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underdressed and oversexed

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Some nights, when sleep evades him, when the bustle of bodies in nightclubs become nothing but white noise, when he’s so lonely that the sight of his reflection is almost enough to get by—he opens his laptop, searching for the one.

It starts as a curious internet search, as any teenager is prone to do, the result of a body deprived of stimulation. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for beyond the general genre of sex, so for a while he just sits there, laptop burning the skin of his thighs through the fabric of his shorts, cursor blinking impatiently in the search bar.

He’s alone in his room with no witness, neither judge nor jury, yet his face still flames in some strange mix of shame and excitement when he quickly clicks on a link to a reputable porn site, types in ‘gay’ and presses enter before he can change his mind. He swallows, eyes scanning the results with his heart pounding in his ears like the bass of his favorite song filtering through his stereo headphones.

He drags his finger to the left, hovering over filter results, trusting whatever algorithm there is in place to sort through the thousands of videos tagged gay male until he’s only looking at the best of the best, the most viewed and most liked.

Jungkook clicks one without letting himself think. The title is descriptive, obscene, a little crude. He’s not sure just how much Park Jimin likes getting spit-roasted, but the caps lock looks very excited. For ten seconds, the broken cyclic buffering icon freezes on the screen, too quick for him to back out but long enough for his throat to tighten with anticipation, the slightest beads of sweat breaking out along his face.

It opens with a zoomed-in shot of two men fucking. Straight to the point, but Jungkook’s breath still catches. The camera slowly pans out, following the lines of their bodies until he can make distinctions between them. There is a noticeable size difference and Jungkook can't take his eyes off the smaller’s frame, caged in by the bulk of the one fucking him. His face is round, cherub cheeks flushed dark with arousal, dark fringe plastered to his forehead by the sweat sliding in rivulets down his face and neck. But it's his eyes that really take Jungkook in, pretty and dark, puffy around the edges.

Insert into the scene another man, dick twitching in the loose two-fingered grip of his left hand, right hand cupped around the smaller’s jaw. Jungkook knows what’s coming, can see it in the way the pretty one licks his plush lips, watching precum flow from the slick head of the man’s cock before it’s pressed against his mouth. He opens eagerly, pink tongue darting out to give the underside a kittenish lick, lips forming the perfect ‘o’ for the man to push his fat cock in, like those lips were made to suck dick.

Jungkook slides his shorts down his thighs, exhaling as he’s jamming his hand down past the waistband of his boxers, heartbeat rattling his ribcage.

He’s imagined something like this, fantasized about it. Daydreams filled with vague caresses here and there, careful whispers and careless kisses in hidden away places. He hadn’t taken himself seriously back then, hadn’t known the full scope of his curiosity, hadn’t realized that he’d been looking in all the wrong places for such a long time.

The moans of the men onscreen reverberate through his entire body, groin tight with arousal. He jerks himself with hard and fast strokes, hips jumping off the mattress to chase the drag of his calloused fingers over his cockhead. He fights against the instinct to clamp his eyes shut, staring at the screen of his laptop until his vision starts to blur.

Pretty stares into the camera, eyes opaque. Jungkook can feel the gaze burn the surface of his skin, heat reaching deep. He can feel the plump lips around his cock, warm and wet, suction maddening. It’s Jungkook's dick that’s fucking into him, it’s Jungkook’s teeth biting down on his shoulder, it’s Jungkook’s cum sliding slowly out of his stretched hole. It’s him. It’s them.

Jungkook comes with a groan, thighs tensed and trembling. He strokes himself down from the high, barely managing to push his laptop off to the side in time to save it from his release. His earphones are ripped out by the abrupt motion, and the sounds of sex echo unnaturally off the walls of his threadbare bedroom.

The video ends shortly after the pretty one shoots his load, strained voice breaking on a curse as he thrusts his hips up into the tight circle of his left hand. The last thing Jungkook sees before the screen goes black with subscription info is a heaving chest, damp with sweat, smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth and a promise lurking in those dark eyes.

His own eyes immediately start to droop, earlier fatigue returning full-force in the wake of his orgasm, and with much reluctance, he hops out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom to take a quick shower. When he returns, washed free of all evidence, he deletes his browsing history, twice, and opens a new tab to catch up on the last few episodes of the drama he started a few weeks back.


Midterms are upon him, stress stacking up like a tower of jenga blocks swaying dangerously before his eyes. He works part-time at karaoke bar just outside of campus. On the days when he's running on nothing but coffee and energy bars, he holes himself up in one of the rooms and sings his biology notes in the style of H.O.T's Candy.

"Jeon Jungkook," his coworker yells, "Closing time!"

He checks the time on his phone, grimacing as the 2:59 turns into a 3:00. Usually, he avoids staying until closing on weekdays because of his morning-heavy class schedule, but he needs the extra hours to make rent and possibly buy groceries (or instant ramen and triangle kimbap from the convenience store). He has five hours until his first class, the dreaded 8AM social psychology class he couldn’t avoid taking this semester.

"No, I can't leave,” he says, straightening the creases his elbow has made in his textbook. His exam only covers three chapters but there’s no way to bullshit through essay questions in psych. His professor, Satan, loves taking points off for Jungkook’s loose interpretation of social phenomenons, and name dropping Festinger and Gilovich in the margins never helps. “I have to study."

"Go home and study, then." Jieun says, tying her long black hair into a tight bun. It’s her girl-walking-home-alone-at-night hair which she hides under an oversized hoodie to give herself ambiguity. Creeps hanging around the streets at this hour won’t take chances on a shape they can’t easily identify as young, vulnerable, and female.

Jungkook stretches his neck to the side, spine cracking with crisp satisfying pops when he rolls his head past his shoulders. "If I go home now, I won’t study.”

Jieun whacks the back of Jungkook’s head with his own notebook. Lee Jieun, surrogate Seoul mother, sweet when his head’s on straight but tough as nails when he’s falling behind.

“Then don’t study. Sleep!”

“But, I—” She winds up for another hit, this time with her balled fist. Jieun’s jabs themselves aren’t strong, but it’s where she aims them that are dangerous. Jungkook is still sore from two months ago when she dug her knuckles into his ribs after he got the flu and still came in for a six hour shift.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go home and sleep.”

Jieun starts powering everything down and without the constant strobe of neon lights stimulating his retinas, Jungkook realizes just how tired he is. He doesn’t regret staying until closing. That’s an additional 10,000 won to his paycheck, another store-bought lunch box he can afford for breakfast, an extra stop he can take on public transport because his t-money card will finally have sufficient funds.

“Call me if you need food. Jinri’s newest thing is culinary school so we have an excessive amount of perishable food in our fridge. I bet you don’t even have rice at home.”

Jungkook grins, sheepishly. She’s right on the money.

“Leftovers are my favorite.”


The thing about homesickness is that it lingers silently at the back of your consciousness. Unnoticeable and unassuming at first, like shadows overlapping on the pavement.

Seoul. The city that hasn’t stopped for a second to catch its breath. He doesn’t even realize how much he misses Busan until he’s wandering alone in Gangnam, a fish miles away from the ocean in a sky full of birds. He’s still insecure in his standard speech, accustomed to the rise and fall of Gyeongsang-do dialect rather than the distant, unchanging articulation of Seoul.

He finds his way to the department store, attracted to the bright lights of the cosmetic section like a moth to a flame, reading labels on moisturizers and trying to think of the convenience store equivalent.

An older saleswoman tracks his movements with a laser sharp gaze, smile plastered to her face and makeup clumping together in the creases of her crows feet. He avoids making eye contact, in case she decides to pressure him into purchasing something unnecessary and overpriced.

He finds the section targeted to his demographic: poor youth from a southern province concerned with the health of his skin. Discounted products marked with obnoxious red stickers hidden in specific alcoves designed to be easily accessible but often overlooked. He reaches for a bottle of deep cleansing foaming face wash and grimaces as he realizes even the discounted price is still pushing it. A little warm water and apple cider vinegar will do in the meantime.

Jungkook turns on his heel, intending to continue the rest of his outing with window shopping, but his chest collides with the sharp edge of a man’s shoulder bone, knocking a sample of exfoliating cream to the ground in the process. He opens his mouth, apology ready, but the man looks almost delighted that they crashed into each other.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t see you there,” the man begins, “but I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve very good-looking. Do you model?”

Jungkook’s pretty sure his eyes widen to the size of dwarf planets at the unexpected question. “Me? No. I’m—no.”

“Oops, sorry, I should have introduced myself first, I probably sound strange.” The man extends a polite hand in greeting. “My name is Kim Seokjin and I’m scouting actors and models, males only, at our company. Your visuals are exactly what I’m looking for with this new project I’m working on. Are you currently employed?”

Jungkook has heard about scams like this, even watched a documentary on it back in high school, but at the mention of employment… “I’m between jobs at the moment. Just some part-time stuff while I’m going to school.”

“College?” Jungkook nods. “What year?”

“It’s the end of my second year.”

“That’s great. Our employees have very flexible hours. See, I started in the porn industry when I was in college. Well, culinary school, but that racks up the same kind of debt as regular college, and—”

Porn industry?

“Oh, shit. I should have opened with that. Wow, I’m sorry, I’m not—uh, I’ve never actually done this with a complete stranger, I just, saw you and oh God, I’m sorry. My boyfriend is better at this part.”


“Well yes, I did mention I work in gay porn, didn’t I?”

Jungkook blinks, breath hissing out of him like a deflated balloon. “I’m sorry,” he says, once he’s gathered his wits, “Are you asking me if I’m interested in being a porn star—a gay porn star?” He lowers his voice, even though they’re the only two people standing off to the side of the store, conversing in hushed tones under speakers blasting the latest girl group single.

“Yes, I am.”

Jungkook scratches his scalp, mind running over socially acceptable ways to tell this guy to fuck off without actually telling him to fuck off. With this particular situation, maybe that’s warranted. The man grabs his wallet, which Jungkook notices with disbelief is Super Mario Bros themed, and digs out a sleek black business card.

“Take this, think it over, and call me if you’re interested.” Jungkook, out of a deep conditioned respect for people higher up on the social totem pole, porn career notwithstanding, takes the business card and shoves it in his pocket with a stiff bow. Maybe he’ll toss his jeans in the washing machine at the end of the week with the card still stuffed in there, detergent and water eroding away at the paper until the only reminder of the encounter is a vague feeling of embarrassment and extra debris in the lint screen.

“The pay is good, fantastic for a college student like yourself, and not to brag but we’re top ranked on all sites, even the straight ones.”

Mr. Kim Seokjin, porn provisioner, gives Jungkook an award-winning smile and turns to leave.

“Wait, hold on.” Jungkook grabs the hem of the man’s sweater, noting how soft and expensive it feels against his fingertips. “Why ask me? I mean, you have to know someone’s… gay… before you offer them a job.”

He laughs, as if Jungkook is the one asking ridiculous questions. “I’ve never been wrong. It’s more than a hunch. It’s my superpower.”

He makes to leave again. Jungkook watches him go, broad shoulders weaving through the afternoon foot traffic, gait regal yet relaxed, nothing like how he’d expect a porn star to carry himself, although he’s never really thought much about how porn stars exist outside of sex.

He catches his reflection in one of the store’s mirrors. Does he really have the looks that suit porn?

The business card, despite it being just a piece of cardstock, starts feeling heavier and heavier inside of his pocket as he ventures out into the streets of Gangnam, trying to recall the correct path back to the subway station.


Porn is normalized enough with people in his age range that discussing the financial benefits of pursuing that line of work with Jieun and Jinri inside their rooftop apartment over bibimbap and Korean-Mexican fusion isn’t as embarrassing as he imagined it would be.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Jungkook starts, “could you imagine me as a gay porn star? I ran into one the other day and he gave me his contact info.”

Jieun chokes, cola dribbling down the corner of her lips before she can reach for a napkin. “What?! You ran into—he gave you his—what?”

Jinri laughs, slapping a hand to her stomach. “That has to be the worst pickup line ever!”

“No, actually, I looked him up. He’s really a porn star.” He leaves out the part about it being Kim Seokjin, big name in certain circles for producing high quality gay porn with easy, yet discreet, accessibility. There are articles in the gay forums that have at least a dozen threads waxing poetic about the slope of Kim Seokjin’s shoulders and the gradual decline into porn addiction because of it. Jungkook hasn’t seen Seokjin on film personally, but he saw the way he filled out his sweater that day, and can sympathize with his fans.

Jieun mops up the cola she spat out from shock and furrows her brows in consideration, giving Jungkook a thoughtful once-over. “I always imagined you getting street-casted by some entertainment company or something, but porn? That’s... not quite the entertainment I had in mind.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Apparently the pay is good. Enough money to cover tuition and rent even if I drop part-time at the karaoke bar.”

Jinri snorts. “Of course the pay is good, it’s porn. Some people pay thousands to see someone not come on camera, imagine how much they pay for, I don’t know, an orgy.”

“The schedule of a porn star in college,” Jieun says, chopstick in each hand. “Lecture at two, orgy at five, grocery shopping on the way back. Mutual fellatio after breakfast the next day. You know, just an ordinary weekday.”

“Who else can say they’re friends with a porn star? Or works with a porn star?”

“I don’t know who would ask or how that would come up in casual conversation, but I wouldn’t tell anyone Jungkook’s business like that.”

“Guys,” Jungkook interrupts. “I didn’t even call him. As a matter of fact, I threw his business card in the trash.” He omits the fact that he saved the information on his phone. “I was just telling you about it.”

“It would have been cool if you called him up, just to scope out porn headquarters,” Jinri says. “porn stars are practically celebrities. You could have been a celebrity. A sex celebrity. Sexlebrity?”

“You can tell by her tone that porn is a hobby of hers,” Jieun comments. “Never judge a book by its cover, Jungkook. That’s where I went wrong.”


The conversation drifts from Jungkook’s missed opportunity at being sexually famous to Jinri and Jieun’s first year as roommates after meeting each other at their school’s drama department. By the time they’ve finished off all the food and Jungkook gives his goodbyes, it’s approaching midnight.

He makes it back to his apartment fifteen minutes later, stomach stretched and complacent, finding a piece of paper stuck to his door. It’s from his landlord, reminding Jungkook that being a few hundred short on rent each month is starting to get old and that she won’t hesitate to send him packing, or worse, on a bus back to Busan.

The idea of calling the ten digits saved in a memo in his phone becomes more and more appealing.


He imagines a seedy motel room, the basement of some shady apartment in the college area, an officetel with handheld camcorders and floor lamp mood lighting. He doesn’t expect an actual set, actual props, actual production equipment, an actual crew. Everything seems as legit as promised.

Jungkook wonders how they even managed to rent such a nice place for gay porn in downtown Seoul. It’s a niche market in a conservative, mostly homophobic country. Getting caught downloading gay porn was already taboo enough as it is, how the hell had they managed to find such a nice place to film it?

He finds the guy that handed him a business card in the middle of a department store while he perused labels on facial cleansers bent over a box, packaged peanuts scattered along the floor, hand frantically flying around as he yells about authenticity and hospital retail.

“Um, Kim Seokjin-ssi?”

At the sound of Jungkook’s voice, the man jumps, turning wildly, clutching a pair of hospital gowns in his left hand.

“Oh, Jungkook! You’re early,” he says, inspecting Jungkook with a critical eye, as if he were looking for damages on a new product, which doesn’t sound that far off the mark when he thinks about it. “What time did I say? Ten? Ten fifteen?”

“Nine thirty, actually.”

“Oh, oops. Nine thirty. Right, sorry. I told you the wrong time. I've got a scene at nine thirty.”

Jungkook turns his head in the direction Seokjin’s body is angled, eyes immediately focusing on a familiar face. His body reacts before his brain manages to process what he’s seeing. The man of every sexual fantasy he’s had in the last three years is fifteen feet away, half-naked and impossibly attractive.

Breathing, a once simple mechanism, becomes difficult. He never let himself imagine that he would see Park Jimin in the flesh. Literal flesh. Jimin naked and standing just across the room. He’s going to expire before Seokjin even has him do a screen test.

“Just, uh, hang around for a bit until I finish up with Jimin and Taehyung’s scene and then we’ll go ahead and put you in front of a camera and see how you do. Sound good?”

Jungkook nods, watching as Seokjin flounders for a moment, dashing off to the other side of the studio, adjusting lights and listing off demands to a blonde guy holding a camera nearly three times the size of his head over his shoulder, expression blank as if nothing Seokjin is saying registers.

Jungkook watches in awe as props are set up around the studio to resemble a fully furnished apartment, looking more lived in than his own mini-loft in Mapo.

“Okay, Jimin, remember what I said about staring directly into the camera.”

Jimin sighs, fingers pushing through his hair. “Yes, hyung, I remember.” His other hand trails up and down Taehyung’s bare arm, caressing in motions so soft, Jungkook has a hard time reconciling this Jimin with the Jimin he’s seen trainfucked by five, six guys and still begging for more.

“Since we’re filming the opening after,” Seokjin starts, brandishing a small megaphone, voice infinitesimally louder through the device than at his regular cadence. “Just start kissing and go from there.”

Jungkook feels like an idiot standing alone, five feet shy of the playback monitors and lighting stands, so he shuffles closer, until he’s right behind Seokjin and the guy holding the boom pole.

Taehyung hovers over Jimin with his mouth parted centimeters from Jimin’s, breathing, waiting, body poised to strike, like a predator ready to devour his prey.


Jungkook inhales. Everything from that moment on is surreal.

Taehyung lunges forward in the small distance between them, catching Jimin’s mouth so perfectly, so expertly, Jungkook has to wonder how many times they’ve crashed together like this. As if they were charged atoms, attracted by a force so strong, there was no way to deny the pull.

Sure, Jungkook has seen plenty of Jimin’s films. He can probably timestamp every orgasm in every video Jimin has ever starred in with how much he’s watched, how much he’s studied. But nothing compares to seeing it with his own two eyes, hearing the moans ripped raw from Jimin’s throat, sound waves ricocheting off the walls and through Jungkook’s own ears, sending blood rushing through his veins so quickly, he nearly staggers forward, head spinning.

There’s something about the soft noises that Jimin makes in the back of his throat as Taehyung pushes into him, fucking him harder into the mattress on set. The little gasps the camera won’t pick up, the whines that get trapped before they can fully escape. Jungkook is captivated.

By the slight sheen of sweat covering Jimin’s skin, over the makeup that makes him glow, radiant, otherworldly. By every dip, curve, line and angle of Jimin’s body, bending, twisting, arching in Taehyung’s hold, arms pinned above his head, muscles straining as his knees are bent to either side of his head.

It’s amazing how Jimin’s body folds under Taehyung’s. If he didn’t know any better, if he hadn’t seen the many videos of Jimin bent in impossible ways, held up against walls, sliding along floors, face a perfect visage of pleasure, he would think such a stretch would be painful.

The bed shakes with how hard Taehyung fucks into Jimin, frame skidding against the floor with a faint metallic screech.

It’s obvious how comfortable they are with each other, how familiar. Taehyung places hands at the small of Jimin’s back, hands bruising in a tight grip, before flipping Jimin over like he’s weightless, pressing him face down into the sheets, ass high in the air as he continues to fuck into him, pace quick, steady, sharp slaps of skin against skin echoing around them.

With Jimin in this position, his head is turned straight towards Jungkook, pupils blown under half-lids, meeting Jungkook’s gaze and holding it. His lips part as he moans, something rough, desperate. Jungkook can feel fire and ice flowing through his body, frozen in place, unable to look away from those eyes, reeling him in like quicksand.

A small faraway part of Jungkook’s brain wonders if Jimin is allowed to do this, to focus on something outside of the scene, outside of Taehyung thrusting hot and heavy into him from behind.

The dominant part of his brain, the part that can only process Jimin's knees slipping apart wider on the bed, eyes clenching shut and exhaling in acute huffs, wants nothing more than to be in Taehyung's place, to be the reason Jimin comes undone.

Jimin keens, muscles tensing as he comes. Jungkook's amazed that he hasn't once touched himself. Back arched, spurting out into the sheets like he’s been holding back for too long, body wonderfully limp, allowing Taehyung to manhandle him however he likes as he shivers through the aftershocks.

He's jolted from his thoughts as Taehyung's loud groan signals his approaching release. He flips Jimin over on his back, hands pulling at his dick in fast, tight motions, squeezing at every upstroke, milking it for every drop.

Jimin pants, sighing as Taehyung's cum lands in broad lines across his abs. There’s lube dripping out of Jimin’s hole, sticking to the underside of his thigh where it meets his ass, wet and glistening. Jungkook imagines the heat of it, the slide of his fingers, the way Jimin would open up for him. Fuck.

Reality comes back in focus as Seokjin yells cut, staff maneuvering around the set rearranging props, changing film, moving forward with life unlike Jungkook standing at Seokjin’s elbow, slack-jawed and barely breathing.

“Great job.” Seokjin stands, clapping his hands and making shooing motions at the sated actors, post-coital bliss turning their bones soft, lethargic. “Get cleaned up and gather up all the actors in my office to go over new scenes and the updated contracts.”

Taehyung stands, unabashed, stretching his arms above his head, soft cock on display. Jimin rolls towards him, groaning, lifting his arms like he wants to be carried. Taehyung ignores him, turning toward a staff member holding a robe.

Jimin finally drags himself up into a sitting position, eyes glancing around set only half-interested. His gaze returns to Jungkook, standing stiff in numerous ways, eyes glued to the drying remains of Taehyung’s orgasm painted across the defined muscles of his stomach. He looks so properly, thoroughly fucked, and a part of Jungkook, somewhere deep down inside where the primal part of him lies, wants nothing more than to jump across the equipment separating them and make Jimin scream, like he’s never done with anyone else.

“Hyung,” Jimin whines, wiping himself with a towel someone tosses him. He covers himself in a robe, much like Taehyung had, but the styles differ. Taehyung's in an oversized, hotel standard white bathrobe. Jimin's in something silk, light blue, fabric abruptly cut off mid-thigh. Jungkook doesn't want to tear his eyes away. “More tech guys? Namjoon hyung said we need new actors, not techies. Plus, Yoongi hyung can do all the fancy cut-edit-sound bite-overlap-overlay-fadeout whatever stuff.”

The cameraman tsks, complaints mumbled under his breath, going completely unheard as Seokjin speaks.

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot to mention. I recruited fresh meat!”

“A new actor? What’s his specialty? Is he from another company? A top? A bottom? Switch? Kinks?”

“Taehyung, please, let me explain.” Seokjin smiles, like a pageant queen, pulling Jungkook forward by the bicep and putting him on display like an owner would a prized showdog. “I recruited Jungkook. Street casted, really. He’s a complete newbie so be nice and show him how we do things here at Big Hit.”

It’s as if he’s a fresh carcass in the desert heat. The vultures swarm, claws extended.

Taehyung grins, mouth pulled in a near perfect rectangle across his face. “He’s cute. Handsome. Looks a little younger than you usually go for, hyung.”

Before Jungkook can get a word in edgewise, Taehyung’s hands trail down his chest, stopping just before the waistband of his jeans, fingers slipping under his t-shirt and brushing at the skin just under his navel. Jimin stands next to him, following Taehyung’s trail but not stopping, small hands pressing with purpose against the front of his jeans, rekindling the fire in the pit of his stomach. He’s still half-hard from the scene he just witnessed, dick twitching with interest at Jimin’s every move. Jungkook bites back the embarrassing sound threatening to escape, watching Jimin watch him, coy expression in place, tearing at the thin shreds of sanity he has left.

“Nice to meet you, rookie.” How he manages to make an ordinary greeting sound so fucking sultry, Jungkook has no idea. “I’m Jimin.”

As if he doesn't fucking know. Jungkook swallows, mind turning in circles trying to process exactly what’s happening. “Could you maybe take your hand off my dick for a second?” he asks, no trace of panic evident in his voice, fortunately. Jimin falters, mouth parting in a little ‘oh’ of surprise, retracting his hand and holding it close to his side, face flushing.

“Um, sorry. I, uh.” He laughs, pushing his hair back with his hand. “Me and Taetae were the last rookies to join and Hobi hyung grabbed our dicks in greeting because he says the only handshakes porn stars give are handjobs and you only bow for blowjobs, because, uh, well, you’re bending your head down like you do when you give a blowjob. It was a joke, and we thought it was funny, so we said we would do it to the next rookies, like you, our rookie.”

If Jungkook thought he was dying before.

Jimin speaks with a slight lisp, the beginning of every sentence going higher in pitch than the end of the last. He can just make out the familiar Busan lilt, the distinct stretch of his verbs like going back home. The way he stumbles over words, giggles when he gets shy and doesn’t know how to explain himself.


He’s so captivated.

Seokjin saves Jungkook from his downward spiral of desire, interrupting them with a fake cough and a salesman smile.

“Play with the rookie later,” he says. “He has to sign paperwork first.”


Seokjin leads him through a corridor in the back, past dressing rooms and restrooms to the very end where there’s a door with Kim Seokjin, Director, written in sharp, gold letters, His office looks as ordinary as a typical salaryman’s office. Jungkook expected a dildo or two to line the shelf, maybe some kind of pornographic pop art to decorate the walls. There are small Super Mario figurines sitting precariously on his plain wooden desk, next to a pile of pink stationery pens and puffy stickers Jungkook hasn’t seen anyone use since elementary school.

“We’re just gonna go through the basics here,” Seokjin says, handing him a thick stack of paper and a pen with small rabbits printed on it. It feels a little like taking college entrance exams all over again, only this time, he doesn’t have years of after-school academies under his belt for preparation. He's going to be a fucking porn star. Paid to have sex on camera for a living. Fucking people at the snap of a finger.

Random gay men across the nation are going to click on his videos, dick in hand, relying on him fucking someone on screen to take them over the edge.

“What are your preferences regarding penetration?”

Jungkook blinks, staring at the little green 1-up mushroom sitting on Seokjin’s desk. “I imagined something along the lines of Taehyung’s role when he and Jimin, you know.” It’s a bit ridiculous that he can’t even get the words out. He’s here, filling out a binding contract with a porn company, stammering and sweating like he’s fifteen and knows only what his own touch brings.

Seokjin snorts. "Jungkook-ssi, you do realize you are signing on to be an adult film actor, right?"

Jungkook’s face warms, embarrassed. "Yes, of course."

"Then there's no need to be shy about terminology. You prefer topping. That's fine." He pauses, scribbling down something in a pink notepad. “Turn to page twelve and check no for question three. The first two ask about group sex and multiple partners, which I’ll have you fill out after you meet the entire lineup of actors currently on our roster.”

Jungkook recalls one film where Jimin had been on his knees surrounded by faceless dicks, mouth open and eyes shut, accepting so much cum Jungkook thought he’d drown in it. Or the one where Jimin’s blindfolded, lips stretched around a cock, cheeks hollowed, while he’s being fucked up the ass by another.

It’s unreasonable to assume he wouldn’t have competition. It’s more unreasonable that he’s even thinking of it as such. Jimin’s a porn star, Jungkook’s sitting in a chair in Seokjin’s office signing a contract to be a porn star.

He can’t expect some kind of exclusive deal where he only fucks Jimin. He may not even get that opportunity at all.

Seokjin leans forward, as if he’s sharing a secret, broad shoulders angled in like inverted wings. He’s so handsome it’s frightening. Jungkook would even go as far to say that Seokjin’s face is a little too good to be true, too holistically symmetrical. The kind of attractiveness that feels robotic, distant.

He wonders why Seokjin never went into the mainstream film industry. That’s the kind of work his face is made for.

“Are you comfortable with unprotected sex?” Seokjin asks, voice congested with concern unlike what Jungkook is used to when speaking with other potential employers. “We’ll also need official documentation provided by a medical professional that you are free of any sexually transmitted infections.”

“Ah, I have that prepared.” He did a cursory Naver search on what to expect in sex work on the ride over to the studio and being clean was the universal manifesto. “Everything’s… I don’t have anything. And I’m okay with going without a condom.”

Seokjin hums. “Flip back to page eight, which talks about grooming and other cosmetic detailing.” There are pictures accompanying the text, various degrees of hair on external genitalia labeled A through D. Oh, that kind of grooming, he thinks, recalling the smooth skin of Jimin’s body, hairless and delicate. He makes a mental note to find out whether Jimin shaves or waxes, if he does it himself in the privacy of his bathroom or if someone else pulls the strands from his body with clinical concentration, softening his smooth edges even further, refined impossibly pretty.

“Do you have any tattoos?"

“No, I don’t.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Same with piercings for that matter, other than these.” He lifts a finger to each of his ears, highlighting the metal in them. His gauges are on the smaller side, a manifestation nevertheless of the same rebellion that took him to Seoul instead of staying in Busan.

They go over more details of his contract, each clause cementing the finality of his decision to become a porn star. After he signs on the dotted line, Seokjin sends him back out the way he came, passing Taehyung, Jimin, and another man Jungkook thinks he remembers seeing in one of Jimin’s films.

“You’re officially one of us now, huh?” Taehyung says, giving Jungkook a double thumbs up, mouth stretched in an angled grin. “Go take a look around, rookie. Oh, and try not to knock over any expensive camera equipment. I’m speaking from experience. Those automatic swiveling ones are easy to break.”

Jungkook nods. “Thanks for the advice, Taehyung-ssi.”

“Aw, so cute!” Taehyung croons. “Were we this cute when we were rookies?”

All Jungkook manages to catch before Seokjin closes the door is a voice he doesn’t recognize saying, “Jiminie’s still the cutest.”

He walks back down the corridor and onto the set, standing clear of the equipment. He watches the staff members disassemble it, props disappearing into unmarked doors, clothing racks sliding with gentle squeaks against the polished floors. The cameraman from earlier is standing by a table full of refreshments, yawning into a styrofoam cup. He spots Jungkook trying to blend into the shadows created by the lighting stands and beckons him over with a pointed stare and jerk of the head.

Jungkook walks over until he’s standing in front of him. Now that the man isn’t crouched with a camera slung over his shoulder, Jungkook notices how small the man is, comparatively. The cameraman seems to notice this also, standing straighter and discreetly taking a step back as if to avoid looking up to meet Jungkook’s gaze.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

The cameraman nods, with a faint air of recognition, as if his name was to be expected. “Min Yoongi. Call me hyung. All the other kids do.”

“Ah, yes… hyung.”

Yoongi gestures to a set of matching chairs near a couple of monitors. “Let’s sit there until Seokjin’s done with contract stuff.” Jungkook follows obediently, sitting down next to Yoongi, trying to mirror his nonchalance.

Before he can get a word in, Seokjin speeds around the corner suddenly, head swiveling and eyes frantic. Yoongi sighs, cupping both of his hands around his mouth like he’s preparing to shout.

“He’s over here!”

Seokjin turns toward them, lips pulling unevenly across his face in a relieved smile. “Sorry everything is so disorganized today. We haven’t had a new actor in, like, a year and a half. We’ll continue with your first day orientation.”

Jimin, Taehyung, and the other guy Jungkook definitely remembers seeing before follow Seokjin over to where Jungkook and Yoongi are sitting, faces friendly yet slightly mischievous.

Jungkook swallows.

“Every rookie on the first day runs through a scene with one of our experienced actors. Rather than an audition, think of it as a placement test. You know, to assess your strengths, weaknesses, best angles and such.” Seokjin explains. “I’ll pair you with Jimin since I think you two would have good chemistry on film.”

Jungkook’s eyes immediately shift to Jimin, standing above him, giggling softly into his hands at Seokjin’s comment. His pulse skyrockets, blood rising to his skin, no doubt giving his face a nice flush. Seokjin flags down a couple of staff members, explaining things in technical terms Jungkook only vaguely understands. It’s baffling to Jungkook that someone like Seokjin isn’t starring in a cable drama and instead directing gay porn for internet junkies.

The staff start assembling another set as Yoongi finishes off whatever is in his styrofoam cup. They push together a wall with fake windows made of some special kind of glass that makes the artificial studio lighting seem like natural daylight. The shades on the fake window are drawn, giving the illusion that the early morning glow of the sky is shining into the makeshift bedroom. The bed from earlier is still there, but they’ve changed the sheets into clean ones of a different color than before, purposefully ruffled to look slept in.

They’ve even got the smaller details down. A desk pushed up against one of the portable walls, books scattered about, papers filled with someone’s messy scrawl. A laundry basket in the opposite corner, near bursting with clothing and towels.

“This will be a simple scene. Just casual, morning sex. I want to get a feel of you as an actor. Are you comfortable with that?”

Jungkook instinctively nods, although he isn’t sure how he’s even breathing steadily let alone easily agreeing to just a casual morning sex scene with Jimin. On his first day. Unplanned. With Jimin. He has to have casual morning sex with Jimin, he’s going to casually, with Jimin, have sex—

“Don’t overthink it,” Seokjin advises. “Just do whatever comes naturally to you.”

Natural. Having sex with a porn star, under normal circumstances, should fall under things that do not come naturally to Jungkook. No big deal, he repeats in his mind like a mantra. It’s just sex. With Jimin.

Jungkook realizes he's still in his street clothes: an oversized t-shirt, skinny jeans ripped at the knees, Timbs. He turns to Seokjin, gestures at himself. "Where do I, uh—"

"Oh! I forgot to mention." Seokjin waves his hand. "You'll get your own locker later but for now, you can just toss your clothes in the laundry basket on set. Kick your shoes in a corner somewhere."

Seokjin keeps talking as Jungkook awkwardly disrobes. "Alright, I'll have Yoongi film. It's just to see how you act in front of a camera, help you get used to it."

Jungkook’s not ashamed of his body by any means. Years of playing sports and a steady workout routine gave him his healthy build, but being scrutinized by professionals in the porn industry is a little intimidating. He almost wants to fold his arms over his torso, bend his spine to make himself smaller, less noticeable.

Seokjin reaches out suddenly, grasping Jungkook’s chin, tilting his face from side to side, inspecting it. "Not bad. You don't need much makeup right now, I think." He tsks at the scar on his cheekbone. "Just some little things. I'll get one of the the makeup guys over here too."

Seokjin calls someone over, a man with shoulder length hair and a formidable beard wheeling a small suitcase across the floor. Jungkook assumes it’s the makeup guy judging by the sharp silver winged eyeliner, then confirms it’s the makeup guy when he’s shoved backwards by the shoulders until he's sitting awkwardly on the bed in his boxers and ordered to close his eyes. The suitcase is actually some fancy cosmetic organizer and Jungkook is again in awe at the level of legitimacy. He can almost pretend he’s filming an MBC weekend special.

"This is just going to be a simple screen-test, okay?” Seokjin explains again, like Jungkook’s a wet-eyed child on his first day of kindergarten. He’d reply or give an affirmative nod, but there’s a soft brush working liquid into his skin, concealing blemishes and scars Jungkook hadn’t really expected would be an issue in gay porn, but he respects the perfectionism.

“There's no script,” Seokjin continues. “You've got free reign. Jimin's pretty easy to work with."

The gentle hands blending stuff into his face retreats, and Jungkook opens his eyes to Seokjin smiling reassuringly down at him. “Ready?”

Jungkook nods and takes a deep breath, hoping his smile isn’t as cheap and dishonest as it feels. Taehyung appears then, still in his robe, the light sound of disposable hotel slippers on polished concrete gaining volume as he approaches. Jimin is close on his heels, robe tied loosely at the waist, toes wiggling in pastel blue flip-flops Jungkook is positive were designed for women.

Jimin’s makeup has been freshened up, hair restyled both parts intricate and effortlessly mussed. Now that Jungkook knows what to look for, he can spot the lined eyes, the red of his lips that’s just a shade too good to be true. Seokjin grabs Jimin’s arm before he can get any closer, dragging him off to the side, past the cameras where Jungkook can only pick up hushed tones and explanatory hand gestures.

With both Seokjin and Jimin away, there’s no one near to protect Jungkook from Taehyung’s wild grin. He sits next to Jungkook, angled corners of his mouth stretching wider the more Jungkook fidgets.

“Boxers off, rookie,” Taehyung says, tracing his pinky along the fine hairs below Jungkook’s navel. “Can’t film unless you’re completely bare.”

"I—yeah. Okay." Jungkook scoots over a fraction, hooking a finger under the elastic waistband and gingerly pulling it down his thighs, first one leg and then another, trying to prolong the inevitable somehow.

It's silent for a beat. Jungkook scrutinizes something on his knees instead of whatever has Taehyung quiet for first time all day. He lifts his head when Taehyung lets out a belated whistle.

"Damn, you're packing! Hey, Jiminnie!" he calls, voice carrying far enough that even the staff in the very back of the studio look up at the shout.

Jimin turns his head, eyes jumping from Taehyung to Jungkook and back. "What?"

Taehyung makes a grand, two-handed gesture at Jungkook's dick. If it were possible to die instantly from mortification, Jungkook would be buried, twice-over. "Look at him. Not bad, huh?"

“Not bad.” Jimin winks, causing Jungkook to flush various shades of red, and turns back to Seokjin, resuming their conversation.

Taehyung reaches for Jungkook’s dick, unabashedly, and on instinct Jungkook pushes him away with a panicked hand, covering himself and resisting the urge to pull his knees up. "Um, what?"

Taehyung pouts like a reproached child. "I'm here on official fluffer duty. Getting you hard is kind of in my job description."

"Taetae just wants to get his hands on rookie dick first," Jimin points out from across the room.

Jungkook blinks. Of course, Seokjin mentioned this when he signed his contract, it’s how things work in professional porn. Now that he thinks about it, all the dicks he’s seen in porn have always stood rigid and flushed from the beginning. So really, it should come as no surprise that Taehyung is sitting next to him, eyes focused in on the task at hand. But it's too soon, a little too soon to have Taehyung's hand—anyone’s hand—on his dick. Maybe in a few minutes, once he’s fully processed this new reality.

He shuffles around, successfully tucking his legs beneath the covers and yanking them up to regain some modesty.

"It's fine, I—uh, I got it."

Taehyung leaves with a grumbled complaint that sounds suspiciously like, ‘your loss.’ Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes as he wraps a hand around his dick. He's been pretty aroused since what he saw of Jimin earlier, and now all sorts of footage comes to mind.

Jimin, dressed like a schoolgirl, pleated skirt hitched up as he’s getting fucked against a wall. Jimin, on his knees underneath a desk with his mouth wrapped around a faceless cock, a hand tugging on the strands of hair at the back of his head. Jimin with cum leaking out of his ass, gaze a little punch-drunk as the sixth guy of the video nudges his legs apart and presses the head of his cock against his entrance.

He's just about there when suddenly someone's lightly running a hand down his arm. Jungkook's eyes fly open and there's Jimin, small fingers tracing a line down his arm.

Jimin meets his gaze. "Relax."

Jungkook is the furthest thing from relaxed. He is the fucking antithesis of relaxed. It is impossible to relax when he’s got a naked Jimin crowding in on him, fingers skimming over his skin, spreading flames in their wake.

“I am relaxed,” he lies, hoping that false confidence will get him through this. He flexes his fingers, instinctively moving to rub his clammy palms against the fabric of his jeans—except he can’t—because he took all his clothes off so he could fuck Jimin on camera. Shit.

Jimin shoots him a lazy grin in response, exhaling a relieved breath that fans over the lower half of Jungkook’s face with the proximity of their bodies. Jungkook swallows around the thickness in his paper-dry throat, pulse drumming madly in his ears as blood travels south to pool in his groin, traitorous twitch of his dick belying the calm he asserts.

“You’re ready, then?” Jungkook nods, exhaling the breath he’s kept trapped in the corner of his lungs since this all began. Jimin folds his index finger and thumb together in a circle, wiggling the other three rapidly in the cutest ‘ok’ gesture Jungkook has ever seen.

“Okay, hyung. We’re ready when you are!”

There’s a collective click as the crew changes the brightness on the monolights. Yoongi drapes a camera over his shoulder, one eye closed as the other focuses on the viewfinder, like a sniper preparing for a kill. Jungkook ignores the blinking red light in favor of watching Jimin feign sleep beside him, hyper-aware of his body curled up against his side underneath the sheets.

He hears Seokjin, faintly, somewhere past his peripherals counting backwards from five, then: “Action!”

Everything goes silent.

Jungkook props himself over Jimin, leaning in close, not daring to breathe as he brushes a kiss over Jimin’s collarbone. “Morning,” he says, voice splintering halfway through the syllables like the crackling of burning wood. He wipes his hands, sweat slicked from nerves, on the sheets next to Jimin’s shoulders, hoping it looks natural on film and not panicked like he feels.

Slowly, Jimin flutters his eyes open, gaze unfocused like he’s waking up for the very first time, and Jungkook is suddenly hit with how pretty he is. He swoops down to press his mouth against Jimin’s, a quick peck to get his feet wet. Jimin’s lips are soft, slightly dry, but plush and perfect. He finds himself just staring down at Jimin’s mouth, lips barely parted, and marveling at the fact that he’s kissed him.

"Morning," Jimin echoes, tapering off into a slight giggle as he tugs Jungkook down to kiss him properly, tongue swiping across the seam of Jungkook’s mouth to coax him into returning the gesture. Jungkook moans into the kiss, not expecting it to feel the way it does, like he’s finally letting go of something he’s been holding in for a long time.

Jungkook thinks he could spend the rest of his life like this, kissing Jimin, just kissing, but then Jimin makes a sound, a soft sigh ending in a groan, hips grinding needily against Jungkook’s leg. He grasps harder onto Jungkook’s shoulders, their gazes meet, and well, he can’t kiss Jimin forever. There is a tangible need for Jimin to fall apart beneath him, a physical ache that will not subside until Jimin comes undone.

Jungkook feels like he’s watching himself from an alternate reality as Jimin tosses the sheets aside to climb atop him. His hands find a place at Jimin’s hips, thumbs pressing into bone as his nails scrape against the skin of his lower back. Jimin’s spine arches, chest pressing flush against Jungkook’s and he almost can’t believe this is happening, but here they are, Jimin solid and warm in his arms, and Jungkook’s sanity slowly slipping away at every gasp and moan Jimin makes. It doesn’t even matter if it’s genuine or for show. There’s not enough blood left in his brain to give a fuck.

"Sleepy?" Jungkook asks, voice surprisingly steady. What’s more surprising is the fact that there’s a functioning part of his brain left to remind him of their scene.

"A little," Jimin answers, leaning down to press kisses into Jungkook’s neck, up his jaw, teeth latching on to his earlobe, catching on one of his piercings. Jungkook’s cock twitches as Jimin’s tongue traces back the steps of his teeth, and before he realizes it, Jimin is flipped over onto his back. Jungkook situates himself between Jimin’s legs, spread open wide and close to his chest like it’s only natural. He swallows, walking his fingers down the backs of Jimin’s thighs until he can press one down against Jimin’s rim.

There’s not much resistance, which makes sense given he's seen Taehyung fuck Jimin through at least one orgasm earlier, and he knows Jimin is well-prepared, but it doesn't hurt to be safe. Jimin makes the most gorgeous noises, squirming underneath him as one finger turns to two, as two turns to three.

“Shit,” Jungkook curses as he watches the slide and stretch of his fingers, as he feels the heat of it, the involuntary clench of muscles every time he withdraws nearly all the way. Jimin groans, legs spreading wider, thighs coming up so his hips are cocked up just so. He starts rocking into the motion of Jungkook’s hand, as if he’s trying to get Jungkook to fuck him deeper, harder, and Jungkook doesn’t think his heart has ever beat this fast in his life.

“Look at you,” he says, and he can’t believe he’s saying these words, but once they escape he can’t hold the rest back. "Fuck, you look good."

Jimin whimpers, eyes sparkling and wet, says: "Please, fuck me." And who is Jungkook to deny him of anything.

For a few seconds that feel like decades, he pauses, a little unsure of himself. Jimin must pick up on it, because he nods almost imperceptibly, spreads his thighs further apart with his hands, a clear invitation if there ever was one.

Jungkook slicks himself up, hands shaking, before shuffling forward and fitting the head of his cock against Jimin's hole. His head burns with the sensation of Jimin pulling him in, spreading heat throughout his body like a wildfire.

He doesn’t stop until he’s fully sheathed, and Jimin lets out a sharp breath, screwing his eyes shut. “Shit.”

Jungkook worries that he might have hurt him, but Jimin just bucks his hips up, gives him a look so wanton, Jungkook nearly comes right then. “C’mon, move.”

The heat surrounding him is out of this world, and Jungkook’s hips strain with how badly he wants to pin Jimin down and fuck him within an inch of his life. “C’mon,” Jimin repeats, “Fuck me, please.”

Jungkook’s hands circle Jimin’s wrists unconsciously, pressing them down to the mattress, effectively immobilizing his arms. It takes a second for Jungkook to realize what he's doing and panic, wondering if he's overstepped his bounds, but Jimin clenches his hands into fists and whines louder, biting his lips as he rocks his hips up, meeting Jungkook halfway. He thrusts into Jimin harder, jerks of his hips punctuated with the sharp slap of skin on skin.

The sound alone would be enough to make him flush down to the beds of his cuticles on a normal day, but Jungkook’s too far gone to notice right now, too out of his mind with lust to care. Jimin glistens with sweat, fringe matted to his forehead, breathing harshly past his parted lips. Jungkook almost misses the look Jimin gives him, eyes opaque and heavy-lidded, gaze penetrating. Then, Jimin pulls him down, lips brushing the shell of Jungkook’s ear, and starts speaking.

“God,” he groans. “Shit, right there, yes. You fuck me so good, so well—” Jimin rolls his hips like he has all the time in the world, their skin slick against each other. “Harder, please, I need—yeah, like that.” Jimin’s breath hitches, as Jungkook progresses into long, deep strokes. He’s close, has been close since the moment they began, but he never wants this to end.

“I love your cock,” Jimin murmurs in Jungkook’s ear. It’s some of filthiest things he has ever heard, magnified coming from Jimin’s carefully cultivated aura of innocence, and Jungkook grits his teeth to keep from losing control.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Love it when I fuck you, baby, just like this?” He’s got no idea where these words are coming from, they're just spilling out of his mouth. He can't stop them, and he doesn’t think he wants to. “Not satisfied until someone fucks you stupid, huh?”

“Always need a dick in your hole. You were made for it, weren’t you? Pretty little slut.” Jimin’s groan is louder this time, drawn out as he pulls Jungkook down for a kiss that's less of a kiss and more of him panting open-mouthed against Jungkook’s lips.

“Yes, fuck yes.” Jungkook’s not even sure Jimin knows what he’s even answering to, neck bared and mouth spouting profanities left and right.

Jungkook flips them over so that Jimin is straddling him, knees framing Jungkook’s sides. His hands press into Jimin’s hips, fingers leaving bruises as he gently bites the curve of Jimin’s neck, teeth scraping down against his collarbone. He hasn’t left any hickeys, and he’s suddenly unsure if he’s even allowed to. The thought of Jimin walking around with indentations of teeth and nails darkening into his skin like a brand has Jungkook’s cock jumping, precum dripping out onto his lower stomach.

Jimin grabs a hold of Jungkook’s dick shakily, sinking down and exhaling sharply at the new angle. He maintains eye contact with Jungkook the entire time, looking down the delicate slope of his nose, moaning obscenely. Jungkook plants his feet down, toes curled with pleasure as he snaps up into Jimin, rhythm filthy and fluid. Jimin is hot and slick, loose and fucked-out, glowing like a goddamn beacon of unadulterated lust, and Jungkook doesn’t know how he’s lived without something like this.

“You’re so thick, so—ah, shit, like that,” Jimin croons, thighs straining from fucking himself down on Jungkook’s dick. Jungkook’s close enough that he actually has to put his mind to holding off—and fuck, he’s not very good at this. Jimin must sense it, see it in his face or hear it in the way he breathes because suddenly he’s fucking himself on Jungkook’s cock harder, desperate whimpers spilling past his lips.

Jungkook’s honestly pretty good at edging himself, but with Jimin riding him, stomach muscles clenching and skin glowing, it's a different story altogether. He makes the mistake of letting his gaze drop, getting an eyeful of his cock pushing into Jimin, stretching him open. “Fuck.”

Jimin’s got a coy smile on his lips, sweat sliding down his temples, tongue running over his lips slow and deliberate. He’s looking much too comfortable for Jungkook's liking, so Jungkook shifts his grip on his hips and drives inside him at a different angle, searching for that one particular spot. It’s obvious when he finds it, a tremor going through Jimin’s body as he tilts his head all the way back in a soundless moan.

“Fuck—fuck,” Jimin says shakily, voice pitched, and Jungkook feels a small warmth of pride knowing he’s the reason behind it. “I’m going to—I’m going to come.”

That’s all the warning Jungkook gets before Jimin clenches even tighter around his dick as he comes, hard, shooting onto Jungkook’s stomach. Jungkook’s mind spins as he fucks up into Jimin mercilessly, chasing his own climax as he fucks him so hard Jimin cries out from the oversensitivity, lips parted.

All it takes is a few more seconds before Jungkook is coming, hips flush against Jimin’s ass as he comes inside of him. Jimin's shivering at the feeling, biting his lip when Jungkook’s softened cock slips out of him, and to Jungkook’s surprise, he collapses onto his chest.

They lie there, catching their breaths for a second, Jimin feeling so warm and solid on top of him. Jungkook can't help it when he kisses Jimin, just kisses him because it feels like a dream and he can't stop. Jimin’s startled, Jungkook notices, but everything’s hazy and Jimin’s mouth is so soft.

When Seokjin calls cut, it’s like a slap of cold water to the face. Everything that he successfully tuned out comes rushing back in a wave and he jerks upright, red trailing up to his ears at the round of applause and intermittent wolf-whistles from the assistant cameramen. Jimin looks a little shocked himself, and reality hits like a brick to a glass window. He just fucked Jimin, on camera, as a porn star, he’s a porn star now, one that has just had his first scene. With Jimin.

He suddenly feels self-conscious, irrationally so given the extremely pleased look on Seokjin’s face as he whispers something to Yoongi. He resists the urge to cover himself up, awkwardly swinging his legs over the side of the bed and attempting to make a grab for his discarded clothes, but Jimin circles his wrist before he can get away.

Jungkook sinks back down, eyebrow arched to show his confusion. He was under the impression that they had to get cleaned up quickly so the staff could set up the next scene, or something. Jimin curls into Jungkook’s side, arms clasped around his waist.

“Taehyung always cuddles me afterwards,” Jimin mumbles into his neck, exaggerated whine and pout twisting Jungkook’s insides into knots. “You can't fuck and run. Trust me. There’s a ‘no fuck-and-flee policy’ in my contract. It’s in the fine print.”

Jungkook freezes. It’s too early to tell if Jimin’s joking with him, playing some kind of small prank on him since he’s new. There’s no real way of telling if Jimin’s lazy grin is genuine or scripted, or a subtle combination of both that he can’t decipher. He wasn’t expecting this when he agreed to a scene with Jimin. Honestly, he’s not quite sure what he expected after fucking Jimin, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

“Yoongi hyung already stopped filming.” Jimin’s voice still has that permanent breathy quality to it. “S’fine, see?” Jungkook looks up, noticing the general lack of attention, then gingerly lets his arms relax around Jimin’s waist, suddenly acutely aware of the way Jimin’s bare skin dips underneath his fingertips.

Jimin shifts, pulling Jungkook down with his weight so that they’re side by side, still cuddled together like a couple of newlyweds, or boyfriends. Jimin turns towards Jungkook, half of his face pressed into the pillow. His cheeks are still flushed, his mouth swollen and glossy, and the sight is startlingly intimate.

“So, how was it?” Jimin asks softly. He’s looking at Jungkook expectantly, and Jungkook stumbles over his words.

“Good—that was good.”

The coy smile Jimin has on, Jungkook recognizes. “Just good?”

The giggle he lets out as Jungkook stutters out a no is something new, though, something that makes his heart race in an entirely different way.

Their little moment is ruined by an excitable Taehyung launching himself atop Jimin’s body, crushing him with enthusiasm more than actual weight.

“Jimin-ah! Jungkook!”

Jungkook’s nose scrunches up, arms extracting themselves from underneath the combined force of Taehyung’s squeals and Jimin’s complaints.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Taehyung asks. “I’m finally free of the burden of being the youngest! Jungkook’s official now. Aw, this makes me remember my first scene.”

Jimin grunts, trying and failing to roll Taehyung’s weight off of his chest. “Get off of me, you’re elbowing my kidney.”

Taehyung ignores him in favor of sprawling out like a starfish between their bodies, chin digging into Jimin’s shoulder. “You should have seen you guys!”

Jimin sighs, exasperatedly. “Um, we were there Taetae, you know, actually fucking.”

“So passionate and raw,” Taehyung continues, wildly gesticulating. “Seokjin hyung was way into it. I think even Yoongi hyung was a little into it, and you know how disinterested he is when filming scenes.”

Jungkook’s eyes scan the vicinity for the aforementioned cameraman, and finds him discussing something with Seokjin, matching each of Seokjin’s animated gestures with a thoughtful nod. He wouldn’t have paid any attention had it not been for Taehyung’s comment, but if he looks closely, he can see the color high in Yoongi’s cheeks, restless fingers pulling at the collar of his t-shirt every so often. Jungkook clearly remembers Yoongi wearing a jacket before filming, wonders if he’d taken it off because of the camera or because their scene had affected him in some type of way.

“I wouldn’t mind Jungkook fucking me like that. It was kind of hot, I must admit. And think of all the great threesome sex we can have in the future.”

Jungkook chokes on an inhale, heat spreading through his face, down to his chest as he picks up the last bit of their conversation. “What?”

Jimin finally manages to push Taehyung away, hand on his face, but that just sends him careening into Jungkook’s space.

“Don’t look so scandalized, rookie. This is just the beginning. You can look forward to lots of fun with me and Jiminie!”

“Stop scaring him, Taetae! Even Hobi wasn’t this creepy when we did our first scene.”

“Who’s being creepy?” asks Seokjin as he approaches. Jimin and Taehyung both point accusatory fingers at each other while Jungkook attempts to shrink into a pocket-sized version of himself in order to disappear somewhere and scream at the turn of his life since that fateful day in Gangnam’s shopping district.

“Well, I must say the newest addition to our little team of adult film stars has done an excellent job at his first scene and I couldn’t be any prouder.”

“Hyung, you sound like a kindergarten teacher,” Jimin comments. “You should treat us all to meat tonight to celebrate your star pupil’s continued success and Jungkookie’s induction ceremony.”

Hearing the nickname fall from Jimin’s lips doesn’t feel as wrong as it did coming from Taehyung’s. Maybe he’s too biased. Maybe he’ll always prefer Jimin. Or maybe he’s just feeling partial because Jimin just made him come.

“What are we, a frat?” Yoongi asks, fumbling with cords on one of the audio devices. “Although dinner sounds like a good idea. Hey, kid, how many servings can you eat?”

Jungkook blinks, shaking his head to dispel any lingering thoughts of Jimin. “Uh, I’m pretty much a bottomless pit.”

“Of-fucking-course you are.” Yoongi grumbles. “Everyone in this place eats like a fucking pig.”

Seokjin hums thoughtfully. “Having good eating habits is crucial in this line of work. Your body is your temple.”

“So, uh, what do I do now…” Jungkook asks, flicking nonexistent dust away from the pillow under Jimin’s head. “I mean, after I get up and put on clothes.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, wow. I’m still super bad at this.” Seokjin says. “I’ll get you a personal locker in the dressing rooms so you can always have comfortable clothes on hand. I suggest just investing in a robe. Makes it easier to disrobe.” He laughs at the unintentional pun, coughs and clears his throat when no one else seems to find it all that funny.

“Well, since you’re new and we’ve run through your scene today, you’re free to go. But you’re welcome to stay. We don’t usually do dinner until late, so you have plenty of time to go and run some errands or I don’t know, what is it that young people do nowadays?”

“You’re only twenty-four, hyung.”

“What year are you, sophomore?” Jungkook nods to acknowledge Yoongi. “You should have homework or some shit to do. Don’t fall behind in any of your classes.”

His voice is gruff but Jungkook feels warm, suddenly. It’s nice to have a group of people around him again, loud and a little over the top friendly. Jungkook’s been forgetting how lonely it gets sometimes. He shoots a glance at Jimin. This wasn’t a completely terrible decision after all.