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When it happens, Hoseok is looking down at his phone reading an email about their upcoming music video shoot, and he can also vaguely hear Jungkook calling for him from the living room or possibly the kitchen in the tone of voice that means he wants Hoseok to do something for him, which is why he’s not really paying attention as he pushes the bedroom door open with his shoulder and tips himself inside, wondering vaguely if Seokjin will take care of whatever Jungkook needs first.
He’s not sure why he looks up from his phone, but he does.
Jimin’s t-shirt is rucked up against his belly, hips moving against the pile of pillows messily arranged in front of him. His chin is tipped down, so that all Hoseok can see is the fall of his pastel bangs over his eyes and the furious clench of his jaw. He’s watching himself, one hand holding his shirt up against his sternum, the other planted on top of the pillows.
Hoseok thinks: They fuck all the time. They jerk off in front of each other regularly. Just last week, Namjoon fucked him while Jimin watched them both from his own bed, hand working between his legs.
Still. He looks away instinctively, back down at his phone, like he’s walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see.
“Oh, door – door, hyung, close the door, please.”
He shoves the door shut with his foot. “Jiminah?”
Jimin drops belly-first onto the bed as if to hide what he was doing. He makes an urgent noise in the back of his throat and says, “Not with you – inside the room,” the last word ground out in this guttural whine.
“Are you – ?” Hoseok takes a step forward, and Jimin hunches deeper into the nest of pillows and sheets, hips flexing.
“Hyung,” he whines, high and scraped over. Hoseok takes a step forward again. The back of Jimin’s neck is sweat damp. “Don’t. Don’t.”
“It’s okay,” Hoseok tells him, feeling a kind of awful calm wash over him. “It’s okay, Jiminah.” He takes another step forward. “You’re just,” he bites his lip, then finishes, “presenting.”
Six months ago when Jungkook had slammed headlong into his first rut, Jimin had cornered Hoseok in the laundry room where he was dumping a load of Jungkook’s messy sheets into the machine. He’d slid his palms up Hoseok’s back, tugging him away.
Hoseok had shrugged him off, reaching for the pile of clean linens. “I gotta change the sheets. You know he was in the middle of fucking Taehyung and started crying cause he said he could smell Seokjin’s slick on them? I asked him why that was making him upset and he said it was disrespectful to Taehyung like he hadn’t just watched Taehyung lick Seokjin’s come off his belly. Anyway he just started crying harder so the sheets,” he heaved a breath, “are being changed – what, oh –” and then he was being enveloped in Jimin’s arms in this tight hug.
Hoseok always felt like people underestimated how good Jimin’s hugs were.
“Hyung,” Jimin said, and Hoseok could feel his nose sliding along the arch of his throat. “Take a breath, yeah?”
Hoseok breathed in. He felt his ribs expand. He felt Jimin’s arms contract.
He breathed out.
“Let me take the sheets in. Yoongi’s distracting Namjoon, they don’t need me right now, okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hoseok had said, because he was. He was just – a little tired.
“I know you are,” Jimin said, and tweaked his nipple through his shirt, playful. “So fucking fine, hm?” Hoseok could hear the smile in his voice. “Let me do it anyway. Good practice for me, yeah? Second beta in command, right, hyung?”
Hoseok really did pull out of his grip then, turning to face him. He chuffed under Jimin’s chin, tilting in close. “You could still present, Jiminah.”
Jimin rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He tugged Hoseok’s hand away from his face, pulling it around his waist. He rested his chin on Hoseok’s shoulder, and then Hoseok was being hugged again, all pulled up tight into Jimin’s embrace.
They stood like that. Hoseok pushed his fingers up the back of Jimin’s t-shirt and touched the base of his spine, thumbing over one of the dimples on Jimin’s back.
After a minute, Jimin said, like it was a secret, “You know I’m glad, right? I’m glad I’m just like you.”
Hoseok was quiet. Jimin’s hands were warm where they touched him. For a second, he thought he could smell – something. A burnished kind of sweet amber smell, like milky tea shops. When he tried to chase the scent, though, it disappeared.
“Everyone always thought I’d be an omega and then everyone thought I’d be an alpha and now half the time people seem to think I’m covering for being one or the other, and it’s like. I like this. I’m happy this way. If I had the choice, I would’ve chosen this anyways.” He sighed a little. “I like it. I’m happy with you, Hoseokie hyung.”
Now, Hoseok watches the way Jimin can’t still his hips against the mattress – these minute twitches even as Jimin hides his face in the nest of sheets and blankets and makes an unhappy, angry noise in the back of his throat.
“I wasn’t supposed to –” he chokes out.
“I know,” Hoseok says and goes to him. When he puts his hand on Jimin’s back, this shudder goes through him, like a bird landing on a wire.
Jimin turns his mussed face towards Hoseok.
“I think something’s wrong,” he says, voice hot.
“Turn over.”
Jimin shakes his head. “I don’t want you to see –” he mumbles. “S’all. It looks weird, hyung.”
Hoseok pets his sweaty back. “Jiminah, you just need to come. You’ll feel better if you come, okay?”
“I can’t,” he says, “it doesn’t work, I don’t know how to touch it, it’s all –.” He makes a noise of frustration. His bangs are sticking to his sweaty forehead.
Hoseok reaches out and pushes them aside. He can feel his own blood in his ears. “Hey, pretty alpha,” he says, voice light.
Jimin’s mouth tips open. He licks his lips. “Pretty?”
Hoseok nods. “Pretty alpha with a sweet, pretty knot, I bet. Can you show me?”
Jimin shakes his head, looking hesitant. “It’s not pretty,” he says like he’s admitting something awful. The corner of his mouth tugs down, like a scared kid with a secret.
Hoseok shifts on the balls of his feet where he’s crouching next to the bed. He put his shoulders back. “Hyung wants to see it, though.”
“Oh?”
Hoseok nods. He feels like he’s touching glass with his bare hands. He says, voice firmer, “Show hyung your pretty knot,” and feels something like relief when Jimin starts to push up on his hands.
He flips over. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth. He isn’t looking at Hoseok, eyes somewhere on the ceiling instead. “See?” he says, like he’s really making his point. “What the fuck is wrong with it?”
Hoseok makes a soft noise, and Jimin puts his hands over his face, chest heaving.
“No, no, no,” Hoseok tells him, sliding onto the bed and between his thighs. “Oh, Jiminah, it’s perfect.”
“What?”
He can’t look up, can’t look away from it, so he’s not sure if Jimin is still covering his face or watching him, but he nudges forward and rubs his face – chin and cheeks and nose – over the hot little package of Jimin’s newly knotted cock.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, still nuzzling. “Baby, it’s so sweet.”
Jimin’s thighs twitch. Hoseok swallows and continues, “Perfect little sweet shape.” He groans. He rubs his nose against the knot where it’s swelled up already.
Jimin lifts up onto his elbows. “It’s not – isn’t it weird looking?” His face is red from the way he’s been rubbing it against the sheets, from the burn of humiliation across his cheeks and nose.
“This?” Hoseok says, with genuine surprise. He reaches forward and lifts the tip with the pads of his fingers. “Can I lick it, baby? It’s so sweet and little, I just wanna – fuck, get it in my mouth.”
Jimin’s hips jump forward. He laughs, sorta wetly. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft. “Okay.”
Hoseok sucks the tip into his mouth, pulling it against the divot of his tongue. He suckles, using his lips to massage around the head, and Jimin cries out, hips flexing forward. “Oh, hyung, can you – more,” and Hoseok hums, edging his lips forward until they bump the soft swell of Jimin’s new knot. “Oh my god,” Jimin breathes.
Hoseok pulls off. “You taste good,” he tells him, rubbing his face again between Jimin’s legs. “Smell fucking amazing.”
“I do?”
Hoseok nods, lipping all over Jimin’s cock. He purses his lips into a kiss-shape and rubs them wetly back and forth over the swell of Jimin’s knot. “Gonna make you come, okay, Jiminah?” When Jimin nods, he says, “Just come in hyung’s mouth.”
“Oh,” Jimin says, dick sliding against Hoseok’s lips. His hand shoots forward on his thigh, then clenches uncertainly in the sheets. “Won’t I – what if I knot your mouth?”
Hoseok gently pushes at Jimin’s thighs with the tips of his fingers to get him to spread them again. “You won’t,” he tells him. He kisses along the length of Jimin’s cock. “Not the first time you come. And, besides,” he adds, smiling up at Jimin and petting his tip with the pad of his finger. Jimin watches, eyes flicking between Hoseok’s face and what he’s doing to his dick with his hands. “Even if you did, I think I could take it. Take this sweet little knot filling up my mouth.”
Jimin groans. His eyes are bright with rut, and his cockhead is so red it looks painful, but other than that he doesn’t seem all that different than usual.
Hoseok thinks about how Namjoon was practically non-verbal this early into his first rut; how Jungkook hadn’t been able to get more than a few words out, at first.
Jimin says, “I don’t know how you can like it. It looks so weird.”
It doesn’t – it just looks. Surprising. Most alpha cocks are bigger and their knots sit proportionally at the base of their cock.
Jimin’s cock is short. His knot takes up half of the length of his dick.
Hoseok says, “It’s not weird. It’s – really fucking hot, Jiminah. Like.” He shakes his head, tripping a little over the words. “You’re so fucking hot, baby.”
Jimin groans, toppling back on the bed. “Fuck. Okay.”
“I can suck it?” Hoseok asks him, rubbing his wet lips across the inside of Jimin’s thigh.
“Fuck,” Jimin breathes out. “Yeah, hyung,” he says, voice raw, “you can suck it.”
He goes down on Jimin’s cock, and when his lips nudge the knot, he widens his jaw and keeps going. Jimin makes a high noise in the back of his throat. His legs shift against the bedsheets. Hoseok swallows around the fullness in his mouth.
Jimin’s cockhead is slick with precome and it sits on the back of his tongue, making his mouth water. He pulls back and lets his lips slide fluidly over the shape of the knot and up to the tip again. He points his tongue and drags it across Jimin’s slit, a little roughly. Jimin’s hands fly up to his face and then he’s saying, all rushed together, “Can I fuck it, hyung, please?”
“My mouth?”
Jimin sits up, bleary eyed. He nods, biting his lip.
Hoseok feels this hot curl of want in his belly. “Yeah.”
Jimin swallows. “Lie back,” he directs, nodding with his chin.
“Oh.” Hoseok’s elbow collapses to the bed. He slides backwards, watching Jimin watch him.
Jimin fucks his mouth like that, deepening into the rut, until he’s on his elbows and knees straddling Hoseok’s face, hips curling as he grinds into his mouth. He comes so hard he starts shivering, and when he pulls out he slides down Hoseok’s body, jaw working like he can’t get his tongue around whatever words are buzzing around in his skull.
After a minute, there’s a sound like a sob would sound like if it were bitten off, crushed against the crenellation of his teeth. Smothered against a fist, maybe.
“Let it out,” Hoseok says, his own heart hammering in his chest. “That’s it, baby, just let it go.”
Jimin’s fingers curl into his sweatshirt. “Hyung,” he breathes, wet-mouthed. Then, with the back of it shorn off: “Hyung.”
Hoseok holds him.
“Budge up, baby.” Steam eddies above the bathwater. Hoseok brushes Jimin’s wet shoulder with his fingertips, nudging him to sit forward.
The muscles in Jimin’s back shift like a kaleidoscope.
“That’s it,” Hoseok murmurs. He settles into the tub, pulling Jimin to lean against his chest. He scoops the warm water up against Jimin’s skin. “There you go,” he says, voice pitched low. Jimin hums. He tips his head back on Hoseok’s shoulder, eyes sliding shut.
Hoseok runs his fingertips against Jimin’s flank, circling the ladder of his ribs, the plane of his belly. He thumbs at the cut of his hip. Jimin makes a soft noise. He says, “That’s nice, hyung.”
The water makes soft splashing sounds over the hum of the overhead fan.
Half an hour ago, Jimin rolled off of Hoseok, looked up at the ceiling, and breathed out a long, shaky exhale. His face was wet. His lips were pink from pressing them together.
He’d said, “You’d think crying for 20 minutes would mean I’m not hard again but I still wanna fuck you,” in this voice dripping with something Hoseok didn’t like very much, so he’d tugged Jimin off the bed, complaining that he wanted a bath after Jimin got come on his hair and snot on his throat. Jimin had laughed, a little bit, and then gone quiet. He’d let Hoseok steer him towards the bathroom.
With the tub filling up, Hoseok had tipped him down onto the toilet seat, kissed his cheek, and said, “I’ll be right back.”
In the hallway, Seokjin had been standing there, waiting for him, like he knew Hoseok was coming to find him. He’d said, “Is he – he is, isn’t he?”
Hoseok nodded, tight-lipped.
Seokjin leaned against the wall. “I could smell it. Then you opened the door and I could really smell it. Does he want me? I mean, does he want an omega?”
Hoseok said lightly, “He hasn’t – mentioned it.” Seokjin nodded, almost like he expected it. Hoseok didn’t know what to make of that, so he said, “Have the others noticed?”
“Jungkook sniffed the air a couple times, but that’s kinda the usual for him. Everyone else is still out."
“Can you keep Jungkook occupied? I can’t tell how...” He looked over his shoulder at the closed bathroom door. “I can’t tell.”
Seokjin tilted his head. “Are you formally requesting that I go and suck Jungkook’s dick?”
“I don’t think I specified dick sucking.”
“You’re assigning me a mission, and the mission is to suck Jungkook’s dick.”
“That’s not exactly –”
Seokjin said gravely, “I accept my mission, Hobah.”
“Okay.”
“Despite its potential for peril.”
“What peril, exactly?”
Seokjin shook his head sadly. “Terrible aim. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He clicked his cheek. “Last time? Right in the eye.”
“I thought that was pink eye.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin said easily. “I lied.”
“Namjoonie did keep saying there was no way that was pink eye. Honestly, I think he could’ve been a doctor.”
“Big brain.”
“Huge... brain.”
“Right.”
“Yeah.”
“Kiss?”
Hoseok leaned in and let Seokjin kiss the corner of his mouth. “Have fun.”
“You too?” Seokjin said, like he was asking a genuine question.
Hoseok sucked in a breath. “Cute dick. Cute knot. You’re gonna love it.” He paused. “If he ever shows it to any of us.”
“Ah,” Seokjin said, and something like soft sadness came into his eyes before he blinked it away. “Fighting, Hobah.”
“Fighting, hyung.”
Now, with Jimin’s fingers trailing circles in the flat bathwater, Hoseok hears him swallow, and then his voice, soft and almost far-away sounding: “Everyone’s going to think I’m lying.”
Hoseok looks at the condensation where it’s beading against the tile wall. He thinks about how Yoongi has half an album buried somewhere on his computer that’s just him spitting curses at everyone who ever called him an alpha poser to cover up his omega status. He thinks about how, in the weeks and months after Yoongi’s first heat, he was asked at every single interview how he was coping with his unexpected status. He thinks about how Yoongi got really, really good at hiding the furious clench of his jaw with a well-timed nod, a careful head tilt.
He thinks about how Seokjin started to perfect his timing, the beat he’d wait before cutting in with a bright, “Well, Yoongi-yah had the best and most handsome omega hyung to look up to, so it’s actually been completely seamless.” How everyone would laugh. The interview would move on. Namjoon would stretch his fingers, shake out the tension. Hoseok would catch this look of relief passing over Jimin’s face, before Jimin learned to hide that, too.
He says, carefully, “What do you mean?”
Jimin snorts. He picks up Hoseok’s hand from the water and laces their fingers together. He says, “Did I ever tell you when I was a kid, well – before I came to Seoul. There was this thing. At school. This thing that happened at school.”
Hoseok feels his gut clench. “You told me you used to get bullied sometimes,” he offers. Jimin takes his other hand and starts massaging Hoseok’s fingers, pulling on the tips.
Hoseok thinks, suddenly, of the way Jimin used to do that to himself – pull on his fingertips. He thought it was because Jimin liked the feeling. Then all that shit with Jimin’s pinky had started, and he thought that maybe it didn’t have anything to do with it feeling good.
Jimin says, “Yeah. Sorta like that.”
Hoseok slides his nose along the back of Jimin’s ear. He makes a soft, encouraging noise. He thinks about how Jimin tells stories: how he kind of has to talk himself into it.
Jimin says, voice light, “It was – I was in the bathroom one day. At school. Or maybe an after school program, I can’t remember to be honest. I think I’d just won an award or something like that because I remember feeling really happy with myself. Like proud of myself. I remember looking in the mirror and imagining telling my Mom and Dad, and how proud of me they’d be. Anyway,” Jimin says, and his voice shifts a little. His hands are still moving over Hoseok’s fingers, massaging. “Anyway. It was like just a couple of guys I knew from kendo. I think. They were bigger than me. Or I thought they were.” For the first time he tilts his head to make slanted eye contact with Hoseok, like it’s important Hoseok knows what he’s talking about. “You know how you remember things as bigger or smaller than they are? Maybe it’s like that. Anyway. I think – I’m pretty sure they were. Bigger than me.”
He settles back against Hoseok’s chest. His hands dip back into the water, floating gently. He flicks droplets with his fingertips.
He says, “They said they knew I was an omega, that no matter how hard I pretended I wasn’t, they could smell it on me, and they were going to check. They tried to take my clothes off. I just remember thinking, ‘you can’t smell anything on me, you haven’t presented yet, yourselves.’ Like I dunno, somehow, like logic would stop them.”
Hoseok can feel his heart beating in his throat. He feels like it could jump right out of his mouth.
He says, “Jiminah,” and he says, “I’m so sorry.”
Jimin says, hurriedly, “Nothing happened. I hit one of them and started yelling really loudly and they ran off. I fixed my clothes. I remember – I had to pull up my pants. I thought that was like. So humiliating. Anyway, then I went to class. It wasn’t like anything,” he sighs, enormously, “really happened.”
Hoseok says, “Enough happened, I think.”
“Yeah.” Jimin nods. His voice is still slowed down and soft, like the words aren’t really touching him. He says, “That’s true.”
He’s quiet for a long time, after that. The water makes soft, sloshing noises against the tub.
Finally, Jimin says, “Hyung?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I’m really glad you were holding me. Like, while I told you that story. I’m glad you were holding me when I said it.”
“Fuck, Jiminah.”
“Yeah.” Jimin rolls his head back against Hoseok’s shoulder, pulling both of Hoseok’s arms around him tightly. “Also, sorry, but I think I need to come again. I keep thinking about rolling you over and fucking you over the toilet and how you’d make those noises I like while I fuck you, how you’d come all over my cock, so like I know the timing is really uh fucking bad but I think I need to come again.”
“Shit, baby,” Hoseok says, laughing a little. “Sorry, sorry, I shoulda –”
“No, it’s fine,” Jimin says, turning his face against Hoseok’s throat and licking. “It’s fine that you weren’t jerking me off while I shared my childhood trauma.”
Hoseok laughs. “This is fucked up, Jiminah,” he moans. He skritches his fingers over Jimin’s belly. Jimin takes his hand and pushes it down between his legs.
“Yep!” Jimin says, and then, “Oh, fuck, hyung that’s better. Just – keep touching me, maybe?”
“Okay,” Hoseok says.
Jimin says, “Sexy. Maybe next I could tell you about the time I walked in on my parents –”
“Jiminah,” Hoseok whines.
“Sorry,” Jimin says, laughing. His hips are rutting. “I think I could talk about anything and I’d still be hard. That one photographer’s nose hairs. Namjoon’s socks after practice. That bowl we found under Jungkook’s bed one time with the electric-green mold. Yep. Fuck. Wow.” He fits his fingers around Hoseok’s and tightens them, fucking through the tight circle of their joined hands. “Fuck, hyung, I wanna fuck so bad,” he says, and his voice has taken on this growl that Hoseok mostly only ever hears when Jimin sings.
“Shit, baby,” he breathes out, rubbing his own half-hard dick against Jimin’s ass. “You wanna fuck me?”
“Fuck, hyung, yeah. Wanna push you onto your belly and –” He makes a rough noise. “No, no, wait, I can wait, I’m gonna be such a good alpha, fuck. Hyung. First I’d eat you out for like. Forever.”
Hoseok feels his belly do this hot, swooping lurch of arousal. He gets his other hand down between Jimin’s legs and cups his balls, rolling them. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, hyung. You know how you like it when I lick you until there’s spit rolling down your thighs? I’d get you like that. Tongue fuck you open. I wouldn’t even need to use my fingers, just open you up with my tongue.”
Hoseok gives Jimin’s cockhead a squeeze, reprimanding. “Oh, you can still use your fingers, baby.”
Jimin laughs, panting a little. “You’re right, you’re right.” He rolls the back of his head along Hoseok’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. “You know I love when I can get you to come with just my fingers?”
“I uh yeah,” Hoseok says hotly, thinking of the last time they’d fucked like that. It was at the end of Jungkook’s last rut and Jimin had been showing Jungkook how to pace himself using his fingers in between knotting. Hoseok had volunteered to demonstrate. “I’m sorta aware, yeah.” He pushes his fingers lower, rubbing at Jimin’s perineum.
“Oh,” Jimin says, and then his hips are rabbiting. “Oh my god, I’m gonna come – I can’t, I can’t –”
“That’s it,” Hoseok reassures him. “Fuck.” He circles his fingers around Jimin’s cockhead, caging the tip in, and rubs hard. Jimin’s come starts to slick up between his fingers. “Perfect, baby, good job.”
“Oh my god.”
“Good boy.”
Jimin laughs, turning his face to rub it against Hoseok’s throat. Hoseok can feel the warm puffs of breath on his damp skin. Jimin says, “Is it always like that? It came on so – quickly.”
“Sometimes.” He rubs gently at Jimin’s cockhead with his fingertips, and when Jimin’s thigh flexes in overstimulation, he smooths his fingers down over the length and cups him instead, holding him without moving his hand. He can feel Jimin’s knot pressing against his fingertips. “You remember Namjoon’s first rut?”
Jimin makes a horrified noise. “S’not gonna be like that for me, is it?” he squeaks. “Come everywhere. D’you remember Seokjin said he was still finding it in all his crevices days later? Like sand at the beach…”
Hoseok giggles into Jimin’s hair. “Dunno, baby. Could be. Probably not, though. Everyone’s first rut is different. You remember Jungkookie kind of lost his head for a bit? It’s not been like that for you.”
Jimin snorts. “Yeah.” His toes flex against the tub faucet. “We went through like six sets of sheets in three days.” He laughs, suddenly. “You remember he kept insisting on only using the nice argan oil with Namjoon?”
Hoseok makes a noise of disgust. “Murdered those sheets.” He tilts his head. “It was hot, though. Both of them like fighting for dominance and slicked all over with oil. Namjoon said he felt like a gladiator. I said I don’t think it happened quite like that, and he said I was reading the wrong history books.”
Jimin snorts again. “Did you tell him you don’t read?”
“Hey!” He flicks at Jimin’s side, then laughs. “But, yeah, that’s exactly what I said.”
“Cute,” Jimin says, leaning up and kissing the side of Hoseok’s face. “Cute,” he says again. His lips move in a path of kisses. “Hey, hyung,” he says, voice breathy.
Hoseok can feel the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. “Mm?”
“Hey, hyung.”
“Something you need, Jiminah?”
“Sweet hyung,” he says, only it’s not soft or breathy – it’s got this growling kind of edge to it. Hoseok’s dick is pressing comfortably against the small of Jimin’s back. He feels Jimin arch against it.
Jimin says, “No reason you can’t get it in, tonight, too.”
Hoseok rolls his hips against Jimin’s ass, tugging him closer so his dick slides between his cheeks. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, you wanna fuck me, hyung? You wanna fuck your alpha?”
Hoseok shivers. He feels it go through the water. And then he fucks his alpha.
Later, after they pull themselves from the bathroom and stumble back towards the bedroom, and after Hoseok massages Jimin’s back and then Jimin insists he also massage Hoseok, and after Jimin reaches up to shut the light off and shuffles back over to sling his arm across Hoseok’s hip and nudge his head against Hoseok’s armpit and murmurs, “Hyung, do you see the moonlight coming in through the window? S’pretty,” and Hoseok hums that he can even though he’s falling asleep, after all that, Hoseok wakes to the sound of whimpering.
“Jimin?” he asks, sleep-mussed and dozy-mouthed. He can’t get his brain firing and then he hears it again – that whimper – and he’s very, very awake.
Jimin is a dark shape, huddled at the foot of the bed. Hoseok pushes the blankets off. “Baby?”
“Hoseokie hyung,” Jimin says, and Hoseok can see that he’s shaking. “Hurts so bad, what’s happening? I wanted to fuck you, I woke up wanting to fuck you and I know you said I could wake you up when I needed, but you were sleeping so well and I thought – it’d be fine to wait a bit longer and then it wasn’t. It just got worse and I couldn’t think and I was afraid I was going to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Hoseok thinks about Namjoon’s first rut, how Yoongi had offered to let Namjoon fuck him while he slept ‘cause Namjoon needed it that bad.
He thinks about Jungkook’s first rut, how he’d fucked each of them, regardless of status, one after the other for a whole night.
Hoseok looks over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s been almost six hours since Jimin last came.
“Fuck,” Hoseok says, mostly to himself. He puts his hand out on Jimin’s back. “Oh, honey,” he says, “c’mere.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Jimin says, again, voice firm even under all the wet pain in the back of his throat.
“You’re not hurting me, now, are you?” He runs his hand down the length of Jimin’s spine. “Come fuck me, honey, I need it so bad.”
Jimin sniffs. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He tugs Jimin up towards the head of the bed to lie next to him, carding his fingers through Jimin’s hair. His scalp is damp with sweat. “I was dreaming about you fucking me, you know that?” He runs his hand down Jimin’s belly and cups between his legs. Jimin’s cock is hard and hot, the knot already swelled up. “Want this,” he says, leaning forward to kiss Jimin. “Want this little knot in me so bad.”
Jimin shudders. “Turn over.”
Hoseok does, flipping onto his belly. He hears Jimin reaching for the lube on the nightstand and adds, “Put the light on.”
Jimin whines, but flicks it on. “I won’t spill it.”
Hoseok pushes up onto his elbows. “Mmm, I was more thinking you’d wanna be able to see it when your knot fucks into my hole, actually, Jiminah.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He licks the corner of his mouth. Jimin is watching him from the edge of the bed, eyes dark. Hoseok dips his head. He arches his back.
Jimin growls.
Hoseok smiles, sharp-edged. “That’s it, alpha.”
Jimin opens him up inch by inch on his fingers, going so slow that halfway through he puts his forehead down against the small of Hoseok’s back and says, “I just need – a minute.” Hoseok flips over and tugs him up, lets him fuck his mouth again to take the edge off first.
Before Jimin’s breathing has finished evening out, he says, “Right,” climbs back down Hoseok’s body, tugs his thighs apart, and goes back to finger fucking him with this kind of syrupy heat, his mouth pulling red marks up to the surface of Hoseok’s skin on his thighs and belly.
For all their talk and growling, it’s mostly sweet and slow when Jimin slips inside of him. He pulls Hoseok, back to chest, to sit up on his thighs. His hands are on Hoseok’s hips. His mouth is attached to this spot on the side of Hoseok’s neck that makes his cock fucking thrum.
“I love your dick, Jiminah, shit.”
“Feel good?”
He slides his hand down to the base of Hoseok’s spine and gently lifts him off and then back on, pulling all the way out before he pushes back in up to his knot. It keeps Hoseok’s hole flared open, makes him feel the tug on his rim with each thrust.
Which is what he likes. Which is what Jimin knows he likes.
“Fuck,” he sobs.
“You like it?”
“You can put it in me,” he says, something like shame crawling up his neck and making the words come out bitten off and sloppy. He pushes through it. Jimin is stroking his belly with one hand, the other fastened to his hip to guide their fuck. “You don’t gotta fuck me first, just knot me.”
“Shit.”
“I really was dreaming about you, you know?” Hoseok tells him, head lolling back on Jimin’s shoulder. One of Jimin’s hands moves to Hoseok’s cock, starts stroking him from base to tip, and Hoseok hisses. “I was dreaming about you fucking me with that little knot of yours like,” he swallows, “really fucking me with it.”
Jimin’s hand stills. “Like knotting you?”
Hoseok looks at the ceiling. The base of his spine is liquid hot. He says, “Nah, I mean like. Fucking me with it. With your knot.”
“Shit.”
Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut. This panting sound escapes him. “I bet you can.”
Jimin’s forehead slips down to this shoulder. “Hyung,” he whines.
Hoseok pushes his hand down between his legs past his own dick until he can brush his fingertips against Jimin’s knot, bumping up against his rim. He breathes out. “You want me to help? I can spread myself for it,” he says, and starts to tug at his rim with the vee of his fingers.
“Oh my god,” Jimin says, and then Hoseok can hear the sound of him wetting his lips. His chin notches in close against Hoseok’s shoulder. “Let me do it for you, hyung.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it,” Jimin breathes, and his voice has taken on that smooth, low thing it does sometimes when he’s really focused. Really serious. “Let me fuck you with it, make you come on it, okay?”
Hoseok’s palm drops forward onto the mattress. “Okay.”
“You like feeling it, huh,” Jimin observes. One of his hands is tugging on Hoseok’s cheek, spreading him open. The other is latched to his hip, holding him in place. Hoseok can feel Jimin’s knot starting to nudge inside of him. “You don’t care about being full, you just want to feel like you’re being fucked.”
Hoseok’s head dips forward. He feels sweat-damp and stupid. “Yeah,” he says, hotly. “You fucking me now, Jiminah?”
“Yeah, hyung,” Jimin rasps, and pushes his knot all the way inside.
“Fuck.” Hoseok breathes out hard, feeling it all the way in his chest. All that breath. All that fucked-out feeling.
“Gonna take it out now.”
“Wait – wait. More – I’m.” Hoseok’s hand is on Jimin’s hip, he realizes, stopping him. He feels tight everywhere. Brimming. “Lube, I think, lube.”
Jimin’s lips press against the back of his neck. “Okay, baby.”
He pats the bed for the bottle and then there’s a squelching noise as he squirts more lube directly onto Hoseok’s ass. It slicks down between his cheeks.
“Fucking hell.”
Jimin laughs. “You know omegas don’t have like special asses or anything. It’s just their slick.” His voice drops again. “I wanna get you all wet and comfortable.”
Hoseok finds his breath. “Most omegas don’t get fucked with a knot,” Hoseok argues, “so not sure that comparison is helpful.”
Jimin’s teeth skim the back of his neck. “Most alphas don’t have a knot they can do this with,” he says, full of promise, and tugs his way out of Hoseok’s hole.
Hoseok whimpers. Jimin pets his neck. “M’gonna go faster now, okay? Make you feel like you’re really being fucked with it,” Jimin says, breath picking up, “not just having your hole played around with.”
“Jimin,” he bites out. Heat flares across his face. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, hyung,” Jimin says, “just take it, okay?”
“Yeah,” Hoseok says, and feels his elbow crumple to the bed. “Fucking trying to,” he moans, pushing back for it while Jimin fucks forward into the plush tightness of his hole, filling him up. Then Jimin takes his cock back out, all the way, tip resting against his rim.
Then he does it again.
Hoseok can’t catch his breath.
“Oh my god,” Jimin mutters. “You feel incredible. Hole so fucking tight, hyung.”
Hoseok’s mouth smears against the bedsheets. Everytime Jimin pulls out, his hole clenches on nothing, wanting it back. His cock is smearing wetness against his belly. “I’m –”
“Is it good, hyung,” Jimin whispers, like he already knows the answer. He kisses across Hoseok’s shoulders, hips working steadily. “Tell me it’s good.”
“S’good.”
“Tell me you like it, tell me how much you like my knot fucking your hole.”
“Jiminah,” he tries, breath stuttering. His fingers clench into the bedsheets. “It’s.”
Jimin’s hips fuck harder, faster. “Tell me, hyung.”
“Baby,” Hoseok says, hot-tongued. “C’mon, give it to me.” His knees are slipping on the bed. He digs his palms in. “Fuck me, Jiminah, make me take it.”
Jimin makes a wet noise, hips fucking harder. “Tell me I’m the only one who can do this to you. The only one who can fuck you like this.”
Hoseok’s head dips forward. “You gonna fuck me or you gonna talk at me, huh, Jiminah?”
Jimin pushes him flat on the bed.
“Shit,” Hoseok mutters, mouth against the sheets. He arches his lower back, using his thighs to get leverage. “That’s it, fuck me.”
Jimin growls. “Tell me.” He pulls his dick out, leaning on Hoseok’s back to keep him down. The wet head of his cock skids against Hoseok’s rim, the inside of his cheek. Hoseok tries to push back on it, get it back inside him, but Jimin presses against the wings of his shoulders where his forearms are resting.
“Jimin.”
“You want it?”
“You fucking,” he breathes out, wiggling his ass, “know I do.”
“How much?”
Hoseok tilts his head, cutting his eyes back over his shoulder. He can make out the fall of Jimin’s hair, the sharp hinge of his collarbones, the flex of his bicep. “Put it back inside me.”
Jimin wriggles forward, dropping to kiss the tip of Hoseok’s ear. His cock drags, thick and short, between Hoseok’s cheeks. “How much d’you want it?”
“Jiminah.”
“Hyung.”
“I’m not in heat,” Hoseok says.
Jimin swallows. Hoseok can hear the click of his jaw. “I know that,” he says, voice different.
“But like,” Hoseok continues, cutting him off, “I want your knot.”
Jimin says, “Oh.”
“I want it so fucking bad, Jiminah.”
“Yeah?”
“Like I’m in fucking heat for you, that’s how bad.”
“Got you sweating for me?” Jimin licks the back of his neck. Hoseok can feel their thighs, sweat damp in all their creases and rubbing together.
“Dripping,” Hoseok tells him.
“Fuck,” Jimin says, and pushes his cock inside of Hoseok again. “Like this? Like I’m the only one?”
Hoseok swallows. “You’re the only one who knots me.”
Jimin’s breath puffs against the back of his neck, the slope of his throat. “Say it again.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hoseok mutters, trying to push up for more of Jimin’s knot, thighs burning, belly wet with his own precome.
Jimin’s weight drops onto him. “Say it, tell me I’m the only one.”
Hoseok blinks sweat out of his eyes. He says, “You’re the only one who knots me, Jimin. The only one.”
There’s this soft beat and then: “Good,” Jimin says, like it’s simple. Like this one thing between them might be the simplest thing of all.
Hoseok tilts his head, exposing his throat, and lets his eyes fall closed when he feels Jimin’s mouth come down to kiss it. No teeth, just the softness of Jimin’s breath and lips and tongue.
When Jimin knots him for good, Hoseok is on his back, propped up on a pile of pillows. Jimin is fanning him with one of their portable fans that he scrounged out of the nightstand.
“Look at you,” Hoseok says, thumbing at his own belly button. His stomach isn’t messy with come, ‘cause Jimin made him come and then licked him clean, wiped him dry with a corner of his t-shirt when he was done. “Best alpha ever.”
Jimin preens. “I know,” he says, smiling hard enough that his eyes disappear into half-moons. “You comfy on my knot?”
Hoseok rolls his eyes. He touches his thumb to the outside of Jimin’s thigh. “Y’know I am.”
“Tell me anyways.”
“Oh, Jimin,” Hoseok says, pitching his voice into something breathy and high. “Oh, Jimin your fat knot feels so good in my tiny, little –” he says and shuts up when Jimin, giggling and flushing, puts a pillow over his face.
“Terrible,” Hoseok reprimands. “Smothering your knotee is absolutely not good alpha behavior.”
“You’re gonna wake the others up,” Jimin mutters.
Hoseok looks at Jimin. He says, “How much you wanna bet Taehyung’s on the other side of that door?”
“Oh my god.”
Hoseok raises his eyebrow. There is an extremely suspicious creak from the hallway.
“Taehyung!” Jimin hisses, outraged. He looks at Hoseok. He looks down at where they’re still connected. He looks back over at the door. He says, “I’ll pick you up.”
“You absolutely will fucking not.”
“I’m strong enough.”
“Not the goddamn point.” Hoseok clicks his cheek. “You can like go back to fanning me anytime you want, actually.”
Jimin huffs. He picks up the fan again, though.
In the morning, Hoseok wakes up to the weight of Jimin’s thigh slung over his hip and the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen. Sunlight is slicing in through the shaded windows.
Jimin groans, nudging at his shoulder. His hand curls against Hoseok’s belly. “Morning,” he rasps. He rubs his morning wood against Hoseok’s ass. “How you feeling?”
Hoseok snorts. “Sore.”
Jimin kisses his shoulder. “Sorry.”
Hoseok swallows. He puts his hand over the back of Jimin’s palm. “I’m not. So don’t be. I liked it. I like it. You’re just not getting in this ass again anytime soon.”
“If you had to estimate…”
Hoseok makes a soft noise. “You still ruttin’?” He reaches behind him and touches Jimin’s cock, feels how hard and hot and swelled up it is. It still fits in the palm of his hand, though, mostly.
“I think so,” Jimin says. “Not bad like last night, but like, I could.”
“Wanna shower together? I’ll suck you off.”
“Mm, okay,” Jimin says, and humps his dick lazily against the small of Hoseok’s back. “Or I could just,” he says, trailing off a little, “do like this. Hump you. Come on your ass.”
Hoseok feels his cock twitch between his legs. “Alright,” he says, turning over onto his belly. “I could be on board with that.”
He can’t get hard again, but Jimin is mostly efficient, squirting lube over the length of his spine and down his crack. He sits up on Hoseok’s thighs and rubs his dick between Hoseok’s cheeks, hips working back and forth in this steady pace while he massages the lube into the rest of Hoseok’s back. By the end of it, Hoseok’s almost asleep again.
“You gonna be mad at me if I come on you?” Jimin asks, panting.
He shakes his head, lashes fluttering, heavy with drowsiness. Jimin’s body is pushing him into the mattress. “No, baby, you can,” he says, reaching back to touch Jimin’s knee. And then, when Jimin makes a soft little noise, he adds, “Mark me up, yeah?” and Jimin comes.
He fucks Hoseok’s cheeks through it, making these harsh little whimpers, like it almost hurts, and his come slicks up Hoseok’s back. He’s pretty sure some lands in his hair.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin breathes, slumping down on top of him, kissing his shoulders.
“You don’t gotta be sorry.”
“I’ll carry you to the shower.”
“Yeah, you definitely don’t gotta do that either.”
He can hear Jimin opening his mouth to respond when there’s a knock on the door, followed by the sound of the door creaking open.
“Look,” Taehyung says, “I am not interrupting, and I am not even asking to be involved, even though obviously I would, I would be involved, you don’t even have to ask, just give me a small signal, anything –”
“Taehyung,” Namjoon cuts in. “C’mon, focus.”
“Right,” Taehyung says. “We just want to feed you, that’s all, because it sounds like you’ve both been working, like, really hard. And semen really just isn’t an adequate calorie replacement.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says. “You’re delirious from sleep deprivation.”
“Wow,” Hoseok mutters.
“No,” Taehyung explains patiently, “Jungkookie and I took shifts. I had lots of naps last night.”
“Yeah, we definitely said you should not camp out in the hallway last night. We definitely said that,” Namjoon points out.
“We weren’t like, listening to them, god, don’t be gross. We had headphones on the whole time.”
“Oh, I’m being gross. Me. I’m the one.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says, “you are. Do you want me to spank you about it?”
“Right,” Yoongi says.
Jimin started giggling somewhere around the time Taehyung mentioned semen, and hasn’t really stopped since. Hoseok is pretty sure there’s a drool mark under his mouth from when Jimin was massaging him earlier, but he finds it hard to care when Jimin is still using his hands to trace delicately over his spine and the ladder of his ribs.
“Should we let them, like, keep going, you think?” Jimin asks him quietly.
“At this point I’m honestly just curious when they’ll run out of steam,” Hoseok tells him.
“Oh, hyung,” Taehyung says from the doorway, “You sound really relaxed. Did Jimin do that thing where he massages you while he’s playing with you?” Taehyung’s voice sounds dreamy. “God, I love when he does that…”
Yoongi sucks in a breath and says, “Hey, I did that for you the other night and you said –” He cuts himself off.
Namjoon says, “Said what hyung? Did Taehyung have some feedback for you?”
Taehyung says, “I said he had lovely, big hands. Like an old fishmonger.”
Namjoon makes a choking sound of glee. “Oh?”
Taehyung says happily. “They’re beautiful! Those are the hands of someone who has scaled countless fish, who has spent long, wind-beaten hours at the wharves. And then he comes home to his beautiful but very lonely wife – me, if that wasn’t clear – and when he puts his hands on my body…”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, “this is why I don’t roleplay with you.”
“Right,” Seokjin says, “I have some notes on that, for another time.” He raises his voice. “Hobah, question: are you knotted? And I only ask this, not out of my own perverse desire to know if Jimin’s knot is filling up your hole, but out of my selfless concern for the temperature of your meal, which I will prepare for you. We are actually very and collectively concerned about how you’re sustaining yourselves in there. As we’ve mentioned, semen can only go so far, and –”
“Hyung,” Namjoon says.
“Right.” Seokjin claps his hands. “The point is. Do you want me to bring a tray in or leave it by the door? Or I could fasten it to Jungkookie’s back and send him on his hands and knees like an obedient puppy. You have options.” He claps his hands again.
“Oh my god,” Hoseok mutters.
“Um,” Jimin says, raising his voice to be heard. “I think Hoseok hyung would like a shower first, to be honest. He’s kinda messy.”
Hoseok makes an annoyed noise. “You say that like it’s my fault.”
Taehyung’s voice rings in from the hallway, “Wow! Wonderful. Beautiful. I will go and prepare his bath.”
Hoseok calls out, “Taehyung, I don’t want a bath with all that stuff, I just want a shower.”
There’s a brief pause and then Taehyung’s voice: “No bath oils?”
“No.”
“No rose petals?”
“No.”
“Bath salts? A lavender sachet? Sugar scrub? Not even a fucking bath bomb?”
Seokjin says heartily, “Oh, come on, Hobah, at least let him have a bath bomb.”
“Oh my god.”
Jimin squeezes his ass. “One bath bomb couldn’t hurt.”
Hoseok looks over his shoulder. “Whose side’re you on here?”
Jimin laughs out loud, then leans down and rubs his nose against the side of Hoseok’s face. “Yours, hyung. Always yours.”
In the shower, he pulls back from kissing Jimin’s wet mouth. Jimin’s eyes flutter open. “Hoseok hyung…” he mutters. Voice soft enough for Hoseok to roll it around in his mouth, his name on Jimin’s tongue.
“Pretty alpha,” he croons, looking at Jimin’s face, all close and serious and lovely.
Hoseok’s fingers are on Jimin’s jaw. Their backs are slick with water from the shower stream. Hoseok sucked him off with slow strokes of his mouth until Jimin’s legs were trembling against the tile wall.
“Your alpha,” Jimin says, now, mouth still slack, eyes still soft.
Hoseok nods. “That’s right,” and with teasing still in his voice, adds, “And what am I to you?”
Jimin’s face shifts. He says, “I love you, you know that?”
Hoseok laughs. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice, yeah.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. He tugs Hoseok in for a hug, and Hoseok goes to him. Puts his arms on his shoulders, feels the slide of their wet skin together. Jimin says, a little muffled, “I’m glad it was you. I don’t think it could’ve been with anyone else, to be honest. Feels like it was meant to be you, d’you know what I mean?”
Hoseok thinks about them standing in the laundry room a few months ago. The smell of clean linen, Jimin’s face tucked against his neck. That burnished amber coming up, and Jimin’s mouth on his throat. “Yeah,” he says, sliding his hand up to the back of Jimin’s neck and palming it. “I think I do.”