It was about the time that someone pointed out to Hoseok that he had no memories of his childhood to speak of that he realized something was off.
That was the truth, after all, but Hoseok couldn’t remember any time in his life prior to being in his early 30s—that was how old he supposed he was, anyway, given how he looked compared to his friends, but he could never find any papers or documentation with his date of birth listed on it. It occurred to him to ask his mother—except he couldn’t remember ever having one of those either.
He remembered living his life—it wasn’t as though he’d simply popped into existence already an adult—but the longer he thought on it, the longer that it seemed that was the case. Hoseok had absolutely no idea how that could be—but he couldn’t think of any other explanation.
After a thorough search through his personal belongings, he found absolutely no papers or documentation with his date of birth on them, nothing that explained who he was. He lived in a house, but couldn’t find anything that confirmed that it really belonged to him. He was sure of his name, but how did he know? He just did. He existed, and he was real—but where had he come from? Were all his memories fake, somehow? Where did they come from? Was some higher power using him for entertainment and nothing more?
Was there even a point such as that one—or was his entire life futile?
Hoseok struggled with the notion that he hadn’t ever been born—it was such a ludicrous idea that he couldn’t accept it for a long time. From what he knew of the world, he knew everyone had a mother and father, and everyone had been born. Everyone had a childhood—he saw children playing outside on the streets—but it wasn’t something he ever thought about until someone asked him where he’d grown up and he found that he didn’t have an answer. He could only remember his adult life—working, living alone, a courtship here or there.
Even the friends he did have, it was beyond him where they’d all met. He knew these people—but where had he first come across Jungmo, or Changnam? What about Jiho or Hyeja? He knew them, he remembered them—but he couldn’t for the life of him explain how they had all become friends.
Somewhere along the line, Hoseok decided that the solution was rather more simple than he was making it out to be: His memory was just poor, obviously, and that was why he didn’t remember anything. He probably misplaced any documentation his parents had given him regarding his birth, and as silly as it was, he must have just lost the deed to his home. That was the easiest explanation for everything, and he refused to consider anything otherwise.
Decades passed as Hoseok lived on, his life passing day by day as it always did. He took a wife, as he was expected to. They made a living together, raised children. As they grew before Hoseok’s eyes, he realized something else was awry.
He didn’t seem to age.
As the years passed, his wife’s hair changed, from sleek and shiny black to grey. She almost always wore it tied up atop her head in a large bun, but it didn’t escape him that it became dun and rough to the touch. Her skin thinned like paper, wrinkles forming around her eyes and mouth—and as she grew older, he never missed the dirty looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t looking. His own hair remained black as night; his skin just the same as it had always been. He had stayed just as youthful as their children—the one upside, that probably kept her from accusing him of some kind of black magic or other untoward action, was that he was as able-bodied as ever, and could work to support his family without any worry of his body growing frail.
His children came of age, and his wife passed, but still Hoseok looked the exact same that he always had. He thought that grief, losing his partner of many years, would finally grey his hair and take its toll on him—but no: He remained the picture of a young man. His children even surpassed him, to everyone’s bewilderment, and it was then that it became apparent to Hoseok that something was very, very wrong with him.
It wasn’t unheard of for a parent to outlive their child, but for a parent to remain looking the exact same for decades and never appear to age, while his children greyed and withered beside him—that was cause for concern. Hoseok wasn’t deaf to the whispers, as he walked past with his eldest son, that he looked like the child and his son the father. He had even heard an old grizzled woman comment that he was sucking the youth from his family, using a dark sort of enchantment, and that was when he decided to distance himself from the people in his life.
His children had long moved out of his home into their own residences—but Hoseok wanted to keep the place in case he ever needed to return in the future. He had no idea if he ever would—maybe his appearance was somehow explainable in a way he’d never considered and he would die any day now—but what he did do was draw up a letter explaining that he was leaving his home to his youngest son and that it was to be kept in the family. He apologized for disappearing but promised that it was the best for them. He wished all of his children the best and then, satisfied that the house would stay with his descendents for years to come—gathered his things and left.
The first time Hoseok did it was the hardest. He wasn’t the type to abandon people—or at least, he didn’t think he was, since he had no upbringing to reflect on, no frame of reference to see whether he was some kind of bastard who would disappear without a trace, other than a letter asking that his home be kept in the family.
There were so many times he almost went back. He almost returned to his children, wanting to beg them for forgiveness for leaving, wanting to fold himself back into their lives like he’d never left, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d made his choice, though sometimes it felt more like the choice had been made for him. He didn’t age. He didn’t grow. He was the same as he always was, and as far as he could tell, he was the same as he would always be.
After he relocated, he repeated his previous life—he took a wife, after some time. Raised more children. Watched as they aged around him, drawing suspicious looks from his family and their friends, especially his children. He was more aware of it the second time around, and this time when he left, he didn’t give any indication of where he was going, or that he would come back. No letter. No trace. Just absence.
Hoseok was immortal, and he simply couldn’t fathom why. Most days, he couldn’t even decide whether it was a blessing or a curse. He kept a list on him at all times, the names of people he’d loved, children he’d raised, just so he could remember. As more years passed, the list grew longer—until he’d had five families in Korea, and then four more in other countries around the world. One in Japan, one in Great Britain, two in America—until technology advanced enough to work against him. The advent of the internet made him more cautious. It was easier to get lost in America, a much bigger place—and so he did, moving around as it suited him. He stopped marrying, but continued falsifying papers—throughout his lifetime, he’d learned very well to make them himself, able to duplicate official documentation eerily well, so he could trick anyone with a driver license or passport. He’d become a jack of all trades—it enabled him to find a job wherever he went, and choosing to live his life alone let him save up money.
Living alone also afforded him the luxury to throw his morals out the window—without a family to keep him in check, without anyone else to worry about—he did what he wanted, when he wanted. He said and did as he pleased—he was entirely free, and that was the way he liked it.
By his estimation, he was finally letting himself go after behaving for over three hundred years of stuffy, structured lives. He never stayed in one place too long, and he never got attached to anyone that he began to care about. Once he felt the familiar pull of longing for someone, the thought that he could stay and see them just one more time—that was when he packed up and left. One night stands were his forte; being aloof was his specialty.
Hoseok had learned, in the several-hundred-years that he’d existed, that pleasure wasn’t limited to women. Or one woman, even.
Heaven help him—but over the years, especially toward the later part of the 20th century—he expanded his horizons from sleeping with one woman at a time to multiple women, and then multiple partners, regardless of gender. He had come to appreciate sex for what it was—two (or more) people enjoying each other. It was no longer chasing his own high, even though that was part of it, obviously—he would read other’s bodies and then use his own to give them what they wanted.
Once he was satisfied that he had escaped any ties, familial or otherwise, he found himself settling into New York City. The turn of the century was truly an incredible time—it wasn’t the first one he’d seen, of course, but watching the year change from 1999 to 2000 was something incredible. As jaded as he was, and as tired of life as he could be, the excitement in Times Square was contagious. He didn’t watch the ball drop—he’d done that before, and he was in no hurry to freeze again any time soon. Instead, he found himself in a gay bar uptown, surrounded by gorgeous men, and some straight girls who had wandered in just for the fun of it, probably.
There was a tension in the air—some people were already paired up, on New Years’ Eve dates or already a couple—but those who were single were eyeing others around them, trying to find some company for the night, or at least someone to kiss when the clock struck 12.
It was there that he caught the eye of a young, denim-clad man. He was wearing pale jeans, with a jacket to match, over what appeared to be a plain white t-shirt. Not a look Hoseok hadn’t seen before, especially in the circles he traveled in lately, but he could admit that not everyone wore it as well as this guy did.
He approached Hoseok, a glass in each hand, and proffered one to him, keeping the other for himself.
Hoseok eyed the glass appraisingly, then took it. “You know, taking a drink from anyone other than the bartender is a stupid idea,” he said. The young man quirked an eyebrow, then reached out and took Hoseok’s glass, exchanging it for his own. He took a sip of the amber liquid—probably just whiskey on the rocks, if Hoseok had to guess—and put it down on the bar before speaking.
“I wouldn’t dose you, pretty,” he said, and Hoseok felt flattered, even though he had been told by many others that he was attractive. “You’re gonna want to remember tonight.”
Hoseok smirked, picking up the glass he’d been given the second time, and took a sip. He’d been right—whiskey. “Why’s that?”
“You’ll have to wait to find out,” the other man said, skimming his fingertip over the rim of his glass. “I’m Jimin.”
“Hoseok,” he replied, eyes dipping down from Jimin’s eyes to his plump lips, his pronounced collar bones, protruding a bit over the neck of his shirt.
“Are you here alone?” Jimin asked, seeming to just want to check—his wide eyes swooped around their immediate area, in case Hoseok was hiding a boyfriend nearby, but Hoseok only nodded.
“I am if you are,” he replied, picking up his glass and twirling it a bit, the ice tinkling together. “I was just looking for someone to ring in the new year with.”
Jimin straightened up a bit, leaning both elbows on the bar before turning to face Hoseok, letting just one rest there. “How funny that we were both here for the same thing,” he said, even though it wasn’t funny at all. “We should probably stick together.”
Hoseok felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “Well, seeing as how it’s four minutes to midnight, we probably should.”
Glancing over at the TV set above the bar, Jimin caught the host of the New Years’ show of choice gesturing up at the ball above Times Square, probably saying something about it that no one cared to hear. The camera panned over the crowd, everyone wearing ridiculous glasses in the shape of the number 2000, all bundled up because the temperature had to be in the negatives out there.
“Guess I found you just in time, then,” Jimin said, turning back to Hoseok, who had stepped closer. His whiskey glass was empty, Jimin noticed, so he downed the rest of his and sidled up to the stranger. He’d done stupid things before, but he was willing to set aside every bit of common sense for this guy. He’d seen him before, out with his friends—he was always leaving with different men, or women, not that that bothered him—and Jimin figured if this guy could score with everyone then he wanted a turn, too. “Lucky me.”
“Or me,” Hoseok replied. He had leaned in a bit, his black hair brushing against Jimin’s silver bangs. He turned his face up toward the older man’s, their noses barely brushing before Jimin turned away.
Hoseok opened his mouth to question what was wrong—had he come on too strong, maybe, or somehow misinterpreted what Jimin wanted?—but Jimin spoke before he could.
“Call me a romantic,” he admitted, “but our first kiss should be at midnight, right?”
Thankfully, Hoseok only laughed a bit, reaching up to straighten his collar before brushing his wavy hair back; Jimin did the same, his silver bangs falling back straight over his forehead.
“You’re cute,” Hoseok said, reaching out slowly with one arm and looping it around Jimin’s waist. Behind him on the TV, the ball had begun to drop, the countdown showing 57 seconds until 1999 was over.
“Glad you think so,” Jimin quipped—now that this was happening, now that he’d managed to get close to Hoseok, he was nervous. He should come clean and admit to having seen him around before—but now there was 34 seconds left on the clock, and being pressed up against Hoseok didn’t really make him want to spill his guts.
“Ten,” Hoseok said, echoing the crowd around them, counting down and raising glasses already. Jimin could swear that Hoseok was the only person he could hear.
“Six,” Jimin said with him, puckering his lips without meaning to. Hoseok grinned at him, turning to look over his shoulder at the TV. Instinctually, Jimin looked too.
“Three,” everyone in the bar shouted together.
“Two,” Jimin whispered, his eyes on Hoseok’s rounded, smiling cheek, catching his gaze when he turned back around.
“One,” Hoseok said, his voice drowned out by the tumultuous cheering from everyone in the room with them—somewhere in Jimin’s periphery, he bartender popped a bottle of champagne, filling complimentary glasses for all his patrons—but the only thing Jimin could focus on was Hoseok.
Their eyes met and held each other, bodies fitted together closely, Hoseok’s arm still around his waist; time stood still as Jimin leaned in—he was the one to close the distance between them, their lips meeting as midnight came and went. Hoseok licked into his mouth, their tongues sliding together as Jimin arched against him. His hand slid around Jimin, beneath his jacket, pressing against the small of his back. The rest of the bar melted into nothingness around them, their focus only on each other—and then the night devolved into drinks and kisses, touches and lingering looks. It wasn’t long before they left the bar, unable to break apart from each other, and headed downtown to Hoseok’s apartment before he remembered he actually lived the other way.
“Fuck, yes—just like—like that—”
Jimin’s hands gripped tight to Hoseok’s bedsheets, knees spread wide as Hoseok leaned into him, face buried in his ass. He was lapping at Jimin’s hole, licking the come he’d left there out of him. Jimin hadn’t come yet—he was still hard between his legs, but they’d been at it for a long time, and if Hoseok’s stamina was anything to go by, they weren’t going be stopping soon either.
His cock was bobbing with each lick of Hoseok’s tongue into his asshole, precome dripping from the slit and rolling down the underside. His hole was sensitive—he was stretched and fucked raw—but Hoseok’s tongue wasn’t doing it for him. Jimin flexed his hips, pushing his ass back further into Hoseok’s face, and whined for more.
Pulling away, Hoseok wiped his spit-slick mouth with the back of his hand before placing both hands on either side of Jimin’s ass.
“Needy,” he said, loud and clear—and Jimin whined a bit more. They’d had a long walk back uptown, whispering to each other the filthy things they each liked, made all the more desperate for it given how taboo it was to talk about sex in public like they were. It was late enough that anyone out on the streets was inebriated and wouldn’t give a fuck about, or in fact remember, hearing two guys talk about their sexual preferences, but the thrill was still real for the two of them.
“Then give me what I want,” Jimin said—demanded, rather. He wasn’t about to let Hoseok slip through his fingers, not after trying to land him for so long and finally managing it.
“I already fucked you,” Hoseok said, dipping his fingers inside of Jimin’s ass again, scissoring them in his loose hole. “What else do you want?” Part of him wanted Jimin to lead, and the other wanted to move on to the next thing—he had come, had practically licked Jimin’s ass clean too, but he was totally into the idea of continuing until he fell the fuck asleep.
“Suck me,” Jimin simpered, lowering himself to lay flat on the bed and then rolling onto his back. His small, soft tummy was absolutely precious—Hoseok was pretty sure that Jimin had been wearing the jacket to hide that he didn’t have a six-pack, but he was into it. Jimin was definitely the kind of guy who deserved to be catered to, he could tell already—the soft body was just a perfect match.
“You’re clean, right?” Hoseok asked, before remembering that the question had already come out of his mouth earlier when Jimin shucked his jeans off and bent over the bed.
“I am, and so are you,” Jimin recited, because he’d already answered (and questioned Hoseok, after realizing that he probably should. Reckless, yes. On the ball, not so much).
“Right,” Hoseok affirmed. He was still hovering somewhere between drunk and slightly-less-drunk, and that meant he was game for anything. “Ok, lie down.”
Jimin, already lying down, stared up at him. His elbows pressed points into the mattress below him, but he managed to shrug somehow without moving his arms. “Already am.”
“Right,” Hoseok repeated, licking the corner of his lips. He could still taste his spunk, but it mingled with the taste of Jimin’s clean skin, and he liked that more than he ought to. “Stay still then.”
“Not if I can help it,” Jimin mumbled, but Hoseok either didn’t hear or didn’t care to ask him to repeat it. He bent over Jimin’s body, tracing his lips over his chest down his over his small stomach, feeling the way he shivered a little at the light touches before Hoseok’s chin bumped against Jimin’s erection. A smear of precome clung to the underside of his jaw, but Hoseok didn’t bother to wipe it away. Jimin’s cock was reddened at the tip and rigid, so hard and leaking, and Hoseok didn’t need to be asked twice—he opened his mouth and swallowed him down.
Jimin’s gasp punched through his whole body—contrary to Hoseok’s request, he bucked his hips up immediately, the head of his cock brushing the back of Hoseok’s throat.
He almost choked, almost coughed around Jimin, but Hoseok only squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, keeping his composure as he pulled off, just a bit. Precome coated his tongue—he could feel Jimin trembling beneath him, and so he sucked at the tip, coaxing Jimin closer to his end with his tongue, working at the slit.
“Fuck,” Jimin groaned, lifting his hips up, slowly this time, feeding Hoseok his dick, reveling in the warmth and wetness of his mouth. Hoseok’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath before sinking back down, his tongue undulating against the underside of Jimin’s cock, eyes locked onto Jimin’s face as he watched for any signs that he was about to flood Hoseok’s mouth with come.
Hands wound their way into his hair, fingers curling into fists around locks of strands, and Hoseok understood implicitly that that was how Jimin was going to warm him. He closed his eyes, sliding his mouth off of Jimin nearly all the way to suck at the head, saliva rolling down his length, before moving right back on, tasting him anew, all over again. Jimin’s thighs were tensing and releasing on either side of his head, his fingertips pressing divots into his legs—plush, soft, darling, just like the rest of him—in all of Hoseok’s years, he’d met so many interesting people, but part of him was thinking, in a drunken stupor, that Jimin would be someone who could make the list of people he’d grown to love—
Jimin tugged at him, forceful yanks on both side of his head, the black tufts of hair slipping out of his grip, and Hoseok checked back in just in time to pull off enough that Jimin’s come wouldn’t choke him—instead, it filled his mouth, thick; he swallowed again and again, drinking what Jimin gave him until it the last spurt landed on his tongue. He moved off of Jimin, just enough to hold it on his tongue; he showed it off before swallowing—but before he could, just as he’d barely closed his mouth, Jimin had darted forward, still half out of breath, and kissed Hoseok hard, swapping the come from Hoseok’s tongue to his own. It passed between both of their mouths before the kiss broke, each of them separating and swallowing, the tang muted but still present.
Hoseok met Jimin’s eyes, reaching down to take hold of his half-hard dick again; Jimin looked away, following Hoseok’s hands instead of his gaze, so only Hoseok knew that the only thing they were both still wearing was matching smirks.
Sun shining through the drapes woke Jimin the next morning. He opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light, just in time to see his partner from the night before slipping out of the room. He wondered for a brief moment if he had overstayed his welcome, but just as quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it.
He couldn’t remember exactly how long they’d gone at it after getting back from the bar, but his entire lower half felt worn out, like he’d probably come one too many times—so he couldn’t really see Hoseok kicking him out after that.
Rolling onto his side, away from the sun, he sighed to himself. It almost felt like he was still riding his orgasmic afterglow, his body still alight with Hoseok’s touches. He couldn’t piece everything together, despite his assertion that Hoseok was going to want to remember their night together—but if how good he felt was any indication at all, they’d have many more nights together to remember.
It brought a smile to Jimin’s face, just thinking about how he’d finally managed to join the seemingly not-so-exclusive club that Hoseok had started. He made the rounds in Manhattan, that was for sure, probably fucking everyone and anyone—maybe even some people in Brooklyn too, he definitely seemed the type—
Jimin was shocked out of his thoughts by a semi-pained yelp from what he assumed was Hoseok’s bathroom; in the back of his mind, he was certain that he’d just heard a toilet flush, but now Hoseok was...screaming, for some reason?
Sitting up, Jimin gathered the sheets around himself, leaning over a little even though he couldn’t quite see down the hall that Hoseok had meandered away in. “You all right?” he called anyway, just in case. He let his eyes sweep the room for a phone, on the off chance he’d need one.
There was no answer. Jimin shifted himself a little in the bed, his ass still sore and letting him know it the more he moved, but he could hear Hoseok shuffling around in the bathroom—frantically, if he had to guess.
Forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t in his own home, Jimin shimmied to the edge of the mattress and stood up, tugging the sheet out from where it was tucked beneath the mattress and wrapped it around himself, picking it up so it didn’t drag over the floor as he made his way out of Hoseok’s bedroom to the only closed door he could find.
He could hear ragged breathing from inside, and for a moment he really did pause, wondering if he should just get his things and go, but instead, he knocked.
All movement in the bathroom ceased, like Hoseok didn’t want Jimin to know he was in there.
“Are you all right?” Jimin asked again, torn between being curious or concerned. He knew Hoseok was in there, and he knew that Hoseok could hear him, so he waited for a response, lingering outside the bathroom. He started to feel a bit—well, nosy, after Hoseok didn’t say anything for a long few minutes, but then the door opened and he appeared.
He looked exactly the same, perfectly normal, and Jimin almost thought he would have to fuck him again because even with bedhead and wearing grey sweats he looked insanely hot—but then Hoseok spoke.
“Sorry,” he said, and his voice was actually shaking. “I just—had a...shock.”
Jimin blinked, looking him over, like maybe he’d missed something because he hadn’t been able to look away from his wavy, messy hair. “What’s wrong?”
Hoseok opened his mouth, then closed it, then lifted both hands to gesture at his—forehead? No, his hair; he was running his fingers through it.
“What?” Jimin asked. “Forgot you needed a cut?”
Again, Hoseok started to speak but cut himself off as soon as the first syllable became audible. “I found a grey hair.”
Jimin paused, looking up at Hoseok’s bangs, then past him to his own reflection in the mirror. “My hair’s grey too,” he said, shaking his hair, the straightened silver strands falling over his eyes.
“Your hair is dyed,” Hoseok said, grumbling to himself for a moment. He met Jimin’s eyes again just as Jimin replied.
“Everyone gets grey hair,” he said, slowly, like he was talking to a child. “It’s part of growing up.”
“I don’t,” Hoseok snapped, before stepping back and literally biting his lip, like he hadn’t wanted to say anything at all. He leaned against the sink, crossing his arms a bit in what Jimin took to be self-consciousness.
“So dye it black,” Jimin said, lifting the hand that wasn’t holding his sheet in place. “Who cares?”
“I care,” Hoseok said, again with more attitude than he’d wanted to use. “I don’t get grey hair.”
Jimin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And why’s that? Everyone’s genes fail sometime, pretty.”
“Because I—” Hoseok said, but this time, he clamped his jaw shut, obviously finished discussing it.
But he didn’t know Jimin very well, and he didn’t know that Jimin always got what he wanted.
Lowering the sheet a little, Jimin entered the small bathroom—big for New York City, he figured—and didn’t stop until he was nearly pressed right against Hoseok.
Hoseok looked down at him, his lips parting a little just from Jimin’s sheer proximity, but if he expected a kiss or something of the sort, he was sorely disappointed.
“Because you what?” Jimin asked. He knew how good he looked—still fucked out from the night before, his makeup smudged but only a little, lips still plump and swollen from kissing. Hoseok was only a man—and Jimin excelled at making men weak.
“I just don’t...grow up,” Hoseok said, finally, knowing how insane it sounded. He himself had come to terms with it long, long ago—because it was his truth—but he’d also given up on sharing his secret with anyone because absolutely no one believed him.
Jimin, true to form, snickered. That Hoseok had expected. What he didn’t expect was Jimin to—play along?
“Ok, Peter Pan,” he said. “I guess I’m one of your lost boys now.” He licked the corner of his mouth, then turned away to return to Hoseok’s bed—if he played his cards right, and he intended to, he could probably get Hoseok to cook breakfast for him. At the very least, some coffee—
“I’m serious,” Hoseok interjected, right in the middle of Jimin’s thoughts. “I’ve been—I’ve been this age for hundreds of years.” Even he could hear how crazy it sounded, but now that he was saying it, it was like he couldn’t stop. The words spilled from him, “I’ve had families—children and wives and—I never knew why, I’ve seen history as it happened—” So maybe he’d romanticized the way it would go if he ever told anyone everything, planning his speech “—but now it’s… Over.”
He had more to say, but it seemed moot now. He was aging—what if he aged all at once and ended up a corpse before Jimin’s very eyes?—but he had more pressing worries to deal with. Namely, the way Jimin had turned back around to study him and the very obvious fear that he now had that he’d slept with someone who had lost his mind.
Desperate, Hoseok blurted out, “Ask me anything. Ask me. I’d know, because I was there.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, gathering his sheet back up like it offered him some kind of modesty, like Hoseok hadn’t spent half the night with his mouth on Jimin’s asshole. “Come on, dude—”
“No, I’m serious,” Hoseok said, stepping closer to Jimin, trying to ignore the way he stepped further back. “Ask me anything about history.”
Jimin scoffed again, huffing a short-lived laugh as he tried to think of a history question. He wracked his brain, until he settled on a question about Busan, where his family had come from in South Korea. Sighing, he threw up his hands in defeat and asked, “What was the Treaty of Ganghwa?”
Hoseok’s expression didn’t even falter. He sighed—and Jimin understood why, because that treaty hadn’t been the best for his family’s country. “It basically allowed Japan to annex Korea. It was signed in 1876. And Korea fell under Japanese control in 1910.”
Jimin kept his eyes locked on Hoseok’s for a moment, then shrugged. “Ok. So you’re a history buff.” His tongue flitted out over his upper lip, before he put on a sing-song tone. “That don’t impress me much.”
Hoseok perked up, jabbing a finger at Jimin, like he’d caught him. “Shania Twain!” he half-shouted, knowing exactly the song Jimin was referencing.
If he’d hoped for it to gain him any points, though, it didn’t. Jimin only laughed, shaking his head. “She’s a gay icon,” he said, “you don’t get credit for knowing that.”
And just like that, he turned and walked back to Hoseok’s bedroom.
“Jimin,” Hoseok called, hurrying after him. He wasn’t sure what Jimin was going to do now—if he was going to get dressed and leave or what—but he didn’t want that to happen. He was the only person in the world who knew the truth about Hoseok, and he didn’t want to lose that now that he’d gotten the weight off his chest.
But when he crossed the threshold to his bedroom, Jimin was—back in his bed, still swathed in the sheet. Hoseok stuttered to a stop, his bare feet just managing to catch himself before he tripped, one hand clinging to the jamb, staring as Jimin settled himself down beneath the loose sheet.
“You’re a little crazy, obviously,” Jimin said, not bothering to try and stifle his yawn. “But you’re hot, so I guess it evens out?” He met Hoseok’s eyes. “You don’t mind if I get some more sleep, do you?”
At a loss, Hoseok just nodded—he was just glad Jimin hadn’t chosen to leave.
Jimin did leave, though. After they’d fucked a couple more times and after a few “old man” jokes at Hoseok’s expense.
He’d elected to ignore them, preferring to push down his feelings (the immense, scary feelings) that he had about his apparent fall from grace into mortality. Jimin had scribbled his phone number on an old telephone bill that was on Hoseok’s kitchen table and then left, but not before pressing a long kiss to Hoseok’s temple and telling him to call, soon.
Well aware of the rule that stated not to call within the first couple days after a date, Hoseok didn’t put Jimin too high on his to-do list. No pun intended.
Mostly, he lazed around in his apartment, staring at the ceiling and watching the sunlight slowly wane to yellow-gold before being replaced by industrial orange, the streetlights blinking on one by one as the sun set on the city. He really was wasting his days now—who knew how many he had left? If his time was limited, shouldn’t he be making the most of it? He’d taken everything for granted. Like a fool. Maybe that was his punishment—once he really hit rock bottom, eating out some twink’s ass at the turn of the century, he was turned back into a mortal man, left to reflect on his sins and lament the time he’d squandered.
After four or five days (he’d honestly lost count), Hoseok realized that he wanted company. A certain kind of company. If he had to go out, he’d go out in a blaze of debauchery.
He had no idea where Jimin lived, no idea how long it would take him to get to Hoseok’s place—or if he’d even want to—but he decided to be hopeful and shower just in case Jimin agreed to come see him.
The water felt amazing cascading over him—he told himself to never, ever take this kind of thing for granted again, and to revel in the simple pleasures of life. He stood under the stream of water long after he was finished washing, eyes closed, letting it wash away as many of his worries as it could before it turned cold and he hurried to shut off the faucet.
Sighing as the tub drained itself, he stepped out onto the bathmat and dried himself off, toweling his hair—and maybe deciding to leave it messy because he remembered that Jimin had liked his mussed hair the last time they’d seen each other. He brushed his teeth, swishing mouthwash before getting dressed in a pair of tight black jeans—Jimin liked denim, he figured—and a loose sweatshirt. And then, he headed to the phone.
The envelope that Jimin had written his number on was pinned to the small corkboard Hoseok had hung next to his kitchen phone, and he unstuck the thumbtack as he studied the number before dialing. He was prepared to leave a message—what he would say, though, was another story—and just as he took a breath, expecting the answering machine to pick up, Jimin answered.
“Hello?” he said, and Hoseok recognized the slight squeak in his voice, the high-pitched tone that had moaned his name so many times almost a week prior.
“Hi,” Hoseok said, wondering if Jimin would know who it was. He didn’t say anything, so Hoseok went on before he could ask. “It’s Hoseok.”
“Oh,” Jimin said, and Hoseok tried to interpret the one syllable over the phone. He’d done the whole chase thing before, pursuing men or women he was interested in—but with Jimin, it was different. He knew everything, and for the first time in a long time, that put Hoseok at a disadvantage. “How are you?”
An opening. Part of him couldn’t believe that Jimin was giving him an opening, but he was going to fucking take it.
“I’m w—uh, I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m ok,” Jimin said, sighing sweetly. Hoseok wished he’d drug a chair over from the kitchen table so he could sit down. Jimin was something else, and Hoseok had no idea how to navigate him. “I thought you’d call sooner after our night together.” Hoseok could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Well,” Hoseok said, clearing his throat a little. He looked up at the ceiling. “I had some thinking to do.”
“Now that you’re an old man?” Jimin asked, his voice chirpy, and Hoseok felt a flare of annoyance that was drowned out by the desire to fuck the defiance out of him.
Suppressing that particular urge, Hoseok laughed instead, like maybe if he pretended to find it amusing, he actually would. “Sure. Now that I’m gonna be an old man, you should say.”
Jimin didn’t say anything, and Hoseok knew he fucked up. He shouldn’t have pushed it, shouldn’t have said anything, but then Jimin’s lips smacked and he replied.
“You really believe that, huh,” he asked, even though it definitely wasn’t phrased as a question. Hoseok didn’t reply, since Jimin already knew. Or, he knew now, as soon as the truth sunk in.
“Anyway,” Hoseok said, opting to change the subject before Jimin hung up on him and then called the phone company to block Hoseok’s number. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get together again. If you can forgive me for not calling sooner, I mean.”
There was another brief silence, and then Jimin answered, allowing Hoseok’s heart to beat again.
“I think so,” he said. “Your place or mine?”
Hoseok sucked his cheek—apparently Jimin had one thing on his mind, or maybe he only wanted Hoseok for that one thing. He could live with that. He’d have to.
“Mine?” Hoseok suggested, toying with the collar of his shirt. Jimin had already come to him once—he would probably be all right with coming over again.
“How’s tonight?” Jimin asked, countering Hoseok’s question with one of his own—and Hoseok’s tongue flitted out over his lips before he replied.
“Perfect. Should I cook for us?”
Jimin giggled, actually giggled, and Hoseok felt his heart drop before he answered the question. “That’s romantic of you. I’d love it. What can you cook?”
At Hoseok’s current culinary skill level, the question really was what couldn’t he cook, but instead of going there, he opted for simplicity. “How about pasta?”
“Carbs, the way to my heart and my ass,” Jimin said. “Sounds good. See you around seven or so?”
Thanking whatever higher power had made him immortal in the first place, Hoseok agreed—and upon hanging up the phone, pinned the envelope back to the corkboard. He had a list to make of ingredients to pick up to make pasta and sauce—because of course he had learned to make sauce. (He’d spent a few months in Italy, once, so he thought his recipe was pretty all right.)
A short trip to the corner store was all it took for Hoseok to pick up everything he needed, and a glance at the clock told him he needed to get moving. He chose to make a simple tomato sauce, and only once that was simmering away on the stove, did he leave the kitchen. His room was a mess—sheets unchanged, laundry everywhere. He straightened up as best he could, wanting to make it presentable for Jimin, since he assumed they would end up there before the night was over.
Jimin arrived a few minutes before seven—cracking a joke about how time was a factor now that Hoseok’s days were numbered—and he made his way to the kitchen with Hoseok trailing after him.
“I just have to cook the pasta,” Hoseok said, gesturing to the table behind himself so Jimin could sit.
He nodded at the invitation, but instead chose to look around the kitchen. He had a bit more time now, and Hoseok watched him in his periphery as he examined the fake flowers in a pot on the windowsill above the sink; the decorative plates hung on the wall that were, actually, priceless antiques that he’d procured ages ago; and finally, taking in where the envelope he’d scrawled his phone number was pinned.
“Memory going?” Jimin asked, flicking at the edge of the envelope once Hoseok looked over. “Can’t remember my number?”
Flushing red, Hoseok turned away to add salt to the pot—but he was trying to think of an excuse for why it was there, maybe. “I just didn’t want to lose it.”
“You’re adorable,” Jimin muttered, and Hoseok almost didn’t catch it—he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear anyway. “So,” he continued, apparently satisfied that he’d perused Hoseok’s kitchen for long enough. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No,” Hoseok replied right away, shaking his head as he jostled the pot a little, wanting it to boil faster. “Just sit, I’ll get everything.”
Jimin held his gaze, but sat down anyway, watching as Hoseok busied himself at the stove. He stirred the sauce, added the pasta to the water once it boiled, and then—satisfied that their dinner was well on its way to being cooked perfectly—opened the cupboard in front of him. Directly into his head.
“Fuck!” he half-shouted, the corner of the wood-paneled door catching his forehead. He could tell without even looking that it had cut him, heat rushing to his face as he felt the slow, wet ooze of blood beginning to seep out of the wound.
“Are you ok?” Jimin asked from behind him, standing up so quickly his chair skidded back across the floor. He hurried to Hoseok’s side, hands landing on him and turning him so he could look. He caught a glimpse of the cut—just beneath Hoseok’s hairline—and breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Jesus, I thought you took your eye out.” He sounded immensely calmer.
Hoseok, on the other hand, was not anywhere near calm. The cut wasn’t even particularly bad—but he stepped back from Jimin, groping for the paper towel roll he kept near the sink, and yanked a couple free. He pressed them to the cut—the barely bleeding cut—and held it there, obscuring one of his eyes. He could still see the way Jimin was looking at him, and it had gone from concern to confusion.
“What’s the matter with you?” Jimin asked, smirking. “Haven’t you ever gotten a bump on the head before?”
“Of course I have,” Hoseok said, frowning. “But not since—” He stopped himself, and Jimin’s expression changed again to amusement.
“Since your return to mortality,” he said, laughter tinged in his voice.
“It’s not funny,” Hoseok said. “Any wound could be my last now. What if I have a concuss—”
“Oh my god,” Jimin interrupted him, stepping back and lowering his hands from Hoseok’s arms. “You don’t have a concussion. You barely even scraped yourself.” He reached up and yanked Hoseok’s hand away from his head. The small cut had already stopped bleeding—the paper towels had a few small red spots, but it mostly looked comical considering the sheer amount of crumpled up towels versus the miniscule amount of blood. “You’re fine. And—I mean, I’m a little worried about you now, for real.”
Hoseok met Jimin’s eyes—still, he stayed, even though Hoseok could tell that he was on the verge of leaving—but he wanted to try one more time to get Jimin to believe him, even if he walked out of his life for good.
“I know it sounds crazy. I probably look crazy,” Hoseok admitted, trying not to be offended when Jimin nodded, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Hoseok lifted a hand, brushing his hair back off his forehead. Jimin could see the cut—it probably wouldn’t even scar—and the grey hair that Hoseok had lamentingly pointed out a few days earlier. “I swear I’m telling you the truth.”
“How?” Jimin said, laughing at him—laughing, right to his face. “You’re trying to tell me you’re like, what, a hundred years old—”
“More than that,” Hoseok said, his voice low and serious. “Hundreds,” he said, emphasizing the plural of it.
“That’s crazy!” Jimin said. “That’s honestly crazy. They say crazy makes you a better fuck, but holy shit, if you really believe this—”
“I believe it because it’s true,” Hoseok said, calm as anything, and that was what drove Jimin past his breaking point—which he hadn’t been too far from in the first place, because what should his threshold have been for someone who thought he was immortal?
“You are crazy,” Jimin said, gesturing at Hoseok with one hand, his fore- and middle fingertips pressed to his thumb to show how serious he was. “You’re out of your mind, and I’m leaving.”
Hoseok, for a moment, thought to appeal to him using the food. He turned to the stove, the sauce bubbling merrily on the heat and the pasta probably nearing the perfect al dente bite, but before he could say anything, Jimin had pushed past him, and none too gently.
“Jimin—” Hoseok said, hurrying after him, but he was already at the door to his apartment, sliding the chain and pulling it open.
“Lose my number.” Jimin turned only to say that to Hoseok, jerking his chin toward the kitchen, and Hoseok understood that to be directed toward the envelope pinned up next to the phone. “Bye.”
The door slammed, Hoseok heard the pasta boiling over on the stove, and he almost wished that the knock to his head had just fucking killed him, honestly.
After Jimin’s rejection—which was what Hoseok had taken to calling what had happened between them, just because it was easier—it wasn’t hard for him to slip back into his old ways. He would go out, making sure to avoid the bar where he’d met Jimin, and take as many conquests to bed as humanly possible. His apartment was small, but what was the money he’d saved up over the decades for if not splurging on hotel rooms for orgies every now and then?
Losing himself was easier this time—he wondered when he had come to terms with the possibility that he was going to grow old and die, eventually, because it certainly hadn’t been something he had spent an awful lot of time thinking about since he’d met and lost Jimin. But the fact remained—every time he kissed a new person in the dark of a bar, he let himself think that any night could be his last, and that meant he should enjoy it as much as he could. He needed to be careful now more than ever, and he didn’t care at all.
March came—Hoseok, despite the increasing amount of grey he found amidst the rest of his black hair, took home college undergrad after college undergrad who couldn’t afford to leave New York for their spring break. It worked well enough, except when morning came and they had all slunk out of his apartment before the sunrise—that was when his thoughts crept back to Jimin. He had stayed. He’d stayed, even after Hoseok had told him the truth. The first time, at least.
Hoseok would trudge into his kitchen every morning, telling himself he was satisfied with the way he was living now, and cook a breakfast for one. Even Jimin had asked for eggs and coffee.
One such morning, discarded eggshells on the countertop and a skillet on the stove, Hoseok nearly flung the omelet he was cooking across the kitchen when the phone rang. He turned to stare the thing down, its ring filling the otherwise dead silence of his apartment, and he moved the omelet off the burner to go answer it. It was mid-morning, so a phone call wasn’t unheard of, except for the fact that he couldn’t think of anyone he’d given his number to recently because building personal relationships hadn’t been an interest of his since he left his last family and moved to the east coast.
“Hello?” he answered, turning his back to the corkboard still bearing Jimin’s number on the phone bill envelope. Maybe it was his landlord, calling about a noise complaint. The two girls he’d brought home with him the night before had been loud—even his drunk self could recognize that he was probably going to be in some kind of trouble. But then—
“Hi,” came a voice, soft and sweet and Hoseok almost dropped the phone.
“Jimin?” he asked.
“Hi,” Jimin repeated. “Yeah. It’s me,” he said, before trailing off.
Hoseok waited for him to go on, to say literally anything else, but he didn’t. He could hear the phone shifting around on Jimin’s end—probably as he passed it from hand to hand. Hoseok pushed against the doorframe for a moment and tucked the phone between his shoulder and chin, then returned to the stove. The burner was still on, and he moved the omelet back over it to finish cooking it.
“Why are you calling?” Hoseok asked. He couldn’t think of a reason why—he knew that he’d been clean when they slept together, even though not using condoms was some stupid shit to do. He got tested disgustingly often—he was on a first-name basis with every single employee at the clinic he frequented.
“Well,” Jimin said, like he couldn’t believe he had actually dialed Hoseok’s number—which gave Hoseok pause. He had never given Jimin his number.
“Wait—how are you calling?”
That, Jimin seemed more inclined to answer, even though he loosed a short laugh that was mixed with a sigh. “I found you in the phone book,” he said. “I—only had your address and name, so. Yeah.”
Hoseok paused, appeased, then repeated his first question. “So...what did you need?”
“Right,” Jimin said. Hoseok let himself listen, finishing up his breakfast and transferring it to a plate. He would eat it standing if he had to, leaning against the side of the refrigerator because the phone cord wouldn’t reach to his table. Jimin continued, “I just started thinking about you a lot. Like...if you really are crazy—which, I mean, you have to be to think you’re hundreds of years old—”
“It’s way too early for you to be this rude,” Hoseok interrupted, and Jimin huffed an unamused laugh before continuing.
“Yeah, maybe. Just—I thought maybe you shouldn’t...be alone? If you need someone there with you, I mean, if you really—think that you’re...whatever. I just meant, like, maybe you need to learn how to live your life since you can’t even get hit in the head without thinking you’re dying.”
Hoseok chewed the bite of egg he’d taken slowly, wishing he’d added more cheese or like, some onion or peppers or something. When he was in a terrible mood, his cooking tended to match, and ended up bland.
“Are you offering?” Hoseok asked, tapping his chopsticks against the edge of his plate.
“Kind of?” Jimin said, then backtracked. “I mean, yeah. I am. I—you didn’t tell anyone else, right? So I’m the only one who knows. So I guess I’m your only hope.”
Hoseok snickered, taking another bite of his eggs. “How selfless of you.”
“I mean, I know,” Jimin said, sounding immensely grateful that Hoseok hadn’t tried to call his bluff any more than he already had. “Plus, like I said, you’re hot—”
“I really didn’t peg you as that kind of guy,” Hoseok joked, because Jimin definitely came across as thinking solely with his dick.
“You probably should have,” Jimin replied, easily—like there wasn’t any strangeness between them, “considering how we met.”
Hoseok huffed a short laugh, but instead of replying right away, took another bite of his omelet.
“So,” Jimin went on, grasping that Hoseok was going to let him take the lead with this, whatever they decided to do. “I was thinking, like, since you’re clearly a lunatic—”
“Can you watch it with that?” Hoseok said, mouth still full and sounding very much like it. “You’re crossing from kind of cute to dickish.”
“—that I could be your guide to mortal life,” Jimin continued, like Hoseok hadn’t commented at all. It was big of him to want to, Hoseok supposed, but if they were going to do this he was going to have to figure out some way to convince Jimin that he wasn’t delusional and that he really had lived countless lifespans.
“Like a reverse Handbook for the Recently Deceased,” Hoseok said, and Jimin chuckled.
“Is this going to be endless pop culture references with you? First Peter Pan, now I’m your Beetlejuice?”
“Excuse me,” Hoseok said, mock offended. “You made the Peter Pan comment, not me.” Jimin started to object, but Hoseok kept going. “And, also, Beetlejuice was arguably an antagonist in the movie...both the Maitlands and the Deetzes have to deal with him in an increasingly negative way, and—”
“Oh my god, suddenly I believe you’re a senior citizen,” Jimin said. “Who even analyzed Beetlejuice that closely?” He laughed. “An antagonist, my god…”
“You wouldn’t be Beetlejuice anyway,” Hoseok said, amused himself now that this was where the conversation had gone. “You’d be Juno. My case worker.”
“That’s a better name for me,” Jimin replied, and Hoseok could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll come over later and if you play your cards right, I’ll let you call me Juno while I work your case.”
“And the award for the worst sexual innuendo ever goes to: Park Jimin. Come over to claim your prize.” Hoseok shoved the last bit of his omelet into his mouth, chewing and suppressing his laughter and actually almost missing Jimin agreeing.
“I’ll leave in a few minutes,” Jimin said, and Hoseok swallowed thickly, forcing himself to finish his food before he spoke again. “I’m...sorry about last time.”
Hoseok kept his mouth shut—he knew Jimin had to be partly apologizing because Hoseok was a good lay, but he really hoped that he’d grow to consider him more than that.
“Are you ever going to stop dyeing your hair that color?”
Jimin lifted his head, letting the newspaper he was holding drop to fold up on itself, staring at Hoseok across their table.
“And let you be the only one with silver hair? Never.”
Hoseok frowned—his hair wasn’t that silver. It was still mostly black, but he couldn’t deny that as the years passed, he had started to turn prematurely grey—or maybe it wasn’t premature. He had no idea. Ten years had passed since Jimin called him that day in mid-March, and while Hoseok still thought he looked the same age, he couldn’t deny that some parts of him had changed. Aged. Mostly his hair. Fortunately.
It was almost like his body was waiting for Jimin to catch up to where he was. He couldn’t explain it, but the more time that had passed without Hoseok appearing to age much at all, the easier it became for Jimin to believe his story—to some extent. They had dated for a couple years, lived out Jimin’s rebellious youth together (and explored many a sexual fantasy for him too, even though Hoseok had done almost everything under the sun), but now—they had settled down a bit. Jimin had entered his thirties too, but the one thing that had never changed between them was his desire to completely eviscerate Hoseok by mocking his grey hair. It always worked too.
“One day I’ll be dead and you’ll regret teasing me so much.”
Jimin smirked—just as he had begun to believe Hoseok, or at the very least tolerate his one eccentricity, Hoseok had come to terms with his mortality.
“You’ll outlive me and we both know it,” Jimin countered, sipping the tea that Hoseok had prepared for him while he lazed around in their bed. “You still look exactly the same as when I met you. Except much greyer.” He set his teacup down at the same time that he lifted his other hand, tousling his hair. It was multilayered color, various shades of grey mixing together to give his hair a really beautiful appearance. Hoseok’s, on the other hand, was natural grey—interspersed between the plethora of black strands, it gave his hair the illusion of being laced with silver.
“You say that like you’re deteriorating,” Hoseok said, pouring himself another cup of coffee from the pot he’d brought over to the table. “You’re still younger than me.”
“By like, a thousand years.” Jimin smirked, poking at the bowl of fruit salad set in between them, choosing a piece of melon as Hoseok shouted at him, but it was half-hearted.
“Watch it,” Hoseok said, his jaw set. “You should know by now to respect your elders.”
“Yes, hyung,” Jimin said—a term of endearment that they didn’t often use anymore, because their ages appeared to be exactly the same if not one or two years off. Hoseok wished he knew how old his body was, how quickly he was aging. Was it matching Jimin’s somehow, keeping them the same so they could grow old together?
“That tone,” Hoseok chided him, but a smirk was playing on his lips. “Finish your breakfast.” Hoseok’s eyes dipped down to Jimin’s finger, curled through the handle of the teacup—one from an old, valuable set that Hoseok allowed him to use when he was particularly adorable.
“That tone,” Jimin echoed. He laid down his chopsticks and plucked a strawberry from the collection of fruit, lifting it to his lips before taking a long, slow bite from it. Hoseok watched—Jimin knew exactly what he was doing, as did Hoseok. They also both knew that he was going to allow it.
Sipping his coffee again, Hoseok let his eyes sweep over the table before pushing his chair back. He stood up, leaning over the table with his palms flat on it, and held Jimin’s gaze as he spoke. “Clean up in here when you’re done. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Jimin’s face turned upward toward his, and their lips met before Hoseok pulled back, turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway.
They had long since moved out of the tiny apartment in Manhattan—after their relationship had turned serious (and monogamous), they’d chosen to relocate a little bit north of the city, into an old but charming house that was just for them to spend their lives together. There, Jimin didn’t care how many other lifetimes Hoseok had spent with other people—he didn’t care whether he even believed him or not. He was just glad that they could be together, in a home all their own.
Jimin could hear Hoseok moving around upstairs, but this was the game they liked to play. Hoseok, technically older, should have had the power. But Jimin—he was the one who held it. He could make Hoseok wait as long as he wanted to.
So he sat back in his chair, crossed his legs beneath the table, and lifted another piece of fruit to his mouth.
Upstairs, Hoseok was already stripping off his clothes. He’d showered and dressed that morning, but it was a weekend—a lazy day by default, where they spent their time together, running some errands if necessary. Mostly, though, they basked in each other. Ten years together and they still hadn’t gotten tired of it. Sure—sometimes they were at each other’s throats, but everything always seemed to work out in the end.
Hoseok attributed it to their healthy sex life—he smirked to himself as he turned down the bed that Jimin had so meticulously made—Jimin was downstairs biding his time, making Hoseok wait to get what he wanted, what they both knew was coming. It was fine—it was how it tended to work. Hoseok, as much as he enjoyed physical pleasures, really had calmed down from his youth. Jimin, though, was always able to bring out the worst (or best?) in him.
The house was old—neither of them could go anywhere in it without alerting the other to his presence, and so Hoseok knew the exact moment that Jimin started climbing the stairs to come find him. He waited, stood near the side of the bed, in just his boxer-briefs—form-fitting enough, the way Jimin liked, that he wouldn’t miss anything when he laid eyes on Hoseok again.
Sure enough, when he reached the landing directly down the hall from their bedroom door, he paused to let his eyes sweep over Hoseok, lingering around his hips before slowly rising up to meet his eyes.
“What?” Jimin asked, not missing Hoseok’s smirk.
“Oh, nothing,” Hoseok retorted. “I love being sized up like a piece of meat.”
“You would,” Jimin said, entering the room finally, having taken his time walking down the hall too. “I’ve never heard you complain before.”
Hoseok’s only reply was to let his lips curve into a smirk again, watching Jimin expectantly as he began to undress, first pulling his shirt off before tugging at the drawstrings of his sweats. Unlike Hoseok, who had risen first, showered, dressed, and made their breakfast—Jimin didn’t see the point in such things on the weekend unless they had to go somewhere. He had washed his face, splashed on some cologne, maybe—but otherwise, he was the picture of relaxation.
It meant, also, that under his sweats, he was completely bare—and Hoseok, despite the reining in of his wild self of the past, loved to see that.
“Were you playing with yourself down there?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Jimin—or, more specifically, his crotch. His cock was chubbed up, not quite hard enough to be called a semi yet, but just perked with interest.
“No,” Jimin insisted, maybe too much.
“So just the thought of what I would do to you up here turned you on?” Hoseok asked, and Jimin looked for a moment like he wished that he’d just admitted to touching himself, whether it was true or not. But Hoseok just had that ability—to be utterly and completely desirable to Jimin, no matter what he was doing, and even sometimes in spite of it.
“No,” Jimin replied, but lamely enough that it was clear Hoseok had caught him in a lie.
“You’re so cute,” Hoseok cooed, ignoring the way Jimin tried to swipe him away and moving in for a kiss instead. Their lips met and Jimin melted into his touch; Hoseok smiled against his mouth, moving his hands from Jimin’s back to his waist, drifting even further to his hips. They were pressed tight together, Jimin’s hips aligned with Hoseok’s, his cock stiffening slowly as he ground himself against Hoseok a bit, seeking the friction.
Jimin parted his lips for Hoseok, letting him in; he tipped his head back just a bit, arching forward so their bodies fit together as best they could, and he whimpered quietly against Hoseok's tongue as one of his hands moved from his hip to his ass.
Hoseok wasted no time—he didn't bother with pretense or teasing—he slipped two fingers between Jimin's cheeks, spreading him open as he worked them over Jimin's hole. Jimin melted in his arms, tucking his face against Hoseok's neck as he sucked and kissed him there, hoping to leave a mark so they could remember this lazy Saturday morning tomorrow, and the next day too. He let Jimin mouth at him, circling his hole with the pads of his fingers, coaxing him open. It didn't take much—they fucked regularly enough that they could slide two fingers inside of each other without much resistance—but Hoseok, now that he had Jimin exactly where he wanted him, decided this was the opportune moment to take his time.
Slowing his fingers down, Hoseok lifted one away, leaving only his middle finger against Jimin's skin, still moving in a small circle. Jimin whined and pulled back from his neck, trying to turn his head up to look at Hoseok, but they were too tight together—Hoseok was holding him close, and it wasn't like Jimin really wanted to move away. Instead, he slid his feet a little further apart, giving Hoseok more room, but he didn't take the opportunity. Hoseok only dipped his head down, kissing Jimin's plump lips before breaking away from him, giving him a peck on the forehead—and then stepping back for good, leaving Jimin whiny and alone.
"'Seok," he mewled, trying to follow Hoseok, but his shaky legs didn't make it easy. Jimin, like Hoseok, always gave himself over fully to pleasure—and Hoseok knew exactly the best way to touch to fuck Jimin up entirely.
"Lie down," Hoseok said absently, waving at the bed. His back was to Jimin, and he was facing their shared dresser as he pulled open the top drawer.
Jimin didn't lie down—he just stood and watched, one hand gripping the footboard of their bed as Hoseok dug around in the drawer. That was where they kept their underwear and socks, divided equally between them (if Jimin was asked, that is—if it was Hoseok, he'd say closer to 70/30).
That was also where they kept certain toys they liked to use. He was going for something to use on Jimin, or maybe himself—he was never sure—but it was definitely going to be something. They kept the lube right in their bedside table, so Jimin knew Hoseok what Hoseok was planning.
Recovered a bit from Hoseok's touching, he sank down onto the bed and pushed himself more toward the center, studying the lines of Hoseok's back. Tucked away beneath his briefs, wrapped in velvet bags, were the toys they'd decided to keep (they tried a lot, truthfully, but only kept their absolute favorites). He was moving things around, both arms in the drawer, and Jimin almost allowed himself to wonder what Hoseok was going to pick, but made himself stop in case he got his hopes up for something in particular and then Hoseok didn't choose it.
"Hyung," Jimin said, his voice high and impatient. He smirked to himself when Hoseok stilled, but he didn't look over his shoulder. Desperate for attention though he was, Jimin knew better than to really make a scene. Hoseok hadn't lived for hundreds of years only to be rushed, after all.
"Desperate's a good look on you," Hoseok said, finally turning his head to look at Jimin. "A really good look." He shifted, facing Jimin fully now, the velvet pouch in his hand—purple. Jimin stared at it, licking his lips, but then looked up at Hoseok, unable to conceal his true feelings about the toy he'd chosen. He knew what was in the small bag—but he let Hoseok have his little power play, because it was what he liked and Jimin, well. Jimin just liked to get off.
"Lie down," Hoseok said again, and this time, Jimin obeyed him. This was as bossy as Hoseok ever got, but far be it from Jimin not to listen. He stretched himself out on the bed, the duvet turned down so it would stay clean—the sheets could be changed easily.
Jimin situated himself in the middle, fluffing up the pillows behind him for his comfort—it was when he was debating a pillow below his ass, too, that he realized Hoseok hadn't come nearer. He was rustling around in the drawer again.
"Hyung?" Jimin asked, his tone curious this time. Hoseok shifted his weight from one foot to the other, before turning again and revealing a second bag—this one a deep green. A joke, teasing Hoseok for collecting his sex toys in velvet fucking bags sprang to mind, but he pushed it back. There was a time and a place, and it wasn't in their bedroom with his cock half-hard and resting against his stomach. Sometimes Hoseok was too rich and dramatic for his own good, and definitely for Jimin's good.
Hoseok's only response was a smile—but it didn't reach his eyes. There was a slight darkness to it, one that told Jimin that he would probably need a bath and a nap after they were done—and it thrilled him, fire springing to life in his stomach as Hoseok walked toward the bed. It was only a few steps, but it felt like an hour before his thighs brushed the side of the mattress.
"Hi," Jimin cooed, and Hoseok smiled down at him—though it looked more like a smirk. The fire in Jimin's belly grew, and the hand that he had reached down to take hold of his cock very nearly made it there before Hoseok cleared his throat, and Jimin stopped.
"Use this instead," Hoseok stated, plainly, proffering the green bag to Jimin. He took it, loosening the strings holding it closed, then pulled out the device inside—a small bullet vibrator. Hoseok waited until Jimin twisted the base, turning it onto its lowest setting, before he stepped aside to their bedside table to retrieve the lube.
Jimin held the vibrator in his hand—it was small enough to fit in his palm, and he cupped it there before reaching down to wrap his hand around his cock as best he could while holding it.
His reaction was instantaneous—he moaned softly, plush lips parting in a nearly-silent O as the slow vibrations of the toy affected nearly his entire length. He slid his hand up and down, the toy and his cock held together by his thumb, hooked around himself. His mouth stayed open, jaw dropped as he jerked himself off, cock hard already, aided by the vibrator in his hand. His chest heaved a little, and he turned to look at Hoseok, gasping for him—
The bed dipped down when Hoseok put one knee on it, resting his weight there. Jimin didn't slow his hand, letting the vibrator rest sideways, trapped between his fingers. He was focusing on the underside of the head, looking down his body to see the way precome squeezed out of the slit, but then Hoseok's hands were on his legs, and he met his boyfriend's eyes.
"Hand me a pillow," Hoseok said—then, tacked on Jimin's pet name for him, "pretty."
Lifting his free, yet still shaking, hand, Jimin pulled a pillow out from behind him and held it out so Hoseok could take it; he did, bunching it up a bit to ensure it would be stable enough for Jimin to rest on top of, and then tapped Jimin's hip.
He lifted up, letting Hoseok slip the pillow beneath him, then rested his ass on top of it. He was still working at himself with the vibrator, except he'd changed its position in his hand—he was letting the tip buzz against his perineum, almost dipping down to his asshole, but Hoseok made sure he didn't get that far.
"I've got something else for your tight little hole," he said, his voice low, and Jimin shuddered. Hoseok didn't actually talk dirty very often—not like he used to, anyway—so when he did, Jimin craved it.
"What?" he managed to gasp out, even though he knew, he already knew—the purple bag was still at the end of the bed.
"You'll see," Hoseok said, and Jimin whined louder when Hoseok's hand wrapped around his own, tightening his grip on himself, and in turn making the vibrator press against him harder. A large spurt of precome oozed out of his slit, pooling on the head before sliding off to the side, wetting their fingers. He would probably come soon from it—Hoseok could see the precome leaking out of him turning just a bit milky in color—so he released him, knowing that Jimin would never be able to hold himself back.
An orgasm would loosen him up, though—that was what he wanted, so he uncapped the lube and waited, patiently, as Jimin's hand tightened and loosened in pulses, the vibrator vertical against his length as he did—and finally, just as Hoseok had expected, Jimin's lower body trembled before releasing, come landing on his stomach, staining his warm honey skin with lines of white.
"Good?" Hoseok asked, and Jimin could only nod, the toy still held tight against him—Hoseok hadn't told him he could move it away yet. "Good." He smiled. "You can stop for now, but keep it close to you."
Jimin panted as he moved the toy away from his cock, turning it off. He placed it beside him on the sheets, not close enough that it would roll under him and be lost, but not far enough that he wouldn't be able to reach it, either.
"I would tell you to open your legs," Hoseok said, holding Jimin's gaze as his eyes came back into focus, "but you're so dirty they already are."
It took Jimin a moment to catch up, but once he looked down his body, his cock slowly softening on his stomach, come still beaded at the tip, he saw that Hoseok was right: On top of the pillow, his legs were spread wide, open and inviting for Hoseok to do whatever he wanted to do.
Lubing his fingers—Jimin squeezed preemptively around nothing, longing to be full—Hoseok settled between Jimin's thighs, criss-crossing his own legs in front of him as he leaned in. Jimin easily took his first two fingers, slick as they were, and Hoseok scissored them open. He could probably have fucked Jimin right then if he wanted to—but that was just it: He didn't. Yet.
The toy in the purple bag was resting in his lap, probably absorbing some of his body heat, which would be good for Jimin. He hated when toys that Hoseok used on him were cold.
"Is it the big one?" Jimin asked, breathless, as Hoseok curled his fingers upward, trying to massage his prostate a bit before moving on.
"Do you want it to be the big one?" Hoseok replied absently, not really caring of the answer.
"Y-Yeah," Jimin replied. He moved his hips, his cock dropping down a bit to rest against the front of his hip instead of his stomach, smearing semen over his front as he did. "Like that one. Reminds me of—"
"Me?" Hoseok said, smirking. He wasn't by any means the biggest—he himself had been fucked with bigger cocks than his own—but Jimin's penchant for praising his size definitely made him feel good, even though he couldn't have been more than slightly bigger than average. "You're so sweet." It had to stem from their affection for each other, so Hoseok let it slide. "But it's not going to do you any good right now, love."
Jimin whined, propping himself up on his elbows now that he'd recovered a bit from his first orgasm. Hoseok wasn't even looking at him—he was focused on the stretch of Jimin's asshole around his fingers, focused on prodding at his hole gently with a third, and finally, Jimin felt himself take that third finger, his body accommodating three of them with only a short sigh expelled from his lungs.
“So good,” Hoseok mumbled, eyes unmoving from where his fingers were entering his boyfriend. He was stretching him wider than normal, readying him for the toy in the purple bag—and Jimin was taking it so well, just like he always did. He didn’t necessarily prefer to bottom, but he would always lie back when Hoseok wanted to be on top of him, fucking into his round, pert ass. Jimin just loved being with him—that was the important thing to him. Which of them was giving and which was taking was secondary.
“Feels good,” Jimin whined, a high-pitched mewl following it as he curled his hips upward, trying to pull Hoseok’s fingers in deeper—but just as he did, Hoseok slipped them out, his hole gaping around nothing for a long moment before Jimin clenched up.
“Oh, don’t do that, sweetheart,” Hoseok said, his voice soft but his eyes still hard. Jimin met his gaze, holding it, and watching as Hoseok wiped his lubed-up fingers clean on the bed before picking up the velvet pouch still in his lap. “You won’t be able to fit this if you do.”
Jimin’s mouth had opened of its own accord, eager and waiting for what he knew was in there, but would definitely crave once Hoseok showed it to him.
The sun was streaming through the wispy curtains, blowing in the breeze from the open window, and when Hoseok pulled the second toy out and held it up, it really almost glittered in the sunlight.
“Please,” Jimin said right away, spreading his thighs as far as he could, his hole pink and loose and ready to take it.
“Of course,” Hoseok replied, ready to indulge him—it wasn’t really about punishment, even if it had started out that way. He coated the toy in more lube, just to be safe, then lowered his hands. One, the clean and dry one, came to rest on Jimin’s thick thigh, fingers sinking into his flesh—the other eased the toy to his hole, pushing against him with it slowly, slow enough for him to really feel it.
It was a metal plug, the bulb rather large, enough for Jimin to feel it no matter how he was positioned or what he was doing, with a ring at the base—to keep it firmly positioned at his entrance, but also to allow Hoseok to tease him with it. This had been part of a set—Hoseok, it turned out, hadn’t much enjoyed the shape of them, but Jimin. Jimin had adored it, loving the way it felt like it was blooming inside of him, big and oval and stretching him, giving him something to clench down on. The others were too small, had been tossed relatively quickly—but this one had been Jimin’s favorite, and so they’d kept it.
The narrower end of the oval was opposite the ring—it widened slightly closer to the base, before dropping off completely into the narrow stem that the ring was attached to. It just looked pretty, and Hoseok worked it inside of Jimin gently, his hole taking it easily after the slight bit of extra stretching it had been given.
“‘S not so cold,” Jimin murmured; Hoseok was glad, because that made him tighten, and in turn, made it harder to get the toy in, even as it was warmed between his legs. It was better this way—Hoseok gradually easing the plug into him until it was fully seated, the ring poking out from between his cheeks. Hoseok watched as his muscles tensed—he was squeezing down on it, loving the feeling of being stimulated from inside.
“How’s that?” Hoseok asked, letting go of the base and moving his hand to rest flat against Jimin’s stomach, thumb brushing the base of his cock while his hand smeared drying come all over his stomach. He toyed absently with the short hair below Jimin’s bellybutton, waiting for his answer.
“It’s good,” Jimin breathed—he squeezed down on the toy again, shifting a little. He knew he could get it to rest against his prostate, because he’d done it before, and once he felt the tip nudge the gland, he sighed in contentment. “Can I do something for you?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Hoseok said, fake-sneering at his boyfriend, before crawling around him to his side. “Where do you want me?”
“Mm,” Jimin hummed, looking down at himself before looking over at Hoseok. “Well, first, lose the shorts.”
Hoseok did as he was told, stripping off his underwear, his cock springing free as he did. He was erect, but he had a bit to go before he would near his orgasm.
Trailing a hand down his front to stroke himself once or twice, Hoseok awaited further instructions from Jimin, who still seemed to be sizing him up. And then, his thoughtful look melted into a smirk.
“Lie down,” he said, gesturing to the empty expanse of bed beside him. Before Hoseok could even move, Jimin snatched the vibrator from where he’d put it and held it close to his chest, resting between both his index fingertips.
Watching him closely, Hoseok moved back onto the bed, his hard cock arching up from his body; Jimin changed his position too, gingerly moving to sit on his knees, groaning softly each time he twisted in a way that pushed the plug against his prostate. It felt so good, but right now, he needed to make Hoseok feel good too, and he wasn’t going to skimp on it.
Hands hovering somewhere around his waist, Hoseok looked up at Jimin kneeling above him, waiting with bated breath as he finally turned the vibrator on, higher than he’d used on himself. Hoseok honestly expected Jimin to coax him to orgasm just by trailing the tip of the thing over his cock, watching it twitch and jerk against the intense vibrations—but he didn’t. Instead, Jimin switched the toy into his left hand, the hand nearer Hoseok’s chest, and lowered it.
The buzzing tip of the vibrator made contact with Hoseok’s shoulder, and he jumped a little, tickled. He held back the laugh, because nothing about it was remotely funny—the look on Jimin’s face was one of pure lust and concentration, and it was when his eyes flicked down to look at Hoseok’s chest did he realize what was about to happen.
At the same time, Jimin’s right hand wrapped around his throbbing cock—and his left dragged the vibrator over Hoseok’s nipple.
He took a sharp breath, back arching up as Jimin circled the nub with the toy, his hand moving over Hoseok’s length slowly. He was going to get him off like this, he was sure of it—Hoseok had teased Jimin by putting a plug in him, so Jimin was going to tease Hoseok right back with some nipple stimulation. It would almost be unfair—if neither of them loved the position they were in, that is.
Sighing heavily, Hoseok closed his eyes and let himself focus instead on the feeling of it, of Jimin pressing hard against the pebbled skin of his nipple while his hand curved around the head of his cock, massaging the tip as he started working at the other nipple with the vibrator. Hoseok’s cock jumped in his hand, precome sticking to his palm, and Jimin slid his hand back down his length, moving a bit faster now.
Jimin kept both hands still working on Hoseok—but with his eyes closed, it gave Jimin the chance to really look at him, to marvel at him. Deep down, he felt like he knew Hoseok was telling the truth about his real age—he was such an old soul at times that Jimin couldn’t help but believe him. A slightly bigger part of him wanted to accept it as a quirk, a slight madness Hoseok had that couldn’t be helped—but at this point in their relationship, and in their lives, Jimin didn’t care. He loved the man on the bed beneath him, whimpering out his name as his fingers trailed lightly up and down his cock, no matter how old he actually was (or—thought he was).
A particularly loud whine brought Jimin back to where he was, and he clenched down on the plug inside of himself—reminding himself that it was still there, and also that soon, he’d be filled with something he liked much, much more.
“Ok, pretty?” Jimin asked, and Hoseok’s lips smacked as he tried to answer, but only succeeded in nodding. Jimin’s hand was wet with his precome, and his nipples were both hard on his chest, sticking out, so Jimin did the only thing he could think to do with them—he bowed his back, shifting himself back and half-lying beside Hoseok. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but in it, he was able to do exactly what he wanted.
One arm stretched down Hoseok’s front; the other, still holding the vibrator, stretched across his heaving chest. He was close—Jimin could tell—and so he did what he intended: He angled his face down, parted his lips, and took Hoseok’s nipple between them, sucking softly but insistently right away. Hoseok’s back arched up, his hips bucking into Jimin’s hand—the more Hoseok writhed against him, obscenities and Jimin’s name falling from his lips, the harder Jimin sucked at his nipple. He tried to turn the base of the toy, upping the vibrations, but he couldn’t tell if he did or not. It didn’t matter anyway—Hoseok’s cock was leaking precome all over his fingers, and with one final downward stroke on his length, Hoseok came, one hand moving to grasp Jimin’s wrist, and the other coming to tangle in his hair. He was spent before long, his body needing to recover from how strong his orgasm had been—but Jimin wasn’t about to let him come down so soon.
Pulling away from his chest, Hoseok whimpered, his nipples still hard, one wet and cold in the open air of their room. He shuddered, looking up at Jimin before his body jolted again—Jimin was trailing the tip of the vibrator down his front, over his breastbone down to his bellybutton.
“Jimin—” Hoseok tried in vain to stop him, but Jimin ignored his breathy protest—he continued dragging the tip of the toy down his front, through the streaks of semen, until it was buzzing against the base of his bobbing cock. “Fuck.”
“Good, right?” Jimin asked, coy, watching as Hoseok moved a hand over his front, smearing his come over himself. Jimin was holding the vibrator against him, watching as Hoseok shuddered with his full body—a particularly strong aftershock hit him, overstimulated—a few drops of come leaking out of the slit in the head before Jimin finally pulled away, to Hoseok’s relief. He sighed, shakily lifting himself up to lean back on his hands, his head moving a little too loosely on his shoulders.
“Fuck you,” Hoseok said, but laughter was tingeing his voice. Jimin chuckled, turning the vibrator off, then turned away to put it on their bedside table until they could wash it and put it away.
“Oof—” Jimin half-moaned—the plug inside of him shifted as his body did, the tip pushing against his prostate, and he froze in place, stretched and bent with his hand still gripping the toy.
Behind him, Hoseok snickered, and Jimin felt his finger hook into the ring at the end of the plug. “Had so much fun ruining me you forgot about this, hm?” He gave it a small tug, just enough to remind Jimin how big it really was inside him—his hole stretched just a little before Hoseok let it go, and it was sucked back into Jimin.
Tossing the vibrator, hoping that it landed on the nightstand, Jimin braced himself on all fours, his breaths coming shallow as Hoseok’s hands moved over his lower back.
“How’s this for you?” he asked, and Jimin understood him to mean the position he was in. He didn’t want to wait like that while Hoseok bided his time until he could get hard again, so he lowered himself to his front, half on his side so he could reach down to touch himself. Hoseok, on the other hand, hummed quietly while Jimin situated himself—and once he had, one leg bent at the knee to keep his asshole exposed, Hoseok took his place behind him.
Jimin had thought that he would sit or kneel, but when Hoseok’s chest pressed to his back, he closed his eyes in contentment. Hoseok slung an arm over him, hugging him from behind, and Jimin thought that maybe they’d just lay as such until Hoseok felt ready to go again—but no. Of course not.
His hand skimmed down over Jimin’s side, and Jimin’s hand stilled on his cock, wrapped loosely around it but unmoving. Hoseok’s fingers tapped on Jimin’s hip before they were gone, disappearing completely, and Jimin held his breath, knowing what was next—Hoseok’s fingers pinched the ring at the end of the plug, tugging it, and Jimin whimpered, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow.
Hoseok gently worked the plug a bit out of Jimin, wishing he could see the way his asshole stretched around it. He pushed it back in, not quite fucking him with it but just letting Jimin’s body pull it back within him. Jimin was mewling quietly, his hand slowly working over himself, taking care not to rile himself up too much; Hoseok needed a bit more time, they both knew it, so he let go of the plug and circled Jimin’s hole with his fingertip instead, smirking into Jimin’s hair at the way it fluttered and clenched at his touch. He was so eager for Hoseok—he would pull the plug out in a minute and slip right into him like this, not moving him, just enveloping him, covering Jimin’s body with his own—
“Hyung,” Jimin moaned softly, and Hoseok realized that he’d been alternating pushing the plug into him while probably rubbing against his prostate, with pulling on it enough for Jimin to feel it but not anywhere near enough for it to slip out of him. “Can you—are you—?”
“I,” Hoseok started to say, his voice breaking for a second. “Yeah, just...yeah.”
He didn’t move away, didn’t want to leave the warmth of Jimin’s body, so all he did was work the plug out of him, slowly, Jimin’s pants of breath and small noises telling him that he was going at just the right pace—and before long, the widest part of the bulb slipped out of him, the rest following easily. Dropping the plug to the bed between them, not caring that he was covering Jimin’s ass and his thigh with residual lube, Hoseok lowered his hand again to touch at his hole, making sure he was lubed up enough to fuck—and he definitely was. His hand was slick with it, pooling on his palm as Jimin unintentionally squeezed it out of himself.
He wiped it onto his cock, coating it as best he could, then slid down the bed so he could climb half on top of Jimin and slide right into his loose hole, all of the lube used to finger and plug him easing the slide.
Sighing, Jimin flexed his hips back into Hoseok, trying to take him in even more. Hoseok moved with him, rolling his hips into Jimin’s ass slowly, fucking him deliberately—hard—deep—
“Hyung,” Jimin whined again, pushing his ass back into the front of Hoseok’s hips. Hoseok ground against him, his arm circling Jimin again, holding them close together; every breath he loosed tickled Jimin’s neck, but he only turned his head to try and kiss Hoseok, wanting to feel him even more.
“I know,” Hoseok muttered, pushing himself closer, if that was even possible, so his lips brushed over Jimin’s. They breathed together for a moment—Jimin had twisted himself to look at Hoseok, while Hoseok was pressing kisses to Jimin’s face, wherever he could reach. His hips were moving back and forth—not fast, not really even forceful anymore—but with each move both of them could feel the drag of his cock in and out of Jimin’s ass, and both of them were pushing to lose themselves in it.
Hoseok’s hand was splayed out on Jimin’s chest; he could swear that he felt Jimin’s heart skipping beneath his hand, and it only made him hold Jimin closer, wanting to feel every single part of him that he could. He certainly felt his arm moving, his hand sliding over his hot cock faster than he was being fucked for sure—Hoseok fucking into him after being plugged, after everything, must have worked him up enough that he needed to come again, and Hoseok was right there with him.
“Are you—are you close?” Hoseok breathed, the words a whisper in Jimin’s ear, his silver hair tickling his lips as he asked.
“Y-Yeah,” Jimin replied, torn on how he wanted to move his body. Fucking into the circle of his fist felt so good, but Hoseok was deep within him, stretching him more than the plug had been able to, his muscles clenching down on him and fluttering around his length. Hoseok’s entire body was alight, clinging to Jimin as he undulated his hips against him, feeling like he was driving his cock further into him each time he pushed back in.
Around him, Jimin was so tight and warm—Hoseok pulled out, then fucked back in until he was fully seated inside of Jimin. Their breathing was in sync, and Jimin’s arm sped up, Hoseok could feel it—he was jerking himself off, the friction and pressure of Hoseok snapping his hips forward without really even pulling out getting him off quick, and he loved it.
“Go ahead,” Hoseok said, pushing Jimin a little so he was on his stomach, his cock trapped between the sheets and his stomach. “Come for me.” His voice was low as he curled his hips above Jimin, straddling him to fuck into his loose hole. Jimin whined, his cock sliding against the sheets, the underside heated from moving back and forth over the cotton. Hoseok held him in place, fucking into his ass as Jimin was made to grind against the bed—he could feel precome wetting his stomach, could feel Hoseok’s thrusts becoming more erratic, and then they both let themselves go—
Above him, Hoseok’s hips stuttered and he fucked deep into Jimin one last time, filling him with what come he had left after his first orgasm. He didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to eat much of it out of Jimin again, but it wasn’t going to stop him trying.
Jimin was fucking his hips down against the bed—apparently, he hadn’t come yet, his cock wet at the tip but nothing more—so Hoseok pulled out as quickly as he dared, lowering his mouth to Jimin’s hole. A few licks at his rim was all it took—Jimin was pushing Hoseok’s semen out onto his tongue, because he was clenching down—he was coming, hard, staining his stomach all over again, as well as the sheets below them, his body trembling with the force of it. His moans were muffled until he turned his head to the side, and by then, even though his orgasm had ebbed away, he didn’t stop groaning in sheer pleasure as Hoseok licked at his hole, tasting himself there, along with Jimin, just as he always did.
After, when Hoseok had helped Jimin to the bathtub, brimming with warm water and a rose-scented bath bomb (the kind with real petals), he lowered himself to sit on the mat, not wanting to leave Jimin’s side. He would relax enough in the tub—but if Hoseok could help, even a little, just by brushing his hair back, he would do it.
They’d grown together so well, so much—Hoseok didn’t have all the time in the world, not anymore, but when he was with Jimin, it really felt like he did.