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COOKIES

-—

 

GOT7 is in the car back from Incheon and Jackson is munching on cookies. He lifts the box and tries to pass it around. “Anyone want some? These are awesome.”

“Cookies?” A few heads turn to see what’s being offered.

“Where on Earth did you get cookies from?”

“Just now, a fan gave them to me. They look home-made.”

“Don’t eat that.”

“Why not? Trying to tell me to watch my weight?” Jackson jokes.

“No. Because management has warned us a million times—” Jinyoung is about to recite their manager's exact words, when Jaebum interrupts to give the non-PC version.

“—Because some fans are insane and you have no idea what you’re eating.”

“Oh please. Just have some. These are good.” Jackson pushes the box towards him but Jaebum pushes it back and no one else continues the conversation.

“Fine. Suit yourselves, losers.”

BamBam snickers. “Now we know why your thighs are so fat,” he whispers into Jackson’s ear and they both laugh.

 

---

 

Jackson feels his body too hot a few hours later. It’s just him and BamBam in the dorm, the rest having gone off to film a variety show on Jeju. They had only returned for long enough to repack their luggage before rushing to leave the dorm again. Jackson and BamBam will also have to wake up early tomorrow to film their own TV show, if only Jackson can get through the night without dying. He’s been in bed for half an hour, since he felt the need to sit down, and hasn’t made a move yet. He feels sick and it’s getting worse. He’s debating whether to call for BamBam and tell him. Would he sound like a baby for whining? Then again, what if he feels worse and can’t film tomorrow. He should speak up and warn someone.

“Bam!” he calls out. When BamBam hasn’t yelled back a reply after a few moments, Jackson yells again. “BamBam!”

The younger pokes his head into Jackson’s room. “What?” Then he sees the expression on the elder’s face and furrows his brow. “You ok?”

“Actually, no. That’s why I called.” BamBam enters and sits down on the bed beside him. “I feel sick suddenly. Enough that I’m scared about tomorrow’s show.”

“Really? That bad?” BamBam is concerned now too. He reaches to feel Jackson’s forehead and feels both heat and sweat. “Hmm... yeah, you’re pretty hot.”

“Thank you for noticing. I am pretty hot.” Jackson jokes—never above joking, even when in a poor condition.

“Not your sex appeal, dummy.” BamBam flicks him hard in admonishment.

“Ow!” Jackson still smirks.

Then the younger sighs and shakes his head. “You know this is from those cookies, don’t you?”

“Why would you blame the cookies? They were great. You should have had one.” He receives an eyeroll.

“Glad I didn’t, thank you very much. Serves you right for eating food from crazy strangers.” When Jackson pouts though, he changes the topic of his argument. “Listen, you think it’s bad? What is it, a stomach ache?”

“Actually...” Jackson sizes up his situation before answering. “It’s more like... hot. Just hot everywhere. Fuck, I’m sweating like crazy. Can you turn up the AC?”

Indeed the elder looks hot. His skin is visibly flushed and sweat has started to wet his hair. BamBam reaches out to him and Jackson’s skin goosebumps at his touch. His breath hitches at the contact.

“You’re really not ok, are you?”

Jackson groans, and it comes out sounding different than he intended. He opens his eyes and looks back at his friend apologetically. That sound could easily have been interpreted as sexual. “I—fuck. Bam. Get me some water or something, please.” The look on Jackson’s face is pained. In the short time BamBam has been at his side, the elder has gotten exponentially worse. He nods and goes to fetch a waterbottle. He returns with his cellphone also.

“I think we should call Manager. At least tell him what’s up.”

Jackson nods, takes the cold bottle that’s handed to him, and instead of sitting up to drink it, he presses it against his forehead. He wants to moan again, but bites his lip instead.

BamBam gives him a last survey before making the phone call. He tells their manager Jackson looks so bad now he might have to be on bedrest for more than one day. He receives an earful of curses, and replies that he has no idea how it happened. Yes, he’s fine, it’s only Jackson. No, they don’t need a doctor, not yet. They have aspirin. He’ll call again with updates. A few more ok’s and yes’s and he hangs up.

“He says he’ll call back after he talks with the station.” Jackson moans and BamBam is startled to see where the waterbottle is now placed. Jackson still hasn’t opened it. Instead it’s pressed against his groin. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Sorry. Fuck. I feel like... ahh—“ Jackson’s voice piques and BamBam frowns. It’s obvious, but neither want to say it out loud. Beneath the waterbottle and the hand keeping it pressed down, is an obvious erection.

“Shit. You got drugged. You realize that, right?” All Jackson does is swear again. BamBam watches him with concerned eyes, not sure what to do; not sure how appropriate it is for him to be here when Jackson lets the waterbottle roll to the side and starts to rub a hand over his groin instead. “Listen, maybe you want to drink that. I think you need the hydration.”

Jackson opens his eyes for the first time in several minutes. His eyes have glazed over and BamBam feels a shiver run down his spine from the look directed at him. He hands Jackson the water again and helps him sit up. The elder’s hands are shaking and BamBam even has to help him hold the bottle before his fingers steady enough to hold it himself.

“You look like shit.”

Jackson has nearly downed the entire bottle before he replies. Some water has dripped onto his shirt, and mixed with the sweat already making his clothes damp.

“I feel like I’m about to puke,” he says. BamBam wants to question if that’s really the feeling, but Jackson elaborates. “Only, it’s not that. It’s—I need to get off.” The look in his eyes is unsteady and before either of them can process the situation further, Jackson whips off his shirt. Cool air meets his fevered skin and his breath shutters. “Did you turn up the AC?”

“I did. Do you need anything else? Can I get you more water?” BamBam stands from where he was sitting at his side. He touches Jackson’s face, to look at him more squarely, but at the same time feels uneasy at how he should behave. He wants to stand and sit and leave and stay at the same time. He wants to be here because Jackson is obviously sick, but knows this isn’t a situation he should be witnessing, since whatever drug the elder ingested obviously has sexual effects. The more he looks at Jackson, the more uncomfortable he becomes. Jackson’s eyes slip shut and his breathes become heavier.

The younger is used to seeing weird little bits of overt sexuality from the members, but he’s usually on the other side of the stage when they happen. And usually they all know it’s fanservice. A game. Not like now, where he can practically feel Jackson’s breath and knows it’s real.

“BamBam...” Jackson moans lightly. BamBam thinks he might say something else so he gets closer and Jackson grabs on to the back of his head. “Bam...” he says this time, more air than sound, the sex is oozing from his voice, as he tilts his head back and bites his lip.

BamBam is stunned to hear him and see his friend so close like this, but has no time to think. He’s pulled forward and falls into Jackson’s lips, and it doesn’t seem to have been a mistake, because Jackson has shoved his tongue into his mouth before BamBam can pull away. BamBam’s eyes are wide open even while their mouths are still connected. He’s kissing Jackson back now, but at the same time feels really wrong for doing so, because Jackson doesn’t seem to be fully coherent of his actions. The boy beneath him is pulsating with need, his other hand reaching up to grope at BamBam’s body and pull him further down, and BamBam still hasn’t pulled away. He lets himself be kissed for almost a minute before finally pushing distance between their bodies. “Jackson.”

Jackson doesn’t reply with words. Instead he uses the intermission to throw off his bottoms until he’s fully nude. And hard. Visibly so. Now BamBam can see his erection. Jackson wastes no time taking it in hand and starting up a furious rhythm. BamBam’s gaze feels trapped. He shouldn’t be watching. He shouldn’t be this close. He should leave. At the same time, being here has made him hot and bothered and it’s only getting worse. He shouldn’t have kissed Jackson back. Albeit, lazily and shocked, but still, he’d allowed it for more than appropriately long.

“Shit,” Jackson finally speaks again. BamBam had been watching him jerk off, wondering if the other boy was still conscious enough for words still. “Sorry, but I’m—” His sentence never finishes, for that’s when he comes, and BamBam flinches away, even though his gaze is rapidly trying to take in the other boy’s expression, the way his body arches, and the result on his hand.

“Shit,” BamBam mimics, and bites his own lip at what he’s witnessing. Jackson’s come is dripping over his fingers, all over his belly, his dick spent, but even so, Jackson still keeps his hand over it. “Shit", he repeats, and when his brain finally conceives of something sensible, he rushes out of the room to get some tissues. He returns seconds later and again is assaulted by what he sees. Jackson is still naked, has his head thrown back, mouth parted in pleasure, hand fisting over his dick, again. The sight from this new angle is enough to make blood rush south on BamBam’s own body. “Shit.” It's the only thing he knows how to say. He’s frozen in the doorway, watching. His grip on the tissuebox goes slack and he drops it.

That’s when Jackson looks at him. Their eyes make contact and BamBam has no idea what to say, other than maybe "shit" for the millionth time. He’s like a fish out of water, and painfully aware of both what he’s seeing, and what it’s doing to his own body. He’s hard. He can’t help it. It’s live porn. And Jackson isn’t an ugly boy. Quite the opposite.

“Do you like watching me?”

The words startle BamBam enough for him to choke on his own tongue as he rushes to say, “N-no.” He looks away sharply, as if he’s been bitten, and picks up the tissuebox from the floor. He’s obviously not thinking straight either, wrapped up in the daze of this situation. “Here. Kleenex.” He hands the box to Jackson, but Jackson doesn’t take it from him, so he’s left holding it out in midair.

“I don’t need that yet,” Jackson says, surprising BamBam with how sober his words are. “But fuck, I’m totally going to come again.” So BamBam delivers the box to the nightstand and not knowing what on Earth he should do, he sits beside Jackson as he had before. This time, he’s trying to not look at his friend’s erection, and maybe just be here for moral support. He can’t help how his body is reacting though; his own hardness is straining and as he watches Jackson’s face, Jackson is smart enough to know the effect he’s producing. “BamBam...” he says. BamBam bites his lip. “I wanna kiss you again.”

BamBam makes an embarrassing squeaking sound in his throat. “I—uh.”

“This, whatever this is, feels like overdosing on Viagra or something. Fuck.”

The younger wants to say something, to start a conversation, since he’s here anyway and maybe it’ll be a distraction from the fact that Jackson is jacking off literally right beside him, but his mouth is dry and his head is blank. His eyes get stuck on Jackson’s mouth, and the way he’s breathing.

When Jackson gets closer to him, he doesn’t back down. He lets himself be pulled into another kiss and this time kisses back, sloppy, wet, too much tongue. BamBam hasn’t kissed someone like this in more than a year. That frustration is bubbling to the surface and making him feel less guilty than he knows he should feel right now. When Jackson pulls him down, BamBam rests hands against his partner’s body and moans back into his mouth.

BamBam is ok with kissing. He can do that. He’s quickly gotten used to his friend’s mouth and it’s good. He can do that. The problem is Jackson’s hands on his body and the way he’s wrapped his legs around his body so he can rub himself into BamBam’s hip, that’s what has BamBam worried. Because even as he’s busy kissing, he can feel himself being lulled deeper into his fantasy. And when Jackson suddenly flips them over, so he’s straddling the younger, pushing their bodies flush together, BamBam makes that same surprised squeaking sound and finally puts a hand out to stop kissing. “Woah,” he breathes. But Jackson doesn’t stop rubbing into him. He’s aligned their erections—yes, BamBam is fully hard now—and he’s working feverishly towards his climax again. “Wait.”

Jackson looks down at him. “You feel good,” he says. He digs his hands under BamBam’s shirt and runs them over his body, making him shiver. “You feel so good.” For a second BamBam is scared Jackson is going to kiss him again, but he doesn’t, he just comes to rest on top of him, to literally use him as a body to rub off onto, and rests his head in BamBam’s neck. His breathing is heady and palpable, too close to BamBam’s ear and it’s turning the younger on more. He closes his eyes and ruts his hips up in time with Jackson’s, aware that he’s doomed to orgasm if he keeps it up but no longer cares. He wraps an arm around his friend’s shoulders and helps keep the pace on the delicious friction Jackson has created. Before contemplating the sanity of his action, he’s pulled his waistband down, so they can rub skin on skin; and the fact that Jackson is slippery makes the slide so good between them, BamBam comes almost immediately after. He whimpers from having Jackson overtop him, at the height of his orgasm having him suck powerfully on his neck, and still now, as the aftershocks prickle through his body, there is no respite. Because Jackson has taken to kissing and sucking all down his neck, more passionately than BamBam has ever had anyone do to him, and his come has only made their bodies more slick. Jackson has his shirt pushed up to his armpits, fingering over every inch of skin, and then seems to get tired of the material in the way, so he strips BamBam of it while he is still too boneless to protest.

“Shit, shit,” BamBam moans when he’s become too sensitive, yet Jackson is still rubbing into him. “Get up. No more.”

Surprisingly, Jackson does as told, but only parts their bodies enough to slide down and rub into his thigh instead, and bring his mouth lower to BamBam’s nipples.

“Shit. No...”

“You feel so good, I can’t even describe it right now,” Jackson says, his mouth barely leaving BamBam’s skin to speak. “I know I shouldn’t... but...” His words conclude with an obscene groan, and instead of saying anything more, he gathers some of the come mixed on both their bellies and increases the pressure on his erection. This time when he comes, most of it lands on BamBam and he’s so near that BamBam has no idea whether to be scared or turned on. He’s a bit of both; concurrently resigned to this unbearable intimacy, and trying to steady his wildly beating heart at how erotic the sights and sounds are. This is more lewd, more visceral, than any of his few previous nights with any girls. He’s still stunned at how dirty this is.

Perhaps it’s not abnormally dirty a sexual encounter—in fact, so far, it’s just above vanilla—but BamBam has so far been too timid in bed to be so vocal, so unkept, with a partner before; and so being with Jackson like this was breaking those kind of barriers for him.

Even after Jackson comes for the second time, his breathing still doesn’t return to normal. He rests on BamBam’s chest, pausing for longer than after the first, but too soon he’s breathing into BamBam’s neck and ear the way he had before, hands begin wondering over his body, and this time only more boldly. One has wondered down under his bum, and this is all worrying BamBam.

“Jackson. No more. You’re... you’re drugged and I’m not.” BamBam prods him to lift his head to look him in the eye. Jackson complies. His eyes are steady enough to say he’s not drunk, but he’s also not completely sober either.

“Sorry. But oh god... if you could feel what I feel right now...” Jackson grins. “It’s like your skin is silk or velvet or something, and I want to fuck so bad.” BamBam looks alarmed at that and pushes him a few inches farther. “I don’t even know how I want it. God, if I could have both at the same time. I don’t even know how to describe it. Whatever I’m on is mindblowing. I think I see stars and everything is soft and... fuck, I want a fuck.” He leans down and pulls BamBam into a toe-curling kiss, with so much tongue BamBam is almost disgusted. Almost. Except he gives in and keeps kissing. Jackson’s moans into his mouth are profane, and his hands on BamBam’s body have his bottoms pulled down to his knees, and Jackson pulls his ass upwards to increase the contact between them. When BamBam protests, Jackson pulls his knees up instead and sits backwards against him, so he can rub his ass backwards on him and keep a hand moving over his ever-present erection. “Oh fuck, yesss...” His words turn into a hiss, and BamBam wonders if this new sensation is something his friend has ever felt before. He can feel each slide Jackson’s hole makes against him, and he bites his lip. Despite trying his best to stop, he’s almost fully hard again, and thanks to Jackson’s new position atop him, he’s now imagining what it would feel like if Jackson were to ride him; literally like he was now, but actual sex.

He doesn’t want to be the one to suggest it. BamBam thinks this dabble into gay sex has gone on long enough, and even though Jackson makes him curious, he’d much rather not find out. It’s more than likely Jackson has also never been this intimate with another man, so BamBam thinks this would be a bad way to have both their male-male firsts happen. Except, then Jackson starts talking about exactly the opposite:

“God, I could ride you right now. Fingers, dick, I don’t care...”

“You’ve never... before?”

“I haven’t, but I don’t care right now. Fuck, I don’t care. I just need it.” Jackson takes a break from his dazed stare towards the ceiling and levels his look back at BamBam. He looks apologetic this time. “You have to help me out. I swear I’m on fire. And I swear I will never eat cookies from insane fans again. Except maybe I will, because I’ve never felt so boneless and hot in my life. You feel like clouds whenever I touch you. Like it’s the best but never enough.”

“S-so you want more?” BamBam is incredulous. His dick feels raw already and he’s only come once. He can’t imagine what Jackson is feeling.

“Yes. God... a couple minutes ago I think I was capable of rape. I’m not even joking.”

“Jackson!” BamBam is stunned and tries to push him off but Jackson overpowers him.

“Just stay.” Jackson holds him down with a strong hand on his shoulder, resting almost all his weight on him. “Stay. And help. And if it feels half as good for you as it does for me, it’ll be the best sex you’ve ever had.”

BamBam has no doubt at this point that it would be. But that doesn’t mean he should actually do this. This situation is dangerous. What he should do is call a doctor and ask if there’s anything Jackson should take as a sedative.

Speaking of phonecalls, BamBam’s phone rings. It’s Jackson who passes it to him, gives him a look to pick it up, and then clamps his mouth down over his own hand to keep his moans quiet. BamBam doesn’t feel much better than he does—after all, Jackson is still grinding himself over his dick—and so when BamBam does answer the phonecall, because he can’t ignore their manager at a time like this, he feels sick and winded and barely speaks properly. He keeps his answers to yes’s and ok’s and as short replies as he can give, but even then he has to bite his lip. Finally when he has to string more than three words, he pushes a hand between them to move Jackson away from him, to speak clearly. He needs to calm their manager’s fears that the sickness may be contagious. In the end, the plan becomes that they’ll decide in six hours whether to proceed with the TV show in the morning. The studio had decided to plan a backup but wait until the last moment for their final decision. If Jackson could walk and talk in the morning, they would all rally and make it happen. If he was still bedridden when morning came, they’d call it off.

When the phonecall ends, BamBam isn’t pleased to see Jackson above him, still straddling him, and this time with two fingers up his own asshole. Apparently there was still enough wetness between them that getting lube wasn’t necessary. It’s sexy but at the same time disconcerting. He feels like this is something Jackson should have privacy for, something that BamBam doesn’t need to see.

For some time he just watches Jackson. He can’t see the point of contact, where the boy’s fingers enter his body, but he can see the effects. And hear the sounds. And if that isn’t enough, Jackson has started to give him a play-by-play.

“I think I can ride something for hours right now,” he says. “Two fingers isn’t enough.” He removes them for long enough to slide his hand over BamBam’s belly, where most of their come is, and pick up more lubrication, and resumes with three fingers. “Fuck, you should feel this... it’s so good.”

“No thank you.” BamBam is content with watching the sex show going on right on top of him. More than enough. Too much already. In fact, if it wasn’t so rude, he would have liked to leave already.

“You want to feel this...”

“I can do without.”

“I want you to feel this,” Jackson amends. “I want to feel you.” He levels a look back at BamBam and it makes him shiver. “Have sex with me. I’ll feel so good,” he licks over his lips. He’s obviously drunk on pleasure. His eyes fall closed, probably imagining that sex, and he falls forward, pulling BamBam into another make-out session. “Fuck me,” he says into his mouth. “Fuck me hard, really hard,” he pleads. “I’m going out of my mind.”

Jackson leans over him again, rubs himself into BamBam’s stomach, his ass over his once again prominent erection, and after letting go of BamBam’s lips, he starts a mantra of, “Fuck me and I’ll make you feel good... so hard... deep... I don’t care if you’re a boy... I don’t care... Touch me...” BamBam is starting to feel bad for Jackson, even while steadily being enticed to cooperate with his insane request. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But still, he’s touching; he’s got his hands on Jackson’s thighs, palming all the way up to his ass, and the more he touches, the more needy Jackson gets. “Please just fuck me... You’re so hot... I need you...” The kind of words a non-drugged Jackson would probably never say. BamBam knows this, and yet he blushes and holds Jackson behind the knees to keep him close.

“Do you think you’ll remember it in the morning if we do?”

“I will remember this for the rest of my life.” Jackson’s reply is choked with lust but also unnervingly sincere.

“I don’t want to do anything that you’re not going to be ok with afterwards. After this thing wears off. I need to still be friends with you.”

“Help me out and we’ll be the best of friends,” Jackson smirks.

“I’m serious.”

“I am too. I don’t mind being sexual with you. Didn’t think I ever would, but hello cookies.”

Talking seems to sober Jackson. Perhaps it gets part of his mind off the physical aspect, but he’s not as as much of a puddle when they talk than when Jackson is allowed to loiter over BamBam’s body.

“You don’t mind?”

“You’re sexy, BamBam. You know that. You’re like sex on legs. And I don’t know what I’d do without you right now. I’m glad it’s you I’m with. God, I’d feel so embarrassed if it were one of the others.”

“Oh yeah?” BamBam likes having his ego stoked. “You mean you wouldn’t have kissed Mark?”

“I would have, but I think he’d run away from me afterwards.”

“How about Jinyoung?”

“I think he would have slapped me,” Jackson laughs. “Or maybe not actually. He has odd mood swings... Never mind. Don’t make me think about it. Two dicks sound better than one right now.”

“Oh.” BamBam is once again stunned to silence. He can hear the Jackson he knows, but he can also hear someone who’s lost in a dream. When he doesn’t know what else to say, Jackson takes over, starting to spout nonsense again.

“You’ll fuck me, right?”

BamBam feels sick. He wants to say no. He wants to say no, but the more time passes, the more Jackson presses his ass over him, forces him to imagine them together, and so when Jackson sits up again, spits onto his hand and coats his fingers in saliva again, BamBam doesn’t say no. He says nothing. He watches. He even takes Jackson’s dick in hand and helps him.

With two free hands now, Jackson wastes no time coating BamBam’s dick in all manner of half-dry come and spit and after having worked fingers into himself for nearly half an hour, it’s almost easy when he slides his body over him. He takes him deeper slowly, his face the very portrait of pleasure, as if every dream he’s ever had was being fulfilled. And BamBam lets him. He lets Jackson ride him in every way he wishes. Because it feels good; that’s one thing there’s no denying. No matter how wrong it feels, more importantly in this moment, it feels incredible. Jackson’s pace becomes quick and strong in no time, and while BamBam warns him to slow down, he doesn’t, and BamBam tumbles over the edge too quickly. It’s one of the most powerful orgasms he’s ever had and yet Jackson doesn’t even stop. His moans at the feeling of being come inside are euphoric, and the extra lube it provides have him thrusting down even harder.

“Fuck, you have to stop. I’m raw,” BamBam pleads. “I’m done for the night.” It takes BamBam jerking him off until Jackson comes again in order to get him to stop. By that point, BamBam feels his whole body on needles, way too sensitive, over-stimulated, almost in pain from having been fucked until soft.

“You ok?”

“I’m alive. Barely. How are you?” He’s dreading the reply, because as he lays boneless, he can tell Jackson is springing back up about to confirm his nightmares.

“I’m not done. Fuck, why am I not done?!” Even Jackson seems surprised this time. “God...” He already has his hand flattening an erection that won’t stay down.

“Ok, I think I need to call you a doctor. You can’t keep this up.”

“That was good, Bam. So good, but not enough.”

“No, I can’t. I said I was done.”

“Let me fuck you instead.”

BamBam pushes him away so hard this time Jackson actually falls over. “No. No fucking way.”

“Let me blow you.”

“What?! No! Ew!”

“How is that ew? I’m the one—” He doesn’t finish his sentence because it’s obvious. “And honestly, I never thought I’d ever say this,” Jackson pulls BamBam back down, “but I think I want to.” He looks ravenous again.

“You need to calm down. Seriously. What do you need? I can get you lube—I have some handcream that would work, but I can’t do anything else with my dick tonight.”

“Explore with me. Let’s see how many times I can come.”

“No. That’s not right. Three is enough. This isn’t some badly written porno that defies physical limits.”

“Come on. It’s not that bad...”Jackson wines.

“Yes, it is. You just suggested blowing me.”

“I could.”

“No. Stop. Let me get you lube, and then you can go to town on your own. I need to sleep.”

Jackson dives for his lips again, but it’s not a long kiss this time. Still, when he comes up, they’re both breathy. “Don’t leave. This is crazy, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do this alone. I think I’d cry if I was alone.” BamBam glares at him. “Honest. I can feel that something is wrong with me. I can feel this isn’t normal. I’m not that far gone. But please, stay with me. I’m burning up inside, and every time you leave me, I feel like—”

“I won’t leave.” BamBam assures. He assumes when Jackson says 'leave me' he means whenever he stops complying with his physical needs.

“Ok.” Jackson settles, turning his worry back to the erection that won’t subside. He strokes himself, but also can’t seem to keep his hands and lips off BamBam’s skin.

The fourth time he comes, it’s by his own hand. All BamBam has done is watch him from below, have his nipples sucked red, act as a placemat for more come, and he’s starting to think that indeed all he needs to do is be good moral support while Jackson jerks himself off.

The fifth time is the same, except that BamBam has banned Jackson from gnawing on his nipples and so his time Jackson has monopolized BamBam’s neck. BamBam will have to wear turtlenecks for the next few days.

“Are you ok?” he asks afterwards, when Jackson stirs back to life.

“God. Why won’t it stop~?” Jackson looks like he’s about to cry now. “This isn’t fun anymore. I’m gonna be hard again in like three seconds. I can feel it.”

“Don’t touch it.”

When Jackson is about to protest, BamBam grabs his wrists and holds his hands at bay. It looks like torture. Jackson struggles, and his face contorts, and he squirms over BamBam’s body until BamBam warns him he’ll leave if he doesn’t settle down. Jackson stops moving, but even so, they both watch him spring back, hard again, even without being touched. While BamBam holds Jackson’s wrists, the elder starts whimpering. “I can’t... I can’t. Touch me... please.” He starts fighting back so much that BamBam flips them to hold him steady.

For the first time tonight, BamBam is on top, and Jackson’s eyes fly open. He bucks upwards, not to throw BamBam off, but to make contact with him. That look of pure lust is back in his eyes, and even though it’s his own trap he’s fallen into, BamBam holds down both Jackson’s wrists above his head—unwantingly, but fulfilling just about everyone’s BDSM sex fantasy. “Jackson. Try really hard and think, and breathe. It needs to go away.” It’s ridiculous. Jackson is rock hard and only getting more turned on from having BamBam over him, acting dominant.

“Please fuck me again. You look so good right now.” Probably because BamBam is a little angry by this point.

BamBam tightens his grip on Jackson’s wrists. Truthfully, Jackson is the stronger of the two—if he wanted to throw BamBam off and get on top again, he could have done so easily. But this new position was driving him wild. One part of his mind is going crazy thinking about getting fucked into the mattress in this position, knees wide, legs over BamBam’s shoulders, and the other part has forgotten about trying to calm down, because he’s thinking about having BamBam’s dick inside him again, and he can barely tame his lust.

“Fuck me again.”

And this time, BamBam actually gets so mad, that he adds more spit to the absolute disgusting mess between them, grabs hold of Jackson’s dick and strokes. “No. I’ll give you this one on the house, and then I’m done.” Jackson’s legs fall open, like in the fantasy inside his head, and for comfort BamBam settles between them, and the sixth time Jackson comes it’s at BamBam’s hand. There’s almost no wetness this time, but the little there is, BamBam wipes over Jackson’s hole, and dips his fingers inside. For the time being, he’s forgotten why he shouldn’t be doing this. Curiosity has taken over and he wants to feel inside the other boy’s body, but also see if he can finger him until he comes a seventh time.

Yes, number seven has Jackson howling. The most powerful one yet, having come with BamBam’s fingers pressed flush on his prostate. He trembles horribly as he comes down from this one, and it scares both of them.

“Fuck me again. If I black out next time, at least we can stop.”

“You can’t be serious.”

But Jackson is serious. “I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t. I’m sore and my hands won’t stop shaking. Fuck me until I black out and then call a doctor and tell him what happened.” Jackson reaches for BamBam’s dick, which has had enough rest by now to not feel tormented when touched again. It’s not ideal, but BamBam doesn’t turn him down. Jackson is weaker, they can both feel it.

Jackson feels trapped between the insatiable need to rub, fuck, suck, everything—and the need to cry because this isn’t fun anymore. His emotions have been fluctuating between extremes like mood swings, and even as his arms feel too weak to hold himself up, he still plants his face into BamBam’s neck, trying to align their bodies to rub together. The pleasure he receives is what he's looking for, but he needs more of it. “Come on. Please. Until I black out. It won’t take more than two orgasms.”

BamBam bites his lip. “I should call a doctor instead, right now. You’re shaking.” Still, Jackson has done a good enough job that BamBam is indeed hard again. Very hard. It can be called masochistic for Jackson to ask something so drastic, but it’s also something that doesn’t sound so crazy after these last couple hours. BamBam feels like he’s in a dream world; some alternate reality. There’s no way in real life he could have had this much sex in one night. It’s this thought that makes him bold—he grabs the waterbottle that’s rolled to the side of the bed, drinks a few gulps and then empties the last of it on his dick to get everything that’s dry slippery again; then lines himself up with Jackson’s hole. The elder wraps his legs around BamBam’s slim torso, and nods.

“Do it. I’m ok... I’m so good.” Jackson says, blissful and drunk again. BamBam enters him. Slowly at first, and the deeper he goes, the heavier Jackson’s moans become. “Yess~,” he hisses.

“You’re ok?”

“Yes, so good...”

With that confirmation, BamBam rests a hand on the wall above their heads and gives him a round of deep, powerful thrusts, angled right to the prostate he’s become too familiar with. Jackson reaches up to hold himself from being crumpled into the wall, lifts one leg up onto BamBam’s shoulder and tells him it’s perfect. BamBam builds his rhythm while trying to control his own breathing. There’s no use in doing this if he’s going to come before Jackson. It seems they’re both thinking the same thing, because Jackson’s fisting his erection forcefully as if he’s sprinting to the finish line.

“Bam... harder...” BamBam doesn’t know how much harder is possible, but he repositions his hand on Jackson’s hip, and pulls him forward in time with the slam of his hips. “Hhh... close...” Jackson whines, so BamBam takes a risk and folds him double to kiss him during the last couple trusts, and thankfully, it topples Jackson into his eighth orgasm.

It’s number eight because as a narrator, I know, but the two of them have lost count. As Jackson’s body spasms and quakes, BamBam pulls out—he needs to recover enough to keep fucking in a few moments. They’re going for the goal, and he thinks they might make it because Jackson swears he’s dizzy and lightheaded after this one. “F-fuck... that was so good. I’ve never c-come like that before.”

“I bloody hope you never will. This is insane.”

“One more... one more...”

BamBam doesn’t even protest this time. “You’re insane,” he says, still with some concern in his voice, but also with the rush of the high, and thrusts back in to the hilt in one swift movement. Jackson’s mouth goes slack for a second, and then when he tries to reach up to BamBam’s face, his arm shakes so much, BamBam takes it in his, places it around his neck and tells him to hold on. “Don’t squeeze me or I’ll come before you,” he also warns.

Jackson doesn’t think he has strength enough to talk at this point, much less squeeze; his sphincter is numb from the fucking he’s receiving. His whole being is only concentrated on chasing the ultimate high. He closes his eyes, and uses the last of his strength to hold on to the boy above him. His dignity is shattered. He doesn’t even care at this point. Each time he mewls as BamBam hits his prostate, and it feels like this whole last fuck is one long drawn out orgasm, that’s how good it is. It takes almost no time for Jackson to fall again, this last time he falls right into the abyss, barely aware of his surroundings and how BamBam is also coming into him.

The room is silent.

BamBam rests with a hand on the wall, his head in the crook of Jackson’s neck as he catches his breath. He feels limp and heavy, like a human puddle. He hasn’t pulled out yet. He hasn’t recovered enough to move yet without crushing the boy beneath him—not that BamBam is very heavy, but it’s common courtesy in sex not to crush your partner.

After a few deep breaths, he sits up, pulls out, and shudders at the too-sensitive feeling. It’s number three for him, but for Jackson it’s the millionth. He can’t imagine what that must feel like. Jackson’s eyes are still closed, and he gives him some more time, happy that he’s not begging and stirring so quickly this time. But when BamBam rests his face against Jackson’s chest, he realizes the other boy really is unconscious.

Oh fuck. He’s aghast as he bats at the other boy’s face. Jackson’s head lolls from one side to the other. Fuck. “Jackson! Wake up!”

Shit. Shit. They’d actually fucked until black out. Probably aided by the drug, but still.

Shit.

BamBam thinks for two moments and then picks up his cellphone to call the private doctor he’s only ever had to use once before. They’ve been told not to call 119 unless someone is actually dying, because of the media frenzy it would cause. So they use Dr Park, on special contract to JYP Entertainment. This midnight call is no sprained wrist though. He tries to calm his breathing as he explains that Jackson is unconscious when his call is answered. Dr Park is out of the country at present, so they go through routine questions and answers to check for airway, breathing, circulation, and he’s told that even if Jackson was drugged, it’s likely he’ll wake up with no lingering effects in a few hours. BamBam is unsure and questions again. He’s assured that most sexually active drugs last a maximum of twelve hours, but to call again when Jackson regains consciousness. And when he does, to feed him some fruit for his low blood sugar.

In BamBam’s opinion Dr Park is lazy as fuck. But he is a doctor, so when he hangs up, he calls their manager and gives him an abridged update on the situation. He obviously leaves out the part about the sex marathon, but when he says that Jackson has blacked out, their manager fires off a loud string of profanities before telling him he’ll call him back in a moment.

While waiting for a call-back, BamBam uses the time to clean off both their bodies with a damp towel—as best he can—and then wrestle a pair of sweatpants up Jackson’s legs, so that at least he won’t be naked. He falls asleep at his side after covering them both with blankets, and is woken up when his phone rings. He looks at the time. It’s been half an hour.

The manager asks for an update. BamBam says nothing has changed. They’ve got just over two more hours until they need to make a decision about the TV show. Manager says he’s on his way over to their apartment.

BamBam has taken a fast shower before their manager arrives. He’s in the kitchen blending a banana smoothy for Jackson, should he wake up. He lets the man into the living room and rehashes the story of their last hours since the airport. Again, leaving out the sex-marathon part, but does include that the drug has sexual effects. Their manager thanks him for being accepting that these fluke occurrences happen and for helping out his teammate in the hour of need. Of course BamBam feels like shit for hearing praise, but he bites his tongue.

This is when they hear Jackson calling BamBam’s name and rush to him.

The afflicted boy has woken up. He’s sitting up and rubbing at his head. “BamBam,” he calls again and realizes their manager is present also. He looks over at his friend who has a really guilty look on his face and assures them both that, “I feel better. I think.” He lifts off the bed, and he’s not steady on his legs yet so BamBam rushes forward to catch him, lets him rest his weight against him. “Thank you. I think I’m ok.”

Manager has brought over the smoothie and shoves it into Jackson’s hands. “Drink that. Doctor’s orders.”

Jackson makes a face until he realizes he’s drinking something tasty. He sits again, and patiently the other two wait until he’s finished and he looks better. Much more normal.

“I feel better. I’m ok,” Jackson reassures after a couple minutes. He looks at BamBam who is pale with worry. “Honestly, I feel fine.” His hands are a bit weak still, but he affirms again that the sexual nature of the drug feels worn off. He says he can feel the difference in how his hands shake. BamBam bites his lip anxiously.

Their manager looks at the clock. “I have twenty minutes to call the studio back. If you can walk to the kitchen and back like a normal person, and can count to ten backwards, I’ll put you in makeup and it’s a go. If not, I’m calling it off. Either way, you’re both taking the day off after this show.”

Jackson walks to the kitchen and it’s almost normal, and then on the way back it’s even more normal. He counts backwards from ten to prove he’s fine and they confirm that the show will go on.

Jackson winks at BamBam as he pulls on a t-shirt. The manager is in the other room on the phone.

“Thank you,” he says. But BamBam frowns and tells him they’ll talk later.

Within the next half hour Jackson is recovered enough to be called completely normal. They go through the same hair and makeup they’re accustomed to, and Jackson tries sneaking little smiles towards BamBam, even though the younger isn’t in much of a mood to receive them. The show goes on. In another four hours, the two boys are on their way back to the apartment. Their manager warns them to not do any strenuous activity tonight, to eat properly, and that he’ll see them again tomorrow for the second part of the TV recording.

They settle into the privacy of the same bedroom of their sex romp, and BamBam finally broaches the topic. “You’re insane.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Jackson shrugs.

“It was disgusting.”

“It was worth it.”

BamBam is speechless. Mouth agape, he sits on the desk chair so that he doesn’t have to be so close to Jackson anymore.

“Oh come on. Don’t be that way. We went through something crazy and now everything is fine. No harm done.”

“Yeah, except to my eyeballs. I had to see all that, you know.”

“Oh please. The number of girls that would have loved to take a ride like that with me... you should feel lucky.” His poor taste in humor has returned; Jackson isn’t serious, but BamBam scoffs anyway. As Jackson sits on the bed he laughs. “Damn, I’m sore. Everywhere. That was such a good fuck. How many rounds did we go?”

BamBam still hasn’t forgiven him. “I don’t know. I lost count. About ten, I think.” And Jackson whistles. “I’m sore too.”

“Totally worth it,” Jackson insists.

“I don’t care. That’s never happening again.”

It takes Jackson a moment to think, but in the end he says, “I don’t know. It wasn’t bad. You know, even without the extra help. Though even with it, it was good.”

“You must be a sexual deviant if you thought that was good. You fucking blacked out!”

“Yeah, and you fucked me into it. It was good, Bam, I’m telling you it was good. I’m not saying it wasn’t scary, and ok, I’m not going to choose to do it again like that, but I’m telling you it was really good.” Jackson levels his eyes at BamBam. “I can still feel some of those orgasms. You did really well.”

The compliment makes a shiver travel the length of BamBam’s spine. If he’s being honest, yeah, it was the best sex of his life. Probably the best he'll ever have. But he’s not ready to say that, because he still feels like a rapist or something for what he did. He’s not ready to joke about it yet.

“If you ever want to sleep together again, I’m down for it. I found out stuff about my body I had no idea about.” Jackson laughs, entranced in remaniscing; but his good mood isn’t reaching across the room. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Shit happens. Ok?” But BamBam is still glaring at him menacingly. “You’re good in bed, BamBam,” he says, but it doesn’t help the expression he’s trying to soften as much as he hoped it would. So he tries a different approach. “Ok, put yourself in my position. It was crazy. But I also had you there, and I’m really happy you were there with me. It would have been so much worse alone. I would have gone insane alone. It was like fire up my spine at some points. It was scary intense, and if you hadn’t been there to talk and be with me, I don’t know how I would have managed.”

This finally soothes BamBam enough for him to get up from the desk chair and come to sit beside Jackson.

“I still feel guilty. And in retrospect, gross too.”

“Don’t. Shit happens. I’m fine. We’re fine. You need to be fine too.” Jackson holds his chin and searches BamBam’s face to make sure he’s better. Then places a kiss softly to his lips. “Ok?”

The corners of BamBam’s lips turn up just a fraction and he leans forward to kiss again, ever so gently, as if kissing for the first time.

 “Ok.”

By the end of the month, they come together again. No crazy sex cookies required.

---

THE END.