baby star candy

by CalicoChimmy

Summary:

Still rattled after his long-term boyfriend broke up with him, Park Jimin’s friends take him out to celebrate his Fortieth birthday, determined to shake him out of his funk. After visiting a few too many stale bars, Jimin somehow finds himself at a men’s roller derby match where the star jammer, Jeon Jungkook, immediately catches his eye — and when they bump into each other in the team bathroom, sparks fly.

Jungkook is confident, cocky and gorgeous — and maybe everything Jimin never knew he needed.

Notes:

• For ginny_tea.

whew, it's finally here!

this story would not exist if it wasn't for ginny, who kept pushing me both with her unhinged love for jungkook's character and her constant unwavering support. this is for you, my friend. i love and appreciate your friendship so much!

i'm posting this without having it completely beta-read first, so please excuse any random typos or grammatical errors. special thanks to ginny and lisa who both read parts of this when they were able to, your feedback was invaluable.

what else is there to say? i've had this idea in my prompts folder for at least a few years, just waiting for the right inspiration. i'm actually in love with this jungkook, and extremely fond of jimin, who i can so easily relate to. I hope you love them and their story as much as i do.

 

 

Chapter 1: fresh meat

This is all Sungwoon’s fault.

Just come out for a few drinks, Sungwoon had said last week. It’s your fortieth birthday for fucks sake, Jimin-ah, let your friends show you a good time, he’d implored. I know it’s been hard since the breakup, but maybe it’s time to get back out there. You might meet someone, who knows?

Jimin had to laugh. Like he could ever meet someone worth his time at some bar.

But the mention of Kai and Taemin, the other part of the foursome that had at one time been inseparable, had made guilt gnaw in Jimin’s gut. Aside from Sungwoon, Jimin had been out of touch with many of his oldest friends for way too long, and not just since the breakup. Maybe rekindling some of those friendships would help Jimin feel a little less lost.

When things had become serious between Jimin and Jaewook — it’s still hard for Jimin to believe it was more than a decade ago — their relationship had consumed what little there was of Jimin’s free time. Almost without noticing, he reached out to his friends less and less, and only the most determined kept trying. 

There were plenty of valid reasons why — everyone’s life is busy, and in particular Jimin’s job is very demanding. Most nights he comes home tired and mentally exhausted, so it’s no wonder his desire to go out and party petered out almost completely. Jimin had chalked up the changes in his social life as inevitable. He was getting older, more responsible, more serious about his career — and more comfortable and content in his relationship.

But it turns out content was the wrong word. 

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty for a reason. In the harsh light after their breakup, Jimin realized he had never felt content, not really. Their relationship had been comfortable, yes — but over time it had also become complacent. Boring. Stagnant. Near the end, that stagnation had turned to rot. Their relationship had rotted from the inside out, and Jimin still couldn’t figure out who had been at fault. 

Why is he even worrying about it? It shouldn’t matter. Jaewook had moved out without complaint, leaving Jimin with their apartment and their cat. But while it had felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of Jimin’s shoulders, he can’t seem to shake the fog that still hangs low around him. Something about the idea of starting over at his age feels like such work — and his prospects seem so slim.

Somewhere along the line, his love life had become a chore. Jimin couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt interested in someone. Not even in a sexual manner — including his own ex-partner. It’s just sad.

And here he is, forty-fucking-years-old, and all alone. A whole decade wasted with a guy that now Jimin isn’t sure he’d ever truly loved.

“I don’t want to meet someone, Sung-ie,” Jimin had said with a sigh, checking his watch. He really had to get going or he was going to be late. “And I don’t know— the bars? It seems like something I would have done in my twenties, but now—”

“Stop acting like a boomer, Min. My god. All of us are older than you and we still go out and have fun,” Sungwoon had said. Jimin had rolled his eyes and shoulders his bag. “ Fun. Remember what that’s like? I know Jaewook sucked the life out of you, but he’s gone now.” 

Jimin had shouldered his phone as he put on his coat. “I’m too old to have fun.” It’s a defeatist way to look at the world, and Jimin knew it was probably just the depression or whatever talking, but he didn't want to be reminded of his age, reminded of how worn down and tired he’d become, reminded of how out-of-touch he felt with his old self these days. 

Their friends remembered Jimin as someone who liked to have fun on his rare day off from interning at the hospital — a funny, good-looking guy who liked to drink, to flirt and dance and find guys to bring home for the night — not this stodgy, workaholic version of himself.

Jimin can be stubborn, it’s true, but he’s nothing compared to Sungwoon. His best friend never gives up, especially when it comes to wanting what’s best for Jimin, and he always seems to know exactly what that is.

C’mon, Sungwoon had said, Taemin is moving next month, remember? He’ll be heartbroken if he doesn’t get a chance to see you before he goes.

Shit. Jimin had forgotten. What kind of a friend is he, anyway?

“Min-ah, seriously. I love you, but you need to kick this funk to the curb. Just come out with us. It’s only one night — we’ll have a drink or two, and if you’re not having fun, we can call it a night. Just— please. For old times sake.”

How could Jimin have said no to that? So he’d agreed.

And now here he is, half-drunk, slumped against a wall as they wait in line to get into some sort of crazy roller derby match. 

It’s all Sungwoon’s fault.

 

☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥

 

The twenty-something girls waiting in line behind them have some sort of 2000’s era punk-meets-lumberjack-meets-hipster aesthetic that Jimin can’t quite figure out — in contrast, the excited guys in front of them, only a little younger than Jimin is, seem like they’d be more at home at a football game. There’s a frenetic energy in the air, and they haven’t even entered the rink yet.

Jimin only vaguely knows what roller derby is, has heard the term in passing but had never given much thought to it — in fact he was surprised that there even was a local team. But he supposes that this type of crowd doesn’t mingle with the heart surgeons over at Asan Medical Center very often. 

It doesn’t seem to be the kind of place where his friends would hang out either. Unable to hear over the ear-splitting volume of the music at the last bar, Jimin had completely missed the discussion that had brought them here. He’d just nodded along, downing another shot while idly watching two guys on the dance floor, swaying and grinding against each other. 

For the first time in a long time, Jimin had felt a stirring of desire, of lust. The memories of losing himself in the music, and the sensation of a body moving against him — maybe someone he’d known, maybe someone he hadn’t — were as palpable as if it had been yesterday. He used to thrive on that energy, that relief, letting the stress of school and the hospital and everything go — before. Before Jaewook. Before that other Jimin got buried under a mountain of expectations.

Next thing Jimin had known, he’d been shoved into the backseat of Kai’s car and somehow arrived here, wherever here is. The sidewalk under their feet is cracked and the brick wall holding Jimin upright is similar to the other non-descript buildings in the neighborhood. Nothing looked familiar. It could be almost any of the older neighborhoods on the outskirts of Seoul. 

“I’ve been wanting to come to one of these for ages,” Taemin says, slurring his words just a little, hanging onto Sungwoon when he loses his balance. “Figured I better do it before I move out to the sticks.”

The four of them, with their designer clothing and expensive watches, stick out like sore thumbs. They’ve all done well for themselves since university, and their attire shows it. Jimin especially likes to look put together at all times. Tonight, while his outfit is simple, the fabric is luxurious and is impeccably tailored. It’s expensive as hell — and looks very out-of-place and stodgy here.

“How do you even know about this place?” Jimin asks Taemin, his eyes following two rowdy guys being shoved to the curb by a massive security guard. The guard shouts, telling them to never come back, and they flip him the finger and grumble about it but shuffle off to wherever they’d come from anyway. Rough crowd.

“Ah, well,” Taemin begins, eyes narrowed and a finger to his temple as he tries to remember, “my brother’s ex-girlfriend is friends with a guy— or maybe it’s her cousin, I don’t know— who is a blocker on this team. Not that I know what a blocker is,” he adds with a laugh. “I’ve never watched derby before, but it’s supposed to be, like, really violent.”

“Violent? Isn’t roller derby just girls on roller skates?” Of course, that might explain the medical team Jimin saw headed toward a back door.

Taemin pushes Jimin’s shoulder, which almost makes him topple over. “Sheesh, you aren’t even listening to me. Seoyun’s friend or cousin— or was it her neighbor?— is a guy.”

“There’s a guy on a girl’s team?” 

Kai tries to help, pointing to the poster glued to the brick wall behind Jimin. “It’s a men's team, Min-ah. See?”

Jimin turns and looks up. Knocktober is splayed across the top of the sign in a spooky, Halloween-esque font. Toward the bottom it announces:

 

Saturday, October 13th

10pm Sharp!

 

The Bulletproof Bangsters 

Two time League Champs 

take on 

Busan’s

Bruise Brothers  

 

The entire background of the poster is a photo in black and white — a close-up action shot of a single skater, someone from the home team, Jimin guesses. Even though the man’s jaw is sharp and he appears laser-focused and determined, he has a softness to him, round eyes and round cheeks. A lip ring in the corner of his mouth contrasts exquisitely with a pretty cupid’s bow on his upper lip. Jimin can imagine the cold tang of the metal mingled with the softness of warm lips and it sends a tingle down his spine.

In the photo, the guy is bent over as he skates, wearing a star on his helmet and his long, dark hair — maybe with streaks in it, Jimin can’t be sure — flows out behind him, exposing many silver piercings in his ear. What little is seen of his torso shows a muscled physique barely hidden by a low cut, sleeveless shirt. He exudes power and confidence and fuck, he’s the prettiest thing Jimin has seen in years.

“Fuck,” Jimin mutters under his breath. He turns to Taemin. “Is that who we’re seeing tonight?”

His friends all break into laughter. “Well, not just him, Min-ah,” chuckles Kai, “but I’ll be sure to track him down and get you guys introduced.”

Jimin feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment — what, is he a teenager again? “No, no, that’s— don’t get the wrong idea.” His fumbling of his words has the rest of them cracking up again. “I’m not— I mean, look at him. You think I’d be interested in someone his age? He’s gotta be what, twenty two? Jesus, he’s a baby.”

“Oh, I’m looking all right,” says Sungwoon, gazing up at the poster with a long sigh. “What I wouldn’t give to fuck a younger guy. Bet he’d blow my back out so good I wouldn’t be able to walk for weeks.”

Kai and Taemin fall over themselves in laughter, but Jimin’s a little taken aback by his friend’s bluntness. “Sung-ie, what the fuck,” Jimin admonishes, glancing around. “Someone might hear you.”

One of the girls behind them leans forward and says, “Don’t worry, we all feel the same way.” Her friends nod in agreement.

“And he’s so sweet too,” one of the girls sighs, twirling a lock of her hair. “Totally ideal boyfriend material.”

Another one pipes up. “Too bad he only likes boys.”

“Hmmmmm, only likes boys,” Kai croons, waggling his eyebrows at Jimin. “Awfully convenient.”

Taemin takes a step toward the girls, smiling. “Hey, so what’s his name?” 

Jimin whacks his shoulder, hissing, “Knock it off,” but Taemin just flashes him a sly grin before turning back to the girls.

“Of course!” the smallest girl chirps. “He’s the best jammer on the team. Maybe in the whole league.” She points one glittery fingernail at the poster. “That’s Baby Star Candy.”

 

☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥

 

The roller derby match, or what Jimin has learned is actually called a bout, hasn’t started yet, but it’s already crowded inside. Most people aren’t seated yet, they’re milling around — drinking beer, talking to friends, playing pool, flirting. Lots of flirting. It feels more like a club, or one of the few frat parties Jimin had attended in his college days, rather than a sporting event.

“Min, want a beer?” Kai calls as he and Taemin turn toward the refreshments stand.

Jimin knows he should say no — he’s drunk way more than he usually does, but he might need one to get through whatever he’s about to witness.

As usual, Sungwoon reads Jimin’s mind. “Get us both one. We’ll find some seats,” Sungwoon shouts above the noise, gesturing in the direction of the oval rink.

Jimin follows closely as Sungwoon weaves through the mass of bodies towards the bleachers. When Sungwoon plops down in the front row and claims four seats almost dead center, Jimin rolls his eyes, pausing glare at him before sitting down.

“Here? Really?”

“Why not? You wanna see your crush up close, don’t you?” Sungwoon replies, clapping Jimin on the shoulder.

“Crush,” Jimin huffs with another eye roll. “You’re an idiot. Are we back in middle school or something?”

“You’re never too old to have a crush, Min-ah.”

A few of the skaters begin to file onto the track, and Jimin is definitely not looking for a certain someone with long dark hair. Nope. He deliberately turns back to Sungwoon.

“I’m forty,” Jimin says flatly. “You’re forty-one. I hate to break it to you, but we’re both too old for crushes.”

“I saw the look in your eyes. Don’t think I’ve lost the skill of reading you like a book.”

“What look? If I find a guy attractive somehow that means I have a crush?”

“It could be a crush—” Sungwoon says, then pauses for dramatic effect, “if you’d let it be.”
Jimin chuckles wryly. “Sung-ie, the last thing I need is a fucking crush.”

“A fucking crush— now there’s an idea!”

Jimin scrubs his hands over his face in frustration. “You’re a child,” he whines, but that twinge of annoyance he feels is part of what makes Sungwoon his best friend. The bickering, the needling, the way Sungwoon sometimes pushes Jimin beyond what feels comfortable and safe. Jimin needs that in his life — otherwise he tends to get stuck in a rut that he can’t get out of. Like Jaewook. If only Jimin had listened to Sungwoon way back then.

“Oooooh, right behind the penalty box,” Taemin says as he returns with beers for each of them. “We can meet all the bad boys this way.”

“You guys are so annoying when you’re drunk,” Jimin mutters. His buzz is fading quickly as he struggles to find his footing in this unfamiliar environment. He takes a generous swig of beer, then another. “Didn’t know we were here so you could find a hookup, Kai,” Jimin grumbles, annoyed without being able to pinpoint a reason. 

Sungwoon tries to lighten the mood, elbowing Jimin good-naturedly. “Aish, shut up Min, we all know the kind of guys you used to go out with. A little rough around the edges—”

“Nah, we’re trying to find you a hook—”

“Kai, shut the fuck up!” Taemin hisses, whacking his shoulder and in the process, sloshing his beer over the side of his cup. It spills right in Jimin’s lap, drenching his pants.

“Hook up?” Jimin splutters, too indignant to properly process the spilled beer at the moment. “Is that the true purpose of this whole night? To get me laid?” he hisses, scowling at his so-called friends. He should have known there was more to it than just drinks to celebrate his birthday.

“Min, Jimin-ah, don’t be mad,” Sungwoon says soothingly, dabbing at Jimin’s wet pants with some napkins he’d picked up off the concrete. “We just—”

“Ugh, what are you doing?” Jimin shoves Sungwoon’s hands away. “Get those dirty napkins away from my wool Dior pants or I’ll shove them down your throat.” He attempts to brush away the liquid with his hands, but if anything Sungwoon has made it worse. 

The beer has seeped through — Jimin can feel it on his skin, cold and wet all the way from his thighs to his ankles. He knows it’ll get sticky, and worse, stinky, as the night goes on. Handing his own beer off, he stands up, trying to hold his pants away from his legs. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and see if I can do something about this. Maybe there will be a hand dryer or… something.”

It must be close to the beginning of the bout, because the stands are almost full. The once blaring music has been turned down as an announcer speaks through the PA, although Jimin is too preoccupied to pay attention to what he’s saying. It takes him a few minutes of wandering to find the bathrooms, tucked into a quiet back corner of the venue. Strangely, no one seems to be in the vicinity. Even the bathroom is eerily empty, echoey when the door bangs shut behind him, but Jimin figures it must be because everyone is waiting for the bout to start.

His vague plan had been to try to wash his pants off with some damp paper towels and a little soap, then hopefully use a wall-mounted air dryer to get them reasonably dry — but as he should have anticipated, there are no paper towels in the dispensers. 

Taking a large wad of the cheap toilet paper from a stall, Jimin attempts to wet the beer-soaked area with water from the faucet, but the paper starts to disintegrate as soon as he applies any pressure to his pants. So much for that. He chucks the wad of toilet paper onto the counter with a loud thwack.

He’ll have to be content with just drying the spot and hoping the stickiness won’t bother him too much. That plan is futile as well — the dryer is too high up on the wall. Barely a whisper of wind hits the wet patch on his pants. Jimin wants to scream.

The match — bout, whatever —  must be starting, because the crowd roars. Anyone who wanted to use the restroom beforehand must have done so already, and no one has come in in the few minutes he’s been here. Jimin eyes the door again — does he dare? 

Fuck it, he thinks. It’s not like he’s getting naked or something, and the long hem of his shirt will probably cover up anything someone might deem inappropriate. Hell, this way he’ll be able to rinse the beer off his skin as well. Even better.

Still, Jimin feels more than a little uneasy as he carefully removes his shoes and undoes his belt, setting them on the driest patch of floor he can find. He has an internal debate about his socks — which is the worse choice, leaving his socks on and risk getting them wet, or going barefoot? 

The socks stay on.

Unzipping his pants, Jimin has a moment of vertigo. He can’t actually believe he’s doing this. It’s a public fucking restroom. He hasn’t gotten undressed in a public restroom since that one time when he was twenty-five and had hooked up with some random guy at that club he and Kai used to go to.  

The moment Jimin puts his pants under the running water the door to the bathroom bangs open.

“Oh!”

Jimin is so startled he drops his pants on the floor, right into a puddle of dubious-looking liquid. “It’s not— I’m not— shit, I’m sorry,” he stammers, eyes on the ground, afraid to look up and see the reaction of the person who has walked in. Jimin grabs his pants, trying not to bend over and show off his ass ets in the process. He’s so fucking embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Waiting for a reaction, eyes still trained on the floor, Jimin notices something in his peripheral vision. The person silently standing in front of him is not wearing shoes. They’re wearing roller skates. Black skates with pink skulls on the sides and pink wheels. Jimin drags his eyes upward and almost drops his pants again.

It’s the guy. The guy. Cute Star Boy or whatever they call him. He’s wearing black protective gear over what Jimin assumes is his uniform, although it’s not like any uniform he’s ever seen before. 

The first thing Jimin’s eyes land on are his shorts. They’re pink — bright cotton candy pink in a shiny satin fabric, cut so high they show off almost all of his thick thighs. Underneath he’s wearing ripped black fishnets, with knee high rainbow-striped athletic socks over the top. The skates make him tower over Jimin in an almost intimidating way.

The black uniform shirt Cute Star Boy is wearing — no, barely wearing — is held together by a single, straining button. There’s a number, 901, embroidered on the upper left chest, and the bottom tails of the shirt are tied up into a knot, showing off sculpted abs and a glint of a navel piercing. The sleeves have been cut off to show off a full sleeve of tattoos on one arm, and his biceps almost glow under the pallid bathroom light.

“Oh, what’s going on here?” Starry Cute Boy asks, pirouetting to a clean stop next to Jimin, a sly grin turning up one side of his mouth as he ogles Jimin’s legs. “Have I already missed all the fun?”

“Fun? Oh no, uh—” It takes Jimin an uncomfortable few seconds to recover from his shock, but he finally remembers his pants, clutched tightly in front of his crotch. “I spilled— well, my friend did, beer on my pants, and—” Jimin tries to show what he means by putting them under the tap, but a large hand, the word BABY tattooed across the knuckles, snatches them away before Jimin can turn on the water.

“Pretty sure you shouldn’t wash these with the soap from the dispenser. These’re, like, wool, right?” Cutie Star Boy asks, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “That pink foamy shit’ll eat your skin off, so who knows what it’ll do to your fancy pants.”

Jimin just gapes at him. The poster really hadn’t done this Star Cute Boy guy justice at all. The black eyeliner and shiny pink gloss on his lips — and yes, those are pink streaks in his hair — strike a visage that makes Jimin’s stomach clench. Once again Jimin is struck with how sharp, yet how soft and round his features are, like his face can’t decide if it wants to come off as cool or cute. Must be some sort of sorcery to pull that look off. Jimin certainly feels like he’s under a spell of some kind.

Cute Baby Boy Stars notices him staring and grins slyly. “Like my outfit?” He turns in a pretty circle, holding out his hands as if he’s holding up a skirt. “I customized it myself. Probably went a little too far from the regulation standard, but I’m the team MVP so they let me get away with anything.” He giggles, a laugh far too high and tinkling to belong to someone who looks as deadly as he does. Deadly and cute. Shit.

“What? No— wait, can I—” Jimin wants to shoot himself. He sounds like an idiot. He can’t remember the last time he was so tongue-tied. “Can I have those back?” he asks more firmly, reaching for his pants, but crumbles when Sweet Star Baby’s eyes twinkle in mischief. “I promise not to— to wash them,” Jimin adds, wondering why the fuck he’s promising anything to someone he doesn’t even know. They’re his pants — if Jimin wants to destroy them with toxic public bathroom soap, that’s his own business.

Cute Star Boy — or was it Baby Star Boy? Sweet Star something? Fuck if Jimin knows—  hums. “Well, I don’t know. Should I give them back?” He holds the pants high, and Jimin resists the urge to lunge for them. “It’s not often I run across a hot, half-naked DILF in the team bathroom.”

“This is the team bathroom?” Jimin says, glancing around before the other part of the sentence registers. “Wait. Hot DILF? Me?” Jimin does the thing where he points at himself and wonders when he’d become such a dork.

“Public bathrooms are up front, by the entry,” Sweet Star Boy explains, ignoring Jimin’s surprise. He leans back against the sinks, arms splayed behind him, eyes dark and locked on Jimin. “I guess it’s my lucky day that you got lost.”

Jimin tears his eyes away, flushing. “Are you— are you going to give my pants back?” he asks, trying to get this conversation back on track, but his voice is too feeble for it to come off as anything other than the desperate plea it is. He needs to get far, far away from this Star Boy Sweet Cute person ASAP if he wants to maintain any semblance of self-respect — or his sanity.

Cute Sweet Star Boy giggles again, his dangling earrings reflecting pinpoints of light — yes, stars — on his face. “You can’t wear these again,” he states matter-of-factly. “They’re soaking wet, and who knows what’s on this floor. All kinds of nasty bodily fluids end up down there.”

Jimin glances at the floor, picks up a foot, and grimaces. He’s speechless, partially because his socked feet that are currently standing on the damp concrete floor, and partially by a wayward thought of someone fucking right here against the sinks. Of someone fucking this cute, lethal, menacing boy in this exact spot. Of Jimin fucking him right here, right now.

“So now what?” Jimin asks, clueless as to where to go from here. He feels supremely stupid that at his big age he can’t figure out how to get himself out of this predicament. 

Sweet Cute Star Baby cocks his head at Jimin, furrowing his brows in thought. “I’ll get you something clean to wear,” he says finally. Pushing off the counter, he glides in a smooth arc toward the door, poking Jimin's nose as he passes by. “You stay here.”

“You think I’m going anywhere without—” is all Jimin gets out before Baby Star Boy flies through the door — but not before Jimin seizes his opportunity to do a little ogling himself. On the back of his shorts, right over the swell of his magnificent ass, BABY STAR CANDY is emblazoned in sparkly black letters.

Ah, yes. That’s the name.

Baby Star Candy is gone for less than a minute, during which Jimin tries to get his bearings and figure out exactly what he’s doing. When he returns, Jimin’s ready.

“What’s your real name?” Jimin asks before Baby Star Candy can say anything. 

“Jeon Jungkook, at your service.” Jungkook glides up to Jimin on one knee, holding out a black pair of sweatpants in both hands as if offering a king his crown. “For you, your Highness,” he adds, ducking his head in deference.

Jimin almost laughs despite, or maybe because of, the absurdity of it all — but when a voice over the loudspeaker bleeds through the walls he remembers where he is and why. “Don’t you have a game or a match or whatever to play?”

Jungkook laughs. “A bout. You’re new to this whole thing, aren’t you?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I watch roller derby often? He shifts uneasily — he’s still standing in his boxer briefs, unsure if he should put the clean pants on or what. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You’re here to meet me, obviously,” Jungkook says, leaning on his elbow against the wall and jutting his hip out just so. “And yes, I do have a bout to play, but they’ll wait.” 

He’s cocky as hell, Jimin thinks, and even though he would deny it up and down to his friends, at least he can admit to himself he finds it kind of hot. “Then you should go,” Jimin says, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Jimin holds the pants up and assesses the size. “Hey, these actually look like they’ll fit.” He takes the opportunity to rake his eyes over Jungkook’s legs again, swallowing hard before adding, “They must not be yours.”

“Nah, I snagged them from Yoongi hyung, so you gotta promise to bring them back. Otherwise our team might be looking for a new jammer. He’s no joke.”

“Oh. Yeah. Bring them back,” Jimin says numbly. That means he’ll have to face this boy — no, scratch that — this man, Jungkook, again. Jimin isn’t sure how to feel about that. It seems quite a dangerous proposition, but tempting nonetheless.

“Yeah!” Jungkook says brightly. “I’ll get your pants dry cleaned, and when you bring hyung’s pants back I’ll return yours to you.” 

Shit. Only then does Jimin realize Jungkook hadn’t returned with his pants. How did he overlook that his pants are missing? Have disappeared and presumably in the possession of this menacing man-boy? When had Jimin become so dense? Is this a new forty-year-old thing? Early stage dementia?

Sensing Jimin’s unease, Jungkook clarifies, “That way I know I won’t get in hot water with Yoongi hyung. Not that I don’t trust you, of course.”

“Of course,” Jimin mutters under his breath. He tries to recall exactly what had been said. Had he somehow agreed to this clothing exchange without realizing it? His one million won Dior pants in trade for a slightly worn pair of cotton-poly blend sweatpants that don’t even belong to the person he’s talking to? It’s ludicrous. Where even are his pants now? Crumpled on the floor of an equally filthy locker room? Jimin shudders.

“But I— really, it’s okay. I’ll take my pants home and clean them myself,” Jimin pleads, cringing at how weak he sounds. In his everyday life, he’s the boss. Jimin’s the one in control, giving directions, making demands. The tables have flipped — he’s at Jungkook’s mercy, and Jimin feels completely off balance. “Just go get them,” he continues, trying to regain his composure. “I don’t want— you don’t need to— I promise I’ll bring the sweats back, just—”

“I insist,” Jungkook says, scooting closer, smiling, his whole persona suddenly sweet as pie. Jimin swears he’s fluttering his lashes. The shift in his demeanor once again leaves Jimin reeling. “I don’t mind getting them cleaned for you,” he says demurely, but Jimin isn’t fooled. Jimin is sure Jungkook isn’t offering purely out of the goodness of his heart — he oozes confidence. There’s something else behind that sly grin.

“There’s no need,” Jimin tries again, but clearly Jungkook has made up his mind.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind having a reason to see you again as well.” Jungkook pouts his lips, toying with the tails of Jimin’s shirt — close, so close to his crotch it makes Jimin shudder.

Jimin recognizes flirting when he sees it, and Jungkook is utilizing it like a weapon. It’s clear he’s used to getting what he wants — but is he serious? He can’t be. He’s just being manipulative — right? Jungkook could get any guy he wants. There’s no way he actually wants Jimin. But the way Jungkook’s fingertips skim the skin on Jimin’s upper thigh almost convinces him.

Please don’t let me pop a boner right here in this bathroom, I’ll never get over the humiliation, Jimin begs to any god that might be listening. He’s so flustered he can barely make eye contact with Jungkook. For a moment Jimin feels like he’s just turned fourteen instead of forty.

Get it together , Jimin scolds himself, and squares his shoulders, determined to handle this like the adult he is. This might be some sort of game to Jungkook, but Jimin is way too old to play games. He chuckles as if he’s not affected by Jungkook’s proximity at all. “Are you really using my pants as a way of flirting with me?” he retorts, dismissive.

“And if I am? Would that be such a bad thing?” Jungkook inches even closer, the tips of his skates almost crushing Jimin’s socked toes. He very pointedly drags his gaze over Jimin’s body, lingering for a long moment on Jimin’s lips before staring him straight in the eye. “I saw the way you were looking at me. I know what you’re thinking.”

The heart surgeon in Jimin worries about the sudden uptick of his heartbeat (tachycardia,) at the way his chest tightens (angina pectoris) when he meets Jungkook’s eyes, at the weakness in his knees (presyncope) with Jungkook close enough to touch. Jimin breaks into a cold sweat (diaphoresis.)  

Oh shit. Fuckfuckfuck. I’m too young to die of a heart attack.

“What— what am I thinking?” Jimin asks, his breath hitching. He’s genuinely curious, because he has no fucking idea how to make sense of what he’s feeling right now. It’s like every intelligent thought went up in flames as soon as Jungkook rolled his way into the room. 

“That you’d like to fuck me.”

The vulgarity and brazenness punches the air from Jimin’s lungs. He gulps before stuttering, “You— you’re— you’re way too young for me,” backing away. It’s a meager defense, and Jungkook doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“Young, old, who cares,” Jungkook purrs. “Always wanted an older guy to bend me over and fuck me stupid with my skates on. Bet you really know what you’re doing. Bet you’d make me feel really good.” He takes a step forward and walks his fingers up Jimin’s chest. Tilting Jimin’s chin up with a single finger, his eyes on fire, he drawls, “Bet you’re going to go home tonight and jerk off to the thought of me.”

Oh, he’s right about that .

“Jungkook, I—”

Just then, the door bangs open. “Jesus fucking Christ, there you are Jungkook-ah. I’ve been looking—” The man, wearing the same color uniform as Jungkook, spots Jimin and comes to a dead stop. “Are you fucking serious, Kook? You’re late, we’re all waiting for you, and you’re in here getting some dick?”

“That’s not—” Jimin tries to explain, but Jungkook interrupts him.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” Jungkook says sweetly, completely ignoring the fury in the intruder’s eyes. “Don’t want to miss an opportunity like this.” Jungkook kisses the pad of his pointer finger, then presses it to Jimin’s lips. “He’s delicious.”  

“Come with me right now or you’re off the team. I mean it.”

Jungkook pouts, but flashes Jimin a coy smile. “My number’s in the pocket,” he says, waving cutely before he’s tugged away. “Make sure to cheer for me!”

It takes a full minute before Jimin starts to breathe again. 

He’s so screwed.

  

☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥

 

Jimin’s friends notice the pants swap right away. Of course they do.

“What’s up with the new look?” Sungwoon cackles as Jimin, still shaken, slides into his seat. “Not sure your Gucci loafers match those— what are they, sweatpants?— very well, but maybe it’s the new fashion or something.”

“Ha ha,” Jimin deadpans, but his stomach is in knots. “I— well, I dropped my other pants in a puddle and uh, someone lent these to me.” Jimin desperately hopes his friends are drunk enough to let it go. How can he even begin to explain what went on in that bathroom?

“Let me get this straight— you traded your brand new Dior pants for these?” Kai leans over Sungwoon’s lap and pinches the fabric between his fingers, grimacing. 

“Not traded— just borrowed.” Jimin gulps. “Um, my pants are getting cleaned.”

“So what you’re saying is that there’s a clothing exchange here at the venue,” Taemin says, snorting in amusement, “and now there’s a dry cleaner, too?” He slams the rest of his beer, crushing the cup underfoot before clapping his hands once, rubbing them together in anticipation. “C’mon Jimin, you’re holding out on us. Spill.”

All their gazes are trained squarely on Jimin, waiting for an explanation, but just then there’s a loud whistle from the track. The crowd roars as the skaters take off. Jimin ignores Taemin’s remark and focuses on the track instead, hoping the start of the bout will divert their attention. 

“Finally,” someone mutters from behind them. “Wonder what the hold up was.”

Her friend responds, voice rising above the crowd. “I think Baby Star Candy was late again.”

They both break into laughter.

In front of Jimin, a sea of bodies, all packed together, skate counterclockwise around an oval track. It sort of looks like a rugby scrum, with everyone pushing and shoving but with not much actual skating happening in the first minutes. It doesn’t look particularly violent — actually, it doesn’t look like much of anything.

Jimin can’t tell if Jungkook is part of the group or not, but he can definitely tell which team he belongs to. The Bulletproof Bangsters are all wearing pink shorts and button down black shirts with their names on the back. None of their uniforms are nearly as revealing as Jungkook’s get up, but then again, none of them are as built as Jungkook is either.

He squints as the throng skates past, trying to read the Bangster’s derby names. One definitely says God of Destruction and he thinks another one might say Worldwide Fearsome. No one else has their derby names written on their ass, not even on the other team. Jungkook wasn’t kidding when he’d said he pushed the regulation standard with his uniform.

One of the players on Jungkook’s team breaks free of the pack, and starts skating quickly in front of the rest of the skaters. Unlike most of the other participants, he has a large star on his helmet, and seems smaller in stature than most of them. The crowd begins cheering, and an excited voice on the loudspeaker states that the jammer for the Bulletproof Bangsters has taken the lead. 

Jammer — that’s the position Jungkook plays, Jimin recalls, but this guy definitely isn’t him. As the jammer swooshes by them, Jimin takes note of his name — Suga Smacks, then belatedly recognizes him. It’s the same person who’d collected Jungkook from the bathroom.

This guy is fast — but Jungkook is supposedly the star of the team. Can he really be faster than this Suga Smacks guy?

A whistle blares and someone on the other team is called for a foul. The player, dressed in blue and white, plops onto the bench inside the penalty box. The box is right in front of Jimin and his friends, and he’s close enough to see the sweat beaded on his skin. Meanwhile the bout continues. Jimin can’t figure out how the points on the scoreboard are tallied or what the point of everything is besides one team blocking the other team and knocking people over, while the jammers skate fast around the track.

The player for the Busan Bruise Brothers in the penalty box is up and away in less than a minute, just before the whistle blows and both teams come to a stop. It seems they're taking a break or something — Jimin’s not sure, but while the crowd waits for play to resume, new team members take to the rink.

And there’s Jungkook. He’s got the jammer’s star on his pink helmet, and he lines up a few paces behind the group, next to the jammer from the other team. Jungkook takes a quick look around as everyone gets settled — and of course, he would spot Jimin right away. They make eye contact, and Jimin cringes as Jungkook sends off a little wave and blows him a kiss. Right there, in front of everyone. In front of Jimin’s friends. He’s mortified.

His friends all break into shocked laughter. 

“What?”

“Excuse me?”  

“Why did he—?” 

“Holy shit!” 

They all clamor at once, prodding Jimin for an explanation. 

“What the fuck was that?” Sungwoon cries, shoving Jimin’s shoulder.  

Keeping his eyes firmly on the stained concrete beneath them, Jimin sighs deeply. “We, um— sort of met. When I was in the bathroom.” The astonishment in his friend’s eyes keeps Jimin babbling, trying to come up with a simple version of the story on the fly. “Uh, the team bathroom. I got lost, and wandered in there and—”

“Wait. You what?” Kai blurts, incredulous. “You met him? You met your crush?”

Taemin bursts into laughter. “Is that why— oh my god, Min, did you fuck him? Is that what really happened to your pants?”

“He’s so fucking hot,” Sungwoon whispers under his breath, eyes following Jungkook’s every move. “Damn, Jimin-ah, I don’t blame you.”

“No!” Jimin hisses, glancing around to see if his loudmouth friends have been overheard. “No, I didn’t fuck him. Jesus. You guys are nuts.” Jimin crosses his arms, refusing to look at any of them. He watches Jungkook instead. “He just loaned me these. They’re not even his. They belong to his teammate.”

“The guy you have a crush on just loaned you some pants out of the goodness of his heart,” Taemin deadpans, winking at Jimin. “Sure. Seems legit.”

“I don’t have a crush on him!”

“So where exactly are your pants then?” Kai asks, one eyebrow raised.

“He, well— he offered to get them dry cleaned.”

There’s a lot of confused laughter. “You are perfectly capable of dry cleaning your own clothes, Min-ah,” Sungwoon offers, trying to come off as rational and reasonable, but Jimin knows when he’s being mocked by his best friend. “If nothing happened between you guys I don’t understand why—”

Jimin groans. “Because he’s holding them as collateral to make sure I bring his teammate’s sweats back, okay?” he explains quickly, knowing how absurd it sounds.

“So he’s blackmailing you?”

“That’s not blackmailing, dumbshit,” Sungwoon corrects, ducking when Kai pretends to throw his beer at him.

“And you agreed to this?”

“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” Jimin laments, although just the memory of Jungkook all up in his space, towering over him as he practically demands to see Jimin again gives him butterflies.

Taemin snorts. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“I know!” Jimin says, throwing his hands up in bewilderment. “I mean, I don’t know! He came in when I was about to wash my pants in the sink and stopped me and we started talking and he took my pants with him when he went to get me these clean ones and then he didn’t bring them back!” Jimin is talking very fast and he stops to take a deep breath. “And he— he— I think he’s using my pants as an excuse to see me again,” he admits sheepishly, his cheeks flushing hot.

“Oh ho ho!” Taemin cries, clapping Jimin on the shoulder. “Now we’re getting to the good part.”

“Wait.” Sungwoon swats Taemin away. “What do you mean, you think?”

“Not think, not exactly.” Jimin closes his eyes. “That’s what he said. That he wanted to see me again.”

Sungwoon glances at Kai and Taemin, eyes alight. “What else did he say?” They’re all sitting on pins and needles, like middle school virgins waiting to hear details of Jimin’s first fuck. It’s ridiculous. He regrets saying anything.

“C’mon, tell us,” implores Kai, petting Jimin’s hair. “It’ll be our secret.”

Jimin shakes him off and crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

His friends cackle wildly, hooting and slapping Jimin on the back. “Ahh, Minnie’s gonna get himself a hot piece of ass,” Sungwoon says, high-fiving Kai. “Our plan fucking worked!”

“Not the way we planned, but this is so much fucking better,” chimes in Taemin, and Jimin wants to punch them all. “Now that you’ve seen the man in the flesh, the age gap isn’t bothering you anymore, is it Min?”

Jimin glares at them. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.”

It is, but Jimin isn’t sure if his principles will actually hold up if he needs to make a decision between doing what he thinks is right, and giving Jungkook what he obviously wants. Because maybe that’s what Jimin wants, too. Maybe. Probably. Or not. He keeps waffling. 

His friends continue to pepper Jimin with questions, but he tunes them out, instead watching the action on the rink. Jungkook powerfully pushes his way through the other skaters, flying around the track like he owns the place. And from the crowd’s reaction to his performance, it seems like he actually does. All around him fans are cheering and screaming as points rack up on the Bangsters’ side scoreboard, not that Jimin understands how points are actually earned.

Jungkook moves at lightning speed, face split in a smile, mouth open in a laugh Jimin swears he can hear over all the other noise — Jungkook’s entire being is electric, full to overflowing with life, with freedom. Jimin yearns for just a morsel of that light, to be close enough to taste freedom like that. He’s not sure he’s ever felt that way, carefree, with power like harnessing the sun, not in his entire life.

Fuck it. He’s gonna do it. Who cares what anyone else thinks? Whose standards is Jimin holding himself to, anyways? He can fuck whoever he wants. Shit, it’s not like Sungwoon hasn’t gone through half-dozen lovers in this year alone. The fact that none of them were quite so young doesn’t matter. Right?

As if reading Jimin’s mind, Kai asks quietly, “Min. Does he know how old you are?”

“No.” 

It doesn’t matter, Jimin reiterates to himself, but those doubts are still peeking around the corners in his mind. Today, he turned forty. Forty fucking years old. Is he, a forty-year-old man, really giving Jungkook’s offer serious thought? Jimin doesn’t know how old Jungkook is, but his face looks even more babyish in person. He is definitely under twenty-five — so he’s at least fifteen years younger than Jimin is. 

But despite that seemingly insurmountable gap, there is a spark there, and Jimin can’t find it in himself to deny that it exists. He hasn’t felt this attracted to someone in a long, long time.

Jimin tries to stop himself from doing the math, tries not to imagine himself as a teenager and Jungkook as a toddler. The contrasting thoughts that are waging war within him make him feel off-balance, not like his normal, responsible, serious self at all. 

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s about time.

“Jungkook said he didn’t care about my age,” Jimin replies before he can stop himself. He still doubts the truth of that statement, but Jungkook had seemed sincere.

“Oh, it’s Jungkook,” Kai says, teasing. “I see you’re on a first name basis now.”

“Actually—” Jimin racks his brain. “I don’t think I ever told him mine.” 

“You’re so cute, Min. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this rattled,” Sungwoon says, ruffling Jimin’s hair. Jimin grumbles and leans away, trying to smooth it down.

“What’s happened to our calm, cool and collected ice prince?” Taemin teases. “He’s got you all flustered. It’s not like you at all.”

There’s another break in the action. Jimin’s lost track of what’s happening in the bout, but that doesn’t matter as Jungkook skates into view, stretching while he waits for play to begin. Jimin can’t help but stare a little as he bends at the waist, the muscles in his back and legs flexing as the satin is pulled tight over his ass. When Jungkook twists around to stretch his back, he catches Jimin’s eye and grins. Dammit. Jimin got caught. He tears his gaze away quickly, heartbeat picking up.

Someone — one of his so-called friends, snickers to his left. “God you guys are annoying tonight,” Jimin says through gritted teeth, slamming the rest of his beer.

“Want another?” Taemin offers instantly, taking Jimin’s empty cup out of his hand. “I was just going myself.”

The whistle sounds and Jungkook, his long hair flying out behind him, takes off, hip bumping and body checking his way through the blockers in his way. Jimin groans as the single button on Jungkook’s shirt finally gives way and he gets a full view of Jungkook’s toned chest. To Taemin he replies, “If they have anything stronger than beer, get me that.” Jimin fears he’s going to need a little liquid courage to get through the rest of the night.

Sticking his hand in the right pocket of the sweats, Jimin fiddles with the note Jungkook had left there earlier. Just the feel of the ragged edge of the paper on his skin sends shivers down his spine. He’d read it and re-read it half a dozen times before leaving the bathroom. 

 

I’ll be thinking about you 

xxx

Jungkook 

010-6203-3087

 

Knowing just what Jungkook will be thinking about has Jimin overwhelmed, in all the best ways.

Sungwoon elbows him in the ribs, whispering, “Don’t look now, but here he comes!”

Jimin jumps when he sees Jungkook skating straight at him, only to realize he’s headed to the penalty box. He enters it with a woosh and a flourish, and once he’s seated he takes off his helmet, shakes out his hair, and turns to grin wolfishly at Jimin.

“Like what you see?” Jungkook raises his eyebrows and cocks his head curiously. His skin glistens with sweat, and that damn button is still missing. Chest heaving, his pink-painted fingernails tap on the rail, restless energy buzzing around him as he stares at Jimin. There’s glitter on his cheekbones Jimin hadn’t noticed before, and a tiny sparkling pink stud in his nose. “Pretty great, huh?”

“Wh-what?” Jimin asks. Jungkook is so close, is so fucking pretty, and Jimin is so mesmerized he hadn’t heard a word.

“The bout. The derby,” Jungkook says without batting an eye, nodding toward the track. “What did you think I was talking about?” He presses his lips together to hide a smile. But finally giggles. “Nah, it’s okay. But you don’t have to hide it, you know. I already know what you think of me.”

As hard as it is to maintain eye contact with him, Jimin looks straight at him, afraid to look away. He can feel his friends’ eyes watching this interaction like a bunch of gossipy leeches, ready to latch onto any weakness Jimin might show.

“Ha. You think so, huh?” Jimin replies with as much bravado as he can muster — and then the penalty is over. In a flash Jungkook is back on the track, racing as he tries to make up for lost time.

“Fuck,” Sungwoon says under his breath. “He’s so—” 

“If you think he’s so hot, go fuck him yourself!” Jimin snaps back, and they all roar with laughter.

“Oh, Minnie has it bad,” says Kai, ruffling Jimin’s hair.

Jimin harrumphs, crosses his arms, and vows not to speak to them for the rest of the night.

But his eyes never leave Jungkook.

 

☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥☠♥

 

I’m not doing it. It’s a bad idea.

It’s Jimin’s latest decision, and he’s determined it’ll be his final one. Jungkook is way too young, and Jimin is way too old. Besides, the hooking up with random guys part of Jimin’s life died out long ago. The fact that he hasn’t gotten laid since Jaewook left shouldn’t sway him in the least.

Forget Jungkook. Bad idea. Bad bad bad.

He repeats the mantra to himself over and over as he and his friends follow the mass of people headed toward the exit. The bout had ended in a rout — the home team, The Bulletproof Bangsters, had scored 148 to the Bruise Brothers’ 72 points. The people surrounding them are still pumped up as they exit the building, high on the adrenaline of cheering for the winning team— but the booze, and reality, have caught up with Jimin. He’s tired and grumpy.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.

Jimin’s bladder has caught up with him too. The RESTROOMS sign hanging just to the left of the exit door mocks him. If only he had found this bathroom the first time, he wouldn’t have met Jungkook, and he wouldn’t feel so confused right now. 

“Hey, Sung-ie, I gotta take a piss,” Jimin calls, “meet you guys out by the car.”

“Sure,” Sungwoon says, already halfway out the door. He and Jimin’s other friends are soon swallowed by the crowd.

The restroom, with its stained concrete floor and cracked tiles, reeks of weed and those horrible urinal cakes and Jimin does his best to get out of there as quickly as possible. He’s ready to put this night behind him. His birthday has never been his favorite day of the year — not since he passed age thirty, anyway — and tonight had been an emotional rollercoaster. Someday he’ll look back and laugh at the ludicrousy of getting hit on by a sexy as fuck twenty-something roller derby star on his fortieth birthday, but it won’t be today. 

There’s a blast of chill October air when he pushes through the door. Jimin shivers as he hurries in the direction of Kai’s car, eager to get out of the cold. Stupidly, he’d left his jacket in the car when they’d arrived. Turning the corner of the building, he zig-zags through the parking lot — and comes to a dead stop. It’s not there. Kai’s car isn’t where it should be. There’s an empty spot under the overhead light where Jimin thought he remembered they’d parked.

Jimin turns in a circle, narrowing his eyes as he studies his surroundings. Maybe he’d turned the wrong way when he’d come out of the rink — he had been pretty buzzed when they’d arrived, and he’d had no real reason to pay close attention. Jimin retraces his steps to the front entrance and keeps going past it, looking for Kai’s car on the other side of the building. It’s a distinctive color of blue, and should be easy to spot, but no luck here either. 

The parking lot is emptying rapidly, cars streaming from both driveways. No one seems to be pulled over to the side waiting for someone, or parked on the street. Jimin doesn’t recognize the few people he sees meandering around the building and parking lot. There’s no sign of his friends anywhere. He’s confused as hell.

What the fuck is going on? They’d never leave without him. It’s his fucking birthday.

Jimin pulls out his phone to call, and that’s when he sees the text from Sungwoon.

 

Sorry to bail on you haha

Now go get yourself that hot piece of ass

Happy birthday bro

 

Those fuckers.

 

Fuck you Sung-ie

 

No, Min

Fuck HIM

 

Jimin crams his phone back in his pocket and rakes his hands through his hair, muttering under his breath. The rink is somewhere on the outskirts of Seoul, in the middle of nowhere, and it’ll probably take forty-five minutes to get an Uber on a Friday night. And he’s already cold. Fuck.

Without other options, Jimin orders one anyway and takes a seat on a bench.

A girl with platinum blonde hair sticks her head out the front door and glances both ways, a ring of keys jangling in her hand.

Jimin rushes over to her. “Um, excuse me?” 

“Yeah?” She eyes him warily. “Whaddya want?”

“Could I possibly wait inside for my ride?”

She frowns. “Nope. I’m locking up and goin’ home. Only staff and players allowed inside after hours.” 

Jimin tries to see past her. “Please. It’s getting cold.” He wraps his arms around himself. shivering.

“I have plans, alright? I gotta go. I’m already late.”

The thought of sitting in some parking lot alone freezing his ass off is not appealing at all. “Um, is Baby Star— I mean, Jungkook, still here?” Jimin shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t be hoping that Jungkook’s still here. Bad idea. But just maybe he’ll come to Jimin’s rescue in his hour of need.

She gives Jimin the once over before saying, a little more sympathetically, “I think he’s gone, too. I didn’t see anyone in the back. No one sticks around here on the weekends.”

“Shit,” Jimin says, “Okay. Thanks.”

 

You fuckers I don’t even have a coat

I left it in the car

 

Oops 

But hey

I know someone who will keep you warm

 

You don’t even care that

you left me stranded in the middle of nowhere

Happy birthday to me I guess

 

Jimin is never going to forgive them.

He watches as a red car, driven by the blonde girl who’d locked him out, squeals out of the lot without sparing him a glance. She flicks a cigarette butt out the window as she turns onto the road. The lot is deserted now — and a little spooky. The shadows are deep in the spaces between the buildings, and empty branches of the tall trees overhead creak and sway in the wind.

The breeze turns blustery, and the thin fabric of his shirt does nothing to stop it from raising goosebumps on his skin. Jimin needs to find a spot out of the wind while he waits. But no matter which side of the building he stands on, nothing stops the breeze from rattling his teeth. 

The only place he hasn’t tried is behind the building. There’s very little light back there, and it’s the worst place to watch for a ride, but Jimin is out of other options. He’ll just keep the app open, and pretend he’s not afraid of being mugged or murdered or kidnapped all the way out here in the boonies.

Turns out Jimin isn’t alone after all. He hears a car running and voices before he even gets to the corner. A surge of fear tightens his chest and he almost turns around, but can’t help but peek to see what’s going on. Maybe they’re not criminals. Maybe there’s someone who might help him.

There are actually two cars in the back — one is silver, parked and dark. The other is black and is pulled up right next to the silver one, engine running. The driver of the black car, veiled in darkness, chats with someone, presumably the silver car’s driver, who is leaning on the black car’s open driver’s side window. Jimin can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can hear the low timbre of the standing man’s voice. There’s sort of a sexy, sensual undertone to it — and then he hears the driver laugh. He knows that flirtatious giggle. There’s no way it’s not him. 

Jungkook.

Jimin ducks back around the corner and crouches down, hoping he wasn’t seen. It feels weird to stay hidden, like he’s stalking Jungkook, even though it’s pure chance that finds Jimin here. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he get the hell out of here, move to the front of the building and hunker down to wait for his ride, cold wind be damned? That might be his best option. It’ll be so awkward if Jungkook finds him hiding in the shadows, spying on him.

The wind shifts direction, and suddenly Jimin can hear what they’re saying — and something about the tone of the conversation keeps him rooted in place.

“Thought you had plans tonight? You get stood up?” the man with the deep voice asks.

“Something like that,” Jungkook says. Jimin can hear the smirk in his voice. “So turns out you’re in luck. I’m free after all.”

“It’s a plan then?” the other man says playfully, chuckling as he passes his hand through the open window. Jimin can’t see what he’s doing, but he thinks he can see movement through the front windshield as Jungkook reacts. “Your place or mine?”

“Definitely yours this time,” Jungkook responds, giggling. “Stop it,” he says, in a way that seems to mean anything but stop. “Save it for later.” 

“Okay, okay.” The man holds his hands up, then sticks them in his pockets, chuckling.

Jimin’s stomach lurches. Are they— is Jungkook going home with this guy? Jungkook gave his number to Jimin just a few hours ago, but it seems he had plans with someone else tonight, and now he’s hooking up with a third guy instead? And it seems like this isn’t the first time they’ve been together. He gets a definite sense of familiarity between the two. 

Your place or mine? 

Definitely yours this time.

This time.

Being toyed with should make Jimin angry, or appalled, or at least more firm in his decision to never ever think about sleeping with someone more than a decade younger than he is. 

But to Jimin’s surprise, what he feels instead is jealousy.  

It comes as a shock. Jimin has never thought of himself as a jealous person. His ex, Jaewook, is extremely handsome, but Jimin had never been fazed when Jaewook went out with his male friends alone, or when men and women fawned all over him. From the beginning they’d held their relationship to a higher standard than petty jealousy or insecurity or possessiveness. Jimin had thought it had meant they were emotionally mature, that theirs was the epitome of a serious, adult relationship — but since the breakup, he’s wondered if they just lacked passion.  

Because here he is, jealous over a guy he’s had exactly one interaction with. Jimin is jealous of this nameless, faceless person with the deep voice who gets to take Jungkook home, who will make him laugh and kiss him and get to put his hands all over him. Jimin is jealous of this guy who will fuck Jungkook and get to hear his pretty moans and be crushed by those thighs and that could be Jimin but it’s not, it’s not— 

Stop it, Jimin’s rational brain screams, but it’s too late. His body is on autopilot — he’s already up and moving toward Jungkook’s car, making no attempt to stay hidden anymore. He comes to a stop in the beam of the headlights. The sheer audacity of what he’s doing makes Jimin’s heart race. There’s no chance they can miss spotting his presence.

Their conversation comes to an abrupt stop as the unknown man turns toward Jimin — but it’s not some unknown guy. It’s one of the other members of Jungkook’s team. Good Boy Killjoy, maybe? Jimin’s pretty sure that’s his derby name. Good Boy’s eyes widen and a knowing smile plays on his lips as if he recognizes Jimin as well — but how is that possible? They’ve definitely never met.

So this is the guy Jungkook hooks up with , Jimin thinks, and he honestly can’t blame him — he’s gorgeous, much better looking than Jimin has ever been, model-worthy, even. 

Jimin can’t see into the car because of the headlights shining in his eyes, but Good Boy keeps glancing back and forth between Jimin and the car. Jimin belatedly worries what Jungkook thinks about his sudden appearance, and wonders if he’ll be more pissed than pleased. 

“On second thought, I have other plans tonight,” Good Boy says cheerily to Jungkook, flashing a boxy grin at Jimin and tapping the hood of Jungkook’s car. “Gotta go!”

He hops into his car and the engine roars to life. As he passes Jimin he gives a little honk and a wave, and then he disappears into the night.

That leaves Jungkook, and a very jittery Jimin, alone in the parking lot. Leaving the car running and headlights on, Jungkook slowly opens the driver’s side door. Jimin holds his breath, frozen in the bright circle of light as Jungkook steps out of the car. 

“Well, look who we have here,” Jungkook drawls. He casually leans against his car, a black dinged-up hunk of metal that looks held together with duct tape. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“I’m surprised,” Jimin admits. “I mean, I missed my ride, um— well, actually, my friends left and I’m waiting for my Uber and was trying to get out of the wind and—” He snaps his mouth shut. “I wasn’t looking for you or anything. Or spying,” Jimin adds, which only makes it worse.

“You talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Jimin insists, shoving his hands in his front pockets to hide how they’re shaking — whether from the cold or from nerves, he doesn’t know anymore. “Just cold.”

“Cold?” Realization flashes in Jungkook’s eyes, and his brows furrow as he looks Jimin over. “Don’t you have a coat or something?” 

Jimin shakes his head and chuckles humorlessly. “It’s in my quote-unquote friend’s car.”

“Shit, of course you’re cold, you’re only wearing a button-down shirt. And sweatpants.” Jimin ignores what he thinks is a hint of humor in Jungkook’s tone. “Don’t worry, beautiful, I know just how to warm you up.”

The implication sends a shudder down Jimin’s spine. “Uh—”

“Come sit in my car.” Jungkook taps the hood. “I’ll crank the heat.”

“O-oh.” That’s not at all what Jimin was expecting. “Um— thank you.”

Jungkook is dressed down now, but there’s no disguising that body and face behind plain clothes. He’s still gorgeous. The tight black t-shirt hugs his muscles, and the hem ends just above his low-slung jeans. It shows off just a hint of his toned abs, but it’s more than enough to make Jimin salivate, to imagine running his tongue over Jungkook’s smooth skin, imagine tugging on his navel ring with his teeth. Fuck.

On his feet, in a nod to his more flamboyant side, Jungkook is wearing a pair of ridiculous black sparkly flip-flops, and his toenails are painted to match his pink fingernails.

Jungkook catches Jimin ogling his feet and grins. “I hate wearing regular shoes, unless I’m forced to.” The glitter on his cheeks still sparkles in the reflected light, although the makeup around his eyes is smudged a little, deep brown eyes ringed with kohl black as the night around them. It only makes him more alluring, more dangerous. Rounding the car, Jungkook opens the passenger’s side door for Jimin, bowing grandly. “After you.”

Jimin’s heart does a little flip at the sweet gesture — yet another surprise. He makes brief eye contact with Jungkook — his gaze is intense, eyes shining in the dark — then quickly looks away, sitting gingerly in the front seat, hands tucked between his legs. The hot air pumping from the heating vents begins to warm him instantly, but he’s too tense to relax into it.

The sharp slam of the car door startles Jimin, and suddenly Jungkook appears in the seat next to him. He turns his body toward Jimin, fists clasped tightly under his chin, and primly tucks his feet under him. The aegyo is so at odds with Jungkook’s normally bold behavior that a smile creases Jimin’s face.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking pretty when you smile.”

“Huh?” Jimin resists the urge to look behind him. “Me?”

“You never smiled when we talked before,” Jungkook says, “and you seemed mad at your friends, so I didn’t get to see you smile during the bout either.”

Jimin scoffs. “Those fuckers,” he mutters. “Just left me here while I took a piss.”

“What? Your friends ditched you? Why would they do that?”

Jimin presses his lips together, grimacing. Shit. He shouldn’t have said anything. “Uh—” 

“Seems kinda shitty. Not sure I’d want friends like that,” Jungkook sniffs. He looks angry.

“No— it’s not like that,” Jimin protests. “Really, they’re great, we’ve been friends forever and—”

“Hmm. Okay. If you say so,” Jungkook says, but doesn’t seem convinced. “Still, here you are. Left behind.”

Jimin scrubs his hands over his face. “They had their reasons,” he mumbles, hoping that Jungkook will take the hint and drop it. He keeps his face covered, wishing he was anywhere but here right now. The whole situation is embarrassing.

There’s a long pause. “If you don’t want to tell me why, that’s okay,” Jungkook says, elbowing Jimin in the ribs playfully. “We all have our secrets.”

Jimin snorts out a laugh. “It’s not a secret, it’s—” 

“Let me guess,” Jungkook jumps in. “You said before that you weren’t spying on me, but I think that’s something only a true spy would say. Is that your secret?” Jungkook leans in, whispering conspiratorially. “Are you a top secret spy for the Busan Bruise Brothers?”

Jimin giggles. “I’m not very good at my job then, since you destroyed them tonight despite all my spying.”

“Yeah, I was pretty great, wasn’t I?” Jungkook tilts his head and smiles. “I’m only teasing. It’s fine. I don’t need to know your business.”

“It’s just embarrassing.”

Jungkook’s eyes light up. “Yes? Tell me more.”

“Aish.” Jimin closes his eyes. He did this to himself by not keeping his mouth shut. “My friends, they uh— they know about you.”

“Everyone knows about me,” Jungkook says with a laugh. “I’m the star.”

“No—” Jimin gulps, glancing quickly at him then away. “I mean, they know I met you in the bathroom, that you lent me these sweatpants— and that you’re holding my Dior pants hostage.”

“Those are Dior?” Jungkook whistles. “You must be loaded.”

Jimin shrugs. “Yeah, I guess? I’m a doctor. But that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, doctor?” Jungkook asks innocently. He curls a lock of hair around a finger and tucks it behind his ear, looking up through his lashes. “You were saying something about your friends?” He’s teasing, he’s flirting— he’s insanely attractive, and it’s doing things to Jimin. 

Fuck.

“They, uh—” Jimin gulps before finishing, “they thought we fucked in the bathroom.”

“I don’t understand,” Jungkook says coyly. “Why would they think that? Do you often fuck guys wearing roller skates in bathrooms?”

“What?”  

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Just curious.”

“No!” Jimin replies a little too loudly for the enclosed space of the car. Jungkook chuckles before straightening his expression and looking at Jimin expectantly. “I meant I wasn’t wearing my own pants when I came back to my seat, so they thought—”

“That you came in your pants at the mere sight of me?”

This guy. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it,” Jimin deadpans, lips pressed tightly together to suppress a smile. 

He and Jungkook stare at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. It feels so good to release some of his nervous energy that, as is often the case, a giggling Jimin unintentionally doubles over — right into Jungkook’s lap. He scrambles up and away, desperately trying to put some space between them, but that simple, accidental touch smashes through the invisible line they’d been toeing all night. 

Jungkook’s hand lingers on Jimin’s forearm, a gentle touch that once again feels out of character for his over-the-top personality. “The only thing better than your smile is your laughter, oh my god,” he gushes. Jungkook’s own smile and joyful energy is infectious, and Jimin can’t help but join in.

“Says the guy with the most perfect twinkly giggles ever,” Jimin says with a soft smile. He’s already so fond of the crazy, sweet enigma that is Jungkook, it’s ridiculous. “Like a fairy’s laughter. Like bells.”

“Twinkly? Moi? You think so?” Jungkook giggles, pitching his voice an octave higher than normal, exaggerated in a way intended to make Jimin laugh. “What other things are perfect and twinkly about me?” he asks, trailing his fingers up and down Jimin’s arm.

“Perfect and twinkly?” Taking advantage of the opportunity to rake his eyes over Jungkook, Jimin snorts in amusement as his eyes land on his shoes. “Your flip flops.”

Jungkook holds a foot out, turning it from side-to-side to let the shoe sparkle. “True. That’s why I love them so much.” He scoots a little closer. “What else?”

It’s impossible not to stare at Jungkook’s face in this proximity, less than an arm’s length away. Jimin’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. “Your cheekbones,” he murmurs. 

“Don’t you love the glitter? The pink looks so good with my derby uniform,” Jungkook says. He beams from ear to ear, nose crinkling in happiness. “C’mon, what else?”

“Uh—” Jungkook is straddling the center console now, leaning into Jimin’s space even more now, making it hard to breathe. Jimin is having a hard time thinking about anything at all. Luckily there’s an answer right in front of him. “Your— your nose stud. It’s pretty.”

“Uh-huh. Nope.” Jungkook waves off his answer. “Can’t use that. Jewelry is too obvious.”

Jimin snorts in astonishment. “Seriously?”

Jungkook shrugs. “You can get more creative than that. I have faith in you.”

“Why am I doing this again?” Jimin asks with a chuckle. “I feel like I’m taking a test. And failing.”

“You’re not failing. I’d say you’re passing with flying colors. Teacher’s pet, you might say.” Jungkook tilts his head, resting it on the headrest as he watches Jimin intently. “And let’s just say I like to be complimented.”

No kidding, Jimin thinks — but then again, there is a lot to be complimented. “Your eyes,” he says, the weight of Jungkook’s gaze burning. Without waiting for a response, he adds, “And uh— your name on your shorts. Baby Star Candy.”

“Oh.” Jungkook waggles his eyebrows. “You noticed that.”

“Pretty hard not to notice.”

“Are you sure you’re not just talking about my ass?” Jungkook asks, head tilted in curiosity — but he knows, he knows. “I’d say it’s pretty perfect, and surprisingly twinkly too.” He rises to his knees and strokes his hands over the curve of it, a lop-sided grin curling his lips, tongue darting out to toy with his lip ring. It seems Jungkook takes great joy in flustering Jimin — and he excels at it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Jimin breathes, mouth gone dry. 

“Do you need a better view? Should I take these off so you can decide for yourself?” Jungkook toys at the waistband of the Calvin Kleins peeking out from his jeans. “Or maybe you’re more of a tactile guy— you need to feel it with your own hands to truly understand how memorable it is.”

“Memorable,” Jimin repeats under his breath.

Jungkook leans over, his hand anchored on Jimin’s thigh, whispers in Jimin’s ear. “I’m not easily forgotten.” His breath is hot on Jimin’s skin, and he rocks forward to nuzzle into Jimin’s hair, his back arched just so.
Weakly, Jimin responds, “I bet.” Even if nothing else happens between them, Jimin won’t soon forget this night.

“Wanna taste?” Jungkook licks his finger and runs it across Jimin’s lower lip, hot and slick. Pressing it down, he watched Jimin’s lip bounce back as he lets it go. “Wanna see for yourself how sweet I really am?”

Curling his fingers into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, Jimin pulls him closer, the tension between them scorching. “Yes,” he whispers, eyes flicking up to meet Jungkook’s gaze. “Please.”

Jungkook crashes his lips against Jimin’s with such force that Jimin smacks his head against the car window. He’s dimly aware of the ache, but his mind and body are consumed by Jungkook, who has awkwardly squeezed himself into the car seat with Jimin. His weight is crushing and it’s all a tangle of limbs and Jimin wants to touch touch touch but he can’t decide where to put his hands. Jungkook’s lips are soft and taste of cherry lip balm, and Jimin chases them when Jungkook pulls away.

“Hang— on,” Jungkook says, groaning as he bends awkwardly, reaching down between Jimin’s knees to spring a latch that sends the passenger seat flying backward. “Ah, much better.” He straddles Jimin properly now, thick thighs on either side of his hips, and reaches one more time, lowering the seat back. The car is still small and it’s still cramped, but now there’s room to breathe — and touch. 

Jimin grips the edge of the seat, watching raptly as Jungkook lifts the hem of his shirt — slowly, humming a little tune, the quietest striptease ever. His nipples are pierced, because of course they are — silver barbells glint as Jungkook pulls his shirt over his head, his sculpted muscles rippling as he moves. He attempts to twirl it on a finger before abandoning the idea, laughing as he flings the shirt into the backseat. “Not much room for theatrics here.”

“I don’t need theatrics,” Jimin says. “Just need you.” 

“He finally says it,” Jungkook purrs, trailing his fingertips over Jimin’s face. 

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you all night.”

“I saw you watching me, you know. Wasn’t sure you’d ever get out of your own head.” Jungkook grinds his ass onto Jimin’s crotch, and Jimin bucks up a little, releasing a little breathy moan. “Oh, your voice. Fuck. I bet you’ll sound so pretty when you bottom out,” Jungkook says with a sigh, slowly grinding against him again, the pace torturous. “Can’t wait to have your cock in me,” he murmurs, but suddenly stops. “Wait.” He picks up Jimin’s hands, turning them over and eyeing them suspiciously.

“What?” 

“You’re not married, are you?”

It takes Jimin a moment to react. He chuckles. “No, I’m not married. Why, do I give off married man vibes?”

Jungkook pouts a little, pushing Jimin’s hair off of his face and carefully examines his expression. “You haven’t told me your name,” he says with a diffident shrug. “I figured you must have something to hide.”

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Jimin says softly. “I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” Jungkook says slowly, as if tasting the word on his tongue. “It’s nice. Thank you.” He begins unbuttoning Jimin’s shirt, torturously slowly, his tongue poking out to play with his lip ring as he hums. “I needed your name so I know what to scream when I come.” His mouth twists into that shit-eating grin again — Jimin’s growing quite fond of it.

“Should I scream your name when I come?” Jimin says, cringing even as the words leave his mouth. His flirting game is so rusty it’s embarrassing. 

“You can scream anything you want, love,” Jungkook says, syrupy-sweet. “But call me baby. I like to be called baby in bed.”

“This isn’t a bed though,” Jimin responds tongue-in-cheek, squeaking when Jungkook harshly tweaks his nipple. “I— I’m kidding— of course I’ll call you baby.”

“Good boy.” Jungkook reaches behind him, and Jimin hears the familiar pop of a glove compartment being opened. Jungkook throws a few condoms and a bottle of lube into the driver's seat. “I’m gonna ride you right here, hmm?” He phrases it like a question but it’s not — Jungkook is going to do what he wants, and Jimin is going to take whatever he’s given. Gladly. Gratefully.

He must have saved an entire orphanage from a blazing fire in a previous life to have this spectacular man in his lap, begging for his cock. And on his birthday, no less.

“It’s my birthday,” Jimin blurts. He has no idea why he says it.

“Oh, I’m sure it does feel like your birthday, love,” Jungkook croons. He hasn’t stopped his movements, leisurely rolling his hips as they talk, once again seeming to enjoy pushing Jimin to the edge of his patience. “It’s not every day you get to unwrap a present like me.”

“No, it actually is my birthday,” Jimin responds, his words disjointed as he struggles to keep his composure. “Today. October thirteenth. That’s— that’s why I’m here— um, why I was watching the bout, I mean. My friends, ah, took me out to celebrate my birthday,” Jimin says, sucking in a sharp breath as Jungkook unbuckles his belt and pops open the top button on his jeans. “And um, they actually ditched me because they were hoping this would happen,” he continues, gesturing between the two of them. His eyes flick away, cheeks flaring in self-consciousness.

“How old are you today?” Jungkook asks, smiling. He shoves Jimin’s shirt off of his shoulders and lets out a little oooh of appreciation as he sees Jimin’s toned torso. 

Jimin gulps. “Forty.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully. “Don’t look forty,” he says quietly. His fingertips run gentle circles around Jimin’s hard nipples and Jimin unconsciously arches into it, aching with need. “Look perfect,” he adds, his hands sliding down Jimin’s chest, lower, lower until they land on his hips. “Feel perfect.”

“Th-thank you.” Every touch from Jungkook is soft, tantalizing, arousing — maddening. It’s not enough, his fingers never lingering long enough, teasing, leaving Jimin wanting more. 

“You’re so polite and proper, god— it’s such a fucking turn on.” Jungkook snaps the elastic waistband of Jimin’s borrowed sweatpants. “These sweats are certainly convenient in a situation like this,” he says with a giggle, but makes no move to take them off or touch Jimin where he needs him the most. Jimin is achingly hard, and for some reason his own hands still lay uselessly at his sides.

“Can I touch you?” Jimin asks, his hands trembling. “You’re so—”

Jungkook doesn’t give his consent, just grabs Jimin’s hands and places them on his pecs. “Squeeze them,” he says. “Play with my nipples while I open myself up.” Jimin thumbs one hard nub, and Jungkook moans. “Fuck, yes, like that,” he gasps, his whole body shuddering. “More,” he insists, “lick your fingers, make them wet.” He’s not asking, he’s demanding.

Jimin can do that. Jimin wants to do that. He’s at Jungkook’s mercy, and ready to please him in any way he can.

He can’t believe how turned on he is by being told what to do. With Jaewook, especially toward the end, Jimin had had to take all the initiative. It had been exhausting, and often more trouble than it had been worth. And after ten years together, being with someone new should bring up a whole slew of worries for Jimin, but in the moment his mind is surprisingly clear.

He doesn’t have to worry about what Jungkook likes or whether or not he’s doing things right. Jungkook isn’t afraid to ask for what he wants, to tell Jimin how to do it or when. It’s freeing. All Jimin needs to do is lose himself in Jungkook’s touch, in the heat between their bodies, in the zip of arousal spiking through him — no thinking, just feeling.

Jungkook shimmies out of his jeans, and Jimin lets out a low moan at the sight — he’s still wearing the fishnets, with a black Calvin Klein jockstrap beneath, his bulge prominent. “Fuck,” Jimin hisses under his breath. “That’s so— you’re so—”

“I’m so what?” Jungkook asks innocently. “You keep saying that, but it really could mean anything.”

“Sexy. Overwhelming. Arousing. Pretty. Bold.” The words flow off Jimin’s tongue stream-of-consciousness style, and it takes some effort to stop. He grips Jungkook’s solid biceps, squeezing, his left hand glowing white against the inky black tattoos. One last compliment slips out. “Strong.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Did you memorize the thesaurus?” he chides, but he purses his lips to hide a smile — his cheeks flushing in happiness. 

“Cute,” Jimin adds, and that earns him a giggle.

Leaning forward, Jungkook murmurs right against Jimin’s lips, “I won’t be cute for long.” He flicks his tongue and licks over them but won’t grant Jimin a kiss, just nips at his lower lip before pulling away. He tuts when Jimin chases them. “Want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

Jungkook’s cock is hard, the head peeking just over the band of his jockstrap but still trapped under the webbing of the fishnets. 

Taking Jimin’s hands in his, Jungkook places them on the swell of his ass. Criss-crossing string prevents Jimin from truly touching, and he figures this is just another version of Jungkook’s special kind of torture. “Rip them,” Jungkook whispers, fingers tangling in Jimin’s hair, groaning as his cock brushes against Jimin’s leg.

“Rip?” Jimin asks, not following. “Rip what?”

Jungkook braces his hands on the head rest while arching his back, his chest almost flush with Jimin’s face. “The fishnets, love. How else am I going to impale myself on your thick cock?”

“Fuck, okay. Fuck.” Jimin slides his hands lower until his fingers are just over Jungkook’s hole. Forehead resting on Jungkook’s sternum, Jimin can’t see what he’s doing, but he can feel it, and imagine how it looks — the tight netting covering, but not fully obscuring the view of Jungkook’s ass, and for some reason that makes it even hotter. “Here?” he breathes, the tip of his finger prodding the barely covered rim.

Jungkook lets out a low moan. “R-Right there.”

Hooking his fingers through the webbing, Jimin tears a generous opening right over Jungkook’s entrance. Emboldened, he grazes a thumb over it while suctioning his lips over Jungkook’s nipple. Flicking his tongue over the nub, he sucks hard as Jungkook mewls above him.

“Ahh, Jimin, fuck,” he groans, voice raspy. Arching into Jimin’s mouth, Jungkook attempts to throw his head back, accidentally hitting it on the roof of the car. “Owww,” he whines, but follows it up with a “don’t stop, don’t stop,” panting as Jimin pinches the other nipple with his free hand.

“You like that?” Jimin asks when he pops off, laving his tongue over the swollen pink bud. Jungkook’s hair cascades around his face, mouth hanging open as Jimin rubs circles on the rim of Jungkook’s entrance. “Such sensitive nipples, baby.” He nips at it again as Jungkook pushes back against Jimin’s fingers. He grabs Jimin’s chin forcefully and captures his lips, licking into his mouth, the kiss dirty, sloppy, needy — a clash of teeth and tongues that leaves Jimin breathless. 

Reaching between them, Jungkook finally shoves his hands down Jimin’s pants and frees his cock. It slaps against Jimin’s stomach, leaking freely, and Jungkook palms over the head, smearing precome everywhere, groaning when he grips it firmly. It sends a shiver down Jimin’s spin and he curses, voice raspy and broken and they’ve hardly done anything yet. He’s so gone.

“Lube, lube,” Jungkook pants against Jimin’s mouth, handing him the bottle. “Open me up, you do it, you do it.” He strokes Jimin steadily as Jimin lubes up his fingers. “Gonna feel so good inside me, Jimin, hurry, need you. Please.”

“Can you turn around? Is there room?” Jimin asks, gritting his teeth as he tries not to thrust up into Jungkook’s grip. “Wanna— wanna see you. See your pretty hole, baby.”

Jungkook moans a little at the word baby but manages to swivel, draping himself partially over the steering wheel, one knee on the driver’s seat and one between Jimin’s spread legs. “There,” he gasps, wiggling his ass mere centimeters from Jimin’s face, “does that work?”

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, his free hand tentatively reaching out to touch him. Jungkook’s ass is just as muscled as the rest of his body, but round and smooth, and cleanly waxed everywhere. Jungkook’s fierceness and muscles and hard edges have held Jimin in his grip all night — but from this angle, in this position, with sweet desperation falling from his lips, Jungkook is soft, vulnerable. Curvy in just the right places, and from this perspective the contrast of his thick ass against his tiny waist is sinful.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jungkook says, throwing a look over his shoulder, a knowing eyebrow raised. “Like what you see?”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby,” Jimin breathes, “almost too perfect to touch.”

Jungkook chuckles darkly, but there’s a touch of desperation behind it. “You better find a way to touch me right fucking now love, because I need your thick cock, like, yesterday.”

Breathless in anticipation, Jimin puts his lips to Jungkook’s ass cheek. He nips at the netting, then slathers his tongue over it, tasting as much of the smooth flesh as he can. “Sweet as candy,” he murmurs.

Jungkook moans, reaching back with one hand to pull his cheek as far apart as he can. “Star candy?” he giggles, but he’s just as breathless as Jimin. He whines a little and smashes his ass in Jimin’s face. “Hurry.”

Jimin gets the message. He presses a lubed finger to Jungkook’s entrance, pushing in to the second knuckle when he finds very little resistance. “Will you touch yourself, baby?” he asks as he pumps it in and out, getting more and more worked up just from the way Jungkook reacts to his touch. 

“Y-Yes,” Jungkook stammers. He doesn’t bother taking his cock out, just rubs over the head with the heel of his palm, airy little moans dripping from his mouth as he does. “Jimin, fuck, another, another,” he begs shamelessly. His long hair hides his face, but every movement, every sound is greedy, like he’s sucking Jimin’s very soul out of him for his own feverish needs.

“Feel good?” Jimin has two fingers in now, thrusting them in and out, stretching Jungkook thoroughly as he kisses across Jungkook’s ass cheek. Grabbing the fishnets between his teeth, Jimin tears the hole bigger so he can nuzzle and lick at Jungkook’s skin. “Another?” he whispers between kisses, his free hand wrapping around his own cock, stroking it loosely. Jimin is afraid it won’t take much to reach his climax — and he wants to fuck Jungkook very, very badly before he does. He licks around Jungkook’s stretched rim, nose nestled in the crack of his ass.

“Yeah, yes, more,” Jungkook whimpers, finally freeing his cock which hangs hard and heavy between his legs, bouncing as he pushes back against Jimin. “Mark me, leave a mark, leave as many as you want,” Jungkook chants, punctuated by breathless little ah ah ahs, “make it fucking hurt, wanna think about you for days and days.”

Jimin moans and shoves another finger in. Finding a particularly tender spot near the cleft of Jungkook’s ass, he bites and sucks at it until Jungkook hisses in pain — then crooking his fingers, Jimin finds his prostate, stroking against it insistently as he laves his tongue over the sore mark he’s left.

Jungkook keens, his whole body jolting at the touch. He accidentally hits the horn, which echoes loudly off the brick buildings — it startles both of them, but not enough to distract Jungkook from his frenzied need. 

“Oh god, oh my god, fuck Jimin, I wanna fuck you, need your cock, give me your cock right fucking now.” Jungkook scrambles to turn around, landing heavily in Jimin’s lap when he finally manages it. “I’m gonna ride you, m’kay?” he gasps, nipping at Jimin’s neck, stroking first his own cock, then Jimin’s. “Gonna ride you within an inch of your life.”

“At least I’d die happy,” Jimin says— and he means it. He tugs Jungkook down by his locks and into a kiss. 

 

“Think you can handle me?” Jungkook is trying to hang on to his cockiness, but Jimin sees through him now. All that bluster and bravado hiding this sweet, needy baby.

“I can handle you— or I’ll die trying, I guess.”

Jungkook laughs, a big uproarious laugh where he throws his head back, and smacks it on the roof again. He rubs it and pouts down at Jimin. “Don’t make me laugh while we’re trying to fuck! It just makes me like you more.”

“O-oh, yeah, s-sorry.” Jimin laughs awkwardly, hoping that Jungkook didn’t notice the surprised stutter. He likes me crosses his mind for the briefest of seconds, but his thoughts are quickly ripped back into focus — Jungkook is rolling the condom on Jimin’s cock, his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Sweat glistens on his chest, and Jimin can’t help but lick a stripe up it and leave a mark on Jungkook’s collarbone, a surge of pleasure coursing through him as Jungkook cries out his name.

Lining himself up, Jungkook fists Jimin’s hair and pulls his head back. Looking him straight in the eye, Jungkook grins. It’s intense — almost menacing. “Darling, I’m gonna give you the best birthday present you’ve ever received,” he murmurs, steadily sinking down on Jimin’s cock until he bottoms out with a guttural groan. He drops his head to Jimin’s shoulder, panting, leaving open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s skin while he adjusts.

Digging his nails into Jungkook’s hips, Jimin’s eyes roll back as he struggles to hold himself still. Through gritted teeth he says, “Oh fuck, you’re so fu-ucking tight baby, ahhh—” Jimin licks his fingers and rolls Jungkook’s nipples between them, loving the way he mewls and squirms, his cock leaking all over Jimin’s belly.

“Feel— so— feel so big,” Jungkook whimpers, darting forward to steal a kiss. “Gonna make me feel so good.” Sitting up as straight as he can,Jungkook braces his hands on the roof of the car and swivels his hips a little, as if he’s swaying to a song only he can hear. His motions get more pronounced, more rhythmic, until finally he falls forward and begins to fuck himself back on Jimin’s cock with force. “Do I— do I feel good?” he gasps against Jimin’s neck, messily licking over it, then takes his ear lobe between his teeth. Jungkook sits up straighter as he runs a hand over his body, smirking as Jimin’s hooded eyes follow his movements. “Am I an acceptable birthday present? You— you don’t want to return me, do you?” 

From a less confident person Jimin might have taken those questions as self doubt, but he already knows Jungkook well enough to know he’s only fishing for compliments. “No one’s better than you, baby,” Jimin murmurs, “so pretty, so good for me. Taking my cock so well.” 

Jungkook’s movements speed up at the praise and he smiles widely — not in his typical wicked, teasing grin, but a genuinely happy smile that ends in a long moan when Jimin takes Jungkook’s cock in hand. The precum makes the slide slick, and with each stroke, Jimin presses his thumb into the slit, ripping a string of melodic moans from Jungkook.

“Oh Jimin, oh fuck, ” Jungkook gasps, one hand flying to Jimin’s hair, the other braced on Jimin’s sternum. “M’not gonna last long.” His movements have become erratic, and he struggles to keep a rhythm.

“You’re getting tired, baby,” Jimin says quietly, pulling Jungkook close and kissing across his chest. “Let me.”

Gripping Jungkook’s ass with both hands, Jimin thrusts into him rapidly, finding his prostate almost instantly. It only takes one, two, three dead-on thrusts before Jungkook cries out and, screaming Jimin’s name, comes all over the two of them. His whole body quivers and he slumps on top of Jimin, exhausted, his heart pounding like a jackrabbit. Jimin wraps his arms around Jungkook, kissing his forehead tenderly as he shudders through the last of the aftershocks. His cock is still buried deep, rock hard and throbbing, his own release close.

“Jimin, Jimin,” Jungkook pants urgently, tapping Jimin’s chest as soon as his head clears. “I— I need—” 

Brushing sweaty locks out of Jungkook’s eyes, Jimin asks, “You okay? Too much? Want me to pull out?”

Jungkook gives a little nod but clenches down on Jimin’s cock before he can. He giggles a little when Jimin gasps, then dives in, kissing him ferociously. “Come on my face,” he murmurs, pinching Jimin’s nipples. “I want— no, need you to come on my face.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Jimin says, not thinking or caring about how they’ll manage to make it work in the tight space. Jungkook scrambles off of him and Jimin rips the condom off of his cock, scooting back as far as he can in the seat and gripping himself tightly.

“Fuck, c’mon, c’mon, give it to me,” Jungkook whines impatiently, eyes still dilated and speech a little slurred, mouth lolled open, tongue out. He rakes his fingernails up and down Jimin’s thighs. “Wanna taste you. Make me a pretty mess.”

Jimin has never seen a more debauched sight in all his life. Jungkook, with his smudged makeup and spent cock, his ripped fishnets and swollen lips, on his knees in the front seat of a car begging for cum like his life depends on it. And holy shit, Jimin likes it. A lot.

Heat builds, coiling in on itself as Jimin strokes himself roughly, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He weaves his fingers into Jungkook’s hair, tugging a little, locking their gazes. “Just for you, baby,” he murmurs a moment before his orgasm hits him full-throttle. A teeth-chattering shudder passes through Jimin as ropes of white spurt across Jungkook’s face, landing on his tongue, his cheeks, dripping down his chin, and Jimin clings to the door frame to stay upright. 

Taking Jimin’s cock in hand, Jungkook strokes him through the aftershocks, tapping it on his tongue and eventually taking Jimin into his mouth, just suckling and swirling his tongue around it until Jimin stops shaking.

“Oh fucking hell,” Jimin mutters, falling back and tugging Jungkook along. “Baby— fuck. You’re amazing.”

“Happy birthday,” Jungkook says sweetly, pressing a chaste kiss to Jimin’s lips. “I’m glad you liked your gift.” He makes a show of swiping up Jimin’s cum off his face, lapping it up like it’s melted ice cream, but there’s still cum everywhere. Jimin wipes a little off of Jungkook’s eyebrow, then looks down at himself. His shirt, his borrowed (previously clean) sweat pants, and his entire chest is covered. “Uh,” he says, taking the tail of his shirt and trying to clean the rest of Jungkook’s face with it. “We’re a mess.”

“Wait, I might have something we can use.” Jungkook reaches behind Jimin and pulls a piece of clothing out of the backseat, wiping his face with it and then wiping down Jimin’s chest. “I’m sorry I don’t have any more clean pants for you,” he says with a giggle, “but at least you won’t be quite as sticky now.”

Jimin grabs the black piece of cloth, dabbing at a glob behind Jungkook’s ear when he realizes what he’s holding. “Are these— are these my pants?”

“Ahh, fuck, I guess so. I just grabbed the first thing I found.” Jungkook chews on his lip ring, eyes worried. “Shit. Are you mad?”

There’s nothing to do but laugh about it now. Nothing about this night, nothing about this year has gone as Jimin had expected, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s just that euphoric post-nut afterglow of the best orgasm he’s ever had, but right now Jimin doesn’t give a shit about designer clothes or exes who didn’t even bother to cheat on him or what he should be doing or feeling at his big age of forty years old. Even a beer-soaked, cum-stained pair of brand new Dior pants can’t shake his good mood. Jimin hasn’t felt this alive in years.

“No, I’m not mad,” Jimin says with a chuckle, wrapping Jungkook into a hug as an excuse to keep him close, just for another second or two. “Could never be mad at you, baby.” His heart does a little flip at the surprisingly honest admission, but he recovers by flinging his pants into the dark backseat. “Fuck those pants.”

Jungkook pulls back and gazes at Jimin fondly. He gently removes sweaty locks of hair from Jimin’s forehead — which is sweet, but as clarity returns to him, Jimin feels self-conscious. He glances away, patting down his hair, imagining how terrible he must look. Hurrying to button up his shirt, Jimin sees his phone, which had fallen to the floor. It’s lit up with missed notifications.

“Fuck.” Jimin had completely forgotten he was supposed to be waiting for his Uber — which had just left. “I missed my ride. And a call from Kai.”

Jungkook covers his mouth, trying to hide his smile. “Oops. Sorry— I guess I accidentally distracted you.”

Jimin huffs out a laugh. “Accidentally.” It was worth getting ditched and missing his ride, but now what? He supposes he could call Kai back and demand he come back to pick Jimin up.

As if Jungkook had read his mind, he pipes up. “I could give you a ride.” 

“A-a ride?” For just a split second Jimin has a vision of Jungkook riding him — at his home, in his bed — until his sex-warped brain snaps back into place. 

“Not that kind of ride, you perv,” Jungkook teases, pecking Jimin on the lips again then struggling into his jeans. “You already got your birthday cake tonight—” he pauses to smack his ass, “but I’m absolutely not leaving you here by yourself, so forget that idea right now. I’m taking you home.” Jungkook seems to realize how that could be construed and clarifies, “To your house, I mean.” He shakes his head and turns pink, which almost makes Jimin coo. He’s never seen Jungkook’s flustered side before. “ Fuck , that’s not— what I meant is that I’m going to drop you off at home. At your home. Alone.”

Laughing, Jimin says, “Don’t worry, I got it. And thank you. I accept.” Under his breath, loud enough to be heard in the quiet car, he mutters, “Can’t blame me if I did misinterpret it though.” There’s no point in denying it. Jimin can’t pretend like he wouldn’t want a repeat if he had a chance — which he won’t, but if he did— 

“Hmm.” Jungkook smiles like he knows a secret. “I suppose not.” 

There’s that grin again, and it takes everything in Jimin not to kiss it off his face, the cocky little shit.

Jungkook throws his hair up into a ridiculously messy bun on the top of his head and puts his keys in the ignition. “Okay, so show me where Mr. Fancy Pants lives.”