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Jungkook had kind of expected all of this to go away.
Not the - not this, the time spent with his hyungs, all sardined into a fancy noraebang room. The atmosphere picks at the knots of tension along his spine, unlacing him with flashing lights and screams of laughter as his favourite people fall over each other, yell into the mic, and slowly help him relax into being a person again.
No, this is the thing he had been afraid to lose. Before their service and separate careers, when they had been seven for so long that he couldn’t imagine being singular again, the end of their long summer had felt like the end of the world. He can think fondly on his younger self now, with the kind of indulgent arrogance that comes from being twenty-eight, but it was devastating at twenty-three.
(“Silly.”
He’s curled up in his own bed for once, but not alone. Jimin’s legs octopus around his thighs, arms cradling his shoulder, lips pressed to the top of his head. It’s the sort of thing that might have short circuited Jungkook, once upon a time, but right now it feels like a lifeline.
“It’ll be different,” Jimin allows. His breath is sweet, sharp with mint. It stirs the strands of Jungkook’s fringe, just enough to tickle his forehead. Jungkook doesn’t dare move to itch. “But if things stayed the same all the time, where would we be?”
Jungkook’s gaze slides upwards. Jimin can’t see him looking from his position, but Jungkook doesn’t think the silence filling up the little space between them is in his imagination. Then why have we stayed the same. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask, but too many things are up in the air right now. Jungkook doesn’t know where they’re going to land.
“Well,” he says, carefully forming each word. “You’d probably have more muscles--”
He dissolves into giggles as Jimin squawks, raining down a storm of ineffective smacks on his chest. Jungkook pretends not to enjoy the close contact, and wonders if Jimin is doing the same.)
They’re two years of Bangtan comebacks and a year of solo career launches beyond their service now, and a lot of things have changed, the way in which they’re Bangtan has changed. But the thing that has remained the same, the thing Jungkook thinks he might have been glad to see the back of, is the squirm in his gut at watching Park Jimin perform. At seeing him at all. At thinking about him.
How long does a crush have to last before it’s just insanity? Jungkook has known Jimin for half of his life. He hasn’t wanted him for all of that, but god, who’s counting? He doesn’t remember the first time his stomach turned over, what made his breath catch in his throat. He just knows that looking at him over the top of his beer bottle in this too-small room is enough to make his heart start racing.
Taehyung has him around the waist, chin hooked over his shoulder as they scream-sing into the microphone. There’s so much sound in the room, Jungkook hasn’t been able to identify any of the songs when it’s not his turn, content to let the raucous laughter and cheers wash over him. Jin catches his eye at one point, mouthing you okay? over the top of a swiftly progressing argument between Namjoon and Yoongi that appears to be about the quality of the mics in the room.
Jungkook raises his beer like a doughnut in acknowledgement as Hobi wails something about don’t fight! and family! and Jin’s attention breaks away to play referee. The ballad clicks over to a little thrill of music that pricks Jungkook’s skin into sudden goosebumps, and Jimin shoves Taehyung with an affronted laugh, mixed pride and embarrassment hunching into his shoulders.
It’s Jimin’s solo debut - sung, written, produced. Taehyung has been loudly in love with it from the first, the frothy, fun melody a stark contrast to lyrics that flit over an intensity of feeling that Jungkook is still convinced only Park Jimin can pull off like this. Taehyung sounds good when he leans into the lick of the chorus, but his rich baritone can’t evoke the same sweet, sexy yearning that drips like treacle through Jungkook’s veins every time he hears the original version.
The song has been out for ten months. So has Jimin.
(“You’re being real secretive about your debut plans, hyung.”
“Am I?”
“Hyung!”
“Well I’m definitely not going to tell you if you’re yelling at me!”)
“Jungkookie!” The sharp jut of a shoulder launches him out of his thoughts and into the sweat-tinged citrus that Jungkook has associated with Jimin ever since Jimin discovered he could wear scents that didn’t come out of a shared can of dorm body spray.
He’s beautiful tonight. He’s beautiful all the time, but happiness highlights his features in a way makeup couldn’t hope to (although the makeup doesn’t hurt, eyes dusted in gold, that too-pink mouth). His hair is silver and swept to the side, delicate earrings ticking his neck; he looks ethereal, like something out of a dream. Out of Jungkook’s dreams.
“You’re being quiet.” A deceptively strong arm slips around his shoulders, but Jimin is still smaller than him; he has to press up against Jungkook’s side to do it. Not quite crawling into his lap but - he could. If he wanted to. “Everything okay?”
Jungkook’s arm is already curling around Jimin’s waist, holding his body warm against him. He wants to pull him closer, wants to drag him into his lap and bury his face in the naked stretch of throat bared by the scooped neck of his shirt. Lick the chemical taste of citrus off his collarbone and--
“I’m fine,” he says, soft enough that Jimin has to lean in to hear under the pulse of his own song. An accident. Honest. “It’s been a long week, I’m just enjoying being here with you.”
He draws in breath to correct himself, or clarify, all of you, because that’s true too. But Jimin has already gone still beside him, and when Jungkook glances sidelong, he thinks the red rising in his cheeks isn’t entirely due to the close warmth of the room.
Maybe if he was younger, he’d freak out at the implied intimacy. But they’ve been playing this game for a long time now, he and Jimin. Enough that he’s no longer so afraid of the consequences of winning. Jimin’s body relaxes back into his, an inch at a time, and Jungkook pulls him closer. Turns his head, presses a little kiss to the jut of Jimin’s jaw, just under his ear. Tastes perfume, scrunches his nose against the tang.
Jimin must feel him make a face, because his laugh shudders through his body and into Jungkook’s. “That’s what you get for trying to figure everything out with your mouth.”
That - okay, that’s unfair. Jungkook nips him in retaliation before he can really think it through, is punished for the lack of forethought almost immediately by the sharp little intake of air from Jimin. A quiet gasp, just for Jungkook; he wants to breathe it in and cradle it in his chest forever. He wants to drag as many more from Jimin as possible.
Chubby fingers wind through the long flop of his hair, past his ears and permed into loose waves again. A few strands catch on ever-present rings, and Jungkook hisses at the starburst of hurt, more surprise than pain. The hand pauses for a moment, before Jimin tugs again. Purposeful this time. It doesn’t hurt at all, and that’s a problem.
“You’d tell me, right? If you were having problems. If you needed to talk to someone about - everything.”
“I have a therapist now, hyung.”
“Aish, you know what I mean!”
(“I’m going to kiss a man.”
Jungkook blinks at the figure on his doorstep, recovering from the one-two punch of seeing Jimin all dolled up from the set of his music video, and the actual content of his words.
They sting, a little.
“Um,” he says, standing aside so Jimin can push his way in. He brushes against Jungkook’s chest when he does, and his whole body feels electrified. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone?”
Jimin spins so fast that Jungkook jumps, holding up his hands. Seeing this, Jimin’s demeanor softens immediately; he reaches out, curves both of his hands around Jungkook’s until they curl into loose fists, cradles them close together. But neither of them miss that he’d really been about to yell.
“Sorry,” Jimin says. “Sorry, I’m just - tense. Nervous.” He laughs, tipping forward. Jungkook bites back the urge to brush the silver fall of his hair back from his face. “Terrified, actually. I’m going to do it for the MV. I’m going to kiss a man in the MV for my debut.”
Jungkook’s lips part before his brain has decided on what its reaction to this news is. He stands there like an idiot for long enough that Jimin’s face trembles with enough anxiety to make Jungkook’s heart crack open.
“Never mind,” Jimin says, lurching back. It takes all of Jungkook’s quick reflexes to keep hold of his hands. “You’re right, it’s a bad idea, it’ll be bad for Bangtan--”
“Fuck Bangtan,” Jungkook blurts, and it’s sacriligious enough to stop both of them in their tracks. “I. That is - not fuck Bangtan, obviously, but the boy band that we’re not even performing as a part of anymore shouldn’t have any impact on this kind of decision. That’s why we disbanded at all, right? Because we wanted to be able to do things for ourselves?”
“I thought it was because Jin-hyung’s bones were getting too old to do the choreography.” Jimin does his best to smile, but the laugh is wet. “You won’t be mad? Or - I don’t know, scared? They’re going to start digging around and speculating as soon as the MV premieres. I’ll be lucky if we even make it until then without it leaking.”
“I’m not scared,” Jungkook says immediately, even if he is, a little. “I’ll do it with you, I don’t care. I mean, I care, I care so much I think I’ll explode sometimes, but being free is more important than all of that. Let them dig around, I haven’t done anything that I’m ashamed of.”
He’s fucked it up. He must have fucked it up because Jimin’s expression, usually so open, has become abruptly unreadable. Let me fix it, he thinks, squeezing his fists around Jimin’s hands. I’ll make it better, just tell me what to do.
Jimin doesn’t tell him what to do. Jimin leans up on his toes instead, and it startles Jungkook every time, that this titan of a hyung is so much smaller than him. The kiss leaves a sticky residue on his cheek, coconut and pink.
“Let hyung go first.”)
It hadn’t been immediately apparent what the song, a spiritual successor to Filter, was about. BigHit had released it to an all-kill on the Korean charts, and a starting point of no. 7 on the Hot 100. Jimin performed on a music show so that fans could see the choreo, let the chatter about his new, mature sound build internationally.
When the MV dropped two weeks after the song debuted, no one could reasonably accuse the kiss (a tender thing staged with Tae’s actor friend Choi Wooshik, starting at 2.51s of a 3.36s long song, yes Jungkook has it memorised) of being a stunt for clout. It had been one of the most beautifully spiteful pieces of promotion Jungkook had ever seen. He’s still sort of surprised that BigHit signed off on it.
“Hey.” A perfectly manicured finger flicks him on the forehead. “Where did you go?”
“Ah, don’t,” he whines, batting at the hand. “I’m here, I’m here. I was just thinking - you look good tonight.”
He was and he wasn’t; Jimin always looks good and Jungkook is always losing his mind over it, so while it’s not the specific train of thought he’d been riding, it serves him well to throw into the air between them now. What little air there is. Jimin tilts his head at him in that way of his, the one that demands more praise as his cheeks bunch up and his eyes curve into little half moons. He doesn’t dimple, but Jungkook pokes his finger into the place where one might exist anyway, startling a quiet giggle from his hyung.
He is, emphatically, in love.
“You should tell me,” Jimin says. “How do I look good, Jungkookie? I want you to tell me.”
Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s just Jimin, the overwhelming presence pressing citrus-sweet into all of his senses. Jungkook can’t decide if he’s being bold or stupid when he skims his hands over Jimin’s sides, almost like he’s going in for a hug except he doesn’t stop, slides them lower, savours the sharp intake of air shuddering against his cheek. He hooks his hands under the firm muscle of Jimin’s thighs and lifts him effortlessly into his lap, trying and failing to keep his face from flooding red at his own daring.
“Hmm,” Jimin says, knees settling on either side of Jungkook’s lap. Light wheels blue and violet overhead, catching on the smear of gloss over his lips as they part in some bespoke mix of surprise and seduction.
It doesn’t have to mean anything. They’ve all been subjected to the whims of Park Jimin dialling his sexuality up to eleven, whether it be for the stage or his own entertainment, and Jungkook knows he’s poking the proverbial bear with his hands where they are. There’s a hoot of laughter from somewhere behind them, but Jungkook is too busy admiring his catch to care if it’s directed at them, or if the rest of his members - always his members, even now - are leaving them to it, Jungkook and Jimin close off in their own little world.
It doesn’t have to mean anything. But it could. This time, maybe it could.
(The first time Jungkook gets off with Jimin, he’s nineteen years old and it’s sort of an accident?
Not like, a crisis or anything. He already knows he likes boys , and so do his members, and if things are weird after he tells them, it’s only due to the solid six months of Supportive Declarations, informative pamphlets, and free condoms that ensue. Jungkook determines that condoms make poor water balloons (too hard to pop), and carefully wires the whole experience into a time bomb set to go off at some point in a future when he’s not trying to be famous.
After all, idols don’t date. He’s safe, he figures, to not deal with the practicalities of being gay for a long, long time.
Except he’s nineteen years old, and he lives with six increasingly attractive older men, and he is very bad at forethought sometimes. Honestly, it’s sort of amazing that he made it this far crawling into bed with his hyungs before this became a problem.
‘This’ is his dick. It’s his dick, and his arm, and his arm tight around Jimin’s waist and his face mashed into Jimin’s chest as his hips lazily rock - again, his dick, his dick, his dick! - against Jimin’s thighs.
“--kind of bad about waking you up actually, but it’d probably be worse if I let you keep going?”
Reality drips slowly back in with the heat pooling in Jungkook’s gut and when he groans, it’s definitely out of mortification before anything else. “Oh,” he says, already thrashing to escape, Jimin’s laughter stirring softly through his hair. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m going, I’m gone, I’m--”
“Shh, shh, Jungkookie, shh, it’s fine. You don’t have to, it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything’s okay.”
It takes longer than usual for his hyung’s voice to pierce the panicked haze in Jungkook’s brain, but it gets through eventually. Jungkook pauses, half tangled in blankets, trying to match ‘everything’s okay’ to the situation at hand. He comes up blank.
“It’s normal, right?”
And now that he’s stopped long enough for the terror to drain away, Jungkook thinks he can hear a certain breathlessness in Jimin’s voice, an uncertainty that doesn’t quite reach the level of Jungkook’s embarrassment, but is comforting nonetheless.
“Oh,” he says again, because that’s Jimin’s dick and maybe this isn’t the end of the world after all. “Y-yeah. I think it’s normal.”)
“I like this colour on you,” Jungkook says, removing one hand reluctantly from Jimin’s leg to push the sweep of Jimin’s fringe back from his face.
“I know.”
Jungkook lets the implications of that settle on him, the idea that this colour - which Jimin has worn since his revolutionary comeback - might have anything to do with him. His hand trembles a little from the force of it, only for Jimin to notice, the silver of his rings cool on Jungkook’s overheated wrist as he claims it. Turns his head, presses a kiss to the palm of his hand. Jungkook’s going to end up with a complex for the tacky sensation of leftover lip gloss if they aren’t careful.
They’ve been so fucking careful.
“Your - mouth,” he whispers, skipping over every other thing he wants to list, from the crinkle-cornered way Jimin’s face squishes into a smile to the ten thousandth pair of Chelsea boots that Jungkook has imagined stepping on him. “God, I just want to kiss - I’ve always wanted to kiss--”
“Shh.” Jimin’s expression is inscrutable and Jungkook could cry over it, that they’ve come this far, that he’s let himself be that honest, and he still doesn’t know what Jimn wants. “Jungkook-ah, I need to - are you drunk?”
Jungkook has no idea. “I’ve been drinking. But if you think I could booze my way into this, Jimin--”
“I don’t! I don’t, of course I don’t, but it’s been so long already. It can wait, can’t it? Just a little bit. Until we’re both su - sober.”
It’s a quick trip of the tongue, barely a stumble, but Jungkook is hanging off every syllable right now so he catches it. Until we’re both sure, and Jungkook could laugh at the absurdity of that, as though he hasn’t had years to etch his feelings in stone, but he doesn’t think that’s what Jimin means.
It has been years. Of wanting, waiting. That’s a lot to throw away in one evening, shut safely away from the world in this room where everyone loves them.
Jungkook lets out a breath. Tips his head forward into Jimin’s shoulder, nods hard enough to leave a shadow of foundation behind.
“Come home with me?” Jimin whispers, as the music switches over to something silly and loud and too heavy on the base. “Come home with me.”
(In the end, there’s no fanfare to the way Jungkook comes out.
He thinks about doing it like Jimin, beautiful and impressive and meaningful, but that’s ultimately not his style. Jimin did something important, and Jungkook knows intellectually that however he does it will be important too, just because of the nature of his position in life, but he’s still kind of resentful about the fact that this can’t just be his.
Jimin had taken ownership in the way that best suited him, and Jungkook couldn’t be prouder. For himself, though…
BigHit had acquired, at some unknown cost, the handle @jk for him when it became clear that the break up of Bangtan as a single unit was approaching. Jungkook knows that it would be polite, probably, to run this past a PR person, or even one of his hyungs, but Jungkook doesn’t think this part of him needs to be polite.
It hasn’t been easy for him. It’s not his job to make it easy for anyone else.
Having made the decision, he doesn’t hesitate. The characters form steadily in the little text box, and he switches replies off, hits the Tweet button before he can second guess himself. The thrill of exhilaration and terror is immediate, rushing through his body with the force of a sold out stadium tour.
His phone starts to buzz almost immediately. He hits ignore on three separate people, staring down at the names popping up on his screen until the one he most wants to see is there.
Jimin’s already sobbing when Jungkook lifts the phone to his ear. “Jungkookie!” he cries. “I’m so proud of you!”
The tweet (‘I’m gay’, no elaboration) breaks the record for Most Quote Retweets by some stupid number. He could not give a single fuck).
Jungkook is being watched.
It’s not an unusual experience. Jungkook has been watched for a truly staggering amount of his life, has grown to accept and even on occasion enjoy the experience. But it doesn’t usually follow him to bed much these days, with the group BTS holidays a year or two in the past. Reluctantly, he cracks an eye open to assess the situation.
The Situation is propped up on an elbow, face creased from sleep and maybe a little from age, the fine lines of thirty feathering the corners of his eyes in a way that makes Jungkook’s heart seize.
“Morning,” Jimin says softly. He’s already got one of his hands laced with Jungkook’s, thumb dragging gently back and forth over his skin. Jungkook doesn’t think it’s supposed to be anything other than idle affection, but he shivers anyway. “I love you.”
“What.”
Those delicate lines crinkle deeper with the force of Jimin’s laughter and he’s gorgeous, he looks gorgeous, but Jungkook’s whole brain has whirred to a halt in the face of something so important said so simply.
“You can’t just,” he starts, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Jimin just keeps grinning at him. “Jimin!”
“Why can’t I?” There’s a quiet thunk from their foreheads as he tips forward, and they both have morning breath, and that’s somehow excellent? Jungkook could experience Jimin’s morning breath forever, actually. “What’s stopping us?”
The answer must be nothing, because Jungkook surges forward to kiss Jimin, to close that last sliver of space between them and the world keeps spinning. Nothing crashes, nothing falls over, nobody bursts into the room, Jimin doesn’t even hesitate about drawing him in, the hand around his tightening, a leg hooking lazily over Jungkook’s thighs, his mouth, his mouth--
“Love you,” he gasps, pressing in closer until he can feel the long stretch of Jimin’s body against his, skin to skin - neither of them are wearing shirts, and the shock of it is like leaping into a volcano, that searing hot. “I love you, I’m so in love with you, I have been for--” and he doesn’t get to say how long for because Jimin is pushing him onto his back.
He slithers into Jungkook’s lap with the well-trained grace of a consummate performer, but there’s nothing performative in the way Jimin looks down at him. The morning light splays over his face like something obscene, slides back into his hair and Jungkook can see his roots now, the delicate shift from silver to bleach to black. Exertion has pinched his cheeks pink and the traces of Jungkook’s touch linger on his lips, red and wet and tucked into a sweet smile in the corner, just for him.
“Look at you.”
Jimin sighs happily, placing his palms flat on Jungkook’s stomach with a reverence usually reserved for something holy. He stretches his fingers out as wide as they’ll go - not very, and Jungkook gets a poke to the side for his huff of laughter even though he doesn’t say anything. They both watch with interest the way his stomach muscles jump as Jimin smoothes his hands higher, and Jungkook can’t decide if it’s the sensation or being the subject of such intense focus that makes him squirm.
“Gorgeous,” Jimin decides, as though he’s not the living embodiment of a god carved from marble. “Honestly, Jungkook, who gave you the right? You were this little twerp, and then you snuck around behind my back and became...this.”
“Hot?” Jungkook suggests, a breathless laugh jolting from his chest as Jimin feathers a path under his pecs, teasing. “Sexy? Handsome?”
“Distracting.”
Jungkook grunts as Jimin leans down, bracing his weight on on Jungkook’s chest. The air leaves him completely when Jimin presses a kiss to his sternum, another over his heart, avoiding his nipple in a way that only makes Jungkook more aware of how fucking sensitive he is there.
“That time when we were younger,” Jimin murmurs, and his tongue sneaks out between each word, wetting the skin, breath teasing as it ghosts over the path he’s creating. “I hadn’t even considered - I mean, I’d been wondering if maybe I was, but then you were there and you’d grown out of your gangly stage and you’d started looking at me like you wanted to eat me.”
“Wait.” Jungkook hooks his fingers under Jimin’s chin, pulling his face up so they can look at each other. His heart is beating frantically, half horny and all emotion. “Wait. Are you trying to tell me - are you saying that you weren’t even sure if you liked boys before you stuck your hand down my pants?”
“Oh, no.” A sly grin curls over his mouth, before he turns his head to press a kiss into Jungkook’s palm. “No, I was very sure I was into boys by the time I did that. It was just, you know. A quick decision.”
The thought kind of makes Jungkook want to eat his whole brain, because Jimin had been so instrumental in his own understanding of his sexuality, in coming to terms with both his attraction to boys and his desire to express himself. The idea that he could have been all those things without knowing that he was queer himself is dizzying; world-shifting, but not in a bad way. Jungkook kind of likes it. That they’ve both had such an effect on each other’s stories.
“You know I’m long term about this, right? I mean, this is great, this is excellent--” he gestures between them, what little is left between them to gesture to, tries to ignore the blush he can feel crawling up his face. “But. I don’t want to - that is, I only want to, if we’re - if we’re us. If we’re going to be an us.”
Jimin coos softly, brushing the back of his hand against Jungkook’s heated cheeks. His eyes flutter shut at the touch, unable to help himself; he’s always been susceptible to gentleness, especially from this man. The touch slips smooth through his nerves, pooling in the pit of his stomach and simmering.
“Why do you think I waited?” Another kiss, replacing the touch of his hand. “I needed to be ready. I needed us both to be ready.”
Jungkook shifts his head, chasing Jimin’s mouth. His hand joins the fray, drawing two fingers up the dip of Jimin’s spine until he can cup his neck; they’re pressed so close together that he can feel the resulting shiver run through him. He doesn’t mean to make the noise that slips out, a pleased little hum that vibrates from his lips to Jimin’s, but he’s happy. He’s content. Sometimes, you just have to make a noise about stuff like that.
“Should have told me,” he mumbles. “Would have shown you I was ready sooner. ‘M always ready.”
“Baby,” There’s an inescapable fondness in Jimin’s kiss. “Jungkook. I know. You always push yourself. I didn’t want you to push this.”
“Oh,” Jungkook says, and there are the tears, as sudden and overwhelming as the rising tide of love in his throat. “Oh no.”
Jimin’s laugh silvers the air, devolves into giggles. He tucks his face into Jungkook’s throat, where Jungkook can feel the sound bubble up and burst against his skin. He thinks for a second that he could die happy, and then he thinks that if he died now he’d be furious, actually, because if this is how good five, ten minutes with Jimin is, what could a lifetime look like?
As tempting as it is to just emote over the whole situation right now, Jimin isn’t wearing a shirt. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and he loves Jungkook, and he wants to be in a relationship with Jungkook, and Jungkook isn’t wearing a shirt either? If they’re both not wearing shirts, why aren’t they kissing again?
“Up,” he murmurs softly, “up, up,” and Jimin lifts his face obediently; they grin goofily at each other for maybe half a second before Jungkook simply can’t take it anymore.
Jimin’s kisses flirt the same way he does; gentle, teasing, making use of his mouth as much as possible. Jungkook parts his lips and is consumed. Not all at once, but piece by piece, as Jimin sucks on his lower lip, tongue darting out to soothe the hurt of teeth tugging soft flesh. Not a bite, nothing so harsh, just playing on the edge of pain and pleasure.
It makes Jungkook wants what he always has when it comes to Jimin; more, as much as he can get, as much as Jimin is willing to give. He can’t keep his hands still, one sliding into silver hair, the other clutching tight at his shoulderblades, skittering down the spine of him, digging into his side.
He worries, dimly, that he might be holding on too tight, but Jimin pants softly into his mouth at the give of skin against nail. His hips stutter down against Jungkook’s thigh, and the wave of heat that swamps Jungkook at the realisation of he likes that, is, frankly, embarrassing. He’s a twenty-eight year old man, he’s gotten off with other people before, he knows that intense sensations will usually trigger a reaction in moments of heightened physical--
“Ah.” The sound rips itself from Jungkook’s throat as Jimin - when did his hand even get there? - as Jimin palms him through his sweats, and the sudden shock of a hand on his dick is enough to set off that refrain in his head again, more, and more, and m o r e.
“Soon,” Jimin promises and oh, he must have said that out loud, or something like it, because Jimin’s thick fingers are tracing out the shape of him through worn cotton, and Jungkook is cursing the past version of himself who had thought this was going to be a pants-on situation.
“Okay, but--” He cranes his neck, chasing Jimin’s mouth even as Jimin leans away. “What about now?”
“Soon!”
He whines - he whines - in the back of his throat as Jimin sits back. It’s taken them so long to get this close, why is he moving away? Jimin grins at him, dragging a hand back through his hair; the pure, unbridled sexiness that the gesture has on stage is marred by the way his fringe sticks up in all directions, wet from a shower he must have taken before Jungkook woke up, but there’s a possessive little kick in his gut that reminds Jungkook he’s the only one who gets to see Jimin unmade like this.
This is real, and it’s all fucking his. He wriggles back until he’s more supported by the pillows behind him, reaching out for any part of Jimin that the other man will let him touch. His fingers brush hip, and he skims them up over Jimin’s stomach until he can spread his palm and feel the slow, sinuous flex of muscle underneath.
Jimin moves. It’s tortuous, feeling the shift of him under his hand, the clench and release as Jimin rock his hips once, twice, and that’s his dick chubbing up against Jungkook’s thigh? That’s his dick, and they’ve been here before, sort of, except they’re splashed in the warm glow of morning now and Jimin is putting on a show; he licks his thumb, smears saliva over his nipple, pinches it until it peaks pink and pretty.
He might be performing, but there’s no way Jungkook is content to stay in the audience. “You’re a tease,” he pants, dragging his hand back down over Jimin’s body, plucking at the band of his silk sleep shorts. They’re already loose, and it’s nothing at all to slide underneath them until he can grab a double handful of ass.
Jimin sucks in a breath. “You’re needy.”
“Need you.” The words spill out of him with a bald kind of honesty, stripped free of the terror that’s been holding them back all these years. Something pings in the back of his mind; Jungkook recognises it as his own self control, worn thin and finally fraying. It’s the work of seconds to pull Jimin closer, to twist, to pin him to the mattress with the weight of his own body bearing down.
Underneath him like this, Jimin’s thighs splay around Jungkook’s knee. His hair is in disarray and his grin is half teeth and all delight. He’s already straining up towards Jungkook again, as though pressed together is still too much space between them, but Jungkook shakes his head quickly, beyond explanation.
He’s always been better at showing than telling, so he dips down, presses a kiss to Jimin’s collarbone. His sternum. Paints a path with his lips and his tongue and maybe a bite or two when he can’t help himself, mapping adoration over the planes of Jimin’s torso.
“Sweet boy,” Jimin murmurs, threading a hand through the flop of Jungkook’s curls, tugging them back from his face. Jungkook makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, nuzzling into the curve of Jimin’s ribs, the jagged hook of NEVERMIND stark against his skin.
One day, he’ll write a song so good that Jimin memorialises it like this. He wants his words on Jimin’s skin, wants to be kept close and made worthy, but he’ll take this in the mean time, soft praise and cut off sighs of pleasure as he works lower, lower. He’s a little impatient when he shoves Jimin’s sleep shorts down, cursing quietly at the way the fabric struggles over the swell of his ass; somewhere over his head, Jimin laughs at him, fondness laced through every sugar sweet sound, and it fizzes through Jungkook’s veins, a steady build of heat and want and love, and love.
“Over,” he demands, begs, “Jimin, hyung, roll over. I wanna taste it, wanna - you, gotta make you feel good.”
“Aish, Jungkookie.” Jimin’s hands slip away from his hair but Jungkook doesn’t get time to mourn the loss, not when Jimin is already on his hands and knees, not when he’s turning his head to one side on the mattress and arching his back like-- “Are you going to eat hyung out? Gonna make me all wet and desperate with your mouth?”
He’s the one trying to take charge here, but Jimin’s words skewer him in place. The sound he makes is somewhere between a laugh and a moan, the thick treacle in Jimin’s voice making his dick twitch. “Yeah,” he manages, hoarse with arousal. He kisses the base of Jimin’s tail bone, palming his ass in both hands again. He hadn’t really been aware, until this moment, how much visceral pleasure he could get from being the one to do the grabbing. “God, yes. It’s what you deserve, isn’t it? You’ve worked so hard, you’ve waited so long. Let me show you it was worth it.”
A little sigh sounds from further up the mattress, although whether it’s at his words or the way he parts Jimin’s ass with a squeeze of his fingers, it’s hard to tell. His breath ghosts over the pretty pink furl of Jimin’s hole, which twitches in response, sensitive. He’s waxed, and for a second Jungkook has the absurd urge to pop his head up and go ‘hey, same!’. At least he has the good sense not to laugh. He’s pretty sure that Jimin would appreciate the joke, but like, they’re crafting a moment here. ‘Who’s your hair removal specialist’ doesn’t really fit in it.
“JK,” Jimin huffs. “You can’t just say something like that and leave me hanging.”
“‘S not my fault you’re so pretty, hyung,” Jungkook shoots back. He runs his thumb over Jimin’s hole, fingers digging into the meat of his ass but otherwise keeping his touch light. This is one of the parts he loves most about sex; the slow ramping of anticipation, edging his partner closer and closer to desperation. He strokes down with his thumb again, a little firmer this time - not enough to press inside, but the promise of what’s to come.
“Jungkook,” Jimin whines, and Jungkook does laugh this time, blowing a pleased chuckle out against Jimin’s overheated skin and following it up with a long, languorous lick, right over the clench of his hole.
He wins a whimper for his trouble, and the way Jimin’s rocks back into the wet touch of his tongue has Jungkook’s nose buried between his cheeks, the salt and sweat of him overwhelming. There’s a chemical trace of soap lingering on his skin, the lingering taste of bodywash confused with its citrus scent, and Jungkook kind of loves it. The implications of Jimin showering while he was sleeping are kind of dizzying - the expectation that they were going to end up here, or even just the hope.
It’s not that he ever thought Jimin was lying or anything, but god, it’s nice to be wanted. To be hoped for. He licks over Jimin’s hole again, exploring the texture of him with an insidious slowness, working his mouth wetter and wetter until saliva drips lower between them. He puts his thumb back to gentle use again, wetting that too and toying with Jimin’s rim - a little stretch, not enough to hurt, a promise of what’s to come.
Jimin keens when he finally works his tongue inside, this wordless, high-pitched sound that zings right through Jungkook’s nervous system to his dick. Jimin tries to take control back, sort of, hips working down and trying to crate some kind of rhythm, but Jungkook hasn’t waited this long not to indulge himself. He pulls back, drops biting kisses over the fat curve of Jimin’s ass, holds him in place with one hand on his hip and the other pressing just into his perineum.
“God,” Jimin pants. “Fuck, Jungkook, do something.”
“‘M doing lots of things, hyung.”
A hand flails back and Jungkook chokes on his own spit in surprise, spluttering a laugh as it smacks around the air searching for a target. The laugh quickly peters off into a groan when Jimin finds purchase though, small fingers fisting in Jungkook’s hair (and Jungkook really should have figured he could bend like that). There’s something deliciously demanding about the way Jimin tugs him, insistently, back to the job at hand; it leaves Jungkook’s brain dizzy with possibilities. Left to his own devices, he doesn’t think he’d be able to decide what he wants to do with them all.
Lucky for him, Jimin’s more than happy to take the decision out of his hands. He doesn’t exactly have the leverage to drag Jungkook’s face precisely where he wants it, but the grip in his hair is enough. Jungkook mouths over his hole, hot and wet and messy before he works his tongue in again, relentless.
Honestly, if he can get Jimin off just like this, he’ll be fucking delighted. Like, does he want to fuck him? His dick is throbbing at the thought alone. But this - the squirming-desperate-demanding version of Jimin twisting under his hands and under his mouth, this is what he really wants.
He wants to make Jimin feel good.
Something hits him on the head. Jungkook registers that Jimin has let go of his hair, that some of that squirming had been accompanied with the sound of a bedside drawer opening, and the thing that had hit him is lube, landing conveniently on the mattress next to him.
“If you don’t - get inside me - right now - I’m going to pin you down and - and sit on your chest and get myself off and leave you hanging.”
Jungkook doesn’t mean to moan right against Jimin’s hole at that little spiel, but he’s also not sure how he was supposed to avoid it. There’s a pause as they both process it, before Jimin sighs, a sweet little sound that shivers right down Junkook’s spine.
“Oh, baby,” he says. “Baby, baby, my baby. Come here already, would you?”
He’s already turning on the bed as Jungkook crawls up his body, lube in hand; by the time he’s back to Jimin’s face, he’s solidly on his back, flushed and grinning up at Jungkook. He cups Jungkook’s face with both hands and draws him in for a kiss and there’s something obscenely romantic about that actually, given what he’s just been doing (and Jimin will chide him for that later, kiss him again with a gentle ‘what, it’s supposed to be fine for your mouth but not me? Jungkookie.’)
“Jungkook,” he murmurs now, nibbling on Jungkook’s bottom lip. “Fuck me.”
Jungkook wants to make a joke like, have you always been this impatient? but he’s too busy wriggling out of his sweats. It takes him a moment, to orient himself, to juggle pants and lube and the way Jimin licks his lips when his gaze skates over the length of Jungkook’s body (there’s so much he wants to do!), but he manages to get himself braced over Jimin, fingers slick and circling his rim.
“If you start teasing me ag - ah.
Jungkook shakes his head with a grin of his own, getting the curls out of his eyes so he can see the way Jimin bites his own lip as Jungkook breaches him with a single finger. Between the lube and the saliva and the way Jimin relaxes into him, it’s an easy slide, and as hot as the threat of Jimin sitting on him if he doesn’t speed up is, he kind of wants their first time together to be a little less blatantly aggressive. So he works Jimin over with that single finger, but doesn’t take too long about fucking a second one into him, twisting as he goes, easing into the stretch of it.
“Knew you’d be good at this,” Jimin mumbles, haphazardly kissing his cheek. “Baby golden maknae. So many - hand sports.”
“‘S not that hard to pay attention to what your partner likes, hyung.”
“Mn, is that right?” Out of breath and spread over the mattress like melted butter, Jimin’s lidded eyes still look dangerous as he peers up at Jungkook. “What does hyung like then, JK?”
Jungkook flashes his teeth, pressing a third finger to Jimin’s rim as he hooks the two that are already inside him. “You like telling me what to do,” he says baldly. “But you like being challenged about it more.”
Jimin arches soundlessly, hips stuttering into the motion as Jungkook grazes over his prostate and that’s it, he’s done, there’s absolutely no way he’s going to last longer than the time it takes to stretch Jimin out on that third finger. He’s a little hasty about it, maybe, but Jimin tucks his face into Jungkook’s throat, sucking at the skin there with soft little keens at each thrust that Jungkook is pretty confident means that he likes it.
“Can I--” he rasps finally, when he thinks Jimin is loose enough, “Hyung, should I use a condom?”
“No,” comes the immediate response, before Jimin lifts his head, nose wrinkled. “Sorry, I mean - if you want to? But I’m clean, I promise, I haven’t fucked anyone in - god, who cares, it’s fine, it’s whatever you want.”
“I want you.”
“Yah! That’s so greasy!”
“I’m in love with you, and I’m about to fuck you bare,” Jungkook points out, quite reasonably in his opinion. “If I can’t be greasy now, when can I?”
Jimin’s kiss-swollen lips part, and some piece of Jungkook’s brain snaps the image to save for later because he’s beautiful. He draws his fingers gently from Jimin’s body, waits for some kind of response, is startled by the gentle, settled way Jimin’s features draw together. No demand, no coy and clever comeback.
“I’m in love with you,” is all he says, and Jungkook feels the tears sparking in his eyes all over again. Which, would maybe be embarrassing? In a different world? But in this one Jimin just coos at him, brings his hands up to wipe them away again with a touch that’s so soft and so safe, he could be happy only having that for the rest of his life.
But - he doesn’t have to be. The length of his body tangles with Jimin’s, and he takes Jungkook’s dick so fucking easy - not like he was made for him, but because Jungkook made him that way. Stretched him open until he could take it, until he was desperate for it, and god, that’s a heady sort of thing to be given.
He rocks his hips slow and sweet, moves his mouth in worship over Jimin’s throat when he does it, leaving sucking, biting kisses over his collarbone, red and pink and one verging on purple, right at the crook of his neck. Jimin’s fingers score down his back, blunt nails leaving their own marks that Jungkook will savour for days to come, this physical proof of how badly Jimin wants him.
“Hyung,” he pants quietly, mouthing up to Jimin’s ear. “Hyung.”
“Ff - mmhmm?” Jimin bites off a curse, and god only knows how he can tell that Jungkook’s trying to ask something.
“Hold m’ - hand, hold my hand.”
Jimin’s laugh catches on a groan as Jungkook thrusts back into him, a little harder and a little faster as the tide of his arousal starts to rise, gathering in his gut and ready to crash over them both. He doesn’t hesitate though, finding Jungkook’s hand on the mattress and wriggling their fingers through each other until they’re woven together and something about that, the intimacy of it all, proves to break the dam in Jungkook.
He whimpers, hips stuttering into Jimin, unsure if he’s overwhelmed or overwhelming. Jimin hooks his legs around Jungkook’s waist, crosses them at the ankle and drawing them in and it takes a second or two before Jungkook registers that Jimin has set a new rhythm for him, deep and hard and--
“Gonna come,” he mumbles, tucking his face into Jimin’s neck to hide because he doesn’t think he can last, doesn’t think he can hold out - but Jimin is peppering his cheek and his ear with kisses, whining something about wanting to see him, and what is Jungkook supposed to do? Not give Jimin what he wants?
He lifts his head enough to catch Jimin’s mouth in another kiss that’s half tongue and too much teeth, harsh gasps escaping into it as his orgasm slams into him and over him. “Love you,” he mumbles, and that’s probably greasy too but he absolutely doesn’t care, “love you, love you,” and something flood thick and wet between them as Jimin whines high-pitched and beautiful into his mouth, so he’s not the only sap in this relationship, he’s pretty sure.
It’s the last thing he’s sure of for a while. Pleasure whites him out and when awareness starts creeping curiously back in, the two of them have rolled onto their sides. He’s still inside Jimin, Jimin’s legs still knotted tightly around him even as he starts to get soft, and there’s something disgustingly intimate about that, too. Jungkook loves it.
“Hey,” he rasps, realising that Jimin is looking at him, a soft smile gracing his absolutely ravaged mouth. Jungkook can feel himself turning red, a little embarrassed at his own fervour, but - he loves that too. The proof of his desire, made part of Jimin. “Did you come because I said I loved you?”
He’s already laughing by the time Jimin registers what he’s said, although the shift of his features from sated and dazed to pure outrage happens impressively fast. There’s no way to escape the squawk of fury when they’re tangled this close, or the flailing smack into his shoulder, so he just squeezes Jimin closer to him, snuffling happily into his neck.
“It’s sweet!” he insists. “It’s lovely! I want you to come because I love you!”
“You’re the worst,” Jimin insists, burying his face in the sweat-tangled mess of Jungkook’s hair. “You’re the absolutely worst and I love you so much. Do you hear me? The most.”
As threats go, it’s weirdly effective. Jungkook can’t bring himself to maintain the urge to tease in the face of how his heart leaps to hear it, Jimin’s love for him spoken in the golden light of morning, just for the two of them and the early sun to hear. This private, precious thing that he has wanted so badly, that he has had for so long.
“Come on,” Jimin grumbles eventually, smacking a kiss onto the top of his head. “You’re all gross, and I need a second shower too. Let’s get up and get clean and spend all day doing nothing together.”
Jugnkook thinks about protesting. Thinks about he doesn’t even mind being that gross, if he’s being gross with Jimin. Thinks that that probably won’t fly, and begins the slow work of extracting himself from Jimin - arms, legs, dick - and the bed, stretching triumphantly when he finally wins his freedom.
“Wha’?” he asks, mid-yawn, pausing. Jimin lies sprawled on the mattress, dark eyes glittering strangely as he observes Jungkook’s form with his head cocked to the side. Assessing. For once, the look doesn’t make Jungkook feel self-conscious. He thinks he’s being admired.
“Nothing,” Jimin says after a moment, smiling. “I’m just glad it’s you.”
“O-oh.” Jungkook lets his hands flop to his side. Stretches on out towards Jimin, helping him up from the bed. Gathers him into his arms, naked and lovely and fucking glorious. “I’m glad it’s me too, hyung.”