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Park Jimin is a liar.
Lying got him into this mess and now he’s got to make his bed, and well-
Lie in it.
His stomach rolls again and the rest of his lunch violently evacuated into the toilet bowl in front of him.
Jimin is barely 24 hours into his new job, his new life really, and it’s going to kill him. He takes a few deep breaths, in for five, hold for four, out for six. When he successfully does that for eight breaths without losing it again, he rises on shaky legs and flushes the toilet.
Fuck, his knees are sore. He’s got a show later and he’s nauseous and his knees hurt now, too. Great. Everything fucking hurts. Just great.
Shuffling out of the staff bathroom stall and over to the sink, Jimin flicks on the faucet and splashes cold water on his face. It helps. He doesn’t feel good, but he at least feels human.
He looks like shit though. Clammy, pale, exhausted bags under his eyes. It’s not helping that the guy washing his hands at the sink next to him is tall and lovely and just rubbing it in by standing there.
The guy wipes his damp hands on his jeans and pulls something out of his pocket. Jimin watches as he leans over the sink and draws a little mustache with the eyeliner pencil. A couple of strokes then he leans back and inspects his reflection. Satisfied, he grins, and turns to Jimin.
“Seasick?” He asks. It startles Jimin. It shouldn’t, he wished it didn’t. The Beneath The Seas Cruises tour he’d signed on for ports in Incheon and mostly loops through the Yellow and East China Seas. They’ve got two stops in Korea, for fucks sake, Jimin hadn’t been anticipating everything to be so different. But early this morning, on his way to the staff breakfast bar, some white kid bowed to him and called him “sensei.” Jimin’s been on edge ever since.
“How’d you know I was Korean?” He asks.
The guy, with no shame at all, says, “I heard you cursing at the toilet.”
Jimin nods. Yeah, that tracks. He remembers spewing some choice words, along with some other things. The guy leans in closer, close enough that Jimin can smell his sunblock. It smells like sweet bananas. He wills himself not to barf in the sink.
“So, are you seasick?” The guy asks again.
“I don’t get seasick.” Jimin mumbles, braced against the sink as another wave of nausea rolls through him. It strikes him that he’s lying again. He told the same thing to the squat man who ran his third audition. And now here he is, sick in a cruise ship bathroom.
His past self is a dumbass, Jimin thinks.
But how was he supposed to know he gets seasick? Jimin hasn’t been on any boat larger than small fishing boats and whale watching excursions in Busan, and he hasn’t been on one of those since he moved away at fifteen. So maybe he does get seasick.
The guy considers him for a moment, and then pulls something else out of his pocket. He holds the small vial out to Jimin, and waits.
Jimin eyes the gesture suspiciously. He’s going to be stuck on this boat for the next three months, he should start making friends soon. But taking dubiously corked vials from strangers seems like something his mother warned him against.
“It’ll help with the seasickness,” The guy says, with a broad toothy smile, “or hangover. Or anything, really.”
“What is it?” Jimin asks, but he takes the vial.
The guy just shrugs, “My grandmother made it for me before I joined the crew. She’s a witch, probably.”
“Is she really,” Jimin says, uncorking the bottle.
“Dunno, maybe,” the guy shrugs again, “Try it. If it works, she’s a witch.”
Jimin swallows it like a shot before he can think himself out of doing so. He’s here so he can see the world and try new things. Maybe this is the start.
It’s not horrible, intensely tasting like earth with a hint of ginger, but it tastes better than the stale bile he’s been tasting for the past twenty minutes. He straightens up and blinks. He still feels like shit, brittle and sore, but his stomach feels calmer and his heart isn’t doing that weird fluttery thing anymore. He feels like garbage, but steady.
“Oh.” He says, “Wow. Thanks, uh...“
“Taehyung.” The guy says. He doesn’t ask Jimin’s name. He just steps forward and hugs him tightly. Sincerely, he says, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Jimin relaxes into the hug, and thinks, ‘huh. Maybe this can be home after all. .
🛳🛳🛳
Jimin and Taehyung have been best friends for three weeks now. Or, maybe, they’ve been friends their whole lives, but have only known about it for the past three weeks. That’s what it feels like, anyway. They discover quickly that they are born in the same year, solidifying their soulmate status.
Taehyung has shown him everything about living at sea. He knows where to buy the cheap bottles of wine, even though he doesn’t drink nearly as much as Jimin, he knows which of the crew members hailing from the other side of the Pacific have weed on them and he knows which are willing to share. He’s told Jimin about all the latest crew and staff gossip, who’s hooking up with who and who gave whom what. Taehyung even convinced his established friends to make room for Jimin at their table in the staff cafeteria.
In short, Jimin owes him his life.
He just wishes that knowing Taehyung didn’t come with the punishment of knowing Kim Seokjin.
“Can you please go get me another margarita, Taehyungie?” Jimin begs. It’s a Sunday afternoon. He doesn’t really get full days off on the ship, but Sundays are one of the few days he doesn’t have to worry about performing in the evening. He’s already done his matinée show and it’s still warm and sunny out. So of course he’s sprawled out by the pool on the third deck, drinking margaritas with Taehyung. Or, he would be, if Taehyung would go get him a refill.
Taehyung pouts, “He’s gonna know it’s for you anyway, why can’t you just go?”
“Because I don’t want to have to see him flirt with tourists up close, it’s disgusting and unprofessional. Plus, he won’t give it to me unless I use the dumb name.”
“So, just to be clear, you’d rather watch him flirt from afar?” Yoongi points out from underneath Taehyung. For a guy that complains about the heat so much, he sure does let Taehyung sit on his lap a lot.
Jimin ignores Yoongi and begs Taehyung again, “Please, please.”
Yoongi pokes Taehyung in the side until he squirms, “Hop up, I’ll go.”
“He’s gonna know it’s for me, you still have half a rum and coke left,” Jimin complains.
“Oh, yeah he will,” Yoongi calls over his shoulder, “I’m gonna tell him it’s for you.”
Shit, fuck. Jimin scrambles to his feet. “Ah, Hyung, no, c’mon,” he calls out, but Yoongi is already halfway across the pool deck.
Jimin plops back down onto his lounge chair, burrows under his sun hat, and waits for the inevitable.
A moment later, the inevitable comes in the form of a voice shrieking his name from across the deck, “Jimin-ah! If you wanna drink an Agave You My Heart you better come here and order it yourself!”
“It’s a dumb name and you know it!” Jimin shouts over the general pool din.
“It’s a genius name and you know it!” Seokjin shouts back.
The shouting match has an affect Jimin didn’t anticipate. Seokjin, in his tank top and tiny nautical shorts, shouting dumb beverage puns has attracted attention. Jimin sees at least half a dozen passengers perk their heads up and look over at the pool bar. Several get up from their lounge chairs and wander over towards Seokjin. Jimin looks away.
“You did think it was a pretty hilarious name when you first heard it,” Taehyung reminds him as Yoongi waddles back over to the pool deck with his drink, “before you found out hyung made it up.”
So, yeah, Seokjin’s fine. Jimin just doesn’t get what all the fuss is about.
If Taehyung was connected on this ship, then Seokjin was, well, more connected. Like a spider weaving the threads of his web. He knew everyone. And had more pull on the ship than the captain, Jimin’s heard. No other bartender on the ship is allowed to make changes to the menus or name their own drinks.
Seokjin is how Taehyung transferred out of his shitty serving gig to his job at Buccaneer’s Club, the pirate themed ship daycare center.
“It was my dream job,” Taehyung said when he told Jimin about Seokjin hooking him up with the position. He then proceeded to tell Jimin about the first time he met Seokjin. Some other guy told him the same thing that Taehyung was telling Jimin, that Seokjin-The-Bartender was the guy you needed to get to know if you wanted something done on the ship. Taehyung, in an effort to make an impression, gave him a spontaneous lap dance on the day they met.
Jimin thinks he would have been mortified, but Taehyung just shrugs. He’s happier now that he gets to help kids design and craft their own pirate flags than he ever was serving their parents.
Whatever. Jimin made it onto the ship on his own merit, and he wasn’t going to need help staying either.
That doesn’t change that he seems to be surrounded by, not the ocean, but Seokjin constantly.
🛳🛳🛳
“He’s actually really smart,” Namjoon, the ship nurse, tells Jimin during an early morning yoga class they’re both attending. “Have you heard him talk about one’s relationship to happiness? It’s really insightful.”
“Seokjin?” Hoseok says, and he pounds out the absolutely vile knot in Jimin’s back. He’s supposed to only work on passengers, and at a premium price too, but they’re pals and Jimin has two shows tomorrow and a knot in his back the size of a walnut. Hearing about Seokjin isn’t really helping is stress level, however. “He’s like the funniest guy I’ve ever met. His jokes are so dumb but his delivery is, oof, comedy gold. Seriously,” Hoseok says.
“He’s literally the most handsome guy on the boat,” Jungkook says. He’s supposed to be whistling at kids to stop running near the pool but instead he’s gazing in wonder over at Seokjin flipping a cocktail shaker over his broad shoulders. Jimin rolls his eyes. He’s hot, but he’s not like, hot hot. Jungkook continues, “maybe the whole sea.”
“Oh my god, just go fuck him already.”
Jungkook fixes him with a look. Because that’s it, isn’t it. Seokjin doesn’t fuck.
Well, he doesn’t fuck other crew-members.
There’s no rule against it. There’s nothing in their contract that explicitly forbids fraternizing with passengers, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your shipboard duties. And apparently flirting with passengers to get higher tips doesn’t count as interfering with bartender duties. But it’s just–
Unprofessional.
Jimin thinks fucking passengers is unprofessional, and that’s all there is to it.
Fucking anyone on the ship is a little fucked. Added to the fucked-upedness is that you’re then stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean for upwards of a month at least. Which is hard if you’re trying to ghost anyone. But, everyone does it. Everyone hooks up on the ship.
The thing about it is, everyone fucks, but they fuck each other. Passengers come on a romantic get away and fuck their partner or come and fuck other singles, or, in some cases, fuck other passenger’s partners. Crew members and staff fuck each other. It’s an absolutely debauched sex boat, but there’s no cross pollination.
Except Kim Seokjin.
Kim Seokjin doesn’t hook up with other staff.
The thing about it is, Jimin knows he’s decently hot, too.He knows he’s got a certain kind of draw. He doesn’t consider himself particularly funny and can be a little awkward in photos or with forced small talk, but he’s a dancer. He’s got this magnetism when he’s moving that Jimin has found very few people able to resist when he really turns it on.
But not Seokjin. Taehyung tells him that’s just how their hyung is. Charming, and funny, until it becomes real. That Seokjin never really responds to advances from anyone. Taehyung seems charmed by Seokjin’s habit to slither away from affection.
Except it’s not everyone that Seokjin dodges. Just staff. He’s fine with being blatantly hit on by passengers. He seems to have absolutely no qualms with going home with them either. He’s been on the ship long enough know to know what everyone else knows. He’s seen Seokjin, after a night of working at his bar, leave with a passenger.
It drives Jimin absolutely up the fucking wall.
🛳🛳🛳
Life on the ocean moves on. Passengers board and depart. Jimin’s first contract expires and he signs on again for another tour. He likes it. He likes his friends, he likes traveling, and he loves getting to perform every night. He’d call it codependency if he thought the stage needed him in the same way he needs it, but he loves it just the same. It gets him out of bed when things get hard.
Things are particularly hard in the staff galley. Jimin didn’t arrive with many misconceptions; he knew life on the cruise wouldn’t be, for lack of a better phrase, smooth sailing. Two things he’d estimated incorrectly before boarding: his seasickness (much better since Taehyung’s grandmother started sending him her potions to pick every time they docked) and the food.
Jimin had it in his head that he’d have access to fresh fruit at the very least out here. But he failed to consider that they were, in fact, Out Here. Re: the middle of the fucking ocean. Persimmons and watermelons don't grow out in the middle of the ocean. So when they’re stocked, they’re saved for the well-paying passengers’ buffet lines. Jimin is left with a soggy salad bar, and omelette stand, and some over-cooked pork. The kimchi runs out fast during breakfast, long before Jimin drags himself out of bed, and the rice is stale.
Worst of all is The Pink Stuff. An enigma of the ship. Namjoon once described it as Oceana Cruise’s resident cryptid. It looks like it could be soft serve, soft pink and comes out of the machine in a swirl, but it’s lukewarm at best. It looks like it should be strawberry flavored but the first time he approached The Pink Machine, Taehyung grabbed his arm and shook his head in warning. It’s sour in a way that no one can tell if it's meant to be a desert or not.
It’s probably the most disgusting thing Jimin has ever put in his mouth, and he’s got lots to compare it to, and he wouldn’t normally bother, but he performed tonight. One of the other dancers got sick, a fever, and couldn’t go on. Jimin has to do his own role and then, during the numbers he’d normally have a second to step off stage, had to go dance for him too. The Pink Stuff is so vile but he’s too tired to chew anything else. Hell, Jimin hopes he’s too tired to taste anything.
No such luck. He can taste it. It’s still repulsive. It’s worse than the fish and chips he had to eat during his semester in London. At least that had texture. A bad texture, sure, but this is just … mush.
“Not a fan, huh?” comes a voice next to him. Jimin picks his sulking head up to see Seokjin sliding into the seat next to him.
“I’m too tired to chew anything else,” Jimin tells him, wilting over his bowl of pepto bismol-colored blah. He just wants some fucking bingsu. He’d probably kill for it. Jimin stares at the bowl and wills it to transform into shaved ice.
Abruptly, Seokjin swoops in and steals the bowl out from under him. He stands and walks out of the canteen, dumping the bowl in the trash as he goes. Jimin is too tired and confused to know what he’s supposed to do with any of this until Seokjin skids back into the room and waves him over, begging him to follow.
Jimin slumps down the hall, following Seokjin through the bare hallways near the staff canteen and out into the brightly lit and bustling corridors of the main concourse. Seokjin leads him all the way to the bar.
With a glance back, Seokjin hold a finger to his lips, like their sneaking around a prohibited area and not walking through a public and very crowded bar that Seokjin is definitely allowed to be at. He gestures for Jimin to keep following and slinks behind the bar.
He ducks and disappears behind the bar. Jimin rolls his eyes. He really doesn’t get why all his friends are so in love with Seokjin. He’s got a nice face, but he’s weird and a little entitled. Jimin can’t stand him. He’s dragged Jimin halfway across this damn ship when he’s practically falling asleep standing up just to–
Seokjin pops back up, grinning and holding something. A package, small and wrapped up nice in paper and twine. He holds it out to Jimin.
“What’s this?” Jimin asks. Seokjin just shrugs.
And then the smell hits him.
Rich and sweet.
“Hotteok!” Jimin exclaims, ripping open the paper and letting the heady scent of caramelized brown sugar fill his lungs.
“I know it’s a little more chewing than the Pink Stuff, but-“
“Are you kidding?” He hasn’t even taken a bite yet and already Jimin is feeling nourished and healed, “Where the hell did you get this? I heard they served it in the restaurant on the 5th deck a few days ago but we can’t get any of that.”
“Well, you know.” Seokjin waves him off, “You just gotta know which kitchen staff is open to bribery. I was saving it for Namjoon, he’s got that damn sweet tooth. So if you don’t want it...”
Fuck Namjoon. Jimin clutches the package closer, “I want it.”
He tears into it and moans as the sweetness hits his tongue, little regard to his surroundings. The bar doesn’t matter anymore, the whole damn ocean doesn’t matter anymore.
“It’s probably not the most nutritious thing in the world, but definitely better than the pink stuff, and if you eat it well, it’s healthy.”
“Oh my god,” Jimin chews. He thinks he must be incoherent in sweet pastry related bliss because he mumbles around the dough, “Seokjin-ssi, I owe you my life I think.”
“Hey,” Seokjin taps him lightly on the arm with the back of his hand, “We’re friend. All our friends are friends. Besides, if you're pledging your life to me, you should call me hyung.”
He’s smiling at Jimin, a proud expression on his face. Jimin half wonders if this isn’t even from the ship’s kitchen. If Seokjin found a way to smuggle it on board last time they docked near home, or even made it on board somehow. Wherever Seokjin’s soft look comes from, it fills Jimin’s belly up with warmth right next to the hotteok.
Which is fine, great even. It’s fine when Jimin wakes up feeling fresh and still warm from the night before. It’s fine, later when he’s performing and his body responds so naturally to what he wants it to do. It’s fine when the cheers and applause feel so similar to the bubbly tingly feeling in his chest that Jimin felt last night while Seokjin watched him tear into the gifted pastry. It’s fine even later than that when he wanders over to Seokjin’s bar to thank him again for the hotteok and he sees Seokjin laughing along with someone waiting for a drink.
All the sweetness in Jimin’s stomach sours. He stops short of entering the bar, but watches the scene from the promenade. There are people waiting to order, waiting for their drinks, and Seokjin is wasting his time flirting with another passenger. It’s so unprofessional. There really isn’t anything against it in the manual, just a vague and broad prohibition against harassment, but if there are passengers waiting, if it’s preventing Seokjin from doing his job then there has to be something wrong with it.
Great.
Following that night, Jimin decided to put his efforts into undermining Seokjin’s flirting. He likes Seokjin, he’s a nice guy. He’s friends with all of Jimin’s friends. Plus he owes him his life now, so keeping Seokjin from getting fired is definitely his responsibility. At this point, he’s not gonna be the one to rat Seokjin out for unprofessional behavior, even though he may have wanted to months ago. He’s not going to call Seokjin out, but if he plays his game right, no one else will either.
🛳🛳🛳
It becomes a little bit of a competition. Jimin’s pretty sure he’s the only one who knows they’re playing, but that gives him the advantage. If Seokjin won’t pay attention to him, then he’ll make sure no one pays him any mind in return. Jimin may be a petty bitch– he knows this about himself– but he’s a petty bitch who wins.
The game goes like this: the start time begins when the ship’s nightly musical review ends. The performer’s green room spills out into the grand concourse just across from the bar that looks out over the port side of the ship, where Seokjin mixes cocktails until late.
The game goes like this: Jimin, passing on getting drunk with his friends from the show, scurries over to the Seokjin’s bar. Ordering at the bar is a little more expensive that $2 bottles of champagne the crew can normally score, but Jimin usually only has to pay for the first round. Anything after that he’s usually got someone paying for him.
The game goes like this: Jimin never goes home with passengers, he still finds it a little skeevy, but he wins by making sure Seokjin goes home alone too.
Seokjin might not know he’s playing, but Jimin’s keeping score. And he’s a big enough person to admit that he doesn’t always win the night. Sometimes Jimin gets to the bar too late, Seokjin’s already got someone’s phone number written on the back of his arm in sloppy handwriting. Sometimes, rarer but still, sometimes Jimin isn’t able to steal focus away from Seokjin and he pouts over his pouts over his punch.
“Ask for it by name,” Seokjin tells him when he asks for a refill.
Jimin, annoyed that he’s down by a point this week, pouts, “Don’t you have better things to do than harass me into saying this obnoxious name.”
Jimin nods over to the woman with make-up on her tits, at least fifteen years Seokjin’s senior, that has been ignoring Jimin all night. Seokjin glances towards her and then gives Jimin a confused look, “Naw, Jiminie. I think the best use of my time is making sure you use the carefully crafted name for my signature punch. Branding is important and I won’t have you disrespecting–“
“Fine,” Jimin relents, “May I please have another Out of Your 2000 Leagues, hyung?” He bats his eyes and leans over the bar, mimicking the posture of makeup-boob lady across from him. Seokjin blinks, nods, and turns away silently to pour out Jimin’s punch. It’s probably the weird shitty tropical club lighting the bar is going for, but he could have sworn Seokjin’s ears looked as red as his punch.
Jimin has a strategy with this game he plays. He’s strategizing. He has to, he’s keeping score. So far this month the score rests at eight to ten, Seokjin’s favor. Ten times Seokjin has defeated Jimin and gone home with a passenger. He can do better.
Step one comes before he even enters the bar. Well, step one comes before he even leaves the theater. Jimin is never going to seduce anyone away from Seokjin if he strides in a hot mess with streaky sweaty stage makeup smudged all over his face. So pre-step one is: clean up. Look nice. Fix his eye makeup, and apply some extra lip gloss for good measure. Jimin figures he’s trying to walk up a down escalator as is, going up against Seokjin’s looks.
Step two finally brings him to the entrance of the bar. Jimin gives himself a moment to analyze the situation unfolding before him. A chess master surveying the board. Jimin looks for the person most likely to be drawn to Seokjin’s charms.
When he first began the game he tried to pinpoint who Seokjin would be most drawn to, but that proved to be a non-starter. Seokjin didn’t seem to have any specific taste in partners. No evident majority or preference on genders or ages or looks. Seokjin will leave with anyone who seems interested in him.
Step three is putting it all together. He takes all the primping he did in the dressing room while his cast-mates where clearing out and slinks over to the end of the bar where the person he targeted in step two has posted up.
He won’t go home with them. Jimin respects his own professionalism. But even still, he gets a certain thrill when someone turns their batting eyelashes away from Seokjin and towards Jimin.
He doesn’t always win, this game of his, however. Sometimes, more often than Jimin’s competitive nature would be willing to admit, Seokjin still goes home with a passenger.
Which happens tonight. Seokjin left, just moments ago, with his arms looped around someone else’s waist.
Jimin downs the rest of his drink in one swallow and leaves.
Eight to eleven, now.
🛳🛳🛳
“The worst part is that I had to listen to this asshole drunkenly talk about Seokjin’s asshole, in horribly fantastic detail, every time hyung wandered away from earshot for the rest of the night,” Jimin groans and wiggles his hips, pushing himself deeper. He takes a deep breath to settle into the sensation before continuing, “And he still went home with him. Can you fucking believe it?”
“Mmhmm,” says Taemin, sounding a little bored, behind him, “yeah, wow.”
Jimin peers over his shoulder to where Taemin is sitting on his back, helping him stretch.
“You’re not even listening to me, you dick.”
Taemin whips around and pulls out one of his AirPods, Jimin can hear whatever aggressive rock music he’s listening to from here. “Excuse me,” Taemin says, “I know I asked you to formally refer to me as ‘Baby Slut’ when speaking to me.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, “Sorry. You’re not paying attention to me, Baby Slut.”
“Well, let me know when you have a better story to tell.” Taemin puts his AirPod back in and turns back to his phone. Jimin bucks his hips up from where he’s lying in a straddle until Taemin falls to the floor and kicks at him in annoyance.
“I’ll prove I was paying attention,” says Taemin. He affects a high pitched tone that Jimin assumes is supposed to be him, “ ‘Oh. Seokjin was hot again today, woe is me. He paid more attention to someone else while I sat there consumed with lust all night’. Was that it?”
Jimin pouts.
“I truly cannot tell if you want to fuck him or not,” Taemin tells him.
“I don’t–”
“Let me rephrase. You want him to want to fuck you.”
“No. Well–”
“It’s okay, you can admit I’m right.”
Before Jimin can get the last word in, which is a shame because it really is a conversation he needs to win, a PA comes back and tells them it’s ten minutes till curtain.
Taemin stands and pulls Jimin to his feet.
🛳🛳🛳
“What’s cooking, good looking?” Seokjin winks at him when Jimin walks in.
“What?” Jimin asks, laughing.
Seokjin shrugs, brushes it off, “Just trying it out, what can I get you?”
Jimin isn’t sure if he actually wants to drink tonight, so much as drown. He orders something basic, unremarkable, to mirror how he feels. When Seokjin drop it off he drinks it quickly, relishing the burn of bottom shelf liquor that hasn’t been mixed with or hidden by tropical juices.
He’s exhausted and a little pissed off from a hard week. He’s been stuck on ship for the past eighteen days even though he was supposed to get an afternoon off to walk around where they had taken port. And he’s feeling a little cagey, trapped. To make matters worse, he overheard some new hires in the show talking backstage about how they were only going to do this for a few months to save money before moving to Seoul, you know where the real work is and can you believe there are people who do this for a living? This is as good as they’re ever gonna get.
He’s not sure if they didn’t think Jimin could hear them or if they didn’t think he could understand them. But he did hear and he knew they were talking about him.
Seokjin brings him another of what he ordered sets to work on wiping down the bar top. Jimin fiddles with the straw for a moment. It’s paper because Beneath The Seas Cruises, as Namjoon likes to say, ‘likes to pretend they’re saving the ocean while putting out the carbon emissions of literally a million cars’. He looks up at Seokjin and asks, “Am I boring?”
“You? No,” answers Seokjin without looking at him, “your drink tonight, yes. Are you sure I can’t get you a Mint to Be?”
Jimin’s straw has gone all gross and soggy by now. He doesn’t want to finish it. At his silence Seokjin finally looks up and considers Jimin.
“Oh, see?” Seokjin says, “this is weird. You’re supposed to say ‘Hyung, that’s just a mojito. I’m not saying your dumb name for it.’ And then I convince you to order it by name anyway and then we find the ugliest tourist outfit that I could still pull off. This weird silence doesn’t work for me.”
Jimin is about to tell him to forget about it, to change the subject, to figure out a way to be okay being boring for the rest of his hide, when Seokjin slides down to address the passenger just to Jimin’s left and says loudly, “You know Park Jimin, right?”
“Huh?” The guy understandably says.
“Park Jimin, my co-worker here, greatest dancer in the world? You must know him,” The guy doesn’t get a chance to answer before Seokjin is cupping his long, crooked fingers around his mouth and shouting out to the expanse of the bar, “Hey! You know Park Jimin?”
Jimin can’t help it. He wants to stay in his sour mood. He wants to be embarrassed, to feel made a fool of. But he laughs. Somehow, even though Seokjin is making him the center of attention, he doesn’t feel like the butt of the joke.
Someone, drunk, sitting at a table close to the bar with several other similarly intoxicated friends calls out to Seokjin, “Are you looking for him? Is he missing?”
Seokjin shakes his head, hair flopping about, “No no. He’s right here, can’t you tell?” He gestures to Jimin and Jimin covers his mouth while he laughs out loud.
Seokjin continues, yelling at full volume, “Every night, Ladies, Gentlemen, Miscreants, and Pals. Every night this fine talented lad performs right here on this ship! Catch him before you disembark! Every night at 8 pm!”
“7:30!” Jimin shouts, still laughing. It is really funny, is the thing. Jimin would rather be caught dead than admit this, but no one has lied about Seokjin. He is funny.
“And that’s,” Seokjin says, quieter, just to Jimin, “how you plug a show.”
And, worst of all, Seokjinis handsome. Everyone’s right about that. The moonlight drifts in through the port side window of the bar, coming in at just the right angle to reflect soft ripples of water across the ceiling, and a little on Seokjin’s face.
“I’d hire you to be my agent if you weren’t in such high demand here.” Jimin laughs and nods over to where a woman who’s been eyeing Seokjin throughout the spectacle has approached the bar. She’s leaning over the bartop and twirling her hair.
Seokjin throws Jimin one final wink before sliding down to help her. And that’s it. Whatever bubble of odd giddiness that Jimin had felt a moment ago pops the moment the woman throws her head back and laughs at something Seokjin has said.
Abruptly, Jimin thinks, ‘Why the hell am I not good enough for him?’
And then Oh, oh no .
🛳🛳🛳
Thing inside Jimin's head are weird, for a moment. Until they’re not. He feels uncomfortable with this revelation of jealousy, until he admits to himself that he’s a jealous person by nature. Jimin has always wanted what he couldn’t have. Always wanted to be better than he was. That isn’t new.
Realizing he was attracted to Seokjin felt new, until he realized it wasn’t. Jimin has to admit to himself that he’s been attracted to Seokjin since he stepped on the ship. He tried to hit on him the moment they had been introduced.
So what? Jimin is attracted to Seokjin, and he’s jealous that he’s got no chance with him because Seokjin doesn’t hook up with other crew mates. He’s known all this since his first week on board. Nothing at all has changed.
He’s still determined to win this weird competition he has with Seokjin. Jimin rationalizes that he can still consider Seokjin is shipboard nemesis, or friend, or whatever they are, even if he’s attracted to him.
Nothing has changed.
Except that Seokjin will wave to him whenever he sees him. Shout out Jimin’s name from decks above when he spots him. Will wave him over to watch dolphins ride alone in the wake left by the ship. Will laugh at Jimin thinking that dolphins must be fish. (They live in water, it's an easy mistake to make). And then Seokjin will make Jimin promise to buy him dinner next time they’re off ship together. And then, when the time comes, Seokjin ends up paying for it anyway.
Nothing has changed, except that they’ll spend their afternoons off together sometimes. While Yoongi sunbathes completely out of sight from the sun, they’ll mess around in the pool together. Jimin will splash and kick and laugh as Seokjin grabs his angle and pulls him under the water.
Nothing has changed except that when Jimin hangs out at Seokjin’s bar after performing he’ll slip up sometimes. He’ll lose focus on whatever passenger is flirting with Seokjin and instead of trying to win their affection away from Seokjin, Jimin will spend the night laughing at Seokjin’s increasingly bad drink puns or talking about a book they’ve both liked.
“Wanna hear all the drinks I’ve assigned for our friends?” Seokjin asks him one night. Someone in a flashy suit has been trying to catch Seokjin’s eye all night, and in turn Jimin has been trying to catch Suit Guy’s eye. Except that Seokjin hasn’t taken a second glance at suit guy and is talking to Jimin instead.
“All of our friends are boring drinkers,” Jimin says. Hoseok is the only adventurous orderer, but 10 times out of 10 he won’t finish it whatever he’s ordered.
Seokjin shakes his head, “Not the drink best suited for them, the drink they are most similar to. Like my friend Jaehwan. Mai Tai.”
Jimin laughs, and leans forward on the bar, “Okay. Lay it on me. Do Namjoon.”
“Okay Namjoon. Not so much a cocktail but like a big two foot tall beer stein.”
“Okay, makes sense. Taehyung.”
“Bear with me: Red wine with a little cocktail umbrella in it.”
“You know what?” Jimin says, cackling, “that is so weird but that makes perfect sense.”
“You know Yoongi? He’s a shot of peach soju.”
“Explain.”
“Looks like a really nasty shot, like a clear alcohol that will fuck your night up. But is actually very gentle and sweet.”
“Oh yep. Okay.”
“Hoseok. Almost the opposite.” Seokjin holds up a tall thin glass for water, “Hoseok is this but filled with vodka.”
“Looks gentle and probably healthy but will literally kill you. That’s perfect.”
“See, Jimin ah, I’m not just a handsome face! There’s real genius in here.”
“Do me.” Jimin says before his brain can think past Seokjin’s everything and remind himself phrasing. But Seokjin chooses to look past the inadvertent innuendo, or-
“Sex on the beach.” Seokjin tells him, like it’s obvious
“Me?”
“Yes you. Have you seen you? Like?”
Jimin laughs again. He’s trying not to take it too seriously, Seokjin doesn’t mean it, but it’s got his ribcage feeling all fizzy.
“Except we’re on a boat. Hold on, the joke is right here. Give me one second,” Turns away from Jimin and starts pulling bottles off shelves. Jimin sees him grab vodka, something blue, and a few mixers. He can’t make out what’s going on exactly behind Seokjin’s massive shoulders but he hears the sound of glass clinking together. A moment later Seokjin turns around.
“Behold!” He exclaims, very carefully brandishing what looks to be a shot glass resting inside a little ceramic coffee cup, “The Park Jimin, or: Sex on the Ocean.”
“Hyung, I’m touched, but,” Jimin peers into the concoction, “What the hell is it.”
“A shot balanced carefully in an ocean of blue curaçao, obviously.”
So Jimin takes the shot named after him, but makes Seokjin drink the curaçao because he doesn’t trust things that are bright blue. It ends up being the right move, because Seokjin makes a truly hilarious face at the aftertaste and then tries to tell Jimin it’s because he didn’t eat a slice of lime before taking the shot like you’re supposed to, which leads to the return of Suit Guy getting in an argument with Seokjin over the correct order of citrus wedges and shots that has Jimin nearly falling out of his chair laughing.
He should be more aware of the moves Suit Guy is trying to pull, because crush or not, Jimin still wants to win. But Seokjin keeps glancing back at him with a warm smile and Jimin just forgets everything else.
So yeah, nothing has changed. Except that Jimin likes Seokjin.
🛳🛳🛳
Crushes are honestly exhausting. It’s a nice feeling, if Jimin is honest, liking someone. But normally it isn’t so futile. He knows he’s got no chance with Seokjin, and yet here he is, having feelings anyway. Jimin works his body hard every night, sometimes twice, but it’s never as exhausting as watching Seokjin choose, time and time again, someone who isn’t Jimin.
So he needs some well earned R&R. Normally that would involve a pedicure and a big ass cocktail with an umbrella in it, but he’s on tonight, so Jimin will make do with some sweet coconut water and a bottle of nail polish that Jungkook smuggled on board.
Jungkook wouldn’t let Jimin take his stuff without him to watch because ‘you might do it wrong, hyung.’ Jungkook drags Namjoon along. The three of them are sprawled out on the lounge chairs on the second level deck. There’s an overhang from the upper decks blocking this level from the sun most of the day, but at this point in the early afternoon a few warm rays find their way in to them.
“Ah, Jungkookie,” Jimin pouts, holding up his painted hands, “You really didn’t have a better color than this?”
“If you’re not going to respect it, then give it back.” Jungkook yanks the little bottle of black nail polish out of Jimin’s grasp. He vehemently maintains that the color is ‘a dark purple, hyung, like eggplant’ but it’s fucking black. Jimin thinks that even the concept of a dark dark purple is extremely vibrant and colorful for Jungkook’s usual palette, so he’s proud of him.
Jungkook makes a weird face at Jimin’s fond expression and turns toward Namjoon, who has already fallen asleep in the lounge chair next to him. He carefully rearranges Namjoon’s legs until they’re sprawling across his lap then Jungkook unscrews the top and sets the work on painting Namjoon’s toes.
Jimin’s only got about half of his right hand done up, but it’s just as well, he’s got to remove the polish before the show tonight. The director is firmly against any aesthetic accoutrements not designed by him. Thank fuck Jimin had never had to wear something sheer on top for the show. The director would have flipped a lid if he knew about the tattoo Jimin got while off ship two months ago.
Yoongi comes waddling around the corner, “Jungkook-ah, what are you doing tonight?”
“Huh?” Jungkook says, looking up from where he’s very fixated on Namjoon’s feet, who is still asleep asleep and snoring.
“Our headliner on stage 3 got sick. We need someone to cover.”
“Oh shit, hyung. I’ve got a shift tonight.”
“Can you skip?”
“Children could die!” Jungkook whines.
“Ugh, children, ruining my life again,” He turns to Jimin, “What about you? Taehyungie says you sing sometimes in the show.”
“Wow, thanks for the offer, hyung,” says Jimin, “as much as I love being third choice, I’m working tonight too.”
With a sigh of great woe, Yoongi flops down into the chair next to them, “Well, I’m fucked.”
Jimin, because he’s nearly always thinking of him at this stage in his crush, thinks of Seokjin.
“Seokjin’s off tonight,” he says, interrupting the argument, “he can sing.”
“Oh,” says Yoongi, perking up a bit, “yeah, he can. How did you know that?”
“I’ve heard him hum while he’s like, cleaning glasses and stuff. And once he was asked to sing happy birthday for some lady while delivering a flaming shot to her table,” Jimin tells them, then admits, “he’s got a nice voice.”
“You’re right. Wow. Thanks. Huh.”
Jungkook looks at him carefully But Yoongi just thanks him again and shuffles off aft, towards the swim-up bar Seokjin works in the afternoons.
“I don’t know why he’s thanking me,” Jimin grumbles into his coconut water, “Hyung is probably busy tonight with someone anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Namjoon asks.
“Shit, hyung,” Jimin’s hand jumps up to his chest, “I thought you were asleep!”
“I was,” Namjoon yawns and stretches. It seems to slowly dawn on him that he’s half sprawled on Jungkook’s lap. He sits up immediately and the two of them stare at the deck, wide eyed and red cheeked. After a moment for his brain to log back on after prolonged thigh on thigh contact with Jungkook, Namjoon clears his throat and asks, “um, so, why do you think hyung is busy tonight?”
“I just figured he’d be busy with one of his, you know,” Jimin lazily twists his wrist in the air, like he’s trying to think of the right word to say, because he doesn’t care what Seokjin does with his free time and doesn’t think about it very much at all, “paramours.”
Namjoon and Jungkook share a look of confusion.
“Huh?” Jungkook asks.
“You know,” Jimin says, “You guys know. I know there’s like an unspoken rule against it but like we all know Jin-hyung hooks up with passengers.”
“I didn’t know that,” Namjoon says, “did you know that?”
Jungkook shakes his head.
“But he’s...” Jimin doesn’t know how to explain it. Isn’t it obvious? “Well, Taehyung said he doesn’t sleep with other staff?”
“That doesn’t mean he’s fucking passengers!”
“He goes home with a passenger! Almost every night! Except the nights where I beat him!”
Namjoon sits up, leans forward, “Sorry, I think I missed a step here. What do you mean ‘beat him’?”
Jimin sighs. He’s not sure how to explain it without it sounding super weird. He dives in anyway, “Okay, so. Hyung and I are in a little bit of a competition to see who can pick up the most passengers at the bar on nights he works. He’s in the lead, obviously, but I’m not that far behind!”
“You are?”
“Well, he doesn’t know.”
“Oh god, oh Jimin,” Namjoon says.
“What?”
“Okay, I can one hundred percent tell you that Jin hyung has never slept with a passenger. He walks drunk passengers home, helps them find their way back to their rooms, but he doesn’t fuck them.”
What? No, that doesn’t make sense. Why hasn’t he? Who wouldn’t fuck Seokjin, “But he-“
Jungkook interrupts, “Hyung’s into you.”
And if Jimin had been expecting this conversation to go any specific way, it certainly wasn’t this.
“He’s what!?”
“And he thinks you’re coming into the bar every other day because you like him too, so if you're not you should let him down easy now before this goes any further because-“
“Oh no, I’m into him. Really into him. I’m- holy shit. Really?”
“He’s got heart eyes so big for you they could be used as a beacon if we ever ran into an iceberg.” Namjoon says, “or at least that’s how he described it to me.”
“Holy shit.” Jimin sits back in his chair feeling like the wind just got knocked out of him. He’s gotta go find Seokjin. He’s gotta– He– “Fuck. I have to go to work.”
Jimin makes his way through the ship, a little brain dead. Just outside the stage door entrance of the theater he runs into Taehyung.
“Did you hear?” Taehyung says, “Seokjin-hyung is gonna perform tonight! We should catch the end of his set when you’re done! Yoongi-hyung has been giving him piano lessons, I think he’s gonna play that too!”
Oh god, piano? With those long fingers. Jimin can’t go watch that, he’ll die. Instead, he asks, “What do you think? Of me and hyung.”
“Oh!” Taehyung grins, wide and bright, “So cute. Like goals. Very soft mutual pining vibes.”
“Mutual?” That sure is something!
He somehow successfully makes plans to meet up with Taehyung and the others at Seokjin’s show when they’re all done with their shifts, and makes it inside the theater. Jimin’s ninety percent sure he blacks out somewhere in there, because before he knows it he’s stripping off his costume and sprinting back towards the lounge on the opposite end of the concourse.
For the first time since arriving on the ship, Jimin feels unsteady on his legs. He feels seasick. He can feel the rocking ocean underneath his feet, churning in his stomach. There, in the middle of the stage, seated behind a beautiful grand piano, is Seokjin. He’s wearing a slick black tuxedo and his hair is brushed back from his forehead. The stage lights catch on his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his lips. He leans forward and absolutely fucking croons into the microphone.
He’s singing love songs.
Jimin knew Seokjin could sing, and he knew he’d save the day and would sing. But he never fathomed he’d sound like that. That he’d be on stage looking like the lead in a romance drama. He look like the kind of person love songs are written about.
Seokjin reaches the bridge of the song. He lets his fingers play over the keys as he glances out over the audience. Jimin assumes the stage lights are too bright, he can never see shit when he’s performing, but then Seokjin looks over his right shoulder his eyes land right on where Jimin is standing and the floor drops out from under him. Seokjin looks at him, gaze softening, right up until he can’t anymore, and turns back to the microphone to finish the song.
Someone crashes into Jimin from behind.
“Oh my god I took my break early, but oh my god, the kids are rowdy tonight.” Taehyung leans heavily on Jimin’s shoulders and brushes the hair out of his eyes, “oh my god, he looks good. How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing good,” Jimin says. He doesn’t plan on it coming out as a breathy, soft, whisper but, embarrassingly, it does. “He’s doing really good.”
Yoongi comes up to stand by them, “Yeah, he’s fucking killing it up there. I’m gonna try to poach him from the bar staff to sing once a week. At least.”
“Ah, hyung!” Taehyung reaches all the way around Jimin to grab at Yoongi, “it’s so romantic, isn’t it. Come on, let me feed you grapes.”
“I’m working,” Yoongi tells him, but he doesn’t say no, which is pretty much enthusiastic consent to grape feeding by hand if Jimin’s ever heard one.
“Please, please,” Taehyung begs again.
Yoongi finally relents. Before following Taehyung off to find a dark table to do their weird fruit stuff he looks right at Jimin and says, “You know, it is pretty romantic.”
‘What's that supposed to mean,’ Jimin tried to call out, but the words catch in his throat. He knows what it means. He knows what it means that Seokjin is up there, looking at him, singing love songs. Or, he doesn’t know what it means, but he knows how it makes him feel.
Turns out love-sick feels pretty similar to being sea-sick.
The song ends and the crowd claps, cheering politely. Seokjin looks out to find Jimin’s eyes again. He speaks into the mic, “This goes out to a very special someone out in the audience.”
He winks, and half the audience swoons, and Jimin just laughs as Seokjin leans back and begins playing a ridiculous old trot song. He’s singing with an absurd amount of vibrato, practically wailing, and Jimin can’t stop laughing. The audience seems to love it. Those who know the song sing along and those who don’t clap and cheer anyway. Seokjin smiles at him and Jimin feels as effervescent as sea foam.
It’s closer to midnight by the time Seokjin wraps up. By the time the crowd of admirers and friends giving their congratulations clears out it's even later. Jimin has been hanging out near the back of their friend group while Seokjin is swarmed with hugs and cheek kisses until he’s the last one left. Oh fuck, he doesn’t know what to say, he’s nervous.
“So, uh,” Seokjin says, bashfully rubbing the back of his head, “a little birdy told me I have you to thank for hooking this up?”
Shit. He’s nervous too. This isn’t going to go well. Jimin takes charge. He turns of his brain and turn on the charm.
“Walk me home, hyung?”
Seokjin holds his arm out, and Jimin takes his elbow.
They make idle chit chat on the way towards the staff cabins. Jimin congratulating and complimenting Seokjin on his performance debut and Seokjin drastically swinging between getting flustered at the compliments and bragging about how wild the audience went for his handsome good looks.
They get closer and closer to Jimin’s room, he steels himself, determined not to chicken out, “Hyung? I think I’ve been operating under an assumption that might not be one hundred percent accurate.”
“Well, you know what I say,” Seokjin tells him, and Jimin can sense he’s about to say something really lame and he doesn’t have time for that right now so he just barrels on.
“Do you ever fuck any of the passengers you walk home?”
Seokjin chokes on air.
“Oh god, what?” Coughing, he gasps for breath. “Fuck, I think you killed me.”
“Sorry.”
“No, wow. That’s just not what I expected,” Seokjin says. He smooths down the wrinkles in his shirt from his brief brush with death and turns back to Jimin, “for the record, no. I don’t.”
“Would you?”
“What? No-“
“You’d never sleep with someone you just walked home?”
“No.”
“Not even now?” Jimin finally asks.
Seokjin freezes. Jimin watches as the understanding slowly unfolded. “Well, I could maybe be convinced.”
Jimin grabs Seokjin by the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and pulls until he stumbles forward. He’s grinning by the time their lips meet.
They keep kissing while Jimin smooths his palms over the wide planes of Seokjin's chest for a moment and then pulls him closer. Keeps pulling until Jimin’s back hits the wall of the corridor. Still attached at the mouth, Seokjin’s hands slide down his waist, his hips, all the way to Jimin’s ass and, yeah, that’s it.
“Convinced yet?” He asks, breathless.
“Oh yeah, you’re really twisting my arm here, Park Jimin.” Well, at least Jimin’s not the only one who sounds wrecked by a little kissing. He dives back in for more.
Jimin’s heard a lot of guys talk about his lips a lot. How plump they are, how soft. How good they are for kissing, for sucking dick. He’s glad he’s got such power of weak willed men just by having lips, but he’s never really understood the particular allure before.
But Seokjin’s lips, holy fuck, Jimin wants to bite them. So he does, and Seokjin lets out a shuttery sigh when he does. The hands on his ass drift south a little more to grip onto the backs of his thighs and then Jimin’s back is sliding up the wall, which is a wonderful turn of events.
Jimin wraps his legs around Seokjin’s infuriatingly narrow waist to keep from slipping down, but he doesn’t think he would anyway. Seokjin’s got him pinned solid and secure against the wall and Jimin can feel his hips moving against his own, just a little bit, just enough to hold him where he’s at.
“Two doors down,” Jimin whispers into Seokjin’s mouth, “My room, go go.”
The hold on his legs loosens slightly and Seokjin begins to crouch down. Jimin pulls off from where he’s honestly devouring Seokjin’s mouth to slap him on the arm and say, “No no. I know you work out with JK, you’re not putting me down, let’s go hyung.”
He’s hoisted back up and they stumble in the direction of Jimin’s room. Jimin very deftly fishes his key out of his back pocket and swipes them in. Seokjin carries them through the threshold all the way to the edge of Jimin’s bed and pauses.
“You sure you wanna do this?” Seokjin asks, and yes, he fucking wants to do this, what kind of question is that?
Jimin, still kissing him, his lips his neck his fucking beautiful eyebrows, anywhere he can reach, adopts is most obnoxious whining voice, “Ah, hyung, will you still respect me in the morning?”
“I’ll respect your dick in the morning.”
“You fucking better, now take me to bed.”
“Okay,” says Seokjin. And then, with an armful of Jimin wrapped around his waist, Seokjin jumps into the air and falls sideways onto the bed.
“What the fuck what that?” Jimin cackles, “You breached like a whale.”
“Yeah I’m a humpback, you know,” Seokjin says, like it’s a normal thing to say in bed. And then he winks.
Jimin collapses into uncontrollable giggles. He untangles himself from under Seokjin and crawls on top of him. Still laughing, he says, “oh, fuck you, that wasn’t even good. I’m laughing too hard I’m gonna get hiccups.”
“Okay don’t worry. I have the cure.”
Jimin sits up on his knees, straddling Seokjin, “and that would be?”
Seokjin leans up a little, propped up on his elbows, “Fuck you so good, it’s scary. Perfect cure.”
Jimin laughs again and pushes him back down. They’re both laughing and then they’re both kissing and laughing. Jimin snakes his hands down between their hips and unbuttons Seokjin’s tuxedo trousers.
“How expensive are these,” they feel expensive, he pushes them and his briefs down just enough to pull Seojin’s cock out. He’s not fully hard yet, but getting there quickly, “I’m gonna make you ruin your nice expensive outfit, okay?”
“Not if I make you ruin it first,” Seokjin says.
Jimin wraps his palm around it, fingertips tracing a thick vein on the underside. Seokjin shivers and stiffens in his hand.
“Sure about that?” He asks, tightening his grip just a little. Seokjin only whines in response. Still holding on to Seokjin’s dick, Jimin reaches back to the bedside drawer where he keeps his lube. It’s just out of reach of his arm so he sticks a leg out and catches the drawer with his toe. Once it’s open the bottle is within reach and dribbles an ample amount over his hand and Seokjin’s cock.
“What the fuck?” Seokjin whispers, “Humans should not stretch like that. What the fuck, demon?”
Jimin just shrugs, he’s got more important things to do. He begins working Seokjin with his hand and once the little breathy sounds Seokjin is making while watching the whole thing unfolds becomes too heady, he takes himself out too.
Both their cocks are just a little too much for Jimin to hold one handed, but Seokjin reaches out and takes them both easily. Those fucking angular fingers Jimin’s spent hours watching mix drinks, currently teasing his head until a little precome joins the slick of lube in their laps.
“Wait, wait,” Seokjin says suddenly, “Don’t stop, but I wanna suck you off. Please let me suck you off, Jimin.”
Well, Jimin thinks, he’s not going to turn that down.
He nods and Seokjin lets go. Jimin shimmies back until his back hits the headboard. He shucks his pants off and spreads his legs to make room for Seokjin, spreads them honestly a little wider than he probably needs to but he’s kind of hoping Seokjin goes a little stupid about his flexibility again. Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just gets an absolutely feral look in his eyes and knee crawls in closer.
Head right in Jimin’s lap, Seokjin looks up at him and says, “Thank you.”
Jimin is about to say, ‘what for, Until Seokjin wraps his lips around Jimin’s head and, oh. Seokjin just sucks dick like he’s been given the worlds greatest gift and he’s truly thankful to be down there. Jimin’s heard of dick-sucking lips before, his own lips have been referred to as such on many occasions. Hell, he’s even heard Seokjin’s lips referred to as made to have a cock in them at the bar once before Jimin “””””accidentally”””””” spilled a glass of red wine on the guy’s white linen suit.
But Seokjin, bobbing wetly up and down, really does suck Jimin’s dick like he belongs there. “Oh fuck, it’s like my cock has found its forever home.”
Seokjin pulls off with a slick pop and says, “Jimin ah, say ‘This hole was made for me, this is my hole,’. I dare you.”
“Fuck you,” Jimin laughs and knees him in the shoulder, “don’t make jokes while I’m inside you!”
“Please Jimin, bad jokes are the only thing that gets me off, I can’t come otherwise,” He pleads.
“Guess you’re not coming then, sweetie,” Jimin rakes his fingers through Seokjin's scalp, and despite his recent threats, Seokjin’s gaze goes a little glassy and he dives right back in.
He keeps going. Taking Jimin deeper, deeper, deeper, until Jimin feels his cock brush the back of Seokjin’s throat. At the sensation, Jimin’s hips jerk forward just a little, just enough that Seokjin coughs.
Jimin scrabbles back, although he can't go far with his back against the wall, “Oh fuck, hyung, are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
Seokjin looks up at him. His eyes are just a little damp, “No, ah– Don’t think about it too much, but I liked it. Hmm, I like that feeling.”
“Uh” Jimin says, a little dazed. He pets Seokjin’s cheek, “are you sure you’re okay?”
Seokjin nods, “Just like, not too hard, okay?”
All Jimin can do is nod back before Seokjin is back on his cock again. Jimin’s head falls back against the headboard with a thud. It’d probably hurt if literally all the sensation in his body weren’t focused on how warm and wet Seokjin’s mouth is around him.
It’s, like, really good.
He’s got Jimin real deep again. Impossible deep. Is this what vore is about? Does he want Seokjin to swallow him whole, dick first? Maybe??
Jimin’s stomach is tightening up, tingling. His eyes flutter open to see Seokjin fucking into the bedspread as he sucks Jimin down. Jimin wants to reference the earlier whale joke, but he cannot think straight.
Through the fog, he remembers what Seokjin said just a few moments ago. About liking the feeling. With his last bit of sense left in his soul, Jimin reaches out to place his hand lightly on Seokjin's neck. ‘just like, not too hard,’ Seokjin had said.
Jimin’s thumb brushes Seokjin’s throat. He feels red hot, and just a little too powerful. He can feel Seokjin’s pulse under his hand, and it’s such a heady feeling. He presses down, just a little bit. Seokjin glances up at the touch, meeting Jimin’s gaze.
Embarrassingly, that’s what does it. He’s coming down Seokjin’s throat without even getting a chance to warn him. Seokjin swallows it down like he’s savoring it. When Jimin’s finished, breathing hard, Seokjin pulls off his soft cock and rests his head on Jimin’s thigh as he reaches down to finish himself off. He’s still close enough that Jimin can reach his neck. With one of Jimin’s hands resting on his throat and the other buried in his hair Seokin whines into the flesh of Jimin’s leg.
It happens quickly, Seokjin falls apart.
Everything moves slowly and syrupy. When Jimin’s brain slowly returns from his balls up to his skull he looks down at the two of them. He sees the mess they’ve made.
“Ah hyung,” He whines, still breathless, “I told you to make a mess in your tuxedo. I don’t wanna have to do laundry!”
“Shhh,” Seokjin waves his hand in the direction of Jimin’s mouth but misses by about twelve centimeters, “I’m trying to hear something. Your thighs. They’re speaking to me.”
“Are they saying you should come up here and kiss me? Because that’s what I think they’re saying.”
“Yeah they are, but I’m tired.”
“Okay,” Jimin says, carefully sliding his leg out from under Seokjin’s head, “I’ll come down there.”
And he does, and Seokjin does kiss him again. They kiss and kiss in the middle of the bed until the warm stickiness between them turns to cold, dried, stickiness. And Jimin still doesn’t want to pull away.
“Get up,” Jimin says finally.
“Can’t,” says Seokjin.
“At least roll over a little so I can kick this mess off.” Seokjin groans, but he relents and does it. Jimin pushes the messy duvet off the bed along with their clothes.
They collapse together on top of the cool fresh sheets. In a delightful turn of events, Seokjin turns towards him and throw an arm across Jimin’s waist. He rubs his nose against Jimin’s shoulder, sending chills up his spine.
Before he nods off, Jimin has to make sure of something, “Hyung?”
“Hmm,” mumbles Seokjin.
“I really like you,” Jimin tells him, “do you like me?”
“Jimin,” he presses a soft kiss onto Jimin’s shoulder, “Who wouldn’t like you? I’ve spent nearly every night of the past few months trying, like an asshole, to chase away people who like you.”
“Ah, really? Me too.”
“You didn’t lose any tip money over it though, I bet.” A second ago Seokjin was nearly asleep, now he’s getting all loud and squeaky again, Jimin likes it.
“Don’t blame me for you being a dumbass!”
“I’m baring my heart to you, be kind!”
“You are doing no baring at all! You haven’t even said you liked me!”
“You’re right,” Seokjin sits up, grits his teeth and looks Jimin right in the eye, “Jimin ah. I like you. A lot. I think you’re just a fantastic guy. I like you in a fully romantic way,” He collapses on the bed again, “Oh, god.”
“Fantastic, huh? Fully romantic way?”
“Just the honest truth.”