There’s something Jimin finds alluring about being so close to getting caught. Call it adrenaline, call it him having a taste for things served recklessly, or call it him being bored enough to play. Whichever the case may be And whichever coincides with his moods, All lead to the same conclusion.
Doing bad shit is his drug, and Jimin is easily addicted to it. Thriving in chaos, he likes the surprise on people’s faces when he proves them wrong. Also likes it when he bends over and catches people staring up his skirt because nothing boosts an ego like catching a gang of het dudes pretending they aren’t drooling over the guy wearing the skirt.
Namely, he likes catching that hard-assed, thinks he’s too good for everyone else, Bastard in the grey Camaro. Known as phantom in the pit, there’s not much on him save for some rumors, staring at him the most. Technological guy likes his cars the way he likes his laptops; up to date and stocked. No word on how he likes his people, but Jimin has a feeling he likes em’ like him; because who wouldn’t?
It’s no secret Jimin’s mostly known for his looks, which he prefers. Tastes sweeter on his tongue, the look of sheer confusion of people’s faces when they realize they’ve underestimated him to nothing but a hot body, pretty face and big ass. Really, he doesn’t mind it, pretending in favor of winning in the end. In this life where dog eats dogs you gotta fake it to make it and jimin is all about making it. Money over everything, it makes his world go round.
He surveys his surroundings with faux interest, impatiently waiting for the verdict on his baby and how she’s faring after he last took her out for a spin.
It’s also no secret that Jimin likes it fast and he likes it dangerous; his car, the poor thing often suffers the brunt of it. This time, during a no-prep he’d taken last minute on account to the payout being too high to pass up, Jimin went a little crazy hitting the juice and scraped the fender of his girl, not to mention popped two tires and pulled the front fender clean off.
He’d still won and had gloated about it even as he wiped the blood that dripped down his chin from a split lip, but his girl had lost and she’d needed urgent care before she’d be ready to go again.
Jump to now:
Jimin skims his fingertips across the hood of another car that’s finished being tended to inside the garage, a gunmetal gray Dodge Charger, as he pops a lollipop into his mouth. Cherry flavored, he lives on ‘em so that he won’t take to smoking anymore, not to mention he likes the way people look at him when he sucks on them, but digresses.
All around him the air is thick with the smell of motor oil and paint fumes. Loud music plays in the background, something bass-heavy that leaves a thrum in the air, his baby is in the spot reserved for her tune-ups, right by a small office where cash gets handed, pinks get traded and nobody utters a word once they leave.
Jimin stares at his car with a touch of fondness, his cock half-hard beneath the panties he’s wearing. Thank god these jeans aren’t that tight, otherwise, he’d be giving the other mechanics, Hui and Hyojong one hell of a view.
God, she’s a beauty.
Candy apple red, she rides smooth but she rides fast under pressure, and Jimin, despite the way he treats her at times can’t see himself behind another wheel. He got fucked the first time inside that car, eighteen with a taste for danger, playing with fire as he’d bet the original owner that he’d beat him in a race, keep his car by the end of the night and get to ride him in the backseat or else he’d have to pay up cash he didn’t have.
Five years later, Cherry is his, better than ever and bringing in the cash, and the ass Jimin deserves. He hums appreciatively at the sight of fresh paint; his girl has gotten a makeover, and from where he stands, she’s looking good.
Speaking of looking good, Hyuna strides from behind it, one hand busy ruffling long locks of black hair off her face, the other holding a cellphone which is then tucked inside the back pocket of a grease-stained denim jumpsuit she always wears. She spots Jimin where he’s leaning and gives a roll of her eyes, which he doesn’t pay any mind to.
She loves him—“Ouch, rude !” Jimin rubs the tip of his nose where small but firm fingers just finished flicking it hard. As he’s wincing and shooting daggers at Hyuna’s two sidekicks (and rumored boyfriends but no one ever confirms it—the cowards) Hui and Hyojong, Jimin asks, “What’d you do that for, huh? Watch the face, it’s what brings in the money, y’kno!”
Hyuna, too un-bothered to care about him or his feelings much less his face, but none too pleased about the shite he does and the hell he gives her, says, “Moneymaker’s in the back where she can’t get fucked up. Just what's your angle, mh? Looking to bring her in pieces next time.”
“Day she comes in pieces is the day I come in pieces with her,” he mutters wryly, which earns him another withering glare. “But enough about me, how’s my best girl doing today? You took your time.”
“You act as if you brought her here with a scrape on a mirror, you punk,” Comes from beneath the body of the Camaro, which Jimin’s assumes to be Hui. Seconds later he’s right when he sees a flash of bright purple hair tinged with grease roll out. “You’re lucky that Dawnie knows a guy, otherwise you would’ve been fucked.”
Jimin cheeks the lollipop, so it distends almost obscenely and smiles. “Who says I don’t like getting fucked?”
As if he’s been summoned, white hair so vibrant you’d be able to find the guy wherever he’s lost and with a face like that, even as it’s stained with a smudge of grease, Hyojong appears from the office, wiping his hands. Distracted, not sparing him a glance either, he remarks, “We don’t fuck in here. You ever try getting some ass and instead of reaching for lube you end up covered in grease? It ain’t pretty.”
Hyuna casts him a glance that’s a mixture of disgusted and fond but doesn’t refute. Jimin doesn’t want to ask.
Call his mechanics crass, call them any name in the book and they’ll take it in stride, fucks long lost after years of dealing with gearheads that don’t know better, but never will he call them anything other than thorough when it comes to his baby.
Because his girl is pretty, but she’s also tough enough to handle him. 1967 Shelby GT500, she rides fast and smooth and Jimin wouldn’t want any other car. She’s also fun to fuck up every once in a while for someone who lives life as precariously on the edge as he does and apparently a pain to restore, but a dream to make even more beautiful than before. Vibrant candy apple red, flanked by stark white stripes on each door as well as the hood, it’s clear she's gotten a makeover, if the gleaming shine of fresh paint, as well as the lack of any nick or dent around the surfaces, and the darkened windows are any indication.
A look at her has him smiling as he’s led by Hyuna to get a closer view of how she’s faring after his last stunt. His mechanic pulls out a set of keys from the inside of her shirt, opens the door and then without preamble; because in this business time is money and if you ain’t got it you ain’t making it, turns on the engine.
Cherry comes to life with an almost violent roar, which then smooths into a barely audible thrum that satisfies him.
“I had some time on my hands, so I had Dawnie replace your tires, all four so they’ll stabilize your speed, not to mention gave her a new coat of paint and replaced that tacky white leather for something more your tastes that doesn’t stain as easily, not to mention I blacked out your windows to suit your exhibitionist lifestyle,” Hyuna tells him from where she sits, running delicate fingers across the heartshaped sunglasses hanging from his mirror. Supple black leather interior, she replaced his former seats and added a little extra for his benefit no doubt, as well as tweaked his sound system so that when he plays his music it’ll leave those around him clutching their ears from its obnoxious volume.
“Cute, but black stains real nice once some white gets on it. I’d know,” Jimin drawls, unimpressed by the teasing jab at him having sex inside his car, but smiling nonetheless as it comes with the reputation he’s made for himself. Making his bed and lying in it and all of that. “But thanks for the makeover and the favor, honey. I owe you one.”
“Owe me a couple,” Hyuna remarks, but does so fondly, moving and tapping the seat so that Jimin can take her place at the drivers' side and really get a feel of his girl, which he missed.
Hoseok’s a dream for driving him around, but if Jimin hears one more goddamn discourse about the perks of owning a Honda, he’s gonna start breaking out his other girl; his crowbar, candy, and whacking some heads.
Speaking of her, Jimin reaches around the car in search of her and is pleased to find she’s where he leaves her, tucked against the door Incase he needs to use her. Smooth black, she’s solid in his palms, forked at the tip and carries a dull but sufficient enough point that’s just right for him to intimidate those who try to fuck him over just because he’s pretty.
As he surveys the interior, finger smoothing over the supple leather and across the console, then his sound system, Jimin hums absently. Because Hyuna won’t take his cash in exchange for his services, but that doesn’t mean her and her crews time comes free. It really doesn’t.
“Hit me, what do you got?”
“Funny you ask, seeing as I do got something for you.” A smile curves the side of her lips. Gorgeous girl, Hyuna, and she knows it too. Knows anyone with a pulse that stops by leaves smitten by her looks, then intimidated by the two on her arm or covering her back. Two’s a party, but Hyuna thinks that there is more fun. She carefully slips a small black journal from her pocket, fingers slipping through the pages where she keeps all the information she’ll need easily; taking her sweet time. “Got a thing at the pit and they’re one short. Mentioned your name and the guy who heard it nearly bit my hand right off. You know a guy named Phantom?”
Jimin’s lips purse around the lollipop in distaste, as if he’s swallowed something sour because that’s the reaction one has to take when dealing with a hardass like that. “Depends on who’s asking,” he mutters, a touch petulant but too stubborn to relent in his tone.
“Ah,” Hyuna smiles apathetically, giving him a look he doesn’t appreciate. “Should’ve asked if you’ve pissed off a guy named Phantom, but I guess I got my answer. Anyway, his guy couldn’t make it and he needs one more driver. You up for it?”
The teasing insinuation of: are you scared? Clear between the lines, makes Jimin’s chest puff. Makes that chip on his shoulder dig deeper until it’s pressing firmly onto his skin with the need to show this guy, this Min Yoongi who thinks he’s too good for anyone but reverts to being another in a long line of men staring at his ass, what he’s all about. How he’s pretty, yeah, But is more than meets the eye. It makes Jimin feel a little mean, a little too stuck on arrogance to play it coy even for Hyuna.
He reaches inside the pocket of his jacket; smooth velvet in dusky pink with black flowers stitched into the sleeves, for his wallet, splays it on his jean-clad thigh and sniffs; a touch indignant and a touch anticipating being able to wipe the smug look off Yoongi’s face, because the guy talks a lot of game; walks like he isn’t just another down in the pit racing for cash and cars, and it doesn’t sit right with Jimin. Makes his blood run hot, with what he’s not sure: Hate or otherwise, the door is open for possibilities.
So he asks, “What are the stakes?” having a hunch before the answer even comes past Hyuna’s lips.
“Pinks: all out,” she says, then nudges his side at the unpleasant pout he flashes in return. Because nowadays the thrill of racing comes with a price tag attached, instead of how it used to be when he first started. Racing for pinks brings out the wild side in people. Makes them desperate, makes them eager to do whatever it takes to win so that their cars leave with them as they came. It’s rare to find anyone willing to take a chance, and Jimin is always disappointed.
“Figures Min would punk out of full pinks. Guy probably sleeps inside his car,” He mutters distractedly as he flips open his wallet to hand over his license to Hyuna. Standard procedure between them before a race: she keeps his proper I.D and swaps it with a faux one; same photo, different name. Just in case he manages to get caught and land himself with a hard slap on the wrists.
“Don’t be a snob, cherry, it doesn’t look good on you,” Hyuna remarks with a laugh, fingers coming up to give his hair a hard ruffle. “Can’t tell you what’s under that skirt, but Hui did the engine work and it’s nothing you should sleep lightly on. Remember we all got secrets up our sleeves.”
“Or as you put it up our skirts,” Jimin says, still sour that the first race he’s going to partake in after he’d been out of commission has to be with Yoongi of all people. No matter, he reasons. He’s got this in the bag; pinks or not.
“Forget all that though. The pit. same time as usual?”
Skin bathed in a flimsy but growing sheen of sweat, Jimin isn’t feeling the heat. If anything, surrounded by this—chaos of cars, the warm exuding from hot concrete melding in with the scent of exhaust fumes, cologne and floral perfumes, as well as the thrum of bodies pressed together from corner to corner amidst an abandoned strip of road within the outskirts of the city—gets him going. Makes him tremble with excitement to get in his car, rev his baby up and go go go until there’s nothing but dust left behind him.
And once the lineup commences and the flags been tossed, he will, But first, Jimin must deal with one pressing matter, which comes in shape of one Jeongguk and trying to get him to stop messing with his playlist in order to suit his needs. It’s not as if it makes a difference, what with there being a multitude of different cars currently playing variations of their own music in a nonverbal but very obvious, whose dick is bigger and who’s sound system is louder kind of affair, but still.
Jeongguk is classless filth, changing Exid off his playlist like that without his permission; the brat.
Leaning against the hood, lazy in how he examines his surroundings, much too quiet and handsome and too damned tall to be anything other than intimidating, is Jeongguk’s boyfriend and the only person who could reel him in should he choose to, Namjoon.
He sees Jimin coming and as it’s become routine for everyone who knows him and what he likes, unearths a lollipop from inside of his pocket, which he then hands to him as some silent show of peace so that he doesn’t throttle Jeongguk.
Tempting, and if the lollipop wasn’t cherry, then Jimin would’ve pulled through on that.
As he peels off the wrapper and sucks on the candy, cheeking it to the side once he’s gotten his first taste, Jimin rests an arm against the doorframe, where an unfazed Jeongguk has to nerve to mute his songs so that he can play something else. English, and most likely something of the top 40, as it pulls a smile up the corners of the guy’s mouth whilst he searches through his phone’s library for an option.
That is, he’s smiling until Jimin gets all up in his space, climbs on his lap and yanks the phone out of his hands to shove it down the front of his skirt, tucked snugly against the thin band of the fishnet tights he wears beneath.
Jeongguk glares at his parted thighs, sour and petulant, strands of red hair, one shade away from being hot pink, falling in a mess over his forehead as he pants. “Don’t think I won’t reach in there and get my phone.”
“Kiss my ass and don’t change my music again, you overgrown infant,” Jimin teases, inching away after pressing a little kiss against the kid’s nose just to see his face burst with heat.
Try as he might to pull of this facade that nothing can touch him to strangers and desperate guys and girls who want in his pants, Jeongguk is just a dude who’s reaching for stars with one hand on the wheel and the other still jerking his dick, and those are the facts, plain as day and plain as Jimin is gay.
Still, he’s a little shit and never knows when to quit, if the stubborn way he tries wrestling him inside his car in order to salvage his trapped phone is any indication. His mistake is he’s got muscle, but he’s lean and he’s too eager, which doesn’t fair well against Jimin, who has thicker thighs and much more patience.
“Gimme’ my phone—”
“Make me,” Jimin sings, rolling the lollipop in his mouth before he takes it out to poke it against Jeongguk’s cheek, getting it sticky with saliva and candy because seeing his face scrunch up in disgust is fun; Jimin thrives off chaotic energy when it’s not revolved around him.
In the most spoilt, Petulant fashion he’s ever seen, Jeongguk emits a loud whine from where he’s trapped under Jimin, scowling. “Baby, tell him to gimme my phone!”
Somewhere, from his perch on the hood, Jimin is certain Namjoon can see them and is sighing. Typical, he must be thinking. Just the two of them bickering again.
Eventually and after having enough of enduring Jeongguk’s pitiful excuse of a pout, Jimin relents And returns his phone, but only after giving him a warning look. “Touch my playlist again, I’ll break your arms. Go play in your own car.”
Jeongguk accepts the phone with a grimace, pocketing it inside his jeans before frowning. Jimin is still on his lap, and Jeongguk’s hand is still resting over his ass, real casual-like, which he reasons happens often enough to not be surprising anymore. “Nam won’t give me the keys. He’s scared I’m gonna go off and take our girl out for a spin before the race starts.”
As if he’s been summoned, Namjoon peers through the window, not fazed by their close proximity in the slightest. To Jeongguk he says, “You would if you could, babe. Don’t act coy,” And to Jimin he then says with a knowing smirk that’s unappreciated, “and you, Your Guy is here. His car just pulled in and she sounds nice.”
That is enough to rouse Jimin off Jeongguk’s lap and think about getting out of the car, but slowly and only after he’s returned his playlist to its former state. If anything is going to put him in a good mood it’s going to be music that’s his taste. He’s not about to jump because the phantom showed up. He’s late, and if Jimin hates anything it’s anyone showing up later than him.
In fact, Jimin decides he’s not getting out of the car at all, much too happy lounging against his seat, lazily suckling his lollipop to follow protocol wherein each driver greets those who arrive. Usually, he’ll throw a fit if it’s not done to him, but given the fact he can’t stand Yoongi then he doesn’t care to do so now.
In his usual fashion, Yoongi pulls his car in, only it’s not the Jimin is constantly throwing digs at, But a gorgeous, suspiciously familiar-looking Charger in gleaming black paint, which if he’s correct is 1970 to be exact.
He grits his teeth together. Goddamn Hyuna and her tricks. Of course, she wouldn’t have told Jimin that the car he’d been leaning against belonged to Yoongi. Of course not.
No matter. New engine job or not, Jimin isn’t going to falter, nor is he going to suddenly disregard his animosity towards the other racer. Old car solidarity be damned, he’s going to pull punches if he has to.
It’s a show of finding a spot in a packed area such as this one, but Jimin watches Yoongi easily pull in beside him through narrowed eyes, his car thrumming steadily, the engine low amidst the noise. His friends, the lot of them, Jeongguk, Namjoon, Hoseok and Taehyung (who also watches from where they’re sat atop the hood of the Honda) all send knowing looks toward him, which Jimin responds with by giving a small smile.
He tries ignoring Yoongi’s presence beside him, and instead, to be obnoxious, raises the volume on his song, and hums to it, in his world until the race begins and the pit pulls into that deafening silence that comes with everyone holding their breaths as they wait and see just who will cross that finish line. That is until he catches a glimpse of a dark tinted window lowering, and sees a flash of mint green hair.
He tries to forget the heat of a stare given his way, as well as the catcalls his friends join along with, but it becomes harder to do the more insistent it all gets. He can feel Yoongi’s eyes all over him, but despite the flare of faint heat that licks at his skin, he’s aggravated.
Because that’s all a man like him does, just stare and wait for people to gravitate towards him. Never one to make the first move probably in fear of tarnishing that squeaky clean reputation.
Jimin sighs deeply as the staring becomes a thorn in his side, and shifts to look across the car and see the other racer watching him. He looks a mixture of confused and a touch amused.
Neither sits right with Jimin, especially the fact that Yoongi looks so damned good sitting inside his car, one arm thrown lazily across the steering wheel whilst the other remains hidden. He’s wearing a shirt that’s visibly threaded with fine mesh and his fair skin contrasts faintly against it. Slanted eyes remain on him for a few seconds, until a dark eyebrow raises past a strand of mint hair and there’s a nudge thrown his way.
Jimin, assuming the guy must be giving him some sort of nonverbal hint about turning the music down so they can talk, does so, but only because he’s curious as to what the guy is breaking their nonverbal agreement not to speak to each other for.
“The way you keep staring makes me think you’re after something inside my car, Min,” Jimin says around his lollipop, tongue licking over it. “Is it me? You’re looking for the ride of your life, pretty boy?”
The relaxed stance Yoongi’s sporting drops instantly, eyes hardened with annoyance. “You wish I was. Get your Barbie car out of my pit and let the big boys do the driving.” He tells him with a shake of his head, fingers tracing the leather around his steering wheel. Jimin notices they’re long, knobby and kind of thick.
He hates that he’s noticing, but pegs it down to boredom rather than admit he’s always been a hand kind of guy, and Yoongi fits the bill.
“Don’t gotta’ wish for what I know I’m gonna’ get eventually,” Jimin murmurs. “Besides, my car might be pretty, But she rides nice just like me .”
At that Yoongi raises his eyebrows in a comical fashion, much like all men do when Jimin’s lips become loose with obscenely laced promises. His engine gives a steady rumble when he accelerates, and Jimin hums. “You’re pretty confident for being the last resort. The guy in your place couldn’t make it.”
The sudden quip makes Jimin laugh, more breath than sound around his candy and his lip twitch with a smile. He cheeks the lollipop, takes his time admiring his reflection before turning towards Yoongi to resume...whatever they’re doing.
“Not what I heard,” he says, and when Yoongi asks jus what he’s heard and who he’s been talking to, he smiles. “A little birdie told me you were short and needed me here. That’s cute, really cute and I’d be flattered if I wasn’t so bored. Are we gonna’ braid each other's hair all night or are we gonna’ race?”
Yoongi scowls at him, and Jimin giggles at how easy it is to rile him up. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed pissing off the Phantom and made a note to himself to do it more often.
“Eat my ass, Park,” Yoongi says stiffly, face flushing with indignance.
That piques Jimin’s interest and he hums, giving the other a once over. “Seal it with a bet, pretty boy. If I win this race that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. You up for it?”
For a few moments replete with nothing but the buzz of background noises surrounding the pit of cars, music, and people, Yoongi studies him. Tongue coming out to wet his lips, he then bites on them before his shoulders come up in a small shrug. Much too cocky for his own good, if the slow grin curving his mouth is any indication.
“And If I win, what do I get, hm? Gotta’ make it worth my while.”
Jimin cocks his head and regards Yoongi with a blank stare as if the answer isn’t obvious. Maybe it is, and he just wants to hear it out in the open; months of dancing around each other finally brought to an end.
Smooth, no hesitation, Jimin says, “I’ll let you fuck me, pretty boy. However you want it.”
Yoongi raises a brow at this, his throat working. “However I want it? That’s risky even for you, Red.”
“I like a little risk,” Jimin tells him, just as he shifts the lollipop inside his mouth and begins to suckle it. He’s about to tell Yoongi how he likes riding hard and fast—how nothing gets his blood pumping faster than some danger—when they’re interrupted by a loud roar happening a few feet away; two of the competing racers in the show lazily pulling their cars around the lot in order to hype up the crowd even more than they already were.
A loud honk follows, which comes from the car beside his where Namjoon sits in the driver side with Jeongguk on his lap repeatedly hitting the horn. “Quit fucking around and let’s get it !”
Jimin responds with a teasing lift of his middle finger but doesn’t argue, seeing as he too is anxious to start, his foot heavy with the urge to slam onto the gas and keep going.
Before they’re set to line up, Jimin accelerates his car, showing Yoongi how his Barbie car as he’d mocked it holds some power beneath her pretty face. And in the scene, revving your car is like taking ones dick out and sizing it up; who’s got it bigger and who knows how to use it. Yoongi, too, does the same, the soon the lot is thriving with excitement due to the two of them making as much noise as possible.
It burns hot inside Jimin’s chest, the prospect of a challenge, of getting to wipe that smug look off Yoongi’s face as if he knows things Jimin doesn’t. In his own silence, the outside world falling irrelevant once there’s cash and ass involved, he brings his car towards the starting line; the third in a row of four, with Yoongi’s Charger beside his girl.
There are no teasing remarks this time. No trash talk between them, just a heavy, silence riddled state. One that’s thick with tension; maybe promise.
Jimin is definitely promising to hold up his end of the bargain should he win. and he will.
He’d wonder about Yoongi if he weren’t so sure of himself and how it gets when he wants someone, how hard on resisting him it becomes once the clothes come off. Or better yet, he’d wonder if it weren’t so obvious the other racer mirrors him in wanting, in craving a taste of each other’s skin after they’ve bathed in light sheens of sweat and adrenaline.
But now his focus falls away from the racer and towards the race. The bets are placed, closed, and people have picked their favorites like they always do. There’s wild energy in the air, or maybe it’s him who’s feeling everything more than usual. Whatever the case, Jimin watches with a trace of amusement as Taehyung, Hoseok’s other half, strides onto the street holding onto the flag he’ll drop, a sight with bright and shaggy baby doll blond hair, and the face to match.
It’s a matter of holding one's breath. There are sixty seconds, and Jimin counts them down in time to Taehyung's hand lifting the flag.
It gets to three, and he presses his foot onto the gas, hears his girl roar beneath him, the car steadily vibrating with power. On two there’s a loud echo of three other cars mirroring him.
It gets to one, and with a flourish, Taehyung blows a kiss, drops the flag.
As it hits the concrete, Jimin slams down hard onto the gas, his car jolts forward, and the engine rises so loudly it drowns out every noise, save for his racing heartbeat, the one constant amidst the volume; the pressure in his lungs as his breath catches from the sudden pressure and the exhilarating feel of speed . If anyone asks Jimin what gets him going, what he’ll inevitably one day die for and not regret a single moment, it’s this.
His car is like another part of him, and the two work in unison to glide down the paved road and try and bypass the other three cars. There’s a Supra ahead of him, a Mazda RX7 trailing behind him, pressing too close for comfort and then ahead of them, ahead of him, is Yoongi.
Jimin grits his teeth tightens his grip onto the steering wheel and slams his foot onto the pedal, the car drifting to the side with him before he manages to bring it front and center, just inches away from Yoongi’s.
Whoever is behind them falls flat and forgotten to Jimin. He’s got his eye on the prize, and the finish line isn’t too far from the turning point they’re about to take. A glance forward during the next curve has him seeing a brief flash of mint hair, then—“is he fucking smiling at me?”
Jimin scoffs, and then because he’s petty and he’s got nothing to lose but limbs, hits the brake just behind Yoongi’s car, rear-ending it with a sudden jolt, then quickly brushing past it, using the surprise of the other that his precious and freshly painted car has been hit and most likely fucked up as an advantage.
He too can be cute, and as he’s blazing past Yoongi, who’s working hard to right his car so that it can regain its place, Jimin slips his hand out and sends him a subtle but very clear message with his finger. The middle one to be exact.
It’s a heated chase, wherein Jimin and Yoongi constantly come head to head, Bright candy apple red to midnight black. The power behind beautiful cars being pushed to the brink, engines vibrating with strength beneath the bodies as clutches are gripped and gear shifts are jerked.
A bead of sweat drips from Jimin’s forehead towards his neck, falling around the collar of his shirt. His thighs strain and the grip around the wheel is bruising, and yet he’s never felt this exhilarated. He’s even hard off this alone, the promise of victory, being able to taste it on his tongue.
Yoongi doesn’t play dirty like him, but he does give it his all, which is... cute, Jimin will admit. He’s honorable and lets his car do the talking. Still, he’s bitter about his car being referred to as a Barbie car, and as a result of all that rage boiling in his stomach, makes a split decision, a risky one, and flicks the switch beside the emergency brake; small but powerful. Like him and his car.
They call it the juice , nitrogen oxide, and Hyuna is always on his ass about using it when there’s no need and he’s got a car equipped for speed, but he doesn’t care. That moment in which he expels a breath, and the car seems to take over for him and just surges forward, it’s better than sex.
In fact, Jimin’s stomach pools with heat that licks at his skin. Makes the air hot and heavy, the pressure in his lungs increasing until it feels like he’s being edged at the precipice–right at the end of his rope. He all but moans as the car surges forward impossibly fast, leaving dust in his wake and screeching tires, and eventually crosses the finish line to a deafening chorus of shouts all for him.
It takes a moment for him to gather himself and get his hands to stop trembling from aftershocks, but when he manages and is finally able to exhale without feeling like he’ll throw up, Jimin is hauled out of the car by a pair of arms and tossed up; his friends undoubtedly.
He’s hoisted onto Hoseok’s shoulders as his group, consisting of Namjoon, Jeongguk, and Taehyung, swarm around him congratulating his win and their wins as a result of betting on his first place all in. His hair gets ruffled by Namjoon, he’s sure that Taehyung just slapped his ass and Jeongguk is trying to jostle him off his perch so that he can be up high, too.
“Not bad for a Barbie car, huh, fuckers?”
His friends jostle him, and soon Jimin is being carried between them, the pit thriving with his win whilst the losers sulk behind their cars and make it obvious their grapes are sour.
Someone, most likely Jeongguk, sneaks inside his car, swaps out his playlist again, and cranks the volume up to its highest, to where it pounds against Jimin’s ears and drowns out everything else, save for...whatever it is early Gambino goes on about.
He’s celebrating, high off adrenaline and victory and all that fucking money when he spots Yoongi. Unlike the other sore losers, he’s not scowling, more so watching. Staring at him from where he’s perched against the hood of his car, lips wrapped around a cigarette.
Jimin hadn’t paid much mind to the clothes at first, and yet now he can’t stop staring at them. Because the shirt Yoongi is wearing is indeed made of fine black mesh down to the long sleeves circling his wrists, and beneath the fabric Jimin spots lithe but soft looking skin. Not to mention he can see the guys nipples and a brief patch of skin between the end of his shirt and the top of his jeans, which sit very high on his waist and have one rip at the knee. And well, he looks good.
Sitting so casually like that, legs cocked open and leaning on his wrist, it looks like Yoongi is open for an invitation. Like he’s waiting for Jimin to make himself at home right there and take what he’s owed.
Jimin tunes out the noise around him of his friends suggesting after parties and getting fucked up. His focus falls on one thing; maybe getting fucked or getting to fuck, whichever comes first.
He signals for Hoseok to let him down, which his friend obliges to but only after slapping his ass and telling him to go get his man, whatever that might mean.
“I’m just going for a ride, that’s all,” he remarks coyly, grins nothing short of salacious as he reaches inside the pocket of his jacket for another lollipop. Intentions skewed by adrenaline, tension and the promise of getting to wreck a pretty thing like Yoongi. To Jeongguk he says, “Make sure my girl makes it home safely and I’ll make it worth your while later.”
Eyes wide and slight with excitement, Jeongguk tugs at Namjoon’s wrist and urges him towards Cherry, no doubt excited to take his car for a spin, and maybe take him for one later on with the company of his boyfriend as it’s happened before.
His friends catcall after he walks away and leaves them to do as they please, so long as nobody fucks up his car– in order to head towards Yoongi.
He can feel eyes on his back as he does so and doesn't need to hear the whispers in order to tell what those watching are asking or what they'll say about him cozying up to someone he's made no secret of hating.
Speaking of the devil, He’s watching him walk, eyes drifting between his legs and his face and leaving a faint burst of heat across his skin in their wake.
Jimin, too, has his fill of the other racer, who looks even better up close. Legs cocked up so that he rests the heel of his feet against the front fender, making it almost impossible not to glance between his legs, where jimin assumes a sizable cock hides. Yoongi cannot be that smug about losing unless his cock is something to be reckoned with.
He figures more trash talk is in order, maybe an insult veiled plea to reconsider their deal, but none of that happens. Instead, through a deep exhale of smoke that billows around his face, Yoongi murmurs, “You’re wearing a fucking skirt.”
Jimin follows the other racers gaze towards his skirt, a short and red tartan number, the only color amidst a black ensemble, and shrugs. "You got a problem with skirts?"
"Just ain't ever been beaten by a dude wearing one."
“It’s comfortable and I look good in it.” Pulling the lollipop free, Jimin runs it across his bottom lip absently, savoring the flavor. letting his lips become glossy from sticky candy. “I’m also not wearing anything underneath this skirt if you’re curious.”
Yoongi remains silent for a moment, gaze transfixed on Jimin's lips as he suckles it into his mouth and it makes his lips pout around the heart-shaped candy. His cigarette remains abandoned in his hand, ash falling between them onto the asphalt.
“You beat me,” he murmurs, and Jimin nods. “In your Barbie car and your cute little skirt. Shit, I can’t believe it.”
Jimin hums around his lollipop, pressing it against his cheek. “I sure did, pretty boy. Beat you good and looked cute while doing it.”
“You’re arrogant,” Yoongi remarks with a blunt purse of his lips, as he drops the cigarette onto the ground then crushed it with the point of his boot. “I ain’t sure if I like it or hate it.”
“You like it,” Jimin mutters, emboldened by the heat he feels coming from Yoongi and moving closer, their knees touching. His palm flattens against his thigh, feeling hot skin beneath taut denim, which he squeezes. “You like me.”
“I like the way you ride, it’s…” a breathless laugh that’s more air than sound escapes Yoongi and Jimin grins, prompting him to continue. “You’re insane. You ain’t got no sense of self-preservation.”
“People like me don’t get far by being cautious,” Jimin takes it as a compliment instead of anything else and leans in, enough to where he feels the warmth of Yoongi’s breath fan across his cheek. He smells of cigarettes and cologne, and yet up close he’s all soft curves, pouty lips, and flushed cheeks.
“I like it,” Yoongi tells him. He’s too close and yet too far, aimlessly watching Jimin as if he’s in no rush.
“If you like how I ride my car you’re in for a surprise,” He murmurs, the palm around Yoongi’s thigh dipping up, nails dragging across the denim until he stops at the juncture, where the heat is more intense. “Are we going? I got a prize to collect, pretty boy, and I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Damn, you don’t play it coy, huh?” Yoongi says, turning just before they get too close and end up kissing, but their noses brush alongside each other’s regardless. "You move fast."
“I'm nothing if not consistent,” Jimin shakes his head. Life’s too short to pretend he’s not salivating to get his hands on Yoongi.
This makes the other hum in response, and a little smile curves the side of his lips. He doesn’t try to kiss him, which drives him wild. “We can go, Red. I got a spot I think you’ll like.”
Jimin will think about his eagerness and how he all but sprints to the passenger side of the Charger much later, and possibly scold himself about it, but right now he doesn’t care. He’s just won a race, won a fuckton of money he'll have to pry off jeongguk’s bed before he has a chance to fuck on top of it and apart from that, gets to end his night with a pretty boy under him.
What’s a little eagerness in exchange? He reasons nothing is wrong with that.
The inside of Yoongi’s car smells of him, like cigarettes, cologne and a touch of mint, all melded into the supple cream leather decorating the interior. If Jimin wasn’t interested before then he sure is now at the sight of the others ride, which suits the man behind the wheel. Simple, but gets the job done. Jimin raises an amused eyebrow at the sight of the nitrogen tank just beside his seat, and wonders why the other didn’t use it during his brief stint ahead of him to ensure his win.
When he asks Yoongi this as he’s turning on the car and greeted with a loud thrum of the engine echoing around them, the other sends him a flat look. “Because I can win without it.”
Now Jimin is the one sending him a look, one that’s smug. “Didn’t seem like you could back there, pretty boy. I took you out too easy.” A thought comes to mind, and Jimin feels himself grow hot. A little bold, a lot interested, he smooths his palm atop Yoongi’s thigh, fingers inching closer. “You didn’t let me win on purpose, did you?”
Even in low light, it’s impossible to miss how Yoongi’s ears burn at the tips and how his eyes widen. Still, pride is everyone’s main bitch and letting her go doesn’t come easy. Stiffly, And whilst Jimin’s grin curves deeper, he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wouldn’t do that. Tonight just wasn’t my night.”
Jimin, however, isn’t convinced, and as Yoongi maneuvers them out of the lot where the fun has begun for those who aren’t ready to call it a night, he leans in. Moving his fingers up higher, to where they brush just slight against the dip between his thighs where his cock is hard through his tight jeans.
“Yoongi, I think you really wanted me to win this race.” He’s coy about it, teasing, too. “Maybe you wanted us to get a little closer. Be a little friendlier, mh?”
Jimin sees Yoongi’s tongue come out to wet his lips, the grip he has on the steering wheel tight enough to make the leather squeak. “Maybe,” he says in a quiet voice. “Or maybe you’re just too sure of yourself.”
“and not a single person else, pretty,” Jimin remarks, and after a pregnant pause wherein the car is silent, thick with tension, his palm finally encloses around the hot bulge strained against Yoongi’s jeans. “Drive fast. I like it a little fast.”
Yoongi shudders, jaw tensing and face flushing with heat. He parts his thighs wider, and as Jimin palms along the ridge of his hard cock he moans loud, a broken noise from deep inside his throat while he drives faster, leaving the pit in the dust behind them.
Past the pit, out in the isolated depths of Seoul, coasting down the road with the windows down and the smell of cigarettes and cologne in his lungs, Jimin feels exhilarated. Driving passenger to someone he’s spent months hating, his focus is drawn onto his hands. Yoongi’s fingers are long, knobbed at the knuckles and thick. He handles his car like a dream come true, grips it tightly, knows when to shift and when to go faster. Steady hands, ones that Jimin imagines would feel even better inside him rubbing those spots that make him tremble and want.
“Why do you race, huh? It can’t be about the money,” Yoongi says suddenly, his voice cutting across the silence, rough timbered and deep. "What's it do for you?"
Jimin cracks a small smile and shrugs, palm distractedly grazing along the base of the gearshift, a hair's breadth away from Yoongi’s. “I like the adrenaline rush,” he says in a quiet voice, “The power behind it, also. I call the shots behind the wheel, y’kno. I just...knowing I’m the one making my baby sing like that on the road... that turns me on.”
Yoongi makes a soft sound in reply, jaw tensing slightly before he’s nodding as if he understands, which Jimin thinks he might be given his choice of hobby, too. Of course, he does with a car like that and an attitude to match.
“We’re a lot alike, you and I,” he says after a pause wherein the car falls silent once more as he increases his speed down the road, face half cast in darkness. When jimin quirks a brow and asks him why he’d assume such a thing, the racer laughs. “You’re in it for the thrill, Yeah? Do you think I ain’t seen you wreck that pretty car enough to know you like playing with death? I have, and I get it. You get your thrill in chasing after that momentary panic, whereas I get mine by betting it all. Putting my money where my mouth is. Money I sometimes ain’t even got to throw around but end up getting double of. Edging the future of my life but with a car. It feels good right? Coming out clean from a place that’s dangerous as fuck. It makes you feel something all hot and heavy inside—”
“It's just so hot,” Jimin sighs, all but swooning in his seat, the car suddenly thick with tension he’s been ignoring during the ride in order to prolong the inevitable. Craning his neck so that he can see the other racer as he’s licking his lips, Jimin breathes in. Moves his palm so that it closes over Yoongi’s on top of the gearshift, fingers stroking along the hard ridge of knuckles, “It’s so overwhelming, Yoongi. Shit, are we there yet?”
His impatience, coupled by the way the meter increases speed and how easily Yoongi maneuvers the charger makes Jimin feel on edge, makes sweat dot along his brow, heat lick along his skin. There’s something about a man handling a powerful car as if she’s nothing but easy that brings him to the brink of coming just like that.
“Yeah, We’re almost there, Cherry,” Yoongi says.
Within seconds, Jimin sees Yoongi pull off the highway and direct the car down a narrow and dimly lit road, where nothing but abandoned cars and decrepit buildings stand in sight. An industrial area, it seems like, one where everyone has left in order to head home or probably haven’t stepped into since the city expanded and factories became much more luxurious than the ones in this particular block.
The car eases behind one of said buildings, what appears to have once been a parking garage if the high pillars and seemingly endless floors are anything to go by. A shudder wracks across Jimin’s back, as he’s glad not to have been taken there.
He’s breathing hard, chest vibrating with excitement as the car finally pulls to a slow and then stops completely, silence engulfing the space between them. Yoongi is no better, his own deep breathing haggard, and yet they don’t move towards each other.
Jimin reasons it to be a matter of who makes the first move. Always a competition even when in the end they’ll both win. Pride, such a fickle thing, she always makes her way into the equation, but no matter. Jimin has long since made peace with her, and she won’t stop him.
He spares a glance at the other racer, finding that being stared at as well feels invigorating, how his tongue coming out to lick his lips where he’s lounging casually on the seat seems so intentional.
“We doing this or what? Thought you were in a rush, Cherry.” Yoongi rasps, And his voice sends a deep pit of warmth inside Jimin’s stomach. Makes it burn bright and flare across his skin.
“Hell yes we’re doing this,” He murmurs, moving to lean in, lips brushing against the metal piercing looping through Yoongi’s ear. Palm flat, he smooths it up to his thigh, not stopping until the weight of his hard cock pressed against his fingertips so that he can squeeze. “Wanna’ get my hands all over you.”
This time it’s Yoongi who shudders as Jimin works to open the fly of his jeans, his deep moan resonating from within his chest. He turns towards him, eyes hooded and glancing at his lips with nothing short of hunger, and they’re so close that the implication of it all hangs thick in the air between them, enough that Jimin can practically imagine the taste on his tongue.
He decides he doesn’t want to imagine any longer, not when the real thing definitely tastes so much better.
Emboldened and frenzied, somehow in a flurry of hands tugging and pressing, Jimin finds himself where he’d wanted to be, ass pressed up against the hard bulge of Yoongi’s jeans, fully seated on his lap. Fingers tangling into a mess of mint green strands at the nape, he tugs at them and leans down, breathing in Yoongi’s final exhale just in time to kiss him.
The sounds in the car excite him, burn hot inside each nerve ending and send a flush to his face and a groan to echo in the air. Yoongi tastes like sex and Jimin is itching to get more. Yoongi deepens the kiss by subtly dipping his chin and licking into his mouth, big hands stained with corruption and a thrill for dirty deeds moving to grab his hips and urge him over his hard cock however he likes.
Jimin, mind blurred by the chaotic frenzied pace of it all, gets a little rougher. A little less gentle and a lot more hungry.
Teeth latching onto Yoongi’s bottom lip that’s usually pursed in the kind of pout that screams petulance even when the guy is talking about chasing the thrill of gambling money, he sucks it into his mouth and grazes his teeth over it. Savors the deep, shuddered moan that leaves the other racer. How the sound of his name seems to resonate from deep inside his chest and falls out, helpless and into his tongue.
He could get addicted to hearing his name on Yoongi’s tongue. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. Or better yet, Cherry would taste sweeter on the tongue.
Sweat begins to dot at Jimin’s nape as he grinds down. Ass flush to Yoongi’s lap, just a tease of how it would be to take him for a spin, ride his cock like it’s his favorite thing, which given the circumstances has potential to be. Yoongi’s got a good face, good hands and judging by the way he responds in kind to his movements, a good grind that would touch right where he likes.
It takes Jimin for a loop, and he moans when those big hands slide towards his inner thighs, blunt, black polished chipped nails scraping against the skin through his tights until they lift the hem of the skirt and move towards his ass.
“‘s so hot,” Jimin breathes, pulling away an inch, tip of his nose brushing alongside Yoongi’s. His hands, much smaller in comparison to the others, flatten down his chest and feel mesh that’s damp with sweat beneath his fingertips. “ You’re so hot, Yoongi.”
Yoongi looks a picture of sin wrapped in a sweet, unassuming face. Flushed cheeks, parted and kiss swollen lips. Not to mention his eyes are hooded, focused on his mouth as he talks, a little dazed and unfocused.
He shivers when Jimin’s fingers skim over his nipples, thumbs pressing against them and rubbing.
“Look who’s talking, Cherry, you’re a stunner— Shit, do that again,” He gasps, hips jerking forward. Clothed cock trapped beneath Jimin’s ass as he rolls his hips, grinds down in tight circles. Does it again and again, in time with kisses that have lost their finesse and are nothing but wet and hot, until Yoongi is squirming. Until the pleas become demands and the hands at his ass become insistent, searching. “Can we—are we gonna fuck?”
“We’re gonna have fun, pretty boy,” Jimin purrs against his lips, giggling. An airy sound, it falls from his lips, makes him giddy with excitement. He balls Yoongi’s shirt between his palm and whines low and needy when feeling his cock brush up against the buckle of his belt. “I promise you’ll wanna come back after I’m through with you.”
Jimin pulls away after he’s had his fun, leaving Yoongi to stare after him in unveiled shock and indignance as he exits the car and strides towards the hood.
From inside he hears the other racer mutter, “What the fuck am I doing?” And it makes him smile. Makes the situation much more amusing to see someone so used to getting his way having to do things differently because it’s what he wants. Makes Jimin bold, turning where he stands in front of the hood, free hand inching his skirt up until he’s certain Yoongi can see his ass trapped beneath fine-meshed fishnets.
A few seconds of silence pass, wherein Jimin’s breathing grows labored until— “oh fuck .”
The car door opens and soon, in the time it takes him to turn around to face Yoongi, the other racer has him pinned to the hood, large hands splayed flat around his ass, lips hungry in a kiss.
Jimin moans into it, shivers when hot metal meets his skin and digs his nails into Yoongi’s shoulders. Legs hooking around his waist, he uses them to grind forward and rub his cock against Yoongi’s, in need of friction.
Even better, Yoongi moves his palm so that his fingers hook into the fishnets constricting Jimin’s cock and gives a sharp tug so they tear right down the middle.
Jimin’s lips part in a series of breathless giggles against the others and he pulls away to look down, seeing long fingers curled around his aching cock. “I could’ve taken them off if you’d said so, eager baby. I liked these.”
Yoongi makes a low sound of agreement, but soon swallows Jimin’s laughter in exchange for stuttered pleas, Palm becoming slick from the pre-come at the head and easing the glide. Jimin’s face feels as hot as the car as Yoongi watches the way his hand moves during the upstroke, how his fingers tease the tip. “I could’ve said something yeah. You bothered? Say so and I’ll stop.”
“ God, fuck the fishnets, don’t stop, keep— ah —going,” Jimin groans, fingers itching to sink into Yoongi’s hair and tug at them hard enough to make him squirm. In fact, the temptation calls out to him too much and he does so, trailing his fingers until he’s tangling them into the soft mint strands and giving a hard pull.
“I won’t,” Yoongi responds in kind, moaning loud against Jimin’s bared neck, breathing fanning hot. He strokes Jimin fast, makes his thighs tremble on either side of his hips, before he kneels between his legs and urges them over his broad shoulders, pretty lips a whisper away from his dick. “Can I suck your cock?”
Jimin can do nothing but nod. Because fuck yes, he’s a man of indulgence and if a beaut like Yoongi asks if it’s cool if he can suck his dick, then he’s absolutely okay with that. One hundred percent down.
Leaning on his wrists, eyes heavy, Jimin watches.
He can’t help but moan weakly at the sight of Yoongi’s broad shoulders holding up each leg as he sucks teasing bites against his inner thighs, soft nose brushing against the base of his cock. There’s not a lot of time given their location, which prompts Yoongi in licking a broad stripe up his length before he’s suckling the tip inside his hot and wet mouth.
Jimin’s eyes roll into the back of his head, breaths coming out shaky. His fingers brush strands of mint green hair off Yoongi’s forehead as he bobs into each suck, and they lock eyes; Yoongi unapologetic in the way he throats his cock and gags around the shaft.
He whimpers when Yoongi hums around his cock wetly, free hand moving between his legs to massage his balls as drool shines past his pretty lips. It’s lewd how he seems to enjoy this, and Jimin loves that he does. Gets off on being wanted, on having his cock down a pretty things throat, feeling his broad tongue dip into the slit and suckle more precome past it.
“Oh hell,” Jimin moans, trembling. Heat licks up every inch of his skin, months of longing wrapped up in the illusion of hating Yoongi finally breaking free and running rampant across his nerve endings. He whines, certain he can come like this; bare ass pressed against the hood of Yoongi’s car as the mint haired racer makes a mess of him how he pleases.
There’s no pretty prose for it. It’s obscene, the silence around them lost to sounds of suckling; of a hot and eager mouth working around his cock the way Jimin would do to a lollipop. His hands grapple for purchase, torn between tugging Yoongi’s hair or trapping him between his thighs.
In the end, he settles for a mixture of both, trembling thighs clenching around Yoongi’s cheeks as he comes up, lips brushing across the flushed tip of his cock in a kittenish fashion, fingers digging into the mint strands so that Jimin can watch him. Lazily he licks around it, large hands moving to grip each thigh that’s strewn across his shoulders tightly.
“You sound so good,” Yoongi murmurs, grin curving his lips as he mouths down the shaft, bottom lip grazing his balls. “So pretty when you beg. I like it,”
“Hm, I’m prettier when I fuck,” Jimin breathes, lips slack as he pants. Quite the picture he must make, cherry bomb the racer on his back, skirt hiked up to his stomach, fishnets ripped down the middle whilst his opponent, The Phantom sucks him off. Takes his dick and throats it like it’s his favorite treat-- like he’s wanted nothing else. A hiccup leaves him, and his stomach tenses, body pliant with want. “Or when I get fuh— fucked too.”
Yoongi makes a soft sound akin to a purr low in his throat, and the vibration feels lovely. Makes Jimin thrust into the tight heat of his mouth and hold still, enough to where it makes the other racer gag before he’s pulling out. Again and again, with a determined gleam in his eye, Yoongi sucks his cock, firm grip on Jimin’s thighs borderline bruising.
Jimin trembles like a leaf and gasps on each pull off, enraptured by the filthy picture Yoongi makes licking his swollen lips clean of precome and saliva. His skin prickles and a knot of warmth tightens around his stomach, his dick hard and throbbing. The need to come overpowers him, makes him whimper and squirm on the hood until he gathers his wits and pulls away, knocking Yoongi off before he can do so.
“Wait— Stop, I— ahh, don’t wanna come like this,” Jimin pants, eyes fluttering shut as he pants. Beneath him, chin digging into his thigh, Yoongi breathes just as hard. Ragged, he presses his forehead against his skin but doesn’t argue the situation. Jimin’s stop is seemingly more than enough for him.
It’s difficult to ignore the possibility of it, getting the best head he’s ever gotten, but Jimin endures it in sake of getting to do something much better.
Yoongi presses a kiss to the crease of his inner thigh, most likely in an attempt to get back to what they were doing, but with Jimin’s boot pressed against his chest, he’s eased up and away whilst Jimin does his best in standing up. Legs trembling and his cock aching, he balls his fist in Yoongi’s shirt and brings their lips together, messy, full of tongue and teeth; they moan into each other’s mouths.
Yoongi’s back arches, dipping heavily into the open gap between Jimin’s parted thighs as if he can’t help but do so, and Jimin revels in it. Sucks Yoongi’s tongue into his mouth and tastes precome just to savor that sound of the other racer groaning.
He pulls away with a hard gasp, tongue coming out to lick his lips whilst Yoongi stares at him dazedly, eyes hooded with anticipation.
“Mmm, you ever been eaten out on top of a hood, pretty boy?” Jimin whispers, tugging Yoongi closer. Enough to nip his bottom lip, and for his free hand to smooth beneath his shirt and onto warm skin, just across his lower back.
“Once or twice,” Yoongi grunts, all but melting into the touch. “Wasn’t anything I’d call special, but I’m easy.”
Pretty, Jimin thinks as he dips his fingers beneath the hem of his jeans, just so that they brush against the seam of his underwear. He’s pretty, and rough around the edges like a diamond before it's been cut.
Fingertips moving forward and snagging the band of his underwear, Jimin snaps them against Yoongi’s skin. Amused, he breathes, “I know you’re easy, baby. I also know you haven’t gotten your ass eaten out by me if you think it’s nothing special.”
Voice deepened, a touch impatient, Yoongi mutters, “Jimin .”
Jimin comes to the realization that he likes how his name feels on Yoongi’s tongue. Decides he wants to hear it as often as he can, and makes quick work of changing their positions so that Yoongi now has nowhere to go but the hood of his Charger with Jimin standing between his thighs.
Glancing down between their bodies, the air thick with shared breathing and mingled with heavy petting and kissing, Jimin smooths his fingers beneath Yoongi’s shirt, hikes it up to his nipples, then scratches down the line of his torso, skimming across his navel before reaching for the button of his jeans.
“Do you mind if I call you baby?”
Even in such minimal light Jimin spots the way Yoongi’s skin heats with a deepened flush. “You gonna keep asking me shit or just get to what you came for?”
Jimin remains unfazed, deeming Yoongi’s hostility to impatience to have some relief on his hard cock, which he can feel beneath his palm, hot and thick. He gives the zipper a hard yank, the hiss echoing, and murmurs, “Consent is important to me.” Then adds, “It’s also really fucking hot to hear you say yes.”
If possible, Yoongi’s blush deepens around his neck. Squirming, thighs brushing along Jimin’s hips, he says, “Y- Yeah, you can call me baby.”
Had he known Jimin as something other than a pretty face with a car he relates to a plastic doll, Yoongi would know that Jimin’s responding smile is nothing to take lightly.
His fingers skim across the waistband of Yoongi’s grey briefs before dipping beneath to snap them tight, just enough to snag the tip of his cock.
“I think you’ll like being my baby,” Jimin purrs, then with skilled ease that comes from years of practice, grips Yoongi by the hip and turns him over, chest pressed flush to the gleaming hood of his Charger. “I like that thought. You’re too smug for your own good.”
“Fuck you,” Yoongi pants, voice wavering. His palms splay flat across the hood, and he remains lax as if he wants nothing more than this. To have those pretty jeans jerked low, bunched around his thighs, ass up as he’s bent over the hood of his car.
Jimin wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, eyes trailing down the thin slope of Yoongi’s broad back that flares out across his hips and ends at the subtle arch of his ass. It isn’t particularly big, but it’s soft and fits nicely in his hands.
“I could if you wanted me to,” He murmurs, transfixed on the way Yoongi wriggles against his palms. How the other racer makes a throaty sound of protest, that almost sounds haughty; like he’s some golden princess who’s too special to get rimmed in the middle of nowhere, and it makes Jimin smile. Makes him grip each asscheek tighter and part them. “Oh, baby, you really want me to.”
“Don’t—Hnn—feel like it,” Yoongi groans, squirming until he gets what he wants, Jimin’s cock heavy and full, teasing around the rim. “Just wanna’come for now, please .”
Surrounded by the sudden heat, Jimin whines, palms squeezing Yoongi’s ass so that each clumsy rock of their hips brings them both the friction they’re starving for. It’s not enough, and soon, impatience brings Jimin to push two of his fingers into Yoongi’s pretty mouth.
“Get them wet, baby,” he whispers, breathing hard as hot pleasure curls around his belly and flares across his skin.
God, Yoongi looks so...gorgeous when he listens and just takes. Jimin wants to tear him apart, then kiss him better.
Low noise from deep in Yoongi’s chest is all the answer Jimin receives before the other racer starts to suckle his two fingers. Down to the knuckle, his tongue slips between them and curls, saliva dripping down Jimin’s palm.
They moan in tandem when it comes time to pull his fingers out and move away, but displeasure melts into anticipation as Jimin dips onto his knees, eye level with Yoongi’s ass. Fingers wet and dripping with saliva, he parts Yoongi’s asscheek aside and licks his lips, bringing the two fingers to rest over his perineum and apply faint pressure against it.
“ Fuck yes,” Yoongi moans, arching at the sudden touch, then going lax. Legs parting wider, it’s no surprise to Jimin that Yoongi is just as pretty where it counts as he is everywhere else. He’s even waxed.
“Mmm, you are a pretty boy. A pretty baby with a cute little hole,” Jimin praises softly, then brings the two wet fingers up, teasing the rim by circling it before he’s slipping one inside. It’s hot and tight, and Yoongi clenches around him so much it’s as if he can’t wait nor give himself a reprieve before he’s asking for another.
One finger isn’t enough; he wants more, and Jimin is a gentleman after all, so if he wants more he’s going to give him more. It’s a gorgeous sight to see his fingers stuffing Yoongi so full, metal rings gleaming in the low light just snug against the rim as the other racer grinds against the hood, almost desperate in how he wants to come.
Tongue heavy in his mouth, Jimin leans forward and drips saliva onto Yoongi’s asshole once he pulls out, and the other racer moans, arching right against his face. There’s no preamble, no pretty prose in sight. It’s obscene and wet, the way Jimin rubs the flat of his tongue against his rim, chin slick.
“Jimin,” Yoongi groans as Jimin grips each of his asscheeks to hold him steady, spread out and open for his tongue to fuck inside that clenching heat against the hood of his car. “ Yes—”
“You feels nice, right? I told you I’d make you feel real nice.” Jimin purrs as he rears back and catches sight of Yoongi so pretty and needy, clenching around nothing and grinding his hard cock against the hood, uncaring of the heat just as he’d been. He thumbs the rim, then resumes. Only he’s not as gentle and with a hand guiding Yoongi, Jimin urges him to ride his tongue and fuck himself onto it.
“Oh fuh– gonna come s-so Hard,” Yoongi gasps, palms sliding away from the hood to reach behind him and thread his fingers into Jimin’s hair, gripping the burnished red strands so that he won’t pull away as he grinds hard against his face.
Jimin sucks at the rim, then slips his tongue deeper inside as Yoongi clenches around him, his breathless grunts echoing in an otherwise silent space. His body goes taut when Jimin curls a hand between his thighs and wraps it around his cock, where it’s dripping at the tip and sticky with precome, Legs attempting to spread even wider but thwarted by his tight jeans.
“You can come if you want, baby,” He murmurs huskily, moving to press a kiss against the curve of Yoongi’s ass, nice and sweet to juxtapose the way he’s eating him out to where the other is babbling. His cock gives a twitch against his palm, and Jimin coos as he strokes it from base to tip, finding the way Yoongi attempts to chase his tongue and his hand at the same time and can't concentrate on either fully incredibly cute.
“ Jimin ,” Yoongi growls, giving his hair a hard tug. “Don’t fucking stop.”
Jimin giggles against his skin, dazed in this heat. “You got a lot to say for someone who’s getting his ass eaten, pretty, but fine.”
Yoongi cries out, palms scrambling for purchase against the hood as Jimin tips his lower back, and urges him onto his tongue, sucking hard at the rim and adding a finger that he pushes inside. His tongue throbs, as does his jaw, but he doesn’t stop. Eats Yoongi out, fucks his finger in fast and wet, massaging his prostate, making an absolute mess of him whilst the other racer trembles.
That does it, the abrupt urgency coupled with being handled so roughly, and Yoongi barely manages to utter the words, “m’coming,comingcoming,” before his hips jerk and he moans, loud and drawn out. Cock rubbing against the hood, thick and hot spurts of come drip around Jimin’s knuckles and onto the car.
Jimin strokes him through it, coming up to his feet and leaning against Yoongi’s back, pressing gentle kisses against the nose of his neck, and nuzzling his temple. “Oh, you look so hot coming for me.”
“Shit.” Yoongi gasps as the last of his climax wears out, and knocks Jimin’s hand away as he must be sensitive, but doesn’t move to get dressed, much less pull away. On the contrary, the phantom is the clingy type and all but sags into Jimin petting his hair. Voice thick, slurred with an accent, He murmurs, “You’re still hard.”
Jimin makes a quiet sound of agreement. He sure is, but he’s not an ass, and if Yoongi isn’t down for anything other than this he’ll accept that. Their bets have been paid in full.
“It’s fine,” he shrugs, only to raise an eyebrow in question at Yoongi shaking his head.
He watches, something hot curling in his belly, as Yoongi leans onto the hood, legs spread as much as his jeans allow, ass up and inviting, cheek pressed onto the now warm surface so that he can hold eye contact.
“My thighs,” Yoongi croaks, “You can fuck my thighs if you wanna’.”
Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, stares at the picture in front of him and swallows hard. His fingers skim across Yoongi’s lower back, where the skin has faint dimples, then he glances at the other racers thighs and finds the idea more than enough.
“I wanna’ if you want me to,” Jimin whispers, savoring the tremor that runs across Yoongi’s skin when his knuckles brush over the back of his thigh. “You’ve got lube right?”
There’s a pause, and then a snort. “Now you ask for the lube, and yet you fucked me open with your fingers using spit.”
Jimin’s lips twist. “First of all—” he falls silent when realizing the other is right; it hadn’t even crossed his mind and that’s irresponsible and a dick move. Damn it. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll tip the cap open and glaze you with it, wise ass. Lube. Need it.”
Wordlessly, Yoongi points towards the passenger side of the car, and Jimin, after slapping his ass hard enough to wrench an indignant squeal from his lips, moves towards it to find the lube.
If Yoongi is anything like him, he’ll keep his lube inside the glove compartment, just in case. Jimin is not disappointed when he finds it just there, a small, half-used bottle, as well as a line of condoms. He grabs one just Incase, as well as the bottle and then returns towards the hood, where once again Yoongi grinds against it lazily, impatient even.
“You’re having fun,” He notes gently, fingers once again where he finds them the prettiest; on Yoongi’s ass.
“Took so long I almost thought about fucking myself,” Yoongi snaps, though there’s no real bite. He’s a cat with no claws, cute and grumpy.
“I’d pay to see that, to be honest,” Jimin murmurs, “It sounds hot.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, the look he sends JImin unimpressed. Still, he wriggles his ass right up against his cock, where it peeks past his skirt. “You’re a depraved motherfucker.”
“I am, but you seem to like it,” Jimin sighs, a whine trapped in his throat. The friction dry but oh so good. He takes the condom with his free hand and tears the wrapper, then pinches his fingers over the tip and slides the latex over his aching dick, lips trembling with want.
Yoongi groans, the sound deep from within his chest. He inches away only a fraction, enough to allow Jimin to flip open the cap of lube, pour a liberal amount onto his palm, and then slick it between his thighs and just beneath his balls, caressing them softly; they feel heavy and hot.
“You got nice hands,” He moans in surprise, arching into Jimin’s fingertips that massage against his skin, “Smaller than mine, but nice. Pretty .”
“They look even nicer on you,” Jimin whispers. Still for a moment, breathing fast, he wraps his fingers around his cock, then inches forward, rubbing it along the crease of Yoongi’s ass before settling between his thighs. “Close your legs, pretty boy.”
Yoongi does as he’s asked, bringing his trembling legs together, the heat of them trapping Jimin’s cock just right; arching his back just right, his pretty and empty hole clenching around nothing.
“Oh my god,” Yoongi gasps, “Fuh-finger me, too.”
“Liked them, I see,” Jimin murmurs, palms splayed and gripping each asscheek, dimpling the soft skin. “God, you’re so hot . Whatever you want.”
His finger comes in easy, and soon, he’s, grinding his hips forward, as well as fingering Yoongi and massaging the gland inside him that draws those lovely, deep sounds out of him; so hungry for all that heat coursing through his cock, the pressure around his groin that he can’t stay still on one thing.
Greedy, and impatient, Jimin moans, breath rattling. It feels nice and wet, and the sounds of his cock rubbing against the underside of Yoongi’s alone sends shooting sparks of pleasure onto his skin, but Jimin needs more. Wants more.
His free hand squeezes Yoongi’s thigh. “Keep them tight, baby, squeeze them.”
Yoongi’s nod is rapid as he agrees, and oh—now, Jimin whimpers . His thighs clench just right against his throbbing and flushed cock, the tip sliding nice and slick between his legs.
“Oh—that feels good,” Yoongi murmurs huskily, free hand moving to reach behind and clumsily reach for his hand to lace their fingers together and squeeze. “You’re doing so good, fuck me so well.”
Jimin grinds his hips hard, the praise spurring him on, something hot and tingling sending a lick of pleasure through his veins as he grinds steadily against Yoongi’s ass. Moans so loud they drown out any other sound, bass boomed in an otherwise silent street, Jimin shivers. Thrusts forward slow, squeezes Yoongi’s hand, and just feels.
“I’m doing guh -good?”
Yoongi nods, eager in the way he arches back. Such a sight makes Jimin hot, makes sweat drip down his back like stroking fingertips that tickle his skin. To be told he’s good, to have someone like Yoongi under him, writhing and clawing at the hood in order to please him; Jimin isn’t sure just who won tonight, for it seems like they’re both winners now.
“I’m so good,” Jimin hiccups, thrusting forward. Head hanging low, stomach taut, his dick sliding wet and sticky between Yoongi’s thighs, grazing his balls, his perineum. “Fuh-Feels so good. you feel so good, too.”
Yoongi’s heavy breathing mingling with his stuttered moans is what tips Jimin over. That and the tight squeeze of his thighs, taut around the tip of his cock, make him moan loud against the other racers ear and come, long and hot inside the condom. And it feels so good, looks even better when Yoongi follows suit, staining the hood of his car for the second time in a night.
Chest feeling heavy, his heart beating 80 in a 20 zone, Jimin staggers forward. Rests his sweaty forehead against the curve of Yoongi’s shoulder, the both of them worse for wear, sticky with sweat and come and leaning into each other for support.
“You good?” He asks, wincing at the slight twinge of discomfort that comes from shifting forward and having Yoongi’s thighs clench around his softening length.
It takes him a few seconds, but eventually, even though he’s panting, Yoongi nods. Comes in closer, turning to nuzzle the tip of his nose against Jimin’s jaw. “Yeah,” He whispers, fingers around Jimin’s clenching tightly. “M’good. Just a little hot.”
He knows they won’t mention it, the fact that they’re still very much holding hands, and Jimin is fine with it. Driving fast and getting great dick ain’t the only thing he’s good at, he’s also great at avoidance.
Even if avoiding how Yoongi’s fingers slot just fine between his proves a little harder to ignore than most things.
In a perfect world, Jimin would easily bounce back from things, brush them off as nothing has happened. And he has, or he’s trying, but it’s proven to be more difficult this time around.
Because in his haste to make bets, get cash and collect his prize, he somehow forgot the fact that he and Yoongi see each other often, enough to where it’s not easy to pretend or ignore what happened. If it had been someone else, a new face, a stranger whose name he’d replace with a nickname until the night ended, things would’ve been easier; seeing them again wouldn’t have been such a bitter pill to swallow.
But as he’s said, perfect worlds and all–they don’t exist, and he’s fucked. Stuck on stupid, wondering why Yoongi won’t stop making it so obvious he’s looking for something a little less business-related instead of focusing on the task at hand. The prize just at his fingertips should he stop staring and pay attention.
The man in front of them isn’t a joke, radiating power and wealth from where he lounges on his seat, a gleaming bronze tipped pipe wrapped around his lips. Above all, he’s beautiful, too. Sharp eyebrows framing soft, almost doll-like eyes, a slim nose, and full lips. Kim Seokjin is a stunner, that’s more than obvious, but he’s also got a reputation that’s almost as big as the stacks of cash just laying on his desk like they’re pocket change.
Almost, Jimin thinks from where he’s standing under the other man (and Yoongi’s for fuck sakes) scrutiny. Those stacks are definitely bigger, and worth more than hearsay anytime.
“It’s really important that this drop runs smoothly,” comes from Seokjin in almost a lazy fashion, as if talking to the likes of them; street racers from the wrong side of the tracks exhausts him. Wispy grey smoke billows around his face, the dim lights offering no help in being able to assess his expression any better.
Wordlessly, as they both understand the implication of a threat, he and Yoongi nod.
“Time is money and I don’t like losing either, so you’ll have to be fast and you’ll have to be discreet ,” Seokjin continues, “Anyone who even feels like a cop comes in your direction, you keep moving and don’t stop until you’ve gotten to the drop point, understood?”
“Yes,” Jimin whispers, swallowing hard.
Yoongi follows suit, only his reply comes gruffly and callous. Jimin will beat him senseless if his attitude costs him this much money, and glares at him to really prove his point.
“Joining you are going to be other’s interested in the money, as it’s a rather hefty sum. Two of these people, whom you won’t know the identities of will be working for me and monitoring you don’t stay out of line,” Seokjin murmurs, once again bringing the pipe to his lips. A few seconds pass wherein he busies with that before he exhales smoothly, and grins, “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t trust anyone with pretty faces.”
It’s meant to be taken as a compliment, Jimin is sure of it, due to the velveteen touch of a smile given to them, and yet, he still feels like he’s been insulted somehow. The way Yoongi stiffens must mean he feels the same.
Neither of them answer.
Goddamn, Jimin could kill Hyuna for getting him into this if not for the fact that he owes her several favors, and could use the extra cash, nevermind the risk of getting caught doing something illegal makes him a little hard.
She’d been all batting eyelashes and low riding jeans when she’d barged into his apartment, Hui and Hyojong hot on her heels, since the three of them were never far from each other, with a proposition she must’ve known he wouldn’t refuse.
“I know a guy who needs some drivers. Good ones who aren’t scared of a little trouble,”
“Naturally we thought of you,” Hui had murmured lazily, eyes focused on whatever Hyojong was looking for inside his pocket at the time.
“And we might’ve mentioned your name,” Hyojong said, revealing what he’d been looking for to be a little white card with an address on it. No name, just a date and time written in neat script; whoever had done so having incredible pulse to get that done.
Jimin, who’d been in the process of getting ready for a night out, all but cancelled the moment he heard the payout. Stumbling, that much cash a touch obscene to just be a good driver seemed fishy, but not enough to scare him away.
“And you said he needs good drivers. Plural,” He repeated, card tucked between his fingers. At the groups nod he pursed his lips. “Multiple drivers means sharing all that money, and I’m not sure I’m down with that—
Hyuna rolled her eyes, smile a touch amused. Tired of his shit, but too fond of him to actually do anything about it, she leaned in, placed a pretty hand flat on his chest and shoved him onto his chair.
“It’s a race, Cherry. Your favorite kind,” She told him, then added the magic words; the trigger to get him started. “Winner gets the cash and gets pinks.”
And call Jimin typical, but he calls it consistent. Maybe reckless and a little off his rocker, but—semantics. He’s here, ready to drive, and only a bit unsettled that Yoongi is doing this as well, only because everything he gets a look of the guy he’s transported back to how it feels having him riding his tongue and scratching at the hood of his charger.
Heat flushed against his cheeks, and Jimin clears his throat. No time for that kind of thinking, not when the clocks ticking and there’s only sixty seconds to each minute, and two have passed with him wasting away wondering if Yoongi still thinks about it. How he moaned, how the hood of the car felt hot to the touch but not enough for either of them to shy away from it—
“—Car of your choosing,”
Jimin blinks out of his stupor and tries to focus. Seokjin is out of his chair, circling them and talking. Explaining what’ll entail his affair it sounds like, and Jimin thinks he won’t stop to repeat himself for anyone, much less him .
Yoongi nods along, then spares him a glance. Maybe he realizes jimin is left grasping for straws and needs help, and maybe, their one occasion together was enough to somehow cement a wordless truce between them, for he mouths along, “ explain later,” then turns away before they’ve been caught.
“Inside them will be trackers monitoring you stay on the right path,” Seokjin continues. He speaks smoothly, and so gentle that one wouldn’t believe he’s offer to pay them an obscene amount of money to move illegal merchandise to a colleague of his, and yet that’s what he’s doing. “I see any slick shit on your part, my guys pay you a visit. My guys don’t find you, they find who you’re close with and pay them a visit. Are we clear?”
He and Yoongi share a brief glance between them and then nod, which pleases Seokjin.
Bringing his palms together, fingers glittering in low light wherein thick, beautiful rings adorn each, he claps. Then, a slow, very calculating and charming smile showcases bright white teeth, and Jimin actually swoons a bit.
Sue him, he won’t ever apologize for appreciating a good view.
“Excellent!” Seokjin beams at them, then returns towards his desk in search of a dossier, where the information he’s looking for is. “Alright, so here’s what you’re going to do…”
Late afternoons, sun burning hot before it sets and brings the cool air that’s missing in a city he’s convinced is close to hell given how fucking hot, Jimin sits on the hood of his car, staring at Yoongi as he does the same from his own.
“All that cash, what’s the first thing you’d do with it, huh?”
Yoongi mulls it over as he reaches inside his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. He looks different today, less showy than the last race and no mesh in sight. Jeans ripped and tattered so badly it’s a wonder they’re still on, white tee and a leather jacket, Yoongi looks like the picture of a perfect fuckboy. All he’s missing is the angst and bruised knuckles.
A shame , Jimin thinks as he eyes him appreciatively. Yoongi can definitely pull off anything, but there’s something about him in mesh .
“I’d probably bank like half of it,” Yoongi answers after a lengthy pause, voice deepened into a rasp as he exhales the smoke past his cigarette. “Use the other half to secure a nicer spot to crash. Maybe get a better bed. You?”
“I’d wanna’ fuck on it first just to like soak it all in,” Jimin says, then laughs when Yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise. So prim and proper, a high brow princess wannabe that likes to get off on cars. Grinning, he moved his sunglasses from their perch on his head over his eyes, low on the bridge of his nose. “Look at that judgemental face, cute .”
Yoongi shoots a scowl his way, long fingers flicking ash off the cigarette onto the pavement. Stiff, shoulders hunched, he says to Jimin, “m’not judgemental, just surprised you’d want money just to get fucked on it.”
“Who says I’d be the one getting fucked on it?” Jimin laughs. “I don’t just want that, that’d just be where I’d start, y’kno? Really mark my cash before I get to use it. I’d probably get out of this city, to be honest. Fuck things up somewhere else, somewhere pretty.”
That piques Yoongi’s interest, as he pauses from exhaling through his mouth and instead does so through his nose. Eyebrow arched, he rasps, “somewhere pretty?” At jimin's nod, he asks, “Like where.”
“I’ve always wanted to live in Japan. Somewhere beautiful like Kyoto or I dunno’ maybe Nagoya. I got a thing for pretty places and people and scenery,” Jimin explains as he moves lower on the hood, legs now swinging idly back and forth. In front of him, lounging on his car lazily, legs spread and one hand absently resting on top of his thigh, Yoongi waits for him to continue, as if he’s got nothing else to do.
Maybe he doesn’t. Jimin knows he doesn’t, as there are no races tonight, and it’s come to their attention that their friends are all oddly familiar with each other. Thus, after securing a heist, risking their lives and trying to ignore what happened as if it didn’t, The two of them find themselves here.
Cars across from each other on top of an abandoned parking garage, the sun dwindling and yet still bearing hot on their skin as they talk about everything except the obvious.
“I’ve been there. Not to Kyoto, but Nagoya actually,” he says vaguely, then huffs when Jimin sends him a look over his sunglasses in question. Cheeks tinged a light shade, he mutters, “I used to gamble in this seedy spot there. Lost a lot money, made some but not nearly enough. It was fantastic, and almost getting caught got me a little hard.”
“You, getting hard off a potential life threatening situation? Sounds fake.” Jimin’s lip curves at the edges into a knowing smile. Then, as it dawns on him again what they’ve signed up for, he sobers and says, “I’m a little nervous for this drop, seeing as we won’t know anyone there and they’ll be watching us. It’s a lot riding on this, you know?”
“I know,” Yoongi says. He takes a final drag of his cigarette, then stubs it out and tosses it onto the ground, surveying Jimin as he does so. It makes Jimin fidget, like he’s suddenly naked and splayed out for the other to have his fill looking at.
He’s surprised when Yoongi says, “Hear me out, But—Maybe we should like, y’know, team up. You know, be partners. Have each other’s back.”
What’s even more surprising is how little it takes for Jimin to agree. “Yes,” He murmurs, inching his foot so that it skims the side of Yoongi’s thigh. “I’d like that.”
There are no secrets between friends, especially a group as chaotic as Jimin’s, so he’s not surprised by Taehyung subtly dropping hints that Yoongi happens to have a little shop of his own.
“I didn’t take him as a mechanic, just a gambler with a sweet ride and nice dick.” Jimin mutters, a tad bitter on how everyone seems to know more about the phantom than he does. He then reasons that’s partly his own fault for never seeing the guy as anything past a rival on the track, and stews in his seat on Taehyung’s couch.
Taehyung, in the middle of studying what looks like a headache to Jimin, looks up at him and arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to ask questions before you fucked him? That’s a little reckless even for you, Min.”
“Stop judging me! We were in the moment, all up into the sexing and whatever and questions just weren’t on the agenda,” Jimin grouses. “Besides, technically I didn’t fuck him perse, it was just, you know, his thighs. They’re nice. Soft, too—”
Taehyung holds a hand up, interrupting him. “Didn’t ask for a play-by-play But thanks for putting that visual in my head. I’m sure Hoseok will love to hear about it later.”
Hoseok, Taehyung’s boyfriend is a retired street racer who quit after a race went wrong and landed him in the hospital for six weeks. Now he dabbles in other things, like collecting the cash and handing it over to the winners after getting his cut. It’s a lucrative business, one that has him dipping his fingers anywhere they’ll fit, and they afford him comfortable Song-pa apartments for he and Taehyung to live in and pay for Taehyung to go to university.
“Speaking of him, where is your better half? It’s Wednesday. Nothing goes on during a Wednesday.”
“Hell if I know. He does what he likes. As long as he makes It home unscathed, I got no worries,” Taehyung shrugs and it causes his t-shirt to sag below his shoulder, where a tattoo resides; one half of he and Hoseok’s joint artwork. As headass in love as they can get without going the last step and getting each other’s names. Taehyung the sun to represent Hoseok and Hoseok, on the opposite shoulder, the moon.
Jimin smirks, pressing a sock clad foot to Taehyung's side to jostle him. “You’re full of shit. You’ve probably left him like five texts wondering where he is, or worse he probably told you where he is and you’re not saying anything.”
“Perhaps I sent one text and perhaps he replied within a few minutes,” Taehyung amends, too engrossed in his studying to look away from his notebook. “Regardless, we were talking about your man, not mine. You should pay him a visit at his shop. Have him pop open your hood and see what’s inside.”
Jimin wrinkles his nose. “It’s gross when you put it like that. Like you’re making a euphemism about a prostate exam.”
“Look at this guy, highbrow posh princess looking for pretty prose,” Taehyung murmurs absently, still concentrated on whatever he’s writing down. “Correction, you should pay him a visit, compare his smile to warm honey, as it makes your insides feel warm after you’ve swallowed his jizz— ride my ass, maybe .”
Jimin stares at his friend blankly, lips threatening to curve. Nudging his side with his foot again, hard enough to warrant a surprised wheeze from the other, he scowls. “Gah, get a grip. I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that there’d be no actual reason for my showing up there. It’s gotta be casual, y’know? Just one dude showing up to visit another dude.”
“Just male something up,” Taehyung suggests. “Bait him with some of that rivalry you’ve got going on. He’ll bite. He always bites once you start mouthing off.”
Could it be that easy? Jimin wonders when he began to second guess his decisions and comes to terms with the fact that it’s all Yoongi’s fault. It’s gotta’ be. The guy’s got him twisted in knots, still stuck on stupid and avoidance under the rouse of casualty.
“I’ll think about it,” He mutters, heaving a deep sigh from deep within his chest. God, he’s so tired. Running a hand through his hair, Jimin then says, “Yoongi is tricky. Never does what I expect of him.”
Taehyung nods, silent save for the faint slip of his finger turning a page. “He’s unpredictable. You like it, but since you’re the same brand of reckless, it’s twisting you up. That’s fair.”
Mulling it over, Jimin falls quiet, and Taehyung resumes doing his coursework. They remain like this for a while, in comfortable silence, until Taehyung heaves a sigh, finally sets his pencil down and comes to a stand.
“You know what we should do while we wait for Seoksie?” He asks in a lazy fashion, eyeing Jimin with a little gleam in his eye. “We should like shotgun some of his weed, then send him videos of you eating my ass in our bed. He’d love it.”
Jimin, who’d been tempted to crash for a nap on the couch is suddenly alert, and tips his head in order to follow Taehyung as he moves from the living room to down the hall where at the end, after a closed door, is he and Hoseok’s bedroom, where Jimin has spent many days and nights in before.
Now this, casual and fun fooling around with his friends that he trusts with his life, fairs easier to think about than anything else, and yet as Jimin let’s Taehyung guide him inside, he realizes he’d still answered Yoongi faster.
And so, Jimin mulls over it—the thing of how Yoongi is just his kind of reckless and it’s messing with his head—until he can’t anymore and decides to bite the bullet. He’s never been one for subtlety anyway, especially when it comes to what he likes and whom, so why start now?
“Quit pussyfooting and get out of the car,” He tells himself as he swipes his thumb over the corner of his bottom lip, where sticky lollipop residue always lingers. One resides in his mouth currently, and he cheeks it whilst ruffling his hair out of its windswept state.
Nowhere to run nor hide, Jimin eventually steps out of his car and surveys his surroundings. Yoongi’s shop is nothing compared to the grandeur of Hyuna’s, with just a simple sign in bold white letters stating it’s named as Min’s and nothing else. Outside there are a few men loitering in oil stained jumpsuits having cigarettes and chatting amongst each other, though that ends the moment he comes closer.
Jimin rolls his eyes as he steps past them and heads inside, ignoring the whistles that follow, as he’s used to being stared at. There’s a small front desk nestled in a corner and sitting there is a pretty girl with vibrant red hair and piercing eyes, organizing a Rubik’s cube with steady hands and sharp looking pink nails.
Soojin, her name tag reads. She regards him with a blank stare, pausing from her task. Asks if she can help him, then smirks when Jimin mentions he’s here to see Yoongi.
“He’s in his office upstairs, but I’m sure he’ll be real glad to see you.” She murmurs, then without anything else to say, resumes her previous task in arranging the cube. Jimin’s left staring at the smooth way her hands move, when she says, “Boss likes boys that look like you.”
Jimin roams his gaze across her face, raising an eyebrow. “And what’s a boy that looks like me mean, huh?”
Soojin must Ben desensitized to men giving her intent stares, given she waves him off. “The stairs are to your left at the end of the lot. Go right up, honey.”
A little disgruntled, but thankful he at least got what he wants, Jimin follows Soojin’s directions, striding past the cars being tended to, loud hip hop music and men staring at his ass, until he’s heading up a narrow flight of stairs that opens into a hallway with a single wooden door.
Without pause Jimin curls his fingers around the doorknob and turns, happy it’s unlocked as he barges inside with a wide smile. Sitting at a desk, boot clad feet kicked up as he flicks his fingers through a stack of cash, Yoongi looks relaxed. Doesn’t even bat an eyelash when noticing Jimin, as if he’d expected a visit from him sooner or later.
“Take a picture, Cherry, it’ll last longer,” Yoongi murmurs without looking at him, the money having all his attention for the moment. “Also, be a doll and close the door, please.”
Jimin does as told, solely because he’s not too keen on anyone overhearing them and not any other reason. They do have things to talk about, important things.
Yoongi’s office is small and consists of the one desk, a row of windows that look out towards an alley, a black couch that’s seen better days, a filing cabinet and not much else.
Jimin eyes the couch, then makes a dismissive sound towards it and takes a seat by the edge of Yoongi’s desk. Ass perched beside his feet, he watches how the other racer pauses from counting his money to glance at him, eyebrow raised in question.
Teasing, the game always much more fun somehow when Yoongi is the other player, Jimin leans in. Fingers curve over Yoongi’s holding the cash and give a little tug to get his attention. “Did you get a call from Seokjin last night?”
Wordlessly, Yoongi sets the money down and nods. Takes his time in answering, which aggravates Jimin to no end. His casualty outside of getting his thighs fucked and ass eaten.
“Yeah, he gave me a call. We had some words about cars,” he starts off, hands coming up to rest behind his head. Lounged in his seat, his lap looks just the right fit for Jimin to take a seat on and grind up against.
Does he think about it? Jimin wonders for the upteenth time. He’s gotta. Jimin rocked his world. Ate his ass like it went out of style, then made him come not once but twice—squirming and begging for it, pliant enough to take his cock should he want it—
“Said we weren’t down with that and he wasn’t happy.”
Disoriented, mind clouded with a thin haze of remnant lust, Jimin is lost. Blinking, he’s blushing hot when having to ask Yoongi to repeat himself.
And Yoongi does repeat himself. Slowly, and deeper, as if he knows.
“I said Seokjin wanted us to bring our cars and risk being red flagged by the cops Incase we get caught—cause’ it’s possible and he thought he’d be dealing with someone who ain’t aware to being tricked. Racing through traffic on some zero to a hundred shit in our own cars? With your reputation alone?— I said no. Told him to get fucked if he thought we’d risk it.”
“That’s bold of you,” Jimin says. “And a little hot. Keep going, I could come off this.”
Yoongi snorts, But keeps talking. Leans in this time, bringing a hand to rest it against the curve of Jimin’s knee, squeezing tight. “He wasn’t happy with the lip, and told me he expected that from you, seeing as you got a reputation for that mouth getting you into trouble. Anyway, we butt heads for a bit, but eventually came to an agreement. We get to do this together, get a replacement car, but they’re gonna be tracked and only one of us gets to pick. So… with that said, I hope you don’t mind that I picked the color.”
That puts a halt on things, and with a scowl at Yoongi, Jimin bats his hand off his knee and comes to a stand. “Why do you get to pick? What if you’re setting me up, huh? Trying to blindside me so you can take all the cash yourself?”
Yoongi remains unfazed by the accusation, leveling jimin with an even stare, as if he’s a child throwing a tantrum.
“I get to pick because I know cars better than you do, Cherry.”
He can’t be serious. Jimin blinks, breathes a steady inhale and tells himself throttling Yoongi with his bat would be bad, very bad, and exhales. Tension rolls off his shoulders, bouncing around the room as the two of them stare at each other.
“Your entitlement is pissing me off. Like real life mad, this entitlement you got going on,” Jimin moves, intent in the way he shoves Yoongi further onto his chair and sits on his lap, thighs bracketed on either side of his hips. Fingers moving, they thread into his mint colored hair and tug, searching for a reaction he doesn’t get, which irritates Jimin more. “I know cars too, and I don’t appreciate being cast aside. I wanna’ pick our car.”
“You’d pick it off what looks prettier versus what’ll get us there faster,” Yoongi says, and God —God, the way he talks so steadily even as Jimin begins to urge his hips forward, grinding slow circles on his lap—it drives him wild . “Can’t trust you to be rational. You’re a wildcard and I like knowing my hand before revealing it.”
“You must suck as a gambler then, always wanting to know everything. Some might call that breaking the rules,” Jimin whispers, tightening his grip. He tips Yoongi’s head towards him, lips inching closer, breaths fanning hot. Goosebumps dot down Jimin’s spine as Yoongi’s palms enclose over his ass and squeeze.
Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath, and his tongue comes out to wet his lips. The way he watches Jimin makes him warm all over, full of want . “Rules don’t mean shit when there’s money in the way.”
“You’re boring. C’mon, let me pick our car,” Jimin purrs, lips brushing against the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. Not enough to be a kiss, but enough to tease the possibility. Yoongi’s hand on his ass squeezes harder, urges him into his clothed cock more insistently. “I’d be so happy if you did. I’d reward you so nice, baby. Please?”
Yoongi makes a soft sound low in his throat resembling a content purr, as Jimin lowers his palm around his nape and urges him closer. Jimin is preparing his victory speech, when Yoongi eases away and smirks.
“You’re such a piece of shit, Yoongi,” Comes from Jimin, displeased and pouting. Anytime he doesn’t get his way one that sets him in a sour mood. He doesn’t mean to whine, and yet—“please? I could suck your cock this time.”
But Yoongi doesn’t fall for it. No, he smiles. Leans back in his chair, lets Jimin suffer and whine. “You’ll do that anyway.”
Jimin glares at him, but it falls short given the insistent way he tugs at Yoongi’s jeans in order to wrench them open and down to his thighs.
“Maybe I’m not doing it for you, maybe I just like sucking pretty dicks and you happen to have one available,” he mutters, and Yoongi hums, eyes alight with humor. “Stop laughing, I’m serious.”
Yoongi does not stop laughing. In fact he does so in a way that makes his shoulders shake, wildly fond for two people who, up until a few days ago, hated each other. He does make it easier for Jimin, long fingers undoing the button of his jeans, the zipper following.
“Are you gonna’ show me how serious you are with my dick in your mouth?” He asks, following the path Jimin’s hands take as they wrench his jeans to rest bunched around his thighs, the only thing keeping hims modest being a nondescript pair of grey briefs.
Sliding down, his knees hitting the floor with a dull thump, Jimin nods. Teasing the faint damp patch of precome against the fabric, he circles the imprint of his cock and squeezes gently. “What I’m gonna do first is make you come.”
Yoongi licks his lips, then bites onto the lower curve, chest beginning to rise and fall heavily. He groans as Jimin dips his fingertips into the band of his briefs and pulls out his thick cock, the tip flushed and wet with precome.
Tense silence falls between them, not preamble necessary. Jimin lowers until he’s a breath away, and then, eyes locked onto Yoongi so that he doesn’t miss a thing, he licks a stripe from the base of his cock up to the tip before sucking it into his mouth.
“ Jesus ,” Yoongi gasps, hands flexing restlessly against the chairs armrest. His thighs give a hard jerk, then relax, spreading wider.
This is what Jimin wants. To see pretty boys like Yoongi go up in flames over him. Whine and blush . Jimin watches him, satisfied by the twitch of his brow, the tremble in his lips as he groans.
It coaxes him to suck harder, to let saliva pool in his mouth and drip across the shaft as he comes up to press kisses against the tip. Leave it glistening as Jimin leaves kittenish licks down the shaft and slides it between his lips.
“Oh fuck,” Yoongi murmurs, eyes hooded with want. His hand moves from its stagnant position to cup the back of Jimin’s head, holding him there as he rubs his cock against his parted lips. “Damn it, stop being a little shit. Suck it—”
Hot and wet, a little messy too, Jimin’s lips slide down his cock, tongue following down to the base before he comes back up and pulls out.
It’s a lot loud and a lot obscene the sound his lips make when they smack off Yoongi’s cock, but neither of them care about that. Given the things they’ve done, some head inside a closed office seems tame.
Jimin curls his hand around the shaft, pumping Yoongi steadily whilst he leaves little kisses around his tummy, finding it so soft in comparison to the guys usual brute demeanor and appearance.
Yoongi is slightly ticklish, and tenses when he does so, but otherwise breathes heavily and moans. Praises Jimin so well, fingers carding through his hair to urge him lower. To suck his dick like he wants it.
“What’s that, pretty boy, you want more?” Jimin feigns innocence, all whilst mouthing at the tip.
“ Fuck you ,” Yoongi slurs, voice thick with want, thrusting slowly so that the tip of his cock brushes against Jimin’s jaw and his cheek.
“Hmm, don’t you wish I would,” Jimin murmurs, wet lips pouted around the shaft. His tongue peeks out, tracing the vein there, all whilst watching the way Yoongi stares at him. Begs a little more. Even whines.
If given the chance Jimin would spend hours sucking Yoongi off, but considering he’s on a mission, that’ll have to wait for another time.
The fingers threaded through his hair tighten once Jimin parts his lips and sucks the flushed tip inside again. Hollowing his cheeks, he’s a shade of eager, Saliva dripping past the corners of his lips as he sinks down, taking Yoongi’s hard cock as far as it’ll go, and gagging when it does.
Yoongi seems to love it, for he thrusts slowly into Jimin’s mouth, as if giving him a chance to protest. Jimin doesn’t protest and eases forward. Takes it slow and then moans when he sinks down easily, his lips taut around Yoongi’s trimmed pubic hair.
“Oh my god, Jimin —” Yoongi whispers, “Don’t Stop.”
Through wet lashes and black rimmed eyes, Jimin peers up at Yoongi as he continuously works his mouth on him, at first slowly, then fast. On the pull off he gasps for breath, then resumes. Taking Yoongi as deep as he’ll go.
Jimin is relentless when he wants something, and he wants Yoongi to come. Wants it yesterday . He moans around his cock, adding his hand so that he can stroke and suck him simultaneously. Make a mess of Yoongi, have him lose all finesse and thrust into his mouth as if coming is all he wants.
With a gasp and a thin string of saliva connecting from his bottom lip to Yoongi’s cock, Jimin lets the tip rest against his tongue and teases the vein beneath it, his hand stroking the shaft nice and fast. Slick sounds mingle with Yoongi’s groans, the way he writhes in the seat.
Fingers threading tighter into Jimin’s hair, Yoongi thrusts in, and it feels so good. The weight of his cock on his tongue, how it tastes and smells. That alone, The way Yoongi looks at him notwithstanding, makes Jimin hot. Makes him shiver and whine.
Loud suckling sounds mingle with the heady sounds coming from Yoongi. It’s lewd, and Jimin, fueled by it all, loves it. Wants to make Yoongi blush the way he did the other night. Reminisce how pretty he looks fucked out and stuck on stupid, tongue lolling out and focused on one thing—
“I’m gonna’ come so fuh -fucking hard,” Yoongi groans, the need reflected in his voice resembling a growl. It makes Jimin tremble, and a throb form at the base of his own cock.
He moans around the tip, presses open mouthed kisses against it in time with the way his fist strokes down the base in a tight circle.
Yoongi shivers, thighs trembling then going rigid as he thrusts into the wet heat of Jimin’s mouth and starts coming, long and hard. Greedily, Jimin suckles it all, milks Yoongi’s throbbing dick of all he’s got, then pulls back as the last drop smears against his lower lip, which he licks off.
Whilst Yoongi is busy catching his breath, Jimin rests his forehead on his lap, then nuzzles against his thigh and swallows the come pooling in his mouth.
A few seconds pass between them, until noise catches Jimin’s attention and he looks up. It’s Yoongi rifling through an open drawer on his desk and then pulling out a napkin.
“C’mere,” He croaks, using a hand to tip Jimin’s chin up, so that they’re once again eye level. Much too gentle given the brutal way he throat fucked him, He brushes the napkins against the corner of Jimin’s lip and cheeks. “You got a little something.”
Scandalized by the intimacy of being cleaned up, Jimin flinches, then wills himself to relax. Be cool. This is fine. Yoongi cleaning him up is fine. Normal .
“Thanks,” Jimin says softly, averting his eyes so that he doesn’t have to hold eye contact with Yoongi. It feels like too much now, too personal.
“For the napkin or for the dick?”
Jimin grabs the wadded up napkin and tosses it against Yoongi’s smug face with a scowl. “Both, I guess.”
“I’m a gentleman at heart,” Yoongi smirks, “You’re welcome, Cherry.”
They fall quiet as Jimin comes to a stand, though it’s oddly comfortable. More so, as a warped half ass way to repay the favor of being tended to, Jimin is gentle as he tucks Yoongi’s softening cock into his briefs again, and helps him restore them to their previous state.
Yoongi lets him, though he does watch with rapt attention at the way Jimin’s fingers curl around the shaft and how his thumb collects a stray drop of Come clinging to the tip that he then brings to his lips.
Once that’s done and there’s nothing left for Jimin to do with his hands, he goes to move away, But is stopped when Yoongi curls a hand around his wrist and jerks him forward.
“You never do shit the right way or how I expect them,” He mutters, giving another soft, but insistent tug, until Jimin is once again leaning into him, the one thing keeping him steady apart from Yoongi’s grip being the armrest. Up Close and personal he smells Yoongi’s cologne, as well as the faint scent of cigarettes and mint.
In spite of how much he likes the proximity, Jimin plays it cool. He thinks. Licks his lips, and breathes slow, lets Yoongi come closer until they can swallow each other’s inhale and exhale.
His grin is short lived, “I like to keep you on your toes. Makes this much more interesting, baby.”
Yoongi isn’t having it, and makes a soft, displeased sound low in his throat. Another soft tug of his wrist and Jimin gets the hint and eases himself onto his lap once again, arms wrapping around his neck.
“Oh for fuck sake, you’re one of those,” Yoongi grunts, And Jimin grins a little. Enough to curve the side of his lips. “Gonna’ make me ask for it as payback for the car, huh?”
Jimin‘s fingers inch across the nape of Yoongi’s neck, then move towards his shoulders to give them a squeeze. Yoongi’s so slim and lithe everywhere else, save for his shoulders, hands and– “You went behind my back. You owe me more than that.”
Yoongi’s hands slowly make their down his back, blunt nails burning a hot path down his lower back until his hands return to their rightful spot—Jimin’s ass .
“Kiss me,” Yoongi breathes, the tip of his nose brushing softly against Jimin’s, nuzzling. “Jimin, kiss me.”
Chest throbbing a hot vibrancy all over his heart, tugging at the fucking thing the longer he stays, Jimin inhales. Brings his finger to swipe at Yoongi’s lower lip instead of kissing him, enough to part and feel how they give under pressure.
Yoongi’s teeth scrape against his fingertip, sharp but firm. He watches jimin, eyes burning bright in the middle of a hot afternoon inside a stuffy office, laden with intention.
“One kiss and then I really gotta’ go,” Jimin says, breathless but surprisingly even. Leaning in, he replaces his finger with his lips, softly puckering them against Yoongi’s.
“ Oh ,” Yoongi sighs, lips mirroring Jimin’s as they start slow. Taking their time, exploring what it is that makes them tick when there’s no finish like in sight and no money to be made, they kiss chastely. Yoongi kisses like he drives, lazily but with a finesse that comes from having skill at his task. He nips and sucks Jimin’s lower lip into his mouth, does it hard enough to warrant a muffled little cry to leave him. Writhing in his lap, the one thing keeping him from grinding forward are Yoongi’s hands.
So steady, they hold him without faltering. Jimin melts at the contrast between the Yoongi he’s seeing now versus the one he’s seen before.
Greed has Jimin seeking more. Tipping Yoongi’s Head back and kissing him deeper, this time he moans loud and wanton as their tongues brush against each other’s, filthy and wet. His neglected cock so hard it hurts beneath his jeans.
A thin trail of saliva sticks between their lips as Yoongi pulls back, and he laughs. Flushed and heavy lidded, he murmurs thickly, “Jesus, you’re so hard right now. Kissing does it for you or is it about having my come down your throat?”
Heat pools low in Jimin’s groin. Makes his dick kick, a steady dripping of precome wetting his panties, a scrap of tiny things he wears so they don’t leave any marks.
“both maybe, I-I’m not sure,” he confesses with a husky purr, licking his lips and leaning back, using a hand to grip the armrest whilst the other remains wrapped around Yoongi’s neck.
“Can’t let you walk outta here being hard,” Yoongi rasps, “I’ll never get any fucking work done. You want me to make you come?”
Jimin nods so quickly it’s comical, how desperate he is to be touched. At this point he’d probably come from Yoongi’s mouth on his some more, but he’s not about to say no to a handjob. Especially from a guy with hands like those .
It's so good having Yoongi’s hands on him that Jimin sinks into the touch and lets him do as he pleases. First they skim across his chest, thumb brushing over a nipple teasingly, then its the back of his knuckles stroking along his navel where his shirt rides up higher, and then—when Jimin is trembling with impatience—Yoongi’s deft finger’s begin to pop the button on his jeans, the zipper following.
Jimin’s cock is hard enough that the tip peeks past the band of his briefs, the front soaking wet with precome, and when Yoongi tugs them down in order for it to slap against his stomach it only increases the heat licking up his skin.
“Jesus, and you wonder why I nearly dislocated my jaw sucking your dick. You’re fucking pretty,” Yoongi breathes, voice thick as he swallows hard. A lone finger runs up the length of Jimin’s cock, and it kicks forward, throbs a little more. “You’re not waxed today. You're like this all the time?”
In spite of all the fucked up things he’s done and thought of doing, being asked something so intimate makes Jimin blush. Scandalized, lip taken between his teeth, he nods.
Yoongi takes that as answer enough, and then busies in reaching inside his drawer once again, where seconds later he unearths a small bottle of lu—
Jimin giggles at the sight of it, breathless and trembling; his voice fraught with anticipation. “What else do you have in that drawer, huh?”
“Anything I need Incase I’ve gotta handle pain in the ass people named Jimin that might come barging in my office wanting to fuck around.”
“Smooth,” Jimin gasps, hips bucking forward into the thick, viscous fluid being dripped onto his cock and the heat of the large hand wrapping around it. “Oh—I bet you say that to all the pretty boys— Shit, Yoongi .”
“Only got one pretty boy,” Yoongi murmurs, “He’s enough of a headache. Don’t need anymore.”
“oh fuck you—”
Jimin breaks into a gasp. Yoongi starts off fast, stroking up the shaft and using his thumb to rub beneath his cockhead, over that little vein that pulses until precome pools thick and dribbles down.
Yoongi stares at his hand, more so at how it’s so large that it encompasses the width of Jimin’s dick easily. He gives a teasing little flick against the tip, and Jimin gasps. Finds that dull but present jolt of pressure Oh so good.
“You’re sensitive here,” he says conversationally, as if the room isn’t thick with the smell of precome and sweat. As if the loud squelch of his palm sliding up and down his aching dick isn’t happening.
“You fuh—fucking loser, you wanna know where else I’m sensitive?” Jimin lets out a muffled cry, his grip around Yoongi’s neck loosening so that now he can brace but hands on the armrest and fully fuck into the tight circle jerking him off.
Yoongi’s fingers dip between his legs, fingers pressing against his perineum and massaging around it. The sudden pressure punches a moan past Jimin and the other racer smiles. “Is it here?”
Guttural groans echo across the room, mingling with Jimin’s increasingly loud whines. He’s sure anyone who’s attempted to come up has heard them, and the thought of anyone hearing him makes him thrash wildly in Yoongi’s grip.
Chest heaving, breathing choppy and unsteady, Jimin leans in and buries his head into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, muffling his moans as the pressure in his groin thickens.
“Yoongi, don’t be a dick. Yoon —”
Any tries to be coherent fail Jimin, mind spinning on overdrive; the urge to come overlooking his common courtesy. Still, he tries hard, and pulls away from Yoongi’s neck, only to moan at the other on his face; the fervent want staring back at him. It leaves him reeling, and leaning forward, he abandons all caution and jerks a hand into Yoongi’s shirt.
“Make me come,” Jimin gasps Pulls him closer. Moans into his mouth just as their lips slot open, messy and hot; warm breaths mingling in sync. “Yoongi, I wanna ’come now.”
And Goddamn, Jimin has had people kiss him like they want him, but it’s never quite reached this level of intensity. Yoongi kisses him like he wants to eat him up, like Jimin’s kisses serve the same allure a table full of money holds for him. Enough to make a man reckless and say things he might not mean if he’s not careful.
It’s with that thought present in his head—how he’s becoming a vice for a man full of ‘em and he’s living for the ride—coupled with Yoongi’s words— I want you to come, I want it, I want it — that he chokes on a moan and starts coming, dripping past Yoongi’s knuckles and down his wrist.
As he catches his breath, body dead weight on top of Yoongi’s lap as he leaves a hard kiss against his brow that Jimin realizes how fucking reckless of a man he really is. Because these things—or this thing in particular—is nothing to make light of. This high too thrilling, pulsing something heavy and throbbing deep in the chest, laughing at them both for thinking something’s stay casual.
And they do. Jimin’s familiar with casual, with easy hands and even easier goodbyes once the show is over, but now it’s difficult. Now he lingers by the door even after Yoongi’s closed it and he wonders.
Late hours of another Thursday night where being reckless tastes sweet like honey on his tongue finds Jimin trapped between bodies, coated in sweat and loving life. Loving this—losing himself inside a crappy club down in Hongdae where taking the edge off comes in parties of three: drinking, dancing and fucking. All in that order on a normal night.
Tonight’s flavor of choice has bright pink hair, like sticky cotton candy dangling above his lips, a mouth lush and parted too close to his, and a face that’s gorgeous even behind the haze of alcohol, and yet—Jimin’s focus ain’t on him how it should be. He feels nice, looks nice and is eager with his hands and lips against his skin.
But still— goddamn it , Jimin isn’t looking at him.
The center of his attention falls beyond the mass of writhing bodies bathed in sweat, leaning against the bar and having a drink whilst a pretty thing sits draped his lap, leaning in to say something Jimin can’t make out from afar.
Scowling, because this kind of shit isn’t his brand of normal, Jimin tries to tune out the rest. Focus on the guy in front of him, kissing him hot and open, too vulgar for it to be anything other than what it is—some wordless callout to fuck it out hard and messy inside one of the stalls or maybe at this candy floss dudes place in name of forgetting who he’s feening for taking home.
Tongue pressing against his throat as eager hands slip beneath his shirt and dip towards his ass, and Jimin isn’t feeling it. Isn’t even semi hard at this point, rage simmering something fierce and unwanted low in his belly.
Jealousy , Taehyung would call this, Maybe, but he’s not here to reign Jimin in and remind him of his place. He’s home, tucked into Hoseok’s arms for some tender loving care how they both deserve whilst Jimin tries to take the edge off and tries to ignore what’s there.
Bright mint green hair seems to glimmer beneath neon lights, too much amidst faceless people who only want him for what he’s so used to giving but isn’t feeling, And Jimin’s irritated.
Pulling away, he mumbles an apology to his overzealous dance partner for the blue balling he’s received and brushes past, heading for some space, some fresh air that doesn’t reek of stale sweat, come and alcohol everywhere, or something .
If he brushes past Yoongi and accidentally elbows him in the side, then Jimin pegs it down to the bar being too close to the dance floor and the place too packed for politeness and nobody will tell him differently.
And if Yoongi so happens to see him and Jimin happens to roll his eyes at the show he and his date for the evening make of themselves, then Jimin will swear he’s not jealous, just bored, because hey—
Hey, that... could be him. That could definitely be him draped across Yoongi’s lap, licking salt off his throat and sucking a lemon off his lips, drowning in bad tequila and even worse decisions, but it’s not. They’re not …
Outside the air is cooler, crisp on his cheeks and feels like fucking heaven after he’s spent the better part of his night in hell. Jimin’s cell phone seems heavier in his grip now that he’s bothered to check the time.
2:00 A.M seems somehow a haven for wild nightlife to grow in this part of the city, the perfect spot for those looking to forget. It’s become as part of Jimin’s routine with the same kind of intensity with which he drives, and yet he’s not as fond and could do without the lingering itch on his skin that follows for days.
He’s patting the pockets of his jeans in search of whatever touches his fingertips first—cigarette or lollipop—and wondering when the fuck he became like this. A moron he makes fun of with his friends, stuck on stupid and pining over some dude with green hair and a taste for thigh fucking on the hood of his car—and apparently— blonds .
Luck ain’t on his side, because whilst he does find a cigarette, he’s distracted and ends up dropping it into a grime colored puddle by his feet, which leaves him sulking over the loss of three good things this evening.
And no, he won’t—downright refuses—to consider Yoongi, the fucking phantom of all people, a good thing. Won’t even entertain the idea anymore than he has.
Jimin’s resigned to sucking on a lollipop beside dumpsters in the back alley of this shitty club when he realizes he’s not alone anymore. And isn’t that just his luck again that Yoongi has somehow found his way here, standing across from him, hands tucked into his pockets and staring at Jimin like he knows something no one else does.
“You got glitter on your mouth,” Jimin says amidst cheeking his lollipop, this new shade of tense and awkward between them one that’s slowly driving him insane.
It shouldn’t be a thing between them at all, given how they’ve panned out and built this pseudo non relationship, and yet it’s a thing. Wedged right there, cramping up a small space where it has no place being, such a vivid picture of what it looks like to see Yoongi in his element with someone that isn’t him.
Yoongi gives him a once over, fingers brushing over his lips and then surveying them. “You got glitter across your neck. Same reason as me, huh?”
Jimin’s smile doesn’t feel right, but it’s all he’s got. “Probably, Yeah.”
To Jimin’s surprise, Yoongi says, “that was just a casual thing, you know. A guy I’ve known for a bit. We fuck around sometimes, but tonight I wasn’t feeling It.”
Embarrassed by his own transparency, Jimin clears his throat, the taste of cherry in his mouth suddenly too overwhelming. “You don’t gotta explain yourself to me, Yoongi.”
Heavy gazed, Yoongi stares at him. Here’s a question there, Jimin guesses, one they should probably address right away given that they’re gonna be seeing each other often, but that doesn’t happen.
It’s easier, maybe, pretending the lights red when in fact, it’s green.
“Yeah.” Jimin says. In some sort of half assed Jimin attempt of a truce he procures the last lollipop out of his pocket and offers it to Yoongi.
Yoongi glances at him in a way that’s molten, full of words and touches neither of them seem keen on getting just yet, before he accepts it.
In silence, on the outside of neon lights and smoke filled corners where rushed handjobs happen more often than anyone likes to admit, they stay there. At first there’s nothing to say; Just Jimin and Yoongi basking in whatever they’re becoming that’s not as simple as they thought. Not quite friendship, but not quite as tense as it’d been once; some odd middle ground where finding one’s footing is difficult.
Then Yoongi’s moving, now standing beside Jimin. Shoulders touching, skin sticky with sweat and remnants of glitter that’s also caught in his hair, Yoongi’s never looked as good like that. Lazy eyed and flushed, lips parted and red in a way that suggests he’s kissed and gotten kissed good.
Jealousy tugs a vice around his chest, beneath Jimin’s ribs and he scowls at it, rubbing what feels like a swollen bump being a nuisance.
“You’ve been off the radar. Haven’t seen you race in a while,” Yoongi comments, not quite accusing, but not entirely without. The question lingers there.
Where have you been?
And how does Jimin tell him—it’s not you. Fuck you and your misplaced concern when you aren’t supposed to do this; care and worry. But he’s a coward at heart and that’s just too much he’d have to unpack, So Jimin shrugs it off.
Plays it casual. No big deal. “I’m trying to lay low before we hit it. Maybe you oughta follow my lead or take my advice. You’re everywhere lately. Short on cash?”
Yoongi does this thing where he’s all knobby and big hands awkwardly rubbing at his neck to avoid saying things he doesn’t wanna. “Nah, just short on endorphins. Y’know, the stuff that pumps you up good like when you’re happy, high or fucked. Making money gives me all three, so I chase that. Crisp bills and dirty money do a body real nice.”
“Okay, mood. Just like,” Deliberately, because Jimin knows men and he especially knows Yoongi, he brings the lollipop past his lips, brushing the tart candy across his lower lip. Endorphins, huh? “Not like that exactly. You ever been like an extra in the room? Y’know like a voyeur. Just cause I haven’t been driving doesn’t mean I’m out of the game. I’m taking it all in, getting off on all that chaos, heat and noise. You know I like it like that .”
“You shouldn’t hide out,” Is Yoongi’s retort. He’s so close that all that hot skin is pressed up against Jimin, and yet they’re not moving. “Like don’t race, that’s on you, but don’t be a stranger about it.”
“Coming from you that’s real rich, Yoon,” Jimin says, “You’ve fucked off.”
That’s got Yoongi pulling back, eyes narrowed in question. He’s sighing, running a hand across his face. “It’s not personal.”
Lips twisting, Jimin mutters, “Feels like it.”
Yoongi’s not smiling. “We’re doing this now?”
Cursing beneath his breath at such awful timing, Jimin looks away. Jaw clenching, he’s nothing but pent up jealousy boiling from within. “Nah,” he mumbles, “We ain’t.”
Jimin finds that despite his own shit ruining things on his end, he’s grown rather fond of spending time with Yoongi—as annoying as he can be—like this. Be it in clubs watching him suck face with someone else, only to reconvene outside and share a few moments of silence that bridges the gap between them into something closer, be it late night runs to that ridiculously shitty parking garage to talk about their favorite parts of Japan they wish to visit or be it that brief shared eye contact when they’ve both got their tongues down someone else’s throat, hands close enough to touch but never actually doing so.
There’s just something about it that tells how much trust hangs between them, or moreoff, how much Yoongi trusts him. Albeit his tongue ends up tangled with someone else’s, at the end of these nights, he doesn’t leave with anyone other than Jimin, and that’s got to mean something, right?
Whatever the fuck this thing between them is, It’s there’s right now and Jimin’s hanging onto it tight. Coasting easy down a highway he’s never been through, but enjoying the ride.
He supposed people change slowly, because that’s rational and how shit is supposed to get done between people who develop any kind of relationship, but looking back on it, Jimin recalls Taehyung telling him the truth:
Yoongi’s his same brand of reckless and it’s definitely fucking him up.
Monday morning, while the white collared man slaves his nine to five, sees Jimin blazed like it’s gone out of style, on his stomach over Yoongi’s couch, peering through these god awful curtains he’s got hanging off his windows. Gauzy and greenish, they remind Jimin of peas, or maybe vomit; he’s not sure. He’s only sure that he hates them and hates himself more for wanting to buy the guy some new ones so he’ll never have to be subjected to them again.
Beside him, head resting over Jimin’s arm and blowing wispy rings of smoke up above his head, entranced on some anime Jimin’s long since watched and gotten over, Yoongi’s humming the intro to himself. Past another toke between shared hits which go down smooth between them, he’s saying, “You kinda look like him. Levi, I mean. If I squint and maybe you dye your hair black, the resemblance is right there.”
It takes a moment for Jimin’s muddled thoughts to focus, but when they do he’s scoffing. “What’re you on about?”
“Him—dude with the scowl and sharp jaw. The really hot one.”
Jimin squints at the television screen. Yoongi’s apartment is nothing grand given how small it is, and yet one would think he’s rich based off his entertainment system alone. Not to mention his tv has a 3-D option that’s so good it has Jimin zoning in on the screen as the female titan rips a brutal chunk off Titan Eren’s nape, convinced he’s right there.
“Yoongi,” He starts off, throat parched and itchy. “Please Tell me you’re not about to admit you wanna bang an anime character. Like is this where you do this—”
“I’d bang you too, seeing as you look like this one.” Smiling, all gums and teeth, Yoongi’s laughing.
“I can't believe I’ve held dicks with a guy who probably jerks it to Naruto. Who do I hate more, you or myself?”
Yoongi’s response comes in form of pursed lips blowing warm smoke all up in his face, then moving out of the way before he can get his ass beat.
They fall into comfortable silence for a few moments, wherein Jimin’s limbs feel heavy, the previous nights activities— club crawling and leaving with Yoongi At the end of it all to suck him off sloppy and wonderful inside his car—wearing on him as the day crawls on.
“You know what’s a goddamn travesty?”
Jimin cracks an eye open and grunts some sort of response.
“Listen, Listen, Like—” Up and off his ass, Yoongi’s moving to turn off the television and turn on the ceiling fan to bring some much needed air into his apartment, even as the air tastes dry. He’s back, kneeling up and personal in Jimin’s face, poking his nose and being a nuisance, mumbling, “You've got a great ass. Arguably the best ass I’ve ever seen on a person, yeah. And yet I’ve been fucking around with you for how long now?”
Nineteen days, Jimin thinks. Nineteen days of thigh riding, bro-jobs and dick sucking in between all this ugly pining and jealousy thing he’s got going on at once. Now that he’s counting or whatever.
“A little while,” Jimin says instead, burrowing up into the cushions where the fabric smells of Yoongi’s cologne and like his shampoo. Anything to hide out from the pest carding fingers through his hair.
“Yeah, Yeah, a while. And yet I’ve not even offered to rim you. How fucked up is that?”
“You’re a chatty high, I take it. Fucking excellent for this headache I got,” Jimin’s saying into the cushion, which must translate as gibberish to Yoongi. Moving, he peeks past it to say, “Also, you can’t just do it abruptly like a spur of the moment rimjob, Yoons. Hygiene and whatever, you need to prep for that and stuff.”
Yoongi looks absolutely crestfallen, as if Jimin’s kicked his puppy by even suggesting something as wild as personal hygiene before a rimjob. He’s even pouting .
Jimin sighs, sluggish in getting up. Yoongi’s kneeling between his parted thighs, staring from beneath his lashes like a posh kitty waiting to get stroked under his chin. Experimentally Jimin does so, fingers scratching beneath the soft curve of Yoongi’s chin, which makes the others nose twitch.
“Don’t gimme’ that face, you big baby.” Jimin mutters, half assed in trying to sound stern when they both know he’s going to agree. On his terms though—“Can I use your shower? Gotta prep if we’re doing this.”
Yoongi’s enthusiastic about it, and leads Jimin by the hand towards his bathroom even though he’s been inside it before. Leaving him by the counter, he’s rummaging through a linen closet before procuring a towel and setting it aside.
Jimin stares at him, that nuisance of a thing inside his chest fluttering. And god, if that’s not peak gay for him—realizing during these times that he’s super involved with this anime fucking loser who’s hand feel nice and whose bed feels nicer—then jimin doesn’t know what is .
Fingers skimming across the towel, Jimin says, “Skedaddle, Yoon. I gotta prep,” then before Yoongi can suggest it like Jimin knows he is, he shuts it down. “Alone, Like you can’t be here. That’s awkward.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen, and a hot flush creeps all the way down his neck, across his collarbones too. Jimin tries and fails to not notice his chest. Sputtering, he’s trying to somehow work his way into this and says, “We do everything together. Like, c’mon, how would that be awkward?”
“Seeing as like you’re dead set on never bottoming and want me to do it, then I gotta do it right. Make sure everything is squeaky clean—Geez, you’re making it weird.”
“You’re making it weirder!” Yoongi cries out, and now they’re both a pair of bumbling, blushing idiots. “I’m just trying to offer some moral support!”
“I don’t need you to hold my hand to prep for bottoming, Oh my god, this is the worst day of my life—”
A hand settles over Jimin’s on top of the towel; all that heat Yoongi radiates trapped above his palm and feeling all kinds of nice and comforting. “What if I wanna hold hands just because?”
Reeling, Jimin mutters, “Yoon, you’re aware you’ve got this big reputation of being this cold hearted dude who eats feelings and spits them out for breakfast, right?”
Rolling his eyes, and coming closer, there’s no fumbling anymore. Yoongi’s grip on his hand falters, but it’s only due to him now lacing their fingers together. “As long as you don’t see me like that we don’t got an issue.”
And isn’t it there, lingering around them as it always does—that pressing doubt.
In order to ease the tension, and salvage his dumb heart from the way it’s beating too loud and too fast to be subtle, Jimin nods. Palms pressing, he squeezes Yoongi’s fingers, pulling him close. “We don’t have an issue, pretty boy.”
Leaning in, lips parted and a breath away, Yoongi tries to kiss him but doesn’t make it, as he’s shoved away. Gaping, he mumbles, “What the—”
“Like I said,” Jimin murmurs, balling up the towel and twisting it tight. With a flick of the wrist it snaps against Yoongi’s thigh, teasing him with another hit whilst he’s trying to move. “This is a part time bottoms only event, partner . You clearly ain’t invited to join or watch.”
“ Hey .”
On his own, the door locked to keep Yoongi out of his way, Jimin’s got the towel pressed to his chest. Staring at his fingertips, he wonders if Yoongi’s been thinking the same as him, if he wonders when this partnership became something else and how easily it all happened, as if—
Well, as if they’d been doing this always.
It’s a tedious task, as it usually is when it comes to these things, Especially when Yoongi doesn’t even own the stuff needed , but eventually, and only after he’s scrubbed himself clean inside and out, smelling like Yoongi’s body wash and his shampoos, does Jimin leave the bathroom.
Towel hanging low around his hips, he’s expecting Yoongi to have been waiting by the door like the creep he tends to be sometimes to get on his nerves, but the guy is nowhere in sight. Venturing off, because there’s no way he went through all this trouble for no reason, Jimin sets off around the apartment, slicking wet hair off his forehead.
“You took your goddamn time,” Yoongi mumbles from where he’s laying on the opposite side of the bed, spread out and waiting for him by the edge. There’s no subtlety to it, the way he zeroes in on the fact that Jimin’s only source of remaining modesty is hidden beneath a towel, and it sends a frisson of shivers down his spine.
Swallowing hard, because he’s feeling vulnerable being unclothed whilst Yoongi is fully dressed,, Jimin fumbles with the towel. “I like to be thorough.” He says, knee coming to rest on the bed, shy of Yoongi’s head. “Are you planning on moving from there or like—do I gotta do it all myself, mh?”
“What’s your take on sixty-nining?” Yoongi’s glossy eyed and staring up at him, tongue coming out to wet his lips.
Jimin’s skin feels hot where Yoongi’s hand touches. He can't believe they’re like this, and yet he’s not surprised, as Yoongi’s always blunt about what he wants even at the risk of sounding awkward.
Quiet, Jimin says, “‘s good if we both reciprocate. Like, don’t be a jackass and leave me to rot once I get my mouth on your dick. That’s in poor taste.”
Snorting out a series of muffled laughs, Yoongi’s moving. Curling a hand around the edge of the towel, he’s tugging it off Jimin so that it pools onto the floor in a rustle of soft cotton.
Yoongi’s gaze on him molten, breath catching in his throat when he gets a prime view of Jimin without anything on. Such a rare sight for them, just dudes who get off on fucking around in their clothes more often than not.
“Jesus, can you get any hotter? What the fuck—”
“Y’know I work out when the mood strikes,” Jimin murmurs, flexing his thighs just to see the way Yoongi’s eyes widen. Giggling, fingers sitting through the mint green strands, Jimin’s teasing. “Got a muscle kink, baby?”
“Fuck off,” Yoongi grunts without any real malice. He likes this, given the unsubtle way his dick hardens beneath those thin sweats. “Get over here so I can rim you and fulfill my service to the Gods of ass eating.”
Jimin’s feeling it, the praise causing him to sigh. Craning his neck, he’s nothing but want as Yoongi’s hands smooth up his thighs and nudge them apart.
Why am I getting hard over this , Jimin thinks to himself. He’s really lost it this time, gone and fucked up by feeling things for this fishnet wearing dweeb who’s got great hands and drives a mean stick shift.
“No kiss?” He’s saying, even as he’s moving, sighing deep within his chest, because Yoongi’s mouth is a blessing. But Yoongi’s mouth against his thighs is something else. Religious experience kind of shi—“ Oh .”
There’s no easing their way into it, not with how eager Yoongi is, and certainly not with how willing Jimin is either. Within minutes, the room is smothered in nothing but the sound of hungry mouths and slick fingers gripping wherever they find purchase.
Jimin’s teary eyed, lips stretched around the girth of Yoongi’s cock, tongue dipping into the slit, making those whimpering noises he knows Yoongi gets off on hearing.
Behind him, palms gripping his asscheeks, spreading and holding him open, Yoongi’s got a finger inside Jimin, fucking insync with his tongue so good that it has him trembling. Thighs quivering around his face, Jimin pulls off his cock with a wet gasp, moaning low and needy.
Fists balling on the sheets, squeezing tight, he’s panting too close to Yoongi’s dick, hard and flushed at the tip from his mouth, and attempting to tongue around the shaft. “Yoon— god , baby makes me feel so nice. S-So nice ,”
Praise has Yoongi doing things Jimin’s never got to experience, like how his lips suck around the rim hard or how he’s licking gross and good down his rim and across his balls; until Jimin’s grinding down. Chasing that heat and wonderfulness up against him, greedy for it all.
His ass receives a sharp slap, and Jimin moans broken, long and wanton. His mind blanks out when Yoongi does it again, and Jimin can’t speak. Cannot for the life of him do anything other than beg—for what he doesn’t know. He’s all sound and feeling, just using his lips to noisily mouth the head of Yoongi’s cock, choking on his own tongue that feels too heavy.
Yoongi’s fucking his tongue into him slow and drawn out, making these deep purring noises up against Jimin’s rim to where it aches too good and sends a throb to his neglected cock that’s rubbing against the soft wrinkled cotton of his tee-shirt.
“You good, Red?” All too sweetly, as if he’s not moving lower and grasping his cock to crane it towards his lips, Yoongi’s got Jimin spinning. Stuck on sensitive and whining.
“‘s good,” Jimin gasps at the sudden pressure up against his dick, because like this—it’s too tight and too wet, and Yoongi’s suckling at the tip like a kitten takes to warm milk. “God, Yoongi, you’re so fucking hot. Please —”
Normally Jimin doesn’t succumb like this, as it’s rare to find someone who will dick him down or service his needs the way he truly likes, but god does Yoongi know how to fuck . Makes Jimin’s thoughts fade into white noise, his body heavy and thrumming with heat.
The mouth around his cock pulls away, only the warm press of tongue against the tip remaining, kittenish and teasing, Yoongi’s enjoying this. He mouths along the curve of Jimin’s ass, sucking marks against his skin until his tongue presses flat against the rim, slow circling and oh so good.
Jimin gasps, mouth full of dick preventing him from truly screaming, because it’s too much and Yoongi is everywhere. He’s choking on it, on Yoongi’s body beneath his, on how he tastes, how he smells, how he must look like this. How they must look.
Jimin’s all big eyes and sloppy kisses down Yoongi’s length, grinding hips never stilling as Yoongi urges him to grind against his tongue; tells him to come get it if he wants it. And Jimin wants it so bad, more than anything else.
And amidst chasing that nasty, but fantastic friction that comes with being rimmed, Jimin’s shuddering. The need to come hits him so suddenly, too hard like a slap to the face, much too fast.
He stills, mouth poised at the tip of Yoongi’s dick and jerking it fast and messy, all that saliva dripping past and making the glide easy. Trembling, because he’s going to come, Jimin’s keening high pitched, letting Yoongi guide him to riding his face with a firm hand on his lower back.
Too good, Yoongi’s fingers slide inside him and massage, pressure around his dick only growing worse as he finds his prostate and begins to circle it; at first soft and fleeting but then hard with scissoring jabs that hurt so good that Jimin chases after that fullness eagerly. Pride out the window, he’s begging Yoongi to make him come because—“ hh , it hurts. I want it—Want it bad, wanna come riding you, baby .”
Yoongi’s panting beneath him, cock brushing up and against Jimin’s cheek, leaving it slick with precome. He pauses then, and Jimin does too when he realizes.
Because this is what they do. They fuck around and have fun, but they’ve never gone past eager hands undoing zippers and eager mouths sucking dicks. It’s never surpassed the casual, once in a while brojob, and yet—
“Fuck me,” Jimin murmurs, sweat slick strands of hair clinging to his forehead. “God, just fuck me already. I want it.”
Yoongi’s hands smooth across his sides, tender amidst the circumstances. “You wanna? Really ?”
“Yes,” Jimin whispers, dick heavy and full between his thighs, neglected and red. He’s soaked up a patch of Yoongi’s shirt with precome and basks in how much he likes that. “I wanna.”
Yoongi’s breath hitches against his thigh. “Get the lube and a condom, Red, k’? They’re inside the drawer.”
Quick to oblige, Jimin’s moving over Yoongi’s body and across the bed in search of what they’ll need. Inside Yoongi’s drawer Jimin finds a line of condoms and a barely used bottle of lube, which he grabs and tosses onto the bed.
Yoongi’s up and off the bed, palm coming behind his neck to tug the t- shirt off, his sweats and boxers following. All that’s left are his socks, and as he takes them off and stumbles, hopping on one foot to remove each one, Jimin’s giggling. He’s sick with fondness, disgusted with himself for finding an unsexy act like removing one’s socks sexier than the sight of Yoongi’s actual hard dick.
Quick before he can spout off any of this festering like he’s got inside that’s threatening to crush him from the weight of it, Jimin’s yanking Yoongi towards him, cupping his jaw and leaning in for a kiss.
It’s bright inside the bedroom, Yoongi’s ugly curtains no match for the sun, and the room is bathed in heat and sunlight that glints off the sweat clinging to their skins. Their lips tremble through each kiss, tongues hurried to where they’re no longer trying, content to gasp into each other’s mouths.
Impatient, Jimin doesn't wait for Yoongi, having had enough, and urges him onto his back so that he can straddle his waist. Hands settled onto his chest where Jimin can feel the steady thump of his heart as it races, he leans down to lick the sweat clinging to his collarbones; reaching for the lube in order to get himself ready.
It’s too fast and intense this way, with Jimin’s lube slick fingers scissoring inside whilst Yoongi rubs soothing hands along his sides, but Jimin doesn’t care. He’s too gone to be vocal, stuck on this fervent need to have Yoongi inside him, breathing too hard up against Yoongi’s neck.
“Ah, that’s hot, Red,” Yoongi groans, lower lip bitten red. “You feeling good?”
Jimin adds a fourth finger with a wince, spreading them wide. His nod comes short as he grinds down against Yoongi’s soft stomach, cocks brushing alongside each other. “So good,” he sighs, head tipping back, eyes hooded. “I’ll feel better when you’re in me, though.”
Soon Yoongi’s got a handful of ass in his hands, squeezing and parting them, thumbs skimming on either side of Jimin’s fingers. “Pull off,” he groans, “Jesus, gonna fist yourself in front of me, too?”
“One day if you’re luh—” His middle finger brushing up against his prostate has Jimin squirming and he loses whatever he’d been about to say. Begrudgingly he pulls off, only to keep busy with the lube again whilst Yoongi sheaths his cock with the condom.
“How d’ya want it? You wanna ride it or should I bend you over and fuck you hard?”
Jimin needs exactly two seconds to reach a decision, and within that time he’s turning, palms braced on Yoongi’s thighs, back facing him. “Like this ,” He says, shakily reaching behind to grasp Yoongi’s cock and slap the tip up against his rim. “Yeah, Yeah , this works.”
Yoongi’s on him then, large hands splayed over his ass, spreading wide, cock heavy between his cheeks, rutting against the heat. They’re nothing but feeling, and mingled moans as Yoongi finds the right angle and begins to push in, inch by fucking inch, tipping Jimin’s lower back.
Jimin gasps at the sudden fullness, lips parting and eyes rolling. The grip he’s got on Yoongi’s thighs will undoubtedly bruise come tomorrow, and he’s feeling funny in the chest, breaths too choppy.
Lightheaded, Jimin adjusts, then gives an experimental lift of his hips.
“ More ,” he groans, nails digging into Yoongi’s thighs. “Yoon, c’mon don’t be a dick now, move .”
Palms flexing against his hips, Yoongi pulls out, only to pull Jimin back in, closer and closer until he’s balls deep, down to the hilt, until Jimin's back arches and he moans. It goes like this at first, with Jimin and Yoongi alternating; Yoongi pulling out slow, and Jimin fucking down hard and fast.
“Damn, Jimin, you’re so good,” Yoongi groans, fingers smoothing down his back, tracing Jimin's spine. His palm connects with an asscheek, and Jimin melts. Body going liquidy and soft, he grinds little circles around Yoongi's cock, loving how it fills him. “Love your ass.”
“Love your dick , baby. God, you fuck me so nice ,” he breathes in sharp, wet and loud slapping noises echoing in the room pulling him under. Too much, so good. So damn good it goes over his head, leaves him kind of numb and dizzy, an out of body experience.
He’s left floating for a little bit, lax and pliant to being fucked a shade of brutal, Yoongi’s cock unrelenting as he fucks in, then pulls out. Jimin’s sure that those strangled noises he’s hearing belong to him, given the fact that he’s kind of lost it by now. Hands faltering, his thighs quiver on either side of Yoongi’s hips as he struggles to keep up.
And Yoongi, merciful or maybe full of his own ego wedged up his ass chuckles at this. Moving them so easily even though Jimin’s heavier, he maneuvers them better; Jimin under all that body smothering him into the sheets as he’s fucked silly into the mattress.
“You feel good, Red,” Yoongi’s breathing hot against Jimin’s neck, hand settling around the nape to hold him tight as he fucks in lazily, grinding the tip of his dick until it finds his prostate and sends a lick of warmth down his spine.
Jimin keens, overwhelmed and aching from the inside out. He’s sticky all over, melted in sweat, heat and lube, nothing but limbs stretched out and open for Yoongi to use how he likes, and yet he’s never felt better.
“I-I’m gonna come,” He says, muffled into the pillows, hands shaking by his sides, clenching around Yoongi’s cock that’s full and hard inside him.
Unrelenting, hips slapping a loud wet and disgustingly obvious noise in the room, Yoongi presses close, chest up against Jimin’s back and licks up his neck. Takes his ear past his lips and sucks at the piercings, fast grunts enveloping all of Jimin’s senses.
“C’mon, just take it. Fucking take it if you wanna come,” Yoongi breathes into him, hips slowing until they stop. Jimin grunts at the sudden pause, calls Yoongi an absolutely insufferable nasty fuck, which only gets him a smack on the ass. “You want it? Work for it then.”
Jimin’s too sore, heavy and sensitive for this, but he never backs down from a challenge, and does just that. He’s sloppy about it and rushed, thrusting up and down Yoongi’s cock over and over, feeling the burn in his chest and the strain in his legs. His knees tremble and give out, and he’ll feel this for days to come, but Jimin takes it deeper.
Flat on his stomach, a step away from passing out, Jimin’s determined. Nestling his ass snug around Yoongi’s dick, clenching around it, Jimin’s got it right there. Lost in sensation he’s feeling it all. Yoongi’s hard dick throbbing inside him, Yoongi’s body all but caging him down, just—Yoongi, God , it’s Yoongi all around him.
“I’m coming, fuh—fuck, Yoongi, oh .”
It’s a mix of painful and goddamn relieving to come after holding back the urge for so long, and Jimin bites down on the pillow as the first whimper slips out. Hot bursts of come wet his stomach, as well as Yoongi’s bed, staining the grey sheets, and yet Yoongi doesn’t mind. On the contrary, he’s hurriedly pulling out as Jimin grinds his spent dick in his own filth, fisting his hard cock once the condom is tugged off.
“Jimin,” Yoongi groans, slick fist jerking down his dick fast and nasty. Wrecked to hell, He’s blushing down to his neck, throat working a hard swallow.
Jimin sees the tip flushed an angry shade of red and licks his lips. Wishing to have all that warmth inside him, no barriers, he’s wincing as he comes up on his knees and towards Yoongi, palm curling around his wrist to help him get off.
Lips soft against his, Jimin’s tender about it. Kissing Yoongi comes easy in comparison to getting dicked down to hell, and he likes it. They like it. Whispered in between kisses, Jimin murmurs, “Come, baby.”
And Yoongi coming is such a sight to take in all at once. He’s all sound, groaning deep from within his chest. Like another kind of beauty, all wrapped up in filth, Jimin savors watching him spill hot across his knuckles and down his wrist, reduced to these tiny whines.
He kisses Yoongi through it, open and breathless, free hand curling around his nape, sifting through dampened mint green strands. Slow and without a rush, Jimin strokes Yoongi’s come over his softening dick until it’s too much and they’re pulling away.
Foreheads pressed close, they take a moment. Let it all sink in, this thing they’ve made more complicated now. A few seconds pass, wherein they just hold each other’s weight, basking in the mess they’ve made together.
Then, Yoongi’s pulling back to survey the damage, and his eyes fall on their hands, which amidst the gross mixture of come stuck between them, have remained linked this entire time.
His grin twists something in Jimin’s chest, making it hurt bad as it tends to do out of nowhere.
“Looks like I’m now invited to shower with you,” Yoongi says, all gums and teeth when he smiles like that. Fucking nuisance of a guy that Yoongi, always doing something to make Jimin want to delve deep inside to confront these wicked feelings stirring up a storm.
But of course he doesn’t do or show anything regarding to that. Impossible, Jimin won’t confront that just yet. Not here where everything is so Yoongi centric it feels as if the guy is inside his head, too.
In the comfort of his own home he can reflect about this. For now—“You’re such a loser, Yoongs.”
At 9:30pm, right when he’s getting ready to hit the scene, and maybe play on the dumb cute little boy card he’s dealt in order to con some poor dope out of his cash and maybe his car after so many days ignoring the need to hit the pedal to the medal and blow these fuckers out of the pit, Jimin receives a text.
It’s from a number he doesn’t recognize right away, but as he reads what it says, becomes evident to whom it belongs to.
Kinda need ur adress if I’m gonna swing by to pick u up and show u our car
Jimin stares at the text, wonders if he’s really about to be that person and ditch his plans for Yoongi, that smooth, casual and pretty fucker who’s wormed his way into his head, his life. Stress and a little frustration has him reaching across his dresser for the glass jar where he keeps his lollipops.
As he unwraps on and sticks one into his mouth, he peers at his phone one more time and purses his lips around the tart cherry heart.
He could ignore it. Play it nonchalant and claim he deleted a message off a number he doesn’t know, because that’s definitely not the number Yoongi first gave him, then finish getting ready and head out for a night that’ll end with him most likely richer and perhaps with a new car he’ll trash for the thrill of being able to do so.
Being petty like that could soothe the sting of not hearing from Yoongi in a few days, his ego taking a hit as Yoongi pulled a runner on him the moment things got too intimate, too much like something other than bro’s.
He could also reply with his address, get to ride around with Yoongi and then get to meet their car after what feels like eons of waiting—one he didn’t get to pick for a race they’re set to complete soon.
The decision proves to be begrudgingly easy. Too easy if anyone asks Jimin; not that he’d ever admit these things out loud and out of the privacy of his own head.
Still, no matter how easy it is to agree in seeing Yoongi, Jimin isn’t going to make it known. He sends a reply back with his address and nothing else, hoping that Yoongi can feel his indifference and choke on it through the screen.
Phone abandoned now that that’s done with, Jimin rushes into his closet to find something else to wear as Jeans and a simple silk shirt—though it was expensive, and a gift, but he digresses— won’t cut it. Not to see Yoongi.
He tries not to think about the guy as he rifles through his clothes, refusing to acknowledge that he’s perhaps dressing for Yoongi to admire. No, that’d be a little too much for Jimin, more personal than he wants it to be for bro’s who’ve touched dicks and kissed here and there under strobe lights and heavy bass music.
He finds another outfit, some jeans with worn holes at the knees and a frayed hem, a shirt short enough it can pass as a crop, and a tapered, olive colored jacket with small appliqués of lips stitched into the sleeves.
“Am I overdoing it?” He asks himself as he begins shucking off his shirt and then his pants, leaving them in a heap by his feet. On his bed his phone pings with a message most likely from Yoongi, which he pointedly ignores in favor of searching for a pair of tights. “Maybe. Am I going to regret it later? Absofuckinglutely .”
Thirty fives minutes later there’s a sharp series of knocks at his door.
Jimin’s opens it slow, keeping the chain latched, seeing as one can’t be too sure in these neighborhoods even though he’s certain it’s Yoongi. He schools his features into a mask of casualness and undoes the hatch, pulling the door open.
“You’re late and I hate people that are late,” Jimin says in lieu of a greeting, then turns his back in order to retrieve his keys and phone where they’d been tossed onto his coffee table. “You also got a new number.”
“Sorry, Cherry, I had some trouble these days and had to lay low, hideout and shit. That’s why my numbers new,” Yoongi doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. If anything there’s a smile in his voice. “You dress up all for me, huh?”
Jimin stiffens, face flushing with an indignant burst of heat. his own transparency pisses him off. Goddamn, whoever said feelings were easy obviously hadn’t dealt with having them for Yoongi. He turns sharply, facing a smug looking Yoongi and narrows his eyes. “I dress up for myself, pretty boy. What about it?”
“Don’t bite my head off, I’m here, aren’t I?” Yoongi’s all raised hands and feigned innocence. “You look nice is all I’m saying.”
It grates at Jimin’s nerves and makes him hot at the same time. Urges him to do something bold enough to really test Yoongi’s limits. Force that wall to crumble nice and wonderful by his feet, reduce Yoongi down to how he’s got engrained deep in his fucking mind—wanting him, just him. Jimin .
He doesn’t do so out of principle. Yoongi knows Jimin wants him and seems to enjoy the realization that the tables turned quickly on him. Therefore, Jimin has decided he won’t do as he would like to and shove Yoongi onto his crappy couch, spread his legs, undo his zipper and suck his dick, then sink down onto it even though he’d love to do that. Possibly in that order.
No, definitely in that order.
Jimin realizes glumly that he’s been caught staring in open mouthed wonder at Yoongi, and shoulders past him on his way outside. “You coming, loser?”
Yoongi’s lip twists into a smile as he makes his way out of Jimin’s apartment after ensuring the door is locked. Again, those gums and that little hint of fondness, like he enjoys this back and forth much more than he lets on. Like they’re slowly moving onto different territory.
Like things really are changing quicker than they’re both ready to acknowledge.
“I gotta ask or its gonna’ drive me off the rails, but what’s with the lollipops?”
Said lollipop poised against his lips, Jimin stops and glances at Yoongi. He’s driving, fingers clenched right around the steering wheel, and yet amidst that and without looking away from the streets, he finds time to wonder things like Jimin's habits.
“How long have you been waiting to ask that one, huh?”
Yoongi makes a soft sound, moves to give Jimin a quick swat on the thigh. “Ever since I saw you ditching your turn to sing at Noraebang because you needed a fucking candy break.”
“I’m not too into that scene, and the guy that was with us was boring and trying real hard to like, you know, jerk me off under the table. I had to get out while I could, but anyway—”Jimin shrugs, enveloping the candy into his mouth and cheeking it. “If I would've been horny my answer would’ve been different,” he says, “but since I’m not and the thought of fucking you when you’re such a pain in the ass makes me want to rip my eyes out, I’ll be honest. It’s so I don’t smoke as much. Kinda don’t wanna die early if I don’t have to.”
In response Yoongi snorts and the edges of his lips twitch, as if he’s trying not to smile. “You’re such a jackass. Can’t ever give me an answer without being a little shit.”
Jimin hums around the lollipop, savoring the tart cherry candy. “It’s my brand, Yoons. I gotta stay true to myself.”
“You’re a real pain in my ass,” Yoongi tries sounding irritated and fails. They fail at this often these days— pretending .
“I take pride in being highly self aware,” Jimin laughs, licking at the center of the lollipop as something to do instead of making heart eyes at Yoongi whilst he drives. “You seem to like it though, so I dunno’ why you talk so much shit, as if you’re not dying to fuck me again.”
“I wouldn’t say no to that, but like...not now,” Yoongi says, focus on the road. He veers right, coming off the interstate and curving around until they enter another district. This one more commercial, lined with small stores with flashing neon lights and an array of food vendors. “We gots business to do and a car to see, but afterwards we can see what happens.”
“Any chance of a hard on I had just deflated the moment you tried to schedule in sex.” Jimin mutters, even as his dick gives a subtle twitch to remind him—
Hey, you’re full of shi t.
“You made me wait an hour outside my bathroom while you prepped to get eaten out,” Yoongi mumbles, tongue coming out to quickly wet his lips. “Get fucked.”
“You can’t just rim someone without them being clean!” Jimin protests, “That’s nasty, and like not the good kind of nasty.”
“Hate to break it to you but you rimmed me post race—”
Jimin makes a series of breathless noises low in his throat, the outside view suddenly more interesting. “To be fair I was drugged on endorphins. I’d just beat your ass in a race and you were still too smug, like you’d let me win in order to cash in on your own wants.”
“Guess you’ll never know the truth, huh,” Yoongi smacks his palm hard against his thigh, and Jimin fights a moan. Knows the other does it in teasing, not as an invitation for him to spread his legs and ask him to do it again, but the implication of it is more than enough.
As if sensing the growing arousal in his body, Yoongi casually, too casual for this, says, “If you’re hard you’re gonna have to handle it yourself. I’m driving.”
Jimin bites down against his lollipop hard enough for it to crack against his teeth, and shudders. He’s not hard, nowhere near it, but regardless his body floods with warmth thinking about it. Getting off with Yoongi watching him, Yoongi listening to him, a front row show to all Jimin hides when they’re pressed up close. The chance of any pedestrian happening to spot him through the window and catching him touching himself. All of that, Jimin tries to ignore.
“M’fine,” He reveals in a husky murmur, pressing closer to the passenger seat. With less conviction than he feels, he tells Yoongi, “Just hurry and get there. I wanna try out my new car.”
Yoongi snorts. He’s yet to move his hand from Jimin’s thigh, and squeezes it gently. “ Our new car.”
“I said what I said.” Jimin counters, peering down at Yoongi's hand. It’s a comforting weight on his skin, warm and calloused. Two rings adorn his fingers, thick and made of steel; one resembling a rose.
“Cute,” Yoongi comments off handed, fingers trailing down to his knee then coming back up, an absent pattern that brings a stirring of heat to warm the pit of Jimin's stomach.
The urge to lace their fingers together how they’ve done before is strong, but given the shit his heart pulls whenever that happens, Jimin chooses to ignore it this time.
Jimin thinks that everything really falls to pieces for them the moment they’re left to deal with this car situation, inside a shady looking warehouse that doubles as a shop where the cars get tweaked. On their own, no one else to trust but each other in a place full of Kim’s people, all undoubtedly spying on them, it dawns on him that he’s come to trust Yoongi with much more than this.
“I got a feeling these guys ain’t friendly,” he shares with Yoongi as they’re led deeper inside the building where their car awaits. A brusque kind of man, their host for the evening. The kind that’s dumb enough to be used purely as muscle; breaking fingers and shoving up ones ass if he gets let off his leash.
Jimin thinks he’s kind of hot, but when he tells Yoongi this, he’s not amused and flicks him hard on the forehead, as if reminding him where they’re at.
“Don’t let your dick do the talking. These dudes would probably kill us if they get the order to. Stay alert and see if you spot some slick shit happening behind the scenes while I talk money. Do what you do best, get me some info. Work that pretty face.”
Affronted, But always eager for information, Jimin does that. Leaves Yoongi to deal with the muscle whilst he saunters across the lot and surveys the area, as well as the people inside. It’s quiet easy to flirt with some of these men, as they really don’t put up much of a fight, and soon, he’s got what he needs. Not a lot to go off on considering this is a small scaled heist in comparison to bigger crimes, but enough to know things.
Like he and Yoongi are on their own, and nobody will bat an eye about fucking them up in order to get what’s theirs.
Conversationally and as if they aren’t in the middle of something important or as if Jimin isn’t having a fucking crisis about these feelings he’s nursing, Yoongi pauses from where he’s surveying the motor to stare at Jimin as he’s leaning and says, “You’re hard again.”
Jimin makes a noncommittal sound around his lollipop, shrugging. He cant be blamed for the erratic behavior his heart and dick exude. They’ve both set their sights on something and they want it equally as bad.
Yoongi, to be exact.
But of course it’s not as if Jimin can say it like that . “To be fair, I’ve never hidden how much cars turn me on.”
“Put it away for a little,” Yoongi casts a quick glance at Jimin’s jeans, then clears his throat.
“I know just where I’m gonna put it away real nice,” Jimin teases, followed by a lewd gesture of fingers curling into a circle, tongue pressed to his cheek so it distends, which makes Yoongi heave a funny, flustered sound deep in his chest.
So easy to rile up. So fucking easy to be endeared by.
Whilst Yoongi gets busy double checking under the cars skirt, Jimin leaves him to it alone and doesn’t bother. He trusts Yoongi, despite his ways, and he definitely trusts Hyuna to ensure they’re not getting hauled into a setup with faulty cars, so he doesn’t need to stress the way Yoongi does for the both of them.
Left to do as he pleases once again, Jimin slinks towards the car, skimming his fingertips across the gleaming paint. Unsurprisingly, Yoongi’s color choice is none other than black, but Jimin doesn’t mind it, as it won’t distract him from driving anyway.
He is surprised by the car of choice, never having pegged Yoongi as a Supra kind of guy, however that brief glimpse at the motor tells him everything he needs to know. Yoongi is a speed demon, and Japanese muscle car obsessed with a thing for turbo enhancements. Jimin makes a soft sound low in his throat, checking his lollipop as he pops open the door and slides inside, fingers curling around the steering wheel.
“Oh, you feel nice,” he purrs, sagging into the soft leather seats. “Can’t Wait to see how you ride, pretty. You’re gonna make me so much cash.”
“Us, Red , she’s gonna make us so much cash,” Yoongi corrects without looking his way, which Jimin ignores.
“Dunno’ if I like being called Red,” he says loud enough for Yoongi to hear above the music playing inside the garage. “Everyone usually calls me Cherry.”
Peering up beneath mint green bangs that fall over his eyes anyway, Yoongi snorts. Real casual, as if this shit is the norm, just him breaking all Jimin’s boundaries like they’re nothing but flimsy cards stacked up, he says, “I ain’t like everyone else in your life and I’ve called you Red before.”
Jimin could agree that several points have been made. He knows it, as does Yoongi. And yet he’s hesitant to admit that, because then what? Then what’s he left with if not his composure?
“You’re too full of yourself,” Jimin says instead, focusing on biting the stem of his candy instead of seeing how Yoongi reacts to such a thinly veiled evasion like that.
Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. In fact he doesn’t answer at all, just gives one of those looks—the one that tells how disappointed he is, and Jimin shifts so that he doesn’t have to look at him and instead shifts gears to something else; another important matter.
“So, I get to drive her, right?”
“Absolutely fucking not —”
“Great, glad we could settle this fairly!” Making a mad dash for the keys before Yoongi can get his hands on them and piss him off more than he usually does, Jimin pockets them and then flings himself out of the car, Yoongi out and giving chase behind him.
When nobody’s asked and it seems like the topic has died, and everything with their car has been sorted, Of course Jimin has to bring it up again.
Amidst buildings that have seen better days and with the smell of smoke and truck exhaust fumes lingering near, the both of them sitting on top of the hood of Yoongi’s car seems like the right time for Jimin.
Quiet, because this shit—being vulnerable–is so goddamn hard, he says, “Hey, uh, you know ? Uh, well you know when you said you’re not like everyone else in my life? The thing is you’re right. You're not like everyone else in my life. Like, you’re different and this thing with us is different.”
Without looking away from where he’s been staring, Always so intrigued by the way the cities never seems to darken fully and just kind of remain in that polluted and dreary sort of grey, Yoongi says, “We’re doing this? naming the thing we should’ve been named earlier, now ?”
“You could at least look at me when I’m trying to make an effort here, you absolute cock mongrel.” Blushing hot, Jimin's feeling like he’s stepped foot into freshman all over again during that brief period of self doubt that came with his first hard crush. He hates it, and he kind of hates Yoongi for bringing him back there, too.
Yoongi’s eyes go big and up on his face, curious and a bit surprised. And of course he would be given this situation and how it’s panned out. Sheepish, And so unlike him, he mumbles, “Sorry, Red. Go on, let’s name the thing.”
“You’re just like not what I expected,” Jimin starts off, heart beating so fast it hurts something ugly inside him; feelings too sudden they threaten to choke him from the inside out. “I mean you are, you’re an asshole and I kind of want to punch you in the mouth almost every single moment we’re together, but…it’s different now, sort of.”
“Different,” Yoongi says. He’s closer now again, always moving so silently and sudden, it’s no wonder they call him a ghost on the streets. He’s warm and pressing solid up against Jimin's side, hand held open on his knee, fingers twitching. “You’re gonna have to walk me through this, because I’m lost.”
Jimin sighs, hesitant in the way he’s closing the gap and lacing his fingers between Yoongi’s. They’ve been here before, holding hands and shooting the shit about things that don’t matter, and yet now it feels heavy. Like after this things won't be the same anymore, denial be damned.
“You’re so stupid,” Jimin murmurs, free hand coming up to brush away strands of hair clinging to his forehead; This city always too stuffy for any sort of breeze to feel good. “God, Yoongi, You’re so fucking stupid.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Yoongi mutters, turning away for a moment. His fingers tighten around Jimin’s. Neither of them point this fact out.
Sucking his teeth, and growing more and more nervous, Jimin frowns. Bad shit he can do no problem. Morally questionable situations which would lead squeamish people to judge him, he can also do. And yet—
Feelings. What the fuck . How the fuck does is he supposed to handle those? That feeling where his heart is so big for this moron he’s so fond of, it’s as if the thing is going to crawl out of his goddamned mouth and land by his feet for the taking.
“What I’m getting at is that, you know, I don’t hate you,” Wincing, Jimin’s quick to soften. Brings their entwines hands into his lap, thumb rubbing across Yoongi’s knuckles because he likes that–unexpected softness without any other intentions. “I actually kind of like you, as dumb as that might sound given the shit we’ve been doing with other people on the side, but it’s true. And like, there’s no pressure or expectations on this, Yeah? You don’t have to reciprocate and that’s chill. It’s fine, we’d be fine as what we are for whatever time we got together, but I had to let you know that it’s different for me, that this thing is bigger than what I’ve been trying to play off.”
Yoongi’s looking at their hands again, as he seems to often now that Jimin thinks about it. Always their hands and how they find each other no matter what stupid shit they get off to. Is he wondering the same thing? When the fuck did this get so complicated? When did lusting over spending money and fucking on beds covered in it turn to this—
Whatever this is?
Silence stretches long between them, and Jimin’s feeling like a moron. Like he’s gone and opened this big mouth and ruined the ease between them with this half assed sentimental bullshit neither of them should be discussing anyway .
It takes another few seconds, Jimin’s mind spinning with doubts, for Yoongi to gather himself.
Soft, he says, “Goddamn we’re bad at this.”
And Jimin can’t help but agree. If feelings were a crash test car then he and Yoongi are the dummies that’ll inevitably end up crushed inside of it.
He rubs at his face, comes closer and then he’s there. Breath fanning warm against Jimin’s mouth, Yoongi leans in. Presses the softest kiss there so suddenly that Jimin whimpers, hesitant and eyes wide open, as if this is scarier than anything they’ve ever done and will possibly ever do.
And Jimin hears it loud and clear, his doubts mingled with Yoongi’s. How they’ll handle this. But then, he’s leaning in too, bringing his hand around Yoongi’s male and smoothing up to his hair, tipping his chin and taking—answering without words how he thinks they’re gonna’ do just fine.
Pulling away when Yoongi’s lips taste as good as they do proves to be the hardest thing Jimin’s ever had to do, but he manages. Breathing hard, their foreheads pressed together, they stay like this.
Yoongi’s gentle as he says, “You’re not an afterthought for me, either, y’know? We do this stuff we do, stupid and reckless and like—pretending the feeling ain’t mutual, but it’s been mutual for a while, Red. I like you. You get on my nerves, but you also kind of make me feel good inside.”
Oh. “Oh —” they’re idiots. Jimin’s lip curves at the edges until he’s smiling and can’t see; his goddamn eyes doing the thing he dislikes but Yoongi always points out is so out of place cute on him. “So then what the fuck have we been doing?”
There's a kiss, and then another and another, each one longer and growing hotter. Jimin’s hands tremble as they settle over Yoongi’s thighs, and Yoongi’s aren’t that better settled above his lower back.
“Stupid,” Yoongi says, “That’s What we’ve been doing, being stupid.”
Something shifts inside Jimin, stomach twisting knots and full of nerves. He’s timid in saying, “We’re doing this? Like, I’m serious when I said there’s no pressure. There’s no need to even give this a label or anything. We can just be like, two bros being dudes who bang it out and then like—” he stops himself, cringing. “Hold hands If you wanna? Or maybe just emotionally hold dicks sometimes? God, say something or I’m gonna lose my mind. I’m horrible at this, you fucking loser. Save me.”
“ Red ,” Yoongi’s all smiles now, undoubtedly embarrassed and done with Jimin’s shit, but maybe a little endeared by it too. “ Jimin. Listen, yeah. Listen real clear, k? We’re doing this, whatever the hell this is, we’re gonna do it together. Like, just us.”
“Oh man,” There's definitely nothing remotely subtle about the way Jimin likes that. He’s beaming, sun shining straight out of his whole being. “Holy shit, you’ve got it bad for me.”
There’s a shove, but it’s gentler than what either of them can do. Yoongi mutters, “You literally just confessed to me sounding all like: bro , but in love. Eat my ass .”
Feeling like he’s just cashed in the prize without stepping a foot into the track, Jimin leans in. Pressing kisses beneath Yoongi’s jaw, he breathes Yoongi in, pleased that amidst the cigarettes and cologne he now smells like tart cherry lollipops.
“Isn’t that what got you into me? My superior rimming skills?” Lewd about it, Jimin pokes his tongue to his cheek, distending it whilst making eyes at Yoongi.
“You’re disgusting,” Yoongi murmurs, the hand over Jimin’s lower back skimming up, blunt nails grazing across his back as heat summers all around him. “You’re so pretty, yet you talk like you’re seconds away from reaming someone real nasty in front of a crowd.”
“Lucky for you the only nasty shit I’ll be doing will be exclusive to you,” Jimin says from where he’s made a home to mark bruises against Yoongi’s neck. “You like it,” he mutters, “You like me.”
“I do,” Yoongi says, “I really do .”
Pulling back, but lingering, Jimin’s looking up at Yoongi, his fingers twitching by the first button of his shirt. While all these feelings are good and dandy, making the heart hurt but in a good way, he’s also got something to say. Something that might piss Yoongi off.
So he starts hesitant, because he’s been giving this some thought and wants to voice them. Make sure he and Yoongi are on the same page with this.
“Hey, If for some reason we fuck up—
Yoongi’s fingers on his lower back pause. “We ain’t gonna fuck up.”
Ignoring the ego puffed chest, Jimin continues, “We’re gonna try not to, I know, and I’m with you, baby. Really—this is all you and me, but I’m saying on the off chance, y’know? Listen .”
Begrudgingly, Yoongi listens to Jimin as he explains what he’s gathered in detail from the warehouse, how he heard amidst the men trying to get him for a quick fuck on the side, he heard other things. “I think one of ‘em is like a cop or something. Or maybe not a cop, but someone who got a sweet deal with ‘em. You don’t ask about operations like this too green, otherwise that sets a spotlight right on your head. With that said, if there’s cops in on this, and for some fucking reason we get caught—“
“I don’t like where you’re heading with this,” Yoongi mutters, lips doing that thing where they twist; Jimin ignores it.
“Look, I’m being realistic here. We got a thing, and I’m gonna value this thing and like– you . Gonna value you as my other half, but this is money , baby. You love money whereas you just like me, and I’m giving you that green light to know that if it gets ugly and it’s gotta be one of us sitting in a cruiser, short of all that sweet cash, it’s gonna be me. You can go on your own and it’ll be chill, No hard feelings and whatever. Just make sure you make it to Nagoya or I’ll be pissed.”
Finished now, breathing a little faster, Jimin sags. Moving away from Yoongi now, he lays on his back, staring up and searching in vain to see stars amidst the graying wasteland that is Seoul.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything at first. Not that Jimin minds. He reasons the guy’s gonna need a minute to sift through all the garbled mess Jimin’s plopped on his lap amidst the even bigger mess that was throwing his feelings out there, too.
And he gets it, which is why he’s in no rush.
It takes a while, but when Yoongi’s got something to say he just says it. No preamble, no fanfare.
“I’m not feeling this plan you’ve got cooked up,” Yoongi says. He’s sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, all silent rage tucked up under that calm demeanor he’s trying to keep up with. “Especially since you’ve probably been thinking of this for a bit. Tonight just gave you incentive to carry it out.”
“I got time to think on my own and I use it well,” Jimin tells him, a tad sheepish.
“ Trust , Red.” Yoongi’s saying. Up close, he’s leaning across Jimin, all mint green covering those pretty and pissed off eyes, and lush mouth parted into a scowl directed at him. “You’ve gotta trust me.”
“I do,” Jimin mutters, “I just wanna cover our bases.”
“Bullshit,” comes a scoff, though it lacks true bite. Yoongi’s palm closes around Jimin’s jaw, thumb skimming over his chin, grip firm. “Don’t be a martyr cus’ you feel like you owe it to me. We’re in this together, got it? Gonna’ win this shit, because you’re gonna drive and when you drive you lose all that caution that’s bubbling up in there, ‘k. None of this shit about getting caught.”
Jimin’s clenching his jaw, flexing it tight beneath Yoongi’s fingers.
Yoongi isn’t having the silence, and gives him a subtle squeeze. Enough to remind Jimin of what they should know by now. What he knows by now. “Hey, hey, Red, baby, I’m here, yeah? You’re here, too. We got this shit in the bag. Say it,” He coaxes, “Feel it. We got this Cus it’s you and me, yeah? Just you and me.”
Jimin says nothing, content to let Yoongi talk. He rather likes it, letting him vent out all that trapped frustration until there’s no trace of it. Yoongi stresses more than he lets on, and Jimin can see right through it. He’s scared as fuck, as they both are.
This seems bigger than them, bigger than a race down in the pit where for better or worse everyone knows each other and would have each other’s back if the need arose. Not now, and not this situation; they’ve got nobody but each other to lean on.
“Just you and me,” Jimin’s hands are shaking, fingers curling tight. Overwhelmed by he and Yoongi’s proximity, he leans in, forehead touching Yoongi’s chest, and sighs. Breathes in deep, then exhales all that worry right on out. “We gotta win this.” He says.
“We will. We got a trip to Japan to catch. I ain’t missing that for the world,” Yoongi says, all gentle hands soothing this discordant worry clawing at Jimin’s stomach.
So unlike him to do, especially given his lifestyle. Then again Jimin’s never had to worry about anyone but himself, yet now it’s different. Now he can’t risk it all and give no fucks, not when at the end of that finish line there’s someone waiting for him—no.
That’s not it. Yoongi’s not waiting for him by the finish line, rather he’s in the car with him. They’re doing this, leaning on each other and striving to make it to the end together. And it all makes sense now, though still blurry at the edges and uncertain.
“Can’t wait to fuck on a bed full of cash,” Jimin laughs, moving away so that he can get a look at Yoongi. Fingers brushing beneath his jaw, Jimin traces them down his neck, stopping at his sternum, feather light. “We’ll win this.” He says.
Yoongi nods, palms settling around Jimin’s waist, leaning in so that their noses almost brush. “You’re gonna bring home all that cash and that sweet ride, Red, And then we’re gonna fuck off outta this city for a bit and lay low.”
Hands moving low, Jimin’s trailing down to Yoongi’s shirt, fisting the thin fabric tightly. Lips brushing amongst his, he’s smiling, fucked up on that good shite—that wild unrestrained energy that comes with feeling for someone he’s never quite understood but now drowns in.
“Just you and me,” Jimin states, like it’s been the most obvious answer this entire time they’ve wasted pretending. So much lost time they’ll just have to reclaim while lost in Japan, exploring the big cities and beautiful places.
Tokyo, Nagoya and Kyoto aren’t that far out of reach when you’re gunning it as fast as people like them do, floating down highways while everyone else wonders who the maniac behind the wheel is.
In this case there’s not a sole maniac, but two, and they’re coming for it. Chasing that paper and high off that shit that makes a body feel good inside.
What’re they called? Ah—Jimin thinks, as he leans in, kissing Yoongi on top of where this all started, up against the hood of his car, where being reckless tastes fantastic when he’s not doing it alone anymore.
Endorphins, that’s what they’re called.