Jungkook always likes being the one to bring the weed. It makes him feel useful. And besides, it means that Seokjin makes an impressed noise in the back of his throat and Jimin coos, “Ah, my sweet baby,” before he kisses Jungkook on the lips and Jungkook gets to feel warm and flushed over it for like a full half-hour. And that’s before he’s even smoked any of it.
Seokjin’s apartment is a good apartment to smoke in, because he lives by himself, and he has these big-ass windows covering the entirety of one wall. “Rich bitch shit,” Seokjin says whenever he opens all of them at once, and every time he does it, Jungkook has to think did that make me kind of horny? and come to the conclusion that yes, it did. He wishes that wasn’t his gut response to half the stupid shit Seokjin said, but whatever. Everybody has something.
Seokjin has all his rich bitch windows open, and Jungkook can barely even smell the smoke piling out around them as they work through the first joint Jimin rolled. (No matter who brings weed, if it’s joints, then Jimin’s in charge; his fingers are small and well-practiced as he packs the rolling paper, rolling it tight and perfect, every time.) His tongue poked out of his mouth to lick at the adhesive while he was rolling it, and he caught Jungkook’s eye with a wink as he ran his tongue across the paper. Jungkook snorted, but he didn’t need to consult his inner moral compass to know that it for sure made him horny.
A lot of things make him horny. Sometimes, the muscles in Yoongi’s forearm will tense as he whisks eggs together in their kitchen, and that makes him horny. Sometimes Namjoon puts on his glasses to see the menu better in a restaurant, and Jungkook feels himself drool in real life, like not an exaggeration, like actual drool. It isn’t just Jimin and Seokjin, that’s his point, though maybe they do have a slightly higher hit rate than the rest of his friends.
It’s chill, though. Jimin’s lips form a perfect circle as he exhales smoke, and Jungkook knows he’s already too worked up for this whole encounter, and that’s chill. It’s whatever.
Sex isn’t a guaranteed thing between them; they’re not in like, a relationship, or even reliable fuck buddies. Jungkook doesn’t know how many threesomes you need to have with the same two people to be considered a thing, but Seokjin’s allergic to that kind of shit, like, putting too fine a point on anything. And Jungkook’s fine with what they are now, figures Jimin must be too, because if he wasn’t, he would have brought it up by now. Jimin’s like that.
So it’s not like Jungkook came over expecting sex, really. Because they’re not a thing. It’s just that both of them have the prettiest lips? Jimin passes the joint to Seokjin, and Seokjin inhales deep and slow, pretty lips wrapped around the filter and then letting smoke waterfall from between them. Pretty, so pretty, Jungkook thinks, almost too distracted from it to notice Seokjin extending the joint his way. Almost, but not quite. He takes it, brings it to his lips to pull smoke and breathe it in, the taste of the weed strong in his mouth.
Jimin was the first person to teach him how to smoke, years ago, wrapped around Jungkook’s back and saying, “You gotta really inhale it, baby, if you wanna feel high.” Jungkook still thinks about that sometimes, about Jimin wrapped around a kid he barely knew and calling him baby like it was nothing. For Jimin, maybe it kind of is nothing. Just a Tuesday in the life of Park Jimin. For Jungkook...well, it made an impression.
They smoke the first joint in relative quiet, that easy hazy kind of quiet that happens when everyone first starts to feel their high at once. Jungkook is scrolling through his phone to find the right soundtrack for the occasion (he thinks it should be something chill, but not Namjoon’s lo-fi hip hop playlists-chill) and he appreciates that Jimin and Seokjin almost always let him DJ these affairs. He likes it, the work of picking the right music for everything. He has about six hundred playlists saved on his phone, and they all have a distinct purpose. Ultimately, he settles on a downtempo electronic indie kind of vibe.
As he’s skipping around through songs, Jimin asks, “Jungkookie, will you really paint my nails?”
Jungkook glances up from his phone to find Jimin taking the last hit of the joint before it hits the cardboard crutch. He puts the cherry of burning paper out in an ashtray that’s seen better days, looking at Jungkook expectantly with smoke still in his mouth.
“Yeah,” Jungkook answers. Jimin’s been asking for a while, but Jungkook remembered to bring nail polish today. His backpack is kind of an assortment of weird shit today, he realizes, between the weed and rolling papers and manicure supplies. But what else is new, really. “Did you decide a color?”
When Jungkook asked him earlier in the group chat, Jimin rattled off ten different options, and Jungkook could practically feel the indecisive little noises Jimin always makes when he has to make any choice, ever. So Jungkook just brought an assortment, tucked into a little travel cosmetics bag he got from Hoseok as a birthday present last year.
“I don’t know,” Jimin sighs. “Let me look at them.”
“You never paint my nails,” Seokjin complains.
“Well, it requires you to sit still for more than six seconds,” Jungkook tells him, leaned over to rifle through his backpack. Also stuffed in there is a pair of basketball shorts and a book of poetry that Namjoon recommended to him that he’s gotten approximately ten pages into. Just the essentials. He pulls the bag of nail polish out, hands it over to Jimin. “Also, your nails are always all stumpy from biting them.”
“Maybe if you painted them I wouldn’t bite them so much!” Seokjin says, a hand on his hip. Jungkook laughs, can’t help it.
Jimin looks at the bag, but he’s in the middle of rolling up a second joint, and he must deem that a more important task at the moment. Jungkook watches him work on the cheap little tray Seokjin set out on his coffee table, the way Jimin rips the rolling paper’s edge a little bit to make it fit snugger around the ground up weed, the quick way he rolls up a piece of the torn business card lying next to the grinder quick as anything to make the crutch.
“You’re so good at that,” Jungkook comments.
“Of course I am,” Jimin answers without missing a beat. Seokjin snorts. When he finishes rolling it, he hands it off to Seokjin to christen, turns to the bag of nail polish to look through. He takes out each bottle one at a time, looking them over.
“You have such pretty colors, but your nails are always black,” Jimin chides him.
Seokjin exhales his smoke loudly, says, “Jeon Jungkook is a walking emo phase.”
Jimin laughs. Jungkook just reaches out to snatch the joint away from Seokjin, ignoring his whines. He takes two hits while Jimin shakes the little glass bottles, turning them over in the light.
“Seokjinnie-hyung, what do you think?” Jimin asks, looking at Seokjin, sitting above his eye level up on the couch. In one hand, Jimin’s holding a pale lavender nail polish, and in the other, a sparkly silver metallic.
“I think Jungkook’s gonna smoke that whole joint himself,” Seokjin offers. “And definitely the purple.”
“Two compelling points. Pass it over, Kookie.”
The second joint is spent by the time Jungkook positions Jimin across the coffee table from him, a magazine under his hands to protect to wood of Seokjin’s coffee table.
“I once watched you spill coffee on this table and then lick it off,” Jimin accuses.
“Can’t do that with nail polish, though, can you?” Seokjin asks.
Jimin makes a face, as if to ask why exactly Seokjin is so many of the ways he is, but Jungkook laughed at the joke, so maybe that’s why he’s like that.
Honestly, Jungkook doesn’t even think he’s that good at painting other people’s nails. It’s weird, and way harder than doing it on himself, which he is good at, thank you. Though as high as he feels right now, he’s not sure he’d be at top form on anyone’s nails. Still, Jimin is a nice person to do it for, because he sits so still and careful from the second Jungkook starts painting.
“You know,” Jimin says, “You’re gonna have to roll the next one, hyung.”
Jungkook groans, not losing focus on the task at hand. “Hyung’s the worst at it,” he complains.
“Brats. Ingrates,” Seokjin mutters, though he sounds fairly unbothered. He moves down from the couch to sit at the coffee table with them, reaching out for the tray with the weed and papers on it. Jungkook ignores him as he gets to work noisily, focuses his fuzzy, wandering brain on painting Jimin’s nails slowly evenly instead. The purple looks pretty on him, against the pale of his skin.
“God, you’re really awful,” Jimin comments, looking over at Seokjin.
“I do not invite you into my home for this kind of criticism!” Seokjin says in his most overexaggerated screechy voice. Jungkook’s shoulders shake with laughter, and he pulls away from Jimin for a moment, not wanting to fuck up the polish.
“You have to pour it evenly into the paper, hyung. No, hold it with — yeah, use your thumb and three fingers underneath.”
Jimin directs Seokjin, as bossy as he always is but a little gentler, because it’s Seokjin. The joint Seokjin rolls looks kind of loose, but Jungkook thinks it’s passable. Seokjin doesn’t light it, though, just grinds some more weed and grabs another paper.
“Oh, look at hyung practicing,” Jimin coos with a laugh.
“No, I’m just lazy,” Seokjin says. “I’d prefer to do more now and less later.”
“Very practical,” Jungkook murmurs, turning Jimin’s hand to get the side of his pinky.
“You look cute like this,” Jimin tells him quietly. “All focused.”
Jungkook huffs out half of a laugh. “Don’t distract me.” He can feel Seokjin’s eyes on him now too, and it flusters him.
“That’s the same face you make when you suck dick,” Seokjin comments.
Jungkook blushes, pulls away from Jimin to stare at Seokjin. “It is not,” he defends himself incredulously.
Jimin hums. “You know, it kind of is.”
“Yeah, you get all concentrated, like you’re trying to solve a math problem. Except there’s a dick in your mouth,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly.
“Shut up,” Jungkook says, ignoring the heat in his face and dipping his brush back in the bottle of nail polish to finish Jimin’s second coat. Seokjin is snickering next to him.
“You’re overfilling it,” Jimin says, looking down at where Seokjin is rolling the next joint.
“Well maybe I wanted it that way,” Seokjin says in a huff. Jungkook joins Jimin in laughing at him quietly.
They go quiet for a few minutes; Jungkook finishes up the second coat of nail polish on Jimin’s fingers with a final delicate stroke and re-caps the bottle. Jimin hums a thank you, turns his hands over to look at them and makes a pleased noise. Seokjin sighs, sounds frustrated as he seals up the joint he made; this one is wide in the middle but tapers on either side.
“It’s the thought that counts, hyung,” Jungkook tells him in the sweetest voice he can muster. Seokjin just glares.
“You’re both the worst,” he says, lights his own shitty joint.
Jimin scoots himself carefully onto the couch behind Jungkook, hands held so his nails don’t touch anything, and stretches out.
“Between the three of us,” Seokjin says, his voice croaky from exhaling smoke. “Which one is the 666, which one is the 420, and which one is the 69?”
Jungkook blinks at him. Jimin asks, “What?”
“Who is which?” Seokjin asks again.
“You’re 666,” Jungkook says decisively. “That’s obvious.”
“Hell yeah,” Seokjin says in apparent approval. “Because I’m so tough and badass.”
“That is the first and last time you’ve said badass, ever, in your life,” Jimin says with a too-loud laugh. “No, it’s because you’re a demon from hell. Remember that period for a couple years when you would only sleep with married men? Demon.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes. “You’re saying all of this like demons aren’t cool. And hot.”
“I think Jiminnie’s 69,” Jungkook says. Seokjin passes him the sad joint and he takes it, leans his back against the couch as he inhales.
“Why?” Jimin asks, Jungkook tips his head back to look at him upside-down, sees his eyes narrowed and his hand outstretched. With a truly gargantuan amount of concentration and dexterity, he moves his hand with the joint up to meet it, comically slow because it’s so hard to track the movement upside-down and he doesn’t want to burn Jimin’s pretty hand.
“Because you’re all…” Jungkook wiggles his free hand around, trails off. “I don’t know, sexy.”
“Is that all I am to you? Just sexy?” Jimin complains. “You know, I’m a person with depth.”
“Your other option is 420. Which of those screams depth to you?” Seokjin asks with a laugh.
“I’m just saying, sometimes I get tired of being like, the hot one,” Jimin says with a sniff.
“Is this serious?” Jungkook asks, looking at him in disbelief. “You have an entire instagram account where you pose with your ass out, and it has eight hundred thousand followers. There are measures you can take, hyung, if you’d like to stop being the hot one.”
“Please don’t delete that instagram account, though. I need it,” Seokjin says.
“Everyone needs it,” Jungkook agrees with a nod.
“Hyung, weigh in. Am I 69 or 420?” Jimin asks Seokjin.
“The act of sixty-nineing isn’t even sexy, so I disagree with Jungkook’s line of reasoning,” Seokjin says, sounding self-important despite the red of his eyes and the slow hazy tone of his voice. But then, he’s good at sounding self-important, Jungkook figures.
“Explain,” Jungkook says.
Seokjin pulls himself to sit up properly. Sometimes, Jungkook thinks, Seokjin has the air of a bored prince, above everything happening around him. Now is one of those times. “First of all, if you’ve ever actually attempted it, it takes about thirteen seconds to realize it’s a terrible idea. It’s a mess of limbs, and it takes a lot of coordination. Second of all, the last time I sixty-nined someone, I almost bit their dick off.” He pauses, then adds, “By accident.”
“Well, thank god for that,” Jimin says in a disbelieving voice, but he’s laughing.
“I was on the bottom, I was coming, I couldn’t move and my jaw almost just —” he takes his hands and claps them together loud enough that Jungkook startles. Seokjin shrugs, shaking his head as if to say what can you do?
Jungkook and Jimin sit there in silence, staring at Seokjin as he ashes the joint.
“Horrific,” Jungkook comments mildly after the shock settles.
“And thus, not sexy,” Seokjin says. He takes another hit, closes his eyes as he holds it in. “Anyway,” he says through the smoke, “it doesn’t matter if it’s actually sexy, because everyone thinks of sex as soon as they see it, right? And not even just sex, but this like super performative ridiculous version of sex. So yes, it’s Jimin.”
Jimin makes another offended noise, but Seokjin just looks at him and says, “Park Jimin, tell me that you using your camera timer to take pictures of yourself sitting on your knees from behind in rhinestone fishnets and editing it with the fucking Kirakira app is not performative and ridiculous.”
“It’s also really hot, though,” Jungkook adds.
“Of course it is! That’s the point,” Seokjin says with a nod, like he’s said something wise. “It’s absurd and it’s really hot, and I could not be more thankful for you doing it. Anyway, that makes you 420, weed boy, so congratulations.”
Jungkook gives a big thumbs-up and a winning smile, but a glance at Jimin confirms that he’s still pouting.
“Hyuuung,” Jungkook says, leans his head back against the couch again to look at him upside-down. “You don’t like being sexy?”
“Well, clearly I do,” Jimin mutters, but he’s still pouting. “But it’s not all I am.”
“Of course it’s not. You’re not just like, fuckable. You are fuckable, of course,” Jungkook follows up quickly at the offended look on Jimin’s face. “But people aren’t just horny for you, like, with their dicks. They’re horny for you with their hearts.”
It says something about how high the three of them are that neither of them laugh at it. Jimin is looking less offended. “Really?”
“Yeah, you’re like, so fucking cute,” Jungkook says easily, because it’s the truth. “Sometimes, you keep the hand holding your phone in your instagram pictures of your ass and then I just wanna hold your hand.”
“Aw, Jungkookie. Hold my hand, then,” Jimin coos at him.
“Can’t,” Jungkook says solemnly, shaking his head. “Nails.”
“Hold his hand for me, hyung,” Jimin says to Seokjin, and Seokjin, in an out of character moment of obedience, reaches over and intertwines his fingers with Jungkook’s.
“He’s right. It’s horrible, you just have this thing where everyone instantly falls in love with you. So much power,” Seokjin says, shaking his head. His thumb strokes back and forth against Jungkook’s hand, and it feels nice.
Jimin looks happier now, biting down on a smile, and Jungkook wants to keep it going, so he says, only slightly jokingly, “Jiminnie-hyung is so handsome.”
“Stop,” Jimin says, but it’s in a giggly tone of voice that Jungkook is very well aware actually means “please go on.” Jungkook is high as hell and Jimin is so fucking cute and it’s suddenly his mission to convince him of this.
“Ever since we became friends, I’m no longer guaranteed to be the most attractive person in the room,” Seokjin says with a sigh. “Do you know how difficult that is for me?”
Jimin is still laughing, hands covering his face.
“Your nails, hyung,” Jungkook says, and Jimin pulls his hands away again.
“Ah, sorry,” Jimin says, voice sounding happy and loose. He shifts where he’s laid out, pulling one of his legs up to kick over the back of the couch in one of his absurd sitting positions he likes to throw around.
Usually, Seokjin will just say, “We get it, you’re gay, you don’t know how to sit,” and Jimin will scoff before fixing himself upright, but Seokjin doesn’t say that today. Maybe it’s for the same reason that Jungkook finds himself quiet, because after spending five minutes talking about just exactly how Jimin is attractive, he’s reminded that in actuality, Jimin could breathe and make it sexy, just from the way he carries himself. Jungkook figures that it also helps, currently, that Jimin’s legs are spread wide and he’s at eye-level with Jimin’s dick, and also it helps that as previously mentioned, most things Jimin does make him horny — but still.
“See, you’re not even trying right now,” Seokjin says with another little sigh. Jungkook turns to him, finds him holding the joint and looking over at Jimin with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Trying to do what?” Jimin asks.
“To look sexy. You’re not even trying, and Jungkook’s drooling.”
“Hey,” Jungkook says. “You are too.”
“I would never drool. I am above drooling,” Seokjin insists haughtily. Jimin extends his hand in Seokjin’s direction, looking amused at the conversation, and Seokjin passes the joint off to Jungkook to pass to Jimin, a neat little assembly line.
Jungkook looks at Seokjin with narrowed eyes. “True or false, you want to fuck Jimin right now.”
Seokjin points at Jungkook, face unreadable until he dramatically says, “True.”
Jimin laughs softly, but doesn’t say anything else, just closes his eyes as he takes a hit. “Someone should do something about it, then,” Jimin says after he inhales, eyes still closed.
“Spoiled,” Seokjin comments.
Jimin hums. “Yeah.” He opens his eyes and looks down between Jungkook and Seokjin, gaze dark enough that it almost gives Jungkook a Pavlovian erection. “Can’t help that so many people like spoiling me.” He lets his eyes linger on Jungkook, lips twitching into a smirk. “I can’t believe you said your heart is horny for me.”
“I said people, I didn’t say me,” Jungkook defends himself.
Jimin doesn’t argue, but he looks at Jungkook like he knows that Jungkook’s included. He’s right, of course, but again, Jungkook can’t put much stock in these things. He falls in love with everyone who holds his hand, let alone boys who let him sit in their lap and call him baby. It’s in his nature. And besides, it’s all very chill.
Jungkook shuffles over, moving from where he was sitting over more in front of Jimin. “Sit up, hyung.”
“Why?” Jimin asks, his dark gaze more amused now.
“Because I wanna suck you off,” Jungkook answers. Jimin likes teasing things like that out of people, but Jungkook is fine with saying it outright — it’s the truth, and it definitely isn’t anything new.
“Oh, just that,” Jimin says with a little laugh, but he sits up, reaching over Jungkook’s head to hand Seokjin the joint again. He sits leaned back lazily against the back of the couch, his legs spread, knees on either side of Jungkook. Jungkook licks his lips, and Jimin smirks at him again. “You think my nails are dry yet?” He asks, looking down at Jungkook.
Jungkook reaches a hand out for Jimin’s, and Jimin sets his hand in Jungkook’s palm so gently that it makes Jungkook weirdly emotional. Jungkook skims his fingers carefully over the top of Jimin’s nails.
“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes. “Almost.”
“I’ll be careful, then,” Jimin says with a little smirk, pulling his hands back.
Jungkook hears movement behind him, and then Seokjin is huffing his way over, plopping himself down on the couch with a little too much force.
“You’re so noisy, hyung,” Jungkook says with a snort.
“And what’s wrong with that?” Seokjin asks. He takes the joint from Jimin’s hand and takes another hit, looking down at Jungkook like — well, in that way he has sometimes. Sincere. Real, without a hundred layers of sarcasm and obfuscation layered on top. Not that Jungkook minds the sarcasm and obfuscation, because he’s always known about the stuff underneath, but. It’s nice, when it comes out. This seems like an odd time for it, as he settles in to watch Jungkook blow their mutual friend, but Jungkook figures that’s just Seokjin.
Jungkook looks up at him and gives him half a smile, just because he feels like it. Just because it’s Seokjin. And Seokjin smiles back the same way, looking fond in a way that kind of flusters Jungkook.
“Pretty,” Jimin tells him, bringing a careful hand to rest under his chin. “What a pretty boy.”
“Ah, what does he need compliments for? Doesn’t he get enough?” Seokjin complains, but he reaches down and squishes Jungkook’s cheeks together, making Jimin giggle. Jungkook sticks his tongue out and licks at Seokjin’s hand just to make him squawk.
“See? This is what we get in return,” Seokjin says, wiping his hand on his shirt.
“Speak for yourself, I called him pretty and I get a blowjob,” Jimin says to Seokjin, looking over at him with a smirk, and Seokjin huffs again.
“He’s not that easy,” Seokjin says, smirking at Jungkook out of the corner of his eye.
Jungkook laughs under his breath. “I don’t know. I’m easy enough.” He moves his hands up Jimin’s thighs, thumbs running along the inseam of his jeans until he gets to Jimin’s hips.
Jimin lets out a soft exhale, closes his eyes around the smile still on his lips, and Jungkook stares up at him for a moment. He’s so cute, the round of his cheeks and the pink of his lips. And he would keep staring, but Jimin’s hand is moving to his stomach, to push up the fabric of his sweatshirt with his wrist and give Jungkook access to the fly of his jeans, and Jungkook watches him, helpless against doing much else.
Jungkook doesn’t see the point in wasting time on thinking about all the ways it feels good to be sat here on the floor in front of Jimin, staring up at him, watching his lead. Of course it does. That’s something he established a long time ago, isn’t it? He glances over at Seokjin momentarily to find his expression focused, for all his huffing and bullshitting. He’s handsome like this, and that’s another non-revelation. Jungkook has found, as long as they’ve been doing this, that he likes all the ways Seokjin looks at him. Likes when Seokjin is pouting and yelling when they argue, likes when he goes soft and earnest, likes when he smirks at Jungkook in the most infuriating way — and Jungkook likes him like this, too. A little out of it, a little serious. Maybe it shouldn’t be flattering, the idea that Jungkook can pull Seokjin out of his act, but it is.
He remembers himself after a moment — right, he was trying to avoid wasting time. He blinks, looks away from Seokjin and moves his hands with purpose, over to the gold button on Jimin’s black jeans. Jungkook thinks the pants-shimmying part is the most awkward part of blowjobs; he unzips and unbuttons Jimin’s jeans, and then Jimin has to lift his hips to scoot out of them, and it’s kind of, like...inherently silly. Jungkook giggles quietly at the way Jimin wiggles to pull his jeans down to his knees, and Jimin glares at him for a moment before his expression cracks into a grin.
“You look cute,” Jungkook says in explanation, moving so he can pull Jimin’s jeans the rest of the way off.
Jimin, sitting there in his sweatshirt and little grey briefs, snorts. “Thanks.”
“Oh, just suck his dick already,” Seokjin gripes in a voice that only sounds about ten percent serious. Jungkook turns to him and raises his eyebrows.
“Impatient, hyung?” Jungkook teases, scooting back up to the couch now that Jimin is pantsless.
“Constantly, about everything,” Seokjin answers simply with a look at Jungkook like he’s an idiot. Jungkook giggles again, but turns back to the task at hand. Or, at mouth? Ha. He snickers quietly at his own joke.
He looks up to find Jimin looking right back at him, a little fond as he brings a hand to rest carefully in Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook swallows, blinks a couple times and decides that maybe he’s impatient too.
Jungkook leans in to press a kiss just above the waistband of Jimin’s briefs, quick and urgent, and Jimin hums. Jimin’s not hard, and Jungkook is fine with that, really, but he can probably get him halfway there pretty quick. He kisses across Jimin’s stomach from his hipbone to his navel, and his hands are back on Jimin’s thighs, spread across the tops with his thumbs on the inside, going higher as he kisses until Jimin’s letting out soft little breathy exhales. Jungkook glances up to find Jimin leaned back against the couch, eyes closed with his head facing up, and god, god he’s hot. Jungkook lets his hand keep drifting up, skimming across Jimin’s inner thigh until he’s at the juncture of his hip, and Jimin slouches down, lets his legs spread further to make room for him. His hand is still in Jungkook’s hair, just kind of resting there, but his grip tightens when Jungkook’s thumb moves across the length of his dick. And it goes tighter still when Jungkook leans down to put his mouth on Jimin through his underwear.
“Ah,” Jimin breathes, and Jimin feels some amount of satisfaction at that. He kisses wetly (as wetly as he can manage, against cotton) at Jimin, moving down to the head of his dick.
Jungkook likes giving blowjobs alright when he’s sober, but god, he loves it when he’s high. It feels good, to focus himself on one thing. It’s an added bonus that the one thing in this instance is Jimin’s dick, he admits, but the point remains. He brings his hands to the waistband of Jimin’s underwear, pushing fingertips past it in a way that feels good, a good tactile feeling, fingers against soft skin, and then there’s another shuffling moment where Jungkook has to pull away from Jimin’s cock, which he personally finds sad.
It’s fine, though — he pulls away to let Jimin pull his underwear the rest of the way off, and then there Jimin’s dick is, semi-hard and pretty and the right size to fit in his mouth. Jungkook sighs pleasantly to himself.
“You okay?” Seokjin asks him with a laugh in his voice. Jungkook, repositioning himself back in front of Jimin, looks up at him and nods.
“Yeah. I love dick,” he says simply, and Seokjin gives him a stoic nod.
Jimin is giggling faintly, but Jungkook doesn’t see why. Jungkook nods back solemnly before going back to his intended purpose: dick. Jimin’s dick. Jimin’s nice dick. Right. Jungkook leans forward and takes the head of Jimin’s cock into his mouth without much warning; he likes the way Jimin startles underneath him, the way he can feel Jimin get a little harder in an instant. And he especially likes the way he can kind of lose himself in the action of this for a while, when he’s stoned. He doesn’t feel the urge to think much of anything, his mind just alternating between considering mechanics (go slower, speed up, touch his balls) and a sort of amplified radar for whenever Jimin makes a noise. Jimin’s hard-hard now, the hand holding up his sweatshirt pulled up a little more, up to his ribcage now, and the hand in Jungkook’s hair still gripped tight. Errantly, Jungkook hopes Jimin’s nail polish is dry.
Jungkook’s eyes are closed, something he’s only sort of far-away aware of. He’s just focused, is all — focused on Jimin feeling good, on making him make that stuttered breathy noise again. He can take all of Jimin’s length at once, so he does, swallowing wetly around him, and it elicits an obviously involuntary noise from Jimin, judging from the way it’s cut-off and high-pitched. Then Jimin goes quiet, Jungkook realizes, and he pries his eyes open to find Seokjin holding the almost-gone blunt to Jimin’s mouth and letting him inhale before he exhales with a kind of groaning noise, smoke blowing away in the breeze coming from the windows. And for some reason that’s hot too? For some reason, everything Jimin does is hot. Jungkook feels a little warm at the thought, so he closes his eyes again to regain his focus.
And it’s not very long of that, maybe just a couple minutes, before suddenly Jungkook feels Jimin’s sweatshirt drop back down to his waist, and at the same time, Jimin tugging his hair in a way that feels purposeful, to pull him up. Jungkook goes, blearily blinking his eyes back open as he lets Jimin’s cock fall out of his mouth, and then he realizes what’s going on — Jimin’s holding the joint, crutch end toward Jungkook, offering him a hit. The whole thing seems a little absurd in Jungkook’s opinion, so he laughs before sitting up properly to let Jimin hold the joint in his mouth. It’s kind of erotic, which Jungkook knows is a stupid thing to say about the activity he’s involved in that’s not sucking dick, but like, it is. Jimin’s looking at him with a smirk as he inhales, and Jungkook holds eye contact because he’s not sure what else he would possibly be doing.
“Good boy,” Jimin tells him as he exhales the smoke, and Jungkook nearly coughs from laughing.
“I’m not Taehyung,” Jungkook says in a strained voice. “That shit doesn’t do anything for me.”
Beside Jimin, Seokjin snorts. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve all fucked Taehyung, stop bragging.”
Jimin’s laughing now, eyes almost-closed from it as he pulls the joint back to offer it back to Seokjin. “Don’t you and Taehyung have matching shirts that say ‘baby slut’?” He asks.
Jungkook pauses. “Is that relevant?” He asks, trying to figure out how Jimin got there.
“No, I just like thinking about it,” Jimin tells him with another little residual giggle. He looks fond, and it makes Jungkook, high as he fucking is, just kind of smile back at him dumbly for a moment before he remembers. Dick. He slouches himself back down to Jimin’s hip-level, and Jimin is petting at Jungkook’s hair, still looking fond. Jungkook keeps his eyes open this time as he lowers himself back onto Jimin, watches the way Jimin’s slip closed and his mouth falls open.
He gets back into it, back into the rhythm of the act. Pushes Jimin’s sweatshirt up again, watches his own hand skim up over Jimin’s chest, over the messy lettering of his tattoo, up to touch his nipples. Plays with the head of Jimin’s cock in his mouth for a few minutes until he sinks all the way back down and sucks him off like he means it, because now Jimin really is making noise, gasps and groans that make Jungkook want to do better, do more.
“JK,” Seokjin intones, sounding vaguely impressed from above. Nice, Jungkook thinks. He aims to impress at all times.
Jimin comes sooner rather than later. There’s a sort of high moan, a clutch at Jungkook’s hair and the feeling of Jimin’s thighs pressing together around him, and Jimin pulsing on his tongue and Jungkook knows from experience that they’re done for. He keeps Jimin in his mouth more as a result of impeded reflexes than anything else, but he’s fine with it. Fine with swallowing, kind of likes the way it makes Jimin shake as he does it, and then — then Jimin is pushing lightly at his face, pushing him off, and Jungkook goes. He moves from his knees to his butt on the floor, letting out a ragged kind of pant as he wipes his mouth, and observes the two of them sitting there on the couch. Jimin has a hand over his face, breathing heavy with his eyes closed as he comes down from his orgasm, and Seokjin is watching Jimin with that serious look on his face again.
“Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says weakly. “Come here.” His free hand urges Jungkook forward, and Jungkook stands up. The silver chain attached to the side of his joggers jingles in a way that Jungkook finds kind of comical, but he ignores it as he stumbles forward onto the couch, managing to wedge himself between Jimin and Seokjin.
Jimin hums, turns to the side a little to look at him before he reaches out to pat Jungkook’s cheek. Jungkook can’t help it, he leans forward and kisses Jimin — just needs to kiss him. Jimin laughs quietly when Jungkook pulls back. “Thanks, baby,” Jimin says softly, patting his cheek again.
“That’s baby slut to you,” Seokjin corrects, and Jungkook chokes on the surprised laugh he lets out. Seokjin looks pleased with himself, Jungkook finds, and then he’s just kind of looking at Seokjin.
“Like what you see?” Seokjin asks with a stupid wink, but Jungkook doesn’t justify that with a response. Instead, he turns, shifts himself toward Seokjin in a moment with very little thinking involved, and manages to launch himself delicately onto Seokjin’s lap. “Oh,” Seokjin says in reaction.
Jungkook settles in, spreads his legs a little wider to sit better, puts his hands on Seokjin’s shoulders and only then notices that — “Hey, you’re not hard.”
Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “I’m not, no,” he says dryly.
Jungkook hums. He’s not personally offended, it’s just that he knows for a fact that he would have an impossible-to-ignore erection if he personally was the one watching Seokjin blow Jimin. In fact, he’s got a fairly impossible-to-ignore erection from being the one blowing Jimin. But Seokjin, Jungkook knows, gets less sensitive when he smokes.
“When you age, Jungkookie — ” Jimin starts, and Seokjin gives an offended squawk. Jimin laughs.
“It’s not about aging, asshole,” Seokjin says sharply. “I am extremely young and virile, and —”
“Prove it,” Jungkook says. He feels Seokjin’s dick twitch underneath him, and he smirks.
“You are the absolute worst kind of brat in the world,” Seokjin says to him, though there’s pink in his cheeks. “And I am going to prove it, thank you.”
“Oh no,” Jungkook manages in a little sarcastic voice. “It’s such a shame that you have to keep proving points by fucking me.”
“I could be doing good in the world, but instead you goad me into wasting my time like this,” Seokjin says, sounding annoyed, bringing his hands up under Jungkook’s oversized shirt to rest at his waist.
“That’s so sad,” Jimin comments mildly. “If only there was another way.” There’s a lazy kind of smirk on his face, pretty there.
“Nope, no other way,” Jungkook says, reaching down to pull his own shirt off quickly. “Oh well.” He’s stoned and he’s hard and he’s inescapably turned on by the way Seokjin sounds like he wants to fight him, and he’d like to speed this process along.
Seokjin’s looking him over, and Jungkook likes that too. Likes Seokjin, unguarded, appreciating him. “Why do you even wear your stupid shirts so big,” Seokjin complains under his breath. “What’s the point of working out so goddamn much then.”
“I just want to be strong and comfortable,” Jungkook says.
“I think they’re cute on you, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says. He’s curled in on himself, still half-naked but looking kind of pleasantly sated from the weed and the orgasm as he watches them.
“Of course they’re cute on him,” Seokjin grouses irritably. “God. Take your stupid pants off.”
Jungkook laughs, loud and amused. And the three of them tumble from the living room into Seokjin's bedroom together like that, laughing. Jungkook and Seokjin undress each other between kisses, between snark, and Jimin sits on the bed and laughs at them, all loose limbs and sweet smiles. He gets less sweet after Jungkook ends up on all fours at the edge of the bed, hard and anticipating as Seokjin stands behind him. Jimin’s looking at them now with something like arousal, and it makes Jungkook kind of want to lower himself to the bed and rut against the sheets just for — just for some kind of release, since the little that Seokjin had touched his dick before they got on the bed hadn’t done much to take the edge of all of this off.
“Jungkookie’s so hot like this,” Jimin comments quietly with a tiny little barely-there smirk.
“Yeah,” Seokjin agrees, voice heavy, and the weight of their compliments feel warm and heavy when they land on Jungkook. He lowers his face momentarily, looks down at the bed and tries not to push his hips back.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says, then pauses. “Come on. Fuck me.”
Seokjin laughs a little bit. “Don’t rush me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I interrupting some kind of process that I don’t know about, or —” Jungkook starts, blowing the hair out of his eyes, but then Seokjin grabs his hips and pulls him back, and oh, okay, cool.
Seokjin laughs again, good-natured, after Jungkook goes quiet, says, “God, you really are easy.”
“Am I?” Jungkook asks. He doesn’t look back at Seokjin but he can feel him hovering just behind him.
“You just wanna get thrown around a little by a big strong man,” Jimin teases, resting with his chin propped up on his hand. He’s leaned back against the headboard watching them, an amused expression on his face.
“That does sound nice, yeah. Do you know any?” Jungkook asks.
“You asshole,” Seokjin accuses with a quiet laugh, and Jungkook laughs back. He’s still laughing when Seokjin pushes into him, his laugh turned into a gasp halfway out of his mouth but the smile left on his face for a moment.
The truth is, Seokjin is plenty big and strong, and Jungkook does like it. Jimin’s gentle with him, gentle by nature, but Seokjin doesn’t have that problem and it works out just fine. His hands are tight on Jungkook’s hips as he fucks him, quick and without lead-up. Everything feels slow to Jungkook’s mind, the weed making him a count behind the beat, but Seokjin’s thrusts feel fast and a little rough and god, thank god for Seokjin always knowing how to do this best. Maybe it’s just a result of the way they are — always pushing at each other, a constant one-upping that sometimes, if Jungkook’s lucky, ends with Seokjin fucking his lights out in retaliation.
Jungkook’s head is bowed down toward the bed, this time not because he’s flustered but because he feels too good to be able to pick himself up and open his eyes. But Jimin, in front of him, murmurs, “Jungkook-ah,” and Jungkook manages to lift his head and look at him. And fuck, it’s a good thing he did.
Jimin’s pulled himself up to sit on his knees, legs parted a little with a hand wrapped around his cock, hard again, and the sight is enough to make Jungkook lose his balance a little; Seokjin’s next thrust pushes Jungkook forward and he stumbles onto his elbows, gasping in surprise. “Hyung,” he mutters, and honestly, he’s not sure who he’s talking to.
“Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says again. “Watch me.”
Jungkook’s brain is collapsing, maybe, he thinks. Seokjin thrusts in again, not pausing his rhythm to let Jungkook pick himself back up on his hands, but it’s fine, the angle’s good like this. He cranes his neck up to look, to watch, because fuck, how could he do anything besides watch?
Jimin looks gorgeous like this, looking down at Jungkook through half-lidded eyes, lips parted to breathe heavy as he strokes himself. “Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, because that’s all he’s really capable of at this moment in time. It’s just as Jungkook considers the fact that he could really die like this, just let Jimin and Seokjin kill him in real life, that Seokjin reaches around Jungkook’s hip to stroke him, too. Jungkook lets out a strained noise, head bowing back to the bed again.
Jimin’s laughing, a soft, breathy laugh. “You’re having a tough time, huh?”
Jungkook can’t really do words right now, so he just lets out a muffled groan, hands gripping the sheets. Seokjin feels so good inside of him, with his hand on him, and his brain is kind of just a narrow focus on that, on the way his body is tense and hot and ready to come. But he opens his eyes, looks up through his eyelashes at Jimin because he has to look, has to watch. Jimin’s sped up, hips fucking up into his hand, but his eyes are stil locked on Jungkook in a way that makes Jungkook feel kind of like he’s burning alive.
It’s a rush of things, really. Hard to tell who pushes who over the edge, but Jungkook gets there first. His orgasm hits him hard like it always does when he’s high, makes his mind go blank as his knees threaten to buckle. Seokjin must keep him up, pace quick and harsh and making Jungkook groan in time with his thrusts as he rides out his orgasm, and then Seokjin follows along not far after. For how fucking loud he is in the rest of his life, it always catches Jungkook off-guard how quiet he is during sex. Maybe Jungkook makes up for it — he’s always had a hard time keeping his own volume down. Jungkook is only tangentially aware of Seokjin pulling out, but the act lets his body collapse onto the bed finally, and then he remembers Jimin. Blearily, he opens his eyes to find Jimin with his bottom lip between his teeth, cheeks red as he strokes himself fast.
Seokjin comes back to bed, lies down on the opposite side as Jimin, and there’s a quiet moment where Seokjin and Jungkook are rapt. A rarity, Jungkook thinks distantly, but he’s distracted from that thought when Jimin comes again, a soft moan escaping his lips as his hips buck and he goes still.
“Park Jimin, you better not wipe your cum on my bed,” Seokjin says, voice sounding sleepy.
Jimin groans. “Why not? Jungkook’s cum is on your bed.”
“You’re gross,” Seokjin complains with a whine, but he sounds defeated.
Jimin doesn’t say anything, but he sure does wipe his hand on Seokjin’s bed. Jungkook breathes out a laugh before he moves, clambering up the bed in order to slot neatly between Seokjin and Jimin.
“Hi baby,” Jimin says, bringing up his non-jerkoff hand to rest in Jungkook’s hair again. Jungkook hums at the touch before he turns to Seokjin.
“Very virile of you,” he comments with a smile as Seokjin snorts, letting out a surprised-sounding laugh.
“Yeah, thanks,” Seokjin says, leaning over to press a kiss to Jungkook’s lips.
Jungkook wraps an arm around Seokjin’s waist, content to anchor him here like this, and Seokjin kisses him slow, Jungkook’s favorite way to be kissed.
When Seokjin pulls back, he looks at Jungkook kind of serious, says, “Jungkook-ah,” in a quiet voice. And Jungkook, for a moment, has no idea what Seokjin’s going to say to him. He sounds — dramatic, sincere. Jungkook’s heart picks up nervously for a moment as he mutters, “Yeah?”
Seokjin keeps looking at him, eyebrows furrowed and expression soft, before he finally says, “Thanks for bringing weed.”
Jungkook pauses for a moment, startled, before he reaches out to slap at Seokjin’s arm.
“You dick, I thought you were going to tell you that you loved me or something, what the fuck —” Jungkook complains over Seokjin’s loud cackle.
Jimin’s laughing on his other side, too. “He did that to me last week before he asked if I wanted some dinner.”
“Ugh,” Jungkook complains, turning decisively away from Seokjin to cling to Jimin instead. “The worst.”
“The best,” Seokjin is insisting, crowding up behind Jungkook and pressing a loud kiss to his shoulderblade.
“Buy me food, and maybe I’ll change my mind,” Jungkook mumbles, content to lay in Jimin’s arms and get his hair petted.
Seokjin scoffs. “So demanding. Make me fuck you, make me feed you…” But Jungkook feels him turn away, then hears him pick his phone up off the bedside table, and he smiles, self-satisfied.
“I make you use your powers for good, that’s all,” Jungkook says, still smiling.
“What are his powers, exactly?” Jimin asks.
Jungkook shrugs. “Being a top and having money.”
“You got me there, I guess,” Seokjin mutters distractedly. “Pizza? Is pizza good?”
“Pizza’s good,” Jungkook agrees. He kisses Jimin’s chest before he moves back to the middle between them.
Seokjin looks away from his phone for a moment to look him over. “I like your hair this long, you know,” he says quietly, before he looks back at his phone.
“Thanks, hyung,” Jungkook says quietly with another smile.
“You fucking e-boy,” Seokjin says, still looking at his phone, and it makes Jungkook laugh.
Eventually, they put themselves back together a little bit, get at least half-dressed and make their way back out to Seokjin’s living room. Eventually they settle back onto the couch, Jungkook in his oversized shirt and underwear watching Jimin roll another joint as Seokjin announces every update on the pizza tracking graphic open on his phone. And Jungkook, sitting between Jimin and Seokjin, finds a smile stuck on his face for the rest of the afternoon. But it's chill. Everything's super chill, he thinks to himself pleasantly, looking between Jimin and Seokjin with a smile that just won't leave.