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golden ages

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“You're good kid, don’t even worry about it.” 

Jungkook’s wincing at the encouraging slap to his bare back, the smell of cigar smoke wafting from Director Jung pushing him forward. There’s makeup powder being pressed to his oily nose, dabbing lightly to cover all his obvious imperfections. Someone’s pushing a bottle of lube into his robe pocket, murmuring about covering the blemishes on his cheek— but all he’s thinking is that there’s really no point to this if it’s gonna be replaced with come soon anyways. 

“Skippin’ the dialogue shoots today because we got Joon in, best damn cameraman in the industry. Make me proud, alright?” 

“Sure, sure,” Jungkook rushes, because that’s what he should be worrying about, right? Not the ecstasy pill that’s being shoved under his tongue and the fact that it’s his first professional shoot. Not the fact that he’s giddy with nerves and if he fucks up, he’ll never get another shot. He spits the pill out when he finally escapes the grappling hands trying to beat his face, when the director turns back to the cameras to pinpoint the correct settings. Jungkook hadn’t realized just how much work went into a shitty porno.

“We’ll meet you in the other room, Kook,” he hears from the director. He’s waving dismissively, Jungkook trying to shovel out that anxious rush from his chest. It’s like trying to shovel water from the ocean, though. It all just comes right back. “Just ‘round the corner and prepare. First door on the left.”  

The shoot is in some run down motel, the walls beige when they should be white, the lighting making everything it touches look a little washed out. He’s thankful the director didn’t want any dialogue today because the chances of Jungkook remembering shit were next to none. He feels ashamed that he studied the grueling thirty page script for hours just to lose it all with every step. 

Pushing the door open, he’s met with three pairs of eyes. It’s a small room, one bed and the usual floral and white decor. Two cameramen are setting up stands with bulky cameras that leave next to no room in the already small space. Jungkook feels a bit taken back but there’s adrenaline pumping through his veins and he doesn’t have time to overthink about having to fuck around in front of other people.

Especially when the person he’s fucking around with is lounging on the bed, an arm proped behind his head, unashamedly naked. There’s a cigarette resting half burnt between his lips and he doesn’t even seem to give a shit that someone else has walked in. 

Jungkook knows him from his previous movies because he’s seen every single one of them. Has jerked off to them until he had to give up in exhausted defeat, dick raw and deflated on his stomach.

“Wanna smoke?” Park Jimin asks him first, peeking from behind a pair of yellow shades, his tone all casual like they’ve known each other for years. Like they’re not about to fuck on camera. 

Jungkook stutters away the offer, Jimin shrugging as he takes another drag. He’s trying really hard not to fixate on Jimin’s casual hand tugging at his half-hard dick or the very familiar curve of his toned stomach, thick thighs, long legs. The tattoo wrapped around his side. Jungkook licks at his lips, catching Jimin’s knowing smile before he’s tearing his gaze away, promptly backing into the bathroom to get ready. It’s increasingly frustrating that Jimin knows he’s good looking and doesn’t even try to be modest about it.

“We start in ten minutes,” one of the cameramen throws out as he shuts the door. He laughs nervously to himself at that, already feeling his dick twitching in interest. Doesn’t seem like he’ll need all that ten minutes to get ready.

Usually this is the time that he’d stretch himself open, but the script only calls for a messy blowjob— which leaves Jungkook to frantically throw water along his face to calm his nerves. 

He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror, his hair curling into a long mess. They’d made him look dainty with the perfect makeup and bright pink lips, long hair over his wide eyes. You got this, he tells himself, fingers pushing through the tangles to occupy his time. Try to fluff up where the stylist had missed.  It’s just Jimin. This is what you wanted.

When he finally emerges he finds Jimin talking to Director Jung and who he assumes is the big hot shot cameraman, Joon. 

“Perfect timing, kid. Now I know this is your first shoot so don’t worry about perfection, alright?” Director Jung goes on, leaning back against the shitty chipped motel dresser. “Jimin here has the stamina of a fucking horse. Messing up could be kinda cute, anyways. Ameatuer porn is a huge hit on the market right now. Anyways, just do what you do naturally.” 

“As natural as you can with four other people around,” Jimin snorts, but the joke is somewhat comforting for him— thankful that someone else sees the absurdity in the director's comment. 

“Right, alright. That’s fine,” he says, letting his shaky fingers pull at the ties of his robe. Jimin’s watching him with barely concealed interest, setting himself into the big oversized chair in the corner of the room. Jungkook tries to focus on Jimin rather than the cameras because he doesn’t want to go soft in front of the big shot cameraman Joon and his insistent director, and especially not Park fucking Jimin. 

“Don’t worry, baby. Just a cock,” Jimin coaxes, the words bringing a bright flush to Jungkook’s cheeks.

When he finally allows the robe to pool at his feet, he catches Jimin’s hooded gaze behind his shades, breath stuck in his throat when his attention flickers across Jungkook’s figure. He feels hot, tight all over, knows that the camera might have caught the way his cock twitches. He honestly shouldn’t be as aroused as he was, but it was hard not to when the porn industry gave him his wet dream on a silver platter.

Jimin seemed to notice though, his brow arching and lip twitching. 

Finding himself between Jimin’s legs, he feels small . Not even because Jimin was entirely intimidating, but because his eyes peered down at him, smudged with dark, messy eyeshadow and looking a delicious kind of hazy, if not slightly bored. Jungkook aches. 

“Go on,” Jimin murmurs, gripping his cock in his hand. Jungkook’s seen it a thousand times, but something about seeing it up close has his mouth filling with spit. Jimin wasn’t exactly long, but his dick was thick enough to make his lips strain to wrap around the tip. His tongue flicks against cold metal, a piercing, before he’s pressing wet kisses down his shaft. There was no need to rush this. Even if Jimin just watches him, which agitates Jungkook in a way that only urges him on. He wanted Jimin’s praise, as much as he wouldn’t admit it, he wanted to hear that Jimin was enjoying this. That it wasn’t just a job all the time - that all the work Jungkook had put into this was worthwhile. But he refused to give Jimin what he wanted so easily - and he seems to know that. 

“Why do I get the vibe that you always have something in your mouth?” Jimin asks, fingers pushing Jungkook’s messy hair back. It flops back into place, if not even more disheveled, and he hums. “No way someone sucks cock like this without a little too much practice.” 

Jungkook feels his face heat up, the humiliation spoken so nonchalantly, like its a normal conversation. It shouldn’t feel like a compliment but Jungkook eats it up anyway, pulls away from Jimin’s dick just to push his lips against the tip, suckling faintly. Pre-come coats his tongue, bitter and filthy, and Jungkook can’t help but sigh softly when he lets it fall from his mouth and back onto Jimin’s length. He knows he looks pretty like this, he’s been told a dozen times by his partners before Jimin. Knows how his lips gloss over from spit and precome, and his eyes are fluttering with long lashes. 

Jungkook’s tongue plays with the piercing before he’s grinning. Director Jung said not to worry about dialogue, but Jimin’s here and taunting him and he can’t pass up an opportunity. “Does that excite you, Jimin? Knowing how many cocks I’ve sucked to prepare for yours?”

The smile he receives is genuine, Jimin rubbing the tip of his cock across his lips, over his cheeks. Jungkook’s eyes flutter. “Cute,” he murmurs, something quiet enough even the cameras might have trouble picking it up. Something meant for just Jungkook. He knows it’s not part of the script, but Jungkook arches his head up, asks for a kiss.

“Sure, babydoll,” Jimin gives, grasping beneath his hair, tilting Jungkook into the kiss. It’s sloppy, Jungkook probably tasting of breath mints and precome, but Jimin’s tongue doesn’t seem to mind. Licks into his mouth, sucks along his bottom lip. He tries not to show how affected he is - but Jimin’s pillowy lips were leaving him breathless. 

It’s Jimin who breaks the kiss, chuckling at how dazzled Jungkook appears. They might have to edit it out, maybe, with how long Jimin lets it go on. But even then, his dick hadn’t gone down even a bit. Seemed to be even more erect if it were possible. “You got your reward, babydoll,” he tells him, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s soft, oddly soft. “Now make hyung come, won’t you?” 

Jungkook stutters out a yes before he’s pressing kisses back against his thighs, working up to his dick after he’s decided enough little pink marks are left behind. He’s sure there’s a rule about marking somewhere, at least for someone like Jimin, but he doesn’t even think to stop him. Just sighs breathy, watches him behind those stupid fucking sunglasses. He gets back to work, taking Jimin into his mouth in one go.

Jimin moans, actually moans, when his tongue glides over the piercing continuously. Jungkook loves the way it sounds, high pitched and a little desperate - unlike the way Jimin’s voice husks. It sends sparks right to his aching dick and he - he wants something more. “Fuck my mouth, hyung,” he urges, quiet over the head of his cock. 

Jimin’s doing that thing again, that tucking a strand of soft hair behind his ear type of thing again. And then he’s lifting his head up by his chin, fingers over his lips. “Fuck your pretty mouth?” he hums, like he’s mulling it over. “Want hyung to do the work?” 

“Just wanna feel you,” he says, catching one of Jimin’s wandering fingers between his lips. Jimin takes the opportunity to slide it further back, back - letting out a laugh when Jungkook doesn’t even choke. 

“Babydoll, looks like your mouth really was made for cock,” and it’s a taunting hum, Jungkook knowing it’s why he was hired in the first place. No gag reflex in sight - capable of taking something down without a care in the world. He’s already perfected all the breathing techniques, he just wants Jimin down his throat already. “Alright, pretty, open up huh?”

He does. Wide. And Jimin fucks his mouth hard. The camera zooms into it all, too. Into all the hungry moans Jungkook lets out, the way spit just drips from his lips. How Jimin can sit at the back of Jungkook’s throat for minutes, and it doesn’t even ruffle him up. He just drools over it while Jimin is calling him a pretty hole to fuck. It’s too wet and too hot but Jimin takes his time milking his own cock with Jungkook’s hot mouth. 

He didn’t have to swallow, but he does. Makes a show of it enough even the cameramen are flushed. 

“Alright that’s a wrap,” one of them says. Jungkook thought they were used to this type of shit, but this one in particular won’t even look him in the eye. “Uh, good job.” 

Jungkook’s wobbly on his knees, embarrassingly hard because it wasn’t like he was supposed to come anyways. Quickly, he’s wrapping his robe around him, wiping spit and Jimin’s come from his lips when someone hands him a napkin. 

Jimin’s reaching for a cigarette again. “Some tongue, babydoll ,” he tells him, grinning when Jungkook massages at his jaw. “Even got the crew flustered. Are you going to the party tonight? Let me buy you drinks.” 

“I didn’t think those were for me, you know, new comers or whatever.” 

“Nonsense, you’re with me,” and Jimin’s waving off the doubt that easy, pushing up to play with his long hair again. He picks up a spare napkin to get whatever Jungkook’s missed from his face, laughing at the expression he makes. “You should celebrate a good shoot, Kook-ah.” 

 

***

 

The party was at some rented out club, though it seemed much more sophisticated than he thought. Jungkook had been rushed into something dazzling, an open shirt that showed too much skin and tight jeans that hugged his curves. It didn’t feel like he was making way to a pornstar party, but there he was. Immersed in clouds of smoke and some low rumbling rock from the speakers. Something slow and heavy and Jungkook wants to find a drink to go with it.

“There you are,” he hears, Director Jung tugging him by his arm. He’s in - well, Jungkook isn’t sure. His hair is long and waved and parted in the middle. The leopard pants go oddly well with the denim jacket he tops it off with and Jungkook wants to laugh his ass off but it’s so Jung Hoseok that he feels more admiration than anything. “Our amateur star.” 

There’s a kiss on his head that Hoseok has to lean up to give, and Jungkook finds himself giggling. Probably from all the smoke and the vibes, as Hoseok called them. By the time he can finally get away he’s shook nearly three dozen hands, unsure of the names but definitely remembering that he’s heard them on some of his porn stash. 

Jungkook tried to stick to the dark corners after that, letting his hands feel across some fancy velvet seats. There’s cigarette burns in some spots but that’s the appeal of it all, he thinks. Underneath all the dazzling colors there’s always that common grime, that dirty filth they wear on their sleeves like expensive jewels. Jungkook tried not to think about that very grime, the shoot he had with Jimin only hours before. Or how he had to furiously jerk off in the hotel bathroom when they finally told him he could go home.

It had been quick and honestly sad - Jungkook hovering over some dirty toilet with his teeth dug into his lip to muffle the whines. How he’d licked at them just to see if Jimin lingered there even a little. It wasn’t even that satisfying, really, his dick just limp and needy for something more. 

Jungkook is shaken from his thoughts with a hand at his shoulder, cold metal biting into exposed skin. The hand is attached to an arm wrapped in the same velvet of the couch, a simple shirt tucked into folded over jeans that look too bleached out to be bought that way. There’s a big loop belt keeping them up and thick combat boots and - Jimin always looked good in whatever he wore. Even amidst the crowd of expensive suits and dresses, Jimin’s casual look outshone them all. 

“What are you thinking about all alone, huh?” he asks, watching him over the same sunglasses he’d fucked Jungkook’s mouth with. It makes him flush, thankful for the low lights that cover it over with neon instead.

“I’m a little fuzzy on drinks right now, so I can’t really remember,” he lies, though Jimin just laughs. Probably understand with how much alcohol has been pushed into their hands throughout the night. 

“You smoke?” Jungkook eyes the joint Jimin’s pulling from his cigarette pack, leaning close to hear him over the buzz of music. “Mellow you out.”

Jungkook watches him bring it up to his lips, light it with some tape covered lighter. The smell is what you’d expect, and Jungkook is oddly transfixed on the way Jimin’s face scrunches when he inhales. How his brows bunch together when it burns. He tells Jimin that yes, he smokes, before he’s handed the joint. 

His first hit has him coughing because admittedly - he didn’t smoke often. Just enough to get him asleep at night, or when he went out with a group of friends. Jimin’s rubbing at his back, though, giggling at the way he crumbles into himself to get the smoke out. And Jimin’s - Jimin’s fingers are soft down his back, even more so when the buzz climbs with every choked burn in his chest. 

“Easy, babydoll. This ain’t cheap shit, you hear?”

“I hear,” he manages, throat husky and charred. 

They pass the joint between one another until Jungkook’s eyes feel heavy, his anxious bubble popping into something warm and easy. He’s just as giggly as Jimin now, leaning into him because everything felt good and cool on his fingertips. He hears Jimin talk about something, maybe the way this party was just like the last one and the one before that, but Jungkook’s senses have dulled enough to feel numb. It’s weird - how everything felt so amplified but like nothing at all. He laughs at that, and Jimin joins in even when he has no idea why. 

“Hey, hey, deepthroat,” Jimin taunts, the nickname known around for Jungkook. His no gag reflex rumor must have passed around easy enough, not that he minded. “Hey, I think that fuckin cameraman from our shoot is checkin’ you out over there.” 

Jungkook looks around, trying to pick the dude from the crowd of people. The room was too flooded with smoke to really sift through though. “Where?” 

“In the corner, wait Kook-ah, lets give ‘em a show.” 

And then there are lips on his, Jimin’s hands cupping his cheeks. Their mouths are cotton but Jimin’s smiling against him nontheless, and Jungkook eases into it so easy, too easy. There’s teeth on his bottom lip, playful enough he can feel himself bubble out a little snort before he’s pressing back a bit rougher. Jungkook’s hands grasp Jimin’s velvet shirt, and the kiss is less smiling and something a bit more fervent. Feeling less like a show and like there’s something more lingering. Jimin’s nails dig into his chin and Jungkook can't help the soft moan that slips past.

They break away, Jungkook reluctant, but then Jimin’s tongue is licking across his jaw. His plump lips end up brushing over the crown of his ear, voice deep. “You think he’s watching?” 

Jungkook hums, wanting desperately to chase his tongue with his own. “Free show, why wouldn’t he?” he finds himself saying instead. 

“Come here, give a little more,” Jimin murmurs under his breath, his hands wandering down Jungkook’s deep necked shirt and to his tight jeans. He’s aching there, Jimin brushing his knuckles over his dick through his jeans, finding him unsurprisingly hard. Jungkook’s breath hitches when he gives a squeeze, and then the sensation is gone. He wants to whine, ask for something more even when he probably shouldn’t.

And then those hands are pinching into his inner thighs, and Jungkook finds that Jimin loves that. Loves to feel him like this - gentle grazes followed by nail digging groping. He’s glad they’re tucked into a less busy side of the party because anyone could look over and see Jimin getting him worked up like this.

Not that they would really mind, considering their line of work. 

Still, Jungkook’s not used to the public scene without a camera or a lame script. Nor is he quite used to Park Jimin in the flesh. “So easy,” he hears him say. “So easy to get you squirming, Kook-ah.” 

Is that what he’s been doing? He hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t noticed the way he’s tried to close his legs around Jimin’s wandering hand or inching closer to him, nuzzling in like a fuckin kitten. He’s high, horny, too. And Jimin feels and smells nice.

“Fuck,” he mutters, trying to draw away. Maybe he’s done too much but -

But Jimin’s doing the opposite. A hand encloses around his leg to hitch if over Jimin’s lap, an unspoken stay here in his touch. “It’s okay,” he whispers against his cheek, giving it another lick. Jungkook shivers. “It’s okay, babydoll. Tell me, did you get off after the set?”

Jungkook’s cheeks burn. 

“I - yeah. In the bathrooms downstairs.”

“Yeah? I know you did,” Jimin chuckles, fingers moving up his inner thigh, squeezing at his dick, doesn’t even care that anyone might see. “I was in the next stall over. Could hear your pretty sounds.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook practically moans, Jimin’s thumb rubbing over where his cockhead is. He hadn’t even been in the headspace to notice if anyone was in the bathroom with him then, had been too blinded by his creeping arousal to look to see if it was empty. Knowing Jimin knew - he couldn’t help the low whine slipping from his mouth. “Did you… did you like it?” 

“Was very jealous I wasn’t the one making you come,” Jimin tells him. “I bet you were upset too.” 

“Fuck, hyung. Not here I -“ 

He’s sputtering over his words, suddenly dizzy and aching. Overwhelmed because he’s in this headspace where his thoughts run faster than his hands and those are grasping at Jimin, tight in his shirt and desperate. Jimin’s careful touch eases him down, though, their fingers slotting together. “Easy, babydoll. Follow me, alright?” 

With their hands interlocked, Jungkook is tugged behind Jimin. He’s pulled right up against him through the crowd, stopping momentarily to kiss him against a wall, to chug down another drink. Jungkook feels that good kind of heavy, unsure if it’s the weed or something about Jimin’s gaze, his reassuring touch. It’s so much, even more when he finally pushes him into a room in the back, hovering over him in some plush bed. It’s an offset room, probably belonging to one of the club owners, but Jimin doesn’t seem to give a shit where he fucks. He’s just watching him for a moment, glancing over every part of his body enough to leave him feeling just as exposed as he would naked. 

Like black holes. His gaze — dark, endless and enticing, Jungkook spiraling and reaching for Jimin, wants to be sucked up by it all. Jimin lets himself ease down, knee between Jungkook’s leg, lips locked to his. The kiss is sloppy, Jungkook licking the cherry alcohol from his tongue, sure that they’re both stained red. “Hands up,” Jimin tells him, peeling back the shirt sticking to his skin. Jungkook cranes into Jimin’s touches, the nails scraping down his toned stomach. “Pretty babydoll,” he murmurs with his tongue over his shoulder, sucking, sucking. 

It’s nothing like the shoots. Jimin usually cocky and mean. But that part wasn’t Jimin, he knew that. Could see it in the tender touches between scenes, could feel it now with the way he touches him. The way he eases him out of his jeans and nibbles at his ankles. Something akin to worship. It’s probably the high but he hopes not - hopes Jimin means it when he calls him beautiful under his breath. 

“Ah, please ,” he keens, Jimin’s mouth hot when he latches to his nipple. He’s sensitive, hasn’t been touched like this in a long while. It’s always quick fucks, nothing that left his eyes fluttering or his stomach coiled. Nothing like Jimin or his heavy hands. “Touch me, touch me.” 

“Here?” Jimin murmurs, teeth tugging at the nipple in his mouth. Jungkook jerks upwards, the delicious sting of pain twitching his dick. But Jimin’s moving down, tongue laving over his pelvis, digging into the skin there with enough force to bruise. “Here, babydoll?” 

“You’re so fucking -“ 

Jimin chuckles, loops his fingers underneath the hem of his briefs, tugs them down while he peppers kisses over his skin. Jimin eyes his dick, the way Jungkook leaks over his stomach and how he’s already embarrassingly wet. He doesn’t touch it, though, just blows cool air enough to watch it twitch pathetically.  Jungkook groans. “Or here?” he murmurs out, fingers slotting in between his ass cheeks, brushing over his hole. Jungkook grasps at the sheets, knows he’s clenching down on the smallest touch like he’s touch depraved. Maybe he is - at least for touch like this

“Please. Need to - need to come. Properly,” Jungkook whines, knows he’s already babbling. It’s hard not to when everything is on fire, when Jimin feels so good and when his mind is focused on nothing but getting a taste of pleasure. “I’m already - already stretched.” 

“That so?” Jimin grins. He pulls away, much to Jungkook’s disappointment, only to fumble for something in his back pocket. It’s a small bottle of lube and a condom, both of them thrown next to Jungkook while he dribbles a bit on his finger. He takes his time slicking up Jungkook’s hole, just to hear him keen out something unintelligible. 

Jimin reaches for the silver rings on his fingers, pulls four of them off and tosses them somewhere else on the bed. The simple movement shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but his gaze never leaves Jungkook’s and something sizzles. 

The endless pleas are silenced when he slides a finger in right up to the knuckle the same time he bites down on Jungkook’s thigh. He’s pretty sure he malfunctions right then and there, blinking back the dual sensations with tears in his eyes. And he wasn’t lying, he was stretched still from earlier. He’d been diligent in the bathroom before the shoot, had made sure to push in at least four fingers just in case. 

Jimin works up to three before impatience eats at him, too. He pulls his fingers away, leans up to kiss at Jungkook’s needy mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, unzipping his jeans, pulling his own dick out with a sigh. There’s lips at Jungkook’s neck, teeth dragging into the skin and surely leaving bruises there that’ll last forever. Jimin leaves no skin untouched, takes his time making it sting. “Gonna swallow you up and eat you whole,” he hears at the column of his throat, Jungkook craning so Jimin can reach. It sounds dark and hungry, tongue followed by teeth. Jungkook moans, something akin to ‘yes, yes, all yours’ falling in response. 

Jimin rips open the condom with his teeth, Jungkook nuzzling into his neck while he rolls it on. He hears a laugh from Jimin, his hands dug into Jungkook’s hair just to draw him back to his face. They only graze lips, something gentle and taunting. “Remember what you told me today?”

“Hm?”

“‘ Does it excite you, Jimin? Knowing how many cocks I’ve sucked to prepare for yours?’

Jungkook is almost embarrassed by the scripted dirty talk, but it was still true. And apparently it worked. “Vaguely remember,” he huffs, letting Jimin push him back down into the pillows and situate between his spread legs. He’s holding one leg up to his chest, rubbing the head of his dick against his ass. 

“It excites me,” Jimin starts. There’s that cocky grin again. “That you were letting all these nobodys fuck your mouth just so you could have me. Jungkook-ah.” 

Jimin is pushing in slow, Jungkook’s jaw dropping at the stretch. “How are you gonna go back now, huh? Gonna ruin everyone else for you. Gonna wish every shoot that it was my cock stuffing you full.” 

Jungkook stifles a mewl when Jimin bottoms out, feels the way his cock pulses inside him like this. How Jimin doesn’t move, just leans down and touches him. There’s fingers in his hair, tangled in the rest of his ringed fingers and tugging light. And then they’re moving, over Jungkook’s face, the little scar on his cheek and the raw red of his lips. Jimin doesn’t move until he wants, which takes all of Jungkook’s patience. He wants to say that he doesn’t mind being ruined for someone else’s cock, the way they fuck. Doesn’t mind because Jimin somehow knew what ticked him just right. Enunciates it by the way he thrusts in, finally, something deep and hard. 

The piercing on Jimin’s dick only sends shivers up his spine, the drag of metal against his walls, the way Jimin grins like he knows when he can feel Jungkook crumble. The high peaks when Jimin grips at his sides, reminds him how pretty he is - how pretty he thought he was earlier this morning, too. Those words are followed by Jimin murmuring about how good he’s gonna taste when he falls apart on his cock, and Jungkook feels like he’ll do just that. 

Hands tangle with his, holding them above his head, Jimin picking up his pace with a moan of his own. He doesn’t fuck like he does in his shoots. Doesn’t fuck with that breathless pace, brutal and harsh. He fucks slow, something Jungkook hadn’t anticipated but knows he could get addicted to. 

Jimin fucks like the way being high feels. Heady and overwhelming at times, dizzying and deep. Jungkook finds himself clutching up under his shirt, into his sweaty skin, aching to feel him back under his fingertips. The slow drag hits him just right, Jimin pulling his leg up over his shoulder just to brush over his prostate. Again. Again. Jungkook chokes, Jimin sucking at his earlobe. “Gonna come already, babydoll?” he breathes, words not as stable as they used to be. “Gonna come on hyung’s cock like you wanted to earlier?”

The sound that fumbles from Jungkook’s lips is pained, like he’s trying to hold it in as long as he possibly can. He remembers the pathetic jerk off he’d done earlier in the day, remembers how pent up he’s been since. And Jimin - Jimin felt too good, sounded just as good too. His next words are more a demand than anything. “Come on, pretty.” 

Jungkook paints his stomach white, Jimin slowing his pace and letting him ride that wave. He groans at the clench, the way Jungkook sobs at the sensation. He’s too tongue tied to mumble out something to Jimin, all his words falling out too jumbled and heavy in his mouth. Jimin laughs, hearty, before he’s kissing him again. Kissing all the words and the curses he wants to give him and all the buzzed pleasure. He comes not long after, rocking in until he spills quietly into the condom, hands roaming over Jungkook’s body, over his sensitive nipples. 

“Ah, fuck,” Jimin groans, falling next to Jungkook with a sigh. He draws him close, not bothered by the sweat sheened skin on his own. “You okay, pretty?” 

“I feel like I just got hit by a fucking train but - also mellow, like you said.” 

There’s fingers massaging his neck, over the bites that have been left behind, how they’re already beginning to set deeper red. They’re everywhere, Jimin finds, apologizing profusely as he leans over to kiss them. Jungkook reassures him that he feels amazing, swatting away his worry. “Imagine if the camera guy had caught that.” 

“Think he’d fall in love with you,” Jimin giggles. He’s tossing the condom in a nearby trash can, standing up to button his jeans again. He must notice Jungkook’s face because he’s leaning down, lips grazing over his nose. “Not going anywhere. Let me clean you up.” 

Jimin disappears only a few seconds before he returns with a wet rag, urging Jungkook down so he can wipe the come from his stomach. Usually he does this himself after a shoot, because most dudes were just there to fuck him and go. It was part of their thing, so Jungkook didn’t think much of it. But still, Jimin took his time cleaning him up and it makes him feel oddly warm. Warmer even than his lingering high. “You do this often?” he asks softly, Jimin looking up at him from beneath his hair. He’s even wiping at his ass, extremely sensitive now but handled with care. He should feel embarrassed, but Jimin doesn’t even seem bothered by this kind of intimacy. 

“What? Clean partners? I mean, yeah -”

“No, fuck them outside schedules.” 

Jimin finishes, opting to throw the rag somewhere near the yellowing wall. “Not really,” he admits, shuffling up to the bed. Jungkook’s still naked, but Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. His hands are already back on him, moving up his body in shaped motions. “I guess I don’t need to, mostly. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you earlier. You really are pretty.” 

Jungkook plucks the cigarette Jimin reaches for, putting it in his mouth instead. He watches Jungkook chew on it for a second before he brings up his ugly lighter with a smile and lights it for him. “Still think I’m pretty after?” 

There’s a moment of silence as Jimin takes him in. Takes in the confident display of nudity, bites painted over his body that will surely keep him out of porn commission for a while. Of his messy hair flopping in his face, lips plump and raw and giving away everything they’ve just done. Jimin brings Jungkook’s leg up over into his lap again, mimicking what he’d done before in the party room. They’ve forgotten about them by now, sure that the partygoers are too drunk to remember them, either. Jimin takes the cigarette from Jungkook’s lips, flicks it into an ashtray nearby before turning back, tucking his damn hair behind his ear again. 

“I think I ruined other people for me, too,” Jimin says, leaning down to plant a kiss to the side of Jungkook’s mouth. It’s deep, though no rush to it. Jimin kisses him like he’s prepared to stay for a while, and then a while more. “Ate my words, didn’t I, babydoll?”