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Cage Match

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How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight? //Fight Club (1999)

Taehyung’s never seen the fresh face across the room before, and judging from the lack of bruises across the boy’s skin and the wide mystified eyes, he’s never been here before.

In the dim lighting of the club, the guy’s big doe eyes and the confusion clear on his face scream fresh meat.

“Who’s that?” He asks Seokjin, who’s helping Jimin clean a nasty looking split lip. Taehyung knows how vain Jimin can be about his face; he knows that this is going to bother him all week. Seokjin’s the closest thing they have to authority around here, and Taehyung’s sure if anyone knows about the new boy, it will be him. Seokjin looks up from cut and follows Taehyung’s eyes to the boy standing a little way from the main throng of the crowd.

“Yoongi brought him in. Said he found him getting into street fights and brought him here instead.” It’s Jimin who answers. “Picking up spoiled rich kids looking for trouble is a bad fucking idea.”

“How do you know he’s a rich kid?” Taehyung glances at the kid again and says with faint surprise, “Oh.” The kid’s wearing a white shirt that looks like it was tailored for him and tastefully ripped jeans, not like the ones hanging in shreds around Taehyung’s legs from months of abuse. The big expensive watch on his wrist glints silver in the dim lighting of the basement, and Taehyung snorts. The kid wouldn’t last one round in the ring.

They get plenty of wealthy customers looking to let off the steam of their lavish lifestyles, but never one as young as the new kid. His face is soft, too boyish for the dark lighting and bloodthirsty crowd.

“We should make him fight.” Taehyung comments, rubbing a smear of blood away from Jimin’s collarbone with his thumb. There’s no cuts in the vicinity so Taehyung guesses it’s not Jimin’s. Pity the poor fool who stepped into the ring with Jimin, fooled by his small stature and pretty face.

“He’s a kid.” Seokjin says flatly.

“You know the rules. If it’s your first night, you have to fight.” Jimin attempts to grin up at Taehyung, but winces as it stretches the cut on his lip.

“Dumbass.” Taehyung kicks him lightly in the shin and turns his gaze on Seokjin. “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fight the new kid. Give him a little taste of what he’s been missing out on.” Taehyung winks, but Seokjin’s already shaking his head.

“This is a bad idea…” he mumbles, more to himself than either Jimin or Taehyung. He knows how hard Taehyung is to sway when he’s made up his mind.

“Just go tell him he has to fight,” Taehyung rolls his eyes and slides down next to Jimin to watch the next fight. Seokjin throws him a slightly annoyed look but complies.

To his surprise, Namjoon steps up to the makeshift arena and slides off his beat-up leather jacket. “Shit,” Taehyung says lowly as Yoongi walks up a second later, clad only in a pair of shorts and a black shirt. Namjoon’s muscle shirt exposes his thick arms and makes him look even bigger than he already is so he’s towering over Yoongi.

Taehyung fights like a fox, cunning and quick. He’s not very strong physically, so he relies on his speed and quick thinking to gain the upper hand.

He’s fought Namjoon a handful of times before, and it’s always been a struggle to win. Namjoon’s both physically strong and intelligent, and Taehyung knows all his medical training outside of the club has taught him exactly where to hit to make it hurt like a bitch. While Taehyung’s instincts give him feelings and flashes of pure emotion, Namjoon’s every move is carefully calculated so he’s always two steps ahead of his opponent.

Namjoon goes by the name RM at the club, sheds his anxious doctor persona and hunched back and becomes as slick as a snake, silvery hair pushed back off his forehead, the muscles in his tan arms bulging as he crosses them over his head and stretches. Yoongi looks unimpressed at the display of muscle, waiting for Namjoon to stop showing off.

“Money’s on Yoongi.” Jimin mumbles through his swollen lip. Taehyung’s not surprised. Jimin always bets on Yoongi.

“Joon’s in a good mood tonight.” He comments simply.

Jimin shakes his head. “Yoongi’s had a pretty fucked up week. Something about a song not coming out right. He’s been locked up in his studio every day. I think he’s been waiting for this all week.”

Taehyung knows what that feels like. He’s been itching for a good fight too, for the soreness and accomplishment that comes with a genuine win.

Then, when Namjoon grins and beckons Yoongi forward, the fight begins.

Namjoon and Yoongi are the most experienced fighters Taehyung’s ever met, both of them members of Seokjin’s top tier that Taehyung considers himself a reluctant part of. The two of them though, they’re on a different level based on experience alone. Taehyung’s quick and sly, but Namjoon and Yoongi are lightning fast.

While Namjoon radiates pure power in everything from his stature to his calculated moves, Yoongi’s a whole other story. He looks as light as a feather, tiny and pale, but he’s sturdy as hell and fights dirty, the heavy rings on his veiny fingers leaving patterns of bruises along Namjoon’s ribcage, the scratches of his fingernails tearing the skin of Namjoon’s forearm.

Namjoon throws him down easily enough, overpowering him where Yoongi lacks in strength, but Yoongi swings a leg as he falls and catches Namjoon in the ankle, drags the bigger man down with him, and throws a punch into Namjoon’s side against his reddened ribs.

Namjoon curses, hooks Yoongi under the chin hard enough that his head flies back against the mat. In the next second, they’re springing back from each other and standing again, movements fluid. Yoongi and Namjoon fight like they’re dancing, bodies moving in a strange, violent harmony that makes Taehyung envious.

Eventually, Yoongi hits Namjoon hard enough that the taller man goes sprawling and gives him an opening. He doesn’t hesitate to crawl onto Namjoon’s hips and strike a blow to the younger man’s cheek, and Namjoon realizes through a bloody mouth that he’s lost, spits red saliva, and taps out.

Yoongi’s limping a little from where Namjoon twisted his leg hard enough to make him shout, but he shoots a triumphant look at where Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jimin are sitting by the bar.

Sometimes fighters are petty with their wins, degrading the loser, but Yoongi extends an arm to Namjoon and helps him up, grins at him, and gets an amicable albeit bloody smile back.

Seokjin slips into the crowd then, and Taehyung watches as he speaks to the boy with the wide eyes who looks a little dazed after watching Yoongi and Namjoon’s fight. After a second, the kid nods and Taehyung feels the pit of his stomach thrumming in delight. He flexes his fingers, stretches out his shoulders and stands up.

“Good luck,” Jimin murmurs, but when Taehyung glances down, he’s staring at the new kid.

“I’ll go easy on him.” Taehyung lies.

The crowd parts for Seokjin as he enters the ring and announces that they have a new fighter. Immediately, the spectators jeer and call out names as Jungkook steps up behind Seokjin, suddenly looking like he wants the concrete floor to swallow him up. He steps out of immaculate white shoes and Taehyung resists the urge to laugh as he kicks off his own ratty runners. He slides out of his hoodie and goes bare—he’s always preferred to fight without a shirt.

His torso isn’t very broad, most of his width in his sturdy shoulders, but his entire wiry figure is lithe muscle. He loses the rings on his fingers, pulling them off one by one as he examines his opponent, trying to gauge any weaknesses.

“You’re the one fighting Jungkook?” Yoongi slips into the barstool Taehyung had been in and grabs Jimin’s beer, helps himself to a sip and gives him a look. “Don’t fuck him up too badly.”

The answering grin he gets is absolutely barbaric.

Jungkook stares him down as Taehyung saunters into the ring. He knows that look well; he’s being underestimated. He resists the urge to smirk. Jungkook’s built broad and thick, and Taehyung already knows that he’s going to try and use brute strength to best him, and that it’s not going to work.

Seokjin steps back from the ring, and the atmosphere shifts. Taehyung’s mind becomes less thought and more feeling in the ring, body moving before he knows what’s happening. It’s saved his hide more times than he can count.

Immediately, Jungkook lunges for him, but he ducks out of the way, and Jungkook actually looks surprised when his fist doesn’t hit anything but empty air. Taehyung laughs tauntingly. “First time?” he jibes, then strikes Jungkook in the side with lightning speed.

Jungkook skitters back a couple steps and the crowd jeers some more. His eyes are wide, framed by thick lashes, and Taehyung’s internal beast is roaring at him to strike, to fuck up that pretty face and turn it into a bloody mess.

Jungkook watches him warily, stance tense. Taehyung circles him like a predator, driving him back like a cornered animal.

Then, in a bold move that takes Taehyung by surprise, Jungkook’s fist connects with his cheek hard, and Taehyung gets knocked backwards, hot fresh pain radiating down the side of his face. The crowd screams their surprise and Taehyung curses, runs his tongue along the jagged wound his teeth cut into the inside of his cheek. His mouth tastes like metal.

Jungkook’s eyes are still wide, but his innocent façade falls away, the first flash of true triumph glinting in his irises. Taehyung spits blood out of his teeth and grins, sure that his wide smile’s stained red. The first punch had been beginner’s luck at most. Taehyung can read the inexperience in Jungkook’s movements and he knows how to take the younger boy down.

The landed hit makes Jungkook cocky, just like Taehyung expected it to. His defense is weaker when Taehyung strikes again, and his blow skims the curve of Jungkook’s cheek, silky smooth skin brushing Taehyung’s aching knuckles.

“Getting tired?” Taehyung raises a brow and easily sidesteps Jungkook’s next attempt to hit him. “Kookie’s first real fight ?”

Anger flashes in Jungkook’s eyes, and Taehyung takes it in stride, dodging the next clumsy but powerful blow aimed his way. He catches Jungkook full in the stomach this time, slams his elbow into the boy’s back when he doubles over, breathless. Jungkook’s knees buckle and he goes crashing down gracelessly, and Taehyung knows he’s won.

Jungkook struggles for another second, raising himself up on shaking arms, but Taehyung’s feeling particularly vicious. He slams his heel down between Jungkook’s shoulder blades and he goes back down with a dull thud.

“S’what I thought,” Taehyung taunts when Jungkook taps out, fire burning in his eyes as he lifts his face from the mat and glares up at Taehyung standing over him.

Taehyung doesn’t wait for Jungkook to get up and definitely doesn’t give him a hand. He gives a pointed look to Yoongi when the older man stares at him and makes his way to the bathroom.

Taehyung doesn’t bother locking the door behind him, spitting the blood pooling in his mouth out into the sink. He swishes some water around his mouth and spits that out as well. His cheek’s swelling up in the mirror, but other than that, there’s no telltale signs of the fight. His knuckles are reddened from catching Jungkook in the side, but not bleeding.

Then, the bathroom door swings open and Taehyung finds Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror standing in the doorway, arrogant face pulled into a glare. “How did you do that?”

Taehyung turns slowly and raises his brows. “Do what?”

“That…thing. How did you know what I was going to do before I did it?”

“You’re predictable and new.”

Jungkook stares daggers at him so Taehyung smiles guilelessly back. “I’ve been doing this for a while.” He finally admits. “It’s not your fault your fight just happened to be with me.” It’s mine, he adds in his head.

Jungkook is still staring so Taehyung crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly self conscious. “What?”

Jungkook shakes his head and says softly, “You're really good.” Then he’s gone, the back of his white shirt disappearing into the crowd.

For some reason, Taehyung’s cheeks burn, and not just from the punch.


Jimin catches up to him as he's walking home around two in the morning and falls into step beside him, taking two steps for every one of Taehyung’s long-legged strides.

“Yoongi’s mad that you beat up Jungkook.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Someone had to do it. Don't tell me you wouldn't have stepped up if I hadn't first.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “That fucker decked me pretty hard though.” The inside of his mouth still tastes like blood, the cut on his cheek stinging. “You gonna follow me all the way home?”

“Can I stay over at your place? Yoongi’s going back to the studio because apparently getting hit in the head’s given him inspiration.” Jimin rolls his eyes and winds his arm through Taehyung’s.

Taehyung could snidely remark that Jimin has his own apartment he could go back to instead of trying to hop on Taehyung’s dick, but instead he shrugs again and says, “Sure.”


Taehyung’s tiny apartment consists of one bedroom with a bed barely big enough for both his lanky limbs and Jimin’s thick ones, a little kitchen that looks messy to everyone but him, and a couch that’s seen better days. It's not much, but it’s Taehyung’s and that makes it more than enough.

The second he shuts the door behind them, Jimin’s pressing him up against the scratched wood, lips crashing into Taehyung’s.

Sometimes fights make Taehyung twitchy instead of tired, his brain still hardwired to bitescratchdominate. Jimin goes home with Yoongi most nights, but some nights he lets Taehyung split him open and take his fill, lets Taehyung ravenously lick into his mouth and push him down on the bed, climbing on top of him in the next heartbeat.

Tonight, Taehyung’s filled with adrenaline in preparation for a fight that never happened, disappointed that Jungkook didn't put up more of a struggle, and itching for something he can't name.

Jimin welcomes the roughness of Taehyung’s nails scraping his sides with a moan, pillowy lips parting in a wet gasp. Taehyung sucks his lower lip, tastes blood in his mouth, and remembers a second too late that Jimin’s lip is still split from earlier.

He's prepared to apologize, but Jimin pushes his head back and bites the soft skin where his neck meets his jaw. Taehyung curses, flinches when Jimin licks over his hot swollen cheek.

He shoves Jimin down on the bed harder, sheds his sweatshirt and scrambles out of his jeans, and then undresses Jimin just as quickly. Jimin’s collarbones are covered with hickeys, bruises in the shape of fingerprints dotting his fleshy hips and thick thighs.

There's a bruise the shape of a bite mark over his nipple and Taehyung drags his mouth there, tongues over the preexisting bruises and adds a couple of his own.

“Who left these?” He wonders aloud, and Jimin arches up under his mouth, moans brokenly and fists a hand in his hair.

“Who do you think?” Jimin pulls on his hair hard enough that his roots ache. Taehyung snarls and grabs his wrists, pins them above him tightly. Jimin’s breathing hard under him, chest heaving and arms straining, but Taehyung easily overpowers him with his size alone.

 “What would Yoongi say if he saw his pretty little bitch acting out right now?” Taehyung hisses the words right into the shell of Jimin’s ear, and they’re pressed together so tightly that he feels the shiver that moves through Jimin in response.

“I don’t know,” Jimin snarls, “Maybe I should go ask him because it looks like you’re not gonna fuck me.”

“You think Yoongi could fuck you as good as me?” Taehyung challenges, “You think he could make your little bitch ass scream like me?”

Taehyung turns him around, spanks him hard, and Jimin moans, arches his back and demands, “Again, fuck, again Tae.”

Taehyung slaps him again, watches red bloom across the curve of his ass, and lubes up his fingers. Jimin’s loose like he’s been getting dicked down all week- which, to the best of Taehyung’s knowledge, he has- and he opens up so easily under Taehyung’s long fingers, velvety warmth clamping down around Taehyung’s knuckles.

Taehyung fucks him against the dining table, Jimin’s cheek pressed against the wood, legs shaking until Taehyung pulls him up too far for him to reach the ground anymore and fucks into him harder, nails digging stinging crescents into his fleshy hips.

Jimin’s voice is so sweet, soft and small like him, but the words coming out of his mouth are all dirty, a litany of “fuck, fuck me harder daddy, give it to me Tae, I want it harder,” and Taehyung wonders if he can reach his phone to take a video for Yoongi or Namjoon or one of Jimin’s other nightly conquests. Namjoon would take it in good humor, but Yoongi would sulk all week, would probably retaliate with a video of Jimin all tied up in some freaky intricate way Taehyung would never be able to replicate.

Jimin cums after Taehyung gives a few lazy jerks to his leaking cock, voice reaching an octave higher than Taehyung ever coul d, and then Taehyung pulls out, jerks off and cums all over Jimin’s red clenching hole and the round curve of his ass.

That, he does take a picture of, and then sends it off to Yoongi. Jimin mumbles something like “competitive idiots,” under his breath, and Taehyung spanks him again just to hear him gasp.

Jimin’s legs shake too badly for him to make it to the bed and Taehyung ends up have carrying him over, and then ends up being the one to clean him off too. He takes a shower himself, carefully rinsing out his mouth and running his tongue over the jagged cut in his cheek. He grimaces. Jungkook did a fucking number on his face.

He’s kind of curious about the kid, he has to admit. Jungkook doesn’t look like the usual bunch at the club. He’s just a little too groomed, back a little too straight, chin tipped a little too high.

It makes Taehyung kind of want to smack the arrogant look right off his face.


Taehyung likes fighting like he likes breathing.

At first, it was a hobby. He’d discovered the club through Jimin and at the beginning, he’d scoffed and wondered how people actually spent their free time beating each other up.

But then he’d gone with Jimin one night.

Taehyung’s first fight is with a wiry girl with a tattoo of a gun on her temple. She has him pinned down and gasping in pain in less than two minutes, and suddenly, he can’t wait to do it again.

Something changes when one enters the club. Taehyung’s no longer an overworked college kid, just like Namjoon’s no longer a pretentious doctor or Hoseok is a nervous office intern.

They’re simply fighters.

Taehyung likes the feeling of red hot adrenaline rushing through his veins when his body reacts too fast for his brain to keep up. He likes his knuckles split and stinging, heart pounding in his ribcage, the rush of blood in his ears.

He’s never felt more alive than when he’s receiving the hard, resonating pain of a punch.

And somehow, it becomes a necessity.


Taehyung’s too busy with classes to go back to the club until Friday night.

He’s had a rough week. He’d gotten a 70 on one of his papers that he’d really needed at least an 80 on, and he’d spent all his time shut up in the library. The urge to fight itches under his skin, electricity crackling in his veins.

Seokjin’s wiping down the bar and Namjoon’s sitting on one of the stools, sipping a drink and making moony eyes at him.

As far as underground fighting rings go, Taehyung has to admit theirs isn’t shabby in the least. Seokjin’s got a nice bar running and they pull in tons of money- enough that Seokjin doesn’t have to work during the day and that he could probably afford the house he, Yoongi, and Namjoon live in all by himself.

Namjoon’s still dressed up from work, in a dress shirt that he’s unbuttoned too far down for it to look professional, silvery hair slicked back halfheartedly, and Taehyung isn’t saying he wants to call him daddy but if Namjoon asked, he’d definitely call him daddy.

“I wanna fight tonight.” Taehyung announces in greeting.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “How was your test?” he asks.

“Shitty,” Taehyung admits, “But I think I passed. Who cares, I’m a senior anyways.”

Namjoon knocks back his beer and says, “Finish school on a positive note. You’ll miss it when you get out into the real world.”

“Fuck off, you’re not even that much older than me.” It’s not his fault he’s not a crazy smart prestigious doctor at the age of 27 like Namjoon is.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and finishes off his beer. “Jimin’s been looking for someone to fight as well.” He points to where Jimin’s sitting, looking as bored as one can look while someone is being beaten to a bloody pulp right in front of him.

Next to him though- Taehyung wonders aloud, “Why is he here again?”

Jungkook’s sitting next to him looking way too focused on the fight. Taehyung runs his tongue across the rough scar tissue in his mouth. The urge to punch Jungkook in his pretty face comes back full force.

“Followed Yoongi in again,” Seokjin says without looking up. “I kind of like him, if I’m being honest. I think he’s recording some music with Yoongi because he was at the studio the other day.”

Taehyung hums like he really cares that Jungkook’s an aspiring singer. He saunters over to Jimin and taps him on the shoulder.

“Fight me?” he asks, and Jimin’s face breaks out into a smile.

“If you can take it,” he challenges.

“You mean like you took my dick?” Taehyung fires back, and Jungkook looks mildly surprised at that. Jimin must not have tried to hit on him yet.

“Sign us up!” Jimin calls over the noise of the crowd to Seokjin, who nods and pens them in on the list he’s got behind the bar.

Taehyung grabs a drink and settles in next to Jimin to watch the fights until they’re up. Jimin’s buzzing with energy, foot tapping impatiently on the cement floor. “You’re not fighting tonight?” Taehyung asks Jungkook over Jimin’s head.

Jungkook needs to stop looking so surprised all the time before Taehyung decides to punch the expression off his stupid face. “No,” he finally says, “I’m just watching.”

“That’s too bad,” Taehyung smirks.

Jungkook looks a little heated but he knows better than to talk back to Taehyung after getting his ass beat, at least. He watches the matches in relative silence, and when it’s Jimin and Taehyung’s turn, he smiles at Jimin and says, “Good luck.”

If he can feel the daggers Taehyung’s staring his way, he doesn’t say anything.

The crowd erupts into cheers when Jimin steps into the ring. Jimin’s popular to bet on, but Taehyung knows exactly how he fights.

Jimin grins at him, looking for a second like an angel, before he strikes, quick and hard, and knocks Taehyung flat on his back. Taehyung twists, catches Jimin in the shin, and knocks him down as well.

Jimin fights fair, unlike Yoongi, but he’s easier to rile up than anyone else. Taehyung dodges his hits and taunts him to no end, mocking his height until Jimin’s flushed red with legitimate embarrassment.

He twists Taehyung’s arm behind his back and pulls, and Taehyung hears his shoulder pop. He hisses in pain and steps on Jimin’s foot hard, then spins around, swings and hits Jimin in the side with a solid punch. Jimin makes a pained expression but he hits Taehyung back without hesitating, catching him hard in the ribs.

Yeah, Jimin knows how to fight, but Taehyung’s bigger than him and stronger, and it’s easy enough to overpower him. Once he’s tripped Jimin, it’s easy to pin him down, hold his arm behind his back, and not let him get back up.

Jimin glares up at him and Taehyung beams back down. “You done?” he asks, and Jimin reluctantly taps out.

Half the crowd cheers and the other half all rush to Jimin to be his knight in shining armor in his moment of defeat- Jimin has that effect on people.

Taehyung ambles over to the bar and grabs Namjoon’s beer, polishes it off, and grins barbarically.

“He’s not that short,” Namjoon snorts, and Taehyung huffs out a laugh.

“I play to win,” he says.

“Okay winner, why don’t you go ice your ribs before they bruise too badly.” Seokjin gently nudges him towards the bathroom.

Taehyung sticks his tongue out and makes his way to clean himself up. His shoulder aches where Jimin fucked it up, but he’s had worse so he grits his teeth and bears it.

He’s in the middle of pressing a cold compress to his aching shoulder joint when the bathroom door opens, and just like last week, Jungkook’s standing in the doorway.


Jungkook presses his lips together hard as if he’s contemplating whether or not to say w hat’s on his mind. “I want you to teach me how to fight.” He finally admits. Huh. It’s not what he’d expected.

“Fuck off.” Taehyung barks a laugh, and Jungkook steps back a little, clearly unused to being talked to that way.

“But I-“

Taehyung narrows his eyes, watches as Jungkook takes another step back, arms raised at his sides. “Give me one good reason to not fuck up that pretty face right now.” He takes a step forward and Jungkook steps back again. Taehyung grins, wide and barbaric.

“I just-“ Jungkook swallows, and Taehyung watches the bob of his throat with eyes as sharp as knives. “I want to learn how to fight better. And RM said you’re the best of the best.”

Taehyung snorts at that. Namjoon’s beaten him to a bloody pulp more times than he can count. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m far from it. Ask Yoongi or someone.”

“Yoongi’s not a good teacher and I can't keep up with what Namjoon says half the time.”

“That's too bad, then.” Taehyung brushes a careful fingertip over his bruised ribs, winces at the dull ache that radiates from the wound. Fucking Jimin. He presses the half melted icepack to his side and looks back up to see Jungkook still awkwardly standing there, half in the doorway, half in the bathroom. “Why are you still here?”

“Teach me.” He says stubbornly.

“You couldn't keep up.” Taehyung stretches his sore shoulders and Jungkook follows the movement with hungry eyes. “Go back to your little rich boy life and stay out of trouble.”

“Teach me.” He repeats.

A flash of annoyance streaks down Taehyung’s spine. He rises up fast, so fast that Jungkook startles, and presses the younger boy against the doorway, looming over him with the tiny bit of added height he has. Jungkook withers under his eyes.

Taehyung gives him a dangerously cutting smile and presses his hand into Jungkook’s throat, cutting off his air supply. “Take them by surprise.” He suggests, tightening the vice like grip he has on Jungkook’s neck. Under his palm, Jungkook's pulse flutters like a panicked bird in a cage, his dark eyes widening in something that's not quite fear. Taehyung abruptly releases him and his pink lips gasp open wetly. Taehyung stares.

And then he peaces the fuck out before he can do something he'll regret.


He sends a text to Hoseok that night; a simple, wyd? And Hoseok texts back what do you want me to be doing?

Less than twenty minutes later, Hoseok’s knocking at his door. Taehyung answers shirtless, and Hoseok makes a sympathetic noise upon seeing his ribs. “Jimin fucked you up pretty badly.” He mumbles, shedding his scarf and beat up leather jacket as he walks inside.

 “I won.” Taehyung feels the need to inform.

Hoseok laughs. “Of course, you did, sweetheart.” He strips off article after article of clothing as he makes his way to Taehyung’s bed. “I hope you lowered his arrogance a notch.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Taehyung mutters, and Hoseok leans down, seals their mouths together, and Taehyung pretends to forget about Jungkook’s pretty little lips and his soft sweet voice.

“There’s a joint in the back pocket of my jeans,” Hoseok grins, and Taehyung groans into his mouth, “fuck, yeah.”

Taehyung’s lighter’s nearly out of fluid but he manages to get a weak flame going, and he lights the joint and shoves it between his lips. Hoseok knows how to roll better than anyone he’s ever met. Hoseok leans in and kisses him, forces his mouth open while he’s still holding smoke in, and it goes billowing out around their joined lips.

Taehyung keeps smoking his way through the joint while Hoseok undoes his pants. He watches from under heavy eyelids as Hoseok sucks his dick into his mouth, lazily tries to buck his hips up just to watch Hoseok struggle, and giggles around the joint when Hoseok shoots him a glare.

“Dick,” Hoseok says, pulling off and using his hand to pump Taehyung’s spit slick cock.

“Maybe later,” Taehyung smirks back and lets his head fall onto the mattress. He hands the smoldering joint to Hoseok, who takes the last hit and tosses it into the mug of tea Taehyung has on his nightstand.

“I was drinking that,” he says with a frown, and Hoseok laughs, languid and pleasant.

Taehyung’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, movements slowed down. Hoseok licks up the length of his dick and asks, “Can I tie your wrists?”

Taehyung stretches his arms above his head and Hoseok ties Taehyung’s wrists to the bed with the scarf he’d been wearing and then rides him until his thighs shake, face flushed, tan skin shining in the light. Hoseok’s beautiful in a different way than Jimin or even Jungkook. He’s sharper, hips slender and thighs lean and muscular.

Hoseok wraps his hand around his dick and jerks himself off in time to the rhythm of his hips rocking down against Taehyung’s cock, and then he’s coming with a shout, fucking himself down and raking his nails down Taehyung’s chest.

Taehyung hisses at the pain, and then he’s gone too, arching up against Hoseok and gasping his name, fingers tightening in the scarf, arms straining to break free.

Afterwards, Hoseok unties his sore wrists and languidly kisses him and Taehyung mumbles into his mouth, “Stay the night.”

He’s content to fall asleep just like that, but Hoseok’s a neat freak and also gets insane munchies after getting high, so he has to deal with Hoseok first waking him up to clean up the cum drying across his stomach, and then ravaging his kitchen looking for cup ramen and potato chips.

The next morning, Taehyung lets Hoseok fuck him open in the shower, his back against the cold tiles, thighs wrapped tightly around Hoseok’s waist. Hoseok makes him cum untouched (a talent Taehyung is rather proud of) and then makes him get on his knees under the spray and suck him off.

Hoseok also makes him breakfast before class, and scolds him when Taehyung comes up behind him while he’s frying eggs, presses a semi against the small of his back and tells him how much he wants to fuck him over the little kitchen table.

“Sex fiend,” Hoseok accuses, “I’m an old man, Tae, we can’t all get off every ten minutes.”

Taehyung perches on the counter and shrugs. “You’re two years older than me- I don’t think that qualifies as an old man just yet.”

“Fuck off,” Hoseok groans when Taehyung grabs his dick again as he passes.

Taehyung grins to himself. He likes mornings like this the most.


It's not often that Namjoon uses his doctor voice at the club, but when he does, Taehyung knows he should be paying attention.

“It's simple,” Namjoon says, twirling a straw between his thumb and forefinger. “You want to sleep with him, but you also want to beat the shit out of him.”

Taehyung’s cheeks heat up. “I don't want to sleep with him.” He objects. He doesn’t know why he’d even bothered disclosing the fact that he may be the tiniest bit attracted to Jungkook when he knew that he’d get this response.

“You do, but the need to crush him into the dirt came first so you've been acting on that instead.”

Hoseok looks up from his drink and shoots Taehyung a grin. “Wow, you're fucked up.”

Taehyung shoves his wrists up, showing the bracelets of bruises marring them from the night before and counters, “Like you're not ?”

Hoseok primly sips his drink and shrugs. “We’re two consenting adults who are attracted to each other and engage in safe BDSM. You just want to fuck Jungkook up.”

“Do you want him on your dick or do you want to break his dick, that's the real question.” Jimin giggles and dances out of Taehyung’s reach when he slaps lightly at the older boy.

“Can we forget my weird urge to fight Jungkook and focus on what we're doing?” Taehyung’s voice comes out more annoyed than he'd wanted and Jimin and Hoseok smirk at each other.

 “You say fight but I’m pretty sure the word you’re looking for is fuck.” Jimin drapes his arms over the back of Yoongi’s chair and nuzzles into his neck, and if Taehyung weren’t so endeared, he’d be disgusted.

“You should just hook up and get it out of your system.” Namjoon runs a hand through his silvery hair and winks at Taehyung. “If you mess it up, you can always break his face later.”

In theory, that makes sense. Even someone as stubborn as Taehyung can admit that Jungkook is attractive and there’s an undeniable tension between them, ever since that first fight. But he doesn’t want to give Namjoon the satisfaction.

“Shut up.” Taehyung says instead.


“Teach me.” Jungkook says, like the words are a mantra and he lives by them. Taehyung’s getting pretty fucking sick of his whole lost puppy act.

He whirls around on his heels and Jungkook nearly crashes face first into him. “What’s your problem?” Taehyung snarls, “You don’t have anything better to do than follow me around in the middle of the night?”

Jungkook meets his eyes defiantly. “I don’t.”

“Freak,” Taehyung mutters darkly, spinning back around and continuing to walk. It’s 3 in the fucking morning and Jungkook is trailing home after him for the fourth time in two weeks. Taehyung would have bashed his pretty little cheekbones in if not for the sudden fascination everyone seems to have with him.

Somehow the little rat had wiggled his way into Taehyung’s friend circle via Yoongi, and were Seokjin not so taken with him, Taehyung would slam a fist through his windpipe immediately.

Jungkook follows him all the way up the stairs in his apartment complex and to his door. “I’m a fast learner.” He says as if Taehyung will suddenly believe him after hearing it for the fiftieth time.

“And I’m started to get annoyed by you, so maybe you should fuck off.” Taehyung lets himself in and kicks off his shoes, then slams the door in Jungkook’s face.

Through the thin door, Jungkook’s muffled voice calls, “I’m not leaving until you say you’ll teach me!” Jesus fucking Christ.

Taehyung takes his time undressing, carefully icing the new bruises blooming across his hips from where Namjoon had quite literally picked him up and thrown him across the mat.

Asshole, he texts Namjoon along with a picture of the nasty reddened skin.

Sexy, Namjoon texts back with a winky face.

He snorts and plugs in his phone. After rummaging around the fridge trying to salvage some leftovers from the last time Seokjin had gone on a cooking rampage for him, he heads to bed.

With the lights turned off, everything seems to go quieter. He likes his apartment dark and silent like this; it means he can hear the noises of the city, the distant buzz of cars and ambient chatter of people returning home late.

Except, it’s not as quiet as it usually is because apparently Jungkook is a big enough freak that he really is making good on his promise not to leave. There’s soft humming coming from the other side of the door, and even though Taehyung can’t hear the words, he can tell that Jungkook can carry a tune.

At first, he wonders how bad it would be to just leave the kid out there and go to sleep, but then remembers that Jungkook is barely twenty and doesn’t know anything about being outside at night in this part of town and then all he can think about every time he tries to close his eyes are Jungkook’s wide eyes and inexperienced fists.

And now this- he’s fucking singing to himself while sitting outside Taehyung’s doorstep in the cold at 4am and what if someone comes by and just drugs his ass and kidnaps him or what if he just fucking freezes to death holy shit-

Fucking hell.

Taehyung heaves himself out of bed, all the while cursing himself for being too nice. He pulls open the door with more force than necessary and the hinges creak loudly enough that he winces. Jungkook must have been sitting leaning against the door because he falls backwards at Taehyung’s feet with a surprised gasp.

“Sleep on the floor.” Taehyung says stiffly. God, the kid’s not even wearing a jacket, what a dumbass.

Jungkook’s lips drop open in surprise and he asks with too much excitement in his voice, “Does this mean-“

“Fine!” Taehyung shouts, and Jungkook winces a little, “Fuck, I’ll teach you how to throw a punch, are you happy, you fucking weirdo?”

Taehyung doesn’t know what he’s expecting- maybe tears, maybe insults, but Jungkook just smiles up at him sleepily and says in an annoyingly sweet voice, “Thank you.” Taehyung kind of feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“You’re still sleeping on the floor.” Taehyung mutters darkly, and slams the door shut behind them.

“Okay!” Jungkook chirps, and follows him in.

Once Jungkook is situated on the floor next to his bed (“Watch out for rats,” Taehyung teases, and Jungkook looks panicked for a couple minutes before he realizes Taehyung’s joking,) Taehyung turns the lights off again.

Jungkook’s breathing smooths out almost immediately, almost imperceptible. Taehyung stays awake much longer, staring at the ceiling and wondering why Jungkook’s smile had made something in his chest flutter. 


Jungkook is gone by the time Taehyung wakes up, the blanket he’d been tossed folded neatly by Taehyung’s feet. There’s a slip of paper on top of it with a phone number and Taehyung saves it on his phone under the name Freak.

His shift at the convenience store isn’t for another hour so he eats slowly and showers with cold water so it doesn’t bother the purplish bruises across his shoulder and ribs.

As he’s icing them again, his phone buzzes insistently from the table.

The call is from Yoongi’s phone but instead of Yoongi’s rough voice, it’s Jimin’s singsong over the speaker. “Taehyung, did you sleep with Jungkook last night?”

Taehyung nearly chokes on his coffee. “What the fuck?” He coughs out.

“Jungkook called Yoongi and when Yoongi asked what time he got home last night he said he spent the night at your place?” Jimin tilts the end of the sentence up like a question. “Did you do what Namjoon said you should and fuck him?”

“He slept on my floor.” Taehyung clarifies. “Like a dog.”

“Uh huh,” Jimin says, the sound somehow accusatory even without actual words, “Anyways, did you hear what happened to Hoseok last night after you left?” Before Taehyung can say that he hadn’t, Jimin’s already telling him, “Some fucker broke his arm last night so he’s going to be out for a while.”

It’s not uncommon for sprains and breaks to occur during fights, but for someone as talented as Hoseok, it’s rare. “He’s gotta be so mad right now.” Taehyung absently drags his nails across the scuffed wood surface of his table. “Did he get the other guy back?”

Over the line, Jimin hums a confirmation. “Nearly tore the guy’s throat out with his good hand afterwards.”

In the background, Yoongi’s low voice sounds, and Taehyung can just barely make out him asking for his phone back. Jimin whines something in response, but it’s muffled. “This old man’s harassing me so I guess I’ll call you later.” He says to Taehyung eventually.

If Yoongi says anything in response to that, Taehyung doesn’t hear it because the line goes dead.


Hoseok’s in pretty bad shape when Taehyung goes to see him the next day. His arm is in a cast and a sling, face all bruised up and swollen. He has a black eye and a bandage over his nose, and Taehyung would bet anything that under his sweater, there are wounds marring his abdomen all over.

To his surprise, Namjoon and Seokjin are both sitting in the overstuffed armchair in his room, Namjoon idly playing a game on his phone while perched on the arm, Seokjin curled up and catnapping in the seat. “God, did you decide to fight a mountain or something?” Hoseok attempts a weak smile at that, but winces when it pulls his split lip taut. “Don’t you have a job or something?” he says to Namjoon.

“Hello Taehyung, it’s so nice to see you too.” Namjoon says dryly. “I’m the only one who could take time off to help this dumb fuck.”

Hoseok petulantly mutters, “You’re a dumb fuck,” under his breath and Namjoon shoots back, “Next time you have to piss and can’t hold your own dick, why don’t you try repeating that to me.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen in surprise. “He has two hands.”

“The other of which is sprained at the wrist.” Namjoon says with a venomous glower towards the bed.

Hoseok waves his bandaged wrist a little, eyes twinkling with self-deprecating humor. “That guy had it coming, okay? He said some really nasty shit.”

“Oh?” Taehyung drops down at the foot of the bed, neatly crossing his long legs under him self. “Like what?”

Namjoon’s voice is solemn. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

“Humor me.”

“Said some shit about Seokjin. The usual.” Hoseok keeps his voice light and airy, but Taehyung can imagine exactly what must have been said. He glances over at the sleeping boy.

Seokjin’s profession doesn’t match his face. He’s soft, with a face prettier than Jimin’s, and serving drinks at the bar wearing tight jeans and sweaters that slip past his collarbone, most people assume he’s only there for show. His friends know better. While Seokjin doesn’t fight, Taehyung doesn’t doubt that the older man would find a way to crush any of them into the ground with relative ease if he ever needed to.

However, Seokjin’s a pretty boy through and through, and some of the club’s patrons are overly flirtatious and at times even forceful. Normally, he rolls his eyes at the catcalls and underhanded comments, but even Taehyung’s heard the disgusting shit the nastier people sometimes say about him, about the things they want to do to him, and wanted to kick their asses. It happens from time to time, them getting into fights outside the ring for Seokjin’s sake.

“I can’t help being so beautiful,” Seokjin jokes whenever it happens, but even now in his sleep, his face is pinched with worry, eyebrows creased slightly together.

“You look pretty fucked up, though,” Taehyung leans back on his palms and stretches his long legs out in front of him. “How’d you of all people end up getting beat so badly?”

Namjoon grimaces. “Try being seven shots in and fighting someone twice your size.”

“I mean… it’s not hard to be twice Hoseok’s size.”

Hoseok throws him a dirty look and Taehyung winks back. The joke diffuses some of the tension in the room and Namjoon hums in agreement, which makes Hoseok turn his glare on him.

They chatter idly about particularly good fights from the previous night until Seokjin stirs, sleepily waves at Taehyung from where he’s curled up in the chair.

“I’ll make dinner,” he says, stretching out his limbs. Seokjin’s food is notoriously good and Taehyung grins at Hoseok, who smiles back. Neither of them can cook in the least and unlike Namjoon, they don’t have a Seokjin living with them.

“Tae, can you help me out?” Seokjin calls from the kitchen, if only because Namjoon is more of a disaster than he is. The first and last time Seokjin had asked for Namjoon’s help, he’d ended up burning up most of the kitchen and part of his own left shoulder. Taehyung thinks the burn scars sort of make Namjoon look tougher but Seokjin chastises him every time he makes it known.

Taehyung dutifully follows Seokjin’s militaristic commands, silently chopping onions until his eyes burn, washing vegetable after vegetable.

“So,” Seokjin says as he stirs something in a big pot. His voice is casual in a way that makes Taehyung think that his intentions are not casual in the least. “Jungkook said you’re going to teach him to fight.”

Taehyung wipes away a tear with the back of his hand. “He kept bothering me, so I might as well.” Taehyung blinks his stinging eyes and feels more tears slip down his face. “I think I’m going to go blind.”

“So dramatic.” Seokjin rolls his eyes good naturedly and takes the cutting board, sweeps everything in it into the pot, and places it in the sink. “Be nice to him. He’s a nice kid once you…”

“Strip away the layers of arrogance?” Taehyung supplies.

Seokjin claps his hands together in delight. “Exactly! Jungkook is like an onion. He has layers.” 

“Actually, I think that’s Shrek. You just quoted Shrek. To my face.”

Shrugging his broad shoulders, Seokjin turns the heat up. “If it gets my point across.”

It had not, in fact, gotten his point across. All it does is make Taehyung party confused and partly amused that Seokjin of all people knows Shrek. But Taehyung would rather die than admit this so he hums noncommittedly and drops into one of Hoseok’s barstools.

“Why do I have to teach him, though?” Taehyung complains. If Seokjin disapproves of him spinning in the barstool, he doesn’t comment on it. “He’s a stupid kid and you know I don’t have any patience. Namjoon should be doing this.”

“You’re a stupid kid too.” Seokjin grins cheerily.

“At least I’m not a minor. Jungkook looks like he’s still in school.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Tae. He’s twenty.”

“Who’s twenty?” Namjoon’s voice floats down the hall. He’s bent nearly in half and supporting most of Hoseok’s weight. It’s a slow process getting the injured man to the table but eventually Namjoon manages to set him down in one of the chairs at the small table.

Taehyung slides into the seat across the table from him and throws tiny pieces of bread at him, laughing when Hoseok can’t maneuver to knock the crumbs away.

“You’re a dick.” Hoseok mumbles, awkwardly hitting a piece of bread midair with his bandaged arm.

“We don’t talk about dicks at the dinner table,” Seokjin reprimands, lightly tugging a strand of his hair. He sets down the steaming bowl in his other hand and sits down. “and Jungkook’s twenty.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “He’s legal, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him.” Taehyung fills his bowl with rice and makes a face when Namjoon and Seokjin exchange a glance. “I’m serious, I don’t want to sleep with him.”

Hoseok looks up from his casts. “I think you should sleep with him.” His voice is quiet, contemplative.

“I think you should stop talking.” Taehyung smiles and neatly strips the meat off a chicken leg.

“No, seriously. I think he’s kind of into you, if we’re being honest. He kept asking after you that one week you were too busy with school to fight.”

Namjoon not-so-gently shoves a forkful of stir fry and rice into Hoseok’s mouth and nods. “I second that he’s into you. Hoseok, stop glaring at me.”

“I wasn’t ready,” Hoseok whines, but dutifully opens his mouth for the next bite. “And anyways, he’s cute. In an ‘I don’t know if you’re legal but I’m willing to risk it’ kind of way.”

Seokjin makes a disapproving noise. “We already established that he’s legal,” he reminds loftily, “And I sorely hope you aren’t willing to risk it in any other situation.”

Hoseok shrugs guilelessly, but yelps when Namjoon jabs him in the bruised ribs.

Okay, yeah, maybe Jungkook is cute, and maybe Taehyung is a little attracted to him, but he’s still a smug asshole and Taehyung hates that he’s been roped into spending more time with him trying to teach him how to fight.

And he doesn’t think with his dick, no matter what Hoseok likes to say.


Their first lesson comes later than planned. Taehyung’s had class all week and he’s been spending nights at the library instead of the club.

When he finally gets around to calling Jungkook, it’s after a five hour nap and three energy drinks. His fingers may shake where they grip the phone but Taehyung knows the more wound up he is, the better it’ll be later when he has to fight.

Jungkook picks up the phone before the first ring has even finished and he sounds slightly out of breath when he says, “Taehyung?”

It occurs to Taehyung that he’s never heard Jungkook actually say his name before. Then it occurs to him that this is an irrelevant piece of information.

He clears his throat as if the action will also clear his mind. “If you want to learn how to not get your ass kicked, be at the club in twenty minutes.”

It’s still early afternoon, early enough that they’ll have a couple of hours to practice before Seokjin opens up the club to the public. Hopefully none of his friends will show up either- he doesn’t need to get teased about spending more time than necessary with Jungkook.

Taehyung lives fairly close to the club. In the daytime, it looks from the outside like any other dilapidated building in a poor neighborhood on the wrong side of town, the shell of a real club, but at night, when crowded bodies thrum with excitement and fists are exchanged, the atmosphere of the club comes to life like a live wire, dangerous and bright and somehow beautiful.

Jungkook is already there when Taehyung gets there, sprawled across the hood of a sleek black Maserati that makes Taehyung’s throat go dry.

“Tell me you stole that car and you’re not as much of a rich bitch as I think you are right now.” Taehyung says by way of greeting.

“Hello to you too,” Jungkook rolls his eyes and hops off the hood with no regard for the dusty print his crisp white converse leaves against it. Taehyung stares hard at the smudge.

“Are you going to open the door or are we fighting in the parking lot in the middle of the day?”

Shooting Jungkook a dirty look, Taehyung grabs the key Seokjin had lent him out of his pocket and slides it into the lock.

He has to admit, the place is quite eerie when it’s empty. The dark, still, shadows stretch as he opens the door and for once, the ring and the area around it are silent. Taehyung finds the light switches and uses the smaller key on the ring to turn on the lights.

“I never noticed how big this place was.” Jungkook remarks. He stands at the center of the ring, shoes kicked off and to the side. He rolls his sleeves up and Taehyung pretends he’s not jealous of how muscular Jungkook’s arms are.

Sliding his own shoes off, Taehyung drops his jacket and rolls his stiff shoulders back. “Stretching before you fight is really important.” He informs Jungkook, who nods seriously and drops his upper body to touch his toes immediately.

He presses a palm between Jungkook’s shoulder blades and pushes him down harder until his palms are flat against the floor of the ring. “You’re flexible,” He comments, pleasantly surprised.

The tips of Jungkook’s ears turn red when he flushes. Taehyung pinches one and grins when Jungkook straightens with a yelp. “Don’t let it get to your head. You still suck.”

It turns out that Jungkook is as quick of a learner as he’d proclaimed. He picks up on tips easily and follows Taehyung’s instructions without hesitation. Taehyung shows him how to punch with his entire body instead of just the force in his arms, teaches him to block blows to the more sensitive parts of his torso, and how to get out of a particularly brutal chokehold.

The last one Taehyung lets Jungkook try out on him, pressing the length of their bodies together and wrapping his arm around Jungkook’s slender neck. Against the inside of his elbow, Jungkook breathes out a swift startled exhale. It feels strangely intimate to have Jungkook so close, his body all hard muscle under soft skin against Taehyung’s own wiry one.

Taehyung’s lips part but he doesn’t know what he wants to say. The moment passes.

Jungkook elbows Taehyung hard right below the ribcage and escapes with relative ease, a teasing grin lighting up his face.

“Damn,” A smooth voice interrupts the heated glare Taehyung is throwing at Jungkook. It’s Namjoon, a crisp suit still fitted perfectly around his lean body. “I thought you said he sucked, Tae.”

“I let him do that!” Taehyung says incredulously. When Namjoon raises an eyebrow at Jungkook, he just shrugs, wide grin pasted on his face. “Fuck you, I could take his ass down at any second.”

Namjoon hums goadingly and slides his jacket off. He places it on the bar counter and slips out of his shiny Oxfords.

“Could you maybe strip in the bathroom or something,” Taehyung deadpans. “I’m not a fan of the dad bod.”

Namjoon’s answering smile is a sharp knife. “That’s not the impression you gave me when you called me daddy while sitting on my dick.”

Jungkook flushes bright red and Taehyung wants to tease him further just to see how embarrassed he’ll get.

Instead, he just mutters, “Lesson over. You staying or going?”


Nodding like that’s what he’d been expecting, Taehyung climbs over the bar to grab a bottle of water. When he’s done with it, he tosses it at Jungkook.

Namjoon eventually meanders over to the bathroom and changes out of his slacks and into a black shirt and track pants. In Taehyung’s opinion, he looks much more in his element like this.

“I’m leaving too,” Taehyung announces, lightly punching Namjoon’s arm. “Good luck with your fights tonight.”

Namjoon waves to both him and Jungkook, who trails out after Taehyung.

“Are you going to follow me home again?” Taehyung asks Jungkook when he keeps following him. He strides across the parking lot in the afternoon sunlight and Jungkook shrugs, falls into step next to him. Unlike Jimin, he’s tall enough to easily keep up with Taehyung’s long-legged steps.

“I’m hungry and I don’t want to look like a loser going out to eat by myself.”

Taehyung smiles pleasantly. “Why don’t you go ask someone who gives a shit ?”

Jungkook shoves his hands in his pockets and says amiably, “I didn’t think you were stupid enough to refuse free food, but I guess not.”

The word free makes him stop short. Jungkook’s lips curl into a tiny clever smile. “I guess I could go for food,” Taehyung says carefully.

“You guess?”

“Shut up,” Taehyung replies neatly, but lets Jungkook lead him down the street to a collection of little food stalls.

He grabs food around here enough that the old lady who runs the ice cream cart waves at him and the granddaughter of the owner of a fried chicken restaurant runs up to him when they pass it and demands he eat there.

Sohyun barely reaches Taehyung’s knees but the look in her eyes is adamant. “You have to, Taetae” she says, “You haven’t eaten our chicken in weeks.”

Jungkook has a palm pressed to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. In Taehyung’s opinion, he isn’t doing such a good job. “Do you want the chicken or not?” Taehyung tries to keep his voice as flat as possible.

“I want it,” Jungkook giggles, and then after a second, adds on, “Taetae.”

Resisting the urge to punch Jungkook in his stupid smug face, Taehyung strides into the restaurant and up to the counter. The aunty behind the counter smiles brightly when she recognizes him.

“Why, Taehyung, you haven’t been around here in weeks,” she exclaims, “Look at you, you’re even thinner than the last time I saw you. Sit down, honey, let me bring you and your friend something on the house.”

Taehyung feels his cheeks burn in embarrassment but he gathers his dignity the best he can and thanks the woman. Sohyun is still clutching his leg and when he slides into a booth, she climbs into the seat next to him. Looking annoyingly amused, Jungkook sits across from them and says in his cockiest voice, “Look at you, Taetae. Getting chicken on the house.”

“Taetae is our best customer.” Sohyun announces to him, and Taehyung slouches down in his seat, praying for the vinyl booth to just swallow him whole.

Jungkook mouths “wow” at him, smirk slathered over his lips. Taehyung kicks him under the table.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t kick hard enough for it to actually hurt, and Jungkook just grins wider and balances his chin on the palms of his hands, elbows against the table. He directs his smile at Sohyun and asks, “So, what’s your name?”

“Her name is none of your business and she doesn’t talk to strangers.” Taehyung glares icily.

Sohyun frowns up at him, “I’m Sohyun. Taetae is my best friend.”

Jungkook nods, and somehow he seems completely engaged by the seven year old’s words. “Taetae seems like a very bad best friend. He’s so grouchy all the time.”

“Shut up,” Taehyung says, but Sohyun shakes her head.

“He’s not!” she exclaims, big eyes widening in disbelief. “He’s the nicest person I know.”

Taehyung wants to sink to the floor under the booth and run out of the restaurant before anything more embarrassing can happen, but Sohyun’s grandmother chooses that second to drop a big plate of chicken legs on their table.

“Your favorite,” she says cheerfully, “I know you like the legs spicy so I added extra seasoning.”

Taehyung manages to mumble a thank you, sure that his face must be on fire by now.

Jungkook expresses his gratitude in a much more enthusiastic manner and digs in immediately. Taehyung, on the other hand, digs through his jacket until he finds what he’s looking for. The tin of mints he always keeps on him. He hands the tin to Sohyun and she grins up at him.

“Mints?” Jungkook asks through a full mouth.

“Taetae always brings me some,” Sohyun says, shaking the container so the mints rattle inside it. “Mint is my favorite flavor.”

Taehyung takes a bite of chicken to avoid having to reply to Jungkook’s amused stare. He feels strangely exposed.

Jungkook just keeps curiously staring at him.

Taehyung wants to punch him in the face.


By the time they leave the restaurant, the sun’s setting. In the dying sunlight, the key to the Maserati glints temptingly as Jungkook swings the keychain around on his index finger.

“So, I guess your whole tough guy persona was just a façade this whole time,” Jungkook says with a sly look.

“I don’t have a tough guy persona.”

Jungkook smiles knowingly and keeps walking. When they reach the intersection, Jungkook tilts his head and glances at Taehyung, a wicked smile curved on his mouth. “You wanna go for a ride?”

Taehyung chokes. “Excuse me?”

“In my car, I mean.” Jungkook’s grin tells him that’s definitely not what he meant, but Taehyung has a paper due tomorrow and classes early in the morning so he shakes his head.

As much as Taehyung wants to see if Jungkook’s ridiculously expensive car is as fast as its sleek exterior promises, he needs to do well this semester.

He says as much, and Jungkook clicks his tongue disappointedly. “Lame,” he says, but raises his arm in a casual half wave. He steps off the intersection, the car keys still dangling from his hand.

Taehyung swallows hard, forces himself to turn away, and goes the other direction back to his apartment.


“Are you going to movie night at Seokjin’s?”

These are the words Jungkook greets him with when he answers the phone.

“Hello Taehyung, what’s going on with you today?” Taehyung mocks , and Jungkook replies, “Shut up. Are you going or not?”

Seokjin’s idea of fun- Taehyung thinks they’re stupid but he can never find it in himself to refuse when all their friends gather once a month at Seokjin, Yoongi, and Namjoon’s house, curling up on their couches and armchairs to get high and watch whatever lame slasher movie Jimin’s dug up this time.

However, Jungkook has never been a part of that group. Taehyung knows that Seokjin likes the kid, but he didn’t think that Seokjin liked him that much.

“Taehyung?” Jungkook asks hesitantly when he doesn’t answer.

“Uh,” he says very intelligently. It takes him a second to remember the question. “Oh yeah. Movie night. Yeah, I’m going.”

He’s currently at work, which basically means he stands around behind the counter at the convenience store and texts Jimin until someone approaches to checkout. Today’s a particularly slow day and Taehyung’s bored as hell. 

“So should I like… bring something? Beer or whatever?”

“Are you old enough to buy beer?” Taehyung tucks the phone between his shoulder and cheek and helps himself to a chocolate bar. He’ll put money in the register later.

Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise over the line. “Do I bring something or not?”

Breaking off a piece and shoving it in his mouth, Taehyung lets the chocolate melt on his tongue and hums contemplatively. “Well, Seokjin’s really into cooking and shit so he goes all out anyways. I don’t think you need to bring anything.” Fuck, he’d accidentally picked the shit with raspberry filling.

Jungkook sighs in relief and Taehyung finds himself smiling at the sound. “Thanks,” he says. “What are you doing today, anyways?”

“Work.” Taehyung eats the rest of the candy and tosses the wrapper into the trash bin. “You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s what the rest of the world does because they don’t have rich daddies.”

“Is everything you say snarky?” Jungkook snaps, but then adds a second later, “Where do you work?”

“Convenience store down the street from my place. Why, are you going to stop by?”

The bell over the door chimes as someone enters the store. It’s an old man who throws Taehyung a look when he sees the phone in his hand. Taehyung grins back at him.

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Come visit you at work.” Jungkook’s voice softens a little, almost shy. Taehyung didn’t know Jungkook did shy.

He drums his blunt nails against the counter. “Sure,” he says finally, because it would be weird to refuse something as small as that. “I’m here till six.”

“Are you going to Seokjin’s from work?”

“That’s the plan.” The old man returns to the front of the store with a carton of milk and places it on the counter. “I’ll see you later, I should get back to work.”

The man mutters something under his breath and Taehyung turns his smile up a notch. “What was that, sir?” He slides his phone back into his pocket and rings up the milk carton.

“I said I’ll take a pack of cigarettes.” The man says with obvious distain.

Once Taehyung’s picked out the brand he wants and rung that up as well, he informs the man cheerily, “Smoking gives you cancer.”

The man scowls even harder and rushes out of the store with his bag clutched in his fist. Taehyung waves after him.


Jungkook shows up about half an hour before his shift ends. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a plain shirt, foregoing a jacket yet again. Taehyung, on the other hand, has his thickest coat waiting for him in the back room of the store.

“You do realize it’s not spring yet, right?” Taehyung greets him. He’s restocking the peanut butter shelf in one of the aisles when Jungkook finds him.

“I forgot,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. “Also, nice vest. Which crossing guard did you rob?”

He’s referring to the red monstrosity that serves as Taehyung’s work uniform. It has his name stitched into it and yeah, Taehyung hates it, but he also feels strangely defensive when Jungkook mocks it.

“Nice face.” He counters very maturely. “Which goblin did you rob?”

Jungkook grins at him, and this is easier than the weird suggestive way they’d been talking earlier. Taehyung knows how to be an asshole. What he doesn’t know is how to respond to Jungkook’s half-propositions.

“So, I went to see Hoseok today. Apparently, he still can’t eat by himself, so I offered to feed him.” Jungkook hops up on the counter, swinging his legs like a kid. He’s got those thick tan boots on; the kind Taehyung would never be able to afford.

“No one’s been that fucked up in a while,” Taehyung comments dryly. “He’s too reckless. That dumbass has no sense of self preservation.”

When he looks around to Jungkook, he’s still on the counter. He has his phone out and is tapping away at something. He’s very pretty, Taehyung realizes suddenly. Jungkook’s eyelashes are so long that they sweep his cheeks in dark crescents when he’s looking down, and his little cherry lips part a tiny bit when he notices something on the screen.

Taehyung’s taken aback by how much he wants to pull his thick thighs apart, to slide in between them and pluck the phone from Jungkook’s hands and kiss the surprised expression off his face.


He shakes his head physically as if that will clear it and finishes placing the last jar of peanut butter on the shelf. Then he returns to the counter and purposefully walks in a wide arc around Jungkook to get behind it again.

“What do you even do here? This place is empty, man.” Jungkook turns around to face him, legs pulling in so he’s cross legged on the counter.

Taehyung jabs his side and narrows his eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to come see what I’m doing.”

“Can’t you leave early?”

“If you pay me what this job does when I get fired, then sure.” Before Jungkook can do something that’ll really piss him off, like agree to his offhand statement, Taehyung roughly says, “That was a joke.”

“I know,” Jungkook replies defensively, brows drawn low over his eyes. “You know, you don’t always have to be so snappy with me.”

“That’s just how I am.” Taehyung busies himself counting the bills in the register pretending he can’t feel Jungkook’s eyes on him.

“That’s not how you’re like with that girl from the chicken shop. Or with Jimin, or Hoseok. Do you just hate me or something?”

It’s quite the opposite actually. Taehyung wants to pull Jungkook down from his perch on the counter and undress him and possibly worship his body and-

God. He’s going to go fucking insane.

 “I treat Sohyun like a kid because she’s seven years old. Are you seven, Jungkook?” Taehyung pinches his thigh and Jungkook whines, slaps his hand to get him to stop.

“Yeah, seven inches.” Jungkook mutters under his breath.

Taehyung shoots him a very unimpressed look and points to the freezer aisle. “Go wait over there until my shift’s over. No dick jokes at work.”

“Are you putting me on time out?” Jungkook snorts, but when Taehyung shoots him an icy look, he retreats to the freezer aisle. “Can I at least have some ice cream?”

Apparently Jungkook takes Taehyung’s silence as a yes, because a second later he appears at the head of the aisle with a popsicle in his mouth. Taehyung wonders if he chose the most phallic looking thing in the store for a reason.

“Jimin told me we’re watching horror movies tonight.” Jungkook says, but Taehyung’s too busy watching him deep throat the cherry popsicle to answer. “Tae?”

Taehyung clears his throat and stares at the stack of bills in his hand. “Yeah. He always chooses stupid slasher flicks.”

Jungkook licks up the length of the ice cream and Taehyung follows his tongue up. His lips are tinted red.

“Are you going to pay for that?” Taehyung says so that he doesn’t act on the urge to tackle Jungkook to the ground and lick the sweet-sour flavoring out of his mouth.

Jungkook sucks on it noisily, his cheeks hollowing out a little bit. He blinks at Taehyung, eyes dark and guileless. “Sure,” he smiles, and it’s anything but innocent.

Then he retreats back to the freezer aisle and Taehyung lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.


By the time Taehyung finishes his shift and gets ready to leave, Jungkook is sitting cross legged on the floor in front of a freezer door, his lips stained red, licking his sticky fingers.

“Are you coming or do you want to eat anything else without paying first?” Taehyung zips his jacket and holds a hand out for Jungkook to take.

Jungkook takes the hand and allows Taehyung to haul him up. Taehyung locks the door behind him and instantly, cool wind licks at his face.

“I didn’t bring a jacket.” Jungkook says even though Taehyung had pointed it out earlier. “Gosh, it sure does get cold outside these days.” He glances pointedly at Taehyung and then down at his own thin shirt.

“Gosh, Jeon Jungkook sure is a whiny baby.” Taehyung mocks, but he slips out of the jacket and strips off the hoodie under it.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “How chivalrous of you,” he comments, but slips the hoodie over his head. It’s loose on Taehyung’s narrower frame but Jungkook’s broad torso fills it out nicely. 

The walk to Seokjin’s house takes about twenty minutes but with Jungkook chattering away about a million different things next to him, it feels much shorter. Jungkook is still rambling about the new song Yoongi is making for him when they get to Seokjin’s door.

“Oh,” Jungkook says with vague surprise, “It’s already dark.”

Resisting the urge to point out that it’s been dark for ten minutes, Taehyung knocks insistently until Yoongi flings the door open, annoyance written all over his face.

“I told you they’d be here soon!” He calls into the house, and steps aside to let them in.

From the living room, Seokjin yells back, “And I told you they'd come together!”

Taehyung likes their house because it’s a good representation of who Yoongi, Seokjin, and Namjoon are. Namjoon’s room looks like it’s been hit by a tornado, but it’s full of books and notes, diagrams and maps. Yoongi’s is simple in everything except the complicated music system at his desk, and Seokjin’s is rigidly clean and furnished to perfection.

Everyone’s piled into the living room, Jimin curled on one side of the arm chair leaving just enough room for Yoongi to squeeze in, Hoseok sprawled on half the couch, Namjoon on the other, and Seokjin folded up in the other armchair.

“What are we watching?” Taehyung asks as way of greeting, dropping immediately to the cushions by the foot of the couch. Hoseok leans down to pat the top of his head and Taehyung swats his hand away gently.

Jungkook mumbles a slightly awkward hello and slides down next to him, curling into a little ball.

“Zombies or serial killer?” Jimin asks seriously, waving the remote around. “We’re taking a vote and currently serial killer is winning.”

“Serial killer,” Taehyung says at the exact time Jungkook chimes in, “Zombies.”

“Go sit over there, you disgrace.” Taehyung shoots him a dirty look. “Zombie movies are dumb as hell.”

Jungkook kicks his leg out and catches Taehyung in the thigh with it, sticking his tongue out mockingly. “You’re dumb as hell.”

“I second that,” Jimin mutters as he hits play on the serial killer movie.

Taehyung slinks into the kitchen after hitting Jimin over the head as the opening credits play. As usual, the kitchen is impeccable thanks to Seokjin. He grabs a beer from the fridge and several voices chime from the living room, “Grab me one too!”

Jimin appears in the doorway and takes a couple cans. “So,” he says as Taehyung roots around the fridge. He keeps his voice low enough that it’s inaudible from the living room. “I see Jungkook is wearing your hoodie.” He leans against the counter and raises an eyebrow.

“I see you’re wearing Seokjin’s sweater.” Taehyung counters neatly. He finds a container of leftovers and grabs a fork from the drawer. Cold noodles are better than no noodles.

“Tae, no offense but maybe you should just sleep with him because you’re being oddly defensive about it.” Jimin winks at him and returns to the living room with arms full of alcohol. Taehyung loiters in the kitchen for another couple of seconds before following after him.

Jungkook’s sprawled on his stomach on the carpet, Taehyung’s hoodie riding up to reveal the small of his back.

Is he being defensive? He hadn’t even realized. Yeah, Jungkook’s hot-anyone with eyes could admit that, and Taehyung’s the king of casual hook ups, but Jungkook is… different somehow. No one gets under his skin quite like Jungkook does.

Taehyung shoves a forkful of cold noodles into his mouth and focuses on the ample amounts of blood on the screen instead of the curve of Jungkook’s cheek.


Taehyung hates writing papers with a passion.

Actually learning things- that’s different. He likes hands on education and knowing about new things, but homework. Homework is a totally different story.

His glasses are all fogged up because he raised the temperature all the way on his heater-something that’ll come out of his meager earnings later, but it’s fucking cold and his apartment’s drafty as fuck.

He’s curled on the little beat up couch he found on sale, under his thickest blanket, half a blank document staring up at him from the laptop screen.

There’s an empty coffee mug on the table, the taste of instant coffee sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He doesn’t have classes the next morning, thank god, but the club’s closed tonight and everyone’s busy.

Namjoon’s running late shifts at the hospital, Seokjin’s tending to Hoseok, and Jimin and Yoongi are probably up to things Taehyung would rather not see , so he’s alone, writing and deleting and rewriting words that just don’t feel right.

Somehow, the fact that it’s the middle of the night stokes his courage. He grabs his phone and types before he can think it over and convince himself it’s stupid. Wyd?, he sends to Jungkook.

The second he hits send, his heartrate goes through the roof.

He waits for a second, anticipation curling in his stomach. Then, his phone lights up, buzzing insistently against the couch. Call from ‘Freak’.

“Did I wake you up?” Taehyung sincerely hopes his voice isn’t actually as rough from disuse as it sounds to his own ears.

“Nah. I was up.” Jungkook’s quiet when he isn’t trying to sound cocky, calm and soft. He sounds a little groggy and confused, and Taehyung’s pretty sure he was lying when he said he was awake. “What’s up?”

Taehyung wiggles his toes in his blanket and wonders how they’re still freezing when his heating’s up all the way and he’s wearing socks. “Trying to write a paper. Failing. The usual.”

Jungkook hums sympathetically. “Do you wanna go get something to eat? Sometimes that helps me with school stuff.” There’s the sound of movement over the line, and then he says in a clearer voice, “There’s a burger joint that’ll probably be open just down the street from the club.”

“Can you-“ Taehyung hesitates, scraping a nail against the soft blanket. “Can you pick some up for me and come here? I don’t want to go out in the cold.”

A surprised hushed breath of laugher over the line, then, Jungkook whispers, “Text me what you want and I’ll see what I can do.” The noise of a door shutting, and then Jungkook says in a louder voice, “I’ll be over in like an hour.”

“Are you… sneaking out?”

“...No,” Jungkook lies. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Taehyung hikes his blanket over his shoulders and sighs, long and drawn out. “Bring me a milkshake as well, then.”

An echo of a giggle comes down the line, and then it goes dead.

He lets the phone drop and burrows deeper into the couch. It’s only then that his stomach grumbles loudly and he realizes he’d skipped dinner in his frenzy to get as much work done as possible. 


Taehyung lazes around until Jungkook arrives with the food.

He’s all bundled up in a thick jacket on Taehyung’s doorstep and when he hands over the bag from the restaurant, Taehyung snorts. He’s wearing white mittens on his hands.

Jungkook’s already flushed from the cold, the tip of his nose adorably red, round cheeks framed by the hood of his coat, and Taehyung can’t help but laugh at him.

“It was cold, don’t be such an asshole.” Jungkook grumbles as he strips off the jacket and the mittens, dropping them on one of Taehyung’s chairs. Under the coat, he’s wearing a red hoodie that’s several sizes too big, the hem of it falling midthigh.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can feel you thinking it.” Jungkook spots the blanket on the couch and glances at him.

“Go for it,” Taehyung says absently, setting the bag down on the table and grabbing the box of fries. They’re still just warm enough to be crispy, and Taehyung shoves a handful into his mouth to quiet his ravenous stomach.

He unwraps one of the burgers and takes a bite, then turns around to express his thanks, but Jungkook is gone. Or at least, hidden from view under the blanket.

 “You didn’t bring your fancy ass car.”

The Jungkook-sized shape under the blankets shifts a little and says , “I didn’t want to wake anyone up so I didn’t risk it.”

“Did you get my milkshake?”

Jungkook’s head pops up from behind the headrest, and he has to muffle a laugh because Jungkook’s hair is sticking up every which way, the hood of his sweater half up. “I knew I forgot something!”

Okay, so maybe Jungkook is kind of cute.

“You’re worse than Jimin.” Taehyung tosses him a beer from the fridge and takes one for himself. “And that’s saying a lot, because once I asked Jimin to bring me a coffee and he brought the half empty container of instant coffee from his house.”

Jungkook cracks open the can and says, “What the hell.”

“What the hell indeed.” Taehyung seconds, grabbing the paper bag from the burger joint again and bringing it over to the couch. “Also, stop stealing the blanket, it’s freezing.”

The cold beer makes it worse, but thankfully the sandwiches are hot enough to stop the chill. Taehyung eats his way through everything and Jungkook grips his beer with the long sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his hands to shield them from the cold metal, occasionally taking a sip.

“So,” Jungkook says softly while Taehyung’s picking at the last of the fries, “Do you think I should fight someone tomorrow?”

Taehyung washes the grit of salt down with the bitterness of beer and stretches out his long legs next to Jungkook’s along the couch. “Probably,” he admits.

They’ve had a couple lessons over the course of a few weeks, and Taehyung realizes quickly that his own skill in fighting is mostly due to experience and that he doesn’t really have much to teach the younger boy. Still, he’d taught him all the tricks and techniques he’d known. 

Jungkook had lived up to his claim of being a fast learner, thankfully, and the last time they’d fought, Jungkook had left a particularly nasty bruise along Taehyung’s shoulder blade and down his back. It still aches whenever he presses his fingers there or stretches.

Jungkook hums softly, sipping on his beer idly. “Do you have anything stronger?” he asks sheepishly.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Taehyung jabs him in the side with his foot and Jungkook makes an irritated noise, squeezes his ankle, and pushes him off.

“I don’t know why you act like I’m a kid or something when I’m only a couple years younger than you.”

Taehyung eyes him skeptically. “I’m not a kid.” Jungkook repeats, but this time he’s watching Taehyung closer, eyes dragging down to Taehyung’s lips.

There’s a second of silence, and the tension in the air is so thick it’s nearly tangible, sticking to Taehyung’s lungs and making it hard for him to breathe.

Taehyung knows he should say something. He should get off the couch and tell Jungkook to go home, and then go to sleep. However, Taehyung has never been good at doing things he should.

Instead, he surges forward, pushes Jungkook down on the couch, and straddles his thighs. Jungkook’s eyes are wide, his breathe coming in a quick sharp rhythm.

Calmly, Taehyung says, “I’m going to fuck you.”

Jungkook shudders under him, and Taehyung feels his cock twitch against his thigh. “Please,” Jungkook says, his voice hitching on the word.

Taehyung skitters backwards between his legs and strips off his sweater. “There’s condoms and stuff in the drawer next to the bed,” he tells Jungkook, who sits up. The hem of his hoodie slips up when he stretches his arms above his head to reveal a pale strip of bare stomach that makes Taehyung’s mouth go dry.

Jungkook obediently grabs the condoms and returns, drops them on the couch and strips off the hoodie and the shirt underneath in one go. Under it, he’s fit in a way Taehyung hadn’t expected from his baby face.

He sinks down into Taehyung’s lap clad only in his sweatpants, thighs on either side of Taehyung’s waist, and slings his arms over Taehyung’s broad shoulders. “Hi,” he mumbles. Their faces are so close together that Taehyung could count his eyelashes.

“Hey,” Taehyung whispers back, head tipped back to look him in the eyes. Jungkook’s pupils are blown wide, irises swallowed up by the black. Taehyung kisses him.

It’s not a chaste kiss by any standard. It’s all open mouths and tongues sliding against each other, Jungkook gasping for breath and Taehyung pulling him back in.

Maybe it’s the pent up frustration, but Taehyung feels like he’s on fire, blood burning in his veins. He’s so aroused already, dick throbbing against his thigh. He sucks bruises down Jungkook’s pale throat, bites at his pulse, and Jungkook gasps, a mix of pain and pleasure.

“T-tae, wait.” Jungkook sounds slightly out of breath.

Taehyung stops short and pulls away. “What’s wrong?” He asks, smoothing his hands down Jungkook’s hips.

Jungkook flushes from the tips of his ears to his collarbone. “Your mirror,” he finally says.

Taehyung turns nearly all the way around and follows his gaze across the room and then realizes all at once. His studio apartment’s tiny enough that the mirror he’d hung next to his dresser forces Jungkook to look at himself when he’s sitting like this. “Do you want me to move it?”

Jungkook flushes when he realizes Taehyung’s staring at him in the mirror, embarrassment making his voice soft. “Nah, but I just-I don’t know.” He burrows his face in Taehyung’s neck and makes a quiet noise like a hum. “It’s kind of hot,” he says, voice muffled into Taehyung’s skin.


“You’re into it.” Taehyung realizes. Jungkook makes another noise, this time a whine. “You’re even more arrogant than I thought.”

Jungkook shivers against him and Taehyung pushes further just to see how far he can go. “Do you watch yourself when you jerk off?” He breathes, ghosting his fingertips down Jungkook’s sides again. He whines again and Taehyung at once knows the answer to his question.

“Go stand against the mirror.” Taehyung says, and Jungkook’s eyes immediately widen in surprise.

“Are you kidding?” He asks a bit dubiously, but he makes to get up anyways.

“Seriously,” Taehyung says, following him. “You’re the one who said he likes to watch himself.”

Jungkook reluctantly stands in front of the mirror. “Undress,” Taehyung suggests, and he flushes even deeper. Slowly, he slips off the sweatpants and underwear in one go.

Taehyung had expected him to be pretty all over, and Jungkook doesn’t disappoint. “You’re ridiculous,” Taehyung mutters, and Jungkook’s mouth curls into a little smile.

He clicks open the lube so he has something to focus on other than the way his heart’s fluttering because of that smile.

Jungkook’s body opens up easily for his first two fingers, but his legs begin trembling almost immediately when Taehyung crooks his fingers, finds something in him that makes his flushed cock twitch against the glass.

“What’s the point of these pretty, thick thighs if your legs are going to give out the second I touch you?” Taehyung breathes into his neck. Jungkook’s legs are quivering, fine tremors spreading through the muscles in his thighs. His hands are braced on the mirror, fingers trembling against the cool glass, condensation fogging where his hot skin meets it.

Jungkook cries out when Taehyung’s fingers sink deeper into him and he rocks back helplessly, fucking himself back onto Taehyung’s hand. Taehyung crooks his fingers and Jungkook moans in surprise, hips rolling back to chase the feeling.

“You’re so pretty, baby boy,” Taehyung coos, and Jungkook opens watery eyes to glance at himself in the mirror. Taehyung follows his gaze up and takes a second to admire Jungkook’s flushed dick in his grasp, his slender waist, the fluidity of his movements as he fucks himself on Taehyung’s fingers, the redness of his bitten, swollen mouth, and finally his teary wide dark eyes. Jungkook flushes and shuts his eyes tight again, and the tears spill over.

“Are you crying?” Taehyung asks hesitantly, ready to move away and give him some space at a seconds notice, but Jungkook’s still practically bouncing on his fingers, eagerly tugging at his cock.

“Sometimes,” he pauses to catch his breath, voice high and broken, “Sometimes I can’t help it.”

“You’re an oversensitive mess, aren’t you, baby?” Taehyung teases, twisting his fingers and slamming them particularly hard into him. Jungkook hiccups over a sob, his legs shaking finely. “Are you going to fall?”

Jungkook nods frantically, and when the trembling in his legs is so obvious that it seems he’s going to sink to the floor at any second, Taehyung pulls away a little and admits. “I don’t think I can carry you.”

“Jesus fucking hell, take your fingers out and I’ll do it myself,” Jungkook snaps, and Taehyung can’t help but grin at that.

He wipes his fingers off with a tissue from the box on the table and watches Jungkook take a second to recollect himself and wobble over to the bed. “I hope you know that I’m not going to clean your mirror.”

The glass is smudgy with handprints and smears of precome. Taehyung snorts. “Didn’t think I’d get that lucky.”

“Come fuck me before you go soft.” Jungkook whines, reaching his hands out.

Well there’s no fucking chance of that, especially when Jungkook’s sitting on his bed, thighs spread, voice all pitchy and needy.

Taehyung pushes Jungkook onto his back and his legs wrap around Taehyung’s waist automatically to pull him closer and kiss him. He grabs one of the condoms, rolls it on, and guides his dick in carefully, but Jungkook grimaces anyway , a muscle in his jaw twitching from how hard he’s clenching his teeth. “Hey,” he says softly, “Do you want me to stop?”

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows and says after a second of consideration, “Nah, it’s been a while but it’s fine. Keep going.”

Taehyung hums, traces his fingers down the line of Jungkook’s abdomen, and then leans down to press another openmouthed kiss to his lips. “Tell me if it hurts.”

He starts off slow enough, and finally Jungkook impatiently squeezes his wrist and says, “Harder, for fuck’s sake, I’m not going to die if you actually fuck me.”

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” Taehyung snarls, and slams his hips forward. Jungkook cries out, arches up and gasps, “more.”

Taehyung’s long nimble fingers seek out the soft place behind Jungkook’s balls right above his wet, clenching hole, and he presses his fingertips there hard. Jungkook instantly arches up and moans, the grip he has on Taehyung’s forearm tightening significantly. “Anyone ever touch you here?” Taehyung wonders aloud.

Jungkook looks up with wide unfocused eyes, and manages to shakily say, “Never.”

Taehyung finally reaches down, fully wraps his hand around Jungkook’s cock, and Jungkook gasps. “Fuck, not yet,” he complains, and pushes Taehyung’s hand away. “Let me be on top,” he says, and suddenly Taehyung’s the one on his back.

“You’re too freakishly strong,” Taehyung accuses, but Jungkook just grins down at him and begins riding him in earnest. Taehyung slips his hands over Jungkook’s thighs, feels the muscles shifting under his palms.

Jungkook rocks back into every thrust, riding Taehyung shamelessly, groaning encouragement when Taehyung grips his hips and pulls him down, fucks into him deeper.

Taehyung cums first, gasping for breath, holding Jungkook’s hips so hard he’s sure they’ll bruise. Jungkook gasps, leans down and buries his head in Taehyung’s shoulder. “Fuck, fuck, Tae,” he groans, and then there are teeth digging into Taehyung’s shoulder so hard he thinks Jungkook’s going to draw blood.

Jungkook cums then, painting Taehyung’s stomach white. He’s still gasping for breath when he sits back up, rolls his hips lazily and jerks his spent cock a couple time, and then carefully climbs off him.

“I think you just bit through my shoulder,” Taehyung mumbles.

Jungkook laughs, loud and ringing. Taehyung likes the sound.


The club is in full swing when Taehyung shows up.

Hoseok is sitting at the bar, a drink in his good hand. The broken arm’s still in a sling but the sprain and most of the bruises have healed up. Jungkook is sitting next to him, laughing at something. Namjoon’s playing bar tender, but when his muscle t shifts as he moves, Taehyung can tell he’s already fought because his side is all reddened from taking hits.

“You’re late,” Jimin says, coming up and grabbing Taehyung’s arm. “What were you doing?”

The paper he was supposed to be doing while his dick was buried in Jungkook’s ass.

“School work.” He mutters to Jimin. “Who’s up tonight?”

Jimin latches onto his arm and hums as he thinks. “Some new guys, mostly. And then Jungkook says he wants to fight as well.”

He glances at Jungkook as they approach the bar. He doesn’t look nervous outwardly, but when he spots Taehyung, the look in his eyes says differently.

Taehyung steals Yoongi’s drink and perches on a barstool, grinning when Yoongi grumbles at him and has to ask Namjoon for another.

“Jungkook, are you going to tell me who you want to fight because I need to write the list.” Seokjin says as he walks up. Another fight has started in the ring, a tall girl and a guy with a face like a shark’s. Taehyung already knows the girl’s going to win. He’s seen her beat men twice her width to a bloody pulp, and the guy’s obviously inexperienced.

Hoseok says, “shit.” Taehyung turns back to them.

Jungkook’s pointing, and then Taehyung’s staring right down his finger.

“I’ll fight Taehyung,” Taehyung hears him say over the rush of blood in his ears.

Several things happen at once; Namjoon chokes on his drink, Yoongi says in a deadly voice, “Absolutely not”, Jimin giggles delightedly, and Taehyung feels all the air in his lungs leave him.

But without a trace of hesitation, Seokjin nods and writes down neatly, Jungkook vs Taehyung.

“But-“ Taehyung sputters, “But I thought you wanted to win. Wait, that sounds- you know what I mean.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “Are you going to refuse?” It’s a challenge, even if he says the words casually, and Taehyung can never find it in himself to back out of a challenge.

“You wanted your ass beat again, you could have just asked me any time.” Taehyung practically snarls, kicking off his shoes. “But I guess you wanted the audience to see, didn’t you?”

Jungkook makes him so angry sometimes, standing there with his cool smug expression as Taehyung strips his shirt off. He’s leaning against the bar, arms calmly folded against his chest, and Taehyung is fuming on the inside. Of course, Jungkook is arrogant to the core, and he should have remembered that.

Jungkook’s cool eyes run over Taehyung’s bare chest, over the bruises he’d caused with his mouth the night before that line his collarbone, and he licks his lips absently. “I can’t say that I’ve improved if I can’t hold my own against you.”

In a sense, he’s right, but Taehyung’s still upset. He’s not looking for a fight, but if that’s what Jungkook wants, then it’s what he’s going to get.

This time, when Jungkook steps into the ring it’s not with a cocky smile on his face. He’s expressionless, serious in a way he hadn’t been the previous time.

Taehyung’s hands curl into fists at his sides.

Seokjin calls for the fight to start. He drops into a defensive stance.

Surprisingly, Jungkook doesn’t attack first. He stands back and watches Taehyung with weary eyes, every muscle in his body tensed.

Taehyung throws the first punch, but Jungkook’s ready for it. He catches Taehyung by the wrist and twists, and Taehyung cries out in pain. With his other hand, he hits Jungkook in the stomach and the younger boy releases him with a gasp.

Taehyung shakes off the pain in his wrist and watches as Jungkook straightens up, breathing heavier. Then Taehyung’s lunging into another hit, this time against Jungkook’s ribcage. Jungkook skitters backwards with a pained hiss, but Taehyung follows, hits his other side but catches his hip.

This time Jungkook cries out in pain, and Taehyung remembers the deep bruises his hands had left from the night before over the creamy skin of Jungkook’s hips, but he shoves the guilt to the back of his mind. He can apologize later.

But then, instead of letting the pain get to him, Jungkook slams into him, and as much as Taehyung can do, Jungkook is simply much heavier than him.

He goes sprawling to the ground and Jungkook uses the advantage to the fullest, climbing over his hips and pinning him down. Taehyung bucks hard, but Jungkook’s bearing down and he can’t move.

 And then Jungkook’s hand goes over his neck.

Taehyung’s pulse jumps under Jungkook’s hand, and he’s squeezing, slowly at first, with just enough pressure that Taehyung can feel the air exiting his lungs and can’t get any back in.

Jungkook’s palm crushes into his windpipe then, and Taehyung’s hands scrabble at his forearms, black spots overtaking his vision. While the choking thing was a good idea, one that Taehyung would probably do himself if he were desperate enough, it's a dirty move and Jungkook’s still lacking in experience enough that he leaves his guard down, putting too much focus in the way his hands wrap around Taehyung’s throat.

Taehyung uses his hips to swing them around, gritting his teeth against the pain of Jungkook’s panicked hands tightening dangerously on his throat, and bears down over Jungkook hard, sitting on his chest and using his new leverage to pin Jungkook’s arms over his head. He coughs hoarsely, larynx stinging. For a second, they just stare at each other with heated eyes, but then Taehyung narrows his eyes and spits right in Jungkook’s face.

“Fuck you,” Jungkook bites out, thrashing under his arms, but Taehyung’s been doing this so much longer than him and keeps him down despite Jungkook probably having a dozen pounds on him.

“Tap out,” Taehyung hisses, nails digging sharp painful crescents into the insides of Jungkook’s biceps. He pushes all his weight down onto Jungkook’s chest, and the younger boy exhales sharply. The baleful glare remains though, as does the stubborn set of his mouth that tells Taehyung that he’s not going down this easy.

Jungkook’s learned a lot in comparison to their first fight, but Taehyung knows already that he’s won. He sighs, takes one of Jungkook’s arms, and twists it hard sideways. Jungkook lets out a shuddery pained breath, and Taehyung uses the opportunity to settle all the way on his chest so he can’t suck in any more air.

He leans in close to Jungkook’s face and purrs, “You gonna tap?”

Jungkook writhes again, a last-ditch effort, but Taehyung bends his arm further and lazily flicks hair out of his eyes. “I could snap this right now if I wanted.” He informs.

Half of him is proud of how much of a fight Jungkook’s putting up, but the other half is kind of pissed that the little fucker would choke him out in front of so many people.

Finally, Jungkook goes lax under him and reluctantly taps the mat.

Taehyung keeps sitting on him for longer than necessary, just because he’s feeling petty. When he offers his hand to Jungkook, he takes it silently and lets Taehyung pull him up.

Instead of wading through the crowd back to the bar, Taehyung wraps his fingers around Jungkook’s wrist and pulls him towards the side door that leads into the alley.

His head’s still thrumming from the fight, instinct leading his body, and he drags Jungkook out of the throng of hot bodies and into the street, chilly air enveloping them after the warmth of the club.

Taehyung shoves Jungkook into the opposite wall of the alley, corners him and gets all up in his face. “Don't bite the hand that feeds you.” He spits out, and Jungkook smirks, lets the tension roll off his shoulders.

“I thought you liked when I bite.”

Taehyung presses Jungkook harder into the brick wall and croons silky smooth into his ear, “Did you like choking me in front of everyone? What, did you like making them think you had that much power over me, baby boy?”

“Tae,” Jungkook’s voice goes wobbly.

“Shut up.” Taehyung slides the hand he has on Jungkook’s chest up until it's resting lightly at the base of his neck. “If you wanted to be choked out that badly, sweetheart, you just had to ask.”

Jungkook's eyes darken and Taehyung knows he's hit the nail on the head. 

His voice comes out rough when he hisses, “Come on,” and tugs Jungkook along out of the alley and down the street. Jungkook’s stumbling over his feet, still a little dizzy from the fight.

Taehyung drags Jungkook home in record time, Jungkook stumbling to keep up with his long strides. Taehyung throws the door closed behind them and shoves him down on the bed, pressing his hand around his throat. “Tap out if you want me to stop,” he says, low voice strained.

Jungkook stares up at him, inky black hair splayed across his forehead. “Make it hurt,” he says softly, almost shy, and Taehyung fucking knew he was hiding something under all that arrogance.

Taehyung traces his finger down Jungkook’s neck, over the slope of his Adam’s apple and down his sternum. Jungkook swallows hard.

“Pretty boys like you shouldn’t go looking for trouble.”

“Or what?” There’s the spark of a challenge in Jungkook’s eyes. This is what makes Taehyung burn in the inside.

“Or trouble may find you.” Before Jungkook can respond, Taehyung’s mouth is crashing down on his.

Neither of them are particularly gentle with the other, and they kiss like they fight, hard and just on this side of violence, lips and teeth and tongues crashing together in a way that makes sparks explode behind Taehyung’s eyelids.

Jungkook gasps for breath against his mouth and arches up when Taehyung bites his lip. Taehyung tastes blood in his mouth and pulls away, sees that Jungkook’s lip is bleeding where his teeth broke the skin.

Taehyung licks away the blood. It tastes tangy and salty in his mouth, and Jungkook lets out a muffled moan, curls his fingers in Taehyung’s shirt, pulls him closer.

“Tell me what you need,” Taehyung says, his voice still hoarse.

Jungkook’s lashes flutter against his cheeks as he blinks rapidly, tries to gather his bearings. “You,” he whispers, little pink tongue peeking shyly from between his lips to lick away another drop of blood from his full bottom lip.

Taehyung pushes the hem of Jungkook’s shirt up and he’s red all over from the fight, bruises blossoming along his ribs, his hips, and shoulder. Taehyung presses his fingers to the ones on his hips, digs them in hard, and Jungkook makes a noise like a sob, jerks under his hand.

They’re both breathless, dizzy on the adrenaline high by the time they manage to discard their clothing, and Taehyung’s sore throat aches when he pushes Jungkook flat on the bed and commands, “Stretch yourself out.”

While Jungkook grabs the lube and busies himself with it, Taehyung heads for the kitchenette and grabs an ice pack from the fridge. He presses cold fingers against his neck, wonders if there will be a ring of bruises around his throat tomorrow morning.

Jungkook’s bent over on the bed fingering himself open and Taehyung takes a second just to watch, eyes tracing the hard lines of his body. “You’re annoyingly hot.”

Jungkook glances up at him through long lashes and narrows his eyes. “And you’re staring at me when you could be over here fucking me.”

Jungkook grimaces and wipes the lube from his fingers on Taehyung’s bedsheet. (“Hey,” Taehyung protests. Jungkook grins.)

He catches the ice pack Taehyung tosses at him and slaps it over the red marks all over his chest. “You could have been gentler with me,” he pouts.

Taehyung drops down next to him. “I could have.” He agrees. He shoves Jungkook’s legs open and grins down at him. “But where’s the fun in that?” He slams into Jungkook with one hard stroke, and Jungkook hisses, arches up off the bed, his nails digging stinging crescents into Taehyung’s shoulders when he grabs them.

“You dick,” Jungkook groans, but Taehyung can see on his face how much he likes that it hurts. The fucking masochist.

Taehyung rakes his nails down Jungkook’s chest and he cries out, writhes under him. He doesn’t waste time coddling Jungkook this time- he fucks him hard, one leg bent into his chest, the other pushed to the side.

Jungkook jerks with ever thrust, but he still gasps, “More more more, Tae please, harder,” his fingers wrapped around his dick. Tears spill from the corners of his eyes but he doesn’t bother wiping them away.

So Taehyung wraps his fingers around his neck. Jungkook arches immediately, rasps, “please,” and Taehyung squeezes just hard enough for his breath to come shallow. Jungkook’s hand on his dick picks up speed, and Taehyung presses down harder. Jungkook’s so tight around his cock it almost hurts, but maybe Taehyung’s a bit of a masochist himself because it feels nothing but good.

Jungkook comes in an embarrassingly short amount of time when there’s a hand pressed to his throat, whimpering and squeezing Taehyung’s forearm with his free hand, hips bucking up to meet Taehyung’s every thrust. His face is flushed red, whether from being choked or just the sex, Taehyung’s not sure.

Taehyung follows soon after that, can’t help it when the very blood in his veins feels like it’s boiling over.

Afterwards, when they’re both breathless and sore-throated, Jungkook says, “Damn Tae, you’re a freak.”

“Shut up fuckboy,” Taehyung groans, pushing him off and sitting up. “Don’t you need some water or some shit? Aftercare?”

Jungkook grins, and Taehyung thinks he sees stars. “Babe, you didn’t choke me nearly hard enough for that.”

“Next time.” Taehyung promises.


Taehyung doesn’t hate doing his job. In fact, he rather enjoys working at the convenience store. The owner lets him have free stuff sometimes and he likes seeing different faces from around the neighborhood all day.

But it’s kind of hard to focus on work when Jungkook decides to send him a dick pic in the middle of his shift.

It’s a really good dick pic too, super high quality and well lit, and Jungkook’s dick is pretty enough as it is. Taehyung’s eyes trace the hard lines of his abs, the dip of his navel, and then lower to his flushed pink cock, his fingers wrapped loosely around the base.

‘Wyd’, Jungkook sends him along with a winky face.

‘I’d tell you if you turned around and took one of your ass.’ Taehyung saves the first picture and immediately receives another one.

This time it’s an ass shot, as promised. Taehyung’s mouth goes dry as he spots the dark bruises he’d left on the swell of Jungkook’s ass.

And then, his phone begins buzzing as Jungkook calls him. Taehyung’s fingers shake as he picks up and puts the phone to his ear.

“Where are you right now?” He says hoarsely.

Over the line, Jungkook’s voice is strained when he answers, “In my room. Thinking about you.”

“I’m at work, Kook.” Taehyung presses his lips together tightly, drums his fingers impatiently on the countertop. He’s lucky his boss doesn’t bother to supervise him because she trusts him enough.

“Please,” Jungkook breathes out, “Please Tae, just- just get me off.”

And if Taehyung said the way his voice breaks over the words doesn’t turn him on, he’d be lying.

He glances around the store to make sure it’s empty. It’s the middle of the morning anyways, so all the neighborhood kids are in school and the adults are at work. Taehyung’s heart lurches in his chest when he realizes the risk he’s taking to do this.

“Are you on your bed?” He asks, voice deepening as he speaks softer. “On your back?”

Jungkook lets out a sharp breath and moans quietly. “Y-yeah.”

Taehyung swears. “Do you have lube, sweetheart?” When he hums another confirmation, Taehyung continues, “Turn over onto your knees for me and slick up your fingers.”

There’s some rustling over the line as Jungkook does what Taehyung asks of him, and then, shyly, he asks, “What should I do now?”

Taehyung’s dick is throbbing in his jeans but he ignores it the best he can. “Don’t touch yourself yet. You can finger yourself but don’t use more than two fingers.”


“I could just hang up and let you get yourself off.”

“No, no please just- hang on, I’m doing it.” There’s a rush of breath over the receiver and then Jungkook says in a sweet, soft voice, “I wish you were here to help me. My fingers aren’t as long as yours.”

Taehyung’s so lucky the CCTV cameras they had around the store broke a couple months ago and that his boss had never bothered replacing them. He tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder and counts out a handful of bills, dropping them in the register. “I hope you’re happy.” He says dryly, “I’m going to go fucking jerk off in the back room.”

“Send me a picture.” Jungkook giggles breathlessly but it dissolves into a moan. “Wish I had a toy or something.”

Taehyung’s dick twitches painfully in his jeans at that, but he ignores it and plucks a small tube of lotion from the shelf. Quickly, he flicks the sign at the front of the store so it reads closed and shuts himself in the back room.

He grimaces, realizing his only option is the beat up old couch in the room. God, he’s so getting fired if anyone finds out about this. He perches carefully on the end of the couch and finally lets himself focus fully on Jungkook’s sharp uneven breathing over the receiver.

“Can I please-ugh can I touch myself?” He says, voice strained.

Taehyung hums like he’s considering. “I guess.” He finally says, and Jungkook moans in relief.

He can imagine it perfectly in his head. Jungkook with tears streaming down his face because somehow, he can never help that, little cherry lips open gasping for breath, one hand frantically pumping his pink cock, the other slamming fingers into himself, trying to keep an even rhythm.

“Are you close?” Taehyung asks, finally taking his own dick into his hand. “You should see how hard I am right now because of you.”

Jungkook sobs, “I’m so close, I’m gonna- oh god it’s so good, Tae, please please please.”

Taehyung’s cock jerks in his grip and slowly, he works his hand over the length. It’s so fucking dry it burns, so he licks his palm and circles his palm around the broad head of his dick. “Go ahead baby boy, you can cum.”

Jungkook positively wails, and then there’s a series of short whimpers as he cums. Taehyung bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. He opens up the bottle of lotion and squeezes some out, and fists his dick again, and this time it’s so smooth.

“Taehyung?” Jungkook murmurs into his ear, “Are you jerking off?”

He groans out a “yeah,” and fucks up into his fist. “Was it good?”

Jungkook sighs. “Really good. Wish I could suck you off. I’d let you cum on my face.”

That image is too much for Taehyung. Jungkook’s wide doe eyes, long spiky lashes and little cherry lips painted in his cum-Jesus fucking Christ.

It doesn’t take him long to cum after that, and he feels inexplicably dirty for the rest of his shift even after he cleans himself off and gets back behind the register.


Jimin is livid.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, your best friend, that Jungkook sat on your dick.” He whines. “What’s the point of this friendship if you won’t give me details about what Jungkook’s dick looks like?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, pushes Jimin gently aside and continues into the kitchen. Seokjin had invited them all over for dinner, and everyone’s already in the living room, comfortably sprawled on the couches and chairs.

“It was a nice dick.” Taehyung relents. He opens the fridge and finds the hot sauce he’d come to get. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m as fucking confused as you are, okay?”

Jimin’s brows rise up into his bangs. “Confused? Why?”

All weekend, Taehyung had laid in bed wondering why his heart feels so heavy in his chest. He’s never caught feelings for anyone else he’s slept with casually and it scares him beyond belief.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He mumbles. Jimin presses his lips together, but because he can read Taehyung so well, he shakes his head once and squeezes his wrist gently.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He says, and when Taehyung doesn’t respond, he hugs him tightly. Jimin’s so small and Taehyung’s so long and lanky that his head rests perfectly under Taehyung’s chin.

“You’re an idiot, Kim Taehyung.” He says fondly.

Taehyung agrees.


After dinner, when everyone’s slowly making their way out of the house (or, in Jimin’s case, sneaking discreetly in the direction of Yoongi’s room, the unashamed fuck) Jungkook glances at Taehyung out the corner of his eye.

Taehyung’s chest hurts.

“Wanna go for a ride?” he says, and it takes Taehyung a second to understand what he means. Jungkook’s car. The sleek, catlike pitch-black Maserati Taehyung had practically been salivating over.

“Now?” Taehyung stammers. When his heart’s in turmoil and his mind’s in chaos?

“Nothing like a midnight drive,” Jungkook says, oblivious to Taehyung’s struggle. He takes out the key and swings the chain around on his finger. The key glints temptingly in Seokjin’s porchlights.

Taehyung reaches forward for the key. “Can I drive?”

Jungkook grins so wide Taehyung thinks his face is going to split open. “Go for it.”

Even the interior is sleek and black. Taehyung sinks into the driver’s seat.

Jungkook’s car starts with a purr that makes Taehyung turn to liquid in his boots. He turns to Jungkook with such an incredulous look that the younger giggles. “Like it?”

Liking it would be an understatement. Taehyung doesn’t know a lot about cars but Jungkook’s ride is smooth as they come, reaching 80mph in seconds. What Taehyung does know is that he likes going fast, so he pounds his foot down on the accelerator, grins when the car peels out of the neighborhood.

“So, did you pick this out or does daddy just have good taste in cars?” Taehyung throws a sideways glance at Jungkook, who reclines his seat back and kicks his long legs up on the dash.

Jungkook throws him a bored glance. “Birthday present last year,” he says dryly, “My older brother’s really into sportscars.”

“Of course, he is,” Taehyung scoffs, but even he has to appreciate the slickness with which the car moves, the fluidity of the turns, and the smoothness of the cool leather gear shift under his palm.

The city becomes a blur of lights in the distance as Taehyung drives through the dark, one hand on the wheel, the other elbow cocked on the open window. Jungkook opens up the sunroof and the wind flies through his hair, ruffling up the dark strands across his forehead.

Taehyung’s focused on the road, but he can’t help stealing glances at Jungkook’s profile every now and then. He traces his eyes down the slope of Jungkook’s nose, the swell of his lower lip, and the tiny flash of silver when one of his earrings catches on the headlights of a car coming the opposite direction.

The houses grow sparser as they drive further into the countryside, the land becoming predominantly farms and fields. There’s no fear of being caught for speeding here, so Taehyung edges up the speedometer until he’s well over a hundred.

The apathy is gone from Jungkook’s eyes now, excitement beginning to shine in their dark depths. “I’ve never taken it over 100,” he admits, “Haven’t been far enough from the city.”

Taehyung throws him a lopsided smirk. “We can go as far as you want, sweetheart.”

Before Jungkook can say something snarky back, Taehyung slams his foot down and the car bursts forward, easily breaking 115mph. “You’re not going to kill us, are you?” Jungkook has to shout to be heard over the roar of the wind.

“I thought you liked it fast. Or do you just think that sounds hot when you’re being fucked out?” To his immense pleasure, Jungkook flushes deeply and looks down at his hands. 

They’re so far out from the city now that there aren’t many street lamps dotting the roadside, and even with the few there are, most of them are dark. With only the Maserati’s headlights lighting the ground as it disappears under them, Taehyung takes them further and further into the countryside.

The speedometer edges past 120 and Taehyung kind of feels like he’s flying. Jungkook’s knuckles are white where they grip the seatbelt, and for a split second, their eyes meet, and Taehyung realizes that Jungkook is actually frightened.

“Hey, I got it, okay?” Taehyung tries not to sound sullen. He slows back down a bit just to see if it will appease the younger boy a little.

Jungkook’s chest stops rising and falling as rapidly but he shakes his head. “You’re a little insane,” he says finally.

“You’re the one who gave me the keys.” Taehyung grins wickedly. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Why don’t you ride this dick,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. Taehyung laughs, loud and brash, and it mixes into the howling wind.

Jungkook bangs the heel of his boot rhythmically against the dash, throws his head back against the cool leather of the seat and sings a soft scale that gets overpowered by the wind. “Louder,” Taehyung commands, “Sing louder.”

The next few notes come out louder until Jungkook’s singing line after line of the song playing on the stereo, tapping against his thighs. The words disrupt the quiet stillness of the night and Taehyung likes that, how Jungkook can light up still silent places.

By the time Jungkook finishes the song, he’s out of breath and gasping for air, chest rising and falling unevenly. The seatbelt is a dark black stripe over his white muscle shirt as his ribcage expands and contracts rapidly. Maybe Taehyung should have asked Jungkook to put on a jacket before deciding to take a random trip into the freezing countryside in the middle of the night.

Taehyung’s been slowing down gradually while Jungkook had been singing, and when the boy’s done, he pulls to a stop. Jungkook raises an eyebrow. All around them are fields, stretching for miles into the distance. Far off, silhouetted in the dim moonlight, a crooked farmhouse stands on the side of a hill.

Taehyung’s legs feel wobbly on the solid earth when he gets out of the car. “Fight me,” he says to Jungkook, because adrenaline is pulsing through his veins and he can’t think straight otherwise.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Here?”

He wants the sureness of a solid punch ringing against his ribs, the inevitability of being winded when an elbow is slammed into his stomach. And more than any of that, he wants Jungkook’s hands on his skin, violent or not.

They wrestle halfheartedly in the dirt next to the car and Taehyung tastes dust when Jungkook knocks him into the dirt. When he reaches a hand to pull Taehyung up, Taehyung grabs it and pulls him down as well, punches him hard in the side. Jungkook kicks his shin and pushes him away. Then he lays in the dust, perfectly still.

Taehyung realizes he’s been dismissed. “I said fight me,” He repeats.

“Don’t wanna,” Jungkook mumbles, “It’s too nice here to fight.”

Taehyung drops back down with a sigh. Above them, the sky spreads dark and velvety and lit by thousands of stars the way it can only be far away from the city. The air smells earthy and a dry breeze flutters through Taehyung’s hair.

Jungkook gets up abruptly. After a second, Taehyung follows curiously.

“So, do you think I could win a fight or two now?” Jungkook splays across the sleek hood of his shiny car, long legs spread over the glossy black metal. He leans back on his elbows and Taehyung thinks he kind of likes the way Jungkook looks when he isn’t feeling the urge to bash his head into the windshield.

Taehyung nudges him over and hops up onto the car as well. The metal’s pleasantly warm where it presses against the thinner parts of his clothing and he breathes out a sigh. “You probably could have won your first night if you hadn’t been up against me,” he says honestly. His knuckles are torn and bleeding freely, but not enough that he’s worried. “But yeah, I think you could last a couple rounds with Jimin now.”

Jungkook smiles sunnily and drops back, head against the windshield. The bruised imprint of Taehyung’s knuckles against his side shift with his flexing muscles and Taehyung feels his mouth go dry. Maybe coming out here with Jungkook alone was a mistake- Taehyung’s normally okay with talk, but Jungkook makes him awkward.

Taehyung’s good with his fists, good with his hands, and good with his dick, but Jungkook makes him consider his feelings and Taehyung is so used to pushing them aside that he doesn’t know what to do when Jungkook smiles like he is, or what to say when Jungkook says four words that steal the breath right out of his lips; “Can I kiss you?”

The first thing that strikes Taehyung as strange is that Jungkook feels the need to ask for a kiss after already being choked out on Taehyung’s dick. The second thing that strikes Taehyung is a feeling similar to being punched right in the gut.

“Uh,” Taehyung says, unsure if what is about to come out of his mouth is a polite declination or a strangled “okay.” Apparently, his answer doesn’t matter either way, because Jungkook is already leaning in and brushing their lips together gently.

Taehyung doesn’t know what to do when kisses aren’t tinged salty with blood, when warmth glows in his chest instead of fire breaking out across his skin. Jungkook sighs against his mouth and slides closer, kisses him deeper, and Taehyung tastes the sweetness of the gum Jungkook had been snapping earlier as his tongue slides, warm and wet, against Taehyung’s.

It feels like the breath’s been punched out of him, heart hammering in his chest as he pulls back a little and stares at Jungkook in the dark. He can just make out the gentle curve of Jungkook’s cheek, the soft swell of his lower lip, shining wet from Taehyung’s mouth.

“I need to tell you something.” Jungkook’s voice trembles almost imperceptibly. “The reason I asked you to teach me instead of someone else is because I was looking for an excuse to talk to you. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Taehyung’s still a bit winded so all he can do is swallow hard and mumble something that sounds like Jungkook’s name.

“I mean I’m not like- I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just thought I should let you know.” His eyes widen a bit more with each new rambling sentence until Taehyung’s sure they’re about to pop right out of his head. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he finishes weakly.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. His brain’s still in chaos from the kiss and hearing Jungkook’s confession makes every coherent thought escape him. Instead, his body moves instinctively to cup Jungkook’s soft cheek in his hand. Jungkook inhales slowly, and Taehyung watches his eyes flutter shut, long lashes brushing Taehyung’s thumb where it rests on his cheek.

For a beat of time, there’s complete silence except their shallow breathing, and then Taehyung leans forward and kisses Jungkook, long and open mouthed. Jungkook kisses back with just as much enthusiasm, fingers sliding up to tangle into the front of Taehyung’s hoodie and pull him closer. Taehyung’s hands find their way to the hem of Jungkook’s shirt and up to his bare skin, palms smoothing down his sides. The muscles shift under his skin and Jungkook pulls away to suck in a sharp breath of air.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Taehyung murmurs under his breath. Jungkook’s splayed out over the hood of the car, half leaning over him, and Taehyung’s curious to know if he’d look as good without the jeans he has on.

“Is Jesus fucking Christ good or bad?” Jungkook wonders out loud, but his lips are already curling into a smile.

“Do you think I’d drive you to the middle of fucking nowhere in the middle of the night if it were bad?”

Jungkook shrugs loosely and leans back on his elbows against the windshield. Taehyung’s eyes are starving and Jungkook is a five-course meal.

“So?” Jungkook asks after a second, “How was it?”

“I’ll let you know when my heart starts back up.”

Jungkook laughs, quiet and breathy. Before he can help it, Taehyung traces the curve of his jaw with his thumb. Under his hand, Jungkook goes very, very still, his eyes fluttering shut.

Jungkook really is beautiful, all illuminated even in the dark, the peaks of his face bathed in silvery moonlight.

Taehyung has no idea what he’s doing, but at least this, of Jungkook, he’s sure of.