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The day that sets off the weirdest, wildest, sexiest chain of events in Jungkook’s life starts off almost like any other.
He walks in through the glass doors of the Special Security Bureau, bracing himself for another day of writing reports and shuffling paperwork, only to get accosted in the hallway by Supervisory Special Agent Hong.
“There you are.”
Before Jungkook can register what’s happening, SSA Hong clamps him by the bicep and starts hauling him along.
SSA Hong is a burly guy in his fifties with cropped, gel-spiked hair and a crooked nose, courtesy of a short-lived career as a bareknuckle boxer in his youth. Still a fighter at heart, he beats out the competition in most events at the annual Bureau Sports Day, save for the three-legged race (which he’s been inadvertently excluded from because he can never find anyone crazy enough to get strapped onto him for that long) and the Discus throw (which he’s actually been banned from entering since 2013 when he apparently threw the disc so hard it sailed right over the officiators’ heads, down the field and through the fence before embedding itself in the passenger side door of the Director’s freshly painted Hyundai Genesis).
(Jungkook doesn’t actually think that's humanly possible, but the guys from cyber security swear they saw it happen and he’s not about to confront SSA Hong and ask.)
“You got a bag packed?”
“A bag?”
“A go-bag.”
“No?”
Jungkook’s knees buckle as SSA Hong drops him out of his grip and he nearly tumbles onto the carpeted floor. Kim Minji from communications gives him a sympathetic smile as she passes and Jungkook winces.
“You’ve been here for how long, and you don’t have a go-bag?”
For a brief moment, Jungkook considers pointing out that the furthest he’s ever had to go is the coffee shop down the street to pick up twelve iced Americanos, two caramel macchiatos, one rooibos honey infusion and one maple pecan pastry to bring back every afternoon before he decides he’d quite like to live.
SSA Hong must parse an alternative response from his still slightly wide-eyed silence, because he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Alright,” he says. “You have five minutes. Pack light. Don’t bother with the laptop. You won’t need it at the convention center.”
Jungkook stops.
“Convention center?”
SSA Hong’s face flickers with mild unease, gone before Jungkook can decide what to make of it.
“There was an incident at the summit.”
The Global Cultural Cooperation Summit was all that anyone at the office had been talking about for weeks. With delegates arriving from over 130 countries, it was set to be the largest coordinated security effort in the city in recent years and a crowning achievement of the Busan field office. Jungkook knew that as the rookie, his chances of ever participating in the security detail on the ground were slim, but still, he couldn’t help but feel a little (okay, a lot) envious of his colleagues who were going.
With such a big event and such intense media coverage, there was a myriad of things that could go wrong, anything from domestic terrorism to a sewage spill, all of which the Bureau had meticulously prepared for. For something to have gone wrong before the summit had even properly started was unimaginable.
“Kid,” SSA Hong says, pulling him out of his thoughts before he can spiral down any further. “Stop panicking.”
“But you said there was an incident —”
“A shrimp incident. They’ve got about thirty guys down with food poisoning, so they need all hands on deck.”
“Oh.”
Jungkook stares, head spinning, before SSA Hong clicks his tongue.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? Go!”
Jungkook springs into motion.
“And be quick,” SSA Hong shouts after him. “If you’re not back in five minutes, we’re going without you. You can catch the subway for all I care!”
Jungkook runs.
It’s only a short drive from the office to the convention center.
Jungkook (now equipped with a duffel bag he’d shoved full of anything he thought might become useful) climbs onto the passenger seat of one of the agency SUVs while some of his other colleagues pile into an indistinctive black van.
“Here,” SSA Hong says, settling onto the driver’s seat before dropping a folder into his lap. “This is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Early company Christmas present,” SSA Hong says. “What do you think? It’s your homework. There won’t be time to brief when we get there. That’s got all you need to know.”
Jungkook doesn’t think the folder looks nearly thick enough to contain everything on an event of such scale, but he figures you is the operative word here. It contains everything he needs to know.
“The other delegations will have their own security detail,” SSA Hong says, starting the engine. “We’ll be with the Korean delegation. Start there.”
Jungkook nods and opens the folder in his lap. The first few pages are dense with maps of the building and the surrounding areas, access routes, checkpoints and restricted areas cordoned off with a thick red marker on the page. He flips forward until he finds the tab for the different delegations and individual dignitaries, and then, finally, the Korean delegation. He flips the page onto the file of Kim Namjoon.
“Ambassador Kim is going to be there?”
SSA Hong snorts.
“Of course. Not much point in having a culture summit unless he’s going to be there, is there? He’s the VIP.”
Of course, everybody at the Bureau knew about Kim Namjoon, code name Renaissance Man. Appointed as the Ambassador and Deputy Minister for Cultural Cooperation in 2019, he remains the youngest person to ever hold such a senior post in government. Getting his start in local politics as a teenager, he went onto graduate top of his class from SNU and spent a year in America continuing his studies and working under the cultural affairs division at the Korean Embassy in Washington before returning to Korea, where he joined the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and quickly rose through the ranks to his current role as an ambassador-in residence. Described as a mover and a shaker, Jungkook has heard whispers of Namjoon causing discontent within the Ministry for so easily breezing past some of his more senior colleagues, but then again, all those who have met him seem to only have great things to say about him and about how charismatic and personable he is. Everybody knows that Kim Namjoon is going to be president one day. It’s just a matter of time.
Jungkook first made his acquaintance with Ambassador Kim while doing some background vetting ahead of a Korean delegation visit to Helsinki a few months ago. Granted, it was a rather one-sided acquaintance, seeing as they’ve never actually met, but Jungkook had found himself sitting at his desk late into the night, going down a rabbit hole of all of Namjoon’s speeches he could find on YouTube and had secretly, privately, in his shameful imagination, thought Kim Namjoon was gorgeous.
Tall, with incredible proportions in all those finely tailored suits, great hair, glasses that framed his perfect face and dimples. Not to mention that deep voice that sounded just as silken in all the languages he spoke (three fluently and at least three more conversationally).
Kim Namjoon might be an exact match to his ideal type (except for the things Jungkook doesn’t know about him, like whether he likes anime or what his opinion is about peeling perilla leaves for someone else), but Jungkook is a professional. He’s not going to let something as silly as his one-sided crush (on the country’s most influential diplomat, no less) get in the way of doing his job.
“Hello? Earth to Jeon Jungkook?”
Jungkook snaps out of his thoughts, only to realize he’s been staring at the photo of Kim Namjoon for the past few minutes.
“You might want to keep going,” SSA Hong says, a knowing quirk to his lips. “If you plan on finishing that before we get there.”
Jungkook flushes.
“Right,” he mutters, and turns the page.
Jungkook stands in place, sweat persistently beading under his collar, where the wire of his earpiece disappears into his shirt.
Things at the convention center had already been in full swing when they arrived. Security teams with dogs scoping out the perimeter and snipers posted on the roofs of the surrounding buildings outside, and inside, attendees, delegates, journalists and staff, everyone from fresh-faced interns to caterers and kitchen staff in chef’s whites, pushing noisy supply carts through the entrance hall.
Jungkook had followed SSA Hong down to the central command set up in the depths of the convention center, where he’d quickly gotten changed and checked in, assigned to stand outside one of the auditoriums and keep an eye out for anything suspicious until the Korean delegation with its VIP arrived.
He shifts his weight, watching faces and lanyards, not quite sure what he’s looking out for when suddenly —
“Psst.”
He turns towards the sound. He scans the crowd for a moment, confused, but nothing out of the ordinary stands out. He looks away, deciding that it must just be static from his earpiece when —
“Psst.”
He looks again. The sound seems closer this time, but once again, nothing in his immediate vicinity catches his attention. He’s about to reach for his earpiece to check for a loose connection that might be causing the disturbance when —
“Jeon Jungkook.”
With a group of university students (at least judging by the Pusan National University fencing club patches on their backpacks) out of the way, Jungkook finally spots him. Standing a few meters away, slightly shadowed by a banderole, is Kim Taehyung, wearing a burgundy suit, a purple shirt, and possibly the worst fake beard and mustache combo Jungkook has seen in his life.
“What the —”
Taehyung had joined the academy in the same intake as him, back when they were still scrawny kids with worse haircuts and decidedly less (bad, fake) facial hair. (Granted, to this day, Jungkook has seen peaches at the supermarket that grow more hair than him, but that’s beside the point.) They’d been inseparable all those years, sharing a dorm and always sitting together at mealtime, but after graduation, Taehyung had taken up a posting at the Seoul office while Jungkook had stayed in Busan. They still keep in touch, texting and sharing memes and comedy skits they come across, but Jungkook hadn’t considered the possibility of running into him here.
Taehyung grins, walking to him.
“What do you think?”
“Why do you look like that?” Jungkook asks, not quite sure whether to look at his suit, the elderly caterpillar on his top lip or the scraggly hairs on his chin, a strange contrast to his ever-glossy hair.
He knows the guys at the office always talk about the agents in Seoul being a little flashy, but this was something else.
“I’m undercover today,” Taehyung explains. “Do you like the suit, at least? It came with this big flower thing at the front, but I thought that might be a bit much.”
“You think?” Jungkook says, flat, eyeing him up and down. “What are you even supposed to be?”
“Art auctioneer.”
“Why would there be an art auctioneer here?”
“It’s a culture summit,” Taehyung says, slowly, like he’s confused as to what exactly Jungkook isn’t getting. “Come up, keep up.”
Jungkook frowns as Taehyung grins.
“What are you doing here? I thought you said they weren’t gonna let you out in the field for a couple more months.”
“Yeah, uh," Jungkook starts. "I wasn’t supposed to come, but with the whole food poisoning thing, I guess they needed more people.”
“Oh, yeah," Taehyung says, nodding. "I heard about that. It sounded pretty bad. Apparently, they had stuff flying out of both end—”
“Thanks,” Jungkook says, quickly, grimacing. “I get the idea.”
That's the last thing he wants to hear right now, especially since he feels so nervous that he might have stuff flying out from both ends himself soon.
Taehyung snorts.
“But what do you think? Great, right?”
Jungkook tugs on his collar.
“Sure.”
“Did you know Elton John was supposed to perform here?” Taehyung says, eyeing around the building. “He ended up cancelling to have a bigger concert in Seoul, but still.”
“Uh-huh,” Jungkook says, eyes trailing past Taehyung’s shoulder, tracking a man in a dark suit, who slips through a staff door.
Should he chase him to check his credentials? It was probably fine.
“Which is, like, great if you’re from Seoul, obviously,” Taehyung chatters on. “But sucks for everyone else. I mean, what about the provincial fans? Do they not deserve the artist’s love?”
Jungkook shrugs, distracted now by a woman with a clipboard, her eyes darting between her watch and the door.
“What can you do?”
“‘What can you do’?” Taehyung repeats, incredulous. “Dude. What happened to your Busan pride?”
Jungkook’s eyes finally drift back to Taehyung. “What?” He swallows, blinking. “Sorry, I’m just...”
Taehyung frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
Jungkook deflates.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Despite both of them being alphas and Taehyung being only a few years older, Jungkook used to get the feeling sometimes that Taehyung still saw him as a pup. It used to annoy him back in the academy, when all he wanted to be was tough and Taehyung would tease him or send him out to do his bidding like a little brother, but it makes him feel oddly comforted now, having somebody looking out for him.
“What do you mean?” Taehyung asks, amused now, flicking him gently under the chin. “Of course you do. This is what you’re trained for.”
“Yeah, trained, not —”
Jungkook gets cut off by his earpiece.
“All agents be advised. Renaissance Man, Silversmith en route, convoy departed Checkpoint Bravo. ETA four minutes.”
Taehyung tilts his head.
“Gotta go?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, feeling his pulse spike. This was it. “Sorry, I gotta — I — I’ll see you later.”
Taehyung grabs his wrist.
“Wait.”
Jungkook whirls around.
“We should agree on a code phrase,” Taehyung says. “To let each other know we’re okay.”
Jungkook furrows his brows.
“I think there’s standard codes for that.”
“Come on,” Taehyung goads. “It’ll be fun. And you can still use those. This is just for the two of us. Like the old times.”
Jungkook chews on his lip.
“Fine. Do you have something in mind?”
“Okay, how about...” Taehyung stops and thinks about it. ”Jajangmyeon is tastiest after midnight.”
“Jajang — what?”
“It has to be covert. That’s the whole point.”
Jungkook sighs.
“Fine, okay.”
“Say it.”
“I don’t —”
“Say it.”
“Sheesh, alright,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. “Jajangmyeon is tastiest after midnight. Happy?”
“Happy,” Taehyung agrees, finally dropping his wrist. “I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t get into anything too sticky.”
Jungkook swallows.
“I’ll try.”
Taehyung grins.
“Where the hell were you?” SSA Hong says when Jungkook takes his position at the glass railing on the second floor of the convention center, overlooking the entrance hall.
“Sorry,” Jungkook says, grimacing. “I was —”
Lost doesn’t seem like the right thing to say, but that was the truth.
The convention center is huge and seems to contain an endless network of escalators, elevators, emergency exits and connecting hallways, all of which looked basically alike. Jungkook had taken the escalator, which he thought would deposit him by the second floor overlook, only to end up standing lamely outside a lounge space furnished with garden chairs and artificial grass, where two women sat chatting over mimosas like they were at a holiday resort rather than a diplomatic summit.
He’s starting to think that maybe he should’ve given those building maps more than just a cursory flick through.
A sudden shift in the atmosphere below cuts off his train of thought. The noise in the crowd picks up, cameras and phones rising as the main doors open and Ambassador Kim steps inside.
Jungkook has seen him on the news dozens of times, but nothing comes close to seeing him in person. He’s wearing glasses and a navy suit, seemingly unbothered by the noise and the flashing cameras as the security clears a path ahead of him. Sunlight pours in through the glass panels overhead, catching his face, and for a moment, Jungkook swears he feels everything slow before Ambassador Kim breaks into a dimpled smile and lifts a hand to greet everyone.
“Ambassador Kim,” a journalist calls out. “What are you hoping the cultural cooperation summit in Busan will achieve this week?”
Ambassador Kim slows.
“Cultural diversity and creativity are the greatest human potential that we have. If we leave this summit with stronger partnerships and a yet better understanding of each other, then I would consider it a success.”
More journalists start shouting.
“Ambassador Kim!”
“Do you expect any new agreements to be signed?”
“What are your thoughts on —”
“Everyone,” a member of his staff interjects, stepping forward. “There will be more time for questions at the designated press area later.”
The journalists don't stop shouting as the people strain to get closer. Jungkook hadn’t realized that foreign policy drew such a crowd, but then again, something tells him it probably wasn’t diplomacy that everyone was so excited about.
He watches as Ambassador Kim gets ushered forward by security, gaze lifting upwards to greet the eager spectators on the upper levels. They’re just passing under the second floor overlook when it happens. Ambassador Kim’s eyes sweep the crowd by the railing, lips curled into a smile, when suddenly, his eyes land on Jungkook.
Jungkook freezes as their eyes lock. Ambassador Kim slows, too, hand suspended mid-wave as his eyes widen slightly, expression flickering with surprise. It only lasts for a second before one of his aides murmurs something in his ear and he’s swept forward again, ducking his head and disappearing out of sight.
“Great work,” SSA Hong says once they’re gone, clapping him on the back. “Only have to do that thirty more times today.”
Jungkook swallows. What just happened?
“Right.”
Jungkook shakes his head to clear the image of Ambassador Kim out of his mind. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted, especially by something as trivial as this.
“Ready to go?” SSA Hong asks. “Everything seems under control here. Let’s see if they need backup by the main auditorium.”
Jungkook nods.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
The rest of the day passes without incident.
Ambassador Kim spends most of the day in negotiations behind closed doors, which makes his movements easy to track. Jungkook only catches a glimpse of him in passing, standing outside one of the cordoned off conference rooms during lunch, gingerly sipping on a glass of water and talking with a shorter, blond man.
Jungkook couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he’d thought the blond man with him looked concerned. But nothing he’s heard since has suggested that there was anything wrong with Ambassador Kim, so it was probably fine.
At the end of the day, the Korean delegation moves to one of the towering hotels by the seaside and the security detail follows suit.
SSA Hong walks him through the procedure.
“We use a tiered access system,” he explains, swiping his card and briefly exchanging details with the hotel security liaison through the intercom before they get let inside. “Nobody goes through here unaccounted.”
Jungkook nods.
They continue down the hallway, passing a few agents stationed at intervals along the way. Each of them acknowledges them with a curt nod.
“It’s a lot of security,” Jungkook says.
“Yeah, well,” SSA Hong says, clearing access for them through another door. “We are the Special Security Bureau, after all.”
Jungkook flushes.
“Right. Of course.”
Jungkook follows him to the elevator, where two agents check their credentials and let them inside. SSA Hong swipes his card, inputs a pin and presses the button for the top floor.
“This will take us to the penthouse.”
The doors close, the elevator rising in near silence, nothing like the old rattling and clanking elevator that Jungkook has at his apartment. At the top, the doors open to a small foyer with a plant, a mirror and a wooden door.
“Alright, kid. This is you.”
“Great,” Jungkook says, automatically, and then, “Wait, what about you?”
SSA Hong shifts his weight.
“Yeah, about that.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, and for once, Jungkook sees him actually look a bit sheepish. “It’s been a long day. And there’s a great ramen place nearby and... I’m starving.”
Jungkook stares.
“You’re leaving?”
“You’ll be alright,” SSA Hong says. “They’ve basically got the whole building on lockdown. And nothing exciting ever happens at these things at night, anyway.”
“But what if —”
“You have your radio. And besides, if anybody was going to come here, they’d have to go through all those guys down there first.”
Jungkook gapes.
“Here.” SSA Hong takes his limp arm and presses a keycard onto his palm. “This gives you access to the room. You shouldn’t need it. Most of them are so tired that they just conk out right away. That, or they stay up working all night and don’t want to be disturbed. This is just in case.”
Jungkook looks down at the keycard in his hand. Welcome to the best night of your life, it says.
“Remember,” SSA Hong says when Jungkook looks up again, already backing into the elevator. “This is what you’re trained for. You got this.”
Jungkook watches as the doors slide closed and the elevator departs with that same quiet whoosh as it did earlier.
And then he’s all alone.
By the end of the first half an hour, Jungkook is thinking SSA Hong was probably right. It is pretty boring.
He downed an iced Americano earlier when he had the chance, but to his horror, he’s starting to feel a little droopy already.
That’s not good.
“Come on, Jungkook.”
He shifts his weight and rolls his shoulders, the hefty duty belt around his waist jingling as he jumps in place a few times to try and psych himself up. He already tried counting the stones in the plant pot, but he gave up after losing count (and realizing that it just made him more sleepy). He also tried flicking his flashlight on and off at the wall before realizing he should probably conserve the battery in case there was an actual emergency.
“This time I want, you, you, you, you,” he hums under his breath. “Like it's magnetic. You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you. Super ikku—”
He gets cut off by a sound coming from behind him. A pained, breathy sound, like somebody trying to stifle a moan.
He stops before slowly turning around, staring at the wooden door, wide-eyed. He takes a few steps closer when it happens again, another moan, unmistakable in the quiet.
SSA Hong’s words echo in his mind. They don’t want to be disturbed. But it sounds like somebody is hurt.
Jungkook can already see the headlines. A diplomat dead from a heart attack on his watch. Forget the field, he’d never see the Bureau doors again.
He knocks.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Excuse me?” he tries, knocking a few more times. “It’s security. Is everything okay? Do you need help?”
Nothing again.
He’s just about to press his ear to the door to listen when he smells it. The scent, rich, floral honey, dripping with sweetness.
He swallows, pupils dilating. His tongue finds the sharp tip of one of his canines, pushing against it to try and dull the sudden, throbbing ache in his teeth.
His heart starts to race. The logical part of him knows there’s nobody else, but another part of him is suddenly extremely aware of the competition, others trying to reach the source of such a sweet scent before him. He forces himself to breathe in deep through his nose, his thoughts only turning slow and sticky like swirling a spoon in that wonderful scent that keeps wafting out from under the door.
There was no time to waste.
Beckoned by the scent, Jungkook steps inside.
The penthouse suite is every bit as luxurious as Jungkook expected, every polished surface gleaming in the city lights coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He toes off his shoes in the darkness and follows the sweet scent drifting from the bedroom, warm light spilling out from under the door. He closes a hand around the handle and pushes it open.
In the middle of the king-sized bed is Ambassador Kim, lying on his back, satiny pyjama shirt slipping off his shoulder, a hand shoved into his pants.
At the sound of the door, he opens his eyes, and for the second time today, their eyes lock.
Ambassador Kim yelps, scrambling to pull the duvet over himself, clutching it to his chest. His fingers catch the light from the bedside lamp, glistening with —
Oh.
Jungkook snaps back into his body so quickly he feels like somebody dunked a bucket of ice water over his head.
Ambassador Kim is staring at him with wide eyes, a flush over his cheeks, chest rising and falling from exertion and Jungkook realizes there is nothing he can say or do right now that will make any of this okay.
“I’m sorry.” He stumbles back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I heard you through the door and I thought you were hurt. I’m —”
“Wait,” Ambassador Kim says and Jungkook stops in his tracks. Ambassador Kim watches him for a moment, expression still a little dazed but sharper than it was a moment ago. “I saw you down there earlier.”
The spacious bedroom suddenly feels too warm and too small. The scent of honey and wildflowers is so thick it’s hard to think.
“Kim Namjoon,” Ambassador Kim says, with a small, amused quirk to his lips. “I’d shake your hand, but —”
Jungkook feels his ears burn.
“Jeon Jungkook.”
Namjoon nods.
“Nice to meet you.”
Jungkook clears his throat.
“I thought you were hurt.”
“Ah,” Namjoon says. “Not exactly.” The smile on his lips goes a little sheepish. “I think I’m going into heat.”
Jungkook stares, head spinning. Nowhere in the files did it say anything about Kim Namjoon being an omega. Nowhere in the files did it say anything about his designation.
“Heat?”
Namjoon nods, chewing on his lip. He seems pretty calm about the whole thing, if only a little regretful.
“This is kind of a mess, right?”
Jungkook swallows.
“Is there anyone I can call? An alpha?” He cringes. He probably shouldn’t assume. “A beta? An omega?”
Namjoon chuckles.
“None of the above. Believe or not, but international diplomacy doesn’t actually leave a lot of time to meet people.”
Jungkook nods slowly.
He’s discussing dating with the Ambassador and Deputy Minister for Cultural Cooperation. Soon, he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. A weird, wild, painfully sexy dream.
Namjoon eases his death grip on the duvet, stretching out his (perfect, golden, mile-long, god, Jungkook, stop staring) legs.
“Maybe you should try calling the reception,” he suggests. “I heard nowadays all hotels are required to keep a knotting dildo at the reception for situations like this.”
Jungkook stares, incredulous. That would be amazing. He couldn’t get it delivered straight to Namjoon, of course, but maybe he could have somebody else pick it up, say that one of the staff had an emergency —
“Really?”
“No,” Namjoon says, eyes crinkling with a smile. “But wouldn’t that be a huge help.”
Jungkook is pretty sure he’s dead. He has died and gone to his own personal purgatory where he’s discussing knotting dildos with Kim Namjoon. Only, that would imply that Kim Namjoon was also dead, which would constitute a pretty major failure on their part.
He’s trying so hard to wrack his brain for what to do that he doesn’t notice the way Namjoon’s eyes have darkened until he speaks.
“You’re an alpha, right?”
Jungkook swallows before nodding. Namjoon tilts his head slightly, exposing more of that perfect line of his neck.
“Do you want to help me?”
“Help you with...?”
“My crossword puzzle,” Namjoon says, eyes flicking to the Big Book of General Knowledge Crosswords: 300 Puzzles to Train and Challenge Your Mind on the bedside table. “Or actually, I have a draft proposal I need to finish for next week.” His tone goes slightly exasperated, ”Yes, with my heat.”
Jungkook is trained in surveillance and counter-surveillance, defensive driving and three types of close-quarters combat. He can survive for two weeks by himself in the wilderness, jump out of a helicopter into freezing cold water, administer first aid in a moving vehicle during a high-speed car chase and turn a paperclip into a lock picking device and a pen into a live transmitting feed using a tiny camera and a few colorful wires.
None of his training ever covered this.
Namjoon licks his lips.
“I mean, there’s gotta be a reason why you came in here, instead of calling for a medic.”
“I told you,” Jungkook says, a little bit of petulance slipping into his voice, despite himself. He doesn’t want Ambassador Kim to think he’s some perv. “I thought you were hurt. And your scent —”
He stops, cheeks flushing.
“That’s sweet,” Namjoon says, softening, although his eyes are still just as dark. “You’re cute. And I bet you smell really good without that patch, too.”
Namjoon’s eyes linger on the scent-covering patch on his neck, a uniform requirement for all on-duty agents.
“Do you want to?”
Jungkook wants to. He really, really, really wants to. And unfortunately, that’s only the first of his problems.
“I work for you. And I don’t think you’re thinking straight.”
“Well, actually," Namjoon says. "According to Article 3 of the Presidential and Diplomatic Security Act of 1964, the SSB operates as an independent agency reporting to the Office of the President. Although the Committee on Presidential Security and Protection can liaise with related ministries and agencies in the performance of its duties, your agency actually has very little to do with the diplomatic agenda of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as such.”
Jungkook blinks.
“You work for the President, so you don’t work for me,” Namjoon says, dimples flashing as he smiles. “Yet.”
“This is crazy.”
“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to,” Namjoon says. “But you think I’m attractive. I think you’re attractive. And I think, if we were any other alpha and omega, I would’ve been on your lap five minutes ago.”
Jungkook swallows. This is the most reckless, stupid thing that he’s ever done. He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.
“Fuck,” he says. “Okay.”
As it turns out, Namjoon is just as efficient at undressing people as he is at making a change.
It’s only five minutes later that Jungkook finds himself stripped to his boxers while Namjoon sits still clothed astride his thighs and mouths at his scent gland, the scent-covering patch discarded on the bedside floor.
“You smell so good.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’re ripped,” Namjoon says, alternating between mouthing at his neck and rubbing all up on him like a house cat. “How many times a week do you work out?”
As a part of his job, Jungkook is actually under a pretty serious physical activity regimen, including taking a fitness test twice a year for the past five years throughout his time in the academy. But he wouldn’t want to bore Namjoon with the details.
“Uh, five, maybe. Six?”
“Wow.”
Before Jungkook can say anything else, Namjoon presses his mouth to a spot on his neck that must have a direct connection to his dick.
“Wait,” Jungkook manages. “Ah, fuck, Ambassador Kim —”
“Please,” Namjoon says. “Don’t call me Ambassador Kim when we’re about to fuck.”
“Namjoon-ssi. Your, ah, Excellency —”
“Call me hyung.”
“Hyung,” Jungkook grits out. “I think we need to let someone know. If you’re really going to heat, you’re not going to make it tomorrow, I need to call someone —”
Jungkook gets a momentary reprieve as Namjoon detaches his lips (perfect, plump, spit-slick lips, holy fuck) from his neck and swings a leg over to rummage around the bedside drawer. Jungkook watches as he pulls out a pen and a small notebook, scribbling down a number before ripping out the page and slapping into Jungkook’s palm.
“Here. Call Jimin.”
Park Jimin, Jungkook remembers, the attaché to the Korean delegation to the summit and Namjoon’s assistant and good personal friend.
He didn’t have a photo on his file, but Jungkook realizes he must have been the blond man Namjoon was talking with earlier. Jungkook had seen him around the convention center a few more times after that, the clacking of his Chelsea boots announcing his arrival before Jungkook could actually see him coming.
Jimin looked a little intimidating, but also like he got a lot of things done. He would be a good person to call.
“Do you have a phone?”
Namjoon blinks.
“Just use that one,” he says, nodding at the landline on Jungkook’s bedside table. “It’s all security-vetted, anyway.”
Namjoon lies back against the pillows, watching as Jungkook swings his feet over the side of the bed, stands and dials the number. It’s pretty late, Jungkook realizes as he waits, worrying at his bottom lip. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Jimin doesn’t —
“Hello?”
Jungkook perks up.
“Park Jimin?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“Uh, hi,” Jungkook says, feeling stupid all of a sudden. “This is, uh, Jeon Jungkook from the, um, Special Security Bureau —”
“You’re the new guy.”
Jungkook frowns. He hadn’t realized he had a reputation.
“Uh, yeah, that’s me.”
He really frowns, now.
“Wait, how did you know that?”
“I have my sources.”
"Oh."
“So, Jeon Jungkook, new guy from the Special Security Bureau,” Jimin says, slowly. “Did you call me this late just to make introductions?”
“No,” Jungkook says, quickly. “No, I, um... I called for a reason. I’m here at the penthouse with, um, Namjoon, Ambassador Kim, he’s going into heat and —”
“What?!”
“— and he’s asking me to help him.”
”What?!” Jimin says, loud enough this time that Jungkook actually has to hold the receiver away from his ear. “Why are you in there with him? What are you, some kind of pervert?! Get out of there!”
“No, listen —”
”You listen,” Jimin says and Jungkook’s mouth snaps shut. “Is he there with you? Give him the phone.”
Jungkook presses the receiver to his shoulder.
“He wants to talk to you.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes, shirt slipping down his shoulder again as he rolls over and grabs the phone. The way he’s lying on the bed, on his front with the receiver pressed to his ear, gives Jungkook a perfect view of the way the fabric of his satiny pyjama shorts stretch over the curve of his ass.
“Jimin, hi.”
Jimin’s tone must soften at the sound of Namjoon’s voice, because Jungkook suddenly can’t hear what he’s saying anymore.
“I don’t know,” Namjoon says. “I mean, I don’t think so. I always take them at the same time. I think it was the stress with the summit —"
Unfortunately, the globes of Namjoon’s perfect ass can only distract him for so long and Jungkook is starting to feel really awkward, just hovering at the bedside. Namjoon gives him a quizzical look that turns into a gentle smile as he adjusts the receiver against his ear.
“No, it was my idea.”
Jimin says something and Namjoon huffs.
“You know I tried yoga. And pilates. And that sound bowl relaxation class that you got me." He pouts. “You said I should start having more orgasms to relax.”
And that’s definitely Jungkook’s cue to go.
He gestures awkwardly in the direction of the en suite and mouths, ”I gotta pee.”
Namjoon frowns, his gaze flicking down and lifting back to Jungkook's face before he nods.
Jungkook slinks away.
Jungkook dries his hands on the towel hanging by the sink before taking in his reflection in the mirror.
In only a few minutes, Namjoon has managed to do a number on his neck, a constellation of reddish marks scattered along the entire length of his throat. Jungkook vaguely remembers reading somewhere about how omegas in heat could get a little... aggressive with their scenting, to the point that it was a fairly common sight at most emergency departments across the country to see a sheepish omega trailing after an embarrassed, limping alpha with an ice pack pressed to their crotch and teeth marks in unspeakable places. While omega canines were generally smaller than those of an alpha, what they lacked in size, they usually made up for in determination, and looking at his neck, Jungkook can safely that Namjoon has enough determination for several omegas.
Come to think of it, it was probably that same determination that has gotten him so far in his career.
Thankfully, Jungkook’s uniform jacket zips up all the way.
“Come on, Jungkook,” he mutters, eyes dropping to the sink. “You can do this. You’ve trained for...” He chews on his lip. “Well, not for this. But a bunch of other stuff.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
Jungkook jolts and spins around. Namjoon stands at the bathroom threshold, a slightly amused smile curling on his lips.
“How did you get in?”
“You forgot to lock the door.”
“Oh.”
Jungkook frowns, only briefly getting to mentally lament how out of practice he feels (what kind of an agent forgets to lock the door?) before when Namjoon closes the distance and backs him against the sink.
“What’s wrong?”
“Now everybody knows we’re going to have sex.”
“Not everybody,” Namjoon says. “Jimin’s going to say I came down with a fever. Which is technically true.”
Jungkook swallows.
“How many people know? About you?”
“Not many. A handful, including you, now.”
Great, so, not only was Jungkook breaking about fifty different protocols, he’s also accidentally let himself in on a gigantic government secret that he was definitely not supposed to know. Great, great, great —
“Stop freaking out,” Namjoon says. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I asked you to be here.”
“You’re going to wipe my mind after this, right?”
“I don’t have the powers to sign off on that, I’m afraid,” Namjoon says, smiling. ”But if you do a good job, I can see about getting you a presidential medal for your efforts.”
Jungkook stares.
“Come on,” Namjoon giggles, taking his hand and pulling him along. “Let’s get back to bed.”
At the academy, one of the first things Jungkook learned was that adaptability was the most important quality of any agent.
You couldn’t plan for everything (and they planned for a lot of things), but you could control how you reacted when things didn’t go the way you expected. You had to learn to play things by ear.
“Alpha,” Namjoon says, by said ear. “I wanna take my shirt off.”
Jungkook pulls back to look at him. He’s flushed pink across the highs of his cheeks, a sheen of sweat gathering on his face and throat that glimmers in the warm light from the bedside lamp and makes him glow.
What kind of omega magic was this?
“A little help?” Namjoon asks and Jungkook reaches out, fingers working the buttons out of the holes in the satin until it slips off his shoulders, exposing his breasts.
“Oh.”
Namjoon giggles at that, eyelashes fanning on his cheeks and lips curling with a satisfied smile as Jungkook stares.
“Do you want to fuck them?”
Jungkook is pretty sure he blacks out a little.
“You can,” Namjoon encourages, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to cup one of his breasts, a perfect, firm handful.
Jungkook runs a thumb over a pebbled nipple, transfixed, goosebumps rising on Namjoon’s smooth, golden skin as he shivers.
Jungkook catches his eye.
“It’s okay,” Namjoon assures him. “Just a bit sensitive right now.”
Jungkook swallows.
It’s now or never. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, or whatever it was that somebody said.
“Maybe if I do it with my mouth.”
Namjoon just stares for a moment, and just as Jungkook thinks he’s made a mistake, Namjoon's eyes crinkle with a disbelieving smile.
“If you wanted to put your mouth on my tits, you could’ve just said so.”
Namjoon climbs off his lap and flops back on the bed, reaching for the glasses perched on his nose.
“Wait,” Jungkook says, and Namjoon stops. “Keep them on.”
Namjoon snorts.
“You’re into the hot secretary look?”
“Hot diplomat.”
Namjoon smirks.
“I see.”
He adjusts the glasses back on his face. Satisfied, Jungkook lowers his mouth onto Namjoon’s breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth.
”Fuck.”
Namjoon arches his back and suddenly, Jungkook finds his face smushed between his breasts, where sweat glistens on his breastbone. For all his reservations before, he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.
What could be better than this?
“Such pretty tits,” he says, mouth finding Namjoon’s other breast while he thumbs at the nipple, feeling crazy. “How are you real?”
“They’re kind of a pain sometimes,” Namjoon pants. “All those dress shirts, especially. Or at the gym, they just bounce all over the place —”
Jungkook groans, pained.
“I’ll hold them for you,” he says, earnestly, greedily groping at both. “You don’t need to worry about anything anymore.”
Namjoon laughs, surprised and sweet.
“I’ll make sure to call you, then.”
Jungkook’s breath hitches as Namjoon reaches for his straining bulge, palming it over the front of his underwear before slipping a hand inside and pulling out his hard cock, scent blooming honey-sweet anew.
“Come on.”
Namjoon settles back against the plush pillows as Jungkook shakes off his underwear and spits into his hand, slicking up his cock.
“There’s a really nice body oil in the bathroom,” Namjoon says, suddenly. “I used it earlier. It smelled really expensive.”
Jungkook stops, hand on his cock.
“Oil?”
“Mm.”
Jungkook hesitates. A part of him wants nothing more than to get on with the program, but then his brain supplies him with a visual of sliding his cock between Namjoon’s perfect, plump, expensively oiled tits.
He’s probably never going to experience this again. What’s the point of staying at such a nice hotel if he wasn’t going to make use of all the amenities?
“One second,” he says, already swinging one leg over the side of the bed. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Be quick,” Namjoon shouts after him as Jungkook runs (waddles) to the bathroom, eyes frantically scanning the shelf.
Shampoo. Body wash. Conditioner.
Body oil.
He grabs the bottle and rushes back to find Namjoon with a new spark in his eye, like something out of his every fantasy.
“Wanna do the honors?”
Jungkook nearly trips over his feet in his rush to climb back onto the bed, clicking open the cap of the bottle. Namjoon gives him a wicked little smile, pushing his tits together as Jungkook tips the bottle and pours.
“Oh, fuck.”
“You’re gonna get it on the sheets.”
“Don’t care,” Jungkook says, bottle discarded somewhere in the duvet mountain as he takes his dripping cock in hand and scoots closer.
“Do you know how hard it is to get out oil stains?”
“I love laundry,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes already fixed on where he's trying to go. Namjoon laughs, surprised, and finally positions himself so, that Jungkook can slide his cock between his breasts, enveloping him.
”Go ahead, baby.”
That's all the permission Jungkook needs. He ruts his hips, watching, dazed, as Namjoon rolls his breasts in his hands, pinching and tugging at his nipples, still a little puffy around the areola, where Jungkook had latched his mouth earlier. He must be dripping with slick, the scent of honey and wildflowers growing even headier, complemented by the floral notes of the oil.
“Alpha.”
Namjoon gasps as Jungkook bats his hands away and pushes his tits together himself, creating a tight, warm channel for him to rut into a few times, first rubbing over Namjoon’s nipples with his thumbs, before flicking at them with the head of his clock. He continues like that, fucking his tits and groping at them, until he feels a little lightheaded.
”Ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum —”
He pulls back, hand frantically working over his cock a few times before he cums, the first rope landing right over the swell of Namjoon’s tits. Namjoon gasps as he keeps going, shooting thick ropes all over his chest until he’s breathing hard, slumping over with his forehead to the headboard.
Once the haze lifts, Jungkook realizes he’s still gripping Namjoon’s tits, and almost wants to laugh at how absurd the situation is. Even now, he can’t resist the opportunity to roll them around blindly in his palms, even more slippery than before. He does that until he smells it, the sudden twinge of upset to Namjoon’s scent.
He pulls back to see Namjoon frowning down at the mess of cum on his chest. Jungkook feels himself go cold as he realizes, oh, I fucked up.
“I’m sorry —”
“No,” Namjoon says, quickly, though his scent betrays him. “It’s okay. We can wait, we’ll just give it a minute, right?"
His lips quirk with wry smile.
“You really gave it your all, huh?”
And Jungkook realizes: Namjoon isn’t upset about the mess, he’s upset because he thinks this is it.
“I can go again,” he blurts, and Namjoon stops. “I don’t need to... I can go again. Right now.”
“What?”
It was something Jungkook had discovered pretty soon after he first started hooking up, realizing that he didn’t need breaks the same way his partners did. Concerned that something was wrong, he’d talked to a doctor, who’d explained to him that shortened recovery periods were normal during heats and ruts, but could also present in some people outside of their mating cycles. Jungkook just happened to be one of those people.
“I don’t really have a refractory period,” Jungkook explains, already feeling his cheeks burn. “I can just... keep going.”
Namjoon stares at him for a moment before he grabs him and pulls him down, slotting their mouths in a kiss. When he pulls back again, his scent blooms so sweet.
“You’re perfect."
After learning the full capabilities of Jungkook’s statistical outlier of a dick, Namjoon wastes no time kicking off his pants and underwear and rolling onto his front, ass pushed up, thick thighs spread wide to show off his hard cock and smooth, slick hole.
“I got dared to wax it once,” Namjoon says, a new kind of blush settling on his cheeks. “Turns out, I like the way it feels when I —”
His breath catches as Jungkook presses a thumb against his hole, spreading out his slick in slow circles. If Jungkook thought Namjoon’s tits were great, this was somehow even better.
Jungkook really likes slick. You could say any alpha must be hard-wired to enjoy such tangible evidence of their omega’s arousal, but Jungkook really likes it. He likes it on him, when his partners rut against him, on his thigh or against his abs, and he likes it around him, dripping down the length of his cock as they ride him. More than anything, though, he likes it on his face, glistening all over his jaw while he eats them out. Which is exactly what he plans to do.
“When you what?”
“When I touch myself,” Namjoon says, panting. “Alpha, please.”
Namjoon keens as Jungkook dives down, flattening his tongue against Namjoon’s hole before sucking his slick straight from the source. It drips out in thick rivulets as Namjoon clutches the sheets in his fists, stomach clenching through these hitched little sounds as he struggles to swallow his moans. Jungkook eases a finger into him while he keeps flicking his tongue around the rim.
“Ah, ah, alpha —”
“You like it?”
Namjoon nods frantically, squirming like he’s not sure whether to push closer or to get away. He’s glistening with sweat, pink lips parted and brows furrowed with a blissed out expression, face smushed against his arm like he’s too gone to think about what he looks like, only focused on feeling good. Jungkook thinks he looks gorgeous, lost in pleasure.
He holds one arm around his thigh to keep him in place, lapping up the slick that flows out with enthusiasm. Namjoon sobs as he slides in another finger alongside the first, slipping inside easily with the copious amounts of slick that Namjoon keeps producing. He must also still be stretched out from working himself open with his own fingers earlier.
Namjoon sobs as he cums, thighs shaking and slick flowing down his taint as his hard cock spurts over the sheets. Jungkook finally eases his fingers out before Namjoon rolls over, still breathing hard, glasses askew on his nose.
Jungkook chuckles, wiping a rivulet of slick traveling down his neck. Namjoon is definitely the slickest omega he’s ever been with. He loves it.
“Good?”
Namjoon swallows.
“Nobody has ever done that to me before.”
“What?”
“Nobody has ever done that to me before,” Namjoon says, again. “Used their mouth.” His lips curl with a shy smile. “I really liked it.”
“Oh.
Jungkook only just begins to contemplate what an injustice it is for a perfect, slick hole of a perfect omega like Namjoon to have gone unsucked all these years, when Namjoon smiles, hooks one foot behind his thigh and yanks him closer.
“You should fuck me now.”
Jungkook changed his mind. There was no point in lamenting what wrongs had been before. Namjoon had him now.
“Do you have condoms?”
Namjoon blinks.
“What?”
“Condoms.”
“No?”
“Oh,” Jungkook says. Namjoon’s eyes follow him as he gets up, setting off on a search. “There’s gotta be some around here somewhere.”
“Why would there be condoms in the hotel room?”
Jungkook blinks.
“But, at the Olympics...”
Namjoon’s lips quirk.
“A diplomatic summit is a bit different.”
Jungkook feels his cheeks heat as Namjoon laughs, reaching out and pulling him down again until he lands on the bed with a little oof.
“It’s okay,” Namjoon coaxes, voice syrupy sweet. “You get regular check-ups, right? I get them, too.”
“What about your suppressants? I thought —”
At this point, Jungkook is pretty sure he would do anything for Namjoon, including giving him a bunch of cute, chubby, dimpled babies if he asked. But that should probably be something for them to discuss beforehand, especially what with Namjoon’s whole president-before-thirty-five plan.
“It’s just stress,” Namjoon insists. “I take, like, three different ones, too. One of them has to do something. Alpha, please.” He bats his eyelashes. “I want to feel you.”
“Okay, okay.”
Namjoon grins, victorious, flipping over with his knees spread wide again. Jungkook gathers some of his slick and uses it to wet his cock, giving himself a few tugs.
“It was in Seoul.”
“What?”
“The Summer Olympics, Seoul, 1988," Namjoon says. "The first time they handed out condoms at the Games.”
Jungkook hates to say but he’s only, like, forty percent listening anymore, eyes fixed on the way his cock slides over Namjoon’s hole, smearing around the wetness, not quite slipping inside. Still, Namjoon keeps chattering.
“It was only 8,500 at the time. It was 450,000 in Ri-oh —”
Jungkook groans the head of his cock finally pops inside, past the rim and into the tight, warmth clutch of his body.
Namjoon moans.
“Fuck, yeah.”
His scent builds as Jungkook slowly pushes his cock in deeper, so thick in the room he can taste it. Or maybe that’s just the slick drying around his mouth.
The last few inches are a stretch, the base of his cock already swelling with the beginnings of a knot, but eventually, he bottoms out. Namjoon moans, content, like he’s sinking into a warm bubble bath after a long day.
“Fuck, that’s good.”
Jungkook only gets to bask in the satisfaction of satisfying his omega (an omega, he reminds himself, not his) for a moment before Namjoon looks over his shoulder with a mischievous grin, eyes glassy.
“Are all alphas in the SSB as big as you?”
Jungkook huffs.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
Namjoon giggles.
“I have a lot of ideas,” he says. “You should fuck me here, and then on that chair, and in the shower, and here and against that mirror —”
Namjoon gasps as Jungkook pulls out and fucks back into him. He wants nothing more than to abandon all caution and just piston his hips into that silky heat, but even now, a part of him reminds him that he’s got a job to do.
“You said here twice.”
“Mmm,” Namjoon agrees, and he’s starting to sound floaty already, with something to finally fill him up. “Definitely here.”
“Alright.”
“And once we’re done,” Namjoon keeps chattering. “Gonna make a nest, and do it all over again. You’ll help me, right, alpha?”
“Of course.”
“Okay,” Namjoon agrees, scent blooming with another satisfied wave. He pushes back, impatient. “Come on, fuck me.”
Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice.
Jungkook fucks Namjoon a couple more times before the omega finally falls asleep curled up in the pile of sheets, sated for now.
Carefully, Jungkook pulls on his underwear and sneaks out of the bedroom into the darkness, zoning out by the minibar, where he helps himself to a couple fistfuls of peanuts.
It was probably best to fill up now while he still had the opportunity, he reasons. There was no telling when he’d be able to next.
Afterwards, he slips back into the warm bed (Namjoon burns like a furnace when he sleeps), awoken again only a few hours later by insistent knocking on the door. He blinks his eyes open, disoriented until he remembers where he is. Thankfully, Namjoon stays asleep as he gets out of bed, groping around in the darkness for his pants and shirt. Unsuccessful, he settles for the next best thing he can find, tugging on his uniform jacket before rushing to the door.
“Who is it?”
“King Sejong the Great,” comes a flat reply from the other side. “Who do you think? Open the door.”
Jungkook swings open the door. On the other side stands a very unimpressed-looking Park Jimin with grocery bags at his feet and a duffel bag on his shoulder.
His eyes trail down Jungkook’s frame from the SSB patch on his jacket, down to his boxers, bare legs and then back up again.
“Is this the new uniform? More minimalist than I thought.”
Jungkook flushes as Jimin sticks out his hand.
“Park Jimin.”
“Jeon Jungkook.”
”New guy,” Jimin agrees, simply. “How is he?”
“He’s, uh...” Jungkook hesitates. Horny probably wasn’t the word Jimin was looking for. “Good,” he settles for. “Sleeping now.”
Jimin looks surprised.
"Really?"
“What?” Jungkook asks, wide-eyed, suddenly alarmed. “Why? Is that bad?”
“No,” Jimin says, quickly, shaking his head. “He’s just a terrible sleeper, usually. The coffee station at the Government Complex hates to see him coming."
“You have a coffee station?”
"Yeah," Jimin says, slowly, confused. "What, you don't?"
Jungkook’s mind suddenly flashes back to all the times he’s had to walk through everything from rain and snow to scorching sunshine balancing two, three, four trays of drinks, trying not to drop them on his way back.
"No."
“Oh."
Jungkook swallows.
“How’s, uh... everything out there?”
“Getting there,” Jimin says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Press release is going out first thing in the morning. Director-General for the Cultural Affairs Division is flying in, she’ll take over the negotiations. But the panel discussion with the National Library will just have to do without him.” Jimin’s lips quirk with a lamenting smile. “Out of everyone, I think Namjoon will be the most disappointed about that. He was really looking forward to it.”
Jungkook nods.
“I got you covered, too,” Jimin adds, suddenly. “If anyone asks, you didn’t get the memo about the shrimp until it was too late.” His lips quirk. “Rookie mistake.”
Jungkook frowns.
“This is for you,” Jimin says, thrusting the duffel his way. “It’s some extra clothes, in case he feels like nesting. And some heating pads for any cramps and ice packs, in case he gets too warm.” He stops and adds, pointedly, ”Condoms.”
Jungkook dodges eye contact for that last one, busying himself with taking all the bags that Jimin deposits in his hands.
“Try to get him to eat something. Preferably something salty for the electrolytes, but he really likes sweet things.”
“Sure.”
“And watch his temperature. He runs pretty warm on a normal day, so just make sure that he doesn’t overheat.”
“Got it.”
“And he’s probably really going to want to go roaming outside at some point, but you probably get why that’s a bad idea, right?”
Jungkook nods.
Seconds pass as Jimin scrutinizes him and Jungkook braces himself for some variation of if you hurt so much as a hair on his head, your body will be buried in a remote forest grave in Cheongsong come fall, and I’ll use every bit of my diplomatic privilege to make sure no-one ever finds out what happened to you.
Instead —
“I just want to say I’m sorry.”
Wait, what?”
“For shouting at you earlier,” Jimin clarifies. “I was just surprised. And there’s a lot of people trying to take advantage.”
Jungkook stares.
“But he has the best judgment out of anyone I know. And if this is what he needs, then... I’m glad you’re doing this for him.”
“Oh,” Jungkook says. “It’s, um... It’s okay.” He nods a few times, quick and earnest. “More than okay. It’s an honor.”
He regrets the words as soon as they come out. Why did he say that?
“Right,” Jimin says, slowly, a hint of amusement curling at his lips. ”I’ll make sure to let him know you said that, then.”
Jungkook flushes, but before he can defend himself, a whine comes, followed by the rustling of sheets. Jimin glances inside, then looks at him again.
“You should go.”
Jungkook nods.
“Call me if you need anything,” Jimin says. “And just focus on taking care of him. I’ll take care of everything else.”
Jungkook is about to go, when he remembers.
“Wait!”
Jimin stops.
“Could you, um...” Jungkook hesitates, before soldiering on. “Could you maybe pass on a message for me?”
”A message?”
Jungkook nods.
“Alright,” Jimin agrees, a little dubious, still. ”Who to?”
“His name is Kim Taehyung. He’s with security, too.”
“What’s the message?”
“Jajangmyeonistastiestaftermidnight.”
“What?”
“Jajangmyeonistastiestaftermidnight.”
"I really can't understand what you're saying —"
“Jajangmyeon is tastiest after midnight!"
Jimin stares.
"I know," Jungkook laments miserably, shoulders slumping. "Please, just —"
Jimin's eyes narrow.
“Is that some kind of sex thing?”
“What? No!”
“Are you sure?" Jimin pushes. "Because if you’re using that to pass on some kind of weird, secret sex messages about this to your buddies, I swear —”
“Yes,” Jungkook insists, exasperated, and Jimin stares. “I mean, no! It’s just something to make sure we’re okay.”
“Alright,” Jimin says, slowly, although he doesn’t seem completely convinced. “Jajangmyeon is tastiest after midnight. I’ll pass it on.”
“Thank you.”
“See you later, new guy.”
Jungkook nods and closes the door.
Jungkook quickly puts away the groceries, forcing the ice cream into the tiny freezer compartment of the mini fridge. When he returns to the bedroom, Namjoon is awake.
“Where did you go?”
“Jimin came.”
“Jimin was here?”
The happy little omegan trill in Namjoon’s voice makes Jungkook feel a strange, misplaced sense of jealousy.
“Alpha,” Namjoon says, putting just a little whine into his voice. “You don’t need to be jealous. He’s a friend.”
Sure, Jungkook thinks, sulking. A friend. A friend who came over with all of Namjoon’s favorite things and spent the last few minutes making sure Jungkook knew exactly how to take care of him. Suddenly, Jungkook can’t help but wonder exactly how deep the bond between Namjoon and his personal assistant is.
Or exactly how deep in Namjoon he’s bee—
“Alpha,” Namjoon says, again, and like a sullen little fruit fly to the ripest peach in the garden, Jungkook goes.
Namjoon’s eyes crinkle.
“You’re so cute when you pout.”
“No way.”
“You are,” Namjoon laughs. “Jimin’s been with me for a long time. He just gets a little protective, sometimes.”
“He keeps calling me ‘the new guy’.”
“You are the new guy,” Namjoon says, grinning. “But lucky for you, I really like trying new things.”
Jungkook huffs.
“Like,” Namjoon continues. “I was thinking I could try riding you for a change.”
Jungkook’s eyes snap up to him and Namjoon’s grin widens.
“But I guess you’re not really into that.”
“No,” Jungkook says, quickly. “I am.”
“Are you sure? You seemed pretty skeptical —”
“No,” Jungkook insists. “New is good. New is great.”
“Mmm,” Namjoon hums, catching him by the front of his jacket and tugging him down. “That's what I thought."
Jungkook knocks out for a few more hours after that, only to be roused again by the dull thuds of something hitting the floor.
He reaches out blindly to feel around for Namjoon, only to find the sheets beside him cold. That shocks him awake, his first frantic thought being somebody took him, followed by a thousand other scenarios of Namjoon wandering out by himself in the sleepless metropolis.
Why couldn’t they just give him a homebody to look after? Why did they leave him with the one person known for spending any little free time he had roaming around, visiting every gallery and museum and friendship park in every city that he went to? Namjoon was probably cycling in circles around Democracy Park as we speak.
Before he can call a code black, his eyes adjust, and he spots Namjoon in the darkness, a tall, shadowy shape standing by an open closet, pulling out extra pillows and linens.
Jungkook blinks blearily, voice rough from sleep.
”Hyung?”
Namjoon glances over his shoulder, before immediately dragging out another mountain of bedding to the floor, movements growing more frantic and distressed.
“It’s not right,” he mumbles. “It doesn’t smell right. How am I supposed to nest with this?”
Jungkook’s eyes widen.
Out in the real world, Namjoon is known for being low-maintenance, humble, and famously easygoing despite his staggering success. The sight of him standing in his underwear, on the verge of tears because the hotel’s 1000 thread count organic Egyptian cotton sheets apparently didn’t pass his check, spurs Jungkook into action.
“Hey,” he says, pushing himself out of bed, rushing over. Carefully, he takes the latest offender out of Namjoon’s hands and sets it aside. “It’s okay, hyung. It’s fine.”
Namjoon pouts.
“It’s not.”
“Come on,” Jungkook says, gently tugging Namjoon away from the closet, making a mental note to clean up later. “Let’s get back to bed, baby.”
Namjoon frowns. The teary, frantic edge disappears from his brown eyes. He blinks.
“Baby?”
“Oh,” Jungkook stammers, the reality of what he just said hitting him. “Is that not —”
Namjoon stares at him for an agonizing second, before the tension melts out of him, eyes crinkling with a smile.
“You’re the baby.”
Jungkook huffs, trying not to feel too offended, even as his ears burn bright red.
“Stay here. Don’t move.”
He bolts out of the bedroom, hunting down the duffel bag Jimin had dropped off earlier. He drags it back and upends it over the bed.
The clothes tumble out, soft hoodies and sweatpants and t-shirts (a bright pink Kirby one on top), a far cry from the fine suits and ties Namjoon usually wears.
At the sight, Namjoon immediately perks up, getting to work. Jungkook watches as he arranges the clothes into a nest on the bed before patting the center of the mattress.
“Come here.”
Jungkook doesn’t dare to hesitate. He climbs in, and Namjoon wastes no time latching onto him, throwing a leg over his hips like an alpha-shaped body pillow.
Jungkook blinks into the dark room, face pressed against one of Namjoon’s shirts, this one with a bunny on it. He’s definitely not used to being the little spoon, but for the omega, he’d accommodate anything.
“Okay?”
“Mm-hm,” Namjoon agrees, a satisfied wave of his sweet scent curling into the room as he nuzzles his face into Jungkook’s nape.
Crisis averted.
”Good morning, we’re coming to you live from bright and sunny Busan, where the second day of the Global Cultural Cooperation Summit is now underway. Ongoing negotiations have unfortunately been hampered by the sudden absence of one of the summit’s most anticipated participants, Ambassador and Deputy Minister Kim Namjoon, who has reportedly fallen ill overnight, with Director-General Yoon Dabin taking over the negotiations —”
“Ah, fuck, turn it, ah —"
“This sudden development has sparked speculation among attendees about the true nature of Kim's abrupt illness. With a historic accord hanging in the balance, all eyes are on Director-General Yoon as she faces the monumental task of securing a consensus in the midst of mounting uncertainty —”
“Turn it off —”
“Stay tuned as we bring you the latest on this developing story as it unfolds. Reporting live from Busan, back to you in the studi—”
”Oh.”
Jungkook mutes the television before throwing the remote in the direction of the couch. It bounces off a pillow and lands in a warm pool of sunlight spilling in through the gap in the curtains. The sun is already high in the sky, the sound of traffic rising from the street below.
“You said you wanted to watch.”
“I changed, oh, oh, fuck, there, do that again. I changed my mind.”
Jungkook has Namjoon bent over the living room desk, hands gripping the fleshiest part of his hips as he thrusts into him. The desk squeaks dangerously as Namjoon grips the edge, dripping cock trapped between his body and the smooth surface. In the mirror on the opposite wall, Jungkook has a perfect view of his glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, glasses slipping down his nose, the puffy peaks of his tits grazing the surface as he gets rocked forward with every thrust.
His eyes catch on the muted television, where they’re playing clips of Namjoon, a highlight reel of him mingling at some charity event, speaking at another. He looks beautiful, but something about the specific contrast between this Namjoon and that Namjoon makes his head spin.
“You’re perfect.”
Namjoon makes a surprised little noise, which is when Jungkook realizes he said that out loud.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“It’s embarrassing,” Namjoon whines, pitching higher as Jungkook focuses again, hitting that spot inside him just right. “You don’t mean that.”
“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” Jungkook huffs, brows furrowing as his grip on Namjoon’s hips grows rougher.
“Alpha —”
“You are,” Jungkook says, stubborn. “You are.”
He’s getting riled up, his breaths coming in hot, shallow pants against Namjoon sweat-slick skin as he rocks his hips forward more forcefully. He wants Namjoon to see exactly what he sees.
“Look.”
Namjoon gasps, trembling hard as he forces his eyes up, meeting his own wide-eyed gaze and parted lips in the mirror. Slick flows out of him, pooling on the edge of the table and smearing all over the coarse hairs at the base of Jungkook’s cock, the scent filling the room.
“Look how wet you are,” Jungkook keeps going, relentless, forcing Namjoon to stay upright even as he tries to drop his head, his cheeks burning a deep, agonizing pink as a wave of hot embarrassment must rush through him. “You take me so well, hyung. So fucking pretty. Prettiest fuckin’ omega.”
Namjoon must hear it, at least, the obscene schlick, schlick, schlick sound with every thrust as their bodies slap together, must feel the stickiness of it all over his thighs.
Jungkook’s eyes flick to the television screen, where the highlight reel is still going, Namjoon giving a speech on some podium. He thinks back to what Jimin said, about helping him relax.
“You don’t need to worry about anything anymore, okay? You can have this whenever you want. I’m going to help you.”
“Oh —"
“Right after your meetings. In your office, the dressing room, in the back of the car, anything you want, hyung. Anytime you want.”
“Jungkook, fuck —”
“But just me, okay? Only me.”
“Yes —”
“Say it. My omega. Mine.”
“Only you,” Namjoon sobs. “Yours, alpha, yours, please —”
“Gonna give you everything,” Jungkook promises, reaching to grope at Namjoon’s chest, warm in his palms, bouncing with the force of the thrusts. “Gonna pup you up. Make you leak here, too, these pretty tits —”
Namjoon breaks with a wet sob, elbows buckling on the table, his glistening back arching beautifully as his climax rips through him, hole clenching around Jungkook like crazy. He cries out as Jungkook forces his swollen knot past the tight rim, locking into place and spilling as deep inside as he can as Namjoon’s forehead falls against the desk with a thump.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is their heavy breathing, chests rising and falling as they try to catch their breath. Then, Namjoon chuckles.
“Pups, huh?”
“What?” Jungkook says, before he realizes. “Oh.” A fierce blush rises to his cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t —”
Namjoon yawns.
“As long as you’re planning to look after them, too.”
Jungkook opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, before settling for a wide-eyed nod. Namjoon just laughs.
The rest of the day goes about the same, with Namjoon oscillating between moments of lucidity and wanting to climb on Jungkook’s knot every chance that he gets.
By the time the sun starts sinking below the horizon, Jungkook is pretty sure there isn’t a surface left in the penthouse that he hasn’t had Namjoon on, in, next to or under. The latest round sees them to the floor, a breathless tangle of limbs on the carpet, sweat cooling on their skin.
(“This looks pretty expensive,” Jungkook mutters drowsily, head resting on his arms, going a little cross-eyed as he stares at the pattern under his nose.
Namjoon snorts.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”)
Afterwards, Jungkook prepares himself some cup noodles and for Namjoon, at his request, a heaping bowl of ice cream with strawberries and a generous squirt of whipped cream.
Namjoon’s eyes light up as he sees it. With some sugar in him, he perks up in no time, climbing from the floor onto the arm chair, curled up with a blanket covering his legs. Jungkook takes the couch, a drama playing on the television to fill the silence as they eat.
“Is it weird that this is the closest to a vacation that I’ve gotten in years?” Namjoon asks, eventually, swirling around the remaining ice cream with his spoon.
Jungkook turns to look at him, surprised.
“Really?”
Namjoon nods.
“Mm.”
Jungkook considers it.
“It must be hard,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “With your job and, um, being an omega —”
Namjoon bristles.
“It’s not being an omega that makes it difficult.”
“No,” Jungkook says, quickly. “Of course. I just mean, with, you know, having to hide —”
“Everyone has their difficulties,” Namjoon says, simply, eyes dropping to his bowl for a moment before he meets Jungkook’s gaze again, inquisitive. “What about you? Why this job?”
It’s an abrupt enough change to make Jungkook falter. If his extensive period of Namjoon-focused research on company time taught him anything, it is that Namjoon is excellent at fielding difficult questions, laughing off awkward comments and charming intrusive journalists into forgetting what they wanted to ask in the first place. Seeing him use those same powers of deflection on him now and so abruptly is enough to throw Jungkook off-balance.
He swallows, composing himself.
“My, uh... My brother says it’s because I watched way too many spy movies as a kid.”
Namjoon’s eyes crinkle and Jungkook relaxes, a little. Maybe he hasn’t put his foot in his mouth as badly as he thought.
“Was it?”
Jungkook scrunches his nose.
“Kind of.”
Namjoon laughs.
“Any exciting missions lately?” he asks, eyes glinting. “Any secrets out there that I don’t already know about? Besides, you know... Me.”
“I don’t know about out there,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes flitting to the floor.
“Oh,” Namjoon asks, curious. “How come?”
“They, um... They haven’t really let me in the field a lot, yet. Or, um... At all.”
“Oh.”
Jungkook sneaks a glance at Namjoon, feeling pathetic. To his surprise, though, Namjoon doesn’t look either mocking or horrified at the thought of his safety being left in the hands of a newbie. Instead, his eyes crinkle with an amused smile, dimples popping sweetly.
“This must be a crazy first day, huh?”
Jungkook chuckles, surprised.
“A little.”
“If it helps, this is my first time doing something like this, too. I mean, spending my heat with someone.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen. The possessive little gremlin in his head howls and he has to smack it down fast before he starts working himself up again.
“Really?”
Namjoon nods.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said this job doesn’t really leave a lot of time to meet people,” he says, with a small, self-deprecating quirk to his mouth. “I mean, if I ever manage to find someone to marry me, our honeymoon will probably be to the World Economic Forum.”
“But would you like to, though?” Jungkook asks, softly. “Meet someone... Get married?”
“I think so,” Namjoon says. “But it’s not like I can just walk into a club and pick someone up, you know?”
“You could,” Jungkook says, earnestly. Namjoon looks confused at that, so Jungkook adds, “I mean, maybe not a club, but you could definitely pick up someone. Anyone you wanted.”
He’s definitely saying too much and embarrassing himself, but he has to let him know. How could Namjoon not realize? Any alpha with a brain would fight nations to be with him.
Or, well.
Maybe fighting nations wasn’t the way to Namjoon’s heart.
Whatever.
You get the point.
Any alpha would... negotiate mutually beneficial global partnerships for the privilege of coming home to him.
Namjoon snorts.
"Clearly you've never had to sit around naked while waiting for someone to finish reading over the NDA."
Jungkook frowns.
"And even then, one night is one thing, but an actual relationship?" Namjoon continues, smile going a little wistful as he shifts in the chair. "Who'd want to deal with all of this?"
Jungkook stares, stunned into silence, as Namjoon sucks the last bit of sweetness from his spoon and sets the bowl aside on the table.
”You should definitely shower now, if you want. Before I start feeling like jumping your bones again.”
Jungkook furrows his brows.
“What about you?”
Jungkook doesn’t love the idea of leaving Namjoon by himself but he could do with a hot shower. He hasn’t really had time to think about it earlier, but it catches up to him now how grimy and achey he feels.
The same cannot be said for Namjoon, who, somehow, after everything, still looks and smells amazing, sweet and warm and inviting in a way Jungkook feels himself constantly drawn to, even as Namjoon just sits on the couch and spoons ice cream into his mouth. Maybe it was part of being an omega. Or maybe it was just Namjoon.
“Maybe in a bit,” Namjoon says, easily, and Jungkook’s unease must show on his face, because he adds, “You can go, alpha. I’ll be okay.”
“If there’s anything weird, you’ll call for me, right?”
“Define ‘weird’.”
“Just... anything.”
“Weird, like, a strange alpha barging into room in the middle of the night?” Namjoon asks teasingly, eyes glinting. “Because if that happens, don’t worry, I’ll just call security. Oh, wait.”
Jungkook huffs, getting up in search of something to use. He rummages around until his eyes land on a paperweight on the desk.
“Here.”
Before Namjoon can ask questions, Jungkook grabs it and deposits it onto his lap.
“Use this.”
Namjoon blinks.
“Use it for...?”
“If anyone comes.”
“I don’t know if you know this,” Namjoon starts, slowly, amused. “But in my field, we generally prefer dialogue over violence.”
”Hyung.”
“What? So, I just...”
Namjoon tests the heft of the paperweight in his hand before making a few swinging motions in the air. Jungkook nods, satisfied.
“Yeah.”
“Fine.”
“And shout for me,” Jungkook says, backing towards the bathroom. “If there’s anything.”
“Thank you, alpha,” Namjoon sing-songs, paperweight already cast aside as he reaches for the remote, eyes on the television, voice dripping with such syrupy sweetness that Jungkook knows he’s being made fun of.
Still, no time to waste, so he goes.
Jungkook thinks about it as he stands under the hot spray, watching water swirl down the drain.
It must be exhausting for Namjoon, having to put so much effort into hiding his designation. Sure, scent-blocking patches were fairly standard use and, despite what stereotypes claimed, it is actually pretty difficult to tell someone’s designation from appearance alone. But such casual anonymity is different from actively having to hide.
From what Jungkook knows (and he’s starting to realize that maybe he doesn’t know as much as he thought), even omegas on suppressants were encouraged to have at least one heat a year to avoid the adverse effects of long-term suppressant use, a laundry list of such pleasant conditions as fatigue and sleeplessness, loss of appetite, brain fog, and even memory loss. Considering how long Namjoon must’ve been doing this, it was no wonder his body finally hit a wall.
Jungkook could understand why Namjoon would have felt hesitant about spending his heat with someone until now. Even with something like a professional companionship service, Jungkook couldn’t imagine security being too thrilled at the idea of some random guy snooping around Namjoon’s apartment, or worse. There would probably have to be at least a couple agents in the room at all times to make sure nothing bad happened, and while Jungkook knows some people are into that (and hey, to each their own, he’s not trying to kink shame), to him, it just seems like an instant mood killer (a feat, which feels nearly impossible when it comes Namjoon).
There were other options, too, like specialized heat toys and nesting hotels, but it doesn’t take Jungkook long to figure out the problems with those, too. There was nothing wrong with getting a little help, but he could see why Namjoon wouldn’t want to explain a bright pink AeroKnot XL to some fresh-faced security tech tasked with swiping his luggage for bugs. And if Namjoon was ever spotted at one of those hotels, the media would surely have a field day. There would be headlines like KNOT FIT FOR OFFICE: Taxpayers Foot the Bill for Omega Diplomat’s Sabbatical and CITY SLICKER: Top Diplomat Begging for Alphas at Luxury Nesting Hotel plastered across all the major gossip websites in under an hour.
And even if Namjoon wanted to try... Where would he find the time in his schedule, which was surely filled to the brim with fifteen-hour meetings and international summits like this?
Out of everything, Jungkook’s thoughts keep snagging with most sadness on what Namjoon had said last. Who'd want to deal with all of this?
What Namjoon needs, Jungkook reasons as he rinses shampoo out of his hair, is a specialized asset (heh) integrated directly into his personal security detail. A dedicated professional, somebody who was already vetted and trained, fiercely loyal and good at keeping secrets. It would only be a matter of tactical efficiency to have an alpha, who was already privy to his schedule and more than willing to pull double (or even triple!) duty to make sure the omega was safe, comfortable and thoroughly taken care of on every front. Now if only there was such an alpha —
Eventually, Jungkook emerges from the shower, toweling his hair dry with a towel with another wrapped around his waist. He changes into a pair of hotel pyjamas (once again, amenities) and returns to the bedroom, only to find Namjoon has relocated to the couch and fallen asleep.
Carefully, Jungkook pulls the blanket over his shoulders, watching him for a moment, before curling up on the armchair to get some sleep, too.
By the third day, the frantic desperation of Namjoon’s heat has mellowed out into something slower and stickier.
After hours and hours of going at it, Jungkook’s mathematically anomalous dick has finally hit a limit and gone on strike, but Namjoon seems perfectly content to lie back with his thick, golden thighs folded to his chest, moaning softly as Jungkook buries his face between his cheeks to eat him out.
The room is thick with the scent of a thoroughly satisfied omega, spread out on the couch like every one of his sexiest fantasies come to life, and yet, Jungkook is distracted.
He knows he’s distracted. His tongue is working on autopilot while his brain runs a respectable mile time around and around all those things he’d been thinking about in the shower last night.
Eventually, his faltering rhythm must give him away, because Namjoon’s voice comes from above him.
“What’s wrong?”
Jungkook lifts his head. The way he’s kneeling in front of the couch gives him kind of a funny angle at Namjoon’s blown pupils and messy hair.
“What?”
“You, um...” Namjoon starts, brows furrowing as he chews on his lower lip. “You look upset. Did I do something?”
Jungkook blinks, jaw slack.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon winces slightly, already moving to pull away. “I know it’s a lot. I can manage now. You don’t have to keep forcing yourself if you’re tire—”
“No!”
Namjoon stops. Jungkook stops, too, surprised at his own urgency, the way his heart is suddenly hammering in his chest. He has to say his piece now or he’s going to combust.
“Don't say sorry. Why are you sorry? You’re perfect.”
Namjoon blinks, surprised, before a small laugh escapes him, eyes crinkling with a smile.
“Suddenly?”
“I mean it!” Jungkook insists on a huff, exasperated. “You’re perfect, just the way you are. You don’t need to care about what anyone says. You’re so cool and smart and pretty. Who cares what anyone thinks about you being an omega? You’re going to be the president one day.”
Namjoon’s eyes go wide.
“And you don’t have to apologize for being too much,” Jungkook barrels on. “It’s not a chore. This has been the hottest experience of my life. Hyung, you made me come so much that my dick stopped working! Do you know how hot you need to be to do that?!”
Namjoon furrows his brows.
“You work so hard,” Jungkook says. “You deserve somebody to take care of you. I want to do that. I want to make you feel good, too.”
Namjoon stares, stunned, and Jungkook freezes, breathless, as the reality of his own words crashes down on him.
He just told political prodigy, diplomatic powerhouse, future president and world leader Kim Namjoon that he’s so hot he made his dick run dry.
Before he can have a generational breakdown about it, though, Namjoon’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he breaks into a beautiful, beaming smile.
“Do you really mean that?”
“Yes,” Jungkook says earnestly, nodding. Even the part about his dick. For Namjoon, even that part. “Yes.”
Namjoon’s scent blooms. He scoots down to the edge of the couch, letting his legs fall open again.
“Can you...?” he starts, a little sheepish, his cheeks still that same lovely shade of pink that has been driving Jungkook crazy for the past few days. “I was really close.”
“Oh,” Jungkook says, nods quickly, and dives back in.
By the evening, Jungkook’s dick has gained full function again, although they’re too exhausted to take full advantage. Namjoon ends up lying on his side in the nest as Jungkook lazily rolls his hips into him from behind, slow and deep.
When Jungkook’s knot swells and locks them together, Namjoon cums with a trembling gasp, sagging into the mattress as the final orgasm is wrung out of him.
“I think that’s it.”
Jungkook nods, and for a moment, only the sound of their breathing fills the room. Then, Namjoon slides his hand down, palm splayed flat over his stomach, cradling it.
“There’s so much,” he murmurs, a little dazed, a little amused. “Do you think you pupped me up?”
Jungkook chokes, blood rushing to his ears. It would be a catastrophe, but that doesn’t stop his dick from making a last-ditch effort to harden right back up inside of Namjoon.
“Uh.”
Namjoon laughs.
Jungkook didn’t go on a lot of holidays growing up.
The beaches in Busan were good enough to spend a whole childhood on, and the occasional trip they took out of the city was to the countryside to see his grandparents. The one real holiday they’d gone on was a family vacation to Japan. Jungkook remembers flying in on an overcast day, the plane plunging into a thick, white cover before the mist slowly thinned and the glittering, sprawling city burst into view.
He feels like that now, emerging out of the clouds as he comes out of sleep.
He reaches out to find that Namjoon’s side of the bed is empty again, but this time, he doesn’t have to wonder for long. The en suite door opens and Namjoon steps out.
Jungkook stares, discombobulated. Namjoon looks perfectly put together, freshly showered, hair neatly styled. He’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt and slacks, not even a speck of toothpaste at corner of his mouth.
”Oh,” Namjoon says, eyes crinkling. ”Good, you’re awake.”
Jungkook blinks, throat dry.
”Over?”
Namjoon’s smile softens as he nods.
”Yeah,” he confirms, adjusting his cuffs. ”It’s over.”
Jungkook nods.
”I just wanted to say thank you,” Namjoon says, stepping closer. ”For helping me. This was by far the easiest heat I’ve had in a while.”
Jungkook swallows.
”It’s, uh… It’s nothing. Just doing my job.”
Namjoon chuckles, that devastating little dimple popping out to torment Jungkook once again.
”Still,” he insists. ”I want you to know I’m grateful. Really.”
Jungkook nods.
”I gotta head out,” Namjoon says, glancing at his watch. ”I’ve got a pretty busy day ahead. Jimin promised to brief me on everything I missed.”
”Right,” Jungkook says, quickly, nodding. ”Of course.”
He tries not to let it show but he feels a sudden pang of sadness in his chest. He’d known this was coming, but that doesn’t make it suck any less.
Goodbye, Kim Namjoon, he thinks, forlorn. Goodbye the most beautiful, perfect omega I’ve known.
”But listen,” Namjoon says, suddenly, cutting off his train of thought. ”Let’s say I needed personal security to accompany me to dinner tonight, around… 7.00? 7.30? Are you free?”
Jungkook’s eyes widen.
”You want me to —”
”Of course,” Namjoon says, smiling. ”Who else would I take after such devoted service?”
”Oh,” Jungkook breathes out, nodding quickly. ”Yeah. Yes. I’ll be there.”
”Great.”
Before Jungkook can process this (incredible!) turn of events, Namjoon leans over the mattress, cups his jaw and presses a gentle kiss onto his mouth. He lingers there for a moment, tasting of minty mouthwash.
When he pulls back, his eyes are glinting, a sweet, warm brown.
”See you out there, alright?”
”Yeah,” Jungkook says, dazed, lips still tingling. ”See you.”
Namjoon gives him one last, dimpled smile before he goes. A moment later, Jungkook hears the door close, the suite falling quiet.
He has so many things to explain, so much to catch up on and do.
But for now, he sinks into the mattress and smiles.