On public transit, Jimin has seen a lot of different people. He doesn’t keep track of who’s who, typically minds his own business, texting Taehyung or Jungkook, headphones in, mind distracted, except…
Jimin remembers when he first saw the stranger three months ago. He doesn’t know if he’d rode the train with him before — Seoul is too big for something like that — but he does know that he rode the train with him every day after that.
The man came from the same stop as Jimin, an area of Seoul that held the city’s biggest university, but also various corporations and businesses alike. Always wearing a long trench coat and face mask, it was easy to tell that the man likely worked nearby.
His stop, however, was two before Jimin’s — the upper east side, holding all of Seoul’s expensive penthouses.
Jimin, rather, got off at a stop which only led to cheap flats for poor twenty-something year olds who spent all of their money on textbooks and overly priced campus food.
Typically, Jimin wouldn’t be interested to notice the differences between himself and a stranger. But this stranger is constant, always beside Jimin while they wait in front of the tracks at the underground train station. He always lets Jimin go ahead of him, but stands a little too closely behind, hovering in a way to ensure that no one cuts between them.
Some days, Jimin is able to get a seat on the train right away. The stranger always follows, sitting beside him, if it’s open, or holding onto one of the handles in front of him.
Jimin knows better than to ever stare for too long. He minds his own business, head down, music turned up. He doesn’t look up when the person next to him leaves and the man sits beside him. He doesn’t look up when his messenger bag brushes Jimin’s ankle, doesn’t even move his leg away.
It kind of makes it look like they’re one — together.
And, the one time that they did interact, was when Jimin was sick in the winter, all bundled up in a scarf and hat, and he’s still half convinced that he’d dreamt it all.
At the time, there wasn’t a seat for the first half of the ride, and he tried to hold in his sniffles, was honest to god miserable, but it was hard to mask how poorly he felt, struggling to stay awake.
He shouldn’t have been at school in the first place, had to get home and rest.
However, when a seat did open, Jimin didn’t notice right away, far too distracted.
Suddenly, he felt the presence of someone’s hand on the small of his back, pushing him forward firmly. It was then that Jimin saw the open seat in front of him and quickly hurried toward it, but not before looking back to see the stranger in the mask.
There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind that he’s the one who’d touched him like that, purposefully guided him to the nearest open seat. It was too intimate from a stranger, especially another man, and he didn’t meet Jimin’s eyes for the remainder of the commute.
But, still, Jimin tried to get him to look his way for once, half out of it due to his cold, and half intrigued by the lingering feeling of someone touching his lower back.
Now, a few months later, and Jimin’s at full health in the middle of a rainy night in May. Due to a spout of thunder and lightning, the trains have been delayed, and Jimin squirms a little impatiently alongside far too many passengers like himself in front of the tracks.
Out of nowhere, however, the man in the mask appears beside him, perhaps a little too closely, but it’s like he’s noticed his own tardiness and has made sure to assert himself in his usual position — beside Jimin.
Jimin likes to delude himself — that touches and glances mean more than they actually do — so he figures the same applies here, too.
The train arrives at the station with a loud halt and everyone around Jimin goes into panic mode, hurrying to enter the train in hopes of catching a spare seat or something to hold onto. Jimin’s immune to this, and would honestly just wait for the next one, knowing that this train will be particularly crowded, except for the fact that he feels the presence of the masked man behind him.
Jimin adjusts his backpack on his shoulders, swallows, and takes a step onto the train, walking between people and into the very back of the vehicle. There’s a pole, and he seeks it out, as something to hold onto before the train begins to move again.
And, like clockwork, Jimin is unsurprised to find the masked man has also made his way toward Jimin’s area, looking down, avoiding eye contact until he’s standing behind Jimin.
Jimin’s feet have him planted between the stranger and the pole.
This is fine, Jimin thinks, because a seat will certainly open up soon. He takes out his phone and sets his headphones around his neck, waiting to listen to music until he’s gotten a seat in a couple of stops. He readjusts his fingers around the cold metal, hears the train doors close, and then, suddenly: a jolt.
The train goes back and then foward and Jimin, despite having something to hold onto, loses his footing. It’s hardly noticed — the train is too crowded to the point where the setting is beyond anonymous — however, the person behind him — the same man who seems to trail him with a frequency — sets his hands on his waist to steady him.
Jimin doesn’t think that he breathes, not immediately at least, realizing that someone is holding and rooting his body in place.
The touch, however, is removed, once Jimin’s still again.
Jimin swallows and moves in toward the metal pole until he physically has nowhere else to go.
At the next stop, more people get on than those who get off, some being turned away from the conductor, and all empty spaces are abandoned.
Jimin doesn’t realize that he’s pressed up against someone until he moves back a centimeter and finds that his prominent bum has nowhere to go.
“Sorry,” Jimin says, and tries to turn around, only to find that his hips are locked in place. His chest and the part of his legs are pressed to the pole, blocking his ability to move forward.
Jimin thinks that his apology must be drowned out by the noise of those surrounding him. Until, he feels the stranger behind him move just enough to show that the position they’re in isn’t entirely accidental. There’s no longer the pressure of someone’s hips locking Jimin in place, an indication that the masked man is so close to Jimin intentionally.
Except, then, moving forward once again and returning to where he has Jimin’s body pinned to the metal pole, the stranger whispers into Jimin’s ear, “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
And Jimin knows that his breath hitches, because while he’s never heard this man talk before, his voice is deep and he’s undeniably attractive. He can feel the fabric of his mask pressed against his ear, and the smallest thrust of the stranger’s hips forward, which have the largest impact.
Jimin has to choke down a whimper, feeling the metal pole pressed uncomfortably in between his legs. He tells himself that it’s just temporary and accidental, that, for the sake of politeness, he can endure something like this, but the stranger seems dissatisfied by Jimin’s lack of response.
The stranger angles his hips forward again, and this time Jimin lets out a soft whine, feeling his cock pressed against the metal through his jeans.
“That’s better,” the man speaks again, and every time, it feels faint to Jimin, unfamiliar, something that isn’t real. “What’s your name?”
Jimin knows better than to engage with strange men touching him like this. He knows better, but he feels oddly comfortable with this one man, as he’s seen him every day for the past ninety days, and, often times, when he leaves the train, Jimin nearly feels inclined to say goodbye to the man out of familiarity.
So, Jimin clears his throat and replies, softly, still trying to turn around, though it’s futile, “Jimin.”
“Jimin,” he hums, like he’s tasting the name on his tongue, “I’m Yoongi. You can call me hyung.”
“Hyung,” Jimin tries, and he really didn’t expect to interact with anyone on the train today, “you’re hurting — ah, my, ah — my, y’know.”
As Jimin speaks, the train jolts, and Yoongi uses it as an excuse to push his weight further against Jimin, move in a small grind of his crotch against Jimin’s bum that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“What? I’m not doing anything.” Yoongi sounds genuinely confused.
Jimin — Jimin just gapes in disbelief, confused because, how can this man not realize what he’s doing to Jimin’s body, controlling it and pushing him forward.
Quickly, however Jimin realizes that Yoongi is teasing him, when he wraps his arm around his waist just enough to have a proper grasp, and pushes his hips backward. Yoongi manages to place a distance between Jimin and the pole, whilst hugging his bum to his crotch.
Easily, the man’s hand claims the territory of Jimin’s right hip bone.
Suddenly, Jimin is able to distinctly feel something hard pressing into his ass.
Jimin swallows and looks around. They’re between stops, the lighting is dim, and everyone around them is minding their own business - staring out the dull windows or asleep. There’s no conscientiousness about their surroundings.
No one sees how Jimin’s body is suddenly being manipulated.
“You’re a cute little thing.” Yoongi’s mask is still brushing his ear, Yoongi’s talking ever so discretely so that only Jimin can hear. “These rides are so long. Do you mind if I…?”
Jimin initially squirms, feeling a hand that doesn’t belong to himself linger in between his legs, replacing where the pole once was, and finding the hardening flesh of his prick. He gasps, and then moans, unintentionally, bucking back against Yoongi during a particularly rough bump that shakes the entire carriage.
“N-No,” he starts, and then, “I mean, s’okay, you can, that’s okay.”
Jimin can feel his pulse pounding. He knows that he’s overstimulated — the combination of the unsteady ground beneath his feet, the noise of people talking, the loud clanking of a train on its tracks and the conductor announcing the individuals stops.
The feeling of someone pressed up behind him.
And Jimin knows, to make it all worse, how dirty it is to let a man he doesn’t know touch him like this. To not push Yoongi away when he presses his hand in the middle of Jimin’s legs, forcing them to part firmly, and then pets his thumb over Jimin’s cock through his jeans.
It’s simple: Jimin rests his head against the pole in front of him, and to anyone else it just looks like he’s tired. No one can see that there’s a hand in between his legs, teasing him slowly, as it’s blocked from sight by the edge of a passenger seat and someone’s suitcase.
“That’s a good boy.” Yoongi breathes, feeling Jimin relax, though he is everything but.
Jimin can’t help it, letting out the quietest moan.
Despite the situation, in all fairness, Jimin has thought dirty things about the stranger — Yoongi — once or twice before. Things that verge I saw a hot stranger the other day and break into the territory of I fantasized about him fucking me raw.
But this stranger doesn’t shy away from Jimin, who can’t help but blush at the praise and lean further into Yoongi’s touch as a way of response.
Jimin can’t be too sure if Yoongi’s hesitance to take things further is due to their setting — a hot train crowded with other bodies — or because he doesn’t want to take things further, but, regardless of intentions, Yoongi doesn’t make an effort to dip his hand into Jimin’s pants like Jimin would prefer.
It’s all rubbing, something that builds Jimin’s need over time until he’s desperate and leaking precome. Until his prick is just a hardened thing pressing against his jeans and staying still for Yoongi’s complete and utter manipulation.
Jimin, more like, is still for Yoongi’s manipulation, doesn’t complain when Yoongi stills his hand upon seeing the train doors open for a group of passengers to get off, and a different group to enter. Yoongi seems to kiss Jimin behind his ear through the face mask, a motion that Jimin’s able to feel despite the fabric, and whispers, “You like this, don’t you?”
Jimin nods, pathetically, against the pole.
“No, I want you to tell me with your words.” Yoongi’s voice is hard, though it’s been consistently like this. There’s no ounce of friendliness to it, just him simply asserting himself and telling Jimin that he’s the one in charge.
Jimin lets out the softest whine, a shakey breath that goes unnoticed, and manages to reply, “Please, hyung, your hand’s so nice.”
With that, Yoongi gives Jimin’s prick a squeeze, enough to push him closer, and Jimin knows that with a few quick strokes, or even more long ones, he could come. He’s accepted the possibility of jizzing in his jeans, chases it, really.
Suddenly, Jimin hears a soft laugh in his ear, something taunting, and it makes his insides churn in anxiety and confusion, unsure about what he’s said wrong.
“You haven’t had anything yet, sweetheart.”
Jimin swallows and raises his head. He can see that Yoongi’s stop is soon and wonders if he’ll stay longer.
Yoongi seems to be thinking the same thing. He goes back to petting Jimin softly, all the while explaining, “On Monday night, do you want me to play with you like this again?”
He’s so slow, his fingers ever so light, and Jimin tries to buck forward, to get more, but Yoongi’s good at this — controlled.
“Or do you want more than what I’m giving right now?”
It’s a no brainer. Jimin’s so close to coming, but the feeling is premature. He needs more.
“More,” Jimin responds, realizing that Yoongi has another idea.
He wants to hear it.
“I want you to open yourself up before you get on the train, then, okay?”
Jimin’s mind is foggy. He isn’t entirely processing such a prospect, hears it and remembers it, but not what this might mean.
“You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
Yoongi speeds up his hand, squeezing Jimin and kissing his neck through the face mask. Jimin wiggles, if only to get a sense of how hard Yoongi must be, too.
He thinks that Yoongi is going to let him come, when he lets his forehead fall against the pole once again and breathes, “Yes, hyung.”
“Yes, hyung, what?” Yoongi, suddenly, undoes the zipper of the front of Jimin’s jeans. He doesn’t touch Jimin’s bare cock, but there’s something humiliating about having the front of his boxers exposed like this, about Yoongi rubbing him through them with the small, tented hole of his zipper.
“I’ll open myself up for you.”
“Good.” Yoongi gives Jimin another kiss, quick and like he’s rewarding him for his behavior. “You want to come now, baby?”
“Please?” Jimin’s voice cracks, and he can’t believe that he’s pleading a total stranger for something like this, but, at this rate, he knows that he’d do and agree to anything.
When Jimin comes, it’s because Yoongi’s large hand has managed to wrap around him through his boxers. His jeans somehow make their way just slightly down Jimin’s hips, enough to give Yoongi proper access but still be discrete, and Jimin is certain that his knees buckle as he leans against the pole for support.
Yoongi, however, seems to expect something like this, grabbing Jimin’s waist and pressing him to his body for support.
Jimin moans, and Yoongi has to hush him, whispering, “That’s it, baby, be quiet for me, though. Shhh,” and, if anything, it just makes Jimin’s release that much more intense.
Except, as quick as it happens, it leaves him, because Yoongi is fixing Jimin’s pants back up his waist, both of them ignoring the giant come stain leaking through Jimin’s boxers, and then ushering him toward a seat.
The train is clearing out. Jimin faintly hears the conductor calling for Yoongi’s stop.
Though, Jimin’s exhausted, all saggy bones and rosey red cheeks. His head hangs a little, completely unfocused and wrecked, and suddenly Yoongi grabs his chin and lifts his head off of his neck.
Jimin is looking directly into Yoongi’s eyes, and while he still can’t see his full face, he can tell that he’s definitely attractive underneath the mask.
“You’ll remember our deal, won’t you?” Yoongi asks, quickly because the doors are opening.
He doesn’t know how he could forget.
Jimin feels overwhelmed, stunned on his walk from the train station to his flat. He manages to drag his body from one location to the other by preoccupying his mind with what he’s going to tell Taehyung — his best friend who he’s never kept anything from, let alone hookups.
Though, he doesn’t know what to call Yoongi. He doesn’t quite fit under the title of a hookup, even if it was spontaneous. The problem, actually, may be that it was too spontaneous, verging shameful and desperate, and Jimin feels dirty for letting someone he doesn’t know touch him like that.
It was convenient, though. It felt good, and Yoongi’s always been this looming, attractive figure on all of his train rides home.
Eventually, as Jimin peels off his clothes and throws his underwear in the wash, Jimin realizes that he can’t tell Taehyung.
They share the weird and gross, the sad and depressing, but.
This is different. This is darker.
So, Jimin sulks on his bed and thinks about what he’s going to do. Though he only has an hour or so of hindsight, he knows that what he’s done is dangerous and unsafe, and playing along for Monday is...likely going to be even worse.
Jimin considers, maybe, negotiating with himself: he can do what he wants, act impulsively for the sake of sex, but he should really search this guy up on Facebook first, verify that he’s not a total creep, see what he looks like without the mask, something.
Except, something dawns on Jimin rather quickly.
The appeal is that he doesn’t know this man. He could be anyone.
Jimin doesn’t know why this gets him hard again, he normally doesn’t get off twice within a three hour time span, but when he touches himself, all he can think about is the stranger on the train: Yoongi.
When Jimin gets to the train station on Monday night, there’s lube staining the bottom of his underwear and he’s half hard in his jeans. Somehow, in the crowded station, Yoongi still ends up standing beside him in front of the tracks.
Though, Jimin doesn’t notice him until there’s a hand grabbing his bum and Yoongi’s pulling him into his side.
“Did you do your homework, Jimin?” Yoongi’s voice is even, and when Jimin turns his head, he’s wearing a face mask and trench coat once again.
Jimin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and releases it, feeling his chest pound in the same way that it had Friday night, and has every time he’s thought about this since.
“Yeah,” Jimin feels his voice crack embarrassingly, “I did it, hyung.”
“Good boy,” Jimin can’t see, but he’s pretty sure that Yoongi’s smirking.
They stand in silence, though to anyone else, they’re a couple waiting for the train — same destination, together. Because Yoongi changes from just having his hand on Jimin’s bum, to a firm grasp, long fingers squeezing and not letting go, and Jimin gasps, moving so that his head presses against the man’s arm.
“Hyung,” Jimin complains weakly, because a part of him likes it.
It’s fine, though, as none of this lasts long, anyway. Soon enough, the train comes down the tracks and Jimin lets out a breath of relief when Yoongi’s no one longer gripping him so tightly, because it gives him a moment to think and anticipate, comprehend, and…
Yoongi leans down to Jimin, who’s a few centimeters shorter, and whispers, “Make sure to get us a seat, baby.”
Jimin swallows and nods his head obediently. It’s not much different now, the way that Yoongi trails behind him into the train. It’s typical.
The only difference is that once Jimin’s claimed a seat, a little confused as to where Yoongi’s going to sit, Yoongi stands in front of him and gestures for him to get up.
Jimin tilts his head but obeys, watching as Yoongi steals the seat for himself, and then grabs Jimin’s waist to pull him back onto his lap.
Admittedly, the way that Yoongi manhandles him and how hard Yoongi feels beneath him gets Jimin harder than he was when he first arrived at the station. He sets his backpack by his feet and leans against Yoongi, wondering where this is all going, until:
“Jimin, sweetheart, put your backpack on your lap.”
Jimin hesitates confusedly, but consents, holding the fabric to his chest. This way, at least, no one would ever be able to see how hard he is.
This way, Yoongi is able to dig his hand into the front of Jimin’s pants, unbutton his jeans, undo the zipper, and play with him for a minute or so while the train is still boarding.
Jimin opens his legs a little wider, and he feels dirty, exposing himself like this. Yoongi’s legs are in between his, despite him still being on top, and he lets all of his weight go against him.
Embarrassingly, Jimin is prematurely all too eager.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Yoongi begins, and Jimin takes a deep breath, feeling Yoongi’s large hand press against his much smaller prick, “At the next stop, you’re gonna lift your bum and pull your pants down just enough for me, and I’m gonna get my cock out.”
Jimin feels…he feels like he stops breathing for a moment. Everything becomes very real.
“Hyung,” Jimin says softly and reflexively wraps his hand around Yoongi’s wrist, the one teasing him. “What if someone sees?”
Despite Jimin’s doubts, Yoongi stays confident.
“No one will,” he tells him, like maybe he’s done this before, “not if you do what I say.”
Jimin wants to — Jimin wants to listen to Yoongi so bad that he doesn’t think much about it when he lifts his hips at the next stop and pulls the back of his jeans down just enough. At the same time, he knows that Yoongi is fumbling with the zipper of his pants, that he’s able to shield Jimin’s bare bum with his trench coat, the same one he’s been wearing for months, that Jimin had thought makes him look hot.
And, when Jimin lowers his hips back down so that his bum is in Yoongi’s lap, he can feel Yoongi’s bare cock fall between his lubed cheeks.
Jimin’s cock twitches and he feels his stomach pool with need. He’s desperate, can feel how big Yoongi is, that he’s already hard, that he easily slips between his cheeks, and—
Suddenly, Yoongi speaks at a normal volume, and the person beside them can definitely hear. He puts his hands on Jimin’s waist, pinning his trench coat to him to hide where their parts are bare, and speaks, “Jimin, you’re so heavy, babe,” all the while lifting him off of his lap just enough for his cock to stick upright, for it to settle itself between Jimin’s cheeks once again, and for the tip to press inside of Jimin’s loosened entrance.
Yoongi bottoms out without a moment’s notice.
Jimin feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, feels his own cock strain against his boxers and poke through the hole where his zipper’s undone at the front of his jeans. He grips his backpack to his chest and feels the burn of being stretched, but also the fullness, feels the pressure on his prostrate, and the relief of having Yoongi inside of him.
“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin starts, but his voice is so pitifully weak with his need, “what — I need more. What’re you gonna do?” He wants to know, can’t handle the anticipation nor surprise of it again.
He can’t believe that no one’s detected anything, that he’s being impaled like this in public without anyone seeing.
“No, Jimin,” Yoongi’s quick to correct him, “it’s what you’re gonna do.”
And Jimin doesn’t understand, because Yoongi is clearly the one in charge, has one hand on Jimin’s waist, and the other moving back to pet at his clothed erection.
“Discretely, I want you to hump your backpack. And every time there’s a bump or the train’s unsteady and the people standing struggle to keep their balance, I want you to bounce your hips a little more and let me rub against your prostate, okay?”
On Friday, Jimin’s interaction with Yoongi was all Yoongi. It was his body being manipulated and toyed with, no effort made on Jimin’s part.
And, now, it’s all Jimin, who feels humiliated, though no one can really tell, as he moves his hips to press his cock against his backpack. Yoongi moves his hand so that both of his are holding Jimin’s waist, and to anyone else it looks like he’s just keeping Jimin steady on his lap.
But, that really isn’t the case, when Yoongi’s fingers are tight and his cock’s stretching Jimin open.
Jimin can see how this is the perfect position for Yoongi. Jimin’s doing all of the work, is able to give his cock friction, whilst subtly fucking himself on Yoongi’s cock. And, staying true to Yoongi’s command, Jimin makes sure to lift his hips a little more dramatically every time the train stumbles over a track and everyone bounces.
Jimin, of course, bounces more than necessary, and Yoongi holds onto him tighter, moans in his ear, and Jimin would do anything to hear that noise again.
“You like this?” Yoongi asks. “Tell me how you like this.”
“S’just,” Jimin tries to explain, but he’s distracted, “you’re, um, you’re really big.”
Yoongi hums, as if Jimin’s more coherent than he actually is. “If I told you to get off my cock, would you?”
“I don’t—“ Jimin begins, “I don’t want to.”
There’s a silent pause. Yoongi doesn’t say anything.
“Did you, you want me to?”
Jimin’s suddenly confused. He thought that they were just dirty talking, but he’s a little panicked by this suggestion, because he needs Yoongi more than he might’ve thought, and—
“Try it,” Yoongi offers, “get off.”
He doesn’t sound too serious, like he’s upset with Jimin or anything, but genuine enough that Jimin begins to lift his hips and quickly realizes—
“Hyung,” he whines, “‘m stuck. I have to— I can’t get off you without standing. You know I can’t stand.”
There’s no way for Jimin to subtly slide up and push his pants back on. He’d really have to show his bum to the whole train, and he can’t risk something like that.
“Oh,” Yoongi sounds surprised, though it’s all mockery, “you’re stuck on me, baby?”
“Yeah, I— what do I do?” Jimin’s weak and a little panicked, forcing himself to keep his voice down. He’s reliant on Yoongi, completely.
Jimin can’t help that Yoongi’s too big, that Yoongi’s hard.
“Guess I’ll just have to come first then, hm?”
As Yoongi says this, there’s another train bump. This one is bigger than usual, and while Jimin’s just bucked his hips into his backpack, he bounces up, only to fall back down Yoongi’s cock.
And Jimin lets out the softest moan, something that has Yoongi moving his arm around Jimin’s waist and holding him tight.
“You really are a good boy, aren’t you, baby?”
Jimin whines in response.
“You’d do anything I said, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jimin admits, much to his own shame, “I will.”
“That’s okay,” Yoongi presses Jimin so that his back is flush to his chest in a way that would have him relaxed, if not for the fact that he’s not supposed to stop humping his backpack, that he’s too worried to get reprimanded for it. “Why don’t you take your cock out, then? Let it breathe, hm?”
Jimins breath juts and he shakes his head.
“Hyung, someone could see.” His voice is soft, pleading.
“Not if you put it underneath your shirt. I want you to come all over your chest.”
Jimin — of course he’d thought about coming on the train like he had Friday, but the reminder of if gets him just a little closer. The thought of coming with Yoongi inside of him in the middle of a public train. With his prick up against his belly.
“Okay.” Jimin concedes. He has to shuffle a bit, undo the button of his jeans, and then quickly block his cock with his sweater.
“You keep humping the backpack, even if your cock isn’t touching it. Need you to ride me like this, okay?” Yoongi sets his hand on Jimin’s prick against his belly. “I’ll take care of you.”
Jimin thinks that it’s much better like this, having Yoongi touch him through his sweater, when all he has to do is worry about riding him.
The thought of not being able to get up, even if he wanted to, gets Jimin’s pulse pounding, has him excited knowing that they’re both stuck like this until Yoongi comes, that he has to keep rocking his hips, or else Yoongi won’t, and that they could both miss their stops because of it.
And Yoongi’s hand touching Jimin is nothing but relief. He knows how to hold Jimin, wrackes his fingers around him through the fabric, and when Jimin chances a look down at his lab, he can see how much bigger Yoongi’s hand is than the size of his prick.
“You’re so cute like this,” Yoongi whispers into Jimin’s ear, “squirming on my cock. Desperate for more. Just want to fuck into you, but we can’t be too obvious.”
Jimin agrees. Anything other than this position is too much, but still. He wants it.
When the train stops to let another group of passengers on, Jimin watches as a girl around his age moves from the doorway toward the pole across from where he and Yoongi are sitting. She stands at an angle so that she’d be facing them, even if she isn’t looking, and Jimin’s cheeks flush in sudden embarrassment.
“You like girls, Jimin?” Yoongi whispers, still pumping his cock.
“No,” Jimin’s quick to defend, “I mean, um,” he stutters, “sometimes.”
“Oh, really?” Yoongi asks, perhaps intrigued or perhaps just plain mocking, “You’d let her fuck you then?”
Jimin swallows at Yoongi’s boldness.
“She can see you, y’know? Humping my hand so desperately.”
Jimin flicks his gaze to the woman again, only to quickly avert them in fear of being caught.
Because she stares back, stands confidently, wearing a blouse with the first few buttons undone. She stares right at Yoongi and Jimin.
Jimin suddenly stops moving his hips, letting Yoongi’s cock sink all the way into him, and he feels full, is reminded of how consistently big Yoongi is, but then distracted by Yoongi’s hand stopping on his cock.
Jimin’s heart races, thinking that he’s been caught.
“You scared, baby?” Yoongi doesn’t seem worried by any means, “She’ll see you like this and want a piece of you, too. And you’ll have to do whatever she says so that she doesn’t tell anyone.”
Yoongi begins to touch Jimin again, squeezing his waist with one hand and resuming pumping his cock with the other.
He should’ve expected something like this from Yoongi — the physical stimulation, but also the psychological humiliation. He likes both, he decides, one just as much as the other.
And here is how it ends:
Yoongi kisses the back of Jimin’s neck and whispers, “Be a good boy and hump your backpack again so that I can come,” and Jimin doesn’t know any better at this point than to obey him. He feels the slickness of Yoongi’s cock, filling him whole and rubbing his prostate. His fingers are nothing but petting his cock through his sweater, fabric rough enough to make Jimin weak, close.
It’s easy to tell when Yoongi is near coming, too, because his words are dirtier, his hold on Jimin tighter, like he’s just some doll positioned in his lap for his pleasure, and if Yoongi squeezes him enough, then he’ll be able to make himself come. Thus, Yoongi holds Jimin’s waist and squeezes his cock simultaneously.
Despite the excitement of being on a train, Jimin realizes quickly that he’s always particularly submissive right before he comes, desperate and willing to do just about everything and anything. For this reason, at this point, he prefers to be overpowered — wishes that Yoongi would just hold him against something and take over — and having to continue to work his hips makes Jimin whine in protest, grip Yoongi’s wrist a little frustratedly.
“Calm down, baby,” Yoongi tuts, “don’t make it too obvious that you’re about to come, or I won’t let you.”
The idea, Jimin thinks, of Yoongi coming inside of him right now, but not letting Jimin come himself, of having him prepare for something like this beforehand, using him the entire train ride, and then just leaving him on the train, all high and dry, is enough to get him over the edge, for his head to hang low and his chin to press against his chest, for him to let out a soft moan when Yoongi works him one last time.
For him then to feel his come stain his very own chest underneath his sweater.
And Jimin tenses, around Yoongi and on top of his lap, bucking his hips with another bump on the train that has Yoongi resting his head against Jimin’s shoulder and lifting his hips three times.
To anyone else, it looks like he’s adjusting Jimin’s position on his lap, but. Jimin knows better, feels the stretch and the fullness, and feels weak from Yoongi using him like this.
Yoongi, who comes with a muttered, “Fuck, Jimin, you’re sitting so nicely on my balls,” and, “Such a good boy, taking care of hyung on a train.”
Jimin’s embarrassed by the time that he comes down from it all, when Yoongi’s silent for a couple of moments, recovering from his own orgasm, leaving Jimin to his own thoughts, reflecting on what’s just happened and—
Jimin realizes that he has to get off of Yoongi, whose stop is coming up. He can’t just sit like this, with Yoongi’s cock softening and his bum already stretched more than it’s used to.
“We have to be careful,” Yoongi tells him, likely thinking the same thing. He carefully uses Jimin’s sweater to push Jimin’s cock back into the front of his pants in order to avoid getting any of Jimin’s come on his hand.
Now, unlike before, there is no one in the seat next to them, so Jimin thinks that at least he has somewhere to go when he gets off of Yoongi’s lap.
“I want you to lift your hips and pull up your pants, count to five, and then sit beside me, okay?”
Jimin, a little tiredly, hums, “Yes, hyung.”
Which, Jimin does, feeling Yoongi slip out of him as he hovers over his lap, lifting his bum. However, Jimin freezes when he feels his boxers tugged on from inside of his pants, Yoongi’s fingers locating the waistband.
And, suddenly, Jimin feels a wedgey forming as Yoongi rubs the wetness covering his cock all over Jimin’s underwear.
But Jimin can’t do anything about it, waiting until Yoongi’s cock is as clean as it’ll get, before pulling his pants up, counting to five to give Yoongi time to stick his cock back into his pants, and then, on weak legs, sitting beside him.
It’s not until Jimin’s sat down on his own seat that he realizes…uncomfortably, really, though there’s something exciting knowing this:
“Hyung,” Jimin whispers, turning to look at Yoongi, whose side profile is exposed to him now.
Yoongi pulls down his face mask and Jimin swallows, a little taken aback, because he has soft pink lips, a wet tongue that he grazes against his bottom one, and looks at Jimin thoughtfully, giving his face a once over. Yoongi smirks in amusement, too, knowingly, knowing the effect he has by exposing the entirety of his face for the very first time.
Jimin feels like he’s with a whole different person, a real person, as if the Yoongi from before wasn’t the same, all because now he knows what he looks like.
Embarrassedly, Jimin looks down at his shoes and whines quietly, “Hyung, your come is leaking out of my bum. I’m — I’m covered in it.” Because he can feel his own sticking his sweater to his stomach, can feel the warmth of Yoongi’s come pooling around his crotch, down where his boxers are loose against his inner thighs, and staining the inside of his jeans.
“That’s okay,” Yoongi tells Jimin, faux innocently, and places his hand on Jimin’s thigh tauntingly, “I can always give you more. Don’t worry about wasting it.”
Jimin just… Jimin doesn’t know what to do with that information, at the suggestion of, maybe, this happening again. He blushes, his cheeks red from just coming and from Yoongi’s implications.
Jimin doesn’t say anything else to Yoongi, who continues to touch his thigh, but he does squirm around the come soaking in between his bum cheeks, and coating his inner thighs. He can’t help but think about how he’s just been used, feeling small beside Yoongi as they sit in silence.
Yoongi, however, pats Jimin’s thigh when he’s about to leave for his stop, leading him to look up to acknowledge him.
“Maybe,” Yoongi begins, “I’ll play with you sometime again in the near future.” He offers this with a deviant look in his eye, knowing the exact message that Yoongi is trying to send.
He wants to fuck Jimin like this again.
Jimin wants it, too.
That’s why he stutters, “O-Okay, hyung,” and nods his head, stunned. Because he does want it, again and again.
Laughing, Yoongi commends Jimin, “Good boy.”
And, a few minutes after Yoongi leaves, it’s Jimin’s stop. He manages to subtly limp out of the train, relieved by the fresh air, and overwhelmed by the events of the evening.