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Park Jimin’s penthouse apartment is located in the heart of Hannam-dong, the highrise overlooking the twinkling lights of Seoul that glisten like jewels even in the rain. Jeongguk steps out onto the curb from the backseat of a black SUV, his driver holding an umbrella above him in a way that doesn’t obstruct his view as he looks up at the top floor, lit with a soft glow that others might consider inviting.
But to him it feels like that light guides the way to his own humiliation.
Chest constricting, Jeongguk’s hands tighten around the folders in his arms, limbs heavy when he steps towards the elegant lobby, the gold plated doors already held open for him by the uniformed doorman that sports a smile, despite the downpour.
“I won’t be long,” he lets his driver know, unable to find comfort in the warm air that greets him once he steps inside.
The woman at the front desk holds an opulent phone to her ear after he identifies himself, giving her the name of the tenant he’s here to see, the conversation brief before he’s directed to an elevator that only opens at her behest, the button for the penthouse glowing overly bright when he presses it, doors sliding closed almost ominously slow, as if daring him to try and escape.
If he had it his way, this meeting would be taking place in public, during business hours, but Jeongguk very much doubts he’ll be getting his way any time soon, now that he’s working with world renowned model, Park Jimin.
The elevator travels far too quickly to the top floor, a sharp 'ding' resounding in his ears when the doors open up to a cozy lounge, the furnishings and decor tastefully done, finding that delicate balance between comfort, practicality, and expense. It’s also empty of the man he’s here to meet, no doubt deliberate, as Jimin was made aware of his arrival.
Models. Always wanting to make an entrance.
Jeongguk stands there, trying not to fidget while he waits for his host, careful to keep from wrinkling the folders he still hugs to his chest as he does so, wondering if it’s too late to turn around and call the whole thing off. Five agonizing minutes later, Jimin finally graces him with his presence, and Jeongguk knows he openly gawks at him, can’t help it really, because for a designer, Park Jimin is a wet dream.
He’s not as tall as others in the profession, but who the fuck would care with legs that long and a body that lean, yet curvy enough to make him suitable to androgenyous styles and more feminine silhouettes. Jimin is too pretty for his own good, high cheekbones, sharp jaw, long lashes and lips thick enough to distract from the clothes; which isn’t always a good thing, considering, but the model isn’t the best in the business for nothing. He could make a potato sack look good, and people would be clambering to buy it up until it sold out.
Jeongguk’s eyes rove over his form, hands covered in rings, one of which currently hangs at his side, fingers clutching just beneath the rim of a crystal tumbler, which holds bubbly liquid that shines pink when the light hits it just right, while the other cards through the strands of his blonde hair, the lockes somehow falling perfectly back into place, that gaze piercing him where he stands, and Jeongguk swears he recognizes the look he wears as one of inconvenience.
“Come in,” he invites, lifting up the hand that holds the drink just as Jeongguk tentatively takes a step forward, managing not to spill a single drop when he demands, “Take your shoes off first.”
It takes real effort to keep from rolling his eyes, Jeongguk only just managing it as he toes off his dress shoes, able to see the way Jimin circles around the large white sectional out of his peripheral, walking as if on a runway before taking a seat, legs crossing elegantly, head tipping back to indulge in his—what Jeongguk would assume to be—pink champagne, gaze sweeping down to see the pair of Chelsea boots that adorn his feet while Jeongguk’s toes curl in his black socks.
A sigh escapes past his lips, and it’s obvious that this meeting is going to be rife with power plays.
Truthfully, he never thought he’d wind up here. When Jimin’s contract with Dior ended, every reputable fashion house was vying for his attention, courting him in ways that were not only obvious, but embarrassing, every one of them seeing what he had done for Dior, wanting a piece of that success for their own brands.
Jeongguk was probably the only one who didn’t want Jimin, but his company’s investors and shareholders did, eager to put money back into their pockets after a slow season. And so, doing exactly what he was advised to do, Jeongguk entered in a bid for the model—not the most outrageous, by any means—and expected nothing but silence in response, eager for the sweet relief he’d be rewarded with when he read all about whichever fashion house the model decided to become ambassador of next, able to confidently say that, oh well, at least I tried.
Only, there was no article detailing the “lucky” fashion house that managed to bag The Park Jimin, but there was a phone call from Jimin’s modeling agency expressing interest in Jeongguk’s generous offer, if his terms were met, of course.
Generous, ha. Jeongguk wasn’t even the one to offer the most money, nor the most incentives, he knows that for a fact. Which means Jimin willingly passed on better deals, because of sheer pettiness, so obviously wanting nothing more than to make Jeongguk’s life a living hell.
What other reason could there be?
Jimin is still staring at him in that way that would make anyone feel about as low as dirt, while Jeongguk steps down into the lounge, taking a seat directly across from the other man, wishing he could curl in on himself, but instead forces his body to relax, hoping he at least appears to be at ease. A blunt nail on Jimin’s right hand taps against the crystal tumbler until Jeongguk’s eye nearly twitches from the sharp ‘ ting’ that echoes in the room over and over again, the model finally breaking their mutual silence out of necessity when the designer refuses to do so.
“Would you like a drink, Jeongguk-ssi?” he asks, and though his tone is cordial, it’s clearly laced with thinly veiled hostility.
“No thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” And with that he downs the rest of his own drink, setting the glass on the glimmering coffee table before sinking back into the cushions of his couch. “My agency received a copy of your proposed contract and sent it back with a list of amendments to be made. Did you get it?”
“I did. It’s been reworked to accommodate your…stipulations.”
Jimin smiles, though it comes nowhere near to reaching his eyes.
“Good. Did you bring your designs?”
“Right here,” Jeongguk answers, hating the way his voice lilts, throat spasming as if he can’t get enough air, and distracts himself by passing over the black folder as opposed to the white, wanting nothing more than to hide it, feeling like a fool for having brought it in the first place.
Jimin flips through the pages of Jeongguk’s sketches, his expression never once deviating from bored disinterest, Jeongguk finally able to breathe a bit easier when that intense focus is no longer fixated on him, though the quiet is its own form of anxiety-induced awkwardness.
Jimin spends less than two minutes on the entire catalog, the folder tossed haphazardly on the same coffee table as the empty drink, as if that’s as much use as Jimin has for it, the model’s arms spanning across the back to the couch, and Jeongguk can’t help but think he looks like a spoiled little rich kid.
A stupidly fucking hot spoiled little rich kid, but still.
“Is that all?”
The question nearly has him grinding his teeth.
“Yes,” Jeongguk answers, somehow keeping his voice level. “The amended contract is in the back, if you’d still like to sign.”
Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t—
“You don’t have anything better? No offense," he tacks on, sounding completely offensive when he says, "but these designs are boring and safe, Jeongguk-ssi. Where are those daring concepts I’ve heard so much about? Where is the innovation?”
Jeongguk can’t help the condescending smile that takes over his lips, more confident with these traded insults in regards to his craft because that’s probably all this was ever intended to be in the first place. Drag him down here in the dead of night during a torrential downpour just to humiliate him. Well, Jeongguk doesn’t give a shit what someone like Park Jimin thinks, as long as it means he can walk away from here without the model’s perfectly round; but entitled ass attached to his fashion house, deciding it’s high time to address the elephant in the room.
“If I recall correctly, you prefer the clothes you endorse to hold a sense of…how did you put it? Class? I believe those were your words when asked about my Euphoria line.”
Jimin’s own smile turns about as sharp as a knife.
“That was two years ago, Jeongguk-ssi.”
“It was,” he easily agrees. “Have you had a change of heart since then?”
The breath Jimin forces out sounds amused, his eyes holding an impossible light to them as they slide down until Jeongguk feels caught.
“What's in the white folder, Jeongguk-ssi?”
Fuck, he should’ve hidden it.
“Nothing that would hold your interest, Jimin-ssi.”
The model cocks his head, the tone he takes brooking no room for argument when he says, “Let me see.”
Jeongguk hesitates, but in the end, he supposes he brought it here for a purpose. To make a point.
He passes over the white folder, Jimin continuing to hold his gaze even after he grips it carefully in his hands. When he finally looks through it, Jeongguk can hardly bear to look at him, not wanting to see his reaction. But his curiosity gets the better of him, hating how hopeful he feels when Jimin shows these designs far more interest and care than the last set, taking time to discover every nuance and detail of his meticulous notes and sketches, of fabric swatches and textile options.
The quiet is just as terrible as before, though a few times Jeongguk swears he hears a hitch of breath, his gaze flying back to the model, pulse elevating when he’s just in time to see a pink tongue dart out to trace over plump lips, the grip he has on the folder a tenuous thing.
Finally, after what feels like ages, Jimin speaks, his gaze still on the design on the last page as if he’s seen the eighth wonder of the world.
“This,” he says in a decisive manner, “this is the line I want to model.”
Jeongguk gapes at him, unable to reign in his snort of amusement, waiting for the punchline in what has to be a horrible joke. Or maybe this was also part of Jimin’s plan. String him along with false hope and false intentions, only to humiliate him further.
But when Jimin looks up at him from over the folder, a clear resolve in his expression, never once revealing a lack of seriousness in his proclamation, Jeongguk can’t help but become fed up.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Very.”
He huffs, wishing more than anything that he wasn’t forced to have this conversation right now. That this meeting wasn’t taking place, before he tries to put an end to it using logic.
“Your agency would never agree. You’ve never done anything like this. Not even close.”
“My agency,” Jimin starts, carefully setting the white folder on top of the black before retrieving his empty tumbler, approaching the bar to pour himself another drink as he continues. “They work for me, not the other way around, and if I say this is the direction I want to go in, then this is the direction I’ll fucking go in.”
Jeongguk shakes his head, sure that this is all just bravado, and pulls out a reality check in order to dissuade him.
“It could destroy your career, your reputation," he states, not mincing words. "The image you’ve built up over the years will be ruined.”
“Not ruined,” Jimin refutes, the glass flirting with his lips in a teasing kiss when he corrects, “Transformed,” just before taking another drink.
Jeongguk can’t help it, he runs a hand over his face, shaking his head while he stares out the floor to ceiling windows, only just able to see the way the rain leaves trails of drops over the surface. There’s just something he doesn’t understand, can’t wrap his head around it as he gains his feet, approaching the model with conviction.
“Why? And don’t bullshit me, tell me why.”
Jimin’s eyes fall to his glass, swirling the bubbly pink contents inside before he meets his gaze again, voice firm.
“Two years ago, after I wounded your pride,” he says with a smug air and a half-smile, “you bit back. Said you would never work with a model too blinded by mainstream fashion to see the potential of your bold and risque designs. Yet here you are now.”
It’s juvenile. As if all this time Jimin has been waiting for his ‘gotcha’ moment, just so he can rub it in his face. So he can get back at him for being slighted, even though it was Jimin who lashed out first, clearly unable to handle it when Jeongguk responded in kind. He feels when his expression hardens to match that of his tone, accusatory when he takes another step towards the model.
“And what of it? Two years ago we said these things, and yet you made it your entire personality just so you can have the last laugh?”
Jimin’s smile turns more vindictive.
“You named me.”
“You named me first,” Jeongguk snaps, the volume of his voice rising the more agitated he gets, wanting nothing more than put an end to this unfortunate interaction, but he’s caught off guard by what must be the first genuine smile that takes over Jimin’s ridiculously pretty mouth, setting his drink down on the marble countertop of the bar as he takes his own step forward, the space between them damn near non-existent, even more so when the model leans forward, a hot breath ghosting over Jeongguk’s neck, making him shiver.
“So we’re just two kids on the playground pulling each other’s hair, then. Is that it?”
“I’m not on the playground anymore, Park. I left that shit behind a long time ago. But is that really the point of all this? Waste my fucking time in your poor attempt to make me feel like shit over something that happened two fucking years ago? Just so you can try to make me insecure about my brand? My designs? You couldn’t even if you tried,” he murmurs, catching those eyes, those ridiculously gorgeous eyes when he whispers, “Because unlike you, who held onto what I said back then, I couldn’t care less about your opinion of me, or your influence. So pick some other brand to endorse.”
Jeongguk tries to walk away, he really does, but before he can, Jimin smirks, a dangerous glint to his gaze, tone sultry and almost petulant when he asks, “My opinion I understand, Jeongguk-ssi, but my influence? You sure you don’t care about that?”
Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate.
“Not even a little.”
Jimin’s smile turns positively conniving, and Jeongguk’s eyes narrow as he produces a pen out of nowhere, steps calculated when he walks back over to the white folder and picks it up, a similar contract in the back, just like with the black one. Slowly, he circles back around to him, and Jeongguk can’t even move in outrage when he feels the model press the paperwork to his back, the point of the pen tickling him as Jimin uses him to sign his name on the line. When he comes back around, he confirms as much by holding it up for Jeongguk to see, appearing far more pleased than he has all night. Once again he closes the distance between them to the point where he swears he can feel the heat coming off of Jimin’s skin, their chests nearly brushing with each shuddering inhale they take.
“When the stocks of your company rise, and you’re making more money than you know what to do with because I’m gracing the cover of every magazine wearing your lingerie, bringing you more business than you’ve ever had before, I wanna hear all about how much you couldn’t care less about my influence. Okay, Jeongguk-ssi?”
Jimin injects venom into his name, and if looks could kill, he has no doubt he would be gone already, but unfortunately for both of them, he's still here, in the model’s apartment. Jeongguk decides to change that when he realizes there’s nothing left to do or say. There's a signature on one of the contracts, which is what he came here for, and he's too tired to fight over the last word.
Jimin can have it.
Silently, without another glance spared, Jeongguk accepts the white folder from Jimin's hand, which he holds out in offering like a symbol of victory. He then goes back over to the coffee table somewhat numbly, and collects the black folder as well, putting on his shoes properly before he leaves, feeling eyes on his back the entire time, where he imagines he can still feel the name that was signed there burning a deep ache in the flesh beneath his suit jacket and tailored dress shirt, each letter taunting as they spell out the name of the man they belong to do.
Park Jimin.
___________
The investors and shareholders are all beside themselves when they hear the news. Keep him happy, they say, by any means necessary. As if Jimin’s amended contract doesn’t already ensure as much, the model using his power to force Jeongguk to be as involved and hands-on as possible. Jimin’s measurements need to be taken? Jeongguk is somehow wrangled into doing it even though they have people for that, once again forced to show up at that highrise apartment in Hannam-dong at a late hour, measuring tape in one hand, notebook in the other.
Jimin doesn’t afford him his usual insults, nor does he purposefully make the task tedious, but he does quietly stare at Jeongguk, seemingly overly pleased each time his fingers make contact with his skin, stretching the tape around his hips, wrapping it around his neck, or holding it taut along his inseam. It’s hard not to feel nervous under such a harsh, critical eye, but Jeongguk gives himself a pat on the back for being able to finish as quick as he possibly can, writing down Jimin’s measurements and getting the hell out of there as fast as his legs will carry.
Jeongguk creates the designs, but his team puts each piece together, cutting the pattern, hand-stitching beads and lace and ironing out each crease to perfection. However, Jeongguk finds himself in the workshop more and more, Sometimes staying late into the night as he sews until his fingers are raw, wanting everything that touches the model’s skin to be perfect, hoping to leave no room for criticism.
Per Jimin’s request, he’s there for fittings, camera tests, and photoshoots, and the delicious torture that comes with seeing the model in his designs is something he unfortunately didn’t foresee, unable to decide if he looks better in organza or lace, pearls or crystals. But one thing is for sure, Jimin looks gorgeous in lingerie, no matter the type. Was made for it, really, his body meant to be admired rather than hidden away under layers of clothes, and for now Jeongguk decides on no harsh colors, needing to keep the tone soft for his own sanity. Yes, ivory, creams and pastels, that’s what he decides on to bring Jimin into the fold of his Euphoria line.
Maybe later they’ll go a bit more bold, and move on to deeper shades, like emerald, crimson, and black.
His team does most of the heavy lifting for him, making sure Jimin is comfortable, bringing to life the simplicity of the theme for each pictorial, and working around the clock in order to put this campaign forward in the best possible light, for both their sakes. All Jeongguk has to do most of the time is oversee everything, make sure it goes off without a hitch.
And cater to Jimin's every whim.
There’s already a lot of buzz surrounding their project, bringing with it those very same words each of them very openly spoke about each other in the past back out into light, the public loving any hint of bad blood. ‘Burying the hatchet in order to bring about the best collaboration of the year,’ some of the tabloids say, most of the articles written portraying it favorably, yet even those that don’t—smearing both of their names equally—garners publicity as well.
And all publicity is good publicity, the two of them gaining more support in spite of the naysayers.
Over time, the more they’re forced to work together, Jeongguk realizes that Jimin is going to do exactly what he promised that first night in his apartment. Already their stocks are rising just from the announcement of his ambassadorship to the JJK brand, the man turning everything he touches into diamonds.
Diamonds…
Jimin should be covered in them.
He designs his next piece that night, a daring number made up of a diamond choker that drips down the back, giving way to chiffon ruffles and frills, getting to work on it as quickly as he can, wanting—no, needing—to see Jimin wearing it for his next spread, the model a font of inspiration; unbeknownst to him.
A muse, some might say, not that he’d ever admit it. He'd never fucking live it down.
The day Jeongguk gets to help guide Jimin into what he calls ‘The Diamond Number,’ his hands shake, the tone of his voice far too soft as he instructs him where to pull, helping to fix the clasps in place until the piece fits like a second skin, Jimin radiant in jewels meant to catch the light.
Just like he does.
“What do you think?” Jeongguk asks, hating that he does, but he can’t help it after witnessing the look of awe that flashes over Jimin’s features when he appraises himself in the large mirror, eyes constantly in motion, as if he doesn’t know where to focus his attention.
But just like that, the look is gone, along with the image of appreciation as he simply replies, “It’s heavy.”
Some days, it’s almost cruel that so much beauty could be wrapped up in such a spiteful little package, their disdain for each other seeming to grow the longer they’re in each other's proximity, but alongside that disdain, something else seems to grow as well. Something Jeongguk isn’t particularly ready to face.
It all comes to a head when they have a photoshoot for Vogue, Jimin allowing only Jeongguk into his dressing room in order to help with the corset of a soft white piece that compliments his skin tone, it and the matching panties made of lace, the material delicate, barely covering the circumference of Jimin's perfect, fat ass, a pretty bow needing to be tied in the center at the back. Jeongguk prays for strength as he grips the two pieces of ribbon, somehow tying them correctly, too much saliva filling his mouth at the sight of those plump cheeks, teeth biting into his bottom lip when his knuckles accidentally brush over bare skin, a condescending voice breaking the haze of his thoughts.
“Are you done staring, or do you need more time?”
Jeongguk scoffs, unable to help but roll his eyes.
“I’m a designer, Jimin-ssi, I’m making sure the piece lays on your body the way it’s supposed to.”
Jimin snorts.
“Whatever makes you feel better.”
His cheeks nearly heat, but Jeongguk replaces embarrassment with anger.
“You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“You think an ass like mine in lace panties isn’t worth a look? Go on, lie to my face again," he demands in the reflection of the mirror before him, their eyes meeting in a way that has Jeongguk feeling caught, but still he denies it.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re a fucking coward.”
Jeongguk is rendered momentarily speechless by the insult, completely taken aback until he recovers his faculties, hand gripping onto Jimin’s arm, turning him around and forcing the model to face him.
“What’d you say to me?”
“You heard me.”
Jeongguk scoffs again, his indignance burning up on his tongue with something that feels strangely like desire.
“Is that what you want me to say, Jimin?” He asks, forgoing honorifics. “Want me to tell you how good you look in my designs? The same designs that you said hold no class? Want me to talk about the way you glow when you bare your skin for the camera, making yourself vulnerable while also taking control? Is that what you need to hear? Desperate for compliments from someone you can’t even stand.”
“Try and act righteous all you want, it’s hilarious coming from someone who openly struggles to keep their eyes off of me.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“But you’d rather I be full of you, right? Only you hate yourself for thinking it, don’t you?” he taunts in a childish pout, and Jeongguk’s eyes narrow, fingers flexing at his sides, until he forces them behind his back, unable to trust himself.
“Shut up.”
“Why, because I’m right? You wanna fill me up with your cock? Push the panties aside and fuck into me until I cry,” he husks, nearly panting now, so close that the air feels thin. “Is that what you want, Jeongguk?”
Christ, he’s obscene.
“Shut up,” he repeats again, the words almost desperate, a heat burning beneath his skin that’s been simmering there for far too long. One he can’t ever hope to put out.
“Make me,” Jimin hisses, the flat palm of his hands molding against the shape of Jeongguk’s chest, the heat that resides there unbearable, Jeongguk’s own hands fitting overtop, keeping him in place, unsure whether he wants to push him away or pull him closer.
Jimin decides that for himself when he breaks free of his hold, those same hands—covered in delicate jewelry—sink into the long strands of Jeongguk’s hair, giving it a harsh pull, using his grip to force him down, their lips clashing in a kiss that is all teeth and tongues, the tension between them snapping as it’s no longer able to be ignored.
Jeongguk moans into Jimin’s open mouth, hands tracing over the soft lace that fits his body like a glove, wanting so desperately to openly take in the image of him dressed so provocatively in the clothes he made for him, coupled with the flush of desire. Jeongguk could shower him with the praise he seems to yearn for, then, compliment him until he’s flustered and shy, but his mouth runs away from him instead, unable to help but bait the model.
“Said you’d never wear my designs, yet look at you now. Dressed by me, wearing clothes that I made, tailored specifically for you.”
Jimin’s tongue curls along his lips when he gives his response.
“And you said you’d never work with a model too blinded by mainstream fashion to appreciate innovative designs, yet look at you now.”
Jeongguk growls, pulling him back in, mouth slanting over the other man’s repeatedly as his tongue continues to line his lips.
“Kiss me hard,” Jimin demands.
“Fuck you,” Jeongguk answers, teeth sinking into the model's plump bottom lip, worrying it until it swells under the attention, and reveling in the way his harsh words make Jimin laugh.
Jimin tugs insistently at the lingerie as Jeongguk’s hands continue to roam, to appreciate, like he longs for nothing more than to feel them against his bare skin, but Jeongguk isn’t in the business of giving Jimin what he wants right now.
“Stop pulling at it. It stays on.”
He’s supposed to be on his way to the photoshoot, for fucks sake. They’re gonna be late.
But Jimin so obviously doesn’t care about that, the look of mischief in his gaze over Jeongguk’s order a dead giveaway.
“Fine, it stays on,” he says, and the designer imagines he’s less than a minute away from throwing an actual tantrum before his hands conform to Jeongguk’s shoulders, using a surprising amount of strength to force him down, causing him to stumble and nearly lose his balance as he’s forced to his knees, cheek bumping up against the thick rigid line of Jimin’s dick.
“Give me a kiss, then.”
Mouth watering like a pavlovian response, Jeongguk’s hands come up, ready to move the material aside until Jimin stops him with an admonishing click of his tongue.
“Ah ah, don't pull at it, it stays on," he orders, throwing Jeongguk's own words back at him. "Now where’s my kiss?”
Jeongguk wants to frown, but he’s too turned on to pull it off, leaning forward until he can bury his nose in Jimin’s groin, inhaling the scent of him—driving him even crazier—satisfied when he hears the model’s sharp intake of breath. He keeps it up, nuzzling into that hard cock, mouthing at the lace-covered shaft until he travels up where the material tightens, damp where he’s already leaking at the tip.
“A kiss,” Jimin tries to complain as he pulls at his hair, only it sounds more like a plea. “I want a kiss.”
“I’ll give you your damn kiss.”
And with that, Jeongguk takes Jimin’s cock into his mouth, panties and all, the strangled sound Jimin releases more than worth it, the lace quickly becoming drenched. The model’s blunt nails scrape along his scalp, finger tugging on his hair, all while Jeongguk makes a mess of him, tongue soaking the material until it adheres to his skin, not satisfied till the model is a whimpering mess above him.
And still, Jeongguk wants more.
He catches the model off guard when he quickly spins him around, Jimin’s legs wobbly, hands shaking as he’s forced to grip onto the vanity lest he fall, while Jeongguk dives face first into Jimin’s perfect ass, biting over his rim through the lace, sure the damp material at the front pulls teasingly on his cock as his spit slicks up the back to match, tongue managing to loosen his hole up enough through the material in order to thrust inside, panties and all.
Jimin is practically incoherent by the time Jeongguk regains his feet, pulling his own cock out of his trousers and grabbing the tub of vaseline off of the counter, coating his fingers before slicking himself up, turning Jimin back around as his hand slips between his legs, moving the panties aside so those same fingers can sink in one at a time, satisfied at seeing Jimin’s reaction, lashes fluttering with the stretch.
“You want me to fuck you Jimin? Is that why you’ve been so unbearable, huh? Need a cock in your hole to remind you how to be decent to others?”
“Think your cock is big enough to jog my memory?”
“Let’s see, shall we?”
Jeongguk takes great satisfaction when the model’s eyes widen as the back of his knees are grabbed in a sure hold, maneuvering them up to reveal him to his gaze, his cockhead pressing against his hole through the panties, the lace material scratchy over the sensitive flesh, but it’s worth it to see the way Jimin nearly loses it once the material starts to enter him from the insistent pressure, his rim eagerly giving way.
“J-Jeongguk,” he rasps, practically thrashing at the sensation, eyes rolling up, lip trembling. “Move the fucking panties,” he mewls, and it's so dirty Jeongguk blurts precome against his lace-covered hole, another inch sliding in.
He can’t enter him completely like this, the material too restrictive, the stitching strong.
Jeongguk should know, he made it himself.
But seeing the way Jimin reacts to the idea of it is just as good, his body undulating to try and take more, even if he can't, even as he protests, he still tries.
Easing back out again, Jeongguk reaches down, pulling the material free and shoving it to the side, locking eyes with Jimin, waiting until he sees a bit of clarity in his gaze staring back at him before he asks.
“You’re sure?”
Jimin gifts him with a truly scathing look.
“Fuck me already you fuuuck—”
The word devolves into a cry as Jeongguk lifts Jimin back onto the counter and thrusts inside to the hilt, hips cradled by the soft cushion of Jimin’s ass, teeth gritting at the sinful feel of him.
“What do you think, baby? Is it big enough?”
“I fucking hate you.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He wastes no time before he’s pounding into the model, Jimin’s little punched out uh uh uhs, making his cock swell further, blood boiling beneath his skin as he seals their lips together, swallowing down his moans like they can sustain him.
It’s when Jeongguk’s too busy admiring the dramatic arch of Jimin’s body, hands fondling his chest through the lace, eyes sinking down to where they’re connected, watching the way his dick fucks into Jimin’s pink shiny hole when a foot comes up, flattening over his abdomen and kicking him away.
The back of Jeongguk’s knees hit the loveseat behind him, and he loses his footing to fall safely onto the cushions, shocked when he suddenly has a lapful of Park Jimin.
“You talk a lot of shit, don’t you?”
Before he can answer, Jimin guides his cock back inside that wet heat, head falling back when Jimin’s hole grips him like a vice, pace brutal once he begins to ride him like a professional.
“Fucking hell, Jimin,” he rasps, captivated as the model moves in a way that defies physics, body languid, like a wave that kisses the shore before it’s called out to sea again, back and forth, fluid figure-eights that drive him closer to the edge.
“What’s the matter, baby, no one ever fuck you this good before?”
“Fuck no,” Jeongguk answers candidly, the models eyes widening, hips stuttering still, and Jeongguk sees his opening, hands returning to the back of Jimin’s thighs until he’s able to pick him up, Jimin’s arms coming to wrap around his neck when he stands, dick still hard inside him, making him moan prettily as he's jostled around on it while he carries him to the nearest wall, using it as leverage in order to keep him up.
“Really?” Jimin huffs, clearly unimpressed with the new position, and Jeongguk can’t help but chuckle in amusement over the look he gives.
“What? I’m the one who has to do all the work.”
“You’re showing off. And if you’re doing all the work then you better do it right. I like to be fucked fast and hard.”
“As you wish,” he murmurs, tonguing along the lobe of his ear before he uses his strength to force Jimin to bounce on his cock, fast and hard.
The model’s cries are like music to his ears, and Jeongguk keeps up the pace and position for as long as he can before dumping Jimin back on the couch, a laugh leaving him when he hears a muttered, “Pussy,” forcing Jimin onto his stomach for that, ass in the air to receive the spanking he gives him, satisfied when he hears the man keen, wiggling as if he wants another. Moving the ruined lace aside and doing the same with his round cheeks, he gives him one, right on that glistening hole that winks at him before he fucks back in, smug when the model squeals.
“You were saying?”
He doesn’t give him a chance to respond, but picks right back up with his brutal pace, knowing that Jimin is close from the way he flutters around him, his cries even more desperate as he tries to warn about his impending orgasm.
“Jeongguk, I’m gonna—wanna come.”
“Then come,” he answers, grinning while he watches the way Jimin’s hand tries to slide between his legs, whining when Jeongguk traps both of his wrists behind his back.
“No touching, baby. You come from my cock or not at all.”
"Then you better make me come, you son of a—"
Jeongguk picks up the pace even more, pulling at Jimin's arms until he has him at the exact angle he wants, smug once the model cries out even louder when he hits that spot just right, nearly sobbing from all the stimulation, the wet lace undoubtedly adding delicious friction to his cock as he ruts into it.
The sound of skin slapping against skin is lewd, though not as lewd as Jimin looks, tongue lolling out of his mouth while he pants, eyes at half mast when words tumble from his lips that don't make any sense.
"Almost there, baby? Gonna come?"
"Gonna come," he slurs in agreement, a long drawn out moan ripped from him when Jeongguk deepens his strokes, cock twitching against his prostate as he empties himself inside, a warm, wet bloom of heat that has Jimin coming into his panties with a soft whine.
They're overly loud as they try to catch their breaths, Jeongguk carefully releasing Jimin's arms to guide them down to the cushion he currently rests on. Slowly, so as not to cause any pain or discomfort, he begins to pull out, halting immediately when Jimin's hand grips his thigh with the whispered word, "stay."
Jeongguk stays, repositioning them until they rest on their sides. If someone had told him a couple of hours ago that in the very near future he would be willingly spooning Park Jimin he would've laughed in their face.
But here they are.
"I can hear you thinking."
"Some of us do that, you know."
Jeongguk smiles when Jimin elbows him, wrapping him further up in his arms, not wanting to question the easy atmosphere they've found themselves in.
"Are you having post-nut clarity?"
The question nearly has him choking on his saliva, unable to decide if he should be amused by the phrase or horrified.
"Please don't ever say that again."
The request makes Jimin giggle, and Jeongguk hides his own smile in the back of his neck, embarrassingly endeared.
"Do you regret it," Jimin asks plainly, his tone somewhat stilted, and Jeongguk wonders if he's only able to ask because they're not facing each other, and his answer comes easily.
"No. Do you?"
"No."
He's not sure what that means for them, and maybe it's the need to draw attention away from it that has him posing his next question, the air too heavy.
"Well, was I big enough for you?"
The snort Jimin lets out has him quietly laughing against his back, though it turns loud when the model mutters, "Now I regret it."
"I can always fuck you again if you're having trouble deciding."
"You wanna fuck me again?"
"Yes," he says without hesitating. "Maybe not right now, though, you're already late."
"Cancel the shoot, Jeongguk. Your clothes are ruined.
"They're not ruined."
"My panties are covered in spit, Vaseline and come."
Jeongguk's cock twitches where it still rests nestled inside the smaller man, lips caressing along the lobe of Jimin's ear and delighting in the shiver it brings him.
"Jimin?"
"Y-Yes?"
"I'm not canceling the shoot, okay?" He asks, and Jimin glances at him from over his shoulder, searching his face, realizing that he's asking for permission, and breathlessly, Jimin grants it.
"Yeah, okay."
That's how Jeongguk finds himself watching Jimin pander to the camera, the photographer directing him, unaware of the fact that Jimin's own come is drying in his panties along with Jeongguk's spit, the flush he has dusted over the apples of his cheeks a result of being thoroughly fucked, rather than makeup. Jeongguk himself does his best to hide the Vaseline stains on his trousers with his suit jacket, cock thickening in his pants whenever Jimin's eyes pierce him with a wanton stare.
They are gonna do it again. Jeongguk has already made up his mind. And from the way Jimin suggestively traces his lips with his tongue as he openly stares with lust—not at the camera, but at him—it's clear he's made up his mind as well.