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two sides; same story

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Okay, so maybe Jimin thinks his neighbor is hot.

A little.

Okay, maybe a lot.

Occasionally Jimin will look out his bedroom window and see Jeon Jungkook shirtless. That guy runs a marathon at least once a day, taking laps around the small lake in front of the apartment complex; and for some reason, he never EVER has a shirt on while he’s doing it.

The sight makes Jimin’s heart do some weird thumpy thing.

And on a day like today, an overcast Sunday that Jimin had literally absolutely nothing constructive to do, ignoring Jungkook became nigh impossible. Any distraction would have been welcome—hell, Jimin would have even voluntarily gone to work overtime hours if it wasn’t a Sunday. Anything was better than being trapped, staring out the bedroom window, longing and lusting after a boy who had only spared Jimin a brief glance once (when they both awkwardly ran into each other while getting the mail).

And it would be different if not for the fact that Jungkook lived right next door.

It would be different if not for the fact that Jimin could see all the times that Jungkook hides away on the balcony, nose tucked into a book, reading with such intensity that Jimin feels something stir within his own soul. Everything Jungkook did, Jimin noticed, was done with intensity.

It would be different if not for the fact that Jimin can very clearly hear the way Jungkook sings in the shower, when he thinks no one is listening. Jungkook has the voice of an angel, Jimin learns.

Jimin has never once spoken a word to Jungkook, but in some odd way, he feels like he understands the intricate moments of his neighbor’s life.

It takes a whole two months of living next to the boy for Jimin to realize that, inexplicably and inexcusably, he had a crush.


 

Carefully balancing the grocery bags against his chest, Jimin clumsily reached up to slam the car trunk closed. He’d always been too stubborn to make two trips; his limbs would be twisted at unnatural angles, and the bags would threaten to spill all over the ground, but he would always manage to take all the grocery bags on one trip. Without fail. One trip.

It was a matter of personal pride.

Jimin hobbled over to the staircase up to his apartment (forgetting to lock the car, naturally) and slowly began his ascent. A lone can of crushed tomatoes tipped over and was lost in the fray, falling to the floor with a metallic ‘thud’. The first casualty.

Next went the bag of steel-crushed oats. Casualty number two: that’s what Jimin gets for trying to eat organic.

He had almost made it to the very top of the staircase with only two lost items; that was a new record. Of course, Jeon ‘Fucking-Bane-Of-Jimin’s-Existence’ Jungkook suddenly had to turn the corner to the stairwell.

Jimin fell back with a yelp, startled by the unexpected appearance. In a flurry of broccoli and uncooked spaghetti, Jimin slowly felt his body tipping backwards. This is it, he managed to think. This is how I die. Surrounded by organic produce, scared to death by my fucking neighbor. How embarrassing.

Did Jimin internally squeal like a little girl when he felt a study hand grab his wrist? Maybe, possibly. The giddiness was almost enough to override the fact that Jungkook’s grip had probably broken his wrist.

Squeezing his eyes shut at the clatter of food rolling down the staircase behind him, Jimin winced heavily and felt himself being pulled back up.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry Jimin, are you alright? Oh shit, are you okay?”

Jimin couldn’t deal with this right now. The embarrassment, mixed with the frustration of losing all his goddamned groceries, had tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He began mumbling at a rapid-fire pace, feeling frustration and mortification bubble up in his throat. “Yeah, I’m okay, shit, need to get the groceries—”

“Hey, take it easy, I’ll help you. Are you sure you’re good?”

Finally looking up, Jimin found himself staring directly into Jungkook’s concerned eyes. God, he was even more beautiful up close. Jimin chastised himself for this stupid, schoolgirl puppy-love he was falling victim to. He was a goddamned junior in college—a grown adult. He shouldn’t still be getting flustered like this.

Jeon Jungkook had that effect on people.

It wasn’t until Jimin slowly nodded that he finally felt Jungkook’s hands loosen their grip around his arms.


“Shit, shit, shit,” Jimin hissed as he desperately tried to slide to glass door closed. Until about five minutes ago, it had been a lovely day to sit on the balcony and enjoy the springtime air. Book in hand, Jimin had been perfectly content to lay back and absorb the sunshine, relishing in the gentle breeze.

Where did this fucking monsoon come from, all of a sudden?

To say that Jimin was completely soaked would be a vast understatement. Not only had the rain caught him completely by surprise, waking him from his nap and ruining his book, but now the fucking door was jammed. A perfect end to a perfect day. Ignoring the way his ice-cold shirt clung to his skin, Jimin groaned and forced all of his body weight against the sliding door.

It didn’t budge. Jimin was on the verge of giving up. As soon as he moved to the bathroom to grab the shower curtain and some duct tape, Jimin heard a frantic knocking on his front door. What the hell?

Of course it was Jungkook. Of course Jungkook was standing at the front door, staring back at Jimin with an equally bewildered expression. Horrified, Jimin realized that while Jungkook was perfectly dry, he himself was dripping wet, clothing sticking to every inch of his skin.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I saw you trying to get your balcony door closed, you looked like you needed help—”

Please,” Jimin practically whimpered. “Please.” He must have looked hopelessly pathetic, dripping wet and whining, like a cat that gotten caught in the washing machine.

Without another word, Jungkook’s (strong, warm, dry) body pushed past Jimin’s and rushed into the living room.

Jimin looked on with a mixture of admiration and humiliation as the boy pushed on the sliding door and, very slowly, shoved it closed. Jimin really did try to forget the way Jungkook’s arm muscles bulged, the way his neck tendons strained, the ungodly groans that he made as he invested every ounce of his body into shutting this goddamned door—

God, Jimin was in deep.

“Thank you so much, can I get you anything? Do you need a glass of water? Oh, you’re… soaking wet…” Jimin paused, trying not to look too hard.

For half a second, Jimin could have sworn Jungkook blushed. (Wishful thinking?)

“If you have an extra towel I could borrow…” Jungkook trailed off, peeling his shirt over his head and wringing it out in the sink. It took everything Jimin had not to yelp at the sight.

“Towel! I have one of those, let me go get a towel!” Jimin darted into the bathroom and took a deep breath. You’re a fucking adult, Jimin. Pull your shit together. You’ve seen shirtless men before, ones who were more built than Jeon Jungkook.

But none of them had been as gorgeous as Jeon Jungkook. Fuck.

Jimin grabbed the nearest towel and rubbed his temples. He could do this.


 

It was two weeks later that Jimin finally saw Jungkook again.

He could tell it was Jungkook the second he heard the knock on the door. Honestly, Jimin probably had some kind of ESP.

“Coming!” he yelled, nearly knocking over the coffee table in his frenzied attempt to untangle himself from his pile of blankets. It was one of those dreary kinds of afternoons—the kind of afternoon where the best thing to do is stay inside and curl up, watch whatever marathon is on television. Which is exactly what Jimin had been accomplishing, until he was interrupted.

Flinging open the door, he barely saw Jungkook behind the massive cardboard package the boy was holding. “This is addressed to you, but they dropped it off on my doorstep,” came the muffled voice from behind the box.

“My lamp!” Jimin exclaimed with joy before he could stop himself. God, now he probably sounded like a fucking dork. “Oh my God, that’s gotta be heavy, come inside,” Jimin stepped out of the way and allowed Jungkook to bring the package in. “Do you need help?”

“No, it’s not that bad,” Jungkook replied, voice straining. He delicately set down the box on the kitchen counter and turned to Jimin, rubbing his neck. It didn’t take long for Jimin to notice the grimace on Jungkook’s features.

“Is something wrong, did you strain a muscle?” Jimin’s voice was laced with concern.

“No, I just worked a little too hard at the gym yesterday. My back’s tense.”

“I can help,” oh shit, why did I say that, why did I say that, “I’ve been told I give pretty good back massages,” why am I still talking, why is my mouth still open, oh god—

Jungkook smiled slightly, and Jimin’s brain completely ceased all activity. “That would be great, if you don’t mind.”

Jimin had a heart attack. Stuttering, he attempted to point to a spot on the floor where Jungkook could lay. Holy shit, there’s no way this was happening. Oh, God, Jungkook just took off his shirt; it’s like the guy knows exactly what he’s doing to Jimin. He’s a fucking tease. A lovely, shy, oversized tease.

Jungkook dropped onto his hands and knees and laid facedown, his back muscles rippling and flowing with his every movement. After taking a moment to collect himself and sending up a quick prayer of thanks, Jimin slowly knelt down beside the boy and hovered his hands over the expanse of skin in front of him. Alright, this wasn’t so bad. Gently kneading his palms into the area between Jungkook’s shoulder blades, Jimin realized could handle this; everything would be okay, as long as Jungkook didn’t—

Jungkook fucking moaned.

Just when Jimin was beginning to believe he had control of the situation, Jungkook just had to go and moan, and Jimin was suddenly back to square one. Jimin’s hands froze with fear, not daring to budge another inch, until Jungkook finally whispered, “Please, keep going, Jimin.”

It took every ounce of restraint in Jimin’s soul to not flip the boy over and straddle him right then and there. There’s no way Jungkook doesn’t feel the sexual tension. There’s no way.

But, by the skin of his teeth, Jimin somehow managed to press on. Softly running his hands along the younger’s back, he began to feel a series of tight knots and quivering muscles. One by one Jimin eased away all of the kinks, his fingers smoothly digging into the skin and massaging just the right spots. It was getting harder to ignore the way Jungkook’s muscles tensed and his breath hitched every time Jimin grazed over a sore spot; it was getting harder to ignore the whimpers of pleasure. But Jimin tried to concentrate on the task at hand. What’s a simple, friendly, intimidate, half-naked back massage from one friend to another? No biggie. Nothing out of the ordinary.

God, Jimin thought as Jungkook let out an especially loud whine. I’m in way too deep.


 

He’d been holding off on this for days now.

After the ‘massage incident’, as Jimin had dubbed it (an incident which had ended with an awkward ‘thanks, see you around’ and a whole lot of blushing), things had been pretty quiet. There were a couple of brief greetings here and there, the occasional ‘good morning’, but no extended interactions. It was driving Jimin insane.

He’d tried so hard to resist doing this, but it was just getting too damn unbearable. The sounds Jungkook made were playing on an infinite loop in his head, and it was impossible to mute. The moans, the whimpers, the vibration of his muscles, the soft feeling of warm skin under Jimin’s hands—it was getting to be too damn much, magnifying and growing like a disease in his own head.

Jimin’s fingers paused at the waistband of his sweatpants as he stared at the dark ceiling, contemplating. Everyone in the entire apartment complex had to be asleep by now. If he did this, Jimin knew there was absolutely no going back. Whatever slippery slope he had been fighting against, Jimin was aware that if he did this right now, he forfeited any control he had left.

Fuck it.

His hand ducked down to squeeze himself over the fabric. He was growing impossibly harder by the second, and a jolt of pleasure rocked through his veins as he slowly began massaging his aching cock. Letting out a harsh breath, Jimin ran his other hand over the taut muscles of his chest and roughly scratched down his abdominals, leaving angry red marks. The slight shock of the pain mixed beautifully with the throbbing desire between his thighs.

If only these were Jungkook’s hands. God, Jungkook has such massive hands, they would feel so good gripping his hips just a little too tight, wrapping so firmly around his cock—

Jimin whined, a little louder than intended.

He was already so sensitive, and he had barely even started. The mere thought of Jungkook’s hands, Jungkook’s mouth, Jungkook’s everything—it sent licks of fire shooting down Jimin’s spine and straight to his core. He felt his legs quivering and his toes curling as he slowly, delicately, slid his fingers under the sweatpants and grasped his bare shaft. With a hiss, Jimin lightly pumped his cock, imagining Jungkook’s long, rough fingers instead of his own. He wouldn’t last long like this.

Pure ecstasy took hold of Jimin’s mind as his hand gripped tighter and smeared pre-cum down his length. It was too good, too hot. Blood was pumping in his ears, his vision went blurry, and he no longer had control over the hushed string of whimpers that escaped his lips.

Electric pleasure ran all throughout his body as he increased his pace. Jimin suddenly saw Jungkook’s gorgeous face, lips cradling his stiff member, eyes flashing with challenge and sucking harder. He felt his hips involuntarily jerk off of the bed, and he desperately clung to the sheets with his free hand. A thin layer of sweat covered Jimin’s body—he could feel it dripping down his neck and his thighs. With a throaty groan, he squeezed his eyes shut and pumped faster, harsher.

By now he was so hard, so intolerably hard, his cock was slick with pre-cum, and every movement sent pleasure careening through each crevasse of his body. Jimin paused to roughly run a finger over the slit at the tip of his cock, shivering at the impossibly powerful sensation. He wanted Jungkook’s tongue now, he imagined that tongue skimming over the tip, teasing and swirling, driving Jimin insane with every little flick.

Jimin had never been this sensitive, this horny, not once in his entire life. He could barely move anymore, everything was just too damn good. He couldn’t take it anymore.

Tightly grasping his shaft, Jimin felt like he was on fire. He began rutting into his own hand, desperately and blindly seeking after his orgasm, his hips snapping up and shooting unadulterated pleasure throughout his body with every thrust. A familiar coil tightened deep in his stomach, threatening to snap at any second. With a high-pitched moan, Jimin felt tears form at the corners of his eyes and his mind became Jungkook, nothing but Jungkook’s fingers and tongue and cock—

Every muscle in Jimin’s body went impossibly taut as he let out a cry, his senses exploding and stars filling his eyes. Unbridled ecstasy rocketed through his veins, filling him so completely, pooling in his sensitive cock, shit shit shitshitshit, fuck, it was too good—Jimin whined, letting out a string of words he couldn’t even comprehend, letting the pleasure wash over him.

Strings of white cum covered Jimin’s chest and fingers as he slowly eased himself down from his high, hand gently moving, regaining his senses and breathing for the first time in what seemed like years. It wasn’t until a few moments later that he realized how loudly he had shouted Jungkook’s name when he came.


 

Unbeknownst to Jimin, on the other side of the wall, mere inches away, knelt Jeon Jungkook—one palm clenched around his own cock, the other shoved into his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep from screaming out Jimin’s name as cum covered the sheets. These walls were awfully thin, after all.