When Jimin and Taehyung confess to each other, it’s almost a comical moment. They’re nearly in sync, they’re both shaking a little, and Jimin’s confession is a kind of repeat of his let’s become grandpas together in the vein of I want to grow old with you while Taehyung’s is more of a can I have you for my birthday?, but the meaning comes across the same. Jimin’s not putting a bow on his dick, no matter how much Taehyung asks him, and Taehyung is very adamant about the names he’s already picked out for their children, but the whole thing still goes relatively smoothly.
Until they start kissing.
“Um,” Taehyung says, wide-eyed. He’s on top of Jimin, and they’re still--ugh, they’re still completely and totally fully dressed. Does enthusiastically writhing against one another while kissing count as sex? Jimin’s pretty sure sex was where they were headed, at least. Initially. Hobi’s out to dinner with Yoongi, so they’ve got the room to themselves. Jimin and Taehyung were both close to tears not ten minutes ago. They’ve officially been together for less than half an hour.
And Jimin’s already ruined it by coming in his pants.
“Really?” Taehyung asks, sounding kind of shocked and awed and with his mouth hanging open, all red and slick and stupidly kissable. Jimin groans and puts his arm over his eyes, throwing his head back against the pillow.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Jimin says. His entire face is burning. If he could sink right through the bed and into the depths of hell, it’d be kind of nice right about now. He doesn’t want Taehyung to get off of him, but he also wants to roll onto the floor and then keep rolling until he somehow rolls out the window. It’s that kind of feeling--shame, burning hot and low in his stomach, ruining the little pleasant shocks he feels every time Taehyung shifts against his dick.
“I, um. This doesn’t usually happen,” Jimin assures him, when Taehyung doesn’t say anything. Except that’s not really true. “I mean, it--I just usually go slower.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung says, drawing it out a little, like he’s thinking real hard about what he’s saying. “Jimin, we were kissing for like. Three minutes.”
“Yeah,” Jimin says, voice small.
The thing is, Jimin had kind of thought that he’d gotten a hold of it. When he jerks off and stuff, he usually waits until he can really take his time. That can be kind of rare, but in early morning showers before anyone wakes up and late nights alone in a hotel room, he can go as slow as he needs to and really draw it out. And he’s been doing it like that for so long that he figured that maybe he’d trained himself to hold on longer.
Only now he realizes that stopping before he came and being able to continue going without coming too quickly are two entirely different things.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, miserable, and he still can’t look at Taehyung.
Gentle fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his arm from his eyes. The lamp is too bright where it was just the right amount before, and as he blinks away black spots in his vision, Taehyung’s face swims into focus.
He’s smiling. “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s fine,” he says, voice firm.
“My pants are really gross right now,” Jimin tells him.
“Then be sorry for your pants,” Taehyung says. “But look at me! I’m the guy that’s gonna be sitting in a rocking chair next to you and knitting couple scarves when we’re like, forty.”
“Forty’s not that old, Taehyung,” Jimin says, even though it still seems like a long way away to him.
“Yeah, but when we’re older we’ll have sold our house to RV across America, so we won’t have the space for rocking chairs,” Taehyung says. “That’s after the kids have their own kids, so they’re responsible adults and we get to be kids again. The rocking chairs symbolize our stability as we send our kids to college.”
“Taehyung,” Jimin says, laughing helplessly.
“Seriously,” Taehyung says, poking Jimin in the chest and grinning wide. “Don’t question my 100 year plan.”
“100 years, really?” Jimin shakes his head. “Taehyung, we’ll be dead.”
“Well, with that attitude,” Taehyung says, shaking his head right back. “You’re telling me you don’t want to go for the world record?”
“World record for what, being stupid for over 100 years?”
“For being together the longest,” Taehyung says, suddenly serious, and Jimin feels the tightness in his chest loosen and then tighten again in a different way, a better way.
“I really don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Jimin gestures down, to where Taehyung is still--God, still sitting on top of him. To where he feels sorry for his pants.
“Hey, don’t be like that,” Taehyung says. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Well, other than your height.”
“I will kick you out of this bed,” Jimin tells him, but when Taehyung starts to get up his immediate response is to latch onto Taehyung’s wrist and try to keep him there.
“I’m getting tissues,” Taehyung says, and he goes over to Hobi’s bed to steal them, plucking out one after another until the box is empty and then throwing half of them back onto the bed.
“Ugh,” Jimin groans. He tugs down his sweats and boxers just far enough to wipe himself off, and pretends not to notice Taehyung watching him.
Taehyung throws a clean pair of shorts at him and after he’s changed, they sit cross-legged opposite each other on Taehyung’s bed. “Okay, so, how do you usually do this?”
“Alone?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt.
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I mean, no--just, in general.”
“I stop a lot,” Jimin tells him. “It gets to be--I don’t know, too much. It’s just. A lot.” Taehyung is watching him very intensely, kind of like he might whip out a pen and starting taking notes at any second, and Jimin would really prefer that he didn’t, because he doesn’t want anyone to find Taehyung’s sex notes, especially ones about Jimin’s inability to endure constant sensation without coming embarrassingly fast.
“Okay,” Taehyung says. He nods, seemingly to himself. “I can do that.” Then there’s a pause where he purses his lips and looks even more intense, blinking at Jimin strangely. “Do you want to do that? With me?”
“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, blinking right back at him.
“Well, like, we were kissing, but we weren’t really--I mean, we don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to.”
“I want to!” Jimin tells him, scooting closer with his butt, the bed creaking underneath him. And then he stops. “Do you want to?” he asks, because he wants to be careful with Taehyung like Taehyung is being careful with him.
“I do,” Taehyung says. He claps his hands. “Okay! We have a game plan.”
“Do we?” Jimin wonders. Jimin thinks they have even less of a game plan than they do when they’re arguing over who has to pay for dinner (Jimin sometimes has to fight him to go halfsies if it’s just the two of them, because Taehyung thinks he looks cool when he’s pulling out his credit card and he says the effect is diminished if he lets Jimin pay, too).
“We go slow,” Taehyung says, holding up one finger. “You tell me when it’s too much, and I stop.” Two fingers are up now. “When you want to come, you tell me, and we work from there.” Three fingers, and then he holds his other hand out for Jimin to high five.
Jimin high fives him, because he’s not going to leave Taehyung hanging, even if he thinks it’s kind of weird to high five over plans to have sex that lasts longer than three minutes.
Then again, Jimin’s pretty sure that having those plans and a high five are already better than most of his other experiences with sex, if only because it’s Taehyung.
“What about you?” Jimin asks as Taehyung crawls back into his lap and Jimin falls back into the pillows again.
“What about me?” Taehyung fits his hands at Jimin’s waist and rucks his shirt up, thumbs pressing hard enough into his skin that it doesn’t tickle.
“I don’t know, is there anything that you--anything I should know?”
Taehyung sits back, pausing, except for the hand that’s started lazily scratching at Jimin’s belly. It feels good. Not really in a way that gets him hard--he’s not going to get hard right now, anyway--but it’s the kind of thing that Taehyung has been doing to him for years when they’re lying in bed together, and it’s kind of naturally soothing by now.
“I mean,” Jimin says, “just tell me if you think of anything.”
Taehyung nods. He’s got his thinking face on again. Then he goes, “I have a freakishly huge dick,” and Jimin laughs so hard he almost dislodges Taehyung entirely, accidentally rolling onto his side with the force of it.
Taehyung grins down at him, sitting up on his knees so Jimin can full-body laugh all he wants.
“Also,” Taehyung says, “I really want to kiss you a bit more, and then I want to go eat all the leftovers in the fridge. I’m hungry.”
“All of the leftovers in the fridge have Kookie’s name on them,” Jimin tells him, tugging at Taehyung’s shirt, still giggling a little. He pulls him down so that Taehyung’s leaning over him, close enough to kiss, his elbows on either side of Jimin’s head.
“I said what I said,” Taehyung whispers, giggling right back, and it’s hard to kiss through laughter, but Jimin figures they’ll manage.
They always do.