The cursor blinked onscreen. Jimin’s eyes narrowed a little, because how many times had he done this before?
His fingers touched the keys swiftly, like he was ashamed for doing this for the...god, fourth time? Fifth? He’d lost count.
He tapped Tab, and the cursor moved to the next section. Again, he typed as quickly as he could without making any errors, filling in the various fields. Age. Hobbies. Favorite movie. How would that help him find what he was looking for? It wouldn’t.
The profile took barely a few minutes to complete, but Jimin was sure it would take years off of his life in the long run. All that was left to do was upload a photo or five, and he was sure he’d start getting notifications almost immediately. That was always what happened. He chose a recent one, after he’d gone back to a natural hair color (a soft, medium brown). He looked happy, he guessed, despite the pout on his lips. As happy as he could be after not getting laid properly for months.
Submit, he clicked. There was a brief pause, the page reloaded itself, and there he was, staring at himself from his computer monitor. He took a deep breath. A bright red 1 appeared up on the top right of the screen. It changed to a 4.
Online dating was the bane of his existence.
“Thanks,” Jimin said, immediately cringing, glad that he was facing away while he tugged his shirt back on. It slipped over his shoulders and he buttoned it, not daring to turn around. Why the fuck had the word “thanks” just come out of his mouth? He had simply wanted to hook up with the guy, see if he’d be worthwhile, and now Jimin was thanking him? For a mediocre date and even worse sex?
“Sure,” came the voice from behind him. Jimin glanced back, not really even fully turning his head. He knew it was crazy of him to meet up with people he met off of dating sites, even crazier to meet people off of apps, but when someone was as desperate as Park Jimin, sometimes it had to be done.
“Will I see you again?” the guy, Seojun, said. Jimin shrugged before realizing he probably should give an actual answer.
“Maybe,” Jimin said, knowing by the silence that followed it that Seojun understood that he really meant no.
“I had fun,” he tried again, as Jimin stood from the bed, crossing to the door without trying to seem like he was in a hurry.
“Goodnight,” Jimin replied, final, stepping out into the crisp night air, letting the door click shut behind him.
Those little red numbers were going to haunt him for the rest of his life.
That, at least, Jimin was sure of. He didn’t download the website’s accompanying app, mostly because he didn’t want to know how many winks or messages or what-the-fuck-evers he was getting while he was away from his computer.
The problem was that Jimin tended to ask for a lot. And most guys, honestly, thought they could deliver, were absolutely sure that they would be able to satisfy Jimin even at his pickiest. He didn’t just want to be fucked—which was obviously a given, considering he was using apps specifically for that purpose half the time—he wanted to be degraded. Humiliated. Used.
And fucked. Fucked well.
He supposed maybe the problem was that he built everything up in his head too much. He had a very clear idea of the way his ideal fuckbuddy would treat him, and when every. single. guy. that he hooked up with fell short, it made that chip on his shoulder the slightest bit bigger. Heavier. Harder to deal with.
Which was maybe why he built it up so much. Vicious circles, and all that.
There was just a lot riding on it.
Jimin settled himself into the corner of his loveseat, leaning against the arm of the couch. He surrounded himself in the throw pillows that his mother had insisted that he needed for decoration and picked up his laptop from where it rested on the coffee table (which his mother had also insisted that he needed, though for practical reasons). It wasn’t like he objected to having a fully furnished living space. He just didn’t see the point in so many damn pillows.
How quickly Jimin checked the notifications on his profile depended solely on his tolerance for bullshit on any given day. Sometimes he would check it early, just to get it out of the way, blocking those who sent him dick pics or explicit messages only, scrolling through the others, maybe replying to a lucky few. Other times he would put it off for as long as he could, checking his email, then his work email, then his personal email again, along with every single social media account he had, and then, finally, he would open up a fresh, new browser tab, so unknowing of the idiocy that it was about to display to him, and navigate to whichever dating site he’d chosen this time around.
A bright red 15 was glowing at him, burning into his eyes like a hot coal, and he scowled as he clicked on it. He opened each message, deleting some, blocking the senders of others, before narrowing down his suitors for the evening to just three: Seojun (who he hadn’t had the heart to block, even though he wasn’t going to see him again, ever), a rather cute girl named Eunji, who Jimin would flirt with, but probably not meet, and…
Jimin blinked. The profile picture was too small to see clearly—plus, the guy in it had his face angled down, his brown hair falling over his eyes. All that could be seen of his face, really, was the very tip of his nose and his smirking lips, lower lip jutting out just a bit further than the top one. His cheeks were full, but not overly so, and Jimin could tell that he’d probably be too good-looking not to be a cocky asshole. He clicked on his profile.
“I didn’t think you’d want to meet so soon,” Jungkook said, grinning at Jimin over the table at the café Jimin had chosen.
Jimin had been right, he found. Jungkook was much, much too attractive for his own good. For Jimin’s good, too, but that was a different story.
It was a little over a week later, and Jimin had been exchanging regular messages with Jungkook since that first one (it had been a little cookie cutter, Jimin had thought, but Jimin had felt a stirring in his lower abdomen that felt a lot like promise, not to mention straight up arousal). They’d discussed themselves, their likes and dislikes; they found that they didn’t have too much in common other than something of a shared taste in music, but a few after-dark conversations had left Jimin convinced that Jungkook could do for him what no one else he’d slept with recently could. And he ran with that assumption.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jimin said, taking a sip of his iced coffee, not missing how Jungkook’s eyes dipped down to watch his lips around the straw, even if it was just for a moment, “but meeting so soon kind of determines if I’ll see you again.”
Jungkook laughed, and Jimin could tell it was genuine—his eyes crinkled a little at the corners and the apples of his cheeks rounded cutely. “Right to the point,” Jungkook observed.
“Right to the point,” Jimin repeated, giving him a coy smile.
Jimin had been intrigued by Jungkook almost immediately, though when he found out that Jungkook was two years his junior, he was a little skeptical. It didn’t stop him from replying to the message, and it definitely didn’t stop him from being receptive to the dirty messages that Jungkook had begun sending, after only a few days. It definitely let him figure out that not only was Jungkook ok with the kind of shit Jimin was into, he might have even been into it too, if the quick replies and enthusiasm in them were any indication.
“That’s fine,” Jungkook said, lifting his coffee cup to his lips, taking a sip. Jimin watched his neck bob as he swallowed. “You said you work a lot, right? You’re a busy guy.”
Jimin laughed softly to himself, nodding in agreement with what Jungkook said. “I guess I can be,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. The loose neck of the oversize sweater that he was wearing slipped a little further down as he did, and he was happy to see Jungkook’s gaze swoop over his exposed collarbone. Without missing a beat, Jimin fixed the collar of the shirt. Jungkook’s eyes were back on his, but there was a definite smile beginning on his lips.
“Not busy right now,” Jungkook said. His fingers were tapping on the side of the cup, making scratchy noises on the cardboard holder.
“No,” Jimin agreed, glancing down at Jungkook’s hands, “but I guess I could be.”
Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk. He held Jimin’s gaze for just the briefest moment, then jerked his head to the side. It wasn’t even the first time Jimin had done something like this—he knew exactly what Jungkook was asking of him, and instead of nodding or giving him a quizzical look, he stood, leaving his coffee on the table, and strode straight toward the bathroom. Jimin’s sweater was long, obscuring his torso, but it wasn’t long enough to hide his thighs from Jungkook, who blatantly watched him, taking in his legs and the black denim stretched just tight enough over them for him to see how thick they were. He swallowed, then stood up and walked after Jimin, calmly, not wanting to draw any attention from the staff who would tell them, without a doubt, that they were not allowed to fuck in the bathroom.
Jimin had left the door unlocked; Jungkook pushed it open and found him in the center of the room, facing away, almost like he needed to take a moment for himself before looking over his shoulder at Jungkook. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, but he gave Jungkook what was obviously a half-grin before turning around. The door shut behind them, a heavy noise that was loud to them but wouldn’t be noticed out in the bustling coffee shop. Jungkook slid the lock into place, and Jimin’s grin widened.
“Did you bring something?” Jimin asked, even though he knew that Jungkook had. Jimin had brought a condom and some lube, too, but Jungkook had been the one to initiate.
“Yeah,” Jungkook answered, stepping closer to Jimin. He didn’t bother wasting more time chit-chatting about what they were about to do—he took Jimin’s face in his hands and kissed him, lips parting almost as soon as they touched, their tongues already swiping together. Jimin let Jungkook in readily, the surety he felt in his stomach blossoming into a flitter of hope that this really would end up being what he wanted, and Jungkook would be what he needed.
Jimin’s hands moved to Jungkook’s back, and he actually felt a little weak in the knees at how hard his body was, how muscular. Compared to Jimin, whose own body was soft and unathletic, Jungkook probably lived in a gym. Jimin dug his fingers into his back, letting his eyes close as Jungkook’s lips moved over his own, then down over his neck. The collar of his shirt had fallen sideways again, his upper chest and shoulder out, and Jungkook kissed him there, too, lips tracing his clavicle before closing around it and sucking, not hard enough to bruise—not yet, anyway. Jimin whimpered quietly, leaning his head the opposite way to give Jungkook all the room he needed.
“We have to make this quick,” Jungkook whispered, his breath warm against Jimin’s cheek, voice low and rough in his ear.
“I know,” Jimin said, but despite that, he knew he wouldn’t be completely satisfied unless Jungkook was inside of him, fucking his ass fast and deep in the coffee shop that he frequented every day before work. It was sick and dirty and it was good, and it would make whatever happened in that bathroom ten times better for Jimin.
Which Jungkook knew. They’d discussed it, every thing that Jimin could want, big or small. He’d started off with the big stuff. He wanted someone who could take him and use him, make him feel small and good for nothing other than taking a cock. Make him beg for it, plead just to be touched, show him that getting to come was a gift, one he wouldn’t earn until he had degraded himself just enough. The small stuff—well. That was the kind of thing he could give or take, if the big stuff was enough to sate his appetite. Sex in a public bathroom, though—Jungkook was already well on his way to having the small stuff more than covered.
Jimin squeaked quietly when he felt Jungkook’s teeth nip down on his shoulder, then pull away without loosening, leaving a red bite mark behind. He glanced down and saw it out of the corner of his eye before Jungkook was turning him around, Jimin’s back to his front, and pushing him toward the wall. Jimin’s hands came out to rest on the mint green paint, holding himself steady as Jungkook kissed the back of his shoulder this time.
“Take it out,” Jungkook muttered, stepping back; if it hadn’t been clear what he’d meant, Jimin would have known for sure when he heard the telltale tinkling of a belt being unbuckled, then the zipper and soft swish of fabric as Jungkook pulled his pants down.
Jimin sucked his lip into his mouth again, first lifting the hem of his sweatshirt to bite on it, holding it in his mouth to keep it out of his way, then lowering his hands again to unfasten his jeans. He pushed them down, and then Jungkook’s hands were on his hips. Jimin groaned as he felt Jungkook’s front grind against his ass, his cock thick and half-hard already—and then just as quickly as he’d pushed into Jimin, he moved away.
“Jimin,” Jungkook said, hurrying him, and Jimin chewed just a little on the fabric in his mouth, shimmying his underwear down over his hips. His cock was chubbed up just a little, swollen and pink at the tip. “Can I?” Jungkook asked, and Jimin nodded, humming “Mm-hmm” to convey his consent.
He wasn’t sure where he expected Jungkook to touch him, but when both of his hands touched his body at the same time, he inhaled sharply through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on keeping quiet. Jungkook must have taken the few moments that he wasn’t rubbing his dick on Jimin to fish the lube out of a pocket, because one of Jungkook’s hands was between Jimin’s ass cheeks, two of his wet fingers rubbing against his hole. His other arm had wrapped around Jimin, tucking Jimin’s hip into his elbow, as Jungkook stroked his cock—he had said they’d need to hurry, after all.
Jimin leaned against the wall, his elbows resting on it to free his hands up. One was tangled into his own hair, fingers fisted around his brown locks; the other was holding the sweatshirt just beside his face, curling the fabric around his hand, pressing it against his cheek like he knew, preemptively, he would need to muffle himself.
One of Jungkook’s fingers was inside of Jimin, stretching him around it—Jungkook had big fingers, Jimin thought, bigger than his own, and he loved it; it was something he craved when he was alone in his bed. He wanted more, right away, but he closed his eyes against the fact that he’d have to wait, lest Jungkook go too fast.
Jungkook withdraw the hand around Jimin’s dick and, keeping his teeth clamped down on his shirt, Jimin moaned quietly as he felt cold liquid being poured onto his hole, dripping around Jungkook’s finger, coating it as he pulled it out and then pushed it back in. Jimin’s body tensed when Jungkook pressed a second fingertip to his rim, but he didn’t force it in beside the first, or even do anything with it other than let the pad of his finger gently rub against Jimin. They were both more than aware that each second they spent in the bathroom was a second closer to getting caught, but Jimin kind of liked that anyway. He liked more, more that he had mentioned in their private messages, but he didn’t think he had enough luck for Jungkook to bring anything else into this—
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Jungkook slid his second finger into place, doused with lube, slick enough to move into him with minimal effort. Jimin was taking both fingers, his legs spread apart as far as he could get them with his jeans still around his thighs, and Jungkook was scissoring him slowly, his index and middle fingers separating and opening up Jimin’s hole gradually.
“So quiet, Jimin,” Jungkook muttered, and Jimin’s heart actually skipped a beat. “Don’t want anyone to hear you and know what a slut you are, is that it?” Jimin’s heart sped up, pounding in his chest. He forced himself to keep his mouth closed around his shirt, even though he wanted nothing more than to pant out an answer to what Jungkook was saying. Jungkook sneered behind him, curling his fingers inside of Jimin, trying to nudge his prostate by some stroke of luck. Jimin hummed loudly when he neared it, trying to help him out—but Jungkook just scoffed.
“I know that you want it,” he said, “but do you have to make it so obvious?” Jimin’s chest clenched. He nodded, even though he didn’t think Jungkook was actually asking for an answer. A third finger was moving against his asshole now; it would only be a matter of time before Jungkook’s cock was inside of him.
“Mnn,” Jimin hummed, unsure of whether he was answering the question or trying to convey that he wanted more.
“Giving it up to me after—fuck, how long were we out there for? Fifteen minutes? Ten? You probably couldn’t wait to get in here. Probably wish you’d pulled me straight in here,” Jungkook said, and Jimin could feel his cheeks heating up, his cock throbbing painfully between his legs. The tip felt cool each time he moved his hips, which meant it was wet, that he was probably leaking precome all over himself. He whined and took a deep breath, holding it.
“Bet you can’t wait for my cock to fill you up,” Jungkook added, and Jimin nodded, then shook his head, already too blissed out to know whether yes or no was the correct response to that—just knowing that he really, really could not wait for exactly what Jungkook was saying.
Behind him, Jungkook was mumbling to himself, more little verbal slights just to make Jimin feel even lower. He held his breath again, wanting to be absolutely sure he heard them.
“—fucking tight,” Jungkook was saying. “How the fuck can a slut like you be this tight?” Jimin closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose. Jungkook was still stretching him, but he knew, just with the ease that he was using three fingers on him now, that he was nearly ready. Jimin swallowed thickly, knowing there was definitely going to be a damp spot on the hem of his sweatshirt once he finally released it from his mouth.
“You open up so well, though,” Jungkook continued, snickering over Jimin’s ragged breaths. “That much isn’t surprising.” His voice grew louder, suddenly, and it took Jimin a moment to realize he wasn’t speaking louder—he’d just moved his face closer to Jimin’s ear. “A slut like you knows how to take it up the ass, hm?”
Jimin nodded, vehemently, wanting Jungkook to be proud of him for that one thing, if nothing else. Jungkook scoffed in Jimin’s ear, then paused a moment. He pulled his fingers from him, and placed a soft kiss directly below Jimin’s ear.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice much more delicate than it had been moments before. Jimin glanced over at him, met his eyes, and nodded.
“Mm,” Jimin hummed around the shirt.
Jungkook smiled, his eyes crinkling up again. Jimin heard the condom wrapper tearing, the slick sound of it being rolled on, or maybe of lube being added to it, and then the blunt head of Jungkook’s dick was pressed against his hole. Jimin tightened his hand in his hair, then moved the other to lay flat on the wall, letting his forehead rest against it as Jungkook rolled his hips forward. He didn’t pull out like Jimin expected, but slowly pushed into him, filling him all the way up in one smooth, fluid motion. Jimin groaned low in his throat as Jungkook bottomed out, his lips against the nape of Jimin’s neck, gentle, nothing but short breaths and praise falling from them for the moment.
“So good, Jimin,” Jungkook whispered, almost like it wasn’t meant for him to hear, but he heard anyway. It was reassuring, at least, or just plain...nice. It was nice. But he wouldn’t miss it when Jungkook reverted back to being harsh with him.
Without giving any indication that he was about to do it, Jungkook pulled his hips back and snapped them forward again, fucking into Jimin, fast and hard. Jimin nearly let the shirt fall from his mouth—he didn’t, but his fingers did curl into a fist against the wall. He leaned his head back, neck arching, and Jungkook was back into the persona that Jimin wanted.
“Fucking love my cock in your ass, huh?” he asked, and Jimin didn’t even have a chance to answer, not that he thought he’d really be able to get any words out even if he could. “A slut like you, guess you’d know a good dick when you get one.” He punctuated every few words with another thrust. “My dick’s the best you’ll ever get. You should be fucking grateful.”
Jimin gasped, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth, dry. He clamped his jaw shut, his teeth grinding together against the fabric. Jungkook was really good at this—he was hitting almost every single one of Jimin’s buttons, and this was only the first time they’d met. He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but Jimin could only imagine how the two of them would be, together, in the privacy of a bedroom. His stomach clenched, and he knew it was partly because of the prospect of doing this again, but better, and partly because Jungkook had finally reached around him again, his hand wrapping around Jimin and stroking him, quickly.
“Wish I could fuck your ass all night,” Jungkook said, burying his face in the back of Jimin’s hair, almost nuzzling him despite the filthy words he was saying, “but we don’t have that much more time.” Jimin was reveling in the attention, glad that Jungkook was bothering even while degrading him. It was a perfect balance. “‘M sure you can shoot all over the wall anyway,” he went on, licking a stripe up Jimin’s skin, from his shoulder to the shell of his ear, his tongue flicking over that too. “Were probably ready to come from the second I touched you.”
Jimin moaned, leaning back into Jungkook; his cock was so fucking hard in Jungkook’s hand, he didn’t even need to look down to see that he was probably soaked with precome, dripping it all over Jungkook’s fingers, maybe some even falling to the floor. The worst part was that Jungkook was half right—Jimin could come, would come, and it hadn’t even taken that long. The combination of everything—the anticipation of being caught, the dirty talk, the humiliation that Jungkook was putting him through—he honestly could probably have come untouched, with just a cock in his ass, after a few more barbs. They didn’t have the time, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t ask Jungkook for it in the future.
“Take much longer and they’ll catch you,” Jungkook said, and Jimin understood, on a base level, that was a calculated word choice. They’d catch him—because he was the slut, he was the bad one, he was the one who’d been unable to hold himself back from being fucked. His abdomen clenched, he squeezed down on Jungkook inside of him, and with a loud groan, came, hard, his body nearly convulsing in Jungkook’s arms. His legs were shaking as he came all over the wall, his semen staining it, rolling down toward the floor in fat drops.
“Fuck,” Jimin tried to say, the word unable to leave his mouth, jaw clenched unmoving around the shirt. Jungkook was still fucking into him, his face pressed into the side of Jimin’s head, breath heavy in his ear, until finally, his hips stuttered as well, his front pressing tight against Jimin, driving his cock as deep into him as he could as he filled the condom.
Jungkook pressed a kiss to the top of Jimin’s ear before pulling out, slowly, taking his time now that they really had none left. He shuffled away, tying off the condom and flushing it before grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser. Jimin took a step back from the wall, about to do the same, when he felt a hand on his lower back.
“I got you,” Jungkook said, and Jimin wasn’t sure what he meant until Jungkook’s hands were back between his legs; he actually jumped, startled, when Jungkook wiped him clean, making sure to get any residual lube from his thighs too.
Misinterpreting the reaction, Jungkook sucked the inside of his cheek. “I know, they’re sort of rough. Sorry.” He pulled Jimin’s underwear up for him, letting the elastic go so it snapped against his waist, but Jimin was staring at him, watching as Jungkook wiped his come off the wall, and then with a clean towel, his own dick. He seemed to realize he was being watched; he glanced up. “What?”
“Nothing,” Jimin said, not even sure why he was looking himself. He just wasn’t used to it, he supposed, wasn’t used to someone rattling off filthy degradations like Jungkook did and then actually cleaning him up. Cleaning him up first. It was nice. That kind of thing he would miss, Jimin thought, if he lost it.
“We should leave, like, right away,” Jungkook said, once the pair of them had pulled up their pants, buttoning them—Jungkook’s hands were still shaking a little from his orgasm, but he managed to buckle his belt after a try or two.
“No coffee for the road?” Jimin asked, crossing to the door, smirking insolently at Jungkook.
“It’s like you want to get caught,” Jungkook said. Jimin gave him a pointed look. “I mean for real.” He laughed. “I guess that’s the point.”
“Kind of,” Jimin said. He reached for the knob, opening the door and slipping out with Jungkook. One of the young women behind the counter looked over at them knowingly, but the only thing that could have given them away was Jimin’s mussed hair and swollen lips—otherwise, they both looked exactly the same.
“Hey,” Jungkook asked, as they rounded the counter. “Did you really want another coffee? I’ll get it.”
Jimin blinked, meeting his eyes—and narrowing his own a little, for a moment. He shook his head, though—it was late already, and he had work in the morning. “If I have coffee now, I’ll never get to sleep.”
Jungkook chuckled, but nodded. “Ok, ok, Mr. Workaholic, I get it.” He gestured to the door, and they walked out onto the street. Jungkook had arrived first, earlier in the evening, and he’d watched Jimin walk in from the opposite direction that he’d come—meaning unless they chose to stick together, now, they’d walk home separately. “Well—will I see you again?”
Jimin tugged on the hem of his shirt, unintentionally exposing his shoulder; the bite mark Jungkook had left on him was just visible in the orange glow of the streetlights. “Please,” he answered.