Chapter Text
The sounds of shoes squeaking and the intermittent calls to position reverberate through the gymnasium. Namjoon’s team is split onto both sides of the net, three on three, and they play against each other with enthusiasm. They move with perfect coordination, navigating the court alongside each other with practiced ease.
“Left, left! Hyung!”
“I’m not gonna—Jungkook-ah!”
The ball drops to the ground with a thud on the other side of the net, and half the team groans.
Namjoon purses his lips. Jungkook, their ace and wing spiker, stands guiltily at the net. Taehyung and Yoongi frown at him in equal measure, unamused. Seokjin and Jimin high-five on the other side of the net at the point, before realizing that the moment has deflated.
“Jungkook,” Namjoon chides, and Jungkook pouts at him instantly, not keen on a scolding. “Who should have gotten the ball?”
“Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook answers, downcast.
“And who got the ball?”
He sighs. “I did.”
Namjoon nods at him, clapping in succession to get the rest of the team back into order. “You’ve done this quite a bit recently, Kook-ah. Try not to take every single ball. You’ve got a team to play with.”
Jungkook lets out a yes, hyungnim, before turning back to the net. Hoseok serves, and then they’re off again.
Over the course of the afternoon, they play through various different exercises, and in nearly all of them, Jungkook manages to insert himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, lunges for a ball he shouldn’t have, blocks off his teammates in his own haste to spike or receive. His drive is admirable, but Namjoon’s jaw tenses every time Jungkook takes the second touch when he shouldn’t have. Too hardworking, maybe.
After practice ends, the others leave, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, and Namjoon holds Jungkook back with a hand on his shoulder.
“You can change,” Namjoon says, ignoring how Jungkook’s face falls petulantly. “We’re going to have a little chat.”
“Are you mad?” Jungkook asks bluntly, eyes wide.
They head to the locker room, and Namjoon pauses him right outside, laughing. “I'm not. I just need to be sure you know how important it is to learn how to work with your team. It’s my job to make sure you understand that.” Jungkook nods, guilty. “Can you tell hyung what you did wrong?”
He opens the door to the locker room and Jungkook follows him in. The other boys have already left. Jungkook beelines for his locker, and Namjoon takes a seat on one of the benches, waiting patiently for Jungkook to respond.
“Got… got too enthusiastic,” Jungkook starts, hesitant as he shyly undresses, throwing on a loose shirt to go home in. “Messed up the team’s strategy.”
“And how do you think you can avoid that?”
“I can think about it more in the moment,” he says, more definitive this time. “Won’t go for the ball every time. Let people receive when they’re supposed to.”
“Listen to people when they call the ball, even if you think you can get it at the last second,” Namjoon adds, and Jungkook nods, looking significantly more reassured. “I’m not mad at you, Kook-ah, I could never be. Just want the best for you and the team.” Jungkook moves to pull on his sweatpants and that’s when Namjoon stops him again. “Now, c’mere.”
Jungkook pauses, staring wide-eyed at Namjoon, as if he doesn’t know exactly how this goes. “Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon repeats. “Come on, sit with hyung. We’ve gotta make sure you retain all this, don’t we?”
Clad only in his baggy white shirt, Jungkook walks over, all shy and tentative. His thighs and arms are strong but his body is absolutely engulfed by the shirt, and even though he’s almost Namjoon’s size, it makes him look a lot smaller than he is.
“JK,” Namjoon says fondly, bending Jungkook over his lap so that his shirt rides up and over his ass. “How many do you think you need?”
“Ten, ah—fifteen? I dunno,” Jungkook mumbles. Namjoon feels the way his cock begins to chub up against his thigh through the flimsy material of his shirt, his legs and torso caged down. Then, he relents, “Whatever hyung thinks.”
"Let’s do ten,” Namjoon decides. “You’ve been so good for me so far. This is just a reminder, so that you don’t forget, right?”
Jungkook whimpers his assent, sock-covered feet drumming impatiently against the floor. Namjoon knows the younger likes this more than he lets on, that he loves being bent over Namjoon’s knee, being punished, being made to learn his lesson, and Namjoon has always been willing to indulge. He’ll let Jungkook keep his little act up awhile longer.
The spiker’s legs are toned and strong, a product of all the work he puts in on the court and in the gym. Namjoon keeps one hand holding Jungkook’s waist down and moves the other hand up and down his thighs, kneading at his skin until Jungkook relaxes, slumping onto him, cock trapped between Namjoon’s own thighs.
“Good boy,” Namjoon praises, tweaking a nipple, and with that Jungkook goes boneless in his lap. He takes the opportunity to move his hand further up, caressing the soft skin of Jungkook’s ass and pushing the shirt back to expose more of him, long fingers digging methodically into the skin, deceptively careful with his motions.
It’s then that Namjoon raises his hand and brings it down on Jungkook’s ass for the first time, the ensuing smack resonating through the locker room. Jungkook barely lets out a sound at the second hit, a whine caught in his throat.
Namjoon doesn’t hit hard enough to bruise, barely enough to leave a handprint; he can’t leave Jungkook too sore to play volleyball, nor does he want to. This is just a reminder—an ache for Jungkook to feel during practice tomorrow, to make sure he remembers to be good and play well.
He listens to Jungkook’s muffled pleads, buried in his elbows, his muscles tensed with the effort of staying still. Namjoon spanks him once more, twice, three times in quick succession, and Jungkook whimpers at the contact. Namjoon wishes he could see how his ass flushes pink as he scatters the hits across his ass and thighs, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to mark Jungkook’s skin.
“Hyungnim, hyung, oh, hyung,” Jungkook says, voice stuttering as Namjoon lands hit number seven. The younger is perceptibly grinding against him now, in small little circles, cock rubbing at Namjoon’s thighs. It makes Namjoon laugh, seeing how easily desperate Jungkook gets, the perfect ace player and the most eager slut in tandem.
Each twist and pull at his nipples and each subsequent spank on his ass loosens Jungkook up that much more, squirming halfheartedly under Namjoon’s steady grip. Eight, nine, ten—and then Jungkook droops limp across his lap as his spanking draws to an end, worn out just from that, breathing heavy, cock as hard as ever.
“Shh.” Namjoon hushes him gently, gathering Jungkook into his arms and pulling him flush against his back, careful not to let the tender skin of his ass rub against Namjoon’s pants. Like this, Namjoon can get to his cock, wrapping Jungkook’s length in a hand and stroking him with barely-there, featherlight touches.
There’s no lube, but Jungkook has leaked enough precome that he doesn’t really need it, whimpering and arching into Namjoon as he jerks him off. Jungkook mumbles little thank you’s and please hyung’s, and it endears Namjoon to no end. He keeps stroking Jungkook’s cock, reveling in each and every sound, knowing that Jungkook feels taken care of, that Namjoon is taking good care of him.
“Good, you’re so good, Kook-ah,” Namjoon says, praises falling from his mouth as easy as breathing, holding Jungkook closer. When Jungkook comes, he wails, back arching and hips canting away from Namjoon as he shivers through the aftershocks before he eventually relaxes back into his arms, soft and pliant once again. He's so pretty, so cute that Namjoon can't help but hold him close for a minute longer.
Namjoon cleans his hand off, grabs the discarded pair of sweats from the bench, and helps Jungkook up, slipping him into the pants and swatting his ass teasingly once more. Jungkook looks significantly more cheerful than earlier, despite his undoubtedly sore ass, giggling when Namjoon kisses his forehead.
“Thanks, hyungnim,” Jungkook says, voice lilting. He slings his bag over his shoulder, looking comfortable and only barely disheveled, as if he hadn’t just been spanked and jerked off by his coach.
“Thank you for listening so genuinely,” Namjoon replies. “It’s because you guys are so receptive to feedback that we can really work on ourselves. That’s why we win.”
“I can think of other reasons we win,” the spiker starts, smiling mischievously, and Namjoon rolls his eyes.
They’ve got the full rest of the week of afternoon practices ahead of them, so Namjoon ushers Jungkook out, sending him off with yet more praises and telling him to treat himself to something sweet. Namjoon can’t help but spoil his boys; it only helps to motivate them further, and Namjoon doesn’t see why he shouldn’t.
And, really, he’s here to see them all succeed. The sex is just an added benefit.