Chapter Text
Miami, 1985
Jeongguk finds his way to Coco’s as he does most nights, knuckles stuffed with a cigarette, pushing into the sweet smoke of the club. It’s still early, but the thrumming rush of bodies and sweat greets him in a tidal wave, luring him in.
The club’s usual patrons are well on their way to losing sense. Coco’s is the centre of Miami nightlife, its orbit dragging in anyone willing to let go of themselves for a while. He’s spent many nights here, lost amongst indistinguishable faces and heat and music, and so the sway of the crowd feels like a comfort, the vibrations of the underbelly churning under his feet.
Jeongguk slips through the sea of people to the bar, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He’s here so often the bartender only has to look at him to know what he wants. And when the glass is placed in front of him he lifts it high and downs it in one go, gesturing for another with cash between his fingers.
As the club thrums around him, such a lurid display of excess and depravity, he finally feels the tension in his shoulders fall away.
There’s a hand at his waist.
“I’m surprised you hunted me down considering the state of the place tonight,” he comments, not bothering to turn around.
“And I’m surprised you’re out this early.”
Jeongguk stubs out his cigarette, reaching a hand back to manhandle the man forward by the neck.
Jimin.
His ability to find him no matter how crowded the place is is truly commendable. He thinks Jimin has a talent for it — usually when he’s in more compromising positions.
“Where are the others,” he asks into Jimin’s ear.
“Oh, probably halfway to Jupiter by now,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek. The sweet tang of his cologne is a small comfort.
“Want a Cosmo?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
They settle in at the bar, shoulder-to-shoulder. The music runs through him and fills his jittery limbs, makes him calmer. He knocks another scotch back and looks over his companion, the swipe of glitter across his cheeks sparkling in the dark.
“What’s the plan then, Picasso?”
Jimin’s eyebrows quirk in their usual way, his eyes warm as he grabs Jeongguk’s jaw to wiggle it. “Why are you asking me? You’ve got it down to an exact science by now.”
“Maybe I’m bored,” he drawls, batting his hand away. “Maybe tonight I want to do something different.”
“What, have you run out of men to fuck at Coco’s?” he laughs; “Shall we try Roxy?”
“Fuck off.”
He’s not entirely wrong.
“No, I’m concerned about your wellbeing. I never thought I’d see the day when you’d get tired of doing what you do best.” Jimin’s fingers press up to Jeongguk’s neck, resting contemplatively against his forehead. “Oh god, do you have a fever?”
He wrestles him away, unable to stop a smile at the bright flash of laughter that follows. “The day I walk into Roxy is the day you put me out of service. Seriously.”
They down their drinks, flipping around to survey the floor. There’s a low haze of smoke in the neon, bodies pressed tight to the throb of the music. His eyes scan with interest over the crowd, dragging over shirtless men with their jeans hanging low on their hips, the muscle, the pretty ones with waves of thick hair and slender bodies. Coco’s offers the best crowd in Miami — but the same crowd, and after two years here he’s starting to see too many familiar faces.
He pushes his hair back, not oblivious to the look he receives from a man dancing alone, long and lingering. He feels a hot flash of interest — but he recognises the man as one of Hoseok’s old flings, and quickly brushes the attention off with a scoff.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend to get back to?” he asks Jimin instead.
“He’s not here tonight,” Jimin looks mournful. “He’s busy with work.”
“How responsible.”
“He works hard, you know,” he says, hand to his chest. “And he takes care of me. He’s the perfect boyfriend. Not that you would know what being in a loving relationship is like.”
He snorts, grabbing Jimin’s hand and pulling him forwards. He’s aware of exactly how hard Yoongi works, the mobster that he is. “I know that he’s not here now. So you have no excuse. Dance with me.”
“Don’t you want an appetiser first?” Jimin holds up a thin metal tin between them. Jeongguk grins.
“I love you.”
“Funny how you only say that when the coke comes out.”
After a quick detour to the bathrooms, they meld into the throng of people, finding a spot in the heat of it all to squeeze themselves. Jeongguk’s hands wind around Jimin’s neck and he offers him a grin, slow and charming. They’ve known each other so long, danced so often together that their bodies find the same rhythm. Bathed in red light, Jimin looks a picture of youth and sex, glitter dancing on his cheekbones. Jeongguk is amazed he’s immune to Jimin’s charms with him looking like this, but his love is entirely platonic. Jimin knows him better than anyone. Jimin puts up with him more than anyone, too, and for the way Jeongguk acts sometimes he can’t be anything but grateful.
They dance. The restlessness in him stirs as the coke sets in, the beat of the music hammering all the way to his stomach. He feels as though an engine within him has flicked on and hums in his veins. Jimin’s arms are around him one moment, then away, a promise of more drinks to come. He tilts his head back once Jimin slinks back off towards the bar, closing his eyes as he savours the feeling that the club brings. The thump of the music swells in further, neon red flashing behind his eyelids. That guttural promise of nothing he’s been chasing feels tangible, fluttering closer.
He knows his coping mechanisms aren’t the best. Anyone would tell him the nightly routine of drugs and sex won’t bring him eternal happiness, but he chooses not to give a fuck if it means the rotten thing inside of him shrinks to the corner and stays there.
“God, you’re fucked up already,” comes a voice at his side.
He opens his eyes. “Namjoon! Here at last.”
“Don’t you have a day off?”
“Never,” he sings, turning to face him, knowing his pupils are blown. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Namjoon looks at him flatly, as he always does when he’s like this. He’s mastered the whole I’m not impressed with you act by now, though Jeongguk takes it with a grain of salt. And typically, the difference between the sober and high versions of him are barely noticeable, anyway. He’s naturally wired; the coke just enhances things.
Namjoon opens his mouth but doesn’t get the chance to speak. Jimin comes barrelling back like a tornado, all bergamot and vanilla.
“Hey, hyung!” he greets Namjoon, shoving Jeongguk’s drink into his chest like an afterthought. He huffs, unoffended. Jimin’s attention is fickle, usually drawn the most to those who pay him the least. Namjoon, flighty and prone to appearing only when he feels he has to, is a mystery box Jimin has been obsessed with trying to crack for years now.
They’re almost all accounted for, besides one.
“Listen, both of you,” Namjoon starts, then hesitates, perhaps realizing they’re both higher than he expected. “You’re not gonna like this—”
Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Then don’t say anything.”
“—But Hoseok is having a crisis. It’s happened. I think we need to stage an intervention.”
Jimin’s eagerness dissolves into a frown. “Really? Right now?”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk says pointedly, knowing where this is going. “Right now?”
He’s been anticipating it for a while, but he was hoping that it wouldn’t happen when he’s already halfway to a good night. Hoseok and his shitty excuse for a boyfriend, over at last. Both he and Jimin had wrongly assumed they’d been somewhere in Coco’s already. The curse has finally been lifted, he thinks, and snorts.
“You can either choose to be a caring friend and support him in his mental breakdown, or stay here and continue getting fucked.”
“I choose getting fucked,” Jeongguk decides.
But Jimin sighs, downing his Cosmo in one. To Jeongguk’s annoyance, as he’s taking a long swig of his beer Jimin rips it off him and grabs his arm, pulling him forward. “Come on.”
“What? Seriously? Can’t he nap it off?”
“I thought you said you wanted to do something different,” Jimin reminds, though Jeongguk is convinced he too looks a little disappointed. “Your wish came true.”
He takes another glance around him. He supposes he is a little bored, deprived of anyone worthy of attention. And he hates Hoseok’s evil boyfriend. It’s a cause for celebration, he thinks.
Namjoon leads them back through the growing crowd. By twelve Coco’s is heaving with possibility, and as they push out of the entrance and into the mild night air, he still takes a moment to mourn any possibility of a good fuck.
Outside, the line to get in snakes down the block, men in leather jackets and open shirts, some of them just boys, far too young to be corrupted by the place. The pink neon of the club bleeds out onto the street, painting everything magenta. There’s music spilling out of every crevice, palm trees braced against the night, swaying in the breeze. Couples are pressed against lampposts and tucked away in stairwells. It’s not yet summer, not quite sticky. He lets himself be tugged along, breathing in the tang of cigarette smoke in the air, the hint of salt.
“This better be worth it,” he mutters, more to himself.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to be there for Hoseok. They’ve been friends since the moment he stepped foot in Miami, and Jeongguk knows he’s probably heartbroken, despite how awful the guy was. But he’s a little too high, a little too primed for the night. Sitting on Hoseok’s sofa and handing him tissues while he sobs was not exactly on his agenda.
He’s restless, jumpy. He already wants to be back in that dark, back where the music leaves no room for thinking. He wants to have something to do with his hands.
And then his prayers are answered.
They’re just out of the club’s orbit when Jeongguk sees him. A flash of blond that has him double-taking, turning his head. He stops in his tracks, pulling away from Jimin.
The man is walking alone along the bustling strip, and Jeongguk can tell he’s new to the place, that he isn’t from around here. There’s something about him that immediately has his chest sparking in intrigue, all sharp dark eyes and blond hair. He’s tall, subtly muscular, walking with intention. Jeongguk latches on.
Noticing his absence, Namjoon turns to ask, “What is it?”, then follows Jeongguk’s redirected attention. “Oh, come on.”
He moves backwards, away, eyes tracking the man as he continues down the street. Fucking finally, he thinks, something interesting.
“It’s too late,” Jimin sighs, and he takes it as an excuse enough, though he’d go either way. “He’s found his plaything for the night.”
“Hoseok is going to kill you for this,” Namjoon warns. Jeongguk is sure of that, but some things can’t be helped.
He leaves his friends behind with a wave, ignoring the rolled eyes. The man has made it further along the strip, back towards Coco’s now, towards the thump of the music and crowds. He’s looking around like all of this is new to him; the glitz, the shamelessness. He supposes it is slightly startling for a newcomer, the thinly concealed depravity of it all.
Jeongguk makes up the distance in little to no time, his heart picking up with the thrill of it. It’s his favourite game, the chase. And now he’s found someone new to make his mark upon.
In one smooth motion he circles and comes to a stop right in front of the man. He looks startled, unsure, all pretty wide eyes and a slight edge of annoyance.
God, he’s hot.
“You’re new.”
What strikes Jeongguk immediately is his beauty. The man is incredibly attractive, both pretty and masculine, with long, thick eyelashes and eyes that seem almost feline as they consider him.
“How do you know that?” is the man’s reply, not entirely shying from Jeongguk’s intense appraisal.
“I think I’d know if I’d seen you before,” he says, still wired and suddenly much more interested in the direction the night will take. He steps an inch closer, watching the man examine him. He’s wearing a loose silk shirt, earrings dangling tastefully. He licks his lips a lot, eyes darting between Jeongguk and the hive of Coco’s at his back, as if not entirely sure how to handle him. But not disinterested, he notes, smiling slowly at the way the man’s eyes drag across him, lingering.
“Do you prey on all unsuspecting young men wandering alone?”
Ignoring him, he says: “Is it your first time?”
“It might be.”
“What are you doing in a place like this?” he can’t help but tease, semi-ironic. “Coco’s will corrupt you.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
Something glints in the man’s eyes. Jeongguk prickles with intrigue, stirred further. They stare at each other for a second, and he takes the appraisal. Welcomes it, daring the other to break his gaze. He’s more confident than he first realized, Jeongguk thinks. Not one to back down.
After a moment he seems to have gained his sense back, letting out an amused breath before moving past Jeongguk to join the line for the club.
They’re in the thick of the night now, sirens chirping up around them. A group of men hang out of a Pontiac Fiero on the strip, yelling obscenities at a rival group across the road. Like clockwork, the night seems to stoke the embers of mob activity. Just a typical Thursday night.
He sidles up beside the man, pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket. “Want one?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Oh, how adorable.”
“Fuck off,” the man says without any real bite, eyes sparkling. Jeongguk is drawn in by it, coming closer. He lights up and puffs the smoke from the side of his mouth, enjoying the eye contact.
He’s struck lucky tonight, it seems.
“So when did you move here?” he asks, finding himself interested. He doesn’t really know why he’s striking up conversation; he doesn't usually bother with formalities.
“Do I seem that green?”
“When?” Jeongguk presses.
“Last night,” the man says, half-laughing. The line moves, and as it does he casts a curious glance at the way Jeongguk walks backwards to stay attentive to him.
“You don’t waste any time. Where from? Seoul?”
“Good guess.”
“Running from your old life? Or perhaps you’re adopting a new identity?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” There’s amusement on his face as he looks at Jeongguk, as if watching a puppy at his heels.
Jeongguk shrugs, but a smile grows as he does, something roguish and dangerous. Innocently, he says: “I’m just making conversation, angel.”
It slips out, but he doesn’t regret it. The slightest flush dances across the man’s cheeks as the pet name sinks in, though his expression doesn’t change. Jeongguk should applaud him for his resolve.
And something about it is horrifically endearing, such that Jeongguk finally breaks his gaze. He takes another drag and stubs out his cigarette as the line thins.
“It was a little spontaneous,” he admits, now that Jeongguk’s eyes aren’t on him. “Moving here.”
“All the best things are,” he grins. They’re at the door now, past the bouncers, into the thrum of Coco’s. The place seems almost feral, hot and pulsing. It’s a marvel that a matter of minutes can have such an effect.
There’s no point in wasting time. Jeongguk plants a hand at the small of his back, steering him to the floor. The edge from the coke begins to wane, and, in an effort to avoid his thoughts creeping back, once they’re in the thick of the crowd he pulls the man to him, chest to chest.
“What’s your name?” he probes.
The man’s voice is low, alluring. “Taehyung.”
“Taehyung,” he tastes it, decides he likes it.
“And you?”
“Jeongguk.”
Taehyung pulls back slightly. “Cute.”
He doesn’t know why that affects him. He buries it with a smile, a raised eyebrow. Then he’s reasserting his grip on Taehyung’s waist, feeling the hot drag of his hips as he sways in time to the music. His eyes stay trained on Taehyung’s face, unwavering. Such a pretty thing, he thinks, gaze trailing over those sharp eyes, at his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them.
And he finds no harm in repeating it aloud, so he does. “Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
Taehyung flushes a little with the praise. Jeongguk draws him closer, intrigued. Lit only by flashing red, Taehyung is a vision, devastating with his long lashes and sharp jaw. He looks at him with that same charged gaze, stirring something delicious in Jeongguk’s gut.
“You’re a sweet talker,” Taehyung teases. “Does it always work for you?”
“It’s working now, isn’t it?”
Jeongguk can’t resist. Slowly, he leans in and presses his lips to Taehyung’s neck, trailing a row of kisses from his jawline to the hollow of his throat. Taehyung breathes, head tilted to the ceiling. The club rumbles, bass thick in their ears. When his teeth graze the sensitive skin of Taehyung’s throat Jeongguk hears him groan, something impossibly soft, almost inaudible. He smiles. He always gets what he wants.
When he pulls back he’s greeted with the sight of Taehyung’s eyes on him, pupils blown, slightly breathless. He looks such a sight that Jeongguk barely has the patience to drag things out. The mental image of him stretched out on Jeongguk’s sheets comes unbidding and sudden into his mind, and his hands tighten their grip on his waist, so supple in Jeongguk’s hold.
Another man slinks up to his side, then. He dances in the same space, moving closer, and usually Jeongguk would welcome the boldness but tonight he finds himself irritated. It takes nothing to dismiss him. That is, until he registers that the dismissal hasn’t worked. The other man isn’t there for him.
Suddenly, he’s left cold. It’s with disbelief that he realizes he’s been abandoned, as Taehyung slips out of his hold to wrap an arm around the stranger’s neck.
Jealousy, thick and hot, disturbs him in its ferocity. He’s known this man for five minutes and already he’s seething at the loss. But before he can say anything, Taehyung catches eyes with him, gazing at him over this other man’s shoulders, and he’s smiling.
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters to himself. He’d vastly underestimated what he’s getting himself into here, it seems. They watch each other, the hunger between them obvious, Jeongguk’s more obvious jealousy making itself very clear from the satisfaction in Taehyung’s eyes. He starts whispering in the disruptor’s ear, eyes on him the whole time, and Jeongguk has had enough. He knows he’s playing right into his hands by chasing. But he’s not going to be tempted like this and not end up with what he wants.
He pushes forwards into the space between the two, forcing them out of each other’s orbit. Taehyung laughs, all teeth and delight, clearly very pleased with himself. Jeongguk claims his space, pulling him close, ignoring the death glare from the man he’d interrupted.
“So you like playing games, then,” he murmurs into his ear, hot breath on his cheek, feeling more electric than he has in months.
“Simply exploring my options for the night,” Taehyung replies, tilting Jeongguk’s chin up with a grin. He kisses him, then. Jeongguk doesn’t expect it. It’s not often that his hook ups kiss, and he isn’t particularly fond of it when they try it, either. But this time he finds himself falling into it, his lips parting to allow his tongue to slip into his mouth.
And he likes it. Taehyung is a good kisser, stirring warmth in Jeongguk’s stomach as he licks into his mouth.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he says when they break apart, his voice low. “I don’t like to share.”
He isn’t unaware of the attention Taehyung is getting. He’s more attractive than most, something about him magnetic, drawing eyes to him for simply being. And it seems he knows it, too, from the lazy, contented grin that grows on his face, a different side to the wide-eyed innocence he’d met with outside Coco’s. He realizes with growing interest that Taehyung wasn’t joking about the inability of Coco’s to corrupt him. It seems, he thinks, that he has a rival.
“No?” Taehyung’s gaze rakes over him. “I can see that.”
“I don’t make a habit of kissing, either,” he says pointedly. For a second, Taehyung stills. His expression is so difficult to read; Jeongguk can’t guess what he’s thinking, and it has him intrigued, has him rapt. But then he speaks.
“So stop me,” he challenges, and swoops forward again. This time, he kisses him deep and quick as if probing him for a reaction, as if daring him to deny him. It’s intoxicating, makes Jeongguk grip his waist tight, makes his head swim. They push and pull, moving with the crowd as the music changes, and he could get lost.
It’s the first time in a long time he’s been kissed like this. And it’s not often that he’s this interested. Usually his hook ups serve the purpose of numbing his brain and releasing pent-up frustration. Though, usually, he doesn’t exchange as much conversation as he has with Taehyung, he thinks, spreading his hands across his body. The exchange of words usually starts and ends with “come back to mine”, and very rarely includes a proper introduction.
Speaking of.
He breaks off the kiss, a little more out of breath than he expects. “Want to continue this at my place?”
Taehyung looks at him. “We’ve only just got here.”
He takes him by the hand authoritatively, impatient, now. “And now we’re leaving.”
He’s not usually this eager, either. Turning to leave, he hears Taehyung laugh behind him, though he doesn’t resist. “So much for the introduction to Miami.”
“You’ll get an introduction,” Jeongguk says over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m very accommodating.”
He doesn’t particularly care about coming across too keen, not tonight. He’s acting entirely on impulse, as he is so often wont to do.
Taehyung lets him drag him through the crowd, out of the pit of the club and back into the fresh air. They stumble out as if the place has thrown them. Immediately, Jeongguk heads in the direction of his apartment, back along the main strip. He feels Taehyung behind him, the soft and sudden heat of his hand brushing against the small of his back.
“How do I know you’re not going to dissect me limb-by-limb when you get me alone?”
“You don’t,” he shoots back, grinning when Taehyung falls into place beside him. “Isn’t that part of the thrill?”
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Jeongguk’s second floor apartment is nestled in a small complex with peeling paint, a series of wiry palms and several large cacti in various stages of neglect. Tonight, as every night, he climbs the flights to his apartment quickly and without pause, not wanting to linger. The place is nothing special, not very reflective of the luxury and promise that the more glamorous side of Miami Beach has to offer.
It’s not that he’s embarrassed about living where he does. It’s not overly shabby or run down — but it’s also a far cry from the yachts cruising out in the bay, and he knows it’s no competition.
He lets them in, pulls Taehyung unceremoniously through the door and kicks it shut with his foot.
Taehyung tugs him back, and he goes. They kiss, hot and anticipatory, and he can’t help but pull Taehyung to him as they begin the walk to the bedroom, stumbling backwards without much grace or direction. He’s got his hands on Taehyung’s waist, pressing at the warm skin, his rings brushing cold and making him shiver.
When they make it to Jeongguk’s bedroom he flicks on the low lights, just enough for them to see what they’re doing. Taehyung has his hands all over him. He’s managed to get Jeongguk’s shirt half off before Jeongguk has even got him onto the bed, and it makes him grin, makes his chest flare.
“Someone’s eager.”
He pushes him onto the bed and Taehyung falls, a small gasp escaping his lips. The smile that grows as Jeongguk towers over him is something teasing and daring and guaranteed to have Jeongguk’s stomach in knots.
“Tell that to yourself. Dragging me off the street like that. You have no shame.”
“You’re right about that,” he laughs, as Taehyung moves further up the bed and he follows, hovering over him.
“Is it just because I’m new?”
Jeongguk appraises him. His hand ghosts over Taehyung’s jaw, a thumb smoothing over his bottom lip. He’s such a vision Jeongguk doesn’t even know how to explain he’s never seen someone quite his type in his life.
“No. Stop fishing for compliments.”
“Oh?” Taehyung looks amused. “Too proud to tell a man he looks hot?”
Jeongguk’s hands come smoothly and swiftly to trap him against the bed, palms pinning Taehyung’s own down against the mattress. He leans down into his space, imposing enough that Taehyung’s breath comes a little faster, a little less controlled. “You’re getting mouthy, aren’t you?”
Taehyung shivers. His teasing falls into something less confident, and Jeongguk smirks, leaning back a little.
“Take off your shirt, angel.”
Taehyung’s fingers come to the hem of his shirt, and Jeongguk allows him the space to shift upwards a little until it’s off. Then he’s back on the sheets, and Jeongguk is staring. His eyes trail without shame over the expanse of golden skin, soft and unblemished; over his nipples, the curve of his chest, the slim wind of his waist. Immediately his hands come to touch, and when Taehyung’s fingers finish off the buttons of his own shirt he allows him to reach up and push it off his shoulders.
He notices Taehyung’s gaze shift, then, trailing along his arms, drinking in the sight of the tattoos imprinted across his collarbones and chest. He brings a hand up to trace a design that sprawls across his left pec, thumb smoothing over it.
“Pretty,” Taehyung murmurs, lip tugged between his teeth. He looks so entranced that Jeongguk falters for a moment, a little taken off guard. Not once has someone paid attention to him so earnestly during a hookup as Taehyung does now. It unsettles him a little, makes him feel an edge of discomfort.
Taehyung’s tongue darts out to wet his pink lips. Jeongguk’s eyes come immediately to the motion. He surges down again with renewed confidence, gently prising Taehyung’s fingers from his chest to pin him back against the sheets. His body comes to fit itself over Taehyung’s, their hips aligning in a way that has Taehyung’s breath hitching quietly. Jeongguk knows he can feel the weight of him, the ripple of muscle that holds him down. He knows, as he angles his hips slightly and rolls them a little, that Taehyung has realized he’s already half hard.
“Tell me what you want, angel.”
Taehyung keens a little under his touch, though his gaze is steady. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Jeongguk’s hand slips from holding him down to explore teasingly over his chest, ring-laden fingers brushing soft over his nipple. When Taehyung jerks slightly in his hold he smirks, repeating the motion with a flick of his finger, this time. It’s sensitive; must be so, the way Taehyung’s back arches up ever so subtly.
“I want you to tell me.”
His lips come to close around his nipple, then, tongue swirling around it teasingly. Taehyung’s lashes flutter. He’s holding back, Jeongguk can tell. For whatever reason.
Jeongguk sighs, displeased. He wants him loud. Wants him to express himself, to be completely and unabashedly open. Wants him squirming and gasping and gone, just for him.
“Tell me, Taehyung.”
“Touch me,” Taehyung breathes. His voice betrays him, a little more affected than Jeongguk had thought.
He moves to the other nipple, repeats the same gesture with his tongue. His teeth graze softly over it as he pulls back. “Here?”
Taehyung doesn’t answer. He moves lower, starts to trail a line of open-mouthed, loose kisses along his chest to his stomach, taking advantage of the vast expanse of skin. At the line of his waistband he pauses, his lips hovering. “Here?” he says, as his hands come to smooth along his waist, as his teeth tease along the band of his jeans.
“Yes,” Taehyung gives in. “Please.”
Slowly, Jeongguk’s fingers dip into his waistband. Taehyung doesn’t stop him, only shuffles to encourage him as he tugs off his jeans, and soon after his underwear.
He lays back, bare, already hard himself. Jeongguk is staring shamelessly, gaze raking over every inch of him. Taehyung is stunning, the set of his body so ravishing, his sudden demure so fucking hot that he feels his own self control slipping.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hand squeezing over Taehyung’s bare thigh. His thighs, supple and meaty and soft, bracketing themselves a little around Jeongguk as he dips closer. “Look at you.”
Taehyung makes a soft noise in his throat. When Jeongguk glances up, his attention catches the way his cock twitches and he groans.
“You like praise, don’t you angel?” he says slowly, understandingly, watching the way Taehyung’s cheeks pinken slightly, the way his wet lips glisten as he swipes his tongue over them. Jeongguk does this often, but Taehyung is something else. He’s slightly stubborn but Jeongguk likes it this way, likes teasing it out of him. And he looks so good naked on Jeongguk’s bed, spread out underneath him. He says as much. “So pretty for me.”
Taehyung shivers. “You’re such a tease.”
“So?” Jeongguk shrugs, fingers still massaging into his inner thigh, working their way up, slowly up. “Are you going to pretend you don’t like it?”
He finds himself amused at the way Taehyung’s expression twists, the frustration in his gaze as they look at each other. It’s charged, simmering, and when Jeongguk lifts a palm to his cheek and smooths his thumb at the corner of his lip he watches how Taehyung fights it avidly, his lids fluttering.
Still, when Jeongguk’s thumb pushes in a little further he parts his lips, allowing him access. Jeongguk stares, entranced at the way his full lips open pliantly as Jeongguk’s index finger sinks beyond and into his mouth. His tongue wraps around it, wetting it, and when Jeongguk adds another he takes it greedily, his mouth falling further open at the intrusion as he sucks Jeongguk’s fingers.
“Fuck, Taehyung,” he mutters, eyes on the obscene sight in front of him. He pulls his fingers from his mouth and offers his palm. Without a word, Taehyung licks a stripe along the length of it, his eyes hooded.
“Is this what you want?” he says then, his wetted hand coming to wrap around Taehyung’s cock. He’s hard, long and thick, and as he begins to move his hand he feels Taehyung tense underneath him. His fingers grip smooth around his cock, working up to a steady pace. Already he feels how affected he is as he grips him, as his fingers twist and massage over the head. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” Taehyung says, breathless. “Fuck, yes.”
“Good boy,” he says, and Taehyung keens. “What else?”
He stares at the ministrations of his fingers around Taehyung’s cock, the sight of his hands on him, and his own bulge aches a little at the vision. He speeds up his motions, watching the slide of his palm working Taehyung over. Then he snaps his gaze to Taehyung's face only to find him watching him already, his eyes darkened and hooded over completely.
“Don’t make me repeat myself again, angel.”
“I—” Taehyung pants, breathing hard. Jeongguk presses a thumb into his slit and he doubles forwards a little, a jolt of pleasure crossing his face. “Fuck, Jeongguk.”
“What?”
He looks so divine like this, squirming and pink-cheeked, his body arching a little with pleasure. Jeongguk’s other hand comes to smooth back up his chest, toying with his nipple. Taehyung moans.
“Ah— god,” his eyes flutter closed for the briefest of seconds, and when Jeongguk’s fist only jerks him faster he slaps a panicked hand over his wrist to stop him. “Not yet. I want you to—”
“You want me to what?” Jeongguk pauses.
“Fuck me,” Taehyung rushes out, his chest heaving, precum leaking from his cock. Jeongguk drinks in the sight of him, lithe and naked on his sheets. He doesn’t have to be told. He thinks he’s never been quite so turned on in his life, the way he is now, rock hard and aching.
“Turn over,” he says gently, shifting to allow Taehyung to move. He pulls back for a second, crosses the room to a drawer, pulls out lube and a condom. When he returns to the bed he finds Taehyung lying there pliantly, the curve of his spine dipping to the globes of his ass. Immediately his hands come to it, massaging them apart and receiving a gasp in response as he shoves Taehyung a little further into the bed.
“Such a pretty ass,” he murmurs, flicking open the lube to douse his fingers. He throws it to the edge of his bed and pulls Taehyung’s cheeks apart with one hand, the other smoothing a lubed finger along his rim. “Pretty hole, too.”
Taehyung moans and grinds a little into the bed, clearly trying to relieve himself. Jeongguk stops him with a firm hand in his hair, fingers splaying out against his skull. “Impatient, aren’t you?”
“I’m getting bored,” Taehyung challenges, a little breathless. His deep voice pitches higher, and Jeongguk very much doubts he’s bored; “Hurry it up.”
Jeongguk bites back a laugh. “Demanding, too.”
He slaps Taehyung’s ass, then, marveling at the way it bounces.
“Fuck you.”
“Oh?” his lips curve into a smile, something dangerous entering his expression at the pushback. “Is that how you want to do things, hm?”
Without warning, Jeongguk’s finger teases at his rim. A moment later Taehyung moans a helpless breath as it pushes in, working at a slow pace. The sight of Taehyung immediately pushing back to feel Jeongguk inside of him, to feel more of it, has his cock aching between his legs. He moves that way for a minute or two before Jeongguk stops him, instead picking up the pace slightly, curling his finger against Taehyung’s walls.
“You can add more,” Taehyung tells him, restless. And Jeongguk can’t deny him. He may be demanding, but Jeongguk is just as quick to follow his instructions.
When he inserts the second finger, Taehyung takes it readily. He watches his digits disappear into Taehyung’s ass with a pang of arousal, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of his thigh as he works them faster, deeper. Taehyung is letting out little gasps and breaths that border on moans, his back arching into the touch. Jeongguk’s attention strays to his face, the side of it that he can see, and his gut coils with arousal at the sight of his features twisted in pleasure, brows furrowed and pink lips glistening.
“Does that feel good?” he asks, watching him attentively. He loves to tease things out, but his cock is achingly hard and he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait to be inside him.
“Yeah,” Taehyung nods. His lip catches between his teeth, and Jeongguk resists the urge to kiss him at the sight of his spit-slicked mouth, the dart of his tongue. “Mm, feels so good.”
“Are you ready for me?”
Taehyung says nothing, simply arches his back and moans with each thrust as Jeongguk’s fingers pump him. Jeongguk sighs, stopping his motions.
“Answer me, angel,” he says roughly, a hand coming to his ass in a loud slap. Taehyung pitches forwards, yelping slightly.
“Yeah,” he relents. “God, get inside me, please.”
Jeongguk laughs, though he feels just as strung out. He tugs down his zipper, lets his own cock free and exhales slightly at the relief it brings. He slips on the condom quickly and works himself a little as he does to take the edge off.
Slowly, excruciatingly, he shifts forward to align his cock with Taehyung’s ass, pressing his length so that it nestles between his cheeks. It feels so fucking good, so perfect that he can’t help but to grind against him in a deep, swift motion, his lips parting at the pleasure.
Taehyung’s breath hitches and he lets out a small noise at the motion. His body, held up by his elbows, jerks forward shakily. When he feels Jeongguk aligning his cock at his rim his back arches further, pushing back against it automatically. Jeongguk stills him, tutting.
“Wait,” he commands.
Taehyung stills obediently, and so he moves forward again, pushing in slow. The stretch is unbelievable, so much so that his lids flutter as he presses in further, lips parting from the jolt of pleasure it sends rushing through him. Underneath him, Taehyung lets out a loud, drawn out moan, and he grins, relishing the sound.
Slowly, once he’s bottomed out, he begins to move. He starts slow but builds up a quick and punishing pace, drawing a hand over the expanse of Taehyung’s back to press him further into the sheets. It doesn’t take long before Taehyung drops entirely from his elbows, his face bracketed by his arms as he falls against the sheets completely. Ass up in the air, face flushed and hair messy, he looks an absolute sight.
Jeongguk brings a hand to his ass and Taehyung lets out a breathy moan, breathing fast as he’s pounded from behind. His eyes squeeze shut, fists digging into the sheets by his head as Jeongguk takes him, as he slaps him again and earns another groan.
“You little slut,” he teases, voice low and sultry. His eyes are all over him, taking him in, committing every second of it to memory. Taehyung lets out a broken moan. “You love this, don’t you?”
“Jeongguk,” he whines, and fuck, Jeongguk isn’t ready to hear his name on Taehyung’s lips, not like this. His hips stutter, faltering, and he doesn’t miss the way Taehyung’s lips curl at the giveaway.
He pushes his hips back into Jeongguk’s cock, grinding up, and the feeling is so good Jeongguk almost comes right then and there. “Jeongguk—” he breathes again, moans his name, and Jeongguk’s fingers are back in his hair, bunching in the strands to shut him up. He fucks faster, deeper, shifting them a little to angle himself at just the right spot. He knows he’s reached it when Taehyung cries out, writhing against the sheets.
“Shit,” he gasps, and this time his amusement has disappeared. “Fuck, I’m so close.”
Jeongguk loses himself in it, moving to bracket himself around Taehyung’s body as he adopts a punishing pace, entirely unrelenting and enough to have Taehyung helplessly gasping underneath him.
It doesn’t take much longer. He wraps a hand around Taehyung’s leaking cock, pumping him at the same pace, and Taehyung is gone, tilting his head back as he stiffens and then comes, comes all over Jeongguk’s sheets.
He’s not finished. Taehyung lets out a strangled noise as he gives him only a second before resuming his pace, pounding into him as he shakes and writhes.
“Ah, Jeongguk, oh my god—”
“Shh,” he leans down, whispers into the shell of his ear, “I’m not done with you yet.”
He shivers and then jolts when Jeongguk brings a hand to his neck, holding him upright. From this angle Jeongguk feels fucking stars, eyes closing at the feel of Taehyung’s slick walls around him, the sound of the lube squelching obscenely as he fucks him. It’s so fucking good, so hot, the best fuck Jeongguk has had in years. He grips Taehyung’s neck tight, feels a moan rumble in his throat, and then he’s coming, releasing into him with a groan.
It feels like it lasts a solid few minutes with the way it rocks through him. He rides out the high with his hands gripped tight around Taehyung, one at his neck and the other cupped firm at his waist, fingers bruising into his skin. When he lets him go, Taehyung immediately drops to the mattress, and Jeongguk hears his loud breaths as he tries to come down.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. Taehyung mumbles unintelligibly underneath him, completely spent.
For a moment he doesn’t move, but once their breathing slows enough he pulls out slowly, shifting off the bed to toss the condom. When he returns he sees Taehyung with his eyes closed, his blond hair haloed over his face and on the sheets, cheeks flushed and fucked out.
He can’t help but stare. Taehyung might be the prettiest man he has ever fucked.
“I take it you’re staying?”
Taehyung frowns and mumbles as if he’s said something ridiculous, cheek pressing into the sheets. “No. Just give me a few minutes.”
“Okay,” he relents, gaze rapt over him still. “But let me clean you up, hm?”
Taehyung shifts a little onto his side, and Jeongguk cleans him gently, more than he ever would for anyone previous, more than he has ever let himself until now.
The tenderness of the gesture surprises him. Makes him uncomfortable at himself, and so as soon as he finishes he leaves Taehyung in the bedroom and pulls on his underwear to smoke on the balcony.
────────────
Frankie is flitting about the diner when she sees him enter. She nods her chin in acknowledgement as she dispatches another load of bacon and eggs to a booth of hungover-looking boys.
“Tiff, get Jeongguk a coffee,” she shouts to the kitchen, prodding one of the boys to wake him up and alert him to his meal. The boy jolts. He sits himself up blearily in the booth, and Frankie snorts.
Jeongguk sidles up to the counter and drops himself on a stool, running a hand over his face. “Make that another plate of bacon and eggs,” he calls, to nobody in particular. “And fried, please, not scrambled.”
Moments later, a coffee is unceremoniously deposited in front of him. He smiles weakly at Tiff in thanks and cradles the mug, watching as she tosses him a pitiful glance before ducking back into the kitchen. Tiff has never been his biggest fan.
After Taehyung had left, he’d sat awake on the balcony, smoking, and had only retreated back to bed when the sky had become noticeably lighter. Even then, he’d only been able to sleep a few hours. Since moving to Miami, perhaps even before, he’s had bouts of unshakeable insomnia. They come and go with no discernible pattern. He puts it down to his natural restlessness, his unending pent up energy. His best sleep is when he’s drunk enough to black out. Perhaps that’s an issue, but he can’t find it within himself to give much of a fuck most of the time.
Jimin would say he needs to work on his self care. Jeongguk would argue that whatever he and Taehyung did last night was perfectly soothing, thank you very much.
A hand claps the back of his head and he winces, drawn out of his thoughts and dragged back to the present. Frankie leans at the counter beside him. She looks as she always does, curls tumbling thick and fast over her shoulders, in her apron and chewing her gum. She leans on her heels and bounces, full of energy and clearly just as full of derision for him. She’s scowling.
“Fuck you, what was that for?”
“I heard you abandoned a friend in need last night,” she says, the look in her eyes like she expects nothing less.
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs away the guilt; “I doubt I’d do much good in the comfort department, anyway.”
“It’s about support,” Frankie stresses, like he’s a toddler. “I’m sure Hoseok would like to know you’re there for him when he’s going through something rough.”
“Christ, you talk about him like he’s the victim of a heinous crime.”
“You know he’d be there for you if it was you.”
“Well,” he offers a charming smile, patting Frankie’s hand. She looks at him unimpressed. “Luckily, that’s never going to happen, because I don’t get myself into relationships.”
“You never know,” Frankie warns, stuffing her notepad into her apron pocket. “There’s always time for a miracle.”
He chooses not to reply to that, sipping his coffee, and Frankie darts off. The diner is packed now as it is always, a respectable mix of men in suits grabbing their breakfast fix and the stragglers of last night hung limply over the booths they occupy, their outfits having lost their sparkle in the harsh light of eight in the morning. Despite Jeongguk’s grievances towards them, and them towards him, he can admit that Frankie and Tiff are almost singlehandedly responsible for keeping the gay community of the Greater Miami area alive and sustained. Or South Beach, at least.
He looks around, surveying the booths. It surprises him that he’s looking for him, that the intrigue hasn’t worn off after the night had ended. It seems to have only grown, so that he feels a pang of disappointment sink bitter in his chest when the search reveals no-one of interest. Tiff hands him his bacon and eggs and he twists back, grabbing her wrist lightly to get her to look at him.
“Thanks.”
As he expects, she rips her arm away. “You’re welcome, your highness.”
Left alone and suddenly ravenous, he starts immediately on his food. And as he’s eating, he finds his thoughts straying back to last night, layering over flashes of memory with an indulgence he never usually allows himself.
Maybe the lack of sleep really is getting to him. He keeps thinking of those feline eyes, that lithe body on Jeongguk’s sheets, the soft flush on the apples of his cheeks, the way he looked when he —
He bites down too hard on a piece of bacon and catches his tongue, wincing. God, he needs to calm down.
He’s midway through his eggs when Jimin drops down next to him, and he tries not to flinch. He knows what’s coming, shoving his mouth full.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Good morning to you too,” he says through his eggs, patting Jimin’s cheek. He receives a slap on the arm in response, and he pointedly ignores Tiff’s merry laughter as she hands Jimin a coffee.
“Could you really not cope with one night off? All that talk — I thought you’d actually managed to pull yourself out of your depraved routine. Do you know how upset Hoseok was? We had to huddle together on the couch and hold him, and of course then he asked where you were, and —”
“Look, this was good for him,” he says, daringly. “We all knew that relationship was a disaster waiting to happen. It was just a matter of time.”
“It’s not about that,” says Jimin, exasperated. “It’s that his friend can’t even be there for him when he’s losing the will to live.”
Frankie pipes up from the end of the counter, juggling plates. “Don’t waste your breath. He’s a lost cause.”
Jimin sighs, turning to him. “Trust me, I don’t get it either. It’s not like the guy was especially attractive. And he treated him horribly. You don’t know the half of it. He wouldn’t tell you for fear you’d go out and seek revenge.”
That was probably a wise decision, Jeongguk thinks.
“So we agree. He’s free! Now he can do whatever the fuck he wants, without that dickhead controlling his every move.”
Jimin gives him a look. He doesn’t let go of his pride, despite the fact he knows he’ll go over to his apartment later with some new boxset that he likes and offer his apologies in his own way. It’s not that he doesn’t care, and he thinks Jimin knows that, despite his indignance.
“What was so important, anyway? I thought you’d got bored of the Coco’s crowd.”
“So did I.”
“So?” Jimin nudges him. “Was he worth it?”
If the fact that Jeongguk hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him since last night is any indicator, he would say so.
He hums, finishing his eggs. “Of course.”
“He looked Korean.”
He shrugs. “He is.”
Jimin looks at him expectantly. Instead of continuing, he can’t help but cast another glance around, fighting the burgeoning discomfort. It bothers him, the burning curiosity in his gut. Usually he’s clear of the feeling by morning. And he doesn’t make a habit of looking for his hookups, so he doesn’t quite know why he’s doing it now. Suddenly he’s a lot more awake; suddenly the indulgence sours, and he pushes all thoughts of him out of his mind.
Jeongguk clears his throat. “Anyway. Meet me on Ocean later?”
Jimin nods, watching him with affection as he downs his coffee, despite the fact he’s supposed to be angry with him. It’s so easy to win back his warmth. “Go and apologize, please.”
He grabs his jacket and slips off the stool, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Yes, Mother.”
────────────
Since moving to Miami two years back, Jeongguk had scraped and toiled his way towards owning a tattoo parlour. Finally, six months ago, he’d got the keys. It’s a small place, unassuming, jostling for attention on the same strip as several other tattoo parlours in South Beach, but it’s his. Most of his customers are young kids with an elevated vision of themselves, mafiosi, or both. He doesn’t mind, mostly because they pay well and talk too much for their own good. He inks them with intricate designs, sometimes ridiculous, and offers them cigarettes the moment they get antsy about sharing sensitive information without thinking. There’s some quality about him when he’s sat in the chair that makes it easy for them to open up to him, to air their problems. He listens with a blank expression, nods or shrugs when they ask his opinion. Neutral keeps him safe. He’s well aware that the unrest in the streets seems to swell by the hour these days. Despite the glitz and glamour. In tandem with the blue waters of Miami Beach, the deceptive pastels of the art deco hotels and clubs on Ocean Drive, there is a dark underbelly that thrives on it all.
The cops appear every so often, sometimes in plainclothes. He can nearly always clock them. They have tells, he’s noticed. Always with an energy about them, the paranoia of being found out. It’s easier to spot in his position. They let their guards down slightly in front of him, even as they ink themselves with things that they hope will validate their cover. Sometimes they fall too deep into it, and the paranoia takes over.
But the allure is undeniable. He thinks often of a conversation he’d had soon after opening his shop, finishing a sleeve for a coke dealer known well around South Beach:
“You ever deal?”
“Not my scene.”
“Why not?” the man laughed, puffed smoke from the side of his mouth. The look he gave was scrutinizing, as if weighing him up. “You look the part. Hell knows you sample enough product.”
He didn’t reply. But he was thinking as he angled the needle. The man hummed again, decisive. “Yeah. Let me tell you. You’re wasting your time. You need to get in the game. Otherwise you’re just some sitting duck, cruising around losing money.”
The more time he spends in Miami, he thinks the man might be right. The place is a haven for gangsters. Warring on the streets, bringing in cocaine in tons and raking in cash. From various snippets of conversation he finds that shootouts are becoming increasingly commonplace as competition grows, and Jeongguk knows that despite the near endless demand for coke across the many clubs and bars of Miami Beach, the share of the land seems to be an even more precious commodity. That, paired with the fact that said gangsters have weeded their way irreversibly into the police force, means that South Beach rumbles on its own chaotic, corrupted terms.
It’s the luxury that appeals, sure. But Jeongguk’s curiosity is driven by a different thrill, and it’s becoming decidedly harder to resist bowing to his impulses.
After work, he locks up and slides onto his bike, finally intent on making the journey to Hoseok’s. There’s something addictive about the drive no matter how many times he does it. The smell of salt in the air, the sun on his skin. That unrelenting blue of Miami Beach, yachts carving rifts of white into the glittering water.
But as he feels the bike thrum to life under him, as he pulls out into traffic and follows the route to Hoseok’s apartment, palm trees rushing past him, he feels guilt creep quietly into the pit of his stomach and curl up there, finally unable to be ignored. It seems he’s had nothing but admonishment recently. The consequence of going about things in exactly the wrong way, a well-trodden habit of his.
When he lets himself into Hoseok’s apartment, he’s hardly surprised at what he sees. But, just to fulfil his purpose, to perform what is expected of him, he scoffs, swanning over to the kitchen counter as Hoseok lifts his head off the couch.
“Oh, look who finally decided to show up.”
“You’re living a life of squalor,” he chides, picking up a takeaway container by the fingertip. He drops it and it lands pitifully on the counter. “Pick yourself up off the floor.”
Hoseok just groans, turning away from him, curled into the fetal position. “Fuck you.”
He makes his way over to the couch, dropping down beside him to run a soothing hand over his back. “I’m sorry about last night.”
It’s teasing, light, but there’s something truthful within it.
Hoseok shrugs him off, though he turns to face him. “Don’t be. I wasn’t expecting much.”
They meet each others’ eyes and somehow the guilt is communicated in some small way. Hoseok sits up and makes room for him to sit beside him. He does so, producing his apology gift — a semi-ironic Magnum P.I boxset — along with a packet of Marlboro Reds. Hoseok's change in demeanor tells him that the gesture is appreciated.
“I’m glad you finally saw sense,” he says honestly, watching Hoseok light up. “You know you deserve better than that.”
Hoseok scoffs, taking a drag. “Mr. Relationship Advice.”
“What happened?”
He passes Jeongguk the cigarette. “I told him to fuck off, that’s what happened,” he says, though he sounds weak, defeated. “He wanted me to move with him to California.”
“California?” Jeongguk laughs through a drag, disbelieving. “What, to fulfill his West Hollywood fantasy?”
“He’d already bought my plane ticket. He was packing his things when I went over last night and when I asked what the fuck he was doing he started this rehearsed speech about how this place is poison for me and how things can be better, and that he’d found us a place. Told me to pack enough for three months and we’d be back to move the rest.”
Jeongguk whistles through a laugh. “That’s fucked up.”
“Maybe — maybe you were right. About some of his … obsessive qualities.”
“I’m always right.”
Jeongguk prides himself on picking out the darkness in people, feels he’s become exceptionally good at observing the sides of people they’d rather keep hidden. Takes an asshole to know one, he thinks.
Hoseok flips him off. Then he heaves a sigh, and his whole body slumps. “But, I mean. I did consider it.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“So why didn’t you go with him?”
Hoseok looks at him like it’s obvious. “Unlike you, Jeongguk-ah, some of us aren’t so impulsive. I felt — I feel a lot for him, but my life is here,” he shrugs. “All he’s ever wanted is to get me away from my friends, my people, to have me to himself.”
“God knows he hates me,” Jeongguk shifts on the couch, remembering the casual and incessant insults, the dirty looks, the conversations Hoseok had relayed about Jeongguk’s bad influence and reliance on class A substances. “He hates us all.”
“What am I going to do in California, anyway?”
“Buy a house in the hills. Use his money to get yourself a Testarossa. Become a housewife.”
It gets a laugh out of him. “And leave you here? You’d crumble without my sensible influence. You’d be straight in the business.”
“When did everybody get so straight-laced?” he asks, not expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one, only the knowing eyes of someone who knows him all too well, and it both comforts and unsettles him. He shifts, adjusts his jacket. “So does this mean you’ll come out with me again now?”
“Is that all you care about?”
“Of course not,” he says, though he’s already itching to be back in the mess of it all tonight, hoping to catch a glimpse of blond hair. “Look, the best medicine is letting it all out. Fuck him. Fuck moping.”
“I’m not ready, man,” Hoseok says honestly, unguardedly. He sighs, passes the cigarette back, nods. “It’s too soon.”
“Well, when you are, you know where to find me.”
When he meets his gaze, he finds Hoseok looking at him in quiet amusement. Something about it strikes fondness through Jeongguk’s chest, and when Hoseok speaks then he feels it grow and sit warmly, a pleasant feeling.
“I missed you last night, you know.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’d give you a lecture about coming down to Earth but it seems as though you’re having a much better time than I am.”
“What’s down on Earth?” he says, leaning back against the couch and taking a drag. “Chow mein and misery?”
Hoseok laughs. “When you put it that way.”
They sit for a while, smoking their way through the packet of cigarettes, the room humid with the threat of summer. They’ve known each other since his first night in the city two years back, when he was still somewhat shy and without the attitude he armours himself with now. Hoseok saw him there alone, pulled him into their circle of friends, made sure he was looked after and not pounced upon by opportunists. Miami has made a demon of sorts out of him anyway, he thinks, not entirely comfortable with the fact. Something has been lost out of self-preservation, and no matter how he tries, he’s always left stumbling after the ones he loves with apologies and gifts and snark, the only ways he knows how to say sorry for being himself, the way that he is.
“Do you remember the first time we took you to Ocean Drive?” Hoseok exhales smoke through his nose, following the same train of thought. “You were so different back then. Sometimes when I’m mad at you I think about that sweet boy I picked up off the street and think I should’ve left you there. Maybe you’d still be him if we never introduced you to any of it,” he laughs, and Jeongguk smiles.
“So you’re saying it’s all your fault.”
Hoseok looks at him, the sum of him. “Maybe. Little did I know you’d turn into the absolute flirt you are now. All pierced and tatted up. Your mother would curse at the sight of you.”
She’d faint, Jeongguk thinks a little bitterly, and snorts. They sit in silence for a moment.
“And you were infatuated with Jimin.”
“Hey, come on,” he protests.
It’s true that he loved Jimin; always has. But not in the way that everyone has forever suspected. He doesn’t know why it embarrasses him to admit it; why he doesn’t put right the claim that it was anything more when it has only ever been friendship.
“That’s how I know you’re capable,” says Hoseok, a little too earnestly for his comfort. “That you’re able to love someone, in your strange, twisted, fucked up way.”
He wants to shut down this conversation now. He shifts, suddenly restless again.
“Enough of that. Am I forgiven? Please don’t hold a grudge against me. You’re scary when you hold grudges.”
Hoseok sighs, and the fondness with which he looks at him feels undeserved. “I’m sure you won’t stop harassing me until I do forgive you.”
Jeongguk grins. “Correct.”
“You’re right, anyway. Fuck him.”
“Say it again.”
“Fuck him,” he says, with more verve, lips curling in a smile around his cigarette. “Fuck him, and fuck his demands.”
“That’s right. You’re far too hot to waste precious time on him.”
Hoseok laughs, and Jeongguk knows he’s done his part.
────────────
A few days later, Jeongguk is back on Ocean Drive waiting for Jimin with renewed energy.
The strip heaves, tonight, its pastel art deco buildings all lit in neon, the last pink trails of sunset fizzling out as twilight sets in and the sky darkens with promise. The crowds spill right into the wide artery of the Drive, cutting in front of Porsches and ignoring the horns of protest. If Jeongguk stands still and watches he’s sure he’d see it all. Nothing is out of the realm of possibility.
It’s the place he feels most at home. The heat seems to bake in down here more than anywhere: pressurised, seductive, pulsing with unpredictability. And it’s non-discriminatory, as the best places running entirely on drugs and sex tend to be.
He waits on the street corner by his bike, smoking a cigarette. He’s eyeing the cluster of men hanging around an alleyway in the mid-distance, noticing the effortless quality of their suit jackets and open shirts, cigars thick in their fingers. All of them jopok, members of the Kangsuk-pa. The American branch of a syndicate with its roots in Busan. They’re relatively small in comparison to the larger, encompassing presence of the Italians and Colombians, but they make themselves known nonetheless.
He watches their movements, the assured confidence in the set of their shoulders as they huddle together, speaking in low tones. He thinks then of an old friend. Of how once, back when he was newer to the city, he could have very easily become one of them.
It probably wouldn’t do him any good to be caught staring. To them, he’s a tatted up club kid with a curiosity problem.
He takes a drag, squinting as he exhales. Lingers on the allure of it all, despite his history. He’s thinking absently about fulfilling his dream of having sex on a yacht when he feels a hand in his hair, messing it up.
“Your hair is getting so long,” Jimin says from behind, and Jeongguk turns to him with a slow grin. “You’re going to look like Tiff if you’re not careful.”
“I’m sure she’d hate that very much,” he says, watching as Jimin comes around to lean on his bike. Jeongguk raises an eyebrow as he drapes himself over the body of it, smiling innocently up at him. Takes a final drag and stubs out his cigarette with his shoe, crushing it into the sidewalk.
“Shall we?” he cocks his head towards Coco’s, already thumping in the distance.
Jimin leaps back up, full of energy tonight. “Fuck, I’m so ready.”
As they join the line for Coco’s, Jeongguk can’t help himself; he’s searching. Scanning the heads of those ahead of him despite his very best efforts. He’s so curious, in spite of himself, in spite of his rules. Never twice. Twice makes an intention, the possibility for attachment. He doesn’t do attached.
“Who are you looking for?”
Jeongguk’s gaze comes back to Jimin. “No one.”
Luckily, Jimin doesn’t dwell. Instead, he nudges Jeongguk’s shoulder. “Don’t abandon me too early on, hm?”
He lifts his hand to his chest. “I swear.”
He doesn’t swear. It’s an almost impossible promise to make, and Jimin knows it.
Coco’s is thriving, tonight, go-go boys dancing from the rafters, some disco club remix pulsing through the place. He’s in a curiously good mood. Something in him stirs at the pounding of the music, and even sober he finds himself feeling loose, jittery.
At the bar, surveying the floor, Yoongi and Namjoon have clearly gotten a decent headstart. They greet the two of them loudly and without grace when they join them. Namjoon claps Jeongguk heartily on the back and he shakes his head, a smile escaping him at the duality, the stark contrast from the lecturing version of him he’d met with a few nights prior.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Having fun?”
Namjoon grins back easily at him, shouts, “Yoongi’s paying.”
“Ah,” his mouth twitches. “Mystery solved.”
Jeongguk reaches around him to flag down the bartender. The restless feeling in him kicks, something weightless occupying his chest. He’s far too sober, needs to be on whatever wave Namjoon is clearly riding. The order is barely out of his mouth before it’s sliding across the bar to him, to his relief. He’s parroted the same line so many times every bartender must know him by face at this point.
“There was someone asking about you not long ago,” Namjoon tells him as he downs his first, already fingering the cash for his second.
Something hot strikes deep in his chest. His mind is already running at a million miles a second, filling in conclusions before his mouth even shapes the word to ask: “Who?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” Namjoon shrugs. “I’ve never seen him before.”
He hums and turns to face the crowd, swallowing anticipation as it shoots up into his throat. The sultry heat of it all never gets less appealing. His eye follows a drag queen filtering through the sea of people, a tray of shots balancing precariously on her arm. But soon he loses interest, and he’s scanning again, his gaze dragging over muscled bodies and intertwined figures, cutting from section to section.
The bartender pushes across his second scotch and he throws it back immediately, leg drumming with impatience.
“What’s up with you tonight, anyway?” Namjoon pulls a face at his fidgeting. “Is someone after you? Have you finally gotten involved in Yoongi’s business?”
“Fuck off,” he says, licking his lips. “I’ve been instructed to stay by Jimin’s side.”
Namjoon laughs. “It’s not like you to listen. He’s hardly going to notice,” he says, and they both look over at the happy couple, wrapped up in each others’ arms and oblivious to the outside world. He cringes.
“You’re an enabler. I’m trying to be a loyal friend.”
“It doesn’t suit you,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Jeongguk can agree with that.
To prove his point, he orders Jimin another Cosmo and goes right back to watching the floor as he waits. Fuck, the impulse is so hard to ignore. He leans into it a little, lets his eyes search for a flash of blond hair. He’s not going to be able to leave Taehyung alone if his curiosity wasn’t satisfied by the events of the other night. It’s something so rare to him to be hooked like this that the temptation increases tenfold and whispers to him, makes him forget he shouldn’t, that it never ends well.
The crowd blurs into one. Just as he’s beginning to lose hope, just as he sighs and accepts the loss, he sees him.
Taehyung is dancing in the thick of the crowd, body twisting to the music, attracting the attention of several men in his vicinity. He moves like he’s used to it, like he hasn’t just planted his feet in Miami, and yet there’s something enchantingly new about him. He looks a fucking picture.
Jeongguk’s heart thumps in his chest.
The bartender delivers Jimin’s Cosmo, but Jeongguk has forgotten all loyalty.
“Give that to Jimin,” he pushes the cocktail into Namjoon’s hands, already moving. He hears laughter as he goes, a jibing “There he is!” directed at his back.
He shoulders through the crowd, feeling hot. His eyes never move off their target, not when he’s met with attention by someone halfway there, not when he’s standing in front of him, watching him grind up against another man. He swoops in and interrupts. He doesn’t touch, just stands there in Taehyung’s way and waits.
Taehyung acknowledges him with a knowing grin after a moment, dipping away from the man he’s dancing with and closer to Jeongguk. “I thought you’d find me.”
“That’s presumptuous,” Jeongguk looks at him properly, drinking him in. He feels sick. He doesn’t like the way his heart picks up, not one bit. “Were you asking for me?”
“You have very nice friends,” he says, tugging Jeongguk closer by the fabric of his shirt. “They seemed to have interesting things to say about you.”
Oh. Taehyung has been fishing, it seems. It shouldn’t please him as much as it does. Still, a very quiet part of him warms at the thought, for just a moment. He’s quick to push it away as soon as it comes. From Taehyung’s tone alone he knows whatever Namjoon and Yoongi have been telling him, it isn’t exactly positive.
“Who cares what they think,” he rolls his eyes, feeling Taehyung’s fingers still fisted in his shirt. He looks down. Possessive. “Staking your claim?”
Taehyung jolts him forwards again, until they’re so close his fingers knuckle hard into Jeongguk’s ribs, his hot breath feathering over his cheek. “You’re so full of yourself.”
He clamps a hand around Taehyung’s grip and wrestles back, reclaiming control and pulling Taehyung in with the motion. They’re chest to chest, staring each other down with equal challenge. That dangerous intrigue stirs again. It makes him a little breathless.
“So, what,” he quirks a brow, leaning in even as the rational part of him tells him to stop. “Were you successfully scared away by whatever damning, slanderous things they said?”
Taehyung tilts his head as if assessing him. He doesn’t particularly like it. They hardly know each other and yet it feels as though Taehyung is able to see past his protective layer, that he’s able to see things in Jeongguk that he shouldn’t. He bridges the slight space between them, then, his lips coming to Jeongguk’s ear.
“You want to know what they said?” his lips brush against the shell of his ear, and Jeongguk’s lips part without meaning to. “Don’t bother,” he whispers. Jeongguk can hear the amusement in his voice, a touch of malice. “Save yourself the heartache. He’s probably already moved on to the next.”
He wants to laugh. When Taehyung pulls back slightly he meets his gaze, teasing. “Heartache, huh?”
Something harder flashes in Taehyung’s eyes, even as his lips curl. “You're proving them right,” he muses, a mixture of curiosity and what Jeongguk thinks is disappointment.
Jeongguk just stares at him, a little amused. “Sweetheart, surely you know how this works. Don't go reading too much into a simple fuck.” He shrugs, and when he meets Taehyung’s gaze again he finds him nodding.
“I see,” Taehyung says slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip. Jeongguk latches onto the motion of it. “If it was just a simple fuck,” he exaggerates the word, and Jeongguk’s stare is locked onto his lips as he does so; “Then why did you seek me out again?”
Jeongguk has no answer for that. None that makes sense, anyway. He isn’t sure why either, and he doesn’t particularly want to think any more about it.
“You approached my friends,” he says eventually, plucking the excuse out of thin air. He tries not to sound defensive, to keep himself coolly composed, but Taehyung’s gaze pierces into him like he knows it’s a weak excuse. “I wanted to know why.”
“That’s all, hm? You know what, I’m not interested.”
Before he even registers the words Taehyung has pulled away from him, back to the men dancing around them.
It’s been a while since he’s been rejected. He stands there for a moment, disbelieving, jaw ticking. The thrill burns in his throat. He thinks he might be sick in the head, the way he enjoys it, the way his irritation and attraction stir together in a dizzying cocktail.
He wastes no time, striding forwards to grab Taehyung by the arm and twist him back to him. They consider each other. To his annoyance Taehyung seems to have expected it. There’s a flush high on Taehyung’s cheeks that fascinates him, a sharp intelligence in his eyes that seems to be winding him in. Jeongguk snakes his hand downwards to pull him closer by the waist, and he doesn’t miss the way Taehyung’s hand comes to rest on his bicep, squeezing. He doesn’t care that he’s broken his rule of not seeking Taehyung out again. He can’t remember why he’d made it.
“You know what?” he echoes lowly, and as he speaks his hands are wandering, and Taehyung seems affected by it if the way he shivers is anything to go by. Jeongguk can’t help himself; he has to touch. His fingers dance feather-light over Taehyung’s jaw, tilting his head to him, thumbing his bottom lip. “I don’t believe you.”
“You’ve made it clear what you wanted. You got it, so what else?”
Jeongguk's fingers drop only to push back into his waist. “You don't know what I want,” Jeongguk replies before he has time to think about it. It slips from his lips, and he regrets it immediately.
Taehyung raises his brows. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, releases it. “I don’t think I want you after me,” he murmurs after a moment. “Not with your reputation.”
It would be baffling that Taehyung already knows about his reputation, if not for the fact that he could ask anyone and they’d tell him the same. Word travels, and he is up there with the worst of them. “You should’ve thought of that a few nights ago.”
“When you stalked me and then coerced me back to your apartment?”
“Don’t say you didn’t enjoy it, angel. Especially not when I took you back to my apartment.”
“Hindsight is a fine thing,” he sighs. Jeongguk stares at his lips. “Now I know what you’re really like.”
He pulls them closer and feels Taehyung’s heartbeat pick up where his thumb presses into his wrist. He grins. He’s playing a good game. Jeongguk wants to undo it all; have that bravado stripped back.
“You don’t know anything about me. It’s rude to make assumptions, Taehyung.”
“I think you like that,” Taehyung's fingers end up brushing at his nape, working through the curls that kiss his neck. He has to resist the urge to melt into the motion. He’s losing so spectacularly. “I think you like being all mysterious.”
“Yeah?”
“Not going to deny it?”
He stifles a smile. “Whatever works.”
His fingers still against Jeongguk’s nape at the words. With one sweeping, assessing look he regards him then. Jeongguk stares back, hands fitting solid and warm over his waist. Then Taehyung's fingers tighten. Slowly, he leans in. Their noses nudge together with the proximity, and Jeongguk fights off a shiver when Taehyung’s lips brush against his own. It’s not a kiss, a barely there sensation. Taehyung is doing little more than breathing into his mouth, and it’s so hot he has to actively force down the surge of arousal that comes upon him.
The club thrums around them, the pull of bodies not quite invading their orbit. Jeongguk isn’t high tonight, but he feels it. If Taehyung is trying to get his attention, he has it.
“Well. I guess you’ll just have to prove me wrong, hm? I’ll see you around, Jeongguk,” Taehyung murmurs, the words feeding directly into Jeongguk’s lips.
He draws his hands back, his fingers slipping from Jeongguk’s nape, and Jeongguk lets him go.
His head spins. He doesn’t know quite what just happened.
────────────
At the bar he finds Jimin alone, sipping his cocktail and looking wistfully into the crowd.
“I thought you swore not to abandon me,” Jimin twirls his straw, sighing. Always so dramatic.
“Look, it’s hardly abandonment if you’re preoccupied with your boyfriend.” he says as he nears. “What am I supposed to do, stand there and congratulate you on your stable, loving relationship?”
“Come on now, Jeongguk,” he looks pointedly at him, and Jeongguk scoffs a laugh, moving to flag down the bartender. “Don’t act so jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. It’s just dull.”
Jimin hums like he knows something Jeongguk doesn’t. Jeongguk ignores it. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Bathroom.”
“Sure he’s not out the back closing on another deal?”
Jimin narrows his eyes, and he knows he’s pushed it a little far. “Back to being an asshole, I see. Where did that good mood go?”
The bartender leans across the bar. He orders and then turns back to Jimin, pointedly ignoring his words. “He doesn’t have to keep it a secret. In fact, I might join him.”
He’s joking. Kind of.
It’s an open secret that Yoongi is involved with the Kangsuk-pa. They never speak of it, and Yoongi never mentions it. If Jeongguk hadn’t already made his connections, he wouldn’t know of Yoongi’s involvement at all.
“You do that and I’ll kill you,” Jimin threatens.
“Why? All the more Cosmos for you if I did,” he grins, and Jimin bats him. “And anyway, why am I paying for your drinks when you’ve got a perfectly decent mafioso boyfriend to fund your habit?”
“Because you love me.”
He grunts. “Again. I’m asking myself why.”
“You’re full of shit. God, I pity the day some poor soul catches your attention long enough for you to get into a relationship if this is the way you express love.”
“Not going to happen, is it?”
He feels his jaw tick in irritation, downing his drink as soon as it gets deposited in front of him.
“For their sake, I hope not. I can’t even imagine you with someone,” Jeongguk takes Jimin’s mirth with an unamused raise of his eyebrows. “Honestly, I’d bet decent money.”
“I’ll shake on 100k.” He says it just to say something. His mind is everywhere. He knows Jimin jokes, but it digs at something inside of him he’d rather not face.
Jimin’s laugh cuts into the music. “Is that your price?”
“If it’s enough for you to get off my back, then yeah.”
He really, truly has no desire to be in a relationship. He doesn’t think he ever will.
But Taehyung is in his head nonetheless.