Chapter Text
Jeon Jeongguk is just your average gym-bro-dude (according to his brother), who is conventionally attractive (according to media outlets), built like a fridge (thanks, mom), and loaded like a semi-truck (also courtesy of his brother’s vocabulary).
It is not that he comes from money—he just somehow ended up making some.
A lot, perhaps.
Enough to have a few finance magazines and green-tech panels call him a “revolutionary entrepreneur.” Someone who changed the entire landscape of gyms for the better.
And all he had to do was create a walking pad made from wood to use without electricity because he likes to be eco-friendly and couldn’t understand why most gym equipment are usable without a plug except for walking pads.
So all Jeongguk really had to do was find himself a gap in the market and fill it. And also slap a patent on it.
And while he carries his brand on his buff shoulders at the ripe age of 29, Jeongguk prefers to leave the organizational matters to his best friend Taehyung because he himself is simply not cut-out to be a business man.
Considering that he also has absolutely no clue about the market, stocks, or anything related to finance, he lets the pro handle it: poor business major Kim Taehyung, whom he just ambushed one day with a lawyer and papers to co-owning Jeon Corp. Inc., and subsequently also Jeon Studio.
It actually wasn’t like there was some grand vision or a ten-step plan for success when Jeongguk was a 19-year-old student with an iPad, an Apple Pencil, and YouTube Premium.
All he did was watch a couple of carpentry tutorials and think that he can absolutely do the same—which was absolutely correct.
It took him exactly three prototypes, two minor electrical fires, and one very concerned landlord until he had it: the world’s first mechanical walking pad made out of sustainably sourced hardwood and bamboo.
Perhaps it also took nearly two years, but that’s just Jeongguk being vague with time because he absolutely sucks with keeping track of things like that—dates, anniversaries, accounting deadlines.
If it wasn’t for Taehyung, Jeongguk would probably still be running his company out of the living room of his first-ever apartment, with a logo made in Canva, and invoices written on his notes app.
Well, considering that their original logo was made on Canva, that thought is actually not too far off, but Taehyung would never willingly admit to it, considering they now have a whole design team sitting in an office building somewhere in Sadaemun-An.
But Jeongguk also had never planned to become a personality.
Social media was always the lowest on his list of priorities, yet he quickly discovered that people were strangely invested in his short-form-content online—whether it was him working out or just playing with Baek.
Posting online was supposed to be a funny little side project. A way to document his progress of testing and developing his invention.
Somehow, it snowballed.
His videos began landing on people’s feeds, but it was one in particular that changed everything: a silent, asmr-esque clip of him working quietly, his hair tied back, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he sanded wood.
Within days, it had garnered millions of views. Not because wood sanding was suddenly the thing to do at home, or because people were invested in a video diary of his every thought—nope.
It was because of him.
Everything about him drew attention, and Jeongguk cannot deny how utterly pleased he is by the compliments on his every breath.
People wanted to see more of him. More of his workouts. More gym content.
And Jeongguk—as strong as he might physically be—is just a softie at heart. A sucker for praise.
So he gave in. Handed the masses exactly what they asked for, and it turned out to be far more efficient than he’d ever intended.
He wasn’t chasing sponsorships or followers; it all came naturally. Companies reached out, interested in his person and subsequently also his product, helping Jeongguk to kick off his project from a mere prototype into something that is actually marketable.
All he had to do was to continue what he was already doing anyway: working, building, smiling into his camera—and the rest of it; money, attention, magazine covers—just sort of happened while he wasn’t looking.
And now, though he’s often stopped by people on the street, inquiring whether he’s the ‘treadmill guy,’ (which is not even the same as a walking pad by the way) he still works the front desk of some of his own gym locations in Seoul because he’s just not made for the whole suit, tie, and leather shoes thing.
Mainly because he also doesn’t fit most of his suits anymore anyway, but his point still stands: he gladly leaves the pretentious stuff to Taehyung so he can continue doing whatever he wants because he thinks that he’s humble like that.
But he also kind of doesn’t know what to do with all the attention. He knows what to do with his gyms: people come in, they nod, he nods back, sometimes they sign up for a membership, or request an upgrade, or he fixes the vending machine. And that’s about it.
No board meetings, no investors asking about quarterly projections—just people and weights and the smell of protein powder lingering in the air.
It’s simple; he likes simple.
And perhaps, that’s why people like him too. Because, even with all the money and headlines, Jeongguk still shows up to work in sweatpants, a smoothie from the family business down the street in hand, and a smile that makes it hard to tell whether he’s a CEO or just some overly friendly trainer.
⛐
“Baek-ah.” Jeongguk yawns, pulling his blanket over his bare chest in an attempt to keep the cold out.
Only god knows why he decided to sleep with his windows wide open and no shirt on again, given the shivers running down his spine every. Single. Morning.
But unfortunately, it does affect his sleep positively (just how Namjoon predicted) so he’s stuck under his blankets every morning in an attempt to toast himself enough to get up and be a productive member of society.
Jeongguk sighs, turning over in his bed to watch his cat sleep peacefully on the pillow next to his. If he’s jealous of her for a second, then he would never admit to it willingly.
He quietly reaches out to caress her tiny head, getting all nostalgic at four in the morning over how fast she has grown from a kitten the size of a peanut into a properly sized cat in the span of a few months.
“We should get up already, don’t you think?” he murmurs, his voice still heavy with sleep as he watches the cat open her eyes and yawn in disapproval.
Contrary to Jeongguk, his cat absolutely hates mornings and can rarely ever be bothered to get up and out of the comfortable pillow fortress she builds overnight.
Lazily, she watches her dad from where she is curled up and tucked into the pillow case before stretching her delicate body and creeping closer to the buff man, nudging her head against his cheek.
Jeongguk chuckles, pulling her on his chest to cuddle for a moment.
Immediately, she starts purring, tempting Jeongguk even further to just skip work for the day, knowing that Sunghoon would be more than capable of running the gym by himself today.
“Ah, when did you get so big,“ he chuckles, lifting the cat to take a proper look at her. “You used to fit into the palm of my hands last year.“
Baek only meows in response, licking her paw, uninterested in Jeongguk‘s nostalgia.
Everyone says Jeongguk spoils his cat too much. Everyone also says he’s too lonely.
The complaints tend to rotate.
So when they had insisted that no cat needs her own room and that he’s wasting space, he didn’t bother listening because Jeongguk had already decided to do whatever he wanted with his home.
He wreaked havoc in the hardware store last year—a list of things in his hand and his assistant in tow—in order to find everything his fur daughter would need to feel at home.
He settled on pink wallpaper with little sardines printed all over it, a ridiculous amount of wood, and enough screws to build an actual house.
As he filled his shopping cart with wood and excitement, his assistant Shuhua cynically commented on every plank and every package of screws if Jeongguk was sure he didn’t have a loose screw himself, considering the very much stuffed and equipped carpentry station in his penthouse.
But Jeongguk did what Jeongguk does best: ignore the words of wisdom and do whatever the hell he wants.
Might as well put that credit cart to good use.
Back at home (and after forcing his assistant into carrying the cat toys and other knickknacks from his car up into his home), Jeongguk had spent a few days in his workroom, headphones pulled over his ears and a pocket hole jig in his hands, working the newly acquired wood into the desired shapes and sizes, the rhythmic sound of sanding and sawing filling the quiet air.
If he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly. Just like all his other projects.
Jeongguk had done plenty of research after he spontaneously brought her home—because he never even thought about ever getting a cat until one fateful afternoon at his friend's house.
Initially, he’d only planned to visit Namjoon and help him prepare for the new owners to pick up each kitten from the ‘oopsie litter’ (he didn’t know that his cats were, in fact, not neutered), but the moment the little white fluff ball the size of a Heinz bean can blinked up at him with those uneven blue eyes, it was over.
He was sold right then and there, any ounce of indoctrination by Taehyung to stop doing impulse purchases just because something tugs at his heartstrings out the window when the little fluff kept clinging to the legs of his sweatpants.
Did she rip the fabric? Yes. But they did withstand her sharp claws, and since they were a sponsored product anyway, he would just showcase their durability later on TikTok.
So with the white fluff resembling white cotton candy in his lap as he drove home, nothing could wipe the massive grin off his face. Not even the grumpy security man stopping the younger man and his cat with a raised eyebrow.
After all, his brother had complained how lonely Jeongguk always was in his absurdly massive penthouse, but when he called him to introduce his new niece to him, he only looked at Jeongguk comically.
“Hyung… I didn’t mean—not a cat, Hyung!” his brother had sighed, shaking his head in disappointment when Jeongguk lifted his four-pawed-daughter into frame.
“What? What else did you mean when you said I should ‘do something about my loneliness’?” Jeongguk grabbed his phone, placing it on the kitchen counter to see his brother better.
He sat the little cat—Baek—down to discover her new home, given that his penthouse has two stories, that equaled the entire planet to her tiny body.
“Hyung, I meant finding, I don’t know!” the younger flailed his arms. “Finding a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Get married in Vegas in a drive-thru? Join a cult?”
“Well, then you should’ve been clearer with your instructions, Beomgyu-ah.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
They had bickered for a moment longer after which Jeongguk tried to convince the younger that he doesn’t need anyone at his side except his cat, a bunch of protein powders, and his gym equipment, but the younger never gave up.
Still doesn’t, considering how he continues to pester Jeongguk about it, even at his big age of 29.
“Come on, princess. I’ll make us breakfast.” Jeongguk lets his fingers run through her soft, white fur before lifting her off his chest to start the day.
Pushing off his blanket, the cold air immediately sends a shiver down his spine. He bends down to grab his discarded shirt from the floor, raising the fabric to his nose for a sniff test—it’ll do for now.
Pulling it on, he releases the tension in his back and shoulders by lifting his arms above his head, the pull popping his vortex’s in a way that has him groan in satisfaction.
Cracking his neck, Jungkook pulls back the curtains of his bedroom windows, revealing the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows.
The skyline of Seoul sprawls before him, still wrapped in the cozy blanket of night. Skyscrapers glitter with the reflections of nightlife, as though trying to imitate the faint stars above.
The city never sleeps.
Some begin to stir its silence into a new day, while others keep it restless with the echo of police sirens and the low hum of passing cars from the bustling clubs and bars.
Jeongguk watches for a moment, tracing the blurred reflection of himself in the glass—his sleepy outline, hair sticking up in all directions, and a cat-shaped shadow brushing against his leg. It’s almost funny how small they look against all that sprawling light.
Almost insignificant.
He smiles, soft and crooked, and turns toward the hallway.
The dark marble floor is cold beneath his feet, the air sharp enough to wake him a little more.
He remembers his mother gifted him some slippers, but he assumes that either Baek has taken them somewhere, or that he lost them. Same difference anyway.
Waddling into his kitchen, Jeongguk is grateful that his home is all dark, only a few LED lights faintly illuminating the open space around him—the darkness reminding him of those videos of people at sea filming the blackness of the vast ocean; all that’s missing is the obnoxious yoo-hoo-sound.
With a sigh, he pulls open the fridge—only to be greeted by half a carton of eggs, a few containers of plain rice, and a bowl of strawberries he should probably finish today, considering their already sad appearance.
He really should do some grocery shopping soon. Or he’ll ask Shuhua, though his assistant keeps stuffing his pantry and fridge with things that do not really fit into his meal plan, or things he doesn’t like just to spite him.
Who in their right mind buys asparagus. Green asparagus?
Maybe he’ll subscribe to one of those food delivery services that send you a recipe and the ingredients for it, though he also heard of their rather unethical working conditions, and to be honest, he also doesn’t trust their groceries.
Jeongguk groans.
There’s simply no way around going out and buying everything himself.
Defeated, he reaches for a protein shake in his fridge door, popping the cap open as he takes out everything he needs for Baek’s breakfast.
Namjoon always ridicules him how his cat eats better than himself, but Jeongguk also thinks that the little diva deserves only the best of the best—and if that means Jeongguk has to prepare her meals according to her specific diet, then so be it.
Food, after all, is the foundation of everything: the body, the brain, the drive to move. He’s worked too hard on his own physique to risk slacking now—needs to push through every day because his cat is counting on him.
And Taehyung; though the older man knows he’s been swiftly replaced with the four-pawed-beauty the moment Jeongguk laid eyes on her.
⛐
“Good morning, Sajangnim,” his secretary chirps through the phone, disrupting Jeongguk’s peaceful morning routine of a long, healthy doom scroll on TikTok while he waits for his drink at the café.
It’s his daily stop after opening the gym in Gangnam for the day, his muscles still sore from his morning workout and his hair still damp from a refreshing shower.
The smoothie shop sits just a few corners away from the gym, and by now, the elderly woman behind the counter lights up like a little firefly whenever the little bell above her door chimes to announce Jeongguk’s arrival.
“Morning,” Jeongguk rasps in response, mouthing to the woman the same order as everyday: a strawberry-banana protein smoothie.
The store doesn’t even offer protein drinks or smoothies officially, which means his favorite drink is technically a custom order—something the old woman started making for him after he was photographed on the street with one of their cups in hand once.
It’s a bummer for him, but he is also happy that the café gets the attention it deserves.
Ever since that photo of him went viral, the store has been busier than ever, lines snaking out the door with people ordering his drink, to the extent that the store was constantly out of ingredients and had to get creative for Jeongguk.
Taehyung once joked that the man should start charging commission for it, considering people literally call it the ‘Jeon Jeongguk drink’—even if he had nothing to do with it and only drank it once (he also didn’t particularly like it because it had raspberry in it, which he hates).
He never plans for anything like that to happen in the first place. Nothing about a majority of his posts is carefully curated, or sponsored. It is just him and his phone—quick stories from the gym, a selfie on his way to work—yet, it somehow always manages to sell something out.
A hoodie he’s wearing. A café he visits. Even Baek’s new cat bed once.
People seem to chase what and who he is, recreating his routines like they are rituals, copying his playlists, his poses, even his way of talking to the camera.
“The quarterly numbers of the Seoul studios are in, but I know you don’t care about it so I’ll cut right to the chase,” his assistant speed runs, the rustling of paper filling the silence of her pause, nearly as though she expects a snarky comment from him.
When nothing comes, she continues. “The test run of the public gym in Myeondong was way more successful than we initially anticipated and—“
“Shuhua-ssi, why are you telling me this at,” Jeongguk turns his wrist, the small screen of his Apple Watch coming to life, “eight-thirty in the morning?”
“If you didn’t interrupt me, you’d know,” the response is petty, and sometimes, Jeongguk regrets having employed an assistant a few years younger than him. “It’s that we need you to attend a few meetings with the Government office and the mayor about purchasing the location in order to open a permanent gym there.”
He sighs, running his hand over his face. “Okay. What are the details so far?”
“Everything stays the same: open to the public, availability of a three-tier-membership with a day pass, a monthly pass, and a one-year membership. Prices vary depending on.”
“Equipment?” Jeongguk leans on the counter in the waiting area, watching the other customers come and go fluidly.
“Remains the same, perhaps a face-lift for interior to elevate the status of it. We thought it should not be the same as the private locations but…”
But the man isn’t even paying attention to the rambling of his assistant anymore because waiting in line is perhaps the most beautiful man Jeongguk has ever seen in his life.
He’s standing just a few feet away, dressed in a pale gray tracksuit that hugs the lean lines of his body in all the right places.
His blond hair is pushed back, slightly messy, like he just ran a hand through it on his way in, revealing the twinkling jewelry dangling on his ears, catching the light so prettily that it makes Jeongguk’s throat go dry.
There’s a kind of control in the way he stands—shoulders relaxed but spine straight, his head is tilted just enough to suggest a type of confidence Jeongguk has never really seen before.
It’s not arrogance, but just… awareness, perhaps. Like he knows exactly how much space he takes up, and how to make it work for him.
Jeongguk can’t really place what exactly it is that captivates him so much.
Maybe it’s the juxtaposition of the man’s nature—athletic but delicate, sharp lines softened by something almost graceful. Or maybe it’s the way every movement looks intentional, even the small ones.
Like the man’s body remembers something Jeongguk doesn’t—rhythm, form, balance.
Whatever it is, Jeongguk can’t stop looking.
“Yah! Sajangnim! Did you even listen to a single thing I just said?!” His assistant huffs into the phone, breaking the spell Jeongguk was under.
As if he heard the woman on the other line, the stranger in line looks up from his phone, tilting his head when he catches Jeongguk staring and smirks.
Jungkook can only stand frozen in his spot, not even registering how the ahjumma calls his name repeatedly because the blond stranger has the audacity to give him a once over, smiling in a way Jeongguk has never seen before, but would kill to see again.
Embarrassed, he turns around to grab his cup from the counter, slamming a bunch of ten-thousand won bills on the marble and leaves without looking back.
“Holy shit,” Jeongguk mutters, his phone still pressed to his ear as he stumbles out of the shop. “Shuhua-ssi, I’ll call you back.”
“Sajangnim the meeting—“
But the man already hung up on her, grabbing his chest as though it would calm his racing heart.
“I think I just fell in love,” he says to no one in particular when he looks back over his shoulder, spotting blondie on an instant back in the line.
With blood traveling in the opposite directions of his body, Jeongguk rushes back to his gym—suddenly dying to go through the pile of paperwork for the remainder of the day.
The more days pass since the fateful encounter, the more Jeongguk starts to regret everything.
Every time he walks into the smoothie shop, his eyes scan the crowd for the stranger from Monday, but so far, it was to no avail.
He even started to ask Baek for advice, but the cat only meow’d as though she didn’t even want to listen to Jeongguk talk about someone else in-front of her—admittedly, it is a bit rude to do so, especially when he claims that the cat is at the center of his attention.
Why didn’t he approach him? Charm him with his muscles and smile into exchanging phone numbers?
Maybe he should’ve nonchalantly given him his number jotted down on a napkin or something. Or slipped his business card into his hands. Something subtle.
But then again, there’s nothing subtle about a walking plank named Jeon Jeongguk.
Gloomy, he smacks his employee Sunghoon’s arm as he rounds the counter of the gym, ready to tackle the day—or a sandbag. “I pay you to work, not flirt. Hello, Sunoo.”
Jeongguk smiles warmly at the young model leaning against the counter, idly chatting to his employee—obviously not here to work out, or having concluded his sets, considering he is wearing wide-cut slacks and a loose shirt.
“I wasn’t even flirting,” Sunghoon mutters under his breath, glaring at Jeongguk when his own object of desire giggles and leaves the two men be after quietly bidding his goodbye.
“Why’d you do that to me, hyung?” The younger whines when Sunoo is out of eyesight. “You embarrassed me!”
Dramatically, Sunghoon slumps against the counter, resting his forehead on the cold stone.
Jeongguk takes a long sip from his drink, eyeing the drama-queen he employed all those months ago.
“Just ask him out already,” he chuckles, setting his smoothie on the counter. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t turn you down.”
Behind him, Sunghoon lifts his head, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath before dumping a stack of used cups into the sink.
“Might as well clean that up while you’re at it,” Jeongguk adds, tone half-serious. He nods at the overflowing sink with a raised brow and another obnoxiously loud slurp.
Sunghoon only groans in response but still abides.
When Jeongguk turns back to the counter, his laptop and stack of paper ready to be carried back into his office, his movements falter when his eyes fall onto the man approaching the counter.
It’s the pretty blond from the smoothie shop.
Holy shit.
Again.
⛐
Jeongguk’s eyes widen when blondie approaches, adjusting a gym bag over his shoulder as he leans on the counter top, tilting his head.
“Hi.”
Jeongguk’s brain short circuits.
Maybe he inhaled too much sawdust in his life while working on his projects because there’s simply no way that the pretty blond from the café earlier this week is standing right in front of him, smiling sweetly as though it wasn’t him who occupied Jeongguk’s mind for the past few days.
Beside him, Sunghoon nudges him with his elbow, raising an eyebrow in silent question.
Jeongguk also silently asks—though himself—whether he has gone mad, or someone spiked his drink, because there’s just no way that the beautiful man with a body carved by god himself is standing before him.
Talking to him.
Hold up—
Jeongguk shakes his head, bringing himself back from the trance he fell into (again) when he looks at the man before him.
“Sorry. What?”
The blond man chuckles, setting his bag down on the counter.
“I asked whether I can sign up for a membership?”
“I—yes, sorry,” Jeongguk chuckles embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck before pulling a sign up form from a drawer.
Clearing his throat, he holds the documents out for the other. “This is a private location though. I’m assuming you don’t mind that we do verification of identity here?”
“Well, I was hoping so, actually,” the stranger winks, reaching out to grab the papers from Jeongguk’s hands, letting their fingers brush. “I’m fine with a thorough check up.”
Everything in his buff body comes to a halt once his brain has understood what the blond man just said.
“I— uh— here’s a—” Jeongguk’s voice trembles, his gaze lowering away from the intensity of the other man’s.
Warm hands wrap around his own, gently prying the stationary from Jeongguk’s fingers.
“Pen?” The other chuckles, his voice saccharine when he says, “thank you, so much.”
He can feel the heat creeping on his face and all he can do is bite his lips and nod quietly.
Goddamn, Jeon Jeongguk. Get your shit together.
Hesitantly, he turns away from the counter, mumbling to Sunghoon that he needs to check something in the back, and rushes into his office.
He closes the door mindfully, leaning against the milky glass with a hand to his chest.
Beneath his palm, his heart beats like crazy and Jeongguk swears he can hear the blood rushing through his veins.
What in the world was that out there?
Jeongguk swears, if he was a dog, he probably would’ve whimpered merely by the way the man looked at him.
Pathetic.
He should do it again.
But there’s also no way on earth that Jeongguk thinks he’ll be able to face the man waiting outside again.
Maybe if he waits long enough then Sunghoon will—
“Jungkook-hyung, can you come out for a second?”
Or not.
Jeongguk straightens his back and walks over to the mirror on the wall to check his appearance.
His face is still a little flushed, a few locks falling from his ponytail, framing his face—so it is safe to assume that Jeongguk looks as much a lost cause as he already feels like.
“Hyung? Are you okay?”
Behind him, the door opens and Sunghoon’s head pops inside, concern fills his gaze and Jeongguk feels a little bad for live-ghosting the poor kid.
“Yes, sorry, I was just,” he looks around in panic, grabbing the first thing from his messy desk, “looking for this.”
His statement comes off as a question rather than a statement, but that’s irrelevant right now, sending a silent prayer to god when he sees that he accidentally grabbed the stapler.
“Uh… okay?” Sunghoon looks at him comically before opening the door a bit further. “Well, he’s waiting because I couldn’t answer his questions, actually.”
Jeongguk clears his throat, nodding. “Yes. Coming.”
Stumbling back out of his office, Jeongguk clutches the stapler to his chest, still rather nervous to be around the gorgeous man.
“Jeon Jeongguk-ssi?”
“Huh?”
The man tilts his head, smirking. “You’re Jeon Jeongguk, are you not?”
“I— y-yes…?”
“Is that a question?” The blond muses and Jeongguk hopes—prays—that the earth would just swallow him up whole. “Anyway. I was asking your employee— uh—“
“Sunghoon.”
“—Sunghoon-ssi whether you offer accommodations for ballet or yoga classes?”
Holding his hand out, the stranger smiles at Jeongguk sweetly. “Park Jimin is the name, by the way.”
Those words finally snap Jeongguk back into reality.
Business, he can talk. Terribly, but still.
With a smile, he shakes the other man’s hand. “We actually have a studio all the way over there,” Jeongguk vaguely nods into the opposite direction of the gym.
“Ah, really?” The man—Jimin—excitedly pulls his hand back and holds out his papers instead. “Can you show me?”
Jeongguk hums, turning around to grab one of the keycards from the holder.
When his gaze finds Sunghoon’s, the younger grins at him wickedly, but all Jeongguk can do is glare at him, hoping to intimidate him enough to not even think about making a snarky comment any time soon about whatever the hell this interaction was.
“Sure, just follow me,” Jeongguk smiles, his voice back to its usual self.
“It’s not much we can offer, to be honest,” Jeongguk looks over the shoulder as he guides Jimin in the direction of the studio.
Swiping the keycard through the lock, he pushes the door to the studio open. “Actually, we’ve never used it before.”
He holds the door open for the other to pass through before flipping the light switches.
The lights overhead blink on, flooding the room with a soft, white glow. The studio is spotless, everything still as unused as the day Jeongguk first opened the gym two years ago.
Barres stand along the wall, the wood still smooth and unclipped, the polished floor unmarked by scuffs or dust. A stack of neatly rolled mats sits in the corner beside a smaller sound system set up mounted into the wall—it is as though the room has been waiting for someone to finally use it.
He watches as Jimin crosses the room, his fingers grazing the barres in what Jeongguk can only assume to be nostalgia.
When he turns back around, his face is lit with quiet delight, and Jeongguk finds it hard to look anywhere else.
“Why did you build it, if you didn’t plan on using it?”
Jeongguk tilts his head in thought. “That’s a good question,” he chuckles. “I guess I was just over-enthusiastic when we planned this studio.”
Jimin looks at him for a moment as though in thought before smiling again. “I see. Well, Jeon Jeongguk,” the blond claps his hands together. “I would love to get together someday soon to discuss the details because I’m interested in breathing life into this room—if you’re okay with it?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll have my assistant reach out to you soon then.”
As per usual, Yeh Shuhua works fast and efficiently because when Jeongguk wakes up the following day, he finds a schedule request on his Outlook calendar captioned ‘Meeting w Park Jimin.’
And though it is not due for at least another four days, Jeongguk already lets the anticipation begin, happily cuddling his cat when he realizes that a successful meeting with Park Jimin would mean he would probably see the older—yes he checked his age first things first when he went over his membership contract—more often.
Though the membership basically holds no validity anymore, considering that staff members get to do everything for free, and more, Jeongguk still added him to the system to send a request to the security office for a thorough identity and background check.
⛐
“Thank you so much Mr. Park,” Taehyung politely bows to the blond man and his manager, “we’re excited to do business with you in the future.”
“Likewise,” Jung Hoseok returns Taehyung’s gesture politely and with a smile as bright as the sun. “Jimin-ssi and I only heard good things about Jeon Jeongguk-ssi and his gyms—especially how well-known it is within our circles and potential clientele.”
Jeongguk nods quietly, not really knowing what he could add to the conversation that would prove itself to be beneficial, so he simply tugs his necktie loose and nods along the words of his best friend and business partner.
“Well, I suppose we’ll see each other more often then,” Jimin turns to look at Jeongguk, but all the younger can do is stare dumbfoundedly.
There’s something about Park Jimin that just demands all the attention from Jeongguk in ways he’s never experienced before.
Clearing his throat, Jeongguk tries to regain composure, though his pulse continues to race. “Yeah… I— uhm— I look forward to it.”
Jimin smiles again, that effortless, warm kind that has Jeongguk’s chest tightening. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says lightly, then glances at Hoseok and Taehyung.
“We should probably let you get back to your gym and out of those clothes,” Jimin chuckles, though he takes a step closer to Jeongguk instead.
His voice is lower when he addresses the younger, the minty scent of his breath invading his senses. “Though I don’t mind that dress shirt on you, Mr. Jeon.”
As Jimin turns to leave, Jeongguk finds himself watching the way he moves, smooth and confident—and entirely aware of the pull he has on the younger man.
It’s absurd—he doesn’t even know anything other than his name and that he used to be a dancer of some kind, and yet…
“Jeongguk!” Taehyung’s voice snaps him back to reality. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, man.”
Blinking, the younger shakes his head slightly, forcing a smile.
He licks over his lips, as though the ghost of the older’s mint would linger on him, he presses out a quick, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Though his mind is stubbornly replaying Jimin’s words over and over.
And even as Jimin’s figure disappears down the hallway, Jeongguk can’t shake the sensation that something inside him just shifted—subtle and silent, but unmistakable.
It also tells him that this isn’t the last time he’ll feel this way.
⛐
It really didn’t take long for Taehyung to catch on the New-York-Christmas-tree-sized crush Jeongguk developed on Park Jimin, but the younger also takes the bullying with pride because it’s Jeongguk and not Taehyung who now gets to see Jimin waltz through the gym in Gangnam on a daily basis in his pastel colored—skin tight—gym attire.
It had taken the companies a while to install the things the dancer had requested: ceiling hooks, purple hammocks made from polyester, and a whole lot of other knickknacks he would need for his classes.
Management and their PR teams agreed upon Jimin primarily teaching flying yoga (Jeongguk hat to literally look it up at home because he thought Shuhua was kidding when she mentioned it) and once a week give a dancing class.
Everyone agreed. Everyone was happy.
Especially Jeongguk.
No complaints from him.
Ever.
He was tasked to advertise the new and exclusive classes on his personal social media, everyone insisting that it would draw the crowds in because of Jeongguk’s reach and Jimin’s popularity.
And though he was curious—dying, even—to look the older man up, he didn’t.
He wants to preserve the excitement of getting to know someone naturally.
And that is exactly why he sits in his gym Monday through Friday, working the counter during Park Jimin’s working hours.
It’s curiosity of a new sport that draws Jeongguk in to watch as Jimin teaches one of his classes—at least that’s what he keeps telling himself because he knows the yoga hammocks would probably break from the ceiling if his beefy ass was to attempt the workout.
Him checking in on the older in-between classes is nothing but niceties. The same goes for Jeongguk bringing Jimin his favorite electrolyte water—its the lemon and lime flavored one, but sugar free, and it should be cold enough for condensation to pool on the ground if you place it down—or asks if the lights are okay, or he is in need of more mirrors.
Perhaps he’s gaslighting himself, but Jeongguk likes to believe that it’s actually because he is just an attentive guy that likes to listen to the older’s stories whenever he’s on break and lingers around the counter.
Or when Jeongguk is busy bench-pressing probably twice the weight of Park Jimin.
He never misses the approval in the older man’s eyes whenever Jeongguk finishes off the weights. The way his eyes turn into crescents when he smiles, the faint lift of his eyebrows.
Jeongguk pretends it’s just encouragement, part of being attentive and professional—a friend even—but the truth is far messier, and he doesn’t dare to let his thoughts venture into places the other man might not even reciprocate.
He’s careful of course. Attentive, professional, observant—use whatever adjective you can think of, that’s how Jeongguk sees it.
But there’s also that teeny tiny part of him that always lingers and orbits around Jimin—just a fraction too long.
“Jimin-ssi!” Jeongguk calls out for the older as he walks by the counter, the younger just having started his shift. He’s later than usual, typically it’s him who opens the gym, or at least walks in by seven to not miss the older man coming in as well.
But he had to take his cat to the vet, his princess having hurt herself when one of the wall attachments in her playroom fell off as the two of them were playing this morning.
No question that Jeongguk dropped everything, panic-calling Sunghoon to have the younger open the gym instead of him as he cradled his furry daughter to his chest.
It hadn’t taken too long at the vet clinic—his cat the prime example of a nepo baby because it was immediately their turn the moment they walked in.
Was it just a scratch to her paw that was all good to go with a little disinfectant and leaving her to clean it herself? Yes.
Is Jeongguk a tiger mom for his cat, so much so that he even has a massive oil painting of the little being hanging over his fireplace in his living room? Also yes.
Sue him.
He has a big heart and an even bigger bank account.
“Jeongguk-ah, hello,” the blond breathes as he approaches the younger with a smile.
He dabs the sweat off his face with a baby blue towel, and one quick glimpse at the clock tells Jeongguk that Jimin had just finished one of his yoga classes.
“I thought you wouldn’t come in today,” Jimin leans one arm on the counter, reaching behind the counter to grab Jeongguk’s water bottle to take a sip as he eyes the younger down.
Jeongguk pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Even after two months, he is still unable to hold the heavy gaze of the other for longer than a few seconds.
“Baek-ah got hurt so we took an early trip to the vet clinic.”
Jimin gasps. “Oh no, poor baby. How’s she doing? Did she get seriously hurt?”
“No, thankfully not,” Jeongguk chuckles, his eyes finding the tray with two drinks in front of him. “Oh right,” he looks at the other again, “this is for you.”
Without waiting for a response, Jeongguk removes one of the cups from the tray, the paper already starting to dissolve from the condensation of the iced drink.
“It’s lemonade. Kang Jisoo-ssi from the shop made it especially for you,” Jeongguk says before Jimin can even open his mouth to ask. “It’s sugar free, just water and lemon, basically.”
When he lifts his gaze again, Jimin is smiling as he leans over the counter, his hand tapping on Jeongguk’s forearm. “You’re so attentive, Jeonggukkie. Thank you so much!”
“Oh— I mean it’s nothing, really,” blood rushes to his face, and Jeongguk knows his face must probably be as red as the leather of the seats in the gym, but he can’t help himself.
“But it is. You did well,” Jimin’s voice drops, his fingertips still dancing on the tattooed skin of Jeongguk’s arm. “Didn’t you?”
His heart drops.
Jeongguk is well aware that he loves getting compliments and praise perhaps a bit more than others do, but hearing it coming from Park Jimin?
It hits entirely different.
And brings with an insatiable appetite for more.
“Jeongguk-ah?”
His head snaps up, ripping his eyes away from where the touch lingers when Jimin addresses him with his voice oh so soft.
“Yes?”
“I asked you something,” the older wraps his plump lips around the paper straw of his drink, raising an eyebrow as though waiting for the younger to speak up.
“I— y-yes?”
Jimin places his cup back down on the counter, tilting his head. “‘Yes’ what?”
“I… did well?”
The blond man hums, though the smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes as it usually would. “We have a long way to go, but good job nonetheless.”
He pats Jeongguk’s shoulder with a huff, pushing away from the counter with his drink, leaving the younger all warm and fuzzy.
Whatever it is that Jimin does to him, it leaves him with a stupidly proud smile and a little lightheadedness, so much so, that Jeongguk has to busy himself with rearranging towels and checking machines just so he doesn’t look like an idiot grinning at seemingly nothing for the remainder of the day.
It’s ridiculous, really.
He’s supposed to be professional.
He’s an innovator. A CEO. An influencer.
But every time Jimin smiles at him, or even glances his way, Jeongguk’s brain throws out every ounce of professionalism, or what it even means.
⛐
It starts small.
Like when Jeongguk kicked off his business. Or started his Instagram and TikTok accounts.
Everything does. And yet, here he is, a few weeks after the lemonade incident (yes, that’s what Jeongguk calls it), lingering about in-between the different equipment because Jimin begins using the gym more often.
Every morning before his first classes, and late at night way after they have concluded, Jimin stays. He finds ways to keep himself busy, and Jeongguk starts to think it might be because the blond might enjoy being around him just as much as he enjoys being around Jimin.
Most of the time though, he just sits in the studio, the same song running over and over again, and he doesn’t move. Everything about Jimin suddenly seems so utterly different, that Jeongguk itches to reach forward and ask him.
It is as though Jimin pavlov trained Jeongguk into just looking, but not approaching whenever the song starts playing,
And he never does.
Instead, on some days, Jeongguk wordlessly joins him instead.
They just sit there on the polished floor, staring at each other in the mirror, none the them uttering a single word as the song fades, deconstructing itself piece by piece—the strings withdrawing, the synths dissolving into reverb, leaving only an unresolved chord that feels like it means more to Jimin.
As though the song’s desperation reflects something Jeongguk fails to understand.
On other days, he simply works out, and even then, Jeongguk always finds a reason to be around when he’s there.
It’s like Jimin is his sun and he’s just another planet orbiting around him.
He tells himself it’s all a coincidence.
He also knows he keeps gaslighting himself when it comes to Jimin because white lies sound less pathetic than the truth, if he is being honest with himself for once.
Anyway. It’s all just one big coincidence that Jeongguk is always there when Jimin is. It’s his gym, after all—he can be wherever he wants.
And right now, he chooses to stand in the doorway of the studio, Jimin’s favorite drink in one hand, a towel in the other—just watching.
Jimin is kneeling on a mat in the center of the room, stretching in front of the mirrored wall.
His movements are slow and deliberate as he lowers his forearms to the mat, sliding his knees apart until they are lined up with his hips. His feet angle outward, toes pointing away from each other as he sinks deeper into the stretch with gentle back and forth movements.
That’s what Jeongguk convinces himself of because if he were to admit that Jimin is literally thrusting against the floor, he would go insane.
Reasonably, he knows that yoga is meant to release tension from your body, but watching Jimin do it feels anything but relaxing.
His back arches slightly as he exhales, chest lowering toward the mat, his muscles shifting under smooth skin. Every movement is controlled, deliberate, like a quiet demonstration of strength and grace working together.
The blond breathes through it—steady and calm, his lips parting just enough to let out a soft sigh as he deepens the stretch. The mirrored wall catches the curve of his spine, the angle of his hips, and Jeongguk feels as though he is frozen to the ground.
He doesn’t dare to move, or say something—too scared he will break the fragile silence and somehow upset Jimin.
He doesn’t know for how long he just stands there and watches, but at some point, the older man sighs loudly before straightening his back and pushing himself off the floor.
As he does so, his eyes find Jeongguk’s in the mirror and the younger sucks in a sharp breath.
Smirking, Jimin crosses the room with quick steps, taking the bottle and towel off Jeongguk’s hands. “You’re so diligent. Always watching, aren’t you?”
Jimin breathes, stepping closer. His tone is light, but the words still hang heavy between them, “it’s one of your best qualities.”
Damn. 50 points, bullseye, because the praise hits its target—of course it does.
Jeongguk can feel it rush through him, warmth spreading from his chest down to his stomach. He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as if that will somehow help his case.
“I guess so.”
Jimin’s eyes search his face, and Jeongguk has to fight the urge to rest his hand on the other’s waist, or pull him close by pressing a palm against the small of his back.
He feels as though Jimin is constantly testing him in one way or another, and Jeongguk, the perfect student he is, strives for the best of results under his assessment.
So he doesn’t move.
Instead, he finally takes a better look at the other.
There’s a faint sheen of sweat along Jimin’s collarbone, catching the light as his chest moves with every breath. His hair is damp at the edges, curling just slightly against his forehead.
The intense white of his clothes makes his skin look even warmer, somehow softer.
He smells faintly of citrus and clean linen—something that shouldn’t make Jeongguk’s pulse quicken, but it does anyway.
It is all so distinctively Jimin. It just fits him.
Jimin tilts his head, his gaze sharp. “You’re quiet today,” he says, his tone low and amused. “Tired?”
Jeongguk quickly shakes his head, though his voice comes out rougher than he intends. “No, just— uhm— just thinking.”
“About what?” Jimin muses, taking a small step back.
About you, his mind supplies instantly. About how close you’re standing, and how you look at me through the mirrors. About how badly I want to reach out and touch you, but I also want to be good for you so I don’t.
Jeongguk swallows. “Just… work stuff.”
Jimin hums unconvinced, eyes flicking to Jeongguk’s mouth for just a second—barely long enough to count as a glance, but more than enough for Jeongguk to feel it.
“Work stuff, huh?”
He watches Jimin in the mirrors when the older steps away from Jeongguk, the door lock clicking faintly into the otherwise silent and empty room.
“You know what I think?”
Jeongguk shakes his head weakly, barely even a response, considering how much Jimin favors vocality.
But the older doesn’t seem to mind this time, not when he pulls a chair next to himself and sits down cross-legged.
“I think you were thinking about me, Jeonggukkie.”
Jeongguk’s eyes widen in silent panic, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in headlights.
“I think that a beefy guy like you, who has an oil painting of his cat at home and anonymously donates to hospitals and shelters every month, very much isn’t as tough as everyone thinks.”
Jimin’s gaze is heavy on him, and Jeongguk feels it everywhere and all at once—like a weight pressing into his skin and sinking underneath.
His throat goes dry, words forming and dying before they ever make it past his lips.
“I— uhm,” he starts, but Jimin only smiles, that soft, devastating curve of his soft, plush lips that always feels half like affection and half like a challenge.
“So you’re not denying it?” Jimin asks, leaning back on the chair with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
Jeongguk lowers his gaze, biting his lip before a quiet “no” slips past.
He can see Jimin moving in his peripheral, the older’s feet coming into view where his eyes are still trained on the floor.
“Look at me, Jeongguk.”
The other’s voice is gentle when he tilts Jeongguk’s head up again. Their eyes meet, and Jeongguk swears the world stills for a moment.
The expansive room feels suddenly all too narrow, every nerve of his body hyperaware of Jimin right in front of him. He feels it all; the warmth radiating from his skin, the way his gaze feels steady and unyielding.
Jimin’s thumb lingers under his chin for a beat too long. “Sit down for me Jeonggukkie.”
The younger exhales, but it doesn’t help. His heart beats behind his ribs, loud and insistent when his eyes flick over to the chair.
“Not the chair.”
Jeongguk tilts his head in confusion before realization dawns on him.
Without thinking twice, the younger sinks to his knees, resting his hands in his lap. His knees press into the hard wood floor beneath their feet, but he doesn’t even mind.
Doesn’t feel the way his skin burns when it rubs over the polished ground because his eyes are entirely fixated on the man standing in front of him.
He watches the slow rise and fall of Jimin’s chest, the way his hand hovers in the air for a moment before retreating, not touching him again.
“You tense up a lot, don’t you?”
Jeongguk blinks in confusion, but Jimin doesn’t give him the chance to respond.
“Your shoulders. Your jaw. Even now,” the older man tilts his head. “You should learn how to relax, Gguk-ah. You’d look even better if you did.”
Brutal, is the way those words hit him.
Straight to his head; straight to his dick.
Jeongguk’s mouth goes dry. There’s a thousand things he could say—should—say, but none of them sound right.
Jimin steps around him, giving Jeongguk a clear view of his own reflection in the mirror.
Of the way the older towers over him as one of his hands rests on the younger’s shoulders—almost possessively.
“Fortunately for you, I know best how to relieve tension from other people’s bodies.”
With his hand on Jeongguk’s cheek he forces the younger to look at him again, and this time, Jeongguk can’t help himself but sigh into the touch.
“I like that sound,” Jimin rasps, his gaze still trained on Jeongguk kneeling before him.
To anyone else, it must look comical.
Pathetic, even.
But Jeongguk cannot think of a place he’d rather be right now.
Not when Jimin touches him so gently, his voice lulling the younger in as though a siren calling for their sailor.
Especially not when his obedience draws one praise after the other from Jimin’s lips, leaving Jeongguk insatiable for more and more.
Jeongguk swallows hard, heat flooding his chest and ears as his hands twitch in his lap, unsure if he’s allowed to move—to touch.
Every inch of his body hums under Jimin’s touch, every word of praise embedding itself like a spark he can’t extinguish.
“Ah,” Jimin exhales, loudly, “You’re doing so well. So attentive. It’s impressive.”
Jeongguk’s chest rises and falls faster than it should. “I— I’m just—“ he starts, but Jimin cuts him off, shaking his head slightly.
“Don’t speak. Just… stay like this for a moment, yeah?”
The younger immediately snaps his jaw shut, looking up at the older through his lashes.
He still leans further into the warmth of Jimin’s hand, his breath hitching when Jimin’s eyes flick to the small line of muscle along his jaw, the way his biceps flex as he tenses without realizing it.
“You’re so very good at following directions,” the older’s says, voice dragging the words out like honey. “I like that best about you. You make it so easy to appreciate.”
The praise lands like a hammer and a feather at the same time: heavy enough to leave him reeling, soft enough to make him ache for more.
Jeongguk bites his lip, not thinking, not planning, just existing in the orbit of Jimin’s gaze. He’s utterly caught, and he knows it. And somewhere deep inside, a small, unreasonable part of him wants this to last forever.
⛐
“H-hyung,” Jeongguk breathes with his eyes closed.
He doesn’t know why, the word slipping past his lips before he can think, and Jimin retracts his hands entirely.
Jeongguk opens his eyes again at the sudden loss of contact, desperation pooling in his chest when he watches the older walking back to his chair.
With his legs spread apart, Jimin rests his hands on his thighs, leaning back on the chair with a smirk.
“‘Hyung,’ huh? Are we already at that stage, Gguk-ah?”
That goddamn nickname again.
Jeongguk thinks he might go insane.
“Hyung, please,” his voice is fragile, barely above a whisper, and Jimin’s lips twitch with amusement.
“That’s better,” Jimin says, his voice is soft but laced with that dangerous undertone that makes Jeongguk’s chest tighten. “And exactly what I like to hear.”
Swallowing hard, Jeongguk can feel Jimin’s every word in his cock and he can’t help himself from shifting his legs just the slightest. Just enough to press his thick thighs together for at least some kind of friction.
Jeongguk presses his lips together, suppressing a moan.
“Come here,” Jimin pats the inside of his thighs, gesturing for the younger to come closer and settle right between his open legs. “Good boy.”
Now that draws a whimper out of Jeongguk so pathetic that he would’ve been embarrassed with anyone else.
But not for Jimin.
With him, anything he says feels like the highest praise known to mankind.
Jimin’s hand finds the side of his face, his thumb brushing over Jeongguk’s cheekbone in a touch that’s both grounding and commanding. The younger leans into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut, the praise still echoing in his ears—soft, heavy, and entirely impossible to forget.
He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Jimin says his name again, quieter this time.
“You’re always so good to hyung, you deserve a reward, don’t you?”
Without further hesitation, Jeongguk nods again. He watches as Jimin slowly gets up from the chair.
“Sit.”
Jeongguk trips as he quickly rises to his feet, clumsily taking his seat on the chair, his breath hitching when Jimin closes the younger’s legs to climb into his lap.
Their crotches are pressed against each other and Jeongguk can feel just how hard the other is as well, yet it is Jimin who holds himself together whilst Jeongguk lets himself fall apart beneath him like a hand castle in the summer heat.
“You’re so big, Jeonggukkie,“ the blond muses, hands running over Jeongguk’s biceps and chest, “why don’t we take it off so hyung can see just how pretty you are, hm?”
The younger barely manages to nod, when Jimin already starts to peel the shirt off.
The touch is slow, almost as though he is drinking in the very existence of every single peck of Jeongguk’s abs.
Hungry eyes roam over Jeongguk’s barely exposed stomach, and the younger puffs it just the slightest.
He takes pride in his physique, and seeing Jimin so pleased by the sight of it, he knows all the hard work has paid off. Still, the close proximity is dizzying, and it takes everything in him to not outright beg the older to please just touch him.
When he finally pushes the shirt all the way up, revealing the entirety of his tattoo sleeve bleeding into his chest, Jeongguk watches him closely. His breath gets stuck in the back of his throat in anticipation.
Anticipation to hear yet another praise.
And Jimin surely doesn’t let him down.
“Your body art is so pretty, Jeonggukkie,” Jimin purrs, fingertips tracing the lines of ink carved into his body.
On his right arm, a tattoo sleeve crawls down his skin in a riot of color—deep reds, dark blues, vibrant yellows and oranges. The smoky shadows seem to breathe with every flex of muscle.
The designs weave together seamlessly, traditional patterns and symbols melt into modern lines and lettering. It’s less a collection of tattoos and more a mural carved into skin, telling stories only he knows the order of.
Jimin‘s touch feels electrical on his skin, tracing from his arms to his chest, where his fingernails gently scratch his skin he draws his pattern down over his stomach.
Jeongguk sucks in a sharp breath when he can feel the older’s index finger tease the waistband of his pants and underwear.
“I want you to moan for me. Will you do that for hyung, Gguk-ah?”
But before the younger even gets to respond, Jimin already pushes his hand into Jeongguk’s pants, hand wrapping around his hard cock so well that Jeongguk fears he might just come right then and there.
Jeongguk feels like a teenager all over again, not sure what he should do, and how.
He leans back on the chair, his left arm hanging down the side of his chair while the other holds on to Jimin’s waist.
Perhaps to ground himself. Perhaps to remind himself that this is very much real and not another one of his late-night fantasies when he’s locked Baek out of his bedroom to pathetically jerk off to the memory of Jimin haunting his mind.
Prying one eye open, his unsure gaze searches for any guidance from the older man sitting on his lap.
Licking his lips, he would give everything right now for a taste of the blond—to have Jimin fuck him senseless, but the older just shakes his head before spitting in his hand.
“Hyung likes to see you getting all wet for him,” Jimin whispers against Jeongguk’s ear.
He pulls back just enough to look at Jeongguk again, the movement of his hands stopping rapidly.
“It pleases me a lot to see you working out so well. Giving me tips on how to lift weights, watching you sweat from bench pressing thrice your own weight,” Jimin continues, holding the eye contact steady.
“I like how you instantly look for me when you enter a room. How red your cheeks become when I compliment you.” Jeongguk groans when Jimin pulls the fabric of his joggers down, his cock springing free, his tip already an angry shade of red.
“Your crush is so cute. Not even subtle at all, Gguk-ah.”
Jimin spits in his hand to coat the younger’s cock with his warm saliva, the fluid dripping down between the older’s fingers as he slowly moves his hand up and down.
He closes his eyes when the older slowly works his hand up from his base, fingertips grazing the skin of his cock, feeling every vein, every pulsating twitch so intensely. Jeongguk throws his head back, moaning loudly when Jimin squeezes his hand just the slightest.
“Good boy,” Jimin breathes, leaning in just enough for their foreheads to touch and noses to brush.
Without further warning, the older pulls his hand back to grab his hair, the sudden loss of touch and coldness of the air has Jeongguk hiss.
“Go on, Jeongguk, show hyung how well you do on your own,” Jimin’s words are barely a whisper against the younger’s loud breathing. His nails scratch his scalp—the gesture calming and gentle compared to the way he had stroked his cock just a minute earlier.
As if on autopilot, Jeongguk nods, copying what the older has done just a few moments ago by spitting in his own trembling hand before wrapping around himself like he’s done so many times before.
But with Jimin, everything feels like the first time.
With Jimin, Jeongguk wants to be the best.
“Good,” Jimin breathes, “now work your way from the base up—slowly. Yes, just like that.”
The younger does as he is being told, closing his eyes even, imagining it’s Jimin’s soft hand that is wrapped around his cock again, not his own rough one.
“Run your thumb over your tip, apply just the slightest pressure, just how you like it,” Jimin’s voice echoes through the room as he guides the younger on. “That’s right—back and forth, Gguk-ah.“
Jeongguk’s back presses against the chair, his head tipping back, mouth agape.
His senses barely have time to catch up before the older leans in, teeth suddenly grazing the delicate skin where his neck meets his shoulder, teeth pulling his skin before sucking in a heat that leaves him shivering.
Jeongguk arches his back from the sudden pain, his hips buckle in surprise while his hand squeezes his cock tighter. The sudden overstimulation draws yet another loud moan from his lips, and Jeongguk can feel the older smirking against his skin.
Jimin leans back again, his hand slipping free from its tight grip on his hair, continuing to caress the younger’s bare chest, fingertips brushing over his perched nipples.
His head snaps back up, catching Jimin’s intense gaze once again. He feels like a test object, a museum statue, perhaps, by the way the older cannot seem to get tired from the sight of Jeongguk thrusting into his hands before him.
He can feel Jimin’s gaze like a touch, tracing over every inch of his skin, warmer and more sensual than a hand could ever be.
It also does not help his case the slightest that he can feel Jimin’s own erect cock pressing against his, the only thing between them being the thin fabric of the older’s leggings.
Jeongguk’s stomach twists, his chest tightens until even the smallest movement feels too much.
The room is utterly quiet besides their panting and Jeongguk’s moans. Every breath Jimin takes pulls something deep from inside Jeongguk—a pulse, a want, a gravity he can‘t fight against.
When Jimin speaks again, his voice is rougher than before, the words sparking through every nerve. His hand reaches for Jeongguk’s, wrapping around his wrist to halt the movements.
“Don’t come just yet, Jeongguk.”
The younger wants to answer—to say something, anything—but all that comes out is a strangled breath, his mind nothing but a haze, his body overwhelmed from being so close to his orgasm.
His fingers twitch, thighs trembling, and the heat building inside him feels close to unbearable.
Jeongguk dares another glance at Jimin—at the small furrow between his brows, at the steady rhythm of his chest. The sight of him—face flushed, eyes dark with lust—knocks the last few screws he had loose inside his brain.
For a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath when the older sits before him, legs spread apart and just observes.
It drives him crazy, how Jimin leads him into this sweet temptation that Jeongguk cannot escape from. All his self-control and moderation shattered into pieces the moment he fell to his knees like a sinner begging for mercy, but never forgiveness—because if this is a sin, then hell should open its gates wide.
“Hyung c-can I?”
Jimin's eyes flick over Jeongguk’s face, the look in his eyes so intense that it unravels a need inside Jeongguk that has nothing to do with touch, only with being seen, with being good enough.
He swallows hard, his throat dry when the words slip out before he can stop them. “Hyung,” he whispers, his voice cracking, “please…”
It’s not even a request anymore—just a sound pulled from somewhere deep and desperate.
“Please what, Jeongguk?”
The younger huffs upsettedly. “Can I please—”
“What? Come?”
Jeongguk nods eagerly, his eyes still trained on the older’s face.
Jimin reaches forward, brushing his hand through Jeongguk’s sweaty locks while the other tightly wraps around the younger’s cock again.
“Full sentences, Gguk-ah. Only good boys get to come.”
“I-I’m good, hyung. I’m good!“
The blond tilts his head with a smirk, the hand on Jeongguk’s cock slowly moving again.
“Then count to ten.”
“C-count to t-ten?” Jeongguk presses out through gritted teeth.
Jimin’s smirk widens. “Yes. The numbers, you know? One… two…” His hand moves with deliberate slowness, teasing, coaxing, never letting Jeongguk get ahead of himself.
“Th-three…” Jeongguk’s voice cracks, heat pooling low in his belly, every nerve screaming for release. His hips twitch, desperate, but Jimin’s grip is firm, guiding him, teasing him mercilessly.
“Four… five…”
Jimin’s thumb circles the tip, brushing just enough to make him whine. “Good boy, that’s it… keep counting.”
“Six… s-seven…” Jeongguk’s back arches instinctively, fingers digging into Jimin’s shoulders.
His chest heaves, eyes glossy, and the older leans down, brushing his soft lips against Jeongguk’s jaw, whispering, “almost there, aren’t you, Gguk-ah?”
Jeongguk presses his eyes close, nodding as he continues counting. “E-eight… n-nine…”
Then, finally, “Ten!”
Jeongguk finally shudders, a strangled moan ripping from his throat as Jimin’s hand drives him over the edge, and the world narrows to heat, motion, and the intoxicating weight of Jimin’s touch.