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Your Heart's Too Big For Your Body

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Jimin hates frat parties. Hates them. With a burning passion, in fact. But somehow he continuously allows Hoseok to convince him to go out with him, despite knowing he’ll just be miserably standing off to the side while Hobi grinds his crotch against some bimbo’s ass all night.

Which is, coincidentally, exactly what he’s looking at right now. Just a couple minutes beforehand, Hoseok had been showing off in the middle of a circle of people, which is very typical for him. His dance skills really are impressive and he’s so full of life and energy that it’s easy for him to draw the attention of an entire room.

But the song has changed, the mood shifted and after some cheering and applause, people have gone back to that weird, sweaty grinding they do and Hoseok has managed to find a girl willing to rub her ass all over his dick.

This is exactly why Jimin loooooves going out with Hoseok. (Read: sarcasm.)

Jimin himself is leaning against the wall, half-perched on the arm of the couch, looking nervously around the room. He can see Jungkook across the room, talking to some girl in a short skirt that he’s trapped between his arms against the wall. Jimin would be concerned if he didn’t have full confidence that the kid wouldn’t hurt a fly. Plus the girl is smiling that dumb flirty smile that all girls have in common so it’s clear Jungkook isn’t creeping her out with his douchey fuckery.

Manning the beer pong table there’s the fraternity's president, Namjoon, who Jimin isn’t exactly friends with but rather they share a mutual friend in Yoongi, who Jimin has known approximately forever. Yoongi had been talking to Jimin a few minutes ago but the sneaky fuck had slipped away once Hobi started dancing, probably going to the back deck to get high.

Jin, who Jimin has met a whopping total of twice, is currently wiping up some sort of liquid off the floor like the mother he is. Jimin knows very little about him, just that he’s the VP of Sigma Rho and if it weren’t for him, the whole place would probably be up in flames at this point.

He stares down at the red solo cup in his hands, frowning at the clear contents. He’s really only holding it for show. It’s filled with water from the tap that he doesn’t really trust enough to drink. In his peripheral, he sees a couple stumble onto the couch, lips locked heatedly, and he scrunches his nose in distaste. Who wants to make out with a total stranger in public like that?

Jimin feels a light touch on his shoulder and when he looks up, he sees a girl smiling at him. Here we go. He forces himself to give her his trademarked wide smile as she asks him his name and makes small talk with him. Admittedly, it’s not that bad and he’s almost ready to marvel at the fact that he’s finally successfully had a normal conversation with someone at one of these parties when she leans in to be heard over the loud music and says, “You wanna get out of here?”

It never ceases to amaze Jimin how many girls have asked him that question, or similar ones. Is he really so sure of patriarchal stereotypes that he’ll forever be astounded when a girl makes the move in picking him up? Apparently.

This is his least favorite part. Saying no. Saying no and being polite about it. Either way, nine times out of ten, the person he’s letting down is usually pretty offended.

“Uh, sorry,” he starts, offering a sheepish smile. “I’m here with my friend and he’s really drunk. I probably shouldn’t leave him alone.” It’s not entirely a lie. He did come with Hobi and Hobi is drunk, but he’s really not that bad and -- as Jimin realizes as he scans the room quickly -- is nowhere to be found.

The girl takes it well, nodding and smiling and saying, “You’re a good friend. It was nice talking to you,” before she pats his arm and turns to head back to the dancefloor.

Once she’s away, Jimin breathes a sigh of relief, though the knowledge that he can no longer see Hoseok on the dancefloor is mildly stressful. Jimin gets up from his position on the arm of the couch and turns around the corner, weaving through people on his way to the kitchen, tiptoeing to see if he can spot Hoseok’s orange head of hair anywhere.

He’s just about to reach for the sliding glass door to check the back deck when the door slides open and someone walks straight into him. Jimin jumps slightly, moving so that the water that sloshes out of his cup falls to the floor and not onto his person. When he looks up, he realizes it’s a boy, who clearly hadn’t been paying any attention to where he was going because he’d been in the middle of talking animatedly to someone over his shoulder.

When they collide, however, the boy immediately reaches out to grab Jimin’s biceps, steadying both of them as they stumble. “I’m sorry!” He’s quick to apologize, bending slightly to meet Jimin’s eyes with a doe-eyed, sheepish look.

Jimin says nothing in response because ho-ly fuck.

This kid might as well have walked off the fucking runway. Honestly if it weren’t for the fact that his sense of fashion clearly screamed “rich frat boy” then Jimin might honestly confuse him for a model. Or an angel. Either way, he is easily the most gorgeous person Jimin has ever laid eyes on and--

“Hey, are you okay?”

Shit, he’s staring. Fuck, shit, shit that’s embarrassing.

“, y-yeah. Yeah, I’m--I’m great.”

Fuck that was lame.

The boy smiles, this weird boxy stretch of lips that reveals perfectly straight, white teeth. It’s charming in a boyish way. “Good, you scared me for a second. Did you spill your drink? I’ll get you a new one,” he says, pointing to the counter where ridiculous amounts of alcohol are spread out. His other hand is still on Jimin’s arm and Jimin can feel the heat of his palm through his light jacket. God, even his hands are pretty. And big. You know what they say--

Okay, Jimin. Calm down.

Jimin recovers more quickly this time, shaking his head hurriedly. “No, no. That’s okay. I was just -- it’s just water,” he says with a flippant shrug of his shoulders, not realizing just how lame that sounded until the words were already out of his mouth.

The boy raises an eyebrow at him incredulously. “You’re drinking water? Here? At Sigma Rho? No, no, no. I can’t accept this. If you’re not inebriated, you’re not having fun. Let’s go. I’ll get you something to drink,” he says, now using the hold he has on Jimin’s arm to steer him towards the counter. Jimin wants to tell him that those words are exactly why people fall into the stupid culture of campus life where they can’t go out and do normal things to have fun, but instead he just finds himself stumbling along behind the boy.

He does try to protest, just a little. “Really, I’m fine, I don’t--”

“Trust me,” the boy interrupts. “Let me guess. You don’t like drinking because you hate the taste of alcohol,” he says, leaning nonchalantly against the counter and crossing his ankles and damn his legs are long.

Jimin sputters for a moment because yes, that’s exactly why. He never tells anyone that, though, because he doesn’t want them to laugh at his “pussy tastebuds” or tell him he’ll “get used to it” because it’s “an acquired taste”. He doesn’t exactly like losing all his bearings either but it’s mostly the taste thing.

The boy grins at Jimin’s lack of response, holding up a finger before he turns to the counter so he can grab at bottles and jugs. He turns back to Jimin for a brief moment to snag the cup from his hand before he dumps the remaining water in the sink.

Jimin peers over the boy’s shoulder, standing on his tiptoes to do so, but he doesn’t see anything all that productive. When the boy turns to face him again, they’re so close together they almost collide again. Jimin gives the boy an apologetic smile and takes half a step back.

“Here,” the boy says, holding the cup out to Jimin. “Try this.”

Jimin looks at the cup skeptically but when he looks back up at the boy’s extremely enthusiastic face (and God, he’s just so freaking handsome) he can’t find it in himself to turn him down. So he reaches out and takes the cup, raising it to his lips and bracing himself for the worst. But when the liquid touches his tongue, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He swallows hurriedly so he can move the cup and speak.

“Oh my god!” he exclaims. “It just tastes like juice!” The boy laughs and nods, leaning his palms back against the kitchen counter as Jimin takes another sip. “Is there even alcohol in this?” he asks incredulously.

The boy makes a shrugging gesture, waving his hand vaguely. “A little.” Jimin nods and takes another gulp, enjoying the taste immensely more than he thought he would. The boy gestures for Jimin to hurry as he says, “Here, drink that one quickly and I’ll make you another.”

Jimin isn’t quite sure that’s a great idea but this kid is too cute for his own good and his rectangular smile is infectious. So he tilts his head back and drinks quickly so he can hand his empty cup back to the boy, whose name he’s still entirely unsure of.

This time Jimin leans back against the counter and looks down to his left so he can watch the boy mix the drink. There’s a lot more alcohol in it than Jimin would’ve imagined but it should be fine, really. He takes the opportunity to say, “So what’s your name?”

The boy glances at him briefly, a look of surprise on his face, as if he just remembered something. “Wow, I’ve been super rude this whole time! I’m Taehyung!” he says excitedly, pausing what he’s doing to hold his hand out to Jimin.

Jimin reaches forward and Taehyung’s large hand engulfs his. Before Jimin can even get his own name out, Taehyung’s face is splitting excitedly as he bends to hold Jimin’s hand more closely. “Oh my god! Your hands are tiny!” he shouts. Jimin tries to pull his hand away in embarrassment but Taehyung’s other hand comes up and catches his wrist. “No, no! It’s a good thing! They’re cute!” he assures.

That’s an overwhelming heat that rushes to Jimin’s face and he knows he must be blushing like crazy. He manages to stutter out an unsure, “ you?”

Taehyung giggles and finally retracts his hands, turning to finish up making Jimin his drink. “So what’s your name?”

“Jimin,” he says, perhaps a little too quickly to make it seem like he wasn’t shaken up.

“Jimin…” Taehyung says, and it’s like he’s tasting the word in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue and Jimin can think of a few other things he’d like Taehyung to taste…

Christ, Jimin. Get a grip, he scolds himself. He absolutely cannot afford to get attached to this kid. He’s far too beautiful for Jimin to just be friends with him and if he develops a crush on this rich frat boy, he’s only going to be pining over an unrequited love all year because damn is this boy the walking personification of heterosexualily.

“That’s a nice name,” Taehyung comments off-handedly as he presents Jimin’s drink with a flourish.

“Uh, thanks,” Jimin says as he takes his cup back from Taehyung.

Taehyung turns his back (which Jimin ogles through the tight fabric of his long sleeve tee shirt) to retrieve a beer from the fridge and then he reaches to spin Jimin around. “Come on, let’s go dance.”

“I really don’t think--”

Jimin stops his futile protests as Taehyung places his hand on the small of Jimin’s back nudging him through the crowd of people so they can go back to the main room of the frat house where the speakers shake with the volume of the music.

Somehow the hand on his back turns into two hands (one awkwardly holding a can of beer) on his hips, pushing him steadily into the middle of the room. Jimin’s eyes dart about, anxiously scanning the crowd for any signs of Hobi. Of course there are none, his eccentric friend nowhere to be found.

Taehyung says something but Jimin can’t hear him over the music. Somehow they find themselves pressed tightly against the other sweaty, writhing bodies on the dancefloor. Jimin moves to turn around, to face Taehyung, but the hands on his hips tighten and pull him backwards, holding his body flush against Taehyung’s. He can feel his face heat in embarrassment and is grateful that no one can tell in the dim light of the room.

Jimin is really confused as to why Taehyung is pressed up against him at this party instead of one of the dozens of beautiful girls, but he supposes he doesn’t really mind. Taehyung is probably using him as a means to draw attention but that’s fine by Jimin.

Jimin is tense at first, even he can tell that much about himself. He tries to relax, closes his eyes so he can just feel the music. He knows Taehyung can tell he’s nervous too; the boy keeps rubbing his thumb soothingly against one of Jimin’s hips. Jimin keeps sipping at his drink and he can tell Taehyung is polishing off his beer, too, because one hand continually disappears and reappears on Jimin’s hip until finally the hand is empty, able to spread fully over Jimin’s side as Taehyung molds himself to the back of Jimin’s body.

Once both of Taehyung’s hands are free and Jimin’s cup is half empty, he finally feels really relaxed. The beat is thick and heavy, his hips move to the rhythm on their own, Taehyung is warm and solid behind him, and everything kind of blends together in an addicting haze.

Taehyung’s hands move, sliding down Jimin’s thighs. Jimin can feel the raw power in those hands and god, it’s so hot, thinking about all the things those hands could do to him. Those hands squeeze at Jimin’s inner thighs, dangerously close to his dick, and Jimin can’t help it. He lets his head fall back against Taehyung’s shoulder, a soft gasp spilling from his lips.

Okay, so maybe he’d read Taehyung entirely wrong. Maybe he is gay after all. Or bisexual. Or at least curious. There’s no way a perfectly straight individual would be burying their face in Jimin’s neck like Taehyung is doing.

Another song passes and Jimin feels like he’s floating, especially once he finishes the remainder of his drink. Seeing that his cup is empty, Taehyung reaches and takes it from him and then it’s gone, probably discarded on the floor like Taehyung’s empty beer can.

With his hands free, Jimin lets one move back, tangling in Taehyung’s hair as the boy grows daring enough to place a kiss to the side of Jimin’s neck. Jimin jumps slightly at the contact, the fingers of his other hand, tightening the grip they have laced between Taehyung’s long fingers.

Taehyung’s other hand, the one Jimin isn’t clinging to, gets even more adventurous. It had been resting on his hip, delicately slipping just under the hem of Jimin’s shirt to thumb at the jut of his hip bone, but now it slides further up under the garment, trailing over abdominal muscles, ribs and pressing flat against his chest, so that Jimin’s body really is trapped up against Taehyung.

Jimin wants to protest, mostly on principle, but when that hand glides over a nipple and the other hand brushes against his crotch, all thoughts of argument flee from his mind.

When the song changes again, Jimin manages to turn himself around. Taehyung seems a little startled, but he doesn’t take his hand out of Jimin’s shirt, just moves so that it’s resting against his side instead, fingers prodding carefully at Jimin’s ribs.

Jimin loops his arms around Taehyung’s neck and slots their knees together before he can chicken out. Taehyung’s arms slither around his waist, pulling him even closer until their breath mingles. Taehyung’s thigh is between his legs and his is between Taehyung’s and the experience of grinding himself against a stranger’s thigh in the middle of a dancefloor is somehow more exhilarating than Jimin had imagined it would be.

Over the course of the song, they somehow move until by the end of it, Jimin finds himself pressed against the wall with Taehyung looming over him.

“How are you feeling?”

For some reason, those aren’t the words Jimin was expecting to hear come from Taehyung’s mouth.

Jimin nods quickly, though the movement makes his head feel light. “Good. I’m good. Really good, actually,” he says, giggling through his words.

Taehyung’s lips spread into a grin. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

And somehow Jimin gets looped into another round of smalltalk. Taehyung asks him all sorts of things: what his favorite pizza toppings are, what animal he relates to most, whether he prefers plaid or denim (which really is an odd question). Nothing is normal about the conversation but Jimin still finds it relaxing. Taehyung’s questions distract him from how the boy is still touching his hip, how he licks and bites his lips almost every thirty seconds, the sheer intensity of his gaze as he stares at Jimin.

There’s a moment that their conversation lulls and Jimin looks up at Taehyung, fingers twisting nervously in the short hair at the nape of Taehyung’s neck. He’s blonde, but even in the poor lighting it’s clear that it’s been dyed, recently at that. When he pulls his eyes away from Taehyung’s mouth to meet his stare, he realizes that Taehyung is looking intently at his lips. Well, at least I’m not the only one.

Even though he noticed the signs, the kiss still takes Jimin a little off guard. It’s gentler than he would’ve thought, Taehyung’s lips warm and soft. It’s almost a bit hesitant, like Taehyung is asking his permission. Once Jimin returns the press of his lips, Taehyung becomes a little bolder, moving his mouth against Jimin’s more quickly, nipping at his lips and eventually poking at them with his tongue.

That’s when Jimin turns his head away, hiding in the crook of Taehyung’s shoulder. Taehyung doesn’t seem too put off, simply ducking his head to mouth at Jimin’s neck for a few seconds before he nibbles on his earlobe. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice low and considerate.

Jimin’s fingers twitch anxiously, tugging absently on strands of Taehyung’s hair. He doesn’t look up, still hiding his face from the other boy. “It’s just -- well, I don’t usually do stuff like this… At least, not in public, you know?” he says shyly, feeling the heat encompass his face again.

Taehyung noses at him, urging him to lift his head, so he does, but he keeps his eyes trained on the ground. Only when Taehyung reaches a hand up to cup his cheek does he actually look at him. Jimin expects Taehyung to be annoyed or at least frustrated with him, but instead he sees only a soft smile. “That’s okay,” he says and he sounds genuine.

Well, would you look at that. A frat boy who’s not a complete ass.

Taehyung’s hands move up to take Jimin’s away from around his neck and then he’s tugging on them lightly, maneuvering so he can put Jimin in front of him and guide him by hands on his hips through the crowd and towards a set of stairs. When they reach the stairs, Taehyung takes the lead, reaching back to link his pinky with one of Jimin’s as they trot up to the second floor.

Taehyung finds the room he’s looking for really quickly, nodding to some people who are lounging around in the hallway. He opens the door and drags Jimin inside--

“The bathroom?” Jimin squeaks.

Taehyung grins that over-zealous grin as he leans against the sink, pulling Jimin closer by his wrists. “Yeah, don’t worry Jim Jam, Jinnie-hyung cleans this bathroom meticulously like every day. And non-brothers aren’t allowed to use this bathroom so, like, weird drunk people don’t come and vomit here. They do that downstairs.”

Jimin scrunches his nose at the graphic description but finds himself giggling nonetheless, that pleasant, warm feeling still resting in his head. Taehyung laughs with him, pulling him even closer so he can settle Jimin in between his slightly spread legs. Taehyung’s hands fall away from his and find their way back to his hips, this time not hesitating to slip under the fabric of Jimin’s shirt, rising up until Jimin lifts his arms, letting Taehyung remove the garment completely.

Jimin doesn’t look at Taehyung’s face while he can feel the boy’s eyes on his torso. “Holy shit, Jim Jam, this is what you’ve been hiding all night? I mean, I copped a feel earlier but damn,” he says, fingers skimming so lightly over Jimin’s abdomen that he can’t help but smile at the ticklish feeling.

“Alright, alright, enough staring. Your turn,” Jimin says, pushing Taehyung’s hands away and reaching for the hem of his shirt.

Taehyung beats him to it, grasping the thin fabric and pulling it over his head. Jimin is zero percent surprised by the sight he’s met with. Taehyung isn’t bulky or overly muscled, but he could still easily have been carved out of marble. His skin looks so soft and smooth that Jimin can’t help but run his fingers over it to test the theory. Sure enough, it’s just as beautiful to touch as it is to look at.

Taehyung is grinning as he watches Jimin trail his small hands over his chest, but Jimin doesn’t care that he probably looks like a blushing little girl. It’s just that Taehyung is so handsome that he just wants to punch him in his stupid face.

He doesn’t, though. Instead he leans in and places kisses along Taehyung’s chest. He continues on a path downward until his lips brush the fine trail of hair that disappears into Taehyung’s pants. Suddenly finding his mouth watering, Jimin finishes moving downward by dropping onto his knees. He hesitates only because Taehyung’s hand slides through his hair, drawing his eyes upward.

Taehyung is raising a skeptical eyebrow at him, but he still looks excited. “Are you sure, Jimin?”

Jimin nods quickly. Honestly, he has no idea if it’s the hum of arousal, the dull haze of alcohol or just the fact that Taehyung is so fucking attractive that’s making him so shameless, but whatever it is, Jimin just knows he really wants to suck Taehyung’s dick.

He works the button of Taehyung’s pants open and pull them down just to his knees. Honestly Jimin wishes he was surprised at the sight of the bright red hearts printed on the white fabric of Taehyung’s boxers, but he’s really not. He can’t help it when giggles bubble out of his mouth though, pressing his face into Taehyung’s thigh to stifle them.

Thankfully, Taehyung laughs along with him so he knows he hasn’t embarrassed the boy. After they’re done laughing, Jimin presses a kiss against the hard shaft through the material of Taehyung’s underwear and he can feel the hand in his hair tighten. He continues to mouth along the rigid member, dampening the fabric with his spit until Taehyung groans above him. “C’mon Jiminnie, don’t tease me.” His words carry a plea but his tone doesn’t sound desperate at all, more domineering than anything else. The sound of it makes Jimin shiver.

Easily enough, Jimin complies and tugs Taehyung’s underwear down to join his pants around his knees. After that he wastes no time in drawing almost all of Taehyung’s cock into his mouth, knowing that if he paused, he’d just get caught staring again.

Jimin bobs his head carefully at first, getting a feel for Taehyung in his mouth. There’s nothing that’s really pleasant, as far as taste goes, about having a cock in your mouth, but the dull ache that forms in your jaw? The velvety glide across your tongue? The way you can make a man fall apart? Well, all of that is terribly appealing to Jimin.

Taehyung never takes his eyes off Jimin the whole time so Jimin does his best to keep his own gaze trained upward, even when he gags himself slightly and his eyes want to close as tears prick at the corners.

Once he finds a good rhythm, it gets easier. He’s able to move his hands away and let Taehyung’s hands on his head guide him more. With his hands freed, he can shimmy his own pants down enough to be able to jerk himself off, which is really kind of dirty if he thinks about it too much. Because, honestly, who gets off on sucking dick?

Taehyung’s good too. He talks the whole time, but not in an annoying way. He praises Jimin, tells him he’s doing a good job, how pretty he looks. It all makes Jimin shudder from how it turns him on and he can’t help but groan around his mouthful.

And then out of nowhere Taehyung says, “Jiminnie, you should -- ah -- finger yourself.”

Jimin stops, pulling off Taehyung’s dick with a wet slurp, panting as he tries to catch his breath. “Huh?” he says eloquently, his face going bright red.

Taehyung doesn’t seem deterred. “It’d be really hot.”

Nodding quickly before he can get embarrassed and change his mind, Jimin moves a bit so he can free himself entirely of his tight jeans before resuming his previous position. Lacking lube, he just gathers up the excess fluid from Taehyung’s cock, along with a bit of saliva from his own mouth and then reaches behind himself.

Before he can even push a finger in, Taehyung’s hands are coaxing his mouth open again and he’s slipping his cock inside. Jimin opens his mouth obediently just as he presses one finger into himself. He chokes on a whine, the pleasant feeling of being stretched so much more gratifying than he thought it would be.

His hand adopts the same rhythm as his mouth, pumping his finger inside slowly at first and then gaining speed as Taehyung begins to thrust shallowly between his lips. After a bit, he pushes in a second finger, which is as many as he dares without proper lubricant.

The sting of the stretch isn’t painful, just a dull burn that makes the presence of his fingers inside him more tangible. He’s pushing in as deep as he can, trying to bend his wrist at an impossible angle, even rutting back against his own hand, but he just can’t do it. There’s no way he can touch his own prostate at this angle with his short little fingers.

The realization makes him want to cry in frustration but all that comes out is a high whine around Taehyung’s cock. Taehyung shushes him softly, threading his fingers gently through his hair. “You’re doing such a good job, Jiminnie. You look so good like this, with your pretty lips around my cock, fucking yourself on your fingers. Does it feel good, Jim Jam?” Jimin nods as much as he can and Taehyung hums in approval. “Good. God, you make me feel so good, Jiminnie, I’m gonna come soon. Can I come in your mouth?” he asks, sounding breathless.

Jimin takes a moment to appreciate the question, because some people wouldn’t be considerate enough to ask. But he just nods again, blinking away the tears that come to his eyes when he sinks down all the way on Taehyung’s cock.

He can tell Taehyung is getting close because he’s moving more now and his movements falter in their rhythm. Jimin takes his free hand away from where it had been resting on Taehyung’s thigh and reaches down to rug at his own cock again, wanting to be done by the time Taehyung came.

It proves futile though, when Taehyung comes in his mouth, groaning above him, just a few short moments later. Jimin swallows around Taehyung’s cock, trying not to let any of his load drip onto the floor. He only misses a little, which dribbles down his chin, but he reaches up to wipe at it and then licks his fingers clean.

He’s surprised when Taehyung moves to kneel beside him after pulling his boxers and jeans back up. “What’s wrong, Jiminnie? Are your fingers not enough?” he teases, whispering breath tickling at Jimin’s ear.

Flushing, Jimin looks at the floor. “It’s just-- my fingers are so small…” he admits shyly, not having the audacity to continue touching his cock or finger fucking himself with Taehyung so close in his personal space.

Taehyung coos at him like that was somehow cute and then does the last thing Jimin is expecting him to do. He sticks his fingers in his own mouth and then reaches back to push a finger in beside Jimin’s own. The sting is stronger and Jimin gasps, falling forward a bit to lean his forehead against Taehyung’s shoulder. He hurries to pull his own fingers out, just as Taehyung pushes another in. And god, it’s so much better. His fingers are longer, they’re thicker, they’re so much more satisfying.

“T-Tae…” he whimpers, biting his lip.

Taehyung chuckles softly above him. “Is that better, Jim Jam? Let me see if I can help you out,” he says thoughtfully, pushing his fingers further and curling them slightly.

It takes a little while but his probing fingers finally touch Jimin’s prostate and Jimin jerks against him, his hands gripping at Taehyung’s thighs. “Right there! Oh, please, Taehyung, please, right there,” he says quickly, words rushing out on a breath.

Taehyung is relentless after that, rubbing his fingers incessantly over that one spot and then reaching to stroke Jimin’s leaking cock. He even dares to kiss and nip at Jimin’s neck, surely bruising the skin there before he puts his mouth against Jimin’s ear and says, “Come for me.”

And Jimin is helpless not to comply, shaking with the force of his orgasm that’s ripped out of him, coming over Taehyung’s hand and the bathroom floor tiles. It really is painfully obscene but Jimin is honestly so fucked out that he can’t be bothered to care.

Jimin feels light as a cloud, floating in his post-orgasmic bliss, so much so that he just slumps against Taehyung with his eyes closed and doesn’t move. Honestly, if he was more aware of himself, he’d be really embarrassed.

“Hey, Jim Jam, c’mon. We gotta get up,” Taehyung says, getting to his feet and trying to drag Jimin up with him. Somehow the mess on the floor and on Taehyung’s hand has disappeared, but Jimin has no idea how. The next thing he’s aware of is Taehyung setting him on the counter so he can help Jimin get dressed. Suddenly, Jimin’s entire body feels really heavy, especially his eyelids.

He groans when Taehyung tries to pull his pants all the way on. “Taehyung… I wanna go to sleep,” he whines.

Taehyung sighs, but it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Yes, so do I, Jim Jam, but we can’t sleep in the bathroom so would you just cooperate?”

Jimin is a little more manageable after that, but he still feels like a sack of potatoes. A really sated, happy sack of potatoes, but a sack of potatoes nonetheless.

Finally, they’re both fully dressed, though Jimin’s hair is a hot mess and he doesn’t get very far without Taehyung’s arm around his waist. Shit, is this all the alcohol finally hitting him hard or just his fucked out state of post-sex nirvana? Jimin himself can’t even tell, but the thought makes him giggle.

“Alright, Giggles, let’s get outta here,” Taehyung says as he helps Jimin down the stairs after they’ve left the bathroom. The music is still loud and pounding and there’s still a buttfuck ton of people in the frat house. It makes Jimin wonder how long they’ve been gone for, a hour? Twenty minutes? He has no idea.

Just as Taehyung is leading him out the front door of the house, Jimin remembers something. “Wait! Hobi!”

Taehyung looks at him like he’s on crack. “What’s a hobi?”

Jimin shakes his head. “No, I came with my friend Hobi, I was looking for him when I bumped into you,” he explains, turning to look over his shoulder into the house.

“Why don’t we text him once you’re laying down somewhere safe?” Taehyung suggests.

Jimin thinks that’s an okay idea, considering the likelihood that Hobi had abandoned him all that time ago to go get laid anyway.

They’re walking in relative silence, Jimin insisting that he can walk without Taehyung’s help, even as tired as he feels. His head is swimming and the world is spinning but he keeps putting on foot in front of the other, because that’s what he’s supposed to do, right?

But he's so tired and he really just wants to sleep, just a little nap, maybe he’ll just close his eyes, just for a minute.

It’s really a miracle that he made it that far, but the last thing he hears is, “Fucking hell, Jim Jam!” before he passes the fuck out.