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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?”


“‘ 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?” 

Chapter Text

“That’s a wrap,” someone calls, and immediately Jungkook’s partner is pushing up from the desk. He never thought he’d get this far, the bright lights picking up on every bit of skin he shows - every glimmer of sweat and fluid, every mark. He never thought he’d let some guy wrestle him down against a desk and fuck him with some really ugly neon sludge music in the background, arms bent uncomfortably and a dozen people watching. He can’t say it was his favorite shoot, but Jungkook pushes through because the money was good and he’s got a talent for it. 

The robe he ties around him is silk and nice against the raw marks he knows he bears, and Director Jung is tossing him some ointment when he sees the screwed up face he’s making. He’s grown soft on him after nearly six months of working together, and Jungkook finds that he’s really not so bad. Took care of them all real well. Made sure everything was safe and clean, fed Jungkook’s belly when the bills were overwhelming, which they often were. “Good job, peaches. Get that ointment on, yeah?” 

“Thanks, hyung,” he mumbles, already heading for the bathroom. This time they’re in some high tech facility, rented out for the day just for Jungkook’s shoot. Their budget had admittedly gotten larger after his first success and now he’s booked, shooting at least twice a week when he felt like it. He wonders if the facility knew their building was going to be used to film some raunchy porn, and Jungkook finds himself grinning at the thought. 

He doesn’t remain alone for long, though, the bathroom door clicking and creaking when someone enters. He knows who it is immediately, the black hair and clunky, silver jewelry giving it away too easy. “I thought you were waiting for me outside,” he tells Jimin, though the arms that wrap around him are enough answer. Soft after all the harsh handling, and Jungkook finds himself immediately melting into the hold. His body is incredibly sore, but Jimin was always that sturdy support for him when he was doing solo work with unfamiliar partners from neighboring companies. 

“Got bored. Let me clean you up,” Jimin simply says, already grabbing the wet rag Jungkook had in his hands. He opens his mouth to protest but he knows Jimin likes doing this for him, likes the tender touches and small intimacy. He doesn’t much question it, even though perhaps he should. Even someone like Taehyung doesn’t do this for him, and they’ve become just as close. He tries to fathom why Jimin would want to risk getting come on his hands just to make sure Jungkook was clean. 

Jimin tugs at the tie of the robe, letting the silk fabric slide from his shoulder just a bit. “Let me see you.” 

He shouldn’t be flushing - especially in front of someone like Jimin, who he’s shared countless shoots with by now. Shouldn’t feel his cheeks go hot being nude in front of anyone, really. But that was the difference, he reminds himself, Jimin wanted to see him even outside of those scripted parts of their lives. The rag smoothes down his skin, delightfully cold against the warmth radiating from where his partner dug his nails in. There’s scratches down his stomach too, and Jimin is so, so careful. 

“Did Hoseok give you ointment?” Jimin asks, quiet. He manages a nod before he’s fumbling for it, and then Jimin’s hands are on him again, this time sticky with the medicinal rub. “Bastard knows he’s not supposed to mark,” he curses, fingers flicking over the bruising already flushing on Jungkook’s neck and chest, probably on his ass, too. Jimin sounds annoyed rubbing into the aches, massaging the ebb of pain away with his diligent fingers. It’s true marking wasn’t allowed, especially with how long it took for them to heal with the amount of shoots he was scheduled for. Some partners, however, weren’t very good with rules. 

“Guess he got a little too into it,” Jungkook snorts, catching Jimin’s eyes in the mirror. He doesn’t laugh. “Can’t say I haven’t done it before.” 

They both know he’s referring to the party they’d found themselves tangled together in months ago, back when Jungkook was still new to the industry and Jimin just wanted to taste. They hadn’t slept together outside of schedule since then, perhaps with how busy they’ve been or perhaps because it was just a one time thing, driven by some underlying need after getting stoned out of their minds. Jungkook doesn’t mention it, even when Jimin’s fingers linger on his skin long enough he remembers how it felt. 

They had grown closer, though. Jimin had told him that they always needed someone to rely on with what they do. That it was a mental toll alongside a physical one. And - Jimin was someone he could count on, talk to. Jungkook found himself staying at his apartment some nights because he lived farther out and Jimin’s place was close to crash. Found himself spending his free time with him because they share the same love for arcades and aerobics. 

Jimin simply hums in response to his teasing words, pulling up the silk robe from Jungkook’s shoulder and tying it back around his waist. His hands stay there a moment, and Jungkook relishes in this comforting intimacy, especially after a rough shoot. 

“Wanna hit up the rink and mellow out?” Jimin asks him quietly, head resting atop Jungkook’s shoulder. There’s a need for sleep clinging to his lids, as he always gets when he’s fucked out and satiated, but then he finds Jimin’s eyes on his. He half pouts in the smudged mirror and Jungkook caves in each time. 

“I’m sore, hyung, so don’t expect me to do anything spectacular,” and as soon as Jimin’s grinning, victorious, Jungkook is chiming in again. “And, hey, don’t try to fuck up the derby team again. They almost killed us last time because of you.” 

Jimin’s smacking his ass with a laugh, flushing at the stupid shared memory and murmuring, ‘Still have those skates I stole from one of those fuckers,’ under his breath. 

The skating rink is Jimin’s favorite place. He pushes one of those oversized slushies in Jungkook’s hands, knows their mouths will shade over to red and blue by the end of the night. The giddy sugarhigh was entirely worth it, though, no matter how ridiculous they looked. Jimin always told him how much he loved the rink, with the busy music and endless laughter. The live band was on a stage at the back of the rink, and occasionally dancers would take the sides to give it even more life. They’re in a booth putting on their skates, Jungkook tying Jimin’s while he rolls a joint.

“Pretty sure these are the skates you stole,” he comments, prompting a smirk from Jimin’s lips. They’ve come here often together and with their friends, Taehyung and Yoongi, a couple who were other entertainers they’d grown close to. It was an easy way to wind down after a shoot, the group of them not really very keen on clubs because everyone in the industry always found themselves there. Loaded on drugs and doing what they did for their job. 

“They look foxy on me, don't you think?” Jimin asks, and Jungkook wants to say yes, yes they really fucking do. They’re some sleek black ones, pairing real nice with his knee high socks and ridiculous shorts. It was always hilarious how into skate fashion Jimin got, abandoned his high waisted bell bottoms for tight shorts and crop tops to show off every curve. It should look ridiculous, but Jimin’s body was out of this world. Somehow the tight shorts and shirt fits him just right, the exact image of someone who embodied the ridiculous combination of a roller derbier and the late disco aesthetic oddly perfectly. 

He can see Jimin’s tattoos on his side, the ones he’s wanted to touch ever since he’d gotten them, how it’s dark with black ink and peeks out just barely from the top. And then there was his stomach, all smooth and cut, legs thick and muscular from apparently years of dance. Jungkook tries not to marvel as much as he wants because then Jimin’s smirking at him like he knows. 

“Come on, babydoll, get a good look before we roll out.” 

“Shut up,” he half laughs, throwing one of Jimin’s abandoned shoes at him. There’s hands hoisting him up, and for a moment they’re both fumbling to steady on their teetering skates. Jungkook was taller than Jimin usually, but now he almost hovers over him entirely, though his balance is embarrassing compared to Jimin’s. It always took him a little longer to work into familiar territory, and there’s arms soothing down his as Jimin practically drags him towards the rink. 

And Jimin - he was a natural. Could do impressive spins and jumps, go backwards without falling on his pretty ass. Jungkook curses his dancing background. “C’mon, you’ll get it, babydoll. It always takes you a minute to get back in the groove. Feel the music, baby. Let it chill you out.” 

“Not all of us spend our free time headbutting the derby team, hyung,” he tells him, though it doesn’t take him much longer to steady himself. Soon, he’s rolling towards Jimin, letting him twirl him around and laugh in his ear. He’s not much of a dancer himself, he can move a bit, but he does enjoy watching Jimin get into it. Some slow jam thrums on from the live band and Jimin is doing that thing with his hips. Slow gyrating movements, a body roll that absolutely should not be performed in public, maybe. Especially in the outfit he’s wearing. It’s all tight and enunciating and Jungkook can feel his balance stumbling until he’s reaching out to grasp at the wall to steady himself again. It all amuses Jimin too much.

“What do you think about Taehyung’s trip?” Jimin hums, arms wrapping around Jungkook, pressing him into the support wall. “Still wanna go?” 

“Haven’t been to Busan in nearly two years,” Jungkook says.

“You miss it?” 

Jungkook mulls it over, reaching for the slushie just over the wall. Jimin’s watching him so intently then, and Jungkook feels hot under the nearly microscopic way he’s watching. Following his lips. “I - yeah,” he admits. “I think, since I’d been so invested in landing a role.” 

There’s a hum from Jimin and then he’s leaning over. For a second he thinks he’s going to kiss him but instead he just dives in for a bit of Jungkook’s slushie. “We should go then. Kind of funny we’re both from similar parts in Busan. I can show you my favorite places - used to hide out on the beach and smoke grass until sunrise.” 

“So cool, hyung,” Jungkook taunts, wondering if they were ever on the same beach. If they ever watched the same sunset or swam in the same waters together. Why they never ever crossed paths after being so close for nearly, what, eighteen years? 

“It was until the beach sex. You ever have sand up your ass and all in your fucking balls?” And Jimin’s voice sounds like he’s relieving it all again, unhappily, at that. “Not very cool.” 

Jungkook’s laughing then, trying to picture it all. With Jimin’s twisted face he can conjure up the image just fine. “I don’t know hyung. Seems pretty fuckin’ tubular to me.”

And then Jimin’s pushing him, and Jungkook is stumbling because his balance is a bitch. Jimin steadies him again, their bodies pressed up close. “We’ll go then,” he hums, reaching up to touch at Jungkook’s ear. He flicks his earring there, a dangling silver star, before he’s doing that thing with tucking Jungkook’s messy hair behind his ear again. “We can get slushies and honey butter chips and those red bean popsicles my mom used to make. But—“

Jimin’s pushing away from the wall with a sly grin on his lips. He fucking shines in the flashing lights, the disco ball sending shards of white and purple neon across the entire space. “First, I think you should go go-go like you promised you would last time.” 

What?” Jungkook is blinking the tender moment away, watching Jimin twirl around him, the whole thing looking more like a taunt than anything else. No way, hyung. You know I’m not a dancer.” 

“Come on, I did it last time.” 

There’s hands grasping his, dragging him from the support wall so he’s practically forced towards the band in the back. It was one of those underground parody ones that played all the radio hits. Jungkook steadies himself when Jimin throws him forward, and then he’s  suddenly bare in front of the band tossing him approving glances. They’re all electric guitars and wild hair, ripped jeans and those leather jackets Jungkook loved. 

He turns to find Jimin skating off, back against the wall, a smug expression settling over his features while he sips on the slushie again. Jungkook burns, though the idea of dancing for Jimin to watch was somewhat appealing. He knew he wasn’t terrible, could move his body to beats well enough. Though he never did dance much, never took to the loud discos like Jimin did years ago.

The low strum of a guitar sounds in his ear, and then it’s followed by an upbeat tune. Jungkook knows this song - loved it. Danced to it in the emptiness of his apartment. Rebel Yell plays and Jungkook grins. He couldn’t do raunchy porn for a living and not honor Rebel Yell. 

What set you free? 

And what brought you to be me, babe?

Jungkook is shy at first, letting his body sway back and forth, closes his eyes to shake away the heavy gaze watching him from across the rink. Jungkook knows he looks good, half his hair put into a ponytail, the messy tendrils remaining fanning across his face. He let Jimin smear some glitter across his eyes, and his outfit was just as tight. Jeans and a tucked in silk blue shirt, a belt to match, hugging the curve of his waist and the thick of his thighs. Jungkook grins when the guitar strums, feels it electric in his stomach, down into his toes. He lets his body flow naturally, skates into a spin and his body rolling like he’d seen Jimin do earlier.

With a rebel yell, she cried more, more, more. 

If there was anything he learned doing pornography, it was how to move his body. Twist it this way, bend that way. Jungkook keeps the rhythm, remembers the dance with other bodies atop his, lets his hips sway and his head toss back. His neck is on display, probably sweaty, but he sinks into the movement, mouth dropping open. It doesn’t take much to lose himself in the strum and the beat of drums. Jungkook peeks from half lids mid song, finding Jimin still watching him, unmoving, eyes dark. 

It only encourages him, knowing his moves are downright filthy on this small stage but the crowd doesn’t care. They’re all drunk on beer or high on grass but god does he feel good, intoxicated on Jimin’s eyes drinking him in instead. He smiles, then, and even in the distance he could see the way Jimin’s jaw clenches, teeth ripping into the straw at his lips. 

Jungkook comes down when the last strum of a guitar chord rips through the building, his legs moving on their own back towards the space Jimin occupies. There’s hands on his waist in an instant, Jungkook back to his stumbling as the extra weight dragging him close throws him off balance. Jimin’s fingers are sharp into his skin, pressing into the bruises already there but - “I want to fuck you,” he hears, Jungkook’s breath knocked out of his lungs with how absolutely wrecked Jimin sounds. Low and husky, the same way he sounds when he’s lost in pleasure. When they’re on screen. 

Jungkook is slick with the sweat of dancing and the smokey room hot on his skin, and it doesn’t help that Jimin’s words are sending shocks through his body. “Yeah,” he breathes back, because despite the months that they’ve worked together during set after set, their chemistry a hit among consumers, Jungkook missed Jimin’s lingering hands on his like this. A need that needed to be satiated on it’s own. “Yeah, hyung, lets -” 

His words are cut off briefly when Jimin leans in to catch him in a hurried kiss, Jungkook quietly sinking into it after the shock ebbs away. It doesn’t last long, however, because Jimin is guiding him back through the dark crowd, their skates hastily thrown onto the couch with their empty slushies on the table. 

“Car,” Jimin tells him, body pressed far too uptight against his. “Car now, babydoll.” 


There’s hands on his chest, Jimin practically pushing him into the backseat of his Camaro. The lips on his taste like blueberry slushie, tongue cold and syrupy. Jungkook licks into his mouth, something greedy, and Jimin slots himself between his legs. He hasn’t felt his touch like this since the last time they were off cameras, that insistent but careful pace that Jimin withheld for himself. That was months ago.

Fingers move slow down Jungkook’s chest, unbuttoning the silk clinging to his sweat sheened skin. The dancing had taken more out of him then intended, but he loved the way Jimin had simply watched him, eyes glimmering with the same want Jungkook felt now. A bubbling moan sounds when Jimin’s fingers finally get ahold of him, gliding over the heat of his chest and then downwards. Jungkook is so desperate for this Jimin, so desperate he can’t help his hips from bucking up into his groping hands. 

“Easy,” Jimin chuckles, soft in his ear, palm digging into his cock. The denim between them is more than agitating, and Jungkook finds himself whining faintly. “Easy, babydoll, you want it that bad? And here I thought I was eager.” 

Jungkook must know how it looks, especially with him doing a set just this morning. Being fucked open on some desk wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Jimin simply pressed against him now, though. Didn’t make his stomach churn. “Do you see you right now?” he murmurs, his own fingers so easily slipping up Jimin’s crop top to dig his nails into his taut stomach. He jolts when Jimin’s bare thigh grazes across his cock, and then he’s laughing at the bliss that spreads across Jungkook’s face.  “Fucking christ, hyung.”

“I know. You’ve been staring all night,” Jimin muses, fighting away Jungkook’s clinging hands just so he can properly maneuver the shirt from his skin. Immediately he’s leaning down, tongue flicking across an already pert nipple. He groans at Jungkook’s instant reaction, opting to take the whole thing between his lips. Jimin is nothing if not thorough, quickly moving to the other to give it the same attention. “But fuck, the way you danced tonight, Kook-ah. You wanted all eyes on you, didn’t you? Liked how everyone was fucking watching you.” 

“No I - I liked how you watched me.” 

The needy hint to his words seem to trigger something in Jimin, his breath hitching as he drags Jungkook the rest of the way out of his clothes. Jungkook’s stark naked compared to him, though with Jimin’s tight shorts pushed hurriedly down to mid-thigh, he doesn’t mind as long as he’s getting what he wants. 

With a kiss to his lips, Jimin presses him into the backseat, rocking his hips flush against his ass. “I’m watching you now too,” and the words sound so hoarse, a little mean, even, which Jungkook never gets to hear. But god, the way it makes his skin goose flesh. “Get so riled up even though you were fucked this morning. Did he even make you come?” 

The words cause Jungkook to flush so deeply he’s glad for the dark of the car, stuttering over a ‘it wasn’t anything special ’ before Jimin is reaching for his cock. He hisses at the contact, finally, Jimin’s hands slow jerking him, massaging at his balls just to hear him pant into his mouth. “Fix that for you, babydoll, hows that sound?” Jimin breathes, thumb pressing into his dripping slit. Jungkook’s mouth drops open in a choked gasp. “Think I could fuck you without stretching you open, babydoll?”

“Oh fuck, I,” Jungkook groans, burying into Jimin’s neck. There’s a chuckle and then a rustle as Jimin reaches for the glove box, digging through the contents and pulling out a small bottle of lube and a condom. He leans up and away from Jungkook so he can spread his legs. “Pretty,” he murmurs under his breath, uncapping the lube to slick him up. Jimin’s fingers push up into the coarse pubic hair around his cock, up, up, until he can turn his neck to the side. 

A slick finger pushes into his ass, and Jungkook swallows back the filthy sound begging to push out. He didn’t need to be opened up but Jimin’s fingers were thick and nice and filling and Jungkook wants. 

“Ah,” Jimin murmurs, leaning over to latch his lips to Jungkook’s neck, sucking against every bit of skin he can get ahold of. So much for bruising rules, he wants to say, though Jimin seems insistent. “Feel good, babydoll? Miss hyung’s fingers didn’t you? Can feel you sucking them in.” 

It was something about Jimin that he couldn’t get enough of, something that he shouldn’t cling to because it wasn’t his to keep. He moans softly, moving back against Jimin’s fingers, trying to whisk away the thoughts and the ache he’s been feeling for months now. He doesn’t want to appear desperate, but the way he lets Jimin latch onto his skin and suck - he doesn’t think he can help it. It’s like Jimin’s recovering him in marks, tracing over every spot that he’d put medicinal cream over this morning. It seems almost possessive, and Jungkook shakes. “Fuck me,” he says, Jimin’s teeth are at his neck, drifting to his purple stained collarbone to worsen it up. “Hyung, fuck me already.” 

Jimin grunts, drawing away enough to shuffle closer, turning him around and pushing Jungkook against the cramped car door frame. His palms rest against the window, curling when Jimin doesn’t waste any time in slicking him up and pushing in. Palms knead at his ass, dig into where he’s already bruised and sore. “Babydoll,” he murmurs, far too soft, Jimin’s mouth blowing hot at the nape of his neck. “Pretty, you know? Hair bounces when I fuck you.” 

There’s another flush creeping up Jungkook’s cheeks, the snap of Jimin’s hips making it hard to swallow. “Pull it,” he manages, and Jimin does as he’s asked. His hand wraps around the small ponytail, drawing Jungkook’s head back and exposing his throat. Jimin doesn’t hesitate to leave sloppy kisses there, too, tongue slick on his skin. 

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook feels close, already pent up from the lackluster shoot from the morning. Jimin moves just right, slows down when Jungkook gasps, rocks in to hit right on his sensitive prostate. He’s not sure where the whimper comes from, but Jungkook finds himself doing so, forehead pressed into the glass when Jimin moans in his ear. 

“Feel so good,” Jimin whispers, all in his space, suffocating him. The car space was nearly unbearably hot and his skin was beginning to sweat, but Jungkook still couldn’t get enough of Jimin. A tongue drags across his shoulder, his back, salt mingling with the sweet syrup of his slushie, and Jimin’s murmuring against him. “Taste even better.” 

“Fuck, don’t say that, I’m gonna come.” 

Jimin chuckles, snapping his hips harsh enough Jungkook chokes. “That so?” and it seems like a challenge, Jimin eating up the way Jungkook blubbers. There’s hot breath fogging the window followed by drool but Jimin doesn’t even seem to care. “Tell me how hyung feels, babydoll.” 

Good,” Jungkook manages, though Jimin grunts into his skin, seemingly unsatisfied. 

“Better than the fuck from earlier?” 

The question makes Jungkook’s stomach twist, something in Jimin’s voice indecipherable. Angry but nothing malicious, sounding like a plea. Like he needs Jungkook to tell him what he wants to hear. “Better,” he murmurs against the glass window, hips moving back to meet Jimin’s, impatience evident in his huff of breath. “Make me come, hyung. Wanna - wanna come.” 

The pleading is cut short when Jimin thrusts particularity hard, Jungkook’s fingers scrambling to hold onto what he can. His hold slips from the window, the seat, and only stabilizes when he’s grasping the seatbelt. Jimin doesn’t lessen his pace though, punching in until Jungkook hiccups over every breathless sound. “Come on, pretty,” Jimin tells him, hand wrapping around his cock from behind. Jungkook’s still admittedly sensitive, hissing at the contact. He can’t escape the hold if he wanted to, because Jimin’s movements force him forward into his hand.

He chokes on a gasp when he comes, the sensation surging up quickly and overwhelming. Jimin slows to fuck him through it, mouth at his throat. “There you go,” he praises, a come covered hand sliding up his chest. It’s messy, wet, and Jungkook whines. “Suck on these while hyung comes, babydoll,” he tells him, stuffing the digits in his mouth. He wraps around them immediately, the silver of Jimin’s rings knocking against his teeth. 

Jungkook sucks on his own come while Jimin moans against him, his hips circling slow into Jungkook. It’s when he decides to bite down on the fingers does Jimin groan and come, stilling to spill into the condom. Jungkook only briefly wishes it was his ass, but already he’s covered in come and sweat. “Better,” he cracks, his voice fucked. “You’re so much better.” 

He hears Jimin hum quietly in response.

Jungkook doesn’t remember getting home after his night with Jimin. He’d been helped back into his clothes, too tired to do much other than let Jimin clean him and drive him back home. Except - he wasn’t in his own shitty apartment. Rather, he finds himself spread across a familiar bed, silk like his shirt, soft beneath his fingertips. It was Jimin’s room, Jimin’s bed. He’d probably been just as exhausted to drive him so far out, and it’s not as if Jungkook didn’t spend a lot of time in Jimin’s flat anyways. 

He pushes himself up from the blankets, body so sore he winces. It smelled like sex and cologne and rolls, but Jungkook finds he doesn’t mind. He rubs at his tired eyes, knows he probably looks a mess. The ponytail is tangled in his hair, the strands hanging out of the tie and over his forehead. 

“Sleep okay?” he hears from the doorway, Jungkook blinking away the last remaining bits of sleep from his eyes. “I took the couch, don’t worry.” 

“Didn’t have to,” he murmurs, groggy as he blinks up at Jimin. He tries not to stare at him, casual and messy in his pajamas. A button up shirt that’s hardly buttoned at all, exposing much of Jimin’s chest and stomach. Shorts that display tanned thighs Jungkook could spend hours thinking about. He flushes at the almost boyish glow to Jimin’s bare face, pink on his cheeks, kind in his still-tired eyes. It was a contrast he loved about Jimin. And really, he has to sputter over words that arent ‘you’re fucking beautiful,’ and settling on a strangled “Is that coffee?” instead. 

“Yes,” Jimin hums, pitter pattering over to Jungkook with his hands sporting two mugs of coffee. One is much, much lighter than the other. “I put a shit ton of cream in it, since you seem like the type that likes something sweet.” The cup is hot but Jungkook hugs it close, smelling the roast. He did, in fact like it sweet. As sweet at Jimin. “I didn’t mean to pass out on you like that last night,” he says.

Jimin shrugs, fingers moving to push his hair from his face, kind of wishing that he could at least wash up. God, why did he like to do that so much, anyways? Jungkook leans into it though— Jimin’s fingers felt amazing on his scalp, scratching gently. “Don’t worry, you had a heavy day.”

He’s still embarrassed by it all, how he’d practically passed out right after Jimin fucked him into the camaro window. How he doesn’t even remember much besides murmuring that he was sleepy. Jimin smirks over his mug of coffee. “Cleaned you up and put you back in your clothes, and then you kept mumbling about wanting to give me a lap dance because apparently it got you - and i quote - the best lay of your life. End quote.” 

The groan that falls from Jungkook’s lips is followed then by a slew of Jimin’s laughter. “I’m never smoking grass and being dually sugar high with you again, hyung,” he says. 

“Aw, and here I was hoping you’d want to spend the day with me doing just that.” 

Jungkook sips at his sweetened coffee, warm on his dry tongue, and tries to pretend that he wasn’t hoping for just that. “I need to shower first, I smell like day old sex.” 

“I’ll run you a bath?” Jimin asks, already standing to turn towards his bathroom. It’s entirely too nice for Jungkook’s eyes, all sleek counters and white walls, a large vanity with products Jimin used regularly. “Hoseokie hyung insists we take care of our bodies before we totally burn out, yeah? So he sent me this really bogus bath shit, I’m talking petals for your bath water and those new collagen face masks.”

His words grow muffled as he rummages through the room, turning handles until bath water runs, cabinets opening and closing again. Jungkook slips from the bed, cold feet against tile, following Jimin into the space. He’s hit with growing steam and the smell of flowers, Jimin throwing rose petals into the hot water. “He wasn’t kidding, was he?” Jungkook laughs, the whole thing looking soft and sensual. Jimin sits at the edge of the tub, his unbuttoned shirt draping from his shoulders now. It exposes the tattoo on his side, dark ink wrapping around tan skin, and then he’s staring at the silver studded piercings in his nipples. Jungkook licks at his lips, his gaze flickering up when Jimin glances over. 

“Yeah, I figured you could use it after the shoot you had. Whenever you’re ready, babydoll, ” Jimin finally stands, letting the tub fill, hands wiping water onto his shorts. He looks expectant for a moment, like he’s waiting for Jungkook to pull his clothes up over his head. And then, he seems to register the situation. “Or I can leave if you want?”

Jungkook’s struck with that ‘you don’t need to be shy in front of Jimin. You literally had his dick inside you just last night,’  realization again, though he can’t help but avert his gaze when he pulls the wrinkled silk shirt up over his head. Jimin’s turning to find products again while he slips out of his shorts and into the bath. He shivers at the heat, dropping down onto his knees so he’s disappearing in the bubbles and flower petals. This isn’t weird, is it? he wants to ask, because it’s caught on his tongue while Jimin shuffles for a bottle of body wash. 

He lets Jimin wash him, careful over the bruises that have been remarked. He looks a wreck, really, but it was at least a good memory this time. Cramped car spaces and needy lips rather than wooden desks digging into his sides and forced groans from his lips. “You aren’t very good at following the rules either,” he tells Jimin, perhaps searching for a way to ask about it without just blurting it out. Now that he wasn’t high and blinded by his need for Jimin, he can’t help but analyze what his words meant. If they were just a product of the same want or if Jimin wasn’t telling him something. 

Jimin pauses for a moment, reaching for a cigarette from his half crushed pack. He lights it with wet hands, head tipping back when he takes the first drag. “Sorry,” he tells him, looking at him through the smoke. “I don’t know… guess I got carried away.” 

It mimics the same words Jungkook had said before, when Jimin had gotten irritated with his partner’s marks all over him. He sits back in the tub, finds Jimin’s eyes on him so intently he feels his heart hammer in his chest. “What?” 

“I don’t like that guy,” he says, flicking his cigarette. His brows bunch up, like the simple thought is pissing him off. “That guy you worked with. I guess I just didn’t want to see him all over you like that, is all. Not when -” 

Jungkook meets his eyes and Jimin clamps his mouth shut, hastily bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. The hit he takes is heavy this time, and Jungkook is surprised he doesn’t choke on it. “When what , hyung?”

“When you… have a movie offer hanging on your shoulders. When were you gonna tell me?”

“I haven’t… thought about it much myself, to be honest,” he says cautiously, wondering how Jimin had even found out. Really, Jungkook had already tossed the entire idea to the side, knowing that if he commited to something big then he’d have to deal with the repercussions if he ever retired. Hoseok pulled him aside a month after his first shoot, mouthing off a bunch of numbers about how successful his little shoots were becoming. How if Jungkook wanted, he could really be a professional whenever he wanted. How people wanted to see him. There was an offered deal, a contract, a lump sum of money that knocked Jungkook’s breath from his chest, but —

But he’d told Hoseok he’d sit on it. That he had other things going on his life that wasn’t taking dick for thousands of dollars. Not that there was anything wrong with it just - he had things he wanted to do first. Things that he didn’t want to sacrifice for money just yet. Dreams. Goals. The 80s were prime for achieving them if he wanted to. 

So, he’d left the deal sit on the back burner. Only thought about it when he was laying in his bed alone, the bill stacking too high to handle some months. Still, he isn’t sure what to say now. How to tell Jimin that he hadn’t told him because Jimin would be his costar, and fucking Jimin on camera for hours on end would surely go beyond any professional composure he could muster. 

“It’s just a lot right now, you know? A lot of commitments I don’t think I’m good for.”

Jimin nods like he understands that part. He’s been in this business far longer than he has, afterall. He finishes his cigarette before burning it out on his countertop. “Sit up, won’t you? Let me get your hair.” 

He does as he’s told, letting Jimin lather something sweet smelling into his hair. He sighs, eyes shutting close at how soft he is with him, digging into his scalp like he always did because he knew just how much Jungkook turned into liquid because of it. “They offered it to me too, you know. Said we were good together.” 

The words are spoken softly, though that same tone in Jimin’s voice that Jungkook can’t quite figure out is there, too. The same one he’d heard when he was rubbing ointment into his skin and when he was asking Jungkook if he was better than the fucks he’s had before. He hums, sinking into Jimin’s fingers like they’re the most comfortable thing in the world. “Well we are, aren’t we hyung?” 

“Watch this,” Jimin grins, tucking a joint behind his head while he leans over a pile of silver discs, shuffling them with a low hum. They’re back in Jimin’s room, dark except for the string lights over the walls, and the posters and tapestries lining the walls. There’s a bunch of CDs on his desk, old cigarette butts and condoms. Jungkook plops down onto the silky bed while he watches Jimin lean over and trash the area. It takes him a while to find what he wants, but then he’s holding it out to Jungkook triumphantly. “Seen Episode VI yet? Got a burned copy.” 

“Fighting the derby squad and now pirating,” Jungkook snorts, snatching the disc. He’s still ringing out his wet hair, towel over his back. He smells less like stale sex and more like Jimin now, clothes he’s borrowed from Jimin a bit tight over his body. He feels good.  “Anything else you wanna tell me, hyung?” 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, babydoll,” he winks, already shuffling to throw the disc into the old player. It’s a lot more scratchy than the original, but it was watchable, at least. Jimin hums along to the Star Wars theme song as he’s bouncing in next to Jungkook, pushing hair from his face so he can take the joint between his lips. “Wanna hit?” he asks, the flick of the lighter going off once, twice — before it finally catches. Jungkook nods even though he specifically remembers swearing off grass, but then Jimin’s leaning over to grasp at his chin like he’s ready to feed the smoke to him. “Closer.”

Jungkook’s skin electrifies when he does as he’s told, Jimin holding him steady and oh so close, their lips nearly touching. He blows smoke into his mouth, Jungkook feeling their lips brush as he sucks it in. It burns in the best way possible, but he refuses to let it catch into a cough, wanting to keep close, an addictive rush on its own. He could go in for a kiss if he wanted, could slip his tongue along Jimin’s bottom lip - but he promptly exhales instead, watching Jimin smile when it hits back in his face. He would blame the almost breathless feeling in his body on the rush of the high, but Jimin hasn’t moved yet and he knows it’s not the smoke. It’s Jimin, as much as the continuous thought pains him. 

“Good?” Jimin asks, throat sore and dry, a finger lifting to tug at his earlobe. he draws away only slightly, chuckles at the daze forming in Jungkook’s eyes. “You’re good, babydoll.”

“M’good, yeah,” he mumbles, snapping out of the moment. Jimin’s hand moves from his earlobe, around his back to squeeze at his waist. His body is slowly numbing over, tingling where he’s touched. He fumbles for the joint to take a few more hits of his own, until it all starts to settle in a comfortable but intense high. “This feels good.”

“It should, Hoseok’s man gave it to me. Shits potent.” 

Jungkook hums, already feeling it hit him full force. He liked the highs that hit him like that, rather than the slow crawling ones that took far too long for his greedy ass. He’s falling into the pillows and dragging Jimin with him then, turning to him with a ridiculous grin. Star Wars plays in the background and he’s sure he’ll hear Jimin complain later, but he just wanted to consume all of Jimin that he could. 

“No, no, I mean - like, this ? Feel loose and good. Comfy like this. And you know,” he murmurs, his eyes feeling heavy, tongue a little loose as the minutes pass. “This is so embarrassing but Jimin hyung, I don’t feel that often, ever, really, especially with the sets. Not just the high but you - you know? Fucking. Fucking you feels good, too. Fuck I’m rambling -” 

Jimin’s blinking steadily at him, amusement in his eyes. “Hm? What do you mean you’ve never felt good often?” 

Jungkook seems to catch what he’s said, his eyes turning up to watch the ceiling with a sudden nervous intensity, admittedly embarrassed he even brought it up. You’ve said too much again, Jungkook. You blubbering idiot. It was odd to admit it considering their current career, but it slips out of his mouth so easy because Jimin just drew it out. Drew out that comfort. “Before, you know?” he says, barely loud enough to drown out the fight on his screen, all sabers and over animated whooshes. “Guys never wanted to really fuck, you know? Found out how good I was with my mouth and wanted that and only that. Never anything that was for me, or any meaningful thing outside that.” 

Jungkook snorts, licking at his dry lips. Jimin rustles in the bed next to him, turning over so he’s facing Jungkook now. He can see him in his peripheral vision, how Jimin’s intense gaze settles on his avoidant one. “So it was like - it was never for me, not really. Just straight guys getting off on a mouth when their girlfriends didn’t give them what they wanted. They just called me deepthroat which is, of course, where I got the name. Never Jungkook, though.” 

“You don’t,” Jimin starts, sounding hurt on his behalf. “You don’t deserve that, first of all. And second, sex should be mutual pleasure not - not that, Kook-ah. You should feel good. Feel free.” 

There’s fingers moving up along Jungkook’s arm, goosing the flesh up, making Jungkook shiver. Jimin always knew how to touch him, what to say. “It’s better now but I’ve always wanted like - like,” though the words are swallowed back because why would Jimin want to know what he’s thought about? All his secret things that he’s never quite voiced. The industry was rough cut, liked the filthy fucking with little foreplay, the quick blowjobs and the overexaggerated noises. 

Loud. Fast. Not what Jungkook’s thought of. 

“No, tell me,” Jimin encourages, his fingers moving across his chest, skittering over the bits of skin revealed by the dip of his neckline. Jungkook’s saliva grows thick in his mouth but he’s in that bold state of high, when the buzz was helping him drift away but keeping him warm and loose. 

“I’ve heard how it feels like release when someone knows how to break you apart just right. Leave you breathless with their hands on your neck or - or uh, all wound up in that calming way when you’re tied up.”

Jimin’s fingers grow more bold, pulling the deep v of his t-shirt aside so he can flick at his nipple, roll it between his thumb and forefinger so casually. Never breaking eye contact, not giving Jungkook anything else. “Go on,” is all he breathes, his voice low and cracked like he’s just woken up. Jungkook can’t breathe the same way, though he tries to keep his fluttering heart from beating through his chest. He wonders if Jimin can feel it underneath his fingertips. 

“Like - I like teeth and leather and fucking that’s been drawn out long enough it feels like torture, get me, hyung? Like if fucking was a song it would be Bed of Roses.”  

Jimin chuckles soft in his ear. “Cute.” 

Jungkook slaps against his arm, though the laugh that spreads across his lips mimics Jimin’s. “I mean it. I’ve always wanted that. Wanted to be taken care of like that.” 

“You should have that, babydoll,” he hears, Jimin’s touch moving up to his neck, caressing the skin there that’s still dark and bruised. Jungkook’s covered it with as much concealer that he could find, but spots still peek out. Jimin’s. “Have you - I mean. I don’t mind… if you want.” 

His head twists, finally meeting Jimin’s gaze. It was always so much , his eyes kind but holding a weight that warms his skin, makes it difficult to keep in contact for too long. He felt vulnerable. “Of course you know how to do all that,” he says, masking the nervous pull in his chest. 

“Ah, well. Porno is a job. Pleasure outside is… pleasure.”

“Tell me about it,” Jungkook hums. “What do you like?” 

For a moment Jimin just falls quiet, hands fumbling for a stick on the nightstand. Jungkook watches him light it, the oddly pleasant smell of a first lit cigarette hitting his face. “Watching someone feel good,” Jimin says, licking his nicotine lips. “Even if I’m not touching them.” 

The words are rough, and Jungkook knows he could sit here and listen to Jimin talk for hours on end. About anything, really. About all the intricate back stories for the characters in Star Wars, of derby moves, or the pleasure he craves. “Nothing harsh, you get me? Have enough of that. Just slow and good . Not like hitting a line of coke but that slow drift into a grass high. Make sense?” 

Jungkook can’t help but laugh, though he nods along. “Who knew that Park Jimin would like it slow and deep,” Jungkook muses. “Would you show me?” 

Jimin glances over at him, blowing smoke. “You are insatiable, babydoll,” he tells him, the words hot. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

Yes I do, Jungkook wants to say. Because for months they didn’t touch, didn’t get past gentle touches and the occasional brush of fingers against skin that seemed like a drifting invitation. Jimin crushes the cigarette out before he’s leaning over, grasping Jungkook’s cheeks between his palms. “ Bed Of Roses? ” he asks, oddly soft.

“Yeah,” Jungkook whispers, even though the thought of Jimin treating him like that makes his whole body ache. 

He leans down to press a kiss to Jungkook’s lips, something chaste, before he’s drawing away again. “Alright, pretty. Let me get something, then. That okay? If we try something?” 

Jungkook nods and then he’s disappearing into the bathroom, the cupboards opening and closing. Jungkook feels his mind race quicker than he can keep up, a little too high but oh so fucking ready for Jimin’s patient hands. He wills himself to relax for the few minutes Jimin’s gone, and then he’s back again. In his hands a pretty, sleek black rope. It’s not the kind someone buys at a drugstore, either, but soft looking and shining. 

Jimin seems hesitant for a moment, fiddling the rope between his ringed fingers. “You said you heard it felt good so I figured why not? Only a little, though. Nothing too intense.” 

A shiver runs through Jungkook’s body when Jimin wraps his palm around it tightly, dipping the bed as he shuffles closer. “Do you do this often?” 

“Not recently, but I have the experience. Before I got signed with the company for pornography, I had my own shows like you did. They were less focused on fucking and more focused on this kind of pleasure.” 

Jimin’s fingers are soft on his ankles, running up to smooth over his calves. Jungkook chokes with how tender it feels, how smothering Jimin’s eyes get when he bites at his lip. He exhales loudly. “Fuck I’m so high, I think my hearts gonna - gonna burst or something from nerves.” 

“We can stop, babydoll, just give me the word. Whatever you want, I’ll give you.” 

The words are enticing, spoken like a promise. “No, keep going. Do it, Jimin-ah. Before I really do burst.”

Jimin’s laugh is entirely too pretty for the situation, though he maneuvers between Jungkook’s legs, hands sturdy on his thighs as he leans down for a kiss. He doesn’t taste like smoke, but like fresh mint. Jungkook chases his tongue when he draws away, leaving him to pant for something deeper. “Be patient,” he chuckles, a finger pressed to his picked lips. “Hands clasped in front of you.” 

He does as he’s told, Jimin wrapping the rope around his wrists tight enough it stings, but not too tight that he can’t handle it. After, Jimin ropes around his arms a bit, up to his elbow, and it looks like art, really. Or maybe he’s just fucking high? He tries to move in the knots he ties, and Jimin seems smug when he can’t. “Now what?” he asks, his nerves still shaking him. Jimin is there to smooth it all over, fingers trailing warmth over his skin. He feels nearly hot, though. 

“You learn colors. Red for stop, yellow for slow down. Green for go. You have to remember them, okay? I don’t plan to do anything that should require them but - just for future reference. For precaution.” 

Future reference. Jungkook tries not to dwell on that promise, nodding in agreement instead. 

“Good,” he hears Jimin murmur, palms smoothing up to the hem of Jungkook’s shirt. He pushes it up, taking his time. The cold metal of Jimin’s rings send goosebumps along his warm stomach, a hiss falling from his lips. Jimin murmurs praises under his breath, leaning down to blow against his nipple. “You can put your arm around my neck.” 

Jungkook does, caging Jimin in close. He huffs out a breath when Jimin’s tongue glides around his areola— not giving him where he wants it most. Agitation makes his fingers tangle in Jimin’s growing hair, as much as he can muster with the ropes, tugging the tendrils to urge him forward. 

“You don’t get what you want like that,” is what he murmurs instead, taking skin between his teeth. The sting makes Jungkook whine faintly. “Ask for it, babydoll.”

The words make his dick ache, and god he’s too high for this, really, all fuzzy and sensitive as it is but —

Jungkook tightens his arms around Jimin’s neck, in his hair, fisting it desperately despite Jimin telling him it won’t do anything. “My nipples,” he whispers, embarrassed all over again. “Wanna feel your mouth on them, hyung, please.” 

The smile that spreads across Jimin’s lips makes his cock twitch, Jimin closing his soft lips around a single nipple. It’s hot and wet, Jungkook always hyper sensitive when he was touched there. Jimin knows, of course he does, because he breathes words against them a minute later. “See what happens when you ask nicely, babydoll?”

Jungkook groans, Jimin’s teeth grazing over the pert bud. “Can’t stop thinking about how easily you can come with just this,” he says, casually, like he’s contemplating the idea. “Wouldn’t even be able to do anything either while I made you, would you?” 

It’s cruel how hot he feels, then, because the realization hits him that Jimin was right. His arms were useless, kept in place by ropes and Jimin’s body. The weight atop his is just as much, and Jungkook suddenly isn’t sure if it’s the grass or Jimin that’s making his head all swimmy. It’s pleasant, his body so response on its own, Jimin flicking his nipple just to watch him flinch. “Do you remember colors, babydoll?” 

“Green,” he says, laughing a bit. “Grass is greener on the other side shade of green, Jimin, please.” 

Jimin chuckles before he’s latching onto a single bud, tongue rolling over it until Jungkook sighs. That was another thing Jimin was right about, annoyingly so - he could come like this. Could fall apart on Jimin if he let him. “ Ah ,” he moans, Jimin’s teeth clamping down onto the nub, just hard enough he feels his thoughts fizzle out. “Ah, fuck , Jiminie.” 

There’s hands smoothing down his sides, nails scraping against his skin. Jimin’s moving to his other nipple now, and his lips look sinful wrapped around him. Covered in spit, lidded eyes holding contact with Jungkook’s. He can’t help but squirm when Jimin pulls off, fingers unbuttoning his shirt until he can shrug if halfway from his shoulders. And there they were - silver studs in his nipples and -

“Relax,” Jimin reminds him, lips hot over his. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing until he feels it, Jimin’s studded nipples ghosting over his. “Sensitive too.” 

Oh. Oh, that’s doing things to his dick, definitely. Jimin’s eyes shut when he lets their nipples brush against one another, sighing in a pleasure Jungkook wants to swallow. The cold silver makes him shiver, and he’s so fucking wrecked thinking about how sensitive Jimin is that he has to bite down on his lip to stop from asking for his own taste. “Kiss me, please,” he says instead, tugging at Jimin’s hair. 

He responds with hurried kisses, Jimin’s mouth moving over his with faint groans. He never thought it would as hot as it feeling him grind together like this, and now he really, really wants to come. Jungkook’s hips move up, taking initiative, finding tension against Jimin’s thigh. He pulls away to gasp, head thrown back. He shouldn’t want this so bad - he was just fucked yesterday. What was it Jimin had said? Insatiable? Yes, that’s what he had called him.

Maybe so. Maybe he was was. But maybe it was all for Jimin.

And then Jimin laughs against his throat, halting Jungkook’s thoughts. “Are you getting off on my thigh, babydoll?”

“Mm, need to come.” 

“Did I say you could?” Jimin asks, pausing his movements. It’s infuriating that he can’t even do anything, can't touch him the way he wants to drag him close again. 

“Hyung, but -“ 

Jimin’s presence is desperately  missed when he draws away. “Wanna come that bad even though you were fucked twice yesterday?” He asks, the words mimicking his own previous thoughts. He flushes, squirming in the restraints. For a moment he assumes Jimin will deny him, leave him like this to suffer with a too hard dick. But instead, he smiles something wicked. “Okay then. Turn around.” 

Jungkook fumbles to do so, much to Jimin’s amusement. His head spins with the possibilities, that maybe Jimin will fuck him into the mattress like he very much wants. Or maybe he’ll push his fingers and rings in until he’s coming on the sheets. He’s high, the words he wants to make not pushing their way from his mouth, his lips so numb.

Jimin shuffles  the borrowed clothes from his body, humming in appreciation. “Your poor ass,” he coos, hands groping the bruised skin. “Does it hurt, babydoll?” 

He nods into the pillow, and Jimin coos again. “I’ll rub you in ointment when I’m done, sweetheart. But they’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” 

Jungkook wants to ask what he means, but then there’s a tongue laving over one asscheek, and a slight sting when lips suck hard against the skin. Jungkook feels his whole body flash hot, Jimin moving across every bit of his ass that he can get, sucking purple and angry red bruises until his skin is absolutely covered. He’s so hard it hurts, and he knows Jimin can see how desperate he is for something. “How do your hands feel? Color?” 

They definitely sting against the rope now, but he doesn’t want it gone. He murmurs green while Jimin breathes against his ass. “Wanna fuck you so bad, Jungkook-ah. Wanna try something else though.” 

“Anything, hyung. Just please -“ 

He feels Jimin lean forward, reaching for the drawer at his desk. It’s cluttered with pipes and magazines, some straight up pornographic from their own company. He rummages first a moment before he brings out a black little mask, a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek as he places it over his eyes. Jungkook’s vision goes dark and he breathes in slow, shakey. “Green, before you ask again,” he says hurriedly. 

Jimin only laughs. 

“I’m not gonna last,” he groans, biting back into the pillows. He’s gonna come as soon as Jimin so much as fucks into him, stomach hot and coiling into itself just imagining how he must look for him. Bound and blinded, spread out on his all fours. Jungkook moans when a finger brushes his ass.

“I had no intention to fuck you but you’re so pretty like this, Kook-ah. How can I not? Prettiest fucking doll, jesus christ.” 

And Jimin fucks him gentle. Opens him up with three thick fingers, pushes Jungkook’s back down until he’s flat against the mattress. It’s not hurried or hard, it’s Bed of Roses, with Jimin leaning down to pepper kisses against his shoulder. Jungkook finds himself shaking, every touch a surprise because all he can see is black and bursts of starry pleasure behind the blindfold. 

“Babydoll,” Jimin moans, flush against his ass, cock so deep Jungkook chokes on a gasp. “ My babydoll.” 

It makes Jungkook come for the first time, hard, so hard Jimin is cooing and rocking his hips in, letting him milk out against his silk sheets. But then he doesn’t stop, opts to flip Jungkook over until he’s on his back and meshed into the come, shushing the slight grumble of complaints. He doesn’t mind after, then, because Jimin is so soft with him despite the growing sensitivity. He pauses his movements just to play with his cock, silencing Jungkook’s whimpers until he’s hard again. He’s dizzy on it, on Jimin.

Even dizzier when he kisses him, messy with Jungkook’s head floating in post-orgasm and a peaking high. Jimin just quietly laughs, always laughs, and fucks into him until Jungkook is punched up the bedsheets. “Come in me,” he whines. “Please, hyung.” 

“The condom -“ 

“Off, off. Please, fuck, we’re both clean with the - the constant tests. Just wanna feel.” 

Jimin pauses to pull away, fingers fumbling with the sticky condom. They don’t do this, don’t fuck raw, but Jimin doesn’t even question when he sinks back in with a choked gasp of his own. Jungkook was hot around him, clenching down like a vice. When’s the last time they’ve done this with someone? They try not to think about it, because Jungkook just begs for Jimin until he’s leaning down and biting into his shoulder, coming in Jungkook’s ass with a moan that makes Jungkook goosebump. 

“That was,” Jungkook croaks, Jimin pushing through blindfold up over his eyes. He blinks with the light. Jimin’s a mess, hair mussed and lips bitten red. “Literally the best thing I’ve ever felt.” 

“You’re spoiled,” Jimin tells him, untying Jungkook from the restraints. His thumb smoothed over the rope burn left behind, and leans down to kiss his wrists. “Nothing too rough? Was okay?”

Jungkook uses his newfound ability to grab things to pull Jimin in, doesn’t care about the gross sticky mess they’ve become, kisses him until he has to pull back to breathe. “Thank you,” he tells him quietly, before Jimin smiles and is off to find a towel. 

He lets him do what he always does, flipping over on his stomach and mumbling about how gross Jimin is to throw him in his own mess. Jimin grins as he’s wiping his back clean. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not my fault you came all over the sheets. Want me to get the ointment—?” he asks, rubbing over the bruises on his thighs, his arms, his poor ass. 

Jungkook pouts, and it earns him another kiss because Jimin can't resist that. 

Jungkook finds Jimin leaning against his camaro with his sunglasses pulled over his eyes after his last shot of the month. He’s wearing a very deep slitted shirt down the front, showing off his broad chest for absolutely sinful and unknown reasons. He tries not to salivate as he bounds for him, excitement the only prominent drive in his muscles. “I’ll just be a few minutes, hyung. Hoseok wants to talk to me right quick, you know how persistent he gets.” 

“I’ll come with, the sun is killing me anyways.” 

They enter the hotel, the camera crew packing up, cleaning the area. Jungkook’s shoot went smooth, though he received quite a mouthful about the bruises all over his body. He spent an extra thirty minutes in the studio while the makeup artist dotted his skin with concealer. It’s beginning to rub off now, after all the sweat, but Jungkook will have plenty of time to let them fade before he’s booked for work again.

Jimin finds a clean chair to flop into, watching Jungkook approach Hoseok amongst a sea of crew workers and bulky cameras. He’s sure he knows what his director wants to talk to him about, though Jungkook has already reassured him the movie deal wasn’t entirely out of the question just to get him off his back about it. 

“Hey, kid,” Hoseok claps at his back, offering his thanks as he always has. “Real quality work today. Gonna miss you for the next few weeks. Where did you say you were going again?” 

“Just Busan, hyung, nothing entirely too special. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Hoseok is all smiles, chewing on a toothpick, shades pushed up over his head. “I know you said you were thinking about it but I just wanted to check in just in case.” 

It’s exactly as he expects, and Jungkook stuffs his hands into his robe pockets. He’s spent hours thinking of the deal, has even let it slip to Jimin— even if that didn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped. The idea of working with Jimin on something bigger, something theatrical, was of course tempting, but then there was college, of his reputation later down the line for jobs. Nobody stayed in porn forever. “Still mulling it over, to be honest, hyung. It’s just… it’s a lot, you know?” 

“Big money and names, I understand. You’ll be worth millions by the end of this, deepthroat—“ 

Jungkook flinches at the name. He’s been called it plenty of times but somehow, in this context, it feels wrong. Does he really want his name to be tied to that sort of money because of Deepthroat? Jungkook knows it’s possible, knows he could get there easily, but rash decisions are the entire reason he put so much of his life on hold before. 

“— your name and face plastered everywhere. I could probably even get them to up the offer. You won’t ever have to need help again.” 

Still, he smiles. Financial stability was nice, but he didn’t want to become someone driven by money. He wanted to cling to his passion before it burned out. “I understand and I appreciate it, Director but I… I just need to think on it. I’m still getting used to all of this.” 

“If it’s any consolation, Jimin’s already given the okay,” Hoseok tells him, eyes flickering over to the body on the couch. Jungkook is sure Hoseok knows about them, whatever they are. 

“I’ll have an answer for you when I get back from Busan, hyung. I promise.” 

Hoseok sighs for a moment, but then he’s leaning over, planting a fat kiss against his cheek. “Whatever you choose, you know I’ll still support you, Jungkook,” he says, despite knowing that Jungkook rejecting the idea could cost him a fortune. Hoseok was good like that. “Have fun in Busan, yeah? And hey, don’t come back with these.” 

Jungkook pulls the robe up over the marks on his skin, stuttering out a quiet apology before he’s backing away. He shoots Jimin a look before he’s heading for the stairs to gather his things. Jimin simply shrugs, head thunking back against the back of the chair.

He feels guilty for not giving Hoseok the immediate answer he wanted, but truthfully, Jungkook didn’t care for the money that much. He wasn’t aiming for riches and staggering wealth, but fulfillment , wherever that led him. Pornography just seemed like a good head start on his finances, but never a career he planned to stick to. He enjoyed it but - he enjoyed other things even more. He just has to find a way to tell Hoseok that without ruining this temporary comfort. Jungkook reaches for his bag full of clothes, tossing them on quickly and replacing the empty thing with his robe. He’ll need a shower as soon as they arrive to Busan for sure, his hair stringy and his skin smelling of sex. 

Downstairs again, he’s approaching the crew with room keys. They’re all familiar, wishing him a good vacation and a ‘ see you soon, Deepthroat-ssi’, which earns them all a roll of his eyes. They’re grinning as he backs away, but then before he reaches Jimin again, someone steps in front of him, blocking his path. 

“Jungkookie,” the man whispers, who Jungkook quickly places as Kijung, the very same cameraman he remembers Jimin pointing out the very night they slept together for the first time. 


“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.”



Jimin’s convinced he’s got a crush on Jungkook, as he’s always available for his shoots, no matter the schedule. Always present even when Jungkook shoots out of town. “I heard you were going to Busan for a few weeks.” 

Jungkook smiles, because Kijung has always been good to him. Always there with his costumes—or lack thereof— and drinks. “Yeah, Taehyungie invited me down and I couldn’t say no. I’m a sucker for bonfires.” 

Kijung is grinning right back, hand scratching at his arm. For some reason he looks nervous, and really, he’s not bad looking. He’s struck with that as he stretches, Jungkook always used to seeing him behind the camera rather than like this. Never got that good look at him when he’s so busy on set.  “Have family there, good place. Be sure to check out the Manjuggal caves if you uh, like caves. Cool place to smoke grass, you know? A bit ironic, I suppose,” Kijung is shaking his head, laughing to himself. “Sorry, a little rambling there I uh - I wanted to ask you something before you headed out.”

“It’s cool, I’ll put it on the itinerary,” he hums, adjusting the strap on his back. He peeks over Kijung’s shoulder to find Jimin watching, looking both amused and entirely impatient. He can’t see his eyes through the glasses, but the set of his jaw and the way he’s leaning his chin into his palm is enough for Jungkook to know he’s remembering his own words to Jungkook before, about Kijung and a certain crush. He finds Kijung’s eyes again, flushing when he realizes he hadn’t even acknowledged anything he’s said. “Oh, yeah, what did you wanna ask?” 

Kijung laughs, something nervous, and Jungkook internally groans when it clicks into place. “I was just wondering if maybe when you get back you’d like to, I don’t know, do something? I know a market that makes some gnarly fried chicken and mandu. Maybe after a shoot?” 

Jungkook was never very good with things like this, has always been awkward on dates and meetings. Even now, despite knowing Kijung for months now, he shuffles in his spot. It wasn’t like he wasn’t his type or anything, maybe any other day he might have even let it happen. Kijung was attractive, with kind eyes and long hair that sort of curled in his face. But then Jungkook finds himself thinking about Jimin waiting for him, probably staring Kijung down from where he sits and Jungkook decides to lie. 

Because no matter how attractive Kijung might have been, or kind, he didn’t have the same weight to his gaze or the honeyed voice he’s used to. “I appreciate the offer, Kijung-ssi. But I try to make a point not to get too involved with people at work. Bad for professionalism,” he says, softly, because Kijung’s ears are burning red and a pang of guilt is there in Jungkook’s chest. “I’d be happy to go for a company drink but, you understand?” 

“Of course,” he says, seemingly shaking off the rejection. He bows respectfully and Jungkook returns it with his own. “See you when you return from Busan, Jungkook-ssi.” 

Jungkook hurries past the rest of the crew to avoid any potential stops, because everyone in the entire company seems to know he’s off for vacation and wanted to stop him. “Sorry,” he tells Jimin, whose brow is perked. The amusement is back in his eyes, even behind his glasses. “Kijung had to ask me uh,  something.” 

“I told you he was a little in love with you, babydoll,” Jimin muses, sounding like he desperately wanted to tell him ‘I told you so.’ “What was the decision, then? He seems… nice.” 

There’s an edge to Jimin’s voice that Jungkook picks up on, but barely, beneath the sweetness of his words. He shrugs as they walk back out to the camaro, promptly discarding the bag in the backseat. “I told him I don’t get involved with people I work with,” and that has Jimin chuckling as he reaches for the door handle. Under his breath, so quiet he isn’t sure Jimin he hears, he mumbles - “You know, like a liar.” 


Busan was particularity hot this summer, Jungkook immediately regretting not putting on sunblock. He’s sure he’ll hear it from Hoseok when he returns with sunburn and an uneven tan. “I haven’t been camping in years.” 

“Does it count as camping if it’s in a cabin?” Jimin asks, the two of them taking their bags out of the trunk and heading in to meet Taehyung and Yoongi. It was a Taehyung’s parents cabin, right down by the beach, and they had it for nearly two weeks. A proper rest, even if it meant watching the two of them recreate porn on the couch. 

“Jiminie! Jungkook-ah!” he hears, a body colliding with his. Jungkook grunts, though curls a hand around Taehyung’s waist in return. He was already sporting the tan Jungkook dreads, but at least it actually looked good on him. “Yoongi’s cooking. Says it’s therapeutic and that I was absolutely not allowed anywhere near the kitchen.” 

“You can’t cook worth shit, Taehyungie,” Jimin points out, which is true enough that Taehyung doesn’t even pretend to take offense to. “Remember that time you were trying to make rice but it turned to mush? Yeah, I do, so good on Yoongi for barricading you out.” 

“Yeah, okay, enough,” Taehyung shoves Jimin playfully. He seems to register that they’re too heavy to move because of they’re clutching their suitcases still. “Oh, sorry, forgot you were both full of bags. Your room is around the corner, by the way. It’s cool if you share right?”

“With how many times this brats crashed my place? Yeah,” Jimin snorts, already heading for the room. He disappears behind the door but then a muffled yell sounds through the walls.  “This bed is tiny as fuck, Taehyung, what the fuck?” 

Taehyung’s shrugging at Jungkook, giving him a small wink that he knows is entirely for him. He was never explicit with telling Taehyung what’s been going on, but he figured that somehow - he figured it out. “Once you settle in I have grass and a bonfire pit waiting by the beach,” he tells Jungkook, nudging him slightly. “It’s good to see you, Jungkookie.” 


The bonfire was successfully lit after several dozen attempts, both Yoongi and Jimin fanning it until it finally spurred to life. Jungkook’s been eating hotteok the entire time, waiting for the two of them to finally be done with it all. It blazes high, up to Jungkook’s waist, perhaps, and then they’re all claiming their respective logs. Jungkook takes a seat on the ground, placed beside Jimin’s legs and relishing in his body heat. “Yoongi hyung,” Taehyung calls, waving him forward faster. “Bring the fuckin’ drinks already, I’m parched.” 

“This is only going to dehydrate you more,” Yoongi says, though Taehyung’s grabbing the cans with greedy hands. Jungkook barely manages to catch the one he’s thrown, fingers slipping on the icy wet can. The satisfying pop of the can opening makes him thirstier, and he brings it up to his lips fully intending to finish half of it. It tastes like piss and Jimin is laughing from the corner of his eye. 

“I know it doesn’t taste that good,” he tells him. Jungkook stops to breathe, grinning. 

“Tastes like shit, actually.”

Jimin brings his own can to his lips, and then Yoongi’s mumbling about checking the food. They watch him walk up the sand and to the house, and Taehyung grins. “He asked me to move in with him.” 

“What? That’s fucking rad,” Jimin exclaims, because it’s been years of Taehyung and Yoongi somehow surviving together in this industry. “You’re gonna do it?” 

“I think so. Being here with him makes me think I can.” 

Taehyung’s watching Yoongi through the glass pane, smiling to himself. It was nice to see them happy together, see them work through it all and come out so well. Jungkook feels a bit of envy for that. Having someone to push through the loneliness of the industry, the days where it got too rough, too tiring, too repetitive. Jungkook wonders what it’s like to have someone to go home to like that, to be held and fucked different than a grimey set. To -

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Jimin hums, and Jungkook finds himself flushing because he… does have that. All the times Jimin’s waited for him at his shoots. Taken him home, rubbed his tender muscles, fucked him into the mattress the way he craved. Made him feel like he wasn’t alone. “Think the whole company will sigh in relief once you just make it all official. Stop dancing around each other, you idiots. Pop the fucking question for all of us waiting.” 

Stop dancing around each other.

Jimin laughs when Taehyung throws a stray marshmallow at his head, and then there’s a hand in his hair. Jimin pets him softly, fingers moving down to stroke at his nape, his earlobe. Jungkook is on fire. 

Stop dancing around each other. 


“So, what’d you tell Hoseok?” Jimin asks, leaning back into the soft sand. The half empty beer bottle is between his thighs, and Jungkook glances out to the water. The waves are prettier at night, coiling into themselves with the sun reflecting oranges and yellows against it. That certain kind of comforting slosh and splash. Jungkook breathes in the salt. Taehyung and Yoongi have already left for bed, stumbling into the house with messy kisses to follow. Jimin had been smiling after them so tender his own heart was palpitating. 

“I told him I didn’t know. And it’s… not a lie. I still don’t know,” Jungkook says simply, digging his toes into the sand beneath his feet. “I told him I’d decide after Busan.” 

“You’ll say no, then,” is all he hears, softly from his side. Jungkook turns to find Jimin watching him. “What? If you aren’t sure by now, you’ve got your mind made up, no? Nothing wrong with it. He’s not going to pressure you.” 

“I just - I just feel bad,” he admits, because he hasn’t said that to anyone but himself and it felt nice. To vocalize the fears he’s had about everything that’s happening, all the quick changes, the decisions he’s to make. He exhales it all like bad air. “He gave me all this, essentially. I mean, what high end director takes in an amateur like that? Lets them work with their best fucking stars?” 

Jimin finishes off his beer, a smile on his lips. He’s tipsy, understandably so with all the drinks Taehyung and Yoongi tossed their way. Jimin’s eyes are a little red-ringed, cheeks to match and puffed up the slightest. “He’s just good like that. Likes to give people a chance because no one wanted to give one to him when he first started. But, he didn’t just choose you all on his own, Jungkook-ah.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” Jimin murmurs, fingers brushing against Jungkook’s throat, over the marks beginning to fade. They move up to his ear, tug along the silver earrings there. “Hoseok doesn’t watch all that shit for scouting, and I’m not exactly hired to fuck just anyone.” 

“Yeah, yeah, big pornstar with a stroke game worth millions, got it,” Jungkook teases, though even the simple touch Jimin gives him sets his tipsy ass on fire. Thankfully, his entire face is prone to a pink flush, and Jimin can't see how his soft fingers affect him. “Are you telling me I was nervous for no reason when I first saw you? Because you picked me?” 

“Hm, it was cute though.” 

“You enjoyed that too much,” Jungkook accuses, though Jimin’s leaning his head onto his shoulder, a smirk on his lips. If he wanted, he could lean in and capture him in a kiss, could chase his lips until they were rolling in the beach sand. But he’s border-lining drunk and tries to tell himself that wasn’t normal for them. They fucked, sure, that was good, but they were still just friends. No matter how much Jungkook liked to entertain otherwise. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve had your eyes on me for a while, Jimin-ssi.” 

Jimin’s pressing his lips to his neck then, a huffed laugh quiet against his skin. Jungkook freezes with the touch, because this was - this was different. “And if I have?” 

It sends chills down his spine, the words confident of course, Jimin always was. He earned that for himself. But even then - it sounds like a question too. A what if? Is that okay? Jungkook turns to meet Jimin’s eyes, their noses brushing. They both smell like alcohol and the air is pregnant with questions, and Jungkook doesn’t know how to voice just how much he doesn’t mind Jimin’s eyes on him. “Think I’d like that,” he says quietly, his own confession beneath it all. 

“Fuck, I wanna kiss you,” Jimin admits with a small slur, eyes flickering down to stare at Jungkook’s. It falls loose from his tongue and perhaps they’re drunk, but kissing Jimin was all he’s been thinking about since six months ago. He takes initiative and leans in, lets their lips press together. Beneath it all, there’s still hesitancy, because Jungkook doesn’t want to push too hard, make things too complicated. But Jimin sighs against his lips, his fingers grasping beneath his chin to steady Jungkook, kiss him soft and overwhelming. Jimin’s pushing him on his back, hovering over him and kissing him with a new fervor. 

But he doesn’t go further, which is - which is different, too. Because they never just kiss. Never just touch. But Jimin’s pulling back to stroke at his cheek. “You don’t know how much I want you to say yes to this deal because the thought of breaking big with you is ideal, but,” Jimin hums, leaning down to press his nose into Jungkook’s neck. “I can see it in your eyes. How you want something else. You have for a while.” 

“I do,” Jungkook says, huffing when Jimin draws away to watch him, head in his hand. “I want… I wanna go to school. I’m so sure of it, hyung. Wanna do all those things with the camera.” 


“Or even cinematography. I could be the one putting you on the big screen, hyung,” he grins, and Jimin responses in kind. “I don’t mind where I am right now. I feel content, no rush, but then there’s this deal that shakes it all around. I just wanted to make small things, little films, maybe some magazine shoots. But nothing that big - nothing that puts me out there and solidifies some future I don’t exactly want.”

“You should go to school, then,” Jimin says simply. “Everyone likes to take some time off to get their shit together and that’s cool, that’s normal, but don’t settle for what you get stuck doing during that break phase.” 

He’s right. And that’s just it, isn’t it? Jungkook doesn’t want to settle with the thing he chose just to get some extra money. “What about you, hyung? I know you don’t want to do this all your life, either.” 

“For now, it’s alright. I don’t really… I don’t really have a dream right now though. Make sense, babydoll?”

Jungkook reaches for Jimin’s hand on a whim, and feels warmth spread when Jimin lets their fingers tangle. “One time I was talking to Taehyung and Yoongi hyung about this. I was so fucking drunk about it. Crying because I didn’t know what I wanted but - but I remember Yoongi telling me something that I’ll never forget. I clung so hard to it, hyung.” 

Jimin squeezes his fingers, brings them up to brush against his lips. “What was it?” 

“That it’s okay if you don’t have a dream. You may not ever really have a clear one, or know where to go or what to do. How society pressures us to have a goal but - not having one is okay too. S’long as you’re happy,” Jungkook pushes hair from his face, laughing at the memory of crying when it had been so fucking simple . But then he’s turning to Jimin, the space between them much closer than it was before. “Are you happy, hyung? Don’t let me ruin anything for you, okay? Don’t take me as saying no to this deal ruin anything for you.”

“Right now?” Jimin asks, and then he’s rolling over onto his back. They can still feel the dying heat of the bonfire behind them, the cool of the waves in front. The sky is much darker now, the stars are beginning to peek out from where they were hidden before. Jimin’s quiet for a moment, just watching, his eyes flickering to capture every twinkle of light possible. Jungkook doesn’t expect him to squeeze at their intertwined fingers again. Jungkook’s breath hitches when he brings them up to his lips, kissing Jungkook’s fingers so soft he thinks he’s dreaming it up. “I think so, yeah. And babydoll?” 


“The only thing you’ve ruined for me is other people.” 

Jungkook can’t help the smile from pulling his lips up into a grin. The words are so quiet, so tender even though they’re slurred faintly. “Me too, Jimin-ah. Me too.” 

Three Months Later

“Baby,” Jungkook hums, his body draping over Jimin’s. The light is peeking through their messy blinds, Jungkook’s new apartment closer to the university he’s enrolled in. Jimin groans, a hand coming up to rub at Jungkook’s back, bare skin soft under his morning fingertips. “Baby, our last shoot is today. Wake up.” 

“Dick doesn’t work,” he mumbles instead, trying to fight for the blankets. Jungkook laughs, his palms grabbing them in his hand so Jimin can't have them. He ends up on top of Jimin, straddling his waist, the blankets successfully tossed off the bed. Jimin shivers, trying time rub the cold away because he’s fallen asleep practically naked. “Let’s skip. Can make our own shoot and just call it a successful day.”

Jimin’s pouting, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. He’s so beautiful in the morning, even more so when he’s sporting marks on his neck. Jungkook traces them with his finger, and then down to the locket on his neck that Jungkook had given him once they’d returned from Busan. It has their pictures in it from their little trips around the city. The two of them visiting every childhood place they’d remembered, and then taking pictures in the small booths. Of course it ended with Jimin’s lips on his, and Jungkook trying desperately to shield the camera from the lewd photography. He framed them when they’d returned. 

“We promised Hoseokie we’d do this.” 

Jimin groans again. “I don’t think my dick is gonna work after last night, baby,” he whines, blinking up at Jungkook because it’s beginning to get bright in the room. “Want me to embarrass myself with a broken dick? In front of the hotshot fucking cameraman Joon and Hoseokie?” 

“And whose fault is that?” he grins, leaning down to catch Jimin in a kiss. Their lips are sore from all the fucking kissing, really, because there’s been a lot of it, but they sink into it anyways. “I told you it was a bad idea and yet. Who  is the insatiable one again?” 

Jimin responds with wrapping his arms around Jungkook, drawing him into a hug. “I am a weak man, babydoll. Please don’t curse me for it. Now can you hand me a smoke? Refuse to move until I get that and some disgustingly black coffee.” 

He maneuvers himself off the bed, Jimin’s hands trailing after him and sighing when he’s gone. But then Jungkook’s replacing just empty fingers with a cigarette. “Coffees made. When you wake up, just need your signature on the papers so we can bring them to the shoot.” 


“It’ll be okay, hyung. Us. This— you’ll love university.”

Over the past three months, Jimin’s decided he was done with pornography, too. Not for any terrible reason, honestly. He enjoyed it but - but then he’s remembered just how much he missed the college scene. How after a while, he wasn’t doing anything he wanted to commit to. He wanted to go back for something he’d abandoned years ago because he didn’t have a drive for it. Jungkook had laughed when he told him he just wanted to be a veterinary student, but like, he was always real into it all. Taking care of things no matter if it were people or animals. 

“Think I wanna be a vet or something,” Jimin had blurted out one day, shared blunt between his fingers. They were in the alleyway after aerobics, Jimin in his tights and suit. He’d fallen into a quiet mood when Jungkook had broken the news that he finally applied to university in Seoul, and planned to officially tell Hoseok he wasn’t doing the movie. It was a decision he had put off for a month even after Busan, but he’s been confident, finally. 

“Makes sense, really. You’re always there to help me after shoots. Fucking free evaluations and shit,” Jungkook grins, brushing over Jimin’s blushed cheeks. “You’re cute, hyung. And animals love you.” 

“It’s what I wanted to do before I came out here and found Hoseokie. Always planned to go back, maybe, because I never had animals when I was young. Always wanted them though.” 

“I’m always here no matter what you decide, hyung. Always.” 

And then Jimin had applied to the same college. Hoseok has been sad to see them go, but he assured that pornography moved like this usually. They hit it big, they experienced the rush of success, and now it was time to move on to other things in their life. Except this time, together. Of course, they agreed to one more shoot before they left officially. 

As partners. 

Jungkook sighs when Jimin finds him in the kitchen, placing a blunt between his lips. He sinks into it, into the mellow high and into Jimin. “Know what else I love?” he asks. 

Jungkook grins when there’s a kiss pressed to his temple.