Work Header

shut up and drive

Work Text:

It’s pretty well known around the circuit that Min Yoongi doesn’t let anyone touch his car, and especially not before a race. He’s the one to top off all the fluids, torque down every single moving part, make sure there’s no leaks or kinks in any of the tubing. Most other well known racers have a team that does all of this for them, leaves them more time to socialize with the crowd beforehand. But doing that shit makes Yoongi nervous. That’s the one thing he hates about racing: the crowds. Full of screaming girls in too tight clothing, fanboys that would give their left nut just to sit in the driver’s seat of any one of these cars.


Some people race for that, the recognition from the crowd, being put on a pedestal like some sort of god, but that isn’t why Yoongi does it.


To most of these other racers, their cars are just a tool: moving metal and parts that they fling around sharp corners and push to the limit. But for Yoongi, the sleek, dark contours of his ‘68 Camaro are an extension of his own body. Everytime he races, pops the e-brake and slides around curves like the car was made to move sideways, the kick in his chest, the spike in adrenaline— it’s the closest thing to a spiritual experience that he’ll ever admit to having.


Usually, races take place out in Namsan. The winding, mountainous roads have perfect S-curves to really show off just how well a racer can manipulate their car, but tonight Namjoon decided that everyone needed a change of scenery.


Which is why Yoongi is hunched over the grill of his Camaro, hood propped open above his head, on the ground floor of some huge parking garage in Gangnam. The crowd’s double what it usually is, easier access for people that don’t feel like driving out to Namsan, which is probably what Namjoon was going for. More exposure means more money, more drugs, more booze, more ass.


But Yoongi finds himself gritting his teeth, the wrench slippery in his sweat soaked palms as he cranks down on the final few bolts underneath the chassis.


“You gonna be able to get that old thing’s fat ass around these turns, hyung?”


Without even looking, Yoongi recognizes Jeon Jeongguk’s snotty tone, and he reaches back with his free hand to flip him the bird, not even bothering to take his head out from under the hood. Jeongguk never fails to talk shit about Yoongi’s car, and granted, hardly anyone drifts with old school muscle in the Seoul Circuit. It’s all about Nissan 350zs and tweaked out Toyota Supras.


“You’re gonna be lookin’ at my fat ass when I cross the finish line before you, punk,” Yoongi spits, using the leverage of his thighs to right himself, wiping the perspiration off his brow with the back of his forearm. “And if you didn’t fix the suspension on your daddy’s shiny BMW you’re going to roll that car today.”


For all their banter and shit talking, Jeongguk is one of the few racers in the circuit that Yoongi doesn’t have a problem with. Sure, he’s young and headstrong, thinks that he’s invincible, but he also has a lot of talent, earning him the nickname “Golden Boy”, to match the gold-wrapped BMW e36 that he drives.


“Yea, yea, hyung, I fixed it. Tightened it up and welded it down.”


Yoongi punctuates his grunt of approval by slamming his car’s hood back into place, hooking the wrench into the side pocket of his ripped jeans. “Good kid. Maybe you’ll actually come in second place this time.”


The past three races Jeongguk’s only been able to come in third, and Yoongi knows it bothers him. The younger’s tongue circles around the inside of his cheek and he shrugs one shoulder. “One of these day’s I’m gonna smoke your ass and make you eat your words, hyung . I ran this course yesterday. Three minutes and fifty eight seconds. I doubt you dumped enough weight off this thing to make it anywhere close to that.”


“Guess we’ll find out.”




Lining up at the start used to give Yoongi the jitters, but five years later there’s something grounding about pulling up to that line. His car purrs contentedly under Yoongi’s hands, letting off the clutch to bring the Camaro to a smooth stop right next to Kim Namjoon’s silver Nissan 240sx. With a quick glance in the rear view mirror, Jeongguk is lined up behind and slightly left. Even from here Yoongi can see his knuckles white around the top of his steering wheel.


There are barriers keeping the crowd away from the lines and the cars, but that crowd is going to be moving pretty soon once the race begins. Two large flags catch Yoongi’s eyes and he turns his head to watch as the flag girl —well, flag boy in this case— emerges from the crowd.


Yoongi’s never seen him before. Sure, guys will replace the scandalously clad women at the beginning of the race, but they’re usually the same one or two guys who do it over and over again. This time, they’ve got someone different.


He doesn’t fit the part of a typical race flagger; not with the black clothes and eye-catching Hawaiian-style bomber jacket, bracelets circling his wrists and silver rings wrapped around his stubby fingers. Must be some rich kid, Yoongi thinks, dangling one arm out the window, slanted eyes watching the flag boy as he walks in front of the cars, only about three or four feet away from Yoongi’s Camaro.


No one usually catches Yoongi’s eye for as long as this, but it’s something in the slow, easy way he swings his hips that has Yoongi licking his lips, following the line from shoulders to waist to the curve of his ass as the boy raises the flags overhead.


“God damn ,” he breathes, curling his fingers around the gearshift, watching the way the boy’s lips curve up into a smirk when he catches Yoongi staring.


The roar of the engines is deafening, but Yoongi is able to understand what the flag boy says when he parts those pretty pink lips of his. “Like what you see?”


Yes. Yes, he does. Probably a little more than he should, but Yoongi’s not going to give this kid the satisfaction of knowing that. His teeth scrape over his own bottom lip, left foot tensed and ready to press down on the clutch as the flags drop down.


The first kick and roar as the car jumps forward always spikes the adrenaline circulating through Yoongi’s bloodstream, but there’s something else, a heat pooling between his legs as he works the clutch, slamming the gearshift up and then down, breezing past the flag boy so fast it flutters the edges of his jacket.


It’s a four level garage with hairpin corners, and Namjoon beats him out for the first turn, sliding in front and smoothly gliding up to the next tier. All it takes is a downshift, a twist of the steering wheel, Yoongi’s right hand slides down and pops the e-brake. His seatbelt catches him hard around the chest as he drifts around the turn, Jeongguk hot on his heels.


On the third level, he edges ahead of Namjoon, jerking the wheel with a white-knuckled grip that nearly sends both of them into a tailspin. If Yoongi was any greener, he’d have rolled the car, and it’s only because it has - as Jeongguk likes to say - a fatter ass than most of the cars here that he keeps all four tires on the ground, squealing as he floors it up to the final level.


The final turn is a bitch. A smooth winding curve like a corkscrew that makes Yoongi grit his teeth as he slides into it first. If his car was any longer it would have scraped along the concrete walls, but he holds it steady, lets the car glide through the turn smooth as butter, emerging in first place to the roar of the waiting crowd on the roof.


Normally not one for theatrics, Yoongi surprises even himself when he lets out a victorious, whooping shout, whipping the car into a tailspin right at the edge of the crowd, inhaling the smoke and burnt rubber smell. When the cloud clears, the other racers have emerged and Jeongguk’s car is poised right next to his: second place.


When they step out of their cars, only one person in the crowd dares to approach Yoongi: Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit , hyung!” He’s brandishing a stop-watch, the glowing green interface blinks 3:34. “Three minutes and thirty four fucking seconds!”


“No way ,” Jeongguk gripes, pawing for the watch. “There’s no way that bucket of bolts made it up here that fast.”


Yoongi tunes out their squabbling, finds himself searching for the yellow, orange, black color scheme of the flag boy’s jacket.


“God damn !” Namjoon throws his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and shakes him once, rattling the racer’s brain around in his head. “You almost made me wreck my car, you asshole. But I knew you’d own this track.”


“You’re crazy for even dreaming up a course like this,” Yoongi grumbles, but he knows that Namjoon will take it as a compliment.


“Come on, let’s get downstairs and celebrate. Plus, you have some prize money to collect.”




Yoongi doesn’t race for cash, but the 600,000 won prize for first place will go towards new shocks sometime before the next race. Staying around for the afterparty isn’t really his scene either, but he lets Namjoon pull him back down to the first level, cramming into an elevator full of people congratulating Yoongi on his win. Managing a tight lipped smile, he thanks them so he doesn’t seem like a total dickhead, but he’s known for being aloof and a man of few words so no one really takes offense either way.


About thirty minutes in, Yoongi’s skin starts to crawl. The weight of the garage ceiling presses down on his head, making his chest tight and his spine curve. “Gonna get some air,” he mumbles in Namjoon’s ear. The platinum haired racer just waves him off, turning his attention back to the girl hanging off his other side.


What Yoongi needs is a cigarette, but he burned through the empty pack in his back pocket already. He’s jittery as he steps into the elevator, bouncing on the soles of his feet until the door dings slides open, leaving him standing on the rooftop, drawing fresh air deep into his lungs.


A voice off to the left startles him in his moment of peace, shoulders flinching and tensing upon the realization that he’s not alone on the roof. He couldn’t pick out the words, but the voice sounds like he’s heard it before—


His eyes shift left and now that he can see the owner of the voice, he listens again.


“I said, where’d you run off to, tough guy ?”


The flag boy from earlier is perched casually on the hood of Yoongi’s Camaro, one leg bent at the knee, the other leg hanging off the edge of the hood. His dark hair is raked off his forehead and his jacket hangs low on his shoulders. Between his plush lips is a lollipop, bright red, and the flag boy plucks it out of his mouth with a succulent ‘pop.’


Yoongi rolls his shoulders underneath the camouflage print of his jacket, tilts his head to the side as he stalks forward. “Most racers would beat your ass for even touching their car.”


Rich brats like this are always entitled, taking and doing whatever the fuck they want and thinking that there won’t be any consequences for it.


The flag boy tilts his head, lollipop tipping in his hand with the movement. “And what are you going to do? If you’re not like ‘most racers’.”


The thing is, Yoongi is like most racers when it comes to keeping people off his car, but for some reason he can’t find it in himself to be pissed off because even if he’s a cocky little shit, flag boy is downright pretty sitting on the hood of his Camaro, light glinting off his spit slick lips. And Yoongi has always been weak for pretty things.


“I’m going to give you two seconds to get off my fucking car before I drag you off of it.”


He can see the slight downturn in flag boy’s smile but he obeys, sliding off the hood with a mumble. His shoes thump against the ground.


“You’re so feisty,” the boy hums, popping the candy back into his mouth as he dares to lean against Yoongi’s car, crossing his ankles and resting his palms on the edge of the hood. “I’m Jimin. And you’re Yoongi, and this is your car. When I sat on it after the race, the hood was still warm. Now. . . well, not so much.”


Yoongi can’t help the way his lips twitch into an almost smile. They’re barely a foot apart and this close he can see the jewelry sparkling in Jimin’s ears, the designer label just under the collar of his jacket. “You blew off the afterparty to come up here and sit on a car?”


“Your car. I saw the way you looked at me at the starting line, and I wanted to tell you that if you won, you could get this—” Jimin gestures to his body, “—as a second reward.”


His teeth crack down on the lollipop. “But I didn’t say anything because I knew you would win. Thought I'd tell you in person.”


“Everyone on that line was looking at you like that,” Yoongi scoffs. “I can guarantee it. Were you just going to come up here and sit on the winner’s car and offer yourself up, even if it wasn’t me?”


Jimin smiles coyly, and Yoongi is distracted by the way his tongue swirls around the red candy core, audibly sucking on it. It wouldn’t have Yoongi’s stomach twisting if he wasn’t so loud .


“Mm, perhaps. But like I said, I knew you would win. Would have been you either way.”


This time Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head as he moves around to the driver’s side. “I’m flattered, truly, but I don’t fuck around with fans. Why don’t you run along to the ground level and celebrate with everyone else?”


“Who said I was a fan?”


“Why else would you be here?”


“To get fucked?”


The nerve of this one. Yoongi’s no stranger to rude or vulgar language, especially being part of the underground racing circuit, but to hear something so crude and blunt coming out of Jimin’s pretty mouth has Yoongi’s eyebrows raising up under his fringe. “You make a habit of coming to illegal street races just to get fucked? Look, I’ve seen enough kids like you at these races. You think it’s cool to stay out late and blow your parents money, to get drunk and get high and hang all over racers because it’s something that gives you a thrill. With a face like that I’m sure you don’t get to hear this nearly enough, but no . Find someone else to sink your teeth into.”


A visible pout forms on Jimin’s face. He pushes off the car and slides over to where Yoongi’s hand is on the driver side door, invading his personal space. Yoongi catches the whiff of decadent citrus and sweet flowers.


“Are you sure you want to say no?” Jimin leans in to Yoongi, places his hand above the door to keep it shut in case Yoongi were to try and open it. The tension in the air is thick, the younger’s brown eyes glinting with something tempting, alluring. “Then how come you were staring at me at the start and searching for me in the crowd after your win? Don’t think I didn’t see that, how you looked around the moment you got out of this car. You sure you don’t want me?”


With his pulse thudding in his ears, Yoongi chews on the inside of his left cheek. This close, Jimin is breath-takingly beautiful, and Yoongi is only human, giving pause with his fingers curled around the door handle. “I could have anyone here that I want.” Yea, maybe it’s a cocky thing to say, but Yoongi’s torn between wanting to knock Jimin down a peg or two or maybe shove him up against his car and ruin him. “What makes you think you’re special enough for me to give you another second of my time?”


The younger is only phased for a moment, plucking the lollipop from his mouth and holding it between his fingers. One corner of his mouth twists up into a smile. “Give me something else to suck on and I’ll show you.”


All the breath in Yoongi’s lungs leaves his body in a whoosh, like he’s been kicked in the gut. His left foot shifts, scraping gravel under the soles. “A sweet-faced thing like you shouldn’t say shit like that.”


“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve said and done worse.


He watches Jimin’s pupil’s dilate, the way he drags his slightly crooked front teeth over the swell of his bottom lip. Indulging him is only going to make things worse, and yet Yoongi finds himself reaching out, plucking the lollipop from between Jimin’s fingers. Holding it in his own, he presses the translucent, red candy to Jimin’s lips, smirking down at him when Jimin grabs hold of his wrist. “It’d be a shame to waste this, wouldn’t it?”


Jimin’s lashes flutter as he licks kittenishly at the lollipop, the flat of his tongue as red as the cherry flavored candy. “Would it really?”


It’s hard to keep the groan down in the back of his throat as Yoongi presses down, rubbing the candy back and forth over Jimin’s tongue until the younger makes a soft noise. It’s needy, a sound that sends a spike of heat straight between Yoongi’s legs. The lollipop decreases in size as Yoongi feeds it to him, ending up as a small ball that easily cracks under the pressure of Jimin’s teeth. He swallows the candy until nothing is left and Yoongi is holding a small, red-stained stick between his fingers.


Jimin’s voice comes out a bit more breathy than it should be as he opens his mouth and shows his tongue. “All gone.”


“Good boy.” Yoongi tosses the stick on the ground. “Were you going to show me what else you can do with that mouth?”


The praise ignites fire within Jimin, his eyes going wide, pupils dilating to an extreme. He closes his mouth and reaches out for Yoongi, pulling him in, chests knocking together. Coyly, he reaches between their bodies, grinning at the gasp Yoongi lets out when Jimin palms him through his pants.


“I can,” Jimin hums, pressing down on the forming bulge in Yoongi’s jeans, drawing his lips between his teeth when Yoongi groans low in his throat. “Switch with me. Up against the car.”


Yoongi’s back bounces off the door when Jimin presses him up against it, looking up at him with dark lashes and bitten lips, the very picture of temptation in the harsh fluorescent lights. As Jimin drags his fingers over his chest, Yoongi can almost taste his own pulse quickening, his heart beating frantically behind his ribs the farther down Jimin goes.


His exhale is unintentionally shaky when Jimin drops to his knees in front of him. His fingers work the belt around Yoongi’s hips and pop open the button of his jeans, the drag of his zipper slow and purposefully drawn out. He jerks forward when both his jeans and his underwear are tugged down suddenly, cold air hitting his cock.


Shit .”


Jimin’s fingers curl around his length, head angled as he runs the flat of his tongue all the way from the base to the tip, pressing a kiss there. His pretty eyes are upturned and his hand strokes Yoongi. “Want me to show you how special I am?”


“Fuckin’ tease,” Yoongi threads his fingers into Jimin’s fringe, holding him in place on his knees. “Yea, you got work to do. Impress me.”


Humming at the tug of fingers in his hair, Jimin swirls his tongue around the head a couple of times before tracing the vein that runs down the length of Yoongi’s cock, pumping with his fist. His other hand rests on the back of Yoongi’s thigh for stability, but when the blonde growls and bucks his hips, Jimin quits the teasing.


Jimin’s jaw goes slack. He opens his mouth and sinks down, his eyes fluttering but maintaining contact as he removes his hand that’s in the way. Yoongi groans, can’t take his eyes off Jimin’s red lips stretched wide around his cock, sliding into Jimin’s mouth and down his throat with what seems to be ease. The younger stays like that, breathing harshly through his nose, blinking up at Yoongi with half-lidded eyes.


Yoongi lets himself stay buried in the slick, tight heat of Jimin’s throat, slowly works his way deeper, until Jimin gags and his muscles spasm. “You like choking on dick?” He slides back, lets Jimin gasp in air with his mouth open and tongue out as Yoongi gently rocks his hips back and forth, smearing saliva over Jimin’s lips and chin with the head of his cock.


With his throat already raw, Jimin doesn’t respond, just sits there with his lips parted and his tongue out to lap up the precum. Yoongi’s heavy on his tongue and when the opportunity presents itself, Yoongi slides his cock between Jimin’s lips and rests against the car with a muffled “ Fuck ” as Jimin deepthroats him.


Jimin’s grip tightens on Yoongi the more he bobs his head. His eyes are shut now, concentrating on taking Yoongi down his throat and forcing down the urge to gag every time Yoongi manages to rock forward and hit the back of his throat. Little moans leak out from his mouth, the corners of his eyes prickling with tears as he bobs his head faster, unable to resist the heat between his clenched thighs. It's without faltering that Jimin rubs over the front of his pants, moaning quietly around Yoongi’s cock, palming himself to relieve the pressure.


God , your fuckin’ mouth—” Yoongi pants, feels sweat beginning to bead at the nape of his neck, heat twisting tight in the pit of his stomach. He teeters on the edge between conscious thought and mind numbing, pleasure filled oblivion, focused on the way Jimin’s throat squeezes around his cock. But a loud chime from the elevator and an echo of giggles signals they’re no longer alone, and he yanks Jimin back by his hair, shivering at the choked off moan that escapes from Jimin’s swollen, spit slick mouth.


Jimin holds back his cough but he stares up at Yoongi with wide, surprised eyes. Yoongi is glancing over the car in the distance, where he can see Taehyung and Jeongguk doing whatever the fuck it is they’re doing, a ways back from where he and Jimin are. They’re not spotted.


“I’m not done with you.”


Yoongi bites back a gasp when Jimin’s fingers dig into his thighs and drag him forward, lips sliding down the side of Yoongi’s length, his grip firm enough to bruise. Yoongi stares at him like he’s crazy.


“They’re gonna see us,” the racer protests weakly, slumping even more against the driver’s side door. The thought of being caught makes the nerves under his skin flare hot and then cold.


Unphased, Jimin nips at the soft flesh of Yoongi’s inner thigh and presses down harder on the front of his jeans. His gaze is absolutely sinful and Yoongi’s knees feel weak.


“So? Fuck my mouth. Don’t let them ruin your fun.”


Yoongi’s mouth twists, brows knitted together above his nose. “I’m not— fuck, I’m not gonna last—”


Jimin pulls back and proves his point by opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, like he’s an open invitation. It’s mumbled and slightly incoherent, but Yoongi can’t resist when he brazenly states, “I’m waiting.”


It takes a second for Yoongi to adjust his grip - one hand still fisted tight in Jimin’s fringe, the other cupped around the back of his head to pull the younger closer - and he wonders how someone can manage to look so cocky on their knees like this as he kicks his hips, sliding his cock over the flat of Jimin’s tongue.


He’s not gentle, cramming himself back down Jimin’s throat with a choked off hiss, pulling back just as fast as he chases his own release, fucking Jimin’s mouth like he’d asked for. And really, it’s irritating how well he takes it, tears in the corners of his lashes as he rubs himself off over his jeans, mewling around his mouthful on every pull back. A mess of spit and precum dribbles down from Jimin’s chin as Yoongi forces his cock down his throat, both of them keeping the noises to a minimum because of their unwanted guests. Jimin tries not to gag, just lets Yoongi hold him in place by his hair as he fucks his mouth, palming himself through his clothes without much shame.


Yoongi’s blindsided by his own climax, tries to pull back but Jimin digs his fingertips into the backs of his thighs, forces Yoongi to spill his load over his lips and tongue. He swallows and Yoongi bites down on his own lip so hard the metallic taste of blood sticks to the roof of his mouth when Jimin sucks on the head of his cock like that fucking lollipop.


Cum stains Jimin’s lips and chin but he laps at Yoongi’s dick to collect every drop. He’s taking his time, moaning quietly around Yoongi, but his entire body shudders and he gasps at one point. The gasp is far too loud and Yoongi’s eyes shoot towards Jeongguk and Taehyung, worried that they might have heard, but they’re still chatting away near the elevator.


Yoongi removes himself from Jimin before he hardens again just from the damn stimulation and his back hits the car with a dull thump. Sweat beads down his neck and collects along his brow, eyes turned upward in disbelief. “Shit,” he swears, fumbling to get his pants back up around his hips. “You fuckin’ happy now?”


Jimin’s blissed out and barely able to stand without support, smirking and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “As a matter of fact, I am.” His voice is raspy and no , it’s definitely not a turn on. “Wished we had actually fucked. . . but if we both got an orgasm out of this, then I’m not going to complain.”


Taehyung’s laugh is closer this time, and Yoongi ducks down a little as he finally gets the button of his jeans redone. “You mean you. . . did you just—”


“Rubbed one out? Yeah, I did.”


Jimin’s flippant cheeky smile knocks the wind right out of Yoongi’s chest.


Hyung! ” Taehyung sounds way too excited and a little bit drunk. When Yoongi peers over the roof of his car, Taehyung practically shrieks and gallops over. “There you are! Joonie hyung said you left!”


Jimin peeks around and he smiles wide when he sees Taehyung, and judging by the way Taehyung shrieks Jimin’s name, they know each other. Great.


“Hi, Tae, didn’t know you were here,” he hums, placing his hands in his pockets to hide the mess on them. He coughs into the corner of his jacket. “Sorry I didn’t catch you earlier, think I’m getting a cold, my throat hurts. I’d stick around but. . . I’m just gonna head home. Get some rest.”


Yoongi looks between the two of them, sees that Jeongguk is still lingering by the elevator, smoking a cigarette, but he’s looking over at their little trio with one eyebrow raised. As Taehyung coos over Jimin, telling him that he shouldn’t be out like this if he’s got a sore throat, Yoongi groans, inconspicuously trying to pick his jacket up off the ground before Jeongguk can come nosing around.


“I’ll make sure to come with you to the next race, I promise,” Jimin says to Taehyung, shuffling closer to Yoongi, trying to pry Taehyung off. “Tell your boyfriend to come over here, yea?”


Taehyung slaps Jimin and tells him that Jeongguk isn’t his boyfriend but he hollers over to Jeongguk anyways, leaving him distracted for a couple of seconds. While Yoongi shrugs his jacket on, Jimin slinks by, appearing to whisper in his ear with his back turned to both Taehyung and Jeongguk.


“I’m not done with you yet,” Jimin purrs into Yoongi’s ear, teeth nipping at one of his piercings, hot breath fanning over his cheek. Yoongi shudders and Jimin retreats, flashing the elder a sly smile as he begins to walk in the direction of the elevator. It’s more or less a promise of a next time, and Yoongi is conflicted about how he feels. It’s not a shudder of anticipation that crawls up his spine as he watches Jimin walk away, swinging his hips again in almost the same way he did before the race.


At least that’s what Yoongi tells himself, anyway.




He finds out through Taehyung that flag boy is Park Jimin, the only son of Park Jinyoung, a popular politician in Seoul’s circle of elite. A very conservative politician, a man that would probably be motified if he knew what his son did on garage rooftops after one in the morning.


As much as he tries, it’s hard for Yoongi to forget about Jimin, and not because he’d made Yoongi come with just his mouth in an almost embarrassingly short amount of time. Sure, that was a definite perk, but there’s something else about Jimin that’s . . . alluring, even if Yoongi knows that he’s a self-entitled little rich kid, someone used to getting their way, that Jimin is probably just using him as some sort of cheap thrill; a conquest to brag to his friends about over expensive, bougie wine at brunch, or whatever the fuck people like Park Jimin do when they’re not sneaking into illegal street races.


Even now, while he’s doing something as mundane as a routine oil change in Namjoon’s garage, Yoongi finds his thoughts drifting, realizes that Jimin has settled under his skin like an itch that he can’t seem to scratch, dancing behind his eyelids with every blink.


With the cap pulled and oil slowly draining into an empty pan beneath the Camaro, Yoongi rolls out from under the car on his beat up mechanic’s creeper. His hands smeared with black oil so instead of scratching the itch on his nose with his fingers, he drags his forearm back and forth until the sensation subsides.


It’s hot today. Both bay windows are open to let in any breeze that might pass by, but the garage is still hotter than usual and Yoongi’s white tank top is already stuck to his back with sweat.


Footsteps squeak along the damp floors behind him, dragging Yoongi out of his thoughts.


“I didn’t know you had tattoos. That’s sexy.”


Yoongi’s upper half twists and he looks up right into Park Jimin’s smiling face. He’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses today, dark hair brushed off his forehead and secured under a slouchy black beanie.


“What do you want, Park?” Yoongi stands, kicks the creeper back under the car so neither of them will trip over it later.


Really he shouldn’t be surprised Jimin’s shown up unannounced and uninvited, or that he would comment on the ink swirling over all of Yoongi’s exposed skin. All his tattoos had been mostly covered the night of the garage race, but now his floral work sleeve and neck tattoo are totally on display. Most people that see them turn up their nose, since tattooing is still a taboo in South Korea, so it’s a little strange that Jimin is complimenting him in his own flirty way.


“Oh, so you found out who I am,” Jimin sings as he approaches, placing his hands in his back pockets. He stops walking a couple of feet away from Yoongi, just barely keeping his distance. “Is it a crime to see you? Maybe ask if you can check out my car, give it an oil change?”


Making a dismissive noise under his breath, Yoongi steps away, moves to the utility sink along the far wall to start scrubbing his hands free of oil under the spray. Through the open bay doors, he can see a turquoise Lamborghini parked diagonally in front of the garage. Jimin’s car, no doubt. “I’m not one of your little lap dogs,” he scoffs, working under his nails as well. “Go get someone else to look at your car.”


Jimin pouts. “But hyung. Why won’t you do it? You were more than happy to comply with what I wanted last week. . .”


That had been Yoongi’s first mistake. Indulging. “Someone’s gotta tell you ‘no’ every now and again. Builds character.”


Whatever Yoongi just said flies over Jimin’s head as he redirects the blame. “You said no, then you let me blow you. Given that you said ‘no’ already. . . does that mean we’re going to continue where we left off?”


“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” Once his hands are clean, Yoongi just pats them dry on the seat of his jeans. “Look, I got work to do, so piss off and go find some other racer to bother.”


With a huff, Jimin glances around. When he finds what he’s looking for, he waddles on over, plopping down on a stool and folding his arms across his chest. He lifts his head defiantly.


Make me.”


“Why do I get the feeling you don’t let people make you do anything?”


“You’d be surprised. I’ve pushed people far enough that they’ve had to make me do something.” Jimin nibbles on his lower lip. “Wonder how long you’ll last. . .”


Oh. So that’s the game Jimin is trying to play. Yoongi looks him over, taking in the laid back vibe of Jimin’s plain white t-shirt and jeans, and chuckles under his breath. The oil’s still dripping into the catch pan he wedged underneath his Camaro, but the steady ‘plop plop’ of oil gets further and further apart the longer the silence between them stretches out.


It’s been a long time since someone has shown enough interest in Yoongi to actively pursue him like this and it’s kind of flattering, that Jimin would go out of his way to come here and bug him in the hopes of picking up where they were interrupted last time.


As flattering as it is, there’s still work to be done in prep for another race that Namjoon’s got set up for the end of the week. Cars have been in and out of the garage all week for tweaks here and there, but honestly, Yoongi is surprised he’d gotten the place to himself for the day. If Jimin wants to waste away his afternoon in some dingy garage, then that’s none of Yoongi’s business.


“Guess we’ll find out,” he shoots back, moving to the toolbox he left sitting open on the floor next to the driver’s side front wheel.


Jimin clearly isn’t pleased but he just adjusts his glasses and sniffs. “Your car take a beating or something?”


“No,” Yoongi doesn’t even understand why he’s bothering to explain anything about cars to Jimin, spoiled shit who probably doesn’t give two fucks about cars. “Just standard maintenance stuff. Besides, she’s old muscle. She’s not going to take a beating like those new tweaker cars do.”


“I’ll be there, at the race. This weekend. Won’t be doing the flags, but I’ll be in the crowd. Keep an eye out for me?” He sounds almost hopeful, which is cute, but it’s also obvious that he’s trying to be nonchalant about it.


“Your daddy okay with you driving all the way out to Namsan?” Yoongi pulls the creeper out with his foot and lays down on top of it, sliding himself underneath the Camaro in one smooth motion.


“I’m not sixteen . He doesn’t even know where I go, nor does he care, because he's too busy with work to worry about me. I’m free to go where I please, and do what I please.”


From under the Camaro, Yoongi can hear the clack of Jimin’s soles as his feet hit the floor. His footsteps are quieter this time, and when the noise dies off, Yoongi estimates that he’s standing off to the side of the car.


“Now that you know who I am, you seem to be awfully interested in me. Or am I reading that wrong?”


He takes his time hooking the new oil filter one, tightening it slowly until he hears the threads creak. Then he shoves the pan of dirty oil out from under the car before he slides back out, nearly running over Jimin’s toes. “Jesus, watch it,” he grumbles, crunching up and clamoring off the creeper. “If I was interested in you, it’d have nothing to do with who you are and everything to do with the things you can do with your mouth.”


Jimin quirks a brow and the flicker of a smile crosses his lips. “Sounds awfully contradictory.”


It only takes a few seconds for Yoongi to scoot a few bottles of motor oil closer to the car with his foot, and he starts pouring them in through a funnel one after the other. It takes three before Yoongi knows it’s full again, that he can slam the hood back down, and then screw the caps back onto the all the containers before he tosses them off to the side.


You are fishing for compliments or some shit,” Yoongi accuses Jimin, finally meeting and holding his eyes. “What? People not tell you often enough how pretty you are?”


Yoongi can see the way Jimin’s tongue pokes his cheek before he smiles. “So you think I’m pretty?”


How could he not ? There’s something so strikingly beautiful about Jimin, not that Yoongi would ever admit it outloud, but he can at least admit it to himself.


“I was just . . . saying. Ones like you always seem to be seeking someone else’s approval, needy for attention, want to be told you're pretty and good .”


Jimin’s smile still holds as he slinks closer to Yoongi, the hand closest to the car trailing along the edge of the hood. He’s caught Yoongi in his trip up and his gaze is intense, locking Yoongi in place. “You already admitted that I’m pretty, but. . . I want to hear it from your own lips, if you think I’m good .”


It takes everything in him for Yoongi to draw himself up, cock his head like he's about to spit fire, the left side of his mouthing curving up. “Nah, don't need you getting a bigger ego than the one you've got already.”


“That’s because you’re the one who’s given me the ego, calling me pretty.


“I didn't tell you anything you didn't already know.” Jimin carries himself in the way people who know they're attractive do: confident, unflinching, and unapologetic. “Don't get it twisted.”


A soft huff escapes Jimin, haughty at best, drumming his fingers against the shiny hood of the Camaro. He and Yoongi are barely a foot apart. “I just like hearing you say it. When other people say it, yeah, it’s a compliment but you. . . how you say it excites me. Feels like more than a compliment, or a petty insult. And I like riling you up; it’s fun, actually, and I know you get a kick out it, that it excites you too.”


Jimin’s hand pushes forward, his fingers brushing over the tops of Yoongi’s knuckles, a smirk on his plush red lips. There’s no mistaking that Yoongi does get a kick out of this interaction, but pretends Jimin is a nuisance just out of pride. His pulse quickens, but he doesn't pull his hand away, keeps it pressed into the Camaro’s hood, lets Jimin stroke the pad of his thumb over the ridges of his scarred knuckles.


“You’ll get tired of it,” he mutters, “once you've gotten what you want.”


Without pause Jimin leans in, trailing his hand up from Yoongi’s knuckles to his forearm, tracing over the intricate lines of his tattooed arm. Yoongi doesn’t flinch when they’re right in front of each other, noses just inches away from brushing, their eyes still locked. Jimin’s voice is quiet when he speaks.


Try me .”


Yoongi knows that he shouldn't, every sensible part of him screaming out in protest, but everything in his universe shrinks down to the two of them in the sticky heat of Namjoon’s garage. Jimin stands in front of him, as inviting and luscious as a piece of forbidden fruit, with his bitten red lips and hope sparkling in his eyes. In that moment, with the pads of Jimin’s soft fingertips pressing into his skin, Yoongi knows he's a goner.


Even though he’ll end up hating himself for it later, Yoongi tilts his head forward just until he hears Jimin’s breath hitch, watches the boy’s eyes flutter shut in anticipation. He could say something now, something cocky or biting, could keep going around and around in the circles of whatever game this is that they’ve both been playing. But Jimin is so breathtakingly captivating, and Yoongi has always been weak for pretty things.


Kissing him makes something pull tight in the pit of Yoongi’s stomach as he swallows up the hushed, breathy noise Jimin makes. His lips are just as soft as they look— softer , parting eagerly under the tentative swipe of Yoongi’s tongue against the seam. The small silver piercing on Yoongi’s tongue brushes against Jimin’s and the press of metal makes Jimin sigh, his fingers lifting up to tangle in Yoongi’s hair at the back of his head and tugging him forward to intensify the kiss.


Jimin kisses with more ferocity than Yoongi expects and they end up trying to one-up each other, tongue and teeth involved, hands grabbing at skin. Jimin incessantly tugs on Yoongi’s hair and swallows up the quiet growls the elder makes, while Yoongi’s hands slide across Jimin’s body, feeling every curve and dip, canines digging into the supple flesh of Jimin’s lower lip hard enough that the younger whines.


Yoongi spins them, bullies Jimin back until his thighs bump against the Camaro’s grille, continues to push until Jimin gives under the pressure. They break apart, breathing heavy. Jimin lays sprawled over the hood of the car, bracing himself up with one hand, and Yoongi looms over him, a knee between his thighs and palms pressed into the hood on either side of Jimin’s hips.


Jimin gnaws on his lip as he rocks his hips down against Yoongi’s knee shoved between his legs, exhaling sharply at the contact. Yoongi’s fingers curl, nails rubbing against the hood when Jimin begins to grind on his leg with sensual rolls of his hips, glasses falling off the bridge of his nose and hair mussed up with his beanie nowhere to be found. Temptation written all over his body.


“What is it about public places that gets you so riled up?”


“Well, that's where we keep meeting, isn't it? Unless you want to invite me over one night—” The rest of his words choke off when Yoongi shifts his thigh higher, pressing into the growing hardness between Jimin’s legs.


“Don’t think so,” he exhales as Jimin throws an arm around his neck and tugs him down.


Their teeth clack when their lips meet, Jimin grinding back down on Yoongi’s thigh. Jimin swirls his tongue around the silver stud on Yoongi, tightening his fingers around the elder’s nape hard enough that a zing of pain shoots down his spine, pools hot and heavy between his legs.


“Don't wanna bring me home and treat me right?”


“I don’t have to take you home to do that,” Yoongi dips his head into the crook where Jimin’s neck meets his shoulder, lips barely brushing his skin. “Besides, you don’t seem like you could wait.”


“Mm, you're right. I don't want to wait.” Jimin’s fingers skitter across Yoongi’s shoulders. “So are we going to keep talking or are we going to do something?”


Yoongi sinks his teeth into the strong tendon at the side of Jimin’s neck until he whimpers, digging the sharp crescents of his nails into the round of Yoongi’s shoulder. It isn’t until Jimin’s spine bows off the hood of the car that Yoongi releases him, sucking at red blemish marring his flesh. “You know, I’m getting really tired of your mouth.” He twists, using the leverage of his hips to spin Jimin over, pressing the side of the boy’s face against the Camaro’s shiny black paint. His glasses skitter across the hood and he grunts. It doesn’t matter how much Jimin writhes, he’s pinned with one of Yoongi’s hands around his neck, trapped between his legs.


Even like this, forced into a submissive position, Jimin knows how to make himself look good. The subtle arch in his low back doesn’t go unnoticed, making his ass look bigger, rounder, and he wiggles it against the bulge in Yoongi’s jeans with a frustrated noise. He yelps when the racer smacks him.


“You that impatient?”


Jimin's hands twist at his sides.


“I've been waiting for a week, so, yes .”


Yoongi lets him go, pulls back just enough that he can place his palms on the edge of the hood. “Then show me how bad you want it.”


Jimin glances back at Yoongi, biting his lower lip before he moves. Yoongi still cages him in against the hood but Jimin is undeterred, hands shifting to his jeans. He leans against the hood as he unbuttons his jeans and slides them down his hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers to pull those down too. Yoongi inhales sharply.


Jimin bends over the hood, resting his cheek against the surface so he can properly look up at Yoongi from this position. His shirt covers the small of his back, but Jimin wiggles his hips again to catch Yoongi's eye.


“This what you wanted?”


“God damn ,” Yoongi swears under his breath, shifting so that he can slide his palms under Jimin’s shirt, stroking over sweat slicked skin to ruck the boy’s shirt up under his armpits. He drags his fingertips down, over each little divot of Jimin’s ribs, into the dip of his thin waist, finally settling on the flare of his hips. “You are so fucking hot.”


It’s obscene the way Jimin’s sprawled over the front of Yoongi’s car with his jeans and boxers around his ankles, ass in the air. Yoongi wants to lick the two little dimples at the base of his spine, bite into the swell of his perky ass hard enough to leave a mark. Jimin wiggles and makes a choking noise when his nipples drag across the slick, black paint, a flush crawling up the side of his neck. He whines when Yoongi surges forward, presses his crotch right against Jimin’s ass.


“Shut up,” Yoongi braces one hand on the hood, uses the other to slide his middle and index fingers into Jimin’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue until Jimin’s eyes roll back into his head and he sucks weakly on the digits.


Removing his fingers with a wet ‘pop,’ Yoongi crouches and sits back on his heels, chuckling when Jimin tries to grind back on nothing. The slap of Yoongi’s palm smacking Jimin’s ass echoes in the empty garage, a red handprint left behind for the racer to admire as he soothes over the skin with the tips of his fingers before he spreads the boy wide. It doesn’t come as a surprise that Jimin is even pretty here, his little hole baby pink and waxed.


He spits on the fluttering ring of muscle and Jimin jerks against the hood. “O-oh fuck —”


Yoongi presses the flat of his tongue between Jimin’s cheeks, buries his face as deep as he can so he can press his studded tongue inside him, holding him up against the car as the younger shakes. He snarls when he feels Jimin reach back, thread his chubby little fingers into Yoongi’s bleached out hair for leverage to rut back against his face, riding his tongue with muffled moans and muted gasps.


Yoongi’s fingers spread Jimin wide open, nose pressed right up against Jimin’s ass. The silver piercing on his tongue rubs incessantly against Jimin’s rim and inside his walls, making him squirm, the surface of the car still cold against his frontside. He’s already hard and precum smears all along the hood of the Camaro.


God , yea,” Jimin shudders, tugging on Yoongi’s hair to keep him in place, practically purring when Yoongi growls and squeezes Jimin’s ass in warning.


He waits until Jimin is sloppy and wet, giving easily under the press of his tongue before he works in a spit slick finger, then a second. Jimin’s body clenches around the digits, a high, breathy moan spilling out of his lips as Yoongi spreads his fingers enough to wiggle his tongue back between them.


Jimin squeals and writhes around on the hood, panting, hips rocking to the rhythm of Yoongi’s tongue and fingers before Yoongi stills him with his other hand and makes him take it. His hard cock oozes precum, rubbing up against the metal of the car, his hands twisting at his sides helplessly.


The pump of Yoongi’s fingers in and out of his hole gradually picks up speed. Yoongi spreads Jimin wide with fingers and tongue, a third finger prodding against his spit-slick rim, fingernails digging into the supple flesh of his ass to hold him in place. Jimin’s core tightens with each prod and he whimpers when the feeling becomes overwhelming.


“Fuck, fuck , m’gonna come,” Jimin gasps out, pressing his forehead into the hood when Yoongi finally does add that third finger and nips at the inside of Jimin’s thighs.


“Good boy. Come on my fingers, pretty thing.” Yoongi keeps the pace the same, until Jimin shakes and his entire body contracts and he comes with a silent cry, rocking his hips against the Camaro’s hood, cum smeared between his body and the metal. He whimpers when Yoongi works him into over sensitivity and the racer smirks as he finally pulls his fingers free. Jimin falls flat against the car, thighs quivering from the orgasm.


“Y-you said I was good,” Jimin breathes out, body pliant as he works to catch his breath.


Yoongi refuses to reply, just gruffs loud enough for Jimin to hear. And Jimin doesn’t push it, given that he just got his ass eaten out like never before without even asking. A mess of his cum stains the shiny black paint on the Camaro and it sticks to Jimin’s abdomen, which is why he pulls off the hood and reaches down for his pants.


Jimin barely has his pants and boxers over his hips when there’s the sound of a door opening from the other side of the garage. He and Yoongi freeze, seizing up and holding their breath.


“Hyung, you in here?”


It’s Jeongguk’s voice, that much they can tell. Yoongi breaks out of his trance first and Jimin barely contains his squeak when Yoongi shoves him off the hood, rolling off of it rather ungracefully. Jimin’s fingers slide against the car but he ends up on the ground on the passenger’s side, quickly scrabbling for his glasses and beanie on the floor.


“Namjoon hyung said you've been in here all day. Come on, let's go get some food!”


Jimin’s barely gotten his beanie jammed back over his hair and Yoongi wipes the back of his hand over his own mouth to get rid of the saliva smeared all over his lips and chin.


“And whose Lambo is that outside—” Jeongguk rounds the huge car lift on the far side of the garage, coming into view.


Yoongi makes sure to stand in front of the hood where it’s dirty, and Jimin pops his head up over the driver’s side door, messy hair tucked under his beanie, clothes mostly looking like he hadn’t just been bent over Yoongi’s hood with his pants around his ankles.


“Hi, Jeongguk, that would be my Lambo,” Jimin announces cheekily, casually passing a rag over to Yoongi to make it seem like he had been surveying the car. “You missed a spot. On the rim.”


Yoongi grumbles under his breath, avoids eye contact with Jeongguk because he can feel the younger racer’s questioning gaze. But he casually swipes the rage through most of the mess with his nose wrinkled. Definitely going to have to give the car a good wash now. “Jimin was just leaving.”


“Was he?” It’s clear Jeongguk thinks something is up, eyes narrowed as he looks from Yoongi then back to Jimin. “What are you doing here anyway? This garage is private.”


Jimin steps out from the behind the car. “I wanted to see if he could give my car an oil change, so I’ve been here bugging him about it. But since you’re here. . .” he sighs, digging into his pocket for his keys, swinging them around his finger. “I’ll leave. Yoongi hyung was going to kick me out anyways, like he said. Don’t want to bother you two with your work .”


Yoongi casts the rag away and looks up just in time to see Jeongguk circle his tongue around the inside of his cheek, hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. As soon as they lock eyes, Jeongguk’ left eyebrow raises almost as if to say ‘really?’


Before Jimin gets embroiled in another conflict, he walks away from Yoongi and the car, twisting his head around and smiling. “Nice rimjob on your car, bet those tires will outshine the competition.” Yoongi curls his fists at the cheeky remark, but Jimin is undeterred. “I’ll see you this weekend at the race. Oh, and good luck to you, Jeongguk, you’re gonna need it.”


Jimin has the audacity to wink at the two before he disappears around the corner, leaving Jeongguk and Yoongi alone in the garage.


“What the fuck was that, hyung?”


Yoongi makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, crouches to close up his tool box. “I don't want to talk about it. Park Jimin is the current bane of my existence. You still come in at a close second.”


“You wound me,” Jeongguk clutches his chest, melodramatic.


“Do you want me to take you for lamb skewers or not?”


It’s amazing how the mention of food can turn Jeongguk from a brat into a perfect angel. “Yea, but don't think you’re off the hook yet. You have a lot of explaining to do about the real reason Jimin was here.”




This race is massive compared to the one in the garage. But Namsan has much more space, so it’s to be expected. At least there’s no heavy ceiling of concrete pressing down on Yoongi’s head this time as he leans against the hood of his car, feet crossed at the ankles and arms folded over his chest.


There’s no point in checking over his car anymore. He’d driven up here early just so that he could have some peace and quiet before the crowd arrived. Now everything is too noisy and it makes Yoongi jittery, like maybe he should have a cigarette before they line up. But he’s been trying to kick the habit, instead chews on the edge of his bottom lip while he scans the swirling mass of bodies in front of him.


He’s seen familiar faces pass by. Namjoon is here, and this time instead of a girl hanging off his arm like usual, there’s a startlingly pretty man that Yoongi thinks he’s remembered seeing in magazines before. Jeongguk is here as well, still doing some minor tweaks under the hood of his car while Taehyung looks on, chattering away with little to no input from the younger racer. Jung Hoseok is also present, one of Yoongi’s old racing friends that’s been in Gwangju for the last several months, but he’s been swamped with people saying hello ever since he pulled up in his slick, white Toyota Supra. He’s even seen Jimin flitting around, but the younger hasn’t even acknowledged him once , which Yoongi tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care, but watching Jimin chat with other racers, flashing his innocent little eye smile and raking his fingers through his hair puts Yoongi in a mood and he can’t help it.


As soon as everyone starts filing into their cars, making for the start line, Yoongi can’t scramble into the driver’s seat fast enough. This time Jeongguk ends up in front of him, Hoseok off to his right. They have to give everyone else time to make it down the mountain, but some people will have drones with camera in the air to stream the race in real time. He watches as Jimin and Taehyung climb into Jimin’s car, the gullwing doors up to allow the boys inside. Finally, Jimin catches Yoongi’s eye and gives him a wink before the door closes, hiding his face behind blacked out windows.


Just like that, Yoongi’s mood lifts. His knuckles white out when he grabs the wheel, right hand on the gear shift, just waiting for the green light.


This is a course that Yoongi could do in his sleep, so when the flag drops, the racers zoom out into the winding road that leads down the mountain. There’s a few newbies in the back that struggle with the first turn, but Yoongi counts the seconds, using the blood pounding in his ears as a timer, and he slides into the S-curve like he has hundreds of times before.


Hoseok makes in just behind him, rides the drag from Yoongi’s Camaro and shoots out in front of him in the next turn. With a swear under his breath, Yoongi downshifts and the engine cranks harder, slinging him through the next turn like an arrow out of a bow.


Jeongguk manages to stay ahead of everyone. It makes Yoongi proud to see the golden glint of his car several meters ahead, to watch the way Jeongguk makes his car peal through each curve, and he’s the one to blast over the finish line first. The crowd roars loud enough that Yoongi can hear them over the rumble of his engine. He manages to pull second place by a tenth of a second, using Hoseok’s own trick against him to pull ahead right at the end.


Normally, losing would throw Yoongi into a foul mood, but watching Jeongguk climb out of his driver’s seat with a smile so wide that it shows off all of his front teeth, eyes starry and blown wide with the high winning gives, it makes it worth losing.  Taehyung plows through the crowd, collides with Jeongguk and throws his arms around the racer’s neck, planting a kiss smack on the center of his mouth and everyone cat calls at Jeongguk’s startled reaction.


“Kids. . .” Yoongi mutters when he pops the release on his door handle, swinging his legs out so that he can stand on the pavement.


“You asshole,” Hoseok says from behind him, eyes crinkled up in a smile. He swings for Yoongi’s upper arm. “Can’t believe you got this big ole thing around me right at the end.”


Yoongi elbows him back, laughing. “I’m the one that taught you that trick, Hoseokkie. You forget that.”


The crowd conjures around Jeongguk and follows him close as he goes to collect his earnings. There’s a mini party just around the corner, and there’s word that there’s an afterparty at some club nearby, but Yoongi isn’t interested. He watches Jeongguk with a smile, and when Jeongguk surveys the crowd and spots Yoongi, he flashes him the biggest grin in the world before he disappears within the throng of bodies.


“I’m going to go and celebrate. I’ll catch you later.”


Hoseok taps Yoongi on the shoulder and jogs off to go celebrate. Yoongi’s eyes track him for a few seconds until Hoseok slings his arms around Namjoon’s shoulders and their chatter fades into white noise. Taking a moment, Yoongi leans up against the side of his door, plucks a mostly empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He fits one between his lips, pats down his pockets until he finds his lighter. It takes a few flicks to coax the flame to life, and it's when he's taking his first inhale that he sees a flash of red.


“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”


Jimin pops into view, another lollipop stuck between his lips. He’s wearing a bright red bomber jacket, the rest of him all black. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he walks towards Yoongi’s, the elder’s eyes following the natural sway of Jimin’s hips. Gravel kicks underneath Jimin’s shoes when he stops in front of the Camaro, spinning the red lollipop in his mouth.


“Thought you were gonna win.”


“Thought so too. Maybe you shouldn't have wished Jeongguk good luck.” Yoongi blows a puff of smoke into the air, cigarette held between his slim fingers.


“You’re blaming this on me? I’m offended.”


Jimin leans forward and removes the candy from his mouth, plucking the cigarette from Yoongi’s fingers. Yoongi gruffs as Jimin inhales, passing the cigarette back to him. He blows the smoke into Yoongi’s face and twirls the lollipop in his hand. “Want me to make you feel better?”


Yoongi laughs, tension draining out of his neck and shoulders. “You're good at that, aren't you,” he mutters, taking another long drag. “And I’m sure you have some sort of plan in mind already?”


Smiling, Jimin rests his hip against the hood. “I might. How about you take me for a ride?” He pops the candy back in his mouth and chuckles.


With one final drag, Yoongi burns the cigarette down to the filter. Once he throws it on the concrete, grinds it beneath the heel of his shoe, he jerks his head in the direction of the passenger side. “Then get in.”


Excitedly, Jimin pushes off the hood and shuffles around Yoongi to get to the passenger side, popping open the door and hopping into the seat. He shuts the door and runs his fingers along the leather seats, glancing over at Yoongi when he gets in the car and fires up the engine.


“She’s a beauty,” Jimin hums, feeling the engine’s purr within his chest.


“She’s my baby,” Yoongi drops the e-brake, hand on the gear shift. Jimin looks good sitting next to him, almost lounging with how he's leaned back in the seat, knees propped up. “Got anywhere you wanna go?”


“Mm, somewhere we won’t get interrupted.”




Maybe Yoongi shows off a little bit on his way back up the mountain, but it's worth it for the excited noises Jimin makes, the way he white knuckles his grip on the arm rests. It's been a long time since he's been this reckless, but by the time they reach the top, they're both a little flushed, a little high on the adrenaline that driving fast gives.


Yoongi parks on a little outlook used for those who want to take pictures of Seoul from Namsan. As far as they’re concerned, nobody is up here, and nobody should come up, given that the race ended at the foot of the mountain and they’re up here past visiting hours.


Jimin’s chest heaves from the exhilaration and he lets go of the armrest, managing a laugh. “ Wow . Definitely an exciting ride.”


“Everything you dreamed it would be?” Yoongi shuts off the engine, leans back in his seat with a groan.


“It’s one ride that’s out of the way.”


Unbuckling, Jimin places his palms on the center console and leans in to Yoongi, the leather seat creaking underneath his shifting weight. There’s a salacious glint in his eyes now, a look that Yoongi’s seen before.


“If I ask, are you gonna let me ride you ?”


Yoongi licks his lips, subtly spreading his legs a little wider. “It might make me feel better.”


“Mm, I’ll make you feel better. I promise.”


Leaning in further and removing the lollipop stick from his mouth, Jimin kisses Yoongi, one hand sliding from the console and into Yoongi’s lap. When Yoongi gasps from being palmed, Jimin runs his tongue over the roof of Yoongi’s mouth, nipping at his lower lip. He tastes sugary sweet, the taste of cherry blooming over Yoongi’s tongue.  “We’ll need to take our clothes off if we’re going to fuck,” Jimin whispers.


That makes Yoongi’s stomach twist hard , saliva and welling up in his mouth. “ You’re going to have to take your clothes off if you want to get fucked.”


Jimin draws back and pecks the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “Fair enough. Take yours off too.”


Neither of them want to separate, but Jimin retreats to his seat to comfortably remove his clothes. Yoongi grumbles at the lack of contact but he has his eyes on Jimin, watching him as he strips out of his jacket and tosses it in the backseat. His shoes are kicked off and his shirt is pulled over his head, gorgeous, lithe body exposed. Yoongi works on unbuckling his belt when Jimin wriggles free of his pants and boxers, but the racer pauses when he catches sight of something at Jimin’s backside.


There’s a tiny, sparkling jewel that peeks out from between his cheeks, and it takes a moment for Yoongi to comprehend—


“Are you—?”


Glancing back as he tosses his clothes in the back seat, Jimin smirks. “It’s a plug, and I’m already prepped.”


Yoongi imagines Jimin working himself open, three maybe four fingers inside himself before the race. How he’d walked around with that plug stretching him out, talked and smiled and flirted knowing that he was going to end up on Yoongi’s car. He lets out a shaky breath, shoving his pants and boxers down around his knees.


“You’ve got no shame,” he rasps, eying the younger with unbridled lust.


Jimin holds a blue foil packet in his hand and shifts his long fringe out of his eyes as he climbs over the center console, careful to not bump the gearshift or steering wheel. He seats himself right on Yoongi’s lap, Yoongi’s cock right against his ass. Yoongi’s groan is choked off when Jimin rolls his hips once to be a tease, fingers tugging at Yoongi’s shirt to lift it over his head and into the back seat with the other pile of clothes. It’s cramped in the driver’s seat, and Jimin has to tuck his legs close, but Yoongi’s not going to complain.


“You’re the one who ate me out on your hood in public,” Jimin retorts, rolling his hips down a second time. Yoongi hisses, hips bucking, dick sliding between Jimin’s cheeks.


He takes a handful of Jimin’s ass in each palm, squeezing the flesh tight enough that when he rocks up again, he can feel the press of the jewel. “You say that like you didn't enjoy it.”


“It was the best ass eating I’ve ever had. Went back home and fucked myself with my fingers thinking about it.”


Jimin presses the foil packet into Yoongi’s chest. “Did you think of me at all this week, hyung?”


“Thought about how gorgeous you were bent over the hood of my car,” Yoongi growls, pressing the tip of his finger against the end of the plug and applying enough pressure that Jimin keens, jerking forward until the head of his cock rubs against Yoongi's bare stomach. “How good you sound when you come.”


“Am I gorgeous now, sitting in your lap?”


Jimin’s cheeky, tearing open the foil, locking eyes with Yoongi as he reaches behind him to roll the condom on over Yoongi’s length. He’s slow in doing it, stroking Yoongi base to tip before rolling it on all the way. “Want me to ride you?”


“That's what you wanted,” Yoongi reminds him, taking the end of the plug between his fingers. He pulls back and Jimin’s body gives under the strain, stretching around the fattest part of plug, waits until Jimin makes a breathy, desperate noise before he fucks it right back in. “Or is this enough for you?”


Jimin whines and jerks, his spine arching and the hand on Yoongi’s shoulder tightening. “It’s not you, so no,” he mumbles, swatting Yoongi’s hand away from the plug. Yoongi’s gaze is sharp, almost a warning, but Jimin doesn’t heed it and he grips the base of the plug. With a hushed moan, Jimin removes the plug, replacing it with two of his fingers. He scissors those fingers and his body tenses up, the plug forgotten.


“Thought you were ready for me.” Yoongi wraps an arm around Jimin’s waist, pulls him flush against his chest. That makes it easier for Yoongi to trail his other hand over the gentle arch in Jimin’s spine, giving pause when he ghosts the tips of his fingers over where Jimin’s stretched around his own digits. He slick, wet with lube that spills out now that the plug is gone. It makes it easy for Yoongi to press one of his own fingers inside along Jimin’s.


Jimin shivers when Yoongi’s finger prods past his rim. There’s a squelch from the lube and Jimin shifts, head tipping back. “Shit,” he breathes, lashes fluttering. “Just. . . wanted to make sure.” He thrusts his fingers in one more time before withdrawing them, grabbing Yoongi’s wrist to make him do the same.


Before Yoongi can grab Jimin again, the younger is moving, working with the cramped space to somehow turn himself around without bumping into anything. He seats himself in Yoongi’s lap, this time resting more on his thighs, facing the opposite direction where there’s more room. Jimin leans forward and rests his hands on either side of the steering wheel, giving Yoongi a full view of his backside.


That allows Yoongi to press his thumbs into the two little dimples at the small of Jimin’s back, gripping at the younger’s hips to pull him back so that his latex wrapped cock slides up the cleft of Jimin's ass. “Come on, pretty thing, show me how good you’ll look sitting on my dick.”


A hot shiver wracks Jimin’s frame. Yoongi’s hands are cool against his warm skin, but he doesn’t steer away from him; Jimin leans into the touch and raises up, one hand reaching back to grip Yoongi and hold him in place. He teases by just barely rubbing against Yoongi but when Yoongi’s nails dig into his hips, Jimin sinks down on his cock, curling his spine and rocking his hips until he’s fully seated. It’s such a relief for this to be finally happening, their game of cat and mouse over, and the feeling is indescribable. Jimin’s walls squeeze around Yoongi on the first drop and the air leaves his lungs in a rush.


Yoongi plants his feet on the car floor, uses his grip on Jimin’s waist to guide him back up. “Fuck—” he swears, looks down at where the head of his cock spreads Jimin’s hole, pretty and pink and stuffed full. “Take me so good, Jimin, shit .”


The way Jimin moves his hips is sinful, the quiet moans spilling from his lips on every rise up and drop down like music to Yoongi’s ears. Jimin grinds back on Yoongi and glances over his shoulder. “I— ah — know how to please.”


Not even a minute passes before Jimin is eagerly bouncing on Yoongi’s cock, the erotic slap of their bodies meeting echoes in the small, cramped space of the car, the windows beginning to fog. The car undoubtedly shakes with each drop of Jimin’s ass, but they don’t care. They’re both too lost in the pleasure to even notice. Yoongi runs his hands along Jimin’s lithe waist to guide him up and down his cock, high pitched moans and breathy swears tumbling from Jimin’s mouth. The pace is quick, but when Yoongi feels his core tightening with an impending orgasm and he slams into Jimin, it becomes rough, borderline brutal.


Jimin hiccups and nearly shouts when Yoongi rubs his prostate, his thighs quivering and his voice loud. A sob escapes him the moment Yoongi wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him, holding him still on his lap. Jimin’s back rests against Yoongi’s chest and he arches forward, legs splayed on either side of Yoongi’s thighs, as Yoongi pins him and fucks into him balls deep, giving Jimin what he wants .


“Fuck, oh , fuck —” Jimin’s voice is broken and nothing but a babbling mess, fingers digging into Yoongi’s forearm as the pleasure consumes him, his climax just seconds away. “Please, please , hyung—”


There's sweat beading on Yoongi's forehead, his lips pressed into the crook of Jimin’s neck, but he doesn't stop, not until he feels Jimin shake, fucks up into the tight clench of his hot, little body to prolong the waves of pleasure. Jimin’s left trembling, pliant and fucked out as Yoongi holds him down in his lap, uses him to chase his own end. Yoongi blows his load inside the condom with a snarl, his forehead pressed tight into the back of Jimin’s neck, teeth clenched so hard it almost hurts. The pleasure’s blinding, so intense that the next breath Yoongi takes feels like agony.


Jimin mewls softly when Yoongi reaches his peak, his chest stuttering with a moan at the sensation. The muscles of his thighs twitch and sweat trickles down from his forehead, dark hair matted with it. Their bodies are damp in the aftermath.


Weakly, Jimin turns his head and rests it against Yoongi’s shoulder, lazily mouthing at his collarbone and the rose tattoo along the side of his neck. He doesn’t speak, can’t find the words to say, just sucks a hickey into Yoongi’s pale skin with a hum.


When Yoongi finally speaks, his voice sounds deep, hoarse. “Who told you you were allowed to leave marks?” He still keeps a tight grip around Jimin’s waist, even rolling his head to the side to give the younger easier access. Jimin chuckles and leaves another hickey on Yoongi’s neck, this time not as dark.


“Nobody. I wanted to,” Jimin murmurs into Yoongi’s skin, voice also deeper, more raspy than before, lapsing into his Busan dialect. “What are you gonna do about it?”


With a groan, Yoongi shifts. His ass and the backs of his legs stick to the leather seat. “Gonna make you pay to have my car cleaned.”


“We didn’t even get the seats dirty! Not with just one round.” Jimin sits up and smirks. “How long before you can get it up again? For round two? That’ll give me something to clean up.”


Yoongi thunks his head back against the headrest. “I still have my dick in you, brat. Give me a fucking second to catch my breath.”


Jimin raises up and grabs the base of the condom, swiftly discarding it by rolling down the window and tossing it outside. Yoongi watches him, affronted, but Jimin is already turning himself back around so he’s facing Yoongi and sitting in his lap. It’s clear that he hasn’t quite caught his breath either, but excitement runs through his veins, and Yoongi can’t deny his own anticipation.


The younger leans forward and wraps his arms around Yoongi’s neck, knocking their foreheads together. “I’ll let you do it from behind,” Jimin whispers, tauntingly, playing with the hairs on Yoongi’s nape.


Yoongi grabs his ass and squeezes, pulling them flush together and relishing the tiny squeak Jimin makes. “Oh, how gracious of you.”


Grinning, Jimin pulls him in for a kiss. Yoongi lets him and wonders what kind of delightful mess he’s dragged himself into by getting involved with someone like Park Jimin.