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Jungkook knew more ways to break a mop than ways to actually use one. He told the skinny lady with the frizzy bun that, but she rolled her eyes and walked off, leaving him in a sinfully clean locker room with a mop and bucket. He haphazardly scrubbed a quarter of the floor, then spotted a bowl of dried flowers on the cracked-cinderblock window. No dressing room should be this clean, even one in a dance studio. “Water break,” he muttered, and stomped out.

Pink crepe curtains. There’s no way anyone couldn’t mistake this place for some old widow’s house from the outside. The floor had fucking rose-patterned carpet. His worn-out skate shoes probably would’ve given the rug a heart attack fifty years ago, but they fit in remarkably well with the mold stains and ripped edges. He felt grimly satisfied.

Up a claustrophobic staircase and across a narrow hallway, he caught a glimpse of smooth, smooth wood floors and mirrored walls. Some guy sat crouched on the floor listening to artfully mournful crooning out of an old stereo, three metal studs in his left ear, a little bit of punk inside a pink and plaster asylum. Jungkook smiled.

“Hey! You!”

The boy with earrings may have looked up, but Jungkook snapped around and came face to face with the skinny lady with the frizzy bun, and every bit of the bile-inducing authoritarianism he’d committed himself to despising at the age of thirteen. “At least bother to learn my name.”

“What are you doing up here?”

“Procrastinating. You scared I’m gonna break another window?”

“Among other things. Stop wandering around and go finish. And I’m starting the clock over. It’s only been ten minutes.”

“Fuck.” He didn’t mean to glance back, but he disrespectfully turned away for effect, hands in his pockets, and he caught sight of the other guy’s face in the mirror, staring at him, soft black eyes and soft lips, soft hair, and a sharp-as-glass jawline, sugar sweet as the kitten paintings in the stairway. The presence of earrings couldn’t forgive him those tiny shorts and the “keep calm and dance on” t-shirt, but even as Mrs. Frizzy Bun all but shoved him back down the stairs, he felt like going back, like sitting in that room full of mirrors and seeing that face from every angle, reflected back and forth across the space, a room of angels.

 

Fuck fake friends. Those assholes hadn’t even flinched when the window shattered, just cackled and pointed fingers as the skinny lady with the frizzy bun, the studio owner, stormed out holding his scratched up skateboard and shrieking like a fucking banshee. They were probably at the skate park now, and he was on his knees in a bathroom that smelled like chemical roses, scrubbing porcelain. Day three of fourteen in dance-studio-hell, compensation for the window. He should never have tried a trick on a ramp pointed straight at the side of a building.

“Whoa. Hey. Mind if I use that?” Someone asked from right behind him, high pitched, but sharp and rough. Probably some stupid teenager.

“Yeah,” Jungkook snapped, “I’ve got my face in it right now.”

“Should I piss in the sink then?”

“No!” He whipped around and nearly ran into the crotch of a pair of workout shorts. He recoiled back far enough to see the giggling face of the guy he’d seen in the studio upstairs, eyes nearly closed with the force of his wide smile. He looked like the essence of puppies distilled into human form. Today the earrings were painted gold and glass diamonds. It put Jungkook off a little.

“Sorry,” the guy said, “I smell pretty terrible.”

“Yeah. Don’t use this toilet till I’m done with it.”

“Fair enough.”

Jungkook went back to work.

“Um…How long will this take?” He had a pleasant breathy edge to his voice.

“Like, a minute. Hold on.”

The guy shifted against the wall behind him, foot tapping. “You, um, you don’t look like a housekeeper. Is this your job? Are you gonna be here all the time?”

Jungkook brushed over that not-very-subtle suggestion of hope, because this guy was NOT his type, and it would be arrogant to just blurt that within a minute of meeting him. He liked skinny tomboys in beanies and ripped jeans. “I’m here for two weeks because I broke a fucking window. And then I’m never even passing this fucking street again.”

“Oh I heard about that,” the guy said. “What’s your name?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Nice. I’m Jimin.”

“Okay.”

He finished, stood to leave the stall, and found himself staring a couple inches down into Jimin’s smoky eyes, chests inches apart. Jimin didn’t move away. Those pouty lips looked like candy. Jungkook flicked his own lip ring lightly with his tongue and watched Jimin’s eyes flicker down to it, chest rising. Cute.

“Move.”

Jimin looked back up under his lashes kind of reproachfully, and shifted away from the door frame with a sigh. Jungkook shuffled out and started in on the sinks as Jimin pissed loudly in the stall behind him, not even bothering to close the door all the way. Jungkook could see his back in the mirror. He hadn’t noticed how nice that ass was before, and went from annoyed to flustered very quickly. Jimin gave him a subtle side-eye over his shoulder as he re-adjusted his shorts.

He washed his hands and left the bathroom without another word, but the way he nudged against Jungkook’s hip, banged on the paper towel dispenser, and sauntered out of the bathroom with a distracting swing of hips could not have been unintentional. Jungkook briefly considered re-examining his type, because the sexually-confident, adorable-dancer combo was doing something for him. He shook his head. The guy had been wearing a butterfly tank top. His friends would never let him live it down.

 

Jungkook glanced him in the studio as he was washing windows the next day. He was teaching kids ballet, hand on the bar, arm out gracefully, yelling directions as the class warmed up. Jungkook snorted in disgust. Ballet fell in line with opera, Shakespeare, and the Mona Lisa in his mind, old as fuck art by white men that elitists shoved down the throats of every new generation. He’d never trusted the respected canon, chosen to read comics instead of Hemingway, learned to tag buildings rather than paint canvasses, and took to the skate park when his family thought he was at soccer practice. Fuck the conventions. They felt too clean. He needed some grit and scabs in his life.

“Still here?” Jimin asked late that evening. Jungkook dropped his vacuum in surprise. Jimin stood outside the showers, hair dripping onto his bare skin.

“Four hours a day,” Jungkook murmured miserably, letting his eyes wander over Jimin’s tight, sculpted little body, small but compact. “Forgot someone was in there. Didn’t classes end, like, two hours ago?”

Jimin shrugged, making his way over to a pastel pink set of lockers, like something straight out of a high school drama targeted at elementary school girls. Jungkook picked the vacuum back up and tried to keep his eyes off Jimin’s very defined back as he pulled a pair of sinfully tight jeans up under his towel. Would Jimin be the heroine is this high school drama, or the pretty bitch? He dropped the towel away, bringing it to his hair. Jungkook felt a terrible urge to go stick his hands in Jimin’s back pockets to feel the curve of that ass under his palms.

Jimin turned around, looking through his lashes, condensation still shimmery across his shoulders. “So. Jungkook, right?” He practically purred.

“Yeah?”

“What do you do for fun?”

“I don’t fuck ballet teachers.”

Jimin was quiet for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Well that’s presumptuous. And stupid. We’re hot.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Would you fuck a hip-hop dance teacher?”

“Why? Do you teach that too?”

“Yeah. Contemporary is how I started. That’s what I’m best at.”

Jungkook fought the 'I don’t care.'

“I don’t care. Do you flirt with all the bad boys you meet?”

“Not very nice,” Jimin said, taking a couple steps closer and turning off the vacuum. “What’s wrong with ballet, huh? Too girly for you?”

Jungkook snorted. “Fuck off. I’m not that shallow. It’s too formal. It’s for old people fixated on elitist bullshit about culture.”

“You’re pretty shallow.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“It’s not elitist bullshit,” Jimin said quietly. Jungkook looked him in the face, planning on putting on a show of putting his earplugs in as Jimin tried to speak, but Jimin had dropped the seductive posturing. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders hunched slightly, apparently unaware of how it made his upper arms bulge. “People love ballet because it's beautiful. It would be a shame if we lost it.”

“It’s not for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Just don’t—get your hands off your earphones. Rude as fuck, dude.”

He looked earnest and maybe a little bit hurt. Jungkook blinked and dropped them back down to hang from his collar.

“Ballet is old, and people have been learning it for centuries, so lots of modern styles are built off of ballet. I didn’t start with ballet, but when I started getting really serious about dance, I learned it, because it’ll stick around longer than the trends, and it’s the fastest way to improve. It’s technique. Don’t knock it. Sure it’s old and formalized almost to the point of ritual, but it’s important to a lot of people.”

“I’m a proponent of counter-culture,” Jungkook had, which sounded like a really flimsy response.

“I guessed that,” Jimin said drily.

“What gave me away? The Nirvana t-shirt or the eyebrow piercing?”

“The fucking skateboard through the window,” Jimin said. “You’re making a lot of statements with your clothes, but I don’t believe those quite as much as someone firing a skateboard through the window of a dance studio and then having the nerve to be salty about repaying the poor owner.”

“She’s a bitch.”

“Missy’s a diva, but she’s sweet, and fair. She didn’t call the cops on you, did she?”

Jungkook felt his face heat up. “Fuck off,” he murmured unhappily, staring down at the ancient vacuum hanging from his hand. It was probably old enough to be considered retro by this point. Retro and also useless. And a buttery 50’s yellow, which clashed horribly with Jungkook’s rubber Metal Band bracelets and eighty-dollar skate shoes, the confusion of clashing aesthetics.

“Fuck me,” Jimin muttered in response, finally pulling a shirt over his head, some pink cancer fundraiser dance thing. Jungkook watched the smooth skin disappear from view, and then stepped forward, his hand brushing deliberately up Jimin’s zipper and under his shirt. He could feel Jimin shiver as he pressed harder, pushing him backwards. Jimin went easy as anything, until his back hit the lockers and Jungkook kept leaning in, pushing harder, until Jimin’s abs were tensed and rigid under his hand, his chest rising and falling shallowly. He leaned in close, Jimin’s lips inches from his own.

“You really want me that bad, huh? Even though I’m a shallow, rude punk?”

Jimin nodded just a little, eyes wide and needy, palms flat against the lockers.

Jungkook leaned in even closer, till he knew Jimin could feel his breath hot on his mouth. His eyes slipped closed, waiting. “Sucks,” Jungkook whispered against his lips, and watched as Jimin’s eyes blinked back open. He brushed his thumb over Jimin’s abs one more time, and then pulled away, loving the slow gasp that fell from Jimin’s mouth, the way his body caved forward a little like he wanted to chase him.

“You’re not my type,” he said.

Jimin blinked, hands gripping the lockers behind him, lips hanging open, head dropped back. “Bullshit,” he whispered.

Jungkook winked, then realized he had to make a cool exit, which was impossible with all the fucking cleaning supplies, so he just picked up the butter-yellow vacuum, switched it back on, and tried to vacuum without dropping the intensity. Jimin raised his eyebrows, snorted, then picked up his stuff and left. Jungkook’s self-worth and dignity followed him out. He waited a few seconds to make sure Jimin was well and truly gone before he slid down the wall and flailed around, kicking the vacuum.

 

On Saturday afternoon, Jungkook picked up his phone, expecting an answering sext from the cute girl he’d met in the Wal-Mart parking lot last week and found an angry text from Missy, the skinny woman with the frizzy hair. Boner kill. “Fuck. I’m two hours late for dance studio cleanup,” he told Namjoon, who snickered.

“That sucks so bad. Better get going.”

“I don’t wanna!”

“Can’t be that bad. It’s one small house.”

“She’s making me replace all the air filters in the house today. I had to paint and reorganize a storage closet yesterday. It all sucks. And one of the dance teachers is trying to seduce me.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Is she hot?”

“He’s a ballet teacher.”

“He--pffft. That’s, um…That’s cute.”

“Eh. Yeah. He’s kinda scornful though.” Jungkook lay back on the concrete, legs hanging into the bowl. The sharp, slicing whoosh of rubber wheels cut up right next to his leg, and he had time to open his eyes and see Taehyung clearing his legs before his board snagged the wall and he tumbled down into the deep end.

“If you don’t have the trick, don’t fucking do it over my legs!” Jungkook yelled. Taehyung snickered apologetically at the bottom. Yoongi skated up on his goofy scooter and intentionally slammed into into Taehyung’s board, sending it flying. Taehyung shrieked and giggled, chasing after it. The park was fairly empty today, or they would’ve killed several small children by that point, just smooth, cracked concrete in odd curves and ledges under the hot sun. Jungkook felt like his shoes were made of lead. “I don’t want to go.”

“You made a commitment,” Namjoon said. “You’re morally obligated. It’s better than answering to the cops.”

“I’m enslaved!”

“You could totally pay for it out of pocket.”

“Fuck that.”

“That’s what I thought. Go say hi to that ballet teacher for me.”

On Saturdays, an upper-level modern dance class took over the second floor. Hordes of hot, preppy, dance girls with long legs and tiny shorts filled the space, so Jungkook took his sweet time on the chores, eyes everywhere. He knew several girls had caught him staring, but girls never seemed to mind with him. He even got one to twerk for him on the condition that he try it after her. He succeeded. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

The second-floor studio must have been the master bedroom at one point, because Missy’s office was definitely meant to be a walk-in closet, a hole in the mirrors at one side of the room. Jungkook stood just inside the office door and watched the class fill. Jimin stretched near the back wall, legs in a full split, chest on the floor in front of him. Jungkook’s mouth watered a little.

“Jungkook, what are you doing just standing there?”

“I have to change the filter in there. It’s the only one left.”

“There’s one in here too. Just do that one and wait for class to be over. It’s only two hours.”

“Wait for—two hours? This will take me five minutes! Let me do it now!”

“No. Class should have already started. Wait.”

“You’re a bitch!”

“You’re not convincing me to let you go any earlier.”

Jungkook chucked his screwdriver at the floor.

The filter turned out to be a real ass. The screws on the grate were nearly rusted shut, and he almost stripped them trying to force them off, swearing and clanging away all the while, clearly audible whenever the music stopped, some upbeat, electronic heavy song, vaguely recognizable. Maybe a remix of something? “Shut up!” someone snapped at him during one quieter moment. Jungkook flipped them off without looking up. When he finally got the grate off, he nearly choked to death coughing on all the dust. Missy stuck her head in to make sure he wasn’t dying, threw him a water bottle, and then left him to deal with it on his own.

He paused for another cough attack by the trash can out back and considered grabbing his board getting the fuck out, leaving the last filter completely undone.

The sun set slowly, throwing the back street behind the studio yard into deep shadows that glowed at the edges. If the boys had left the park yet, they’d be home playing GTA or Smash Bros. Early summer felt like freedom and old games, like sweat down his back and the rush of asphalt under his wheels. Maybe a new tattoo. He’d been there for three hours already. It would be totally justified if he left. He wasn’t even being paid.

He’d yet to see Jimin dance. Little ballet teacher or not, he was curious.

“Fuck,” he murmured to the alley, and it stared impassively back at him. He went back inside.

They’d just begun a break. Jungkook edged towards the last filter along the far wall. Maybe if he could just get this done quickly.

The class was pressuring Jimin to do the dance in full for them again. Had he choreographed this? That would make sense, since he was teaching the class.

Jimin giggled and assumed position at the front of the room. Everyone rushed to line the mirrors, blocking Jungkook into the office. He leaned on the doorframe at gave himself up to watching.

Jimin moved like smoke off a candle, like a countermelody to the music. Jungkook didn’t know a lot about dance, but he knew beauty when he saw it. Jimin was artful eroticism, glowing in the sunset through the back windows, fast and wild and completely super-human. He’d never known that much grace was possible in a person. It looked effortless, pure sex and joy. He’d never appreciated pop music quite as much as he appreciated the way Jimin’s hips hit the beat.

Jimin looked right at him when he finished, and Jungkook shuddered. Jimin must have seen something, because he smirked before collapsing onto the floor, breathing heavily. The crowd jumped back up to keep going.

Jungkook sat in the doorway of the office for the rest of the class, phone in hand, but mostly watching the way the dancers picked it up. There were favorites, people who were definitely better, who moved easier and matched up closer. The twerking girl kept giving him eyes as she danced, and she was good, but he didn’t even care, because Jimin was still the biggest force in the room, a bubbly personality and a sexy voice, the attention of the entire room focused in on himself, and he glowed. Jungkook felt the infatuation set in like late nights binge-watching a new anime, like seeing a new trick and realizing after twelve hours in the park that he’ll be skipping sleep, food, and homework till he gets it right.

When class finished, Jungkook changed the filter in a daze, then walked downstairs, right past twerking girl, who tried to catch his eye, to where he hoped Jimin would still be taking a shower in the locker room. Jimin was just buttoning his pants, towel still in his hair, make-up washed away and still as beautiful as if he were sculpted.

“Jungkook?”

“Do you still want me to fuck you?”

Someone else in the room cleared his throat loudly. Both Jimin and Jungkook glanced over at two very wide-eyed men still changing on the other side of the room.

“Uh, yeah?” Jimin said.

“Your place or mine?”

“Whoa,” someone said.

Jimin blushed, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “What happened to not being your type?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Fuck type. Figured I’d try you out.”

Jimin couldn’t hide his grin. “Bitch. My place?”

“Cool.”

 

Jimin’s apartment was a tiny studio, the kitchen in one corner, a small bed against the back wall, folded down, spotlessly clean. He had a corner apartment, windows on two walls, string lights everywhere, bright and easy on the eyes if you were someone that liked pastel succulent planters and decorative throw-pillows from Target. Jimin pulled off his backpack and and grabbed something out of the fridge. “I’m sorry about this, but I’ve gotta eat before we do anything. Dancing takes a lot of energy.”

“Sure.”

Jimin heated up a Tupperware container as Jungkook leaned against the counter, staring around and trying to ignore the silence. Jimin had a Keurig. Huge waste of money.

“How old are you?” Jimin asked suddenly.

“Nineteen.”

Jimin smirked at him. “Oh no. Baby can’t even drink yet.”

Jungkook snorted. “Never stops anyone. Are you twenty-one then?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed the Tupperware out of the microwave. “Do you want this on a separate plate or should I just hand you a fork?”

“Just give me a fork.”

They ate unevenly warmed stir fry and jasmine rice out of the plastic container together. “Sorry if this is weird,” Jimin said. “I just didn’t expect to have you over right after a two-hour dance class.”

“It’s fine. If you do anything that turns me off, I’ll tell you, and then you can just start dancing and I’ll stop having problems.”

Jimin giggled, eyes bridging into slits, the kind of smile that reassures and warms. Jimin finished the last bite, chucked the dishes in the sink, and grabbed Jungkook by the front of his shirt, forcing him close. “Kiss me,” he murmured, and Jungkook couldn’t respond for kissing him so fast, lips hungry, little noncommittal nips that somehow completely failed to feel unattached.

“You taste like soy sauce,” Jungkook murmured, the tip of his tongue brushing lightly against Jimin's lower lip.

“I love soy sauce,” Jimin said, and dragged him to the bed, hands already up under his shirt, mouth attached to his neck. Jungkook let him lead. He demanded what he wanted like he couldn’t breath without Jungkook’s skin against his. “Lube’s under the bed,” he gasped, yanking his shirt off. “You got condoms?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook murmured, digging them out of his wallet before it disappeared along with his pants.

“Please hurry,” Jimin whined, pulling Jungkook’s shirt over his head, one hand running happily over his abs, “I want you.”

Jungkook kissed him, really kissed him, kissed him like he’d kissed his high school girlfriend the day before she moved to Colorado. Jimin melted, hands going still for the first time, clinging to Jungkook’s shoulders. "You have a tongue piercing?" he gasped, and moaned, quick and quiet and swallowed up, and Jungkook wanted more.

It wasn’t long after that that Jungkook had Jimin’s pants hanging from one leg. Jungkook’s silver barbell met the underside of Jimin’s dick and he nestled it right under the head, moving it in tiny circles. Jimin’s back twisted, breathes getting shorter and shorter.

“Surprise,” Jungkook murmured.

“Guh. Fuck. Jungkook.”

Jungkook swallowed him back down and listened to his moans break, breathy and scratchy as his chest heaved.

“Gonna come real fast if you keep doing that,” Jimin said.

So the next time Jungkook so much as touched Jimin’s dick was while he was sitting behind him, staring at his impossibly round, impossibly cute butt, three fingers in his ass, easing him through the stretch with a couple gentle pulls. “Beautiful, baby. You’re so good,” Jungkook murmured automatically, glad Jimin couldn’t see the rapturous expression on his face that came with confronting the world’s most perfect ass.

Jimin whimpered, “Get in me.”

Jungkook rolled him over, one hand holding his wrists over his head, the other steadying against his hip. “Wanna see your face,” he murmured, slicking up the condom on his dick. Jimin just panted, eyes dazed already.

Jimin’s ass swallowed him up, and his eyebrows twisted upwards, mouth falling open, rolling back against him, dancer grace and desperate want, arms still over his head. If Jungkook thought Jimin was beautiful when he danced, it was nothing compared to how he felt under him, how he looked.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Jungkook whispered, and this time he meant it. Jimin opened his eyes, debauched and swimming wet. “You’re so amazing, Jimin,” Jungkook murmured, and Jimin yanked his hands free to clutch Jungkook face.

Jimin fucked like panic, but he came like he had all day, long and drawn-out, body tensing and slowly releasing, trembling with aftershocks that went on for what felt like minutes. Jungkook followed him over and just sat there over him for a couple minutes, taking in the sight of Jimin’s post-orgasm bliss face. His hair lay scattered all over the pillow, skin dewy with sweat, the dim light reflecting on the edges of his muscles.

“I’m gonna clean up.”

“Okay,” Jimin murmured.

Afterwards, Jungkook lay curled around Jimin like a kitten and nosed against a fresh hickey on his neck. “You in school for dance?”

“Yeah,” Jimin murmured sleepily, “and I have a really successful YouTube channel. You?”

“Graphic design. I wanna be a designer for skate brands.”

Jimin chuckled. “You’re going to have to study stuffy old painters at some point, Mr. Counter Culture. Get that art history in.”

“Can’t be edgy all the time. Society frowns on that shit and I do actually need a job eventually.”

He felt Jimin grin against his skin. “’Edgy’,” he snorted, “I hope you’re not serious.”

“What if I am?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“What’s your name? Why did I sleep with you?”

“I’m a sexy dancer. What are you good at again?”

“Ow. More than you. Skateboarding. Drawing and Designing. Singing. Rapping. Dancing, actually. Darts. Pool. Backflips. Beer pong. Shots. Most sports. Looking hot AF. Fucking your mother.”

“You were sounding pretty cool until that last one. Get out of my house.”

“I’m too sexy for this little fairy cave anyway.”

Jungkook didn’t manage to slip away while Jimin slept until two in the morning after hours of sitting against the wall, flicking through Instagram between long minutes of staring at Jimin’s body half buried in sheets. Namjoon was the only one awake. “What the hell, Jungkook?”

“I slept with the ballet teacher.”

Namjoon cackled. “Wow. Okay. Well, take it where you can get it, I guess. Rate it out of, um, lets do twenty-two this time.”

“Solid nineteen.”

Namjoon nodded appreciatively. “Damn. Gettin it. You gonna do it again?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Only one more week left at the studio. I’ll probably hit that a couple more times and then move on. He’s a good fuck, but I said ‘edgy’ and he fucking laughed at me. His apartment is fucking spotless. Like, if a rich hipster designed a hotel and made my mother clean it. It’s unnatural. He looks like a puppy when he doesn’t have bedroom eyes. And, of course, he does ballet. I don’t think we click.”

“You do you,” Namjoon murmured, eyes already back on the game, “and let him do him. If you don’t click well together, get rid of him.”

“Yup.”

“Wanna play?” Namjoon held up the controller. Jungkook tossed his skateboard on the ground and took it.

 

Jungkook woke up craving Jimin and thought “oh shit.” Sunday meant no duties at the studio, so he got an entire day in the park, and spent much of it sitting on the side wishing he was at the dance studio, maybe in the showers, or up against the mirrors, Jimin’s soft skin under his palms.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked. “You, ah, sore from last night?”

“Shut up.”

Yoongi cackled. “Knew it. Get up and skate, bro.”

By dinner he just wanted to get away, like a hollow hunger in his chest, and it pissed him off. He was in this too deep already. He barely knew the guy.

As goofy and confusing as Taehyung was, he always knew when he should listen instead of tease. Jungkook walked into the room Taehyung shared with Seokjin, pulled the headphones off his ears, and fell sideways into his lap. “Stop playing ‘I am Bread.’”

“But it’s the best game ever invented!”

“I haven’t had a crush this bad since high school.”

Taehyung pushed the computer away. “Not on me, right?”

Jungkook snorted. “On you? Gross.”

“Ow.”

“I don’t mean bad like ridiculously invested bad, I mean bad like bad decision bad, like the girl from junior year that I talk about sometimes who did ecstasy and didn’t wear underwear to school. He’s okay for a good fuck, but we don’t mesh, and I really should not be feeling all these emotions.”

“Oh, the guy from last night. The ballet teacher. What’s his name?”

“Not telling you. I’d never fuckin date him, so I don’t know why my mind is so fixated on this.”

“You’ve just got a case of raw sexual attraction then. Happens to all of us.”

“Yeah I figured that out.”

“Why you freakin out then? It’s not a crush; it's infatuation. It only feels like emotional attachment. Don’t worry about it. Keep having sex while it lasts, and eventually it’ll wear off and you can run off and find someone else. You’re super lucky. That shit makes the best summer fling. You have a ton of fun and lots of sex and a great experience over the summer, and then you ditch it without regret when you have to go back to school. Life experience. It feels like living in a movie.”

“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

Taehyung shrugged. “This really cute girl during the summer after high school who was 4’10’’ and liked cupcakes and tiny, high-waisted shorts. That entire summer felt like porn.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect actual, solid reassurance and advice from you, but thanks.”

“You’re welcome?”

“I’m probably not gonna take that advice.”

“What? Why not?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I don’t want you guys to meet him, and that’s probably reason enough. He’s too cutesy and a little arrogant.”

Taehyung nodded slowly. “You know we didn’t judge Namjoon that one time he slept with a really crazy chick, right? We’re not gonna judge you on this.”

“We totally judged Namjoon for that. Like, a lot. Especially you. And remember when Seokjin brought that flaming, aggressively gay stripper home for a night and Yoongi actually kicked him out the next morning, like opened the door and planted a foot on his ass and he nearly broke his neck falling down the stairs, and then he wouldn’t even look at Seokjin for a week?”

“Yeah okay. Never mind.”

 

“My roommates are out. Come home with me,” Jungkook murmured against Jimin’s lips. They were back against the stupid pink lockers, and Jungkook couldn’t make his mind shut up, couldn’t make himself stop pressing closer. The fan hummed in the showers, and he could feel Jimin’s lungs expand under his ribs.

Jimin hummed and rocked his ass back against Jungkook’s hand. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve gotta play a little hard-to-get, don’t I?”

“No. You’re so easy.”

Jimin went from adorably smiley to offended and sexy in a second. “Fuck off! You’ll be lucky if I ever come home with you now. I have work after this.” He shoved at Jungkook’s chest. “You’re not that hot, you know. I wouldn’t be losing much if I—”

Jungkook stuck his hand down the back of his pants over the soft, soft skin, still cool from the showers. Jimin whimpered brokenly and dropped his head back against the lockers.

“So easy,” Jungkook murmured. He’d never quite understood the “drinking it in,” and “thirsty AF,” metaphors before Jimin. Jimin against him felt like chugging water after a long workout, like he’d spent too much time without him to ever stop touching now, the same kind of needful craving, so satisfying. He latched his mouth onto the side of Jimin’s neck and listened, felt the rattling whine against his lips.

“I have to go,” Jimin whispered. “I’ll be late.”

“Fuck the system.”

Jimin squirmed under him. “That is such a turn-off. Who are you? A teenager from the mid-2000’s? I’m an adult with responsibilities.”

“What, you like the system?”

“What does the system even have to do with this? Works better than most. What would you even replace it with? Socialism? Anarchy?”

Jungkook backed off enough to look him in his wide, sincere eyes. “I’m trying to make out with you. Why are you bringing into question my life philosophy?”

“You don’t have an answer!”

“I don’t have to. I don’t like what the system does to people. I don’t want to conform to it.”

“Here’s some philosophy for you. Thomas Hobbes says life outside society is ‘solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.’ He claims that any system, no matter how fucked, is preferable to anarchy. You think you know better than Hobbes?”

“Who the fuck is Thomas Hobbes?”

“One of the biggest names in Western political philosophy. He was big on individual rights and equality, so you have him to thank for that.”

“Goody for him. How many centuries old is he? Like, five?”

“Well, about, yeah—”

“I don’t care about Thomas Hobbes.”

Jimin sniffed. “You don’t seem to care about anything.” Jungkook got a couple nasty flashbacks to his mom staring down her nose at his ear piercings when he turned fifteen, the way she’d openly scoffed at Taehyung the first time he’d started ranting about aliens within her earshot. So scornful and superior.

“Fuck this,” Jungkook said, stepping away and grabbing his board.

“Wait, Jungkook—”

Jungkook let the door slam shut behind him.

He saw him later that night, skating up at 11:00 p.m. on a whim. Jimin opened the door and relief swept across his face. He kept them in the doorway for a few minutes, licking into his mouth, arms tight around his waist. “I didn’t think you’d come back,” he murmured. “I thought you were done with me.” Jungkook kept his lips on Jimin’s and said nothing, but felt himself matching the way Jimin clung, the way he filled the empty spaces with reverent touches and claiming marks.

He only stayed for a couple hours, long enough to watch Jimin fall asleep still covered in spunk, sleep soft and beautiful in the sheets.

 

“Tell me about him,” Namjoon said.

“About who?”

“Don’t give me that. I heard you get back in at 2:00 a.m. again last night, whistling all the way up the driveway. How’s your ballet teacher?”

“He’s hot.”

“Show me a picture. Tell me more about him. You’re terribly quiet this week.”

“No. Feels like a violation of privacy or something. He’s not something for you assholes to gawk at. Also I’ve already looked at his Facebook page and you probably wouldn’t be impressed, so I’m not telling you his name or showing you anything.”

Yoongi appeared at his elbow. “He’s actually ugly, isn’t he?”

“No!”

“Then what? Is he, like, a walking gay pride parade or something?”

“Not my type, Yoongi. No.”

“That’s why you’d be cagey about it. You already said he’s not your type at all, so I’m guessing based on what I’ve heard you make fun of before.”

“I haven’t ever made fun of…Wait. That guy was wearing a dildo patterned shirt, Yoongi. Was I supposed to say nothing?”

“Does your ballet teacher wear dildo patterned shirts?”

“No.”

“Is he a fucking hipster?”

“Maybe? I don’t see him out of dance wear very often. Why am I giving you details? No. I’m not answering anything else. Shut up. I’ve gotta go to the studio soon anyway.”

It had come to his attention the previous day when he saw an Urban Outfitters bag beside a henna patterned record player on a dresser covered in succulents, that Jimin had exactly that soft pop-culture-hipster aesthetic that Yoongi and Taehyung laughed at on the streets all the time. He’d clammed up completely.

 

“Stay,” Jimin murmured sleepily against the pillow. Jungkook stopped with his pants halfway up his legs and sat very still, hoping Jimin would just fall asleep so he could slip out. “Please,” Jimin added, one small hand curling around his wrist. “I want you to be here when I wake up.” Jungkook reflexively turned his palm into Jimin’s and laced their fingers together. His palm dwarfed Jimin’s. Jimin squeezed weakly and pulled Jungkook’s fingers to his lips.

“You’re so adorable,” Jungkook sighed, and kicked his pants back off. Jimin smiled as he slid back into bed beside him and pressed his lips to his forehead. Jimin brought his lips up to Jungkook’s and kissed him lingeringly, one bare leg sneaking over Jungkook’s hip.

Jungkook’s hand strayed down over his ass again, fingers kneading. Jimin hummed and went still, then tentatively licked over Jungkook’s lip piercing. Jungkook smirked. “You like that?”

Jimin nodded and brought his hand up to tap the eyebrow piercing. “Does that hurt?”

“No. I’ve had it for two years now.”

Jimin cradled Jungkook’s face in his hands and stared. “You’re so hot. You really make the punk look work for you. I love your tongue ring.”

“You ever thought about getting piercings?”

“Besides all the shit in my ears?”

“Yeah, besides that. Those are kind of typical, especially when you start using glass diamonds.”

Jimin eyes slid off to the side and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “oh fuck off. I want nipple piercings,” into the pillow.

“You’re kidding.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“You like this?” Jungkook asked and flicked his finger over one of Jimin’s nipples. He jolted and grabbed Jungkook’s hand.

“Don’t. Feels weird.”

Jungkook stared challengingly at him for a minute and then smoothed gentle circles over it. Jimin’s eyes slammed shut and he took a shuddery gasp. “Please don’t. Not now. Too sensitive. Don’t wanna get hard again.”

Jungkook doubted that, but he kept his mouth shut and moved his hand back to Jimin’s ass. “But you’re okay with this?”

“That’s just nice. It's not quite as bad.”

“Jimin, what kind of music do you listen to?”

“Top 40 hits, some classical music, Trap on the weekends and stuff from the eighties when I’m at my parent’s house. Oh don’t look so disgusted. What do you listen to?”

“Metal.”

Jimin waited for a moment. “Is that it?”

“EDM?”

“…Okay.”

Jungkook sighed through his nose. “You don’t understand, mom. It’s not a phase. This is who I am.”

Jimin giggled. “Did you wear eyeliner and chains, and refuse to get a haircut in high school?”

“Yes. Shut up. Were you the gay best friend of all the popular girls?”

“’Popular girls.’ Life ain’t a high school drama, you know. And yes. I was. But I don’t like talking about that time in my life.”

“You drink pumpkin spice lattes, don’t you?”

“You drink Monster energy drinks, don’t you?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with pumpkin spice lattes?”

“You’re such a white girl.”

Jimin sighed and rolled away from Jungkook, whose hand slipped off his ass. “Bring that back here.”

“Nah. Go home.”

“Are you really that fucking offended that I called you a white girl? Seriously? Get a grip.”

Jimin gave him a pathetic kicked puppy look. Jungkook got up off the bed and yanked his clothes on, nearly tripping over a couple flower pots on the way out. “Fucking hipster,” he muttered, and Jimin said, “Hey,” a little distressed, but Jungkook was already yanking the door open.

He made it up to him the next day in the bathroom before classes started, right after he caught Jimin standing half behind the doorframe and staring apprehensively at him like he was scared to approach. He teased his tongue ring in Jimin’s slit, one hand fisting his own cock, the pink and cream tile under his knees making him feel like he’d stepped into the wrong aesthetic. Jimin’s cotton-candy blue workout shorts stretched under his hand. Something felt perfect, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.

 

Missy bid him adieu early on the last day, gave him a surprise cash bonus, and left him sorting files on her office floor. He’d positioned himself so he could watch Jimin teach some guy the dance from Monday. The other guy picked it up alarmingly fast, and then they switched to a duet that was visibly harder than Jimin’s dance. He dropped the file folders and watched.

“This is Hoseok,” Jimin said during a water break. “He’s better than me.”

“No no!” Hoseok yelled, grin sparkly. “I’m just more focused. You can do more styles.” He turned to Jungkook. “What style do you do?”

“Um. Park, mostly, but street too. I’m kind of an all-rounder. I’d like to try out vert, but it's kind of hard to find a place. I’m not, like, awesome, but I’m good.”

Hoseok looked completely blank.

“He’s a skateboarder, Hobi, not a dancer.”

“Oh! Oh okay, I get it. Nice! Show me some tricks?”

“Nah. I’ve already broken one window in here.”

By the time Hoseok and Jimin went downstairs to change, it was pitch black outside, and Jungkook was still sorting files. Boring faded into monotonously peaceful, moonlight visible through the windows and the soft hum of air conditioning clicking in and out of existence, the kind of late-night busy loneliness that felt somehow both sublime and mundane.

Jimin came back up with damp hair when Jungkook nearly had all the files sorted. “I have to lock up,” he murmured quietly, and it was still too loud in the echo-y room.

“I’m nearly done.”

“Okay.”

Jimin sat down beside him, and Jungkook turned, caught him by the waist, and pushed him easily down onto the hard floor. Jimin sighed and stretched himself out, accommodating to Jungkook’s weight settling over his chest. His eyes fell closed. Jungkook slipped Jimin’s shorts off and smirked, snapping the band on his briefs. “These are sexy. Bright red? It’s like you knew this was gonna happen.”

“I had an idea,” Jimin rumbled with his soft, rough voice, like flannel, and pulled a small bottle of lube out of nowhere.

“Did you have that in your underwear?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re disgusting. Give me that and sit up here.” Jungkook turned him towards the mirror and pulled his shirt off. Jimin sat there, upright on his spread knees, nothing but the little red briefs on his body, all firm thighs and golden skin for days. He smirked a little at his reflection. “Damn, I’m hot.”

“Yeah you are,” Jungkook murmured, sliding his hands around his waist the hook his thumbs in the band. He didn’t take it further yet, just let his hands rest there and rub small circles as he worked Jimin up with small bites to his neck, his tongue flicking gently under his ear.

“Damn. You’re hot too,” Jimin murmured, his hand sliding into Jungkook’s hair. “Look at this.”

He did. There he was, fully clothed in black denim and a white band t-shirt, a beanie on his head, gauges in his ears, with an angelically fresh, unmarked man in front of him, staring intently at himself. He turned his eyes back to Jimin’s smooth skin and nuzzled into his soft hair, one thumb rubbing lightly over a nipple.

“Love your piercings,” Jimin said, “love your style. You’re seriously my middle-school wet dream. I guess I never got over that.”

“You like punk skaters?”

“They get me so wet.”

“I can’t let you near any of my friends then.”

“I doubt they’re as hot as you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Please let me near your friends.”

Jungkook snorted and reached into the red briefs to rub teasing circles down the soft skin on either side of his dick, fingertips and knuckles occasionally brushing against things that made Jimin shiver, his head dropping back against Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook took out his phone and took and picture of the mirror. Jimin just smiled and arched further for a better shot.

“Send that to me.”

“Okay.” He didn’t have Jimin’s number. He’d deal with that later.

He pushed Jimin face-first onto the floor and pulled the briefs off, then stopped everything and ran his fingers over the curve of his ass. “I’ll never get tired of this,” he murmured, feeling the curve gently. Jimin whimpered, his hips twitching against the unforgiving floor.

“Hurts. Jungkook!”

“Shh,” he murmured, and lowered his face down to kiss each cheek. Jimin went rigid, hands curling, forehead pressed to the wood. “Love this,” Jungkook murmured, biting one cheek and jostling the other to watch it jiggle. Jimin whimpered. “Get up here a bit,” Jungkook said, pressing and hand between his legs and hoisting his ass up closer to his face.

With the first press of tongue against his fluttering hole, Jimin moaned high and breathy, sweet and soft. Jungkook flattened his tongue and drew it slowly across his entrance, his piercing catching on the rim. Jimin shivered and gasped, and Jungkook pressed a quick kiss to him, fingers lightly around his balls. He speared him on his tongue and thrust slowly in and out, the piercing nudging inside with every drag. Jimin’s loud breathes rang in the room.

He tasted clean skin with a little soapy tang, and some slight sour edge, like the beginnings of sweat. It was completely dry and strange, eating ass, but Jimin’s desperate moans, near sobs, were so much more satisfying than the throaty encouragement most girls gave him, a distracting imitation of porn stars. He almost forgot to stop, just tongue and teeth and lips as Jimin whimpered and tensed against the floor.

He finally popped open the lube and crooked a finger into his hole, sliding gently in and out, still a tease. “You’re loose from yesterday.”

“From all week,” Jimin gasped back, eyes screwed shut, cheek against the floor.

Jungkook slid in a second finger and then crawled forward, leaning low on his forearm over Jimin’s body, shirt and jeans brushing against his skin. “Look up,” he murmured into Jimin’s ear. “See how you look in the mirrors.”

Jimin glanced up, shoving his hair out of his eyes with a shaking hand, and his eyes widened, taking in the sight of himself, flushed and naked, body bent and warped under Jungkook fully dressed over him. “Oh god,” he whined.

“You called?” Jungkook answered. “Tell me what you want.”

“Eurggh, you ass. I need more.”

Jungkook went back down to flick at the rim with his tongue as he thrust and twisted his fingers.

“Touch me,” Jimin said.

“No. And don’t touch yourself either. My show, my rules.”

Jimin whimpered. Jungkook glanced down between his spread legs and precum on the floor where the tip brushed against the shiny wood. He laughed breathlessly, pants straining. “You’re dripping so much, baby.” Jimin huffed.

Jungkook finally unzipped his pants and Jimin groaned. He pulled the condom on left handed, his right still sucked knuckle-deep inside Jimin’s dripping hole. He slicked up and pulled Jimin upright, the leftover lube on his hands making shiny patches against Jimin’s chest. He brushed over a nipple and Jimin’s eyelashes fluttered.

“Watch,” Jungkook ordered, and Jimin opened his eyes and watched Jungkook push up into him from behind, inch after inch disappearing into tight, slick velvet until they were pressed together. Jimin writhed against him, panting like he was moments away from coming. Jungkook stilled and got his phone back out. Jimin’s head lay back against Jungkook’s shoulder, his arms hovering uselessly in the air, fingers twitching slightly.

He filmed a few seconds of themselves in the mirror, Jimin collapsed against him, gasping, rocking with Jungkook’s slow, even thrusts, his dick hard and blushing red, chest pushing against Jungkook’s fingers on his nipple. “Filming you,” he murmured.

Jimin whimpered, “harder,” and pleasure spiraled tighter into Jungkook’s dick. He dropped his phone and grabbed Jimin’s hips to steady himself, then started punching in quicker. Jimin shifted around a little and then gasped and cried out, sagging forward onto his elbows.

“There! Oh god, Kookie, right there.”

“Kookie? That’s cute. Can I call you Puppy?”

Jimin shuddered wildly. “Wanna come.”

“Hold out, puppy. Wait for me.”

Jimin shook under him, grinding his ass backwards against Jungkook’s thrusts. “Please,” he whispered.

“No,” Jungkook said, and Jimin sobbed, face twisting. Jungkook pulled out and rolled Jimin onto his back before diving back in. Jimin grabbed the front of his shirt and held on. One hand went over his face as he cried, and Jungkook kicked up the gear, pushing his legs back as far as he could get them, nearly to the floor over his head. Jimin went completely limp, hands dropping away from his face.

“Baby, you gotta help me here,” Jungkook murmured. His eyes blinked open and he stopped moaning so much, staring up into Jungkook’s eyes. “Hold your legs here.” Jimin’s small hands came down from over his head and curled around his legs, shaking.

Jungkook sat up, still thrusting hard, and picked his phone up off the floor. The video from before was still recording. He ended it.

“Oh god,” Jimin muttered, and closed his eyes, one hand came off his leg so he could cover his face. Jungkook smiled a little and snapped a couple photos, thankful for the bright studio lights.

“Snapchat,” he murmured.

“What!?” he squeaked.

Jungkook giggled. “I’m kidding. Don’t need that. We’re fucking in a bright room in front of a wall of windows, and I think you like it.”

Jimin dropped both his legs, locked them deftly around Jungkook’s waist, and rolled them sideways like it was nothing. Jungkook slammed into the floor, gasped, and refocused with Jimin grinding aggressively down on top of him, still impossibly graceful. He felt abruptly small. “You asshole. What are you even going to do with those videos?”

“Watch them when I’m alone,” Jungkook gasped, hands all over Jimin’s lovely thighs.

Jimin’s black hair bounced as he threw his head back, and Jungkook took another photo.

“Please, please, please let me come!”

Jungkook pulled him right down on top of him, arms tight over his back, and planted his feet, pumping quickly. Jimin moaned and kissed him, panting into his mouth, his dick rubbing up against Jungkook’s abs where his shirt had ridden up.

“Is that enough, puppy?”

He got two more thrusts into Jimin before he gasped, tightened up, and flooded Jungkook’s abs with heat and wet. Jungkook worked him through it, and as always, Jimin came forever, his forehead resting against Jungkook’s, eyes squeezed shut, quiet, breathless moans interrupted by gasping, shuddering aftershocks. As he slowed down, Jimin shakily pushed himself up onto his elbows and pulled off, then shifted down his body and pulled the condom off Jungkook’s dick and swallowed him down, one hand clutched around the base, much smaller than Jungkook’s own hand.

Jungkook tangled his hands in Jimin’s hair and held on, closing his eyes and just letting himself sink into the feeling. Jimin worked him down within minutes and swallowed as he came. Jungkook opened his eyes when he felt human again, and looked down to see Jimin lying cuddled between his legs, nothing but skin against his black denim, and big, sleepy eyes.

“I messed up your shirt,” he said quietly.

Jungkook pulled it off over his head and wiped himself off with it. “I can ride home shirtless. No big deal.”

“You’re not coming back on Monday, right?” Jimin looked soft and small, delicate and superficial. The glass diamonds glittered in his ears. Not very punk rock of him. Good week, good sex, time to leave him behind. Jimin’s hand lingered casually high on Jungkook’s inner thigh, small fingers peeking up next to his softening cock, the easiest gesture. Jungkook swallowed.

“Right. So. It was nice knowing you, I guess. The sex was awesome. Thanks for making this whole thing bearable.”

Jimin blinked and stared for a moment. “Your welcome. Do you wanna, like, keep in touch?”

“I gotta get home.” It didn't exactly answer the question.

Jimin’s eyes were very wide. He started pulling his clothes back on. Jungkook’s stomach twisted a little.

“We should, um, clean this place up.” Jungkook walked off to grab the supplies and did a quick wipe-down. Jimin stood there with his arms around his body and watched.

“You’re sure?” he nearly whispered as he locked the door on the front porch.

Jungkook hesitated. Jimin’s face looked so flawless in the lamplight, strong shoulders under his hoody and pretty, soft hair. Jungkook couldn’t stop a little bit of a lump from rising in his throat. But Jimin tried to lecture him about philosophers and made fun of him for words he and his friends used. He did ballet and was friends with Missy, and not enough beauty in the world made up for the awkward stalls after sex when they realized they had nothing to talk about. Best to end it before things soured, before his friends met him and wondered when Jungkook had turned into such an idiot for picking up preppy dancers.

“I’m sure.”

For a painfully long moment, Jimin seemed to swell, breathless, mouth open, eyes earnest, learning forward a little on his toes, he looked like he was on the verge of pleading. Jungkook wished he would, felt so ready to change his mind. Then Jimin walked away into the dark with one hoody sleeve pressed over his face.

 

“Is he Park Jimin or Jung Hoseok?”

“I ditched him a week ago, guys. It doesn’t matter. How did you find out their names?”

“The fucking website, dude. There are only two registered dance instructors that are men your age, and they’re Hoseok and Jimin. Which one is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I found them both on Facebook,” Seokjin said. Namjoon, Taehyung, and Yoongi all jumped across the room and nearly attacked the computer. “They’re both pretty hot, so that doesn’t help.”

“Which one started making bitchy posts about punk kids about a week ago?”

“Neither of them, unfortunately. The Hoseok one posts a lot of memes and dance videos and the other one posts practically nothing but Buzzfeed and Urban Outfitters sales. I don’t know which is worse.”

“Give it up. That’s old news.”

“You’ve been moping all week, Jungkook. Just go to the studio and get the guy’s number. We don’t care if he sucks. He’s just a fuckbuddy anyway.”

Jungkook choked down a “he doesn’t suck,” and retreated to his room so they’d think he didn’t care.

He’d spent too much time curled up over his phone, thumb flicking slowly through the photos and videos he’d taken in the dance room, and the one photo he’d taken of Jimin’s face as he slept beside him. “Moping,” Namjoon yelled at him every time he passed him lying on his back at the edge of the concrete bowl, impeding skaters. “Go talk to him. You know where he works,” Taehyung said.

“Talk to who?”

“Don’t be an ass. You’re upset. Go talk to him.”

“I feel embarrassed with him. That’s not a good sign.”

He became conscious of a sick sort of longing sometimes, when he saw clean-cut kids in pastel clothes in the mall, or when he jerked off late at night thinking of small things, like shoulders and jawlines, like the sound of a sweet, breathy voice moaning in his ear. Once it turned from moaning into the waltz from Sleeping Beauty, Jimin’s peaceful face as he taught eight-year-olds how to spin to that tune, and Jungkook had to stop and pull up the loudest porn he could remember just to keep going.

“This is fucking you up,” Taehyung told him. “We don’t care how much of a flake he is. If you want him, go get him.”

“He’s too good for me,” Jungkook muttered.

“Well that’s a useless cliché if I’ve ever heard one, and completely opposite of everything you’ve said so far. What makes you say that?”

Jungkook fiddled with his phone for a moment. “I don’t know. Dramatic effect?”

“You know, for someone who acts so cool all the time, you can be a huge fucking idiot.”

“Shut up. He was always lecturing me about philosophy and judging things, and, like, the worth of ballet, and shaming me for my taste in music. I don’t know. He reminded me of my mom’s stupid superiority complex. But…”

“Oh damn. We’ve got an Oedipus complex up in here.”

“Fuck off.”

“Your mom is indeed too good for you. Fine AF.”

“Taehyung, I will push you down the deep end when you least expect it.”

He dreamed of Jimin that night, Jimin in just skin lying across his white sheets, talking about aesthetic and beauty. “You get it, don’t you?” dream-Jimin asked, glass diamonds glinting between his fingers, flickering string lights blurring in the background. “Succulents are the key to inner peace.”

“I get it, I get it,” dream-Jungkook said, just to make him stop talking.

“Good. You need to. You want to be a graphic designer, right? If I give you money, whatever you design for me better fucking have succulents in it so everyone knows where I stand in life.”

“But I want to design for me,” dream-Jungkook said.

Dream-Jimin just shrugged. “Put a picture of my dick on a skateboard. You never sent those photos to me, you know, but that would be your aesthetic. My dick. On a skateboard.”

“You’re so fucking conceited,” dream-Jungkook said, standing up, voice rising in panic. “Chocolate cupcakes are so much better than vanilla cupcakes. You need to understand that!”

What? Oh wait, that had been a different argument with his father when they’d tried to get him cupcakes for his tenth birthday, and Jungkook knew that cool kids all had chocolate cupcakes and not vanilla ones, but his dad had ended up buying the vanilla ones anyway just because he thought they tasted better.

“Vanilla is so clearly superior,” dream-Jimin said lazily, and the glass diamonds in his hands became tiny, white cupcakes. Dream-Jungkook blinked and Jimin was wearing those tiny red shorts. “Thomas Hobbes agrees with me.”

Dream-Jungkook tried to reign the conversation back in, because he couldn’t fathom when Jimin, Thomas Hobbes, and his own parents had gotten together and discussed this, but he didn’t want to have to think about them meeting at all. “My aesthetic would not be your dick on a skateboard, you conceited prick. It would be pink lockers with graffiti all over them.”

“Ah,” dream-Jimin said, a wiggling puppy eating the cupcakes out of his hands, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

 

He woke up wanting vanilla. It seemed like mid-morning already, mottled sunlight just hanging on the edge of his windowsill instead of stretching across his bed. The dream hung onto his mind, making his room uncertain and odd. Off in the living room, all the other boys yelled loudly and then shut up fast. Jungkook rolled his eyes. Probably watching a horror movie at ten in the morning.

He’d had an alarm set for nine-thirty, so it was probably close to that. He searched around the bed for his phone and didn’t find it. Someone in the living room yelped again. He sighed and stomped out to ask who took his phone.

They were all huddled around Taehyung on the couch, staring at the screen of a phone with Jungkook’s plain black phone case on it, various looks of delighted shock on their faces.

“The fuck are you guys doing with my phone?”

They all looked very caught, and then Taehyung said, “So it’s Jimin, is it? He let you call him Puppy?”

“HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET INTO MY PHONE?”

“He’s so cute!” Taehyung yelped, jumping behind the couch to try and hide. “I’d give you shit for that nickname, but it fits him.”

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU GO THROUGH THOSE VIDEOS? AND SHOW PEOPLE?”

The others had scattered, leaving Jungkook on one side of the couch and Taehyung on the other, poised to flee.

“Yeah, talk about violation of privacy,” Namjoon snickered, “but that guy is fucking hot.”

“So flexible,” Taehyung sighed, and Jungkook sprinted over the couch, took a flying leap, and just barely managed to snag his ankle. Taehyung crashed into a bookshelf and nearly knocked his teeth out, then lay there giggling. Jungkook crawled up his legs and whacked every piece of his body that he could reach.

“You fucking punk! Give me my phone back!”

Taehyung hit play as Jungkook wrestled it out of his hands, and the room filled with Jimin moaning, Jungkook’s own voice, tinny over the speakers, murmuring “Filming you,” and Jimin gasping back “Harder!” Jungkook’s fingers went numb with panic. He exited the video, closed the app, and then silenced the phone just to be safe.

“Don’t bother. We’ve already been through all of them, like, twice,” Taehyung said. “You didn’t really get his face well in anything.”

“I know,” Jungkook whined, all the fight leaving his body as he stared miserably at his home screen. His face felt like it was about to burn off.

“I’m a little half-hard. Not gonna lie,” Seokjin said.

“You perv!” Taehyung yelled.

“You’re the one that kept playing the videos!” Yoongi said, “Don’t act like it wasn’t doing something for you too.”

“I’m never letting any of you touch me ever again,” Jungkook said.

“You two are seriously hot together.”

“That’s terrible, Taehyung. I don’t give a shit about you seeing me having sex. It’s embarrassing, but I’ll get over it. Jimin hasn’t even met you guys and you’ve already seen him getting it up the ass. Not cool. He’d probably be horrified.”

Taehyung looked suitably ashamed. “Should I apologize to him?” he asked.

“I really hope he never meets you.”

“It's sweet that you care so much,” Namjoon said, leaning over the side of the couch with a sappy smirk on his face. “Do I sense some affection and emotions in there?”

Jungkook fucked off to the skate park without saying another word to anybody.

 

“Starbucks,” Jungkook said, “We’re in Starbucks.”

“What’s wrong with Starbucks?” Namjoon said, scooping whipped cream off the top of his frap with a straw. “You get too caught up in brand loyalty sometimes. Or disloyalty. Stereotypes. You’re a little, uh, pretentious.”

“Coffee costs three dollars here! I don’t want to support this corporate scam! I’m cheap, not pretentious! And conscientious about the economy and supporting local coffee shops. There’s one only three blocks from here, but no, Starbucks it is.”

Summer windows are never cold and calming like they are the rest of the year, so Jungkook didn’t know why he’d taken the window seat three deep in the two-person booth, shoved up against the not-cool glass with his ass half up on Yoongi’s thigh beside him, Taehyung hanging out into the aisle on the other side. His skateboard jammed into his back, dirty wheels facing the seat, grip tape rubbing his arm raw, but he couldn’t get up the energy to move it. One end dug into his ass. Yoongi’s dirty wheels sat across his lap. Sweat stuck his pants to his smothering legs. He wanted to go home, strip, and sleep in a cold shower.

“I’m nearly out of weed,” Yoongi said out of the blue, face stuck in a mobile game. “Can we head over to Bobby’s after this?”

“If he’s even awake,” Namjoon said. “Sounds good, though. I need to show him the Lapras I hatched yesterday.”

“How do you keep getting 10k eggs?”

Jungkook had given up on playing Pokémon Go after he ate shit for the twentieth time trying to play and skate, shattering his phone and bringing his number of Pokémon related falls up to more years than he’d been alive. He opened Snapchat instead.

“You know why I love Starbucks,” Taehyung said, “People watching.”

“True! Look at that old black dude over there. That is one pimped out cane. It’s covered in animal carvings.”

“Oh good one. I was talking more about the cute cashier with the red hair though. She’s got grey eyes. If there hadn’t been such a long line behind me I would’ve tried to get her number.”

“You would have made an idiot out of yourself,” Yoongi said. “You always do.”

“That’s how I get ‘em,” Taehyung chirped, “Girls love the confident, funny idiots, especially ones as cute as me. The nice girls, anyway.”

“How many numbers have you gotten that way?”

“I don’t know. More than ten.”

Jungkook doubted it. He’d been curiously eyeing the women in the corner wearing matching flowery snapbacks, but like hell he was going to join in any interesting conversations when he was still trying to make them all feel like shit for stealing his phone. He stared at Instagram and refused to look up or engage with any of them.

“Oh wow, look at those girls over there. My skimpiest briefs have more cover than those shorts.”

“My Speedo has more coverage than those shorts,” Namjoon said.

“Why the hell do you have a Speedo?” Yoongi muttered.

“That one says ‘Dance Bitch’ on the butt. Why would you label yourself like that? No wonder she has such nice thighs though.”

Jungkook saw, suddenly, Jimin’s apartment a Thursday or so ago, Jimin lying on his bed in nothing but a thin t-shirt and a pair of tiny light-blue shorts with ‘Dance Bitch’ across his butt, looking coquettishly over his shoulder, ankles crossed in the air behind him. He scowled harder and crunched himself against his board, his phone less than a foot from his face.

“Look at them,” Yoongi snickered. “So much fake pop-hipster posing, but we can see right through it. Is that Vera Bradley? It's like being back in middle school.”

“That’s Lilly Pulitzer, you heathen,” Seokjin hissed.

Yoongi ignored him. “They’re all holding iPhones. All of them. I bet they listen to Kanye and Ariana Grande.”

“Kanye’s a great rapper and Ariana Grande has killer vocals,” Namjoon muttered.

“It’s shit music!”

“Not arguing. The music we listen to is technically shit too, so I’d be careful about that.”

“At least it's edgy. That stuff is literally musical candy. It’s simplistic, consumable, and devoid of creative energy. It’ll rot your brain and turn you into a society robot, like all those hot chicks over there with their Lilly Pulitzer and scanty shorts who don’t think about anything in the world outside themselves. The death of society is the masses lulled and satiated by capitalism and cheap entertainment. Like Rome.”

“So judgmental. I’m sensing some logical fallacies in there, (“lol. Sensing some logical phalluses in there,” Taehyung muttered under the conversation, and Jungkook battled a smirk down off his face.) I’m not looking to debate. You know I agree with you, and they all look like Pinterest dressed them. I’m just saying, you don’t know them. Bet they can dance better than you.”

“Bet they can’t last five seconds on a skateboard.”

The conversation quieted, and Jungkook could imagine Namjoon raising his hands in surrender and going back to his phone like the rest of them.

“They’re so hot though,” Seokjin moaned, “And I’m so sexually frustrated. I don’t care if they wouldn’t be able to make good conversation for the life of them. I just want to get off.”

“Have Jungkook send you that video,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook threw his phone on the table and got into fight mode, stretching unnaturally sideways past Yoongi to look Taehyung in the face. “For the last fucking time, fuck off about the photos, you ba—”

Jimin was standing in line with the cloud of dance girls, drawstring bag on his shoulders, loose white V-neck over tiny blue workout shorts and thin canvas shoes, every bit as basic and anxiously careless as the crafted casual girls. He’d dyed his hair blond. He looked nothing short of gorgeous.

He was also looking straight at Jungkook, eyes wide. They locked eyes for a long moment, long enough for Jungkook to realize that there was no escape without making a scene and possibly flipping the table, and then Jimin made a beeline straight for them.

“There’s a basic bitch approaching us,” Seokjin muttered.

“The fuck?” Yoongi asked.

It occurred to Jungkook that they wouldn’t recognize him with blond hair. Desperate relief prepped itself to put out the alarm bells in his skull. “Can we help you?” Yoongi snapped when Jimin reached the table.

“Jungkook, can I talk to you?”

They recognized his voice. He could tell by the way Seokjin’s mouth fell open and Yoongi’s back thunked against the booth. Namjoon’s eyebrows shot up. Jungkook held his breath, wishing he could teleport away and never have to deal with this.

“Puppy?” Taehyung asked, and Jungkook made a strangled noise in his throat as Jimin’s gaze swept down to Taehyung’s for a moment, then flickered back to Jungkook, horrified.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon said, grinning.

Jimin whipped around and stomped away.

“Fuck,” Jungkook muttered, and scrambled out past Yoongi, stepping on his legs and kneeing Taehyung in the face on the way past, who shrieked.

Jimin ripped his wrist out of Jungkook’s grasp the moment he caught up. Jungkook’s hand tingled with the warmth, wanting it like he was dying of thirst. “Why did you tell them that?” he said, voice cracking despite his anger, face burning red.

“I didn’t tell them anything! Not even your name! They broke into my phone!”

“They saw the—oh fuck, that’s so much worse.” Jimin slapped both his small hands and an iPhone up over his face.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said hopelessly, “I didn’t see it coming. I gave them hell for it.”

“Not even my name? Why not?”

“I didn’t want them stalking you on social media and being shitty. I’m sorry.”

“Shitty because why? Because I’m not your type or theirs? You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but you knew that though.”

“Why did you treat me like you wanted me, and come to my house every night, and call me beautiful if you were only going to walk away like I’m nothing?” His voice cracked away into sobs.

Jungkook looked helplessly back at his table of friends. Namjoon and Seokjin looked like they wanted popcorn for the show. Yoongi was helping Taehyung stem a huge flow of blood pouring out of his nose. Taehyung was giving him a nasty thumbs-up and a sarcastic grin. Jungkook turned around to see Jimin halfway out the exit and ran after him.

He caught him stomping towards the parking lot through the flower bed along the side of the building. Jimin didn’t throw Jungkook off when he pinned him to the wall with a tight hug. “Jimin,” he murmured. Jimin cried helplessly into his shoulder. “I’m an asshole. I’m so sorry. You’re not nothing. I’ve missed you. You’re so beautiful. I’m an idiot. My friends are awful. I don’t know what to do.”

Several cars circled around the building behind them to get to the drive-through. They were both kids who were very used to eyes and attention, but Jungkook blocked him in with his wide shoulders anyway. Jimin muttered something into his shoulder.

“What?”

Jimin surfaced, tears smudging his eyeliner, face furious. “I said, do you want me or not?”

The answer, really, was simple. “Yes.”

“Do you care about what your stupid fucking friends think too much to even keep sleeping with me, you fucked up, idiotic, self-righteous asshole?”

“No! What? What do you even want from me?”

“Give me your number, dammit!” Jimin yelled, shaking Jungkook by the shirt.

Jungkook grabbed for his phone, and realized it was still on the table inside. “I’m terrible.” Jimin sighed noisily and handed him his own phone.

“This has tears all over it.”

“They’re not gonna give you herpes. Just put in a new contact. Should not be this difficult.”

Yoongi popped out the door and did a double take at Jimin standing angrily against the wall, arms crossed, and Jungkook a couple feet in front of him, probably trampling the shrubs, staring at Jimin’s phone.

“This is surprisingly tame,” Yoongi said, “I was thinking I’d have to drag Jungkook home on his skateboard. He hasn’t stopped moping since he stopped working at the studio, you know. It’s really sad. Please take him back. We’re getting sick of him.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook said, avoiding Jimin’s sly look when he handed the phone back. “Did I break Taehyung’s nose?” he asked, nodding at the burgundy smears all over Yoongi’s pale hands.

“It’s not swelling and it doesn’t hurt much, so probably not. Just a lot of blood. They’re getting a biohazard team to take care of it. Namjoon’s getting the truck so he doesn’t have to skate home.”

“Fuck.”

“You vengeful bitch you.”

“Taehyung’s the one that broke into my phone,” Jungkook said to Jimin.

“Good,” Jimin muttered, “Can I break his nose for real?”

“No, don’t do that.”

Jimin grabbed Jungkook’s shirt hem and used it to wipe his eyes.

“This looks really good,” Jungkook murmured, running his fingers through Jimin’s blond hair. Jimin’s lips quirked upwards.

“Gross,” Yoongi murmured. “You’re totally cute and it sucks. I’m going back inside.”

Jungkook didn’t wait till the door closed to pull Jimin’s lips to his own, soft as flowers, gentle and sweet like lemonade under the sun. “I want to suck your dick at the bottom of the deep end in the skate park,” he murmured.

Jimin sighed. “I don’t get you, Kookie.” Jungkook nipped his soft bottom lip affectionately, “But I’m into it. Let’s do it.”

Hoseok had taken Jungkook’s place at the table. He and the very bloody Taehyung were neck deep in ridiculousness already, arms waving in the air and giggling hysterically.

“We’re taking this one home,” Seokjin said, pointing to Hoseok, “He’s ours now.”

“Come home with me,” Jungkook said, winding his arms around Jimin’s neck.

Jimin smiled softly at his shoes, arms still crossed in front of his chest, surprisingly shy. “Okay.”

Hoseok went with the rest of the dance girls, but not before leaving the entire table with his phone number and a promise to stop by the next day. Jimin climbed in the back of the truck with Jungkook, astonishing brightness against the dirty bed. He tucked himself into Jungkook’s side and clung to him all the way home, legs tangled together. They took the back roads with less cops, jerking at every stop sign through shady neighborhoods. Jimin was wearing his glass diamonds again like a discount daddy’s girl. Jungkook played with them with his teeth until Seokjin poked his head out the back window and threw a wadded up receipt at them.

“Not in a moving car, stupid. And we’re all right here. We can see you.”

“You’ve already seen everything. Why should I care about your comfort? I got to drive you home while you jerked off some guy in the backseat just last week.”

Seokjin slammed the window shut.

Jimin had a way of looking distant when the other guys approached, retreating under his bangs, his phone up like a shield, arms over his chest, facing away. “I know you don’t like my friends,” Jungkook said once they got inside his room, away from them, “But you don’t have to be so cold.”

“You’ve given me plenty of reason to believe they won’t like me. You’re right, though. They’re all really hot.”

“Eyes on me, Jimin. I’m the better option. Trust me.” He handed Jimin an old pair of light blue, holey skinny jeans.

Jimin accepted them. “Why the pants?”

“I’m gonna teach you to skate. You’re not doing that in tiny shorts, because I expect you to fall over.”

“I don’t think we’re the same size. And how will something this full of holes protect me against anything?”

“Try it.”

They fit perfectly. Jungkook jammed a beanie down over Jimin’s head as he stared at the sliced-up jeans in the mirror. “You look like us now. Didn’t take very much.”

Jimin knocked him onto his back on the bed and climbed on top, his hands in Jungkook’s hair and his mouth on his neck. “You’re gonna teach me how to skate? I though we were just going to stay here and fuck.”

Jimin’s tongue was in his throat and his shirt was crunched up under his armpits when Taehyung kicked the door open, a bag of ice pressed to his nose. “Oh jeez, that didn’t take long,” he said, flinching back into the hallway a little.

“I’m sorry about your nose,” Jungkook said.

“I’m sorry about your phone. You too, Jimin. You’ve got one hell of a body and you sound awesome with a dick up your ass, by the way. It’s nice to meet you in person.”

Jimin snorted a little. “Thanks. You look great with blood all over you.”

“It’s kind of bad ass,” Taehyung said, “The nose doesn’t look very good though.”

“I think it suits you,” Jimin said with venomous sweetness.

Taehyung was quiet for a long second. “We’re heading out in ten, Jungkook,” he said, and slid out, leaving the door open behind him.

“Please don’t antagonize my friends.”

Jimin gave him an icy look. “I have serious cause to dislike that one.”

“Don’t. He’s so sweet. He just has terrible judgment.” He was pretty sure that was the first and last time he ever bothered to defend Taehyung against anyone.

Jimin stared at his off-brand canvas shoes for a minute. “Can we just stay here and fuck?”

Namjoon got more than he bargained for ten minutes later when he came in to say they were leaving and got a view of Jungkook trapped against the bed, shirt stripped away, dazed and groaning with Jimin sucking hickeys into his neck.

 

“These are amazing,” Jimin said, halfway through Jungkook’s second sketchbook. Jungkook lay out beside him, fingers tapping absently at his pages, the dead bug he’d smashed beside his caricature of Namjoon, the blocky, colorful spread of surfboard-inspired deck art he’d drawn the previous summer, the smudged sketch where he’d fallen asleep on his logo design concepts during a frantic all-nighter the previous year right before a deadline.

“I’m just as talented as you are, you know,” Jungkook said.

“I can see that,” Jimin murmured, pulling another sketchbook into his lap and flipping through drawing after drawing of skaters and city streets. “This is awesome.”

“I wanna draw you,” Jungkook said.

“Really? I wasn’t going to ask for that. I hear it's rude.”

“Yeah, because I don’t want to draw most people who ask me to draw them. You’re not boring though. I wanna draw you dancing.”

Jimin nodded thoughtfully. “Can you do really realistic stuff?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Kind of sometimes. Mostly everything I draw just turns into my style. I have to try really hard to keep things photo-realistic.”

“I want to see you skate now.”

“Let’s go to the skate park.”

Jimin looked outside. “Isn’t it, like, seven by now?”

“Yeah. It’s well-lit. And it won’t be crowded. I’m surprised the guys aren’t back yet.”

Getting dressed took a long time, skin littered with the sun-spot impression of kisses left behind under the hem of his shirt, up the inside of his thighs, lingering over his shoulders, Jimin’s soft touch like airplane trails across his skin, fading slowly.

“You look just as good in your clothes as you look out of them,” Jimin murmured from where he sat in the bed, legs stretched still bare in front of him, hands gripping the sheets. He brushed his hand back through his blond hair, letting it flop light and silky back down over his forehead. They lost ten more minutes to Jungkook cradling Jimin’s face in his hands and tracing kisses across every ridge, his high cheekbones, his eyebrows, down his nose, along his jaw, across his lips, above the plane of each temple. Jimin smiled, fingers back up under Jungkook’s chaotic band t-shirt where they could run under the edges of his pecs and the divots of his abs.

“You’ve got your own, you know,” Jungkook murmured under Jimin’s chin. “What’s so great about mine?”

“They’re yours, Jungkook,” Jimin sighed.

By the time they finally got Jungkook’s spare pants back on Jimin, the beanie on his head and the shoes on his feet, the sun had begun to brush the treetops over the park.

“Is this a tailgate?” Jungkook asked. The boys were sitting around the gate of the truck getting Chipotle all over their faces.

“Jungkook! Nice of you to join us! We got you both burritos. Jimin, I don’t know what you like, but I got you something kinda normal.”

“Wow! Thanks so much! If it’s Chipotle, I’ll eat it,” Jimin said, grinning.

“Same,” Jungkook said, grabbing his.

“It’s not to white girl for you?” Jimin asked.

Namjoon snorted. “Yeah. What happened to not supporting corporate scams?”

“Chipotle is universal,” Jungkook responded.

Halfway through his burrito, he heard a yelp and then the sound of something hitting the ground and a skateboard skittering off without a rider. He turned to find Jimin on his back on the ground and his board racing off towards the park fence. Taehyung choked on his burrito from giggling. He had a massive bandage over his swollen nose and the beginning of a black eye. Jungkook shoved him lightly to get him to shut up. Seokjin was already half out of the truck to make sure he was okay.

“Dude, let me at least show you how to ride that first,” he said. Jimin picked himself up, shame-faced, and ran off to retrieve the board.

“He’s cute,” Yoongi said. “Baby skater.”

When Jimin got back, they got as far as correct standing position on the board before Jungkook wrapped both arms around his waist to keep him steady, and then Jimin’s face was exactly level with his, and his arms were around his shoulders, and Jimin giggled “Did you get shorter?” Jungkook kissed him, exactly like every fantasy he’d ever had about teaching some hot girl how to skate. Then Jimin forgot where he was, shifted his weight, and the board shot out from under him. Jimin yelped, fell, and nearly took Jungkook’s lip out with his teeth.

“Hopeless,” Taehyung said, running up behind him and shoving him away from Jimin. “If the guy wants to learn how to skate, then teach him how to fucking skate. You’ve already fucked him a dozen times; there’s no need for this stupid courting ritual that none of us paid to see.” He popped Jungkook’s board aggressively up into his hand and stomped back over to the freaked out Jimin on the ground, looking very fluffy and out of place with his light clothes and blond hair.

“Okay, sexy, this is how you skate.”

“Tae—”

“I do not trust you to do this without stopping every ten seconds to eat his face, Kookie.” He stuck a finger in Jimin’s face, “And before you say anything, I’ve been calling him that for five years. Kookie, go eat your burrito. Jimin, left foot on the front nails facing forward. Back foot pushes. As soon as you stop pushing, move your front foot to face sideways like your back foot. Don’t lock your knees.”

Jimin did it perfectly.

“The fuck?” Jungkook said. “How?”

Taehyung nodded proudly. “Thought so. If you’re good at dancing, you’re coordinated. This shouldn’t be a problem. You know how to ride a skateboard now. The rest is practice and details.”

Jimin tentatively put his foot down to push and fell on his face. “Should I help you up, or…” Jimin’s prone body rolled over slowly.

“I’ll just stay here for a bit.”

Taehyung hopped over, giggling, and dragged Jimin up off the ground. “Now I gotta teach you how to fall correctly.”

Jungkook lost both his board and his man for the next hour as Taehyung and Jimin frolicked around the hot, gritty parking lot in the half light, the orange street light glinting off their hair. The contrast between Jimin’s pastel and Taehyung’s grunge was dizzying. Jungkook hoped he and Jimin looked that hot together.

“Taehyung’s stealing your boyfriend,” Namjoon told him, and Jungkook snorted.

Taehyung bounced around, imitating the correct way to balance weight over a skateboard. Jimin pushed slowly and timidly behind him. Jungkook shook his head. “Fucking puppies, both of them.” From a distance, he saw Jimin hit a rock and pitch off the front of the board with a shriek. He could tell by the way Taehyung cackled that Jimin was okay, but jogged over anyway. Jimin was just sitting up, fingertips brushing over one scuffed-up knee through the rips in his jeans and coming away glistening red.

“You okay?” he asked, catching the board with a toe and popping it up.

“I’m not gonna be able to dance tomorrow.”

Jungkook pulled Jimin to his feet. “Come watch me do tricks.”

They jumped the fence into the park, and Jimin sat on the edge of the bowl, legs dangling, and leaned back on his hands as he watched Jungkook speed up and down the walls, pushing into small tricks here and there. He didn’t need to pull out his best and greatest, because they weren’t that great anyway, and he’d probably mess them up, but it was enough to let the roaring wheels carry him like he was hovering across the park. The night made the landscape different, hard to judge depth in some places, dangerous.

He slid smooth around one corner and saw Jimin sliding down into the bowl. He had just enough time to let the board shoot away before he slammed into Jimin’s side and they tumbled roughly onto the concrete and down to where the ground flattened out. “You idiot!” he giggled, and Jimin whined, arms sliding over Jungkook’s shoulder blades and holding on.

“That hurt. Everything hurts.”

“No shit,” Jungkook murmured, propping himself up on his elbows so he could stare down into Jimin’s face. The beanie slid off his hair, so it fell in silky layers above his forehead, messy sex-hat-hair, the most attractive kind of fucked up. Jungkook’s board rolled back up the wall near them and down again, barely missing Jimin’s head.

Jimin stared up at him for a long second, breathless and smiling, until he giggled, one hand coming up over his mouth. Jungkook asked, “What?”

“Nothing! You’re just staring at me and not saying anything.”

“I have nothing to say.”

Jimin wiggled a little, his spare hand warm against Jungkook side under his t-shirt, their legs rubbing together as he shifted them between Jungkook’s. He giggled again, glass diamonds sparkling in the orange half-light, a little bubble of clean and sweet at the bottom of a dirty skate park. He kept glancing at the walls around them, eyes wide, grinning. Jungkook wanted to paint him into the cement right there, seal his essence into the concrete to make the entire space just a little more sacred.

And Jimin seemed content just to be there with Jungkook’s weight on top of him, giggles squeaking out every few seconds. “I’m gonna get your pants all bloody.”

“Which pair?”

“Both!”

“I don’t care.”

“Ugh! Unhygienic. Kiss me already.”

Jungkook tangled his fingers in Jimin’s blond hair and kissed him hard. Jimin tightened up underneath him, body rolling solid and hard against Jungkook’s like he couldn’t help himself, his tongue nudging softly against Jungkook’s lip ring until he opened up and let him in.

“You look unbelievably hot when you skate,” Jimin murmured against his lips.

“You look unbelievably hot bleeding on my pants.”

Jimin stopped kissing him to look disgusted.

“Ugh. You two are so cute I might throw up on you,” Taehyung said from right over them. “We’re gonna drive home now. Are you coming, or are you just gonna make out here for a while.”

“Second option, I think,” Jungkook said.

“Ugh,” Taehyung snorted, “You sure? Bobby hooked us up with some good shit. We’ll smoke it all without you.”

“Jimin, you wanna go light up?”

Jimin hesitated.

“It’s okay if you don’t.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“We’ll stay here, Taehyung.”

“Wow,” Taehyung said, raising his eyebrows, “I have never seen you turn down a chance to get high that fast.”

“Sorry,” Jimin muttered. Jungkook kissed his forehead. Taehyung retched and walked off. A couple minutes later, Jungkook barely heard the car starting up over the sound of Jimin’s hot gasps next to his ear as Jungkook sucked more deep bruises into his neck.

“Hey Jimin.”

“hu-uhhhg…?”

“Would you be okay with me sucking your dick down here?”

“Oh, fuck,” Jimin whined, hips pushing up against Jungkook’s leg.

Jungkook sat up and pushed Jimin’s shirt up over his chest and rubbed his lips softly over one nipple, thumb tapping against the other. Jimin panted gorgeously, muscles tensed and firm for his other hand to trace over. He squirmed when Jungkook bit down, whimpered when he flicked his piercing across it.

“You like it when I tease?” Jungkook asked. Jimin nodded. Jungkook spent twenty minutes mapping Jimin’s torso, form and warmth that would make marble jealous. Jimin breathed like he might die, fast and harsh one second, and not at all the next, one hand clutching at Jungkook’s hair and the other trembling over his mouth, trying to choke down the noises that echoed off the walls. Jungkook could see sweat glistening in the hollow of his neck before he got down to his belt line.

“Please,” Jimin nearly sobbed. Jungkook sat up to give his forearms and legs a break, and took his shirt off, unzipped his pants to get some of the pressure off.

“Sorry, this is difficult. My knees are gonna bruise.”

Jimin nodded, his fingertips flicking absently at his nipples to keep himself wound up and on-edge. Jungkook finally popped Jimin's pants open and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Aren’t there cameras?” Jimin gasped.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, “But we’re all pretty sure they don’t work and they’re just there to scare us.” He brushed his thumb up along Jimin’s dick over his briefs. Jimin shuddered, head twisted back against the concrete. “Oh right, this is for you,” Jungkook said, balling up his shirt and stuffing it under Jimin’s head.

“Thanks.”

Jungkook sank back down onto his elbows, knees spreading, back dipping, chin right over Jimin’s crotch. “No problem.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open and all the air in his lungs came out in a whoosh. Jungkook took the band of his white briefs in his teeth and pulled them gently down past his cock. He pushed Jimin’s thighs up a little on either side of them so he could reach under his legs and grab the sides of his jeans by the belt loops and edge them down enough to get the zipper out of the danger zone. He sucked Jimin in, nice and easy, the ball of his piercing trailing in light circles down the length.

“God, oh god, fuck, Jungkook, I’m not gonna last very long.”

“You already came once today though,” he murmured against the head.

“Got me fucking riled up as shit—oh god please do that again.”

Jungkook flicked his piercing against Jimin’s slit again, and then again when it made all the muscles from his navel down clench helplessly, hand tightening in his hair. He groaned at the stinging ache, eyes watering, and just stayed there, turned on and enjoying it, his dick getting harder in his pants, tongue circling, until Jimin realized what he was doing and let go. Jungkook immediately dropped all the way down. Jimin squeaked and jumped.

He was glistening now, summer sweat coating his skin from the tantalizing V of his hips to the roots of his hair, one long stretch of smooth skin glinting like the diamonds in his ears. His eyes were wide and dazed, staring at the dirty walls swooping up around them.

Right about when Jimin got to the edge, feet kicking weakly, back arching a little, Jungkook pulled off for a breather. “Kookie, what?”

“Neck hurts. Give me a minute.”

“Liar!” he hissed.

Jungkook giggled and kissed sweetly up his sweaty stomach. “You’re getting my lips all wet.”

“Gross! Just get your face back on my dick,” he said, pushing on the top of his head. Jungkook licked carefully from base to tip. Jimin moaned loud, then slapped a hand over his mouth and whimpered. Jungkook grinned and sucked tightly, wrapping a hand around the base.

He chuckled quietly. “You’re smaller than me.”

Jimin kicked him.

“Like, a lot smaller,” he snickered.

“I’m gonna get soft. If you have a problem, fuckin leave.”

“You’re so cute.”

Jimin sighed through his nose. Jungkook distracted him by forcing his throat down as far as he could go and bobbing faster. “I’ll forgive you this time,” Jimin whispered, heels skittering against the concrete as his legs twitched restlessly. Jungkook concentrated on keeping steady.

“Kookie, I wanna come.”

“What’s stopping you?” he murmured.

“Already came twice today. It’s harder now.”

“Twice?”

“Once this morning.”

Jungkook hummed around his dick, “In the shower?”

“Before I got up.”

Jungkook used his knee to sweep one of Jimin’s legs between his so he had something to press down on, to at least get a little friction. “Did you think about me?”

Jimin shook his head, his shin rubbing slowly against the open front of Jungkook’s pants. “Not this time, but…” Jungkook sucked harder, encouraging, and Jimin panted for a moment, back twisting. “Sometimes, I think about you and your goddamn piercings, and your goddamn face.” Jungkook hummed again, rocking his hips gently against Jimin’s leg. “Sometimes I just imagine that you’re there, watching me get off.”

Jungkook sucked harder, his eyes flickering up to Jimin’s face, where he’d propped himself up on his elbows to see Jungkook better, and very deliberately swallowed Jimin further down than he should have, throat closing frantically, eyes blurring with tears, lungs tightening. Jimin murmured “Christ,” and collapsed back onto the ground panting hard, body locking up.

Jungkook heard the unmistakable clanking of someone climbing the fence. Jimin froze underneath him, hands poised to shove him off. Jungkook pulled up and took a deep breath. “It’s probably one of the guys.”

A very high pitched voice yelped and laughed, and Jungkook heard someone else climb the fence, someone with the throaty gravel of someone just going through puberty. “Not the guys,” he said, sitting up fast. Jimin had time to yank his pants up and pull the hem of him shirt down over himself before two kids appeared about thirty feet away at the edge of the bowl.

“Whoa, there’s someone here already,” the one kid said, and Jungkook recognized Michael, a juvenile skater just getting over his middle-school emo phase with a penchant for poor behavior. Nice enough, but always trying to get in with Jungkook’s crew of older, better skaters. “Are you guys okay?”

“Perfectly fine, Michael.”

“Wait, Jeon Jungkook? What are you—stop hitting me Skyler—what are you doing down…Oh.”

Jimin was lying with one arm over his eyes, still panting heavily, dripping with sweat, the other hand holding the hem of his shirt demurely over the front of his pants, one leg still trapped under Jungkook’s hips, who was shirtless and wiping spit off his chin. It was not at all hard to tell what they’d just been doing, especially for a fourteen-year-old.

“Were you two just…?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, “so would you mind using the grind rails or something for a few minutes?”

“Uhhhh.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin murmured. Jungkook squeezed his thigh reassuringly.

“So you’re gay?” Skyler asked.

“Sometimes. Good news for you, right?” Jungkook said, and got the standard young teen shrieks of indignation. “Clear out,” Jungkook said. “We’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“But we want to use the bowl for actual skating!”

“You have the rest of the park for that. Seriously. Scram.”

Michael shifted nervously, obviously torn between threatening and shaming so he and his friend could use the bowl, or kissing up and leaving for a few minutes to get in Jungkook’s good books. Jungkook decided he was taking too long, so he leaned forward and slid a hand up under Jimin’s shirt and along his dick. Jimin jumped, yelping a breathy, incredibly sexual moan. Michael and Skyler shrieked and fled. “Fifteen minutes tops!” Michael yelled.

“I don’t think I can come after that,” Jimin muttered, one arm still over his face.

“You’d better. I’ve worked too hard.” He shoved Jimin’s shirt away and sucked him back down. Precum striped along his tongue and his dick filled his mouth like a rock. “Liar,” he whispered when he came back up. “You’re even more turned on now. That’s fucking kinky.”

“It’s the adrenaline,” Jimin moaned, hips bucking.

“No way. You’ve got a bit of an exhibitionist streak. Sex in the studio in front of all those windows, thinking about me watching when you jerk off, and now you’re so hard from getting caught.”

“Shut up. Seriously, shut up. Those were kids.”

Jungkook sucked hard, one hand working the base and the other worming under his body to yank down the back of his pants and grope his ass. Jimin thrashed. Jungkook rolled his hips down to lock Jimin’s leg in place, and just stayed there, grinding absently, more focused on the dick in rhythm in his throat, sucking in air when he could manage it, keeping the suction even as his mouth hurt.

Jimin fought to stay quiet, precious little squeaks making their way out past his hand, high in his mouth, barely ringing against the wall. “Let it out,” Jungkook murmured, and then dove back down.

“The fucking kids,” Jimin whispered, his hand tightening harshly in Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook moaned loudly around his dick, the sound reverberating off the walls, unmistakably sexual. Jimin cried out, arched, and came.

Jungkook swallowed it all, and then cleaned him up slowly with his tongue, until Jimin was whimpering with overstimulation and pushing his head away. “Can I stay at your house tonight?” he asked, “I don’t think I can make it home.”

“Will you be able to even make it there, or should I call a ride?”

“I’ll be fine. You haven’t gotten off yet.”

Jungkook smirked at him. “We have another ten minutes, or whatever Michael gave us. Can you get me off in ten minutes?”

Jimin considered, pulling his pants back into place. “Probably not? Can we just wait till we get home?” He handed Jungkook his shirt back.

They emerged from the bowl sweaty and shameless. Jungkook walked right up to Michael. “Bowl’s free.”

“…Kay. Do you wanna see my rail slide?”

“I saw you doing that yesterday. Lookin good.” Michael’s eyes kept flickering down to Jungkook’s crotch, where his hard-on was probably fairly apparent in his jeans. He smirked. There was always a certain joy to be had in corrupting the younger ones.

Behind him, Jimin tried to climb the fence, gave up, and melted onto the concrete. “Fuck you, Jeon. My muscles are fucking jelly. You sucked all my energy out.”

“And swallowed it,” Jungkook muttered. He could see Michael and Skyler recoiling out of the corner of his eye. “You want it back?” He faked throwing up over Jimin, who smacked him in the leg and rolled slowly away.

It was a long limp home, Jimin lurching a little over his hurt knee, Jungkook twitching uncomfortably until his hard-on disappeared. Then it was a long shower, locking the other boys out of the bathroom, tangled under the water with Jimin’s lips around Jungkook’s cock, hurt knee propped a little off the floor, blond hair trailing into his eyes. Jungkook hadn’t come so fast in years.

 

Jungkook woke to an unusually bright room and saw Jimin sitting against the wall, hair a mess, flicking through his phone. “Hello stranger,” he said. Jimin smiled. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“Waiting for someone to wake up and cuddle me.”

Jungkook groaned and reached for him. Jimin crawled close, and then stopped right before curling up on top of him and tugged up on Jungkook’s shirt. “Off.”

“Thirsty bitch,” Jungkook murmured, sleepily struggling to take his shirt off, limbs still heavy and unresponsive. Jimin immediately went for his navel, nipping gently. Jungkook sighed and closed his eyes.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Jimin giggled.

“Hrnnngggare you licking my abs?”

“They’re delicious.”

Jungkook didn’t question further. It felt good, wet and little cold a few seconds later, but warm, soft, and beautifully dirty. Jimin made it up to Jungkook’s nipples and Jungkook arched lazily against his mouth, moaning softly.

“Your morning hair is adorable,” Jimin said. “You’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. Hah-ah. Hnnn. I’m tough and terrifying.”

“Prince charming.”

“Flynn Rider.”

“Tough skater kid breaking out the Disney references.”

Tangled is a great movie.”

Jimin cut to the chase and stuck a hand down Jungkook’s pants. For a couple long minutes, Jungkook lay still and enjoyed Jimin’s slow hand on his dick, his lips on his neck, the soft brush of his hair on his jaw. “Hold on, Jimin. Wait a minute.” Jimin froze and blinked up at him. “I haven’t kissed you yet. Get up here.”

Morning breath helped nothing, and his leaden limbs couldn’t seem to stay on Jimin’s back, sliding back down into the sheets after only a few seconds, but Jimin kissed him gently and cradled his head in his arms. “Gonna take care of me this morning?” He murmured.

“Yeah. You’re my baby.”

He wished he wasn’t so half asleep when Jimin kneeled above him and bent two fingers into his own ass. “Fuck, I’m so loose.” Jungkook just poked lightly at his thighs and stared through his eyelashes. He blinked, drifted, and then opened his eyes some time later to the feeling of Jimin sinking slowly down onto his dick, tight, hot, silk sliding around him. “Knee hurts. I’ve got bruises everywhere. How do you skate all the time?”

When Jimin stopped to adjust, Jungkook blurted “I’m dating you.”

Jimin glanced up, face rosy, lips parted. “What? We’re not friends with benefits or fuckbuddies or something?”

“We’re not friends.”

Jimin looked a little disgruntled, glancing down a where Jungkook’s dick was locked inside him.

“Sorry. That came out weird. We’re not something casual. I don’t wanna be something casual because I don’t think we’d be able to keep that up. I want to date you. I want to bicker about where we go out to eat, and get shit for choosing you over my friends, and I want to be able to see you in public and think ‘that’s mine.’”

“So romantic,” Jimin said, snorting. “You want to be my boyfriend?”

“Well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Give it a couple weeks to see if this works out.”

Jimin considered for a moment. “You’re sweet when you’re sleepy.” He rocked down hard and Jungkook gasped and rode it out, gripping Jimin’s thighs and whimpering softly at the ceiling.

“Is that a no?” Jungkook groaned out eventually.

“I’m thinking about it,” Jimin said. Jungkook couldn’t think through the pulses of pleasure bursting between his hips. His futon had never been so comfortable.

“Jimin, please.”

Jimin chuckled softly and rocked harder, cool morning air and warm legs against his. “What would we do if we dated?” Jimin said, “We don’t have anything in common. We’d just have sex all the time.”

“Oh fuck, Jimin. Fuck. What’s wrong—Christ, what was that? How did you do that? With your hips?”

“What’s wrong with that? Relationships aren’t just sex. We barely know each other.”

Jungkook groaned, head spinning. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now. Clearly I’m not doing something right if you’re still talking.”

“This is import—”

Jungkook got a hand around Jimin’s dick and he shut up and whimpered, throwing his head back, hips stuttering.

Someone banged on the door. “I’m trying to sleep! I can hear you! These walls are paper thin!” Taehyung.

“You’re welcome!” Jungkook yelled. Jimin got his rhythm back, rolling smoothly down over Jungkook and then sliding back through his hand. He was quiet, except for small, whimpered, desperate sounds. Streaks of early morning sunlight cut brightly across his rippling chest. Jungkook liked to keep his room dark, shrouded in band posters and black curtains, exactly like what he’d wanted in middle school when his mom insisted on keeping his sheets blue, and refused to let him tack anything to the walls. His dim, calm room was perfect for smoking and computer games, like hiding from the world. Jimin must have pulled the curtains open. He’d never seen the room so lit up, sunbeams glowing off the pile of sketchbooks on the floor, the white sheets, and Jimin’s gleaming hair. “This is so aesthetic,” he moaned.

Jimin barked a laugh and almost stopped. “Is that why you like me so much? My aesthetic?”

“You do cool things to mine.”

“You’re such a dork.” He collapsed over him, his hands pinning Jungkook’s head in place so he could kiss him everywhere like Jungkook had done the night before, along his nose, under both his eyes, his chin, his jaw, the middle of his forehead. Jungkook giggled, wrinkling his nose and trying to pull away. “I swear to Jesus you’re so fucking cute.”

Jungkook planted his feet and held Jimin down against himself, hips pumping up evenly. Jimin squirmed, and Jungkook felt his dick tight between them, sliding roughly over his stomach. “Puppy?”

“Don’t stop.”

Jungkook rolled them over slowly, and Jimin sagged against the pillow, head rolling to the side, hands pulling in Jungkook’s hair.

And now Jungkook was in the sun, the bright glare dulling the edge of his vision, jarring and warm. Jimin eyes widened a little, staring up like Jungkook was his epiphany.

“Date me, beautiful,” Jungkook murmured.

“Ugh. This is coercion. You look like a god right now.”

Jungkook lowered himself slowly, still thrusting steadily, and kissed him softly on the lips as Jimin squirmed up to get some friction against his body. “Date me, Jimin.”

“You’re not gonna get an—ah! Fuck! Right there. You’re not gonna get an answer till after I…after I finish.”

Jungkook poured lube on his hand and snaked it down to press Jimin’s dick against his own stomach, between the lower ridges of his abs. Jimin arched up, gasping, body twitching as he matched Jungkook’s thrusts, dick sliding slick and weeping against his hand. He shook slowly apart, got sloppy and desperate, eyes shut tight and lips wide, frantic moans tearing from his throat.

He came, locking around Jungkook like he was trying to hold him inside, cum flooding over Jungkook’s hand. Jungkook was so jealous of the way he came, slow and heavy, till he was shaking and drained. He gave a single, choked sob as Jungkook buried himself to the hilt one last time.

“Date me,” he said fifteen minutes after they’d cleaned up, lips brushing the sensitive spot right behind his jaw, an inch below his ear.

Jimin laughed softly. “We won’t last.”

“We don’t have to. I want you.”

“Does that mean you’ll pick me up at the studio and take me on dates and sleep in my bed without leaving before the next morning like you always do?”

“I’ll stay.”

Jimin hummed softly. “And what if I say no? What happens to us then?”

Jungkook snorted. “Then either we don’t bother with each other again, or we’re fuckbuddies, but that means I can sleep with other people if I want to.”

Jimin’s nose wrinkled.

Jungkook sat up and kissed the tip of his nose. “Why don’t you want to date me? Do you think I won’t make you happy?”

“I want to date you,” he murmured, “I just don’t know if it's, like, logically a good idea.”

“Your choice,” Jungkook said, forehead against Jimin’s temple, arms tight around him, “But I really want to.” The sun rose slowly, taking the beams back across the bed and through the window, compressing, brighter and smaller. The room dimmed.

Someone drove up in a car. The house burst into noise outside their room. “Hoseok is here,” Jimin said.

“You want to go out now?”

Jimin shook his head. “Five more minutes.” He twisted towards him, trying to get as much of his body lined up against Jungkook’s as possible. “First date. Where would you take me?”

“Theme park.”

Jimin grinned. “Second?”

“That’s your choice.”

“Dance class. I want to see you dance. Third?”

“There’s a drive-in movie theater near here. There’s probably a Marvel movie out right now that we can watch. Fourth?”

“Another night at the skate park?”

“Awesome. We should tour animal shelters and visit puppies.”

“We should go to a concert,” Jimin said.

“We should try out sex toys.”

“Would you let me fuck you?”

Jungkook shivered a little. “Yes.”

“I’ll date you. When will we visit that theme park?”

“Today.”

“I have work.”

“Tomorrow.”

Jimin giggled and flopped onto his back, tan skin and toned muscles, blond hair and a bright smile, glass earrings and that little mole on his neck. “Okay. Yeah. This is gonna be fun. Missy is never going to believe me. Do I get to meet your parents?”

“Hell no. They’d love you. I can’t risk that. Will you make me meet yours?”

“Probably not a good idea. They won’t take you seriously. I want to take you to an art museum.”

Jungkook snorted. No financially stable adult ever took him seriously. “I want to take you on our road trip to see Street League.”

Seokjin ran shrieking down the hallway outside, making a kind of muted Doppler effect through the wall. “Do you think maybe we should go make sure they don’t burn the house down?”

“They’ll be fine, I think. Yoongi and Namjoon should be able to keep things under control.”

“You don’t know Hoseok.”

“Okay. Let’s go see what’s up.”

They stalled at the last step, Jimin dressed delightfully in Jungkook’s ratty clothes, pinned up against the door with his arms over Jungkook’s shoulders, sunshine and warmth wrapped in Jungkook’s grunge, pink tongue flicking over his lip ring. Outside, he could hear Yoongi yelling at Namjoon as Hoseok cackled wildly. Seokjin yelled “Fucking cheaters!” from the opposite end of the hallway, and Jimin giggled against Jungkook’s lips. “I think I like your friends now.”

“Really? I don’t. Welcome to the jungle.”

Much later, Jungkook kissed Jimin against his apartment door under the second sunset they’d shared in two days like the stupidest kind of stereotype, wonderfully obsessed and sore all over, but happy.

“This feels like a movie,” Jimin said.

“I hate it. I’m leaving.”

“One more kiss.”

“Okay.”