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give in to the game

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“Jimin, if you honestly think that I’m going to pretend to be your boyfriend so you can make your ex jealous, then you’re out of your mind.”


Jungkook scrubs at the bright stain, left by a customer who had clearly been too liberal with their ketchup. The elder boy hovers over him, refusing to budge, much like the stubborn red blemish on the tabletop. Jimin holds a bottle of detergent in one hand and a cloth in the other—with absolutely no intention of utilising either.


It’s always baffled Jungkook how Jimin somehow manages to get away doing the bare minimum at work whilst Jungkook slaves away. Jungkook presumes that Jimin’s employment contract solely entails standing around, looking pretty, and occasionally running his hands through his bleached hair.


“Why not?” Jimin whines, seemingly confused by Jungkook’s reluctance; as if the scheme he’s trying to coax the younger boy into isn’t completely ludicrous.


Jungkook refuses to even dignify Jimin’s indignant question with an answer. Instead, he abandons his work on the ketchup stain, deeming it futile, before moving onto the next table. Jimin occupies the role of his shadow, following him closely.


“Why not?” Jimin repeats. He folds his arms across his chest and stomps his foot like a petulant child.


Jungkook simply ignores him, and instead focuses his attention on wiping the table clean. Jungkook hates being on the late shift with Jimin; it’s already bad enough working with the elder boy, because he’s incessantly whining about something (for the past few weeks he’s been lamenting about his ex boyfriend, as if Jungkook gives a shit), or prattling on about his latest dance show (Jungkook has given up feigning interest), or spending the duration of their shift giggling and gossiping with the girls from his dance academy, who sip their skinny caramel lattes for hours because, apparently, none of them have anything better to do.


And all of the old ladies that come into the cafe fuss and cluck over Jimin; telling him how handsome and charming and sweet he is. As such, Jungkook usually spends the entirety of the shift sulking in the corner, polishing cutlery and trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling brewing in his stomach that he refuses to acknowledge as jealously.


To make matters worse, everyone working in the cafe is wrapped around Jimin’s little finger. And no one is as tightly coiled as their menopausal boss, who refuses to even reciprocate a smile from Jungkook, but all it takes is eye contact from Jimin and she’s suddenly a flustered mess who forgets she’s in her late fifties with two adult children. It makes Jungkook want to regurgitate his lunch just thinking about it.


On this particular day, working alongside Jimin has been especially insufferable, as the blonde has been trying and failing to embroil Jungkook in a ploy to make his ex boyfriend, Taehyung, jealous. Jungkook thinks the whole thing is ridiculous, and has made it abundantly clear that he wants no part in it, but apparently, saying no, absolutely not one hundred times isn’t enough to make Jimin give up.


All of a sudden, Jimin latches onto Jungkook’s elbow and spins him round so that they’re facing each other. It takes Jungkook a moment to register Jimin’s bold action, but before he can scold the elder, he’s distracted by how the blonde’s resolute, determined expression crumbles as soon as his eyes lock with Jungkook’s. Jimin falters, his cheeks blossoming with pink and his eyes suddenly gaining a fascination with the floor. He gnaws on his lower lip as the blush adorning his cheeks deepens. Jungkook thinks it’s kind of cute.


“Why not?” Jimin asks for the third time. However this time, his tone is no longer vexed; instead, he sounds desperate, almost pathetic. When his gaze flickers to Jungkook’s, he looks kind of sad, and Jungkook pretends that his abdomen isn't twisting with guilt.


“Because,” Jungkook hisses as he wrenches Jimin’s tiny hand from his elbow, “it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Because even if I were to agree to it—which I’m not, by the way—it wouldn’t be believable,” Jungkook takes a breath before he spits out the last sentence, a second of hesitation that he hopes Jimin doesn’t notice; “Because I’m not gay.”


Jimin’s plump lips contort, puckering together. Jungkook’s eyes linger on them for a little longer than necessary, and it’s only when Jimin starts to speak that he forces his stare to divert to Jimin’s eyes instead.


“I’m aware of that,” Jimin says, a little frostily. “After all, you’re always hounding me for my friends’ numbers. How could I forget you’re not gay?” There’s a hostile edge to Jimin’s words as he refers to his female friends from the dance academy.


Jungkook doesn’t get what Jimin’s deal is, but he doesn't dwell on the matter. He opens his mouth to speak, hoping to dismiss the topic once and for all, but Jimin interjects before he can even utter a word.


“I’m not asking you to be gay,” Jimin points out, “I’m asking you to pretend to be. There’s a difference.”


“This is so stupid,” Jungkook mutters as he gets back to cleaning down the table. “Isn’t there anyone else you can ask to be your fake boyfriend?”




“What about that guy from the academy who sometimes comes in here?” Jungkook suggests, recalling a lithe figured red head who would sometimes tag along with the usual group of female dancers craving their caffeine fix, “What’s his name…Hoeseok, right? Can’t you ask him?”


Jungkook’s attempt at helpfulness is shunned; Jimin swats his hand dismissively, as if the prospect of asking Hoseok is inconceivable. Jungkook is about to ask why Jimin is so opposed to the idea, but the elder explains before he can do so.


“Hoseok’s in a relationship. He’s been dating this guy for like, three years. Plus, Tae knows him, so he’d never believe it.”


Jungkook grunts, his patience wearing dangerously thin. What frustrates him more than Jimin’s steadfastness, however, is the mysterious feeling bubbling deep within his gut. It’s an odd mix of sympathy and something else Jungkook can’t pinpoint. But whatever it is, it’s urging him to succumb to Jimin’s ceaseless pleas. And it scares him, genuinely frightens him, how quickly his resolve is crumbling.


An awkward silence falls over them, and Jungkook pretends to be immersed in the task of cleaning the coffee machine to avoid prolonging the discussion. From his peripheral vision, he notices Jimin’s shoulders slump. The elder boy then begins to knead his eyes with the heel of his palm, muttering what sounds like “idiot, idiot, idiot” under his breath. Jungkook gulps thickly.


“I’m sorry,” Jimin mumbles, so quiet Jungkook doesn’t know if he imagined it.


Jimin takes a shaky breath, and when Jungkook looks at him, he notices his eyes are glassy, shimmering with tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. Jungkook just blinks, words evading him.


“I…fuck. I know it’s ridiculous. Honestly, I do. But when I bumped into him last week and he told me he’d met someone else, I just…I know I shouldn’t have lied and told him I’d met someone too, but he looked like he fucking pitied me, and I couldn't stand it, knowing he thought I still wasn’t over him. And if I don’t end up going on this stupid double date then he’ll know I was lying and…” Jimin stops abruptly, realising he’s digressing.


Jungkook struggles to remain nonchalant. He has to suppress the urge to place a consoling hand on Jimin’s shoulder, to wipe away the single tear racing down his left cheek, to run his thumb along the elder boy’s quivering bottom lip, to…Jungkook almost shudders. What the fuck is wrong with him?




“Just forget I said anything,” Jimin mumbles, fumbling with the hem of his apron.


Jungkook sets down his cleaning utensils. With a sigh, he studies the boy before him, all pouty and whiny, his eyes sparkling and lips trembling. The blonde rubs at his reddened cheeks, and Jungkook practically melts when he realises that the elder boy’s sweater drowns his petite frame, the sleeves draping over his tiny hands. Jungkook doesn’t know whether Jimin is being this adorable on purpose, in some attempt to guilt trip Jungkook into complying to his nonsensical demand, but holy shit it’s working.


Jungkook loves it and hates it at the same time.


“Shit,” Jungkook grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You really want this, don’t you?”


Jimin immediately glances up at Jungkook, his eyes filled with hope as he desperately searches the younger boy’s face, seeking any indication he’s about to relent. “Y-yeah,” he murmurs, “I do.”


Jungkook just sighs, long and drawn out, like an exasperated parent too exhausted to chastise their misbehaving child.


“I’ll do it.”


Jimin gasps. “Seriously?”


“Do I look like I’m joking?” Jungkook snaps, with a bit more venom than he intended.


Jimin lurches forward, capturing Jungkook in a tight hug.


“Thank you thank you thank you!” he choruses, his head nuzzling into Jungkook’s chest.


For a moment, Jungkook goes pliant. He doesn’t know whether it’s from the shock of Jimin’s unexpected physical affection, or the fact that having Jimin’s soft, warm body enveloped around his own feels nicer than he ever could have imagined.


“Alright, alright, get off,” Jungkook grumbles, pushing Jimin off him with a little more force than necessary, failing to notice his own strength in the haste of ending their embrace.


The elder boy stumbles back a few steps and Jungkook bites back an apology. But Jimin’s far too elated to care.


“Thanks, Jungkookie. You’re the best.”


Normally, Jungkook would berate Jimin for using that stupid fucking nickname, but this time, for some reason, he can’t bring himself to.





The water is almost scolding as it beats against Jungkook’s back. He tilts back his head, allowing it to flow over his face and trickle down his chest. He lets out a content sigh as the streams caress his abdomen, flowing in serpentine trails around his toned thighs.


He’s exhausted—completely drained, actually—from his 8 hour shift. Somehow, waiting tables is so much more tiring when there’s a pretty blonde boy glued to your side, begging you to be his fake boyfriend.


Usually, when Jungkook jacks off, he’s nestled comfortably on his bed, cradled by his pillows, with whatever video that looked half decent on PornHub’s home page playing on his laptop. But when his right hand seems to develop a mind of its own and wraps itself round his cock, he doesn’t object.


He chokes back a rather pitiful groan when his hand starts to pump. He’s almost embarrassed by how quickly his semi becomes fully erect.


Focused, Jungkook screws his eyes shut. In order to get himself off, he needs some sort of visual aid. So he envisions a pair of plump, berry red lips suckling on the end of his cock, a small hand simultaneously fondling his balls. He imagines himself raking his fingers through a head of dishellved blonde hair, murmuring soft praises under his breath. He then pictures himself yanking at the strands roughly, eliciting a shocked gasp from his pleasurer, pulling back until they’re forced to look up and meet his lust filled gaze.


“Ah, Jungkookie.”


Jungkook almost falls over when he realises it’s Jimin staring up at him, gentle whines falling from his gorgeous lips. He falters for a second.


What the fuck is Jimin doing in his salacious daydream?


Although, Jungkook is far too horny to question it. Besides, it’s difficult to be annoyed at the elder for having the audacity to invade his privacy like this when he looks so pretty. He’s knelt before Jungkook, his cheeks flushed and lips bitten red, water droplets pearling on his soft skin.  There’s a slight tinge of pink adorning his slender body from the heat of the shower. Jungkook can feel his own face glow crimson, both from the sweltering water and the excitement that ripples through his veins at the thought of Jimin so bare and beautiful, so willing, so eager to please—just for him.


“Tongue,” Jungkook grunts. His grip on Jimin’s hair loosens and his hand moves down to cradle the elder boy’s face. His thumb sweeps across Jimin’s cheekbone and the blonde briefly nuzzles into his palm like a needy puppy before complying. He sticks his tongue out, gazing up at Jungkook, awaiting his next instruction like a good little slut.


Jungkook takes hold of his cock and slaps it against Jimin’s tongue several times. Jimin releases a muffled mewl, the sound indicating he enjoys the degradation.


“I wonder if that pretty little mouth can take all of me,” Jungkook ponders aloud.


Imaginary Jimin nods hastily, wasting no time in wrapping his lips around Jungkook’s dick and swallowing all of him until he’s gagging on his length. Jungkook is astounded by how eager Imaginary Jimin is for his cock, can’t help but wonder whether the real Jimin would be so keen.


Mind hazy with the lewd noises of Jimin choking around his pulsating member (that sound far too authentic to just be figments of his imagination), Jungkook begins to buck his hips forward, burying himself deeper into Jimin’s mouth. The smaller boy widens his jaw in order to better accommodate Jungkook’s length, and Jungkook doesn’t even attempt to stifle a string of guttural moans as he hits the back of Jimin’s throat again and again, the motion of his hips bordering on relentless.


Suddenly, Jimin retracts with mouth with a loud gasp, desperately trying to fill his burning lungs. Tears are brimming in the corners of his eyes and Jungkook selfishly ignores the twinge of concern he feels, too vexed at being robbed of his imminent orgasm.


“Come on my face.”


It’s somewhere between a plea and a demand, but nonetheless, Jungkook is only too happy to oblige. Imaginary Jimin is absolutely filthy, and Jungkooks adores it. Barely a beat passes before he’s tugging at his length, the head of his cock an inch above Jimin’s tongue, which awaits Jungkook’s load in eager anticipation. Beneath him, Jimin is fisting at his own dick.


“You’re touching yourself at the thought of my cum all over your face?” Jungkook’s voice is almost malevolent, a sneer. “You love sucking dick that much, huh? Gets your little cock all hard?”


“G-gets my little cock so h-hard,” Imaginary Jimin echoes, nodding.


Imaginary Jimin’s unabashed confession is enough to topple Jungkook over the edge.


Shit—I’m g-gunna—”


His warning goes unheeded. Jimin is far too busy whining, the prospect of Jungkook releasing all over him arousing him so much that he simply can’t keep quiet. When Jungkook finally climaxes, Imaginary Jimin opens his mouth wider in an effort to catch more of the white, vicious liquid. Strings of cum splatter across his cheeks, clinging to his eyelashes and dripping from his pillowy lips. A slick pink tongue emerges, greedily mopping up the droplets that decorate his mouth.


Jungkook stumbles backwards and leans against the wall, chest heaving as he struggles to regulate his breathing. He’s startled—not only by the intensity of his orgasm, but from the vivid, lascivious images conjured by his subconscious.


His eyes slowly flutter open, and just like that, Imaginary Jimin vanishes, disappearing into the steam that circles the air like ink in water.





Jungkook stares at a bead of condensation running down his wine glass, hoping to distract himself from the nausea currently gripping his insides. But it’s a worthless effort.


He doesn’t know which one of them is more nervous. Beside him, Jimin is a wreck;  said male has been gnawing on his lips for the past ten minutes, the abuse turning them crimson and swollen. He hasn’t blinked in even longer, too preoccupied with gaping at the restaurant’s entrance, waiting in baited breath for Taehyung to arrive.


It’s only when Jimin brings his glass to his lips with a trembling hand that Jungkook realises he’s shaking.


“Calm down,” Jungkook hisses, “You’re making me anxious.”


“I am calm!” Jimin objects, voice terse. But the slight sheen of sweat coating his brow says otherwise.




Jimin huffs, muttering something tetchy under his breath. Jungkook rolls his eyes and downs the remaining droplets of his wine, before motioning to a passing waitress to fetch him another. She obliges dutifully, scurrying off and reappearing a few minutes later with a full glass. Jungkook thanks her with a smile and a wink, to which she giggles, blushes. Jungkook watches as she walks away, a smirk tugging at his lips when she turns and looks back at him.




Jungkook whips his head round to face the older man, who is staring at him with a disgusted expression.




“Can you please refrain from flirting with every female within your immediate vicinity for one night?”


“Oh, come on, babe,” Jungkook says, voice thick with sarcasm, “Don’t you trust me? You know I’d never cheat on you.”


Jimin doesn’t acknowledge Jungkook’s teasing; instead, his reproachful gaze shifts to the younger’s drink.


“That’s your third glass,” Jimin states.




So, pace yourself. This is a restaurant, not a fucking club,” Jimin chastises.


Jungkook can already feel the inebriating effects of the blood red liquid, its potency catalysed by his empty stomach. However, Jungkook reckons that he’s going to need as much alcohol as possible to get through this evening. The more intoxicated, he reasons, the better.


Jungkook is just about to retaliate with a snide comment of his own, but it’s in that moment that a rather deep voice shouts Jimin’s name. Jungkook immediately glances in the direction the voice emanates from, and sees an attractive man sporting a Gucci suit bounding towards them.


A few paces behind him is a rather impassive looking male, with bright mint green hair that Jungkook is amazed to find he pulls off quite well. Unlike his designer-clad companion, he doesn’t look too thrilled to be here. That makes two of us, Jungkook thinks.


“Oh my god, Jiminie, it’s so good to see you!” the one who Jungkook presumes is Taehyung bellows, engulfing Jimin in a hug. After a few moments, Taehyung pulls away, and inspects Jimin at arms length. “You look good,” he observes, his dark eyes drinking in Jimin’s attire; a midnight blue blazer adorned with speckles of glittering diamanties, a dark choker hugging his slender neck. Jungkook’s all black outfit pales in comparison.


“Like, so good,” Taehyung reaffirms. Jungkook swears that he can detect a hint of regret flash across Taehyung’s face, like dumping Jimin was the worst mistake he ever made. But a second later it’s gone, replaced with excitement once again and he grabs the boy with green hair and pushes him forward, presenting him to Jimin and Jungkook proudly.


“This is Yoongi,” Taehyung says, “My boyfriend.”


“‘Sup,” is Yoongi’s unceremonious greeting.


“Hi Yoongi, nice to meet you,” Jimin smiles, or rather, tries to. It looks more like a grimace, his jealously poorly cloaked.


Yoongi nods in acknowledgement, a faint smile dancing on his thin lips. His eyes slowly drift over to Jungkook, and Taehyung’s follow soon after, the two of them waiting expectantly for his introduction. Somehow, Jimin manages to stop ogling at Taehyung for five whole seconds to acknowledge his fake boyfriend.


He clutches Jungkook’s elbow and pulls him forward, “This is Jungkook.”


“Uh, hi,” Jungkook says, sounding as awkward as he feels.


“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Taehyung gushes, “I’ve been so excited to meet the man my Jimin’s fallen head over heels for!”


My Jimin? Surely he no longer possessed the authority to say that? He’s not your Jimin, Jungkook thinks sullenly. He blinks, gathering himself, forcing himself to be rational. Since when did he care about how Jimin is addressed by his ex, for fuck’s sake? Noticing that his brow has puckered in annoyance, Jungkook schools his expression and takes a deep breath.


They all take their seats around the candle lit table, and begin to engage in some boring small talk that Jungkook doesn’t bother to contribute to. Instead he sips on his wine, his gaze hovering over Jimin. Said male has become so much more animated since Taehyung’s arrival, all toothy grins and rosy cheeks. It takes a lot of mental strength for Jungkook to restrain a derisive scoff.


When a waitress materialises beside their table ready to take their drinks orders, Jungkook realises he’s almost finished his third glass.


“Oh, just a water for me, please,” Jimin grins, so polite.


“And for you, sir?” the waitress asks, nodding towards Jungkook.


“A water for him too,” Jimin splutters before Jungkook can respond. The blonde clasps Jungkook’s thigh tightly, making him jolt in surprise. “You’re watching your cholesterol, right, sweetie? So no more alcohol for you.”


Jungkook knows that his hyung thinks he’s drinking too much, not pacing himself properly, that he’s going to end up paralytic by the end of the evening. And even though his concerns are completely justified, Jungkook defies him.


“Wow, I totally forgot I was an obese middle aged man with a heart condition, thanks for reminding me, sweetie,” Jungkook bites, “But I think I’ll have another glass.”


Jimin shoots him a scornful glare. The tension in the air must be palpable, because Yoongi is quick to break the silence that has descended over them.


“Actually, I was thinking we could order a bottle of champagne for the table?”


Taehyung nods, enthusiastic. “Good idea! Is that okay with you guys?”


“Fine with me,” Jungkook says, eyes trained on Jimin.


The older boy shifts, clearly uncomfortable, his brow knitted in uncertainty. But he doesn’t want to dampen the mood, so he just nods reluctantly, and the waitress scuttles off.


“You know, Jiminie,” Taehyung starts, “I think it’s really great we can do this—like, we can be friends and be happy, seeing each other moving on and all that.”


“Oh, yeah, totally,” Jimin smiles, but it’s weak and contrived and Jungkook wonders if Taehyung is really that oblivious, if he really can’t see the dejection tainting Jimin’s delicate features. Jimin looks so soft tonight, Jungkook muses. So soft and pretty and cute, with his pink cheeks and puffy lips.


Jungkook hates it.


He hates the way Jimin looks at Taehyung even more—loathes it even. All misty eyed and flustered, adoration practically oozing from his pores. Like Taehyung isn’t the guy who dumped him for no good reason, the guy who Jimin has been complaining about to Jungkook for weeks. Jungkook has to remind himself that he shouldn’t, no, doesn’t care.


The waitress returns with their champagne bottle, nestled in a bed of ice. She proceeds to take their food orders and then leaves once more. This time, when she turns back around to steal a glance at Jungkook, he’s too busy staring at the blonde boy beside him to notice.


“So, how did you two meet?” Taehyung inquires.


Jungkook pretends to inspect the cutlery, hoping he won’t be called upon to contribute to the story.


“Well, we met at work,” Jimin shrugs, keen to ditch the subject, “It’s really not that exciting.”


“You’re still working at that cafe?” Taehyung asks with an air of distaste.


“Uh, yeah—I mean, no! I quit. I quit a while ago, right Jungkook?” Jimin turns to the younger, eyes wide and begging.


“I don’t know. Did you?” Jungkook says, with a deliberate lack of conviction.


“Yes, Jungkook, I did.”


“I’m confused. So you met at the cafe, or not?” Taehyung continues to probe.


“A-actually, we met at the academy,” Jimin stammers. The blonde gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he desperately tries to conjure up a believable lie. He looks to Jungkook, silently pleading.


Jungkook really doesn’t want to come to Jimin’s aid. For one, he can’t understand why the notion of them meeting at the cafe is so unfathomable, or why Jimin is so intent on impressing Taehyung—even if it means lying about every aspect of his life. But he does so, begrudgingly, because for whatever reason, he’s finding it harder and harder to say no to Jimin.


“Oh, yeah, I was uh…taking some photos for the academy’s website.”


“Oh my god, you fell in love with Jimin while watching him dance? That’s so romantic!” Tae coos, clutching his chest. “Isn’t that romantic, Yoongi?”


“So romantic,” Yoongi parrots, apathetic.


“Isn’t Jiminie just the most amazing dancer?!” Taehyung says as he pours them all a glass of champagne.


Jungkook has never actually seen Jimin perform. But he can’t help but envision how graceful he'd be, moving in sync with the music, muscles rippling beneath the loose material of his shirt as he artfully contorts his body…Jungkook’s mind involuntarily wanders. He begins to imagine what Jimin would look like naked…well, more specifically, what he’d look like naked beneath Jungkook, gazing up at the younger boy with a slack jawed expression, purple bruises blossoming on his neck. Jungkook snaps out of it quickly.


“The best,” Jungkook nods, practically snatching the flute from Taehyung’s grasp and chugging a considerable amount before slamming it down on the table. He winces as his tastebuds reject the bitter taste.


Beside him, Jimin has gone all bashful, blushing furiously and swatting his hand in dismissal. “Oh, stop it, Tae,” he’s saying, “I’m really not that good, you’re too kind…”


Jimin and Taehyung bicker lightheartedly; Taehyung assuring Jimin he’s immensely talented whilst Jimin insists that he isn’t.


Whatever Jungkook feels while watching them is a lot more bitter than the alcohol. It’s a mix of confusion and anger and spite. He doesn’t know whether he’s annoyed at Jimin or Taehyung, or both of them—or, quite frankly, why he’s annoyed at all.


Jungkook doesn’t think he can endure it any longer.


In a bid to tear Jimin’s attention from Taehyung, Jungkook clamps a claw-like hand around Jimin’s thigh, squeezing the flesh a little too hard. The merciless grip makes Jimin jerk in shock, however to any onlookers Jungkook’s vice-like clutch could easily be construed as a comforting, affectionate gesture.


Jimin turns to him, brow puckered in bewilderment. His eyes search Jungkook’s face.


“Come on, Jiminie. Don’t be so modest. You’re amazing,” Jungkook drawls, words partially slurred although it’s still blatantly obvious he’s imitating Taehyung, who has finally stopped fawning over Jimin in favour of tucking into his filet mignon.


With Taehyung and Yoongi momentarily distracted as they discuss how delicious the steak is, Jungkook’s prying hand glides further up Jimin’s quaking leg, lingering dangerously close to his crotch.


Maybe Jungkook is a bit of a sadist, but he loves how Jimin squirms, adores the way his thigh muscles go taut beneath his groping fingers. He expects Jimin to swat his invasive hand away any second now, but to his surprise, he doesn’t. Curious, Jungkook trails his hand up even higher, fondling experimentally, wondering just how far Jimin will let him go.


Jimin’s breath hitches, “J-Jungkook,” he bleats, cheeks flaming, “What are you do—” He’s unable to finish his sentence, an incredulous gasp stealing the air from his lungs because Jungkook’s knuckle has just grazed his cock.


Jungkook has to take a long swig of his champagne in order to veil the smirk that ensues upon realising Jimin’s already growing hard. A smug sense of satisfaction washes over him.


He tilts his head, feigning ignorance. “You okay, Jimin?”


“Fine,” Jimin manages to choke out.


Jungkook’s fingers have seemingly developed their own autonomy, because his brain certainly does not consent when his digits dance over Jimin’s dick, ghosting over the outline of his budding erection. Jimin squeaks, body writhing. His nostrils are flaring, small hands gripping his cutlery so hard his knuckles have turned white. Jungkook supposes he should stop torturing him, but some sick, wicked part of him is enjoying the sinful torment far too much.


Taehyung is rambling on about something, however Jungkook is too absorbed in Jimin to pay him any mind. The latter is pretending to be engrossed in whatever Taehyung is saying, although his lower body is twitching violently beneath the table, the way Jungkook paws at his crotch rendering him incapable of focussing on anything else. His teeth are clenched over his bottom lip, no doubt in order to subdue the whimpers bubbling in his throat.


With his free hand Jungkook grabs his flute and guzzles the remnants of his champagne. Simultaneously, he starts to fumble with Jimin’s belt. The elder’s entire body stiffens, his jaw going slack. Jungkook wonders if he’s overstepped a boundary, so he waits for Jimin to shove him off. But instead Jimin stops squirming, stops resisting altogether, and allows Jungkook to proceed with his indecent ministrations—finally giving in to the game.


Somehow, Jungkook manages to unclasp Jimin’s belt and pop open his trouser button all within a few seconds, despite his mind being so hazy from the alcohol, lust hot in his veins. Jimin shuffles a little, offering Jungkook a better angle to slide his hand beneath his pants. The action makes Jungkook’s own cock twitch within the tight confinements of his underwear.


Now, Jungkook has never touched another dick before—save from his own, of course—so it occurs to him rather suddenly that he has no idea what he’s doing. With a gulp he wraps his fist around Jimin’s cock; it’s awkward and somewhat clumsy, but despite Jungkook’s inexperience, it’s enough to derive a loud gasp from Jimin—loud enough to capture their company’s attention.


“Are you alright, Jimin?” Taehyung asks, worry etched onto his features.


Jimin opens his mouth to assure him that he’s okay, but Jungkook cruelly squeezes his cock before the first syllable even rolls off of his tongue. Consequently, Jimin emits a strangled pant that sounds vaguely like ‘I’m fine’, which only elevates Taehyung’s concern.


Clearly perturbed by Jimin’s odd behaviour, he and Yoongi exchange a bemused glance.


Taehyung isn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”


Jungkook wishes that he would mind his own fucking business.

“He’s fine,” Jungkook almost snaps, earning a scowl from the other male.


Whilst he and Taehyung engage in a stare down, Jungkook drags his thumb along the head of Jimin’s cock, smirking to himself when he feels the wet patch from where his dick has leaked an excessive amount of precum. Jimin shudders at this, and Taehyung’s inquisitive eyes dart to him, his brow pulled together.


Jungkook then starts to knead Jimin’s weeping cock with a little more vigour, yet still discreet enough to go unnoticed by Taehyung or Yoongi.


Jimin mewls, but quickly tries to disguise his whines by coughing into his palm. “I’m okay, honestly,” Jimin insists. “I just…think I’m getting a cold.” He coughs again to exaggerate the symptoms of his pseudo illness.


Taehyung frowns but doesn’t investigate any further. Instead, he gets back to telling whatever story he was previously in the midst of.


Jungkook begins to pump at Jimin’s cock; or at least, he tries the best he can to do so, their positioning making it difficult to properly pleasure him. God, Jungkook wishes they alone. He’d rid Jimin of his clothes in a heartbeat, then he’d drag Jimin’s quivering body on top of him so that the blonde boy straddled his lap. He’d command Jimin to fist at his own dick whilst Jungkook kneads his ass and licks and sucks his pebbled nipples, occasionally biting at the hardened nubs. Jimin would rut against him, stammering incoherent nonsense as he approached his climax. Then Jungkook would slap Jimin’s small hand away and take the reigns, pumping him so relentlessly that Jimin would come in mere seconds, barking out a garbled rendition of Jungkook’s name as he did.


Jungkook has to bite his fist to prevent himself from groaning. He can see it in his mind’s eye so clearly; Jimin’s beautiful body convulsing atop of him, muscles flexed as he comes loudly. Jungkook would carry on jerking him until he’s practically sobbing from oversensitivity. He’d allow Jimin’s spent frame to flop against him, he’d cradle him in his arms and pepper kisses along his cheeks. He’d look after Jimin so well—way better than Taehyung ever could.


“Jimin, what do you think of the steak? It’s nice, right?” Yoongi suddenly asks, lurching Jungkook back into reality.


But Jimin doesn’t answer. The blonde appears to be in a daze, eyes clouded and distant. He’s totally detached from the situation, mind somewhere else. Jungkook nudges him with his knee to lure him out of his aloof trance.


The blonde blinks several times, shakes his head as if to rid himself of a lingering thought, and finally sets his disorientated gaze on Jungkook. Said male’s chest flutters when their gazes lock. Has Jimin always been this gorgeous?


“Huh? What?” Jimin’s head swivels between Jungkook and Yoongi, plump lips slightly agape. Oh, how Jungkook wants to capture them with his teeth. It’s driving him crazy.


“Uh, I asked you if you liked the steak,” Yoongi repeats, visibly disconcerted by the strange way Jimin is acting.


“Oh, the steak? It’s so ni—hnngh—”


Jimin’s getting a little restless again, wriggling disobediently. So Jungkook lightly smacks his balls as punishment, causing Jimin’s entire body to spasm uncontrollably, his limbs flailing everywhere. A dimple pops in Jungkook’s cheek as he chortles to himself.


“I need to go to the bathroom,” Jimin announces suddenly. His chubby fingers curl around Jungkook’s wrist. He tugs, trying to retract the younger’s hand from his groin.


Jungkook withdraws it immediately. He gulps, something thick settling in his throat as he watches Jimin hurriedly fasten his trousers up before stumbling towards the rest room, his face contorted in a wince. There’s something ominous about his abrupt departure, and Jungkook feels wretched all of a sudden. Did he take it too far?


“Are you sure he’s okay? He’s acting really strange,” Taehyung observes, one of his brows raised in curiosity.


“He’s fine,” Jungkook replies, a little too defensively. He stabs at his food with his fork, pretends his steak is Taehyung’s annoyingly handsome face.


When Jimin returns, he’s regained his composure and acts as if nothing peculiar happened at all.


He doesn’t acknowledge Jungkook for the rest of the evening. And Jungkook pretends not to care.




The taxi ride home is awkward, to say the least.


Several times Jungkook opens his mouth, ready to muster up an apology. But each time he clamps his mouth shut, or pretends to yawn in order to cloak the fact he’s about to speak. What is he even supposed to say? Oh, by the way, sorry I gave you an awkward hand job back there. I don’t know what I was thinking.


For the entire duration of their journey, Jimin sits with his hands folded in his lap, staring out of the window. Jungkook mirrors him, although his eyes involuntarily peer at the stoic boy every few seconds as if magnetised.


The car eventually rolls up to Jimin’s building. As soon as it comes to a complete stop, the driver turns around expectantly, and Jungkook rummages through his wallet before salvaging a twenty. He passes it to him, and begins to reel off his own address so he can be dropped off now that he’s escorted Jimin home.


“Aren’t you going to walk me to my door?”


Jungkook swallows his surprise, having convinced himself he’d tarnished any chances of Jimin ever speaking to him again. He nods, pretending to be nonchalant even though his heart is hammering wildly within his chest.


As they make their way to Jimin’s apartment, Jungkook mulls over ways he could redeem himself. He could offer to work Jimin’s Saturday shifts for the next month or so; the elder is also complaining about how his weekend hours conflict with his dancing schedule. Perhaps he could bake him a cake or something…a triple tier chocolate cake with ‘sorry about the hand job’ written in icing across the top.


Jungkook’s thoughts are driving him to the brink of insanity, so he’s grateful when Jimin finally speaks after what feels like an eternity of silence.


“So, uh…thanks for tonight,” Jimin mumbles as they reach the door to his flat. He fiddles with his choker, pulling on it like it’s suddenly too tight around his neck. All the while, he refuses to look at Jungkook, which is just as well because the younger is also doing all he can to avoid eye contact. “You know,” Jimin continues, voice a little shaky, “for keeping up the whole fake boyfriend charade…I really, um…appreciate it.”


With one hand buried deep within his pocket and the other scratching an imaginary itch at his nape, Jungkook shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says, “It was nothing really…”


He trails off. Another awkward silence ensues. He contemplates whether or not he should mention what happened. Are they just not going to address it? Should they act like it never occurred? Erase it from their memory?


“I’m sorry,” Jungkook splutters before his brain can stop him. “About…” he pauses, wondering how to word it, “…you know…under the table…if I took it too far, I’m really sorry.”


He really, really hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.


Jimin’s eyes widen in surpirse. He stares at his intertwined fingers, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s, um…it’s…” he cringes at his inability to form a coherent string of words. After releasing a shaky breath he tries again, “It’s alright. I mean…well…to be honest, I kind of…liked it.” He bites his lip after he forces out the confession, eyes screwed closed in shame.


Dumbstruck, Jungkook desperately tries to think of something to say, but the part of his brain responsible for generating sentences appears to be defunct.


“Its, uh…I…yeah.”


He couldn’t be any less suave if he tried.


Jungkook loiters outside Jimin’s doorway for a few more seconds, waiting to see if the other boy will respond to his barely comprehensible sentence. But alas, Jimin does not; alternatively, said male chews on his lip, keeps his eyes downcast as the scarlet flush of his skin intensifies. Jungkook takes it as his cue to leave.


“Anyway, I guess I’ll see you at work…” Jungkook winces at how disappointment seeps into his tone, laced through every word.


“Yeah, see you at work…” Jimin nods, forcing a smile.


Jungkook prods his tongue into his cheek, nodding in response before turning around and walking away. There’s so many unsaid words hanging in the air but Jungkook suspects it’s better not to acknowledge them. Their friendship is already teetering on dangerous territory, he doesn’t want to blur the lines even more.


“Jungkook, wait!”


Jungkook stops in his tracks. He runs a hand over his face as he turns around, peeking at Jimin through the gaps in his fingers.


“I just wanted to—it’s just that—” Jimin stumbles over his words, speaking them so fast they merge together as one.


Jungkook blinks, brow furrowed. He’s just about to ask Jimin what on earth he’s talking about when the smaller boy steps forward; he exhales tremulously, blinking up at Jungkook with owlish eyes. His hand is quivering when he brings it to Jungkook’s face, fingers uncertain as he cups the younger boy’s cheek. Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed.


Jungkook’s entire body goes rigid when Jimin kisses him. He tastes sweet, although it’s slightly tainted by the bitter hint of alcohol. His thick lips work against Jungkook’s in an almost timid manner, but then, after a few seconds, Jimin’s mouth begins to move a little desperately, struggling to coax a reaction from Jungkook’s. A frustrated whimper trickles from Jimin’s jaw when the brunette fails to requite his ardency.


Even though the younger is willing his lips to reciprocate, they betray him, refusing to correspond. He’s paralysed, brain too overwhelmed with the task of fathoming that he’s kissing Jimin to instruct his body.


Jimin finally pulls away, staggering backwards. Jungkook reaches forward belatedly to catch him, to pull him close, but Jimin has already retreated too far. The blonde shakes his head in disbelief, palms extended in apology as he continues to back away.


“Oh my god,” he exclaims, “I’m so, so fucking sorry. I don’t—I wasn’t thinking. I guess I’m still a little tipsy and—”


Jungkook captures his lips in two strides, slamming Jimin’s smaller figure against his apartment door. Startled, the elder gasps, momentarily stupified. His shoulders hunch in shock but he soon melts into the embrace, body pliant in submission; allowing Jungkook to dominate.


Jimin’s mouth is so much softer than he imagined, so plump and pillowy against his own thin, chapped lips. They’d feel heavenly against the erogenous zones of his body; sponging kisses along his neck, ghosting along his his thighs, slurping around his cock. The thought alone makes Jungkook groan, his lower body pressing against Jimin’s, the kiss becoming more heated, more fervent.


He takes Jimin’s lower lip into his mouth. Nibbles on it softly before biting, teeth clasped around the sensitive flesh. He then runs his tongue along it to sooth the inflicted ache, gut coiling in satisfaction when Jimin releases a broken, high pitched whine.


Jungkook rakes his shaking fingers through Jimin’s hair and tugs so that his neck is bared. He laps at the exposed skin, sucking hungrily at the juncture between where Jimin’s neck meets his shoulder, drunk off the sympathy of moans that fill the air. Meanwhile, Jimin tries in vain to open the door, fingers working blindly to twist the doorknob. After several unsuccessful attempts he finally succeeds. The door swings open, sending them both stumbling into Jimin’s apartment.


Jungkook kicks the door shut and Jimin loses his footing. He’s mid fall when Jungkook loops an agile arm around his waist, keeping him upright. Their kiss ceases for a second, a lustful glance exchanged in the interval, and then before they know it they’re kissing again—this time somehow more passionate than the last.


Jungkook bends his knee and secures his grip on Jimin’s thighs before hoisting the elder boy up, wrapping his muscular thighs around his waist. Jimin’s breath hitches, his hands clawing at Jungkook’s back, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping him connected to the earth.


When his arms begin to throb in protest, Jungkook plants the mewling boy down on the first flat surface he can find, which just so happens to a cluttered kitchen countertop. A variety of items are sent hurtling to the ground and Jungkook is distracted by the noisy clatter that follows. He reluctantly pulls away, rests his forehead against Jimin’s. They’re both breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling in an uneven pattern. His chest constricts when he observes Jimin’s glistening, swollen lips—so achingly, temptingly close to his own.


“Jimin,” he whispers, like they’re trading a secret.


“Yeah?” Jimin’s voice is unusually hoarse, gravelly. Dripping with desire. He stares wantonly down at the younger.


“Do you want this?” he asks, because he has to be sure. He glides his palms over Jimin’s thighs, relishes in the way the blonde shivers at the intimate contact. “Like, me and you…actually doing this…you want it?” he elaborates, looking between Jimin’s dilated pupils.


If they go through with it, it’ll alter the dynamics of their relationship forever. Jungkook holds in a breath. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice.


“Y-yes,” Jimin answers instantly, “Jungkook, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”


Jungkook’s heart swells with endearment at that, the admission pleasing him. Jimin leans down and kisses him again, wiping the goofy grin off his face. It’s slow and sensual now, no longer rushed and hasty. Jungkook lets Jimin control the pace, his mind wandering as the elder begins to pop open the buttons of his shirt.


Although it pains him to do so, Jungkook breaks away abruptly, curiosity getting the better of him.


“How long?” he demands, causing Jimin’s face to scrunch in confusion. “I mean, how long have you…wanted me?” He adds for clarification.


For a second Jimin hesitates, fidgeting as he deliberates an answer. He halts his work on Jungkook’s buttons and instead fiddles with the material shyly. “Honestly? Ever since you started working at the cafe,” he mumbles with a bashful smile.


“Yeah?” Heat pools in Jungkook’s abdomen, zealous flames licking up his spine. His nose traces the sharp outline of Jimin’s jaw, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Jungkook hums contently and prompts Jimin to nurture his ego just a little bit more. “You always had a crush on me, hm?”


Jimin threads his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, his head lolling back when the brunette starts to peck at his throat.


“I-I thought you were so hot,” Jimin divulges. He pulls Jungkook closer to him, dying for more contact. “I didn’t know how to act around you at first, but I always wanted your attention, got so jealous when you flirted with my friends—ah!” Jungkook licks a searing hot stripe up Jimin’s elongated neck, sucks almost viscously at the sensitive skin beneath his earlobe.


“Wanted me all to yourself?” Jungkook snickers.


Jimin just nods shamelessly, past caring by this point. His hips buck on their own accord, seeking more delicious friction. Jungkook responds by thrusting his own body forward until he can feel Jimin’s erection prod against his stomach.


“Always wanted you,” Jimin sighs, satisfied by their close proximity. “Everyone at the cafe knows it, they tease me about it all the time.” He feels Jungkook simper against his neck. “But you were so oblivious, even though I flirted so much…”


“Oh, so that’s why you drove me to brink of insanity every shift?” Jungkook chuckles fondly and takes Jimin’s earlobe into his mouth, suckles gently and then drags his teeth along it. Jimin wriggles and writhes, his dick growing harder by the second. “Just wanted my attention, didn’t you?” The younger coos, his hands reaching behind to cup Jimin’s perky ass.


“Tae would’ve been so mad if he had known,” Jimin admits, teeth sinking into his lower lip, feeling rather scandalous.


Even the mere mention of his name is enough to elicit a displeased growl from Jungkook. Something akin to jealously sparks within him.


“I’ll make you feel better than he ever could, Jimin,” he vows, tone obstinate despite it being such a bold statement for someone who’s never done anything remotely sexual with a guy before.


But Jimin isn’t thinking about the younger’s lack of experience when his hot breath is flowing down his neck, making him flinch—nerves humming in anticipation. All he can concentrate on is how he wants, no, needs to touch Jungkook.


“B-bedroom,” Jimin stutters. “Now.” He adds in an effort to sound assertive.


After planting a doting kiss on Jimin’s cheek Jungkook shifts to the side, allows Jimin to hop off the counter and lead him away. He hangs back deliberately in order to ogle at Jimin’s ass and hips, which are swinging and jiggling a little more than usual, perhaps aware they have an audience.


Upon reaching his bedroom door, Jimin beckons him inside. He gestures to the edge of his bed and instructs Jungkook to sit and the younger complies immediately. They stare at each each for a few seconds, ragged pants being the only sound that fills the room.


Jimin begins to stalk forward, closes the distance between them, maintains eye contact as he does so. He pushes at Jungkook’s shoulder with no where near enough force to knock him backwards, yet Jungkook obediently falls onto the bed anyway, relinquishing control to the elder boy.


Jimin clambers on top of him, his thighs bracketing his waist, and soon enough his lips are attacking Jungkook’s neck whilst his nimble fingers unclasp the rest of his shirt buttons. It’s not long before Jungkook is shrugging off the silky material and discarding it, throwing it in no particular direction.


Jimin’s eyes glaze over Jungkook’s toned stomach, his fingers gliding along his abs.


“You work out a lot?” It’s more a statement than a question.


Jungkook nods feebly, slightly embarrassed by how responsive his body is to Jimin’s tender caresses and gentle strokes. It’s quite pathetic, really; Jimin’s barely even gotten started and he’s already a wreck. Jungkook is unsuccessful in cloaking a mewl when Jimin’s kisses gradually travel lower.


It takes Jungkook by surprise when Jimin laps at his nipple, wetting his areola before capturing the nub with his mouth. Jungkook gawps at the ceiling. He fists at the blanket, too overcome by pleasure to notice that his chest is arching, offering more of himself to Jimin.


Jimin bites down playfully, which extracts a throng of expletives from Jungkook’s slackened jaw. The blonde boy pulls back with a giggle, fights the urge to coo at Jungkook’s switch in demeanour; from confident and assured to flushed and flustered.


“Sensitive?” he smirks, pinches at Jungkook’s other nipple teasingly. It’s enough to make Jungkook’s entire body jolt.


It’d be pointless to deny it. “I—fuck. Yeah.” His face reddens. 


“No one ever played with your nipples before?” Jimin presumes.


“Uh, no.” Jungkook gnaws on his lower lip, dick throbbing.


“Cute,” Jimin comments, eyes sparkling with mirth. His index finger traces over the brunette’s nipple, a coy smile shaping his lips when he feels goosebumps accumulate beneath his fingertips. He presses a soft, almost chaste kiss to Jungkook’s chest, chuckling to himself at the way the younger shudders beneath him. “You really are so sensitive,”he remarks, almost in awe, “We should definitely explore that next time.”


Jungkook’s just about to question the plausibility of there being a next time, but he’s distracted by Jimin’s hand unzipping his trousers. Said male begins to pull them off, and Jungkook raises his hips to make the removal easier. The garment is soon flung away, landing amongst the rest of Jungkook’s discarded attire—a crumpled mess on the floor.


Clad in just his boxers, Jungkook props himself up on his elbows, eyes hungry as he drinks in the sight of Jimin. The latter lowers himself down until his mouth hovers just above Jungkook’s erection, so close that said male can feel the heat of Jimin’s breath against him. The elder boy’s gaze flickers up at Jungkook, an almost innocent expression gracing his features. He breaks the tension by wrapping his mouth around Jungkook’s clothed balls, licking and sucking through the material of his underwear.


He hums as he works along Jungkook’s length, alternating between kittenish licks and messy slurps. Jungkook’s head falls back, mouth agape.


“Come on, Jimin,” he pleads, “D-don’t tease.”


Jimin decides to be merciful, although his clemency is fuelled by the fact he can’t wait to suck Jungkook off. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t fantasied about doing so countless times in the past.


His fingers curl around the hem of Jungkook’s boxers. An audible gulp fills the heavy silence before Jimin finally peels off Jungkook’s pants, allowing his cock to spring free.


Jimin’s small, chubby fingers wrap around his dick, giving it the illusion of being much bigger than it really is and the sight alone is enough to make Jungkook groan. Jimin leans forward and begins to suckle on the head, producing excess spit to lubricate his shy, almost timid ministrations. He looks up to Jungkook, as if seeking praise.


But Jungkook is far too entranced by the rapturous sensation to offer any form of commendation. His eyes roll back when Jimin’s mouth takes more of him, his arms wobbling, barely able to support his weight. He manages to steady himself and weaves his digits through Jimin’s blonde hair, gently pushing down to coax the elder to swallow the rest of his length.


Jungkook’s torso collapses against the mattress when he feels himself reach the back of Jimin’s throat. Jimin bobs up and down, repeats the motion again and again, forcing back a gag each time.


“Shit—ah. Feels so good, Jimin.”


Jimin moans around him. The sound reverberates through Jungkook’s abdomen, coursing through his veins until it ignites sparks at the tips of his fingers. Jimin pulls back, inhales deeply to satisfy his starved lungs, and then licks up Jungkook’s cock before tonguing at his slit.


“Come here,” Jungkook rasps, “wanna kiss you.”


Jimin slithers up the younger’s naked body, planting a trail of light kisses up his thigh, along his stomach. Their lips finally meet in a vehement kiss, tongues dancing as they exchange salivia. It’s sloppy and messy, and Jungkook can taste the bitter trace of his own precum.


Jimin’s blazer is quickly torn from his person, closely followed by his shirt. His trousers are next, although their removal is a little more difficult. Jimin wiggles his hips to facilitate Jungkook’s efforts to strip him, and in the rush of it all their teeth end up clanking together, the blunder inducing a giggle from them both.


Once Jimin’s clothes are strewn away, Jungkook flips them over. He pulls off Jimin’s underwear in an instant; Jimin’s little cock is angry and red from neglect, precum glistening at the tip. Jungkook’s own dick is pulsating, yearning for more contact, and Jimin’s bare form and breathy whines do nothing to quell the ache.


“Fuck, your dick is so cute,” Jungkook finds himself saying. He wraps his hand around it, thumb gliding over the head to mop up beads of precum.


“P-please,” Jimin whinges.


Jungkook brings his moistened thumb to the blonde boy’s mouth and Jimin licks at it, recoils slightly at sharp twang of his own arousal, before sucking dutifully. All the while Jungkook scans over Jimin’s body, taking in the delicate dip of his waist, the faint suggestion of abs and prominent collarbones.


How has he gone this long without touching Jimin, he wonders. Or, better yet, why would Taehyung leave ever him—someone so stunning, so gorgeous, so painstakingly beautiful? Jungkook feels like devoting the rest of his life to worshipping him, to showering affection along every curve and crevice of his body.


“Please,” Jimin lisps around the brunette’s thumb, tone pleading. Drool has trickled down his chin, some of it dripping onto his chest.


“What do you want, baby?” Jungkook asks, the term of endearment slipping past his lips before he can think twice about it.


“Need you,” is all Jimin says.


With his free hand Jungkook begins to jerk Jimin off, captivated by the way the elder reacts to his touch. He’s whining, suckling desperately at Jungkook’s fingers, eyes hooded, hair askew; he looks so gloriously fucked out already and Jungkook feels like the luckiest man on earth.


“So gorgeous,” Jungkook breathes, “Look at you—so fucking pretty.”


“Please,” Jimin begs for the third time, “Fuck me, p-please.”


Jungkook stalls; it dawns on him that he’s a complete novice at this. But regardless of that, he still wants to make Jimin feel good—so good that he forgets about Taehyung, or any guy he’s ever been with for that matter.


Jimin appears to detect his uncertainty because he sits up a little and places a comforting hand on Jungkook’s bicep.


“You have to prep me, yeah?” he says, “Or I mean, I could do it—”


“No!” Jungkook shakes his head. “I’ll do it,” he insists adamantly, “Wanna make you feel good.”


Jimin nods, cheeks dotted with pink. He reaches over to the bedside cabinet and collects a bottle of lube and a condom from the top drawer.


Jungkook takes the items and plants the condom on the side for later. He eases Jimin’s thigh’s apart and slots himself between them, rests back on his haunches as he squirts lube onto his fingers. He then leans forward and drapes himself over Jimin, using his elbow to elevate himself whilst his other hand smears the lube around Jimin’s hole.


“Is this okay?” he asks, slipping his index finger past the tight ring of muscle tentatively.


He watches Jimin’s face intently, scrutinising every reaction, terrified of making a mistake. The way Jimin’s clenched around him makes heat pool in his stomach, his velvety walls tighter than he anticipated.


“’S fine,” Jimin lisps. He spreads his legs wider in order to grant Jungkook more access, and the younger interprets this as a incentive to drive his finger all the way into Jimin’s heat, right up to his knuckle. He swirls his finger around experimentally and slowly draws it out.


“Let me know if…” Jungkook trails off, buries his face in Jimin’s neck to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks, “Don’t wanna hurt you,” he murmurs against the clammy skin, before slotting his finger all the way back in as slowly and carefully as he can.


“You won’t,” Jimin assures him. He wants to tell Jungkook that he doesn’t have to be so gentle, but there’s something so sweet about his timid, almost sheepish manner that makes Jimin’s chest flutter with admiration.


Jungkook starts to pump his finger in and out, gradually gaining more confidence. He kisses down Jimin’s chest and mouths at his left nipple, the action preluding the insertion of a second finger. Jimin stiffens, so Jungkook gives him a moment to adjust. Intrigued, he peeps up at the elder to gauge his response to the pressure against his rim. Jimin’s eyes are shut, his chin tilted upward and his teeth grazing his lower lip. The rosy tint to his cheeks has increased, the flush bleeding down his neck and fanning across his chest.


Jungkook is met with some resistance when he attempts to plunge two fingers into Jimin’s firm, taut little hole. It’s a few seconds before he can shove them all the way in, Jimin slowly but surely loosening up for him. Jungkook wonders how long it’s been since Jimin’s been fucked—presumably a while, he reckons. He guesses he’s the first guy Jimin has been with since he broke up with Taehyung, and he doesn't really know about to feel about that.


Is he a rebound?


And if he is, does he even care? He dismisses the niggling feeling of disgruntlement brewing in his gut in favour of fingering Jimin with more vigour. He pretends like the thought of being nothing more than a quick fuck to the elder doesn’t fill him with discontent as he scissors Jimin’s hole voraciously, propelled by a surge of envy.


Jimin yelps as Jungkook unknowingly grazes his prostate. His body convulses and his hand reaches out to grasp the muscles bulging from Jungkook’s arm. He tries to say something, tries to tell Jungkook how good it feels, but instead he produces a broken sob as his hips automatically grind down.


“Shit, sorry!” Jungkook frets, having misconstrued Jimin’s noises of pleasure as indications of pain.


He’s just about to withdraw his fingers, however Jimin cries out in protest. He clutches Jungkook’s wrist and tugs it toward him, easing his digits back into his hole which swallows them greedily. Jimin’s head falls back into the pillows, a satisfied sigh escapes his inflamed lips.


His tiny hand remains locked around Jungkook’s wrist. It’s instinctive when he guides the younger’s fingers out of his wet hole and then steers them back in; he repeats this movement a few times, eager to be filled up. He’s too lost in pleasure to feel even remotely abashed about using Jungkook’s hand like a toy, fucking himself with it like he’s in heat. His heels dig into the mattress and he growls, literally growls, because even though it feels amazing it’s not enough. He won’t be truly gratified until Jungkook’s cock is buried deep within him, stretching him open even more.


Jungkook’s jaw hangs in astonishment as he gapes at Jimin. He’s torn, unable to decide whether he wants to watch Jimin fuck himself on his fingers or observe how his face contorts in ecstasy. The obscene squelches ring in his ears and all he can think about is how far gone he is for the whining boy beneath him.


After a short while Jungkook resumes ascendency. He bats Jimin’s domineering hand away and takes over. The remnants of Jungkook’s apprehension melt away, and pretty soon he’s fucking his fingers into the blonde like his life depends on it. Jimin encourages him with the occasional moan, his hips jutting up to meet Jungkook’s hand.


“Turn over,” Jungkook commands. He extracts his fingers and Jimin sobs at the emptiness, yet complies without any objection.


Once Jimin is lying on his stomach, Jungkook manoeuvres him so that his ass is sticking in the air. Jimin has such a perfect ass, Jungkook thinks whilst he absentmindedly grabs at the supple flesh of his cheeks. He’d often leer at the curve of Jimin’s buttocks during their shifts at the cafe, stealing glances whenever Jimin wasn’t looking.


Jungkook hunches over Jimin’s body and begins to kiss and lick along the indent of his spine. His left arm snakes around Jimin’s torso until his fingers are pinching at his erect nipples; he mimics the tweaks and nips Jimin performed on his own chest previously, and it seems to produce the desired effect because the elder is shivering and hiccuping in that cute, endearing little way of his. It feels like an invisible fishing rod has hooked itself into Jungkook’s chest, tugging at his heart whenever Jimin croaks out his name followed by a series of staccato moans.


“Wanna try something…” Jungkook murmurs against the small of Jimin’s back.


The younger is ever so cautious as he prizes Jimin’s ass cheeks apart, exposing Jimin’s fluttering hole.


It’s pink and puffy and, in Jungkook’s opinion, kind of adorable.


He traces a slick finger still glossy with lube around the rim with childlike fascination. It’s clenching around nothing, longing to be filled by Jungkook’s girth. He takes a deep breath.


“Wanna kiss you here, Jimin,” he states, teasingly nudging the tip of his finger inside. “Would you like that?” he asks as he kisses and bites at the plump flesh of Jimin’s cheeks.


Jimin’s nodding feverishly, chorusing yes, yes, yes like a broken record. Jungkook pulls back a little to examine the task at hand—surely it can’t be that different to eating a girl out?


The moment Jungkook’s lips collide with the puckered ring of muscle, Jimin’s arms buckle, plunging his upper body into the mattress. He stammers something that Jungkook doesn’t quite catch, the sound muffled by the pillow his head is buried in.


Jungkook works agonisingly slow; he pecks around Jimin’s rim, giving it the occasional shy, kittenish lick. Jimin’s practically vibrating. His veins thrumming with a carnal need, he reaches back and pulls apart his cheeks, presenting his hole to the younger.


“Need more,” he blubbers as hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes, “F-fuck me with your tongue.”


Jungkook groans against him at that, the low vibrations resonating along Jimin’s quaking form. Jungkook presses his tongue flat against the rim, lapping up the residue from the passionfruit flavoured lube. He slurps around it, tongue moving in zig zag motions. After a few seconds of that, he pulls back and spits between Jimin’s spread ass cheeks in lieu of fetching another pump of lube.


Jimin’s drooling onto the cushions. “Y-yes,” he gasps, “Please, need to feel you inside me K-Kook…”


Jungkook slots two nimble finger inside, scissors them around to loosen Jimin up some more and then replaces them with his tongue. Jimin’s eyes roll into the back of his head.


Jimin is a nuisance, arching his back and bucking his hips, unable to keep still. With a grunt of frustration Jungkook loops his strong arms around Jimin’s thighs, securing him in place and therefore inhibiting any further movement.


The latter sniffles upon feeling a curious tongue explore his smooth walls. He whines into the dampened pillow, his hands leaving his ass to intuitively seize at Jungkook’s hair. He pulls at the locks threaded through his fingers in pursuit of more friction, more contact, despite the fact Jungkook’s face is already buried deep in his ass.


In his haze, Jimin seems to underestimate his strength. The way in which he tugs at Jungkook’s hair is painful, his stubby digits exerting more power than Jungkook thought capable. But he doesn’t allow the burn prickling along his scalp to interrupt him, he’s too focused on eating Jimin’s ass—which, surprisingly, he appears to have a natural aptitude for.


“So, so good—ah,” Jimin’s says between mewls, “Eat my ass so well Koo—“ he hiccups, and Jungkook’s heart spasms,”— K-Kookie.”


When Jungkook draws back, he gasps for air like he’s just been submerged in water  and starved of oxygen for far too long. Once his pants have subsided, he wraps his lips around Jimin’s dilated hole and sucks, the same way he’d suck at a girl’s clit. Jimin keens in response, tries to grind down against Jungkook’s mouth. He’s so desperate and needy, and Jungkook is completely and utterly enamoured.


Jungkook wastes no time in filling Jimin out with his index and middle finger. Initially he’s a little dubious about adding a third, but it turns out there was no reason to be because it slips in with ease. Jimin peeks over his shoulder at Jungkook. His eyes are heavy and something sultry shimmers within them, tears clinging to his lashes, face glowing with a tint of crimson.


“Jungkook, I’m ready. I nee—“—hiccup—“need you.”


Jungkook goes into autopilot. He salvages the condom and sheathes it over his aching length, douses his dick in lube. He lines his cock up against Jimin’s awaiting hole, and finally, after forcing the butterflies dancing around his stomach to diminish, he breaches the brim of muscle with the head of his dick.


A groan rumbles from deep within him. It feels good—no, scratch that, it feels fucking wonderful. Jimin is so blissfully hot and tight and wet around him. He’s heedful of Jimin’s walls stretching to accommodate him as he pushes further in; he takes his time, not wanting to cause the elder any discomfort.


At last Jungkook bottoms out, his balls squashed up against Jimin’s perineum. His hands fly to the blonde’s slender waist, using it as leverage when he eases himself out only to immediately ram his cock back in, the thrust so vigorous it propels Jimin’s body forward. His mind buzzes. It’s beyond euphoric.


Jungkook notices that Jimin is unusually quiet. The absence of continuous moans and mewls worries him. Is he doing something wrong?


“Hey, Jimin?” he says, shocked at how raspy his voice sounds.


He reaches over to swipe away Jimin’s bangs which have matted to his forehead, sticking to the dew of perspiration covering his skin. Jimin is clutching the blanket with his little fists, knuckles white. Jungkook discovers that the reason for the elder’s uncharacteristic silence is because he’s biting at the pillow. His teeth sink into the cotton, a vein bulging out from his clamped jaw.


“Why have you stopped?” Jimin whinges, his sulky tone stifled by the material stuffed in his mouth, “C-come on, Kookie. Need your cock ”


Even though Jimin’s position exudes total vulnerability and submission, he sounds so demanding, and Jungkook finds himself eager to please. He rocks into Jimin, hissing when his dick is again encompassed by the hot, snug caress of his walls.


“You like my cock, hm?” Jungkook purrs. He quickens the pace of his hips. “Like having it stuffed up your ass?”


“Yes, yes—like it s-so much,” Jimin cries, voice rising an octave higher every time Jungkook slams into him from behind.


Jungkook can feel his orgasm linger on the periphery, close yet just out of reach. One thing he knows for sure is that he wants to be kissing Jimin when he reaches his climax, wants Jimin to swallow all of the moans and grunts he’s undoubtedly going to spew. So, without preamble, Jungkook coils his arms around Jimin’s torso, pulling him upright so that they’re both leaning on their knees.


Jimin’s back slams into Jungkook’s chest, his head lolling back against the younger’s shoulder as said male thrusts in deep, the tip of his length scraping the blonde’s prostate. Jimin’s swaying in and out of deliriousness, unable to focus on anything save from the way Jungkook’s relentlessly pounding his asshole.


Jungkook grabs hold of Jimin’s chin and guides his mouth towards his ravenous lips. He kisses the blonde with everything he has, hoping to convey how much he wants Jimin, how much he’s always wanted him, even if he wasn’t able to admit it for the longest time.


To Jimin’s credit, he does try to recipriate the kiss but it’s sloppy and messy, compromised by the awkward position. In the end, the two of them end up just breathing and moaning into each other’s mouths.


“Kook…” Jimin squirms, breathing laboured. “I’m close.”


Jimin starts to pump at his cock, but Jungkook bats his hand away and replaces it with his own before the elder even has the chance to build up any momentum. He licks up Jimin’s neck and sucks his earlobe into his mouth, making Jimin shiver.


“Come on,” Jungkook whispers directly into his ear, “Wanna see you come, Jimin. Bet you looks so gorgeous when you come.”


Jimin’s hand reaches behind to entangle itself in Jungkook’s sweat soaked hair. Simultaneously Jungkook’s fingers coil around Jimin’s neck, the blonde’s rapid pulse thumping against his palm. His other hand squeezes at Jimin’s shaft, thumb massaging his leaking slit.


A broken sob is lured from Jimin’s glistening lips by Jungkook drawing almost all the way out, until only the very tip of his cock is nestled in Jimin’s hole. He pecks at Jimin’s neck and then abruptly drives his dick back in. He repeats this over and over,  hitting Jimin’s engorged prostate gland each time.


“Jungkook,” Jimin bleats, his fist tightening its grip on the strands of Jungkook’s hair, “C-close—close.”


All it takes is for Jungkook to tug thrice and Jimin’s releasing all over his hand. He sloppily fucks himself down on Jungkook’s cock to prolong his climax.  As soon as he’s done, his spent frame slumps against Jungkook. The latter holds him up, and Jimin peppers languid kisses across his face with what little energy he has left.


Jungkook rocks up into him more gently, cognisant of Jimin’s post orgasm sensitivity. His eyes are staring at where they’re joined, transfixed on the sight of his cock being devoured by Jimin’s hole.


Jungkook’s hips stutter, his orgasm building and building until it consumes him; he captures Jimin’s lips with his own and moans so loud he'd be ashamed if he wasn’t so preoccupied with the intense waves of pleasure sweeping over him.


Jimin collapses onto the mattress and drags Jungkook down with him. Before he knows it, Jungkook’s spooning the smaller boy, with his now flaccid cock still stuffed in Jimin’s red, swollen rim. It’s a rather odd position Jungkook finds himself in, but it feels right somehow, so he doesn’t fight it.


It’s only when the post-sex stupor evaporates that Jungkook comes to his senses. He groans and gets up, reluctantly extracting himself from Jimin’s hole, which makes said male whimper at the emptiness. He fumbles around to discard of the condom, his mind whirring as he contemplates an exit strategy.


He shuffles back towards the bed, cupping his dick and balls with his right hand to preserve some modesty, suddenly embarrassed by his nakedness. He’s just about to announce his departure—because staying over just seems like a bad, no, horrific idea—but Jimin is blinking up at him with doe like eyes, arms outstretched. He makes grabby hands at the younger and his lips morph into a spoiled point.


“Cuddle me,” he commands, voice groggy and sleepy.


The last remaining slither of sanity Jungkook had left dissipates in a flash.


The temptation is too much. He succumbs, ignoring the voice in his head that’s telling him he’s going to regret this, clambering in beside Jimin and pulling him close, wrapping himself around the smaller boy like a cocoon. Jimin hums contently and lazily reaches for Jungkook’s hand. He intertwines their fingers and brings their adjoined hands to his chest, like they do this all the time. Jungkook squeezes Jimin’s chubby fingers and the blonde squeezes back, almost reassuringly, like he knows Jungkook’s petrified of how he feels right now. It’s all happened so fast he can scarcely register it, but Jungkook doesn’t think he’s felt this way about anymore before—let alone a guy, let alone Jimin.


If Jungkook wasn’t fucked before, then he sure as hell is now.




The next morning, Jungkook awakes with a jolt.


His eyelids are heavy and he struggles to open them at first. He blinks, trying to adjust to the brightness of the unfamiliar room. Sunlight is spilling in from the window, bathing the foreign surroundings in a golden light. He sits up and squints, kneading his eye with his knuckle. He can feel a migraine coming and braces himself for the onslaught of his imminent hangover.


Beside him the blankets are rumpled, and when he runs his hands over the slight dip in the mattress, it’s still warm. A bout of nausea engulfs him, memories of the previous evening toppling over him like a ton of bricks.


It comes back to him in flashes, the fragmented recollections gradually piecing together: palming Jimin under the table of that fancy restaurant, kissing him against the door to his flat, Jimin confessing to having a crush on him this whole time…all of that cumulating to them both becoming a tangled mess of (naked) limbs, falling asleep cuddled together on this exact bed.


Jungkook jumps up and scrambles for his briefs. He shoves them on and hurries into Jimin’s en suite bathroom, then staggers towards the sink and grips onto it, stares up into the mirror above.


“What the fuck have you done?” he berates his reflection.


How could he let this happen? Did he honestly think he could sleep with his coworker and there’d be no repercussions? And not just any coworker, a male coworker. Shit, he’d had sex with another guy and he liked it—more than he’d care to admit. What does this mean? Is he…bi?


If he’s being entirely honest, he’s always found Jimin attractive, but he’d never felt the overwhelming urge to act on that attraction before. Although the desire to touch Jimin, to kiss him, perpetually bubbled in the back of his mind, he’d refused to acknowledge it, convinced himself that it was nothing. But it had infuriated him, the ache, the yearn to have Jimin because he knew that he couldn’t, shouldn’t like him like that. He liked girls, right?


Jungkook’s really not in the mood to have a mini existential crisis right now, not with this bitch of a headache. He rushes back into the bedroom, almost tripping over his own feet in the process, and begins to round up his clothes, which are littered around the room like a treasure trail.


A few minutes later Jimin enters, wearing a slouchy grey tracksuit with the logo of his dance school embroidered across the front. In his hands are two steaming cups of coffee—and on his face, the cutest grin Jungkook’s ever seen.


“Oh, you’re up!” he says, pleased.


Jungkook’s in the middle of pulling his trousers up his legs. He wobbles, very nearly plummets to the ground but miraculously regains his balance just in time. His fingers are shaking as he fastens up his zipper, heart beating so ferociously he fears it’ll burst out of his chest.


“I brought you some coffee,” Jimin offers the cup to Jungkook, who shakes his head and backs away, as if the liquid is poisoned. “What? You don’t want it?” He sets them down on the bedside table, face flooded with concern.


“I-I…I have to go,” Jungkook splutters. Flustered, he barges passed Jimin to collect his shirt.


The elder catches his wrist and pulls him back. He wets his lips. “Jungkook, last night was—”


“A mistake,” Jungkook interjects, winces at the way Jimin’s face falls. He yanks his wrist free from Jimin’s clutch and shrugs on his shirt, avoiding eye contact with the blonde as he fastens the buttons. “I—no, we made a mistake. Let’s just forget it, yeah?”


“You want to…forget it?”


Jimin’s aggrieved expression makes Jungkook’s heart shatter.


“Yes,” Jungkook nods, still refusing to look at him. He prods his tongue in his cheek and stares at the wall. “Can we…pretend like it never happened?” He swallows the lump in his throat and finally musters up the courage to glance at Jimin. “Please?”


“Let’s talk about it,” Jimin suggests, ignoring his request. He steps forward but Jungkook automatically steps back in order to increase the distance between them. His shoulders slump in defeat and he sighs, acquiescing. “Or we can pretend it didn’t happen, if that’s what you want…”


“It’s what I want,” Jungkook says quickly, but it’s void of conviction. In truth Jungkook doesn’t have a fucking clue what he wants, but he’s too suffocated to figure it out just yet.


He stumbles clumsily out of the bedroom, disoriented by the layout of Jimin’s apartment. Jimin scurries after him, babbling about something, but Jungkook doesn’t hear a word of it. He makes a beeline for the door but before he can pull it open it swings inward, revealing a tall, slim man clad in a tracksuit identical to Jimin's. 


Jungkook vaguely recognises the boy before him, there’s something oddly familiar about his mop of vibrant red hair.


“Oh, hello,” he greets cheerfully, his eyes transforming into little crescent moons. He cranes his neck to catch sight of Jimin, who is half hidden by Jungkook’s broad shoulders, “I didn’t realise you had, er, company, Jimin.”


“Hoseok!” Jimin groans, hands flying to his face to shield the blush staining his cheeks, “What are you doing here so early?! The class doesn’t start till 12.”


“I know, but I figured we could hang out a little beforehand,” Hoseok laughs awkwardly, obviously aware of the tense situation he’s strolled in to. “I can leave, if you want?” He raises an eyebrow in question, gaze flickering between the two males in front of him.


“No, stay! I was just leaving,” Jungkook forces a smile.


“Oh, okay!” The red head blinks, then extends his hand. “Well…it was nice meeting you, anyway. I’m Hoseok, by the way.”


Jungkook nods curtly. “Jungkook.”


“Oh.” Hoseok’s face lights up with a flash of recognition. “Oh.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Jimin knowingly, a mischievous smirk curling at his lips. “So this is the Jungkook, huh?”


“Hoseok, shut up!” Jimin wails, bugging his eyes out at him. He steps into Jungkook’s line of vision and smiles apologetically, “Hoseok and I teach a ballet class on Saturdays…I honestly had no idea he was going to turn up this early. We can still talk about things if you want, I have a few hours before I have to go—”


“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jungkook strains out. He swallows thickly, ignores how his gut churns at the hurt in Jimin’s eyes. He owes Jimin more than a fleeting farewell, however he simply doesn’t have nerve to confront his feelings. Not yet.


“Okay,” Jimin sucks in a breath. He steps aside, gestures for Jungkook to depart. “I’ll see you at work.” His voice is suddenly cold, void of emotion. Jungkook feels like he’s losing him, has to remind himself that he never technically had him in the first place.


“Yeah, see you at work,” Jungkook chokes out, even though he’s already mentally penning his resignation letter; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to face Jimin ever again.

Chapter Text

That night, Imaginary Jimin visits Jungkook in a dream.


Jungkook’s a little irked at his unsolicited intrusion. If Imaginary Jimin showing up in his subconscious becomes a regular occurrence, he better start paying rent.


“What are you doing here?” Jungkook snarls, hands balled into fists.


Jimin’s leaning against the doorframe of Jungkook’s bedroom, arms folded, with his head cocked to the side and a complacent smirk plastered over his features.


“Now, now,” Jimin chides, “Don’t be rude.”


Jungkook takes a moment to observe Imaginary Jimin’s attire—or rather, lack thereof. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie that stops mid thigh, flaunting his small albeit muscular legs, leaving very little to the imagination. Jungkook groans internally upon noticing the baggy material barely covers the swell of Jimin’s ass. Apparently, Jungkook’s own unconscious mind loves to torture him.


Jungkook goes to retaliate, but the rebuttal gets lodged somewhere in his throat. His tongue becomes heavy and useless as he watches Imaginary Jimin stalk towards him, the hem of his hoodie riding up his legs with every step. The blonde brazenly plonks himself down on Jungkook’s lap, legs either side of his waist so that he’s straddling him. He runs his finger down Jungkook’s chest, gently grinds his hips down, a coquettish glint in his eyes. Jungkook tries not to flinch.


“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he pouts sulkily, whilst dragging his groin against Jungkook’s.


The younger’s chest constricts, whatever retort he had planned tangles on his tongue. He gulps, aroused by the friction of their cocks grazing yet too stubborn to show it.


“You’ve always wanted to fuck me,” Imaginary Jimin states all of a sudden, a coy smile playing on his ridiculously full lips, “Haven’t you?”


Jungkook ignores him, instead looks down to where their crotches meet. The hoodie Jimin is wearing has bunched up due to sweeping motions of his hips, exposing the band of pink lace that’s hugging his waist.


Jungkook almost chokes on his shock. “Jimin,” he croaks, eyes as wide as saucers, “Are you wearing—”


Imaginary Jimin tucks two finger beneath Jungkook’s chin and pushes upwards, clamping his jaw shut and forcing the startled brunette to meet his gaze. The latter visibly stiffens, nonplussed by Jimin’s forceful behaviour. He doesn’t remember his figmental version of Jimin being so bossy the last time he encountered him.


“Admit it,” the elder demands, brow furrowed in determination. “You’ve wanted to fuck me for so long, and now you’ve finally done it, you’re scared.”


Jungkook bites, taking the bait. “I’m not scared,” he spits the word out like it’s poison on his tongue, but his objection is quite weak, lacklustre at best. It sounds like he’s struggling to convince himself, never mind Imaginary Jimin—who, technically, is a product of Jungkook’s inner psyche and therefore a reflection of his own thoughts, so theoretically speaking, Jungkook is arguing with himself. But the semantics of it make his braincells shrivel up, and besides Jungkook has more pressing matters to consider—is Jimin wearing lingerie?


“Yes you are,” Jimin says knowingly.


“Am not,” Jungkook protests with a huff. He goes to lift up Jimin’s hoodie, because he needs to know whether that flash of lace was just a trick of the eye, but Jimin smacks his curious hand away, making Jungkook scowl.


“You’re scared because you have feelings for me,” Jimin says, voice taking on a condescending lilt.


Jungkook can feel his face getting warmer. He stays silent.


“It’s okay to like boys as well as girls, you know,” Jimin whispers. He brings his hand to Jimin’s face, runs his thumb along the younger’s flushed cheek soothingly. Jungkook hates how nice it feels. “It’s okay to like me.”


Jungkook squirms beneath him, still obstinately refusing to surrender. He can’t confess his feelings, he just can’t. Because the second he does, he’ll be vulnerable. His feelings toward Jimin have transcended the realms of physical attraction, that much is clear. But to admit as much would be to chart unknown territory, to throw caution to the wind. He doesn’t think he has the guts for that.


“But it’s not just that, is it?” Imaginary Jimin probes deeper, “There’s something else bothering you.”


“What are you talking about?”


“You think I still like Taehyung,” Jimin announces it with such certainty, like he’s reeling off a universally known fact. “You’re worried in case I could never like you as much as I liked him.”


Jungkook scoffs. “Why do you even like him anyway?” he asks, trying to deflect and yet sounding far too passionate for someone who allegedly couldn’t care less. “I mean, yeah, he’s good looking I guess,” Jungkook concedes with a shrug, “But he left you for no good reason, you even said so yourself. Not to mention he has the personality of a fucking goldfis—ah. Jimin, what the—”


In the midst of his ranting Jungkook fails to notice Jimin’s hands slither up his t-shirt. It’s only when Jimin’s thumbs start to gently massage his nipples that he clocks on. He swallows, the compression of his throat audible in the heavy silence. He licks his lips, daunted by the way Imaginary Jimin’s staring at him—so intently, something resolute in his expression that somehow beguiles Jungkook into submission.


He allows Jimin to nip and tug at the hardening buds, sucks in a breath when he traces his fingertips along his areola teasingly. Meanwhile Jimin resumes his grinding, ruts against Jungkook’s tensed thigh without a semblance of shame.


“Sensitive baby,” Jimin coos at how the younger shivers at the dual sensations, pinches at his pebbled nipples extra hard purely for the sake of being wicked. He then leers up at Jungkook with hooded eyes, the corners of his lips twisting smugly. “So stubborn, but as soon as I touch you here—“ he twists at the erect nipples in his grasp harshly, deriving a hiss from Jungkook, in order to prove his point—“you’re a little whiny mess, aren’t you?”


“S-stop,” Jungkook grits out through a clenched jaw. It’s too meek and mild to hold any authority, so Jimin doesn’t stop at all. In fact it only spurs him to carry on. Before Jungkook can even breathe his top is peeled off, tossed into the far corner of his room. A second later he’s being pushed onto the bed, his back crashing against the mattress and suddenly Jimin’s lapping and sucking at his chest. Jungkook’s torso arches like a bow—an involuntary plead for more.


Jimin pulls away rather abruptly, much to Jungkook’s discontent. His small, dainty hands curl around Jungkook’s wrists, his grip so tight it teeters on the threshold of pain. He pins the younger’s arms above his head, chuckles at the shock evident on his face. Jungkook blinks up at him owlishly, surprised by Imaginary Jimin’s domineering behaviour and yet…not exactly adverse to it. There’s something strangely exhilarating about being at Jimin’s mercy like this.


Jungkook fidgets a little, breath hitching when Jimin starts to rolls his hips again. He does it ever so slowly, torturously even, maintains his sedate pace until Jungkook can’t take it anymore.


“P-please,” he whines, ashamed by the desperation in his voice, “Need more.”


Imaginary Jimin refuses to indulge him. The movement of his crotch becomes sluggish, stagnant. Jungkook whimpers, literally fucking whimpers, at the lack of friction. His fully erect cock bulges against his briefs, longing to be touched. Seeing as though Jimin won’t appease him, he bucks his hips up in an attempt to instigate some traction between their cocks, but it’s useless. Jimin coils his fingers tighter around the younger’s wrist as punishment.


“I don’t think you deserve more,” he sneers, eyes twinkling devilishly. “Not after the way you treated me.”


“Wha—-what?” Jungkook’s bottom lip is trembling. The overwhelming desire to have Jimin touch, kiss, suck his painfully hard cock is insatiable. He tries to wriggle free from Jimin’s hold, but his attempted escape is thwarted by Jimin’s clasp becoming firmer. Jungkook winces.


“You just left me,” Imaginary Jimin says, voice laden with contempt, “You fucked me and left, like I was just some slut you couldn’t give a shit about.”


The brunette shakes his head, suddenly filled with remorse. “No, no, it’s not like that,” he stammers, “I was just—”


“Shut up,” Jimin spits, the acidity in this tone making Jungkook recoil.


Jungkook’s slackened jaw snaps shut immediately. Jimin’s pleased by Jungkook’s docility, it seems, because his hold on the brunette’s wrists loosens. Soon enough his fingers are trailing down Jungkook’s arms, rousing goosebumps along his skin. They glide over his chest, his abdomen, the jut of his hipbones, briefly over his dick, until he’s fiddling with the bottom of his hoodie. He goes to lift the material up, and Jungkook’s eyes bulge with curiosity, but then Jimin seems to think better of it, and lets the hoodie fall over his crotch again. Frustration simmers deep within Jungkook.


“Please,” he begs. His hands reach over to try and lift up the hoodie, but Jimin just slaps them away. Jungkook grunts. “Please,” he tries again, “Let me—let me see.”


Jimin quirks a brow, takes a second to contemplate his answer. “Admit that you like me,” he bargains, “and maybe I’ll show you.”


Jungkook huffs, glares up at Imaginary Jimin scornfully. Why does this Jimin, a figment of his own damn imagination, have to be so difficult? This is Jungkook’s dream—surely he’s the one that should be in charge.


A moan spills from Jungkook’s lips when Jimin unexpectedly grabs his clothed cock, squeezes his shaft with the intention of coaxing the confession from the younger. He does this twice, however it’s not enough to prise anything from Jungkook’s mouth. Jimin’s lips pucker, brow pulling together as he appears to deliberate something.


He raises his hand, and it’s only when Jungkook feels his balls sting from the impact that he registers that the elder is using force as a method of coercion. The pain that follows is dull, the throb rippling up his groin. He’s surprised by how titillating it feels, and very nearly asks Jimin to smack him again. But he refrains, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his eyes screw closed. He’s part ashamed, part aroused; the ambivalence making his mind hazy, thoughts clouded with lust.


Imaginary Jimin’s subsequent actions are gentle. His hands knead Jungkook’s balls tenderly, as if to alleviate the pain he had inflicted a moment ago. Jungkook’s so sensitive, legs spasming as sparks of pleasure splinter down his thighs.


“Say it, Jungkook,” Jimin commands, “Stop being such a brat and say it.”


Jimin’s clasp becomes firm and unforgiving again, and just like that, Jungkook’s guise of indifference falters.


Fuck,” his head rolls back against the pillows when Jimin starts pumping at his cock, the blonde’s own dick rubbing against Jungkook’s thigh in tandem with his strokes, “I—I like you, Jimin. Shit, I like you so much.”


The elder hums in approval. His grinding comes to a halt and Jungkook’s just about to cry out in exasperation, however he soon forgets about the ache of his neglected cock when he sees that Jimin is lifting his hoodie over his head.


Jungkook forgets how to breathe. His suspicions are confirmed—Jimin is wearing panties, and extremely pretty ones at that. The lacy material sits snugly on his hips, accentuates the delicate dip of his waist. The material is a peachy colour, the rosy pink hue a similar shade to the flush adorning Jungkook’s cheeks. The very tip of Jimin’s cock peeks over the band of elastic, just above the delicate bow that sits on the front.


“Do you like them?” Imaginary Jimin asks, a smug edge to his voice that suggests he already knows the answer.


Jungkook forces himself to tear his eyes away from Jimin’s underwear. He ogles at the blonde, mouth agape in awe. The elder is biting his index finger, feigning innocence yet there’s a suggestive smirk on his lips that undermines his demure facade.


The younger nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I like them,” he says, “A lot.”


“You wanna fuck me while I’m wearing them?”


Jungkook groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck. Yes.”


Jungkook tries in vain to ignore the way Jimin’s hand glides up his stomach, but alas fails miserably as soon as his fingers graze his pectorals. The pad of Jimin’s thumb brushes over Jungkook’s nipple, his touch feather-light and yet still enough to derive a gasp from the brunette. However, Jungkook’s far too consumed with lust to be embarrassed by his body’s reaction.


“Would you eat my ass over them?” Imaginary Jimin starts to palm himself over the sheer mesh, bites his lip as he does so, “Get my panties all wet and sloppy from your tongue?”


“Yeah, shit, Jimin I’d—I’d eat your ass so fucking good,” Jungkook blabbers mindlessly, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. “I wanna—wanna suck your pretty little cock.”


“You want my cum all over your face, hm?” Jimin brings his hand to to Jungkook’s soft lips, traces over them with his finger, “Or would you swallow it?”


“I—whatever you wanted,” Jungkook splutters, “Just wanna make you feel good, Jimin. Just wanna make you come.”


It takes Jungkook by surprise when Imaginary Jimin slots one of his chubby fingers inside his mouth. At first he grimaces, struggles to become accustomed to the unfamiliar sensation. The second Jungkook adapts, Jimin inserts another.


“Go on then,” Jimin orders, pressing down against Jungkook’s tongue, “Show me. Show me how you’d suck me off.”


Jungkook’s received his fair share of blowjobs, but he’s never considered being on the giving end. Essentially, he has no fucking clue how mimic sucking a dick, so what follows is simply guesswork. His tongue tentatively circles Jimin’s digits, cheeks hallowing as he begins to suck. He sustains eye contact with Imaginary Jimin through it, gut coiling with delight when the elder releases an elongated whine. He slurps messily, drool trickling down his chin and glistening on his lips. What he lacks in finesse he makes up for in fervour, moaning when Jimin plunges his fingers in deeper, almost stimulating his gag reflex.


Meanwhile, Jimin ruts against him. Jungkook latches onto the patch of darkened fabric situated above Jimin’s cockhead, the material soiled by his leaking slit. The knowledge that Jimin is so turned on serves to heighten Jungkook’s own arousal and his cock twitches, strained against his briefs.


“Feels so good using your thigh, Kookie,” Jimin purrs, “I think I’m gunna come just from this.” He wets his lips, looks down at Jungkook with his dilated pupils, “Do you want that? Do you want me to come in my panties? Want me to make a mess?”


Jung kook nods. With his free hand Jimin starts to pinch at his own nipples, a chorus of sensual moans dripping from his parted lips, his climax fast approaching. He eases his fingers out of Jungkook’s mouth, rests his hand on the younger’s hip, using it as leverage as the pace of his thrusts hastens.


Jungkook watches how Imaginary Jimin’s features contort, how his tongue peeks out in concentration, how his hips stutter due to the intense building of his orgasm. Jungkook’s stomach churns in anticipation, excited to see the elder come apart before him. Imaginary Jimin throws his head back and moans, long and loud. The friction from where Jimin’s relentlessly raking his hips along his thigh burns a little, but Jungkook is quite happy to endure it.


“Come on, keep going,” Jungkook rasps, encouraging him, “You look so hot humping my thigh like this, Jimin. Fuck.”


By this point Imaginary Jimin is shaking, his muscles taut and nerves strung as his climax looms. “Oh shit,” he cries, blindly grabbing for Jungkook’s hand and intertwining their fingers once he locates it, “I’m g-gunna—gunna—“


Jungkook wakes up with a shudder. He immediately bolts upright, palm flying to his forehead to wipe away the beads of perspiration that have accumulated on his skin. He’s hot, too hot, so he scrambles to rid himself of the blankets draped over his sweaty body. For a minute he just sits there, trying to tame his erratic breathing.


Once his heartbeat has calmed, he reaches for his phone to check the time, his chest and thigh still tingling from Jimin’s phantom touch.


2: 37 AM.


With a sigh he falls back into the pillows, looks up at the ceiling. He decides to confide in the white emulsion above him. It doesn’t seem like the judgemental type.


“I can’t believe I just had a dream about Jimin,” he says, deliberately glazing over the fact it was a highly erotic one at that. He laughs, “Well, I guess I can believe it. I mean…I like him, I think?” He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of his uncertainty, “No, I do like him. I know I do. But…I think I might’ve fucked everything up.” He groans and runs a hand over his face. “Maybe…maybe I should text him and apologise?”


He stares at the ceiling between the gaps in his fingers. This is what he’s been reduced to—seeking reassurance from inanimate objects. He worries that he may be losing his sanity. Regardless, he takes the ceiling’s silence as a yes.


He pulls up Jimin’s contact on his phone and punches in im sorry jimin, presses send before he can change his mind. Jungkook realises that’ll probably look a little half assed, so he elaborates on his apology by sending another.


can we talk?


i mean..not right now bc its like 3 am lmao


oh yeh sorry if these texts wake u up btw


im pretty sure u keep ur phone on silent so they probably wont


ok i’ll stop texting you now


sorry again




It’s a week before Jungkook sees him again.


As fate would have it, they’re thrust together on a busy Saturday shift at the cafe. There’s a constant stream of customers coming in through the doors, meaning Jungkook is rushed off his feet. He’s lost count of how many skinny caramel lattes he’s prepared in concession—apparently Jimin’s dance academy friends like to spend their weekends pumping their veins full of caffeine.


To make matters worse, Jimin is ignoring him. Just like how he ignored the bombardment of awkward texts Jungkook had sent him. Jungkook gets it, though. He does. He knows that he deserves the cold shoulder, to some extent, but he’s a little puzzled as how he’s supposed to make amends and redeem himself when Jimin refuses to even look at him.


Jungkook hates the bitter atmosphere. He wants nothing more than for things to go back to normal; he misses Jimin constantly jabbering on about something in his ear, misses having to nod and hum at regular intervals to assure the blonde that he’s still listening.


Jungkook intends to corner the elder boy at some point, wants to force Jimin to hear him out. But Jungkook ends up stumbling into an embarrassing encounter with the elder before he can execute his plan.


He’s just finished making (what feels like) his fiftieth caramel latte of the day, however this one in particular has required extra intricacy as the customer had requested soy milk in lieu of dairy and—she was very explicit about this—only half a shot of caramel with absolutely no foam. Normally Jungkook would flat out refuse to cater to such fussy demands, but he ends up acceding because she’s pretty cute and flirts with him whilst placing her order.


He goes to take the freshly made drink to her table and stops in his tracks. Low and behold, Jimin is hovering beside her; they’re in the midst of a hilarious conversation, judging by Jimin’s giggles and shrieks, although their chatter immediately ceases when Jungkook totters up to them both, his presence deflating the cheerful atmosphere.


He offers Jimin a curt nod but the elder shuns his greeting. Offended, Jungkook prods his tongue in his cheek and plants the latte down.


“Thank you so much,” the girl says effusively, batting her eyelashes.


“No problem,” Jungkook replies, still looking at Jimin.


The tension in the air spikes thanks to the awkward silence that ensues. The girl blinks up at them, conscious of the sudden hostility. Jungkook takes that as his cue to leave, grumbles under his breath as he turns to walk away.


“Oh wow, he’s gorgeous,” the girl says to Jimin, obviously under the impression Jungkook is out of earshot.


Jungkook slows his steps, purposefully loiters in order to catch Jimin’s response.

The blonde just hums indifferently, like Jungkook’s looks have never crossed his mind before. This bothers Jungkook way more than it should. He stomps into the kitchen and aggressively cleans some plates, takes out his foul mood on the cutlery. He knows it’s petty, but he sulks for the entire duration of the shift, refuses to speak more than two clipped words to anyone. When closing time finally rolls around, he rushes to the staff room and waits for Jimin to file in so that he can pounce on him.


“Hey Jimin, do you need a ride home?”


Jimin looks a little skeptical, probably assuming Jungkook’s offer isn’t entirely selfless, that it’s cloaking some sort of ulterior motive.


“Oh, that’s okay, I was just gunna get the bus,” Jimin juts his thumb in the direction of the bus stop down the street, chews on the inside of his cheek as he keeps his gaze downcast. He’s got his guard up, a seemingly impermeable barrier now wedged between them. Jungkook wonders how much grovelling it’ll take to break through.


“It’s late and it’s…cold,” Jungkook says, grasping at any excuse to get Jimin alone, “You don’t wanna be standing at a bus stop in the cold, do you?”


“It’s not that cold,” the elder counters. He looks up at Jungkook from beneath his lashes, his countenance a peculiar mix of contempt and fondness. Like he wants to evade Jungkook’s advances but can’t bring himself to.


“Come on,” the younger mumbles, soft and pleading. “I insist,” he adds as an afterthought.


With a sigh, Jimin yields. “Alright.”


They don’t speak for the entire journey. Jungkook turns the radio up to almost max volume in order to drown out his chaotic thoughts that bounce around his brain like overcharged atoms. Every so often, he glances at Jimin. He tries to be stealthy about it, however each time he stares at the other male for a little too long, has to force himself to keep his eyes trained on the road.


Jimin is typing away at his phone, oblivious to Jungkook’s gawking. Jungkook wonders if the elder has texted Taehyung recently, if he’s texting him right now. The thought just doesn’t sit right with Jungkook, spurs something resentful to stir within him. He doesn’t have the right to be possessive; a one night stand doesn’t constitute a relationship, after all. Even so, he can’t help but feel disdain towards Jimin’s ex, however irrational it may be.


Once they reach their destination, Jungkook becomes anxious. He cuts the engine. The upbeat pop track dies out and the low hum of the engine fades, plunging them into yet another stifling silence. Jungkook grapples with his nerves, forces them to subside.


“Jimin, I…I think we should talk about last week,” he finally says, grimaces at the way his voice wobbles.


Jimin lets out an elongated sigh. “I know what you’re gunna say.”


The younger can only blink. “You do?”


Jimin nods, eyes fixated on his interlaced fingers. He sounds sad, defeated. “Look, you don’t have to worry, okay? I haven’t told anybody about what happened and I’m not going to. You were drunk, it didn’t mean anything, I get it.”


Jungkook frowns. Is Jimin trying to insinuate that he’s ashamed of sleeping with him?




“Listen, you don’t have to apologise, alright? I got your texts. We can just…draw a line under it. Forget about it, like you wanted.”


Jungkook doesn’t miss the bitter twist to Jimin’s words. He shakes his head, about to object, but Jimin isn’t finished with his tirade.


“This isn’t the first time this has happened to me, you know.” He laughs dryly. “Some straight guy fooling around with me when he’s drunk, only to act like it never happened when he’s sober.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and for the first time since they entered the car he looks at the other male; his sorrowful expression piercing Jungkook’s heart. “And about those things I said to you…about liking you…I’d really appreciate it if you could just, I don’t know, pretend I never mentioned anything.”


He’s not entirely sure where the surge of confidence comes from, but before he knows it Jungkook’s grabbing at Jimin’s collar and pulling him in for a kiss. Initially the blonde puts up a little resistance, his small hands flying to Jungkook’s shoulders like he’s going to push him away. However all it takes is one swipe of Jungkook’s tongue against his bottom lip for him to succumb, his mouth parting to grant him access, his fingers curling around the brunette’s nape and weaving through his hair.


Due to their positioning, it proves rather difficult to deepen the kiss, but Jungkook perseveres, angling his body just so. Chaste pecks give way to exploring tongues, roaming hands and quickened pulses. Jimin produces sporadic little whines and Jungkook swallows them, eager to savour each and every one. After a short while his jaw starts to ache and his back throbs in discomfort due to the way it’s contorted, so he reluctantly pulls away with a wet sound, breath coming out in pants.


“What—what was that?” Jimin asks breathlessly, looking between Jungkook’s eyes.


“I like you,” Jungkook blurts out. “I…I like you,” he says it again, purely because he enjoys the way it rolls off his tongue, relishes the way the words sit in his mouth.




“I—fuck, I like you, Jimin,” he declares, “I think…I think I have for a long time but I just didn’t wanna admit it to myself.” He takes a deep breath, prepares to recite the speech he’s been mentally rehearsing all day. “I’m not embarrassed about what happened. Not at all. I was just…scared. And I know that’s no excuse, it doesn’t justify what I did because you didn’t deserve that at all but…shit. I was scared, I’m still scared, to be completely fucking honest.” His heart flutters when the elder clasps his hand and runs his thumb reassuringly across the younger’s knuckles. The show of affection helps to dispel his hesitation. “If you’re up for it, I wanna get to know you better. I mean, I know that sounds silly because we’ve been working together for over a year but…I wanna get to know know you, if that makes sense?”


Jimin nods, eyes gentle and understanding, prompting him to carry on.


“Do you wanna, I dunno, hang out or something?” Jungkooks gnaws on his lower lip, gaze bashful as he dares to glance at the elder boy.


He interprets the way Jimin’s lips immediately crash against his as a yes.




“When you said you wanted to hang out, I didn’t think you meant playing…video games,” Jimin drawls in distaste. He’s pinching the Xbox controller with his thumb and forefinger, dangling it at arm’s length like it’s infected.


Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” he promises. He shuffles back on his bed and pats the space between his legs, invites Jimin to nestle between them.


“Ugh, alright,” Jimin huffs, acquiescing. He strides forward and clambers onto the mattress, then snuggles up against the younger, his back pressed up against his chest.


The delicate scent of baby power combined with coconut shampoo tickles Jungkook’s nostrils. He sniffs as discreetly as he can, sighs as the blended aroma engulfs his senses once more. Jimin even smells irresistible.


Jungkook explains, as throughly as he can, how the game works. Jimin nods along, however Jungkook knows he’s not absorbing any of the information. Just as he predicted, the elder boy is hopeless. It takes him five minutes to even get his character to move, and even then he ends up strolling right into a open expanse, thus exposing himself to the enemy. His character dies almost instantaneously from the fullisde of bullets courtesy of a strategically placed sniper.


Jimin pouts.


“It’s okay, have another go,” Jungkook chuckles, holding back a snort at Jimin’s complete lack of skill.


The blonde doesn’t seem very enticed at the prospect of trying again, but he does so anyway, if only to indulge Jungkook. This time round he’s a little more determined, brow furrowed in concentration as he clumsily navigates the controls. It’s torture, watching Jimin play so tactlessly. Jungkook’s dying to snatch the controller from his grip and show him how it’s done, but forces himself to resist. He’s ever so patient, guiding Jimin through the process of operating a weapon even though said male fumbles with the buttons regardless of how precise Jungkook’s instructions are.


By some miracle, Jimin finally manages to shoot a member of the opposing team. He squeals in glee, whips his head round to seek praise from the younger. It was a complete fluke that had more to do with luck than Jimin’s input, but Jungkook still congratulates him with a kiss nonetheless. Jimin turns back to the screen, now completely immersed in the game following his achievement.


From that point on, however, he can’t stop kissing Jimin.


He presses his mouth against Jimin’s nape, grazes his lips along his neck, bites playfully at his earlobe. His arms wrap around Jimin’s middle, slots his chin between the juncture of his neck and shoulder, plants tender kisses along the skin that’s been exposed from where his baggy sweater has drooped.


“Jungkook, stop. You’re distracting me,” Jimin chides. He’s managed to establish some finesse now, fingers working methodically, no longer smashing the buttons like an incompetent child.


The thing is, Jungkook can’t stop. He’s acting like a lovesick teenager and normally he’d cringe at such behaviour, but he just doesn’t care. Not when Jimin’s so soft and warm beside him, not with the pleasant fragrance of baby power infiltrating his nose. Jimin tries to shrug him off but it’s a half hearted attempt—Jungkook knows that, secretly, Jimin loves the attention.


With Jimin preoccupied with the task of avoiding an impending airstrike, Jungkook snakes his hands down Jimin’s legs until he’s massaging the inner part of his thighs with the pad of his thumb. His fingers slowly creep further up Jimin’s leg, and at first, Jimin doesn’t seem to notice the younger’s prowling touch. Although, Jungkook does feel the blonde tense up when his fingers trace over his crotch.


One hand slithers up underneath Jimin’s jumper, the other slipping beneath his sweatpants. He rolls Jimin’s nipple between his fingers and gently gropes his soft cock over the fabric of his underwear. The concurrent sensations extract a gasp from Jimin, his head lolling back against Jungkook’s shoulder as he clasps his bottom lip with his teeth to suppress a moan.


“Feel nice?” Jungkook asks. Jimin is already growing hard, so he can only assume that it does.


Jimin nods feebly, cheeks blossoming with a pale pink flush. Jungkook stuffs his hand under the band of Jimin’s briefs and starts to pump his now fully erect length. At this, Jimin emits a noise that’s somewhere between a hiccup and mewl.


“Shh,” Jungkook soothes. He laps at Jimin’s neck and shoulder, sprinkles kisses along every inch of revealed skin. Jimin’s hips twitch, bucking up in a bid to create more friction. “Keep playing,” he whispers into the blonde’s ear, smirking at the indignant whine that follows his command.


Despite his reluctance, Jimin accepts the challenge. He focuses his attention back to the game whilst Jungkook sponges open mouthed kisses over his tilted neck. The latter brushes his thumb over the tip of Jimin’s cock, where beads of precum have accumulated. He lathers the precum along Jimin’s length, uses it to lubricate his ministrations, making the flick of his wrist smoother.


“Fuck, Jimin. You’re so wet.”


Jungkook’s words only cause more of the shimmering liquid to seep from Jimin’s slit as short, stubborn moans spill from his lips. The wet, sloppy sound of Jungkook’s hand moving up and down Jimin’s cock is barely audible over the explosions coming from the game, but the lewd squelches still ignite a sweet ache in Jungkook’s abdomen. He’s getting hard and he knows Jimin can feel his budding erection prodding against his lower back. Jungkook’s crotch thrusts forward slightly, yearning for some relief.


Jimin’s still trying to engage in the battle on the screen but his eyes are shrouded with desire, unable to stay engrossed in the game any longer. He fumbles at the controls, too distracted to exert any real effort. Jungkook’s tugging at Jimin’s dick faster now, the frantic pace coupled with the tweaks at his nipples filing the air with broken, high pitched mewls. Jimin drops the controller, the game now well and truly abandoned. He writhes, grabbing at Jungkook’s thighs that bracket his waist for purchase.


“Jimin?” Jungkook murmurs against his nape.




“Wanna suck you off.”


Jungkook’s kissing Jimin’s neck again, licking at the fine dew of perspiration that has broken out all over his body. Jimin swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “Oh. You do?”


“Can I?” Jungkook murmurs, somewhat shyly.


Jimin nods and from there it all happens very quickly. He kicks off his pants and briefs and crawls along the bed until he’s propped up by the pillows. He fists at his dick to keep himself hard while Jungkook situates himself between his legs. Said male lies on his stomach, using his forearms to hoist himself up. He’s staring at Jimin’s cock like it’s a complex maths equation, lips puckered and brow pulled together.


“I’ve, uh, never done this before,” he says, “So…yeah.”


He knows Jimin won’t be anticipating a stellar blowjob but he’s still racked with nerves, praying he won’t find his abilities dreadful and push him off in disgust, deeming Jungkook unworthy of pleasuring him. But besides, it can’t be that difficult, can it? Sucking a dick? Jungkook just decides to get on with it, because if he spends any more time fretting over his lack of prowess then he’s going to think himself in to a frenzy.


Jimin’s hairless cock is flat against his pubis; it’s shorter than average and it’s thick, pulsating with need. Jungkook thinks that Jimin’s cock fits so perfectly in his hand, like it was moulded specially for his palm. He gives it several tentative strokes. Although Jimin’s dick still glints with the remnants of his precum, the motion of his hand drags a little and Jungkook’s aware that he needs an additional form of lubricant to facilitate his movements. He’s almost positive there’s a bottle of lube somewhere in his bedroom but he doesn’t want to spend ten minutes trying to salvage it, because that’ll only tarnish the heady atmosphere.


Would asking to spit on his dick be considered poor blowjob etiquette? Jungkook does it anyway, dolloping a little ball of saliva on the head of Jimin’s dick. He smears it along Jimin’s shaft with his fingers in a rather fumbling manner. Then he curls his fist around it once again and gazes at it, almost expectantly, like it’s going to start talking him through the mechanics of fellatio.


Above him, Jimin whimpers. He’s squirming, impatient as he waits for Jungkook to do something. Jungkook knows that the restive noise roughly translates to just suck me off already.


Jungkook appeases him, licks up the underside and then suckles timidly at the tip. He lowers his head, gradually devouring more of Jimin’s length, brow crumpled at the strange sensation of having a cock in his mouth. His tongue darts out to lap up the streams of precum dribbling down the shaft, tries to familiarise himself with the taste. There’s a very slight bitter tang to it, although nowhere near as repulsive as Jungkook imaged it to be. Jimin’s hand comes down to thread itself through Jungkook’s hair and the latter groans when the former tugs at the strands woven through his fingers.


He bobs up and down, trying to initiate some sort of rhythm. His hand works along the length he’s unable to fit into his mouth, the strokes in tandem with the rise and fall of his lips. He widens his jaw to better accommodate Jimin’s girth, licks around the circumference of the head, depositing spit all over Jimin’s dick, right down to his balls. His chest swells with pride when Jimin shudders and keens at every flick and caress of his tongue.


He’s only been at it for a few minutes but his neck is already cramping up, so he pops off with a gasp. He replaces his mouth with his hand, jerking Jimin off as he blinks up at him, glossy lips hanging open. Jimin is chewing on the sleeve of his sweater, the cotton damp from his saliva, eyes hooded. He pushes Jungkook’s head back towards his dick with the hand that’s entwined in the brunette’s hair.


“Don’t stop,” he whinges.


Such a brat, Jungkook thinks. Like he’d have him any other way. Jungkook obliges, of course, mouth latching back onto the head, tongue swirling around and slotting into the slit, readily slurping up the fluid that oozes from it. His eyes flicker up to meet Jimin’s and the latter’s dick twitches when their gazes lock. He makes sure to sustain eye contact as he takes as much of Jimin as he can, his glistening lips encompassing almost all of him before he pulls back just as he’s about to gag.


Jungkook nudges the blonde’s thighs apart, brings his fingers to Jimin’s hole and traces them across the ring of muscle. Some of his saliva has trickled down Jimin’s balls and collected along his perineum. He decides to use the excess drool as a substitute for lube after pulling off Jimin’s cock and spitting between his ass cheeks for good measure. He very slowly, very carefully inserts his index finger as he mouths at Jimin’s balls. The blonde arches off the bed, a string of moans leaving his bitten red lips.


Jungkook expects some resistance from Jimin’s rim so he’s surprised when his finger slots straight in. Jimin clenches around his digit and Jungkook groans, wishing it were his cock being caressed by Jimin’s velvet smooth walls instead. He ruts against the blankets, his own dick forsaken and longing for attention. With a grunt Jungkook pulls away, a silver string connecting his swollen lips to Jimin’s balls.


The muscles surrounding Jimin’s navel constrict as Jungkook’s finger burrows deeper, breaching the band of taut muscle until his digit is driven all the way into the tight heat, right up to his knuckle. The blonde is mumbling incomprehensible gibberish; if Jungkook strains to hear, he swears he can detect ‘deeper’ and ‘faster’ laced somewhere amongst the symphony of staccato moans.


He wraps his lips around Jimin’s balls again, cheeks hallowing when he starts to suck. Jungkook doesn’t appreciate the way Jimin thrashes beneath him, not when he’s devoting all of his concentration to making the elder feel good. With a huff he slings his elbow over Jimin’s quivering thigh, pressing down to obstruct his incessant wriggling. Despite his annoyance, his ego preens, pleased that he’s able transform Jimin into such a blissed out, horny mess.


“Stay still, for fuck’s sake,” Jungkook scathes.


“I’m—oh god, do that again—s-sorry,” Jimin whimpers, a desperate cadence to his wrecked voice. He’s still gnawing at his sleeve, the material now thoroughly soaked from the drool that coats his lips and chin.


Jungkook fucks his finger in and out of Jimin’s asshole, working in sync with his other hand which pumps at his weeping cock. Jungkook messily slobbers over his balls and the other male throws his head back during a particularly loud whine, blonde hair fanning across the pillows. Blotches of red have emerged on his plump cheeks like blooming roses, the scarlet flush of his arousal spreading across his neck and chest.


“A-another,” Jimin blabbers, barely coherent, “Add another.”


Jungkook halts all movement, to which Jimin huffs indignantly. He looks up at said male with an unsure expression, brow quirked in uncertainty. “Are you sure?” he gulps thickly, “We don’t have any lube and—”


“Just do it.”


The younger complies in spite of his hesitation. He’s extremely cautious as he prods a second finger against Jimin’s rim, pushing it inside to nestle against the one that’s already enveloped by Jimin’s walls. Jimin hisses at the sting of his hole being stretched, although a rather masochistic part of him quite enjoys the burn. Once both fingers are fully inserted, Jungkook moves them in and out slowly, the oscillation of his digits producing a chorus of shrill moans that ring like a siren’s song in his ears.


“Oh fuck,” Jimin cries, chest heaving, “Your fingers feel so g-good, stretch me open so well. W-want your cock. Want you to fuck me so hard, pump me full of cum, wanna feel it t-trickle out of me—“


Jungkook feels his insides clench, dick jolting at the sheer vulgarity of Jimin’s words. Jimin untangles his hand from the other’s hair, instead shoving it underneath his sweater to play with his puffy nipples. His eyes are glassy and dazed, unfocused. He looks so debauched, so utterly ravishing, it makes Jungkook’s toes curl.


Shit, Jimin,” the younger gasps. He whirls his fingers around until he’s grazing Jimin’s prostate, then takes Jimin’s cock into his mouth and sucks, hard. Shuddering, Jimin yelps, body jerking uncontrollably, intense pleasure rippling through his veins.


“Close, I’m close,” Jimin lisps.


Jungkook goes faster, ramming his fingers into Jimin’s pink little hole at a brutal, relentless pace. The other male is practically sobbing by this point. It’s too much, his prostate and cock being stimulated at the same time. The fire that’s been sizzling low in his abdomen starts to engulf him, licking at his limbs, stirring in his loins. Jungkook seems to sense his imminent orgasm because he retracts his mouth, alternatively licks at Jimin’s sensitive balls.


A heavy beat passes and then Jimin’s climaxing, spurts of white shooting from his tip and splattering across his tummy. Jungkook strokes him through it, milking out every last speck of cum, whispers sweet nothings that Jimin’s far too stunned to comprehend. Jimin comes forever, long and drawn out, his spine curving beautifully as his back lurches off the bed. All Jungkook can think about as he kisses Jimin’s inner thigh is how totally, irrevocably besotted he is.


Jimin snivels, still reeling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. Jungkook eases his fingers out of Jimin’s taut hole as gently as he can, tells Jimin how good he is in a hushed, tender voice. His cock is softening in Jungkook’s hand, making it more pliable, so the younger experimentally licks a stripe up it, swallows the head and then goes deeper until almost the entire length is crammed down his throat.

“No, ah!” Jimin wails, body spasming. He pulls at Jungkook’s hair, tries to wrench him off. “Sensitive! T-too senstive!”


Jungkook pulls off until only the tip is in his mouth; he sucks once more, just to be cruel, and then soothes Jimin by scattering kisses up his thigh, across the jut of his hipbones, his lower stomach until he reaches the area around his navel where the puddle of cum has formed, some of it pooling in his belly button.


Curious, Jungkook runs his index finger through the gloopy, milky liquid. He leers at the way it drips thickly from his fingertip, the droplets splatting against Jimin’s trembling tummy. Suddenly Jimin grasps at Jungkook’s wrist, luring him from his trance-like state, and tugs his saturated digit to his lips and then he’s suckling around it, his tongue warm and wet as he cleans the sticky substance from Jungkook’s hand.


Jungkook gasps. It’s obscene, the image of Jimin gulping down his own cum so  fervidly, like it’s spun sugar and he wants to taste every last drop of it. He takes a moment to commit the erotic sight to memory—hell, he’d have it permanently burned onto his eyelids if he could.


Jungkook takes a deep breath, composes himself. He looks up, pins his stare on Jimin, and lowers his head. As soon as his tongue collides with the cum splayed across Jimin’s abdomen he can’t help but grimace, nose scrunching in distaste. The flavour is sour and wholly unpleasant but he doesn’t stop. He continues to mop it up, licking the thick fluid into his mouth and allowing it to collect on his tongue. Once there’s barely any of it left, he shuffles up Jimin’s body and shoves his tongue in to his mouth without preamble, feeding the blonde his own cum.


Jimin gobbles it up greedily, moaning at the way the concoction of cum and slaver trickles down his throat. They kiss for god knows how long. When they finally stop, they’re both breathing heavily, and Jungkook makes a noise of satisfaction when Jimin nuzzles into his neck. His boner is still raging but he dismisses the persistent throb of his groin in favour of pulling Jimin closer to him. He can’t quite recall a time where he’s ever been so content.




“Aw, are you missing me, Jungkookie?”


Jimin’s face appears on his phone screen and Jungkook almost drops the device on his head. The blonde is snuggled in bed, blankets tucked up to his chin, chubby cheek squashed up against he pillow that cradles his head. He looks adorable. Jungkook fails to restrain a coo.


“Maybe,” he mutters. He buries his face into the pillow he’s got bundled up against his chest and shyly peeks over it to assess Jimin’s reaction. He holds his phone at arm’s length, hoping the distance coupled with the dim lighting of his room will veil the embarrassed flush of his cheeks.


Jimin laughs, sleepily kneads his eye with his knuckle. “I’ve only been away for five days.” There’s a fond lilt to his voice when he speaks next. “But maybe I miss you too.”


When Jimin announced he was going to Busan for a week to visit his family, Jungkook hadn’t thought much of it. He definitely didn’t expect to be pining for Jimin’s presence like an addict craving their next hit after a mere five days, just 120 measly hours. But it feels like an eternity to Jungkook. At work, he mopes around listlessly, not sure what to do with himself, and as soon as he gets home he stares at his phone for hours, waiting for Jimin to text or call. It’s honestly quite pathetic, how much Jimin’s absence is affecting him. However in his defence they’ve been inseparable for an entire month, so he’s bound to be a little unsettled by the sudden severance.


Jungkook scoffs. “You maybe miss me?”


Jimin giggles, light and airy. “Well, you’re the one that decided to FaceTime me at one in the morning. Couldn’t sleep, huh? Missing me too much?”


The thing is, Jimin’s only teasing, trying to rile him up, but he’s right. Jungkook’s a lovesick fool if there ever was one.


“I’m just bored,” Jungkook shrugs, playing it cool, laying the nonchalance on thick, “…and horny.”


Jimin’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh? And what exactly do you want me to do about that?” He cocks his head, feigning ignorance, although the smirk that’s growing on his lips betrays his guise of naivety.


Jungkook repositions himself to get more comfy and manoeuvres the angle of his phone so that his face and chest are in the frame. He simpers, gloating at the way Jimin blatantly ogles at his defined pectorals, something lascivious swimming in his eyes.


“I thought maybe you could help me…” Jungkook tilts his phone to ensure that Jimin can see his hand disappearing beneath the band of his underwear, stroking himself to hardness.


“Ugh, not fair. You look so hot right now. This is coercion.” Regardless of his whining, Jimin mirrors Jungkook, starts to palm his cock over his pyjama bottoms. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes fluttering closed as blood rushes to his crotch.


“You love it really,” Jungkook chuckles. He notices Jimin’s dick twitch beneath the silky material of his pyjamas and he groans, loud and unabashed. “Shit…can you—can you get naked?”


“Jeez, someone’e eager,” Jimin sneers, tone mocking. But he’s soon adhering to Jungkook’s request, swiftly pulling his top over his head and kicking off his pants. He turns his phone on a slant, permits Jungkook to leer at his bare form for several seconds and then he brings the camera back to his face, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “Your turn.”


Jungkook really isn’t in the mood to mess around—he’s been incredibly horny all day, all week even, and quite frankly he just wants to get off. He’s watched copious amounts of porn, however the forced moans and contrived chemistry had done very little to quash the gnawing twinge of need that bubbles in gut. Instead of providing him with any relief, the videos had only led to Jimin pervading his every thought.


Jungkook’s briefs are discarded in an instant. He moves his phone lower, showing off his tensed abdominal muscles and his erection, zooming in on the precum that flows from his slit. He runs his thumb over the head of his dick, smearing the tacky substance along his shaft.


“You’re so big,” Jimin breathes, “Wish I was there to suck you off.”


“Fuck, me too,” the other groans. He starts fisting at his length, hissing when he envisions Jimin choking on it.


“You know, I made myself come thinking about your cock the other day,” Jimin declares brazenly, not ashamed in the slightest.


Jungkook can’t tell if he’s being sincere, or if he’s just saying such things to indulge him. He plays along anyway, far too aroused to be concerned about integrity. “Yeah? You love my dick that much?” He moves his phone so that his arrogant grin is in shot.


“Uh huh. Thought about your big, thick cock up my ass, stretching me open, leaving me gaping. About your cum dripping from my hole…I’d let you come anywhere, you know. In my mouth, on my face—wherever you wanted.”


“Oh my god,” Jungkook grunts, tugging at his cock faster. He’s so fucking filthy that Jungkook’s starting to suspect that Jimin writes porno scripts in his spare time. “K-keep talking, shit.”


“Sometimes I get off imaging you’re there, watching me…” The slick noise of Jimin’s hand languidly working up and down his length paired with the occasional subdued little moan has Jungkook panting, thoughts spiralling out of control.


“Oh yeah? You got an exhibitionist streak? Wait—who am I kidding. Of course you do. You got hard so fast when I touched you under the table of that restaurant. Does that turn you on, hm? Knowing you might get caught?” Jungkook is out of his mind. He’s close already, can feel his balls tightening, desperate for release. If Jimin keeps up this dirty talk he’s going to be finished in a matter of minutes.


Jimin positions his phone so that Jungkook has a perfect view of his fingers working deftly on his cock, squeezing the shaft on every upwards motion of his wrist. “Fuck—yeah. O-oh my god, Kookie, wish you were here right now…”


“What would you want me to do? I’d do anything to make you feel good, Jimin, fucking anything.”


“I wanna—I wanna sit on your face.”


“Hmm, you wanna ride my face till I can’t breathe? Wanna use me like your own little fucktoy?” Jungkook’s astounded by his own crudeness; he didn’t know he had  it in him to be so lecherous.


He spits into his palm and lathers it over his pulsating dick. He’s so close, teetering on the edge.


“God, yes. Want you to eat my ass, Kookie. Want you to eat my ass while I gag on your cock. T-then I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll feel you for days.”


Jungkook’s orgasm hits him unexpectedly, like a spring coiling tightly and then being released with no warning. He ejaculates all over his stomach, a silent moan turning his mouth in to an ‘o’ shape. He blinks, vision fuzzy. After a few seconds he comes to, no longer slightly detached from reality.


Jimin is jerking himself off still, features contorted as he chases his climax. His cock is so little that his fist, as tiny as it is, almost covers it completely. His eyes are shut, brow furrowed, teeth clenching over his bottom lip. He releases a dulcet, sweet-sounding whimper and then he’s moving his phone so that Jungkook can see the strings of white shooting from his tip, landing across his abdomen.


For a minute or so they both just lay there, spent and astonished. Jimin reaches over to the nightstand to grab a tissue, meanwhile Jungkook tries to collect himself, running a trembling hand through his dishelleved hair and gaping at the ceiling.


“So,” Jimin begins, wiping himself clean, “That was…interesting.”


Jungkook hums in agreement. “Yeah. I’ll have to call you next time I’m bored and horny.”


“Oh, so I’m just your booty call?” 


“What? No—“


“Then what am I, hm?” There’s a serious nuance to the question, despite Jimin’s playfulness.


Jungkook doesn’t know what compels him to say it, doesn’t know what kind of botched logic his brain is following, but the words slip out of his mouth before he can consent. “My boyfriend.”


Jimin completely freezes. He’s so still that Jungkook thinks that maybe the connection has failed, but then Jimin’s shuffling, the ruffling of the blankets startling him.




“I—nothing. I didn’t say anythin—“


“Boyfriend,” Jimin says, drawing out each syllable almost patronisngly, “You called me your boyfriend.”


The blonde brings his phone closer to his face, his brow quirked in question. Jungkook looks anywhere but his front camera, willing his blush of his cheeks to subside.


“I don’t—I’m not—it’s….” he takes a deep breath, then tries again, “I didn’t mean to, I just wasn’t thinking straight.”


Jimin’s face falls. “Oh.”


Jungkook wets his lips, “But I mean, I know it’s a little soon for that so…maybe, one day? You could. Be my boyfriend, I mean. If you wanted.”


The elder smiles, eyes sparkling with levity. “Okay, yeah, we’ll see. Goodnight, Jungkook.”




Jimin doesn’t contact Jungkook the day he gets home from Busan. Jungkook thinks this is a little weird, but he doesn’t kick up a fuss. Jimin doesn’t text or call the next day, either, which is even stranger still. But again Jungkook doesn’t dwell on it, because he’s fairly certain he’d come off way too strong with the whole boyfriend fiasco. Jimin’s probably being so elusive on purpose; his aloof, distant demeanour is likely intended to create some distance between them, to diffuse the intensity of their relationship.


When Jimin finally does call, it’s three days later and Jungkook contemplates whether or not he should even answer. Perhaps he should just let it ring, send him an evasive text a few hours later, something along the lines of sorry i was busy. But then he realises how ridiculous he’s being and he forgets all about his last shred of pride.


“Hey, Jimin. How’s it going?”


On the other end, Jimin sniffles. If the broken sob that crackles down the line is indicative of how Jimin’s feeling, then Jungkook presumes that it’s not going well at all.


“I—I’m okay,” Jimin assures him, however the croaky pitch of his voice says otherwise. “Are you b-busy? Right now?”


Jungkook’s already shrugging on his jacket and fetching his car keys. “No, I’m not busy. Are you alright? Do you need me?”


“Can you c-come over?” Jimin barely manages to get the words out, a tremulous snivel that makes Jungkook’s gut wrench in agitation overpowering his timid voice.


Cradling his phone against his shoulder, Jungkook unlocks his car and slips into the driver’s seat. “On my way.”


By the time he arrives at Jimin’s apartment, Jungkook is fretting so much he can scarcely keep track of his thoughts. He knocks on the door and braces himself.


A few seconds later Jimin swings it open and Jungkook’s heart plummets to the pit of his stomach. The elder boy looks awful; hair untamed, eyes bloodshot and sunken, cheeks stained with dried tears. He’s nervously wringing the loose material of his sweater, purposefully avoiding Jungkook’s stare. He sniffs, stepping aside to allow Jungkook to enter. Said male hesitates a little before he does so.


“Jimin…” he says sotto voce, incapable of articulating his concern more eloquently.


The other inhales shakily. There’s a fresh round of tears cumulating in his eyes, which he tries in vain to blink away. A single droplet escape from the outer corner, racing down his glossy cheek. “Can you sit down?” Jimin gestures towards the sofa, voice quivery albeit firm. 


Jungkook’s too stupefied to do anything but obey. He plonks himself down on the couch, slack jawed expression focused solely on Jimin, who shuffles over to join him after a few seconds of fraught silence.


“Jimin, come on, tell me what’s wrong,” Jungkook coaxes him gently, “You’re scaring me.”


“You’re g-gunna h-hate me,” Jimin blubbers.


Jungkook sighs, brings his hand up to tuck a stray wisp of blonde hair behind Jimin’s ear. “I’m not gunna hate you, Jimin. Surely it can’t be that bad…”


The blonde turns his face away and Jungkook’s hand falls limply into his lap. He gulps, his throat suddenly feeling tight.


“For the p-past week or so,” Jimin announces, keeping his gaze averted, “I’ve been texting Taehyung.”


It takes Jungkook a good while to process that. He gnaws on his cheek, his expression darkening. “And?”


“H-he said that he was going through a rough patch with Yoongi. I was giving him advice, as a friend,” Jimin clarifies, placing a strong emphasis on the final word. He gathers the courage to peek furtively at the other male, however the stoic face the younger wears only makes him whimper.


“Why are you telling me this?” Jungkook demands, “The fuck does it have to do with me?”


Jimin’s really weeping now, sobs shaking his whole body, convulsive gasps hindering his speech. “The n-night I came h-home from Busan he asked…h-he asked if he could come round, to talk…And I said y-yes because he seemed so upset, a-and I just wanted to help.” The blonde reaches for Jungkook’s hand but the latter wrenches it away, which only makes Jimin cry more. “H-he brought over a bottle of wine a-and we just discussed his relationship over a f-few glasses, and we g-got a little tipsy…”


Jungkook’s not stupid. He can tell that something far from platonic transpired between the two. Why would Jimin be acting so distraught otherwise? But still, he naively clings to the hope that nothing bad happened.


“But that’s it, right?” The optimism sounds strained, even to his own ears. “You guys just…talked?”


Jimin looks up at him, his face wrought with guilt. “I’m s-sorry, Jungkook. I’m so, so sorry.”