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Little Dark Age

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Jimin always looked forward to Wednesdays. It wasn’t that he hated his job otherwise, he’d wanted to be a therapist since his guidance counsellor suggested it at the beginning of high school, but Wednesdays were better. Wednesdays just made the job sweeter.

Wednesdays, or Wednesday evenings to be specific saw one Jungkook Jeon enter his office at five and leave at six. And it never wasn’t nice, though the use of such a word was questionable. He was a sweet kid, twenty years of age with doe-eyes and a body that towered so effectively over Jimin’s that it was hard to keep in mind that having feelings for your patients was not necessarily normal. Or right. The word he was looking for was right.

But Jungkook was different, something rather hard to ignore whenever he found his eyes lingering on the door following their sessions. Jungkook was kind and understanding and intelligent and nothing at all like Jimin’s other patients.

Though that could simply have been his own perception pushing him to believe one thing when the truth lie elsewhere.

 

It was a few odd months prior that he had shown up to his office with bags under his red-rimmed eyes. “My parents are making me come,” he had explained wearily, avoiding Jimin’s inquisitive gaze, “I don’t think I need to be here.”

“Well, why do they think you need to be here?” he had countered gently.

“I can’t sleep,” Jungkook muttered. “That’s not weird for a college student.”

“It really depends, Jungkook,” he sighed, ready to explain the obvious to yet another patient, “On your own personal history as well as the amount of sleep you’ve been having.”

He muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Three hours a night. Sometimes four, if I’m lucky.”

Jimin nodded, “And how long has this been going on?”

“Uh,” his voice was strained, “Since the start of the Summer maybe? Two or three months?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you know you need to be here.”

At that, the younger broke into sobs, “I’m so fucking exhausted .”

All Jimin could do at the time was tell him to let it out and nudge the box of tissues in the younger’s direction.

 


 

The key words being ‘at the time’.

Jungkook, as it turned out, was a child of two rather wealthy CEOs. People who, in his patient’s own words, “must have figured you can pay anyone to do anything for you if you have the funds.”

Jimin knew he was included in his statement. In the beginning, he didn’t really care. In the beginning, Jungkook was no more than harmlessly attractive. He was just another patient that was easy on the eyes and a pleasure to talk to, even if it was about something grim.

Except, how wasn’t that attraction supposed to deepen when the other exhibited all these mannerisms that Jimin had always found endearing? How was he supposed to ignore the way he absentmindedly brushed at his nose or picked at the holes in his jeans when he listened to something Jimin knew he needed to hear. His hands, fingers to be exact, intrigued Jimin to no end, longer than his own, thicker around the joints, and red and cold whenever they brushed his on the way into the office.

It was hard for the empathy not to run a little too deep to be considered professional after this presented itself. Jimin knew it was sadistic to think, but his eyes were so pretty when they were rimmed red, and the way he jutted his lip when he cried make Jimin’s heart beat at twice the pace.

That, and he just felt bad for the poor kid. He seemed to have a pretty small group of friends, not that he ever went to the parties they held when Jimin asked. His parents only ever called when they needed something, and he had been fired from his job not soon after his bout of insomnia had begun.

 


 

Jimin began to wonder if it was just his imagination, or if Jungkook seemed to be happier in his office than he did anywhere else. He still looked tired, was losing weight by the day, but he always flashed Jimin a smile when they met, even if it was a sad one.

At the introduction of these, it grew much harder for him to keep his hands to himself. But, for as affectionate as he had been branded, he always resisted the urge to plant himself in his lap as he so desperately wanted to. 

Though he did find other ways around his little rule. The seventh week marked the start of the “accidental” brushing of hands as he passed Jungkook the tissue box. But when he began to let his own linger, Jimin took things a step further, reaching for his fingers whenever he looked particularly sad.

He wasn’t sure if this counted as taking advantage and sometimes, it kept him up at night. What if the younger man was too naive for him to be making advances? Jimin wasn’t actively trying to take things anywhere, not physically. That had never been his intention.

He had accepted by the second month he wanted to take care of him, rock him to sleep and kiss him when he was sad. He’d never act on it, though. That’s what he used to justify his feelings. He’d never let things go that far. He’d be able to stop himself.

 


 

Jimin itched to break the promise he'd made to himself the week Jungkook’s parents found out about him losing his job.

“They’re threatening to fucking cut this off,” he sniffled, “This whole thing, Jimin. They think it’s a waste of time if I’m still not the perfect heir.”

Jimin tore his eyes off his mouth to say, “It’ll be okay. Take a deep breath and try to calm down. Which thing are you talking about?”

“This,” he motioned around the room, “Us- this therapy thing. Jimin… I- Wednesdays are… seeing you is a relief. You help me more than anything.”

His words rang through Jimin’s head for weeks.

His patient's parents threat affected him, too, but for selfish reasons, so he kept his face straight. But, his brain cut in, what if they really did take him away from him? What if they stopped paying for the sessions and Wednesdays just had to go back to being Wednesdays and he’d never get to hear his thick Korean accent ever again?

It was under the threat of this that Jimin finally moved to the couch for comfort. He wondered if it was more for himself or for Jungkook.

 


 

He stopped wondering during their next session.

“The pills,” the younger looked hopeless, “The doctor kept telling me to give it four to six weeks, but it’s been five, Jimin, and my sleep is still awful.”

“Extended-release, is it?” Jimin asked, taking his pen from his pocket to note it down, “Would you like me to call your psychiatrist?”

“I don’t want to take pills,” he explained, holding his head in his hands, “They’re just making me hungry and even more tired, but I still can’t get enough sleep.”

“They’ll help with your depression, too, though. Don’t you want that?”

“I thought being like this was normal until you told me it wasn’t,” he admitted, “If I’ve gone two decades not thinking it was a problem, I can do it for another few.”

This was one of the times that Jimin wished he didn’t have a professional obligation, that he could try and convince him that things could be good.

“It shouldn’t be like that, Jungkook,” he reasoned, “But let’s say you did go off your meds, would you still try to work past this?”

He snorted humorlessly, “Of course I would. I mean, you see that I beat myself up over it more than anyone else.”

“I know, I know. And you’re making a smart choice. I wan-,” I was hard to keep his language as clinical as it should have been, “you should do your best to be happy.”

The expression on his face had Jimin wondering if he didn’t know what he was going to say.

If he did, he didn’t comment. So he continued, “What have you tried so far?”

“Well,” he thought for a second. It was clearly a lot of effort for his tired mind, “Exercising,” (Jimin could tell), Herbal stuff. Weed. Over the counter pills.”

Jimin tried to keep the colour from his cheeks when he suggested, “You know, many people use sex or masturbation as a relaxation technique to help them sleep.”

“O-oh,” he wrung his hands, a sign he was feeling self-conscious, “I mean… I jerk... Like, I jerk off… a normal amount, I guess?”

Jimin tried to act like he wasn’t a tiny bit flustered himself, doing his best to knock the mental image out of his mind, “Jungkook, I’m your therapist, there’s no need to be shy. This is a professional relationship here, I’m hired to help you.”

He cringed at the words, as did Jimin, but less noticeably. Or so he hoped. Things had to stay this way. He knew that, but he also knew he needed to address their seemingly mutual attraction. That’s what they had told him to do during his training time and time again. Address it, get it out of the way, discontinue their sessions if necessary.

The problem was, the only thing he could see that leading to was losing Jungkook.

As the days dragged by, Jimin began to see himself as more of a selfish monster than a therapist.

“Right,” the younger said, clearly trying to keep his tone even, “Yeah.”

“What about sex?” Jimin asked tentatively, “As you know by now, I won’t force you to talk about anything-”

“No,” he shook his head, “You’re right. I can’t think of- I need to think of this as a professional relationship.”

The way he worded it made Jimin want to ask questions he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know the answers to.

“I don’t like to sleep with strangers,” he went on to say, “But then, I get nervous when I want someone, though usually it isn’t reciprocated, anyways. It used to be my English… it- it wasn’t always so good. But now, I just… the inferiority thing, and all,” he turned his eyes down, brushing his nose the way Jimin had grown to love, “Bottom line is, it just never works out. Or it did once, but I don’t feel like talking about that today. Which means I don’t... yeah.”

“Oh,” Jimin shifted on the sofa, trying to ignore the way the other man's eyes lingered on him, “I understand. That’s perfectly common, Jungkook, don’t worry.”

“I guess,” he grunted.

 


 

Though the topic had been dismissed not long after Jungkook’s admittance to what was at least partial abstinence, Jimin had a hard time letting it go. He’d done nothing but stare at the door blankly after he’d seen him out. The action itself was not necessarily uncharacteristic of the young therapist, but this time, he was at silent war with himself and growing bulge in his pants.

Jimin really, really wished he had never breached the topic.

Because though he had been able to resist desecrating his office with cum-filled tissues and guilty moans of Jungkook’s name, his little issue persisted all the way from the office to his one bedroom apartment.

Jungkook was so sweet sometimes, so soft spoken and shy when he wasn’t used to the topic at hand. It was behaviour such as this that left him wondering if maybe he was submissive, if he’d like Jimin to ride him and tell him how pretty he was, how he liked the sound of his voice and feel of his cock.

Or maybe Jimin was wrong. Maybe he was dominant, but quiet, taking what he wanted with a slower burning intensity and kissing deep and imploring, appreciative of the compliance Jimin‘d be more than willing to give.

Not that he actually would. He still had the self-control, though it was quickly dwindling.

He tried to push the thoughts away, he genuinely did. Momentarily, it worked, but soon as visions of them in union finally ceased, they were instead replaced by Jungkook in the shower, purple-rimmed eyes clenched shut as he finished across the tile with a moan of Jimin’s name.

He succumbed in his own shower that night, hand wrapping tightly around his long-neglected length as he fucked his hand to completion, wishing remorsefully that it was Jungkook’s fingers he’d cum across instead.

 


 

It was clear to Jimin that the happenings of the previous week must not have left Jungkook either when he was greeted by the already introverted boy looking wearier than usual.

He pointed this out minutes after his patient failed to answer his usual questions with anything but one-word answers, “You’re quiet today. Did something happen?”

“Um, well,” the younger started, one hand finding the nape of his neck, “What we spoke about last time…”

Jimin pretended not to know exactly which of the many topics they’d addressed that he was referring to, “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“Sex,” he rambled, voice hushed, “The- I mean the sex. And well, not just that. I mean, the situations- the reason I can’t. I mean the reason I don’t have it.”

“Slow down,” Jimin soothed, talking to his hammering heart as well, “Take a deep breath for me and think about what you want to tell me, alright? This is a no judgement zone, which I have told you many times and meant it each one. I was hired to help you.”

The smile he got in return was bitter, but he did his best to disregard it.

He took a moment to collect himself before starting, “I think sex might help. Like how we spoke about it last time. There is someone, but I can’t approach them. Not like that.”

It was stupid and selfish and harmful that Jimin hoped he was talking about him. Trying to hide his excitement, he said, “Well, we don’t know that for sure, Jungkook. It may just be your depression that makes you feel unworthy.”

“No,” he shook his head, “No, it’s not like that. We… professionally, we can’t work. It’s not allowed.”

“Oh?” Jimin knew the tips of his reddening ears were betraying his otherwise neutral body language, “Why is that?”

“He was- he was my… my higher up,” Jungkook lied.

Jimin was not threatened. He was a bad liar. He always bit the inside of his cheek when he tried and shrunk into himself as if he were aware of his weakness. So Jimin just nodded.

“Tell me more. You know you can trust me with anything.”

Except, could he really? Was Jimin not betraying his confidence, manipulating him as the words left his mouth?

“Yeah,” the patient still wouldn’t look at him, “I know I can. I just don’t usually…”

“I understand. Take your time. We can even return to this in a later session if you feel more ready.”

“No, no,” he nearly whispered, “I think I can-,” he shook his head, returning to his story, “Well, this guy, he... He’s nice. To me. Especially nice to me and sometimes it feels like he cares a lot.”

“But?”

“But… but I think he’s like that with everyone, all the other... interns. I mean, he’s just nice . He’s an understanding person. I’m not sure if it’s just… just me, but it feels like we have more together than he does with the others. Or well, sometimes I think we do.”

If Jimin had been around ninety percent sure Jungkook had been talking about him before, he was closer to one hundred and twenty now.

“Hm,” he said, “And there are reasons that you still can’t try, even after the loss of this job? Reasons that stretch beyond your personal issues?”

“Yeah,” the younger man nodded, clearing his throat. His eyes turned in the elder’s direction, and for a moment he was sure they were going to fix on his. Instead, they travelled towards out the window to the skyline, lit artificial yellow in the winter night.

“Do you want to discuss them-”

“No,” he said quickly. Then, realising his transparency, he muttered, “They’re not relevant.”

“I see,” he nodded, “That’s perfectly alright, Jungkook.”

“What do you think I can do about it? Can I do anything? Or should I move on?”

“Jungkook, look at me. Are you alright?” Jimin asked. He hadn’t blinked in over a minute and a half, and his eyes looked distant, almost as if he’d dissociated in fear of rejection.

“I’m alright.”

“Then look at me,” he said, firmer this time.

He did or tried to, but they filled with tears and he quickly looked away.

“Would you feel better if I sat a little bit closer?” Jimin asked tentatively, dancing around the elephant both he and Jungkook were painfully aware was in the room.

“Right now?” he asked, “I don’t… not sure it’s smart.”

Jimin did not want to pry.

He wiped his eyes hastily, “Jimin, what do you want me to do?”

The directness of the question caught him off guard and his stomach churned, forgetting for a moment the actual question he had posed.

“I think that you shouldn’t chase it, Jungkook, but in some cases, one could argue that certain things happen for a reason.”

“Then?”

“If you find yourself and this man,” he began shakily, “Whoever he is, in the right place at the right time. I.. I suggest you go for it.”

Entranced by Jungkook’s increasingly gaunt face, Jimin had, entirely on impulse, sealed his fate.

 


 

And fate, once it’s sealed, can work in funny ways. Sooner or later than one would expect, sometimes in a way that seems almost too mundane to be considered fate at all.

For Jimin and Jungkook, things happened sooner rather than later.

It was on a Sunday evening, Jimin’s only day off. He’d spent the better half of it lounging around his flat, cooking meals for the upcoming week and indulging in a little more looking at the TV than actually watching it. All he’d done since 6 pm the previous Wednesday was play over the words they had shared and their implication. Jimin wondered if Jungkook actually had the courage to act on what had essentially been confirmed was felt by him, or if he would shy away if they were to bump into one another somewhere other than his office.

Jimin’s fantasies had always tended to get the best of him, but now they were consuming him, everything he laid his eyes on twisting their potential out-of-session meeting into some sort of new romantic situation.

Like how the park outside had him wondering if maybe it would be where they finally crossed paths. If maybe Jungkook would be sitting, feeding the ducks and he would spot Jimin on his daily jog across the pond and bound up to him. The drained glass of wine on the table made him wonder if instead, they’d meet at a bar? No, he didn’t drink. A restaurant, then. Or maybe they’d run into one another at Starbucks and Jungkook would ask him if he wouldn’t mind taking a little walk. Maybe they’d meet one another in a bookstore and he would stumble over a jumbled confession, whispered urgently as not to bother the other shoppers.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him that not only was he being extremely immoral and arguably manipulating someone he was being paid to help, but he had cooked all his food away to leave him snackless.

He looked down at his rumpled tee shirt (the very same one he’d slipped on the previous afternoon when he’d returned home) and dirty boxers (despite only having had one glass of wine upon said return, thoughts of the other had gotten the best of him) and dragged himself into the shower, wondering if maybe he’d run into the man of his dreams in the gym bathrooms after a workout.

 

He caught the bus to the giant Tesco on the other side of town. Being home left him to wallow in his current dilemma, and travelling, often times as far as he could manage, was the only thing that got him out of his head.

So, pleased by the aesthetic of the ever-dreary London, Jimin people watched from the upper deck’s window, imagining the conversations people were having on their phones and wondering what the ones who appeared down could have been so bothered by. Jimin liked the trip, liked when his mind travelled away from Jungkook for once.

 

He kept one headphone in as he strolled through the store, big, almost American vastness panning out in front of him. He felt small, like he was somewhere foreign as opposed to the city he’d called home for the past ten years.

But all sense of familiarity reappeared the moment he felt a cold hand through the dampened collar of his shirt. “Jungkook,” he said even before he turned around.

He looked even more washed out in the harsh fluorescent lights, “Jimin. Hey.”

They exchanged a look, and his own words rushed back to him, “ If you find yourself and this man, whoever he is, in the right place at the right time. I suggest you go for it.

He looked like he wanted to do just that, what with the way he had opened his mouth, and paused as if to reconsider before closing it. He settled on, “You always mentioned places North West, thought you lived up there?”

“Oh,” Jimin didn’t know what felt different. Maybe it was how close he was standing, or how much more uncertain he looked than usual, a deer caught in the headlights. The saying seemed to be made for him, eyes wide and prettier than Jimin had even known existed. He wondered how much Jungkook’s beauty would increase once he was healthier. He wanted to see it one day-

But then he cleared his throat, and the other remembered he wasn’t here to stand and gape.

“You’re… you’re right,” Jimin said quickly, averting his eyes to the way Jungkook was wringing his hands like he had no idea what to do with them.

His shirt was wet, just enough for the white fabric to fix to his chest and stomach. It had never occurred to Jimin that he, regardless of his toned body, could have a torso so defined. He gulped, “I like to travel across the city every now and then, see as much as I can. Helps me get my mind off things.”

“Ah,” there was an awkward pause, tension thick in the air. Jungkook had noticed his lingering gaze, “Uh. Have things… like, have they been on your mind?”

“I suppose,” he muttered vaguely, unused to the feeling of his own patient asking him about himself.

In a clear attempt to lighten the mood, he said, “Um, what are you getting? I’m just here for snacks, popcorn and such.”

“Yeah, actually,” he nodded, turning back to the wall of plastic crisp bags before them, “Me too.”

Conversation got a little easier after that, and Jimin even allowed himself to indulge the other in a few vague details of his own life, his opinion on dogs and the length of his usual commute to work.

They even checked out together, Jungkook cracking a joke of high enough calibre to elicit a giggle as he scanned his own items and popped them into his grocery bag.

 

“Do you really not have a coat?” Jimin inquired softly once they had walked out into the biting cold.

He shrugged, “I live right down the street, before the bus stop, even. It’s close.”

“What it is is cold, Jungkook,” he shook his head, used to scolding him and his carelessness, “You’re going to get sick.”

“How’s that affect you?” he snorted, corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

Jimin liked the way even the smallest of them revealed his teeth, straight and pearly. “What am I supposed to do on Wednesday night if you cancel?” he snapped without realising the weight of his words.

And he was tense again, almost as if he had forgotten for a moment that they weren’t just friends.

Hell, Jimin had, too. So he changed the subject to something a little lighter, “You must be cold. I’m cold. Let’s walk, shall we?”  

“Yeah,” Jungkook said. There was a minute of silence as they crossed the parking lot, weaving their way around cars, “Jimin, you’re good at what you do.”

Jimin did not agree. “Oh?”

“You know what to say. And you comfort me so well, I really…”

Jimin had to wonder if this was it, his throat squeezing shut because, holy shit, it just felt too real.

It wasn't, “I want to say thanks. I guess. You know I’m not great with words, and I feel like you’re used to hearing shit like this. But I mean it.”

Jimin decided to disclose a little confession himself, though it was not the one he so desperately wanted to get off his chest, “You’re my favourite patient, Jungkook.”

Common sense told him to regret the words that left his mouth, but he looked at him so warmly that Jimin felt anything but. If anything, it want to say more, do his best to see the other genuinely smile.

“Yeah?” he asked, believing of the other.

“Yeah. And.. if you weren’t,” he’d need to choose his words carefully. Or, technically, he shouldn’t have been choosing them at all. He should have shrugged him off in the snack aisle, “If we weren’t… this. I’d. I think I’d want you around.”

“Maybe one day?” Jungkook asked, turning his eyes away yet again as his hand found it’s way to rub the back of his scalp.

Jimin hoped that this wasn’t all he was going to get in terms of addressing what he so desperately wanted him to. He still said, “I want to see you when you’re really yourself, Jungkook. So yes, one day sounds good to me.”

It was no surprise that once they had found their way to the sidewalk, a strike of lightning flashed above them and the manageable rain turned to torrential downpour, bruising against Jimin’s face.

“Ouch,” he shuddered as Jungkook’s fingers, suddenly warm in comparison to the weather, lifted the hood of his jacket over his head for him.

He couldn’t help but feel flustered at the small act of kindness.

The younger man didn’t give him time to stutter a thanks, though, pulling him by the elbow into a doorway. “Come inside.”

Since when was he so blunt? Jimin wondered if he had been flirtier than he’d intended. But if he was willing to take the steps he wanted him to on his own volition, the elder was by no means going to complain.

“This is your building?” he asked stupidly. Of course it was, higher end for the area, but still humbler than those that decorated the streets of Kensington.

“Mmmhmm,” he fumbled with his pocket for his keycard. “I mean, if you’re not comfortable, what with patient-doctor protocol and stuff, I understand. But I can assure you it’ll be better than running through the rain.”

Jimin had half a mind to do just that and return home jerk off in the shower once more, paranoid- or more accurately, well aware that once he was trapped in that apartment, he probably wouldn’t make it out without doing something he would most certainly regret.

But then, a hailstone flew into the doorway, hitting him square in the shin, “Shit.”

“I’d really suggest you come in, Jimin,” he insisted, not a single hint of malice in his voice.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pushing his nerves to the side in hopes his smile seemed as innocent as Jungkook’s, “Might as well. Just until it lets up.”

 

“I’m sorry if it’s messy,” he chuckled nervously as he unlocked the door, “I just-”

“Jungkook, you don’t need to explain,” he interrupted, “I understand, remember? I already know the real reason.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. Jimin could feel his eyes linger on him as his own explored the apartment. The TV had been left on, and there was an indent on the otherwise pristine couch from where Jungkook had spent far too many hours planted in the middle, trying his best to coax himself out of consciousness. There were magazines lining the surfaces, too, and of all kinds, from fashion to sports, to porno magazines, which he rushed to knock off and hide.

Jimin found it cute.

The curtains had been pulled shut too, making the flat darker than he’d have expected, “When was the last time you slept, Jungkook?”

“I sleep every night,” he deflected.

“When was the last night you slept alright ?” he corrected himself.

He thumbed at the rim of a dirty glass next to him, “I… Wednesdays. I sleep better on Wednesdays.”

Jimin let himself smile, “I’m glad. I’m glad I can help you, even if just a bit.”

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” the younger's smile was melancholic.

And it clicked in Jimin’s mind what exactly it was that never sat right with him. Job. Career. Profession. It‘d never felt like an accurate descriptor of what they really were.

But before he could make some sort of awkward reassurance, he brushed past him, “I’m going to get on a dry shirt. Do you want to borrow a hoodie? Since you’re wet, too?”

There was nothing Jimin would have rather done than bundle himself in something that undoubtedly smelt strongly of the other. Which was the problem, “Jungkook, I’m not sure if-”

“Hey,” he said softly, voice just loud enough to be heard from where he hovered in the doorway to his room, “What am I supposed to do if you take a sick day, huh? You can just give it back to me next session. Or you don’t even need to give it back at all, since I have plenty.”

This was true. The man literally lived in them.

He took Jimin’s silence as a yes, saying, “I think I have one that’ll fit,” as he swung the door shut behind him, opening it again after a short thirty seconds to toss Jimin the article of clothing. “Let me know when you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin choked, catching sight of an exposed collarbone and toned bicep, but not the forest green UCL hoodie that fell beside him.

It did smell like him, by no means served as any sort of disappointment as the soft insides tickled his belly and fell over his tiny hands. He was drowning in it.

Before calling him back, he took a moment to revel in the warmth, imagine a world where being in Jungkook’s living room, dressed in his clothes was commonplace as opposed to fantasy.

 

Jungkook had lost the confidence that seemed to build and crash fast enough to give Jimin whiplash by the time he returned to the room.

But he didn’t mind, had always liked the look of a white tee on the other when it was paired with a dusting of pink across his cheeks. Or red, when Jimin did something that pleased him. 

Apparently, seeing him in his clothes could be categorized as such.   

“So, um,” he began, trying to hide the tiny grin on his face as he stared out the small crack in the curtains, “I was thinking maybe we could watch a movie or something until everything clears up. We don’t have to finish it if the rain ends early, but well, the weather app on my phone is saying it’s won’t.”

He didn’t give Jimin a chance to reply before hastily adding, “Or I could order you an Uber door to door, if you can’t stay. Again, with the formalities-”

Jimin knew what Jungkook wanted to hear. He wanted to tell him the exact same thing, “Listen, just forget about our relationship outside of what’s going on right here and now, alright? I’d like to watch a movie. In fact, I think it’s a great idea.”

The other finally met his eyes, security growing once more, “Really?”

“Absolutely,” to prove himself, Jimin made his way to the couch and flopped down to pat the cushion right next to him, “Come sit.”

Jungkook circled around in front of it, blinking rapidly as they came face to face, seemingly unsure of where to sit, if getting too close was too risky a decision.

So he pointedly patted the space right next to him. “Come on, I already have something in mind. I think you’ll like it.”

Thankfully, he trusted his gut, trusted what Jimin’s body language was screaming for him to do and planted himself right next to the other, leaving a calculated seven inches between them.

It was Jimin’s move.

So when he took his phone out of his back pocket to place on the coffee table, he shifted as subtly as he could to move a single inch towards the other.

 

My Neighbour Totoro ?” the younger scoffed humorously.

Jimin decided he liked the boyish expression, much more light-hearted than the version of him he was usually faced with. So he decided to mirror his expression, cocking an eyebrow and retorting, “Judging by your tone, you’ve never seen it. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Jungkook, objectively speaking, was whipped. So he just rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance before selecting it.

 

“Jungkook are you crying?” Jimin found himself asking a solid amount into the movie.

Surely enough, the other had inched farther towards him at a slower pace than he’d expected. Jimin liked how unsure he was in a way, relished the innocence. By now, his arm was slung over the back of the couch behind him, fingers darting out every now and then to graze over the fabric of Jimin’s shoulder when he was under the assumption he wasn’t paying much attention.

But how wasn’t he supposed to? He was not just attentive, but hyper-aware of everything, of his breathing, of the smell of the hoodie and the heat radiating off the younger's side onto his own. He was so stupidly affected that it wasn’t even funny. So when he’d heard a familiar sniffling, he’d been sure in a moment what was going on.

He itched at his nose and wiped his tears away, grunting, “You’re the one who chose the depressing ass movie.”

Jimin couldn’t help but smile, turning his torso towards Jungkook to look at him, “I think the word you’re looking for is heartwarming.”

“People call me Jungkookie,” he said. “Sometimes. When they ca- when they’re…,” neither of them had any idea how to label their relationship. Things had been questionable before, depending on how you looked at it, but now? With him spending his Sunday night practically cuddled up on his couch? “People I know call me Jungkookie.”

“Okay, Jungkookie,” Jimin liked the way the word rolled off his tongue, “You know you can cry if you want, that I’ll never say anything, never make you feel bad about it.”

“Yeah,” he sniffed, fighting back a smile that told Jimin he liked the nickname just as much, “Yeah, I know- It’s just. The sleeping thing makes me sensitive, you know.”

“I do." The other looked so good like this, dim lighting of the TV softening the cheekbones that appeared much sharper in broad daylight. He licked his lips, a habit that had always been distracting to Jimin in the office, but was even more disarming up close.

His breath hitched as he tried to fight back thoughts of how much more satisfying it’d be if they were slick with his own spit instead.

And he, at such close vicinity, felt his gaze. He couldn’t not have with the intensity it conveyed.

In fact, he was close enough for the elder to feel him stop breathing when they made eye contact.

There was a pause before he started, “Jimin?”

His eyes fluttered shut at the feel of his minty breath fanning across his face. “Hm?”

“Jimin, I-.I just. You know, I might be wrong,” Jimin’s eyes reopened to Jungkook stumbling over his words, eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth anxiously, “I’m probably wrong, but… oh, fuck it. Jimin, if I kissed you, would you leave?”

The elder tried not to break out sobbing in happiness, tried to refrain from jumping into his lap and absolutely devouring him.

An insecure Jungkook interpreted his pause differently, “I’m- just forget-”

Jimin, in that moment, decided it was time to stop fucking about, beating around the bush and acting like there was nothing there because he had urged this on himself. He had started it, suggested it, and now he had to finish it. He had to do his part where the mentally ill object of his affection couldn’t.

What this entailed was lunging forward in what felt like slow motion and pressing his own lips to Jungkook’s shaking and ever so slightly parted ones.

Nothing happened for a moment, and he was left waiting stupidly with his mouth frozen against Jungkook's before his hand rose to cup his cheek and he began to move against him, touch barely there.

The only problem with that, regardless of how nice it may have been, was that Jimin had waited too long for it to be gentle where he needed it to be starved like he knew damn well they both were.

So he moved even closer, hands weaving into his hair to increase the pressure and move his mouth more fervently against his.

And it really was as if he'd set something off in him, the solid proof that Jimin wanted him just as bad and he moved to pin him down against the couch as the precision of his kisses decreased. He was moaning in no time, taking charge but acting almost as if he was submitting instead, breath laboured and almost overbearingly loud in his ear.

In the end, it was Jimin that was driven up the wall, tongue darting out over Jungkook’s now-swollen bottom lip.

He opened up eagerly, thrusting his nose into Jimin’s cheek and tilting his head to ensure he’d be able to plunge as deep into him as he could.

The elder tugged his wrists free and Jungkook leapt backwards, almost as if he’d committed some sort of unforgivable sin. Jimin, however, just used his newfound freedom to hop back onto him and pull him back down, whispering about how it was okay into his mouth.

“Bed is comfier,” Jungkook finally said after a few more minutes of open-mouthed kissing.

“I don’t know if we should-”

“We won’t,” Jungkook assured him, “I won’t. I promise.”

“Okay,” Jimin agreed, breaking away fully to lean his forehead against Jungkook’s. His lips, though chapped, were warm against his and he tasted so nice to Jimin, so pleasant. He could kiss him for hours, days even without getting tired. Hell, he wanted to take a few off work to do just that.

Jungkook tried to pull farther apart, presumably to stand him up, but it was the smaller boy’s turn to try his hand at sudden shyness, “Can you carry me?”

“Yes,” was all Jungkook said, but Jimin could feel his pleased grin, imagine it stretching across his reddened mouth behind his shut eyes.

And then two strong arms were pulling him up before fitting themselves beneath his thighs and shoulders, and so effortlessly, too, to carry him across the cluttered apartment into his room. Which was even worse, not that Jimin was paying any attention, too wrapped up in Jungkook’s accelerated pulse, which he felt as he nestled into the searing skin of his neck. He pressed a kiss to it as he laid him on the mattress, gentle but inviting, eyes turning up in anticipation as he followed him down, positioning himself back between his spread legs.

“Can I turn on the light?” he asked.

“Sure,” Jimin breathed, wondering if he wasn’t too far gone to notice a tornado tearing through the apartment. Could you blame him when Jungkook was literally pressed against him?

He reached over onto the bedside to flick it on and bit his lip as he studied Jimin’s face, “When I was talking about liking my coworker-”

“I know,” Jimin assured him, thumbing below his eyes, “I know, Jungkook.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” was the last thing he said before he dipped back down, nosing at Jimin’s sweet spot, wet mouth dragging itself across his skin for a moment before latching on once he’d found the perfect place.

What started as open-mouthed kisses turned into sucking, which further evolved to nibbling once he began to lose himself, then full on biting when Jimin’s hand clamped down onto his neck to force him down harder, a series of embarrassingly enthusiastic and admittedly loud, Jungkookie's, escaping him.

He had been right about one thing. Jungkook was the type to take what he wanted, at least when it came to kissing, but was equally as enthusiastic, though in a slower way that showed how he appreciated the privilege.

“Make me feel so good,” Jimin whined, desperate to feel his mouth against his once more.

Jungkook leaned back, out of breath, but pleased at his own work, “Yeah?”

“So fucking good,” he stressed, “Kiss me again- lips, Jungkook, please.”

And Jungkook did just that, his words eliciting a sort of compliance in him, letting Jimin roll on top of him with ease regardless of the fact that he was strong enough to dominate the other completely.

He wanted to make his own mark or two, regardless of his enjoyment of the comforting weight crushing him, the heartbeat pulsing next to his own to pin him in place.

Fifteen minutes later, Jungkook was asleep, something a very kiss drunk Jimin only noticed when he realised that his throaty groans had turned to snores.

If anyone else had fallen asleep under him, Jimin would have been annoyed, taken it as a hit to his pride, but Jungkook? He was left to laugh quietly in joy, leaning back to take in the rare expression of peace resting across it.

He looked so subdued, innocent, the only things giving away their recent activities being his bruised bottom lip and purple blotted neck. Jimin had planned to leave as soon as he noticed the change, he really had, but after all, many of his fantasies had played out something like this, had ended in him curled up on his chest, listening to him breathe, taking him in.

And whether or not he wanted to admit it, he had no idea where they were supposed to go from here, if things would crash and burn and he’d never see his favourite patient, or well, person, if he were to be honest, again. So he allowed himself the small luxury for an hour or two, listening carefully to the rain as he trailed his hands in slow circles over Jungkook’s chest.

He tried very deliberately not to think about the possible disaster that could very well ensue come Wednesday evening.

 


 

It only worked until he got home, once he was able to stop thanking God for the city’s 24-hour bus service.

He’d known in his mind that waking up next to Jungkook was a horrendous idea, that it could cause even more unneeded confusion than there already was so once his eyes began to droop shut, he dragged himself out of bed as quietly as he could and out the door. He kept Jungkook’s sweatshirt, though. He even fell asleep in it once he got back to his own bed.

 


 

It was while he was having his lunch on Wednesday that he realised that he was in love with Jungkook. It wasn’t like he’d even been thinking about him, per say, had been focusing more on the possibility of his Tuna sandwich having spoiled over the course of the day.

But as soon as his eyes turned to the couch in front of him, zeroing on the spot in which the younger always sat that it dawned on him.

What the fuck could he do about it, though? For now, the answer was nothing. For now, he’d just have to hope Jungkook showed up for his appointment.

 

He did, but exactly seventeen minutes and forty-five seconds late. Not that Jimin had been counting.

He had sat patiently in his armchair for the first six minutes, eyes flickering around the room in an attempt to distract himself. He was too anxious, had never been this affected during work. He needed to relax.

But he had none of the Xanax he usually kept on hand in case of emergency, nor could he leave to take a quick walk around the block in case he happened to miss Jungkook, and the other took his absence the wrong way.

He checked his email for the eighth time since he’d arrived in the office, foot tapping impatiently against the carpet. There were no cancellation emails from him, or more accurately, no new emails at all. Jimin had half a mind to call him, but then again, if Jungkook truly felt wronged by what had happened, he knew it was best to give him his space.

What about Jimin, though? He was by no means removed from the issue, in fact, he was in deeper than Jungkook was himself. He needed to just… relax. Easier said than done.

Then, he remembered something. A year or so prior, he’d treated someone named Yoongi Min for a nasty chain smoking problem.

“Here,” the lithe man had said to him with a crooked smile, “Want you to have my last pack- It, uh. It means a lot, what you’ve done for me.”

And as far as he knew it still sat in the bottom drawer of the little side table he kept by his chair. He scrambled for it, heart hammering in his chest until he found it, tucked between a bundle of pamphlets on eating disorders.

He squeezed the faded red and white carton with unsteady hands, not bothering to rethink his decision before pulling one out and standing up. He grabbed the lighter he often used for his incense burner and struggled to crack the window, its hinges rusted from disuse.

It tasted disgusting, not that he was surprised. Jimin had always hated cigarettes, had never had the urge to even try a puff the many times he had been offered.

Yet, the involvement of a single boy was enough to throw all his years of resistance straight out the window. Go figure. Even a psychologist wasn’t above such blind infatuation.

Was it really illogical, though? Jungkook was an angel, a genuinely good kid with bad luck in a shitty place. And Jimin had helped him, whether it had been professional or not. He genuinely did care, he knew he did.

He continued to debate as he sucked down the rest of the cigarette, gagging as the smoke hit his lungs. It was absolutely deplorable, of this there was no doubt, but he had to admit it calmed his nerves a little, gave him the headrush he’d known for a fact it would, regardless of the wave of nausea that came alongside it.

He took a break and look at his watch. Defeatedly realising Jungkook was an entire fifteen minutes late and probably wasn’t even going to come at all, he returned to the task at hand.

A few minutes later, he was mid-puff when he heard a trembling voice, “You smoke?”

Jimin jumped, heart stopping for a moment as he watched the cigarette fall four stories only to meet its doom in a puddle on the sidewalk.

He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and turned around, “Not usually.”

Jungkook looked worse than ever, eyes bloodshot, skin near waxy in appearance, lips cracked and ashy.

They just looked at one another for an immeasurable amount of time before Jimin said, “Sit down.”

Thoughtlessly, the other took a step but soon froze in his place with a determination that would have been cute to Jimin if his nerves weren’t off the charts.

“Jimin, we can’t act like Sunday didn’t happen.”

“I-,” he bit his lip, realising he had been too stupid to come up with a game plan, had been so concerned about Jungkook showing up in the first place that he had no idea what he was supposed to say, “That’s not…. I agree with you.”

“Okay,” Jungkook seemed restless, annoyed almost, still making no move to come any closer, “Then what was that? What happened?”

“We kissed,” Jimin said, avoiding his eyes, “And I shouldn’t have done that to you. As your therapist, I shouldn’t have-”

“As your therapist,” he mocked bitterly, “Jimin, do you think what we did was a mistake?”

He had never seen him this bad, this riled up. “Jungkook, how much have you slept since Sunday night?"

“Answer my question.”

He sucked in a breath of fresh air in hopes to clear his head, gain some courage. Had things finally reached a head? He supposed they must have. His dignity, along with any sense of professionalism had flown out the window when he’d let himself enter Jungkook’s home, but then he’d gone as far as to dance on his own grave by making out with him, too.

So what did he have to lose? The answer was nothing.

“No. I don’t it think was.”

Jungkook tried to smile, but the edges of his mouth were quivering so hard that it looked more like a grimace. He mouthed, “Thank god.”

“Jungkook,” he took a step forward, “Jungkook, over the duration of our time spent working together,” he squeezed his eyes shut. He sounded too formal to his own ears, so he tried again. “Jungkook, I have feelings for you.”

When he opened his eyes, the man before him was frozen in place, almost appearing unsure as to whether or not he was dreaming.

“Jungkook?”

He blinked. Once, twice, thrice before whispering, “Me, too. But your job.”

“Okay, I just need a second to think,” but doing that was awfully hard now that the truth was out in the open and he all but had permission to throw himself into Jungkook instead, kiss him silly. “I have a colleague. He’s a close friend. Namjoon Kim. And he’s got his PhD, too. He can prescribe medicine. I could transfer you as long as we keep Sunday night under wraps, I think that… I think that we could maybe-”

“Be together? Us?” Jungkook was wringing his hands, voice breathy and eyes wide.

“Yeah. Jungkook, I really think we can. If you want to.”

“Do you think we can pull it off?” he asked, beginning to inch closer as his confidence grew, “Long term if we tried?”

“I want it to,” he admitted for the first time out loud, “And it’s something I think I’d work hard for, too.”

“Jimin, I want to kiss you again.”

There was nothing more he wanted to hear and though the logical part of his brain was telling him it was probably a better idea to ring Namjoon first to get that out of the way, how the fuck could he be expected to resist the man before him? When he’d been waiting months and months for this moment?

So with a whole lot less uncertainty than last time, the boys met in the middle, mouths finding one another’s immediately. “Jimin,” he moaned almost immediately, somehow even more responsive than he had been before, “Jimin, fuck.”

And Jimin moaned right back, taking the opportunity to coax his mouth further open so their tongues could meet in the middle. Jungkook tasted so nice, sweet like bubblegum and for a moment he felt rather embarrassed of the taste of his own mouth, undoubtedly ashy.

The other couldn’t have cared, though, because before he could even register what had happened he had been pushed up against the wall, sandwiched between the cream coloured surface and Jungkook. It felt so natural, to be surrounded by him, wrapped up in him to this extent with every available square inch of his body crushing his.

He let him wedge a thick thigh between his own two, let his mouth move down to tickle and cause further damage to the marks already left on his neck. “Mine,” Jungkook growled, voice resonating through him, “Jimin, want you so bad.”

“You have me,” he managed, however weak it actually ended up sounding, “‘M yours, Jungkookie.”

He cursed at the pet name, pressing his face flat into the nape of Jimin’s neck to inhale while his hands rubbed circles into his sides.

When he resumed his kissing, the elder jerked out of sensitivity, and it seemed to light a fire in both of them, the sudden friction drawing to their attention that they were both beginning to get hard.

He rolled his hips experimentally against the elder, seemingly unsure as to whether or not what he was doing was okay, but Jimin assured him quickly by mirroring the action in time with his and pulling his face up for their lips to meet once more.

He ran his hands up and down his front, letting them graze over the bumps and crevices of his muscles, not rough, but just enough to get a taste, build a mental map of his body. He tensed, though, each time they passed over his nipples, and eventually, Jimin figured out what he needed, taking the step to press into them more firmly through his shirt.

“J-Jimin,” he stuttered, breaking away to tip his head back, and grind harder into his leg. He felt his cock twitch against him.

“So sensitive,” he cooed, reaching to caress his cheek with one hand while the other began to tweak and rub circles into it, “Do you like that?”

Jungkook flushed cherry red, the most colour Jimin had ever seen in his face to mutter, “Yeah.”

“...Would it feel better if your shirt was off?”

His eyes widened and for a second, Jimin was ashamed of his own desperation, thinking that maybe he’d pushed it too far, too quickly.

“I mean-”

“No,” the younger said quickly, “It would. You should… too.”

“T-take off my shirt?” Jimin wasn’t this awkward usually, but he’d be damned if he ever thought something like this would ever happen between them.

“I mean- if. If you want, yeah, you don’t have to-”

In an attempt to smooth out said awkwardness, Jimin made the decision to clarify, “Jungkook, I want you. In every way. Right now, I want whatever you have to give me, okay? You don’t need to ask.”

“Is that… does that count as consent?”

Jimin couldn’t help but crack a smile at what was a shocking amount of disbelief from the other, “Yeah. If you want to take things slow, though-”

“Absolutely not,” he interrupted, then went even redder.

“Jungkookie,” he giggled, “Baby, you’re making me nervous, too. It’s okay. Just. Just go with the flow.”

“I’ve never done this,” he admitted, eyes focusing on their thighs wedged together.

And now that Jimin was able to admit shamelessly to himself that literally anything and everything he did was overwhelmingly endearing, he was absolutely overflowing with affection.

“Which part,” he asked.

“Uh,” he said, “The sex part. Everything else has- yeah.”

“We can do that whenever you want. Or nothing at all.”

“I want it tonight. I’ve been waiting for so fucking… so long Jimin,” he finally looked back at him, “Sunday was so hard not to… it was difficult to respect your space, you know?”

“I think I know a little better than you think,” he assured him, “It’ll come naturally, I promise. And it takes two, doesn’t it? I know what I’m doing. Trust me, it’ll be okay.”

He stayed frozen in front of him.

“Jungkook, when have I ever lied to you?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I guess you haven’t.”

“Then just… just relax, okay? Come on, sit on the couch for me.”

The way he gulped before finally taking a step away was telling as to the fact that he was well aware what Jimin had in mind. He let him take his hand and lead him over, gently shove him back onto the couch while his wide eyes never left his.

They stayed fixed on him when he sunk to his knees in front of him, too, and studied his expression as the elder, unnerved by his unwavering gaze, fumbled with the buttons of his jeans.

Jungkook had a pretty great dick. Which was something he had already had some semblance of seeing as he had been pressed so snugly against him twice in the past week, but actually laying his eyes on it was something else. He took it firmly in his hand and he hissed down at him “Jimin…”

“Want me to suck it?” he asked, trying his best not to tease like the younger man's flustered demeanour made him so eager to do.

All he got was a disbelieving, “Holy shit.”

“Can I?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” he said, “Jimin, please.”

God, was he eager to beg, or maybe just too polite for his own good. Either way, the elder was set off by his words, holding back a smile to dip forward and run his tongue over his slit. A bead of precum had already begun to collect and he smacked his lips at the salty taste.

“Sorry,” he said weakly, aimlessly.

“For what?”

He just shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Jungkook, I like you as you are. Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t be doing this unless I wanted it really fucking bad, okay?”

“You mean that?”

Jimin gave the vein that ran up the bottom a lick of reassurance, “I mean it. I like this… what we’re doing. Got it?”

He let out a strangled, “I got it.”

“Good,” he hummed, placing his elbows on either side of his thighs for leverage to dip in once again, this time swirling his tongue around the tip before taking it fully between his puckered lips.

“Oh- fuh- fuck.”

The near-praise was doing Jimin so well, triggered something inside of him that made him all the more eager to swallow down inch by inch until he hit his gag reflex.

The man under him stiffened at this, took his face in his hands in alarm and said, “Pull off if I-”

Jimin shook his head as much as the rather thick cock down his throat would allow and let out a moan of reassurance before pulling as far back as he needed and edging down again.

The tears in his eyes and impending throat ache he was due for were suddenly completely worth it at Jungkook’s sudden onslaught of moans once he picked up, of the sight of him dropping his head back in disbelief that the event was even taking place.

His breathing was so deep, deeper than it had been when they had kissed even, and when Jimin slid his hand up his tee to palm and grope at his abs. Jungkook tossed the whole thing off before saying, “You, too.”

He finally pulled off for that, discarding of it as well and his own on the floor. Then, he allowed his eyes to finally scan over the other’s body, take in the six pack that had been at the forefront of his imagination for ages.

“You’re so hot.”

He turned his eyes upwards, “Stop.”

“You’re cute, too.”

“Jimin!”

He sniggered to himself before taking a ball in his mouth, gently tonguing over it, careful to pay attention to Jungkook's responsive gasps as he turned to the other, then finally his cock once more.

Jimin liked the taste of his precum, he decided, not that it tasted much different on his tongue than anyone else’s. It just… was better . He hadn’t noticed how deeply he’d been moaning at said taste until he began to quite literally shake beneath him, muscles his stomach contracting, relaxing, then contracting again.

He pulled off, “Don’t- don’t cum yet. I want you to fuck me still.”

“I’m dreaming,” he said dazedly, blinking in an attempt to refocus his eyes, “Tell me I’m dreaming.”

He rolled his eyes, standing for a moment to stretch his knees, “You are not dreaming , Jungkook.”

He yanked him down into his lap before he could even think, crushing his mouth to his once more while his hands roamed the expanse of Jimin’s back for a moment before settling right above the swell of his ass to pull him closer.

He broke away for a moment, but only to sigh out a, “Grab it,” before dipping back in, grinding the material of his slacks into his spit-soaked cock.

Jungkook did him one better, moving to rip at the button of his pants to shove them, along with his underwear, as far down as he could manage in their current position.

He jerked at his chilly palm groping at his cheeks, squeezed and pulled. He was getting more restless, a little more caught up in the pleasure rather than the formalities. Deciding he much preferred this, he bucked his hips back against his grip with a whine.

“Do you have, like, lube or anything like that?”

Jimin leaned back, taking an embarrassingly long time to process the other’s simple question. “Lube- I.. Oh. Lube. Yeah,” he stumbled off, forgetting his pants were still somewhere around his knees and kicked them off in annoyance before rushing over to his bag to retrieve it.

When he turned back around, the other was practically drooling, as was his cock as he lazily palmed and played with it, eyes glued to Jimin’s behind.

He cleared his throat, “You should take your pants all the way off.”

His gaze remained the same when it returned to his face, wordlessly kicking them off to add them to the slowly building pile of laundry. “Where- Or how do we do the- the prep.”

“Hands and knees might be easiest,” Jimin decided, looking around the room, “Or maybe bent over the couch-”

“Holy shit.”

Jungkook was apparently not a man of many words when he was getting off. Or maybe he was just shell-shocked. Jimin liked to think it was the latter.

“That one?” the elder said motioning to the couch.

He licked his lips and nodded, “I- yeah. Just… wanna hurry.”

A quick turning of the eyes told Jimin the same thing, the sight of his cock almost painful to bear. It was curled stiffly against his stomach and seemed almost to glow a painful red, the dripping of precum from the slit having grown steady.

In two hasty strides, he found himself where he needed to be, hunching over and resting his face on one of the cushions. Then he wiggled his ass invitingly, calling out, “Jungkook.”

He was behind him in seconds, and seemingly much more confident that he didn’t have to look at his face, he grabbed at it immediately with both hands before prying it apart. Then, he let them go, only to pull his hand back and spank him lightly, no doubt enjoying the red that Jimin could feel blooming across his porcelain skin. “God, Jimin,” he managed, sinking to his knees behind him, “Do you even fucking know,” he pried him open once more, “What the fuck you’ve been doing to me for months now?”

He dove in at that, and Jimin felt him smile against his entrance at the sharp gasp of breath he’d let out. He stuck his tongue out, dragging it up and down his crack to wetten it before taking his rim between his lips and sucking.

“Fuck- Jungkook-

“Good?” his voice had dropped an octave or two and it paid off, causing Jimin to tense against him.  

When Jimin just whined, he dug his fingers into his cheeks harder, no doubt pressing bruises which he knew he'd feel every time he sat down in the chair across the way. He knew damn well they’d make it awfully hard to think about anything other than how he’d so recently been eaten out in the exact spot his patients were sitting, too.

“I asked if it was good, Jimin.”

Where the fuck had all this confidence come from? The sudden dominance he only had when he didn’t have to look Jimin in the face?

“Re-really,” he struggled to get the word out when his tongue finally breached his hole, bucking forward against the couch in surprise, “Really good- fuck- so good, Jungkook. I- I thought you said- you said you, FUCK,” he’d coaxed his index finger in alongside his tongue and was now alternating his rhythm, rendering Jimin unable to think, to speak at all.

But he did his best to continue, “You said you- wuh-were a- mmph- a virgin.”

He laughed into him and Jimin’s stomach tightened, fists curling uselessly against the upholstery.

Much to Jimin’s demise, he pulled out, “I told you I’d done everything else. Can I put in another one?”

“Yeah. Yes please.”

Jungkook’s fingers had always been attractive to Jimin, the way they widened around the joint and curved so bluntly at the end. So it was no surprise to him that two of them inside of his body was nothing short of heavenly.

He curled them and Jimin screamed, a shameless and sweaty mess despite the cold draft the window carried in from outside.

“Hit it, did I?”

He had no time for this, nor did he have the mental capacity, so he just said, “More.”

A third finger entered him and his pumping grew quicker, ruthless as he finger fucked him, free hand running up and down the curve of his back, “You’re like- Jimin, you’re like a doll, you know that?”

Jimin absolutely keened at the praise, “Want your cock so bad.”

And his fingers were gone. He clenched around the near painful emptiness a few odd times before straightening up and turning back to Jungkook, who upon meeting his eyes, seemed to register how real the situation was and grew shy once more.

“Jungkook,” he crooned, hands finding the expanse of his flushed chest, “Baby, look at me.”

He did.

“I think you’re so hot, baby, okay? Thought you were so sexy when you were eating me out just now.”

“Did I do okay?”

He laughed, though it sounded weak and hoarse, “Jungkook, look at me, I’m a mess . You did this.”

The younger man studied him, accepting that he was right before kissing him again, hands grabbing at his ass immediately to do as much damage as he could manage, leave his mark to the best of his ability.

“All I ever thought about when you spoke to me,” he admitted when he came up for air, eyes still avoiding his, but voice much more self-assured, “Was fucking you all over this office. Like, everywhere , Jimin.”

“Me, too,” he blurted, “Where- or I mean. Your favourite.”

“Favourite?” he looked at him for a moment, almost as to refresh his memory before shutting his eyes once more, “I think,” his voice got softer, “Against the wall. Or maybe on the floor.”

“On the- fuck,” Jimin leaned into his neck, “That sounds fucking. Oh my god.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Lube?”

Jimin retrieved it from its spot on the couch and handed it to him.

“Bend over again, just for a second so I can… yeah.”

Jimin did just that, clenched around his fingers as he worked it in and around his hole for what ended up being closer to five minutes rather than seconds.

“Okay,” he spun him around and into a kiss, sloppy and quick before scooping him up and prompting Jimin to wrap his legs around his waist, “Wall first?”

“I’m not complaining,” and he really was happy with either, by this point just wanted him inside him as deep as he could manage before he ended up needing therapy himself.

He arched into him when his bare skin made contact with the cold wall, nipples growing even harder while the younger lined himself up and pushed in.

They let out twin moans at the sensation, the lube and ample stretching allowing him to slip in to the hilt with unparalleled ease. And god, did it feel amazing, the weight of his swollen cock inside him, the stretch of his rim, the way it throbbed, hot and heavy.

Ohgod ,” Jimin managed, “Jungkook, Jesus-”

He jostled him to strengthen his hold, “Are you alright?”

“I’m.. I’m fine. Just move, I need- shit .”

He let out a single, “Finally,” before fucking up into Jimin like he weighed nothing, like he was air, lifting him up and dropping him down on his cock with ease.

Jimin, on the other hand, was already flailing, moaning and shaking with each sporadic brush of his prostate, the uncertainty of it only adding to the volume of his voice.

The younger boy had his face nuzzled into his neck, drooling and panting into him wordlessly, the manner in which he fucked practically animalistic. Jimin really liked it.

Once his arms had tired, he lowered Jimin onto the oriental rug and looked at him, smile almost sad.

It was Jimin’s turn to ask if he was okay.

“I can’t believe this is happening. You swear you meant what you said… about- about the long term.”

“I genuinely want to be with you, bunny, so yes, I did.”

The way in which he squealed was not only boyish but extremely unexpected.

Picking up on his reaction, he just mumbled, “I’m just happy, okay?”

“Jungkook, I don’t care-”

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“I uh,” he started sheepishly, “never put on a condom, I’m sorry-”

Growing impatient, Jimin squirmed, pushing down onto his cock and causing the other’s mouth to drop open, “I don’t care, I’m clean.”

“Do you have-”

“No,” Jimin lied, “No, I want you to cum in me.”

“Oh m-”

“Jungkook, just move, please .”

“Okay,” he said, leaning back and grabbing his knees for purchase, digging crescents into them to serve as what Jimin somehow knew would be a trophy of sorts.

This idea was further confirmed by the series of, “Mine”’s that slipped from his slack jaw, along with a string of curse words and what sounded like some form of the phrase, “So tight”.

And then, without warning, he came, collapsing over Jimin and choking out his name repeatedly as the other welcomed the newfound warmth flooding him in thick spurts.

He laid atop him for a few seconds to regain his composure before backing off and trying to pull out.

Jimin grabbed at his arm, “Wait.”

“You didn’t cum yet,” he panted, “Wanna- gonna. Gonna make you cum.”

“Oh,” he sighed, unsteady and stunned by the night’s events himself.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes, I-,” he shook his head, “yes, please.”

“Sound so pretty, Jiminnie,” he praised, pecking his lips quickly before holding his cock at the base and pulling out gently.

Jimin was almost too distracted by the emptiness to notice him speak up again, “Uh.”

“What happened?” he closed his eyes, limp and fucked out.

“I got cum on the rug.”

“Jungkook,” this groan was nearly annoyed, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to feel any negativity towards the boy.

“Sorry.”

“I don-,” his comment was cut off by the much more lewd noise o three fingers plunged right into him, wiggling and jerking themselves over his sweet spot.f

“Pretty,” he praised, using his other hand to flick at his nipples, “So pretty , Jimin, gorgeous like this, fuck.”

Meanwhile, the boy in question was kicking and jerking, back arching as he sobbed the other's name. He whined when he removed his them, but it turned into a gasp when his warmer, wetter tongue replaced it, shovelling saliva to mix with the cum, get him as wet as possible.

Jimin was going to finished untouched if this kept up, rasping, “Fingers,” back at Jungkook.

“Wanna kiss?” he asked, reading his mind.

“Kiss,” he echoed, wrecked beyond comprehension, “pleasepleaseplease.”

Was it wrong how good he tasted to him? Like a mixture of cum and lube and, well, himself? It was bitter and salty, but equally as good, had his cock twitching weakly against his stomach when his tongue reached out to meet his.

When Jimin finally came, untouched at that, it was almost as sudden as Jungkook’s own orgasm, and he screeched into his mouth as ribbons shot out across his chest, tensing at the surprise.

But the other kept fingering him, prying up into his prostate with the force of his entire forearm, leaning back to watch in a way that was near sadistic as Jimin sobbed and grabbed out at him in oversensitivity.

It hurt, but in a good way. Jimin liked the uncontrollable tightening of his muscles and leaned into what was the perfect combination of pleasure and pain, the confusing need to both back away and lean into it overtaking his senses.

“J-Juh-Jungkook,” he somehow said, “Jungkookie, please- t-too much.”

He just hummed, clearly still basking in his own post-coital bliss before slowing to a stop and pulling his fingers from inside of him. He first licked a stripe up the underside of Jimin’s softened cock, causing a sharp, “Ooff,” to escape him before dragging his tongue further up to clean his stomach.

Once he leaned back, he offered Jimin his fingers, still coated in the now familiar combination of what were arguably his three favourite fluids at the moment. Which, of course, he took in his mouth gratefully, eyes locked with Jungkook’s as the other gaped down at him.

He only pulled his fingers out to kiss him again, the taste of their mixing releases driving them up the wall. It was so overwhelming that Jimin sat up, chased his mouth and wrapped his arms around his neck to pull him as tight against him as possible.

“Jimin?” Jungkook asked, voice weak and unsure.

Panic shot through his chest at the potentially negative tone, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh,” he shook his head, hands brushing Jimin’s, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m- I love you.”

“Oh,” he echoed dumbly, understanding the other’s anxiety before assuring him with a quick, “Me, too,” before moulding their lips together once more.

 

Jungkook fell asleep next to Jimin on the carpet, both of them naked and fucked out, window still cracked. Not that that bothered either, though, curled up so tightly against one another than they were practically immune to any degree of cold.

And when they came to, just in time for Jimin to slip on yesterday’s clothes, press them down and fix his hair the next morning, Jungkook promised he’d come back, that he’d call. Jimin believed him.

 

And not only did he do just that, but it paid off. It all paid off. In fact, Jimin even had the pleasure of seeing the colour return to his cheeks, of witnessing them fill out once more with each bite of food he fed him, and following every night with Jimin at his side, his smile began to reach his eyes more and more.

Jimin couldn’t take all the credit, though. As it turns out, the stress of his attraction to Jimin had been making him worse, something that he insisted the elder shouldn’t beat himself up over, and his psychiatrist ended up being some sort of quack (a story for another time). What this ended up meaning was that Namjoon was perfect, a great balance of intelligence and genuine but harmlessly professional care.

By March, Jimin had moved in.

By May, they’d adopted a shelter dog named Cloud.

By June, roughly a year after Jungkook plummeted to rock bottom, they found themselves agreeing that things had never been better.