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Running Running (Just to Keep My Hands on You)

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Some mornings Jungkook wakes up and he can’t believe it, like it doesn’t make sense.

How is it real, this rollercoaster of failure to fame? How can he have gone from being this skinny, shy teenager with limbs that felt like they’d never work right to bedroom poster material, magazine cover material, top-of-the-Billboard-charts material? It can’t be real. This can’t be his life. 

But then he rolls over and into a warm, soft body that is Jimin’s, because he climbed into bed with Jimin again. Jimin always threatens to throw him out but never does. He’s like some kind of magical natural sleep aid, his quiet breathing lulling Jungkook to sleep like the sound of waves meeting the shore.

Jimin feels like Busan. Jimin feels like home. 

Jungkook remembers when they were pre-debut and Jimin was a constant bundle of nerves, afraid he’d be kicked out because he was too chubby, or not a good enough singer, or not what management wanted. Jungkook would look at Jimin and try to imagine how anyone could think he was anything but perfect, with his bright smile and his beautiful eyes and the way he listened, like he cared about everything you said, no matter how silly or stupid. Jungkook said a lot of stupid things back then, too.

You don’t understand, Jimin said once. Everybody wanted you, Kookie. It wasn’t like that for me.

All these years later and it’s hard to see evidence that version of Jimin ever existed. On stage, Jimin is liquid fire, all smooth movements and searing emotion. Sometimes Jungkook watches Jimin practice and he can hardly reconcile his confidence and charisma with the way he breaks down when he makes mistakes, becoming so small and fragile and sad.

These days Jungkook likes to keep a camera between him and Jimin whenever they’re alone. It feels safer that way, like there’s a barrier, like Jimin won’t be able to read the way Jungkook feels even though it’s written all over his face. Jimin is scary intuitive sometimes, tuned into other people’s emotions the way he seems tuned into his own body when he dances, and Jungkook fears that superpower of his. He wishes Jimin would be more like Taehyung, caring and loving and goofy but also a bit dreamy and off in his own world.

Something about the camera makes Jimin into a performer, too--he’s learned to turn on whenever someone shoves a camera in his face. He acts ridiculous and dances and makes funny faces like he’s trying to entertain Jungkook, and Jungkook lets it happen because it’s cute, and silly, and when he edits the footage later he laughs.


In Saipan, Jungkook wakes up and Jimin and Taehyung are already gone, probably down on the beach. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and slips on some pants and a shirt and takes his camera.

He finds Namjoon sitting on the sand, sifting it through his fingers, his little notebook that he writes in abandoned beside him. 

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook says, and Namjoon looks up and smiles.

Namjoon is one of many things Jungkook doesn’t believe is real sometimes—that he could spend all this time with someone who is so talented and so smart, who he looked up to before he joined the band. But Namjoon is so gentle, too, and never overconfident, often self-deprecating and shy. Jungkook could imagine him as an absent-minded professor in another life, or a patient kindergarten teacher, all the little kids trailing after him as they go on a search for crabs. They don’t talk about the future too much, not the way they used to before they blew up. Back then they’d talk about their life plans all the time, Namjoon saying, I think I’d go back to school, I’ve always been good at school.

“Hey,” Namjoon says, and pats the sand next to him. Jungkook sits, curling his arms around his knees. The ocean spreads out in front of them like this beautiful symphony, so many blues, the waves crashing and receding, crashing and receding.

“This is amazing,” Jungkook says, and lifts his camera to film.

“I keep thinking,” Namjoon says, “about how there are all these incredible places all over the world, and we get to go to so many of them. You know? But when we’re on tour it’s for a few nights, maybe, and all those arenas look the same, and all the hotel rooms look the same, and—not that I wish we didn’t do those shows and perform and meet fans, but I’m just...grateful, I guess. That we get to have trips like this, too. Where we can really see a place.”

“Yeah, I thought about that when we were in Tokyo,” Jungkook says. “All those times we’ve gone to Tokyo but not really gotten to see it, but that time we got to wander around and really be there." 

“Easier, too, with just you and Jimin,” Namjoon says. “Not all the cameras and the entourage and all of us.”

“You know I don’t mean—“

“It’s okay, Kook,” Namjoon says, a smile turning up his lips. “It’s okay to want less chaos and more time.”

Jungkook stays quiet. He doesn’t know how to say that it was all of those things, but it was also more, because Jungkook’s whole heart is in chaos when it comes to Jimin. Every moment of that trip felt filled with possibility, in this city alive with millions of people, tall tall buildings, so easy to disappear. Jimin was so happy, laughing at all Jungkook’s jokes, light on his feet. At Disney he remembers the fireworks, the way the light illuminated Jimin’s face, a glimmer of cheekbone, a hint of a smile, his hand on Jungkook’s sleeve, all, Look, Jungkookie, look.

Namjoon is watching Jungkook in that careful way he does, like he’s trying to gauge whether he needs to be a leader or a friend. Jungkook loves Namjoon so much for that, even as he wishes Namjoon didn’t feel like he had that kind of responsibility, carrying the weight of this band on his shoulders at 23. What are other 23-year-olds doing right now, Jungkook wonders? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know what’s normal, because this band has been his everything for as long as he can remember. Since that day they told him they wanted him and he gave over his whole life to Bangtan. 

“Jimin can be a lot, though,” Namjoon says, slowly, and Jungkook knows he flushes, knows that Namjoon knows too.

Jimin appears then, running along the shore with Taehyung trailing behind him, laughing. They’re like excited puppies, shoving each other and giggling, and Jimin’s shirt is the color of the water, a deep, vibrant blue. Jimin is the ocean that rolls over him. Jungkook tries to breathe because otherwise he will drown.


There have been many almosts. Jimin is very tactile and affectionate, likes to sprawl all over Jungkook and hug him and flirt with dancing eyes. But Jimin is like this with everyone, and Jungkook tries not to get jealous. He knows that Jimin’s affection is part of what keeps the band together when everyone feels frayed, that his softness is a guard against the hardness of this industry and this world. 

But in the moments that they are together and alone, pressed up against each other in bed or cuddling on a couch, Jimin carding his hand through Jungkook’s hair or idly trailing his fingers over his arms, Jimin filming him working out and joking about how sexy he is—it’s hard not to wonder. What it would be like to have Jimin all to himself.

“You look so serious,” Jimin says, settling onto Jungkook’s towel. “You get this little wrinkle, right here.” 

Jimin smooths his finger over the center of Jungkook’s forehead, and Jungkook feels himself tremble. He remembers the day years ago when they were asked what they would do with a day all to themselves and Jimin said go on a date with Jungkook, we’ll hold hands and walk around.  

“Just thinking,” Jungkook says, which is true.

“You know,” Jimin says. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off his shoulders and biceps, and he’s starting to get tan. “I love dancing, but I also love having days when I don’t have to dance.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, because he loves that too, but more than that he loves getting to see Jimin be like this, his face tilted up to the sun. On the beach, Hoseok is twirling, and Jin is laughing, high and loud. Jungkook wants to freeze this moment in time, wants to breathe it in and hold it in his lungs. 

Jimin laughs at him, at his lack of words, and lets his hand slide down Jungkook’s arm, ending at his wrist, then patting his hand. He stays like that for nearly a minute, and Jungkook thinks he’s going to stop breathing. Then Jimin lifts his hand, and stands up, making a finger heart at him before he’s gone.

All vacations must end, and the rest of the summer is a blur of promotions and preparations for comeback and tour, photoshoots and Bon Voyage and endless rehearsals. Jungkook has no time to think, or feel, and he collapses into bed each night and is asleep before he exhales. He stops going to Jimin’s room because he doesn’t even think he’ll make it there. No one judges him for sleeping with Jimin but they would definitely judge him for sleeping in the hallway. 

It’s a few days before they are scheduled to go to the U.S., and they’re all exhausted and grumpy. Yoongi disappears early, Jin gets engrossed in cooking something elaborate and unnecessary, Namjoon goes to his studio, Hoseok falls asleep on the couch with his earphones in. Taehyung goes outside to talk to his parents, and then it’s just him and Jimin. Jimin’s stretching on the floor, impossibly flexible as always, and Jungkook is scrolling through his phone, looking at nothing in particular. 

It takes Jungkook a minute to realize that Jimin is crying.

He’s hunched over, curled into a forward fold, and his shoulders are shaking. He makes a soft sighing sound and his breath hitches, and every muscle in Jungkook’s body tenses up.

“Jiminie?” he says. “Are you okay?” 

Jimin glances up, and his cheeks are streaked with tears. Jungkook is sliding onto the floor before he even knows what he’s doing, wrapping his arms around Jimin and pulling him close. He holds him until Jimin stops trembling, until his breathing evens out.

“M’sorry,” Jimin mumbles. “I’m just…” 

But he doesn’t have to explain, not really. Jungkook knows what it’s like, that moment of being overwhelmed by life. For him it happens —embarrassingly — on stage a lot, looking out over the crowds, all those glittering lights and glittering faces, all that happiness. Jungkook didn’t even know how much he wanted to make people happy until they started filling stadiums, so caught up in his own inner teen drama, but now when he sees people smile and dance and sing their songs back to them, he realizes this power is a blessing that he may not even deserve. It’s in those moments that he cries, because he wants to deserve it. He wants to be good enough.

“It should get easier, right?” Jimin says. His voice is still teary, and he’s clinging to Jungkook like he’s a cliff and he’s dangling over the edge. “We’ve done this so much.” 

“It’s different, though,” Jungkook says. “It’s different every time.” 

It feels different, maybe because they’ve never played this many shows all over the world, or because the album is different, or because they’re different. Jungkook doesn’t really know. 

“I’m grateful for you, Jungkookie,” Jimin whispers, and it’s so earnest it makes him hurt. Jungkook spends so much time goofing around so people don’t see how deeply he feels things, but Jimin always seems to know what’s there, knows exactly how to pull it out. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, stupidly, and closes his eyes for a second, letting Jimin’s warmth seep into his bones.


“You know, if you want to kiss him you should just do it,” Jungkook hears Yoongi say, and when he turns he’s standing there, looking at him in that no-bullshit way that makes Jungkook feel like he accidentally walked into the room naked. 

“What?” Jungkook says, and Yoongi snorts. 

“Jimin,” Yoongi says. “You look at him like you want to kiss him. You should do it.”

Jungkook splutters. 

“I mean, those videos are cute,” he says, “but you know Jiminie. He’ll find every reason to think something’s not about him.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jungkook mutters. 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi says, “let’s not do this.” 

It’s gentle but firm. Yoongi doesn’t have time for Jungkook’s fragile grip on denial. 

“I don’t want to mess up the band,” Jungkook says miserably, and Yoongi scoffs. 

“I think we’re stronger than that,” Yoongi says. “Don’t you?” 

When Jungkook looks up, Yoongi’s watching him with a sweet sort of intensity, 

“We all want you to be happy,” Yoongi says. 

Jungkook watches Jimin dance, his arm forming a pretty curve, everything about Jimin pretty, pretty, pretty.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says. “I don’t know what to do.” 

Yoongi gives him his almost smile, a twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“You have to seduce him, obviously,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook chokes on his own breath.


Seduce him seduce him seduce him, Jungkook’s traitorous brain repeats over the next few days, and even though he knows Yoongi was joking, he can’t stop thinking about how he’d do it. 

Should he touch Jimin more? Touch him less and make him want it? Try to look sexy? How does someone try to look sexy? He has no idea. He listens to a lot of music, looking for guidance, but music is stupid, he decides. There’s no guiding there, just descriptions of how it feels, and Jungkook already knows all that. Like he’s going to explode and die, that’s how it feels. 

“Jungkook-ah, relax,” Hoseok says, rubbing Jungkook’s shoulders, and Jungkook blurts out, “How do you seduce somebody?” 

Hoseok laughs, his whole body shaking, and then when he sees Jungkook’s face, he says, “Oh, you’re serious.” 

“Fuck you, hyung,” Jungkook says. 

“So respectful and disrespectful at the same time,” Hoseok says. “Can I ask who you’re trying to seduce?”

“No,” Jungkook says. 

Hoseok sighs. “It kind of depends on who they are.” 

“Why?” Jungkook says.

“Because you have to think about what they would want,” Hoseok says. “Then you have to do it.” 

“I don’t know what they want,” Jungkook says.

“Then, Kookie,” Hoseok says, squeezing his shoulder and giving him a slippery smile, “you have to ask.”


One night on tour they have a whole day between shows, and the night before Jin, Jimin and Jungkook get a little too tipsy on made-up cocktails they create from the little bottles in their hotel room fridges. 

“You are not a good bartender,” Jimin tells Jin, who has been putting together different things with middling results. 

“Make your own drinks then,” Jin says, dropping little bottles onto the bed next to Jimin. Jimin covers his eyes and groans. He’s sprawled out, his shirt riding up to show some of his flat, toned stomach, and Jungkook wants to press his lips there, feel Jimin shudder under him. 

“I’m going to bed,” Jin says. “Sleep well, you ungrateful punks.” 

They have their own rooms, but Jungkook doesn’t want to go back to his. He’s still adjusting to having his own room in their house, not used to being able to spread out into so much space. The more the world expands around them, the wider their reach becomes, the more Jungkook wants to curl into a corner, to be surrounded by what he knows. 

“Jungkookie,” Jimin murmurs. “C’mere.” 

Jungkook’s stomach flips. He slides onto the bed, laying down next to Jimin, and Jimin turns into him automatically, slinging an arm across his chest and burying his face in the crook of Jungkook’s neck. 

“This is okay?” Jimin mumbles, sleepy drunk, and Jungkook doesn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve this sweet torture. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, and lets his hand drift over Jimin’s shoulder, fingertips dancing on Jimin’s ribs. 

“Kookie?” Jimin says, and he’s looking at him now. His eyes are wide and dark, his lips that perfect plush pink. 

Jungkook hitches in a breath. 

He lifts one hand and presses his thumb into the dip of Jimin’s lower lip, feels him exhale. 

“What do you want?” Jungkook says, the words so soft he doesn’t know if Jimin hears him. 

Jimin’s hand twists in Jungkook’s shirt, and yeah, Jimin heard him. 

“Kookie?” Jimin says again, his voice high, nervous. 

“Hobi said I should ask,” Jungkook says nonsensically, “so I’m asking.” 

Jimin’s eyes search his. “Are you…” 

“I want to seduce you,” Jungkook says, his drunk brain totally devoid of filters. “But I don’t know how, and I need your help.” 

Jimin’s mouth—his mouth, God— turns up at the corners, and he blinks at him. “That’s funny,” he says. 

Jungkook realizes, even through his haze, that he’s spent so much time joking around that Jimin thinks he isn’t being serious, and that’s...that is just his luck.

He rolls away from Jimin so Jimin won’t see his face. 

“I’m going to go,” he says, and Jimin makes sleepy sounds that go straight to Jungkook’s stomach.

He doesn’t sleep.


The next morning, nursing a hangover headache and feeling grouchy, he tells Hoseok, “It didn’t work.”

Hoseok looks at him, confused, and then Taehyung sits down next to them, flinging his legs across Hoseok’s lap. 

“What didn’t work?” Taehyung asks.

“Jungkook is trying to seduce Jimin,” Hoseok tells Taehyung. “Apparently he is bad at it.” 

“Hey!” Jungkook says, because he hadn’t planned to let Taehyung in on this. Taehyung is Jimin’s best best friend, and they talk about everything, and Taehyung is not known for his discretion. 

Also, Jungkook is fairly sure he didn’t tell Hoseok that he was trying to seduce Jimin. 

“I told him he has to find out what Jimin wants so he can do it,” Hoseok says. 

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Taehyung says. “I know everything Jiminie wants.” 

Hoseok snorts. “This band is so weird.” 

“What? I do,” Taehyung says. “We talk about it all the time.” 

“You do?” Jungkook squeaks. 

“If it helps, I don’t think you’d have to try that hard,” Taehyung says. “Jimin always puts you first on his list.” 

“His list?” Jungkook says. 

“Yeah, list of members in order of who you’d get down with,” Taehyung says. “I always say Namjoonie because everyone sleeps on Namjoonie and I bet he’d be really sweet.” 

Hoseok is laughing into his coffee. 

“He puts me first?” Jungkook says. His mouth is dry. 

“He has this fantasy about somebody seducing him while he’s dancing,” Taehyung says. “All his favorite things in one place. It’s like a movie, it’s really cute.” 

“You could do that,” Hoseok says. “You could totally do that, Jungkookie.” 

Jungkook makes incoherent noises, but when Taehyung texts him later: bro you can do it i believe in you he starts to think maybe this is a thing, maybe this could be a thing, maybe he could make it a thing that’s real like his impossible life.


Opportunity knocks a few days later when he finds himself in Jimin’s hotel room again, Jimin helping him master a particularly difficult part of their new choreography. Usually Hoseok would be the one doing this, but Hoseok had shrugged him off, saying, let Jimin show you with a look in his eye that Jungkook did not especially like. 

“Like this,” Jimin says, moving one of his arms down a fraction. “Closer to your — yeah. That’s good.” 

“I think I’ve got it,” Jungkook says, and Jimin’s eyes flick up to his and then away. Jimin has seemed spooked ever since their drunken hotel room scene, and Jungkook wonders what Jimin remembers. 

“I think you do too,” Jimin says, and he sounds more cheerful than he looks. He looks tired. 

“Did you hear that new Zedd song?” Jungkook says, wanting to do something to distract Jimin. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Jimin says.

Jungkook fumbles with his phone, finding the song and pressing play. The beat is slow and a little sexy, the vocals catchy. 

“I thought maybe we could do a dance to it,” Jungkook says. “We haven’t done that in awhile.” 

It comes out sounding a little desperate, probably because it is. Jimin looks up at him, half-smiling. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin sighs.

“Tired,” Jimin says. “I love doing these shows, but there are so many of them.” 

Jungkook reaches out and squeezes Jimin’s shoulders. Jimin immediately goes limp, like he always does when Jungkook massages him, and a moan falls from his lips. Dammit. Why does Jungkook do this to himself? 

Jimin leans back against Jungkook’s chest, and they’re swaying a bit, almost like they’re dancing. Jungkook realizes in that moment that though he spends so much of his life dancing, he almost never dances with other people. Jimin is warm and solid, his body all muscle, compact and strong. Without thinking, Jungkook slides his hands down to Jimin’s waist, holding him, feeling the way Jimin’s hips move. 

Jimin goes still. 

“Dance with me,” Jungkook says, his voice soft and low. 

Jimin tenses. Jungkook almost backs off, but then he thinks: No. Jimin can reject him, of course. But before he does that, he needs to know what Jungkook is offering him. 

Jungkook presses closer, his hips lining up with Jimin’s ass. Jimin isn’t moving, but he’s breathing faster, his hands clenching at his sides. 

“You can tell me to stop,” Jungkook says. He doesn’t want this unless Jimin wants this. 

Jimin takes in a shuddering breath.

“What are you doing?” Jimin says. 

“Dancing,” Jungkook says. 

He turns Jimin to face him, and Jimin’s flushed. The song has switched over to Troye Sivan’s “Dance to This,” and Jungkook thanks the shuffle gods for their impeccable timing. 

Jimin is biting his lip. Jungkook lets his hands move up to Jimin’s shoulders, resting there, and moves his hips. He feels silly, dancing alone, but then Jimin starts to move, and oh. 


Jimin holds his gaze, his lips reddening under the pressure of his teeth. He puts his hands on Jungkook’s hips, pulling him closer, and wow. Wow. Jimin must feel how Jungkook reacts, because there’s no denying it, no space for denial between them. 

“You want to dance with me?” Jimin asks. “Is that what you want?” 

It’s so much, having all of Jimin’s attention focused on him, all of that magnetic power. Jimin’s eyes are dark. He slides his hands up Jungkook’s back, and Jungkook tingles all over. 

“Yes,” Jungkook says, his voice rasping in his throat. “Among other things.” 

Jimin tilts his head to one side. 

“Like what kind of other things?” 

Jungkook is already so hard, years of pent-up frustration flooding his body like a switch has been flipped. Jimin doesn’t move away, though, and that is something. He’s watching Jungkook in that careful way he does, like they’re having any other conversation.

“I want to kiss you,” Jungkook blurts out. “I want...I want to touch you. A lot. All over. Anywhere you’ll let me, Jimin, I—“ 

Jimin gets up on his toes then to press his lips to Jungkook’s. 

It’s soft, sweet, gentle, like he’s testing the waters. Jungkook has no idea what to do. He feels Jimin’s lips part against his and he opens for him, for the sweep of his tongue. Jimin’s hands are in his hair and Jungkook cups his jaw, bringing him closer, closer. He wants to fall into Jimin, to be a part of him. He wants everything Jimin will give him. 

They move apart, both breathless, and Jimin laughs, that high, nervous giggle that means he’s overwhelmed or nervous.

“God, Jungkook,” he says. “You only had to ask.” 

“I did ask!” Jungkook points out. “I totally asked, I--” 

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Jimin says. “You are almost never serious.”

“I was trying to be,” Jungkook says, his voice cracking, and Jimin’s pressing his hands to Jungkook’s stomach, pushing up his t-shirt until Jungkook has to pull it off. Despite all his time at the gym, Jungkook still feels self-conscious about his body, and he crosses his arms in front of himself. 

Jimin exhales, hard. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, and Jungkook blushes furiously. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” Jungkook says. 

“I can’t?” Jimin says, lifting an eyebrow. “What, you don’t want me to say that your body is gorgeous and every time you wear a bathing suit I think about licking you right here?” 

Jimin traces Jungkook’s hip bone, barely visible over the waist of his pants. Jungkook hitches in a breath. 

“I was supposed to be seducing you,” Jungkook says, and when Jimin looks up his eyes are twinkling. 

“We can’t seduce each other?” Jimin says. 

He slides his hands around to slip them into the back pockets of Jungkook’s pants, pulling them flush together, and Jungkook lets out a gasp. He is so easy for Jimin it’s ridiculous. He feels like if Jimin were to breathe on him the right way he’d probably come. 

“I think about you all the time,” Jungkook says. “I think about your mouth, and the way you dance, and I—“ 

“Jungkook,” Jimin says, and he nips Jungkook’s bottom lip, and that is when Jungkook stops thinking entirely.

He pushes Jimin into the wall, knocking the breath out of him, but Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, judging from how he licks into Jungkook’s mouth. Jungkook slips his hand between their bodies and finds Jimin hard. Jimin makes a low sound and bucks his hips, then curses. Jimin’s mouth trails down Jungkook’s neck, teeth scraping lightly over his collarbone, and Jungkook is having trouble breathing. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Jungkook admits, and Jimin huffs out a laugh. 

“I can help,” Jimin says, and takes Jungkook’s hand and slides it into his pants. 

Jimin is warm, a little sweaty, his stomach muscles contracting when Jungkook wraps his hand around his cock. Jimin’s pants are the loose sweats that he wears to dance in sometimes, and Jungkook’s grateful. He doesn’t think he could deal with zippers right now. 

“Just do what you’d do to yourself,” Jimin says. 

“What if it’s not what you like?” Jungkook asks. 

“Then I’ll tell you,” Jimin says simply, and Jungkook thinks, You have to think about what they want, and then you have to do it.  

Jungkook slides his hand up and down, feathering over the head, and Jimin exhales and lets his head fall back against the wall. He strokes him, up and down, watching the way he flushes. There is something terrifying and wonderful about having this kind of power, Jimin at his mercy when it feels like Jungkook’s spent half his life at Jimin’s. 

“Talk to me,” Jimin whispers.

“About what?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin laughs again, soft, not mocking.

“You said you think about me all the time,” Jimin says. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again Jimin is looking up at him. God, he’s gorgeous. 

“Sometimes,” Jungkook says. “I try not to.” 

“But you do anyway?” Jimin asks. 

Jungkook doesn’t think about it—he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks it, wanting to ease the slide. Jimin makes a noise at the back of his throat. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “You wear the tightest pants, Jimin. It’s the worst.” 

Jimin grins, but the smile falls from his face when Jungkook tightens his grip. He groans.

“Will you touch me?” Jungkook asks, because he could likely come just from watching Jimin, but it seems a shame when Jimin’s hands are right there. 

“Of course,” Jimin says. “I’m sorry, I was being so selfish.” 

The idea of Jimin being selfish is so laughable. He is the least selfish person Jungkook knows. Jimin reaches out and pushes down Jungkook’s pants and boxers all in one go, then leans over to find the lotion on his dresser. Squeezing some into his hand, he grips Jungkook’s cock and slides his hand up and down experimentally. 

Jungkook is going to die. He is going to die. 

Unlike Jungkook, who feels like he’s basically winging it, Jimin seems to know exactly what he’s doing. He tries different levels of pressure and speeds, thumbing over the head. Everything feels good, and Jungkook is embarrassingly close already. 

“I think about you,” Jimin says. “I used to try not to, but I can’t control it. When you sleep in bed with me I always have to jerk off in the morning. I dream about you and wake up hard and you’re there and it’s torture, Kookie.” 

Jungkook hitches in a breath. He’s so close. He can’t believe any of the things Jimin is saying. It seems impossible that he would feel this way, that he could feel even one fraction of what Jungkook feels for him. 

“I just want to make you feel good,” Jungkook says, and Jimin shudders and spills over his hand. It feels gross and amazing all at once, and Jimin kisses him and that’s all it takes. He sees stars. 

They stand like that for a moment, both breathing hard, heartbeats stuttering.

“We’re so stupid,” Jimin says, and Jungkook sighs out a laugh. It’s so true it hurts.


Jungkook films Jimin in London, and Paris, and Berlin. He films him until Jimin covers the lens and kisses him, and he has no regrets.