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Jimin didn’t think he had a weakness for older men.
It was just that boys his age had always struck him as unbearably graceless - gangly and crude, their laughter too loud, their behavior an endless string of asinine stunts that were only charming to a point.
In high school, he’d once found a classmate attractive enough to admit it. The logical step, he thought, was to say so - to simply tell the boy he was cute. He hadn’t expected his confession to be paraded across social media, nor the swarm of whispers and ridicule that followed. What humiliated him most wasn’t the gossip, but the boy’s sudden shift into flirtation - careless and crass - culminating in a grainy, unsolicited picture of his member. The first he’d ever seen of anyone else’s body. His cheeks had burned so hot he’d buried his face in a pillow and screamed before blocking the contact for good.
That memory alone was enough to temper any illusions he might have had about the dating pool of people his age.
So as a freshman now, eighteen and freshly enrolled in a C-rank university, Jimin hardly expected much more from his peers. Being called an adult didn’t make you one, but Jimin felt worthy of that title.
Business lectures, at least so far, had been predictable: stern men with receding hairlines and crinkling voices, their severity disguised as wisdom. Jimin would take diligent notes, only to look up and find classmates slumped in their seats, drooling into their sleeves or scrolling through their phones without even the courtesy to hide it.
It baffled him. People were paying to be here, not dragged in by obligation, and yet they squandered the hours as if tuition were spare change.
By the time he made his way to his final lecture of the day, Intro to Marketing, his expectations of both students and professors were equally low. He trailed the corridor with his printed schedule in hand, lips moving faintly as he matched numbers on the doors to those on the page. Room 242.
The noise was the first thing that unsettled him. High-pitched shrieks, bubbling laughter—completely out of place for a business class. He drifted toward it almost unwillingly, drawn by the sound of excitement, though his brain reminded him he still needed to pinpoint his class before the lecture began. 5:23. Seven minutes to spare.
Then he saw them: a cluster of girls in scraps of fabric that barely qualified as shorts, their tops cut scandalously low. They pressed their faces to the square window of a classroom door, giggling as though tickled with fancy, while others milled nearby ogling them with rowdy interest.
Jimin tugged self-consciously at the turtleneck he’d chosen for his first day. Wide-legged slacks, modest lines—he’d felt polished when he left his dorm, but under the fluorescent lights and the weight of other people’s eyes, he suddenly felt almost laughably prudish. He ducked his head, cheeks prickling as nearby boys stared salaciously at the girls.
Someone bumped his shoulder and Jimin startled, already apologizing though it hadn’t been his fault.
“Hey, don’t worry,” the boy said, grinning with so much warmth Jimin almost forgot his embarrassment. He jerked his thumb toward the door. “You here for Intro to Marketing, too? Or just to see the hot professor?”
Jimin blinked at him, thrown off by both the question and the fact that someone was actually talking to him. “O-oh. This is Intro to Marketing? With Professor Jeon?”
The boy nodded, dark hair falling messily into his eyes as he bounced on his heels. His smile was infectious, and Jimin found himself giggling before he realized it.
The squeal of metal interrupted them. The lock on the door slid free, and the gaggle of girls collectively gasped, stepping back with reverent awe. Jimin followed their gaze to the plaque beside the door: 242.
The boy at his side nudged him forward with a hand at the small of his back. Jimin gasped, stumbling slightly before glancing over his shoulder.
“I’m Taehyung,” the boy said easily, mouth curving into a rectangular grin.
Jimin’s own lips lifted without thought, his usual reserve dissolving under the sincerity of it. “Jimin. Nice to meet you.”
They exchanged numbers amidst the shuffle of students filing inside, eventually securing seats closer to the front. Jimin frowned. The front row was packed, every seat filled. His earlier lectures had been sparse, with students scattering far in the back.
Taehyung leaned close, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Seriously. He’s extremely handsome.”
Jimin snorted, recalling his other professors. “Unless he’s aged like Lee Byung-Hun, I doubt it.”
Just then the room shifted. A hush fell as the sharp click of shoes echoed across the hardwood. Every head in the auditorium turned in unison.
And there he was.
Professor Jeon Jungkook moved toward the podium with deliberate ease, a presence that seemed to command attention without having to verbalize it. Salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, a charcoal turtleneck stretched over broad shoulders and a rounded chest, tailored trousers that fit too well to be accidental, and at his wrist, a glinting gold watch. A leather briefcase swung from that hand; the other was encased in a black glove, a detail strange enough to snag Jimin’s thoughts even as the rest of him reeled.
It was unfair. He wasn’t just handsome - he was gorgeous.
The room erupted in whispers. Jimin, face burning, elbowed Taehyung weakly as the boy smirked.
“You were saying?”
“Oh, shut up,” Jimin hissed, pressing his palms to his cheeks in a futile attempt to cool them.
And then Jungkook spoke.
“Good evening, everyone.” His voice carried, deep and steady, reverberating off the soundproof walls with ease. Jimin’s thighs clenched as if they had a mind of their own.
“My name is Jeon Jungkook, and I’ll be your professor for 2630: Introduction to Marketing. Please confirm you’re in the right room before we begin.”
The lecture hall was silent, but Jimin could hear the pulse thundering in his own ears.
“I’d like to start off our class time by going through the course syllabus. If you’d please follow me to the Syllabus section on your integrated learning website.”
Not even a second had passed before a lithe arm shot into the air at the front of the classroom. Red-tipped fingernails wiggled to gain the professor’s attention, and Jungkook was happy to oblige.
Her voice was saccharine smooth, lilting in a way that was too seductive to be natural. Taehyung rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he muttered an incredulous, “get a load of this.”
Jimin couldn’t share his astonishment; he was more focused on the way Jungkook’s forearms flexed beneath the fabric of his sweater as he leaned his palm over the girl’s desk. Even from afar, Jimin could see her brandishing her breasts, her back arched like a slinky feline.
“Jungkook-ssi, where-“
Her lips parted into an innocent ‘o’ when the professor interrupted her on the spot.
“Please, and this goes for everyone, refrain from addressing me in any way other than Professor Jeon.” He turned his attention towards her once again, and the bright fluorescents did nothing to hide the burning red that streaked her face.
“What can I help you with, miss…?” He’d left the inquiry open ended for the girl to fill in the gap, but it seemed as though her brain was still processing her earlier embarrassment.
“Where-“ she shook her head, perking up once again in that faux coyness that left a sour aftertaste in Jimin’s mouth, “-where can I find the syllabus, Professor Jeon?”
He stared down at her, an imperious curl to his pursed lips. “Were you listening at all? I don’t like repeating myself, class.”
He stepped away from the girl, leaving behind a wave of snickering students as he made it to the front of the classroom.
Jimin found himself unconsciously leaning back against his seat, a sharp breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in his chest suddenly whooshing out.
Professor Jeon went over some class etiquette and course expectations, making it abundantly clear he didn’t tolerate interruptions, unexcused absences, or late work. There’s something so fascinating about how rigid he is – someone so attractive shouldn’t be so uptight, but Jimin finds it enthralling. Jungkook is so perfectly composed, a hard set to his eyebrows as he flicks through his PowerPoint presentation with surprisingly impressive transitions and minimal text.
Jungkook speaks in a way that is so monotone and measured, with every pause lasting not a beat longer than necessary as he segways into the next topic of discussion. His tone does not betray any indifference or impatience, and every word is succinct, like it’s been carefully parsed and rehearsed minutes before being said. There’s a tick in his sharp jawline that reads of quiet disdain for carelessness. He does not crack a single joke or sly remark. He does not indulge in any tomfoolery. Whenever an overzealous student tries to impress him with an offhand compliment or vapid reflections, Jungkook acknowledges them with a questioning lift of a brow before turning back to the curriculum material.
“Is everyone clear?” He asks, quaintly taking a sip of water before quietly clearing his throat. Jimin glances at the analog clock hanging above the screen. The professor has been talking for over ninety minutes, only stopping to address comments or concerns. His almond eyes skim the classroom silently, as if internally cataloguing every face.
When his gaze falls briefly on Jimin, it feels like he can’t breathe. To have those scrutinizing eyes heavily assess him for a fraction of a second, before hovering over the next aisle of students, had been disarming enough.
Jimin should not be fascinated. He tells himself this repeatedly as he mindlessly scribbles down notes, more diligently than necessary, underlining key ideas, highlighting concepts, as if his floundering thoughts will be quelled by academic toil. It’s totally irrational to think of Professor Jeon as anything other than what he is: an instructor who could be twice his age and does not entertain immaturity.
As Jimin is passing by the front of the classroom, Taehyung throws a friendly arm over his shoulders. He observes Jungkook carefully rummaging through stacks of papers strewn all over his desk. Taehyung must notice the way Jimin’s eyes linger over their professor’s hunched frame because he suddenly speaks up, leaning into him bodily.
“Oh, shit. Looks like he’s got a ring.”
It would be comical how fast Jimin’s head whipped away from the handsome man just to glare at Taehyung.
“Could you be any less discreet!” He chides, jabbing him once again with an elbow to the flank. Taehyung whines but wraps his arm more securely around Jimin’s neck, pulling him into a loose headlock as if shielding him from prying ears. “I’ll text you later, yeah?”
-
Days later, Jimin saw Jungkook outside, the orange glow of the evening washing over the campus grounds. He had been waiting for Taehyung by the vending machines in the lobby of the main business building, when the sound of heels clicking pulled his attention. Professor Jeon emerged from a nearby stairwell, his robust wool coat draped over one arm while the other hand reached for the knot of his tie, loosening it with practiced ease. Something about that ordinary motion left Jimin breathless. It was devastating, really, how insanely attractive his professor was. The gold band on his ring finger glinted yellow against the drowning light of the sun.
Jimin sighed. It didn’t really matter if he was married or not – he was still entirely unattainable. Jungkook was so solemn and refined; there wouldn’t be a chance in the world where someone who wore such grave expressions even outside his office hours would glance at a student.
Gaze fixed glumly on his professor, Jimin didn’t even realize the man had been waiting behind him. Jimin blinked, snapping himself out of his stupor. Heat surged to his face.
Jungkook was quiet, raising a brow as he tipped his head towards the vending machines.
Jimin suddenly gasped, pulling away from the machines as if they’d personally offended him. “No, no! Go ahead! It’s all yours, Professor Jeon.”
The man nodded, and a strand of hair that had loosened from his usual slicked back part fell over his eyes. Jimin would be lying if he said that subtle detail didn’t make him swoon in his spot.
Jimin didn’t mean to be a creep, but he observed as Jungkook fiddled with the vending machine, punching in the code of his desired purchase, tapping his credit card against the contactless payment terminal, bending at the waist to pick up his item – a chocolate flavored protein shake.
His eyes hadn’t faltered for a second, following each of Jungkook’s motions unblinkingly. The professor turned, and the muscles of his face shifted from their standard stoic setting. There was an odd grimace pulling at his lips, eyes widening imperceptibly.
“Do you need something?” He asked, shoulders rounding under his tight button up. Jimin’s cheeks burned when he saw how muscular his pecs looked under the taut fabric.
“No! I’m sorry. I’m just waiting for someone!” Jimin rushed to explain, waving his hands defensively in front of him. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed dubiously, nodding reluctantly before he disappeared into the dark sweep of the hallway beyond the lobby doors. Jimin exhaled shakily, only realizing he’d been holding his breath once the echo of Jungkook’s footsteps faded.
Jimin stared at his reflection through the glass of the vending machine, wondering what the hell was going on with him and why he was acting like such a fool over his professor.
-
The first exam was everything Jimin had braced himself for – dense readings, case studies, and detailed short-answer questions that stretched his focus late into the night. He had blunted over a dozen pencils after filling his notebook with numerous key terms, highlighted his textbook until it resembled a sketch pad, and rehearsed the most important formulas under his breath while brushing his teeth.
Jimin couldn’t fool himself into thinking he was only giving this particular exam his best effort because he was an overachiever. He knew deep down, in that forbidden recess of his subconscious, that he was doing it to impress Professor Jeon – to make his name stand out amidst the sea of other youthful, eager faces.
When the graded booklets were being passed around a week later, the auditorium was bustling restlessly. Some were cool and collected, snickering as their peers beside them groaned and flipped their stapled sheets over in embarrassment. Others had immediately solicited a private meeting with Professor Jeon after class to discuss their options. Jimin sat straight, heart pounding as Jungkook moved down the aisle wearing an expression of careful neutrality, not giving away anything while he distributed each exam personally.
Jimin’s palms felt damp. He pressed them against his slacks, determined not to look flustered. But when Jungkook stopped at his row, the world seemed to narrow to the low rustle of paper and the measured cadence of his professor’s footsteps.
“Park Jimin,” Jungkook said, voice low but clear. He set the exam neatly on Jimin’s desk. “Well done. Highest score in the class.”
The words were simple, professional, delivered without flourish. But Jimin felt them light up a spark in his gut. His breath caught, fingers trembling as he reached for the paper. An “A,” messily scribbled on, hung on the top right corner of the first page.
Jungkook was already moving on, his focus shifting to the next student, but Jimin couldn’t stop staring at the “A” perched next to his name like it belonged there.
He ducked his head, forcing himself to appear composed, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. He knew it was ridiculous - just a professor acknowledging a good grade. And yet, to Jimin, it felt like he was the center of Jungkook’s attention for more than just a brief pause. Like a wrinkle in time, marking a before, an after, and an inexplicable lapse in between, Jimin couldn’t begin to unravel the shift in his brain chemistry from smelling Jungkook’s cologne up close – a smoky, robust scent – from hearing his name push against the seam of Jungkook’s pouty lips, from having his gorgeous brown eyes that crinkled around the lids with the indication of oncoming wrinkles tunneled on him.
All his hours of notetaking, the endless memorizing, the late nights hunching over his textbook until his neck croaked in complaint - it had all been worth it. Because for one fleeting moment, Jungkook had seen him.
And Jimin couldn’t stop himself from wanting more.
-
Jimin could hardly wipe the grin off his face as he shuffled into lecture the next morning, his marked exam still neatly tucked into a compartment in his memory that he’d reserved solely for all things relating to Professor Jeon.
Which is why, before lecture today, Jimin found himself standing in front of Jungkook’s desk with a bottle in his hand - the exact chocolate protein shake he had seen him buy from the vending machine just a few weeks ago. It felt mischievous, daring even, as he set it down near the corner of the stack of papers Jungkook always carried with him. His heart hammered, but he smiled faintly.
He slid into his usual seat, trying to act natural as students filed in.
When Jungkook finally entered, there was the familiar quiet rustle of him hinging at the knees to lean his briefcase against the podium, straightening his tie, scanning the room. His eyes landed on the bottle instantly. A flicker of surprise caused his eyebrows to jump on his forehead, before a shadow of vexation somehow made the cut of his jawline more angular. He didn’t touch it at first. He only looked, then glanced up, gaze sweeping the rows until it caught on Jimin. It was only for a second, but it was enough. Jimin’s stomach swooped.
The lecture was the usual blur of theory and discussion, though Jimin barely heard a word. Every movement Jungkook made, every time his head turned toward the bottle but never reached for it had him coiling in his seat, wound tight as a spring. When the final slide clicked shut and students began to gather their things, Jimin stuffed his papers into his bag with limbs locked in trepidation.
“Mr. Park.”
The sound of his name in that harrowing voice froze him. Slowly, he looked up. Jungkook was still standing at the front, one hand resting on the podium, the other at the jut of his hip. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were steady. He beckoned Jimin forward.
By the time Jimin reached the desk, the room was emptying fast - Taehyung shot him a curious look before disappearing out the door. Then it was just them. Just him and Jungkook.
“You shouldn’t be engaging in such behaviors,” Jungkook admonished, his tone low, clipped. He lifted the bottle slightly. “It’s highly inappropriate. What were you expecting from doing something like this?”
It’s phrased as a genuine question, but Jimin feels the slap of reproach like a physical force, scalding his skin. He should be apologizing, or at least pretending to be contrite, but the proximity was intoxicating. The faint cologne clinging to Jungkook’s shirt, the way the overhead light caught on the smooth contours of his face, the sheer gravity of being noticed by him like this - it made Jimin dizzy.
He tried to focus on the words, but they washed over him like background noise. Something about boundaries. About professionalism. About appearances. But all Jimin could think of was how close Jungkook was, how his lips moved when he spoke, how his fingers looked curled around the bottle Jimin had left for him.
“I don’t know why you decided to cross the line, but I insist this never repeat itself –“ Jungkook stopped short, frowning when Jimin didn’t respond to any of his comments, his jaw slack as his eyes perused up and down his face. “Are you even listening to me?”
Jimin blinked, pulling himself together enough to nod quickly, though he hadn’t absorbed a word. His throat was dry. “Yes, Professor Jeon. I just… wanted to show my gratitude. I’m- sorry.” His voice wavered, embarrassingly soft.
Something flickered across Jungkook’s expression - discomfort, maybe even unease. His posture shifted, shoulders stiffening as he set the bottle down a little too firmly. “A simple thank you would suffice.”
Jimin nodded, but his chest felt like it might burst. His pulse was erratic, cheeks burning, and yet underneath the reprimand there was this delicious thrum of exhilaration. Jungkook was rattled. He was uncomfortable. And Jimin couldn’t stop thinking that it meant, on some level, he wasn’t indifferent. His behavior, however gratuitous and senseless, had been enough to merit a stiff warning from Jungkook.
He stumbled out of the classroom finally, heart racing, his professor’s words already dissolving into static. All that lingered was the image of Jungkook’s hand holding the gift he’d left him - and the dizzying realization that he wanted to push further, regardless of how reckless he was being.
-
Taehyung catches on embarrassingly quick.
They’re on a facetime late at night when his friend decides to call him out on his thousand-yard stare into nothing.
“Alright, spit it out. Who’s got you all cock drunk?” Taehyung asks, matter-of-factly.
Jimin hopes the low-quality of the video doesn’t capture the red that bursts around his cheeks.
“Tae! I’m not – cock drunk.” He whispers, scandalized, despite the fact that he’s completely alone in his dorm.
Taehyung snorts, an endeared roll of the eyes following his incredulous reaction. “Come ooon,” he whines, pouting into the camera, and Jimin can sense that he’s a bit miffed from being kept out of the loop, so he capitulates shyly.
“Fineeeeee,” Jimin replies, mirroring Taehyung’s petulant expression. He shoves his face into his pillow to muffle his words. “It’s Professor Jeon.” He admits, hiding himself from Taehyung’s exaggerated guffaw.
“You, Park Jimin, have the hots for our devilishly handsome and unavailable marketing professor? Color me surprised.” He says, waving a limp wrist coquettishly. Jimin screams into his pillow, soaking the cover with the drool that had unconsciously started to collect in his mouth at the mere thought of the man.
“I mean-“ Taehyung chews around a twinkie as he ponders aloud, his eyes scanning the perimeter of his peripheral vision as if pulling from different observations in his memory, “-now that I think about it,” he gulps loudly, the dessert traveling down his throat in a small lump, “- you do get really jittery when he comes around to ask questions.”
Jimin nods tepidly, afraid to show just how far gone he really is.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, Tae. He’s probably twice our age. And you pointed out that he’s married.” Jimin offers, biting at his nails to keep his mind from drifting back to the way Jungkook had sighed exasperatedly before asking Jimin if he had paid attention to anything he’d said. Gosh, even something so trivial had the freshman prickling with heat in his pajamas, a cute tweety bird set Taehyung had gifted him for his birthday.
Suddenly, Taehyung sat up from where he was laying lazily against his pillows. He crossed his legs, his camera pointing towards the crown of his head as he seemingly began scrolling through his phone. Jimin perked up curiously, wide eyes peering through Taehyung’s end of the screen.
“Okay,” Taehyung muttered, smirking as his thumb flew across the device with the focus of someone on a mission. “No Instagram. No Facebook. What kind of millennial doesn’t have at least one burner account? Ah - wait.” His grin widened. “Found his LinkedIn. Look at that headshot, all stiff and depressing. Seriously, does this guy every smile?”
Jimin groaned and shifted the camera away from his face, unable to bear being complicit in Taehyung’s unabashed stalking. “Tae, stop! This is so embarrassing…”
But Taehyung only stuck his tongue out mockingly, sending Jimin the screenshots of his findings. “Don’t be a pussy. You wanted to know, right? He’s thirty-seven. That’s not too bad.”
Jimin’s natural rouge deepened until it spread across his throat. His heart hammered, torn between mortification and the secret thrill that Taehyung was saying aloud the things he only whispered to himself in the quiet of his room. “He’s so serious, though. He probably thinks I’m like every other snot-nosed brat who walks through the campus doors thinking they own the place.”
“Oh, please,” Taehyung cut in, his voice dripping amusement as he pulled up Jungkook’s profile picture again. “Look at him. Who wouldn’t want to climb him like a tree? Plus-” Taehyung’s biting into another twinkie, and Jimin offhandedly wonders how his friend manages to maintain his perfect glass skin despite eating so much junk, “-everyone knows you’re not like these entitled kids who pretend to be adults. Just look at how you dress. You’ve got the old money aesthetic down pat.”
Jimin hid behind his hands, peeking through his fingers. “Ugh, stop feeding my delusions!”
Taehyung chuckled, pleased at how easy it was to make Jimin squirm. “What exactly would you do if you got to spend some quality time with him, one-on-one, hmmm?”
Trying to smother the heat rising inside him, Jimin couldn’t look at his screen when he made a quiet admission. “I’ve never even kissed anyone. I wouldn’t know where to start with someone so…” Jimin trailed off shyly, afraid to voice is less-than-decorous thoughts.
Taehyung whistled, reclining back lazily, a glint in his eye. “Damn.”
Jimin blinked, feeling a little self-conscious. “What?”
Taehyung shook his head, soft tufts of hair obscuring his eyes briefly before he flicked them away. “Nothing, nothing. Just crazy how someone as pretty as you hasn’t even gotten past first base.”
“Tae.” Jimin reprimanded.
“And with lips like yours-“
Jimin abruptly ended the call, unable to handle the flurry of heat spiking his body temperature several degrees.
-
The next few lectures blurred into one long fever dream for Jimin. He sat dutifully with his notebook open, pen poised as if he were hanging on every word of Professor Jeon’s lecture. But the truth was humiliating: he could barely remember a single concept once class ended.
The problem wasn’t the material - it was Jungkook himself.
The timbre of his professor’s voice carried too much weight, every inflection an anchor dragging Jimin deeper into his discursive thoughts. The low, sonorous hum when Jungkook acknowledged someone’s attempt at participation. The way his hand curled loosely around a marker as he sketched diagrams across the whiteboard. Even the rhythm of his footsteps as he paced during discussion - it was maddening how distracting he was.
Jimin wasn’t grasping “behavioral segmentation” or “logistical functions.” He was holding on to the texture of Jungkook’s baritone, how his tone sometimes dipped when responding to a student’s inquiries, how he never chuckled under his breath – even when the class clown purposefully answered questions with circular arguments. Jimin’s eyes weren’t following the words on the slides; they were tracing the cut of his professor’s slacks, the clean line of his jaw when he turned to glance at the clock, the polished way that Jungkook folded his hands behind his back as he paced left and right along the front of the classroom.
And it showed.
When the midterm results came back, Jimin’s grade had slipped - noticeably so. His cumulative grade had dropped from an A to a C+, given the weight the exams had relative to other assignments. Worst of all, Jungkook noticed.
At the end of class, when the last of the students filtered out, Jimin was still shoving his notebook into his bag when the professor’s voice caught him.
“Mr. Park. Stay for a moment.”
Jimin froze, pulse hammering in his ears. He turned slowly, clutching the strap of his bag as though it could anchor him. Jungkook stood near the desk, arms folded loosely across his chest, expression unreadable.
“I’ve noticed a decline in your performance,” Jungkook commented, voice clipped but not unkind. “Your last two assignments were not up to your usual standard, and you flunked this exam.” His gaze flicked briefly over Jimin’s face, then darted away. “Is something wrong?”
Jimin scrambled for an excuse, cheeks burning. He couldn’t very well admit the truth. “I, um, I’ve been working part-time,” he managed, eyes dropping to the floor. “It’s been eating into my study hours. I’m trying to balance it, but it’s… difficult.”
There was a pause. Jungkook’s posture softened slightly. “I see.”
Jimin swallowed, then took a breath, feigning casualness he didn’t feel. “I was wondering… if maybe…” His voice trailed off, then picked up again, quieter. “If you’d be willing to help me. With private tutoring sessions. After class. If you have time, I mean.”
The silence that followed was excruciating. Jimin felt like he could burn under the unbearable tension that stretched between them, his pulse thundering so loud he worried Jungkook could hear it. His eyes stung, unbidden tears gathering - not from sadness, but from the intensity of his want. He hated himself for it, hated how small and desperate he must’ve looked.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His gaze swept over Jimin’s face, catching on the flushed apples of his cheeks, the nervous quiver of his lips. For a moment, his expression wavered - caught between irritation and skepticism.
Finally, he exhaled. “Fine,” he said, low and reluctant. “I’ll help you. But I won’t hesitate to drop this arrangement if any boundaries are crossed. Is that clear?”
Jimin nodded so quickly his hair fell into his eyes. He didn’t even hear the last part - his head was spinning too fast. Jungkook had said yes. He’d agreed.
The lecture halls, the crowded desks, the stolen glances from afar - they weren’t enough anymore. Soon, it would just be him and Jungkook. Alone.
And Jimin could already feel himself teeming with unbridled yearning at the thought.
-
The following week, Jimin found himself standing outside Jungkook’s office door, palms damp, his notebook clutched so tightly the spiral bit into his fingers. He knocked lightly, once, then twice.
“Come in.”
Jungkook’s voice was muffled through the wood, but even that made Jimin’s chest flutter. He pushed the door open and slipped inside.
The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner working overhead. Stacks of papers were neatly arranged along the side of Jungkook’s desk, a few books open and marked with sticky notes. Jungkook sat a safe distance away from the empty chair that Jimin would be using. Jimin noticed only one of his sleeves was rolled up to his elbows, the other tucked into the glove that had yet to be pulled off his hand. Pen still in hand from whatever grading he’d been doing, Jungkook looked up at Jimin, expression carefully neutral.
Jimin slid into the chair across from him, opening his notebook. His hands trembled as he flipped to the right page. Jungkook leaned forward, scanning the half-finished notes with a furrowed brow.
“This doesn’t resemble your previous work in the slightest,” he said, a frown tugging the lower half of his face down gauntly. “You haven’t copied down a single key term, and your summaries don’t make sense. Were you paying attention at all during the lecture?”
Jimin bit his lip, looking anywhere but at the root of his distractions. “I… tried.” The words came out small, unconvincing.
Jungkook sighed, setting the pen aside. He reached across the desk, pulling the notebook toward him. His hand brushed Jimin’s wrist for the briefest moment, but the contact sent a jolt through Jimin’s body, hot and dizzying.
“Let’s go over it from the beginning,” Jungkook remarked, flipping back to the lecture notes. His voice was calm, although a hint of impatience began to bleed into his tone. Jimin tried to focus on the words, but all he could do was watch his professor’s mouth as he spoke. The way his lips shaped each syllable. The slight crease between his brows when he concentrated.
“Did you get that?” He suddenly asked, staring fixedly between Jimin’s eyebrows. Jimin blinked, realizing too late that he’d been expected to respond. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering there.
“Y-yeah,” Jimin stammered, snapping his gaze back down to the paper. His ears burned. “Sorry.”
Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “So why haven’t you written it down?”
Jimin could feel Jungkook watching him - assessing, scrutinizing - but the silence stretched taut between them, filled with the sound of his pen scratching the paper and the quiet thud of his own heartbeat.
When he finished, Jungkook leaned closer, scanning his work. Jimin held his breath. Their shoulders nearly brushed, and the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne - something warm and woodsy today - wrapped around him like a trap.
“Better,” Jungkook murmured, so close Jimin felt the vibration in his bones. “But you need to practice more. If you have to cut down on sleep, do it. But don’t sacrifice your academics.”
“Yes, Professor Jeon.” Jimin whispered, though his eyes betrayed him again, darting up to Jungkook’s profile. His lashes fluttered, his throat tight.
Jungkook must’ve noticed. He pulled back abruptly, straightening in his chair. “We’ll stop here for today. Review this before our next session.”
Jimin’s stomach sank at the dismissal, but he nodded quickly, gathering his things. He could still feel the ghost of Jungkook’s presence - his voice, his nearness, the accidental touch of his wrist. It was riveting.
As Jimin slung his bag over his shoulder, Jungkook’s voice stopped him at the door.
“Mr. Park.”
Jimin froze, looking back.
“Don’t waste my time,” Jungkook said evenly. His eyes lingered for a second, and Jimin felt the way his eyes traced the curve of his cheeks, felt it like a palpable caress that had his tummy in knots.
Jimin nodded, cheeks aflame. “I won’t.”
And then he slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him - heart hammering, already desperate for the next session.
-
By the second tutoring session, Jimin had sworn to himself he wouldn’t let his nerves get the best of him. He’d spent hours reviewing Jungkook’s notes, rewriting formulas until his wrist ached, trying to prove he could be serious.
But the second he stepped into Jungkook’s office, all that determination wavered. Jungkook was already there, leaning back in his chair, glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through a textbook. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar this time, sleeves still rolled, veins running taut down his forearms. Jimin almost tripped just from looking at him.
“You’re early,” Jungkook remarked, glancing up. His tone was neutral, but there was the faintest quirk of a brow, as though he was surprised.
“I… don’t want to waste your time,” Jimin said, setting his things down a little too quickly. His notebook slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a slap. He bent to grab it, heart racing.
When he straightened, Jungkook was already watching him closely, scanning him from head to toe. “Good.”
The small praise was enough to light a fire in Jimin’s core. He felt his cock twitch beneath his slacks, hoping desperately the outline of it hardening wouldn’t show.
The session began normally enough - Jungkook quizzing him, Jimin trying to keep up. The tension simmered, though, every time Jungkook leaned in to correct a mistake or tapped the end of his pen against Jimin’s work.
And then it happened.
Jungkook asked him to explain the four components of the marketing mix aloud. Jimin, already nervous, leaned too far over the desk as he pointed to a line in his notes. His knee knocked into the underside of the table, and before he could steady himself, his water bottle tipped - spilling directly across the desk and into Jungkook’s lap.
“Fuck-” Jimin gasped, shooting up from his chair. “I’m so sorry, Professor!”
Jungkook cursed under his breath, pushing his chair back sharply. The dark patch spreading across his trousers was visible and compromising. He grabbed a few tissues from his desk, blotting at the mess with a clenched jaw.
Jimin hovered helplessly, panicked. “I’ll - I’ll fix it!” He reached for the tissues too quickly, his hand colliding clumsily with Jungkook’s. In his desperation, he actually placed his hands on Jungkook’s thighs for support, dabbing at the fabric before realizing what he was doing.
The world froze.
Jungkook’s hand clamped around his wrist - firm, halting him mid-motion. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked onto Jimin’s. The silence stretched unbearably.
Jimin’s face burned scarlet. He’d grazed the soft bulge of Jungkook’s manhood. He yanked his hand back as if scorched, stumbling a step away. “I - I wasn’t thinking! I didn’t mean-”
“You never seem to think these days,” Jungkook said quietly, voice astonishingly acidic. He drew in a breath, steadying himself, then removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just…stop.”
Jimin obeyed, throat tight, trying not to let the tears of humiliation prick his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done - touching his professor like that. Worse, Jimin’s erection was now blatantly obvious from having touched Jungkook so intimately. He reached for a spare sweater in his bag and dropped it onto his lap, blushing to his ears. He hoped Professor Jeon hadn’t noticed.
The air between them crackled with awkwardness, thick enough to choke on.
Finally, Jungkook sat again, though he kept a measured distance, refusing to meet Jimin’s gaze. His voice was clipped when he spoke:
“Let’s just,” he ran his fingers through his hair, clearly embarrassed, “move on.”
Neither of them recovered from it. The tension only grew heavier, laced now with the memory of that forbidden moment neither of them dared to acknowledge aloud, making their allotted session stretch on absurdly long. Jungkook kept glancing at his wrist-watch, groaning frustratedly, and Jimin could only sniffle to keep his tears at bay – he was so hard, balls swollen and tight from having to abstain from relieving himself.
When Jimin finally left, his face still burning, Jungkook stayed behind in the dim office, staring at the dark patch on his trousers with his jaw tight.
-
The week after the water-to-crotch disaster, Jimin could barely stand to look Jungkook in the eye. He skipped office hours entirely, making flimsy excuses to himself about being too bogged down with work and other course assignments. The memory of his hand brushing against Jungkook’s bulge burned in his mind, replaying on a cruel loop.
The second he’d gotten home, Jimin had shoved his pants down to his thighs, not even bothering to lock the door before he was already tugging at his cock like a madman. He’d rucked up his shirt under his armpits and toyed with his nipples, imagining it was his hot professor pinching at the nubs instead.
He’d leaked cum like a faucet, dripping onto his linoleum flooring with a shout.
Post-nut clarity hit him like a sack of bricks.
He was in way over his head.
Having a crush was one thing, but jerking off to his professor was definitely a step below rock bottom.
He’d prided himself in being more mature than his peers, yet here he was, acting like a desperate, sex-crazed teenager.
Maybe he could bury his humiliation by finally trying his luck with somebody his age. Maybe a healthier kind of attention would cure his insidious obsession with his professor.
The next class, Jimin ditched his loose, tame outfits for something slimmer and youthful: fitted slacks, this time with a tucked-in shirt that cinched his waist, the top two buttons teasingly undone.
Taehyung, lounging in his usual seat, gasped when he saw him. “Well, damn. Look who woke up today and chose violence.” His grin was teasing, but his eyes lingered longer than usual, flashing with something akin to hunger.
Jimin flushed, half-pleased, half-ashamed, and brushed him off with a playful shove. Jimin bent over to put down his shoulder bag, and one of his classmates, Hongjun, let out a low whistle. It was sharp enough to make some heads turn at the sound, including their professor’s. Jimin pretended not to notice, but his body was finely attuned to everything Jungkook related, and he shamefully arched his back in a way that would draw attention to his perky ass.
“Damn. Didn’t know you were hiding all of that under your grandpa cosplays.” Hongjun commented, his eyes running up and down the curves of Jimin’s body greedily.
Jimin rolled his eyes, flicking him off, but the smile on his lips stretched wide. Subconsciously, though, he couldn’t shake away how different it felt to have eyes so blatantly defile him. How wrong it felt to receive such meaningless flattery in the place of rigid correction. Why these two reactions didn’t inspire the same ebbing of goosebumps over his flesh. When he turned to face the front of the classroom, he caught Jungkook staring at him, expression close to neutral, before darting his gaze away nonchalantly.
Jimin didn’t know what to make of that. Did he find Jimin childish for flirting so overtly with his classmates? Did he think Jimin was easy?
He suddenly felt embarrassed every time Taehyung leaned in to murmur things that made Jimin blush coyly, slapped his hands away when they curled over his thighs.
Taehyung, having noticed Jimin’s quiet discomfort, shot him a text to clarify.
Tae [ 6:32 PM ] : don’t freak out, but prof hasn’t stopped looking this way since u walked into class
Jimin’s head shot up, focus tunneling on Jungkook, only to find him already staring his way. Jimin looks away sharply, strangely finding his note-taking much for fascinating than usual.
By the end of class, Jungkook’s indifferent persona seems to fold in half, voice a little rougher around the edges when he calls for him. And there’s a shift.
Today, unlike any other day, Professor Jeon’s smoky timbre curls directly around his name.
“Jimin. A word?”
The room quieted a beat before dissolving into curious side-eyes and whispered assumptions. Jimin stiffened, but obliged nonetheless, clutching his phone to his chest – mortified - as he received a notification from Taehyung littered with eggplant, peach, and kissy emojis on his way out.
When the door shut, Jungkook crossed the distance between them in long, measured strides. His voice was no louder than a sigh.
“Why haven’t you been coming to our sessions?” He leaned in close, so close Jimin could feel the warmth of his breath fanning over his eyelashes.
Jimin shrugged, furiously whisking away the butterflies that fluttered in his chest. “Seriously, I’ve been busy-”
“Not busy enough to entertain foolish boys.” Jungkook’s gaze raked him over, sharp, disapproving.
Jimin stilled, his brows furrowing in question. “I’m sorry – what?”
“Looks like you’ve got enough time on your hands to rearrange your closet, too.” His eyes dipped towards the open slit of Jimin’s shirt before climbing up to his face again.
Jimin’s breath caught. The words stung, but he felt humiliated more than anything.
“What does it matter to you?” He shot back, folding his arms over his chest. He hated how he could feel his heart beating against his forearms.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Jungkook stepped closer, close enough that Jimin could feel the heat rolling off him, though he didn’t touch. His voice dropped, gravel rough.
“It matters-“ Jungkook huffed, taking a step back, “-it matters because I know what you’re capable of, Mr. Park. You have limitless potential.”
Jimin swallowed hard, not missing how Jungkook referred to him professionally, once again.
Jungkook scrubbed a hand over his face as if steady himself. “But you’re right. It shouldn’t matter to me how you bid your time or let yourself sink into a rut. Just don’t waste my time anymore.”
Jimin fled before Jungkook could formally dismiss him, his pulse still racing, cheeks burning hotter than ever.
He didn’t want to stay away from Jungkook. Not when his blood sang every time he was near. Not when his mind couldn’t distinguish between the fantasy of finally having Jungkook and the cruel reality of their illicit circumstances.
-
Jimin sat stiffly on the worn chair outside Jungkook’s office, his knee bouncing. He was fifteen minutes early than their typically schedule meetings, but the weight of the email had been too much to bear alone in his apartment: Your academic standing is at risk. Your scholarship may be rescinded if your GPA does not meet the stipulated minimum of 3.0 unweighted.
The grants - the only thing keeping him here – might be revoked if he doesn’t get his shit together.
The office door creaked open earlier than expected. Jimin nearly leapt to his feet. Jungkook stood there, caught mid-motion, sliding the glove he permanently wore over his left hand off. For a split second, the professor looked almost startled to see him waiting. His gaze flickered, guarded, before he stepped aside.
“You’re here.”
Jimin swallowed, heat climbing his neck. He had never seen him like this - sleeves roll up, skin exposed, ink sprawled in sharp blacks and greys up the length of his forearm, crawling into the cuff of his shirt.
“Come in,” Jungkook said evenly, taking his seat, though he seemed faintly aware of Jimin’s stare. “Close the door.”
Jimin shut the door behind him, fingers dancing on their own as they flicked the lock into place. He couldn’t quite understand why he did it.
“Take a seat.”
He sat, trying to fold his hands neatly on his lap, though his palms curled around his thighs desperately. Professor Jeon had never sounded so grave before, so disinterested.
Jungkook interlocked his fingers gingerly over his desk, glasses perched dangerously low on the slope of his nose. “So? Why did you decide to show up and take your future seriously?”
Jimin stared at his tattooed arm, still stupefied at the fact that he’s privy to such private knowledge. He briefly wondered why Jungkook didn’t bother covering them up again. His eyes caught on another flagrant discrepancy. The wedding band. It was gone. Jimin’s head shot up, eyes wide and searching.
“Jimin. Please focus.” Jungkook urged, voice tight.
The student blinked rapidly, eyelids fluttering at the prospect that maybe Jungkook wasn’t as untouchable as he seemed. He couldn’t wait to tell Taehyung about this new revelation.
“Y-yes, Professor Jeon. I’ll attend all future office hours and submit any revisions necessary.” Jimin pledged, cheeks ruddy.
Jungkook raised a brow, lips parting in annoyance and disbelief. “That’s… not what I asked. Where is your mind right now, Jimin?”
Jimin’s heart raced, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out: “Your ring. You’re not wearing it.”
Jungkook froze. His gaze snapped up, affronted. For a long, tense moment, Jimin wished he could take it back – the disapproving glare he’d received from his professor was enough to make him want to disappear off the face of the earth.
But then Jungkook leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
“The ring?” He stretched out his hand, flexing his digits as he examined it. “It’s a deterrent.” His voice was totally flat.
Jimin’s throat constricted. “Deterrent? For what?” He could barely push the words off his tongue.
“For students who always try crossing the line.”
The pointed glare he sent towards Jimin felt like a silent scolding. Jimin’s ears reddened.
Jungkook’s eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary before he straightened the papers on his desk. “We’ll focus on your grades, Jimin. Nothing else.”
Once again, embarrassingly so, Jimin found himself rushing home with a tent in his pants. This time, the fantasies were much more debauched. Ass up in the air, knees spread wide, Jimin frotted against his bed sheets whilst imagining Jungkook taking him from behind, his tattooed arm wrapping around his waist like a belt while his ringless hand spanked his ass cheeks until they were purple.
-
There were only two weeks left to the semester. After attending more than ten one-on-one sessions with Professor Jeon, Jimin's grades finally started improving. He didn't think it would be possible, but the idea that he'd been fixating so deeply on a man that was completely uninterested forced him to focus. Jimin was beaming with gratitude, shyly waiting outside Jungkook's office to verbalize his appreciation. Wordlessly, the older man let him in, stepping aside as Jimin walked through the door. The room was warm, warmer than he’d realized while pacing the hall outside. With a hesitant breath, he slipped off the light jacket he’d been wearing, folding it neatly across his lap.
…
Taehyung had been bubbling with meddling thoughts as soon as Jimin had told him their professor was actually single.
“Holy shit.” His friend uttered under his breath, mind reeling with undisclosed ideas Jimin could somehow decipher just from the look on his face.
“Dude, this is your chance! You can finally seduce him and not feel like a morally depraved whore!”
Jimin threw a pillow-sized plushie right into Taehyung’s face, narrowing his eyes vengefully when his friend cried out, “What the fuck was that for?!”
…
Needless to say, it was Taehyung’s idea for Jimin to wear a ribbed tank top under his jacket, the material so thin his chocolate brown nipples were visible under the right lighting.
He felt Jungkook’s gaze before he saw it. A flicker, a pause—the professor’s pen stilling on the page as his eyes swept over him once, quick but deliberate, tracing the lines of his shoulders, the narrow taper of his waist, the nubs of his nipples which pebbled through the fabric of his shirt.
Then Jungkook blinked, face shuttered, and snapped his gaze back to the paperwork. His mouth parted, grasping for words, before he ultimately decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
Jimin’s breath hitched. There was something about the bags under his eyes, betraying sleepless nights and mounting stress. His hair was no longer styled over his forehead, now falling softly over his temples in a messy part. When he’d take off his glasses to run his fingertips over his eyes, there was a sort of haggard sound that escaped from his lungs that could only come from someone well past the age where happiness was no longer a requirement, but a privilege.
There was something so raw about the smile lines that graced the corners of his lips and the crinkles of his eyes, something that spoke of a time when Jungkook wasn’t anything like the person he is now, so stern and stoic.
Jimin craved so deeply to be the little rush of adrenaline that made Jungkook’s blood pulse again.
“Professor Jeon-“ Jimin started, his voice paper thin and tinged with a sultry sigh that carried and lingered in the air. It caught Jungkook’s attention, the man looking up from his documents to glance at the young man. He made sure to keep his eyes leveled above his shoulders this time. “-my GPA has significantly improved because of you.”
He smiled, eyes curving into happy crescents, but his cheeks betrayed the direction of his thoughts.
Jungkook spluttered, clearing his throat before nodding noncommittally.
“It was a team effort, Mr. Park.”
Jimin nodded, his soft, blonde hair bouncing atop his head.
“I received a message from the Dean; my scholarship is no longer at stake.”
Jungkook grinned tersely, his lips stretching tightly.
“That’s wonderful, Mr. Park. I’m glad to hear that.”
Jimin licked his lips, biting into the glossy flesh. Professor Jeon’s eyes flicked toward the small action before darting up. His adam’s apple bobbed sharply.
Jimin sat up suddenly, discarding the sweater he’d folded over his lap. Jungkook’s gaze followed his figure as he moved, dropping to dip of his back before focusing on his face.
Boldy, heart hammering in his chest, Jimin rounded the corner of Jungkook’s desk, his small fingers doodling invisible figure eights on the matte finish of the mahogany wood. Jungkook eyed the traces of humidity that trailed behind his fingertips before they disappeared. Daringly, he lifted himself up, dropping his generous bottom onto the edge of the desk, sitting over the documents Jungkook was just reading.
“I really…” Jimin began, kicking his feet a bit playfully before they lightly touched his professor’s, planted firmly on the legs of his chair, “…really couldn’t have done it without you, Professor.” His eyes, obscured from view as he looked down bashfully, suddenly pierced right through Jungkook’s, and he saw the older man’s chest rise abruptly.
“What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Park?” Jungkook sneered, but it lacked any bite. The tight clench of his jaw, Jimin supposed, wasn’t out of indignation – he was holding back. Jimin really hoped he was right.
One of Jimin’s loafers slipped off his foot, and Jimin’s sock-clad toes wiggled before he bent his knee to run his tiny foot up and down Jungkook’s shin. Jimin eyed his reactions carefully, watching as his professor’s skin began to glisten with perspiration.
“I want to thank you, Professor. For helping me so much.” Jimin sighed, voice breathy and soft, like a warm caress.
Jungkook grunted, shifting in his seat. “That’s not necessary. Like I said, a thank you is more than enough.”
Jimin smiled, all pearly white teeth and pink cheeks bunching below his eyes. “I know…” He said, calmly, “but I have to wonder… why did you help me so much?”
His lips pursed into a demure pout, eyes widening innocently. Meanwhile, his toes tickled past the bend of Jungkook’s knee, trailing his thighs, which were visibly tense under the fabric of his pressed slacks.
Professor Jeon coughed, pounding a fist against his chest as his thigh twitched under Jimin’s ministrations.
“I- I helped you because you’re an exceptional student; I didn’t want to see you fail.”
Jimin hums, head lolling to the side as he contemplates that answer.
“Mmmm,” Jimin bats his lashes, blinking at Jungkook coyly, “that doesn’t explain why you haven’t kicked me out of your office.”
Jungkook stills, turning to gaze at Jimin warily.
Jimin continues, lifting his bum off the desk and standing before his professor, eyeing him expectantly. “That also doesn’t explain why you never did anything about my conduct…” Jimin pouts, bending at the waist as his hands waltz over Jungkook’s arms, the muscles beneath him feeling hard and sinuous. His cock jerks in his boxers, “…even when I crossed the line…”
Jimin graciously takes a seat on Jungkook’s lap, his thighs spreading apart and around Jungkook’s waist. “…over...”
His breath fans across Jungkook’s eyelids, causing his eyes to flutter shut, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling in consternation.
“…and over…”
His arms loop around Jungkook’s neck, fingers playing with the short hairs of his nape. The older man grunts, his hips jolting below Jimin’s ass.
“…and over again.”
Jimin holds his breath as he looks at his professor’s gorgeous face, leaning in shyly until his button nose rubs against Jungkook’s, rounder and more pronounced. Jungkook shudders against him, like something has fallen apart within him. Jimin doesn’t know what to do. He’s never kissed anyone before. Taehyung had offered to teach him, but Jimin said it might be too weird.
Looking down at Jungkook’s pouty lips and pretty cupid’s bow, skimming his hand along the slight stubble peppering his jawline, Jimin hesitates, heart up to his neck in anticipation.
Jimin whines, overstimulated by the heat burgeoning between his and Jungkook’s crotches, from the proximity, from the pregnant silence that hangs around them, enclosing them in a tight ambience that smells of minty breath, Jimin’s peach body lotion, and Jungkook’s musky cologne.
The professor seems to crumble at the sound. His hands immediately find the fat of Jimin’s ass. He gropes him feverishly, groaning as Jimin finally tips forward and presses his plump lips onto Jungkook’s.
Jimin isn’t given time to process the petal-soft sensation because Jungkook’s mouth is widening – maw open like a predator closing in on its prey – and pushing his slithering tongue deep into Jimin’s wet cavern.
The younger gasps, small hands curling into Jungkook’s hair as he clutches onto him fervently. Jungkook moans, sucking on his tongue while his teeth clash against Jimin’s. His incisors dig into Jimin’s lips, and Jimin can’t wait to see how swollen and wrecked he’ll look once Jungkook is done with him.
Jungkook moves impatiently, his hips bucking up into the grounding heat of Jimin’s nether regions, hands trespassing the layers of clothing separating the student from him.
Jimin gasps when he feels Jungkook’s fingers fondling his ass cheeks, hot skin on skin, and he blushes, pulling away from Jungkook’s mouth in embarrassment. The pink flushing of his cheeks only grows when he sees the string of saliva connecting his mouth to Jungkook’s tongue. He feels Jungkook’s cock twitch under him, the hard length rubbing against his clothed balls.
“Fuck. Look at you,” Jungkook says, the sound more like a purr the way it rumbles through his chest. Jimin can feel the reverberations against his own, “so fucking needy.”
Jungkook’s hands give his ass one last squeeze before running up his waist. The way his fingertips dance along his spine feels unreal, and Jimin desperately tries clenching his thighs together, but Jungkook’s torso prevents him from doing so.
“You’re so tiny.” Professor Jeon says, huffing in quiet laughter. “Could eat you up in one bite.”
His mouth clamps down on a sensitive spot behind Jimin’s ear as he says so, and Jimin cries out, squirming as he begins grinding down on the huge cock beneath him.
“Please! Please. Want that so bad.” Jimin moans, tears beading at his waterline when Jungkook’s molars bite down harder on his soft, milky neck.
The professor’s hands continue trailing toward Jimin’s front, rucking up the thin tank top Jimin has on and pulling it over his head as he pulls away to stare down at Jimin with uninhibited desire.
“Look at these pretty tits.” He mutters, using both hands to cup at Jimin’s soft pecs. Jimin moans, back arching in a silent plea. The older stares at him knowingly, his fingers rubbing teasing circles around the brown areolas.
“What do you want, hmm?” Jungkook asks, flicking his nail against the nubs when Jimin can only sob wantonly.
“I can only do what you tell me to do, Jimin.” He leans forward to suck on Jimin’s chin, his tongue laving over the sharp jut hungrily.
Jimin doesn’t know what to say. His heartbeat is drowning out any logical thoughts in his head. He can’t even form proper sentences. Only pitiful noises escape his mouth, making Jungkook tease him further.
He wraps an arm around Jimin’s middle, lifting him up easily while the other arm works to unbutton his pants and shove them down his thighs. Jimin’s eyes widen comically, hands unlinking behind Jungkook’s head to preserve what little modesty he can.
“No-o! Stop! It’s so embarrassing, Professor!” Jimin whines, his hands coming to rest over his leaking cocklet.
Jungkook hums appraisingly, eyes raking down Jimin’s naked body shamelessly. His eyes linger on the dip of his tiny waist, which widens into the fat jut of his hips, framed by the fat of his ass and thighs.
“So you can talk?” Jungkook chides, fixing him a judging stare.
Jimin curls in on himself, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze with every ounce of self-restraint he has left. “Could you-“ he only cries, hiding his face in the hollow of Jungkook’s neck. His mouth pools with saliva at the smell of Jungkook’s natural musk. “-please, suck on my nipples, please.”
Jungkook pulls Jimin out of his hiding spot by his scruff, watching him with dilated pupils.
“Fuck. Look at you, begging so nicely.” He moans, nodding placatingly when Jimin stares at him, eyes lidded and hazy with lust.
He leans forward, mouth hollowing before it attaches to Jimin’s right nipple. Jimin tips his head back, gasping as his tit gets ravished. The other one quickly gets assaulted by Jungkook’s fingers, rubbing the nubs between his fingertips until they’re pink from the increased blood flow.
Jimin moans like a seasoned harlot, his pelvis moving with a mind of his own as he ruts down on Jungkook’s lap.
His hands fly up from his crotch, moving to curl into the unruly strands of his professor’s hair.
“Don’t stop, oh, pleeease.” Jimin moans, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He starts bouncing greedily on Jungkook’s lap, while the professor switches to the other nipple, biting on it teasingly before suctioning with his lips around the areola.
Jimin keens, chanting like a madman. “Please! Please! Suck on my tits, oh- professor.”
Jimin’s mouth parts, a silent scream pushing past his lips while his cock starts spurting out endless ropes of cum, his lithe body shuddering as the aftershocks rack up and down his spine. Jungkook presses sweet pecks onto his cheeks, his neck, his nose, sliding his tongue over the skin to leave wet patches everywhere.
Jungkook hands skirt down towards his ass again, fondling the fat and bouncing it in his palms so it jiggles. Jimin hums, eyes just barely fluttering open when he feels Jungkook’s nails scratching lightly at his perineum.
Jungkook kisses him lightly on his swollen lips, biting his lip when Jimin shifts gingerly over his erection.
“O-oh…” Jimin gasps, blushing slightly. “Are you-“ he flushed down to his sternum, blinking at Jungkook owlishly, “-do you want to-“
Jungkook interrupted him with a filthy kiss, sticking his tongue deep into Jimin’s stupefied mouth.
“It’s alright.” His hands rubbed up and down the length of his waist.
Jimin huffed, not liking the sound of that. “But-“
“It’s fine, Jimin.” Jungkook reassured, adjusting himself below Jimin’s lower half. Like this, his cock jutted against his pubic hair, red and hard. Jimin licked his lips.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Jungkook inquired, suddenly a lot more sober. Jimin shifted as much as he could with his pants rolled down his legs, looking down at his tummy.
Jungkook taps on the side of his hip, gesturing for him to get up. Jimin stares at him curiously, but he obliges nonetheless, shuffling awkwardly as he stands up on wobbly legs. His professor instructs for him to turn around, positioning him to his liking on top of the desk. Jimin makes a questioning noise at the back of his throat, his ass wagging in the air as his front grazes the abandoned papers on the desk.
He tries to turn his head to look back at Jungkook, but the older places a firm hand on his neck, pushing his face into the desk. Jimin complains, his cheek squishing against the cold wood uncomfortably.
There’s the sound of a zipper being tugged open, fabric rustling, and the metal of a belt clinking as it’s loosened enough to shrug off.
He hears Jungkook spit into his hand, the glob falling with a quiet splat on his palm. Then, loud squelching follows, and Jimin’s ears go red at the thought of Jungkook jerking off on his ass. The younger’s ass clenches, whining when he feels Jungkook slap his cock on his cheeks, the older groaning at the visual.
“Fuck, Jimin.” He moans, resuming the breakneck speed at which he beats his cock. Jimin feels some speckles of precum land on his hole before Jungkook rubs his dick along the cleft of Jimin’s ass, sandwiching his erection between Jimin’s cheeks as he starts cumming with a loud, disbelieving groan.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” he moans, pistoning his hips to help milk the rest of the semen that remains in his balls.
Jimin doesn’t even notice when he comes again, his cock twitching against the hardwood trapping his cock between his spent body.
Jimin suddenly gasps, and Jungkook opens his eyes, vision cloudy, to investigate.
“Everything alright, Jimin?” He asks, tattooed arm coming to wrap around his waist. His muscular chest presses into his back, and it’s then that Jimin realizes he’s completely nude while his professor is still entirely clothed, save for the opening of his pants to free his cock. It makes heat rise to his cheeks, and he wonders how long it will take for the red to fade into a more natural pink.
Jimin sighs dejectedly, looking back over his shoulder to meet Jungkook’s eyes.
“The assignments we turned in today…” he trails off, glancing away in embarrassment.
Jungkook hooks his chin over Jimin’s shoulder, pecking him sweetly on the neck. “Yeah? What is it?”
Jimin frowns, pouting cutely. “I just came all over them.”
Fin.