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The night they finally get their first win, Jimin realises something very important.

Earlier in the evening, while they all lounged around the living area, spent and sleepy as they came down from their victory high, Yoongi got up and grabbed his coat from the back of Namjoon's chair. Jimin watched with narrowed eyes as he tapped Namjoon on the side of the head to get his attention and made some jerky motions towards the door with his chin. The two spent a few seconds in silent conversation before Namjoon leapt to his feet, suddenly wide awake and smirking. 

'Where are you going?' Jimin asked, since none of the others had noticed the rappers' little exchange.

Namjoon just chuckled as he opened the front door and left the apartment. With a dark, toothy grin over his shoulder at Jimin, Yoongi followed him. They reappeared an hour later, with most of a nearby off-licence in tow, both of them struggling under an obscene amount of alcohol, from soju to beer to something magenta and back again. Like dozing puppies hearing their owner's keys scrape in the door, everyone suddenly perked up, eyes bright, lips curling. Well, everyone apart from--

'Jesus, Yoongi, you didn't,' Seokjin groaned, as a bottle of beer was tossed unceremoniously into his lap. 'You know we can't.'

Quite pointedly, Yoongi flicked the cap off his own bottle and took a long pull before grinning at the older boy. 'Oh, but we can.'

'You know what I mean,' Seokjin pouted, but the conviction in his voice was already faltering as he poked almost longingly at the bottle in his lap.

'We got number one, hyung!' Yoongi reminded him, doing a little bobbing dance by the coffee table as Namjoon turned up the music, something Drake. 'We're going to fucking celebrate!'

And after encouragement like that, all it took was one quick glance around at his giddy dongsaengs before Seokjin broke and tossed back the shot of magenta stuff that Taehyung had been waving under his nose. With that, they all broke into a chorus of rowdy whoops and cheers, and Seokjin rolled his eyes as the music was yanked up even louder, bass pounding through their apartment so hard they could probably feel it in Busan.

Considering how rarely they were able to get their hands on alcohol, it took them all of an hour to get trashed, two before the hyungs realised Taehyung and Jimin (but mostly Taehyung) had been slipping Jungkook shots of soju the entire time and about three hours until Yoongi passed out on the couch while the maknae line danced to 쩔어 on the coffee table. Shortly after that, Jimin forgot that time was a thing as beer and far too many shots of the dubious pink stuff seeped into his bloodstream, making the colours too bright and the air too thick, but in the best way possible. At some point, he left the other two dancing on the table to flop down onto the floor, his back against the couch shared by Yoongi and Hoseok. He let the side of his head rest against Hoseok's knee as they laughed at Taehyung, toppling off the coffee table to fall on his butt mid slut-drop. Jungkook was the last one standing as the song changed and a woozy grin split the maknae's face while he tried to get his fading hyungs excited.

And this is when Jimin realises the very important thing: He realises that his favourite thing in the whole wide world is drunk Jungkook dropping the NaeNae on their coffee table. Even Yoongi opens a heavy eyelid to watch with a smirk as the maknae dances, hand in the air, hips moving sloppily. The boy's usual grace might be virtually nonexistent, but the passion--oh, the passion oozes out of every pore, winds itself through every thrust of his hips, every swear as he almost slips, every lyric he gets garbled as his hazy mind tries to work around a language it's not fluent in even while sober.

Trying to drop the NaeNae would probably be a more accurate description, Jimin concedes to himself, as he watches the giggling maknae almost lose his footing on the magazines scattered across the coffee table. 

'Okay, Jungkookie, I think that's enough,' Seokjin says, from where he's sprawled across an armchair, 500% done, cheeks flushed, eyes already half shut. ‘You’ll break the table or yourself. Either way, we’ll get in trouble.’

But Jungkook is drunk -- Jungkook is on a whole new level of drunk -- so naturally, Jungkook knows better. ‘No, no, hyung, it’s fine, real--oh, shit!’ he manages to slur, as he finally slips and all but flattens Namjoon, who's still lucid enough to catch the tumbling maknae before he cracks his skull on the floor.

‘Okay, it’s way past your bedtime,’ he says, trying to drag Jungkook into a standing position by his armpits. But the younger boy is a rag-doll in his arms, laughing so hard against Namjoon’s shoulder that he appears to have lost the ability to breathe, never mind stand.

Seokjin sighs heavily. ‘Why did we give him alcohol?’

‘You mean why did Taehyung give him--wait, what’re you doing?’ Namjoon demands all of a sudden, frowning across the room.

Jimin follows his gaze to find Taehyung sitting cross-legged on the floor by the window, squinting at his phone, an evil grin plastered all over his face, so wide it makes his nose crinkle.

‘Nothing,’ Taehyung mutters, with a low laugh that screams mischief. ‘Definitely not uploading this to Twitter or anything.’

‘Oh, you did not!’ Seokjin is suddenly wide awake and lunging across the room for Taehyung’s phone. ‘You can’t upload that on Twit--you little--Taehyung, no! Stop! Give me the fu--’

Jimin feels warm fingers skim the back of his neck as Hoseok leans down to talk in his ear, to be heard over the pounding music, Seokjin's threats and Taehyung's manic laughter. ‘Did he film him?’ he asks, and a soft, bright laugh bubbles up from his chest  when Jimin only grins in reply. ‘Oh, my God, don’t delete that. We can’t ever delete that. Seokjin-hyung--’

Seokjin, at this point, has managed to wrestle the phone from Taehyung, who is a giddy mess on the floor under him. He's pretty much lying on top of the younger boy who is struggling to demand his freedom through the giggles wracking his body and not getting very far in that pursuit. Though his face is going a remarkable shade of purple.

‘You were actually going to upload this?’ Seokjin snaps, incredulous, shaking his head as he taps the screen of Taehyung’s phone. ‘If anyone had... seen...’ Slowly, the eldest trails off into silence, staring at the phone screen, eyebrows low.

‘Hyung, you can’t delete that,’ Hoseok pleads, shuffling over to him on his knees, hands clasped together around the neck of his beer bottle. ‘Show mercy, hyung. Please--’

He is cut off as Seokjin holds up a hand to silence him. ‘I won’t delete it,’ he says, still staring at the screen, his voice already straining. ‘I won’t delete it because--’ He laughs once, just about restrains himself. ‘--because this... this is absolute gold.’ And with that, Seokjin lets himself well and truly dissolve while the sound of Jungkook’s inhuman shriek as he fell rasps out of the phone’s speaker.

Tripping over each other, they gather around to watch as Seokjin replays the video, Hoseok slinging an arm around Jimin’s shoulders, his chin resting on the other boy's head so he can lean in better. Even Namjoon drops the (now barely conscious) maknae onto the couch, half on top of Yoongi (passed out again), to join the rest as Jungkook’s misfortune is played on a loop until Seokjin is laughing so hard the phone slips from his hands to land under the coffee table. No one goes to reach for it. No one is able to. The hot, heavy air of the living room is thick with the sounds of their laughter as they roll about, clutching at stomachs, eyes watering.

‘Are you sure we can’t upload this, hyung?’ Jimin asks, his voice so hoarse he's almost worried for tomorrow’s performance. ‘I mean, the fans need to see his facial express--’

‘No,’ Seokjin says flatly, still wiping tears out of his eyes. He grabs the phone from under the table and shoves it into his own pocket -- not that Taehyung will be much more of a threat tonight. Under Seokjin, his eyes are shut, his mouth still curled into half a smile. Taehyung is beyond gone. ‘But I can’t wait to see his face when he watches it back.’

Hoseok chuckles where he fell to lie on the floor during their hysterics. ‘We can blackmail him with this forever,’ he says, his voice high with evil glee.

Seokjin attempts an evil grin, but evil is not a concept the eldest pulls off well. It's probably the only one he doesn't. 'Yes, we can,' he agrees, ‘but right now, we need to sleep. We’re supposed to be up at eight tomorrow.’

‘Like that’s gonna happen,’ Namjoon mutters, rubbing his temples. ‘Have we ever done a live broadcast hungover before?’

‘Don’t think so,’ Hoseok muses, casually knocking back another shot of soju. ‘There was that one concert in Japan, but other than that...’

‘Well, our Jungkookie sure hasn’t,’ Jimin points out, enjoying this maybe a little too much, if that's even possible.

Seokjin regards the sleeping maknae with a sigh. 'Tomorrow will be wonderful,' he murmurs.

They bother him enough that Seokjin lets them watch the video one last time before he gets to his feet and rouses Taehyung just enough to convince him to shuffle down the hall to bed. Namjoon makes an admirable attempt to wake Yoongi, but after checking the older rapper’s pulse just to make sure he's still alive, he has to admit defeat. He hooks one of Jungkook’s arms around his neck and hauls the grumbling maknae to their room like that.

'Hyung,' Jimin hears the younger boy slur, 'you know you're a good hyung, right? You know I love you?'

'Shut up, Jungkook, you're drunk.'

'No, but really, hyung,' he mumbles, then adds in English, 'You da fuckin' best.'

This gets a low chuckle out of Namjoon. 'You're gross.'

Laughing to himself, Jimin crawls back over to his spot on the floor, his back against the couch, and he takes a swig of Yoongi's abandoned beer, grinning stupidly at nothing in particular. He feels warm, so beautifully warm and light and tingly as he hears the words again and again, Jiyeon’s voice ringing in his ears -- Bangtan Sonyeondan! His stomach flips every time he thinks of it and victory fizzes through his veins, more powerful and dizzying than anything he drank tonight. He knows there's no point in crawling off to bed -- he'll never be able to sleep like this, with his skin buzzing and his heart singing.

‘Well, you look happy,’ Hoseok remarks, dropping down to sit next to him on the floor. His eyes are bright with the alcohol and exhaustion, his hair mussed from God knows what, his eyeliner smudged darkly with sweat.

Jimin grins at the older boy. ‘I can’t believe we won, hyung. It's crazy.'

‘How can you say that?’ Hoseok asks, brow furrowing in mock offence. ‘I didn’t doubt us for a second.’

Jimin throws him a narrow look. ‘You’re a liar.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Hoseok admits, with a smile that could power Seoul for a week. He takes a swig from his beer and lets his head fall back against the couch with a sigh. ‘It doesn’t feel real, does it?’

Jimin smirks. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t cry.’

Rolling his eyes, Hoseok gives him a shove with his shoulder. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘I bet you almost did, though,’ Jimin goes on, relentless in his teasing. ‘I saw your eyes get all red when we got off the stage.’

‘Hay-fever,’ Hoseok mutters, smiling down at his beer, pretending to be embarrassed.

‘Of course, hyung,’ Jimin says, dryly. ‘Because hay-fever would keep you in the bathroom for half an hour.’

Hoseok laughs. ‘Okay, shut up, brat,’ he snaps, digging him playfully in the ribs to make him yelp. ‘You wouldn’t even have noticed if you hadn’t been counting every second I was out of your sight.’

‘Oh, very funny, hyung,’ he mutters, colour rising in his cheeks -- which, of course, Hoseok doesn't miss. Hoseok doesn't miss a thing.

‘Ah, did I embarrass you, Jiminnie,’ he drawls, in his most condescending of tones, reaching over to lightly pinch at Jimin’s cheek.

The younger boy swats his hand away. ‘I’m not embarrassed. Ow--that hurts.’

‘Awww~’ Hoseok croons, mocking, slinging an arm around Jimin’s shoulders to pull him into a half hug, despite the younger boy's squirms of protest. ‘Did I hurt our poor Jiminnie?’

‘Hyung, get off--’

‘I forget he’s just a delicate little flower--’

‘Oh, my God, hyung, quit it,’ Jimin snaps, biting back a smile as he tries to push the other boy away. ‘You’re so annoying.’

‘But you’re just so cute when you’re annoyed,’ Hoseok murmurs, making Jimin stop his struggling to look up at him. Out of nowhere, Hoseok dropped the childish, mocking tone, his voice becoming strangely soft and lucid in the space of a few words. The only hint of a smile left on his face is in the way his eyes are slightly crinkled at the corners, one side of his mouth barely turned up.

Something hot curls gently in the pit of Jimin’s stomach and he breaks away from that intense gaze to look down at his hands, his face warming, his mind whirring. What the fuck was that? an incredulous and horrifyingly sober little voice in his head demands. That, right there, in your stomach? I hope to God those weren’t lustful little fucking butterflies, Park Jimin, I swear to God. I know you get horny when you’re drunk, and all, but have some restraint...

‘Okay, okay, I’ll stop,’ Hoseok says, and out of the corner of his eye, Jimin can see that his grin is back. ‘I was only teasing. Don’t get moody on me.’

‘I’m not moody.’

‘Of course you’re not.’

Jimin shoots him a sideways glare, but his hyung's cheeky happiness is more infectious than the common cold. It works its way under your skin and tickles from the inside out. He can't stop the smile that creeps easily onto his lips.

‘That’s more like it,’ Hoseok murmurs, then lets his head drop back again, eyes shut, dark hair falling off his forehead. He leaves his arm slung across the edge of the couch behind Jimin’s head. He can feel the soft warmth of the dancer’s t-shirt brushing against the nape of his neck and before he quite realises what he's doing, he’s leaning back into it, so his head is resting on Hoseok’s arm.

With a lazy smile curling a corner of his mouth, Hoseok offers his beer to Jimin. 'Never gonna finish this on my own,' he murmurs, and Jimin is happy to help -- probably too happy considering the room is spinning even though he's sitting down. But he doesn't care. It feels good. The slight burn sliding down his throat feels good, the heaviness in his veins feels good, the heat of Hoseok next to him feels good. He hands the beer back and watches Hoseok take a drink, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, sweat leaving a light sheen on his slender neck.

'You're staring,' Hoseok informs him, still smiling faintly.

Jimin says nothing for a moment, unabashedly transfixed by the delicate shadows Hoseok's eyelashes cast on his high cheekbones. Alcohol always has this effect on him, loosens him up, makes him okay with levels of intimacy that would normally have him shying away, embarrassed. 'And?' he finally murmurs, his eyes travelling down along the sharp line of Hoseok’s jaw, right around till they come to rest on the older boy's mouth, soft, relaxed, the pale pink lips parted ever so slightly in a way that makes--

A soft mumble from the couch has Jimin practically leaping out of his skin as he remembers that Yoongi is right behind them, asleep on his back, one hand still clutching the trophy where it rests on his stomach, rising and falling with the rapper’s breaths.

‘He’s not going to bite you, Jiminnie,’ Hoseok murmurs, without opening his eyes, absently running his fingers through Jimin’s hair.

It happens again, the lick of something warm and familiar just below his stomach, making Jimin squirm. The way Hoseok’s long fingers feel rubbing against his scalp suddenly has his eyes slitting half shut as a shiver of pleasure tingles down his spine. He doesn't want him to stop. He just wants to press his head back into that hand and...

Park Jimin, you are a drunk mess, the sober little voice announces, sounding strangely like Seokjin. Go to bed and pass the fuck out. You are horny, but you are not horny for fucking Jung Hoseok. He's your hyung, he’s a dumbass, and can I also quickly point out that he's a guy? You swore you wouldn't. So, maybe just get your pervy ass away from him before you--

‘You’re not cold, are you?’ Hoseok asks, suddenly wrapping his arm around Jimin’s shoulders again, tugging him closer -- close enough that Jimin can smell the alcohol on his breath and the cinnamony scent of their washing detergent off his t-shirt, close enough that Jimin can see the very faint beginnings of a five o'clock shadow darkening his jaw.

‘What?’ he mumbles vaguely, his mouth dry as his mind starts to wander off in strange, hazy directions.

‘You shivered.’

'Did I?'

‘Wait--shh,’ Hoseok says suddenly, jerking bolt upright, his eyes narrowing a notch as he listens. After a moment, a grin lights up his face and he leaps to his feet, practically bouncing over to where Jungkook’s iPod sits in the dock. He taps a few things, then turns the volume up just loud enough to fill the room without waking the members down the hall. ‘Yes! I love this song!’

Jimin frowns at his excited hyung, who’s started swaying to the the music. The lyrics are in English, the beat slow, a little jazzy, a lot sexy. Jimin doesn't recognise it, but it sure as hell isn’t the type of music Hoseok usually listens to. ‘Do you even know this song?’ he asks, dubious. After all, no one loves a simple excuse to dance more than their Hobi-hyung.

‘I do!’ Hoseok insists. ‘Can’t remember what it’s called. I know the singer’s British, though. Listen, his accent’s so cool. Come on--’ Hoseok intensifies his dance moves a little, his grin making the corners of Jimin’s own mouth curve up involuntarily. ‘--dance with me.’

Don’t you fucking dare, the little voice warns immediately. But Hoseok's hips are moving gently to the music, narrow hips clad in tight, dark denim that turn the soft curl of heat below Jimin's stomach into something else, something stronger, something that burns without hurting.

What does that feel like?

The thought comes out of nowhere and suddenly Jimin is imagining how it might feel to rest his hands on Hoseok's hips, to have him dance against him like that. His pulse kicks up a notch. He licks his lips. What are you doing? the sober little voice asks, its tone almost pleading now. This is a bad idea, Jimin, you're a fucking idiot. It's probably right.

Hoseok seems to sense Jimin's uncertainty. ‘Come on~’ he coaxes, moving around the coffee table, his grin turning mischievous. 'Just this song, then we'll sleep. I swear I don't have it on repeat.'

‘I don't believe you,’ Jimin says, halfheartedly crawling away from the dancer as he reaches out to grab his arm. Hoseok catches him easily and drags him to his feet, grinning at the gross amount of aegyo in the younger boy's voice when he moans, 'Hyung~ It’s not even a dancing song. It’s so slow and--

‘All music is dancing music, Jimin, don't be blasphemous.’

‘But maybe we should just--’

‘--dance,’ Hoseok finishes for him, with a sly grin. He starts moving to the music again, more serious this time, the grin turning into something positively indecent as he starts doing things with his hips that make Jimin's stomach swoop so hard he laughs aloud to hide a groan. He knows he should leave. Jimin knows that his thoughts are drunk and twisty and getting more dangerous with every second he is in the presence of Hoseok and those jeans, but the problem is that he is in the presence of Hoseok and those jeans. Between them and the music and sweltering heat of the room, Jimin can't think straight, can't think at all...

And he doesn't want to.

So, he dances. He shuts his eyes, moving without purpose at first as he lets the music wash over him, sink in under his skin and show him what to do. The beat is slow, but powerful, the vocals low and sultry, a voice like honey. The dynamics of the song shift drastically from chorus to verse, intense then stripped right down to the steady drumbeat and nothing more. He finds himself torn between harder popping and locking moves, and long, drawn-out body rolls. Jimin does both. He's drunk. It's not real choreo. Why not? It feels good. It's been ages since he’s been able to dance like this: no deadlines, no pressure, no expectations, new music that makes his scattered mind feel still and his limbs feel fluid. Has he danced like this at all since debut? He can't remember. It doesn't matter. What does matter, though, is that when he opens his eyes again, expecting to see his hyung still being unbearable somewhere nearby... Hoseok isn’t dancing anymore. He isn’t actually moving at all. He's standing no more than three feet away, chewing lightly on his lower lip, his eyes clinging to Jimin's body in a way that makes heat lick up his spine. 

Jimin doesn't stop dancing. He's not sure why. Part of him wants to laugh this off and ask Hoseok what his stupid problem is, but if he does that, he'll have to stop dancing and Hoseok would stop watching, and for some reason, Jimin doesn't want that to happen. He doesn't want that to happen at all.

I swear to God, Park Jimin, you will regret this in the morning.

Probably. But Hoseok watches him dance all the time in the practice room. He practically taught him how to dance. It's no big deal.

A) You're drunk, B) He's drunk, C) This is fucking music, Park Jimin! Actual fucking music, to fuck to! When was the last time you danced for him to fucking music?

Jimin decides to ignore the sober voice. The sober voice is no fun and frankly, it's ruining his vibe. He keeps dancing, and Hoseok keeps watching, his eyes darker than Jimin has ever seen them, just slightly narrowed -- not in the same crinkly way they narrow right when he's about to smile. No, this is much different. There's no trace of humour in Hoseok’s gaze as it travels slowly up Jimin’s body to rest on his face.

The younger boy shuts his eyes again, but not before Hoseok knows he caught him watching. If Jimin has to be honest with himself, he's not entirely sure what he's doing or why he's doing it. Every cell in his body tells him to stop, tells him that every time he licks his lips, every time he rolls his body with Hoseok watching like that is filthy, wrong, so, so wrong. But at the same time, every fibre of him  hums--with what? Jimin has no idea, but he likes it. Oh, he likes it. He's so caught up in the feeling that when he senses someone come up behind him, heat against his back, feather-light fingers on his waist, a hot prickle running fast and hard over his skin, he stiffens instinctively, shocked even though he shouldn't really be, should he? His eyes fly open to see their faint reflections in the darkened window. He can see himself, a bunny in the headlights, and can just about see Hoseok behind him, though his face is turned away -- turned towards Jimin.

Breath warms his ear, hot and heady. ‘Is this okay?’ Hoseok whispers.

Jimin knows what he wants to say, but he feels like there's a baseball lodged in his throat. Alcohol does another thing to him. Alcohol makes every nerve ending in his body so sensitive that any slight touch to his skin is like raw electricity, even more so when the touches are soft, hesitant, Hoseok. Jimin shivers in pleasure, but Hoseok takes it to mean something else, his hands, his heat starting to withdraw.

Jimin panics.

His hand flies down to catch his hyung’s fingers just before they leave his waist entirely. In the window, he sees the dancer freeze, watching him. And they stand like that for a moment because Jimin has no idea what he's supposed to do next and Hoseok clearly hasn’t gotten the hint and Jimin isn’t even sure what the hint was. He can feel Hoseok’s pulse beating in his fingers. He wonders if the older boy's heart is racing as fast as his own is, thudding against his rib-cage with bruising force. 

Slowly, he threads his fingers into Hoseok’s and at last, the older boy gets the hint, just as Jimin realises exactly what the hint was: It’s okay. It’s more than okay. Okay doesn’t even begin to fucking cover it. He feels his hyung’s fingers pressing into his waist, gentle, insistent, pulling him closer until he can lean in again, his lips all but brushing Jimin’s ear. ‘Keep dancing.’

The husky edge to his voice makes heat bloom beneath Jimin’s stomach and coil lower, impossibly low. His mouth is dry as paper, even when he drags his tongue across his lower lip to try and wet it. He starts dancing again, stiff and tentative at first, the feeling of being this... close to Hoseok so alien that it manages to penetrate even the heavy alcohol haze, makes it hard to really get into it. But, as always, Hoseok doesn't miss a thing. He slides his hands further around to flatten against Jimin's stomach, pulling the singer into him, closing the last few millimeters that had been between them. His chest is properly flush with Jimin’s back, Hoseok’s breath warm and damp on the crook of his neck. Their combined heat clouds inside Jimin’s head like helium, making him feel light and full, leaving no room for anything else. He finds himself loosening up, his body moving against Hoseok’s, with Hoseok’s, pressing back harder into Hoseok’s until it's almost difficult to move at all.

Jimin feels a faint vibration in the chest behind him and realises Hoseok is singing along softly with the song’s chorus, his lower, rougher voice giving it an entirely different sound, one that sends licks of heat running from Jimin's ears to... somewhere a lot further down.

So, he wasn’t lying, Jimin realises, with a small smile. He really does like this so--

And then Jimin promptly loses the ability to think as Hoseok’s lips ghost along the skin of his neck, feather-light, impossibly hot. His head leans to the side without him telling it to, a small sigh of -- Jimin isn’t sure what -- escaping his mouth before he can stop it. At the sound, he feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment and something else, but Hoseok’s lips graze his jaw, catch gently on his earlobe, press into the hair above his ear, before trailing -- oh so lightly -- right back down his neck again. Jimin’s breath comes a little faster as he feels the neck of his t-shirt being tugged to the side, more barely-there touches trailing along his shoulder, his collarbone, yanking his pulse up till he wonders if he might pass out. Where his fingers are still curled into Hoseok’s, resting on his own waist, his grip tightens and Hoseok lets out a huff of hot breath against his exposed shoulder. His hands drop -- taking Jimin’s one along for the ride -- to his hips, where his thumbs slide up and under Jimin’s t-shirt to hook into the waistband of his jeans. He uses this grip to pull him in even tighter.

This is the point Jimin would later pick out as the moment they stopped dancing and started doing something else. Hips move to the music, yeah, but it's more of an excuse for Jimin to rhythmically press his body back into Hoseok's than it is dancing. He can feel it against the base of his spine, a swell in the dancer’s jeans that hardens more with each beat of the song, each slow grind of denim on denim. Jimin's own situation isn't much better, with Hoseok's thumbs brushing the sensitive skin of his hipbones, with Hoseok pressing into him, making his hips move in such a way that Jimin's jeans cause a slight, infuriating friction through his boxers.

On his neck, Hoseok’s lips are still light, soft, almost shy. Too light, too soft. It's painful. Jimin barely realises what he's doing until he can feel Hoseok’s hair between his fingers as he curls them into the silky, dark strands, tugging in a way that could maybe have been a little gentler. This seems to leave a crack in the older boy's restraint. This time, there's pressure behind the lips, just enough to make Jimin’s breath catch sharply, to make him feel like the entire region of his body from his stomach down to his knees is being charged with raw electricity, heat blooming like kisses over is hips, lower. Those lips burn at the spot where his jaw meets his neck, part just enough to elicit the faintest moan of anticipation from Jimin… then trail a line down his throat again, pausing at the crook of his neck to suck so, so gently. Jimin bites down on his own bottom lip to contain a growl of frustration, his fingers tightening mercilessly into Hoseok’s hair, making him gasp against the younger boy’s neck.

Jimin is about to open his mouth and apologise when teeth suddenly graze his skin instead of lips, snag on his piercings and bite down a little harder, his eyes all but rolling back in his head at the pleasure that courses through him -- every bit of it heading south to the growing fire below his stomach. Hoseok lets go of his hand as he removes his thumbs from the shorter boy’s waistband, moving instead up underneath his t-shirt. His hands slide over the muscles of Jimin’s abdomen, his touch sparking across Jimin's raw nerves, making his eyelids flutter, his toes curl. He doesn't even manage to worry about how much he’s let those muscles soften up over the past few months, the thought barely enters his head. He's too drunk to really care, too horny to really care and goddammit, it just feels so good. He seriously considers using his newly freed hand to palm himself desperately through his jeans, but no.

He has a better idea.

Or a worse idea.

Jimin isn’t sure.

He just knows he has an idea.

Or something.

Without warning, he breaks away away from Hoseok -- not too far, just a couple of steps, just a little bit of distance. He'll need a second to work himself up to this, a second where his head isn’t filled with Hoseok and how his hands seem ten degrees hotter than the rest of his body or how he smells like beer and cologne and Hoseok or how good his hair feels between Jimin’s fingers or how good his hard-on feels against Jimin’s ass. He just needs a moment to breathe -- though that's not easy as he turns to face his hyung.

Hoseok’s hair is mussed from where Jimin was pulling at it. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright and dazed, chest rising and falling with each shallow, uneven breath he takes. He looks… he looks…. Jimin can't think of the word. He can think of a hundred and all of them would make him blush if he was sober. He stares at his hyung and Hoseok stares back, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. Seeming confused, he runs a hand through his hair, scraping it back off his forehead, and opens his mouth like he's going to speak, but shuts it again as soon as Jimin moves towards him. When he's close enough, he reaches out and catches Hoseok’s jeans by the belt loops, pulling him in the last few inches, not once taking his eyes off the dancer’s. It seems almost automatic, the way Hoseok’s hands came up to Jimin’s face, slender fingers tracing the line of his jaw. His thumb brushes gently over the singer's lower lip and without thinking, Jimin's tongue flicks out to meet it, running across the soft pad, tasting the salt of sweat and something else, something sweeter. At this, Hoseok’s eyes darken and his own lips part and Jimin’s pulse shoots through the roof in a dizzying spike as the taller boy leans in. His fingers pull tighter on Hoseok’s belt loops, making their hips collide sharply through the awful, chafing, restricting layers of fabric. The contact draws a low sound from his hyung's throat, his fingers tightening to tilt Jimin's head up, just slightly. Jimin shuts his eyes as Hoseok’s nose brushes against the side of his, but the older boy is going slow, so painfully slow, hovering there with just a hair’s breadth of empty space between their parted lips. When Hoseok exhales, Jimin feels the rush of breath in own mouth, can almost taste him. Almost... His fingers tighten in the belt loops, hips rolling. Almost...

A groan sounds from the couch across the room and just like that -- just fucking like that -- the two of them are at opposite ends of the coffee table, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi who's pushing himself up into a wobbly sitting position, still clutching the trophy to his chest.

Jimin completely forgot he was there.

The whole time they were… he was… Jimin feels certain he's about to throw up.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi mutters, scraping his hair back out of his eyes as he turns to squint at the pair before him. ‘Why’re you staring at me? Was I snoring?’

For a moment, the room is silent apart from the music, still playing that stupid song, which Hoseok must’ve put on repeat. Yoongi’s gaze flicks between the two of him, slender eyes slowly narrowing as his drink-dulled mind starts to pick up on the lingering scent of shame that fills the living area.

‘Hyung, snoring is not the word for it,’ Hoseok says, the dry humour in his tone shattering the awkwardness with just a few words -- at least for Yoongi, who rolls his eyes and swings his legs onto the floor.

For Jimin, the internal torment is just getting started.

‘Seriously,' Hoseok goes on, as Yoongi hauls himself and the trophy up off the couch. ‘You don’t snore, hyung, you growl like a rabid bulldog. It's not attractive.'

Yoongi makes a face, scrunching his nose. ‘You’re  hilarious. Go to bed, brat… Yah,' he says, a little more gently. 'What’s wrong with you?’

Jimin blinks and realises he was staring at Yoongi without seeing him. His blood is starting to cool down, leaving him cold and dazed and seriously confused. What the fuck just happened? 

He smiles wearily at Yoongi, forcing a yawn as he stretches. ‘Sorry, hyung. I’m just tired. I’m gonna crash... Night.’

He leaves the living area without looking at Hoseok again. He can't get down the hall fast enough, throwing open the bathroom door, locking it behind him, moving straight to the sink to splash cold water on his face, then pour himself a glass. He doesn't even think twice about the fact that he's drinking tap water. He doesn't care. He really doesn't care. Jimin feels hot and cold and dizzy, almost like he's running a fever. His hands are shaking as he brings the glass to his lips.

What the fuck just happened?

You mean, apart from basically dry-humping Hoseok while Yoongi slept five feet away? Not a whole lot. The sober voice is back. Fantastic. Oh, I almost forgot about the part where you almost kiss--

'Nononononono,' Jimin mumbles aloud, rubbing his temples, refusing to let those thoughts go any further. He sinks down to sit on the edge of the bath. Jimin is drunk. Jimin is very, very drunk. Jimin gets horny when Jimin gets drunk. The other members had probably all figured this out by now. After all, Seokjin isn't even much better. Most times they all got drunk together before (minus the maknae), the night usually ended with Jimin and Seokjin slumped in a corner somewhere, complaining about the grave lack of a decent sex life that came with the job. So, Hoseok knows what Jimin can be like. He'll know to blame that -- whatever that was -- on the alcohol. He'll know it didn't meant anything... right?

Do you even want him to pass it off as nothing?

Jimin chugs back another full glass of water. He's starting to wonder if his sober voice is really sober at all. Of course he does. It was nothing. Jimin decides he's not even going to justify it in his head by calling it a mistake. It was just one of those dumb, drunken things that occasionally happens between friends, and is never spoken about again. It will be fine. Everything will be fine. With any luck, the memories will be so fuzzy by tomorrow morning that neither of them will be 100% sure what exactly happened, so they'll push it from their thoughts and that'll be the end of it.

Jimin spends the next while praying silently to any god that will listen for this to be the case.

When he pads as quietly as he can into their bedroom, Hoseok is already in bed. Well, on his bed. He's still fully clothed and lying on top of the sheets, but he seems dead to the world.

See, Jimin tells himself, eyeing his sleeping hyung, he was so hammered he didn't even change for bed. He won't remember the half of this. It'll be fine. Everything will be fine.

Hoseok's face is turned towards the door, turned towards Jimin, an arm flung above his head, slender fingers threaded through his own dark hair. He looks so soft in the weak light, peaceful, his lips just slightly... his lips...

Jimin almost slaps himself across the face. 

Refusing point blank to think anymore about it, he shuts the door and crosses the room to his own bed, the bunk under Taehyung's. He strips down to his boxers and t-shirt in seconds and climbs under the sheets, pulling them up over his head and squishing his face into his pillow, keeping one thought on a loop in his mind as he tumbles into a fitful sleep:

What the fuck is happening?