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Things always end up like this after they fuck.
It's raining and the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the glass window is really not helping him maintain some semblance of sanity beneath the dim lighting of his bedside lamp. Jimin's chest rises and falls to the unsteady sound of thunder, bare skin and etched nevermind on his ribcage exposed to the air. His legs feel sore. Arms, too, but nothing hurts quite like the aching of his sullen heart.
In the last ten minutes, he's felt everything. As the pure white prince of the kingdom, how could he not? They know him as somewhat of an emotional lighthouse, someone reliable who tends to the crowds without haste. This is a different kind of feeling plaguing his mind, though, the kind involving men who have their way with princes regardless of the price, and the kind that sits beneath the lump in his throat for weeks until he can thoroughly be ravaged once again.
Eyelids fluttering with an inevitable tiredness, Jimin's gaze drifts from the window to the rest of his bedroom.
Jeon Jeongguk stands at the middle of his room, slipping on his wrinkled-button down with a lit cigar hanging from his chapped lips. His gloves are on. They remained on when they relentlessly pushed the shirt off of Jimin's shoulders and lacked regard towards the porcelain state of his skin or the breathy gasps released from the blond's lips. Jeongguk is, in the politest form Jimin can put, an asshole. Has been, yet still he creeps to his chambers at night, and. And Jimin lets him.
"Thought you'd be too tired to breathe after I made love to you," comes from a mouth whose bites decorate the inner walls of his thighs. Some love this is. Jeongguk barely spares him a glance all the while when he drops the cigar to the floor and crushes it under his heel. "Need more?"
"Fuck you," Jimin grits out, summoning every bit of viciousness his tired body can spare. They both know it isn't much; his companion smiles at him unkindly, bunny teeth glinting even with the lack of lighting present in the room.
Heavy footsteps approach him—before Jimin can sit up, leather-covered fingers grab both sides of his face and force his chin upwards. Jeongguk peers down at him. His hand turns Jimin's head to one side, then the other, as though he's examining a toy to mess with. "Hm," is all he says for a moment or two. Then: "You're a greedy little thing."
"You disgust me."
"Most would gather the opposite, given what we've been up to in the past—ah." Dark eyes flit to the heavy watch wrapped on Jeongguk's wrist, the one with spirals of ink curling around his muscled bicep. "Half an hour, no?"
The necklace hanging around his neck suddenly feels cold against his bare chest, and oh, his body betrays him by sending a shiver down his spine. Fuck, it hurts how much he enjoys this. "Let—let go of me," he says. Rather… attempts to say, what with the way Jeongguk is grasping his cheeks, pressing them together because he finds such cruel amusement in Jimin's pain.
Jeongguk smiles again. "Just tell me you love me, darling. It's only the damn truth."
"Don't fucking call me that." The pressure around his face stings harder than any betrayal from the royal court could, yet Jimin dances in its pleasure. It's the least he could do, for Jeongguk coming in every so often and gifting him the ability to feel, or at least allow him to believe that Jeongguk could love him.
"You liked that, didn't you? Shit, you love everything I do to you, huh?" And as though he weren't already laying himself out for Jeongguk's enjoyment, Jimin lets out a quiet moan when the younger's eyes unashamedly drop down to his naked chest, taking silent note of the way his nipples have become hard both from the chill in the air, and—
"Alright, wait. Stop the filming."
After Namjoon hastily calls out to the camera crew, the studio is quiet. Like, awkwardly quiet. Jimin would know, because he's been close friends slash situationship slash lovers slash question mark question mark question mark with Jeon Jeongguk long enough to be victim to some of the weird shit he's said before. Jeongguk is well-accustomed to awkward silences after he says stuff like please arrest me! to Jimin on live television, but Jimin isn't any better because he'll also publicly imply borrowing Jeongguk's clothing (including his underwear), so he figures they're good together in that way.
All of the eyes present at the film set are currently locked onto the two of them. Hoseok's are noticeably crinkled upwards at the corners. Jimin prays to God—he'll remind anyone he's not religious—that his hyung can keep in the laugh for five seconds longer.
"I was about to say my next line," Jeongguk explains suddenly as if it's the main problem and not the fact that he's actively grabbing Jimin's cheeks and was previously eyeing his hardened nipples. "Kerosene, dopamine, what I gotta do—"
Taehyung is biting down hard on his bottom lip. "Yeah, so I'm afraid that's a lie?"
"Aish," Yoongi mutters with his back to the scene in front of him. He's been turned around since both Jeongguk and Jimin were told to film their parts at the same time. (Considering the state of affairs at the moment, Jimin can reasonably agree with his decisions.)
"We were getting into character," he hears himself say. For a moment, he forgets that Jeongguk is currently two inches away with a hand grabbing his face—the youngest's nose wrinkles in an attempt to keep himself from smiling. Fuck, if it isn't the cutest thing Jimin's seen.
There's a few more beats of silence, then Hoseok is chirping unhelpfully, "I don't remember this being in the script."
"Well, yeah, because we don't have a script. Why did you guys have to make things weird?"
"Seokjin hyung, you encouraged Joon hyung to lay across your lap and looked smug after he listened," Jeongguk points out. That much is true—Seokjin shuts his mouth and frowns.
"Let's just take a break." Namjoon is clapping his hands and then turning to speak to their staff; Jimin is almost one-hundred percent positive it's supposed to be a poor diversion from the Mess That Is Him And Seokjin, but he nods obediently. Well… as much as he physically can, since Jeongguk is still holding onto his face.
The rest of the set clears out, until it's just him and the devastation of his life standing in front of him.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Hi," Jimin says meaninglessly in reply, and all unease in Jeongguk's face washes away, replaced by something akin to infatuation. Not quite, but close enough.
"Hey, hyung."
It's weird: Jeongguk's hand feels tremendously warmer through the thick leather than it did while they were actively filming. He squeezes, just because, and chuckles quietly at the exaggerated pout he receives in return. His eyes haven't drifted downwards past Jimin's collarbone since they stopped filming; Jimin appreciates the politeness he's maintaining.
"You can let go of me," Jimin offers. It's more of a statement, really. Let go of me, please. Before I start thinking things I rejected myself years ago.
Profusely, Jeongguk shakes his head. "Don't want to."
"It's my face you're holding."
"You have a nice one, yeah."
"That's, ha." So what if he's suddenly a little nervous? So what if he lets out an unnatural laugh in response to how quickly Jeongguk had complimented him? Park Jimin is only human, whether he's looking out to crowds of fans calling him a prince or dressed down in clothes that have never belonged to him. "That's not what I said, Jeongguk-ah."
Because Jeongguk is kind of the most unfair person to exist, he shrugs. "It's what I wanted to say."
"Please let go of me," Jimin repeats with slightly more desperation underlining his tone, and Jeongguk's hand falls to his side. He wills himself to exhale for the first time in several minutes; Jimin's eyes flutter shut, and he falls back into the plush mattress with his arms stretched wide and unbuttoned shirt hardly covering a thing.
Beside him, the mattress dips under the weight of Jeongguk sitting down with his legs hanging off of the bed. A gloved hand delicately runs up and down his side, which would be disconcerting to anyone else, but this is Jeon Jeongguk he's discussing. Jeongguk, who wore a hickey from his hyung without much argument or embarrassment. Jeongguk, whose private messages with Jimin will sometimes remain empty for days. Jeongguk, who has been inside of him, yet acts shy every time Jimin goes so far as to talk to him on stage.
God, they're weird. No wonder their group is used to the awkward silence following any brief interaction between the two of them.
"What just happened?" his Jeongguk ponders aloud, which roughly translates to: what are we?
"Acting at its worst," answers Jimin. I don't know.
The stylists dressed his dongsaeng well today. Jeongguk has long outgrown the colorful hair and clothing they used to give their group; maturity fits him like the gloves he dons on his hands. Ever since their comeback era had begun, it feels as if Jeongguk has fallen back into the role of golden maknae he was given at a very young, very cruel age. The only exception is that he's completely reclaimed the title into something he has the ability to shape for himself.
Softly, Jimin redirects the way their conversation is going, and opts to compliments him on his appearance. On how defined his body is from hours upon hours of work at the gym, on how healthy his hair has grown from the military buzz, on how beautiful he looks when he pretends to be mean and cold and unforgiving.
Jeongguk blushes even though he's a grown man and they've seen each other naked a hundred times before. This is the Jeon Jeongguk plaguing both his dreams and his nightmares. God fucking damn it.
Hesitant fingers trace the words inked into his skin for the unforeseeable future. Nevermind. A rather good symbol of Jimin's conscience when it comes to difficult topics like disbandment or the way he's treated by people who are supposed to be his fans or Jeon Jeongguk as an umbrella term. "I just," Jeongguk says at first. He stops himself to let out a cough. "To me, that felt real."
Jimin nods sagely. "It'll do you well for filming the rest of our music video, hm?"
"I guess? I wasn't talking about the music video."
"We call this shit normal," Jimin sings, concluding the verse Jeongguk had referenced some time ago. Upon Jeongguk's blank reaction, he continues, "This is our normal, Jeongguk-ah."
The hand against his waist freezes in place. "I don't want it to be," is said through gritted teeth that begin to chew on his bottom lip, "hyung, I want to show everyone the outtakes, the mistakes. Everything."
"Ah, I'm not the cameraman. Besides—you want to show our fans how you can act nasty towards me?"
"No," Jeongguk responds quickly. "I want to show them how raw our relationship can be."
"Oh."
He lies there, cold and nearly naked on the unnecessarily expensive bed their staff had brought in for the filming of their music video, and tries his hardest to understand why Jeongguk would grow to love him when in any and every universe (at the very least) they are doomed to fail.
The whole time, Jeongguk's eyes are trained on his face, absorbing every small movement of his brows and twitch of his lips. "You're trying so hard to avoid me like this," he intelligently observes.
It's impossible to avoid Jeongguk. His face has been broadcasted on Korean television since he was an adolescent and his face is worth more than a million dollars, what with how many brands actively seek him out for a second of his time and how little have managed to do so. Honestly, Jimin couldn't avoid Jeongguk if he tried, which makes this whole thing suck, because not only is Jeongguk perfect, but he's also an idol and they're both idols and, well.
"We're both idols," Jimin tells him with his voice wavering, "there's no point in loving me."
Jeongguk's lips shape themselves into a frown. "There is every point in loving you," he mutters, eyes darting to glare at the floor; he's certain Jeongguk would be bristling if he weren't partially focused on rubbing his thumb into the plush of Jimin's waist. "There's so many points that it's practically a hectogon—"
"Why do you know that word," laughs Jimin incredulously, "fuck,Jeongguk-ah, why do you know that word?"
"And anyway…" His eyes meet Jimin's with an uncertainty that wouldn't usually come from someone as confident, as carefree and happy as Jeongguk. "Doesn't being an idol give me more of a reason to love you? We have so many fans that love you. So, I guess I'll just have to love you the most."
He could focus on the artificial sounds of rain clattering outside of the equally-fake window, or the several cameras circling the set, or the fact that Jeongguk's hand is now encircled around his waist. But Jimin can't focus at all when Jeongguk is looking at him with something not quite fondness because it's more than that, and he's truly afraid of unpacking how deep the look can go.
"Am I not treating you good enough?" The silence is broken once Jeongguk wonders out loud since he's, again, the most unfair person to exist and automatically assumes any problem of Jimin's is due to a lack on his part. "You're not satisfied with the sex?"
Heat blooms on Jimin's cheeks. "Jeonggukie, that's not—"
"I've decided I'm going to love you harder," Jeongguk interrupts with zero remorse and a sudden, intense resolve coloring his tone. "Because it's what you deserve. And I don't like how you're not secure in it, and if anyone claims something untrue, I'll figure out a way to feel for you harder. I don't care if we're idols, hyung, because regardless of that, we can't be normal. We're weird like that. You know how I am and you know how you are and you know that I'll choose you before anything—or, huh. Maybe you don't know that, and that's the problem. Well, you don't need to know how you feel. You just have to know that I like being with you and being weird with you and fucking you and most of all, I was meant to love you."
There is always something to say when it comes to Jeongguk: you're so cute, you did well, be happy with me for a long time. And yet, the words are ripped from his chest and crushed under the heel of Jeongguk's foot the same way the remains of a cigar lie upon the floor.
"You didn't…" Jimin finds his voice to be uncharacteristically shy, quieting near the edges and faltering in confidence. "You didn't have to say that last part."
"I like fucking you. It's what I wanted to say." A smile plays on his pierced lips.
"Not that." (Well, yes, that.) "Loving someone is just… something that holds a lot of weight to admit so freely, you know?"
Jeongguk cuts into the implications before they can properly arise. "I think you still see me as the same person I was a decade ago," he murmurs. His hand still rests on Jimin's side; calloused fingers draw mindless drawings across the canvas of his skin, just below the tattoo. "Considering we're both old now—especially you, hyung, don't look at me like that—I thought you would have moved past those years."
Jimin is about to argue the sudden dig at his age when Jeongguk adds, "You're really weird to think that, also. I'm grown enough to know what I want."
What he hates is Jeongguk's abrupt wisdom. When did he become so smart, huh?
"I'm weird," he squawks and immediately pushes himself up on his elbows, "you're weirder, you punk, being so rude to your hyung—"
As soon as Jimin sits up, Jeongguk is right in front of him, eyes crinkled at the corners and tender smile shining brightly upon pink cheeks. He's seemingly leaned closer in the past moments Jimin has spent entertaining his less-pleasant thoughts. No matter when, Jeongguk always appears to conclude the lack of proximity isn't enough for him and wants to be closer.
"There you are," he whispers. "I missed you, Jimin-ah."
They're already sitting relatively relaxed on his shoulders, but the sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt fall lower down his arms when Jimin turns his head away, embarrassed glance jumping to his hands planted on the mattress. "You're so weird," he repeats. He lacks anything proper at the moment when Jeongguk's rendered him so speechless.
"Hyung, I just said we both are. You are me, I am you."
Rolling his eyes at the sudden reference to a younger version of them, Jimin readjusts the clothing—or lack thereof—on his body and pivots himself to slide off of the rather large bed. "Gosh, don't say that… I'm already embarrassed, hm?"
"Should I tuck away our outtake for when hyung and I fool around again?" And Jimin didn't ask him to do this, but he walks off of the set and Jeongguk is trailing after him with his hands leisurely shoved in his pockets, spouting (useful!) nonsense like the only thing he was born for was to please Jimin every waking moment of the day. In his eyes, it's likely high up on the charts. "Jimin-ah, you really seemed to enjoy when I belittled you."
They're idols known worldwide, dressed in clothes worth more than a thousand dollars apiece and making such explicit references in front of people who would much rather not be held privy to such things. Jimin takes his hand and relentlessly hits his dongsaeng over and over on the shoulder. Jeongguk laughs the loudest he's laughed in several days.
It's all so unnatural, so weird, but Jimin begins to find he doesn't care that much, anyway.