Kim Taehyung goes by four rules in whatever sexual endeavor he manages to get himself into. He was a man of spontaneity, of impulses and reckless decisions, never having too much time to dwell on something that should be mulled over. He lived for his sexcapades, finding some sort of unexplained satisfaction in being held by different hands, wrapped in another set of arms, bruised with bite marks on different nights, weeks that had stretched to months. They were a usual back then but now, he’s left with occasional fucks because who would, in their right mind, screw anyone they meet?
Slut, the word rings too loudly in his ears and he proceeds to swallow the bitter taste that has started to bubble in his mouth, rising from the back of his throat.
Taehyung held on too much to his dignity to be called that. They were loose threads, barely scraping by, worn out and used too carelessly. He knows he might have lost the biggest parts of it along the highway to pleasure and detachment, of booze and dirty fucks that he couldn’t even remember the next morning. Although, as Taehyung likes to convince himself (he deserves a pat on the back), he’s just trying to salvage whatever is left of it. Like salt on one’s torso while doing body shots in a club; he’s trying to lick everything up, trying to leave nothing behind. It would’ve been too much of a waste.
Hence, the casual fucks.
And so as Taehyung stumbles into his apartment that one fateful night, the alcohol still pumping through his veins, the world spinning on its tilted axis, heart fucking broken into pieces, he decides for whatever he thinks is best.
Rule #1: Never hold their hands. It felt too intimate like a secret was held between the both of them or a promise of something that was never there.
That fucker used to hold his hand a little too tightly, but only then does Taehyung realize how empty the gesture had been. It merely resembled a leash around a dog’s neck, meant to keep him in place because he was his and no one else. Taehyung was his own little fuck toy, and nothing more.
Rule #2: Fuck without eye-contact. They said the eyes are the windows to someone else’s soul, to someone else’s vulnerability, a way to see the stripped version of themselves and of who they can be and who they really are. Taehyung thinks it’s too much of a responsibility to know pieces of someone he’s merely screwing around with. How can he even keep that up when he can’t even figure his own self out?
Keep everything at arm’s length, physically and emotionally. It’s way easier that way. It doesn’t make much of a mess that Taehyung has no patience and no time to focus on.
Because that’s what all Taehyung was in the past. Always kept at arm’s length like a fucking piece of trash that didn’t deserve anything more than scratches on his back, bruises on his body, and the occasional humiliation that made him feel even lesser than he is.
Rule #3: Leave right after. Taehyung simply despises the awkward silence that ensues when he picks up his own clothes, feeling the weight of their stares burning a hole through his back, but he does it anyway, refusing to spend more time than what was really needed. Everything after sex with someone you barely know seems to balance on something quite disconcerting, the air charged with some unreleased tension that forces the other to make some small talk which then makes everything even trickier than it already is.
He still remembers the creaking of his door during the ungodly hours of the night, watching him leave like nothing ever happened; like he hadn’t taken a piece of Taehyung every goddamn time, like he hadn’t just fucked him until he couldn’t speak, until he was dry heaving, until he felt nothing more than an empty shell without any soul at all.
Rule #4: Never sleep over. Sure, the sex is tiring; tightly coiled muscles and bodies burdened with soreness are unavoidable.But the moment Taehyung senses the other drifting off to sleep, probably half expecting him to spoon them up, he gets up and gets out. Although rare occurrences would have him waiting a few minutes to compose themselves. Mainly himself, anyway. After all, what’s there to stay for?
This time, Taehyung makes sure he leaves them in pieces because there was no way in hell will he let himself be the one on the other end again.
Taehyung and his rules were simple. He doesn’t like breaking them at all.
The sun is beating down on him as he walks past shops and restaurants located in one of the city’s busiest hubs. He adjusts his baseball cap, pulling it lower until the rays couldn’t shine directly into his eyes; until he could actually see where he was walking to; until he was no longer silently praying he wouldn’t bump into the others who’re also hurrying past him. Taehyung suddenly wishes he wasn’t wearing the all-black ensemble that Seokjin had suggested and Jeongguk had greatly agreed on. The sun was having the time of its life, the air around him getting even more humid by the second, the sweltering heat leaving a sheen of sweat that he didn’t fucking need at eleven in the morning.
Off to his right, he spots the pastry shop he has always favored when he was still in university, its blue and pink striped awning gleaming quite brightly under the sun. It beckons to him and only then does he realize that it has been a while since he’s visited the place. He misses those blueberry cheesecake cups that always managed to leave him wanting for more and as much as Taehyung often liked to disagree, he spent way too much on those cups instead of something practical. He still doesn’t know how broke college student Kim Taehyung managed to survive despite eating those tiny $10 pastries at least once a day.
An hour later, after deciding he wanted to take the subway, weaving in and out of crowds as discreetly as he could, instead of getting a ride, he plops down on a chair, gently tossing the box of pastries on the table. Jeongguk immediately stands from where he has sprawled just a few minutes ago, the call of food too strong to resist. The muscle pig scarfed anything within a 2-mile radius, what more if it was literally only 2 meters away?
“Wow,” Jeongguk appraises him, nose miraculously out of his phone for once. “Did you smoke too much last night?”
Taehyung stretches out to kick Jeongguk’s thighs since it was the only one he could reach. “I’m trying to be nice.”
Jeongguk scratches his chest absentmindedly, then his head, before he saunters over to the tiny kitchen counter, probably looking for something to wolf down together with the blueberry cups. “Best believe I’m eating all of that.”
“I’m trying to be nice,” a voice behind him mimics and before he could turn around to bite back, a magazine lands on the back of his head, the glossy pages hitting his lap before falling onto the floor. Jeongguk roars with laughter from behind the kitchen counter, a bowl of milk sitting in front of him, a bag of cereal poised over it.
“Jeongguk, what the fuck are you doing?” Seokjin asks incredulously, disbelief on his face. He looked so appalled, offended at what Jeongguk was currently trying to accomplish that Taehyung tried his best to bite back a fit of laughter.
However, the younger, with tears in his eyes and no remorse for Taehyung at all, says, “I’m trying to have some lunch.”
Taehyung bites his lip, trying to compose himself while he nonchalantly smooths his hair out, not in the least bit annoyed since this has always been a normality between the three of them. “Jeongguk is a weird kid who pours milk first instead of the cereal.”
Seokjin scrunches his nose in disgust. “I’m never getting used to this.”
He sits on the sofa right in front of Taehyung, crosses his legs and drapes an arm over the backrest. Seokjin was beautiful; he was a model of his own during his earlier years but now, since he’s not really doing anything particular, he helps Taehyung and Jeongguk out whenever he can. He sizes Taehyung up and down and points at the magazine on the floor with his mouth.
He reaches over to pick it up.
“You have a spread in there.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow at what the older man said. “But it’s only a single page so don’t go cocky about it.”
Taehyung shakes his head, laughing. “I never do.”
The man right across him looks at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, you never do. In my dreams, at least.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes and flips over to the said spread, seeing a profile about him and a few pictures from that one photoshoot he’s already forgotten about.
He hated that day. The photographer was a tiny man with bright blue hair, lips always in a pout, a look of disbelief never leaving his face. He was impatient, always barking out orders that Taehyung deemed relevant, yes, but nonetheless annoying. His voice didn’t fit his soft features at all; gruff, low, with a slight lisp that never stopped him from talking too fast at times.
“ What the fuck is that?” “Is that what you call a pose? If I saw that in a magazine, I’d cut my hands off before I decide to buy it.” “Can somebody get him out of that shirt? Did a dog rip it or something?”
Man, Taehyung silently wishes he never has to work with him again.
But of course, luck usually ran out before he could use it.
“Yoongi’s working on another spread for December. I think he likes to work with the both of you this time.” Seokjin slowly slides the box of pastries towards himself, checking it out before reaching in for one. “Hoseok told me.”
Ah, yes. Taehyung remembers him now. That little photographer was Hoseok’s boyfriend.
Hoseok, sunshine personified, has been trapped inside the arms of darkness personified. The realms of day and night, of dusk and dawn, a couple Taehyung never knew could actually work out.
Jeongguk sets his bowl of cereal down, a look of hunger and anticipation on his face. But before he could reach over to grab one of Taehyung’s cheesecake cups, Seokjin breaks the silence again.
“By the way, how’s it going with that guy?”
Taehyung vaguely remembers it starting mid- September . Well, technically it started during a birthday, in the midst of drinks and laughter while the room glowed red, pulsating. The speakers were in full volume, blasting something he was sure he’d seen and heard Hoseok dance to before when he frequented his dance studio. Chatter filled the room and their tiny circle was mostly the reason for it; a squeal here and there, an indignant huff, a boisterous laugh, and of course, whistling.
Whistling because someone just arrived that night and joined their little bunch in the form of a figure with a mop of blonde hair, an eye smile, and definitely toned physique.
Fuck, Taehyung breathed, taking him in. He seemed to glow under the lights, looking sultry, especially with how his hands trailed down their common friend Yoongi’s back. It stayed there for a moment until he patted it down and then do those eyes stray towards his.
They lock eyes , some sort of unmentioned tension being pulled taut in between them. Out of nowhere, a hand gives the other man a red cup, filled to the brim with beer, and he breaks contact. However, Taehyung notices the occasional glance towards where he was standing as the night progressed on.
He’s checking him out, surely. Taehyung believes he’s returning the favor.
Taehyung stills and eventually smiles, reciprocated by who he eventually got introduced to as Park Jimin, a little bit of tongue dragging across his bottom lip as he shook Taehyung’s hand.
The handshake lasted for a few seconds, and Taehyung, ever the opportunist, rubbed his thumb lightly against Jimin’s, trying to drop any hint that he was interested in knowing him better, be it in here or in bed. Whichever works.
Jimin keeps Taehyung’s eyes locked with his and gave him a half-smirk, and whoever was paying close attention could see they were already practically eye-fucking, undressing each other with the intensity of their stares, the pull of attraction strong and undeniable.
Who wouldn’t want to fuck a gorgeous creature clad in a plain white shirt that was too loose on him, dipping lowly in his chest, his collarbones out for display? Taehyung thinks of several ways to leave pretty little marks on them eventually if the night progressed into something more. His shirt was fully tucked in black, slim fit jeans, tied with a belt, paired with a pair of combat boots Taehyung didn’t know could turn a person on, especially if the on wearing was already a turn on in the first place.
Taehyung liked to keep his sexual endeavors as kind of a secret, whenever he could. But with the way people usually labeled him (cocky, loud, arrogant), he couldn’t sometimes keep his mouth shut. And it’s not like everyone around him acts like it’s a secret—not when everyone in his circle was practically like him. Almost like him, since some swung only one way at most.
The secret he liked to keep but never really kept was that he liked boys.
He liked fucking them over—bending over a table, sprawled over the couch, pressed against the hood of a car, or balancing over toilets (although that only happened once). Taehyung liked it loud and rough and kinky.
And Jimin was one of them.
He already made up his mind as soon as Jimin entered their little gathering, eventually laughing along with them with his head tilting back whenever he did, throwing himself onto someone else to support his fit of giggles. It intensified when he found himself clutching Park Jimin’s waist later in the night, as he whispered something into the other person’s ear and received a hooded look and, Taehyung swore he felt himself go hard just because of it, a purse of his soft lips. Jimin slowly licked his own, as if contemplating and for a second, Taehyung wondered if he’d read the other man wrong.
It’s safe to say that Taehyung and Jimin are fuck buddies in every sense of the word. Whenever either one needed a stress reliever, an unwinding, something to quench the frequent thirst, only a text was necessary and some lube and condoms.
Which Taehyung usually had a supply of, even in his car.
Which is where they are right now, in the middle of a parking lot at the back of Jimin’s university. After escaping the meeting with Jeongguk and Seokjin earlier, Taehyung found himself driving over to the once familiar grounds of the school after receiving a text that said “yeah, I’m free. come over”.
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
Jimin double majors in business and dance, usually the way busier one between them, but whenever he could spare some time from practicing and occasional exams, they were fucking.
Kissing. Making out. But they always ended up fucking.
Taehyung blows into Jimin’s ear, nibbling on his earlobe as the latter rode him urgently, the need to release an overwhelming force. Taehyung grunts, fingers digging into Jimin’s waist and bucks his hips up, eliciting a breathy whimper from the other.
“Do you like that, baby?” Taehyung noses along Jimin’s spine, his fingers soon traipsing along his skin. Their sweat-slicked skin slide against each other with ease, and as soon as he finds his mouth on the crook of Jimin’s neck, he bites.
“Fuck.” Jimin curses, hands gripping the headrests of the driver and passenger’s seats a little too tightly. He dips his head slowly, back muscles rippling underneath Taehyung’s lips as he sucks bruises on it. “Fuck, yes, Taehyung. Just like that.”
He grabs a fistful of Jimin’s hair, forcing him to tilt his head to one side just so he could drag his tongue along his jawline. He plants kisses on it, locking lips with the other eventually, feeling the undulating rolls of his hips that made Taehyung release a muffled, guttural moan, making him curl his toes with pleasure. He breaks off, mouthing across the surface of the column of Jimin’s neck, darting his tongue out to lick the other in places that he wanted, simultaneously peppering him with kisses until he no longer was. He sucks, bites on it, tasting the scent that it belonged to, because he liked leaving marks on Jimin, liked looking at them whenever he could because it turned him on thinking about how he did those himself.
Jimin was a blank canvas that he liked to paint on with splotches of purple and red.
A shrill ring pierces through the air and Taehyung breaks away to glance at his phone, Jimin still relentlessly bouncing, sweaty, hot—just how Taehyung liked him.
It was the same company that Taehyung had a meeting with yesterday. They’ve gone over his portfolio book, made him pose, made him walk back and forth to gauge if he was what they were looking for. Taehyung liked the company; liked the clothes and the concepts they’ve done and he even liked the offers but he had told them he needed a full 24 hours to think and they were 5 hours early. Why weren’t they calling Seokjin, anyway? After all, he was the self-proclaimed manager that Taehyung needed for those reasons.
If he was honestly speaking, partly the reason for why he hasn’t made a decision yet was that he’s learned to appreciate the beauty of freelance modeling. True, it’s pretty much an unstable job for anyone who’s trying to survive in this industry but Taehyung has reached a level where he’s learned to look past those. The diversity of having different themes to indulge and immerse himself in was appealing, having the sense of freedom to choose which ones he wanted to do was big for him, and it most importantly presented him with opportunities to try everything out. It was fun, slipping into roles that were far from himself, testing out the waters of the unknown, because that’s what he was here for--experience.
Jimin makes a strangled sound, angling himself lower towards the dashboard of the car so that with every thrust, he takes Taehyung in deeper.
In freelance modeling, the companies were at his mercy. They want him, would do practically anything to abide by his terms. And Jimin, looking at him desperately trying to take in more, reminds him of everything else.
Park Jimin was at his mercy, being fucked breathless in a car at a university parking lot where every bit of movement was just as heightened as the sensory pleasure of every touch.
He liked it.
Taehyung still doesn’t know why Jimin agreed to this. They practically met each other for only a few hours, partially under the influence of alcohol, but have set everything off so quickly, although in the sheets where everything was noisy, hot, and sensual rather than being actual friends who should be getting to know each other.
Although somehow even though Taehyung still wonders why, he stops himself from thinking too much about it. It felt like a wall was in the way, blocking any sense of reason that would’ve been normally evident and obvious. But whatever reason Jimin could have, who’s to say it wasn’t the same for Taehyung?
Probably, they’re just two lonely souls looking for a form of solace in another’s arms in a cruel world where everyone leaves eventually. The temporality of everything has already destroyed what used to be burning inside, and now, they’re simply embers of the past hurt and no matter how hard you stoke it, it just flickers and dies.
Maybe they’re just two lost souls who found that the fire inside each of them burned brighter when together. That, maybe, the fiery passion of wrapping each other in the presence was enough to keep it going for awhile. It’s not like they had to keep it alive for a long, long time.
Just enough to keep them warm.
Taehyung turns his phone off and focuses again on Jimin, rutting and grunting even more as Taehyung dragged his fingers down his body, wrapping it around the other man’s cock and proceeded to jerk him off. Jimin’s thighs clenched with every stroke, trapping Taehyung’s with it, a contorted expression on his face that Taehyung could partly see in the windshield, pleasure, and pain mixed with a whole lot of sensitivity. Jimin’s ass presses against Taehyung’s lap too firmly, the rolls becoming more urgent than ever, and he was falling and breaking into pieces right in front of Taehyung.
“Take me in baby,” he says, leaning over, pressing a hand against Jimin’s neck to keep him in place as he ruthlessly slaps his ass, earning a muffled moan after muffled moan. He shoves two fingers inside the other man’s mouth when he finishes, watches him suck on it like a pathetic little slut. All for a show, all for him. “Fucking come for me.”
And when Jimin did, mewling and being very loud as to how Taehyung preferred it, stuttering out curses, he followed suit soon after. He presses a kiss on the small of Jimin’s back before leaning against the against the backrest, listening to both of their heavy breathing, gently smearing the ropes of white along the canvas that was Jimin’s inner thighs.
This was fucking fun.
“Ow,” Taehyung flinches as the hairdresser pulls on his hair a little too hard, a stoic expression on her face as if she didn’t even hear him. “Fuck, ow.”
“What happened, hyung? Jimin pulled on it a little too hard last night?” Jeongguk grins as he settles down on the chair beside him, the game on his phone momentarily forgotten.
“Shut up,” Taehyung scowls at him and reaches out to hit Jeongguk in the chest, which resulted to the hairdresser grabbing his hair again to keep him still. He swallows the curse and instead, grins at Jeongguk.
“Wanna join us? Jimin could grab yours too if you want.” He snickers and watches Jeongguk rolls his eyes in the huge vanity mirror with light bulbs surrounding the frame. He purses his lips in disgust.
“Ew,” Jeongguk wrinkles his nose and continues, “I’m not a goddamn voyeur.”
“You never know. Have you tried it?” Taehyung liked teasing Jeongguk because with a few prods, Jeongguk easily becomes flustered and it almost always entertains him. “And you’re not gonna be a voyeur. You’re joining us.”
“You know what, hyung? Shut up,” Jeongguk throws a shirt right to his face and turns back to his game.
Taehyung simply laughs at how the younger kid’s ears turned a bright red but decides he doesn’t want to push it any longer. The hairdresser was pissing him off by the minute, and with one more tug, he was surely going to flip.
And besides, what Jeongguk said was true though. Jimin had pulled it so hard several times last night as they fucked in Jimin’s dorm, trying to keep their voices low since his roommate was in the other room, claiming to be studying.
A few moans escaped from Jimin every now and then as Taehyung swirled his tongue on his cock, taking him deeper every time, and all the while, his hands are entangled in Taehyung’s hair, tugging, pulling, wrenching it with every needy thrust into his mouth.
“So fucking hot babe,” Taehyung had tried to say, “but it fucking hurts—“
Jimin pulled him by his hair to lock lips and thrusts his tongue into the other’s mouth and this time, it was Taehyung who groans, voice low, as Jimin bucks his hips up and rubs their naked bodies against each other. The friction made him crazy, the soft drag of each other’s skin sending prickles throughout his body, stirring some unexplained feeling from inside of him although he didn’t know what it was. The intense desire to fuck the other senseless was pushing him over the edge, threatening to make him combust at any given minute.
“Fuck me, Tae,” Jimin whispers, his hands no longer in his hair but tugging at the other’s cock as he guides him to his rim. “Fuck me hard like you always do.”
Maybe this is why he always finds himself coming back to Jimin. He knows which buttons to push, what sends him into a frenzy, how he likes it, and how to break through the defense systems that Taehyung has set up for himself.
And so he did. He fucked Jimin until he could no longer keep his voice down, until they were both filling the room, the dorm, with their moans, thrusting harder every time. Taehyung’s nails scratch Jimin’s back, leaving angry traces of red against his skin, the other arching his back as much as he thought was possible. Jimin clutches the headboard, the bed creaking so loud, and Taehyung (he still doesn’t know why he did it) reaches out to pry them off and intertwines his own fingers with Jimin’s.
“Hold me, baby,” he whispered while peppering Jimin’s face with kisses. “Hold tight.”
It was supposed to be a no-strings-attached kind of relationship.
#1 Don’t hold their hands.
#2 Fuck them from behind, avoid their eyes.
#3 Leave right after.
#4 Never sleep over.
Taehyung realized how he never really held any of his sexual partners’ hands until Jimin. The gesture had always seemed too intimate to him, a little bit personal and too close to home.
Jimin’s hands were small and fit his easily. Does he use hand cream a lot? Taehyung thinks no one has softer hands than Jimin.
“Jimin, fuck. Why do you feel so good all the time?” He pounds into him ruthlessly, feeling every drag of his cock along Jimin’s walls, so tight it was making him delirious. “God, Jimin.”
“I--I could say…the same to you, T-Tae. But I’d take you any day, too.” He smirked at him, mischievous. “If you let me.”
Taehyung clashes his lips with him, tightening his hold on Jimin’s hands, dipping them even lower on the bed. As Jimin whimpered and rutted against him, Taehyung found himself pounding into him harder, harder, harder, like he always does.
And as they came, he lets go of Jimin’s hands as he slumped against him.
And leaves as Jimin falls asleep later on.
He has broken rule #1.
Taehyung washes his face in the mirror and holds onto the sink for a few seconds, composing himself, willing himself to get his shit together.
Rule #1 was to never hold their hands.
Yet he fucking held Jimin’s. He could still feel the softness of the touch at first and then the pressing clamminess of both of their hands, slipping against each other until Taehyung unknowingly held on tightly, until his knuckles turned white.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Jimin stills, peeking over the backrest of his couch, trying to gauge if someone really did knock on his door. No one really comes over except for Hoseok who just straight up barges in like he owned the apartment himself and not Jimin, who was usually caught off guard in nothing but boxers because at times like those, it was too hot to even wear more than a single article of clothing.
He squints at the door, waiting for another series of knocks before he leaves the mess of albums on the floor. He was in the middle of sorting them out, just looking for something to do since dance practices were on hold today and Taehyung hasn’t texted him since two days ago.
He still feels the warmth of Taehyung’s palm against his, smooth and soft, pressing hard against his own until his knuckles turned white and he couldn’t feel anything but the way it rubbed against each other.
Just like how their bodies were, falling into step, friction against friction, pleasure against pleasure.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Jimin snaps out from his reverie and climbs over his couch, half-running towards the door, the knocking even more urgent this time. Why was his heart beating so fast? It’s not like Taehyung knows where he lives--
As soon as Jimin opens the door, Seokjin waltzes inside, arms wide open, eyes closed, and humming a tune Jimin was sure he’s heard somewhere before. He places a yellow paper bag on top of the kitchen island before turning his attention to the unmoved younger, still on his spot by the door.
“You’re here.” Jimin realizes it sounded more like a statement than an actual question, which was what he was going for. He tries again. “You’re here?”
Seokjin wraps Jimin in a hug, lifting him off his feet and twirls him around the room. “Yes, your favorite hyung is here. I never believed it when you said your favorite was Yoongi.” He sends a flying kiss. “And happy birthday, Jimin.”
Jimin forgot it was his birthday. He’s been too engrossed with practices the past few days, exams being two weeks away, only having today as his free time and yet he still forgot his own fucking birthday. His parents haven’t called in yet and since it’s still 10 in the morning, Jimin figures they’re still pretty much busy. Not that he minds it; he’s been staying away from his phone, feeling a hint of disappointment because someone, in particular, hasn’t even texted yet.
Not that he knows it’s Jimin’s birthday. They just fuck for Christ’s sake. It’s nothing personal between them.
Seokjin waves a hand in front of him. “Hello? Are you there?”
Jimin shakes his head, amused at himself. Anyway.
“Hyung! Wow, thank you! You’re the only one who remembered my birthday.” He walks over to the counter to peek inside the bag. “I forgot it myself. Is this for me?”
Seokjin looks at him with pity. “No, Jimin. It’s for your cat.”
Jimin looks at him quizzically. “I don’t have a cat, hyung.”
“Oh, my bad. Guess I’ll just take it back, then?”
Jimin realizes how stupid he’s been and makes a grab for it, tucking it under his arm and moving far from the counter, just in case Seokjin decides to take it back. “No! I’m sorry, I was thinking about a lot of things.”
“By things…you mean…?” Seokjin waggles his eyebrows at him, definitely suggestive of a person that Jimin has spent the entire morning, and probably the past two days, trying not to think about.
“I haven’t even said anything!”
“No, hyung. You’re still wrong even if you did say something.”
“Jimin!” Seokjin huffs, a pout well on its way.
Seriously, Jimin thinks. He’s definitely not the eldest one in the group. He could probably go with Namjoon, since he’s a lot more composed and reserved than the man in front of him, making himself comfortable on a bean bag, squirming around to get to the right position. When he sees Jimin looking over at him, he sends him a flying kiss.
“No.” Jimin huffs this time, walking over to the couch. “What are you doing here, hyung?”
Seokjin sits up, which served as quite a challenge since the bean bag was too soft, and plants his elbows on his knees. Rubbing his hands together, he goes,
“We’re having a party, Jimin. Whether you like it or not.”
Jimin was on his 5th? Or 6th? drink of the night and he was well aware of the world spinning right in front of him, his feet feeling like jelly, his whole body heavy, alcohol pumping through his bloodstreams. He grips the counter table tightly, feeling the cool surface with his hand before pressing his cheeks against it, welcoming the soothing touch of coldness that has seeped into his very being.
It was too hot. Too hot.
A hand creeps around his waist, under the hem of his shirt, tracing the hard planes of his abdomen. It stays there until he feels the pressure of a body pressing against his and only then does he stand upright to check who it was, even though he was fairly sure he can only see blurry outlines and silhouettes.
But his fucking brain recognizes Taehyung.
Taehyung picks him up quite easily, perching him on top of the counter, hands traveling down his body, squeezing his thighs. Before he could stop himself, his legs trap Taehyung in, and he squirms even closer, pressing them together.
“Baby.” Taehyung breathes. Jimin vaguely registers the smell of weed. And alcohol. Definitely alcohol.
“Tae. I mi--”
Taehyung presses their lips together, and Jimin couldn’t stop himself from snaking his arms around Taehyung’s neck, pulling him in, drinking in every bit of this moment and his presence. He was getting a hard-on, and Taehyung was too, that much he could feel the way their bodies were practically glued together.
Messy make-out session in the middle of a full kitchen, bass boosted music filling up the entire house, bodies molding into each other in a haze of smoke and booze, lost in their own little world.
Jimin rolls his hips against Taehyung’s, his hands traveling south to knead on his ass.
“Mhhm?” Taehyung bites the bottom of Jimin’s lips, pulling on it, a glint of malice in his eyes. “I think I saw an empty--” a kiss on Jimin’s neck “--room upstairs--” sucking, and a little bite “--on the second floor. Wanna check it out?”
“No, the both of you aren’t going anywhere.” A voice suddenly makes them part away from each other, only to see Seokjin looking at them with undisguised distaste. “As much as you lovebirds wanna get on it, we’re playing a game.”
And so they soon find themselves in a circle, Jimin smacked right in the middle on Seokjin and Namjoon and sitting right across from Taehyung, who was sitting with Jeongguk on one side and an unknown person on the other. He was obviously drunk, laughing boisterously, indulged in a conversation with the person on his left.
Jimin thinks Taehyung doesn’t even notice him anymore when just a few minutes ago, they were practically about to have some public sex.
“Listen,” Seokjin’s voice rings out quite loudly. He turns to look at him, dizzy. “We’re going to play truth or dare.”
Ah, fuck. Jimin hated this game. They played it too much during high school, always leaving with new knowledge about his friends, spilled secrets, and even heartbreak.
Yoongi taps the floor impatiently. “All of you better get it done and over quickly. I want to leave.”
“Hyung!” Hoseok smacks him lightly. He turns to the circle, apology ready. “I’m sorry. My boyfriend is a dick sometimes.”
“A dick with a great dick.” Yoongi grins at him, leaving Hoseok flustered.
“Hear!” Taehyung shouts loudly, bursting into a fit of laughter.
Seokjin pats Jimin’s thigh sympathetically. “Anyway. Let’s get this started!”
After a few rounds of the game, where Yoongi has shamelessly danced in the middle because Hoseok forced him to take a dare, where Jeongguk has admitted he checks out Seokjin’s ass sometimes, and where Namjoon has managed to break the pen they were using, Jimin starts to feel something heavy sitting on his heart. Or in the pits of his stomach.
Hoseok twists the pen around, after having done a lap dance on Yoongi (of course a dare by Yoongi himself), and it lands on Taehyung.
Jimin hears the rush of blood before he could fully comprehend what was about to happen. Somehow, he was still drunk on his feet, his body heavy, his eyes about to close. But as soon as someone mentions Taehyung’s name, he perks up, nervous and anticipating.
“Taehyungie,” someone--Hoseok?--starts. “Truth or dare?”
Taehyung drinks from his beer bottle, tipping his head back quickly, wiping the dribble that has escaped from the corner of his lips before answering. “Dare.”
Jimin’s heart starts to beat faster.
“Hmm,” Hoseok looks around, and Jimin swears he can feel the weight of his stare on him. “Kiss anyone you want in the room. Even Yoongi, if you want.”
Jimin stiffens, the anticipation killing him. He sees Taehyung glance his way, a hooded look in his eyes, lips parted slightly. He leans back, stretching his legs out, resting his weight on his palms, surveying the room.
It’s not like Jimin was hoping for Taehyung to kiss him. He doesn’t have to, anyway. They were just friends…with benefits. Are they even friends? Or fuck buddies?
Fuck buddies. Right.
Jimin discovers his hands are shaking and he tucks them in between his legs before anyone notices. The room was too silent, waiting, until--
Taehyung leans in.
Only not towards Jimin.
But towards the person on his left, his hands cradling the other boy’s face, shoving his entire being on him.
Jimin hears a piece of himself break. He’s suddenly aware of too much activity in the room. Why was Seokjin’s arms around him, pulling him close? Why was Taehyung straddling the other person as if his life depended on it? Why hasn’t anyone stopped the spectacle right in front of his own eyes?
This is exactly why he hates the game “Truth or Dare”.
More often than not, he leaves with heartbreak. All the goddamn time.
He wakes up with the worst headache for humankind. It felt like his head was going to split into two, right down the middle, his innards bursting and splattering the walls with gruesome imagery. It even hurt to open his own eyes, everything too bright and glaring. He doesn’t really remember ending up in his bed, tucked beneath his sheets, dressed in his house clothes instead of the ones he’d donned for the party last night.
Fuck, whose party was that again?
“Kim Taehyung!” Someone shouts from somewhere outside of his room. “Get the fuck up!”
He groans, falling back on his bed, never wanting to get up ever again. His body still felt heavy, the bitter taste of alcohol still in his mouth, the memories of last night’s event a blur and only full of silhouettes and faded out figures. He remembers kissing someone, though.
He kicks his blankets off, padding over to the living room, scratching the back of his head. He was feeling sluggish, too tired to move around but if he wasn’t going to get up, he might as well be on his deathbed as soon as Seokjin barges in.
“What are you two so loud about?” Taehyung asks as soon as he enters the living room, the kitchen in full view, seeing Seokjin finishing up the last of the pancakes. Jeongguk already has his arms propped on the table, nose still on his phone, intent and serious at 9 fucking AM in the morning.
“Jeongguk, do you ever stop playing those games?” He sits beside him, moving the plate out of the way as Seokjin places a pancake on it. He grabs it back. “Do you even have a life besides that?”
Jeongguk, with his eyes on the game, not even in the least bit distracted, retorts, “Well, I’m not the one whose life ended last night.”
Taehyung looks up at him, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Seokjin settles down on the stool across from him. He nonchalantly drinks his juice before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “He means, your life with Jimin just ended last night.”
“My life with Jimin?” Taehyung feels something nagging from the back of his mind. “What the fuck?”
“Damn, hyung. Must’ve been so wrecked last night, weren’t you?” Jeongguk puts his phone down in favor of food. And maybe in favor of pissing Taehyung off, too.
Taehyung stops pushing the pancake around, utterly lost and confounded now. “Okay, yeah I was. But anyone of you who would care to fill out the blank spaces in my mind? My memory gaps?”
Seokjin bites on his pancake. “Well, aside from forgetting the horrific dance showcases of Hoseok and Yoongi, the only important thing you forgot was you made out with someone.”
Taehyung stills, mind going haywire. Someone? Someone? Jimin? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with that so why does his life with Jimin have to end?
“Not with Jimin. But in front of Jimin.” Jeongguk drops it so casually, but he can feel Seokjin’s eyes on him, following his every move.
So that’s the nagging feeling from the back of his mind.
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. Even three “fucks” aren’t enough to quell the unexplainable panic going through him right now. He just fucked everything up. He made out with someone that wasn’t Jimin, right in front of Jimin, but somehow knew, he was thinking about Jimin then.
But, why was he making a big deal out of this anyway? It’s not like he and Jimin were anything more than a pair of fuck buddies. Jimin probably couldn’t care less about what happened last night and the two airheads with him on the kitchen counter were just teasing him. He was definitely nothing more than a temporary fixture on Jimin’s life and it’s a no-strings-attached relationship. They can kiss whoever they want, fuck whoever they want.
“Oh.” He breathes out. “I did?”
“Mhhm,” Seokjin hums, taking a bite out of his pancakes. “You did.”
Taehyung tries to follow, finding it hard to do so, and instead, coughs it out. “Well, it shouldn’t be a big deal? It’s nothing. I’m sure Jimin doesn’t even mind.”
Jeongguk nods along, and Taehyung isn’t sure if he’s oblivious or simply agreeing. Even Seokjin follow suit, poker-faced, showing no emotions at all.
Yeah, Taehyung thinks. It’s not a big deal.
Jimin, hey. It’s Taehyung.
Well, of course it is.
I mean, anyway. About last night
I just. I wanted to say sorry?
Idk. Maybe I did something stupid?
I don’t really remember but
Just in case
There’s nothing to be sorry about though :)
You’re good :)
Okay. Uh. Thanks
Happy birthday, baby
Taehyung’s heart stills.
Thank you, Tae :)
Jimin’s heart skips a beat.
Taehyung has been fucking Jimin for a month now. In that span of time, between his modeling gigs and exams, they’ve managed to fuck far too many times than Taehyung could count with his fingers and toes—even with Jimin’s. He doesn’t exactly remember how it became so frequent (there was even that one time where they just spent the whole day together as soon as Jimin finished his dance exams and Taehyung had a day off from his photoshoots; it goes without saying that they both had tremendously sore legs and aching throats by the time he left Jimin’s dorm at 2 am), but what would’ve been the point to be at someone’s beck and call if it only happened occasionally? He understands the intensity and the urgency, the rippling desire, even the undeniable thirst.
But what Taehyung couldn’t understand was, why was Park Jimin the only thing he could think of these days?
He has always been a skeptic when it came to those stories that fall along the lines of ‘love at first sight’ because fuck that. How do you fall in love with someone as soon as you laid eyes on them? Taehyung thinks, is convinced, that it’s more of ‘wanting to fuck at first sight’. Now, that’s more believable.
All he could think of, as flashes of light blind him and a set of instructions were called out, was Park Jimin.
Goddamn Park Jimin whose eye smile seemed to have branded itself on the back of Taehyung’s eyes, whose cute little laugh rung itself repeatedly in his ears, whose touches have no longer made him hot with desire but of fondness as gentle caresses tickled his skin, even the soft press of his lips against his cheeks have found a new meaning in the way of what softness meant.
Taehyung didn’t tell Jimin (never found a reason to honestly since he believes they didn’t exist outside of their own little bubble) that he once followed him on the way home one night. He wasn’t stalking him for God’s sake, it just so happened that as soon as Taehyung got off the bus stop, it was as if an automatic pull made him single Jimin out amidst the crowd in the entertainment hub. Along the way, Jimin has helped at least two old people cross the street (even though it was in the exact opposite direction from him) and gave three kids some ice cream (who, Taehyung was willing to bet his life on it, Jimin didn’t know).
There was the frailty and the pureness that made Taehyung gravitate even closer to Jimin, made Taehyung realize how much he actually fucking wants to get to know the guy even though his mind tells him not to because fuck, he didn’t want to go through this kind of bullshit again.
No-strings-attached but Taehyung was already hanging onto one. A string that as much as Taehyung didn’t want to believe, was wrapped around Jimin’s finger.
1, 2, 3, someone calls out before another flash of light made his vision stark white.
Taehyung sucks in a breath as Jimin rips his shirt off quite roughly, hands trailing along his chest as he pushes him against the wall of the little room they were cramped in. He was in a hurry, digging his fingers onto his waist, grinding against him in such a way that made Taehyung feel close enough to coming with clothes on.
“Jimin-ah,” he starts, bringing Jimin’s lips close to his. He bites on it, a whimper escaping Jimin as he travels his hands lower, down south, until he rubbed against Taehyung’s erection. “You’re hungry today, aren’t you?”
Jimin hums, his eyes closed and Taehyung could see his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones. “I need you, Tae. I need you to fill me up.”
Taehyung curses under his breath, his stomach turning over and over as those words escaped Jimin’s lips.
Jimin needs him.
But as much as he liked to fuck Jimin against a wall (they’ve done it), lift his legs and wrap the other’s thighs around his legs, it felt wrong now.
He couldn’t just fuck Jimin in a cramped closet with hairdressers outside, the photographer milling about, models already boring holes from the other side of the door, curious as to what’s happening although Taehyung knows they already do with the way Jimin lazily wrapped his arms as he was sitting, given a 30-minute break. He had pressed light kisses on Taehyung’s neck with dark hooded eyes, want clearly in them. When Taehyung continued to sit, Jimin sucked on it a little too hard, and that was when he Taehyung dragged the other into the closet.
“What happened today, Jimin?” Taehyung kisses Jimin lightly. 1, 2, 3. “Did something bad happen?”
Jimin grinds against him again, moaning. “Nothing special. I just missed you so fucking much. I was ready to fuck myself with a dildo.”
Jimin misses him. Fuck.
Taehyung, with his newfound conscience that came out of nowhere, grabs Jimin’s hips and flips him over so he presses against the wall, a dull thud resounding across the room.
Jimin giggles, his fingers tickling Taehyung’s nape.
Taehyung can’t do this. He realizes how Jimin deserves something better.
“I can’t fuck you here, Jimin-ah.” As Jimin whimpers in protest, Taehyung continues. “But I will fuck you nice and slow when I finish here. In bed.” Where you deserved to be fucked. But he doesn’t say it.
“Now go, before I change my mind.” He kisses Jimin a little too roughly again, tongues passing over each other before he breaks apart. “I’ll see you later.”
Needless to say, he didn’t fuck Jimin nice and slow that night.
He fucked him hard until Jimin begged in between breathy gasps, his fringe bouncing up and down as a steady stream of curse words fell from his lips, his free hand going over to his own cock to jack himself off while Taehyung pounded him ruthlessly from behind.
Taehyung stopped himself from holding Jimin’s hand, even when he pushed him headfirst onto the bed, ass higher than before, Jimin’s free hand clutching the sheets tightly, face flushed while biting a pillow.
Fucking. Park. Jimin.
“Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung,” Jimin repeats, a mantra mixed with him moaning so loud Taehyung was sure the other dormers could hear them beyond these four walls. “Fuck–hngg–yes, there, there–”
Taehyung looks down on Jimin. He rocks against him in a steady pace, cheeks rubbing against the sheets, snagging it between his teeth as he takes Taehyung in deeper and deeper, stimulating himself by suddenly bringing his own fingers to rub against his nipples.
He stops, and Jimin groans. “I was so fucking close–”
Jimin looks at him behind his shoulder. “What?”
And so he did and Taehyung hovers above him, taking in Jimin’s mouth and slips in a tongue, sucks on Jimin’s, feeling the other’s hands entangling into his hair. He breathed in the scent of him, leaving him drunk and heady within his presence.
Beautiful Park Jimin, with his red, swollen lips, cheeks a rosy pink, matted hair, breathing too hard, a rutting mess. His blonde hair was fanned across the blue sheets, and Taehyung sighs inwardly.
A mess by Kim Taehyung.
He fucks him that way then, with Jimin under him, his thighs wrapped around Taehyung with enough room to maneuver in, hands clasped together while he looks straight into the Jimin’s eyes. Every now and then, Jimin’s eyes would flutter close, feeling every roll that Taehyung’s hips made, and when he does open them, Taehyung falls a little bit deeper.
Jimin was beautiful. He kisses his eyelids, his eyelashes, his temples, his cheeks, jawlines, and lastly, his lips.
Taehyung breaks rules #1 and #2 that night, the moon hanging high in the sky, illuminating the whole city and as it shone through the window, watching them.
He’s lost it, he knows.
He’s slipping further.
Two broken rules all for the same person?
Park goddamn Jimin.
What was with Park Jimin that made Taehyung slowly lose all the resolve he’s been building up over the past few years?
What was it with Park Jimin that Taehyung feels like it’s okay to break the rules he has carefully set up to act as walls, boundaries, for himself?
Taehyung could barely hear his thoughts over the roar of the rain. It was downright pouring, the sound of it resounding and filling up the apartment, drilling itself onto the rooftop, much like his indecisiveness was. It was eating him up alive and Taehyung thinks about those past table tennis tournaments with Namjoon and Seokjin, how he hated watching the whole thing play out. It made him dizzy enough by simply watching the tiny ball go back and forth.
He bites his thumbnail, getting even more restless than he had been a few minutes ago. Has it always been this hard to make a decision? It’s been a few hours and he, for sure, isn’t getting anywhere.
Or maybe he is but he was too scared.
Should he invite Jimin for lunch?
Did Jimin even have lunch now?
He glances over at the wall clock and sees it’s almost 12.
He could take Jimin out–
No. Maybe he could bring some food over?
What did Jimin even like to eat?
Taehyung curses at himself for not knowing. How can he even not know what kind of food the person he’s been fucking every now and then favors?
Right, he realizes with a weakening of his fingers and legs. He didn’t need to know before.
All in arm’s length.
Fuck that, Taehyung thinks as he gets up to retrieve a coat. Fuck that.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time he’s walking under the rain, avoiding puddles and walking under roofs for most of the time, even with an umbrella over his head. People run past him, one even draped in a loud, yellow raincoat, and a few girls giggling loudly as they walked, having no care in the world. Ahead of him, he spots a few restaurants and he debates with himself again.
Maybe a Chinese take-out would do? Does Jimin like orange chicken like he does? Or was it mushroom chicken? Honey walnut shrimps don’t seem too bad either. What about chow mein? Would he like dumplings or not?
Taehyung buys one of each anyway.
Taehyung runs up the stairs to Jimin’s building, careful not to jostle the food around. The rain had finally let up and as he enters the lobby, he shrugs off the hood of his jacket and attempts to fix his hair in front of the trophy cabinets.
If anything else, he looked like a wet pup. It’ll have to do.
Patting his clothes with his free hand, he makes his way to the dance studio, his heart beating erratically and his hands starting to shake. He’s worried about how Jimin would react since they never really do this, anyway. It had always been a matter of call, text, fuck, leave, and repeat.
Call, text, fuck, leave and repeat.
And that one incident of making out with someone but Jimin, in front of Jimin. On Jimin’s birthday.
It was starting to eat Taehyung alive. And why was he doing this, anyway? He could’ve stopped but he just kept coming back.
Who knew Jimin could be one goddamn magnet?
As soon as he peeks into one of the practice rooms, he instantly finds Jimin crouching on the far end of the room, legs spread wide, bending over, stretching. Taehyung had come to know how flexible Jimin was in bed, and it was a little weird seeing Jimin contort his body anywhere outside of their own little room and own little space (Jimin could literally lift his leg up without straining too much. They’ve tried it in the shower a couple of times. Name any position and Jimin could honestly do it).
Hoseok was fiddling with the speakers, back towards him; actually, everyone’s backs were toward him, and Taehyung hesitates.
Should he barge in?
He takes a step inside, then takes it back with two steps backward. Fuck. He can’t do this. When did he start second-guessing himself?
Jimin was just his fuck buddy and Taehyung shouldn’t be concerning himself with anything that happens outside their arrangement. They weren’t in a relationship for Christ’s sake.
“Oh!” Someone shouts, and Taehyung stills. Shit. “Taehyung!”
It was Hoseok. He’d know that voice anywhere. He bounds up, a bright smile on his face before he glances down at the food he was bringing. If it was possible for a mouth to stretch that wide, Hoseok would hold a record for it.
“Is that for us?” He asks excitedly.
Taehyung’s eyes flit to where Jimin was and they lock eyes almost instantly. Jimin looked confused and Taehyung couldn’t honestly blame him. He slowly gets up, fixing his sweater and carding his fingers through his hair.
As much as Taehyung wanted to keep his eyes on Jimin’s face, gauging his reaction, it flickers to his ass and he gulps. It always gets to him.
He focuses back on Jimin, ignoring Hoseok who was crouched in front of the plastic bag, poking it around to check.
Jimin is smiling. And it wasn’t just a smile. It was an eye smile.
The one that always gets him weak in the fucking knees.
Does Taehyung smile? Does he wave?
Why the fuck would he even wave? They weren’t in some high school setting.
“Uhh, hi Tae. What are you doing here?” Jimin stops short in front of him and licks his own lips.
“Your boyfriend brought us some food,” Hoseok says and pulls on it. Taehyung doesn’t budge. “Or is it only for Jimin?”
Taehyung, surprising himself, scoffs out loud. Snorts. Whatever, it was wrong.
“He is not my boyfriend–” “Hoseok, what the fuck–” Jimin and Taehyung say at the same time.
Hoseok laughs. “You guys are so guilty, whatever. Now, give that to me.”
Taehyung hands it over, the original plan of buying it only for Jimin gone.
“For a while, I thought it was really only for Jimin. He wouldn’t be able to finish everything, anyway.” Hoseok teases and bounces away, smelling the bag with a grin on his face.
“That’s for everyone. Not just Jimin.” He blurts out, trying to defend his long dissipated pride. He rubs the nape of his neck.
Taehyung must’ve been mistaken when he saw what looked like a form of disappointment in Jimin’s expression as he said it. But as soon as it came, the sooner it went. Jimin comes closer, biting his lip.
“What was that for, though?” He asks, reaching out to toy with the hem of Taehyung’s hoodie. He looks up, waiting for an answer.
Taehyung doesn’t know because he’s not sure and he doesn’t think we will be anytime soon. But if he was to break everything down honestly, he was here for Jimin.
Not to fuck Jimin in their storage closet. He’s here for, well, just Jimin. Here’s here to watch him dance, watch him laugh, smile, interact. Watch Jimin live his life outside of the four walls, out of the bed, out of his arms.
But if he was also being honest, he missed being inside Jimin although they just went down on each other two days ago (having sex with Jimin in an almost empty movie house was challenging. He had to swallow every moan that slipped out even though it was only practically them inside).
And if he was being honest too, they started as fuck buddies.
They should at least act like one.
“Fuck,” Taehyung breathes out as he bounces Jimin up and a down his cock, sitting on the toilet.
Jimin grips the side railings of the cubicle, his sweater covering his torso, over-sized but Taehyung manages to slip his hands inside and feels him up, rubbing his nipples lightly. He drags his nails across the hard planes of Jimin’s abdomen, the look on his face filling him up with satisfaction.
They ended up in the bathroom after eating since they couldn’t stop eye-fucking from across their little circle with the food in the middle. He sucked on his own lips, biting his chopsticks with a hooded look. He was testing Taehyung, and Taehyung had half the mind to give in.
He wasn’t complaining, anyway.
His tongue darts in and out of the hollow in Jimin’s neck, sucking hard on the columns, biting on it a little too hard until Jimin moans a little too louder than before. Jimin grabs Taehyung’s hair tightly, forcing him to look up at him.
“You fuck me so good, Tae. You fuck me so so well,” he bites on Taehyung’s bottom lip. “You fill me up so fucking good and–hnng–yes, that’s it. Fuck me hard, baby.”
Taehyung feels himself losing control and he tries to steel himself from combusting first. He catches Jimin’s lips with his own, fucking his mouth as well as his ass, his tongue exploring every bit of the other man’s mouth. He knows it’s sloppy and wet, even downright messy. Jimin breaks contact to release stuttered moans and lunges back in to bite Taehyung’s bottom lip, sucks and licks it off. His fingers pump Jimin’s cock up and down, faster, faster, faster. He’s trying to push Jimin off the edge.
And he does.
Jimin comes in a sputter of white, staining Taehyung’s hoodie but he couldn’t care less at that moment. Not when Jimin was hunched over him, his fingers digging onto Taehyung’s shoulder. He could feel the pressure despite the thick fabric and only then when Jimin comes down his high that he licks Taehyung’s earlobe, setting him off. He fills Jimin up, his own string of moans filling up the cubicle.
Fuck anyone that hears.
As Jimin leans into Taehyung, his fringe matted, heat emanating off him, Taehyung turns his head to press a kiss on Jimin’s temple.
They both stiffen.
Taehyung fucked up. He definitely fucked up, now.
But to his surprise, Jimin relaxes soon after, his fingers on the back of Taehyung’s head.
He presses his lips on the crook of Taehyung’s neck and he shivers, hoping Jimin didn’t feel it. One on the underside of his jaw, one on his jawline, one on his cheek, on on the mole on his nose, and finally, one on his lips. He catches Jimin’s tongue, every bit of him, every part of him, touching everything that he has come to know of Jimin. He knows he’s talking about something bigger, expecting something bigger.
Where was this going to end up?
Six vodka shots in and Taehyung feels as if the world has completely flipped upside down. Hoseok looks at him with concern as he tries to look for a slice of lemon, fumbling with a pinch of salt, licking them carelessly from his forefinger and sucked.
Happy birthday to me, Taehyung greets himself quite numbly.
Jeongguk laughs at the spectacle right in front of him, taking a video of what he knows would be a good blackmail for Taehyung. It was always a must, to have something against the other since it’s purely for survival.
This downtown club wasn’t too full, too crowded, and Taehyung liked it that way. They just finished their end of the year photoshoot, along with Jeongguk and his self-proclaimed manager, Seokjin. Yoongi, their photographer for this shoot and Hoseok’s new boyfriend, eyes him with distaste from across the table. Thank the heavens they managed to get a table in a secluded corner where the music was less probing.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He scrunches his nose in disgust.
“It’s my fucking birthday, what did you expect?” Taehyung bites back and downs another shot, making it seven.
“He’s just moping because Jimin isn’t here.” Jeongguk laughs and downs a shot. “Ugh, I’ll stop with this one. It’s gross.”
Taehyung glares at Jeongguk. “I. Am. Not.”
Seokjin points at him with his beer bottle. “Of course he is.”
Hoseok leans in. “Do you like him now, Tae?”
Taehyung could feel everyone listening closely despite the roar of the music. He doesn’t know what to say, though. Does he like Jimin? Fuck yeah, he does. But does he like him in the way the others were implying? He doesn’t know, he’s not sure, he’s not certain, he doesn’t fucking have the slightest idea if this was real or not.
Maybe it was; since despite Taehyung feeling like the world was ending and swallowing him up from drinking too much, he was partly moping around because Jimin wasn’t here. He was going to some goddamn town for the holidays and although they fucked a few times before he left, and maybe even took Jimin out for a friendly dinner, Taehyung felt like it wasn’t quite right. He felt it was too rough, too in a hurry, too…detached.
Or maybe that was just him.
He fucking misses smelling him, burying his head into the crook of Jimin’s neck where he would lick the skin just to tease him.
Taehyung looks at them one by one. “Do I?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Guy’s fucking whipped. Knew this would happen.”
Taehyung stands up, before toppling over because he was too dizzy, and says, “No one could’ve known.”
“I figured it out before the both of you did. With the pace you two were on, it should’ve been expected.” Seokjin laughs, tilting his head back to finish his beer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to call someone.”
Hoseok looks at him quite apologetically and reaches over to hold his hand. “Don’t worry Tae, if things go right tonight, we’ll know both of your answers.”
And since Taehyung was too drunk to even process what it meant, he simply nods, now in a somber mood. He wanted to kick Jeongguk’s phone out the kid’s hands so bad, annoyed at how carefree the other looked. Why can’t he be like him? Why did he have to get stuck in this messy pit of feelings?
Jimin was supposed to be nothing more than a fuck buddy, at his mercy with no strings attached.
Now, Taehyung doesn’t want Jimin to be just that. He wants something more.
He couldn’t quite believe his eyes when sparkling lights started to dance right before his own eyes. They were too bright and so he squints at them, holding a hand up to partially cover the glow, and only then did he notice they were candles.
On a cake.
A cake held by Park fucking Jimin.
They were surprising him on his birthday.
Taehyung, body laden with too much alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, tries to sit up quickly, heart beating erratically.
Jimin was here.
On his birthday. Fuck.
Jimin was wearing his eye smile, partly hidden behind the bright glow of the candles, clearly amused at the mess that went by the name of Kim Taehyung. Taehyung has sprawled on the club’s couch a second ago, suddenly falling asleep as if his eyes were hung with dozens of weights.
It was probably the vodka.
Not probably. Definitely was more like it.
“Jimin!” He breathes, clearly surprised and happy. Fucking happy.
“Happy birthday, Tae!” He giggles and sets the cake down on the table, sitting close to him right then, pursing his lips and looking at him expectantly.
Taehyung could’ve kissed him then and there, but with the others excitedly milling about, he stops himself and smiles at Jimin instead, heart soaring, hands shaking.
Wow, was this even Taehyung or drunk Taehyung?
“You’re here? I thought you had to go someplace else?” Taehyung was careful not to move too much. He could feel his stomach churning and now wasn’t the time. Not when Jimin was sitting right beside him, looking as beautiful as ever, bundled up in a scarf and a coat.
Jimin grins at him. “I had to come back and celebrate your birthday. You’re my friend, I couldn’t leave you hanging.” He gestures at the cake. “Strawberry cake, just how you like it.”
Friend. Strawberries. Jimin knows he fucking loves strawberries. Friend. He is Jimin’s friend.
Just a friend?
Taehyung composes himself. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
He reaches over to pick a strawberry up, was about to pop it in his mouth when he decides against it. He gives it over to Jimin who looked surprised but bit on it nonetheless, a small smile on his lips.
Hoseok claps his hands loudly and beckons everyone over in the circle. “You too, Namjoon.” Namjoon slides closer to Seokjin, head down, too quiet.
“Now, you better make a really great goddamn wish to give justification of how much time Jimin has wasted in just coming over for your birthday,” Seokjin takes his phone out. “In 1, 2, 3.”
Taehyung, with an erratically beating heart, wishes for Park Jimin.
As midnight drew closer, the club starts to fill up, the crowd thickening and the music getting even louder than earlier. Taehyung wasn’t going to make a fool out of himself and stay away from the party, despite being totally drunk now after four more shots.
Could he die this way? Possibly.
His hands crawl over onto Jimin’s thighs and squeeze. The other man eyes him curiously before reaching over to the salt on the table.
He makes a line on Taehyung’s collarbones, dabbing at the skin lightly, his tongue darting in and out, expression intent. It took a whole lot of Taehyung’s willpower not to grab Jimin by the hair just to get a taste of his vodka flavored lips.
“A body shot for the birthday boy.” Jimin grins at him mischievously and retrieves a lemon.
Taehyung couldn’t see the others anymore, not because he was drunk, but because they had literally gone downstairs to dance and order more drinks.
Probably to give the both of them some space, too.
Jimin locks eyes with him as he straddles his hips, shotglass in one hand and the lemon on the other. Even when Jimin takes the shot, a little of the liquor dribbling down his chin that Taehyung would’ve licked if he wasn’t too entranced with the show that Jimin was putting on, he maintained the intensity of their gazes. He brings his head down, towards Taehyung’s collarbones, and licks, and sucks, and soon enough, he was biting.
Taehyung grunts, his head tilting back at the pleasure. Jimin doesn’t even suck on the lemon anymore and tosses them aside, before swooping in to take Taehyung’s lips into his own. Taehyung, being partially aware of what was happening, grasps Jimin’s ass, kneading them and pulling the other man flush against him, clothed cocks in friction and Jimin flutters his eyes open, pleasure resounding all throughout his body and he bites his own lips, a moan escaping despite trying to play it down.
Taehyung kisses each of Jimin’s eyelids, his hands traveling up and under Jimin’s shirt where he feels him up, dragging his fingers across the hard planes of Jimin’s abs, his back, where it stays. Jimin encloses Taehyung’s head with his hands and pulls, tongues lapping at each other, a mixture of each other’s spit, an urgency that wasn’t quite like before.
Taehyung was still drunk and so he doesn’t even surprise himself when he says,
“Jimin, I have to say something.”
Jimin continues to kiss Taehyung’s neck and chest, popping one button open, leaving trails of him planted on his skin.
He stops and slowly looks at Taehyung with a sultry look.
Taehyung was drunk but he needed to say it. Taehyung felt like the world was upside down, despite the rush of pleasure that coursed through him. Taehyung knew he was gonna puke any moment now, but he holds it in.
This is too sudden but he goes,
“I fucking like you so much, Jimin. I don’t know where it started but I fucking do. I don’t know why this happened, or how it happened, but I do. And as much as I want to fuck you on this couch, in public, because we’re both frisky, I can’t. You deserve better than that.”
Taehyung looks at Jimin in the eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Everything has started to become about you, Jimin. And it just doesn’t stop. I just don’t want to fuck you hard as much as you want me to. I wanna take you in slowly, carefully because it’s you Jimin. It’s just not anyone else. It’s fucking you.”
He exhales deeply, starting to get embarrassed. He literally just stopped the two of them from going down on each other and out of nowhere, Taehyung decides to drop a confession. He wouldn’t even blame Jimin if he gets weirded out.
I mean, fuck buddies right? He was never good with feelings, anyway.
He knows what he said doesn’t make sense, that it was the vodka talking, and so when Jimin starts to giggle, pressing his forehead against Taehyung’s, he looks at him confused.
Jimin bites his own lips.
“God, me too, Tae. Me, too.” He gives him a peck on his lips. “I fucking like you, too.”
Taehyung, even though the entire moment had to be serious, laughs because he knows Jimin had tried to mock him somehow with the intensity of how he cursed.
“You do?” Taehyung asks, and this time, the blood that rushed to his cheeks heats them up and suddenly, the world didn’t seem to tilt anymore.
“I don’t know how I fell either but I did. And besides, the sex was great. I’m an opportunist. How could I not like you?” Jimin giggles and Taehyung’s heart soars.
But Taehyung suddenly sits up, burrowing his head on the crook of Jimin’s shoulders. “But baby, fuck. You’re so nice. I don’t deserve you at all.” He realizes he was on the verge of crying.
Why does he always get so fucking emotional every time he gets drunk?
Jimin presses his lips against his head, smoothing the tangled hair out. “What do you mean, Tae?”
Taehyung rambles on, convinced that somehow, it was still the vodka talking. “I followed you home one--shh,” he presses a finger on Jimin’s lips as the other pulls him back, surprise on his face. “That wasn’t intentional, I wasn’t stalking you.”
Jimin squints at him. “What were you doing then?”
“I just,” he traces a few lazy circles on Jimin’s collarbone to which Jimin slightly tilts his head back, feeling it. “I just happened to find you. And God, Jimin. The world needs more of you and less of me.”
Jimin studies him carefully, cradling his face, and Taehyung silently thanks him because his own goddamn head felt too heavy for him. “Taehyung, stop. Don’t say that, okay? Everyone’s different but that doesn’t mean the world doesn’t need you, yeah?” He bites his bottom lip. “I need you, baby. I do.”
Taehyung runs his hands along Jimin’s sides, feeling the softness of his skin. “Jimin, listen. Remember your birthday?”
He feels Jimin slightly stiffen at the mention of that. Taehyung doesn’t blame him.
“I remember what happened that night. I was too scared and confused to tell you about it. I thought it didn’t matter because fuck, I didn’t think it could’ve meant anything else.” He cards his fingers through Jimin’s hair. “I’m sorry, Jimin-ah. I’m sorry about that.”
Jimin lightly hits him on the chest. “You fucking asshole. You broke my heart that night.”
“I didn’t know, baby. I’m so sorry. But I’m sure now. I’m sure about you and everything else.”
He kisses Jimin softly; on his lips, his jawline, his earlobe, down to the column of his neck, and ends on his collarbones. Jimin exposes his neck a bit more and says,
“Now, should we go home to get things started?”
Jimin lays Taehyung down carefully, hovering over him, eyes locked with each other. Taehyung leans up to press a kiss, Jimin taking him in, every part of him, and locks the both of them with his arms around Taehyung’s waist, pulling him closer than what was even possible.
All of their clothes were on the floor, scattered, the desire proving to be too much. As soon as they had entered Taehyung’s apartment, it was hard to say which one of them jumped on the other first. All Taehyung remembers, despite being fuzzy, was that Jimin had him pressed on the other side of his door, his pants down. Jimin planted kisses on the inside of his thighs and Taehyung lets out a low growl, pleasure coming in in waves he only always felt around Jimin.
As Jimin took him in, right to the hilt, he ruts shamelessly, fucks Jimin’s mouth, his own fingers in Jimin’s hair and when he looks up at Taehyung, the threat of coming undone right before they reached the bed was too much. Seeing Jimin’s swollen lips wrapped around him was too much of a sight and so he lifts the other up from the ground and strips him off, desire coursing through him, unable to hold it in any longer.
“Take it off, everything off. I need you, Jimin. I fucking need you so much.”
Taehyung helps him then and so here they are in bed, Jimin inserting 1, 2, 3 fingers into Taehyung’s hole, eliciting a moan so loudly he could feel it with his own chest. It was so fucking tight and so fucking good.
Tonight, Taehyung wants to feel Jimin inside of him, wants to feel traces of him in his every being, wants to fall apart in his arms, hoping that when he does, Jimin puts him back together piece by piece until he’s ready to break again. He wants Jimin to mark him as his, wants to feel the aching bruises of the ring of hickeys that were sure to be left behind, wants to feel delirious from the heat that was passing between them; lingering and overdue.
“Open up for me, Taehyung-ah. Open up, baby,” Jimin kisses the insides of Taehyung’s thighs. “So beautiful.”
Taehyung is wracked with pleasure as soon as Jimin inserts himself, after lathering his cock with lube, and breathes out a series of profanity, toes digging into the sheets. He moves slowly, sliding himself in and out carefully, afraid of hurting Taehyung although it was quite stupid since they’ve been ruthless before.
Taehyung holds onto Jimin’s biceps, legs spread out, mouth open. Jimin rocks into him, a little faster this time, starting to fall into a steady rhythm. He does it a couple of times before prying Taehyung’s hands off him and instead, pins them over his head, locked together.
His eyes never part from Jimin’s, not even until both of them are rutting against each other too hard, the rhythm of two souls being too loud even in the midst of silence. Not even until Jimin finds his own release first, Taehyung swallowing every bit of noise into his mouth, soothing him from his high. He comes after, unable to hold it in any longer, and as soon as he finishes, he presses his lips against Jimin’s matted hair.
“God, Park Jimin. The things you make me feel.”
Jimin smiles, a satisfied look on his face. He shoves a finger into Taehyung’s mouth, to which he sucks on quite greedily. “Fuck, Taehyung. Fuck.”
They went for a few more rounds until the sun started to rise and until the bustling city wakes up. He swears he could hear the birds chirping.
He doesn’t even fuck anymore.
But the phrase ‘making love’ makes him cringe.
Maybe he was somewhere in between.
As the sun’s rays filtered in, he wishes for better days to come with Jimin and he hopes for the near future. The pain of his past was now near a dull ache unlike before. He assumes it’s gone, replaced by the budding feelings for Jimin, and the want to start again, to try, to make things work.
It’s safe to say, he broke all the rules that night, that day, as he wrapped Jimin in his arms, spooning him, pulling him closer, as the sun started to shine, watching them.