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Jimin both dreads and adores MV shoots in equal measure. There’s a thrill in it, the atmosphere somehow electrically charged, so many people on set working together to achieve and bring a particular vision to life…
But it’s nearing hour nine of filming and just past one in the morning. The vision at this point is sleep, yet there’s still three hours to go if he decides he’s pleased with what they have so far, and the possibility of that happening is—yeah. If they can go again, Jimin knows he’ll always choose to go again, so the likelihood of him getting home before six is wishful thinking.
He has to call Jeongguk.
Just as the thought enters his mind, a familiar ringtone plays, muffled from where it erupts from the deep pockets of his pants.
A smile breaks out across Jimin’s lips when he sees the picture attached to the contact, heart fluttering the way it always does.
"Hi baby."
Jimin's cheek puffs up against the screen when his smile widens further as Jeongguk's laughter comes over the line in response, likely due to the fact that his voice sounds absolutely wrecked, the lilt of it monotone from his exhaustion.
"You've been singing again, haven't you?” he rightfully accuses. “You know you're just supposed to lipsync when filming music videos, right?"
"Feels like my timing is off when I do that."
"Cute," he hears the younger murmur, and it brings with it warmth that spreads in the pit of his stomach, like slipping into a hot bath. "How long have you been going?"
"Eight—nine hours, almost."
Jeongguk whistles beneath his breath, a concerned edge to his voice when he asks, "And how much longer do you have?"
"We're supposed to be out by four, if I like the raw footage."
"So you'll be home by six then?"
Jimin giggles, his other half knowing him through and through.
"I'm trying to be optimistic that it won't take that long."
"How's your knee? Your back?"
"They're fine. It's my feet that are killing me. These boots are pinching my toes," he whines in complaint, and again Jeongguk coos the word cute beneath his breath, making Jimin feel shy with it.
"I’ll give you a massage when you get home,” he promises, blissfully unaware. “Are you on break? I didn’t think I’d get through to you when I called."
"They're repositioning the camera. I wish you could see it, it's really cool."
"I wish I could see it too, but somebody told me not to come."
"You know, it's…boring. You would be bored."
"Oh you could never bore me, sweetheart."
Jimin feels the flush that adorns his cheeks, pulling his jacket tighter around his body when he shifts on his chair, trying to look around as surreptitiously as possible, sure that the people that walk by trying to ready the set will know who exactly has him so flustered, but they don’t pay him any mind.
"You're embarrassed."Jeongguk states, as if he can see it for himself. As if he's right there .
"Hush. Did you get the pictures I sent you?”
“Yeah. The set looks really cool.”
“It is.” You should see it, goes unsaid this time. It’s his own fault Jeongguk isn’t here, after all, and he barrels forward, hoping to get that particular thought out of his head. “What are you up to? Did you eat?"
"Not yet. I'm waiting for you, remember? You said you wanted a feast fit for a king when you're done filming."
"I didn't say that."
"Those were your exact words. You’ve also been writing down all the food you want every night before you go to sleep and making me recite it back to you so I won’t forget anything when I go to order it."
Jimin hums, the director waving his hands to get his attention before holding up five fingers, and he nods in acknowledgement, giving a thumbs up in return.
“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” he claims, giggling when Jeongguk’s amused scoff reaches his ear, followed by a murmur that sounds like shameless.
Jimin’s skin prickles, the sudden unyielding feeling taking over that there are eyes on him. That he’s being watched. His gaze wanders towards the set as he tries to discreetly search for the cause, the technicians fiddling with the lighting, the sound of drills bouncing off the open space as the design crew works around the clock to make sure everything holds in place, and a frown creases Jimin’s brow when he notices a lone figure standing in the center of it all. A very distinct figure.
Same jacket. Same boots, their features shrouded in shadow but unmistakable. Those eyes…like looking into a mirror—
The lights go out, immediately coming back up again to reveal—
Nothing. No one is there.
“Are you listening, Jimin-ah?”
“Huh? Sorry, I was…I thought I saw something.”
“Thought you saw what?”
He feels silly admitting it, but Jeongguk is one of the few people he’s always been open and honest with so he doesn’t hesitate when he answers.
“Myself. I thought I saw myself.”
“Like…your reflection, or…?”
“No, I just—I thought I saw myself on set. M’seeing things,” he finishes with a humorless laugh, rubbing harshly at the lids of his eyes, fingers adding enough pressure to have stars bursting to life in a backdrop of black, and he can picture Jeongguk’s frown so clearly before he even hears it in his tone.
“When’s the last time you slept, sweetheart?”
“Um…what day is it?”
“Tuesday.”
He sounds increasingly agitated with that one word, like he knows what’s coming.
“And when were we together last?”
“Friday.”
“Right. Since Friday, then.”
“Jimin—”
“You’re shirt doesn’t smell like you anymore, and—”
“My shirt? You took my shirt? Which one?”
“The soft, threadbare black one you were wearing the last time we were together.”
“I was looking for that.”
Jimin snorts.
“You have five others just like it. I needed something to wear to bed. And it’s too quiet at night without you. I’m used to your snores, and the way you take up over half of the mattress and hog the covers.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You do. You know you do, and I can’t sleep well without you.”
The younger sighs, and in that one sound, it conveys just how much he hates their separation, the distance weighing heavily on him. Jimin knows because he feels it too, but with his projects in full swing, it’s damn near impossible to find time to just be.
“Jimin—”
“We’re almost there,” he whispers, a mantra he’s been internally chanting when things get to be…difficult. "I'm almost done. Then we’ll have some time to ourselves.”
“Almost,” Jeongguk repeats just as softly, like he needs to hear the words. Needs the reassurance.
And in this moment and every moment before and after, Jimin misses him so fucking much. Misses the way he feels, his warmth and his love. Even just the simple pleasure of having them be in the same room together, his presence one of comfort and familiarity, essential in the way Jimin needs air to breathe.
"I'm proud of you. So fucking proud. You know that, right?"
"Of course I do," Jimin promises, trying not to lose the tenuous hold he has on his emotions, knowing that once he gets going, he won’t be able to stop.
It feels physically painful to put an end to their call, but when the director locks eyes with him again after speaking to one of the COs, he knows it’s time.
"They're going to close the set soon. The camera is ready."
"When's your break?"
"After we film the bridge. Maybe another hour, at most."
There's a muffled; slightly distorted voice that reaches Jimin's ear, followed by Jeongguk giving a muted reply, the recognizable sound of rhythmic beeping soon to follow that he’s heard a thousand times before.
"Jeongguk-ah? Are you in a car? Did you have a schedule tonight?"
"The other house is out of ramen."
"You're not supposed to eat ramen."
"What was that? I can't hear you, you're breaking up."
Jimin gives a low, lazy laugh, feeling lethargic, like a cat stretching beneath the light of the sun, content and full of affection.
"You drive me crazy,” he huffs, shaking his head when he hears Jeongguk’s answering giggle. “Alright baby, I have to get off the phone now."
“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
“See you soon,” Jimin recites, even though it doesn’t feel true, he still needs to hear it.
He ends the call, and tries to ignore the lump in his throat.
Jimin stands from his chair, just about to unzip the jacket he wears when he hears tired—but excited—cheers near the loading bay doors of the warehouse they’re using to film in, unsure what the cause is until he sees him.
Jeongguk is here, and by the looks of it he’s brought enough food to feed the entire staff, their calls of thanks ignored when their eyes meet, Jeongguk’s smile meant only for him, and Jimin instantly feels the stress lift from his shoulders, even as his cheeks threaten to heat and his eyes swim.
“What are you doing here?” he demands when the other approaches, though it’s ruined by the wide smile splitting his lips enough to make his cheeks hurt, the younger beaming back beneath a dark curtain of long hair and a bucket hat.
Jimin watches his arms come up before they fall heavily at his sides when he remembers himself, fingers flexing as if he wishes nothing more than to hold onto something, and fuck, he’s missed him so much.
“I told you that you didn’t have to come.”
“Wasn’t gonna miss this,” he grins, nose scrunching in the most adorable way when Jimin swats playfully at his chest, and those fingers find a home encircling his wrist, smile widening to show teeth when they finally make skin to skin contact. “Why? Are you still embarrassed?”
He raises his brows twice in quick succession, and Jimin can’t help but laugh even though he is embarrassed. Even though Jeongguk knows that he is because he knows him so well. But still he shakes his head in denial.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he admits on a shaky exhale, wanting nothing more than to sink into his embrace. “Wanna find a room we can slip into?” he wonders teasingly, yet deathly serious.
“I would, but Mingsoo hyung keeps shooting me looks like he’s waiting for us to misbehave.”
Jimin snorts, his manager more than familiar with their antics.
“You’re trembling,” Jeongguk softly observes, pulling him closer from the hold he has on him, fingers sliding down to his hand, the pads tickling along his palm, seeming smug when Jimin’s shivering intensifies.
“S’cold.”
But the mumbled excuse only seems to please Jeongguk further, pulling him impossibly close, like he couldn’t care less about the people surrounding them. Like he’s going to do something he shouldn’t—
A bell sounds out, a notice playing over the walkies, and Jimin reluctantly pulls away, disappointment sinking heavily in the pit of his stomach as everyone is called back to set, the dancers shuffling into position and leaving a space open for him as they wait.
“I have to…”
“Go,” Jeongguk nods encouragingly while taking up one of the empty chairs near the director, smile still bright. “I’ll be here. Unless you don’t want me to watch you.”
“No,” he denies, hating that he sounds breathless, forcibly clearing his throat, voice firm when he demands, “Watch me.”
And with that he spins around, deliberately adding more sway to his hips as he makes it to his mark, unzipping his jacket as he goes and turning to reveal the bare skin of his torso, covered in transferred ink, fire kindling in his abdomen over the way he can see Jeongguk squirm in his chair even from a distance, a titillating darkness to his gaze that has Jimin’s body singing with desire, responding to the carnal want his lover pins him with.
When Jeongguk looks at him like that, Jimin feels like he’s capable of anything. Like he can be anything. Do anything. He’s counted in, smoothing his features into one of carefully crafted intensity as the music plays while he gets into position, sure that in this moment, he can take on the world.
And that’s exactly what he does.
_____________
As Jimin dances, he feels hands on him, hands that shouldn’t be there. The other dancers are never anywhere near him when it happens, and each time he registers tickling fingers along his exposed ribs, crawling over his skin like spider’s legs, nails sinking in just this shy of hurt, he jumps, looking down only to be met with his own hands, a frown lining his brow, something akin to fear sliding down his spine, cold like ice.
He doesn’t remember moving them.
It’s another long hour of work, and through it all he feels Jeongguk’s eyes. Feels his own hands slide over his body like a lover would, the intent behind it sensual, a discovery to it that he can’t help but think is laced with awe.
Like worship.
When the final call rings out before break, Jimin quickly bows to everyone, rushing back to the line of chairs where Jeongguk waits, already on his feet, arms open just as Jimin reaches for him, desperate to flee, shaken up by what he’s been feeling.
“You want to go find that room you mentioned earlier?” Jeongguk whispers in his ear, and Jimin quivers as if reverberating with vibration, nothing more but a taut string on an instrument for the younger to pull and play until he produces sound.
“Let’s go before Mingsoo sees us.”
And with that he holds Jeongguk’s hand tightly in his own, pulling him towards the same dressing room he was made ready in when they first arrived, praying that it’s empty.
It is.
The door locks from Jeongguk’s insistent fingers, those eyes holding galaxies as they travel over Jimin’s form in more than just obvious interest.
Backing up deliberately slow, Jimin returns his gaze, fixated on Jeongguk as he guides him towards the couch in the corner, the soft lighting from the bare bulbs that frame the mirrors drawing attention to the way he struggles to swallow, completely enthralled, and Jimin feels that strange thrumming power again—the one that whispers he can do anything—fed by the obvious effect he has on the man he loves. The man he craves.
It’s a natural progression to push him down onto the soft creme cushions of the couch, and even more natural when Jimin follows, straddling his lap and humming in delight when Jeongguk’s hands slip beneath the back of his jacket to touch bare skin.
“You really didn’t take your eyes off of me once, did you?”
“How could I? Do you see yourself?”
The question brings a delighted laugh out of him, the innocence of it gone once he slides the palm of his hand down between them to cup the hardness that presses against the soft material of loose cargo pants to meet him.
“Want you to fuck me,” he breathes against Jeongguk’s lips, loving the way he trembles against him.
“Are you sure?“ Maybe I could go down on you, or—”
“No. Fuck me.” Jimin demands, insistent and bratty, reveling in the way Jeongguk whines.
“But your MV shoot, love. If I fuck you now you’re not going to be able to walk.”
“Presumptuous of you.”
“Jimin. I’m not kidding.”
“Promise?”
Jimin grins, lashes fluttering when both of Jeongguk’s hands come up to frame his face, coaxing him down towards his lips, and the very breath catches in his lungs, sure he won’t be able to survive if he doesn’t kiss him in the next second.
When Jeongguk finally does, tongue snaking out to lick across the seam of his lips, Jimin releases a hitched whimper that devolves into a moan, the noise swallowed down by the younger’s slanting mouth.
Small hands snake around his waist, the pads of fingers tracing over the poem branded on his skin and Jimin freezes.
Both of Jeongguk’s hands are still on his face.
“What the fuck—”
He nearly jumps back, the only thing holding him in place are Jeongguk’s arms, quickly moving down to wrap around his hips in an effort to keep him from falling, concern clear in his pinched features when he asks, “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
Jimin’s breath stutters out harsh and ragged, chest heaving as he searches for…something. Someone. But it’s just the two of them.
Jeongguk waits patiently for an explanation, but Jimin doesn’t have one. Not without sounding like he’s losing his grip on reality.
“I thought…felt like someone was touching me.”
“I’m touching you,” he whispers, voice husky, still affected.
“Someone else… ”
“We’re the only ones here, Jimin-ah. Just you, and me,” Jeongguk assures, his voice sounding almost dreamy, soft and unhurried, and Jimin’s eyes slide up to his, watching as he nods his head towards the mirrors behind them. “See for yourself.”
Jimin goes to look over his shoulder, but Jeongguk gently encourages him back to his feet, all the while remaining lounged on the couch, legs spread in an obscene invitation, voice an octave lower when his orders, “Go look.”
Unsure, and slightly unsteady, Jimin shuffles towards the stark white counters that precede the line of mirrors along the wall, something like anticipation blooming beneath his skin, like butterflies opening up their wings for the first time.
“You see? It’s just you.”
“Just me,” he rasps, though his eyes still search the surface of his reflection, sure there must be something—
“See how pretty you are? How lucky I am?”
Jimin fights the urge to deny Jeongguk’s compliments, knowing how fixated he gets about things like this, how he’ll likely enjoy making Jimin cry out until he relents and agrees with every piece of praise Jeongguk gifts him with.
“You deserve to know. To feel the way you make me feel, to see the way I see you.”
Something dark seems to loom over his shoulder, the lights dimming to create a shape, though neither of them has touched the switch, Jimin squinting as if a haze covers his vision, that shape solidifying—
There’s a face peeking out from over his shoulder, shifting into existence from directly behind him, just enough for Jimin to see those eyes.
Those eyes.
His eyes.
Jimin’s throat closes up, the breath leaving him on a painful hiss that seems to strangle his throat, and through the panic he remains rooted to the spot, unable to turn and confront what it is he thinks he’s seeing.
“Jeongguk—”
“It’s just you,” he repeats again, consoling, his assurance putting him at ease even as Jimin continues to look at himself, not as a reflection, but as a completely separate being that continues to slink out from behind him, no matter how many times he tries to blink it away.
Fingers trace up over his shoulders, Jimin following those ring-covered digits in the glass, almost flinching away from their touch, and keeping still by sheer force of will, watching as they map out the column of his neck, moving up to sink into his hair, blunt nails scraping over his scalp, just the way he likes, and Jimin’s lids sink down, a deep purr resonating in his chest.
In the mirror, Jeongguk looks pleased.
“That’s it. Let yourself feel good, sweetheart.”
A whine escapes next, those fingers traveling back down to his front, deftly wrapping around the zipper of his jacket that he’d hastily done up when the director called an end to filming, slowly beginning to pull. Inch by inch his ink-covered chest is revealed until the piece of clothing is completely open, his…other self encouraging it to slip down off his arms until it lands on the floor between them with a sound of finality.
It isn’t long before those hands are back, searching across bare skin this time as his double hooks his chin over his shoulder, and it's jarring, to say the least. The touch, the physicality of it all, feels so undeniably real, and wrong, the cold silver of those rings grazing against his nipples and making him whine.
How is it possible? How is any of this possible? And why is Jeongguk so nonchalant about it?
Gaze shifting in the mirror, Jimin’s breath hitches at the sight of him, still on the couch, their eyes meeting, Jeongguk’s hand rubbing over his clothed cock, the bulge imprinted and obvious in the loose fabric.
His own dick twitches in sympathy, mouth gone dry, tongue tracing along his bottom lip, and in the next instant he feels an answering hardness against his ass from—well, himself.
“I think I’m going insane.”
“Going insane to stay sane,” his own voice whispers along the lobe of his ear, causing him to tremble, desire curling up from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.
“I think you should touch yourself,” Jeongguk fires back, and no sooner has he said it that his double cups him over his pants in a firm grip, the gasp that leaves Jimin’s lips so loud he’s sure everyone can hear him. “There you go, sweetheart. Doesn’t that feel nice?”
It feels more than nice, but Jimin doesn’t remember how to use his words when his own hand slides over the wet tip of his head, precome soaking through the fabric, the material of it cool like satin over his fevered flesh.
It feels wrong to give into it, but as those fingers—his fingers—work to slip inside the front of his waistband, those matching silver rings biting into his cock as they wrap around him in a sure grip, Jimin cries out, head tilting back until it can rest on his double’s shoulder, hips bucking into that tight delicious heat when he succumbs.
Jimin turns his head, wanting to nuzzle into his doppleganger’s neck, maybe sink his teeth into it to help him keep quiet, but Jimin meets his own stare instead, head on this time, sees the way those eyes— his eyes— lower on an obvious path towards his lips.
Jimin wants to kiss him. Wants to kiss himself, and can practically feel the way everyone in the room hangs in suspense, waiting to see what he’ll do.
He’s too eager.
Jimin closes the distance between them, greedily led by his tongue, entering his own mouth with the enthusiasm of an explorer, discovering the heat of what lies beyond his lips, soft like pillows as they slot against his own, identical tongue curling along the roof of his mouth and testing the sharpness of his teeth.
Someone moans, but he’s not sure who, too lost in the vehemence of his own kiss, quivering fingers coming up to grip his hair, pulling when the hand around his cock twists from base to tip, swallowing the cry that follows.
Why does this ache the way it does? Why does it feel so good?
“It’s you,” Jeongguk says once more. “Who knows you better than you?”
Those words ring true, facets of him that’ll remain in the dark recesses of his mind, never to see the light of day. No one else could recognize them, save for himself.
That hand speeds up, only slowing when it gathers the precome that leaks from the tip of his cockhead, using it to smooth the glide, and stars explode and fizzle out behind the squeezed lids of his eyes, pressure building at the base of his spine, his own fingers bringing him expertly towards climax.
“I’m at the edge. Gonna come,” he warns, the words trembling just like his body, his other self leaning down to whisper in his ear.
“Not yet. Not yet.”
Rings dig into his skin again, only this time right at the base of his arousal until he keens, his double soothing him with gentle kisses and murmured words as his orgasm is staved off, his voice sounding so foreign yet familiar to his ears while he attempts to calm himself.
His body is on fire, writhing against the solid figure of his own self, the only thing keeping him in place is the relentless grip that the double has on his waist, strong, seeming to delight in torturing him as he brings Jimin close to orgasm again, only to back off just as he’s about to come for a second time.
Jimin can’t take it anymore, and he breaks free of his own grip, spinning around until he comes face to face with himself, taking in Jeongguk out of the corner of his eye, now with his cargo pants open and down to his thighs, hard cock red and angry in his hand as he gives himself quick strokes that Jimin can’t help but be jealous of.
But his other self won’t be forgotten for long, gripping Jimin’s chin and forcing him to look back, the hunger in his identical eyes almost frightening as they stare back at him.
“Look at me now,” he orders, bare chest with the same German poem capturing Jimin’s attention, gaze traveling down with the urge to see the shape of his cock, hard in his pants.
All for him.
God, he wants himself so bad.
Something he never anticipated ever feeling.
“Gonna fuck you,” the other him says, and inside he melts, hands gripping onto matching shoulders as he spins his double around until he has him pinned against the counter, right where he wants him.
“Or maybe I’ll fuck you,” he threatens, palms searching.
Jimin gropes anywhere he can get his hands on. His pecs, pleased when he brings a flush to the other’s cheeks. His thick thighs, lifting the doppelganger up until he’s seated on the edge of the counter they’re pressed against. And then his ass, full and firm in the palm of his hand.
“I’ll gladly hop on,” the other grins, and Jimin returns the smile, kissing himself as he beams, pleased with the eager response that meets him, shoving the double’s jacket off of his muscled arms, needing to feel him. Wanting him bare.
They’re a tangled mess of roaming hands and hastily discarded clothes, Jimin nearly frantic to get them both naked, knowing the likelihood of him creasing the very clothes wardrobe expressly forbid him from ruining, but at this point he couldn’t give less of a fuck, moaning in appreciation when his ring-covered fingers seek out the heat of his twin’s hole, satisfied as it spasms at the touch as if wishing to draw him in deeper.
There’s oil tucked away on the station behind them. The same oil Jimin was going to use to help remove the makeup and tattoo transfer on his skin, but now as he uncaps it, he’s more than a little thrilled over giving it a more obscene purpose.
“Stay there,” he murmurs to himself, smirk overtaking his lips after drizzling the oil over his fingers, sinking to his knees to bring himself face to face with the pretty puckered pink ring of his hole, winking at him in the dim light.
“Look how much you want it,” he says in wonder, gazing up at himself from beneath long lashes, smile widening when he hears Jeongguk chuckle behind him.
“Greedy little thing, aren’t you.”
“Raise your hands for me. Hold on,” Jimin orders, watching as his double does just that, gripping onto his shoulders as if anticipating a storm.
As soon as he does, Jimin forces his thighs to spread wider, and lowers himself, diving between those plump cheeks he holds spread open to begin eating himself out. He can’t think about what he’s doing without getting dangerously close to losing his tenuous control and coming untouched in his pants, wondering if this is how he tastes for Jeongguk, like clean skin and soap. If this is what he sounds like for him when the tip of his tongue circles his rim and finally adds enough pressure to slip inside. If he clenches, mewls and burns this hot.
Laving over his double’s opening, Jimin moves up until he can swallow his cock in one fell swoop, replacing tongue with fingers, never more grateful for his non-existent gag reflex when his ‘twin’ thrusts into his mouth with a jolt and a high-pitched cry, nails carving crescent moons into his skin.
He swallows around his own cock in his throat as one finger inside that tight heat becomes two, then two becomes three, purposefully humming, becoming fast addicted to his own responses. This all feels a bit narcissistic, but Jimin is too enamored with himself to care.
“Do you see?” Jeongguk asks, and even though Jimin doesn’t pull off of himself in order to look behind him, he gives a louder hum in response, smug when his double squirms.
With a wet pop, he releases the dick in his mouth, regaining his feet and slicking himself up with unsteady hands, overeager as he loses himself in his own dark eyes, the two of them palming at each other, desperate to get closer, as if they aren’t already one and the same.
“Ready?”
“Now, yeah.”
Jimin pushes in, slow and deliberate, eyes nearly rolling up to the back of his head as he fucks into himself, trying not to lose what’s left of his grasp on reality, lips finding those of his double’s, fumbling for something to latch onto, to keep his feet on the ground.
It’s too much, and Jimin doesn’t even wait long before he’s thrusting inside of his own ass, knowing his limits. Knowing he can take it.
And he does.
“Look at you,” Jeongguk murmurs in his ear, suddenly right there, and when Jimin looks up into the mirror he sees the younger man blanketing his thrusting form. “Not me, you,” he admonishes until Jimin’s attention is once more back on himself. “See how much you love it? How you fall apart just like this.”
Jimin’s eyes fall back down, fixating on the way his own skin flushes prettily, or how his ink-covered chest heaves with each shove of his hips. The way teeth sink into plump lips, though they’re useless in keeping the sounds in. His lids are sunk low, those eyes gazing up at him beneath long lashes as he mewls, body arching to get closer. To take more.
He does love it.
He is falling apart.
“Jeongguk—” he tries, voice holding an edge of panic as the pleasure intensifies, cutting off when the man in question shakes his head.
“No, not me. Who?” he questions, and Jimin’s brow creases in confusion until realization dawns as to what he’s asking.
“M-Me.”
“Say it.”
“Jimin,” he moans, the double beneath him whining, tightening around him as he bows his back beautifully, exposed throat tempting Jimin to lean down and latch his teeth into the skin, fucking him faster, addicted to the reactions the other him gives freely, wrapping both arms and legs around him in an unmovable grip in an effort to keep him right there.
Fuck this is wrong. This is so wrong.
There’s too many hands on him, and when Jimin goes to turn his head, Jeongguk stops him with a gentle reprimand.
“Don’t look back. Focus on you. This is about you.”
Jimin does what he says, enjoying the feel of his twin’s fingers in his hair, pulling at the strands the way he likes, leading his mouth back down to his own lips where they indulge in a filthy kiss, tongues emulating the motion of their bodies as Jimin pounds into that tight heat, his other self opening up beautifully.
Jeongguk’s fingers dance delicately over his rim, oiled up and sinking inside so easily, stretching him with all the skill of someone who’s done so before countless times, finding his prostate as if he has a map to it. The touch has Jimin’s own movements turning frenzied and frantic, cock swollen and leaking inside of himself, while his doppelganger blurts steady streams of precome into the hollow of his navel, decorating him in pearls of white.
When Jeongguk finally enters him, an ache forms and builds in his core, arousal twitching in the grip of his own body, sure he’ll come any second, the pleasure too much—but Jeongguk reaches around, fingers encircling the base of his cock, bumping against the other Jimin’s ass as he helps to pull him back from the edge again, lips tickling his lobe as he whispers the same words his twin did before.
“Not yet. Not yet.”
The three of them, as if one person, take a breath and begin to move.
Jimin’s head falls back on Jeongguk’s shoulder, and though his eyes are wide open, it’s as if his vision whites out, a sea of snow with prisms that refract light bounce from point to point, and he feels enveloped by warmth, that pressure in his tummy building again as Jeongguk spears him open, pushing him to do the same to the other Jimin below.
Everything is soft and sweet and pliant. It feels too good. It shouldn’t be possible. None of this should.
Gently encouraging his head to tilt back down so he can meet his own gaze, Jeongguk places a kiss to his ear, whispering, “Almost,” just as his double once again orders, “Look at me now.”
Jimin looks, feeling as if he’s caught in the middle of the two, overwhelmed in the most delicious way, the tight, wet heat around his cock rivaled only by Jeongguk’s thick length fucking into him over and over again, the two of them creating solar systems behind his eyes.
He’s at that edge again. He’s gonna—
“Now yeah.” The two say in unison, and Jimin comes with a hitch of breath that’s more akin to a scream—
_____________
Jimin’s eyes fly open, a blurriness to his vision that clears slowly, disorientation seeping in while staring at what looks to be the ceiling, heart hammering in his chest, pulse thundering in his ears. His stomach drops, recognizing he’s on the couch in the dressing room, a warm body behind him, the unmistakable sounds of Jeongguk’s deep, even snores filling the room.
The tension seeps from his body like a taut wire that snaps under pressure, and he falls back and settles into the cushions below.
It was all just a dream.
He remembers coming into the dressing room with Jeongguk, the two falling into each other on the very couch they currently lie on, with the younger whispering both sweet and filthy promises, though it seems their lack of sleep without each other caught up to them.
Jeongguk hums behind him, shifting until he can wrap Jimin up securely in his arms, nuzzling into the back of his neck before stilling, slipping back into sleep. Jimin’s own hands cover both of Jeongguk’s where they’re splayed out over his abdomen, glancing at the analog clock that hangs above the door, a weariness overtaking him when he sees he has to be back on set in ten minutes.
It’s ten minutes he’s determined to enjoy in his lover’s embrace, eyes fluttering closed, a smile taking over his lips when he feels fingers dance along his knuckles—
Jimin’s eyes fly open.
Jeongguk’s hands are still cupped in both of his, unmoving.
Slowly, his gaze travels down, heart thumping against the cage of his ribs when he sees another hand, belonging to neither of them, dark ink peeking along the curve of the wrist.
13.