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Pros of working with animals: Saving them, caring for them, seeing them getting better day after day. Being surrounded by love and warmth all the time, cuteness overload reached by eleven in the morning at the latest. Fun stories to tell, cute videos taking up all the phone storage.
(Balls of fluff with a sixth sense when it comes to energies flowing right beneath one’s skin.)
Cons of working with animals: Not being able to save all of them, grief crawling on the walls even long after the families are gone, sticky and heavy and suffocating. Hope for a while and then not at all. Having to deliver bad news, blow after blow.
(Balls of fluff with a sixth sense when it comes to energies flowing right beneath one’s skin.)
Jimin hasn’t felt nervous or scared in his clinic in a while. He trusts himself when it comes to basic care, specific diagnosis or even the trickiest kinds of surgeries. After five years as a veterinarian, he can proudly say that most of his doubts have retracted their claws and barely even left a scar behind them when they left.
Today, though—
Today, Jimin can’t seem to shrug the feeling off. The anxiety. Wherever he goes, it follows him like a shadow, pebbles of it piling up in his throat, air not quite filling up his lungs all the way.
It draws a worried crease between his assistant’s brow when she catches him doing breathing exercises, hidden in the echography room.
It pushes and pulls for most of the day, never quite evaporating all the way but giving Jimin a few moments of reprieve here and there.
It comes back, though.
At the most random moments, when Jimin’s mind travels to the one thought that triggered it all. It seeps off him in waves, crashing against the walls of the consultation room, causing even the most angel-like cats, dogs and bunnies to become agitated and harder to handle.
By the time Jimin gets to catch a break, a heavy veil of exhaustion has draped itself all over his body, equal parts warm and smothering. He traipses down the corridor, following the sound of laughter echoing from the farthest room of the clinic.
Hoseok beams at him when he pushes the door open and leans against the frame for a minute. The high windows on the opposite wall let the light pour in the room, almost blindingly so. On sunny days like today, it’s Hoseok and Jimin’s favourite hiding place.
(Doesn’t matter that they don’t actually need to hide from anything since they co-own the clinic, but it feels good to catch a bit of reprieve from the responsibilities for a while, is all.)
“Did I make you wait?”
“Me? Nope. Little buddy over here? Definitely needs an apology.”
Jimin shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Has he eaten anything since last night?” He joins Hoseok on the floor, opening his arms as wide as he can to welcome a two year-old golden retriever who still thinks he’s puppy-sized.
“Half a portion and a couple of treats, according to Hyuna.” Hoseok drums his fingers against an empty crate, his gaze following the dog’s moves. “She told me to tell you that you should definitely go out with me and the others tonight, by the way.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah. She added that you should force your head out of your ass for once and stop getting off work past seven in the evening on a Friday, but I thought that was a bit rude of her.”
Jimin leans against the wall, leveling Hoseok with an unimpressed glare. “Hyuna is an angel and would never say such rude words.” He clicks his tongue but dissolves into giggles when the dog springs up and licks his ear.
“I can get off work at seven and join you guys at the bar,” Jimin continues with a smile, doing his best to avoid being licked all over the face, “Nothing I haven’t done before. I told you I'd be here last week when you first asked, didn't I?”
Hoseok hums. “We’re not hitting the bar though. We’re upgrading to a restaurant tonight! Jungkook made the reservations.” He wiggles his eyebrows and shoves his hand right in front of Jimin’s face. “Why d’you think I did my nails during lunch break?”
Now, Taehyung’s pictures asking Jimin to choose between six wildly different yet fancy outfits make sense. He runs both his hands through his unstyled hair, pressing his fingers against his scalp.
“And it’s all on the group chat that I haven’t opened in two days, isn’t it?”
Hoseok makes a show of standing up and clapping as loud as he can, shifting the dog’s attention to him. “We were all wondering if you’d even make it tonight, superstar.”
“Huh? Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because Jungkook will be here.”
Here it is again, that pang of anxiety that both feels foreign yet acts like an old friend, knowing its way around Jimin’s head as if it owned the walls of his skull.
It’s stupid, really. More of an inside joke that everyone laughs about— everyone except for Jimin.
Jungkook is the latest addition to the friend group, courtesy of Yoongi. Jimin was here the first time Yoongi mentioned him in passing, almost a year ago. Something along the lines of met the new kid at work, he’s cool— and the rest is history.
Jungkook got closer to Yoongi, and Seokjin got tired of hearing the name without knowing the face, so he threatened Yoongi to break up if he didn’t invite the new kid for dinner within the next month. Then, Seokjin started telling stories about how Jungkook can slurp a whole pack of ramyeon in less than a minute, and how Jungkook beat me in League again, and Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook—
So everyone met him.
Everyone, except for Jimin.
Because the timing was never right. Either Jimin was on call and had to perform surgery on a senior dog at the very last moment, or he already had plans with the few uni friends he loves and keeps in touch with, or it was his mother’s birthday, his younger brother’s graduation, dance class was rescheduled—
There was always something, and when Jimin was available, then Jungkook wasn’t, and it’s been going on for almost a year now.
So naturally, the rest of the friend group turned it into a joke. An innocent one, one that Jimin doesn’t mind most of the time.
Except now, he’s actually about to meet Jungkook.
He isn’t on call tonight, dance class was on Wednesday as usual, his mother’s birthday has come and gone, and his brother didn’t start university all over again.
Unless his car breaks down or the Earth swallows him whole on the way there, Jimin is about to meet Jeon Jungkook.
And the worst part is, Jimin feels like he knows him already.
It’s just on the wrong side of peculiar, right over the very thin line metaphorically drawn on the ground.
Both reassuring and terrifying.
Because how does one meet someone for the first time after hearing almost a year’s worth of stories? How does one explain being part of a group chat with that very same person yet never having exchanged a single text?
(The part about the group chat is easy, actually: neither Jimin nor Jungkook know how to answer their phone, it seems. Their friends’ words, not theirs.)
And if someone were to ask, Jimin wouldn’t even know how to explain the anxiety that has been bubbling up and spreading through his whole body ever since he vaguely heard about tonight’s plans.
About Jungkook’s presence.
It takes root in a little bit of everything—
Fear of Jungkook’s expectations, because Jimin knows his friends have told him at least as much about Jimin as Jimin has heard about him.
Fear of his expectations, an echo of all the times the rest of the group has gushed about Jungkook. About how Jimin is going to absolutely love him, Taehyung even joking that he's going to be replaced as number one best friend, Namjoon fake-grimacing and saying that he might.
Fear of feeling small small small next to prodigy video editor Jungkook, knowledgeable Jungkook, athletic Jungkook, has-travelled-all-over-the-world Jungkook.
(Dizzyingly hot Jungkook, according to his Instagram feed.)
Jimin almost wants to turn his friends’ jokes into reality and come up with a lame excuse to ditch them tonight.
Instead, he decides to ignore Hoseok’s knowing grin and the way his eyes sparkle with innocent mischief. He pushes himself back up and grabs the lab coat he discarded earlier, a fake mask of mild disinterest sticking to his skin in all the wrong ways.
“The food better be worth every second I'm gonna spend trying to look like I actually sleep at night.”
~
The restaurant isn’t too fancy, in the end. Classier than a hole-in-the-wall, no reservation needed place, but definitely not too uptight, too silent, elevator music kind of fancy either. It’s a promising-looking address hidden in a maze of smaller streets, far from the neighbourhoods where Jimin usually hangs out.
It somehow eases the remnants of anxiety oozing off him in spikes of short breath, shaky limbs and strangled voice that Seokjin and Namjoon definitely notice but kindly ignore.
(For now, his mind supplies.)
They don’t wait long until the rest of the group arrives together, Yoongi and Hoseok leading the way, Taehyung and Jungkook deep in conversation and trailing behind.
It gives Jimin a bit of leeway, a moment of reprieve to brace himself for what’s to come—
Whatever it is.
The greetings are warm, loud and messy. Jimin takes his sweet time engulfing Taehyung and Yoongi in a hug, unable to take his eyes off them, fear still gnawing at his insides mercilessly.
It all ends too quickly, still, and all the commotion dies down when it’s Jungkook’s turn to greet Jimin.
He stands a polite distance away, and when Jimin slowly raises his head to meet his eyes, Jungkook’s entire face lights up in a warm smile. The happy sparkle in his eyes brings golden hues to the darker palette of his outfit— black, leather trench-coat over a burgundy turtleneck, black flared pants and dark, low, iridescent Dr Martens.
If Jimin weren’t busy trying to act unaffected, he would have probably gushed about a perfect case of clair obscur.
“Nice to finally meet you! I’m Jungkook.”
(And I’m fucked, Jimin thinks.)
“Likewise. I’m Jimin,” he says instead, catching the hand Jungkook extends between them.
It’s warm and almost as soft as the smile Jungkook gives him in return, a stark contrast to the way he carries himself.
“He looks intimidating until he opens his mouth. A literal sweetheart in disguise, promise,” Hoseok had said earlier that day.
Jimin tries to silence the echoes of his friend’s stories about Jungkook clouding his mind, because he doesn’t want to assume. He doesn’t want a cheat sheet, a shortcut, an easy way in. He wants to get to know Jungkook the normal way, the organic way, in a way that won’t paralyse him with bouts of fear and nerves.
They end up trailing behind as the rest of the group enters the restaurant. Jimin because he was too lost in his head to catch them moving, and Jungkook— Jimin finds him typing away on his phone, brows furrowed but shoulders relaxed, too focused on the screen to notice his surroundings.
Jimin catches Jungkook’s gaze and smiles tentatively, swallowing down the doubts and the prickling feeling of something underneath his skin.
Even if they don’t click, Jungkook is at least sweet, polite, and extremely easy on the eyes. No matter if they become friends or remain acquaintances that the universe keeps away for a bit of fun—
Jimin will be okay with it.
(Kind of has to be, anyway, with the way all his friends seem to have fallen a bit in love with Jungkook.)
He is brought crash-landing back into the moment when he feels a tentative hand on his shoulder. The touch is feather-like, barely a tap to catch his attention. When Jimin turns to find Jungkook, he gestures at him to enter the building first.
Trailing behind earns them the last two spots at the very end of the table, face to face. Jimin feels the acidic taste of anxiety trying to claw its way back up his throat, but Taehyung steals his attention away, catching his chin between two soft fingers.
“Feels almost surreal to see you both here at the same time,” he muses, and Jimin catches Jungkook squirming in his seat from his peripheral vision.
He doesn’t get to comment on it, though, because Taehyung turns toward him all the way, fingers now on Jimin’s jaw, angling his face so it catches the light overhead. “Knew I left my foundation at your place! Looks better on you, though. Planning on breaking hearts tonight?”
Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly, shaking his head free from Taehyung’s grasp. “The only broken thing in my life lately is my sleep schedule. That,” he says, gesturing at his face, “is called preserving the illusion.”
Taehyung glances in Jungkook’s direction for barely a second before he pats Jimin on the cheek, gentle. He turns away and seamlessly jumps back in the conversation on the other end of the table.
“What you told Taehyung about preserving the illusion,” Jungkook starts, the intensity laced in his voice pinning Jimin in place. “That’s bullshit, but I think I’ll wait a bit more to elaborate on that.”
There’s something about Jungkook’s voice, Jimin quickly learns. Something about the sound of it, its inflexions, light as a feather yet the consonants and vowels feel almost tangible against the exposed skin of Jimin’s hands, his wrist, his neck—
“Why?”
Jungkook shrugs and tilts his head to the side just a fraction. He doesn’t look away, even when he thanks the waiter, blindly taking the menu off his hands. “Might not be acceptable to say that to someone I just met.”
Something bubbles up at the very centre of Jimin’s spine, in that corner anxiety chose to set camp, drowning the worries away and replacing them with something both heavier but more pleasant.
Something Jimin is used to.
Something he knows how to do.
Just the kind of game he likes to play.
“Try me in an hour or so, then.”
~
Despite the earlier bout of playful, kind-of-flirting-but-not-quite remark Jungkook threw Jimin’s way, the conversation has been pleasant so far.
Tame.
Two adults getting to know each other with the boring but somehow still exciting job talk, studies talk, hometown and siblings and pets talk. They make it interesting, still, because they have the same terrible, terrible sense of humour.
It’s all almost effortless, worlds away from all the first encounters Jimin has been subjected to because of his job, his family, or a night out at the wrong kind of bar.
“Hoseok told me you chose the restaurant,” Jimin chirps, his polite smile a bit warmer and a lot less distant than what he usually goes for.
“Yeah! The owner is Korean and his husband is Japanese, so we get the best of both worlds.”
Jimin’s lips part in surprise, beaming. “Bulgogi and ramen on the same menu? I’m afraid you won’t hear me at all the second the food arrives.”
“Planning on spending the night with your mouth full?”
(So much for a tame conversation.)
Jimin sputters, because surely, the playful glint in Jungkook’s eyes isn’t that innocent. But he recovers quickly, humming happily, the tip of his tongue peeking out.
(He could one-up that kind of joke in his sleep, thank you very much.)
“It is the best way to spend the night. At least in my books.”
He giggles and focuses on the menu in his hands, leaving Jungkook to recover, too scared to look up and catch his reaction. He glues himself to Taehyung’s side, hoping he didn’t take it too far.
This is going to be a fun night.
They are forced out of their bubble by Seokjin’s whines, because apparently everyone is ready to order but them. And this, right here—
The amused look they exchange, the silent conversation going on so soon after meeting for the very first time—
The feeling settles down somewhere under Jimin’s breastbone, spreading down down down to the very tips of his fingers, excitement almost tangible when Jungkook mirrors the smile Jimin shares with him like a secret.
~
There’s only one more person in the group than what Jimin is used to, but he quickly finds that it makes it all harder to follow. The conversations bounce around and overlap, everyone’s name called in a fit of giggles at one point or another.
Still, Jimin and Jungkook’s eyes meet with shy smiles. They fall in and out of conversation seamlessly as the dishes come and go, familiarity weaving its way into their dynamic quick quick quick.
There’s eager interest woven in the lines of Jungkook’s face when he gently bumps his foot with Jimin’s ankle under the table, catching his attention.
“Yoongi told me that you dance?”
Jimin nods before resting his head against his hand, his attention fully on Jungkook. “It’s more of a hobby on the side, but I started young.”
He wants to keep playing the game they started earlier, wants to mention his flexibility or his stamina, something that would make Jungkook laugh and cloud his mind with images— but he’s still testing the waters, Jimin.
“D’you dance, too?” He asks instead.
Jungkook hums. “Hobby. Same as you. But only started, like, four years ago.”
There’s a pause, then Jungkook’s face breaks into a playful grin, “‘was hoping to catch a little dance video on your Instagram, but you went down the sweet but mysterious route with your feed, huh?”
“Did you just admit to stalking me on Instagram?”
Jungkook makes a show of leaning back in his seat, slow slow slow, one arm draped over the backrest. Appraising. “Because you didn’t?”
He leans his head back, just a fraction, just enough to look down on Jimin. His gaze amused, intense, barely any sweet, sticky warmth left.
Jimin feels both powerful and entirely at his mercy.
He wets his bottom lip, tip of his tongue slow and deliberate, the corners of his mouth pulling up when Jungkook’s eyes follow the movement.
“Just a couple of times to make sure you were still diligently working out.”
(So much for testing the waters.)
“I see… Well, I’m not a protein shake, macronutrients-obsessed kind of guy, so I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
Jimin shakes his head, his smile angelic, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Happy to know you’re healthy, is all. We are part of the same friend group, so it’s only natural that I want what’s best for my friends… Even the ones I met less than two hours ago.”
Jungkook hums, pensive, and Jimin shouldn’t be able to tell so soon after they met, but he knows he’s faking it.
“Don’t worry, I’m quite healthy,” He says, looking Jimin up and down. “Could bench-press you anytime, as a matter of fact. I have a feeling you'd look good at that angle.”
(Something pulls pulls pulls at the very centre of Jimin’s spine.)
“What angle?”
(And it all snaps when Jungkook raises a single brow, playful smile going in for the kill.)
“On top of me.”
Jimin is about to retaliate, to catch his breath, to try to do something, anything to win this round, but Yoongi grabs his attention.
He only has a second to catch Jungkook’s intense, amused gaze, but it’s enough to have his heart pump blood away harder for one, two, three beats too long.
~
Surprisingly, Jungkook is the first to break character. He catches Jimin’s attention the second his conversation seems over, the faintest hint of a crease between his eyebrows.
He clears his throat, leaning toward Jimin, both hands politely resting at the edge of the table. “I uh… Never really met someone who played along with— whatever that is.”
His eyes grow big big big then, something like dread taking over. “Not that I do that with everyone! Fuck—”
Jimin’s giggles pull Jungkook’s attention back on him, but doubt is still etched to the lines of his face.
“You’re okay, Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin reassures, his voice low. “I’m having a lot of fun trying to find out if there’s any truth hidden behind your big boy words.”
Jungkook snorts, but his gaze is pensive when he speaks again.
“Might lay it all out for you to see, if you’re down for it.”
The night is far from over, but Jimin can’t seem to silence that single, persistent thought that grows grows grows in the confines of his skull—
Playing that game would be a lot more fun if he were able to touch.
~
The jokes end up dying down as the night progresses, leaving more room to get to know each other properly. They share Spotify playlists, dance videos, favourite memories.
They speak quiet but fast, gentle but intense. There's urgency in the way they try to squeeze in as much information as they can.
Not quite as if it were the last time they'll ever see each other. But they get off to the spike of recognition-awe-blissful elation that courses through their veins every time they find yet another thing in common, or a way they complete each other to the point it gets ridiculous.
(To the point it looks and sounds and feels a lot like fate.)
They talk with barely a minute to catch their breath. Because they have so much to say, so much to share, that Jungkook starts jotting down notes about whatever he wants to tell Jimin next.
And it feels—
Dizzying but easy.
Scary but good.
(Too good to question.)
It feels like they're playing catch up from the inside and then out, body and soul reconnecting from some sort of shared previous life.
It feels like dusting off a soul bond with careful but hungry hands.
It feels both like starting from scratch and picking up right where they left off.
~
When the night comes to an end, almost everyone parts ways quick quick quick, time ticking closer and closer to the last subway ride available before early morning.
Jimin and Jungkook trail behind, still, the heaviness of words left unsaid filling up all the space between them.
And it’s funny, really, because one would think that they’ve had enough for the night, that there’s nothing left to say, at least for a little while, at least until they meet again.
But a quick glance Jungkook’s way tells Jimin all he needs to know.
Me too, Jungkook’s eyes seem to say.
I know, he mouths as Taehyung joins them on the sidewalk.
“Wanna head home together?”
Jungkook turns to Taehyung, then to Jimin.
When he speaks again, he addresses Taehyung without even bothering to look away from Jimin, scanning his face as if he were committing it to memory.
“You can leave without me,” He says, low, turning to Taehyung, at last. “There's something I wanted to show Jimin…”
And he snickers, Taehyung. Top of his cheeks rounded up with a mischievous smile, crinkles by his eyes colouring the pupils a lighter shade of brown under the lamplights.
“Sure,” He singsongs, resting a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, tap-tap-tapping his fingers to a random rhythm. “Take excellent care of my best friend.”
He scrunches his nose when he turns to Jimin. Raises his other hand and presses it to his cheek with a gentleness that doesn’t reach his amused gaze. “Don’t skip your turn taking care of Jungkook!”
He takes a few steps in the subway station’s direction before turning on his heels one last time. “One of you text me when you get home!”
“One of us?” Jimin asks, whipping his head toward his friend, brows furrowed.
Taehyung winks. “Have a good night, you temptress.”
They both watch him reach the station at the end of the street, going down the stairs in a light jog, dark blonde mop of hair disappearing quick quick quick.
“That was….”
Jungkook nods, slow, eyes wide and lips pinched in a straight line. “Packed with sexual innuendos?” He offers at last. “Yeah.”
“I mean, we kind of started it,” Jimin easily replies, the Autumn breeze cooling down the stubborn heat spreading from his cheeks to his ears and all the way down his neck.
When Jungkook takes a step closer, though, nothing can prepare Jimin for the way his lungs deflate at once, the way his body leans close, close, closer on its own volition.
“And I wouldn't be opposed to finishing it.”
Jimin is about to speak but Jungkook continues, taking a step back and beckoning Jimin closer to the building, leaning against the wall.
Jimin observes, quiet, breaths short, as a vulnerable kind of gentleness weaves itself with the playful glint in Jungkook’s eyes.
He braces for impact.
“There's something I want to set straight,” Jungkook begins. His voice rings low and stable, words almost rehearsed kind of perfect.
“I knew I'd only have eyes for you the second Yoongi showed me a group picture to introduce me to everyone.”
Jimin stands still, leaning against the cold concrete of the building, so close yet too scared and enthralled to reach a hand out and touch Jungkook.
He wants to, still.
Wants to smooth out the crease between his brows with the cold tips of his fingers, for starters.
“I knew it,” Jungkook continues, shaking his head, resolute. “I walked here tonight knowing that I would be under your spell from day one, minute one.” He rests his head against the wall, his eyes never looking away from Jimin’s face.
“Spent the longest time just trying to convince myself that being friendly and devouring you from afar would have to be enough. But then…”
Jimin huffs out an incredulous chuckle, pushing the words past the want want want lodged in his throat. “Then we met.”
“Then we met,” Jungkook confirms, a fond smile digging a shy dimple at the seam of his mouth. “And we talked.”
A pause, a breath, then—
“So I'm going to be honest with you, Jimin.” His name sounds like a spell, shaped so pretty and gentle around Jungkook’s lips. Awe and reverence squeezed between the letters.
“I'm going to want you in my life, and at this point I don't care what shape it takes. Whether you want sex, friendship, a mix of both or even more— Whatever you choose to make of me—”
Jungkook looks down then, and Jimin almost wants to mourn the loss. Wants to reach a hand out and tuck two fingers under his chin, guiding his face back up, guiding his eyes back to Jimin’s face, the raw affection and want in them like an addiction.
But he doesn’t move, Jimin. Jungkook pins him in place with the way he tilts his head up toward the sky, throat exposed, smooth skin of his neck in full display.
“You name it, yeah?” Jungkook continues, facing him again at last. “I'll be that person to you. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.”
And Jimin—
He gives in.
Takes the two steps that separate them, crowding Jungkook’s space until even the last dangerous flickers of doubt lurking around him have nowhere to go but away.
He doesn’t touch, not quite yet, tilts his head up until their noses almost brush.
Stays there.
“I can’t believe I was scared to meet you.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen, the sharp breath he takes luring Jimin even closer. “You were?”
Jimin hums. “But right now— my dick and my heart are trying to speak at the same time, and I think I’m going to have to relieve one before I make sense of the other.”
“Need help?”
Jimin smirks, ribcage heavy with want. He presses his body flush against Jungkook’s, from the tip of their shoes to the planes of their chests— down to the smallest space between their parted mouths.
“Take me home, Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin whispers against his lips—
Not quite a kiss, but equal parts better and worse.
~
It doesn’t take long to reach Jungkook’s apartment and when they do—
Time slows down to a standstill.
They haven’t touched, not since they reluctantly pulled apart from their almost-a-kiss-but-not-quite. Jimin’s insides are boiling with frustration, tips of his fingers trembling with the sheer force of it.
They stood close close close in the subway, out of breath after running to catch it, a thin layer of sweat glowing under the neon lights overhead.
(Jimin closed his eyes and pictured the rest of Jungkook’s body covered in sweat, exertion building a palette of pinks and reds on the most vulnerable patches of his skin.)
They walked side by side, shoulders and wrists and tips of their fingers touching at barely disguised fake random, matching mischievous glints in their eyes when they reached the elevator.
Up up up to the point of no return.
But now that they’re here— they take their time, still.
They take their time taking off their shoes and hanging their jackets on the rack by the door, Jungkook silently inviting Jimin to step further inside.
Jimin follows in a trance, tunnel-vision kind of focused.
The tension between their bodies that grew and spread and stuck throughout the night is at an all time high and it's—
Suffocating. It’s tangible and a torture to resist.
Jimin does his best not to beg, not to whine, not to stomp his foot on the ground and demand to be manhandled into the couch, but his breath catches in his throat the second Jungkook sheds the first layer of clothes.
Jimin takes a step forward, jutting his chin toward the couch. “Wanna sit back and watch?”
Jungkook chuckles, but the look in his eyes is too intense, full of something Jimin wouldn’t be able to resist even if he were to try.
(He doesn’t try.)
“And lose an opportunity to get my hands on you as soon as possible? No way. Come here.”
They undress, clothe after clothe, their movements slow, deliberate but laced with urgency.
(It's in the way Jimin huffs out, impatient when his jeans get stuck halfway down his thighs.
It's in the way Jungkook throws his turtleneck on the other side of the room the second he pulls it off his head, hair already a mess.
It's in the way they try their best to save face but their eyes and breaths and low chuckles say it all.)
Jungkook lets out a trembling exhale when he finally gets his hands on Jimin’s hips. Skin on skin, tips of his fingers travelling up and down, digging deeper. Intensity overwhelming when the muscles of his arms flex with the pressure, yet—
There’s an awe-struck kind of reverence overflowing from his eyes to the set of his mouth, shy dimple marking yet another patch of skin Jimin wants to devour.
Tenderness meets hunger when Jungkook kneads at the flesh of Jimin’s ass, boxer briefs a detestable obstacle between them.
Still, none of them make a move just yet. Not when Jungkook finally finally finally leans down to kiss the corner of Jimin’s mouth, the gesture sending Jimin infinitely deeper in the space they created for them, craving for—
“More,” he pleads when Jungkook’s lips move down, tongue mapping out the perfect path from jaw to chest. “I’m gonna need you to move faster before I lose my mind—”
Jungkook chuckles and it’s airy, almost mocking, but the imprints he leaves on Jimin’s skin with both his mouth and the tips of his fingers gives him away. “Trust me, baby, I hate it too. But you’re so sensitive…”
He lets his hands explore further down— down down down to the waistband of Jimin’s boxers, and Jimin can’t help it— the whimper he lets out, eliciting a delighted hum from Jungkook.
“Already so desperate for it.”
“Jungkook— Please—”
Jungkook guides him down on the couch and Jimin jumps on the occasion—
Straddles his lap and grinds down, desperate for friction, for something, for anything—
But Jungkook stops him and his smile is almost mean when he gathers both of Jimin’s wrists in one hand, kneading and pinching and grazing his thighs with the other. He presses his mouth against the column of Jimin’s throat just as Jimin lets out yet another high-pitched, needy whine.
“God… How can I resist you when you sound so beautiful, hm?”
Jimin shuts him up with a kiss, all teeth, all tongue and no space for breathing. Frustrated groans echo around the room whenever he tries to set his hands free, to touch, only to be met with Jungkook’s effortless strength, caging him in.
“Yeah, there’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight after tonight,” Jungkook whispers against Jimin’s lips, out of breath.
Jimin hums, thighs squeezing impossibly harder around Jungkook’s waist. “Depends on how well you use this,” He says, grinding down, a delighted smile tugging at his lips when he realises just how hard Jungkook is.
Jungkook clicks his tongue but sets Jimin’s wrists free at last, hips bucking up and meeting Jimin’s movement one last time before he pushes his shoulders down, silent question at the tip of his tongue.
Jimin doesn’t reply but slides down to the floor in one swift movement, slotting his body between Jungkook’s spread legs. He looks up, lips parted, heat gathering heavy and impossible to ignore in his stomach.
He leans closer, never detaching his eyes from Jungkook’s face, close close close enough to feel the heat of Jungkook’s cock caged in his boxers. Close enough to breathe out a shaky exhale and wondering if Jungkook felt it through the fabric.
Jimin looks down at last, tips of his fingers mapping out Jungkook’s inner thigh, up up up until he reaches the part where the skin is so thin and sensitive that Jungkook squirms under his touch.
“Was dreaming of getting my mouth on it ten minutes into meeting you, fuck—”
Jungkook reaches a hand out and grabs Jimin’s jaw, pulling until their eyes meet. “Yeah?”
He uses his other hand to get rid of his boxers, elevating his hips just enough to let his cock spring free.
“Have at it, then.”
Jimin sets his eyes on Jungkook’s cock, lips parted and shiny with a messy mix of saliva and lipgloss. “ Definitely my favourite part.”
He shakes his head free and spreads Jungkook’s legs wider, leaving open-mouthed kisses on his inner thighs, reveling in the sounds it pulls out of Jungkook’s parted lips, his breaths heavy and messy—
Almost helpless already.
“As much as I enjoy the view,” Jungkook manages to whisper between the moans he breathes out, “I stand by what I said earlier.”
Jimin perks up, offering them a moment of reprieve.
“Still think you’d be a fucking dream riding me.”
“I mean, if you fuck me hard enough, you might change my mind.”
“Fuck, Jimin.” Jungkook bucks his hips and grabs the back of Jimin’s head, hard, guiding him back down.
Jimin takes his sweet time, still, grabbing Jungkook’s cock and tapping it on his tongue, appraising its weight in his mouth. He licks from shaft to tip, strings of saliva making the glide easier.
He moans and it’s strangled, his mouth full, eyes rolling to the back of his head when Jungkook lets out praises between his own moans, nonsense infused with a whole lot of desperation.
He doesn’t stick to a rhythm, doesn’t want Jungkook’s orgasm to build too much, too fast. Wants to actually get that fucking ride they joked about and are about to make reality.
So he suckles and licks and swallows Jungkook’s cock, wet and messy, spit dripping down his chin, lips swollen and shiny.
Jimin drinks it all in— the touches, the pressure at the back of his head, the way Jungkook pulls at the hair there.
He moans, long and broken, mouth full and throat abused, reveling in the way Jungkook’s hips buck up with more and more urgency, matching both the groans and the whimpers severing Jimin’s name into lone, heated syllables.
Jimin preens at the praise, at the way Jungkook’s voice breaks and stutters to a stop, sentences knowing no beginning and no end. Endless flow of you’re perfect, baby, taking my cock so well, you’re a dream, want you between my legs always—
Jimin is about to push through his gag reflex again when Jungkook pulls him up and off the floor.
“I’m gonna need you to stop now— No, baby,” he continues, pushing Jimin’s head back on his cock when Jimin is about to pull away. “I’m going to finger you open, and you’re going to keep it in your mouth, yeah?”
Jimin nods, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, the satisfied, borderline mean tone of Jungkook’s voice enough to render him powerless. He adjusts himself back on the couch, legs spread, ass up, eyes shiny with tears as he meets Jungkook’s gaze, pupils fully dilated and darker than he’s ever seen them.
“You look so pretty like this. Can I open you up, now?”
Jimin nods again, small, just enough for Jungkook to get to work. He smiles when he squeezes a lot more lube than he needs to, gathering a trickle of drool from Jimin’s chin with his other hand, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Something tells me you like it a bit messy, hm?”
Jimin moans, soft, but it grows louder and desperate when Jungkook presses a finger close close close to his rim.
A single, blissful tear escapes from the corner of his eye.
He keeps his promise and does his best not to bob his head even though he’s almost drunk off the feeling of his mouth so full. Still, he tries to make the most out of the way Jungkook jostles him around with one finger, then two and finally three, harsh moves sending his cock deeper down Jimin’s throat.
His moans grow louder and louder, more desperate by the minute, hands grabbing Jungkook’s thigh and squeezing hard, hips pushing back, sending Jungkook’s finger right where Jimin wants them most.
When Jungkook slows his movements down, peeking at the door at the far end of the room, Jimin shakes his head no. Releases Jungkook’s cock with a wet, loud pop.
“Here,” he half-whispers, half-whines. “I like the couch.”
“Whatever you want,” Jungkook drawls, syllables caught in a low groan.
“Want your dick in me. Now.”
The next minute is a blur. Jimin sits back and follows Jungkook’s every move, a fond smile lighting up his face.
Jungkook shuffles to his bedroom to retrieve a condom and comes back with three, joking about never letting Jimin leave his house now, eyes bright and happy when Jimin’s laughter echoes around the living room.
A single blink and it’s gone, though. Jungkook jumps back on the couch and makes himself comfortable. Legs spread, chest glistening with sweat already.
And it’s like he pushed a button, turned on a switch, because Jimin is pinned in place with the effortless way Jungkook takes up space and calls for attention. No word needed as he rolls the condom down his length, a single brow raised—
Cocky.
And Jimin falls for the bait head first, breath stuck somewhere down his throat as he crawls closer and hops on Jungkook’s lap. He lines himself with Jungkook and grinds his hips down to feel something, anything, tip barely brushing his rim. One, two, three times until Jungkook tuts impatiently—
So Jimin obliges.
He pushes down, careful and slow, a sigh of relief soaring past his lips and filling up the minuscule space between their mouths. “Feeling so— so good, Jungkook, fuck.”
Jungkook swears, deep and low and broken at the seams, hips jerking up just a fraction but enough to send him deeper inside Jimin.
He catches Jimin’s bottom lip between his teeth, tongue darting out to ease the sting, hands on his waist, pinching his nipples, tugging at his hair, movements too urgent, too eager—
Too hungry.
Jimin eats it up and sets the pace, slow and tentative at first, face hidden in the crook of Jungkook’s neck. The back of his thighs burn and it feels so good, he feels so good—
So, so, so full, chasing the high with messy rolls of his hips, hands palming at Jungkook’s muscles pulled taut under him, head cloudy with his scent, with that entrancing mix of citrus and cologne and boy.
“Fuck, Jimin, I’m almost—” Jungkook’s sentence breaks into a moan that Jimin silences with a kiss, with harder and faster bounces. Jungkook thrusts up and meets him halfway, pushing himself deeper until Jimin writhes above him, knees and thighs almost giving up on him with the sheer force of his own orgasm building up.
Jungkook pats Jimin’s thighs and climbs on top with almost unreal synch, too good to be true for a first time mapping out each other’s body like this—
But it isn’t all that surprising, Jimin thinks, not when he feels like Jungkook was made for this, made for him, bodies joining a small miracle that Jimin wouldn’t mind calling something corny like soul recognition.
Jimin parts his lips and touches himself with one hand, reaching everywhere he can with the other—shoulder and neck and jaw and mouth, tongue pushing in, licking inside and committing the taste of Jungkook’s mouth to memory.
He trails down every single patch of skin he can get to, sealing Jungkook’s name against his skin like a promise, letting his orgasm build up up up until he comes all over his stomach, sticky warmth leaving a mess behind.
Jungkook watches, bewitched, bliss etched to his features in the most beautiful mask of pleasure Jimin’s ever seen.
He drinks it all in, lets Jungkook chase his own orgasm and savours the overstimulation it brings in its wake, Jungkook’s low moans sending spikes of arousal back down his cock.
Jungkook shakes on top of him, movements erratic and desperate, every breath punctuated with the most devoted rendition of Jimin’s name. He grabs Jimin’s hair and tugs, thrusting even faster and reaching his own orgasm at last, and Jimin watches in awe.
Thinks—
How does one move on from this?
Almost almost almost says it but Jungkook beats him to it.
Presses a tender kiss to his temple, breathless, fingers soothing and gentle as they travel up and down his arm—
A soft, low hum against Jimin’s skin as he breathes him in.
Goes—
“Don’t think I can ever let you go, Park Jimin.”
And it sounds good, Jimin thinks, so he seals the promise with a kiss.
Easy.