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Melt in Your Mouth (Not in Your Hands)

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Jimin has a mouthful of lukewarm water in the back of his throat when he sees him in the crowd.

He seems to be dancing alone. Maybe he’s lost his friends. it’s strange that Jimin even spotted him, the rave is packed to the brim—glowsticks smashed on the floor, shirtless guys (like him—it’s fucking hot in here) with girls backed up into their crotches, silk flower crowns scattered in pieces underfoot. Jimin’s head throbs as the bass pounds through the venue, and every time the lights flash he thinks he loses him, the boy’s head bobbing in the mass of sweaty bodies.

He’s pretty. Dark eyes and dark hair. Sweat spiking his bangs.

The world spins under his feet. Jimin turns away, tipping more water into his mouth and not even caring when some of it runs down his chin and slides down his neck. It drips down his chest, and any lower Jimin doesn’t register the sensation of. It’s been nearly three hours since he downed all those drinks, but he still feels the alcohol trickling weakly through his system.

“Who goes to a rave sober,” Taehyung scoffed, pouring Jimin another shotglass of bourbon.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Jimin said, color high in cheeks after his third. Maybe more. “I thought we were best buds, man. Testicles before breasticles. Gay sex before dinner checks. Mutual masturbation before female ovulation.”

“You’re done,” Taehyung replied, pouring himself one last shot and clinking glasses with Jimin’s empty one. He was a little wobbly already, too. “His name is Jeongguk, okay. He, him. No breasts in sight. And you’ll get to meet him, I promise. He said we’d meet up there.”

But Jimin lost Taehyung in the crowd earlier. He can’t blame him. He’s been to one of these with Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok (Yoongi had rolled his eyes and said “Raves are loud noises and large crowds, both of which I suffer from life-threatening allergies to,” so it had just been the four of them), and even then it was a tantamount challenge trying to stay together.

“I thought I lost you.”

The bench vibrates when Taehyung sits down with a thunk beside him. Sweat beads on his temples and there’s body glitter rubbed onto his bare arms from the people that pressed up against him.

“You did.”

Taehyung grins. “Good thing I found you again.” He holds out a hand. “Want some?”

Jimin squints. There are two little white pills resting in his palm, unassuming and innocuous.

“What is it?”

“Molly.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Taehyung says. “Me neither.” He tosses the capsules over his shoulder and Jimin watches them go, because if he’d known Taehyung was going to do that then maybe he would have reconsidered. Oh well. He’s not too hot about the idea of getting crossfaded at a rave, anyway.

“You going back?” he shouts into Taehyung’s ear.

“Yeah, in a sec. I lost Jeongguk and I need a breather.”

“Okay. Well, I’m going back in.”

He’s still there. Jimin picks himself up off the bench, leaving Taehyung his overpriced water behind and knowing full well that someone is going to grab it the second he loses track of it. Jimin feels himself being buffeted from all sides by bodies when he melts into to the crowd, eyes trained on the boy with hips that move like poison paradise.

He turns around. Jimin feels the music shake his bones. The boy gives him a very long once over, sliding his eyes from Jimin’s face all the way down, at least, to the hem of Jimin’s pants. if he were sober he’d be self-conscious. He’s not usually scrutinized shirtless like this. But right now Jimin just feels himself burning inside out, a dry parched flame licking under his skin. It’s impossible not to move. The beat is infectious and Jimin dances in the way he does best. His body brushes into boy’s in front of him, teasing and barely there at first, the neon words EAT SLEEP EDM on his black tank top lit up obnoxious shades of green pink yellow.

A circle of girls jostles Jimin from behind, bony elbows digging into his back. He topples forward, staggering into the boy’s body and he’s sobered up enough to be embarrassed, to start pulling away when he realizes there’s nowhere to go.

The boy, eyes so dark they’re almost like pitch in his face, just smirks and rolls against his body against Jimin’s and he nearly chokes because that is definitely a thigh between his legs. He’s not averse at all to the feeling, he quite enjoys it if he’s honest, but holy fuck, this is a guy. This is a guy that Jimin finds hot as shit and it is not everyday Jimin will admit his desire to bone any given dickbearer.

His arm comes snaking up of its own accord. Jimin passes it off as the need to stay balanced, draping his wrist snugly over the boy’s shoulder, free hand slung over the back of his own head as they grind up against each other. His skin is slick with sweat, Jimin’s fingers scrabbling for purchase against the slope of his shoulder blade, but Jimin is still buzzed enough not to care, and he’s still buzzed enough to make bad decisions. Taehyung will be so jealous when he knows what kind of ass Jimin metaphorically got, he thinks as he leans forward experimentally. When the boy doesn’t visibly pull away Jimin closes the last bit of distance and kisses him on the mouth.

He tastes of sweat and heat. Jimin’s made out with a guy before (Seokjin has excellent oral units, he must say, it’s a shame he’s not sucking more dick), but it’s never been so charged, desperate, a little challenging and angry, almost. He pulls back, sucking the boy’s lip hard enough to bruise and releasing only after he’s stretched its limit.

Jimin pants, eyes shut. Fuck. He’s getting dizzy again, he wants to sit down, but he doesn’t want to leave this person who feels like syrup and sin under his hands. Jimin has danced with girls and guys at clubs and raves but none have ever had him feeling his alive, the itch under his skin impossible to scratch. He blinks his eyes, strobe lights flashing into his face, thinking he’s going to be met with that smoldering gaze again.

But instead, the boy has his head tipped back, pale column of his neck rippling as he pants. Jimin would be lying if he said the sight didn’t go straight to his crotch, the sheen of sweat on his skin glimmering under the harsh strobes. But then he catches the sight of someone’s open mouth pressed onto the nape of his neck, lips dragging upward, nose buried in the boy’s hair and.

Holy fuck, it’s Taehyung. It’s Taehyung and his eyes are closed, hands gripping the boy’s waist. The realization slams into Jimin like a wave of drunkenness. Shit, this must be Jeongguk. Taehyung isn’t into making out with strangers. This is Jeon Jeongguk. This is Taehyung’s Jeon Jeongguk, who’s grinding his ass back into Taehyung’s crotch as Jimin presses into Jeongguk’s, their hips swinging in messy tandem.

Another flash of heat starts in Jimin’s cheeks and washes down in sticky trails along his body when one of Taehyung’s arms comes up to latch around Jimin’s neck, and he has to watch Jeongguk turn his head, lips parting, he has to watch his best friend stick his tongue down same throat Jimin had been licking into mere moments before. Jeongguk is so giving under Taehyung, opening up his mouth obediently like he wants nothing more than Taehyung’s tongue in his mouth, hand slung over his own shoulder and anchored around Taehyung’s neck.

This is all extremely fucking surreal for Jimin.

Taehyung is the one that has negative game between the two of them. Jimin is the one with irresistible charm, girls and frankly boys blushing left and right with every smile Jimin carelessly sends their way. Taehyung is cute, sure, but the second he opens his mouth he only gets nervous smiles and nods followed by quick getaways. How he picked up someone like this—this Jeon Jeongguk—is beyond logical reason.

Fuck this. Jimin reaches forward with both hands, tugging Jeongguk away from Taehyung’s mouth until he’s facing Jimin. He looks disoriented, punch-drunk, lips red and kiss swollen but Jimin doesn’t wait for his expression to clear before he kisses Jeongguk adamantly, fiercely. It turns into a implicit competition to see who can kiss him more, kiss him harder, keep him longer; Jimin has to admit that Taehyung has the upper hand here for once, at least in terms of familiarity—every time Jimin has to pull away for a breath of hot, sticky air, Jeongguk angles his head back naturally, on instinct, until Taehyung’s mouth is on his again. Jimin always has to pull him away, a growing smirk on Jeongguk’s face every time he does, as if he knows that Jimin will always come back for more.

He’s not ready for what happens after they break apart for the last time. Jeongguk shifts between their bodies, arms coming up to loop around Jimin’s neck and he raises his eyebrows at the sudden give, but Jeongguk offers nothing but a cryptic smile and pulls him forward until they're chest to chest, and Jimin is nose to nose with Taehyung.

And Taehyung, of course, does not pass the chance up to plant one on Jimin, wet and sloppy and tasting of bourbon. Jesus Christ, Jimin is kissing his best friend. It’s actually not all that bad. Taehyung pulls back faster than Jeongguk does, smiling over his boyfriend’s shoulder and dragging a thumb over his puffy lower lip.

Jimin wishes quite ardently now that he popped the molly when he had the chance.

 

The next morning sees Jimin with a low, buzzing headache in the base of his neck, which is the best he could have hoped for.

Somewhere above the surface of sleep and wake, someone is humming pleasantly under his breath, a soft, soothing tune that filters in through the holes of Jimin’s drunken dreams. He rolls over with a groan. The bedsprings squeak beneath him and he pulls the blankets up to his chin before issuing a pained groan worthy of a wounded tiger.

“Morning, sunshine,” comes Taehyung’s voice, the humming stopping abruptly. Jimin grunts, a puff of air from his nose. “How’re you feeling?”

Jimin cracks an eye open. Taehyung’s sitting as his desk in his pajamas, typing away rapidly on a word document. When he doesn’t immediately answer, the rhythmic sounds of the keyboard pause and Taehyung spins around in his rolling chair to face Jimin. “Hey, bud. Y’all right?”

“I,” Jimin says hoarsely, squinting. Through sleep-smeared vision there seems to be a delicate constellation of bruises dotting Taehyung’s neck and his collarbones. He shuts his eye again and yawns. Taehyung must’ve fallen on the stairs coming back again. Or tripped over the furniture. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Yeah. Give me a second to come around.”

“All right.” The typing starts up again, the sound nearly lulling Jimin back into a light doze when Taehyung asks,

“So you wanna explain why you were making out with my boyfriend back there?”

The words take a glorious, sun-lit moment to sink in before memories of last night slam back into Jimin like a volleyball to the face. The rave. The music. The molly in Taehyung’s hands, then flying over his shoulder. The boy in the black tank top and leg-hugging pants. Jeon Jeongguk. Dancing with him. Kissing him. Kissing Taehyung.

“OH, FUCK.”

“Morning, sunshine,” Taehyung repeats, more dryly this time.

“Look, I can explain.”

“You probably can,” Taehyung says, sounding unruffled. “But you’re not the first one to come onto him like that.”

“I—wait, you’re not mad?”

“A little surprised, but no, not mad. Might’ve been if you tried dragging him back to our room and fucking him without asking me first, but it was just making out. We’ve talked about this. He’s okay with me doing it, I’m okay with him doing it.” He gives a cheeky wink. “As long as he promises to like me the most.”

“Ugh,” Jimin says, still feeling woozy. “We made out though.”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure how I feel about that,” Taehyung says gravely, expression critical and pensive. “You’re not bad. You’ve got good lips. Seven out of ten, might do again.”

“This is a really weird conversation right now.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, waving a hand over his shoulder, “go take a shower.”

 

The pros of this situation: Taehyung is chill with what happened, not weird about their own impromptu lip-lock, and even jokes that they could do it again if Jimin so pleased.

The cons of this situation: Jimin really, really wants to kiss Jeongguk again. Feel his body against his again.

It doesn’t help that the nights when their suite is almost empty—Namjoon, Hoseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin at a fraternity event—Jimin come backs from the gym and sees a tie draped over the the doorknob and, well, neither of them dial down their volume. It isn’t their fault considering that until five minutes ago the house had been vacant. Jimin has never actually heard Jeongguk’s speaking voice but when Taehyung is fucking him into his mattress (hopefully, since he’s top bunk and Jimin prays that they’re not on his), his voice is high, whines and keens floating through the papery walls. They can be at it for hours, Jimin doesn’t know what kind of fucking stamina both of them possess but every time he’s sexiled, he ends up falling asleep on the couch. Sometimes he wakes up in Seokjin’s bed if the hyungs are still sober enough to carry him when they get back.

Tonight isn’t too different. At least, it doesn’t start differently. Jimin returns from his shift at the peer advising office, tired and wrung out from answering phones and listening to the scheduling woes of his fellow classmates. The suite is dim, one lamp lit up in the corner of the room, and he checks the calendar that hangs on the back of the door. It’s covered in dozens of colored post-it flags with notes of who will be where on what days at what time, and from what he gathers, half of the hyungs are at Alpha Phi Omega, the other half turning the fuck up at Jin Hyosang’s house. Jimin just wants to eat a whole lasagna and sleep. It’s been a long week.

He’s halfway to the kitchen when he hears them. Taehyung’s voice is always louder, projecting further. Jimin takes a long, long breath through his nose. He’s tired. This isn’t the first time this has happened. They just seem louder than usual tonight, he thinks, trying not to let the sounds of Jeongguk’s hoarse cries sink under his skin. Jimin opens the freezer and stands there so long that the fridge rumbles to life, and as soon as he takes out a box of microwaveable lasagna and closes the door, it feels too hot in the kitchen.

He stabs the buttons on the microwave with unnecessary force, glad for the low hum of the appliance drowning out the sounds of sex. Even with the comforting smell of tomato sauce and cheese wreathing around him, no matter how hard Jimin tries, he can’t scrub the image of Jeongguk under him, Jeongguk pinned up against the wall, Jeongguk pressing into him with dark eyes and cherry lips. Taehyung is in shadows of all of them, fantastical images, the both of them like bad decisions luring Jimin in.

Jimin has to shift from foot to foot to ignore the heat pooling in his abdomen. The microwave dings, and he pulls the plastic bowl out of the microwave with bare hands even though it’s blistering hot in his fingers. He just wants to make it to Seokjin’s room, boot up his desktop and play three straight hours of Maplestory until they’re done, desperation making him slam cupboards and drawers in a quest for a pair of clean chopsticks. The bottom of the container sears his skin when he balances it in one hand, cursing when he realizes that he has to pass their room to get to Seokjin’s.

But he really doesn’t want to fall asleep in the living room again with nothing but a jacket for a blanket.

It just happens. Jimin doesn’t mean for it to. He’s striding down the hallway with all the intention of breezing past their room and into Seokjin’s next door. Maybe it’s his enthusiasm. Maybe it happens because somewhere deep down Jimin wanted an excuse to pause, but the rocking motions of his walk make one of the metal chopsticks clatter to the floor.

The door is ajar.

No wonder he could hear them so clearly. Jimin bends down to pick it up and somehow he just finds himself looking in.

Jeongguk is on his knees on the floor. His cheek, his entire body, is pressed up against Taehyung’s closet, sweaty locks of hair clinging to the wood. One of his wrists is pinned on the surface right beside his head, Taehyung’s hand splayed over the back of Jeongguk’s as he thrusts into him from behind, face buried in the junction between Jeongguk’s neck and shoulder.

Jimin’s brain screams at his feet to move. They don’t. Jeongguk spread his thighs apart wider and Taehyung grunts, leaning forward, lips closing around the red stud in Jeongguk’s earlobe. He pants, mewls, tipping his head back, mouth hanging open.

Then his eyelids flutter open and he looks right at Jimin, who’s still standing petrified in the crack of the doorway with huge eyes, like a child that’s just witnessed a terrible secret.

Though in this case, he’s just the roommate that’s trying to will down his goddamn boner.

A smile stretches across Jeongguk’s face, a mischievous, sly little grin, even as Taehyung rocks harder and harder into him. It’s only there for a few seconds—Jeongguk grunting, little cries slipping out from between his teeth and lips with every slam of Taehyung’s hips—before Taehyung ruts into him one more time.

Jeongguk’s eyes fall closed again as his whole body shudders, shaking apart as he comes. The sound of his voice keening finally jolts Jimin back into reality. He makes a mad dash into the room next door, heart pounding in his ears, positively straining in his jeans.

“Fucking, fuck, fuck this,” Jimin curses, dropping his dinner on the corner of Seokjin’s desk and banging into their bathroom. He locks the door behind him—it’s a complicated process that involves jamming the knob with the end of a toothbrush at a very exact angle, and right now, Jimin’s fingers are shaking so hard he’s about to give up when he finally gets it to hold—and reaches into his jeans.

He thinks of the way Jeongguk had looked at him just now, how it must feel to have skin on skin contact with him. Taehyung’s voice swims into his mind, a coaxing, soft come on, why don’t you join us? and it’s mortifying. Mortifying, but completely gratifying, because Jimin comes so hard so fast that he has to grip the counter for support.

Goddamn that Jeon Jeongguk.

 

If Jeongguk told Taehyung about it, then Taehyung acts no different around Jimin in the following days. He knew Jimin was home, obviously; there’s a cup of unopened boba with a straw lying across the plastic the next afternoon on his desk with a note that reads, ㅋㅋㅋ sorry jiminie!! ♡♡

And it’s not that Jimin is mad—no, he’s not mad at either of them. They were just banging like a couple of well-to-do boyfriends on a Friday night. He’s simply supremely frustrated because there is no socially outlined way to ask your best friend and your roommate for permission to make out with his boyfriend again, preferably naked.

He doesn’t get a chance to gather any tactics. The next time Jeongguk comes around is the middle of that week and Jimin runs into him when he’s coming out of the bathroom. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Jeongguk up close, in decent lighting, in a non-sexual situation. He’s in surprisingly normal attire, as if Jimin can’t quite believe that Jeongguk actually wears clothing—a red-black-white striped sweater that looks so fluffy he wants to curl a fist in a it. Maybe rip it off. Fuck, get your mind out of the gutter, Park Jimin.

“Oh,” Jimin chokes eloquently.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, extending a hand. His voice is deeper than Jimin anticipated. “Sorry, we never actually got a chance to meet properly, right? I’m Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Park Jimin,” Jimin says, taking Jeongguk’s hand slowly. It’s a little damp, still, from the faucet. Nothing happens when their skin makes contact and Jimin kicks himself for thinking that he’d receive a raging boner from touching Jeongguk.

“Sorry we keep you up, you fall asleep so early,” Jeongguk says, breezing past him as if they’re discussing something as bland and unimportant as the weather. “You stay up with us sometime.”

Jeongguk hums something under his breath, not unlike Taehyung in the mornings, as he turns the corner and disappears back into Taehyung’s room. They remain oddly quiet; Jimin hadn’t even known Jeongguk was here. Huh. Perhaps they actually do things like homework and study together, too. This is a miraculous development.

But what the fuck. Jimin is still standing, rooted to the spot, in front of the bathroom, because did Jeon Jeongguk just invite him to engage in sex.

With them.

A threesome?

No way.

Jimin looks over his shoulder. The bathroom is just across the hall from Taehyung’s room and the door is, once again, ajar. There’s music playing, so he can’t tell what Taehyung is saying, but he’s on his knees and sitting back on his heels, waving a handful of notes around animatedly. Then he pouts, slumps, drops his hands to his lap.

That’s when Jeongguk appears in the frame, in the space between the jamb and the edge of the door, on all fours and he’s smiling, laughing as he tips his head up to kiss Taehyung. Jimin shivers and slams the bathroom door behind himself. This is the same Jeon Jeongguk that had grinded so filthily against him at the rave, the same Jeon Jeongguk that he and Taehyung had competed to see who could steal more kisses from, the same Jeon Jeongguk that Jimin had accidentally seen being fucked hard and gotten off to.

The same Jeon Jeongguk that just invited him to a threesome with Taehyung, and here he is on his hands and knees giving his boyfriend butterfly kisses.

Jimin sighs, the sound coming out more like a growl in the back of his throat, at the suggestion. He shoves his pants down to his knees and braces a hand on the wall. He’s in the bathroom for a while.

 

“I have a hypothetical question.”

“Have you hit a blunt yet?”

“I—what? No, Taehyung, what the fuck.”

“You have to open hypotheticals the right way, Jimin.”

Jimin heaves a sigh. “Hits blunt,” he prefaces wearily. “What is your opinion on threesomes?”

Taehyung looks up slowly.

“That’s not a hits blunt kind of question.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Have you been talking to Jeongguk?”

“Uh, not really,” Jimin says.

“Funny, because he asked me the same exact question the other day,” Taehyung says, looking back down at his work. Jimin watches intently as the cogs turn in his head and then he’s blinking, lifting his head up again, and staring at Jimin in wonder.

“Seriously?” he asks. Taehyung leans in, and Jimin fights the urge to lean back. The glitter in Taehyung’s eyes is simultaneously promising and terrifying. “You want to?”

“You’re not mad?”

“He wants to. You want to. I don’t mind, I can try it. What’s there to be mad about?”

“I don’t know, he’s your boyfriend, so I thought…” Jimin gestures helplessly.

“Just because you fuck someone doesn’t mean you’re dating. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if that were true? Sex is sex. It’s just good fun.”

“That is one of the most intellectual and sexually positive things you’ve ever said,” Jimin finally says. “Are you sure? Are you sure. What am I allowed to do? Oh my god, fuck, I haven’t fucked a guy in ages, I don—”

“Yes, I’m sure, and you will be fine. We’ll lead you,” Taehyung winks when Jimin swallows audibly. “You’re allowed to do anything he says you’re allowed to do. His body, not mine. You can kiss him if you want. We’ll see, you know? I’ll run it by him. The only thing you’re not allowed to do,” Taehyung chides, wagging a finger in front of Jimin’s nose, “is try making him fall in love with you.”

 

 

Jimin is such a jittery bundle of nerves with anticipation that he can’t even be worried about something like that.

Taehyung goes through the next several days like such a conversation had never taken place. Jimin doesn’t see Jeongguk come around for any of them, and life slips by ominously—a routine of school, work, and sleep cycling back around like clockwork as Jimin waits on tenterhooks for an invitation that seemingly has been forgotten.

He’s leaving the house for a rush party when it comes unannounced. Hoseok has an arm slung around Jimin’s shoulders, jabbering away at Namjoon and Yoongi. Seokjin’s hand rests on the doorknob, fiddling with it as he waits for a text back from someone at the frat house.

“All right, let’s go,” he says, waving a hand. The other four of them jump off the couch—rather, three of them do, then drag Yoongi up by the wrists—gathering around the door for their shoes.

“Jeongguk,” Seokjin says, and Jimin’s laces get tangled up his own fingers at the name. “Hey.”

“Hey hyung,” Jeongguk says. He comes to a stop on the doormat. “Are you guys going out? Is Taehyung home?”

There’s a raucous round of whistling and cat-calling at the question. “Is Taehyung home,” Hoseok yowls at the top of his lungs, and all of them sans Jimin make the most embarrassing caricatures of sex right in the doorway. Jimin drops his face into his hands when he sees Namjoon stick his tongue in his cheek and make salt-shaker motions next to his mouth, but Jeongguk seems to take it as all good humor and goes on,

“So he is?”

“Yeah, he’s home,” Seokjin says, the tamest of them all, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Hey, Taehyung! Your boyf—”

Taehyung comes barrelling down the hallway in a whirl of white and purple. Jimin steps back when they collide, and then jumps when Namjoon’s voice snags his attention.

“Hey, you coming?”

“I, uh—”

“Jimin promised he’d hang out with us tonight!” Taehyung cuts in, saving Jimin another bucketful of embarrassment. “Pre-arranged, hyung, sorry. Can we borrow him for the night?”

“Oh,” Namjoon says, raising his eyebrows. “Okay. What are you guys going to do?”

“Have a lot of gay sex,” Taehyung says, beaming. Jimin chokes on a mouthful of his own saliva and Jeongguk just scoffs where he’s standing with his arms crossed, one of Taehyung’s slung over his shoulders. Namjoon just rolls his eyes.

“Just don’t burn the house down, the three of you.” As if he’s one to talk.

“Aye-aye, cap,” Taehyung says, saluting him clumsily. The door clicks when it locks automatically, and then silence. Jimin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and chews on it, wondering if he should toe his shoes off right now or something, because—

Taehyung’s not waiting for any cues. Jimin, skittish since Jeongguk had showed up at the door, startles when there’s a thud against the back of the door, the calendar rattling on its hooks, when Taehyung slams Jeongguk up against it, hands fisted in the collar of Jeongguk’s holey red-and-black sweater that shows far more skin than it covers. Jeongguk is smiling, laughing a little even, when Taehyung leans forward and kisses him hard.

The ground tilts under Jimin’s feet and he feels like he’s back at the rave again, watching his best friend make out with his boyfriend. They’re hardly shy about the fact they have an audience, and after a few moments of it, Taehyung pulls away—but not before sucking Jeongguk’s tongue into his mouth and tugging him along, releasing only when Jeongguk’s back lifts away from contact with the door entirely.

“You try it,” Taehyung says, wiping his mouth on his back of his hand. He beckons Jimin with a finger. “I’m going to put the blankets down on the floor because I don’t think that bedframe is built for three.”

Jimin blushes hard at the reminder it’s going to be three of them, as if he isn’t hyperaware of it enough already. He slides his gaze up to Jeongguk, who’s still leaning heavily against the door. Little rogue post-it flags litter the floor around his feet where he’d rubbed too hard against the calendar and the rustling sounds of blankets fill the empty spaces in the silence.

“How about it,” Jeongguk finally says, holding out a hand like a white knight. Jimin looks at it, then back up at his face. “Wanna give it another go?”

Jimin steps forward, knocking Jeongguk’s hand out of the way, and grabs Jeongguk around the jaw with both hands to tug his face down to his own eye level. It’s going to be Jimin’s personal mission tonight to wipe that infuriating smirk off Jeongguk’s face, he thinks as their lips meet, make him cry and shake like that time he’d accidentally seen him being fucked on his knees. Jeongguk opens his mouth to Jimin easily, gasping into his lips, skin burning hot under Jimin’s hands when he slides them down his neck, resting on his chest. God, Jeongguk’s sweater is seriously more holes than fabric, Jimin thinks, tangling his fingers playfully in the frayed woollen threads.

“Like what you see?”

Jimin slants his gaze back up to Jeongguk’s face, squinting. He says nothing, instead holding Jeongguk’s jaw in one hand and kissing him roughly again. Jeongguk licks into Jimin’s mouth, tonguing first at Jimin’s lower lip before he slips in further. Jimin can barely control the groan that is trapped in the back of his throat, bubbling up deep from where the heat is scorching low in abdomen.

“Yo,” Taehyung says. “Are you two just going to suck face for rest of the night? Come on.”

The dynamic between the three of them is strange. Jimin, for the life of him, wants to make Jeongguk submit for once, get under his skin, watch that maddening smile on his lips turn into an o when he moans. But Jeongguk does anything Taehyung tells him, asks of him, without question. He breaks away from Jimin first, sliding a hand down his bare arm, linking their fingers togethers and tugging Jimin down the hallway in Taehyung’s wake.

Taehyung’s blankets are layered over Jimin’s on the floor, their mattresses stripped bare. Jeongguk collapses on his back in a heap on the floor as Taehyung locks the door, pulling his phone out from his pocket and setting it on do not disturb. Jimin stands awkwardly until Taehyung turns around and stares him in the face.

“Well, get down,” he says, gesturing as if this should be obvious.

“Is this going to be weird after,” Jimin asks in a low voice. Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“Only if you make it weird. Now—down.

Taehyung pushes him onto the floor gently, right next to Jeongguk, who rolls onto his side and gives Jimin that same smile he’s been giving him since the first day at the rave.

“Pick a word,” Taehyung says, cuffing Jimin on the shoulder lightly as he climbs the ladder to his loft, reaching under his pillow and rummaging. “A really random one.”

“Uh,” Jimin thinks wildly. “Chill.”

Taehyung looks down at him from his perch. “Chill,” he repeats. “You want your safe word to be chill.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s fitting, right?”

“It’s better than yours, don’t talk, hyung,” Jeongguk says. Jimin stares at him, and Jeongguk explains, “Taehyung’s safe is ‘I came out here to have sex and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now’ because he says you can never know what you might say in the heat of the moment.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jimin mutters. “What else don’t I know about you? I thought we were dicks and sperm before forty weeks to term.”

Taehyung hops down from the ladder, tossing a strand of condom packets onto the blankets, along with the fattest tube of KY Jelly Jimin has ever laid eyes on. He ignores him, kneeling down and sitting back on his heels.

“Chill, right?” he confirms, that same conniving glint flashing in his eyes again. “Jeongguk’s is nationwide. Let him go if he says that. Okay. Ready?”

Jimin nods. Then, suddenly, he feels himself being pulled backwards, two arms snaking under his armpits and locking up, pinning him back against Taehyung’s chest. His legs are stretched out slightly, still bent from sitting with his legs crossed, and he huffs in surprise.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

“I got you,” Taehyung promises. Jeongguk hasn’t even moved from where he’s lying, cheek still nestled in the soft blankets, watching with amusement as Taehyung anchors Jimin to his own body. After a moment, he pushes himself up, then slinks on all fours up to Jimin, straightening his legs and pushing his thighs apart.

“Fuck,” Jimin says, and Jeongguk is excruciatingly slow in his movements, as if he knows just how much it has Jimin’s blood sizzling in his veins. He can feel himself half hard in his pants already, and Jeongguk seems to sense it too, pressing his entire hand on Jimin’s crotch and smiling wider when Jimin’s hips jump under his touch. “Fuck, don’t do this, come on.”

But Jeongguk is enjoying this. Jimin can feel Taehyung’s hearbeat speeding up against his back, can feel his erection through his pants on the curve of his spine, and can’t even blame him. Jeongguk is still completely clothed, doing nothing more than palming Jimin’s cock through his jeans and he’s almost choking up with how aroused he is.

“Pants off,” Taehyung murmurs, right next to Jimin’s ear. “Suck him off.”

The clink of Jimin’s belt is loud, Jeongguk’s fingers working calmly at his button and zipper. When he finally slides the pants and boxers all the way off, Jeongguk too just sits back on his heels, admiring the way Jimin is standing at full attention for him.

“Suck him off,” Taehyung commands again, voice low and husky. Jeongguk’s fingers circle around Jimin’s cock—thick and hard and he groans at the contact. Jeongguk pumps slowly first, then bends down until his mouth is hovering so close to Jimin’s cock that the wet heat is tangible.

And then he breathes on it.

“Goddammit, you fucker!” Jimin shouts, writhing in Taehyung’s iron grip, his tank top riding up his belly as Jeongguk laughs. “You little fucking—ahh, fuck—”

Jeongguk goes down on him without hesitation, like he’s done this a million times. Is this what Taehyung gets to see every other day, a head of dark hair bobbing between his legs and rose-pink lips stretched around his cock? If yes, Jimin can hardly blame them for banging every chance they get. He just wants to grab Jeongguk’s head with his hands, force him down on his cock harder, but Taehyung, as lanky as he may be, is a lot stronger when Jimin is unraveled this far.

Jimin bucks his hips, and Jeongguk’s hands come up to pin his ass down to the floor, shifting on his knees. Jimin’s breath comes in shallow pants now, and he throws his head back, digging into Taehyung’s collarbone because he’s so close.

And then it’s gone, the heat is gone. Of course. Jimin can’t imagine either of them letting him have this easy. He squirms when Jeongguk rocks back so he can shimmy his own pants off. Jimin moans in relief when Jeongguk grabs his cock in his fist again, and his lips are so close when he seems to get an idea and lets Jimin’s cock slap back against his abdomen again.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asks when Jeongguk reaches for the KY Jelly, squeezing a dollop into his palm.

“I’m going to ride him,” Jeongguk says, standing up and shucking his underwear off.

Jimin can’t humanly believe he has to watch Jeongguk fingerfuck himself. Taehyung has the self-control of an iron bull for staying where he is because there is literally nothing more Jimin wants to do right now than feel his cock inside Jeongguk right now. He seems to know just how much Jimin suffers, spreading his knees on the blankets, rocking on one, two, three fingers until Jimin thinks tears are pricking the corners of his eyes with desire.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Taehyung says above Jimin’s head, voice more strained now, and Jimin is inclined to agree. Jeongguk just snickers, climbing over Jimin’s legs and straddling him. He leans forward and over Jimin’s head he hears them kiss sloppily, and Jimin has full view of Jeongguk’s cock, pink and thick and a little slick with lube. But then he crouches lower and kisses Jimin too.

“Can’t leave anyone out,” he reasons, sitting back on Jimin’s thighs and squeezing a generous amount onto Jimin’s cock, warm hand slicking him thoroughly. Jeongguk works fast—he rolls the condom onto Jimin with practiced speed, pushes Jimin’s tank top up his chest as far as it will go, then reaches up to yank his sweater off over his head.

Jimin is so distracted by Jeongguk’s naked body that it isn’t until Jeongguk is sinking down on his cock, a helpless whine spiraling out of his throat (and Jimin thinks he’s won this round), that his hips quiver again. He forces himself not to buck up too soon, and Jeongguk shifts slightly in his seat before he rolls his hips.

It’s so much. Jimin is aware of everything—every sensation is magnified, the rub of Jeongguk’s thighs against his sides, the shake of Taehyung’s fingers against Jimin’s shoulders, the rasp of his own breath as he pants. Jeongguk rides Jimin slow at first, then in earnest, one hand digging into his own hair, another one cupped around Jimin’s bent knee for support.

“Fuck up into him,” Taehyung growls in Jimin’s ear. “Fuck him until he cries.”

Jimin obeys him, snapping his hips up mercilessly, and Jeongguk throws his head back. There it is again, that sweaty column of neck that Jimin still can’t touch. Jeongguk’s cock slaps against his belly as he rides him harder faster—and Jimin’s orgasm is so close, so close again—

“Stop.”

If Jimin had free hands right now, he’d punch Taehyung in the face. That is, until he remembers Taehyung is still sitting in full clothing. Right, fuck, he’d almost forgotten. He releases Jimin, lifting him up until he can sit on his own. Jeongguk whimpers when he’s jostled, Jimin’s cock still pulsing inside him, and his arms come up to hug Jimin’s head for support.

“Didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?” Jimin can’t see it, but the soft sounds of clothes falling to the floor behind him float into his ears through the haze of sex. “Jimin, can you take him from behind?”

Jimin nods, licking his lips and helping Jeongguk pull off his cock.

“On all fours, love,” Taehyung croons. Jimin turns around on his knees, facing Taehyung with Jeongguk on hands and knees between them. His hands roam across Jeongguk’s ass, pink and flushed, before they latch onto the crests of his pelvis. “Are you tired? I’ll stay on my heels so you don’t have to hold yourself up so much.”

Taehyung flicks his head to let Jimin know to fuck back in, and the slide is easier this time, Jeongguk stretched out and slick for him. He cries out in earnest when Jimin thrusts in this time, but then his sharp, high voice is suddenly muffled, and Jimin watches as Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed, his hands gripping Jeongguk’s hair hard.

Push and pull, push and pull. Jeongguk is giving under Jimin’s hands and he feels so triumphant, finally getting this boy to turn into putty under his touch. He grunts when Jeongguk figures out how to suck Taehyung’s dick and ram back onto Jimin’s cock with perfect rhythm, clenching hard around Jimin as if he still is trying to get the last laugh in.

“Fuck,” Jimin grunts. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Taehyung says, breath heavy. “Come with me.”

Holy shit. Jimin pitches forward one more time, the husk of Taehyung’s voice shooting down his spine like a flash of heat, and comes so hard that fireworks spark across the inside of his eyelids. Taehyung’s moan intertwines with his and it takes him several dizzying seconds to come back down to earth.

Jeongguk is falling into the sheets the by the time Jimin opens his eyes, hair clinging to his temples. Jimin wants to fall down beside him, fucked out and legs like jelly.

“Not yet, we’re not done here,” Taehyung says, though he looks like he can hardly support himself either. He doesn’t, instead spreading Jeongguk’s legs out wide enough for him and Jimin to fit snugly between them, and rests his head on the inside of Jeongguk’s thigh. Several seconds pass where he simply pants for breath, then cranes his head forward and licks a stripe up Jeongguk’s cock.

Jimin settles down into the space beside Taehyung, sweaty, come-sticky bodies sliding up against each other’s. Just as Taehyung’s mouth reaches the pink head of Jeongguk’s cock, Jimin leans in and flattens his tongue on the underside of it. Jeongguk fists a hand in their hair, pulling them closer so roughly that Taehyung ends up tonguing the corner of Jimin’s mouth.

Taehyung finally gets Jeongguk to come as Jimin is sucking hickeys into Jeongguk’s cock. In one moment Jeongguk is still writhing beneath their lips, and in the next, he’s jerking his hips up, hoarse cries filling the narrow spaces between them.

Jimin rolls over Jeongguk’s leg, army crawling back up to eye-level with him and collapsing face-first in the soft cotton. Taehyung sits up between Jeongguk’s legs, watching the rise and fall of his chest. His entire body shudders with every inhale and every exhale and the blankets beside Jimin rustle when Jeongguk’s fists loosen where they’re curled. A smile stretches over Taehyung’s mouth as he drags an arm over his lips. Jimin pillows his cheek on both his hands, folded over each other, closing his eyes and syncing the slowing rhythm of Jeongguk’s breath to his own heartrate.

“What did you think?”

Jimin opens his eyes, exhaustion painting lazy shadows over his lashes. Taehyung is stretched out stomach-down on Jeongguk’s chest, cheek resting on his hands, mirroring Jimin. His bangs are dark where they’re matted with sweat.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Jimin says, eyes sliding shut again. “Both of you.”

 

“You washed your bedsheets?” Seokjin asks incredulously the next morning, handing Jimin a warm basket of linens. “You once went commando for a week so you wouldn’t have to do your own laundry and here you are, washing your sheets of your own volition?”

“Yep,” Jimin says shortly, taking the sheets from him. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Taehyung I understand,” Seokjin continues, walking away and talking more to himself than Jimin now. “But maybe at this point, I probably shouldn’t even ask.”

“No,” Jimin says, grinning when he closes the door behind himself. he turns around and drops the laundry basket at his feet, barely catching the tube of KY Jelly Jeongguk chucks at his head. He’s on his knees, fastening the last bits of an elaborate knot, Taehyung trussed up with his arms tied behind his back. “No, you really, really shouldn’t.”