Work Text:
Hoseok has been slouched in a chair in front of the mirrors for all of thirty seconds, waiting for the stylist to start on his hair, when he feels the soft tap on his shoulder. His eyes flick up from his phone to see Jimin’s reflection standing behind his, the younger’s gaze lowered as he gently tugs one of Hoseok’s earbuds out, the noise of the dressing room rushing back to him.
‘Hyung, you’re needed,’ he says, meeting Hoseok’s eye in the mirror. He’s already been through hair and make-up, by the looks of things, eyes slicked dark, lips bright, hair soft and parted, falling neatly over his forehead since he hasn’t had time to mess with it yet. His dark clothes set off his skin like nothing Hoseok’s ever seen and he can’t help but grin, leaning his head back against Jimin’s stomach.
‘What for?’ he asks. ‘I’m waiting to get my hair done.’
‘It won’t take long,’ Jimin assures him, fingers brushing the side of his neck, turning as the flustered stylist approaches them, hairspray in hand. ‘Taehyung can get his hair done first, right, noona?’ he asks, so sweet that Hoseok almost rolls his eyes at his own reflection – no one can say no to that voice. ‘And Yoongi-hyung’s still asleep, so he’ll need his done as well.’
‘Well… yes, I suppose so,’ the stylist says slowly, returning Jimin’s small smile even as she starts to frown in dismay. ‘But is it really important, Jimin-ah? We’re tight for time and I’m already set up for Hoseok.’
Face turning all the correct shades of solemn, Jimin nods. ‘It’s important – Sejin-hyung wants to talk to him,’ he says, voice lowering ominously as his eyes widen a touch. ‘I dunno what about, but he seemed kinda quiet in that way he goes.’
‘I see,’ the stylist murmurs, with a knowing nod, and gives Hoseok a tap on the shoulder. ‘Alright, you’d better go. I’ll leave you till last, Hoseok, but hurry back. Taehyung-ah!’
Hoseok tries to catch Jimin’s eye as he gets to his feet, frowning because what the hell has he done now? But Jimin’s already turning for the door and Hoseok’s left to follow, winding the cable of his earbuds quickly round his phone.
‘Yah, Jiminnie,’ he hisses, jogging to catch up to the younger’s brisk pace as soon as they’re out in the corridor. ‘What’ve I done? And where is Sejin-hyung anyway?’ he adds, frown deepening when he realises they’re only moving further into the maze of backstage hallways, passing dozens of sleek black numbered doors.
‘It’s just down here a bit, hyung,’ Jimin says dismissively, and Hoseok frowns some more because unless he’s way off the mark entirely, Jimin seems a touch pissed with him too, brusque and subdued, walking off ahead of him, his pace unusually hurried. It’s a drastic change from this morning’s Jimin, limbs wrapped firmly around Hoseok, refusing to let either of them out of bed, mumbling threats into the crook of Hoseok’s neck if he dared move.
‘Jimin, hey, wait—‘ he says, fingers brushing the younger’s jacket as he tries to get him to slow down, but instead, Jimin stops suddenly, reaching for the handle of a door on the right.
‘In here, hyung,’ he says, shoving it open and standing there, worryingly blank-faced, waiting for Hoseok to go inside.
With a sigh, Hoseok does, too busy frowning at Jimin as he passes by to take note of where exactly he’s going. He’s already taken several steps before he glances up, stopping in his tracks, face slackening in surprise. ‘Jimin, what—‘ he begins, but he’s cut off by a shove to the small of his back, pushing him into the room enough that Jimin can snap the door shut behind them both.
‘Jimin, what the hell?’ Hoseok says, frozen in place where he stands because it’s so pitch fucking black that he can’t see his hand in front of his face, his heart hammering hard against his ribs.
‘Shhh,’ he hears the younger mutter impatiently, somewhere kind of in front of him and to the left, fumbling noises and the softer sound of Jimin’s breathing.
‘I will not shhh, Jimin, you can’t just—‘
And then the bulb overhead blinks into life – or maybe life is kind of a strong word. The light is low and a dull, dusky orange, like something that lit up a good portion of the last century and should’ve retired long ago. It illuminates the silhouettes of stacks of boxes and crates of broken stage equipment, some of those rails on wheels stuffed with dust-covered clothing bags. Even with the light on, Hoseok can’t see most of the room as he turns in a slow half circle, but he can tell it’s shallow and narrow, cluttered.
It’s a goddamn store cupboard.
Clearly devoid of any angry Sejins.
‘Jiminnie, what is this?’ he asks again, a little irritated maybe because he really believed he was in some sort of shit over something. ‘If this is hide and seek with Tae again, I swear—‘
‘It’s the only privacy we’re gonna get today,’ Jimin says, and the rest of Hoseok’s words melt to nothing in his mouth at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, low and deliberately smooth. When he turns to look at him, Jimin is leaning against the door, eyelids low, head tilted at an angle that casts his jaw in lethal shadow under the weak light. ‘That’s what it is.’
Oh, Hoseok realises, something hot and tight sparking just under his stomach as Jimin oh-so-goddamn-slowly starts shrugging off the studded leather jacket, leaving him in the black tank that shows the muscles of his arms working gently under the skin.
‘Oh,’ Hoseok manages aloud this time, teeth snagging on his lower lip as Jimin steps towards him, hands catching his hips to walk him back up against the wall.
‘Well, it’s your birthday,’ Jimin murmurs, leaning in to trace his lips lightly along the line of Hoseok’s collarbone. ‘We have to do something, right?’
Hoseok feels the softness of Jimin’s lips start to catch at his skin, the barest brush of kisses in the hollow of his shoulder and Hoseok’s eyes fall shut as he brings his hand up to Jimin’s head, fingertips sliding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. God, it’s instant, the way the pre-stage tension, the kind that creeps up and lurks without him even knowing, falls away from him like a shirt Jimin can easily strip off with his lips on Hoseok’s skin. But he can already feel the disappointment blooming sour in the pit of his stomach, the rational side of his brain forcing words out of his reluctant mouth. ‘It’d be nice, Jiminnie,’ he murmurs, turning his own head so his lips brush the younger’s temple, ‘but we don’t have time right now. We’re on soon.’
Jimin makes a noise, a quiet grunt of disagreement. ‘Has to be now,’ he argues lowly, the words spoken right up against Hoseok’s throat as he presses in closer, hands moving from Hoseok’s hips, sliding slow and deliberate up his ribs, his chest. ‘We won’t get home before midnight and it’s not special if it’s not your birthday.’
‘Jimin—‘ he begins, but Jimin’s lips are on his jaw now and Hoseok can hear how ragged his breath is already, hot and damp against his cheek, sending another prickle of arousal out through his body. He mouths a curse into the dusty air as his head tilts weakly to the side, powerless against the press of Jimin’s soft mouth. Because he wants to, he really wants to, but birthday or no birthday, Hoseok doubts that the managers would approve of them holding up the entire show for the sole purpose of getting off in a cupboard.
He tries again, squeezing gently at the back of Jimin’s neck. ‘Hey, i-it’s okay if it’s not my birthday, Jimin-ah, I—‘
‘Hyung?’ Jimin says softly, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok’s cheek in that way he knows he can never fucking resist, dropping a light peck onto the corner of his mouth. And when he speaks again, Hoseok feels his breath ghost hot over his own lips. ‘Shut up.’
‘Jimin—‘
‘Shut up.’
And then he’s kissing him, hard enough that Hoseok’s head knocks back into the wall with such force that it almost hurts – although the groan that rises up from his chest has nothing to do with the pain. Jimin’s kisses are warm, wet, unusually insistent, tainted with the faint chemical sweet of lip balm. His arms slide up to loop around Hoseok’s neck, pulling him in close, bodies flush, and if Hoseok was a stronger person, his mouth might not have fallen open at the first wet flick of Jimin’s tongue against his lips.
But Hoseok is weak. Hoseok is so fucking weak and he has no idea what’s suddenly gotten into Jimin, but in all the times he’s been dragged into dark corners and empty waiting rooms by the younger, he’s never been like this, never this persistent, never this eager. He’s like a man possessed as his fingers slide up and into Hoseok’s hair, curling tight enough to sting, and when Hoseok’s hands sneak down his sides to find his ass, the way Jimin’s back arches has another groan catching in Hoseok’s throat, his fingers digging into the firm muscle as Jimin starts moving his hips, just barely, just enough that Hoseok can feel the hardness being ground against his thigh.
‘Fuck,’ he hisses into the kiss, his teeth knocking lightly against the other boy’s. ‘Fuck, Jimin—how—you’re so fucking hard.’
‘Exactly,’ he says, his breath sweet in Hoseok’s mouth, and god, his voice is thick and low, honey dripping into Hoseok’s ears. ‘So I don’t care if the performance has to wait at this point, hyung, you are fucking me in this cupboard.’
‘Shit, Jimin,’ Hoseok groans, his head tipping back against the wall as Jimin’s lips drop to his neck again, his fingers moving to tangle in the elder’s braces, using them as a handhold while he rolls their hips together. And Hoseok can feel his jeans tightening up in places they shouldn’t be, the heat low in his gut starting to flood through his veins because Jimin is panting now, small, rough sounds in the back of his throat as he grinds his hips against Hoseok’s while all the older boy is doing is kneading his ass. Jimin’s always been responsive to every touch, beautifully responsive, but this is extreme even for him and maybe Hoseok doesn’t get it, but it’s still fucking irresistible.
Maybe they can be late.
Just a little late.
The tiniest bit.
‘Fuck, Jimin—Jimin,’ Hoseok breathes out, moving his hands back up to cup Jimin’s jaw, pulling him up for another kiss, all teeth and desperate lips. ‘Let me suck you off,’ he murmurs against his mouth, thumbs stroking along the soft lines of the younger’s cheekbones. ‘I don’t care if it’s my birthday, it’s what I want, come on. We’ll have tonight to—‘
But Jimin is already shaking his head, pulling away a little, enough that Hoseok can see his face properly now. He looks unreal, the light sheen of sweat on his skin leaves him almost glowing under the dull light, lips kiss-flushed and cheeks dusted pink. Hoseok’s so taken aback that it’s a moment before he notices Jimin’s fumbling between them, the distinct sound of a zipper, jeans hitting the floor.
Hoseok feels his eyes widen at the softer sound of boxers following. ‘Jimin, what—‘
‘Give me your hand,’ he says, and Hoseok’s not about to pretend Jimin’s commanding tone doesn’t do something for him, but he’s confused as hell, mouth opening to ask more questions.
Jimin, however, is not fucking around. With a roll of his eyes, he catches Hoseok’s elbow, fingers trailing down his arm as he guides it back. The only thing Hoseok’s hands know to do when in close proximity with Park Jimin’s ass is to touch it, so that’s what they do, but they go no further than that with him still busy frowning at his boyfriend. Jimin’s gazing up at him through his lashes in a way that might look pissed if not for the way his chest is heaving, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he squeezes Hoseok’s arm again.
‘Keep going.’
And for some reason, Hoseok doesn’t dare argue this time, palm sliding over the smooth skin of Jimin’s ass until his fingers—
Until his fingers find something distinctly not skin.
At first, it’s a fleeting moment of confusion, where Hoseok feels the Not Skin under his fingertips, eyebrows drawing together, blinking in surprise. It’s a fleeting moment of confusion until Hoseok’s fingers inspect the Not Skin further and he notices the flutter of Jimin’s eyelashes, the part of his lips, his shallow breaths.
A sudden pulse of heat throbs fast and hard out through Hoseok’s body, breath stopping, face going slack as he hooks his finger cautiously into the smooth, hard ring in the cleft of Jimin’s ass. Jimin is looking up at him again, teeth sunk into his own lower lip, the quirk of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, cocky as shit even though he’s got his fingers curled around Hoseok’s braces like he’s going to snap them.
‘See,’ he says softly, the tip of his nose bumping lightly against Hoseok’s. ‘Half the work’s already done.’
Hoseok feels the breath he’s been holding start to trickle out in a slow stream through his parted lips as he stares his boyfriend, the dark, glazed eyes falling shut as Hoseok’s fingers explore further, tracing around the point where whatever the hell is on the other end of that ring disappears inside his body.
‘Park Jimin,’ he manages to hiss out between his teeth, quite unsure if it’s the swelling in his heart or his pants that floors him the most right now.
Jimin hitches an eyebrow up, his crinkled eyes and cheeky smile just far too fucking precious for this situation. ‘Happy birthday?’
And all Hoseok can do in reply to that is grin and groan, low and ragged, catching Jimin firmly by the waist and half spinning them round till he’s backed up against a stack of boxes. He can’t get his mouth back on Jimin’s fast enough, teeth catching on that sinfully plush lower lip, sucking on the caught flesh and thanking all the powers that be that this stack of boxes seems stable enough to press his boyfriend up against hard, because Hoseok couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Jimin moans – the first proper noise he’s made yet – as Hoseok slides his tongue into his mouth, his hands pushing hungrily up underneath the younger’s tank, rucking it up to his armpits where it stays because Hoseok can’t stop kissing him long enough to get it off. He lets his palms smooth back down over Jimin’s skin, so silky soft in contrast to the firm muscle underneath that makes him ache as he slides his hands around to the younger’s back, moving down again to find his ass.
He’s more cautious this time, his touch gentler and his movements slower, but Jimin still groans quietly against his lips as he runs the tips of his fingers down to find the ring. ‘What the fuck, Jimin,’ he pulls back to whisper, the other boy’s eyes flickering open, glassy and hazed. ‘Where did you even get this?’
‘On-online,’ he says, tripping over his words as Hoseok gives the ring an experimental tug. He knows what it is – of course he knows what it is – but he’s never even seen one outside of porn, never mind used one. It’s a little terrifying, if he’s going to be honest, but a lot intriguing, and what it’s done to his boyfriend is fucking unbearable.
Curious, he unhooks his finger, slides his hands back up to Jimin’s cheeks again before he tightens his grip suddenly, gives an experimental squeeze and he is not disappointed as Jimin’s face crumples, lips parting with a gasp.
‘Ah, h-hyung,’ he moans, head falling back, hips bucking forward, and the feeling of his bare cock brushing heavy and hot up against Hoseok’s thigh is what just about snaps him.
‘Turn around,’ he murmurs lowly, his voice rough enough around the edges now that it’s almost a growl. Jimin wastes no time in complying, turning to brace his palms against the wall, just slightly bent, just enough that Hoseok can see the wink of something black between his cheeks as he strokes his hands down over Jimin’s sharp hips.
He licks his lips, tasting hints of leftover balm.
He has always loved Jimin in black.
‘Tell me how it feels,’ he says, using his thumbs to spread him apart, take a better look. God, that only makes it worse, the black ring a stark contrast to Jimin’s skin, but he can see nothing further than that, the pink-flushed rim of Jimin’s hole clenched tight around it. ‘Jimin-ah, does it feel good?’
Jimin nods. ‘Kinda,’ he groans, ‘feels—it—ah, fuck, Hoseok.’
Hoseok hears the soft thud of Jimin’s forehead meeting the wall as he twists the ring, the movement of the plug inside his body causing him to tense up, a shudder running down his spine.
Hoseok curses softly, almost reverently under his breath, eyes on the side of Jimin’s face now that he all but has his cheek pressed against the peeling paint, teeth snagged on his lower lip, brow knitted tight in pleasure. ‘So fucking beautiful,’ Hoseok mumbles, leaning in to mouth at the back of his boyfriend’s neck. ‘How long have you had this in, Jiminnie?’
‘Sh-shower—this morning,’ he grits out, and Hoseok’s groans softly at the thought of Jimin in the shower, the flush of heat under his wet skin, stifling moans as he worked himself open on his own fingers.
‘Fuck… Fuck, Jimin, that was hours ago.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you serious?’ Hoseok mumbles, lips still on the shorter boy’s neck as he noses the soft hair at his nape, sweet with the scent of product and soap. ‘This whole time? You went on stage with this?’ He twists it a little more, as if Jimin might forget what they were talking about.
‘Why—ah, why do you think I’m so fucking hard, hyung?’ he all but growls (as close to a growl as he can get with that sweet Busan lilt), breath heavy and teeth gritted. ‘Every time I move, it-it presses into me and—god, dancing was a nightmare.’
Hoseok grins as he leans in, lips catching on the delicate shell of Jimin’s ear. ‘The good kind or the bad kind?’ he murmurs, relishing Jimin’s moan stifled against his own arm as Hoseok pulls against the resistance of muscle, sliding the plug out just a few centimetres before letting it go again. Jimin makes another small sound as it sinks back inside his body, his breath rushing out of him in a gasp.
‘D-don’t take it out unless you’re gonna fuck me, hyung,’ he says roughly, just about managing to cast Hoseok a narrow glare over his shoulder. The kohl around his eyes is already smudged, the hair at his temples damp, beads of sweat on his cheekbones tinted with make-up. Instead of gloss, his lips are now coloured with the darker flush of desperate kisses, raw and shining, and holy shit, they are gonna be in so much trouble.
But Jimin’s words suddenly tip the strain in Hoseok’s jeans over the line between uncomfortable and fucking excruciating, the heat throbbing hard out through his own body, the frantic need to have Jimin naked, now, moaning in his ear, fingers tight in his hair, legs tangled up in his, and while all that might not be quite possible at this moment in time, Hoseok’s sure as hell going to take whatever he can get.
It’s his birthday.
‘Jiminnie,’ he groans, his mouth on the younger’s shoulder, fingers rubbing small circles into his hipbones as he tries to think, tries to organise himself through the fire flooding his veins, dulling his wits. ‘God, of course I’m gonna fuck you, Jiminnie, but—‘
‘Lube, condom, jeans,’ Jimin says quickly, reading his mind, then leans his forehead against the wall again with a soft, strained noise. ‘God, fuck, hurry up, hyung.’
And Hoseok does hurry, the two small packets (and also a handy pack of tissues – proof they do this far too often) freed from Jimin’s jeans and dropped atop the stack of boxes within seconds. Hoseok’s mouth is back on Jimin like he’s been starved of him for centuries, not seconds, hands roaming uselessly, as if they don’t already know by heart every lump, bump and mole on Jimin’s body. The tank leaves a good portion of his shoulder blades exposed, soft, golden skin that Hoseok can’t resist tasting too, yanking the top to the side enough that the mark he sucks there will be well hidden when the other boy inevitably strips his jacket off on stage.
Always such a fucking tease.
But Jimin is evidently not in the mood for teasing right now, poking an elbow back impatiently into the elder’s ribs as Hoseok continues to suck tiny, barely blooming marks in the smooth hollow between his shoulder blades. ‘Hoseok.’
‘I know, I’m just—yah, brat,’ he snaps, all faux annoyance, grabbing Jimin’s hips and pulling him back roughly against him to murmur in his ear, ‘you can’t jump me in a cupboard, all horny and handsy, then start telling me to hurry it up. On my birthday.’
‘Hyung,’ Jimin says, the word huffing out on a soft laugh as he leans his head back against Hoseok’s shoulder, looking up at him, ‘we have like 15 minutes to fuck and clean up and bribe the noonas to not wring our necks with their bare hands for making a mess of each other. You can play later.’
Hoseok hums with interest at this, a hand sneaking down between their bodies to catch at the plug again. ‘Can I play with this?’ he asks, tugging gently just to watch the way Jimin’s eyelids flutter shut, his lips parting as he sucks in a breath.
‘Yeah,’ he whispers after a moment, eyes still closed, lashes fanning down over his cheeks in a way that should be absolutely illegal. ‘Yeah, you can play with that, too.’
Hoseok can’t resist – can never resist – the soft, pliant invitation of Jimin’s parted lips, leaning down to kiss him deep, neck bent uncomfortably at this odd angle, but who the hell cares when Jimin is kissing him back, his panting breaths warm in Hoseok’s mouth. And anyway, Jimin remedies the angle a moment later when he collects himself, when Hoseok unhooks his finger from that ring and Jimin twists to face him again. Hoseok is torn between pulling him in close at once, immediately, right now, and letting Jimin undo his jeans, too many rushed affairs in empty rooms showing in the swift, graceful way in which he can do something so goddamn graceless. Almost as graceless as the half choked moan Hoseok muffles against the younger’s lips when he slips his hand down inside his briefs, fingers wrapping tight around the length, nothing teasing at all in the few short, firm strokes. His tongue flicks along the seam of Hoseok’s lips, hot and wet and fucking delicious, but a sneaky and evasive thing, drawing back quickly when Hoseok’s tries to catch it, Jimin’s mouth curving against his.
‘Fuck me,’ he murmurs, still smiling as Hoseok tries to deepen the kiss and is met with grinning teeth instead, frustrated grunt catching in his throat.
He opens his eyes to find Jimin already looking at him through the fragile thread of his lashes, though there’s nothing fragile about the gaze behind them, two deep, dark pools of molten want and just that hint of laughter, ever-present in Jimin’s eyes. His fingers are light, almost ticklish as they trail up Hoseok’s neck, along his jaw, gently pushing some damp hair behind his ear.
‘Hoseok-ah,’ he says, almost sings, except it’s too breathy, too low. And there is something about the way Jimin says his name like that, something different from when he drops the honorifics to piss him off, or when he’s distracted, tired enough to forget they’re in public and the given name just slips out. It’s different from that. It’s a tone that sneaks under Hoseok’s skin and lights a fuse, heat coiling deep down low in the pit of his stomach. And Jimin can see it happen, must see something in his eyes. Hoseok knows just by the way his smile fades, breath hitching the slightest bit when Hoseok kisses him again – barely a kiss, a peck at the corner of his mouth, another dropped on the swell of his lower lip, his cupid’s bow, brushed lightly onto the tip of his nose.
Hoseok learned quickly that Jimin knows how to play rough and dirty. He knows how to tease, how to get a reaction, how to murmur the filthiest things and just when to murmur them. Despite the cherub face, he’s not some blushing teenager – none of that stuff phases him, none of that stuff ever has. In the beginning, it seemed like he was unruffled by anything, this invincible, perfect, smirking creature, while Hoseok was a goddamn mess in the sheets underneath him, turned to butter by the unholy things Jimin would do and say, sultry words dripped into his ears as he rode him five fucking ways to Sunday. But Hoseok learned – almost as quickly – Jimin’s weak spots. Instead of trying so hard to keep up with him, pulling him back with soft words the other boy had no feisty comeback for, gentle touches and slow kisses that had him begging instead of demanding.
Not that Hoseok would ever make him beg. Truthfully, all it would take is an eye-crinkling grin from Jimin and Hoseok would quite happily sell his own mother.
This time, he doesn’t bother with the verbal command, just the gentle pressure of his fingers on Jimin’s hips to turn him around. He tries not to tease, tries his best not to get distracted by the softness of Jimin under his hands, that mole right there at the top of his left thigh that Hoseok aches to kiss. Tonight, he reminds himself, turning his attention back to the dark ring. He feels Jimin tense up the moment his fingertip snags the warm silicone and Hoseok leans in to press a kiss to his shoulder, free hand moving up to squeeze his hip, soothing.
‘Relax,’ he murmurs, and it works to a point, Jimin breathing almost steady until the moment Hoseok starts to pull, watching in awe as each millimetre of the plug appears, more and more and fucking more. By the time it’s out, Hoseok’s breathing just as hard as Jimin is, his gritted teeth the only thing stopping him from moaning just as loud as the younger, too, loud enough that Hoseok should really go against everything he believes in and tell him to keep it down. But Hoseok is a little distracted, the source of his distraction the 5 inches of slick black silicone in his hand.
He swears softly, barely noticing Jimin’s eye-roll as he glances over his shoulder at him. It’s a dangerous looking thing, narrow just beyond the ring end before it flares out wickedly, tapering into a rounded tip. ‘It’s fucking huge,’ Hoseok says, a little weakly, twisting his wrist to watch it glint darkly under the light.
‘Your dick’s bigger,’ Jimin points out, and the ragged edge to his voice reminds Hoseok he probably isn’t feeling the most comfortable right now. With another soft curse, he sets the plug down atop the stack of boxes – on a tissue to try and keep it clean because what the hell else is he supposed to do with it? A moment later, he’s sliding two lube-slicked fingers around Jimin’s rim, ignoring the younger’s whiny complaints (‘You don’t have to, hyung, that’s the whole point.’) because he does have to. He has to know, has to feel for himself and when two fingers slip in easy, a third with only the barest hint of resistance, Hoseok’s not quite sure how he remains conscious, never mind quiet.
‘Happy now?’ Jimin demands, though the way his voice pitches when Hoseok’s fingers curl inside him kind of take away from his annoyance.
‘Very,’ Hoseok replies, rubbing down gently just to hear Jimin muffle another moan against the back of his wrist, a needy gasp when Hoseok removes his hand to reach for the lube again.
He still isn’t used to it. Hoseok’s pretty sure he’ll never get used to it. That feeling, the heat so overwhelming he thinks he’ll burn up into cinders every damn time, and the tightness, even stretched from the plug, so intense it’s almost too much, while in reality it’s anything but. It’s not enough, nowhere near it, and Hoseok presses in deeper in search of what they both want, as slow and steady as he can afford to go, as he can bear to go after practically coming in his pants at the sight of that—that thing inside his boyfriend. Jimin barely makes a noise, wary of where they are and who might hear, but it’s got to be killing him to keep this quiet. Even though he can’t see his face, Hoseok can picture the vicious flush of his lower lip as he bites down hard, brows knit, breath coming sharp through his nose. As soon as he bottoms out, Hoseok slides a hand up the other boy’s arm, the one bracing him against the wall. With a soft kiss behind his ear, he slots his fingers in to fill the gaps between Jimin’s, breathing the familiar spiced scent of his cologne as he waits for the green light.
It feels like hours, but it’s probably only a handful of short seconds before Jimin’s grip tightens on Hoseok’s fingers, the barely audible okay, hyung breathed against the back Hoseok’s hand.
Someone – probably Namjoon one night in all of his soju-induced wisdom – once told him that sex was a lot like dancing, an art of the body with certain steps to follow, open to interpretation and not bound by any specific rules. Hoseok has never agreed, not fully. Dance is graceful and Jimin is one of the most graceful things Hoseok’s ever seen on two legs, but graceful sex isn’t something he thinks they’ve ever managed to have. Sex is messy and stuttered, with missed beats and music that never quite fits the choreography, but that’s not to say that sex is beyond the pure perfection of a fouetté. Sex is full of little snatches of perfect and one of them – one of them is most definitely the raw electricity that smoulders under Hoseok’s skin with that first roll of his body against Jimin’s, feeling the soft flesh of his ass give under his hips as Hoseok thrusts back in, the gasp of air over his and Jimin’s twined fingers on the wall. The heat and the building tension, the slick of sweat between his palm and the hard curve of Jimin’s left hip, the tang of his skin on Hoseok’s lips when he presses his mouth down into the hollow of his neck to stifle his own moans. Having every single sensory nerve in his body registering only Jimin. It’s perfect. Or it’s some kinda perfect anyway.
With each fluid roll of his hips, Hoseok feels the moans rumbling in Jimin’s back pressed up tight against his chest even though the sound of them barely makes it past the barrier of his lips pressed to the backs of their hands. Hoseok still relishes it, drinks in every faint noise with his mouth roaming hot over Jimin’s shoulder, his throat, his jaw, his hair, keeping himself quiet by pressing deep kisses to every inch if the other boy that he can reach.
‘Jimin,’ he breathes, just because. Just because he likes the way the name rolls off his tongue a hundred times a day, but never loses its potency, never fails to make that soft, hot thing bloom deep in his chest. He thrusts in again, fully aware the angle is different, deeper, the particular angle he’s been avoiding in the hopes they might last a little more than five minutes. But he can feel every fibre of his body pulled taut as bow strings, each slap of his hips against Jimin, each shudder that wracks the younger’s body sending a shiver through his own – it all only adds to the quivering tension in every muscle in his body, the strings a well-timed tug away from snapping. And with the new angle, he knows he’s found the right spot, just from the way Jimin’s groaned curse barrels, muffled, past all the barriers, the sudden flutter of pressure around him almost sending Hoseok careening dick-first over the edge.
‘Fuck—I—you close, Jiminnie?’ he stammers, a strained whisper, his hand sliding from Jimin’s hip to inch low over his stomach. ‘Y-you want me to—‘
But the almost frantic shake of Jimin’s head stops his hand in its tracks. ‘Not—not yet,’ he manages to grit out, letting his forehead fall against the peeling paint to free his mouth. Hoseok can hear him panting into the narrow space between himself and the wall. ‘Just—god, Hoseok, please—‘
‘Yeah, yeah okay,’ Hoseok mumbles, not even kissing him anymore, lips just sort of dragging uselessly over his boyfriend’s skin, enthusiastic still even if they have no idea what the fuck they’re doing anymore. Jimin turns his head as Hoseok picks up the pace of his hips, his cheek resting against the backs of their hands now, and Hoseok can see enough of his face that a fresh wave of heat curls through him. Every small line that runs between his knitted brows, the soft shadows his lashes cast over his cheek, the bright, raw flush of lips as his breaths draw through them in shallow gasps. Another snatch of perfect in the mess of damp skin and ragged moans.
There’s a bead of sweat slipping slowly down he Jimin’s temple. Hoseok kisses it away and rests his head there, breathing heavily against his cheek.
‘God, you feel so good, Jiminnie,’ he pants out, ‘so—f-fuck, I can’t—I-I’m gonna—‘
Hoseok feels the fingers tighten around his wrist, tugging, and he gets the hint fast, his hand dropping to wrap tight around Jimin’s neglected length, hard, leaking, screaming for attention at this point. There is no grace in the fast, sloppy pace of his fist or the way his thrusts grow erratic as he slows his pace just a little to try and drag it out longer, just the slightest bit—
‘Hoseok,’ Jimin moans, breathless enough now that it’s not loud enough to worry either of them, only loud enough to have Hoseok groaning desperately in reply, his thumb running frantically over the tip of Jimin’s cock as he thrusts in with almost brutish force.
He can feel it from beginning to end, the way it starts in the suddenly rigid curve of Jimin’s back and the shuddering moan that wracks through him, Hoseok’s name jumbled in amongst the nonsense. He feels the throb of Jimin’s cock in his fist and a deeper throb inside him, tightening around Hoseok to the point where it’s almost too much, to the point where Hoseok’s fingers are curled around Jimin’s in a vicelike grip, his head dropping, teeth snagging on the fabric of the other boy’s tank to hide the kind of noise he knows the whole fucking building would probably hear. It ends in the spill of warm wet over his hand and the sounds of the small, panting moans Jimin always makes on the comedown. His lips brush over Hoseok’s fingers in soft kisses as the elder’s hips slow to shallow, desperate, jarring thrusts, his own release hitting him with a burst of blinding pleasure that lights colours behind his eyelids, draws Jimin’s name from his lips in every staggered breath against the younger’s skin.
‘Oh my god,’ Jimin breathes softly, before Hoseok is even fully over it, orgasm still crashing through his body in fading waves of tingling heat. Jimin’s voice is hoarse, dry around the edges, and Hoseok has just enough of wits left about him to hope it won’t affect his performance.
When he finally has some control over his fine motor function again, Hoseok, presses his lips to the damp skin of Jimin’s jaw, his arms dropping to curve around the younger’s waist, effectively a back-hug, though Hosoek’s not sure anything counts as a hug when a dick is still within an ass. Still. He noses lightly at the skin he just kissed, feels Jimin’s head turn towards him lips brushing the tip of his nose in a gentle peck and making him grin wide. Without another word, Hoseok pulls out carefully and reaches for the tissues, only stopping when Jimin catches at his wrist, turning his head to look at him over his shoulder.
‘Hyung,’ he says, the beginnings of a smirk playing around his eyes and mouth, teeth catching on his lower lip. He gestures with his eyes to the thing. ‘Put it back in.’
Hoseok feels his stomach flop, a tingle of heat under his skin that should not be there, not this soon, not when they’re about to get on stage. ‘What?’ he hisses, eyes flying wide. ‘Jiminnie, we’re about to perform, you can’t—‘
‘Well, what else are we gonna do with it?’ Jimin demands, his tone half irritated as he rolls his eyes. ‘Can’t exactly hide it in my pocket and we can’t just leave it there. So, unless you wanna shove it up your—‘
‘Nope,’ Hoseok cuts in quickly, entire body tensing up at the mere thought. Exhilarating as it was playing around with something so foreign and new, something so goddamn filthy, it doesn’t change the fact that it looks like something Satan would stopper his jars of tortured souls with. So, Hoseok reaches for the thing and the leftover lube for extra measure, and glances up at Jimin for the okay. With a crease between his brows and his eyes tight shut, Jimin nods and Hoseok thinks he might be in love with a crazy bastard – but, hey, at least his crazy bastard is a cute crazy bastard.
Hoseok lands another kiss on his cheek before pulling back to watch.
The way the length of bulbous slick black disappears inside his body is as wonderful as it is obscene, Hoseok thinks, and he feels his own breath catch when Jimin gasps quietly – out of oversensitivity or sheer relief it’s hard to tell, but the sound is intoxicating nonetheless, enough to have Hoseok’s thoughts drifting past today’s schedules already, to the promise of Taehyung vacating their room for tonight, his cheap-ass yet invaluable “birthday gift”.
‘Is this even safe?’ he asks, as Jimin, still breathing too heavy, eyes shut, turns to face him. ‘Should it be in that long?’
Jimin shrugs, waving an airy hand. ‘I dunno.’ He opens one heavy eyelid to grin at Hoseok. ‘You can take it out for me after the performance if you want. Might even suck you off for your troubles, Birthday Boy.’
With some difficulty, Hoseok suppresses another groan
After checking the time to find they’re miraculously still not late for their stage, they right themselves somewhat, sticky skin wiped down in a rush, buttons buttoned, zippers zipped and belts refastened with fingers too used to this quick routine. Five minutes, give or take. Five minutes for hair and make-up and the list of last minute checks Namjoon insists on when he’s stressing out over choreo. They have five minutes, but Hoseok isn’t about to leave this damn cupboard without pressing Jimin back against the wall once more, mouths slotting together hot and gentle, sated, utterly fucked out kisses – Hoseok’s favourite kind. His hands sneak under Jimin’s tank for his thumb to stroke lightly over the skin just under his ribs, where the first ridges of muscle can be felt when he laughs.
‘You’re spoiling me,’ he murmurs, his forehead still against Jimin’s, cross-eyed as paints his vision with the dark flush of the other boy’s cheeks and the glint in his eye that Hoseok doesn’t always understand.
Jimin’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins and Hoseok is torn between kissing him again and listening to the sweet notes of his voice. ‘Yoongi-hyung told me to buy you headphones.’
Hoseok frowns. ‘Well, I did need new headphones.’
He sees Jimin’s eyes narrow just before he receives a sharp thump to the chest, enough to send him reeling back a few steps, laughter rising in his throat. ‘I’ll get you headphones next year, then, you ungrateful shit,’ Jimin snaps, lips pressed to fight a smile – a battle Park Jimin never wins.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Hoseok says, still chuckling softly as he steps back into Jimin’s space, the next kiss more knocking teeth than anything else because kissing and smiling aren’t really two things that complement each other.
‘Hyung, we need to go,’ Jimin reminds him, his fingers tugging where they’re hooked into his braces again, though his lips don’t stop moving against Hoseok’s, his tongue still darting out in little teasing licks against the elder’s upper lip.
‘I know,’ Hoseok mumbles, and he’s the first to pull away, thumb running along the sharp line of Jimin’s jaw while his other hand struggles to right the younger’s pale orange hair into something like its original fluffiness. ‘The noonas are gonna fucking kill us, Park Jimin.’
With a quiet giggle, Jimin turns his head to kiss Hoseok’s palm before pulling it away from his face to link their hands together. ‘I know,’ he says, sounding far too pleased with himself, but his impish grin is contagious, the trouble written in that gentle curve yanking up the corners of Hoseok’s own mouth as Jimin tugs him towards the door.
Before the first turn in the corridor, they let their hands slip apart just to be on the safe side, but as they walk, Hoseok pulls Jimin close with subtle fingers on the younger’s waist.
‘Hey,’ he says softly, mouth inches from his ear.
‘What?’ Jimin whispers back in a similar tone, nodding politely to a younger idol who bows in greeting on her way past.
‘I love you.’
At that, Jimin turns to look at him, coy smile betrayed only slightly by the new flush creeping up his throat. ‘I know you do,’ he says, pulling away from him, turning so he can walk backwards, throwing his arms out with that same shit-eating smirk still in place. ‘Who wouldn’t?’
‘Yah, you’re supposed to say it back, you little shit!’ Hoseok snaps, maybe a little too loudly, but judging by the amused glances cast their way as Jimin’s giggling rings through the corridor, no one has any idea what they’re talking about.
He catches Jimin just outside the waiting room door, sneaking a hand under his jacket to pinch at his stomach, making the younger yelp and flatten himself back up against the wall, hands raised to defend anymore attacks. ‘Hyung, stop!’ he whines through his grin, kicking out as Hoseok tries to approach him again.
‘You’re being mean to me on my birthday!’
‘I’m not! I’m just…’ Jimin shrugs, eyeing Hoseok in a way that has him glancing around to make sure no one can see because holy hell. ‘Giving you some incentive,’ Jimin goes on quietly, reaching out to hook a finger into the front of Hoseok’s jeans. ‘You’re getting old, ahjussi.’ Hoseok’s jaw drops at the word, Jimin’s filthy grin only widening. ‘Let’s how you do tonight and I’ll consider saying it back. I mean, there’s no point if I’m gonna have to upgrade to a younger model, right? I’m just being logical here.’
Hoseok is still staring, wide-eyed, his face unsure whether to scowl or grin as Jimin slips out from between him and the wall, giving his waistband a little tug before he lets it go. Hoseok watches with his eyes narrowed and his teeth caught on his own lower lip as Jimin saunters off towards the waiting room door, ass looking perfectly indecent in those jeans.
Silently, Hoseok vows to fucking destroy him.