’s pec, making the muscle swell before sucking it into his mouth, dragging his teeth over it, latching on. With his other hand he twists and pulls on Jungkook’s other nipple, occasionally switching sides to suck it into his mouth, to circle the bud with his tongue before gently biting it, too.

All the while, Jungkook keeps rutting up into Jimin’s hipbone, his side, chasing all the friction and heat he can, his cock aching. He’s gotten used to having his arms held above his head, so his shoulders have relaxed, but he makes up for it with his lower half. He feels like he could come, just from this, from Jimin marking up his chest, purple splotches spreading over the places Jimin’s touched.

Eventually Jimin sits up, weight over Jungkook’s thighs, eyes and hands poring over the art he’s made of Jungkook’s milky skin.

“You’re perfect, baby, so beautiful,” Jimin murmurs, voice dripping in awe.

Jungkook can see Jimin’s erection tenting his briefs the same way his does.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, voice uneven with want. “Can I see you? Wanna see you so bad.”

Jimin smiles adoringly, lighting a flame in Jungkook’s gut. He scoots back again to his perch between Jungkook’s thighs and without delay grips the waistband of his underwear, taking them off, dropping them onto the sheets. Jungkook’s swallows hard when Jimin’s cock flexes, pretty and curved and flushed dark at the tip, and when Jimin cups his hand over Jungkook’s covered cock, a whine bubbles up and out of him, pressing his hips up into Jimin’s touch.

“Can’t wait to feel you, baby,” Jimin says. He doesn’t look at Jungkook when he says it. Instead he studies the shape of Jungkook still trapped in his briefs, the way he fits in his palm. He applies more pressure, rubbing up and down Jungkook’s shaft. “Wanna make you feel so, so good.”

“I do,” Jungkook urges. “You do.”

Jimin’s hand keeps moving, rhythmic now, focusing up towards Jungkook’s cockhead. Jungkook’s leaked so much at this point that it feels like he already came, that his own come is easing the glide of his cock against his briefs, of his briefs against Jimin’s hand.

“Can I taste you?” Jimin asks, looking up to meet Jungkook’s teary eyes, licking his lips. Then he whispers, “You’re so wet, baby, bet you taste so good.”

“Fuck,” Jungkook breathes. The heat that’s been building deep and low flares, drawing his balls up close to his body. “Hyung, wait, ’m gonna come.”

Jimin’s hand on his cock slows.

“Really?” Jimin asks. He sounds so soft, so open. “You can, baby, go ahead.”

“N-no,” Jungkook chokes.

Jimin’s hand lifts away.

“No?” Jimin’s brow pinches. He runs his hands up and down Jungkook’s thighs. Jungkook can feel how one is stickier than the other. “Why not, baby? You okay?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook manages to say, each word tumbling over the next. “Want you. First I need – hyung, you have to…”

“Shh,” Jimin soothes. “It’s okay, I won’t make you come yet.” With the hand he was touching Jungkook with, Jimin reaches down to touch himself. Jungkook watches his chubby fingers wrap around his chubby cock, foreskin tugging as he strokes himself loose and slow. “We can wait, there’s no rush.”

“Want you,” Jungkook whines.

Jimin laughs.

But he leans back over Jungkook, gives him slow, warm kisses until Jungkook’s heart calms down, until that burning need for release dissipates, just a bit.

“Better?” Jimin asks, kissing Jungkook’s nose, his forehead, his cheeks, his chin.

“Mm,” Jungkook hums.

Jimin takes the opportunity to kiss down Jungkook’s neck again, this time stopping to suck a couple little marks into the skin there. Jungkook can do nothing but take it, hips lifting, finding only air as Jimin holds himself up, slowly making his way down Jungkook’s chest. Jimin focuses on a couple spots that are especially tender, making Jungkook choke on his breath, but he doesn’t stay long. He keeps kissing lower and lower until he is back between Jungkook’s legs, on his stomach.

“Look at you,” Jimin breathes, rubbing his hand over Jungkook’s cock again, watching the way it twitches right in front of his face. Jungkook’s neck aches from looking down his nose to see every little thing Jimin does, but he doesn’t dare stop. His cock aches, too, from being so hard for so long, from the friction of his boxers. “You like it this much?”

Jungkook nods, fingers flexing around Jimin’s headboard again when Jimin blows on Jungkook’s cock. It’s like a punch to the gut, even through the cotton.

Then Jimin drags the fat of his tongue from Jungkook’s base to the tip, looking up through his lashes to watch Jungkook as he does it. Jungkook’s entire body tenses, a strangled noise rumbling deep in his chest. When Jimin does it again, Jungkook collapses down, eyes rolling back, moaning low and long.

He can’t stop trembling, the feeling of Jimin’s warm tongue lapping at his tip overwhelming. Jimin moans, too, likely tasting the salt of Jungkook’s precome that coats the inside of his briefs. His hands press into Jungkook’s hips, holding him down as Jungkook writhes, uncontrollable. When he suckles Jungkook’s cockhead, saturating the fabric that clings to it with his spit, he digs his thumbs in so hard Jungkook knows there will be bruises in the morning.

When Jimin finally grips the waistband of Jungkook’s boxers and frees the tip of Jungkook’s cock, Jungkook slurs a litany of curses before Jimin’s lips even touch him.

Jimin doesn’t take his boxers off all the way, leaving them slung low on Jungkook’s hips so that just the top half of Jungkook’s cock is free. He kisses Jungkook’s frenulum, slow and wet, gently sucking. Then he circles his tongue over it with the same lazy movements. Another kiss, another touch of his tongue, again and again.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says through his teeth, sweat dripping down his temples, “I’m close, please, I’m close.”

“Good,” Jimin murmurs, pressing one last kiss to the underside of Jungkook’s cock, and Jungkook really thinks he’s going to come. But Jimin sits up, then, looking down at Jungkook with stars in his eyes. “You’re doing so well, baby.”

“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs.

Then he lifts his hips to help Jimin finally, finally remove his boxer briefs.

The wetness of Jungkook’s cock against the cool air of the room is a shock. Before he can get used to it, Jimin runs his hands all the way up the insides of Jungkook’s legs, from his ankles to his knees to his thighs, gently spreading them.

The moment Jimin’s mouth latches onto the softest part of Jungkook’s inner thighs, Jungkook spreads them wide without needing Jimin’s encouragement.

Jimin bites and sucks Jungkook there, too. Jungkook is a mess of moans, every ragged exhale affected.

But when something small, warm and wet traces down the seam of his balls, down his perineum, Jungkook shouts.

“Hyung! Hyung, hyung wait, no no no…”

He crunches up again, stomach burning, only to see Jimin’s saliva-slick tongue switching directions, trailing back up past his balls to the base of his cock where he places another quick kiss. When he pulls off, Jungkook thinks he might cry.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, looking a little guilty beneath the lust clouding his features. “I should have asked first. Not tonight?”

“I’m just – I didn’t…I’m dirty.”

Jimin giggles. “Oh.”

“’m sorry,” Jungkook huffs. He would have never thought in a million years he would be in Jimin’s bed with his legs spread, hole feeling exposed and neglected all because he didn’t fucking prep. “I would, it’s just.” He collapses back down. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says, amusement still coloring his tone. “I’ll still make you feel good.”

Then he wraps the fingers of one hand around the base of Jungkook’s cock, lifting it so he can suck the tip into his mouth. With his other hand, he presses a knuckle to the soft flesh between Jungkook’s ass and balls, kneading hard and deep, massaging a spot that makes Jungkook’s insides come alive.

“Fuck!”

It’s the first time Jungkook almost rips his hands out of the cuffs so he can tangle his fingers in Jimin’s hair. Jimin’s mouth is magic, saliva dripping down, tongue curling and throat opening, bobbing up and down more than half the length and–

“Gonna – hyung, oh fuck I’m coming–”

Jimin pulls off quickly, though.

And he isn’t.

Jungkook’s cock pulses, pleasure traveling in waves through his body, but he isn’t coming. It’s like he’s clinging to the edge of it, arms swinging to keep his balance before he takes the irreversible plunge.

“Fuck,” Jungkook pants, chest heaving, heart rabbiting. He thinks his entire body is probably red. “Fucking…fuck.”

“I’m gonna ride you,” Jimin says. His voice is unlike anything Jungkook’s ever heard. Adoringly sharp. Protective and predatory. “Need to get myself ready.”

He crawls up Jungkook’s body so he can reach his bedside table, rummaging around. His chest is close enough to Jungkook’s face that Jungkook can strain and stretch, brushing barely-there kisses into Jimin’s flawless skin.

“You gonna watch me like a good boy?” Jimin asks, and Jungkook can only moan.

Jimin chuckles.

Then he arranges himself next to Jungkook so he’s on his hands and knees, back arching, ass up facing Jungkook. Then Jimin lays his cheek on Jungkook’s thigh, breath tickling Jungkook’s balls. With a steadying elbow on the mattress, he reaches back, fingers glistening with lube, and rubs two fingers over his dark, pretty hole.

“Hyung, fuck,” Jungkook breathes.

Jimin presses a finger inside.

“I fucked myself last night,” Jimin says, breathless, already lining up a second. “So I’m still a little loose. I’ll get ready for you quickly, baby, don’t wanna wait much longer.”

Jungkook’s body is so tired, his shoulders and arms are starting to ache, but he still has enough energy to cant his hips up, flexing his cock, following the same rhythm Jimin uses to finger himself. Jimin’s so close, close enough Jungkook could reach down and yank him back, make him sit on Jungkook’s face so Jungkook could help stretch him with his tongue.

But Jungkook only watches, because that’s what Jimin wants.

“Can see what you’re doing, baby,” Jimin says, three fingers deep, watching Jungkook hump the air. “Want you to fuck me like that, mmkay? Can you do that for me?”

“Hyung,” Jungkook mewls.

Then Jimin pulls his fingers out of his hole, leaving it gaping just a bit, enough it makes Jungkook’s mouth water, and he shifts a little closer to Jungkook’s side, angling himself so he can mouth at Jungkook’s cock. But before he can drag his lips up Jungkook’s shaft, when just his hot breath hits Jungkook’s skin, Jungkook comes with a broken moan.

“Oh,” Jimin gasps.

Jungkook spills onto his stomach, up his chest. Jimin grips the base of Jungkook’s cock with his clean hand, angling it up so some drops of come reach the tender bruises Jimin gave him, which only makes Jungkook come harder. When Jungkook’s orgasm slows, his cock drooling its last dribbling bits, Jimin closes his mouth around the tip and sucks Jungkook dry.

“It’s okay,” Jimin coos, grabbing his discarded underwear to mop up Jungkook’s front. “You were perfect, baby, you did so good.”

Once Jungkook’s less sticky, Jimin kisses him hard, tongues tangling together, Jungkook tasting his own bitterness on Jimin’s tongue. Jimin reaches down to start stroking Jungkook back to hardness, and Jungkook cries out, so sensitive. But once Jimin grips the root of Jungkook’s cock, Jimin pulls away with big eyes.

“You’re still hard?”

Jungkook laughs. “Holy shit.”

Jimin straddles his hips.

“Still want to ride you,” he says, tearing open a condom. Jungkook has no idea when he grabbed it. “Can I fuck you, baby?”

Jungkook nods, already feeling frantic again, still coming down from his first orgasm. He hisses when Jimin rolls the condom over the length of his cock. Jungkook notices Jimin’s hands shaking as he does it. But Jimin wastes no time lining Jungkook’s cock up with his hole, circling it around the rim, lube sticky and loud. Then he bears his weight down until Jungkook’s tip slips past resistance.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook chants as Jimin sinks lower and lower, taking him in bit by bit. Too soon he bottoms out, surrounding Jungkook in tight heat. “Jimin. Fuck, Jimin, please.”

They both groan when Jimin circles his hips, his cock bobbing stiff between his legs. Then Jimin falls forward, rocking forward and back, friction on his cock from Jungkook’s stomach and in his hole from Jungkook’s cock as he takes Jungkook’s lips in an open-mouth kiss.

Jungkook tries his best to meet Jimin’s movements with his own. Jimin hums in his mouth, sucking his tongue, and everything feels syrupy and good. But it isn’t long before Jungkook can’t take it anymore, until he starts to beg.

“Hyung,” Jungkook huffs. “Please. Need to touch you. Can I? Please?”

Jimin props himself up, quickening the roll of his hips, and Jungkook tries to keep up. Their skin slaps together, Jimin’s eyelashes flutter, he bites his lip.

“Hyung, please,” Jungkook tries again, tugging on his restraint, voice shaky. The loop on his right wrist is starting to slip off, sweat easing the glide. “Want you.”

“Yes,” Jimin murmurs, lowering back down to nuzzle Jungkook’s nose with his own. “Of course, baby, yes.”

So Jungkook tugs his wrists free, ignores the twinge in his shoulders as he reaches down to grip Jimin’s hips, to guide him onto his cock, pressing as deep as he can.

“Fuck,” Jimin moans, tucking his face into Jungkook’s neck. “That’s it, baby – fuck, feels so good.”

Something about the way Jimin says it makes something snap inside of Jungkook. Before he knows it, they’re flipped over, Jimin beneath him, blinking up with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Jungkook grips his cock at the base and guides it back to Jimin’s hole, pressing in slow.

Then he pulls back just to slam back in.

“Jungkook,” Jimin gasps, gripping Jungkook’s upper arms until his nails start to dig in. Jungkook does it again, harder. “Yes, Jungkook – ah, don’t stop, f-fuck, oh my god.”

The rest is a blur.

Jungkook finds his rhythm, drooling at the sound of their skin slapping together, of his cock and all the lube Jimin used making a mess of Jimin’s hole. Now he ducks down to tuck his nose into Jimin’s neck, breathing harshly against his skin as Jimin clings to his back, dragging his nails down the length of it, encouraging Jungkook to keep going, faster, harder.

When Jungkook feels his orgasm build again, he says as much, and when Jimin nods, sweaty forehead against his own, Jungkook reaches between them to tug Jimin’s cock to the tempo of his thrusts.

Watching Jimin come undone below him tips Jungkook over, too. Jimin’s release drips down his fist and Jungkook’s spills into the condom, but they both keep moving, gently rocking against each other long after they come down. Jungkook can’t stop kissing Jimin – his lips, his jaw, his neck, his face.

Eventually, though, Jungkook softens enough to slip out of Jimin, making them both whine.

Jungkook flops onto his side.

“Stay here,” Jimin murmurs, voice shot.

He brings over a towel and cleans them both up, taking the condom Jungkook tied and tossing it in the trash. They’re both still sticky and sore, but they don’t care. Jimin crawls right back into bed, wrapping himself around Jungkook.

Jungkook thinks maybe there’s more for them to talk about, but they can do it later. Right now, they just hold each other, trading slow, soft kisses and sweet, whispered praises until they let sleep take them under.

x

When Jungkook wakes up, he’s alone.

Ice fills his chest, but when he reaches a hand to the empty spot at his side, it’s still warm. Jimin can’t have gone far. His suspicions are confirmed when he hears the sound of a shower coming from the hallway. Jungkook detangles himself from Jimin’s sheets and pads naked through Jimin’s apartment, following the noises until he finds the bathroom.

Jimin stands under the shower’s stream, just letting it run over him. Jungkook can see through the glass door that Jimin’s shoulders are slumped and his mouth is downturned, looking all sad.

Jungkook will have none of that.

When Jungkook opens the shower door and slips in, Jimin looks up, startled. His eyes immediately go below Jungkook’s neck, widening even more, and damn, for a second Jungkook wishes he stopped in front of the mirror to take inventory.

But this is way better.

He grabs Jimin’s wrist and pulls him in, hugging him to his chest. At first Jimin is tense all over, but then Jungkook feels him sigh into his skin before the tension bleeds out of him.

“What are you doing,” Jungkook asks, voice gravely, starting to rock Jimin side to side, pressing a kiss to Jimin’s wet hair.

“Taking a shower,” Jimin deadpans.

Jungkook reaches down and smacks Jimin’s ass, and Jimin yelps a quick laugh.

“Don’t get smart with me,” Jungkook says, squeezing Jimin tighter. “Why didn’t you stay in bed? I was ready to cuddle the fuck outta you.”

Jimin sighs again, pressing his forehead to Jungkook’s shoulder.

“’Cause I’m dumb and overthink.”

Jungkook frowns, pulling back to look at Jimin disapprovingly down his nose.

“Do I really need to tell the counselor why he shouldn’t talk down on himself?”

Jimin groans, thunking his head against Jungkook’s shoulder a couple more times.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Jungkook tilts Jimin’s chin up so he can look at him and mirrors the pout on Jimin’s lips. “I really like you,” Jungkook says, trying to dump all of his sincerity into the words. “Please don’t punish yourself for liking me back. I’m not going anywhere.” Jimin’s eyes start to shine. “I know I’m not exactly boyfriend material, but I’m going to watch all of your cheesy romance movies and take notes so that you’ll–”

Jimin shuts him up with a kiss.

It’s wet and hot – partly because of the shower, partly because of the way Jimin licks into Jungkook’s mouth – and Jungkook thinks he could stand here in the steam with Jimin until their fingers and toes prune up. But when he feels Jimin’s cock start to fill against his hip, he pulls back, scraping Jimin’s hair back off his forehead.

“I like you, too,” Jimin murmurs, closing his eyes and softly moaning at the way Jungkook runs his blunt nails over his scalp. “Especially when you do that.”

“Have you washed yet?”

Jimin shakes his head no.

So Jungkook makes Jimin turn around, letting the shower’s stream hit Jimin’s chest while Jungkook grabs Jimin’s shampoo and scrubs it into Jimin’s hair, following it with conditioner. Then he grabs Jimin’s body wash and suds it up between his palms and starts at Jimin’s neck, putting his brief hyperfixation on correct massage therapy technique to good use.

He works his way down, working Jimin’s shoulders, his upper back, his arms. When he reaches his lower back, he drops to his knees and hears Jimin’s sharp intake of breath. Jungkook moves to Jimin’s thighs and then his calves, giggling with Jimin when he makes Jimin lift up one foot at a time so he can scrub between his toes.

Then he makes his way back up.

Jungkook gets some more soap before briefly rubbing over Jimin’s hips, but he’s getting impatient, so he doesn’t last long, there. He starts by just fitting Jimin’s ass in his hands, watching the way it bounces back when he drops them. Jimin laughs again, but he’s dead silent when Jungkook starts kneading the muscles there, working his way inward until he’s between Jimin’s cheeks.

Jimin has to brace himself on the shower wall at his front when Jungkook’s thumb brushes over his hole. He shifts his weight, spreading his legs a bit more to make it easier for Jungkook to wash him there.

When Jimin’s breathing turns erratic, Jungkook stops and stands, turning Jimin around to rinse his backside off in the water, only to repeat the whole process on his front. He works over Jimin’s shoulders and his chest, all the way down to his stomach before he kneels again. When Jungkook wraps a soapy hand around Jimin’s swollen cock, Jimin mewls and reaches down to grip Jungkook by the hair.

After all the suds have washed down the drain, Jungkook takes Jimin into his mouth.

“J-jungkook,” Jimin breathes, pushing Jungkook deeper onto his cock with a gentle hand. “Bed. Let’s go – fuck – back to bed.”

They do a half-assed job of drying off before falling back into Jimin’s sheets. Jungkook eases Jimin onto his stomach and eats him out, slowly opening him up with his fingers and his tongue. Once Jimin’s dripping, Jungkook rolls on a condom and fucks Jimin slow and careful, knowing Jimin is still a little sore, getting off on Jimin’s moans muffled into his pillow.

“Cuddles,” Jimin pouts when they’re done, making grabby hands at Jungkook.

Jungkook is lying on Jimin’s chest, Jimin gently tracing the raised red lines he left down Jungkook’s back last night when Jungkook hears Jimin’s tummy rumble.

“You hungry?” he murmurs, resting his hand atop Jimin’s flat belly.

“A little,” Jimin giggles.

“I know a cute place we could go.”

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a café just a few bus stops down the road,” Jungkook says, pressing teasing kisses into Jimin’s skin. “Cozy ambiance. Friendly staff. Wanna go?”

“Lead the way.”

When they get to their café about half an hour later, they’re surprised to see a pretty girl behind the counter instead of their sunshiney friend. Apparently Mondays are Hoseok’s days off, and for some reason, that makes them laugh until they’re pink in the face. When the waitress hands Jimin the tablet to pay at the end of their visit, they laugh even harder.

But before they get up and leave, Jungkook nudges Jimin’s shin under the table and asks him the burning question he should have asked two months ago.

“Hyung, can I have your number?”

(After some begging, Jimin says yes.)