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Jungkook won’t stop moving

Namjoon frowns at him when he shifts for what has to be the fifth time in as many minutes, getting his arm around him. “Stop it, c’mon,” he murmurs, pulling him close. 

But Jungkook’s fingers won’t stop tapping, a rhythm Namjoon vaguely recognizes but can’t place. “I’m restless,” he tells him, setting his jaw and staring at the TV. There’s something in his voice that gives Namjoon pause, makes him frown.

It’s just the two of them; his roommate is out of town for the weekend, left him to go to his boyfriend’s place with a be careful, Namjoon-hyung, use condoms! and a bright cackle. (He loves Jimin, really he does, but he isn’t the most subtle.) “We could, you know, try the—the thing, you said it calms you down,” he starts, and then stops. He doesn’t know how else to say it, what name to give to it. 

But Jungkook seemingly reads his mind (or maybe, Namjoon thinks, hot under the collar, he hasn’t been able to think of anything else either). His head snaps up, eyes on him. “Could we really?” he whispers. 

This is why he loves Jungkook, their weird link, the way they just get each other. He grins like he’s more confident than he really is, leaning back against the couch. “Have at it,” he says, gesturing lazily toward his lap.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch on his thighs. “It’s not weird,” he says—or asks, Namjoon isn’t sure—and in the next second he’s on his stomach, legs kicked up by the other arm of the couch, pulling down the zip of Namjoon’s fly and nuzzling his dick. He swallows, peeking up at Namjoon. “Is this okay?” He looks like a fucking vision, red lips and bright, eager eyes, and Namjoon swallows hard, jaw clicking.

And it isn’t weird, really. It’s not something Namjoon would ever have thought to do himself, but Jungkook has more of an oral thing than he does. Namjoon’s walked in on him jerking off with a dildo in his mouth more than once (and oh , what a fucking sight that was), he just… didn’t think that would translate to actually sleeping with him. 

He’s never been so glad to be wrong. 

Jungkook kisses the side of his cock through his boxers, drawing him out of his thoughts when he drags his tongue up the fabric. He keeps his big eyes on Namjoon, humming softly. 

Namjoon’s hips kick up and he breathes out, “Shit, sorry,” closing his eyes when it’s too much, focusing instead on keeping himself still

Jungkook smirks, Namjoon can hear it when he says, “I can make you come first, if you want.” He’s got his hand loosely wrapped around Namjoon’s cock, giving the head a wet little kiss. 

Namjoon’s breath catches and he opens his eyes, reaching down to cup his cheek delicately, maybe too fond for the situation they’re in (although, he thinks with a slightly hysterical smile, isn’t that how they’ve been the whole time?). “Okay,” he whispers, clearing his throat and shifting a little, legs opening wider. “Okay, you can—yeah, you can. Make me come, sweetheart.” 

Jungkook laughs, giving his hip a little kiss when he keeps moving, fingers gentle on his thigh. “You could fuck my mouth, if you like,” he offers, voice deceptively sweet. “Been a while since we’ve done that.” 

Namjoon closes his eyes again and chokes out a laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. “You’re a demon,” he breathes. 

“A demon who wants to choke on your cock,” Jungkook agrees easily, and how does he just say shit like that? He tugs Namjoon’s boxers down so he can feel properly over his cock, stroking him a couple of times. It’s too dry to feel fantastic , but it’s enough stimulation to make him twitch. 

Jungkook bites his lip, glancing at him again, and there’s a wave of nerves coming off of him now. “Do you wanna, hyung?” 

Does he want to? Namjoon’s thought about nearly nothing else since he and Jungkook tumbled into bed together a few weeks ago. He shifts a little, blinking past the memories of Jungkook in his sheets to focus on Jungkook on his couch, nodding. (They’re both perfect visions, but tenderly, he thinks he likes it best when he can see him now , right in front of him with those sweet eyes.) 

Tentative, he moves his hand further into Jungkook’s hair, pushing it back off of his forehead. “Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling a little at him. “Fuck, baby, I can’t think of a time I’d say no.” 

Jungkook grins, front teeth on display, and buries his face against his hip. “Ah, hyung,” he says, laughing a little. “Don’t be so sweet.” 

Namjoon is going to respond, but—Jungkook kisses the side of his cock then, letting out a soft and eager sound. Namjoon doesn’t understand his love of sucking cock, why he enjoys it so much, but then—he supposes he doesn’t need to in a situation like this. (Once again, he thanks his stars that he lucked out with Jungkook.) 

He tightens his hand in Jungkook’s hair, staring at his mouth. “You look so good,” he breathes out, pushing his hair back. 

Jungkook hums happily, shifting his hips on the couch. Namjoon glances down, sees his thighs flexing, and feels a near-feral urge to mark him up, suck deep bruises into the skin that won’t fade for weeks. As he always does, he ignores it, bites back the words. Jungkook would let him, is the thing, and Namjoon doesn't know what to do with the information, the power .

“Show me,” Jungkook mumbles around the head of his cock, words muffled. He pulls off enough that he can say, “Show me how much you want me, hyung,” eyes on him again. 

Namjoon’s never been able to resist him. Not before and certainly not now that he knows what Jungkook looks like, flushed and panting, begging for more.

He tightens his grip on his hair, holding it against the back of his head like a little ponytail. ( A handle , he remembers Jungkook saying once, and his cock twitches.) “Fuck,” he whispers, swallowing and tilting his hips up, slipping in a little deeper than before.

Jungkook scoots up onto his knees, pulling off with a wet little gasp. “Tie it up,” he says, and fuck , his voice is breathy already. He hands Namjoon a hair tie with shaking hands. 

Namjoon ties it up for him, breathing out a fast little laugh. “Always prepared, aren’t you?” 

Jungkook bites his lip, looking up at him like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing. His eyes are sparkling. “Tell me how to make it good,” he says, voice just a shade rougher than usual. “Wanna make you come, hyung, yeah? N'then you'll let me stay, let me hold your cock in my mouth?"

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes back, clearing his throat after. “You just—you stay still, let me fuck your mouth. Take care of your hyung.” The words feel embarrassing, desperately dirty coming out of his mouth, but the way Jungkook shivers is worth it.

Jungkook takes him in deep, swallows around him, and then stills, mouth going slack.

Fuck

Namjoon huffs out a moan, holding his hair. He fucks his hips up, trying not to go too deep. 

Jungkook gags, squeezing his thigh, but doesn’t move. Namjoon vaguely remembers— I like choking on it, a little , said quietly like the words didn’t make Namjoon get hard so fast it made him dizzy and whimpers, fucking up that deep again more tentatively. 

Jungkook moans, choked-off, squeezing his thigh again and letting his throat relax. 

Namjoon lets himself get into it, then, trusts Jungkook to pull off if he needs. He fucks up fairly shallowly and slowly at first, holding his breath to focus on the shockingly dirty sounds coming out of Jungkook’s mouth. He has one hand fisted in Namjoon’s shirt and one foot on the ground, now, thigh tensed again to hold himself in place. 

With that, it doesn’t take him long at all to start fucking his mouth more desperately, gripping Jungkook’s ponytail hard, moaning every couple of thrusts. 

It takes him a moment to realize, but Jungkook is taking him in deeper, too, forcing his head down with each movement of Namjoon’s hips. He makes little gagging noises every time the head hits the back of his throat, drooling, holding the base of his cock in place. 

Well, stamina is for people who aren’t sleeping with Jeon Jungkook, Namjoon has always thought. He grips Jungkook’s hair tighter, whimpering quietly before he says, “Gonna—gonna go in deep, baby, let me,” and dropping his head back when Jungkook just sighs in contentment, mouth going slack again and head going still.

His vision just about whites out when he feels the head of his cock slip into his throat, and that’s it—he starts to come a few seconds later, without even the thought of warning him first.

Jungkook properly chokes this time, pulling back so just the head is in his mouth, hand loose around the base of his cock. He lets out a pleading sound, blinking up at Namjoon when he starts to shiver. There’s a little trickle of come on the side of his mouth. 

Namjoon wants to take a picture. Oh, fuck

“Sorry,” he breathes, reaching out to wipe that bit of come away. “Should have—I should’ve warned you, I didn’t think about it.” 

Jungkook shrugs, sitting up a little and looking back at him. “It’s alright,” he promises, cheeks bright pink and voice a little rough. He squirms a little, glancing at Namjoon’s cock again. “Can I still—please? Are you too sensitive?” 

The honest answer is yes , but Namjoon shakes his head, gently running his fingers through the end of his ponytail. “No, baby, go ahead,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice even. 

Jungkook grins, biting his lip and lying flat on his stomach again, fingers loose around his cock and legs kicked up, calf tapping against the couch in a rhythm. “You sure you don’t mind?” he asks. 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, petting his hair a few times more sweetly. “You’re asking if I mind your mouth on my cock? No,” he tells him seriously, fingers catching on a tangle. 

Jungkook shrugs, and he seems to shrink in on himself. “I just. I know it’s weird,” he says, hesitating. “That I like… just having it in my mouth.” 

That sad face is the opposite of what Namjoon wants, frankly. He gently shushes him, fingertips brushing over his cheek, thumb cleaning up the little bit of come on his face. “Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “It’s not weird to me, and it’s just us, right? Just you and me here.” 

Jungkook nods, eyes widening a fraction. “Yeah,” he whispers back, voice gentle, and then he’s got his mouth on Namjoon’s softening cock, making a little noise and suckling gently. 

Namjoon keeps his hand in his hair, squirming just a touch and staring at his mouth. It’s soothing, Jungkook has told him, just having something warm in his mouth; he doesn’t need Namjoon to do anything but sit there. Namjoon doesn’t understand, but he’s never been able to suck cock without gagging, which isn’t a feeling he particularly likes. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, peeking at him and teasing, “Watch your movie, hyung,” before settling in his lap again, eyes fluttering closed in contentment. He’s still keyed up, Namjoon can tell, but he’s told him he likes to make himself wait. It makes it better , he told him, fingers tapping out a gentle rhythm on the inside of Namjoon's wrist.

Right. 

Namjoon turns his attention to the TV, keeping a gentle hand in Jungkook’s hair. It’s strange, the feeling, just a shade under oversensitive since Jungkook is just sitting there, tongue moving lazily over the side of his cock, letting out little hums every few seconds. He doesn’t like Namjoon looking at him when he does this, says he feels self-conscious, but his attention is on Jungkook all the same. 

Well, that’s no different to how he normally feels. Everything, it seems, is about Jungkook.

It’s maddening, but—then, so is everything about him, about them, now that they are a them

Namjoon catches Jungkook’s hips twitching faster after a few minutes, fond little smile making its way onto his face. “Want me to touch you after this?” he offers. “Maybe give you my mouth?” 

Jungkook shakes his head and murmurs, “Want fingers in me,” around him. He doesn’t like having his cock touched, really, by himself or anyone else, and Namjoon’s always too happy to open him up on his fingers, his tongue. “Don’t—please don’t touch my cock.” 

“Anything you want, baby. Not gonna touch you anywhere you don’t ask for,” Namjoon promises. Now that he’s started talking to him he can’t look away, hand smoothing down his back to tug up his shirt, touching his waist, the dip of his back. “You’re being so good to me, Jungkook-ah.” 

Jungkook goes red, nuzzling his cock in deeper. It’s a testament to him that he manages to look shy right now, and Namjoon’s heart does a fond little skip. 

(He really hopes they’re meant to be a thing .) 

Jungkook blinks up at him, wrinkling his nose when he sees Namjoon looking. “Don’t make fun of me,” he insists. 

“I’m not,” Namjoon says, confused. “Just looking at you.” 

Jungkook swallows and pulls off, a thin trail of spit connecting his mouth to the head of his cock. He licks his lips, breaking it. “Why?” he asks. His voice is shy again, like it rarely is. 

On some level, Namjoon was expecting the question. Often, it seems Jungkook can only express what he’s feeling after he’s sucked Namjoon for a while, made him come once. Your dick makes me brave, hyung , he’d said in a silly deep voice, the first time Namjoon mentioned it, and the thought was weirdly arousing. 

A lot of things about Jungkook are weirdly arousing.

“Why wouldn’t I want to watch you? My beautiful boy,” Namjoon says, smiling and pushing his hair out of his eyes. He’s still aroused, but it’s a low simmer at the back of his mind; he wants to focus on Jungkook now, make him feel as nice as Namjoon does. "Prettiest boy I know, isn't that right?"

Jungkook goes very red, nuzzling his thigh as an excuse to hide his face. “ Hyung ,” he whines.

Jungkook ,” Namjoon says in that same tone, laughter bleeding into his voice. He rubs at his shoulders, murmuring, “Get up here. Cuddle hyung, hm?” 

Jungkook worries at his lower lip, kissing Namjoon’s thigh again, hand loose around his mostly-soft cock. “I was cuddling you,” he mumbles.

“Brat,” Namjoon says fondly, tugging him up more gently into a cuddle, legs splayed on either side of him. As he always does, Jungkook calms down easily, plastered against his chest after a second. “I’d like to be able to kiss you, hm? My Jungkookie, ah,” he teases, squeezing one of Jungkook’s cheeks. He’s being too much, he knows; one of these days Jungkook will figure it out, the depths of what Namjoon feels, and Namjoon can only hope it won’t go south. 

Jungkook goes even more red, squirming in his lap. “ Hyung ,” he sighs out again, half-scandalized and (Namjoon thinks) half-hopeful. 

“Yeah, pretty baby?” Namjoon asks. It’s always overwhelming, how easily Jungkook gets turned on, how much he simply seems to like Namjoon. It makes every interaction they have feel tinged with responsibility; Namjoon won’t push him, never wants him to feel less-than. 

Jungkook sits up, chewing on his lower lip. “You said you’d get your fingers in me,” he mumbles. “Since you don’t want my mouth anymore…” 

Namjoon kisses him between the eyes and then on his mouth, making a soft content noise. His fingers are gentle on his face, tracing the skin just under one of his eyes. “I always want your mouth,” he murmurs back. “Sometimes I’d just like it closer to mine, hm? For kissing,” he explains unnecessarily, going red once it’s out. Fuck , he’s never good with words at the appropriate moments. 

Jungkook laughs, though, and Namjoon’s heart sings. He covers his face with both of his hands, letting out little giggles. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” he says, and there’s something weighted there, in the way that he makes eye contact with Namjoon and holds it. 

Namjoon breaks first. “I have lube in my bedroom,” he offers, letting his hand drop from Jungkook’s face to his thigh. “If you want…?” 

Jungkook’s giggles taper off. “Oh—yeah, of course,” he says, frowning slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t…” 

Namjoon doesn’t know what that means, but he tries to keep his voice sweet, comforting. “Shh,” he murmurs, giving him another forehead kiss, rubbing hopefully-soothing circles on his thigh. “Let hyung take care of you.” You make me a romantic , he thinks, you make me want want

Jungkook squirms. “Yeah,” he whispers, and clears his throat so he can say it louder. “Yeah.” 



The thing is: Namjoon is the most handsome person Jungkook has ever met. He’s thought so ever since they met nearly a decade ago, and he only thinks it more now, threading their fingers together and following him to his bedroom. He takes a moment to be briefly thankful he shaved earlier that week, that he cleaned himself up in the shower this morning; if he’s lucky Namjoon might give him his mouth , and they both prefer it when there’s less of a chance of choking on a hair. 

Jungkook feels nervous, ridiculously, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Namjoon is already on the bed, grabbing a couple different kinds of lube. He smiles at Jungkook, then, glasses slipping down his nose a little. 

“I, ah,” Jungkook says, clearing his throat. He’s usually better than this; it wasn’t until he started sleeping with Namjoon that the potential for sex-related disasters came to be a thing he agonized over. “Where do you want me…?” 

“Wherever you want, baby.” Namjoon is sitting on the end of the bed, looking at him expectantly. He’s got peach-flavored lube in one hand, and Jungkook’s stomach flips a little. He’s almost certainly going to get eaten out.

Baby . This has to be the fifth time Namjoon’s called him that today alone. Jungkook very nearly whimpers, nearly says, you have to stop saying that unless you mean it

He swallows down the words, though, and hurries into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. He stands in the middle of the room, cheeks red when he starts methodically undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

Namjoon makes a sad little sound. 

Jungkook frowns at him, fingers pausing on the third button. “Hyung?” 

“Come here,” Namjoon says, waving a hand out for him. He fixes his glasses, staring at the little bit of Jungkook’s chest he can see, the edge of his tattoo. “Let me see you.” 

Right. The other times they’ve done this, it’s been at night with the lights off and half-shushed sounds, trying to keep it from anyone, everyone. Jungkook blinks, stepping forward until he’s in Namjoon’s space, one hand on his shoulder. They don’t have to worry about being quiet, he realizes, and the thought makes him nervous and excited in equal measure. 

Namjoon smiles lightly, looking at him. The light from his bedside lamp reflects in his glasses, and Jungkook leans over, flicking it off. It’s dusk now, and there’s enough light coming in through the closed blinds that they can still see each other, but it’s muted. Everything feels distant, like they’re in their own little world. 

Jungkook waits, but Namjoon just keeps staring , mouth open slightly, eyes tracing his face, his neck, the unbuttoned shirt. His thighs, then, and Jungkook flushes hot. (Namjoon bit him there, once. It was light, but the bruise lasted for days with how much Jungkook kept poking at it, pressing his thumb against it until it burned.) 

“Weren't you gonna undress me, hyung?” Jungkook asks with a little smile, stroking his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. 

He makes a soft, wounded sound and nods, slowly undoing the buttons on Jungkook’s shirt. “Yeah,” he whispers; to himself or Jungkook, he doesn’t know. He chews on his lower lip, glancing up at Jungkook every few seconds. “Thought about it. When we’d finally have enough time to—” He cuts himself off. 

Jungkook frowns. “To what?” he asks. 

“Come on,” Namjoon says, nervously fiddling with his glasses and looking up at him. “You know.” 

Jungkook, in fact, does not know. He stares blankly, hand still settled in his hair. 

“I’ve just—hardly gotten to touch you, or even look at you,” Namjoon murmurs, ears turning red. “I’ve been looking forward to laying you out, that’s all.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook says, blinking. He wasn’t expecting that; Namjoon has always seemed pretty happy with their arrangement, their quick fucks and far-between kisses. He smiles, then, teeth digging into his lower lip. 

Namjoon is looking at him like he’s sexy, and Jungkook… well. He can lean into that. 

“Get my clothes off then, hyung,” he mumbles, doing his best attempt at a ‘come hither’ look. He feels ridiculous, but the way Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat dampens that a little. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes, undoing the rest of his buttons and pushing his shirt off of his shoulders, fingers light on his chest, his waist. 

Jungkook holds his breath. 

“You’re so pretty, Kook-ah,” Namjoon whispers then, letting out a soft sigh. His fingers ghost back up his chest to the back of his neck, tugging him down for a gentle kiss. 

Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat; compliments always do it for him, but hearing a thing like that in Namjoon’s voice is something else altogether. “Please,” he whispers, tugging Namjoon’s shirt off before he climbs into his lap, legs on either side of him. 

Namjoon squeaks and falls back, Jungkook flat on top of him. He giggles, hiding his face in Namjoon’s now-bare shoulder. 

“Shut up,” he insists, muffling his words into the fabric of the pillow that, Jungkook realizes, he’s holding over his face. 

Jungkook is pink, too, flushed all down his chest, but in a pleased way rather than embarrassed. He laughs, sitting back up on Namjoon’s thighs and tugging the pillow away. “Come on,” he insists, feeling over his cheek. It’s nice, seeing that Namjoon is nervous too. “Thought you wanted me all pretty in your sheets?” 

Namjoon lets out a strangled desperate sound into his hands before finally uncovering his face, adjusting his glasses and squinting at him. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, sitting up with one strong hand on Jungkook’s waist, letting out little noises between kisses. “Wanna touch you, get my mouth on you—”

“You’ll get your tongue in me, right, hyung?” Jungkook mumbles, thighs squeezing around Namjoon’s. His cock is distracting, pushing against the front of his jeans, but he does his best to ignore it and keep his hips lifted. He doesn't mean to distract, to demand , but that's the thing he's been thinking about most, since it happened a few weeks back. 

“Yeah, in you,” Namjoon promises, sliding a hand around to his ass, making a little upset noise. “Why are you still wearing these, hm?” 

Jungkook makes a little noise of his own, more flustered than anything. “Shut up,” he insists on a whine. “You didn’t, um—you said you were  going to undress me…” 

“I did, didn’t I?” Namjoon murmurs back. He smiles, undoing the front of his jeans, careful to keep his fingers from touching his dick. “Off,” he murmurs, sucking a kiss over Jungkook’s jaw. 

He whimpers, wiggling his hips to get his jeans off while doing his very best to avoid pulling away from Namjoon. It doesn’t work, and he just gets them down to mid-thigh, nails digging into Namjoon’s side, cock straining against his boxers. “Please,” he breathes, unsure of what he’s even asking for. Namjoon, more of him: his hands, his attention. 

Namjoon seems to get it, though. He smiles more gently, brushing his hair out of his eyes with his thumb and looking over his face. “Here—” He maneuvers them so Jungkook is on his back, leaning over him and feeling over his waist once Jungkook has his jeans off. “Look at you. Such a pretty thing,” he half-whispers, like it’s a secret.

Jungkook feels delicate, like this. It’s not a usual feeling for him. He’s used to feeling broad, tall, undoubtedly masculine . But like this, with Namjoon calling him pretty and baby , he feels—feels like he might be those things. He smiles more softly up at Namjoon, hand tracing down his side to the curve of his hip. “How do you want me?” he asks. 

Namjoon swallows hard, throat bobbing. He looks over him from his position on his thighs. “Just like this,” he says, clearing his throat. He feels up his waist again, fingertips brushing over the little swallow tattoo on his side. “I love this,” he tells him, voice calm and conversational, as though he’s not driving Jungkook crazy with every gentle touch. His fingers skim upward, light enough that Jungkook could go mad with it. “It’s so pretty. Look at you, all gorgeous for me.”

Jungkook squirms, letting out a little whine. He’s still in his boxers, cock straining to get out, but he’s glad for it, doesn’t want it in the way, whatever that means. “You think so?” he asks, quite proud of himself for the way his voice doesn’t shake even a little. 

Namjoon grins, squeezing his waist with one big hand. “Yeah, I think so,” he promises. He bites his lip then, glancing at his boxers. “Tell me. How do you want this?” 

Jungkook shrugs, careful to keep his face as impassive as he can. “However you want,” he says, but the tremble to his voice, the way his thighs flex under Namjoon’s, betrays him. 

Namjoon hums. He leans over Jungkook then, giving him a kiss right over his collarbone, biting gently. “Maybe I’ll give you a pretty little mark here,” he considers, voice low and rough. (He hasn’t done anything, even, except come down Jungkook’s throat—his tone is all because of Jungkook, this , and he feels dizzy with the implications.) 

Jungkook whines in the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to focus on the words, the embarrassment. 

Namjoon pulls back then. “Is that alright? Jungkook-ah.” 

Jungkook nods, feeling a bit like a puppet, shaky in his skin. “Hyung, yes, please,” he breathes out, hips kicking up a little. He hisses at the contact on his cock, the pressure there. It’s not unpleasant , but he doesn’t want to think about it. “Mark me up, hyung, please…” 

Namjoon hums and bites harder, sucking at the tender skin under his collarbone. It’s low enough that Jungkook can cover any mark that might appear, but he doesn’t think he will. He might wear one of his more flowing and lower-cut shirts, show it off a little. Taehyung might ask, he thinks, and Jungkook could just—tell him, show him a photo of Namjoon and say look what he gave me , not tell him what he and Namjoon are. 

The thought makes his cock twitch again and he whimpers, turning his head to the side to muffle it. “Fuck,” he gets out, panting against the pillow. It’s been months since he’s gotten a real hickey and it’s nice . He’d almost forgotten how sensitive his neck is.

“Hey,” Namjoon murmurs against his neck, kissing his way up to just under his ear. “Let me hear you,” he breathes against his skin, nuzzling him there. “Let hyung take care of you.” 

Jungkook squirms, squeezing his thighs together, hips twitching again. “Hyung, please ,” he breathes out. 

“What do you need?” and then Namjoon is hovering over him, holding himself up on his arms and looking over Jungkook’s face. 

Jungkook blinks past the fog in his brain. “Touch me?” he murmurs, more of a question than a request. 

Namjoon smiles. “Of course,” he murmurs, kissing his cheek and leaning over to grab the lube. “Have a preference?” 

“The wetter one,” Jungkook mumbles, biting his lip a second later. He likes how it feels, is all, to get wet when Namjoon’s fucking into him. Like, like he has—

He never finishes the thought. 

“I like that one,” Namjoon murmurs back, hesitating for a second. “Is it okay if I get these off?” He nudges the hem of Jungkook’s boxers. 

Jungkook goes still, heart kicking in his chest. “Of course,” he says slowly. It feels like Namjoon is asking something else, something more meaningful. He licks his lips, mouth gone dry. “Why wouldn’t I—how else would you even—”

Namjoon holds his hands up, the little container of lube in one of them. “People fuck with clothes on all the time,” he points out, smiling a little, face soft. “I thought maybe you’d want to try it, is all.” 

Only in panties , he thinks, and his eyes go a little wide thinking about it. He worries at his lower lip, looking over Namjoon's face to see what he’s thinking. (There’s nothing to think, nothing for him to see, he tells himself, nothing at all—)

“Okay,” he whispers back, sure the blush has traveled all down his chest in the most unattractive way. “Maybe, um. Another time. You can get them off, now…” He gestures. 

“Okay,” Namjoon says easily, smiling at him. “Hips up, then, baby.” He tugs Jungkook’s boxers down and then off, looking up his legs, pushing them open. 

Jungkook freezes, fingers pressed against his arm. 

"Do you still want my tongue, baby?" Namjoon asks. His voice is sweet, dripping with care.

Jungkook did, but suddenly he doesn’t think he can take it, take the sight of Namjoon between his legs. He shakes his head, keeping his eyes shut tight for now. “No,” he whispers, reaching out for one of Namjoon’s shoulders, pulling him in close enough for a kiss. “I want to kiss you while you…” He trails off, trying to keep him close, keep him there . "While you fuck me," he finally finishes.

Namjoon keeps his voice soft, murmuring, “I’ve got you.” He uncaps the lube with his free hand, pouring a little directly onto Jungkook’s stomach.

He yelps, jumping and hiding his face against Namjoon’s arm. “What the fuck?” 

“I thought you didn't want me to leave,” Namjoon teases, lips brushing against Jungkook’s cheek as he speaks. “I thought you wanted to keep kissing me. Was I wrong?” 

Jungkook, unfortunately, cannot argue with that. He pouts, pulling him into a kiss now . “You’re rude,” he whispers into the kiss, their mingled breath. His stomach is trembling, the chill from the lube making him sensitive.

Namjoon slides his fingers through the lube on his stomach, getting them wet before he nudges one against Jungkook. “Mean, maybe, but I like it all wet,” he whispers. “Like when you’re all wet for me, when I can hear it.”

And, oh, that does something to Jungkook. He squirms, letting out a little gasp. “Hyung,” he whispers, hand sliding into his hair, pulling him into a desperate, bruising kiss. “Hyung, hyung , fuck me.” 

Namjoon smiles and swallows his kisses, pushing that first finger inside. “There you go,” he whispers when Jungkook relaxes, and, “Doing so well, baby,” when Jungkook starts making noises, little stuttered ah-ah-ah s. 

He rolls his hips up, desperately chasing something, and Namjoon seems to know what to do there, too. 

He gets one thigh over Jungkook’s and murmurs, “Can — just like this, can rub against me, come on me. Hyung will clean it up.” 

Jungkook only needs another finger and a few more kisses before he starts to come, letting out a loud, broken-off moan and shivering. 

“Hyung,” he breathes out, burying his sweaty face in Namjoon’s neck, hips still twitching. “Hyung, fuck— fuck , oh my god—”

Namjoon laughs, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Yeah? Want me to get my fingers out?” he murmurs. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Don’t you need to come?” he asks, and oh, he can hear the way his voice lisps slightly. He hates that. 

“No,” Namjoon murmurs, kissing his head and shifting his fingers in him. “I’m not as young as you, Kook-ah, don’t think I could come again right now.” 

“You could try,” Jungkook murmurs, pouting quietly. He knows he’s being a brat but he can’t seem to stop. The way Namjoon is looking at him, like he’s annoyed and endeared all at once, just—it’s nice. So nice.

“Yah, stop that,” Namjoon giggles, kissing his jaw, the corner of his eye, his forehead. “Let hyung go get us a towel, hm? Want to clean you up and cuddle you.” 

Jungkook nods. He feels distant as Namjoon does what he says, staring at the ceiling without seeing it. They need to talk about it, he knows. Communication is key , Yoonji told him the other day, giving him one of her long, intense looks, and he knows , he does.

It’s only when Namjoon crawls back into bed with him, smelling faintly of his mint-scented hand soap, that he speaks. 

“Is it weird that I don’t like having my cock touched?”

Namjoon shakes his head and yawns, pressing it against his shoulder. “Yoonji-noona doesn’t,” he points out, slipping an arm around Jungkook’s waist. 

Jungkook gives him a look , one that he thinks doesn’t translate well to the dark. “I know she doesn’t,” he points out. “But I—I’m not…” He trails off, groaning quietly. 

Namjoon hums, chin on his shoulder now, breath on his cheek. “It’s okay if you are,” he says. 

Jungkook’s world slips to the side and cracks. 



Namjoon really isn’t sure what he did. 

Jungkook leapt up when he said that, said that he could be , and had shoved him aside. His hands were shaking when he ran out, and now Namjoon is just here , the post-coital glow still lingering but only barely.

Jungkook is in his bathroom now, only having grabbed his shirt and boxers, and won’t talk to him.

“Jungkook, Kook-ah, hyung’s sorry,” Namjoon says somewhat desperately, back flat against the wall across from the door. “I shouldn’t have said anything, it just slipped out.” 

The only response is a little sniffle. 

Namjoon’s heart clenches. “Will you at least go back into the bedroom? I’ll stay in the living room or even somewhere else, just—it’s not comfortable in there. It’s all tile, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” 

Jungkook sniffs again, but mumbles, “I just didn’t know we were going to have this conversation now.” He sounds miserable. 

“We don’t have to,” Namjoon promises, swallowing hard. “We can talk about nothing. Hyung meant it, when he said he would leave. Just say the word, baby.”

There’s silence for a long minute, and then a quiet, barely-there, “Okay.” 

Namjoon didn’t expect him to take him up on his offer to leave the house, but he stands up, groaning when his knees crack. “Give me like five minutes to change and text Yoonji-noona—”

Jungkook laughs quietly, opening the door and rubbing at one of his eyes. They’re red-rimmed, puffy, but at least there’s a sweet smile on his face. “No, it’s okay. Just… We don't have to talk about it.” 

“Oh.” Namjoon pushes his worry aside to smile, looking back at him. He really is so fucking pretty , he still feels a little starstruck when he sees him sometimes. “Okay, hyung will sleep on the couch if you want. You can have the room. Maybe, though, we can watch a movie?” He still has no real idea what he did wrong, but Jungkook is smiling now where he wasn’t before, so. Namjoon won’t fight it. 

Jungkook doesn’t argue, and Namjoon walks to the kitchen to make himself some tea. He gets out two mugs, worrying at his lower lip while he waits for the water to boil.

He’s so lost in thought that Jungkook wrapping his arms around his waist makes him jump about a foot in the air. “Fuck!” he breathes, one hand over his heart like he’s an old lady in a drama. 

Jungkook sighs, face pressed against his back. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and it’s like he shrinks in on himself. 

“It’s okay,” Namjoon promises, patting his hand when it’s clear Jungkook isn’t going to let go. He leads him around the kitchen like that, making their tea with Jungkook plastered against his back like a giant koala. He feels so small, held against Namjoon’s back, and his heart aches.

“Where do you want to sit?” he asks, turning his head so he can see him, the way his eyes peek over his shoulder. 

“Couch,” Jungkook murmurs. “Wanna cuddle.”

Namjoon can’t keep the pleased smile off his face, ducking his head until he can get it under control. It’s just—he doesn’t like when they fight, likes it even less when he doesn’t know if they’re fighting. “Good,” he says, and isn’t sure how he’s keeping his voice even but he manages it. “You know I can’t sleep without my little spoon.” ( My, mine : he's never been able to resist calling Jungkook his.)

Jungkook squeaks but otherwise doesn’t say anything, clinging to him until they hit the couch. He maneuvers Namjoon’s legs so he’s sitting between them, back against his chest, and laces their free fingers together. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Namjoon asks after a moment, pressing a kiss to the back of his head while their mugs sit on the table, gently cooling.

Jungkook hums. “I haven’t been thinking about it,” he says, and goes quiet. “And I didn’t expect… to talk about it, today.” He turns his head to the side, pressing his face against the side of the couch. 

Namjoon stays quiet, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jungkook’s hand and waiting for him to finish. 

“I mean. I deliberately haven’t been thinking about it.” Jungkook clears his throat. “I just—I deliberately don’t think, sometimes, about what it would be like if I wasn’t me. In this body.” He pauses again, rubbing his lips together; Namjoon can hear it, the way they catch on each other. (They’re dry, he idly thinks, he should buy him some more lip balm.) 

Jungkook sighs, clearing his throat. “And I know we’re not—whatever, we’re just fucking around.” He groans, then, tipping his head back. “I don’t want to be too much for you,” he murmurs, quiet with his eyes closed, like the words are being forced out of him. It feels like he’s whispering it directly to Namjoon’s heart.

Namjoon swats at his leg, kissing just behind his ear. “You’re never too much,” he insists. He’s made countless similar promises over the years; Jungkook spends more time in his head than out of it. “I care about you, that’s not going to change just because you—we—well, you know." He swallows, clearing his throat. He doesn't feel brave enough to say this, but Jungkook's putting it on the line, so: “And I don’t think we’re just anything.” 

Jungkook takes a shuddering breath, deep in his chest. He’s playing with his fingers now, mugs of tea forgotten on the table. 

Namjoon hugs him to his chest, humming softly against his ear. “Am I allowed in the bed tonight?” he asks to try and break up the tension. 

Jungkook laughs, turning toward him, giving him a little kiss on the mouth. It surprises Namjoon—they don’t normally kiss outside of their hookups—but he tries not to let the surprise show. He doesn’t want to discourage him from whatever this is. 

“Yeah,” he says after a minute, staring at him. “Of course you are. I’m not mad, just… my thoughts were just too big, like,” and he makes an explosion noise, tucking his shoulders in together again and tucking his head under Namjoon’s chin, peeking up at him. “And, you know, how am I supposed to sleep without my big spoon?”

Namjoon’s stomach flips. He sighs, resting his free hand on his belly. “Well, anytime you’d like to talk, hyung’s here,” he promises, and the words are too big for himself but he means them more than anything else. “But, you know. I’m also here to cuddle you whenever you like.” 

“I know,” Jungkook whispers, kissing his hand once and then once more, letting his lips linger. Namjoon doesn’t have to see his face to be able to picture the stars in his eyes. “You’re my person. Of course I know.” 



They don’t talk about it until later — later, after takeaway and one too many games of Mario Kart, Jungkook tackling Namjoon with a pillow after a devastating loss. 

Later, when they’re brushing their teeth side-by-side in the too-small bathroom, with Jungkook staring at Namjoon through the mirror. 

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, mouth full of foam. 

Jungkook spits, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and says, “I’m not a guy.” 

Namjoon does his best to keep his face neutral. He spits and rinses, turning toward Jungkook and pressing his damp fingers against his cheeks. “Okay,” he says softly, looking over Jungkook's face. “How do you, ah…” He clears his throat. 

This is monumental—he still has horrifyingly embarrassing memories of Yoonji first coming out, the way she yelled at him and stormed out because of the stupid shit he said—and he doesn’t want to do that again. He can’t lose Jungkook, no matter how temporary the loss might be. 

Jungkook fills the silence, thankfully. “I don’t know,” they admit, frowning lightly. “But I’m not… I’m not a guy. Or a girl, I don’t think.” They frown. “In the middle, somewhere, like Yoonji-noona told us about.” 

Namjoon smiles. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, hands still on their face, looking them over. “My little Kook-ah…”

Jungkook swats at him. “Yah, hyung !” 

Namjoon just giggles, kissing their forehead. “Come on. We can talk about it in bed.” 



Jungkook looks small when they get under the sheets, curled on their side. They’re in one of Namjoon’s worn shirts, and it’s tucked up against their skin. Namjoon’s eyes keep catching on thighs , but he tells himself not to focus on that.  

Jungkook looks at Namjoon with big, scared eyes. “What if,” they start, and then pause, chewing on their lower lip. “What if, ah. What if I started wearing something other than boxers, in bed?” 

“I think it would be hot,” Namjoon says plainly, going red after he’s said it. “I mean. Fuck. Obviously that doesn’t matter, really, just… it would be, but it’s more about your comfort—”

Jungkook laughs, peeking at him through their hands. “That’s okay,” they promise, smile going softer, shyer. Even in the dim light, it’s the most arresting thing Namjoon has ever seen. “I, uh… I like that it would be hot. To you, specifically.”  

Namjoon raises his eyebrows. He’s surprised, though he really shouldn’t be; Jungkook does often experience their sex appeal through the eyes of others. He reaches out, tentatively getting an arm over their waist. “I’ve thought about it,” he admits, licking his lips. “I mean. I think, sometimes, about you wearing lingerie.” 

Jungkook smirks , biting their lower lip. “Have you? I could be talked into wearing it if you buy it for me…” 

They’re joking, Namjoon knows that, but: “I could ask Yoonji-noona,” he blurts out. “Where she gets her, ah—her stuff.” 

“Her stuff ,” Jungkook repeats, letting out a sweet little giggle and scooting forward, pressing their forehead against his arm. “You’d better do that, yeah, ask her about her things for your Jungkook.” 

Namjoon groans, rolling onto his back and tugging Jungkook closer, more on top of him. “I take it back,” he sighs, stroking his fingers through Jungkook’s hair. “I’m not funding anything for you.” 

Jungkook hums. “No? You wouldn’t like to see me touch myself through a nice pair of lace panties while I suck your cock?” 

Namjoon goes very quiet, clearing his throat. “Well,” he says, coughing delicately into his hand. Has his throat always been this dry? “I—I can’t say I wouldn’t like to see that…” 

Jungkook laughs, voice bright. (It sounds like bells, Namjoon’s horrible romantic mind conjures up, and he forcibly shoves that thought back down.) 

Namjoon rushes further into it. “I just! I just… I want to take care of you,” he says, voice so, so fond. 

Jungkook looks up at him, raising their eyebrows. “You do?” they ask, quiet. Their gaze is intense, like they’re trying to read him. 

Namjoon nods, holding his breath. He feels like he’s about to fail an exam, the most important one he might ever take. “I really, really do,” he says after a long second, feeling over Jungkook’s side, hand on their waist. “You’re so… good.”

Jungkook clears their throat, eyes big again. “Okay,” they whisper, grin going bright and wide a second later. “Okay, I—you can, then. You can.” 

Namjoon smiles. "Thank you," he says, kissing Jungkook's forehead, hands settling on their waist. "Thank you." 

Jungkook looks at him for another long moment, tilting his chin up for a real kiss. 

Thank you , Namjoon feels in the kiss, and you're welcome , he says in the way his hands slide to Jungkook's lower back, pull them closer. 

Jungkook grins into it, against his mouth, and lets out a quiet and pleased sigh. 

(Yeah, Namjoon thinks. 

They're not just anything.)