Chapter Text
Maybe, perhaps, Yoongi’s not handling things amazingly well.
“I’ve been a real adult about this,” Yoongi said earlier between shots to Seokjin, who was outdrinking him by a mile without batting an eye. “You know, I’ve been really mature about the whole thing.”
“I hate that,” Seokjin told him, face screwed up in displeasure that Yoongi knew wasn’t from the shot, but from the very concept of maturity. “Did you yell at him?”
“No,” Yoongi said, furrowing his eyebrows. “We just had a conversation and realized we weren’t feeling the way we wanted to be feeling about each other, and — and we decided we should stop.”
“God, that’s a boring breakup. Aren’t you upset with him?” Seokjin asked, sounding baffled.
Yoongi took his next shot. When Yoongi texted Seokjin the news (texting news is always easier with Seokjin), Seokjin replied “meet me at queen, i’m buying you 10 shots” and he had made good on his promise. “I don’t know,” Yoongi said.
Maybe, Yoongi thinks now. Maybe he’s a little upset. Then again, maybe it’s the liquor talking, but sometimes he has an easier time recognizing how he feels about things with a little liquor.
Sure, things had been...at a bit of a standstill, with Kihyun. Sure, they both were having trouble picturing their relationship going further. But at least he had been with someone. Yoongi had never been one of those people obsessed with aging, and what phase of his life he was in, but then he turned twenty-six and suddenly, everyone was married. Seokjin and Hoseok weren’t a surprise, and Seokjin was older than him, so that one he could accept. But Namjoon making him stand up at him and Jungkook’s wedding was a low blow, Yoongi thought.
But he had a boyfriend. A partner. They lived together, a mature adult thing to do, and they had a dog together (well, it was Yoongi’s dog, but he was big enough to let Kihyun love him.) In a couple years, he was supposed to be getting married, maybe adopting a kid a few years after that, and proving to his mother how normal and happy his life was. But now, just because he and Kihyun “weren’t moving forward,” Yoongi is twenty-seven and alone. He is alone among a sea of happy togetherness, and in this moment, at two in the morning, he wonders dramatically if he will die alone. Now, because he and Kihyun decided to be responsible adults taking stock of their relationship and whether or not it should continue, Yoongi is sitting here kind of drunk in his empty apartment scrolling through Instagram because even his dog won’t comfort him (he’s asleep.)
It’s a bad call, because everyone on Instagram is either very happy (thanks, Jungkook’s “throwback” pictures to his honeymoon), very successful (he’s happy for Suran but if he sees one more picture of a recording studio) or very attractive. And on that note, Park Jimin’s latest Instagram post is a fucking thirst trap if Yoongi’s ever seen one. His lips are parted, camera angled upward, and there’s visible sweat on his forehead (from his workout, the caption claims.) Yoongi’s surprised his shirt’s on at all, honestly.
Park Jimin has always been very attractive, a fact that Yoongi has always found annoying. Even when they were sleeping together, it was annoying. Yoongi, spurred by his annoyance, taps his finger on Jimin’s icon, wondering what other Instagram posts he’s missed lately. A few other similar selcas, pink parted lips and a pair of earbuds around his neck with gym equipment in the background; a few pictures of fashionable outfits he’s worn, designer names visible on his shirts; a few sweet-looking pictures of Jimin and the same best friend he’s run around with since college, Kim Taehyung. Some boring shots of Jimin looking vacantly into the camera, trying to be cute, Yoongi bets. Yoongi hums to himself as he scrolls, walking to the kitchen and grabbing the last bottle of the wine Kihyun likes from the pantry, feeling vaguely like he’s been left home with no supervision.
He doesn’t have someone else living here anymore, someone invested in him making good choices, so why bother? Why not have some wine, even if there’s still liquor in his belly? Why not keep scrolling through Park Jimin’s Instagram?
He hasn’t spoken to Jimin in years. They drifted apart naturally, Yoongi figures, after Yoongi graduated and Jimin started dating some boy pretty seriously. He misses Jimin sometimes, his quick wit matched with his obnoxious cloying need for attention. But it was obnoxious and cloying in a way he managed to make endearing, a Park Jimin-exclusive feat, and he had this quality that made everyone want to be his friend. He misses him, sometimes.
There’s a funny idea brewing in his head, as his brain sloshes around in all the soju and vodka and wine he’s drank tonight. A funny idea that begins to feel more and more like a good one, as he zooms in on a picture of Jimin in a pair of shorts that really he shouldn’t have worn for an Instagram photo. Yoongi licks his lips, feeling...reckless. Reckless is the word.
Why not? he keeps asking himself. Why not? He puts away the wine bottle he managed to drink a couple glasses of as he sat there and scrolled, hauls himself off to bed, takes off the sweater and jeans he was wearing, and keeps thinking Why not? There are plenty of reasons why not, and the sensible parts of Yoongi’s brain as well as all the parts with anxiety know them. But the Why not? voice is loud and fun and sounds like Seokjin, so when Yoongi has tucked himself into the bed that now feels too big, just before he closes his eyes, he follows his gut and presses the button that says “Message” right under Jimin’s name.
++
Yoongi wakes up with a dry mouth that tastes completely terrible, a jarring headache, and a heavy feeling on his chest. The first two he can attribute to all the fucking poison he poured in his body last night, and the third one, he discovers, is because Holly is sleeping directly on top of him, seemingly unconcerned about his general safety.
“Holly-ah,” he grouses, rolling over to dislodge her. “There’s a whole empty side of the bed for you. Sleep there, be grateful that your father’s alone again and I can spoil you.”
Depressing, he thinks idly, that it’s been about thirty-six hours since he became single again, and he’s already trying to have conversations with his dog. He rubs a hand over his face, feeling like he wants the earth below him to swallow him up, and groans.
Fucking Kim Seokjin and his ten shots. He’s an adult. Adults aren’t allowed to drink ten shots, they die. Yoongi scrabbles for his phone at his bedside table, intending to send Seokjin a voice memo and give him a piece of his mind, but the notification on his screen stops him dead in his tracks.
Why does he have an Instagram DM from Park Jimin? Why does he have an Instagram DM from Park Jimin?
When he opens it, he thinks maybe this is the most embarrassed he’s ever felt in his life.
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Yoongi turns his phone screen back off, groaning, and flops backward onto the mattress. He covers his head with his pillow. Maybe if he sequesters himself in the warm darkness of his pillowcase, what he just saw will stop existing. Maybe he should throw his phone off the fucking balcony. Maybe he should delete every social media account he owns, because that is the level of solution he is at for solving the problem of sexually propositioning his ex-hookup at two in the morning the night after he broke up with his boyfriend.
Yoongi wishes he didn’t exist. He wishes he was reborn in this life into the form of a rock at the bottom of the ocean instead of a human being who could humiliate himself in this way.
He sits back up. He turns his phone screen on. He contemplates how to excuse himself from this conversation and also this plane of existence in a few short Instagram DMs. He types out something that he thinks will do the job well enough.
Yoongi stares down at his phone, blinking silently. Well. That’s a different direction than he was expecting.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, but types out one last message to Jimin: just tell me where to meet you.
++
“So,” Jimin says from behind designer sunglasses, staring at Yoongi over his iced Americano and egg white omelette. “I would ask how you’re doing, but we both already know, I guess.”
Yoongi showed up to lunch in a black hoodie that he has been slowly trying to disintegrate into since he stepped foot in the trendy little Western-style breakfast restaurant Jimin sent him to. The smell of eggs is making him kind of nauseous, and he wishes he could just have some soup, but it’s Jimin, so of course not. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m doing fantastic,” he deadpans, looking at Jimin and hoping that he’s forced to take in Yoongi’s sickly complexion and eyebags.
Jimin gives him a little smirk, sipping his Americano. They’re sitting outside at a little table under an umbrella, in the temperate autumn afternoon. Yoongi does appreciate that they’re not crammed inside with music playing, because that would be horrific, but he’s determined to be miserable today, so it doesn’t matter. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m doing?”
At that, Yoongi gives a begrudging smile. “Of course. How are you doing, Jimin-ah?”
Jimin tosses his head back, hair bouncing prettily. “I’m doing great. I’m doing marketing and some artistic directing for the National Contemporary Dance Company, and that’s been good.”
Yoongi nods. As much as he’s committed to misery, that sounds like a good job to get, and he is happy for Jimin. “Good job.”
Jimin preens. “Thank you. What about you, still making music?”
“Yeah. I have a couple groups using my songs this year, if all goes to plan,” Yoongi says simply. He stirs the black coffee in front of him, unsure if it’s cool enough to drink yet. “How’s Taehyung? I saw pictures of him last night, when I was…” he trails off. He takes a sip of the coffee, and burns his mouth a little.
“When you were thirstily backreading my Instagram, yeah,” Jimin says pleasantly. “Did you know you liked a picture from a year ago?”
Yoongi swears, rubbing his face with his hands. “Sorry,” he offers, muffled behind his hands.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin says with a dazzling smile. “Taehyung’s doing good. Dating a model, because of course he is.”
“Yeah, that tracks,” Yoongi says, rolling his eyes.
Jimin takes a bite of his omelette, and Yoongi sips his coffee again, even though he knows it’s still too hot.
“I was thinking about your message last night,” Jimin says to him, resting his chin in his hand and looking at Yoongi.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Yoongi says with a grimace.
Jimin doesn’t react, keeping his gaze steady on Yoongi. “Right. I was wondering if you meant it.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “If I meant it.”
“Yeah. If you meant that you wanted to fuck me,” Jimin says, lips slightly upturned at Yoongi’s embarrassed reaction to the words.
“Jesus christ, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi mutters, sinking further into his hoodie. “I never said I wanted to fuck you.”
“So you asked if I’m still in the area and flexible because you’re putting together a local recreational gymnastics team, or?” Jimin asks with a smile.
Yoongi glares at him.
“Look. I think you’re cute, and a good lay, and I don’t have anything else going on right now. So, you know, I’m down. If you meant it,” Jimin says, leaning in to Yoongi and dropping some of his smooth facade. He puts his sunglasses up on his head so Yoongi can see his actual face better, and god, Park Jimin is attractive. He knows it, too, but he doesn’t seem to be playing it up in this moment. He’s not pouting or preening, just looking at Yoongi honest and curious.
Sleeping with Jimin sounds nice. It sounds like slipping back into the person he was when he was 22, when relieving stress was as easy as sex with a nice boy who he didn’t want to date, and who didn’t want to date him. It sounds fun, in the way everything with Jimin was always fun.
“Yeah. I meant it,” Yoongi decides, running a hand through his messy hair.
Jimin smiles. “I thought that might be the case, so I took an extremely thorough shower this morning. My place or yours?”
Yoongi blinks. “Yours.”
“Great. Let’s get the check,” Jimin says brightly, flagging down the waiter faster than Yoongi thinks he has any right to.
Right. Yoongi sort of forgot that Park Jimin is a force of nature. Sometimes this used to chafe against him, but right now Yoongi finds he doesn’t especially mind being swept up in Jimin’s current.
“Your standards must be really low, Jimin-ah, if you’re willing to have sex with a man who looks like this,” Yoongi tells him quietly on their metro ride to Jimin’s apartment.
Jimin eyes him over, raising an eyebrow. “Eh. I’ve fucked you when you’ve looked worse.”
“When?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his eyes.
“That time in your fourth year when you were like sick and miserable and I blew you back to health,” Jimin says. He seems unconcerned that the little ahjumma sitting in front of where they’re standing might be able to hear them.
“I forgot about that,” Yoongi mutters.
“I’m a real trooper,” Jimin says with a smile.
“Or you’re just really easy,” Yoongi counters.
Jimin considers. “Maybe a little of both.”
Yoongi shakes his head and laughs, looking down at the floor of the train instead of at the disapproving ahjumma.
Jimin’s apartment is nice, all clean lines and modern furniture, well-chosen artwork hanging on the walls. “Taehyungie works for a gallery, he always finds me nice pieces,” Jimin says when Yoongi stops to admire some of it.
“Quite a little life you’ve got, huh?” Yoongi asks quietly.
“You know me,” Jimin says with a smirk, but it’s self-deprecating, Yoongi can tell. Jimin takes his leather jacket off, hanging it neatly by the door above his collection of expensive-looking black boots.
Yoongi hovers, not sure where he’s supposed to go, what’s expected of him exactly in this situation. He hadn’t expected to be in this situation today, which doesn’t help things.
“Hyung,” Jimin says, noticing his trepidation and walking over to him. “You seem nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Yoongi tells him with a scoff.
Jimin laughs. “Okay. You’re not nervous, then. Come on.” He extends his hand out toward Yoongi (small hands, Jimin always had small hands, Yoongi remembers suddenly) and Yoongi takes it.
Some things have changed. Some things haven’t.
Jimin still smirks the same way, still shows off when he takes off his clothes the same way. His body is different — no longer dancing 24/7, the muscle mass he worked hard for in school has faded into something softer. Soft, smooth skin replacing hard lines. Jimin still smiles so much, smiling right up until Yoongi fucks into him, bright and pretty. He fixed his chipped tooth, Yoongi notices idly. Yoongi liked the tooth, kind of misses it in Jimin’s smile.
The sex is the same, he thinks. At the start of it, they’re trying to figure each other out again. Trying to remember what each other like. But they get the hang of it pretty easily, Yoongi remembering the way Jimin gasps when he likes something, remembering the way to bite at Jimin’s collarbone. Jimin remembers how to kiss Yoongi, that he likes to be kissed as he leans over Jimin’s body. True to word, Jimin can still get his ankles behind his ears, and Yoongi takes a moment to be impressed by it, as Jimin knew he would, Yoongi’s sure.
It’s good. It’s fun. It’s different. Startlingly different, since he’s only slept with one person for the last two and a half years. But familiar enough that it’s easy to fall into, easy to lose himself in, easy to let himself have.
“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters, rolling over in Jimin’s bed after he pulls out. “God. Fuck.”
“If you’re just gonna lay there and swear, hand me my vibrator,” Jimin says, voice unsteady as he moves his hand on himself.
Yoongi chuckles quietly, still breathing hard from his orgasm. “Stop whining.” He leans back over, bending down to get his mouth on Jimin, who groans as soon as he does. Jimin twists his fingers into Yoongi’s hair, pulling just enough, and Yoongi groans around him.
It’s easy.
They lie together afterward, arms touching but mostly separate, quiet. Yoongi’s eyes are closed, enjoying the quiet noises of Jimin’s apartment. The click of the heating turning on. The hum of the refrigerator down the hall.
“So you have a right next to the bed relationship with your vibrator right now?” Yoongi asks, eyes still closed, smirking. He hears Jimin laugh next to him.
“I’ve been single for a while, hyung,” Jimin says. “When’s the last time you slept with somebody besides your ex?”
“Almost three years ago,” Yoongi answers.
“So how was that?” Jimin asks him.
Yoongi looks over at him. Takes in the whole post-coital Jimin thing, the way his hair fans out prettily behind his head, the way he looks sleepy and content. “I mean, it was you, so.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jimin asks, eyebrows furrowed.
Yoongi snorts. “It wasn’t an insult, so calm down. I mean it’s not like I was sleeping with someone new, so it was...fine. Comfortable. You know?”
“Wow. I’m honored. That’s what I’ve always wanted to be, someone’s comfort fuck,” Jimin tells him, putting a hand over his heart.
“You’re such an ass,” Yoongi says, shaking his head and smiling, closing his eyes again.
“You know, in all the years since we’ve been a thing, I’ve never found a fuckbuddy as good as you,” Jimin tells him wistfully. “I don’t mean at sex. You’re fine at sex, but that’s not the point.”
“I’m fine at sex?” Yoongi asks, turning to Jimin with an offended expression. “I’m fine?”
Jimin levels him with an unimpressed stare. “Min Yoongi, you’re the god of dick. Are you happy now? Can I get to my point?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes but waves Jimin on.
“Everyone else I’ve ever tried to be casual with is so bad at it,” Jimin says with a sigh. “They get attached, or we’re not compatible enough, or they’re cheating on someone.” Jimin rolls his eyes, looking at Yoongi as if this is relatable for him. Yoongi just kind of stares at him.
“Sure,” Yoongi offers by way of encouragement.
“I’m just saying, I kind of miss you,” Jimin tells him. “We had a good thing going.”
“I mean, it worked out well for us, I think,” Yoongi agrees. “Are you trying to hint that you’d like this to continue?”
“Hint is a very generous word,” Jimin says, smiling again.
“Yeah, alright,” Yoongi agrees without much thought. “Sure. Why not?”
Yoongi’s sure there are reasons why not. He’s sure they’ll come to him eventually, in Hoseok and Namjoon’s voices, telling him all the specific reasons why this is a fucking stupid thing to do. But he hasn’t done anything stupid in a long time, so he figures, looking over at Jimin’s profile, he’s okay with letting himself have this one.
++
Yoongi slept with Jimin on Saturday. Jimin calls him up on Wednesday, and it happens again. On Thursday, Kihyun calls and says he’ll be coming by to get the rest of his things on Saturday. On Thursday night, Yoongi sleeps with Jimin again.
“Couldn’t stay away?” Jimin smirks at him when he opens his door.
“Please shut up and fuck me against a wall or something,” Yoongi replies easily.
On Friday, Namjoon pesters him to come have dinner with everyone, to get out of the house, and Yoongi wriggles out of it, choosing instead to watch movies alone in his apartment with Holly and try not to feel sad about it.
On Saturday, Kihyun comes by in the evening. He looks normal, and tells Yoongi he looks pale. They have a short conversation, a few apologies given back and forth for...for something that neither of them know how to name. Sorry that you’ll miss the dog, sorry you need to find a new apartment, sorry that we were pretty good but not good enough to keep doing this, sorry for wasting your time. Sorry for not being your soulmate.
They kiss by the door, and Yoongi has trouble figuring out how he feels about that. How he feels about any of this.
When Kihyun’s gone, Yoongi stands in the living room, contemplating his options. He could call Namjoon, or Hoseok, or Jungkook, or Seokjin, listed in order of how helpful they would be with Yoongi’s current feelings muck. Namjoon would listen to him carefully and prompt him to talk about how he’s feeling. Hoseok would comfort him, sit close to him and pet his hair and give him space. Jungkook would find something they could do together, to take Yoongi’s mind off of it. Seokjin would...well, it could really go a lot of ways, with Seokjin, which is why he’s last.
He doesn’t know that he wants any of that. He doesn’t know that he wants Namjoon’s quiet persistence or Hoseok’s affection, or even Jungkook and Seokjin’s distraction tactics.
He doesn’t know what he wants.
He calls Jimin.
“Yoongi-hyung, when I said we should sleep together again, I didn’t know the kind of time commitment I was —” Jimin starts, voice bright and flirty, like it always is.
“You know, I don’t know that we should be doing any of this,” Yoongi tells him.
Jimin pauses. “Oh?”
“It’s just, I feel kind of...kind of like I’m using you, or something,” Yoongi says.
“Using me how?” Jimin asks, sounding surprised.
“I don’t know, just. All this shit with Kihyun, I feel like I’m making you some kind of…” Yoongi trails off.
“Distraction?” Jimin asks.
“Something like that. Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. He sits down on his couch, petting Holly when he comes to sit beside him.
“Yeah, hyung. I mean, I figured,” Jimin says with a quiet laugh. “I don’t feel used.”
“You don’t?” Yoongi asks.
“I knew what I was getting into, hyung. And who’s to say I’m not using you back?” Jimin asks.
“Using me how?” Yoongi asks, confused.
“What I’m saying is we both have reasons for doing this. And yours don’t bother me. You know?” Jimin says to him.
Yoongi sighs. “Okay. Alright.”
“Are you okay?” Jimin asks him then.
Yoongi leans back against the back of the couch, sighing. “Not sure. Kihyun came by to get his stuff tonight.”
“Ah,” Jimin mutters.
“Sorry, you don’t need to hear about this. I can go,” Yoongi offers, rubbing a hand across his face.
“It’s okay, hyung. Do you want me to come over?” Jimin asks. “Not for sex, I mean. Just. To be there, I guess.”
Yoongi thinks about that. “I...if you want to. Sure.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour. You want take-out?” Jimin asks casually. “Nevermind, doesn’t matter, I want take-out, so I’m getting take-out. Text me your address.”
Jimin shows up in a more casual outfit than Yoongi has seen him in since college. His light-wash jeans hug his legs, his black Doc Martens make him look annoyingly cool, his black t-shirt fits him well, and the big yellow plaid shirt overtop is...endearing. Reminds Yoongi of Jimin when he was twenty and wore a lot of sweatpants and flannel shirts, borrowed from friends and boyfriends.
“That shirt makes you look really young,” Yoongi greets him with.
Jimin gives him a baffled look. “Thank you? I think?”
Yoongi shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m in a weird mood.”
“Yeah,” Jimin agrees. “We’ve all been there. Here, take some chicken.”
He passes off a plastic bag to Yoongi, who takes it and puts it out on the coffee table. Holly, who seems to have just registered the presence of another human being from his deep nap, bounds over to the chicken and starts sniffing interestedly, before doing the same to Jimin.
“Oh, right,” Jimin mutters, looking awkward as Holly sniffs him. “You have a dog. I forgot. Has he always been this...big?”
“Typically, animals are smaller at birth, and continue to grow as they age,” Yoongi says slowly and patiently. He’s enjoying the way Jimin looks wary of Holly, the displeasure around his features. “You don’t like dogs?”
“I like pictures of dogs,” Jimin says in explanation.
“You’ll warm up to him,” Yoongi says, amused. “He likes you.”
Holly seems interested in Jimin, sniffing all his clothes and looking up at him eagerly. Jimin returns the gesture by looking at Yoongi in mild displeasure and panic, and Yoongi laughs loudly.
“Holly-ah,” Yoongi calls, and Holly looks over, leaving Jimin, though he seems to resent it. Yoongi pets his head, scratching under his chin, and smiles at the dog.
“You really have gone all soft and domestic, huh?” Jimin asks him, but he looks amused. He walks over and sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, opening the bag and getting out the carry-out boxes of fried chicken.
“What do you want from me? I’m twenty-seven, and until last week I was a boring committed boyfriend. I lived with my boyfriend and we had a dog. That was my life,” Yoongi says with a snort as he walks over. Holly, well-trained, knows better than to go for the food, and instead jumps on the couch and lies down again. “Good dog,” he aims at Holly.
“And now you’re fucking a young beautiful dancer and marketing maven, who brings you fried chicken and sucks your dick at a moment’s notice,” Jimin says in a sparkling voice, smiling his perfect-toothed smile.
Yoongi laughs. “You’re the worst.”
“Now that’s the Yoongi I know and love,” Jimin tells him around a mouthful of fried chicken.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, laughs again, and sits down next to Jimin, grabbing a piece for himself.
In college, Jimin was one of those people who was just kind of always around. He was peripherally friends with Hoseok and Jungkook through the dance program, Namjoon knew Taehyung through some mutual friends of artsy friends, and as a result, Yoongi got used to seeing him.
The first time they slept together, it was after an extremely messy Halloween party that Seokjin threw. They were dressed as a vampire (Yoongi) and “sexy” (Jimin.)
(“Sexy what?” Yoongi asked him, baffled and drunk and stupidly turned on by this hot idiot in half a shirt and a little pair of shorts and not much else.
“Just sexy. The concept of sexy,” Jimin said.
“That’s so fucking stupid, oh my god. Jesus, that’s so dumb. Do you want to fuck?” Yoongi said back to him. Jimin did, in fact, want to fuck.)
The next time they slept together was because Yoongi kept his number, and it seemed like a good idea.
“I don’t want a relationship,” Jimin told him defensively, like Yoongi was going to back down.
“Me either. Why else would I call someone I slept with at a Halloween party?” Yoongi retorted.
The sex was just as good the second time.
Over the following year and a half, off and on between their various short-lived romances, they learned a few things together: one, that they had a good time together. Their personalities meshed well, and they were unbelievably sexually compatible. They were just good at having sex together.
(“I feel like cosmically, we’re supposed to be fucking each other,” Jimin told him once after Yoongi made him come twice in the span of an hour. “I feel like we’d be doing a disservice to the universe if we weren’t sleeping together.”
Yoongi squinted at him. “Alright, calm down, you sound like Taehyung.”
“I’m allowed to use the word cosmically.”)
Another thing they learned was how to navigate their relationship. They weren’t dating, that was something they were really clear on, which meant if they did start dating people they had to have some candid conversations. They were friends, but they rarely hung out outside of hookups. Sometimes, at a group gathering that Taehyung and Jimin tagged along to, but those weren’t overly common. They had an extremely specific kind of relationship, Yoongi thinks, which develops naturally when you eat somebody’s ass enough times. The kind where they knew pretty personal things about each other, shared over ramen late at night in shitty apartment kitchens, but rarely did normal friendship things, like for example seeing each other outside of a bedroom.
So sitting here, five years after the fact, eating chicken on the floor, feels a little strange.
“You know,” Jimin says. “Tonight was the only time I heard you say his name all week.”
Yoongi thinks about that. He takes another piece of fried chicken between his chopsticks. “It’s been a weird week.”
“Yeah. That’s definitely true,” Jimin agrees, giving him a small grin.
“You met Kihyun,” Yoongi tells him. He’s not sure why. “At Eunbi’s wedding. He went with me.”
“I don’t remember him, honestly,” Jimin says. “You looked nice that day, though. I was surprised to see you there.”
“I was surprised to be invited,” Yoongi says honestly. He always liked Eunbi, but they were never very close. They hung around in the same gay circles in college, but she’s four years younger than him and was never very close with anyone he knew. “But it was nice, so I figured I should go.”
Jimin looks at him. “Aren’t you going to —”
“You looked nice that day too, yes,” Yoongi cuts him off, rolling his eyes. Jimin looks pleased. “You wore a blue suit. Your hair was like, grey.”
“Silver. It was very fashionable, hyung,” Jimin tells him haughtily.
“You’re very fashionable these days,” Yoongi says.
Jimin nods. “I like to present myself well.”
“That’s the fucking truth,” Yoongi says with a snort.
The chicken is dwindling in front of them, but Yoongi picks at it to have something to do with his hands.
“Why did you break up?” Jimin asks Yoongi quietly.
“Our relationship wasn’t going anywhere,” Yoongi says honestly. “It was nice, but I don’t know. We’re a little too old for nice, I guess, if there’s no real future.”
“You couldn’t see yourself marrying him,” Jimin infers. Jimin has always been smart at things like this, in a way Yoongi can’t relate to. Yoongi has always muddled through relationships, not realizing the way he really felt until after the fact. Jimin can analyze in real-time, and it catches Yoongi off-guard.
“I could see myself marrying the idea of him. You know?” Yoongi says, voice quiet. “In theory, that sounds nice. He was a good boyfriend. We were good to each other, considerate, compromising.”
Jimin looks at him. “It sounds like you’re expending a lot of effort trying not to say you didn’t love him.”
“I loved him,” Yoongi defends himself. He furrows his eyebrows at Jimin.
“Okay, but loved him how? Loved him like you were ready to do anything for him? Like, ready to move across the country if he wanted to, ready to jump in front of a car for him love? Like, it hurt to imagine a future he wasn’t in? That kind of love?” Jimin asks.
“That’s a fucked up standard of romantic love, I just wanna say,” Yoongi says.
Jimin raises an eyebrow. “That’s a no.”
“Okay, love expert, when’s the last time you were in a serious relationship?” Yoongi asks, annoyed.
Jimin laughs quietly. “Little over a year ago. I was dating this dancer at my company. Beautiful boy, like, unbelievably beautiful. Beautiful dancer, beautiful face.”
“Are you saying he was more beautiful than you?” Yoongi asks, eyebrows raised. “I’m surprised at both the claim and the humility.”
Jimin scoffs. “Hyung, I’m not that beautiful, nor do I think I am. Yes, he was definitely more beautiful than me. Anyway, he ended up being a complete shithead. He probably always was one, but, you know. Love is blind, or whatever,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes and waving his hand.
“And did you jump-in-front-of-a-moving-car-love him?” Yoongi asks, eyebrows raised.
“You know the sad part? I did,” Jimin says, smiling humorlessly. “But that’s always been my problem. I love too deep, sometimes.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem,” Yoongi tells him. “That’s a good thing, Jimin-ah.”
“Hasn’t gotten me very far,” Jimin says. He’s still smiling, but not his real smile. A closed-lip thing, like he’s amused at the cosmic irony of it all. “But none of this is about me.”
“Maybe I didn’t love him. Or at least, maybe I didn’t love him the way you’re supposed to love someone you want to marry,” Yoongi admits. “You remember Namjoon and Jungkook, right?”
“Of course. I loved Jungkookie,” Jimin says, a real smile coming back onto his face to replace that sad one.
“He and Namjoon got married last year,” Yoongi tells him, and Jimin’s smile broadens.
“I know. I got a very apologetic announcement, a little note from Jungkook that the wedding was only family and a few close friends. Was it a nice wedding?”
Yoongi chuckles. “It was the most ridiculous display of emotion I have ever witnessed. I thought Hoseok’s wedding was bad, but at least he and Seokjin were quick about their crying. At Namjoon and Jungkook’s wedding, everyone cried. They wrote these vows, and Namjoon’s were like — I mean, it was love poetry, basically. Really good love poetry, but love poetry. I mean, I write love songs for a living, but it was on another level. He was crying, Jungkook was crying, we were all fucking crying. And I remember standing there and thinking ‘god, is this what it’s supposed to be like?’”
Jimin is still smiling, but he looks a little sad, maybe. “I think so, yeah. I mean, we all don’t have the emotional showmanship of Kim Namjoon, so maybe less crying should be involved, but.”
“Yeah. Well, it wasn’t that, what me and Kihyun had. It wasn’t this love I felt overwhelming me when I looked at him, he wasn’t — I don’t know. My everything.” Yoongi looked down, sighing. “But it still fucking sucks.”
Jimin nods. “To go from having someone there for you all the time to nothing. That’s fucking hard, hyung.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees with a sigh. “It is. It is fucking hard.”
“I’m surprised your little posse hasn’t moved themselves in to take care of you,” Jimin says, looking amused at Yoongi’s annoyed expression.
“My posse?”
Jimin is laughing. “I’m kidding, don’t look at me like that. They’re all very nice. But they were always ready to fight to the death for your general happiness and well-being, I can’t imagine that’s changed.”
No, it hasn’t, Yoongi supposes. He’s been fielding texts all week from the four of them, offering to come over, offering dinner, offering a place to spend the night if he wants to get out of the apartment. He looks down, thinking how to answer that.
“You’ve been avoiding them, haven’t you?” Jimin asks, looking excited that he read Yoongi correctly.
“Shut up. Why are you so good at that?” Yoongi grumbles.
“I’m a master of psychological manipulation,” Jimin answers simply.
Yoongi stares at him for a moment, then Jimin starts laughing.
“I just wanted some time by myself,” he says in explanation to Jimin, but he knows it’s weak. The same way he knew it was weak when he told them all that, one by one, this week.
“Right. That’s why you called me tonight, because you wanted time by yourself,” Jimin says, nodding sarcastically. “That makes sense.”
“Will you ever let me live?” Yoongi whines.
Jimin smiles. “No, absolutely never.”
“It’s just...hard. They’re so happy, you know?” Yoongi admits. “And it’s a good thing that they’re happy, and they have each other, and I don’t want to feel bad about it, because I love them.”
Jimin hums. “So I’m like an escape. From your married friends.”
Yoongi looks at him. “Yeah, kind of.”
“I’m cool with that,” Jimin tells him, nodding. “You can be my escape, too.”
“From what?” Yoongi asks, genuinely curious.
“You know, just life. We all need an escape sometimes,” Jimin answers, waving a hand.
“You’re not very forthcoming, you know,” Yoongi tells him, an eyebrow raised.
“No, I’m not,” Jimin answers plainly with a laugh. “I’ve been told that I’m emotionally unavailable. That’s another problem of mine.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. He leans back against the couch, reaching an arm back to pet Holly while he sleeps.
“Look. You’re gonna be okay, you know that, right?” Jimin asks him. Yoongi looks over to find him lounged sideways, elbow propped up against the couch as he rests his head in his hand.
“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi says quietly, turning away and closing his eyes momentarily.
Jimin moves, but Yoongi’s not paying attention to where he’s going until there he is, sat straddling Yoongi’s lap. “I mean it,” Jimin says, grabbing Yoongi’s face by the cheeks and squishing them a little, giggling at Yoongi trying to squirm away.
Jimin loosens his grip, so he’s just touching Yoongi’s cheeks, looking down at him with a smile. Yoongi manages a smile back, small but amused at Jimin’s antics. Jimin leans in and kisses him, just once, soft and sweet, and Yoongi laughs.
“What was that for?” Yoongi asks.
“I don’t know, I just wanted to give you a kiss. Sometimes you just need to be kissed,” Jimin tells him, shrugging. Jimin’s hands fall down to the sides of Yoongi’s neck, fingers stroking lightly, and Yoongi hums.
He thinks about Jimin saying I’m not that beautiful earlier, like the bold-faced liar he is. Jimin’s beautiful effortlessly, always has been, though it’s accentuated by his new well-styled honey blonde hair and nice clothes, his new clear skin and sharp cheekbones. But he was always beautiful, even when he was twenty-one with black bangs hanging in his face, with a little more weight showing on his cheeks, a stubborn zit on his chin, wearing ugly Supreme shirts.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Jimin tells him in a whiny voice.
“Like what?” Yoongi asks with a laugh.
“I don’t know, all serious,” Jimin complains.
“You’re the one who climbed on top of me in the middle of a serious conversation,” Yoongi defends himself.
“Is any serious conversation above a little lap sitting?” Jimin asks.
Yoongi laughs, pushing Jimin’s shoulders. “If you want me to fuck you, just ask,” he jokes.
“No. I just want to make you feel better,” Jimin tells him.
“I know you mean that, but it does sound like a come-on,” Yoongi informs him, still smiling.
“I mean, it can be,” Jimin says with a smirk, leaning in to kiss him again. “If that’s what you want.” He kisses Yoongi slow and purposeful, and when Yoongi pulls back they look at each other for a moment.
“You’re a really good kisser, you know,” Yoongi breathes, head tipped back to look at Jimin properly.
“I do know, yes,” Jimin tells him.
Yoongi’s sitting here trying to analyze his feelings again, what he wants, but this time it’s a little clearer. Jimin’s looking at him with a dangerous smirk, so unlike all the pitying looks he’s gotten this week, so unlike the general self-pitying look he’s been giving himself all week, and it makes Yoongi feel better than he’s felt in a few days, since...since the last time Jimin looked at him like that.
Maybe he needs this right now, to feel wanted and needed and like a whole person by himself, instead of the leftover half of a relationship that’s dissolved away. Maybe Jimin in his lap, flirting for no reason except that he wants to, is what he needs.
“I want you to fuck me,” Yoongi says, abruptly enough that Jimin’s eyes widen a little.
“Sure, baby,” Jimin drawls, getting over his surprise and going back to the expression he must know looks good, smirking with dark eyes.
“Wow, I wish I wasn’t into that,” Yoongi mutters, and it makes Jimin laugh.
“That’s stupid,” Jimin says, leaning down and kissing him through a smile. “Are we going to the bedroom?”
Yoongi’s about to nod, but then he thinks about that. He hasn’t even changed the fucking sheets since Kihyun moved out, he’s not sure he’s ready to have sex with Jimin on them.
“We don’t have to,” Jimin offers, noticing Yoongi’s hesitation. “I’ll fuck you on the floor, if you’re that desperate.”
A kindness, Yoongi thinks. Jimin masking Yoongi’s vulnerability with something safe, something easier to talk about. It’s generous.
“I’ve never been desperate in my life,” Yoongi says with a snort, more than willing to play this game with Jimin. More than willing to step away from the soft, scary things into familiar territory.
“I bet I can get you desperate,” Jimin breathes close to Yoongi’s ear. “I bet I can make you beg.”
Yoongi doesn’t dignify that with a response, doesn’t bother arguing about it, because he knows it’s true.
“Gotta get lube,” Yoongi mutters instead.
“You do that,” Jimin tells him with a smile, removing himself from Yoongi’s lap. “Baby,” he tacks on at the end, laughing at the way Yoongi glares at him.
The lube Yoongi can find easily, but condoms are more sparse. The bedside table doesn’t have any, and Yoongi has to dig through the bathroom drawer to find the extras. It takes him a couple minutes, and by the time he gets back, Jimin’s spread a blanket on the floor, which he’s sitting on top of shirtless, arranging the throw pillows to his liking, apparently.
“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters with a snort, glancing over the set-up.
“I mean, unless you want carpet burn,” Jimin tells him with a little laugh.
Yoongi tosses the lube and condom onto the blanket, walking over to Jimin. He’s about to sit down, but Jimin is picking himself up onto his knees, reaches out to grab Yoongi’s hips.
“You look really good in this, by the way,” Jimin says, palms sliding down Yoongi’s jean-clad thighs before traveling back up to where his black button-up shirt is tucked in.
“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi says with a chuckle, reaching down to card a hand through Jimin’s hair. The outfit was chosen on purpose — they’re his nicest, tightest jeans, the ones that make his ass look good. The shirt’s loose, and he left the top two buttons undone. He changed out of his sweatpants early in the afternoon, unwilling to let Kihyun see him looking like a mess.
Jimin smirks up at him. “Oh, okay, he knows.”
He pulls Yoongi’s shirt out from where it’s tucked into his jeans, pushing it up until he can lean up and kiss Yoongi’s stomach just above the waistband of his jeans. Yoongi sighs at the feeling, and grabs the hem of his shirt to pull it off, taking Jimin’s hint.
Jimin kisses across Yoongi’s stomach, bringing his hands over to undo Yoongi’s jeans, unzipping them and skimming his fingers over Yoongi’s dick, so annoyingly intentional. Jimin pushes Yoongi’s jeans down slowly while his lips brush across Yoongi’s skin, traveling further down until Yoongi’s jeans are at his knees, and Jimin’s mouthing over his soft dick. His hands are gripped around Yoongi’s thighs, thumbs digging into the soft skin on the inside of his thighs.
Yoongi makes a soft noise at the feeling of Jimin’s wet mouth just through the cloth of his boxer-briefs, hands tightening in Jimin’s hair, and Jimin hums at that. He looks up at Yoongi, licking his lips as he pushes Yoongi’s underwear down with his jeans. Yoongi wants to kiss him, wants to kiss the smug look off his face, but then Jimin is leaning in to take the head of Yoongi’s still-soft dick in his mouth, tongue moving slow and purposeful.
It feels so nice, unthinkably goddamn nice, and Yoongi bites his lip as he looks down at Jimin, who’s still staring up at him. Putting on a show, Yoongi knows. Jimin has always liked putting on a show. His tongue is still moving on Yoongi, licking up the vein on the underside of Yoongi’s cock, teasing Yoongi into hardness. It’s a few long minutes like that, Jimin working so slow and soft, just enough to make Yoongi feel it, and then Yoongi is hard and Jimin sinks down suddenly, taking Yoongi in his mouth and sucking like he means it.
“Fucking hell,” Yoongi practically croaks. His grip is pulling at Jimin’s hair, but Jimin doesn’t mind, he knows.
Jimin pulls off and laughs, licking the extra spit from his lips, a hand replacing his mouth and stroking at Yoongi slowly.
“You look like you wanna kiss me,” Jimin notes, lips turned up in a smirk.
“Well of course I fucking do,” Yoongi retorts.
Jimin giggles, leaning in and putting the head of Yoongi’s cock back in his mouth, letting it sit on his tongue, staring up at Yoongi with that same smug look, like he knows exactly how good he looks and feels.
“Fuckin’ obnoxious,” Yoongi mutters, pulling Jimin’s hair hard enough to move his head back off of Yoongi.
Jimin’s eyes close in pleasure for a moment, but he’s still smirking, huffing out a little laugh. “What, you don’t like it? You want me to stop?”
Yoongi lets go of Jimin, stepping awkwardly out of his jeans and underwear before he sits down across from Jimin, looking at him with rapt attention. He can’t help it, when Jimin’s lips are pink and spit-slick, hair mussed from Yoongi’s fingers, hard in his jeans with his stupid Calvin Klein underwear band showing above the waistband.
“You’re beautiful. You know you’re beautiful, right?” Yoongi asks him, crowds into his space to whisper it close to Jimin.
Jimin’s lips part, cheeks going pink, and Yoongi leans in to press a quick kiss to his lips.
“I hate that I’m into that,” Jimin tells him with a breathy laugh when Yoongi pulls away.
“What? Being complimented? Come on, you’ve always been into that,” Yoongi says with a smile.
“Embarrassing, really,” Jimin says with a grin.
Yoongi snorts. “I didn’t know you had an embarrassed bone left in your body.”
Jimin pauses, looking like he’s thinking. “There’s a joke in there somewhere. My bone in your body. Something.”
Yoongi stares at him for a moment before he nudges Jimin to lay down, muttering, “I really hate you,” and ignoring the way Jimin laughs as he lies down.
Jimin looks good in the jeans but better without them, without his little Calvin Klein underwear either. He’s sprawled on Yoongi’s floor messily, but Yoongi thinks idly he looks like some kind of dramatic Renaissance nude. Which is a stupid thought, but he’s extremely turned on, so he’ll allow it. Yoongi lies down next to him, running a hand down to grasp around Jimin’s dick, taking some amount of pleasure in the way Jimin hisses, back arching. He strokes slowly for a couple minutes before Jimin leans up and nudges Yoongi onto his back.
Yoongi follows, and when Jimin’s fingers grab at his thigh, he parts them, breathing out heavy at the feeling of Jimin’s fingertips stroking over the skin.
“This is my favorite part of sex,” Jimin mutters.
Yoongi looks up at Jimin, leaned up on his side over Yoongi as his hand keeps teasing at Yoongi’s thighs. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Working someone up,” Jimin says, biting his lip around a smile.
“That makes sense, you’re evil,” Yoongi manages.
Jimin laughs, but his fingers are still ghosting across the inside of Yoongi’s thighs. Yoongi opens his legs wider, gives Jimin more room. “This is not about me being evil.”
“I think it’s about the power. Right?” Yoongi asks. Jimin’s fingers find the crease of Yoongi’s thigh, stroke higher toward his dick.
Jimin hums. “Maybe, yeah.”
“So like I said, evil.”
Jimin runs a finger up the underside of Yoongi’s dick, feather-light and frustrating. “What’s your favorite part?”
“Depends,” Yoongi says, eyes slipping closed as Jimin’s fingers inch their way back down behind Yoongi’s balls, closer to his hole.
Sometimes it’s the intimacy, the way it feels honest and vulnerable. Sometimes, it’s the intoxicating feeling that comes with making someone else fall apart. Sometimes, it’s this, being at someone else’s whim and being able to give up control for a little while.
“Bullshit answer,” Jimin decides. He grabs the bottle of lube from where Yoongi tossed it carelessly earlier.
Yoongi hears the bottle uncap. Thinks about what to say to Jimin. “I think it’s the closeness.”
“Hm, explain,” Jimin prompts. Yoongi opens his eyes to see Jimin warming up lube on his fingers, but looking at him with interest.
“The way you can get to know someone. The way you see their secrets,” Yoongi says, feeling embarrassed as the words leave his mouth.
“That’s a really nice answer,” Jimin says. He’s looking at Yoongi thoughtfully. “You’re so good with words.”
“Thanks, I do it for a living,” Yoongi says with a chuckle, but it’s quickly cut off when he feels a wet finger at his entrance, just kind of resting there. “Are you going to do something, or just leave me here like this?” He asks.
“What, are you desperate?” Jimin asks, expression going from thoughtful to teasing in a second flat.
Yoongi smiles, amused despite himself. “Didn’t say that.”
“I’ll have to work harder, then,” Jimin says, and presses into Yoongi.
He goes slow. Excruciatingly slow, unbearably careful, especially considering that Jimin fucked him hard against a wall about three days ago. He doesn’t need all this prep, but Jimin’s enjoying himself, using two fingers to rub against Yoongi’s prostate entirely too slowly.
Yoongi groans, feeling kind of spent already from this. Jimin’s been going for, what, fifteen minutes? Twenty? Too long, Yoongi’s so hard he’s aching. There’s sweat on his forehead and Jimin’s moved from Yoongi’s eye-level to sort of his navel-level, so he can’t even kiss him anymore.
“Are you really gonna make me beg you?” Yoongi asks, gasping at the feeling of Jimin’s fingers.
Jimin kisses Yoongi’s side. “What’s wrong with begging?”
Yoongi groans. “Jimin-ah.”
“Yes?” Jimin asks, voice sparkling with amusement.
“Can you just...Jimin-ah, just…” Yoongi says around ragged breaths, eyes closed, feeling overwhelmed. He fucks his hips down on Jimin’s fingers to get something, anything, but then Jimin’s hand comes to hold him steady, stopping his hips from moving.
“You want me to teach you how? To beg, I mean,” Jimin asks. He’s having way too much goddamn fun with this, Yoongi thinks.
Yoongi grits his teeth. He props himself up, looking down at where Jimin’s head is pillowed on his stomach. “Jimin-ah,” he starts, voice unsteady. “Please, please put your dick inside of me.”
“There you go,” Jimin says, giving him a smirk that Yoongi wants to kiss off his lips. “Sure, baby. How do you want me?”
Jimin’s fingers pull out, and Yoongi gives another gasp. But he’s sitting up, pressing Jimin’s shoulder back into the floor and then he’s practically scrambling to straddle Jimin’s waist.
“Condom,” Yoongi mutters, a directive aimed at Jimin, since Yoongi is busying himself with stroking Jimin off, still hard which must mean that Yoongi lying there squirming and whining was doing something for him.
Jimin, to Yoongi’s pleasure, looks suddenly overwhelmed with the situation. His hand scrabbles backward to grab the wrapper, grabbing the lube bottle on the way. He goes to tear it, but Yoongi takes both items from his hands instead, ripping the condom open with his teeth.
“You’re not supposed to do that, you know,” Jimin tells him, voice a little faint. “It could rip.”
“Well, I’ll check it very carefully, how about that?” Yoongi mutters, glaring at Jimin. He rolls the condom onto Jimin’s dick. It’s messy and uncoordinated, the way he spreads Jimin with lube, the way he lines them up. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even pay attention to the way Jimin’s groaning and gasping, until he’s sinking down on Jimin, taking him quick in one go. It’s satisfying, the noise Jimin makes when Yoongi bottoms out, and Yoongi allows himself half a smile.
The rest of his mind is focused on how fucking good he feels, how he wants more, so he rocks himself forward and back again, the motion making both of them pause and gasp for a moment. Jimin’s hands are grabbing at his hips, guiding him to repeat what he just did, so he follows. Jimin’s hips are moving now too, thrusting as Yoongi pushes back, and god, Yoongi is going out of his mind.
“Fuck, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi half-mumbles around a shaky breath. “Fuck, fuck.”
“You feel good like this?” Jimin asks him, voice dangerously quiet as he helps Yoongi rock back and forth, as he pushes into Yoongi a little rough, just rough enough.
Yoongi just nods, head tipping back, his hands anchored on Jimin’s chest.
“You look good. Look at you, you look so good,” Jimin is saying. He gets like this sometimes, starts babbling during sex. Yoongi doesn’t mind it, even kind of likes it when Jimin really starts losing himself and gets dirtier than usual, but he’s having trouble focusing on it right now. He’s having trouble focusing on anything that isn’t the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the way he needs to move his body to make sure he keeps feeling like this.
It’s a mess. It’s a mess of bodies moving together on the fucking floor, of words and noise escaping their lips, of hands reaching out to grab and guide; it’s uncoordinated and impractical and Yoongi cannot remember the last time sex was this good. He thinks, embarrassingly, that he’d be okay dying like this, and then reminds himself to never let Jimin know he thought that.
The closer Yoongi gets to release, the less energy he has for riding Jimin, and Jimin seems to notice. “Get down, hyung. Lay down, here, come here.”
Yoongi whines, reluctant to give up the sensation, but acquiesces as he clambers awkwardly off of Jimin. Both of them gasp as Jimin pulls out, Yoongi whining again, but he lays down next to Jimin and feels the relief in his knees and thighs.
“Wow,” Jimin is muttering, bringing a hand up to move Yoongi’s sweaty bangs out of his face. “Wow, you’re really in a place right now.”
“Do not speak until you’re inside of me again,” Yoongi tells him, voice shaking.
It’s a testament to how gone Jimin is beside him that he doesn’t make fun of Yoongi, doesn’t even smile, just moves between Yoongi’s legs and lines them up again, presses in hard. Yoongi lets out an honest-to-god moan and doesn’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed, just bends his knees back toward his chest so Jimin can get deeper. And fuck, it’s even better like this, Jimin thrusting hard and fast and letting Yoongi lose himself completely.
Yoongi doesn’t bother warning Jimin that he’s about to come; he doesn’t know that he has the mental faculty to even do so. It takes him over, fingers gripping hard on Jimin’s back as he works through it, Jimin’s thrusts slowing, Jimin’s hand stroking him as he comes until it’s too much and Yoongi’s pushing him away.
Yoongi’s chest heaves, body heavy and boneless, and he’s only distantly aware of Jimin pulling out and repositioning himself over Yoongi, the sound of Jimin getting himself off. “Can I —” Jimin starts, but Yoongi waves him off.
“Yeah, sure,” he says. He doesn’t care what Jimin wants, he’s fine with all of it, fine with anything. His mind still feels numb, and his eyes are kind of wet. Jesus. He lifts his head to find Jimin stroking himself quickly, head tipped back, cock aimed over Yoongi’s torso, and Yoongi licks his lips. He likes that, likes the mess of it, likes how gross it is. By the time Jimin comes, Yoongi almost feels human again. He watches Jimin fall apart, watches the cum hit his stomach, and pulls Jimin forward by the hand until he’s lying on top of Yoongi
Yoongi kisses him carefully, fingers lying delicately on Jimin’s cheeks, because Yoongi still feels kind of fragile and incorporeal and he’s worried that if he presses too hard he’ll crack completely.
“Shit,” Jimin mutters when he pulls away, repositions himself so that his nose is in the junction of Yoongi’s neck and shoulder.
“Tell me about it,” Yoongi offers.
“Yeah, you really…” Jimin says. He picks his head up, looks Yoongi over. “You really went through something there, huh?”
His fingers come up to brush away the wetness from Yoongi’s eyelashes, still hanging on.
“I think you fucked the soul out of my body,” Yoongi informs him.
Jimin giggles. “Cool.”
Yoongi laughs, closing his eyes and lying his head back again. “Need to shower.”
Jimin hums in agreement. “God, yeah. Can I share? I don’t feel like waiting around and getting all crusty.”
“Gross,” Yoongi tells him with another laugh. “Sure, whatever. Come on, my back hurts from the floor.”
“Old man,” Jimin accuses.
“Keep it up and I’ll kick you out of the shower.”
They’re quiet as they wash off under the warm water, passing soap and shampoo and trading places under the stream of the showerhead. It’s...nice, Yoongi thinks. Comfortable, in a way he doesn’t think two men who, in all honesty, don’t know each other as well as they know each other’s bodies, should be.
“Can I stay here tonight, hyung?” Jimin asks as he towels off in the bathroom.
Yoongi spits his toothpaste out in the sink, towel wrapped around his waist. “Yeah,” he agrees without giving it any thought.
“Gonna steal your clothes, then,” Jimin tells him with a devious little wiggle of his eyebrows, walking off toward Yoongi’s bedroom. Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling around his toothbrush.
Yoongi is smaller than Jimin but he buys his clothes bigger, and Jimin looks endearing in a baggy black shirt and a pair of black joggers as Yoongi walks into the room.
“What’s your problem with colors?” Jimin asks, teasing with a smile.
“They’re harder,” Yoongi answers simply with a shrug. He gets dressed in pajamas, ignoring Jimin’s eyes on him, and says, “I have to go walk Holly. You coming?”
“A walk sounds nice,” Jimin decides.
At the door, Jimin puts his Doc Martens and leather jacket back on, at odds with his new outfit, and Yoongi snickers at him as he puts on his own sneakers and coat on.
“That jacket looks like a trash bag,” Jimin says disdainfully.
“Holly, come!” Yoongi calls out, jingling his leash, and he bounds around the corner into the entryway, startling Jimin.
Yoongi snickers again. Jimin glares.
Yoongi takes his normal walk route, a couple blocks around the building with multiple opportunities for Holly to go to the bathroom. He’s used to either walking Holly by himself or Kihyun doing it, so it’s different, having company. Jimin is mostly quiet, laughing when Holly does something silly or commenting quietly about different things he likes in Yoongi’s neighborhood. Yoongi’s struck with that same comfortable feeling he had in the shower, the ease that Jimin has at slipping into his routines. It’s strange, but Yoongi doesn’t mind it, really. It’s nice not having to think very hard about something.
When they get back upstairs, Holly let off his leash and their jackets hung back up, Jimin yawns, stretching his arms above his head.
“Can we go to bed, hyung? I’m exhausted,” Jimin says, rubbing his face with his hand.
“Me too,” Yoongi agrees, striding toward his bedroom feeling downright thrilled to sleep. But when the bed comes into view, he pauses.
Jimin looks between the bed and Yoongi. “Ah,” he says quietly. “I can sleep on the couch, if you want. I get it. It’s...weird.”
Yoongi thinks about that, about Jimin on the couch and him in the bed. Doesn’t feel right, he decides. “No, it’s okay. Can you just...can you help me change the sheets?”
Jimin nods, doesn’t comment on it anymore as they strip the mattress and redress it with smooth gray sheets. It feels better, now. Less strange, to see Jimin lie down in it, now that he can’t see the rumpled lines from how Kihyun always tossed and turned in his sheets on the left side of the bed.
“Thanks for letting me stay, hyung,” Jimin tells him around another yawn. “Didn’t wanna pay for a cab home.”
Yoongi hums, settling into his side of the bed. “No problem.” He means it, too, is the thing.
Yoongi finds it easier to fall asleep than it has been all week, and he chooses to chalk it up to physical exertion rather than the company.
++
Yoongi, nine-tenths still asleep, is vaguely aware of a banging noise coming from somewhere out in the living room. He listens with his one-tenth awake brain, and when he doesn’t hear anything immediately following the noise, he decides it’s not worth him waking up anymore than he is already. Probably Holly playing, he thinks, before trying to turn his consciousness back off.
Then there’s a voice, and Yoongi tries to ignore that, too. Jimin, probably. But then there’s another voice, and then, “No, you go wake him up, Jungkookie, he likes you best,” and Yoongi has about three seconds to process what the fuck is about to happen before Jeon goddamn Jungkook opens his bedroom door and says, “Yoongi-hyung? Sorry for waking you, but — oh.”
Yoongi screws his eyes shut tighter, like maybe if he tries hard enough he can will this all into nonexistence, but no dice, because he feels Jimin stirring next to him. Yoongi sits up, slowly and with a blush across his face, he’s sure, to find Jungkook standing there looking embarrassed.
“I, uh. Sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says quietly. He seems frozen to the spot.
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, rubbing his face with his hands and sighing. “Yeah, I’m sure you are.”
Jimin’s eyes blink open, and he looks between Yoongi and Jungkook with some amount of confusion.
“Jungkookie?” Jimin asks, voice rough with sleep and tone bouncing with satoori instead of the usual flat Seoul dialect he puts on. (Yoongi, even in this moment, appreciates that at least that hasn’t changed.)
Jungkook doesn’t have a chance to respond before Yoongi hears Seokjin say loudly, “It’s too quiet, what if Yoongi killed Jungkook in one hit?”
And then there’s Seokjin, standing in front of them. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”
Yoongi screws his eyes shut again, maybe if he just thinks and wishes very hard —
“This is fun,” Jimin mutters.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Yoongi asks, voice muffled against his hands.
“We came to surprise you! Pick you up a little, you know, but. Apparently that’s been taken care of,” Seokjin says stiffly, and god, there’s a whiff of anger in there. Goddamnit, Yoongi has a fucking mess to deal with.
“Oh, I didn’t pick him up at all, if that’s what you’re implying. More pushed him down, you know —” Jimin starts, never able to resist anything he shouldn’t fucking do, and Yoongi wants to throttle him.
“Park Jimin,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth, turning his head sharply.
“Sorry,” he aims at Yoongi, and looks like he might mean it. “Uh, I should go, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees with a sigh. “I’ll see you around.”
“Oh, will you?” Seokjin asks, eyebrows raised and arms folded.
“Why the fuck are you still in my bedroom?” Yoongi asks him. Seokjin huffs, but Jungkook drags him off, closing the door behind them.
“Sounds like you have a fun little gathering ahead of you,” Jimin tells him dryly, swinging his legs out of the bed.
“Yeah, I can’t fucking wait,” Yoongi mutters, running a hand through his hair and following Jimin in suit.
“Just for the record,” Jimin tells him as they stand near the closed bedroom door. “I don’t think this is a stupid choice.”
“You don’t think what is a stupid choice?” Yoongi asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Sleeping with me,” Jimin says with a shrug. “I feel like that’s what they’re gonna tell you, and I just. I don’t think it is.”
“I don’t think I do either,” Yoongi agrees quietly.
“You deserve...you deserve an escape,” Jimin tells him. It’s kind, really. Considerate. Yoongi’s about to say thank you, but then Jimin says, “And you clearly needed some therapeutic dicking, because my god, last night —”
“Okay, thanks, get out of my fucking house,” Yoongi says tersely, shoving at his shoulder, and Jimin laughs.
He leans in and kisses Yoongi softly on the cheek, says, “Hope you’re okay with me borrowing these clothes,” and walks out into the living room.
Yoongi follows behind him, taking in the way everyone’s eyes travel as Jimin walks toward the door.
“Hi, everyone,” Jimin says brightly. “Great to see you all. Sorry I can’t stay and chat. We should really catch up sometime.”
Yoongi snorts, shaking his head and walking over to where Holly’s lying on the couch between Hoseok and Namjoon, petting his head.
“Seeya, hyung,” Jimin calls, and Yoongi gives him a sarcastic little wave as Jimin walks out of the door.
The room is silent.
“So,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together quietly.
“So, how long have you been fucking Park Jimin again?” Seokjin asks, voice loud and harsh in the quiet.
“Seokjinnie,” Hoseok sighs at the same time Jungkook and Namjoon say, “Hyung,” reproachfully. Seokjin doesn’t seem to register them, keeping his eyes trained on Yoongi
“Were you...is this why you and Kihyun…?” Seokjin trails off, looking at Yoongi with a hardened expression.
“Jesus christ, are you really going to stand there and ask me if I cheated on Kihyun with Park Jimin?” Yoongi practically yells, looking at Seokjin incredulously.
The other three are silent, looking between them with wide eyes.
“Hyung didn’t mean that,” Hoseok says quietly.
“He did, and that’s the part that makes it awful,” Yoongi says, turning to Hoseok with a glare.
“Yeah, okay, fine, hyung probably did mean it, but he says stupid shit when he gets angry and trying to pick a fight,” Hoseok corrects with a sigh, ignoring Seokjin’s squawk.
“And what right does he have to be angry?” Yoongi asks Hoseok.
Seokjin opens his mouth to yell something back, but Hoseok gives him a warning look. “You’re going to cross a line, Seokjin.” Seokjin, looking like it’s taking all the energy in his body, closes his mouth again, and walks over to the kitchen to unpack a cloth grocery bag they must have brought with them.
“He’s already crossed a line, let him cross some more,” Yoongi grumbles. Jungkook and Namjoon are still quiet, but Namjoon sighs.
“Look, I’m not saying we have a right to be angry, but. You’ve been avoiding us all week, and we thought it was because you weren’t doing well. So now it kind of feels like...well, like you were avoiding us to see Jimin,” Namjoon says, sounding, as always, very diplomatic. “But,” he says, as Yoongi goes to open his mouth again, “I’m sure you have your reasons.”
Yoongi closes his mouth again, damning Kim Namjoon for always being so fucking considerate and trapping Yoongi into a corner of needing to be reasonable and honest.
“Yeah, I do. Sorry for...yelling,” Yoongi grumbles as Namjoon nods him on in reassurance.
Hoseok is giving Seokjin a meaningful look, and Seokjin sighs. “Sorry,” he says.
Yoongi raises his eyebrows at Seokjin, waiting for more. Seokjin avoids his eyes. “Sorry, Yoongi, for overreacting. And...accusing you of something I know you wouldn’t do.”
“Ever,” Yoongi clarifies. “Asshole.”
“Ever,” Seokjin adds. “Sorry for being an asshole.”
Yoongi sighs, content with that, and moved back to the topic at hand. “It’s a weird story.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jungkook asks quietly. It’s the first time he’s spoken, and he looks a little hurt. It makes Yoongi feel genuinely terrible, a powerful superpower that Jungkook possesses, and Yoongi sighs again.
“Because I figured you’d look at me all pitying and sad and like I was doing something stupid,” Yoongi mutters. He walks around to the front of the couch where, embarrassingly, Jimin’s clothes are still sitting in the neat pile they made when they picked the blanket up. Blushing, he reaches down to grab them, bringing them quickly to the clothes hamper in his bedroom.
“Well,” Seokjin says, like he’s trying his best not to say it. “Well, I mean.”
“You are really determined to be a dick today, aren’t you?” Yoongi asks him.
“I’m not saying it’s stupid,” Seokjin clarifies with a sigh. “I’m not. I’m just saying it’s...well, an out of character choice, maybe.”
“Can we stop talking about it?” Yoongi asks. “I just...can we talk about something else? You guys didn’t come over to talk to me about who I’m fucking.”
“No,” Jungkook agrees. “It was the furthest thing from our minds, I assure you.”
Yoongi smiles at him. Has an urge to kiss him on the cheek, because that’s part of the Jungkook superpower, but he refrains.
“We bought stuff to make mimosas,” Seokjin offers from the kitchen, where sure enough, the unpacked contents of the bag are sitting in front of him. It looks like orange juice, champagne, and then some general groceries, which make Yoongi feel a little soft.
(There have been times before, when Yoongi has cut himself off from the world, and Seokjin came by with a bag of groceries with no explanation given. It’s not needed, Yoongi thinks. He’s always understood it, and appreciated it in the way Seokjin and Yoongi appreciate things about each other: wordlessly, because words are too difficult sometimes.)
“Then what’s stopping you?” Yoongi asks, giving Seokjin a soft smile as an olive branch, and the rest of them seem to give a sigh of relief at the sight.
And Yoongi lets himself ease into all the contact he’s been avoiding for a week; he lets Hoseok baby him, pull him into his lap and pet his hair, he lets Namjoon question him patiently about how he’s doing, how he’s feeling, how the past week has been for him to experience; he lets Jungkook tell him animatedly about the new video equipment he got, and lets Seokjin press a mimosa into his hand and a kiss to the top of his head.
They don’t mention Jimin. It’s an effort to keep peace, and he appreciates it. He answers their questions about Kihyun the best he can, trying to think about it honestly because Namjoon is asking, and Namjoon always makes Yoongi want to be honest with himself. At some point, someone turns on a movie that none of them pay much attention to, talking over it instead, and it’s noisy and warm as the sunbeams splashing onto Yoongi’s carpet. It’s nice, and he lets himself soak up that feeling of niceness, of belonging.
It’s late afternoon, Hoseok cleaning up the mess that Seokjin made with the mimosas on Yoongi’s counter, Namjoon and Jungkook curled up into each other talking about something in low voices, when Seokjin aims at Yoongi, “Are we allowed to talk about Jimin now?”
Namjoon and Jungkook’s conversation peters off, and Hoseok keeps cleaning, but he’s obviously paying attention to them. Yoongi shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” It’s inevitable, really, and Yoongi’s calmed down from the way the spotlight on him, on It, the Park Jimin Thing, made him anxious this morning.
“I didn’t even know you still spoke to him,” Seokjin says.
Yoongi sighs, feeling embarrassed already. “I didn’t, before Saturday.”
Seokjin frowns. “You went out with me on Saturday.”
“And then I came home.”
All four of them are blatantly staring at him now, and it’s Jungkook who interrupts the silence to ask, “Are you saying you bootycalled him out of the blue last week?”
“Drunk?” Seokjin follows up.
“Well,” Yoongi mutters, looking down to limit the exposure of his deep blush. “Something like that.”
Silence again, and then Seokjin cackles loudly. “Oh my god, I can’t believe he still fucked you.”
Yoongi pushes onward, ignoring Seokjin. “It’s a casual thing. Like it’s always been with us, you know.”
“As long as you feel good about it,” Namjoon tells him.
“Right, we just want you to be happy,” Hoseok echoes. “And preferably keep us informed, but — hey, don’t look at me like that, I said but — I get it.”
Yoongi nods.
“So how’s the sex?” Seokjin asks. Hoseok snorts from the kitchen and Jungkook rolls his eyes.
Yoongi is unphased. He’s been discussing his sex life with Seokjin for long enough that it never surprises him. “Good, or else I wouldn’t have had it three times this week.”
“Well Jesus, alright,” Hoseok mutters from the kitchen. “You don’t need to brag.”
Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s kind of all I have to brag about right now, so I’ll take it.”
“That’s not true,” Hoseok accuses, raising his eyebrows. “You have a job that you love, you have a wonderful son,” he continues, gesturing at Holly sitting at his heels, seemingly under the impression Hoseok has food for him, “you have a beautiful home, and you have four excellent best friends who are all amazing geniuses.”
“Amazing, sexy geniuses,” Seokjin corrects.
“We’re alright,” Namjoon adds with a shrug. “I don’t know if we’re brag-worthy, though.”
Seokjin looks at Namjoon, scandalized. “I brag about you all the time.”
“Right,” Namjoon says with a smirk.
“I do! I say, have you heard about my good friend Jungkook? He’s been making a living by sitting in front of a green screen in his bedroom and playing video games for years, and we’re all very proud of him even though he’s not a functional member of society.”
“And I brag all the time about how I volunteer with the elderly, so thank you for giving me that opportunity, hyung,” Jungkook tells him earnestly.
“I’m only three months younger than him,” Yoongi says warningly at Jungkook.
“Yeah, but emotionally, you’re regular. He’s ancient,” Jungkook accuses with a displeased face.
“How dare you, I am a vibrant young man, Min Yoongi maintains the lifestyle of an eighty-year-old,” Seokjin says, head moving around like a goofy bobblehead the way it always does when he yells. Yoongi laughs, despite the insult.
“Not anymore,” Namjoon says. “Now he’s just out having sex with pretty little dancers. It’s really inspirational, honestly.”
Yoongi keeps laughing, leans back into the back of the couch and lets the others bicker and joke around him. He makes eye contact with Hoseok, who’s smiling at him in that way he has, reassuring and soft and warm, and Yoongi smiles back.
You’ll be okay, Jimin told him last night, and he was right. Yoongi would be okay.