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gains of the heart

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When Namjoon announces blithely that he’s going to start bulking up for their next comeback, Jungkook knows there’s a ticking clock left on his sanity.

Namjoon stands there in the kitchen, unassuming and unaware of the havoc he’s wreaking on Jungkook’s still-developing mind, and lets them know he’s also going to get blond hair in addition to a new physique. He tosses an apple amiably back and forth between his hands until he drops it by accident. Jungkook bites his lip to try to stop himself from getting hard at the dinner table, a feat he hasn’t had to accomplish in years.

Namjoon bites into the now bruised apple, juice spilling down his plush lips, and Jungkook squeezes his chopsticks so hard they leave indentations on his fingers.

Frankly, Jungkook thinks it’s rude of Namjoon to decide to undergo a personal odyssey of hotness just when Jungkook has finally gotten a handle on his crush. Not that their leader could ever be rude. Not that their leader could ever be anything other than sweet, effortlessly intelligent, compassionate and sexy.


Jungkook just kind of thinks Namjoon should have alerted him ahead of time. Sent out a memo, maybe, addressed specifically to Jungkook’s dick, warning that tough times are ahead.

When Namjoon comes back from an appointment with their stylists with fresh, platinum blond hair, Jungkook goes outside and does burpees in the snow.

When Namjoon proudly shows them, right there in the middle of the living room, that his abs are back, Jungkook drops down and starts doing crunches behind the couch.

Jungkook’s always had, according to Seokjin, “too much energy to to be cute.” He overflows with it, the urge to run and jump to touch the top of the doorframe always sizzling just under his skin. And ever since he hit puberty, the energy has been, well. Mostly horny. And that horny energy has been focused on one person in particular.

All of that horny energy needs somewhere to go, though. And naturally, when you’re a scared baby trainee who’s trying to escape thoughts of your leader (that always seem to come up when it’s dark out and one hand is in your sweatpants and the other is covering your mouth), working out is the safer option.

He likes the security of the reps and sets, he likes developing a routine, he likes that he can literally see his progress on his own body. The fact that his hyungs comment on it doesn’t hurt, either. Jimin likes to rub Jungkook’s pecs after he works out and it always feels extremely motivational. Lately Seokjin has been grabbing at his biceps and yelling, “Yah, what are you so big for? Who are you trying to kill?”

So, yes, working out helps. Exercising lets his mind go vacant, tires out his limbs. Makes it so he can barely stay awake during an evening jerk-off session instead of doing what he does best: get ambitious. If he’s exhausted from bench presses and sprints, it’s a little harder for him to stay awake, edging himself to thoughts of Namjoon. 

He’s developed a coping mechanism: exercise-as-therapy. It follows a steady pattern: Namjoon is endlessly and inventively hot. Jungkook suffers. Namjoon is oblivious. Jungkook does 100 pushups. 

As far as Jungkook’s concerned, it’s an airtight strategy. He’s keeping in shape for their upcoming Persona comeback, he’s developing muscles he didn’t even know existed, and he’s replacing the constant needy buzz of rapmon-hyungrapmon-hyungrapmon-hyung in his head with the thick, swirling rush of post-workout endorphins. He hardly even needs to jerk off anymore. Just on the rare occasion that he’s still wound up after a show or drinking with Bangtan. Jungkook is a more advanced man, a more evolved man. He is the guardian of his fate, he is the master of his dick.

It’s all working out perfectly, until suddenly he’s sitting on the floor of the gym, staring blankly at his knee, which has given out in the middle of a totally normal Namjoon-induced series of sprinting laps. His personal trainer is gesturing aggressively at his knee, then looking at Jungkook, and Jungkook’s just sitting there. Head empty. No thoughts. 

It’s a sprain. It’s not a bad one, his doctor assures him, but in Jungkook’s line of work, any sprain is a bad one. He nods along to the doctor’s instructions and promises to keep weight off his knee for as long as possible. 

Jungkook gets home, leaning on a crutch with his knee pathetically taped up, and sees Namjoon perched on the sofa reading a book of poetry and fiddling with his full lower lip. He looks deep in contemplation, like some sort of fuckable philosopher. Jungkook wants to grab the book he’s reading and devour the pages, just to get some of Namjoon’s attention onto him instead. He’s about to burst into jumping jacks to distract himself when he remembers the doctor’s words and he realizes his coping mechanism cannot help him here.

He ducks around the corner so Namjoon won’t see him (and yes, he does compose fun spy theme music in his head while he does it) and hobbles to his bedroom, where he’s safe and he won’t have to see Namjoon’s brow furrowed in intellectual, sexy thought. 

When Jungkook wakes up the next morning, the dull throb in his knee is there to remind him that he needs a new coping mechanism. There’s also a dull throb in his cock, because apparently Jungkook can’t catch a break. He tugs down his boxers and his dick makes a fwip noise as it smacks gently against his stomach. 

“So it’s like that, then,” Jungkook says grimly to his dick. It stares up at him challengingly. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters as he takes himself in hand. He considers reaching for his lube to slick his grip, but decides he can go without: he doesn’t try to make his workouts easier on himself, so why should he go the easy way out when jerking off?

He tugs himself determinedly, glaring at a spot on the wall and trying to ignore the pang in his knee when he shifts it without thinking. When it’s over and he’s finally lying there with a palm striped with cum, he doesn’t even feel satisfied.

As he follows his members through their daily schedule, parked on the sidelines of the studio as they rehearse choreography for the comeback, they all cluck over him with worry. He tries to put on a cheerful face to keep his hyungs happy – he keeps pretending like he can’t see beyond the rim of his bucket hat, then exclaims with wonderment whenever he lifts the rim back up – but he can feel their concern for him permeating everything they do. Hoseok stares at him in the mirror half the time as if he can inscribe the choreography into Jungkook’s brain with his eyes alone. Jimin sneaks him snacks. Seokjin makes him laugh by dabbing at him when the choreographer isn’t looking. 

All Jungkook wants while watching them is to join in. He’s reminded of his devastating performance in London where he just sat on the side of the stage like a stupid baby bird with an injured wing. All he had to do was stick to the regimen his personal trainer had given him, but instead he pushed himself past his limits and all he has to show for it is a sprained knee. 

All those muscles but now the only thing getting swole is his dick. 

If only there was a way to exercise his penis, Jungkook muses to himself later that night as he slurps ramyun and stares idly at the back of Jimin’s head. If only there was a way to put his stupid dick through its paces so it would tire itself out and stop making Jungkook picture Namjoon dressed as Widowmaker. 

Wait a second. Jungkook is a genius. He slaps the counter in triumph and Jimin jumps a little, dropping his phone in shock. “Ah sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says, horking down his ramyun with the air of a conquering hero. “Just figured out how to defeat my nemesis.”

Jimin gives him an odd little look and Jungkook almost pities him for not reaching Jungkook’s level of clarity. When he gets upstairs later that night, he channels all his frustration into his cock, jerking off at a punishing pace until he’s whimpering and squirming. His hips keep jumping, trying to mellow the pace into something more pleasurable, but he grits his teeth and squeezes the head until an orgasm stutters out of him, his breathing raw and ragged. He feels winded afterwards, like he’s just run a marathon or tried to beat his own breath-holding record. His dick is limp against his abs, flushed and defeated. He grins down at his dick and thinks that if he were in an anime, his glasses would flash menacingly. 

After that, Jungkook is a mighty hunter and it’s nut season. He puts himself through a masturbation regimen to rival his pre-injury workout routine – any free time he has (and he has a lot, now that he’s banned from the gym) is spent with his hand or a fleshlight, rubbing his cock until he’s not even doing it for pleasure anymore, just the satisfaction of a job well done. 

Namjoon does stretches in the living room with his long, thick legs on display in tiny little shorts (something that would have been devastating to witness before the sprain and Jungkook’s newfound mastery over his penis) and Jungkook just stands up and limps straight to his bedroom. He doesn’t even flop onto his bed. He just stands there, back braced against the door, and shoves his hand past his waistband, mercilessly jerking his cock until he’s coming in his pants with a whine. He changes his pants a lot nowadays.

It’s working, Jungkook thinks. Now, when he sees Namjoon slipping a pen into his mouth to chew on, his tongue pink and barely visible between parted lips, Jungkook’s dick barely so much as twitches, because he’s already come twice that day and his abdomen is still a bit trembly. He only gets a little breathless at the sight.

Unfortunately, like any good workout regimen, it does take a physical toll. 

Namjoon wipes a bit of sauce off his cheek one night and all Jungkook can think about is licking the napkin, so he takes drastic countermeasures and stands up from the table without a word. He walks in a fugue state to his bedroom but when he gets on his side on the bed and reaches down to grab his dick, he pulls his hand back with a sharp “ah!” 

His dick hurts. He rolls over onto his back and pulls it out of his sweats. Jungkook’s no dick doctor, but something isn’t quite right here: the head looks fine, but the shaft is all ruddy pink and the skin is hotter to the touch than normal. He grips himself again, gentler this time, and winces at the sting of it. His dick is chafed, the skin rubbed a little raw, and the friction of his hand (despite how he moisturizes like clockwork) is painful and harsh.

Jungkook, a consummate athlete, powers through the pain and pushes himself to his limits anyway. He exhales hard through his nose and bites his lip, working his dick quick and methodical as his hips jerk, trying to pull away from the tight grip of his hand. 

He knows he has lube in his desk drawer and lotion by his bed, but that’s not the point. This isn’t about making it easy for himself. It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be methodical: jerk off quick and rough, come silently, then get back to your life. He hears himself whine quietly as his thumb presses under the head against a sensitive patch of skin. He always rubs there – it’s like an instant nut button (a nutton, as he’s started calling it in his head) – and it’s even more raw than the rest of his dick. He grits his teeth and presses against it anyway, the pain a white-hot flare behind his eyelids. It hurts like he’s oversensitive from coming already, but he’s not, he hasn’t, he’s desperate to come at this point, but no matter how hard and fast he tugs at his dick, the more he hurts.

With every nerve in his dick screaming at him to give up and just get some lotion or something, Jungkook is faced with a decision: throw in the towel or power through like a goddamn champion. He plants the foot of his good leg against the bed and pinches his thigh as hard as he can with his left hand. It’s a trick he learned in his early trainee days when they were working 16-hour days: bone-deep aches feel milder when his body has a sharper pain to focus on. The bite of his nails is a good distraction from the rough, sandpaper-like tug of his hand down his shaft. It’s not about feeling good, he reminds himself. It’s about a release.

He digs his nails into his thigh harder because he can feel himself teetering on the edge of coming and he just needs to forget about the pain for another minute or two, just long enough to get himself off and do a factory reset on his stupid brain. He’s so close, his fist tightening and speeding up, his fingers rubbing sharp painful circles under the head, and all he needs is something, anything to push him over the edge – there’s hot tears dripping down his cheeks and there’s a rushing in his head and he’s imagining Namjoon calling his name and – 


The door is pushing open and Jungkook whirls the blanket over himself just in time before Namjoon walks in, concern carved into his features. Jungkook pants, willing his heart rate to slow and his stupid dick to deflate. Thankfully his bent leg hides the bulge of his erection from view. 

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asks. Jungkook nods his head vigorously and tries to start babbling an excuse but Namjoon keeps talking: “You were making these awful noises, oh my god. Why didn’t you tell us it hurt so bad?”


“Your knee! You’re literally crying and you kept whimpering. You only get like this when it’s really bad.”

To Jungkook’s horror (and his dick’s delight), Namjoon crosses to the bed and sits down on the duvet. He places a comforting, big, warm hand on Jungkook’s bent uninjured knee. 

“You don’t have to put on a brave face for us,” he says, eyebrows upturning in pity. “You can tell us if it hurts. We want to help you. Will you let me help you?”

You can help me come, Jungkook thinks desperately. He wants to squirm away but his dick is smugly sitting there, still swollen and slowly collecting all of the blood in his body. “It hurts, hyung,” he says instead, which isn’t a lie, because Jungkook is a good boy who doesn’t lie to his hyungs. 

“I’m sorry. I know,” Namjoon frowns. “Can I distract you? What would you normally do to take your mind off something like this?”

Bust a nut. “Work out.”

“Ah, I see.” Namjoon’s hand is still traipsing all over Jungkook’s knee and lower thigh, rubbing soothing little circles. It seems like Namjoon’s panic over Jungkook’s pain has outweighed his usual discomfort with physical affection. Maybe if Jungkook chops his own arm off, he’ll even get a hug.

“But I can’t work out, hyung,” Jungkook says pitifully, as if Namjoon doesn’t already know that. Namjoon doesn’t say “I know, idiot ” which is rather kind of him. Instead, Namjoon cocks his head thoughtfully and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Fuck, Jungkook is so hard. 

“What if I worked out for you?”

Jungkook just blinks.

“Maybe you’ll get some sort of, I don’t know, second-hand satisfaction from seeing your workout done? It would at least get you into a new environment.” 

Jungkook blinks some more and opens his mouth, then closes it. It would be a challenge, seeing Namjoon sweaty on the treadmill and sweatier against the mats. It would be an absolute struggle. It would be brutal.

It would be… exposure therapy?

Maybe Jungkook’s been going at this the wrong way. Maybe instead of avoiding the source of his problems, he should’ve been running boner-first towards it. He pictures himself in a lab coat and glasses, feverishly swishing test tubes and crossing out hypotheses until the only solution left is ‘1. WITNESS HYUNG’S HOTNESS 2. BECOME IMMUNE.’

“Sure,” Jungkook nods. “Thank you, hyung. Now?”

“It seems like you need a distraction now, so…” Namjoon trails off as his eyes dart over Jungkook lying on the bed. Jungkook is instantly, miserably aware of how sweaty he is, how his damp shirt clings to his neck and shoulders. “I’ll let you get changed and then we can head to the gym?”

Jungkook’s stupid dick finally goes limp as he hobbles around his room, pulling on his knee brace and some clean sweats. He fluffs his hair a bit in the mirror and adds some body spray to try to cover up the stench of self-loathing and panic that he worries is wafting off of him in waves. 

Of course Namjoon looks cute and handsome and suave waiting for Jungkook in this loose tank top and these basketball shorts that should be illegal. “Glad I didn’t work out yet today,” he grins, and Jungkook imagines building a house in his dimples and settling down there. “I know your routine is way more intense than mine.”

“You can probably keep up,” Jungkook says teasingly. Namjoon laughs and squeezes Jungkook’s bicep in a way that feels personally targeted to do the greatest amount of emotional damage. 

Jungkook’s skin feels itchy and misplaced as he walks into the gym after a few weeks off. He’s just been staying in the dorm, doing free weights for his arms. The treadmills and weight machines are calling to him, screaming that he should give up on trying to cure his Namjoon obsession and just push himself until his heart gives out and he dies dramatically, cradled in his hyung’s arms and finally free from his curse.

Namjoon catches him glancing longingly at one of the leg machines. “That one first?” he asks with a smile. 

“Yes– wait, no,” Jungkook says blearily, mouth filter totally gone. “You should probably do some cardio first.” He plops himself down on a weight bench and watches Namjoon stride over to the treadmill and bump up the incline a bit. Namjoon meets his eyes and it feels like something electric and challenging passes between them before Namjoon turns back to the treadmill display and notches the incline up several more levels.

It should be boring watching Namjoon run. Jungkook definitely lets his brain go a little empty and thoughtless, but it’s not because he’s bored. The rhythmic pumping of Namjoon’s lean, long legs is hypnotic and Jungkook’s eyes unfocus as he watches them, tan and gleaming. It isn’t long before Namjoon’s entire face and back are dripping with sweat and he’s breathing heavily, clearly not used to Jungkook levels of exercise. He raises a hand to the incline section of the treadmill display.

“Wait,” Jungkook says. Namjoon glances at him. “I wouldn’t lower the incline yet. If I were doing this. I’d do another mile at a higher incline, then lower it.” Namjoon looks affronted but he diligently bumps up the incline, but not before pulling his shirt off and tossing it to the side. 

Jungkook’s pretty sure his resulting gasp is silent.

Namjoon’s chest and stomach glow warm and soft-looking in the light. His chest bounces a little with each step, and Jungkook would give up all the anime tiddies in the world to get to touch Namjoon’s. He doesn’t even want to think about what he’d do to suck one of Namjoon’s cute brown nipples. 

Namjoon goes from a run to a sprint and he’s panting now, sweat glistening down the hollows of his neck and the curve of his lower back. Jungkook eyes his body (to check his form, obviously) and realizes with a jolt that he can see a shift of something big behind the fabric at Namjoon’s crotch, bouncing heavily in time with his steps.

Hey, that’s his dick in there, Jungkook’s mind provides unhelpfully. Obviously it’s Namjoon’s dick. It’s not like Jungkook hadn’t seen it before, hundreds of times, in dressing rooms or in the bathroom or swinging in grey sweatpants during dance practice. He catches himself pondering whether it has the same homey Namjoon smell as the rest of his hyung and decides that’s quite enough cardio for Namjoon. 

He instructs Namjoon to do some stretches after he finishes his cooldown. Namjoon lays down a yoga mat and starts stretching, bent over to reach his toes. Jungkook’s just casually observing his good male pal doing stretches so he doesn’t injure himself, that’s all. Nothing weird or psychosexual about keeping his eyes trained on the muscular ridges of Namjoon’s shoulders – just good ol’ fashioned health. 

He definitely doesn’t drool when Namjoon pushes into downward dog, because that would be ridiculous and Jungkook is, above all else, a subtle person with a handle on his emotions. His eyes are wandering down the subtle, barely-there curve of Namjoon’s ass and his mouth is arid. He’s desperate for a sip of water even though he hasn’t been the one exercising. Maybe Namjoon will spit in his mouth. Jungkook sits with his eyes wide but his brain refuses to process the images filtering through his corneas out of self-preservation.

Namjoon tosses him a cocky smile between his legs and Jungkook doubles over whimpering from a surprise jolt of pain like he’s been shot. He gasps and immediately grabs at his crotch, the source of the sensation, without thinking. When he looks up, still bent over, Namjoon stares at him and then promptly falls over onto the mat, limbs sprawled like a baby giraffe. 

“Jungkook-ah, what happened? Did you put pressure on your knee?” He scurries forward on his knees until he’s crouched at Jungkook’s feet. There’s acres of sweaty arm and neck and chest right in front of Jungkook and he’s helpless. His cock hurts where his belly is pressed tight against it but if he moves then Namjoon might see, he’ll know and then Jungkook will be out of the band forever, and he doesn’t have any real-world skills, he definitely doesn’t even know how to do his own taxes, oh god he’s going to die alone and disgraced in a ditch and– 

“Jungkook, sit up.”

And curse Jungkook’s need to be good for his hyungs, because he does

They make eye contact then wordlessly both drop their gazes to Jungkook’s cock where it’s visibly hard under his sweats. Namjoon licks his lips, staring directly at it, and Jungkook whimpers as his hips shift up involuntarily and press his raw cock harder against his sweats. He tries to summon any sort of excuse that will make this seem normal (“oh, sorry, yoga mats just really get me going” or maybe "the doctor said that the sprain will redirect blood flow to my dick” could work) but his words die in his gaping mouth when Namjoon shuffles forward on his knees until he’s between Jungkook’s spread legs. Namjoon lightly puts his hands on Jungkook’s thighs, carefully avoiding his injured knee, and stares up at Jungkook prettily. This close, Jungkook is helpless in the face of Namjoon’s cute swooped nose and smiling plush lips. He’s a rabbit caught in a trap, with nowhere to run.

OWO? Jungkook’s brain supplies, but he doesn’t know how to verbalize that, so he just stares at Namjoon and hopes he’ll say something.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow and traces one finger lightly down the fabric right next to Jungkook’s dick. “You’re not gonna run away back to your room this time?”

“I– that’s not– hyu ngh–” Jungkook denies eloquently while trying not to choke on his own spit.

The little laugh that escapes Namjoon’s mouth should feel more mocking than it does. He slowly reaches one hand forward, eyes on Jungkook’s face the whole time, and rubs over his cockhead with a light fingertip. He traces circles, slowly and meanderingly, and Jungkook wonders when he’s going to wake up from this dream. 

Then Namjoon’s settling in between his legs and tugging down his sweatpants and yup, there’s Jungkook’s cock, hard and angrily raw and leaking just the littlest bit at the tip. Namjoon grabs him in a firm grip and Jungkook yelps, tugging himself out of Namjoon’s hand before he can process it. His dick stares up at him accusingly, like it’s saying I can’t believe you ruined this for me. 

“Sorry, hyung, it’s not you, I promise, it’s just. I have all this free time now that I can’t work out and I kind of started jerking off too much and now I’m. Uh. Sore. I’m sorry, I promise I want this.” Jungkook can feel the blush inching down his body as he babbles and he feels stupid and childish, unable to even enjoy a simple handjob from his leader because he couldn’t stop jerking off. 

“We can figure something out,” Namjoon replies. He lightly holds Jungkook’s dick by the tip and looks at where the raw, pink skin starts on the shaft and ends just below the head. Then he leans forward and, with no warning at all, takes Jungkook’s cockhead between his lips and just sucks gently, eyes on Jungkook’s for any signs of pain or discomfort. 

Jungkook gasps, abs clenching. He grabs Namjoon’s shoulder and whimpers. Namjoon pulls off immediately.

“Good noise or bad noise?”

“Guh– good noise,” Jungkook says. Namjoon nods.

And then that soft, wet heat is back, teasingly encircling just the tip of Jungkook’s dick. Jungkook’s muscles feel heavy and his mind goes hazy at the teasing licks and gentle sucks pinpointed on that one sensitive spot.

Namjoon shoots a teasing smile up at Jungkook and then pulls up just far enough to part his lips and let a thick, wet string of saliva dribble down onto the head of Jungkook’s dick. When he takes him back into his mouth again, everything’s wetter and warmer and softer. The contrast of the cold air on Jungkook’s tight, painful shaft with the soft gentle kitten licks of Namjoon’s tongue feels like ice and fire, fighting to push Jungkook past his breaking point. 

Namjoon reaches up one hand to help Jungkook tug his sweatpants all the way down and off of one leg then pulls Jungkook by the ass to the edge of the bench. Jungkook spreads his good leg out to the side and Namjoon immediately fastens his mouth to the juncture of his thigh and groin, licking and sucking over the tender skin there. Jungkook’s sensitive, almost to the point of ticklishness, and he hears Namjoon chuckle at the tremors in his thighs.

When Namjoon’s mouth finds its way back to Jungkook’s cock, he also brings his hand up to Jungkook’s chest. Long, strong fingers tweak at Jungkook’s nipple and he gasps and shoves his hips forward without thinking until his dick slides a couple more inches into Namjoon. Suddenly the soft caress of Namjoon’s mouth is a painful vice, pressure against his already suffering dick, and he cries out. 

“Slow down,” Namjoon says as he pulls back. “Let me control the pace, okay, baby?”

Jungkook can feel himself pouting but he can’t help it. He’s stupid and overeager and he can’t even control himself. Namjoon pets his thighs, sweet and kind, and leans forward again.

This time, when he takes Jungkook’s cock between his lips, Namjoon rolls Jungkook’s balls lightly between his fingers. They were already feeling tight but the added pressure is downright overwhelming in the best way. Jungkook shivers and whimpers, doing his best not to fuck his hips forward again.

“You’re doing good,” Namjoon says as he places delicate little kisses on the crown of Jungkook’s cock. “Just trust hyung.” 

The hand on Jungkook’s balls shifts and then there’s a finger behind them, pressing in at Jungkook’s perineum and teasing near his hole. And that’s – okay, wow, bro – because Jungkook’s never been touched there before but it’s setting his nerve endings on fire and he’s trying to get more pressure, maybe Namjoon will stick his finger inside Jungkook and wouldn’t that be nothing short of miraculous, and oh there’s Namjoon’s other hand back to tug on Jungkook’s nipple and jeez he usually has more stamina than this but everything’s teasing and gentle and slow and loving and he’s coming, gasping wetly and dribbling cum onto Namjoon’s lips and tongue.

He breathes with his eyes closed for a few seconds, heart rate settling, then opens them to see Namjoon sitting between his legs with an embarrassed smile on his face and a prominent bulge at his crotch, basketball shorts clinging to the sizeable outline of his dick.

“Are you–”  

Namjoon nods shamefully. “Yup. Do you mind if I…?” He trails off, making a jerk-off gesture. Jungkook nods eagerly and tries to rearrange his limbs so he looks like an encouraging audience member. He can’t believe he’s lucky enough to see Namjoon hard, get to see him take his thick cock in his big capable hands. His cock that’s hard and trying to burst its way out of his shorts all because of… Jungkook?

“Hyung, wait,” Jungkook gasps. Namjoon freezes and looks up at him with one hand stuck inside his shorts. Jungkook can see his fist squeezing at the base of his shaft. He wants to stare at it, but there’s also a wet spot in Namjoon’s shorts where the tip of his dick is and Jungkook cannot tear his eyes away. “Is that because of me?”

Namjoon’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious?”

Jungkook swallows and nods. He’s officially an idiot. He should’ve just taken the blowjob and run without asking questions. Maybe Namjoon will be flattered and let him down easy. 

“Jungkook… You’re really not joking?”

Oh no. Oh no no no. 

Namjoon licks his lips and speaks slowly to match the languid pace his hand has taken on his cock. “You have no idea how much suffering you’ve caused me, have you?”

Jungkook cringes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize, fuck,” Namjoon sighs. He looks like he wants to deliver a lecture, maybe whip out a presentation to educate Jungkook about what he’s obviously not understanding, but also his hand is still tugging at his big dick under his shorts and he keeps trembling.

“I mean, you’ve been doing push-ups all over the house for weeks. I thought I was going to die. You’ve been driving me crazy.” 

Jungkook stares at Namjoon. His eyes are probably half the size of his face, they’re so wide. “You think I’m attractive?”

“You went from our baby maknae to this – this wow of a man and I wasn’t prepared for it,” Namjoon chokes out, hand speeding up rapidly. Jungkook feels like he’s going to float away, out through the window and into the sky. He did that. He made Namjoon hard, he’s going to make him come soon, and he didn’t even try. 

“Hyung, can you, uh,” Jungkook shifts shyly on the bench. “Can you show me?”

Namjoon’s tugging down his shorts without a second of hesitation and then he’s twisting his hand around his cockhead while his left hand tugs at his balls. He whines and rocks backwards, hands speeding up in unison. Jungkook feels useless above him, wants to contribute in some way, so he says quietly, “You look really nice, hyung.”

“I’m – ha – I’m all sweaty and disgusting,” Namjoon pants. His eyes slip closed and he bites his lip until the surrounding skin turns white.

“No, you look good,” Jungkook scrambles to assure him. “I liked watching you work out. Maybe…” Fuck, why is this so hard? “Maybe we can work out together again? You know, after my knee’s healed.”

Namjoon whines in a higher tone than Jungkooks ever heard from him before and arches his back as he comes, splattering his own chest with drops of cum. Jungkook wants to lick them up. Namjoon breathes deeply for a few seconds then releases his dick and opens his eyes. "I'd like that," he says breathlessly, muscles twitching through the aftershocks.

Jungkook smiles and runs his fingers through Namjoon's hair softly, tentatively. Namjoon hums and presses his scalp up against Jungkook's hands, encouraging him to pet harder. 

"I didn't even know you liked guys," Namjoon murmurs against his good knee. 

"Yeah, I definitely do," Jungkook says quietly back. "Though you're the first I've really... done anything with."

“Jeon Jungkook..." Namjoon shakes his head. He's grinning, amused, a little exasperated but in a loving way. "Did you seriously ask me on a date while I was jerking off to you? After I gave you a blowjob? Even though you're injured and never been with a guy before?”

“I’ve always been an overachiever,” Jungkook says proudly, and Namjoon muffles his laugh in Jungkook’s knee.