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Resonance

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A few hours into a Monday, after a cheap yogurt granola bar and not enough coffee, Jungkook is coming to certain realizations. Mondays, he thinks, are never Taehyung’s best days.

“Fix your shirt,” he mumbles with his granola bar pinched between his teeth, sitting on top of his desk. He flips through a textbook and keeps his eyes down and away from Taehyung.

Taehyung checks his shirt, finger dipping beneath his loose collar. “My shirt’s fine.”

It’s not—top few buttons undone, the tie too loose and the collar too open, definitely on purpose—but Jungkook doesn’t say anything. Taehyung’s uniform is never on right.

“You’re late,” Jungkook says, staring at Taehyung’s messy tie to go with his lazy appearance. He reaches up and gives it a tug. “And your tie is loose. Wrong colour, too.”

“Jesus.”

“Dress code,” Jungkook reminds, and goes back to reading his textbook.

Saying nothing, Taehyung throws his bag on the desk and hops up. He scoots closer till he’s pressed against Jungkook. “Studying?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Not really. Just reading up.”

“On?” Taehyung begins to dig through Jungkook’s bag. “Soul resonance, right? Do you have any more food in here?”

“There’s an apple somewhere. And yeah, soul resonance.” Jungkook nibbles on his bottom lip and reads a bit more.

“What’s with you?” Taehyung asks around a mouthful of food. Seems he’s found the apple. “You never read. You good?”

After a long silence Jungkook sighs. “Just curiosity.”

“Y’know”—Taehyung takes another bite of his apple—“we gotta practice that again. Resonance. We’re, like, so bad at it.”

“I know.” Jungkook’s finger flicks at the edge of the textbook. “’S why I’m reading.”

“Reading’s for tools. Aren’t you the actions-man?” Taehyung pokes Jungkook’s side and laughs when he flinches. “Man of actions. C’mon, let’s make it happen. We can try it out for real after class.”

Furrowing his brow, Jungkook stares at the textbook a bit longer. Then he glances up and meets Taehyung’s gaze. His dark hair is tousled gently from his hurried morning shower, falling in front of his eyes. Jungkook’s heart beats heavier in his chest.

“Gotta know what’s going wrong first,” he quickly says.

“But practice makes perfect,” Taehyung insists. “’Cause this is some weird shit, y’know? We’ve never been bad at something together. Not like this.”

“We’re both bad at exams.”

“Yeah. So we gotta try harder with all soul resonance. What we can’t do in academics, we make up for in battle. Right?”

Jungkook clicks his tongue and swings his feet back and forth off the edge of the desk. A few more students are walking in, settling somewhere in the cramped lecture hall. Most are in duos—weapon and meister. People with a strong bond, an open trust in one another.

Jungkook purses his lips and frowns, just a little.

“Right.”

The professor walks in then, a loud voice and a load of books being slammed on the table, and that conversation ends as Jungkook and Taehyung scramble off the desk and into their seats.

 


 

Jungkook stares at the corner of the room and zones out as the professor drones on. His hand supports his head and he sits there, very aware of Taehyung’s presence in the seat next to him.

The weirdest part, he thinks, is that it’s weird.

He feels the bruises on his ribs pulsing.

The weirdest part is Jungkook knows he’s not like this but he’s being like this anyway. So weird. Why is he so weird recently? What the fuck? Weird.

The old bruises on his thighs ache.

The bruises are from a few weeks ago—another failed mission, the third one in a row. Some small thing in the desert, just another demon Jungkook and Taehyung failed to take down, just another soul they couldn’t collect. It’s weird because they never fail missions, not these small ones. Not as a team.

But their team has been wonky recently. Weird, again.

“Soul resonance,” the professor says, “is a joint effort. The matching of soul wavelengths between a weapon and meister to allow for more powerful techniques.”

Soul resonance, Jungkook thinks, is bullshit.

He’s the meister and Taehyung is his weapon—it’s been that way for years. A solid partnership. Since high school, when the first partnerships were made, to now. It’s their third year at this fucking academy and soul resonance shouldn’t be weird between them but it is. Jungkook thinks he might know why, but he’s not about to say.

The bruises on his right bicep throb.

He has the overwhelming urge to reach and press on it.

“These techniques,” the professor says, “only come through cooperation.”

Jungkook thinks about that—cooperation. It’s weird. Either there are things the professors don’t talk about when it comes to soul resonance, or Jungkook’s just straight fucking weird.

Weird, weird, weird—

Taehyung taps Jungkook’s side and makes him jolt in his seat. The legs scrape on the floor and he glances over with a scowl. He’s about to hit him back but something makes him keep his hand to himself.

Eyes on the front of the room, Taehyung leans over. “We’ve just gotta practice. That’s it. No stress about it.” Taehyung pats Jungkook’s thigh, just above the knee, a light and friendly gesture. Then he leans away again, sitting straight in his seat.

Jungkook breathes hard through his nose and nods, not looking away from the professor. He wonders if Taehyung can tell how tense he is.

“I know.”

That hand on Jungkook’s thigh is gone but Jungkook feels the imprint, the lingering heat—right near his bruise, the ugly thing painted along his inner thigh and wrapping around to the back. It hurts when he sits. He doesn’t mind much.

This perpetual state of being horny as fuck, constantly, due to soul resonance—Jungkook sits there and wonders if that’s just one of the many things the professors don’t talk about.

“We’re gonna get this, you and I,” Taehyung whispers. “Dream team.”

Jungkook looks over at him, nodding again because he doesn’t trust his voice. His eyes stray and follow the shadow that dips beneath the flagging collar of Taehyung’s white dress shirt. He wonders how hot that tan skin would feel beneath his lips. Then he presses his thighs together and shivers when it aches, and forces his eyes away.

To his credit, he tries very hard not to think about the filthy things that cloud his mind whenever he and Taehyung perform soul resonance. Credit aside, he fails.

 


 

“Like chakra,” Taehyung says. He sits cross-legged on the grass, looks kinda zen and chilled out in a very ironic sense. “Maybe. Focusing our energies.”

“Our soul energies.” Jungkook nods. “Waves.”

“Weapon and meister. I am your amplifier.”

Jungkook snorts. Taehyung reaches forward and slaps his knee. “Get serious.”

“Sorry,” Jungkook says and clears his throat. He gives Taehyung a playful smile and sits up straight. “Be my amplifier, dude.”

“’Kay. Find my wavelength. I’ll find yours. We’ll meet in the middle.”

They sit facing each other, knees almost touching. They’re in the school gardens right outside the academy, the big building a looming figure off to the side. Around them are trees, the quiet rustle of the wind through the grass and the eerie peace. Sunlight filters through the leaves, bright spots warming their skin.

Jungkook closes his eyes and focuses himself inward.

It’s surprisingly easy. It’s not this part that’s the hard part. Right now it’s just himself and his soul wavelength, the calm vibrations as he tries to seek out Taehyung’s.

He remembers small details. The way Taehyung looks in human form—a cute boy with soft hair that’s gotten a little too long, uniform always breaking dress code in one way or another. And the way he looks in weapon form—frightening. The way the cold steel of his handle slides in Jungkook’s grip, the weight of his blade and the bolts that clack when Jungkook spins him too fast.

Taehyung always complains that Jungkook handles him a bit too rough. Says all the spinning and tricky flairs of his attacks make him dizzy. He also complains that Jungkook’s style of battle is too ordinary, too blunt and power-focused. Really, he just likes to complain.

“Can you feel it?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts into his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes. Taehyung’s wavelength is usually a little calmer than his. A more inviting aura.

At first he’s got it. He slowly reins in his wavelength, feels the peace from the inside out as he tries to match with Taehyung. With a sigh, he loosens his shoulders and falls into it. A good warmth.

His palms are on his knees and it’s there that he feels the tension first. His clammy hands, fingers pressing harder on his kneecaps. The warmth devolves into something dirtier and the heat prickles beneath his skin.

“Kook,” Taehyung murmurs. He must feel it, the withdrawal, the pull-back.

“Sorry.” Jungkook takes a deep, shaky breath and tries to dispel the burning. But it creeps. His soul wavelength distorts further.

Amidst the filthy heat and his desperation to be rid of it, it takes him a moment to realize Taehyung’s hand resting on top of his own, skin like fire. It hurts but Jungkook likes it.

Taehyung’s hand squeezes his, a reassurance.

Jungkook grits his teeth and sits up straight, eyes squeezed shut as he tries not to think about it—about the warmth of Taehyung’s body and how his weight would feel on top of Jungkook. How it could even happen now, right in the school gardens, right on the turf here. How Taehyung could just move forward and push Jungkook onto his back, settle over him, the grass prickling at his spine through his thin school uniform, the back of his head on the cool earth.

He tries not to think about it because he knows this is the root of the problem. But his mind wanders and imagines—Taehyung’s lips on his own, the sharp scrape of his teeth, his firm body pressing over Jungkook’s, legs slotting between his thighs.

Fuck are you so tense for?

This time Taehyung’s voice comes through the soul bond, an echoed thing, not spoken aloud but felt. They must be close. The beginnings of a successful soul resonance, if Jungkook recalls correctly, feel something like this.

But he ruins it, snaps out of his thoughts and scrambles back.

“Kook—”

“Sorry,” Jungkook says, panting lightly. He hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice his mildly flushed skin, the way he angles his legs to hide his half-hard cock.

His palms rest on the grass and he’s leaning back, sitting a small distance away from Taehyung. Enough that they can’t touch anymore.

He can’t feel the vibrations. It’s just the wind now, the leaves and the grass, the silence of the practice grounds.

“Dude…” Taehyung cocks his head. Strands of his hair move in the wind, brush over his forehead. “Are you…okay?”

It’s not quite concern in his eyes, but Jungkook can’t place it. Something like curiosity and a bit of—guilt, maybe.

“I’m fine.” Jungkook shakes his head. He swallows and tries to focus on everything but how his underwear feels, pressing a little tight on his semi. He tries to will himself flaccid. “Sorry—tired. Can we do this another day?”

Taehyung agrees. He doesn’t ask either, and Jungkook is grateful because he doesn’t even want to admit this to himself never mind to Taehyung.

“It’s weird,” Taehyung says as they walk back toward the centre of campus. The grass is soft beneath their shoes. Taehyung’s loose tie blows in the breeze and Jungkook suppressed the urge to fix the knot for him. “You’re always all about being better, about winning. This would really give us a leg up.”

With a groan, Jungkook stretches his arms above his head. The sun is good and comfortable on his skin. “We’ll work it out. And then we’ll practice more. I swear.”

“Gotta work it out quick. Been failing too many missions recently, and I’m not about that remedial class life.”

“Me neither, dude.” Jungkook pats Taehyung’s shoulder. “I promised I’d get you there, didn’t I? Only need about 30 souls left, plus the witch—then you’re a death scythe.”

Taehyung stops walking, feet flat on the stone path, and looks toward the academy. Jungkook turns that way too, wondering what he’s looking at. The cherry blossom trees blooming in spring. The groups of students all lazing about on the grass, sitting on the edge of the circular fountain and running their fingers through the water. Even from this distance, Jungkook can see the water gleaming.

A few pink petals flow free from the trees. Spring, Jungkook realizes. April. April 1st is when the anniversary eve celebration is. Funny. Jungkook had almost forgotten. He wonders if he’ll be going with Taehyung again this year.

“Where you looking?” Jungkook asks.

“Nowhere. Just thinking.” Taehyung shrugs and steps past Jungkook. “I’m gonna go to the sparring dojo and pick up my bag. Forgot it there.”

“Can you stop by the store on your way home?” Jungkook asks. “We need soy sauce and eggs, and I forgot my wallet.”

Taehyung nods. “I’ll see you at home.” Then he runs down the path, feet slapping the dark stone path. His loose tie whips over his shoulder, and Jungkook watches how his shoulder blades shift beneath his clean, white dress shirt before he turns away.

 


 

As the water runs over him all Jungkook’s thinking about is Taehyung.

He should have a lot of worries—the situation with his grades, the schoolwide written exam on phasmology coming up, how he’s probably gonna fucking tank it—and yet. Something about the water, the hot rivulets across his rolling joints and aching muscles and bruises. Too many to count, all because he’s reckless during sparring and on missions.

The water sprays against the bruises on his back, stings the ones on his waist and thighs.

He needs to be more careful.

And he probably needs to stop thinking about Taehyung.

But he’s in the shower, muscles relaxed under the scalding pressure of water, his clear thoughts turning to steam and condensing on the mirror and tiled walls. His bruises are a pulsing ache and he’s not even thinking as he trails his fingertips down his side and digs them into the worst spots on his waist.

Dark and purple just above the hipbone, right next to some nearly-healed ones, an old yellow. He presses harder and his hips twitch, knees feeling weak. These are probably gonna look worse after this. He knows from experience.

Sometimes he does this to himself—just sometimes. He’s not weird or anything, not a kinky little fuck that likes hurting himself and imagining it’s his best friend doing it. Not one bit.

Jungkook’s fingers let up only to push against a different area of the bruise, a massive thing stretched across his smooth and tight skin. The muscles of his abs tense and his cock twitches, quickly filling with blood, heavy and hot between his legs. A shuddering breath slips through his lips. He finds it tough to breathe in the steamy air of the shower.

The thing is it’s been getting worse recently. All this Taehyung business. It used to be the occasional thought, like, hey, my friend is kinda hot. Just that. It got a little worse as they grew older, but nothing bad. The bad shit started when they began trying out this soul resonance in the recent weeks.

Now Jungkook feels something cold and tough in his chest every time he’s alone with Taehyung. He won’t admit it, but he’s still a little disappointed the guy’s not home right now. Jungkook does this in the shower a lot because it’s really the most privacy he can get in their small, school-issued apartment. Sometimes he likes when the danger of Taehyung hearing him, of even walking in, is present. For some reason it makes him want to be louder.

It’s just that Taehyung makes Jungkook want—want to press up against his body and rile him up till he gets violent; want to mouth at his skin, smooth and soft until it’s ruined by Jungkook’s teeth; want to bury his face in the crook of his neck and breathe in the sharp smell of his cologne and the warmer, more muted smell of him, just a natural, subtle thing that makes something hot curl in Jungkook’s gut. He’s never wanted anything so bad in his life and soul resonance just makes it worse. That’s why he hates it, hates that he loves it.

It’s a guilty pleasure more than anything. The heat beneath his skin and the way it makes him dizzy, breathless, feeling the soft vibrations in the soul bond. There’s something intimate about it. Something perverse about it, the way it thrums to his core, makes him feel hot and good and—

—no—shouldn’t be sexual, fuck—

Another press of his fingers, and he lets out a soft moan, lips parted, hot water running down his face. He pushes his hair off his forehead, trails his hand down his front and wraps it around the base of his cock. Water doesn’t make the best lube but he’s not about to waste conditioner. He also knows it won’t take long for him to finish anyway.

His sides ache and he loves it, trying to choke down the whimpers when he presses too hard and sends hot bursts of pain through his body. He strokes his cock slowly, tightening the circle of his fingers just beneath the head and applying pressure till his hips buck and he strokes down to the base again, the foreskin pulling back.

Reaching across himself, he gingerly presses his fingertips into the bruises on his other side. They’re a little more sore—he’s been doing this too often recently—but he likes the pain. His tense thighs shake and his legs feel weak.

He squeezes his eyes shut and gasps, body flinching away from his forceful touch and then pushing back into it, spine arched. The hot water hits his back and he turns himself so it comes down just right against the worst bruises. There are minor cuts and scratches from when he’d been sent on a mission to the abandoned parts of the city a few weeks ago, flung onto the concrete while fighting. Nothing major, just enough pain to make him roll his hips into his hand and purr under the numbing warmth.

The water is cooling down. It washes away the sticky precome as it drips from the slit of his cock, thick and hot and throbbing in his hand, the vein pulsing. He strokes himself faster and his muscles quiver, his entire body tense and jolting with every flick of his thumb over the head, every squeeze of his hand.

His fingers dance along the side of his thigh, the upper portion beneath his jutting hipbone. Right as he presses, he hears the front door open.

“Fuck,” he whispers, a breathless word grit through his teeth. He’s panting hard but the spray of water on the floor is loud enough—he hopes.

There’s the heavy sounds as Taehyung kicks off his shoes, followed by the clatter of his keys on the counter and the creak of the old table as he drops something on it—most likely his schoolbag or groceries.

As his footsteps move past the hallway outside the bathroom, Jungkook just bites his lip and holds his breath, squeezes his eyes shut as he pumps his hand up and down his cock faster.

His mind wanders, further exploring those images of Taehyung when they’d been attempting resonance earlier. The image of him pressing Jungkook into the grass, kissing him a little too rough and prying his mouth open with his tongue, holding him down and grinding against him till Jungkook’s a whiny fucking mess, rutting up against Taehyung’s thigh.

Usually it’s worse than that. Usually it’s less about kissing and more about fucking. More about how Taehyung would grind his hard cock against Jungkook and snarl filthy shit into his ear, how he’d pin him against the nearest surface and hold him there, hands pressing on Jungkook’s bruises till he’s begging for it—begging to get fingered open and fucked and filled with Taehyung’s come.

Jungkook grits his teeth but he can’t help the weak moan that slips through, high and desperate in the back of his throat. His entire body is hot and tense and he can’t stop shaking, hand stroking his cock and the slick sounds filling the bathroom. His abs tense and he feels heat curling beneath his skin, coiling tight in his gut.

He wants Taehyung, wants him so fucking bad. Wants Taehyung inside him, on top of him and hurting him just like he’s doing to himself now. Fingers digging into bruises, fingers making more bruises. He wants Taehyung’s hot mouth on his throat, sucking hickies into the delicate skin, teeth scraping the reddened spots afterward just to assert the point that Jungkook is Taehyung’s. Teasing, grabbing, fucking. Everything aggressive and desperate and fuck—Jungkook wants him, wants the pain and the sex and the burn.

Another moans tears up his throat and he doesn’t even care anymore, pumping himself hard and fast and chasing that filthy release. Thighs shaking, he feels unsteady and leans against the hot tiled wall for support. His other hand once again comes to his waist, a little more pain right over the already burning ache, and he whines and pants and his hips buck into his hand as he comes with a choked groan, cock throbbing and spurting come. He lets go of his side to bring his hand to his mouth, lazily muffling his sounds as he strokes himself through his orgasm, his thick come dribbling onto the wet floor of the shower.

His legs shake as he stands there, watching his come run down the drain. Some globs swirl over his toes and he grimaces, waits for the water to wash it away. Nasty residue of being a horny 20-year-old who can’t keep his hand off his cock or his mind off his best friend for two fucking seconds.

Once he calms his breathing he turns around and washes himself off. He stays there for a few minutes longer but he still feels dirty.

 


 

“You went and bought soy sauce, right?”

Taehyung nods. “Fridge.”

“Can you get it?”

“You get it.” Taehyung fumbles with a knife and bell pepper.

“I’m busy.”

Taehyung snorts but complies. Jungkook glances to the side to watch him bend lower to peek in the small fridge, the light casting a stark shadow over his pretty face. His shirt is too loose. Jungkook wants to dip his tongue into Taehyung’s collarbones.

He thinks of what he did in the shower not even an hour ago and feels like lifting this red-hot frying pan and melting his face with it. He doesn’t but he kinda considers it for a moment. In reality he just turns back, his cheeks hot and blushing, and continues to poke at the stir fry.

He clears his throat before he speaks. “You done those bell peppers yet?”

“Jesus.” Taehyung places the soy sauce on the counter next to Jungkook and then pokes his side. It makes Jungkook’s breath hitch, his bruises still aching and fiery. It feels nice. “I’m getting to it.”

They stay in a comfortable silence until Taehyung’s finished cutting the bell peppers. He scrapes them from the cutting board into the frying pan, his side pressed against Jungkook in their cramped kitchen.

“Kook…” He stays close and places the cutting board and knife on the counter again. Jungkook stiffens at the tone of his voice, the warmth of his body. The sort of proximity that he should be comfortable with.

“Mm?” It comes out as an embarrassing choked sound.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh…” Jungkook stares at the wooden spatula and pushes the bell peppers around the pan. “Yeah?”

“Are we okay?”

He can feel Taehyung’s eyes on him, but he’s too much of a pussy bitch to look up so he grabs the soy sauce and pours a bit into the pan. It sizzles, loud and smoky. Then he lifts a slice of beef to his mouth and pops it in, lets it burn his tongue so he can avoid conversation.

“Should we not be?” Then he looks at Taehyung, and even though he’d felt ready, he really wasn’t. There’s something about Taehyung’s eyes, usually very kind and easy to read, but now with that same emotion Jungkook’s been seeing a lot of recently, the one he can’t place—maybe concern, maybe guilt.

“I dunno.” Taehyung shrugs and finally steps back. Jungkook can still hear his own heartbeat in his ears. “It’s just weird. I’ve kinda been thinking you’re not acting like yourself recently but then I was like, maybe it’s me, y’know? Am—fuck, dude…am I acting weird?”

Jungkook quickly shakes his head. He pinches another slice of slightly charred beef and holds it up to Taehyung’s lips. “You’re not. Try this.”

“It’s burnt,” Taehyung grumbles. He hisses when it burns his tongue. The kitchen is hot and sweat gleams on his throat as he swallows. “I’ve just been worrying about this recently. I’m not about that usually, but yeah. Guess I just think about, like, you, a lot—no, that sounds gay. I mean—”

Jungkook snorts. “Okay. Thanks. I think about you too, bud.”

“Don’t.” Taehyung flicks Jungkook’s forehead. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook waves the wooden spatula at him, thankful the heat of the kitchen can be the guise for this stupid blush now creeping down his neck. “Get serious on me.”

The stir fry sizzles. The pan clangs on the metal element of the stove.

“Like, I dunno, where’s that competitive, lowkey hotheaded-as-fuck Jeon Jungkook gone? Just never took you as the type to…fuckin’ give up, or something. Like, remember when you made us spar for hours a day in the dojo in preparation for the festival tournaments? And Ms. Naigus even said you’d better take it easy, and she’s hardcore as fuck. I was so sore and you were still tryna kick my ass.”

Jungkook laughs. “To be fair, your ass is very easy to kick.”

“Shut up. It’s just how it happens. Weapons don’t gotta do physical work like the meisters do. It’s just”—Taehyung clicks his fingernails over the linoleum counter—“this soul resonance shit’s got you down, and it’s kinda got me down too.”

Jungkook shakes his head and pokes at the thick chunks of vegetables, burnt on the outside but still raw on the inside. “I dunno what it is. It’s just…not working. I guess.”

“It’s not me, right?”

Jungkook blinks and looks up. Taehyung’s lips are pressed together and he looks quite serious, something Jungkook doesn’t see that often.

“Like, we’re not fucked, right? I just feel like…our souls should be more in sync, after all we’ve been through and all.”

Jungkook looks down again and pokes at a caramelized onion. Then he picks it up and holds it up to Taehyung’s mouth. “It’s not that. I’m just being lame and dumb, letting one failure get to me too much. I’ll work it out, I promise.”

Taehyung nods and blows on the onion before letting Jungkook stick it in his mouth.

“I know we need to keep our two-star ranking, and I know we’re failing more missions recently. Don’t think we’re even top of the class for soul counts anymore.”

“Fuck.” Taehyung groans and leans back on the counter. Jungkook’s eyes follow the lines of lean muscle along Taehyung’s forearm, the veins of his hand gripping the edge of the linoleum. “I hate school. I hate existing.”

Jungkook swallows.

“We’re still somewhere in the top three for physical ability ranking.” Taehyung furrows his brow, studying the stains in the ceiling. “The athletics test is soon. We’ve gotta practice some more.”

Jungkook’s not really listening because with Taehyung’s head tilted back like this, his neck is stretched and the smooth skin looks so inviting for a pair of lips, a set of teeth—too perfect for marks but too perfect to leave unblemished as well. The paradox of hickies, the dumber part of Jungkook’s brain thinks, before he snaps back.

“Dojo, I guess,” he says. He turns the stove off.

Taehyung huffs. “I don’t wanna. You’ll just kick my ass again.”

Jungkook snickers. “Exactly. Get plates, this is done.”

 


 

“No fake-outs,” Taehyung says. “Promise.”

“Yeah, got it.” Jungkook hops back and forth from one foot to another, feeling the adrenaline build.

They’re in the sparring dojo. It doesn’t help Taehyung at all to improve his hand-to-hand combat skills, but for Jungkook it’s essential. Since they’re partners, it’s convenient for them to practice together.

“No hard hits.”

“I know.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “C’mon. I’m fired up. Ready. Rarin’ to go. Take a swing, Tae.”

“No surprises and no flips—”

Jungkook swings. Taehyung jumps back.

“Dude—”

“I know the rules. You’ll get hit if you just keep blabbing about ‘em.”

Taehyung huffs and raises his fists, taking a defensive position. His eyes follow Jungkook’s every move and for a moment he feels almost scrutinized, under a spotlight, met with such attention.

It’s not sexual.

It’s fucking stupid that he has to remind himself this. Taehyung’s only looking at him like that because he doesn’t want to get decked in the face. Jungkook’s stronger and definitely knows a thing or two about how to throw a punch. But even with this physical superiority he can’t help but feel like prey beneath Taehyung’s focused gaze, eyes narrowed and dark.

They’re training agility and reflexes. The punches are admittedly more for fun. Jungkook’s not exactly planning out on going out and sissy-slapping a demon when he’s got a weapon as good as Taehyung.

“Ready?” Jungkook asks.

“Should’ve asked earlier.” Taehyung steps forward and swings, and Jungkook’s falling into patterns now, hopping back, blocking and calculating and getting into the fight. Sometimes they end up hurting each other but it’s not a big deal. Sometimes Jungkook likes the bruises that form and linger for days after, but he doesn’t think about that part.

They’re silent, just sharp breathes and feet scuffing and squeaking over the floor, the mats. The sounds echo through the empty space. White lights glimmer off the sweat dripping down the side of Taehyung’s face.

Jungkook tries not to think about it, about the sweat and heavy breathing and hard bodies and—ugh.

“You think trying soul resonance now would change anything?” Taehyung asks, taking a few agile steps back and pausing the fight.

Jungkook shakes the sweat out of his hair and it spatters on the gym floor.

“Don’t cut the fight.” He steps forward and throws a punch. Taehyung reacts immediately. “Another day.”

He doesn’t mean it but it’s a good enough distraction for now.

 


 

Jungkook’s still trying not to think about it.

They’d taken a few breaks but had trained for hours. Now it’s just pain and exhaustion, him and Taehyung alone in the shower room, the sounds of their feet on the tiles echoing through the stuffy space.

In his periphery, Jungkook sees Taehyung pull his shirt off over his head.

He’s trying not to think about it.

But Taehyung is sweaty and hot and right fucking there and Jungkook’s resolve is nonexistent. He takes a quick glance but it ends up being more than a quick glance. With his sweat-soaked shirt pulled halfway up his torso, Jungkook blanks and stares.

The muscles of Taehyung’s shoulder blades tense as he stretches, skin tan and ridiculously enticing. He rolls his shoulder back, squeezing it and working out the aches.

“I’m fuckin’ sore,” he mumbles. His thumbs press into his lower back and he arches, groans quietly, and it’s just pornographic enough that Jungkook feels his gut flip inside-out. “And my shoulder hurts. You hit me too hard there.”

Taehyung turns around and Jungkook’s still frozen there, wide-eyed and awkward.

“…What?” Taehyung quirks an eyebrow.

It takes Jungkook a second but he mumbles something that’s meant to sound like nothing and glances away. “Sorry ‘bout your shoulder.”

“You’re just a slut for adrenaline.” Taehyung’s fingers are working at the waistband of his shorts now and Jungkook finds his hands fumbling as he pulls his shirt off the rest of the way.

“You just can’t take a hit.” Jungkook digs through his bag for his soap and shampoo. In the corner of his eye he sees Taehyung stepping toward the showers already, doing a few clumsy hops as he pulls his shorts off. He chucks them onto the bench and wraps the towel haphazardly around his waist, walks past Jungkook, seeming not to realize he’s two seconds from fucking dying.

Jungkook keeps his eyes down, feeling very gay and immensely guilty. He knows Taehyung’s kinda into guys but it’s never been like that between them. So what the fuck, Jeon. Control your dick.

There are walls separating the showers because the sparring dojo is fancier than other parts of the academy. Most areas on campus just have flimsy separators or nothing at all—just a tiled room of dudes facing each other and revelling in the weak, lukewarm spray of shitty communal showers. As Jungkook steps into a shower stall, he’s never been more thankful for a fucking wall.

At the same time he kinda hates it because he wouldn’t mind too much if he could see how Taehyung looks in the shower. They’ve seen each other like that before, usually in those previously mentioned shitty communal showers. All naked and full-frontal, with flaccid, wet cocks and water dripping off trained fighters’ bodies.

But it was one of those situations where it’s just not erotic at all, just casual humanness and bodies being bodies. It’s been a while since then though. Last time Jungkook’s seen Taehyung naked was most definitely before this soul resonance debacle.

Jungkook’s sorting out his soap and shampoo.

“Kook?” Taehyung asks. His deep voice echoes over the spray of water.

“Hm?”

For a while Taehyung’s quiet and Jungkook’s about to speak up again when Taehyung says, “Do you have shampoo?”

“Why?”

“’Cause I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” Jungkook laughs but it’s tense. His voice feels too loud in the relative silence of the shower room. “Saw you holding it.”

“Yeah, but I like yours better.”

“So?”

“So come here and lend me yours, loser.”

The tension in his body is sudden, caustic as his nerves fray at the edges in a matter of seconds.

“We’re naked, dude,” Jungkook mumbles, the best excuse he’s got. A substantial—too substantial—part of him is dying to go over there, to cross stalls and get under the same spray of water as Taehyung and then probably maybe sort of do something more together.

“Yeah, I…I know?” Taehyung chuckles, and maybe it’s just Jungkook but he sounds a little nervous too. “It’s fine if you don’t—yeah. Like, I don’t need—”

“No, I—here.” Jungkook has no idea why he says it. Why he does it. But he grabs the bottle—some shitty 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner thing that really isn’t that much better than the one Taehyung has—and twirls it in his hands for a second before crossing the short area between the shower stalls to bring it to Taehyung.

He doesn’t know where to look.

The steam from the showers is everywhere but it’s easy to make out Taehyung’s figure in the cloudiness—hair soaked and body dripping, shining, skin tight and muscle firm.

“You’re the best ever.” Taehyung takes the bottle. He nods at the webs and patterns of bruises smeared across Jungkook’s waist, thighs, snaking around to his back. “God, you got bashed the fuck up. When did that happen?”

Taehyung combs his fingers through his hair, eyes closed. Jungkook doesn’t miss the way he steps back to allow him room under the spray of water as well.

“On that failed mission, when that demon got me against the concrete like that.” He reaches forward and grabs Taehyung’s wrist. “Wait.”

Then he pauses because why the fuck did he do that?

Taehyung stares at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Let me do it,” Jungkook says. His hand feels too hot around Taehyung’s wrist—maybe it’s the water or maybe it’s his massive internal freak-out.

“Why?”

“You always use too much.”

Maybe Taehyung buys it and maybe he doesn’t. Either way he hands Jungkook the bottle and steps closer. Jungkook swallows and focuses on not dropping it, the plastic slippery in his hands. He pops the cap and squeezes some onto his palm.

“You’d better give me the full deal if you’re gonna police me like this. Like, scalp massage, I’m talkin’.”

“You’re the one stealing my shampoo,” Jungkook mumbles. He puts the bottle on the shelf and works the shampoo into Taehyung’s hair. He hums and tilts his head back, stepping back a bit closer to Jungkook. The heat of his body permeates through the steam in the air, too much, too hot.

This is normal.

Jungkook grits his teeth when he feels his dick twitch, the heat below his navel getting worse. Taehyung lets out another low sound as Jungkook’s fingers work against his scalp.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

Jungkook is a live wire, a stretched elastic, a horny, gay idiot who never thinks about consequences. But this doesn’t feel like much of a consequence. His eyes follow the lines of Taehyung’s toned back, water running down the dips. He thinks about how it would feel to dig his fingers into his tense, tight muscle, that image quickly devolving into a mess of limbs and reddened flesh, bruises and bite marks and Taehyung on top of him and Jungkook’s legs hooked over Taehyung’s broad shoulders, Jungkook getting fucking pounded into the mattress and—

“Go lower,” Taehyung says, a little breathy. Or maybe Jungkook’s just imagining it.

He makes a choked sound and nods. His fingers work down to just above the nape of Taehyung’s neck and slowly, carefully massage his scalp. He doesn’t miss Taehyung’s shudder, his pleased sigh and the way he steps back even closer.

Jungkook’s only a little hard but only a little is still incriminating enough. He feels like a pervert but he is one so it’s not the guiltiest he’s ever been. That said, guilt is guilt, and right now he’s in need of absolution and also a good cock-tugging—but alone would probably be better.

“Feels good,” Taehyung mumbles, and the only reason Jungkook knows he’s still breathing is because the steam of the shower is hot and stifling in his throat, his lungs, and he’s probably suffocating but he has bigger problems.

Jungkook takes a deep breath. He’s acting like they’ve never showered together before. Like he’s never seen Taehyung’s bare skin before.

This is nothing. Just simple shit, all that good and pure caring that comes out of a healthy friendship. Nothing in the grand scheme of things, nothing, nothing.

“Want me to do you?” Taehyung asks.

“What?” Jungkook blinks when a bit of water drips from his hair into his eyes.

“Want me to?” Taehyung glances at him over his shoulder. “Your hair.”

Jungkook nods.

“’Kay. C’mere.” Taehyung’s hand brushes against Jungkook’s waist. It’s just to move him to the side, but his fingertips brush over Jungkook’s bruises and he tenses, hisses and moves out of the spray of water for a moment. “Sorry. Hurts?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes. The touch was gentle and hadn’t hurt much at all. Really Jungkook’s just on edge. “It’s nothing.”

“Still.” Taehyung’s washes the shampoo out of his hair. Then he turns to Jungkook and begins gently tracing his ribs, his eyes trained on his bruises with such interest that Jungkook feels the attention prickle under his skin. Please push harder—or, no—fuck. Jungkook swallows and Taehyung’s fingers continue to trail patterns over his skin. “Looks intense as fuck. Should rest a bit, at least. Don’t gotta be busting your ass with sparring for no reason.”

Then Taehyung’s fingers move down and his large palm rests on Jungkook’s waist, thumb rubbing slow circles above his hipbone, applying the barest pressure and it feels good. Jungkook doesn’t know if it’s because of the pain or the comfort. He hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice how his cock isn’t completely flaccid, just a little fuller, redder. Just a little.

It’s just the warmth, he’s telling himself. The warmth and the wet air around them, a good body right in front of him, how could he not respond to it? That’s all it is.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” Jungkook says through his tight throat. His eyelids are fluttering, refusing to stay open, and his tongue swipes over his bottom lip almost on instinct. “Looks worse than it is.”

“Ah.”

Then Taehyung’s warm hands are gone and Jungkook is relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“Turn a bit,” Taehyung says, voice deep and muted under the loud spray of water, splashing against skin and onto the tiled floor. Jungkook obeys. The shampoo is a little cold at first. As Taehyung’s fingers work it into his hair, he can’t help but sigh. He feels the tingle of the suds dripping down his back.

Taehyung’s fingers are strong and deliberate, massaging his scalp and dragging the shampoo through his hair. It smells vaguely herbal.

“Your hair is nice,” Taehyung says.

“Uh…thanks?” Jungkook giggles nervously.

“I dunno, just sayin’.”

His fingers move down to the back of Jungkook’s head, rubbing just at the nape of his neck, and Jungkook’s shoulders relax. He lets out a small sound without even thinking.

“Good?” Taehyung’s voice is a little rough. Jungkook can’t be imagining it this time.

Jungkook breathes a little mnh that almost sounds like a shaky groan, higher-pitched than he’d intended. His head tips forward slightly and he shuts his eyes, the water and suds running down his face. Taehyung’s fingers work gently at his hair, movements so attentive that Jungkook feels a tingle down his spine, tensing and arching just a bit.

Then Taehyung’s fingers trace down and begin working at the muscle connecting his neck and shoulders. Jungkook lets out a small sound that sounds dangerously like a moan, and Taehyung’s hands press harder.

“’S nice,” Jungkook slurs, an encouragement because he really wants Taehyung to keep going.

“That’s good. You’re so tense.” Taehyung applies a bit more pressure and Jungkook shivers, feeling the force of it, the power in his grip. Heat coils in his gut and his cock twitches again, plumping up between his legs and hanging hot and heavy. He wants to grab it and pump himself till he’s fully erect and fucking dripping but he’s not an idiot.

“Just exertion,” Jungkook mumbles.

“Should take it easy sometimes, Kook.”

“I—ah, I know.”

His knees feel weak and his head dips forward to allow Taehyung more room. The water sprays over his hair and Taehyung runs his fingers through the strands, washing out the remaining shampoo. Then those hands slide to his shoulders, massaging the sides, then a bit lower to his shoulder blades. And lower. Jungkook’s so lost in it, the static and buzzing pleasure, that he really doesn’t feel how low Taehyung’s hands have gone until he’s massaging circles into the two dimples of Jungkook’s lower back, fingers just above his ass.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook whispers, tensing up again, his cock jerking and hardening even more. He blushes, absolutely mortified at how he’s reacting but also not interested in having Taehyung stop. He just doesn’t acknowledge his erection, hoping it’ll magically go away.

Taehyung laughs nervously. “Massaging, I guess. I have no fucking idea, dude. You’re just so on edge recently, and our bond’s been outta whack.”

“It’s my fault, really.” Jungkook stumbles over his words, the pleasure sinking deep into his bones. The muscles of the small of his back are warm and worked beneath Taehyung’s deft fingers. His soft skin gives and pulls under the pressure.

“It’s not.” Taehyung’s fingertips dig deep and Jungkook gasps, fully aware of how sexual he’d sounded. He tries to hold his breath but Taehyung does the same hard movement and Jungkook exhales in a low, happy moan. “It’s me. I bet your soul’s just catching on to my bad wavelengths, y’know?”

Jungkook hums, breathless and too unfocused to form proper words.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Taehyung’s voice is quiet and his hands massage the sore spots along Jungkook’s lower back, right over the bruises, yellowing and healing but still visible. And it hurts, but Jungkook doesn’t say so because he knows Taehyung would stop.

“Yes,” he breathes instead, panting and focusing on keeping his noises from getting too dirty.

“Soul resonance feels…I dunno.”

Taehyung’s fingers are working harder now, a constant, firm pressure. Jungkook feels unsteady, and his hand grips the cool, wet ledge on the wall, fingers shaking as they tighten, the veins in his arm bulging.

“Feels what?” Jungkook manages to say, eyes squeezed shut. He can feel his cock pulsing between his legs and he hates his reactions and hates how much he loves this because it’s fucking depraved and disgusting and they’re in a public place but Jungkook’s really thinking about what this could lead to, what he and Taehyung very well might end up doing.

“Feels kinda…” Taehyung says slowly. “It’s good, in dumb ways, y’know?” Then he quickly mumbles, “It feels good, yeah.”

“Good?”

“Ah…” Taehyung gives a nervous laugh. “I dunno.” His voice is apprehensive but his hands are sure and strong, turning Jungkook into a squirming, flushed mess, shower steam hot on his tan skin.

“Careful,” Jungkook whispers. His normal volume would feel too loud. “Bruises.”

“Here?” Taehyung presses harder and Jungkook arches, moans and stiffens immediately.

“Yeah—there,” he says through grit teeth, chest heaving as he tries to keep from breathing too hard.

“But you know what I mean, right?”

“Hm?” Feeling brave, Jungkook looks over his shoulder and immediately regrets it. Taehyung’s eyes are dark and sensual in a way they really shouldn’t be in a shower between two guys who are just friends—even though they’re both very admittedly still exploring their sexuality and are in that constant stage of youthful arousal that comes with being a 20-year-old guy.

“About soul resonance.”

Jungkook shrugs. He can’t look away from Taehyung’s eyes, and they both lean a bit closer. Jungkook’s heart beats against his ribcage and threatens to knock out his fucking windpipe. “I…I guess.”

“Kinda thought I could punch it out, this whole obstacle, bit of adrenaline and then bam, y’know. Figured that was what I needed. But, like…” Taehyung swallows and Jungkook’s eyes trail down to watch his Adam’s apple bob. Then he looks back up and finds himself breathless again, wanting. “I’ve got you here, and it’s just…I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone this bad.”

Taehyung looks up at him through his eyelashes, biting his lip, looking unsure and terrified and so many other emotions Jungkook can’t focus enough to name. But Taehyung’s eyes are dark and slanted and almost intimidating as he looks at Jungkook. Neither of them back off.

“Yeah.” A shaky exhale and Jungkook’s stepping backward, Taehyung pulling him closer with his hands on Jungkook’s hips. He feels Taehyung’s erection rub wet and slippery against the swell of his ass, and Taehyung’s fingers dig into his skin tighter, sort of holding him still but sort of inviting him closer. Jungkook arches his back and pushes closer to Taehyung.

“Kook—”

“I want you,” Jungkook breathes. In one movement he turns around and presses against Taehyung, chests touching, heavy heartbeat on a heartbeat. Jungkook tilts his head and Taehyung leans closer and for a moment they pause, panting hard with their lips just a breath’s width apart. It’s almost like a question, a moment to think—is this a good idea?

Jungkook leans forward and catches Taehyung’s lips with his own, shuddering when he groans into his mouth. Because he doesn’t give a shit about good ideas, bad ideas, any ideas, and all that’s worth thinking about is himself and Taehyung and their hot breath mingling in the steamy shower. Wet lips on lips, parting, and then Taehyung’s tongue licking past them, then behind his teeth and pushing Jungkook’s tongue to the back of his mouth.

Jungkook lets Taehyung win.

Taehyung presses closer and Jungkook can’t breathe. He pulls back slightly and a tingle runs down his spine when Taehyung leans forward as if to chase him. He slots their lips together again, and this time Taehyung threads a hand into Jungkook’s hair to not let him pull away.

“Let’s cross the obstacle, c’mon,” Jungkook mumbles, angling his hips and letting his erection, hot and throbbing, rub against Taehyung’s jutting hipbone. “Our soul bond’s gonna get so fuckin’ tight if we work this out.”

Taehyung hums and mumbles something into Jungkook’s mouth. He gasps when Taehyung bites his lip and goes boneless when Taehyung pulls his hair, resting against Taehyung’s body and holding his arm for support. His knees shake.

“Work it out how?” Taehyung laughs softly. Jungkook feels the vibrations of his deep voice and he quivers, fingers fumbling at Taehyung’s wet skin.

“Just…” Jungkook giggles breathlessly and reaches between them, going with the motions and riding the high of having Taehyung’s soft lips pressed against his. His hand curls around Taehyung hot, slick erection and pumps once, fingers dragging to the tip and pulling the foreskin over the head. “All this good dick engagement, y’know? Work it out like that.”

Taehyung snorts. “Nice. I’m all about it. C’mon”—his hand smooths down Jungkook’s taut chest and rubs over his prominent v-lines— “gimme your dick.” His hand wraps around Jungkook’s cock, just a loose grip around the base.

Jungkook breathes a happy sound and bucks his hips into the feeling.

“Tighter,” he murmurs, and sighs when Taehyung complies. But he keeps his hand still, fingers just rubbing the thick vein on the underside. Jungkook squeezes Taehyung’s cock and he jolts. “Jack it, c’mon. Don’t you know how to touch a dick?”

“I’m exploring,” Taehyung explains, laughing. Then he gives Jungkook a good pump from base to tip, and Jungkook groans and pulls back to look down because he wants to see. His cock is thick and red in Taehyung’s hand. It’s almost jarring seeing those bony knuckles he’s fantasized about so much being wrapped around his dick, playing with his foreskin and gently stroking.

Taehyung taps Jungkook’s wrist, pushes his hand off of Taehyung’s cock, and Jungkook’s confused for a second because what the fuck, does he not want his dick touched or something? But then Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s bobbing cock and holds it up against his own, and Jungkook whimpers because fuck, he can feel the throbbing heat of Taehyung’s length pressing against his, overwhelming and ridiculously erotic.

“Help me,” Taehyung says, laughing. “My hand’s too small.”

Jungkook bites his lip and scrunches his nose in a dumb smile, because Taehyung’s hands are nowhere near small. He covers Taehyung’s hand with his own and helps him stroke them both. “Nah. Our dicks are too big. It’s fuckin’ awesome.

Taehyung laughs harder and buries his face in Jungkook’s neck. “You nerd.” Then he presses a kiss to the juncture of Jungkook’s shoulder, dips down and presses on to his collarbone, and then up the side of his neck.

“That tickles.” Jungkook tilts his head to the side and lets Taehyung suck just beneath his jaw, teeth worrying the skin to worsen the bruise that will form. Jungkook’s shivers. He taps Taehyung’s knuckles twice. “C’mon. Stroke this, ‘m so fuckin’ hard.”

Taehyung pumps them both, and Jungkook squeezes around his hand to make him tighten his grip.

Yeah,” he breathes as the head of his dick rubs against Taehyung’s, catches just the right amount of friction and heat. Water is a shitty lubricant but he doesn’t mind the minor chafing. It’s just skin on skin, hot and soft. He’s having a hard time keeping still, hips jumping at every minor thing Taehyung does—thumb flicking over the head of Jungkook’s cock, digging it into the slit and collecting the precome and then smearing it over his own.

Taehyung kisses along Jungkook’s jawline, and then sucks his earlobe into his mouth. His earring clacks against Taehyung’s teeth. Really piercings aren’t allowed under the dress code, but even Jungkook breaks rules—not as much as Taehyung, but after having spent so long with him, he’s coming pretty close. Jungkook shudders and a soft moan slips past his lips when Taehyung sucks, tongue toying with the metal piercing.

Jungkook’s not really doing much work, mostly just encouraging Taehyung with a hand over his. Taehyung’s guiding this, and Jungkook likes it like that. He moans as Taehyung twists slightly on the upstroke, feeling another hot bead of precome drip from his slit and get washed away by the spray of water.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mumbles, his voice shaky. “Feel so good, Tae.”

Taehyung hums, lips and tongue trailing down Jungkook’s neck, biting and sucking hard. Jungkook grits his teeth, thinking of the marks that’ll be left afterward.

Ah—shit.” His hips twitch and he fits his body closer to Taehyung’s, feeling the tension in his muscles and the way his arms shake slightly, a certain aggression to his movements as his free hand slides over Jungkook’s waist and pulls him closer.

The pressure comes right over Jungkook’s bruises. A warm pain. It spreads through him, less of a shock and more of a molten spill of pleasure until he’s trembling and whining, head tipping back to allow Taehyung better access to his neck. Teeth and lips, possessive.

“That hurts,” Jungkook says, hating how pathetic he sounds, voice broken and more raspy than it needs to be. He needs to fucking chill because this is really just some casual dick-touching, all for the purpose of improving their bond.

“Shit—sorry,” Taehyung pulls back, his hand now gone from Jungkook’s waist. He blinks when he meets Jungkook’s eyes, seeing for the first time how fucking wrecked he looks, and then smirks just a bit.

“No—” Jungkook doesn’t care anymore, because fuck pride and all that shit he does to save face, it’s nothing. He grabs Taehyung’s wrist and pulls his hand back to his waist. “I like it,” he says, and dips his head and kisses Taehyung hard before he can see the flush on Jungkook’s cheeks worsen.

Taehyung laughs, breathless and a little surprised. He doesn’t pry further and Jungkook doesn’t feel like confessing more than that as of right now—he’s had enough masochistic admission for one day. Still Taehyung gives him the lightest squeeze over a bruise and Jungkook bucks his hips, his moans getting a bit louder, a bit more desperate.

His hand picks up the pace and Jungkook’s lips part, breathing hard and fast into Taehyung’s mouth. They’re not even kissing anymore. It’s just hot and frantic and gross, muscles sore and shaking from sparring, and Jungkook’s been so close the entire time but he’s been holding off, trying to drag it out because it feels so fucking good, but he doesn’t think he’s gonna last much longer.

“’M close,” he stammers, his spine arching to bring himself closer to Taehyung’s body.

“Me too.” Taehyung’s hand smooths down Jungkook’s back and then kneads the flesh of his ass, and Jungkook jolts because Taehyung hasn’t touched him there yet and Jungkook’s almost been…waiting for it, as embarrassing as it is to admit.

“Tae, oh—fuck, fuck.” He’s breathing hard and heat pools in his lower belly. His hand squeezes even harder around Taehyung’s cock and they both gasp, the pressure and friction and heat almost too much to take. The water is still hot, beating down against their skin, keeping the air stifling.

Taehyung groans and kisses Jungkook hard, bites his already reddened lip and tugs. It fucking stings and Jungkook hisses, surging forward and getting back at Taehyung, scraping his teeth over his lip. Jungkook doesn’t realize his lip is bleeding until Taehyung’s got him in a slow, deep kiss once again, mouths melding together. Hot saliva and the iron tang of blood.

“You bit me, you piece of shit.” He snarls into Taehyung’s mouth but Taehyung just laughs and pushes him back. He swipes his tongue over Jungkook’s bottom lip and licks at the blood, makes the small wound sting, and Jungkook immediately feels dizzy, his jaw going slack because if Taehyung has no qualms about using teeth, inflicting pain, then he might be down for more, for worse.

Jungkook shudders and his knees feel weak, and he leans more of his weight on Taehyung, whining when his hand moves faster. He feels Taehyung’s dick throb, hot and hard and pressed up against his own, soft foreskin moving with the strokes of his hand. “Keep going,” Jungkook says between gasps. “Oh God, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—”

His abs tense and his thighs quiver, his entire body going still for a moment and then relaxing and going boneless in Taehyung’s hands as his orgasm hits him. He squeezes his eyes shut and ruts his hips forward, feeling his come gush from his slit and spill over his and Taehyung’s knuckles, hot and slippery. Taehyung strokes him through it, cooing and murmuring unintelligible things into his ear.

“Fuck,” Jungkook pants, coming down, hips twitching a few more times before he relaxes. Taehyung lets go of Jungkook’s cock when he starts wincing from overstimulation. “Tae—let me—” Jungkook bats Taehyung’s hand away and strokes him quick and rough, feeling his length pulse, hot and heavy.

“Shit—nnh.” Taehyung groans and grits his teeth and Jungkook swallows, seeing the hard set of his jaw and the way he looks with his eyes shut tight, brow furrowed, lips swollen. “Gonna come,” Taehyung warns, and Jungkook hums and leans closer to suck a mark beneath his jaw, pumping him faster.

He feels Taehyung tense as he comes, his cock bucking and spurting come over Jungkook’s knuckles and onto the floor of the shower.

“Oh fuck,” Jungkook says shakily, sighs and bites his lip, giving Taehyung’s dick one last squeeze and shivering when he feels how he throbs, the last of his release dribbling from the slit.

“God, Jungkook.” Taehyung exhales and the tension leaves his body in one go, muscles loosening. Jungkook feels him relax and stands warm and comfortable under the spray of water.

“So fuckin’ good,” Jungkook mumbles, and drops his head onto Taehyung’s shoulder, giving him a quick kiss there.

They’re quiet, evening out their breathing, leaning on each other for support. Taehyung’s hands smooth down Jungkook’s side, a little calloused but not as bad as Jungkook’s are. Taehyung’s not the one who regularly handles a scythe.

“There’s no one else here, right?” Taehyung asks after a while.

Jungkook pauses, lifts his head, holds his breath and listens. The sound of the shower echoes through the empty room. “I hope not.”

Taehyung snorts. “What a story they’d have.”

Jungkook laughs and stands up straight, washing himself off in the spray of warm water one final time. He moves back and watches Taehyung step beneath the water, rivulets dripping down his spine. It’s less of a guilty thing now. Jungkook’s floating in the afterglow of his orgasm and the bruises and hickies on his skin leave him glowing, sated and wholesome.

“C’mon.” Taehyung turns off the shower. “Don’t forget your stuff.”

Back at the lockers, Jungkook is fully clothed and towelling his hair off, staring at the corner of the wall and thinking too hard. Taehyung stands to his side, shirtless and tying the strings of his sweatpants.

Jungkook wonders if that helped their soul bond at all. If that would change anything about their attempts at resonance. Maybe this is all some moronic, twisted logic to begin with.

He turns to the side, watching Taehyung pull his white dress shirt on, meticulous fingers working out the creases and slowly buttoning it up. He stares at the floor, seemingly deep in thought as well.

Jungkook tosses his towel in his bag and throws it over his shoulder.

“You’re really gonna wear your uniform shirt with a pair of sweats?” Jungkook snorts, patting Taehyung on the shoulder as he walks past.

“I forgot to bring another shirt,” Taehyung explains, catching up to him. His shirt isn’t buttoned up high enough, hanging open and revealing too much of his chest. Coupled with his tousled, half-dried hair and loose sweatpants, he looks so casually hot it hurts. “What?” Taehyung asks, and Jungkook realizes he’s staring.

“Nothing,” he says, and faces forward again. “It’s just your outfit is stupid. Let’s go home, c’mon.”

 


 

The trick is to stick to the rooftops.

You’re gonna die one day.” Taehyung’s voice is an echo through their soul bond, and Jungkook just laughs loudly, high on the adrenaline and the fight.

“You don’t have enough faith in me.” He adjusts his grip on the handle of his scythe. Glinting in the moonlight, Taehyung’s always terrifying in weapon-form. A bone-chilling sight. Jungkook likes it, the hard steel and the cold edge, the way blood looks congealed on the blade.

“You look good as a weapon,” Jungkook comments.

I try.

He can imagine Taehyung might roll his eyes in this moment.

“You should stay like this.” He spins the blade, snickering when he feels Taehyung’s irritation through the bond. “Makes you easier to deal with.”

Is this really the time? Look for the demon. Where’d it go?

Jungkook is standing on the rooftop of a tall building. This is the trick. Still, he’s not sure they’re gonna win this one. He’s already lost a lot of blood.

Don’t die.

“I know.”

Don’t kill us.

“I know. Can you see it?”

No.

They listen to the whistle of the wind through the cracked windows and empty streets. There’s always something sinister about the abandoned parts of Death City, whether they’re inhabited by demons or not.

Jungkook feels the presence before he sees it. A cold breeze behind him, the sound of something clawing at the flat edge of the rooftop.

Kook—”

“Yeah.”

He’s off the rooftop in a split second. A flash of acrobatics, wind in his hair, his clothes, the curved blade of his weapon hooked around the steel railings of the fire escapes, a hard shock on his knees as he lands on the concrete. He winces.

He can’t take many more hits. There’s a gash on his shoulder, and a bigger one on the side of his knee, blood dripping down his leg. If his leg gives out then he’s fucked.

“We can’t handle these fucking two-star missions,” Jungkook mutters. The night is cold and dark, the crescent moon an eerie presence in the wide sky.

We’re a two-star team, we need to be able to handle two-star missions.

Jungkook sighs.

We don’t wanna do that remedial class shit. If we fail this one then we’ll have lost too many souls. We might drop to one-star again.

Jungkook grits his teeth. His shoulder aches and he walks with quiet footsteps down the middle of the street.

“What are you saying?”

We gotta resonate.

Jungkook nibbles on his lip. But right now there’s no time to think. The cold presence gets closer and the deep claw marks sliced into his shoulder burn. Blood tickles down his back.

Trust me.

“I do. You know that.”

It’s been just over a week since that moment in the shower room. He has no idea how soul resonance will work between them now—whether it’ll be better or worse—but he can’t be hesitating.

There’s a comfortable wavelength to Taehyung’s soul. Jungkook breathes deep and seeks it out.

“I trust you,” Jungkook reiterates, just for good measure.

You’re nervous.” Taehyung snorts.

“But I trust you.”

His footsteps have sped up on the asphalt. He feels the demon’s presence somewhere above him, daunting and unnatural. A twisted, blackened soul.

Taehyung’s soul is warm, inviting. Jungkook’s heart rate evens out and the cold sweat on his skin fades as he starts to sync his wavelength, bringing it a few notches down to something calmer. He feels Taehyung do the same and ramp his wavelength up to something closer to Jungkook’s hot-blooded intensity.

When Jungkook feels the first licks of arousal, he’s expecting it.

Ugh—fuck,” he spits, trying to shake it off.

Chill. Stay focused.

“It feels good,” Jungkook mumbles, feeling himself blush even though his life is literally on the line. His body apparently prioritizes himself being an awkward, horny nerd around his best friend over the focus on imminent death.

I know, dude. We can deal with all that when we get back.

“Fuck…don’t make me think about this.” Jungkook laughs and he breaks into a run, feet slapping the concrete. There’s aggression in the air, the spark of a fight, the rise from the lull. The presence comes closer but he feels ready now.

Their wavelengths sync up and there’s a power in his veins, danger igniting the steel handle of his scythe, gleaming on the edge of the blood-coated blade.

Taehyung’s a fucking sight like this, Jungkook thinks.

He comes to a wide intersection and abruptly turns around, feet digging into the asphalt to counter his velocity.

You got this?

Jungkook breathes a nervous laugh.

“Enough not to kill us.”

The looming shadow of the creature comes forward and Jungkook steels his stance, feels the gravel shift beneath his shoes before he breaks into a run, weapon pulled back, readied.

 


 

“Bend your knee,” the nurse says.

Jungkook obeys. He winces when the nurse brushes her fingers around his wound. It’s been sterilized and has clotted some, but blood still leaks from the deep corners in thin drops.

The mission had gone well. Not as perfect and it could’ve gone, but it had gotten them another soul, and that’s really the important part.

“Is he okay?” Taehyung sits on the cot across from him, worrying his hands in his lap.

The nurse nods. “He’s fine. Just needs some bandages.” She unravels a roll and lays a cotton pad on the gash. She lays the strip of bandage on top. As she wraps it, cool fingers holding Jungkook’s calf steady, he stays quiet and watches, trying not to squirm.

Taehyung gaze burns into his skin.

“Do you feel dizzy at all?” the nurse asks.

“No.” Jungkook keeps his head down, eyes on the nurse’s careful movements.

“Does your shoulder still feel all right?”

“Yeah.”

He places his hand over the bandage wrapped there and rolls his shoulder back to test. It hurts but it’s just a shallow wound. Nothing deeper than skin.

“Try to keep from putting too much strain on your knee.” The nurse fastens the bandage, leaving Jungkook’s knee feeling stiff. “No sparring or missions for at least two weeks. The force of the blow will probably cause bruising later on, but it’ll fade.”

Jungkook nods.

The nurse leaves to fetch some papers.

“You feel all right?” Taehyung asks when the door shuts, leaving them in privacy. He hops off the other cot and comes to sit on Jungkook’s. It dips with their weight as they sit close.

Jungkook can still feel the lingering thrum of Taehyung’s soul, his wavelength etched beneath his skin, tingling. Proximity makes it worse, hotter and stronger. He shifts.

“I’m fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Are you? I blocked lotsa hits with the handle. Should’ve been more careful.”

Taehyung shakes his head. There are a few scratches on his skin, the visible ones on his arms and a few more probably hidden beneath his clothing. “Nah, you did awesome. I’m proud.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

“Really.” Taehyung laughs and pokes his arm. “I’m proud you’re my partner.”

A different sort of blush comes over Jungkook’s skin, a gentler one. He ducks his head. “Whatever. You’re too nice sometimes. Go back to being an asshole.”

Taehyung snorts.

Jungkook sits back and pauses, lips pressed together. He knows he shouldn’t give in to the temptation, but all his body wants is to be closer to Taehyung. He wonders if the feeling’s mutual. He risks a glance up, meets Taehyung’s eyes—amused but with something dark to them.

Jungkook swallows.

The white lights of the school hospital feel too bright and dry, scalding his skin. Distracting. The distinct scent of chemicals and manufactured cleanliness hangs in the air. Taehyung’s fingers curl around Jungkook’s wrist. His touch is cold but it might be because Jungkook is burning up, senses electrified.

“You feel it too, right?” Taehyung asks, leaning closer.

“Feel what?” Jungkook murmurs, feeling a little winded, a hard sense of vertigo hitting him from the side because Taehyung’s voice—deep and quiet, lips barley moving around the words, raspy at the edges in a way that makes Jungkook shiver.

“Y’know.”

Taehyung gives him a crooked smile and Jungkook leans a bit closer, his eyelashes fluttering. It’s almost instinctive, a natural pull toward the warmth of Taehyung’s body.

He can feel Taehyung’s steady breathing. Jungkook’s is shallow and hot, his lungs tight. He grips his knee and his fingers shake. As he leans a bit more, his weight is thrown off balance and that hand moves to Taehyung’s knee instead, gripping hard with trembling fingers, holding himself steady.

The heat of Taehyung’s skin tickles his palm, sparking when they touch. The thrum of Taehyung’s soul is amplified; Jungkook feels it sink deep beneath his skin, heavy and hot in his core, these lingering effects.

Jungkook searches Taehyung’s eyes, but all he sees is tension, desire—the same things he’s feeling.

“I hate soul resonance,” Jungkook mutters, almost a growl, and he’s just about to lean in for a kiss when the door opens. Taehyung jumps back, spine hitting the metal headboard, and Jungkook winces, the sudden shift of the bed jostling his knee.

“Here are the papers…” the nurse says carefully, glancing back and forth between Taehyung and Jungkook. She eyes the awkward space between them and the way Taehyung holds his rigid body at the end of the bed, eyes wide.

It takes too long for them to leave.

By the time everything’s finally in order, it’s well past midnight.

“Let’s go home,” Jungkook says quietly. He’s impatient as he grabs Taehyung’s wrist and guides him out the door.

Their apartment is only a few blocks away from campus, but the walk feels like it takes hours.

“Kook, you’ll hurt your knee worse,” Taehyung says, stumbling over the concrete as he tries to keep up with Jungkook.

“I’m just—” He inhales sharply, the cold night air stinging his throat. He digs his fingernails into the soft skin of Taehyung’s wrist.

“Tense?” Taehyung supplies with a laugh.

“So fuckin’ tense.”

Their apartment is on the fifth floor and they have to take the elevator because of Jungkook’s knee. They stand, waiting, and Jungkook’s breathing picks up and his blood is lava in his veins. It’s a deep-set arousal, not something he can just shake off and ignore. A tightness in the gut and a prickling at the nape of the neck, sweat beading down the spine.

Jungkook doesn’t notice his fingers are shaking or tightening until Taehyung winces. “Jungkook.” With gentle fingers he pries Jungkook’s fingernails off of his wrist. Little half-moon marks are left.

“Sorry,” Jungkook says, his voice gravelly and tight.

“’S fine,” Taehyung mumbles, hums and leans closer, and Jungkook finds himself leaning closer too. As if they’re both responding to something unspoken, the pull between them, the agreement that if you need it, I need it.

Jungkook doesn’t even hear the sound of the elevator bell because Taehyung’s fingers slide over his jaw and tilt his head to bring him into a kiss. It feels good—like giving in, like a sudden release of tension, snapping and flowing through his body.

Tae,” Jungkook breathes, letting himself get pushed back until his back hits the low handrail. He arches to accommodate the pressure, pressing closer to Taehyung’s front, trapped between the wall and his body.

“We shouldn’t—” Taehyung groans softly and licks into Jungkook’s mouth, hand sliding to his waist and holding him still as he tries to rut against Taehyung’s thigh. Jungkook resists, hips twitching, and he can feel the heat of Taehyung’s groin, the way his hardening cock throbs against the zipper of his jeans.

Taehyung’s other hand clamps around the handrail behind Jungkook, giving him leverage to lean forward and crowd over Jungkook’s body.

“We should,” Jungkook says shakily.

“I—nh, yeah, just…just not here.” Taehyung’s mouth works against Jungkook’s, warm and wet.

Jungkook pulls back and nods frantically, fingers grappling at Taehyung’s forearms. He can’t think clearly.

“L—let’s go.”

Jungkook drags Taehyung through the hall, fumbles with his keys at the door and curses when he can’t find the right one. When the door’s open they’re immediately inside.

“You’re so impatient,” Taehyung mumbles as he kicks his shoes off. Jungkook does the same, catching himself on the wall when he stumbles. Their apartment is dark, moonlight filtering in through the sheer curtains. The place is cluttered and messy. Jungkook tosses his keys across the room, onto the coffee table in the living room, and watches them slide off onto the carpet, next to a strange stain. He’ll worry about it later.

“I’m just—” Jungkook presses closer to Taehyung, all force, recalling the way their bodies had fit together in the shower, naked and slippery beneath the hot spray of water. It’s different now, a dry friction as Jungkook grinds against Taehyung, pressing him against the closed door and holding him there. He nuzzles into Taehyung’s neck, feeling him shiver when he brushes his lips against the flushed skin.

“Just?” Taehyung tilts his head back with a soft hum, and Jungkook takes the opportunity to bite down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, hearing him groan in response.

“Just…I dunno. Feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.” Jungkook licks over the bite mark, then sucks, and Taehyung jolts, hips rutting against the hard pressure of Jungkook’s body. He sucks harder till he knows there’s gonna be a mark, something prominent and angry and telling. Purple on Taehyung’s skin, visible to others.

He wonders if there’s a deeper psychology to it, the concept of Taehyung being a weapon and Taehyung being Jungkook’s at the same time. An inherent possession that Jungkook can’t help but think about sometimes. The flip of it is even worse—they have a different dynamic out of battle, and Jungkook knows that, feels it now in the way they move together. The way Taehyung is the one doing the handling instead of the other way around. Jungkook’s muscles are toned for the fight, strength out of necessity, but when Taehyung shoves him back and bullies him against the opposite wall of the cramped foyer, Jungkook gives in with a sigh, muscles losing their tension, knees feeling weak.

“You get what I mean, right?” Jungkook asks, panting as Taehyung kisses him hard, parting his lips to let Taehyung lick into his mouth.

“I—yeah, fuck, I get you, yeah.” Taehyung bites at Jungkook’s bottom lip so hard it has him whining in the back of his throat. With a smirk, Taehyung licks over it almost as an apology. Desire is a bullet in the back of Jungkook’s brain and all he can think about is Taehyung.

He presses Jungkook harder against the wall and kisses down his neck. Jungkook’s chest heaves and he leans back against the wall, catching his breath. He gasps when Taehyung’s tongue passes over his skin, and holds onto Taehyung for support, fingers digging into his back.

For the first time Jungkook notices the hot sting of his bruises, how bad they’ve gotten after all this rough handling. The ones on his sides burn. The new ones on his shoulder blade throb beneath the skin. Pain soaks deep into his bones and his entire body aches. As he presses closer to Taehyung, fitting himself to the curve of his body and rutting his erection against Taehyung’s sharp hipbone, the pain subsides and becomes an overwhelming but pleasant buzz.

“This is normal, right?” Jungkook asks as Taehyung licks down his throat. A kiss pressed to his Adam’s apple, a scrape of teeth just above his collarbone, fingers pulling down the collar of his t-shirt to expose more skin.

“Hm?”

“Like…soul resonance making us really gay. That’s normal, right?”

Taehyung laughs. Jungkook feels the vibrations against his throat and feels dizzy, suddenly very glad he has the wall behind him for support.

“I dunno, dude. Maybe?” Taehyung pulls back. Even in the dark his eyes shine with amusement. “Should we ask someone? What if we’re broken? Dying?”

Jungkook snorts. “Sure. Whatever.”

“What if this is a symptom?” Taehyung grins. “Like, of some incurable disease that’s sparked by resonance, and the more we touch dicks the closer we get to dying.”

Jungkook hits Taehyung’s chest. “My dick is so hard it hurts. Stop talking about this”

“I’m just lightening the mood.” Taehyung shrugs and his fingers work at the button of Jungkook’s jeans.

“Mood convos and casual death chat.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, feeling a bit better when the pressure on his cock is lessened. “Shut up and get your dick out.”

He pushes Taehyung back and begins to work at his jeans as well, but Taehyung’s impatient and grabs Jungkook by the wrist, pulling him toward the couch.

Is this normal? Jungkook’s still asking himself as Taehyung sits on the couch and pulls Jungkook into his lap. They’re both fully clothed and Jungkook shudders when he feels the hard line of Taehyung’s erection rub against his own. His lower half twitches forward, bringing their groins closer together, and Jungkook gives a slow roll of his hips, moaning softly.

The locked tension in his body flows out in waves. There are smatterings of bruises all across his body from the fight, rough marks on soft skin, and he can feel the ache of his muscles every time he moves. Taehyung’s hands come to rest on his waist, squeezing, and Jungkook winces, hips stuttering. His dick kicks in his pants and he lets out a desperate little noise.

“Get me off,” he says breathlessly, eyes shut, a hot blush on his cheeks. “I need it so bad. You—you need it too, right?” He blinks his eyes open, gaze heated and delirious, focusing somewhat loosely on Taehyung. His lips are swollen from being bitten. Sitting in his lap, Jungkook puts his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders, continuing to rock his hips.

“Fuck, Jungkook.” Taehyung places a hand at the back of Jungkook’s neck, urging him to bring his head lower to meet Taehyung in a kiss. He slides his tongue out and licks at Jungkook’s lips, encouraging him to part them so he can push his tongue into his mouth, licking up behind his teeth, filthy and wet. “Need it so bad,” he breathes.

His fingers play with Jungkook’s hair, tangling and pulling gently until Jungkook gasps and lurches forward, hips losing rhythm for a moment.

“How come—” Jungkook pauses and exhales shakily, pulling back slightly. “I don’t get it. Is resonance supposed to—”

“We’ll work it out,” Taehyung promises. “Just a bit of this, and our soul bond’s gonna be fine again. Then it’ll stop, I bet.”

“You think?”

Taehyung shrugs. “What else could it be?”

Jungkook nods because he’s got no better theory. “’Kay. Just a bit of this. Just to fix…it.”

It.” Taehyung chuckles.

“Whatever.” Jungkook leans forward and brings Taehyung into another kiss, slower this time, lips moving together with a certain precision that makes Jungkook tremble. His zipper is down and his dick tents the front of his boxers. Precome soaks the dark fabric. Taehyung’s fingers massage slow circles through his t-shirt into the bruises on his side.

“You liked this, right?”

Jungkook shudders. “I—nnh.” Taehyung’s fingers let up a bit and Jungkook growls, reaching for his hand and bringing it back, urging him to push hard again.

“Kook—”

“I love it,” Jungkook mumbles quickly, blushing as he admits it. Looking away, he lets his hair fall in front of his eyes. “Please—”

Taehyung’s fingers tease. Slow movements against Jungkook’s bruises. Heat and pain and pleasure.

“Do it more,” Jungkook demands. “It feels so good, please make me feel good.”

“Mm.” Taehyung’s mouth moves down. Quick kisses pressed along his jawline, and he sucks Jungkook’s earlobe into his mouth, tongue flicking the cold piercing.

Jungkook’s whole body tenses, thighs clamping around Taehyung’s sides. He lets his weight rest entirely over him, figuring he’s probably okay with it despite Jungkook being a little bigger, a little sturdier.

“Take this off.” Taehyung lifts the hem of Jungkook’s t-shirt, and Jungkook nods and obeys, sliding back in Taehyung’s lap and pulling it off over his head.

“You too,” he murmurs, twisting the bottom of Taehyung’s shirt between his fingers. He watches intently as Taehyung shucks it off. His eyes follow the cuts and scrapes along his body, injuries small but still there. Guilt clouds him for a moment.

“I should’ve handled you better,” he says, palm flat on Taehyung’s chest, fingers right over the marred skin, rubbing gently as though it’s any apology.

Taehyung shakes his head and laughs, hands once again on Jungkook’s waist, petting his sides, his abs. Soft skin and hard muscle, hips twitching and body eager. “Should worry about yourself first.”

Jungkook tenses when Taehyung’s hand traces up from his navel to his ribs, his touch hot and comforting. The bruises are especially bad on his left side. With a whimper he presses into the feeling.

“Does it hurt?” Taehyung asks carefully. Jungkook meets his eyes, wide and hesitant.

“Yes,” Jungkook breathes, rigid and needy in Taehyung’s lap. “But it’s good. Don’t stop.”

Taehyung leans in again and sucks hard on Jungkook’s piercing. A shiver moves through his body and his cock throbs. He makes an unhappy noise when he feels even more precome drip from his slit and soak into his boxers. He reaches down and palms at his cock, eyelids fluttering.

With a firm grip on Jungkook’s thigh, Taehyung urges Jungkook closer. Their clothed erections rub together and Jungkook’s lower back tenses, arches forward as he breathes hard. “I don’t wanna come in my boxers.”

Taehyung nods. “Off.” His fingers dip beneath Jungkook’s elastic waistband and snap it back so hard Jungkook whines.

He grumbles indignantly and moves off Taehyung’s lap for a moment, fumbling to remove his jeans and boxers as quickly as possible. His movements slow when he glances at Taehyung. With his pants kicked off, Jungkook can see the clear outline of his erection beneath his underwear. When he takes them off his cock bobs free and smacks against his stomach. A thin string of precome stretches between the head and his lower belly, glimmering in the moonlight that filters through the cheap, sheer curtains. A bizarre beauty.

Jungkook swallows, staring at Taehyung’s cock, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to press his tongue all the way up the shaft, to take it into his mouth till he fucking chokes, till Taehyung’s groaning and blowing his load down the back of his throat.

“Your cock is so nice,” Jungkook breathes, sounding almost reverent in a moronic way.

“Yeah, thanks.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, but Jungkook notices he’s blushing. It’s kinda dark but he knows he sees it. “Get yours out, c’mon.”

Jungkook takes his boxers off and tosses them on the floor, feeling the cold, stuffy air of the apartment against his hot erection. This place probably needs to be aired out more, considering there are two guys living together who are now supposedly gonna be regularly taking part in sexual engagements whenever the need arises—just until they “fix it”, Jungkook reminds himself.

This is temporary, Jungkook reminds himself.

He scrambles back into Taehyung’s lap with a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back. Settling over him, thighs shaking as they hold him up, he bites his lip and sighs when he feels Taehyung’s cock rub against his own. Just as hot and thick and smooth as he remembers.

“You wanna do this frottage shit again?” Taehyung asks.

“Unless your thirsty ass wants something else.”

A drop of precome slides down Jungkook’s shaft and he reaches down to spread the wetness around with one finger, teasing himself. He feels the thick vein along his length throb. Bringing his hand down, he massages his balls, the skin soft between his fingers, relief moving through him.

“I…I kinda want you to come on me, though,” Jungkook admits, eyes closed, a prickling blush creeping up his neck.

“Fuck.” Taehyung’s hips jerk. “I can do that,” he says with a low laugh, voice a little gruffer than before. It makes Jungkook tremble. He spits on his hand and bats Jungkook’s out of the way to wrap his hand around both their cocks, stroking them slowly. With a sigh Jungkook melts into the feeling.

He circles his hips in Taehyung’s lap, moaning softly. Reaching for his hand, he looks at him with a silent plea in his eyes and Taehyung complies with a smirk, petting up Jungkook’s side and pressing.

Ngh—ah.” Jungkook’s breathing quickens, shaky and uneven. He grips Taehyung’s broad shoulders, rocking back and forth in his lap and letting him do all the work.

“Like this?” Taehyung asks with a small kiss pressed to Jungkook’s neck.

“Yes.” Jungkook tilts his head back and Taehyung takes the invitation to bite down, sucking hard. The mark is gonna be a bit too high for Jungkook to cover with his school shirt, even if he buttons it up all the way. It makes his skin tingle. “More, please. Hurt me more.”

Taehyung groans. He buries his face in the crook of Jungkook’s neck and mumbles, “Don’t say it like that.”

Jungkook just hums and fucks gently into Taehyung’s hand, feeling the wet slide of his cock against Taehyung’s. He palms down Taehyung’s chest and braces himself against the couch, knees pressing harder into the cushions, thighs tense at Taehyung’s sides as he builds up a rhythm.

“C’mon, please,” Jungkook says, a hint of begging in his tone. His voice cracks at the end.

Taehyung’s hand squeezes tighter around their dicks, his other rubbing rough circles into the bruised dip of Jungkook’s waist. He goes boneless in Taehyung’s hands for a second, holding his breath and letting it out in a long moan. He hiccups as he tries to catch his breath.

“My ribs,” Jungkook says, knowing that’s where it’s bruised the worst, splotchy and purple. “Please, Tae, I’m s—so close.”

“Already?” Taehyung teases, grinning with his nose scrunched up.

“Shut up.” Jungkook huffs.

Taehyung lets go of his own dick so he can get a better grip on Jungkook’s, just focusing on him, Pumping him at a quicker pace, he tightens his grip at the tip and pulls the foreskin over the pink head, fingers carefully working the thick vein as he strokes back down to the base.

“N—no, you too.” Jungkook reaches for Taehyung’s cock, wanting the thick weight in palm, wanting him to be feeling good as well.

“No, you’re coming first.” Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s wrist and forces it back to his side.

“Why?” Jungkook pouts, hoping it’ll work.

“’Cause I’m nice.”

“But I want you to come on me.”

Taehyung laughs breathlessly, raising an incredulous eyebrow. The moonlight casts over the arch of his brow bone—gorgeous. “I’ll come on you after.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Come on me now, Tae.”

“Jesus Christ.” Taehyung lets go of Jungkook’s cock and pats the inside of his thigh with his wet palm. “Get on your back.”

Jungkook nods and scrambles to the side of the couch, leans back against the cushions with his head near the armrest. He spread his legs shamelessly and a satisfied shiver runs down his spine when Taehyung positions himself between his thighs, leaning over his body. Taehyung’s arm is braced on the couch cushion next to Jungkook’s shoulder.

Looking up at Taehyung, eyes wide and lips parted, Jungkook feels very small, helpless. Something about the way Taehyung looks at him, cages him beneath his body. It’s not about size, it’s aura, it’s something else, and Jungkook feels it burn down his spine, sink into his bones, a deep-set comfort. He arches off the couch, feeling sweat drip down his back and along the sides of his face. His hair is plastered to his forehead.

“Touch yourself,” Taehyung says quietly. He wraps his hand around his cock and Jungkook watches, mouth watering, and then does the same thing himself. Teeth sunken into his bottom lip, he trails his fingers down his front and curls a hand around his pulsing cock, strokes himself slowly and watches Taehyung work himself up. Jungkook’s thumb rubs the engorged vein on the underside of his cock and precome drips from the head, making a mess on Jungkook’s lower belly.

Taehyung groans and hisses through his teeth, and Jungkook lets out little moans along with each exhale, feeling himself get closer. But he forces his hand to slow down even more because he doesn’t want to come yet.

“Are you close?” Jungkook asks. His free hand trails along his side and he applies pressure to his bruises, gritting his teeth because the loudest thought in his mind is that doing this to himself is nowhere near as good as having Taehyung do it to him. The way he does it—rougher, more deliberate. As if he knows exactly how to handle Jungkook’s body.

“Yeah—fuck, fuck.” Taehyung’s hair is sweaty, cheeks flushed. Jungkook swallows and stops stroking himself, tightens his fingers around the base of his cock, feeling it pulse and twitch and leak as he leaves himself right on the edge.

“Please,” Jungkook begs, squirming, squeezing the base of his cock. His fingers creep down past his balls and gently push at his perineum. He chokes back a moan and writhes, his mind immediately going back to the dangerous precipice of imagining what it would be like to be pinned beneath Taehyung like this as he fucks Jungkook into the couch, hard and fast, mouth pressed to his ear and he snarls and tells him how good he feels and how tight he is.

“Fuck, Jungkook.” Taehyung leans back and grips Jungkook’s inner thigh, forcing his legs apart. With a weak moan Jungkook gives in, flexible and so exposed. Tightening his fingers, Taehyung grips Jungkook’s thigh till he winces. “I’m close, Kook.”

“Yeah, keep going, come on me.” Jungkook gives in and strokes himself once, twice, so sensitive that his hips are twitching off the couch even at such a slight touch. His vision is blurry, eyes watering. “Please, Taehyung.”

Taehyung’s fingers make a loose ring just at the head of his cock and he strokes himself in quick movements, focusing at that spot, and Jungkook feels delirious as he watches Taehyung’s lips part, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, the veins in his forearm showing.

“Shit, shit, I’m coming,” he grits through his teeth and curls forward slightly, abs tensing repeatedly as he growls and comes hard. Jungkook feels the first strong spurts against hit lower belly, sticky and dripping over his skin. The rest lands on his soft inner thigh as Taehyung forces him to keep his legs spread, rubbing the head of his cock through he mess he made on Jungkook’s skin.

Jungkook hiccups as he finally strokes himself, feeling filthy and used with Taehyung’s come dripping along the lines and dips of his muscle.

“Here,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook whimpers when he takes over, leaning back against the couch and going boneless. Taehyung pumps him with quick, smooth strokes, leaning over him and whispering filthy things into his ear. His free hand puts pressure on the bruises on his torso and Jungkook arches into the pain.

“I—I’m gonna come,” he says, shaking and panting. Taehyung hums and kisses his collarbone, neck, jaw, and Jungkook tenses and grapples at the edge of the couch, body going taut as his cock throbs in Taehyung’s hand and spurts his come over his already messy lower belly.

“Yeah, there you go.” Taehyung groans and pets Jungkook’s side, letting up on the force and now keeping it gentle, soothing him as he quivers and collapses, weak and spent.

Immediately a heavy feeling comes over Jungkook’s body and he relaxes, mind buzzing pleasantly as he lies there with a whole load of come on his belly. Taehyung’s warm hands stay on his skin, and he almost falls asleep under the gentle attention. But there’s cooling come on his stomach and the globs shift every time he breathes.

He opens his eyes, finding Taehyung’s gaze on him. They look at each other for a short while, evening out their breathing.

“So you wanna eat something, or…”

Jungkook laughs, finding the situation a little weirder than the time in the shower. There’s something more intimate about this—Taehyung between Jungkook’s legs, warm palms on his body, calming him.

“It’s late,” Jungkook says.

“You haven’t eaten since before the mission.”

Jungkook blinks. That feels like it was centuries ago. “You’re right.” He looks at his stomach. “Clean this jizz. Then make me ramen.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Okay, slave driver.”

 


 

Taehyung sits with his legs hanging off the edge of the desk, leaning against Jungkook’s side. It puts pressure on the wound on his shoulder, but he lets it happen.

“So how many souls you at now?” Jimin asks, resting his weight on the desk. A few of their classmates sit around them, pretending not to be eavesdropping.

“65,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook feels pride swell in his chest. He got Taehyung to that number. And he’s gonna get him to 99 if it fucking kills him.

“Nice.” Jimin whistles. “The academy’s class-A team’s back on their game, huh?”

“Never fell off it.” Jungkook grins, feeling Taehyung’s fingers absentmindedly toy with the tip of his tie.

“It’s all ‘cause I’m the best demon weapon in the world,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook snorts. “Takes a good meister to make a good weapon.”

“Very true.” Jimin nods.

“Fine.” Then Taehyung’s hand is on Jungkook’s thigh, warm and pressing right above his kneecap. The bruise there. Jungkook jolts but doesn’t move away, just sitting up a bit straighter. “We’re a good team.

Through his slacks Taehyung pokes at the thick bandage wrapped around Jungkook’s knee, right where he got clawed a few days ago. The bleeding has long stopped, but at the time the nurse had been shocked to see the amount of blood he’d lost.

Jungkook’s been trying so hard to keep his mind off what happened when they’d gotten home after the hospital.

Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s thigh and gives him a toothy grin. “And one day you’re gonna make me a death scythe, buddy. I believe it. You and I, dream team.”

Jungkook laughs and feels something floaty and warm in his chest. Taehyung’s face held close to his, he can feel the warmth of his body. “Dream team.”

Jimin snorts. “You guys are lame.”

 


 

“You got this?” Taehyung asks.

“I do.”

Jungkook doesn’t.

He and Taehyung sit cross-legged, facing one another—the standard position for practicing soul resonance. Around them, their classmates are doing the same.

Jungkook’s immediately hit with a wave of memories, flashing moments where he and Taehyung had tried this other times. An almost violent rejection, uneven wavelengths and burned nerve endings, sparking where their souls met. All heavy arousal, the tension and nervousness that goes with it.

It’s different now.

Jungkook swallows and tells himself this.

It’s different now because he and Taehyung have it worked out, right down to the bone, the root of the problem taken apart and laid out and solved. It’s simple and easy.

They’re in battle arts class right now, and Jungkook’s not too sure how they’re gonna deal with the whole case of awkward boners like this, but they’ll figure it out.

“You’re nervous,” Taehyung notes, a smirk playing at his lips. “I can feel it.”

“So are you. The bond goes both ways.” Jungkook reaches out and flicks Taehyung’s ankle. “Focus.”

“’Kay.”

Sitting there on the training grounds, Jungkook has to remind himself that this is just practice. Not the real thing. He closes his eyes and his limbs begin to tingle, skin warm and body feather-light under the haze of sun.

“Ready?” Taehyung asks, a very soothing quality to his voice that sends a shiver down Jungkook’s spine.

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s fingers shake as he grips his knee.

With a deep breath, Jungkook pulls his mind inward, brings his focus toward the soft thrum inside him. His wavelength is always frantic, hard and fast, desperate to get ahead. He already knows what Taehyung’s is usually like; Jungkook calms his wavelength down.

His awareness of his surroundings goes up. In an odd way he’s drawn toward Taehyung.

When they sync up, Jungkook’s not even surprised.

Kook—

It’s spoken through the bond now. Words no one but them can hear. Very personal and private in a comforting way.

I know.” Jungkook feels the first lickings of arousal in his gut, still not understanding why but knowing that it’s very much there. Hot and molten and incredibly distracting. Their bond shakes but Jungkook pulls it back. “Chill.

We’re in class, what do we do?

I dunno, we’ll just—”

Unlike last time, without the threat, the distraction of the battle, it gets worse quicker. Jungkook grits his teeth.

We’ll just deal with it later.

It’s weird, this matter of bodies and responses. Jungkook wonders when it will go away.

For the rest of the class Jungkook is dazed, spacing out and staring at the marks of shoes scuffed on the ground. In the middle of the training grounds, the instructor is demonstrating a few techniques, discussing the further extensions of soul resonance in battle.

Jungkook jerks when Taehyung’s hand brushes against his thigh.

“Sorry,” Taehyung whispers.

Jungkook shakes his head. “It—it’s fine.” He scoots closer. His throat feels tight. His knee bumps against Taehyung’s, and Taehyung sucks in a breath.

Body tense, Jungkook risks a glance—just a furtive thing—at Taehyung. But when their eyes meet, he can’t look away.

They’re closer than he remembers them being, and Jungkook licks his lips, feeling Taehyung’s warmth, the flow of his breathing.

“Tae, I—I can’t.” His voice sounds pathetic and desperate and far weaker than he intended.

“Can’t what?” Taehyung whispers, low, quiet, rough at the edges.

Jungkook swallows. Shakes his head. Sits up straighter. The world spins.

“I dunno,” he mumbles. Desire itches beneath the skin, hot and filthy. “Are you—” He groans softly and squeezes his eyes shut. The air feels too thick, a thousand times heavier and weighing at the bottom of his lungs, leaving him breathless and dizzy. His forearm tenses as he grips his calf, squeezes till his knuckles turn white, till it hurts.

“Kook—” Taehyung inches closer to him. It must be instinctive—a response to the warmth, the need. Jungkook feels it too. Suddenly overcome, he lurches forward and Taehyung’s hand catches him by the shoulder, pushes him back slightly.

The heat of his hand makes Jungkook tense. The pressure is right there, right next to the massive bruise drawn over his entire shoulder. Ugly, purple skin a halo around his slowly healing gash.

Maybe Taehyung sees some change in his expression, because he pulls his hand back like his skin burned him. “Sorry.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “No, I—oh God, Tae, we need to leave.”

Without saying anything else, Jungkook stands and stumbles toward the back exit of the training grounds. He can’t think straight. His mind is focused on the heat, on the tingle of his skin, on Taehyung.

A few minutes later Taehyung catches up to him at a side-entrance to the academy. He stops Jungkook with a hand on his elbow.

“You idiot. Instructors saw you leave. They’ll be pissed.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Can you—” Jungkook turns and presses Taehyung against the brick wall, holds himself against him and grinds his hips forward with a sigh. He closes his eyes and buries his face in Taehyung’s shoulder, shuddering when Taehyung lets out a low groan. “Wh—what did you tell them?”

Taehyung chuckles, hands soothing down Jungkook’s sides and resting at his hips. “Told ‘em I’d be going to the bathroom. With you.”

“Wow. Smooth. They totally don’t think we’re doing anything weird.”

“Shut up.”

“Just that clean, straight shit going down in the bathrooms, that’s what they think.”

“Shut up.” Taehyung’s fingers grip harder and Jungkook gasps, rutting his hips against Taehyung. “We’re not doing this here. Anyone can see us.”

Jungkook snorts. “That’s hot.” He kisses the side of Taehyung’s neck and bites gently. His skin is warm from being under the sun. He tastes like sweat, like the bitter traces of cologne he anoints himself with, an ironically religious experience solely because of the price. It’s the only scent Taehyung owns, an expensive thing he splurged on a while ago—“I smell like hot money and expensive filth”, he sometimes jokes, claiming extravagance and a bit of the douchebag touch is the key to college-age attraction.

There are a lot of little things Jungkook knows about Taehyung.

“Tch. C’mon.”

Taehyung leads them through the empty halls of the academy, Jungkook stumbling behind him, knees shaking. Their footsteps echo.

“You’re the worst,” Jungkook mumbles when Taehyung finally decides on an acceptable place.

“Would you rather the stalls?”

“Kinda.”

“Liar.”

The janitor’s closet smells like lemon disinfectant, old water, rusted iron. Weirdly cold and stuffy but better than nothing.

“Why does it always affect me worse?” Jungkook mumbles as Taehyung closes the door behind them and presses Jungkook against it.

“You just complain about it more.” Taehyung’s rough when he gets his hands on Jungkook, rough when he kisses him. Teeth on lips, tongue forcing Jungkook’s mouth open. “Wanna fuck you so bad it hurts. I just control it.”

“Shit, gimme some of your zen, dude.” Jungkook laughs breathlessly and lets Taehyung lick into his mouth, meets his tongue with his own and sighs when he feels the wet warmth. “Will you?”

“Give you my zen?” Taehyung pulls back and laughs. His face is shadowed in the grimy, yellow light of the closet. Stunning like this—as always—lit faintly from behind, hair soft and casually styled, thin flyaways bright in the light bulb halo.

“No, will you fuck me, I mean.” Leaning against the door, Jungkook pants and looks at Taehyung, watching surprise and a bit of curiosity come over his face. “You said you wanted to. Not now, but will you? Sometime?”

“I—” Taehyung blinks. “That seems intense. This is just—to fix our bond, right? Anal seems intense.”

A laugh bubbles from Jungkook’s lips. “Yeah. I mean—yeah. Anal is intense, I guess. We don’t gotta.”

“I’ve never done anal.”

“Try it sometime. ‘S tight.” Jungkook laughs at his lame joke. Something feels off, a mismatched beat in his heart, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s do this before we get caught.”

It’s the physical things he focuses on now—the hard grind of Taehyung’s hips against his, the fluidity of his body, the way they move together. Strikingly familiar. Partners, two sides of the same coin. Jungkook and Taehyung, Taehyung and Jungkook, a very inherent idea, two people who fight together and work together and work well together.

And here they are, getting mildly awkward as they discuss the possibility of run-of-the-mill public anal in a janitor’s closet—or “not now, but sometime” anal, preferably not in a janitor’s closet, but who knows where the wind will take them.

“I can feel your dick against me,” Jungkook mumbles into Taehyung’s mouth, threading a hand into his hair and hitching his hips forward.

Taehyung snorts. “You’re welcome.”

“That’s not—” Jungkook grumbles. “Fuck off.”

The hard and hot line of Taehyung’s erection presses against Jungkook’s, and it takes everything in him not to once again bring up that topic of anal, apparently quite jarring for Taehyung. But what Jungkook wouldn’t give to feel that inside him—

—first fingers to take the edge off, long and bony and teasing Jungkook till he’s shaking and sweating and begging to be filled, getting mouthy like he always does, grappling hands and sharp words when he’s not getting what he wants, and then getting even more violent and snippy when he is getting what he wants because he’s nothing if not difficult. Stubborn and needy at the same time, he loves to resist, loves to give in—

—and he shouldn’t be thinking about this because this deal is clearly just to sate. Nothing more, no anal, because it’s too “intense” apparently.

“You’re noisy,” Taehyung says.

“—Hm?” Jungkook arches, feeling warm and comfortably small when Taehyung runs his wide palms down his sides and grips his bruised waist. There’s just something about the way he and Taehyung work together that does things to him. Certain mindsets, he supposes, bending to the guidance of Taehyung’s grip and almost purring, lithe and easily pleased like a kitten.

“You’re noisy,” Taehyung repeats, kissing down Jungkook’s neck and finding an old hickey, sucking till the skin is hot and pulsing, till Jungkook’s biting his lip in that way he’s noticed is a habit of his whenever Taehyung’s doing something just right. “We’ll get caught.”

Jungkook holds back a moan and bites till blood seeps from his swollen lip. “S—sorry.”

“I—mmph.” Taehyung’s teeth scrape at the thin skin and Jungkook shudders—it’s sharp and hot and delightful, fills him with the pressing urge to just make a sound because he wants Taehyung to know he’s appreciating this. But he also doesn’t want to get caught sucking face and rubbing dicks among shelves of Lysol and bleach, so he stays quiet.

“You what?” Jungkook presses, tone surprisingly testy for someone getting pressed against a hard surface, tilting his head back and submitting like a bitch.

“I mean, I like it,” Taehyung says against Jungkook’s neck, a gentle kiss before another rough bite and a forward roll of his hips. “When you make sounds for me…I really like it. But we’ll get caught. So—”

“So shut up?” Jungkook fills in.

“Yeah. Shut up.”

“Can do.” Jungkook runs his hands down the muscle of Taehyung’s back, tight to the shape of his body. “Maybe you’re just too fuckin’ good, huh?”

Taehyung laughs and says nothing, hands finding solid purchase on Jungkook’s hips and holding him in place as he grinds against him. There’s something mildly degrading about it—the stripping of control, the way he handles Jungkook as if he’s using him—but when Jungkook’s mind is clouded by the hazy veneer of sex and searing filth, he finds he likes it. Too much, perhaps, judging by the way the force and subtlest pain renders him breathless and shivering, heat throbbing between his legs, tightening in his gut.

“Yeah…” Jungkook hums, the thought of staying quiet moving further to the back of his mind when he’s got Taehyung’s hot tongue working at his throat like this, the hard movement of his hips against his. “Too fuckin’ good, Tae.”

“Quit stroking my ego.”

“I’ll stroke whatever I want,” Jungkook quips, and gasps when he’s pressed harder against the cool door, tailbone aching.

“No stroking,” Taehyung mumbles, hiding his grin in Jungkook’s neck.

“Gonna stroke you so good, Tae.”

“We’re gonna get caught.

Jungkook laughs, breathless and flushed. “I’ll shut up if you get me off.”

“Christ—all right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook doesn’t get what he’s saying ‘yeah’ to, really too delirious and fucked up on that soul resonance tingle and the way Taehyung tastes, smells, feels to really bother deciphering their disjointed fuck-talk, but when Taehyung starts to get rougher, faster, Jungkook just goes with it. It’s nice.

He moans and rocks his hips, meets Taehyung in their frantic pace, letting Taehyung silence him with a messy kiss. Taehyung groans and Jungkook feels electricity ripple through him, right to his fingertips as he claws at Taehyung’s back through his crisp, linen dress shirt.

Briefly Jungkook worries about his tie, trapped between their bodies, probably wrinkled to shit. That worry becomes more prominent when Taehyung slides a hand over his chest and grips it just beneath the knot, pulling just enough to place pressure on the back of Jungkook’s neck—enough to steepen the arch of his spine, to tilt his head back more, to remind Jungkook of the control he so easily gives up to Taehyung.

Giving it up is different from having it taken away.

His knees wobble and he rests more of his weight against the door.

“I don’t wanna come in my pants,” Jungkook says petulantly, gasping and squirming, feeling his orgasm clenching in his core.

“You also don’t wanna take your dick out here,” Taehyung reminds.

“I’ve been dick-out in worse places.”

“I haven’t. What’s with you—anal, bizarre dick-out excursions. Wild life, dude.”

“It’s j—just, ah—

Taehyung nods. “Yeah. Totally.” A hard shudder moves through his body and Jungkook feels him tense. “I’m close.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “Me too.”

“I can feel it. You’re throbbing.”

You’re throbbing.”

“This isn’t a throb competition.”

“I—oh my God—” Jungkook grits his teeth and whines, long and satisfied, when Taehyung tilts Jungkook’s pelvis and slots them closer, grinds harder. Through his thin slacks Jungkook can feel the heat of Taehyung’s cock and the pulse as he gets closer, the way he strains against the fabric, most likely leaving a wet mess of precome. “Keep going, please,” Jungkook chokes out.

Taehyung growls low and mumbles something, pressing his hot and saliva-wet lips to the side of Jungkook’s neck, and it just takes a few more hard rolls of his hips till Jungkook’s tensing, lips parted and noisy as he comes.

Flushed and panting, Jungkook catches Taehyung in an open-mouthed kiss and sighs when he feels his wet breath, heady and quick against his lips. Taehyung rolls his hips against him a few more times and Jungkook can feel the way Taehyung’s cock twitches in his pants when he comes, letting out a low groan and gripping Jungkook so hard it hurts.

A few more jolts, and Taehyung relaxes and rests his head against Jungkook’s shoulder.

“You’re hot when you come,” Jungkook murmurs.

“You’re loose-tongued like this.”

“Loose?” Jungkook snorts, feeling warm and dazed. His hands slide down Taehyung’s sides. “Yeah.”

“Surprisingly. I bet they’d never imagine the pristine, top-of-the-class meister would say some dumb shit like that.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’m always secretly dumb. Only you get to see it.”

They stand there, breathing, listening—heartbeats not in sync but fast and heavy both.

Control and power, Jungkook thinks. Who wields it? As a meister, he should be a connoisseur on the topic—how to handle another at his will.

Then he lifts his head, looks up at Taehyung through his eyelashes, sees his hair falling in front of his eyes and the warm way he looks at Jungkook even though they both have wet come cooling in their boxers, caked around their softening dicks, and the question changes to one more about trust.

“Are you good?” Jungkook asks, straightening up. The skin where Taehyung’s palms were resting feels cold when he pulls away.

“Good enough. This, though”—Taehyung gestures between them—“our soul resonance, this ain’t good.”

“I know, but…you know a fix?” Jungkook pinches the hem of his tie between his fingers and smooth it as best he can. “Just a matter of focus, right?”

“Feels bigger than that.” Taehyung leans against the wall, hands in his pockets. It would look more suave and modern-sexy if Jungkook weren’t aware that the reason is to keep his come from leaching too much wetness onto his slacks.

“So?”

“So I dunno. I’m not the brains.”

Jungkook blinks. “Am I the brains?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Sure?”

Jungkook shifts and grimaces when he feels come drip onto his inner thigh. He doesn’t feel like the brains. He just feels like an idiot college kid who just nut in his pants.

“So what do we do?” Jungkook asks.

Taehyung smirks and flicks his forehead, other hand on the rusty doorknob. “That’s your issue, brains. I’m gonna go clean my jizz, if you wanna come with.”

Of course he wants to come with. As he’s shuffling through the halls, giggling quietly with Taehyung, he comes to the wondrous realization of libraries—as expected of the brains.

 


 

Their two-star rank doesn’t get them much more than dust in the library. Without a three-star rank, only the simplest books are available to them.

“This sucks.” Jungkook’s fingers toy with the hem of a page, stooped low to read in the dim light. “Work so fuckin’ hard for a rank up and this is what they give us.”

“It’s fine.” Taehyung reaches up and slides a book loose from one of the upper shelves. It’s just a glance, but Jungkook’s eyes go immediately to the way the hem of his shirt lifts up, to the tan skin of his torso barely exposed. “When you make me a death scythe, you and I’ll both be three-star. And then we can access all the books. Imagine that.”

Jungkook snorts. “You have so much faith in us.”

“In you.” Taehyung rests a hand on his shoulder and steps around him, moving to another bookshelf. “I know it’ll happen. Academics might not be our thing, but we know enough not to die.”

“So when I die it’ll be because I’m stupid.”

“Kook.”

“My stupidity is gonna kill us both.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Your spiral of self-hate is hopeless. Grab some more books, c’mon.”

What they need are books on soul resonance—anything that might give them information on the elusive topic of why. They have a lot of questions, but it’s mostly the topic of arousal they’re concerned with. It’s weird to look at it scientifically, considering so far it’s just been a fun time, if not a bit inconvenient.

They end up with a solid stack, papers on papers, thick bindings titled with ancient-style inscriptions down the spine. Jungkook sits on the redwood desk, legs swinging back and forth as he hunches low and squints at the small print. The pages are yellowed, soft and dog-eared.

Taehyung leans against the side of the desk and flips through a book, brow furrowed, nibbling his bottom lip. A real sight, Jungkook thinks yet again, forgoing his book in favour of staring at Taehyung just a bit longer. In the latticed chandelier light, he glows, so strikingly human it hits Jungkook hard in the chest.

He never thinks about this much.

Sometimes it crosses his mind though—

—Taehyung is a weapon. Skin and blood and bones, flesh at one touch but steel at another. The angelic curve of his blade, the cold clack of his bolts and the spray of blood following the arc as Jungkook spins him, this very danger that he is.

Jungkook entertains the thought only a bit.

“What?” Taehyung’s looking up at him, eyebrow raised.

You’re terrifying, Jungkook thinks, just briefly, the thought so sudden it shocks him like a splash of ice water, before Taehyung grins wide and scrunches his nose in that traditionally ugly way.

“Checkin’ me out?” he jokes.

“Just thinking,” Jungkook says. He nods at the book Taehyung’s holding. “That one any good?”

“Define good.”

“Desirable. Benefiting. Worthy of approval—”

“Smartass. And no, not really. Just a whole lotta classic mythos and know-how shit.” He closes the book, drops it onto the stack of books they’ve deemed useless, and grabs another one from the other stack. “How about that one?” he asks, gesturing at the book in Jungkook’s hands.

“Promising, I guess.”

They keep reading for hours, Taehyung pulling up a chair to the table and Jungkook sitting atop it until his head and neck ache from hunching. A few people walk by them from time to time, but for the most part the library is silent.

Eventually Taehyung stands, stretching his arms above him. Jungkook glances up to watch the graceful arch of his body, a ripple in the soft light.

“Dude, my head is gonna explode,” Taehyung says.

“’Kay.” Jungkook flips a page. Taehyung’s looking at him expectantly. “You leaving?”

“Probably. Are you coming?”

“Nah, I’ll stay.”

“How’s that one?”

Jungkook shrugs and pulls the book closer to his body. A subtle gesture. He wonders if Taehyung notices. “It’s all right, I guess. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Watching Taehyung leave, a burst of tension flows free from Jungkook’s shoulders. His finger flicks the corner of the page—page 314—back and forth as he reads and rereads the passage.

and following the assessment, it is concluded that outcomes of physiological arousal are more common in studies of those with emotional anxieties, namely romantic, largely repressed, concerning their partner, whether they be weapon or meister—

So science has just got Jungkook fucked from the start, really.

 


 

The guilt is a heavy one.

He didn’t do anything wrong—he keeps needing to tell himself that. It’s just lying by omission. Tactical and benefiting both of them, because the last thing either of them need is more shit to worry about—the standard-issue package with relationships, the who-does-what and the who-fucks-who and the who-decides-the-TV-station questions.

(Maybe, technically, sort of, they already do deal with similar questions solely because they live together, but Jungkook doesn’t think about this fact, because so far the only thing keeping their friendship from being considered something more was the fact that they haven’t been fucking, and that’s essentially gone out the window in the recent weeks.)

It’s logical, Jungkook tells himself, standing up off the bench along the practice studio wall as Taehyung exits the locker rooms.

“Finally,” Jungkook says. “You ready?”

Taehyung nods. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and a pair of casual basketball shorts. It would all be too loose to be safe for combat any other day, but today is a different type of training.

“Gimme your hand,” Jungkook says, trying to ignore how he’s thinking too much right now.

Everything feels different since he found the answer to their soul resonance problems in the book, but at the same time nothing has changed. It’s not like he didn’t know.

He wonders if it goes both ways though—the emotions.

“Wait,” Taehyung says, his fingers clasped in Jungkook’s warm, sweaty grip.

“Hm?”

Paused, they look at each other, a held gaze as their silence echoes through the wide space of the studio. Jungkook’s rubber soles squeak on the waxed floor as he steps closer. He drops Taehyung’s hand.

“Resonance?” is all Taehyung asks.

Jungkook blinks. “Do we need to?”

“Should practice it.” Taehyung shrugs. “Could give us more insight, too. Into our sitch.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Our sitch could use some insight.” But still he hesitates.

“C’mon,” Taehyung says, and he takes Jungkook’s hand again, gives a quick squeeze. A bright, blue glow is all the warning Jungkook gets, and then Taehyung’s hand is melding into something more of a cold weight in his grip, and he feels the shift in their balance, from two people to the wielder and wielded.

Control and power, Jungkook thinks again.

He’s been thinking about it a lot recently. Who is whose, and how so.

As he solidifies his stance on the ground, lowers his centre of gravity, prepared for the familiar weight of steel and power, he wonders whether this set-up would make Taehyung belong to him or make it the other way around.

With the claw of a scythe hooked at his side, all it would take would be one transformation in his form and Taehyung could slice Jungkook’s body in half, easy as anything. But without a meister a weapon is nothing.

Stop thinking so much, fucko,” Taehyung says through the bond, a light laugh.

Jungkook grits his teeth. Hot blood in his cheeks, clamminess at his palms. Sometimes it feels like Taehyung is more in tune with their soul bond than Jungkook is, but maybe Jungkook’s just easy to read.

Glancing to his side, he takes in the glinting blade and smooth arced spine of Taehyung’s weapon form and finds himself quite lost as to what he might be thinking.

Whayalookin’at?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook says quietly, and he’s still thinking too hard, and he for some reason doesn’t trust the bond. Wrongness a tingle up his spine, he spins Taehyung so hard he feels his immediate rage crackle through the handle like a whip. Hard shock up Jungkook’s arm.

Kook—fuckin’ don’t.

“Sorry.”

Are you—

“Resonate with me.”

Don’t you wanna warm up?

“Did enough already.” He glances around the spacious practice room, flickering lights casting eerie shadows. Jungkook sees his own dragging behind him, a frightening sight coupled with the looming blade at the end of the handle. Almost like a—

It’s odd.

Before recently, he’s never seen Taehyung as inherently terrifying. Others in the academy have always said Taehyung’s form was easily one of the most daunting, especially in comparison to the simple rapiers, the Beretta M9s, the battle axes. There’s just something about the look, the traditional association of a scythe with danger, with death.

A gun to the temple or a curved scythe digging in just over the trachea, Jungkook’s sure both would be equally terrible, but he does agree that Taehyung makes a cold, cold sight. Thing is he’s always liked it—the way he could whip this unnerving thing in his hands as though it weighed nothing, such a black mechanism of death all his.

So why is he scared?

“You ready?” Jungkook asks, and he’s already sending his soul wavelength out, already focusing and almost—almost forcing.

He should have quit at the first signs of a sting.

It’s just electricity at first, not the pleasant kind but something worse, something dragging under the skin and splitting his veins and arteries open one by one. Spliced, splaying out. Ugly heat leaches through him.

Jungkook—

Maybe Taehyung sees him flinch. More likely he feels the pain too.

“We’re fine,” Jungkook mumbles, and swings the handle behind his back, blade to his other side. The movements are sluggish. Heavy.

He should have quit at the first signs of a rejection.

Without compatible souls, a meister will find a weapon so heavy that it can’t be lifted off the ground.

Jungkook feels the weight of steel and blood and evil souls like something he’s never felt before. All the evil in Taehyung, everything Jungkook’s brought him to be, all weighing down on him now.

Jungkook.

Taehyung’s tone is firm and worried and for some reason it makes Jungkook angry.

“Don’t bitch out—” he snaps, and it’s never been this bad, it’s never hurt this bad, it’s always just been the tingling but it’s never been the burning, never been the breathlessness and the snapping nerves and the blunt banging of his brain against his skull and the weight of it on his brain stem and down his spine, never the hard crack as his knees hit the floor and the aching roll of eyes into the back of his head and it’s never been bad until now—

Until the hazy blackness.

 


 

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, at the swinging lamp, the stretching and shrinking shadows of the iron beams up above.

Taehyung’s finger taps his elbow. “Hey.”

Jungkook swallows. His throat feels dry.

“Kook, hey—”

Jungkook bats Taehyung’s hand away.

He turns his head to glance at Taehyung. Back in the flesh, he’s sitting up and supporting himself with his arm, elbow protruding from beneath his baggy shirt.

The static still tingles beneath Jungkook’s skin, the memory of hot steel. He lifts his hand and inspects it, but there are no burns, no marks. A scar on the soul, maybe, hot where his and Taehyung’s met, connected and collapsed.

Jungkook’s always heard about soul rejections but he never thought he’d experience one. The pain was more than he’d been prepared for.

“At least you’re not dead,” Taehyung mumbles, lying down and staring at the ceiling. They both watch the lamp creak and swing, light beam circling the floor.

Taehyung sounds angry.

Do you wish I were? Jungkook almost asks, but the better part of him realizes that might be too juvenile.

Panting, Jungkook stares at the ceiling until the dizziness fades. Once he’s sure he can stand without falling over and making even more of an ass of himself, he picks himself up off the floor. His knees crack and he winces.

“Kook,” Taehyung says, sitting up. He still sounds angry, irritated, very done with Jungkook and his headstrong behaviour and his stupid, petty pride. “What the fuck—”

Jungkook waves a flippant hand at him. “Sorry.” He grabs the sweater he’d left on the benches and throws it on, pulls up and hood and sticks his hands in his pockets so his appearance matches his mood—pissed off and self-loathing.

“My fault,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, and leaves Taehyung to fume alone in the practice studio.

 


 

What Jungkook needs to do is confess.

First to himself, and then to Taehyung.

Fuck-awful timing, Jeon. If he’d thought this earlier he probably could have avoided all this.

There aren’t many people on campus at this time of day. Just a few here and there, walking to either get to a building or to get home.

Arms crossed, Jungkook walks along the grey brick path and counts his steps, head tipped down to watch as he toes the line between the path and the sheer-cut grass. A calm orange light expands from the west, soft fluid spilling into the sky. It washes over his skin, golden and then whiter where the scars are, almost silver in the evening sun.

The cherry blossom trees cast long shadows. Jungkook watches the petals fall. April, he thinks. It’s almost April 1st, isn’t it?

“Boop.”

A tap on his shoulder. Jungkook turns around and blinks.

“Hey.” Jimin falls into pace with him, shoes crushing the pristine grass. “Something happen? You look moody.”

“Nah. ‘S just me, RBF, y’know,” Jungkook lies. Right through his teeth like that. Usually Taehyung can tell when he’s lying.

Jimin just nods and keeps walking. “Headed somewhere?”

“Home, really. Why?”

“Just catchin’ up. You skip lotsa classes.”

“I’ve been maimed, if I must remind you,” Jungkook jokes. He stretches his arms above his head, comfortable in the warmth of the dissipating daylight, trying to ignore the lingering sting of his skin. “And, like, laziness. Trash-life. Jimin, you know me.”

“I know you.” Jimin snorts. He has his arms crossed, biceps bulging beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt. A stray cherry blossom petal floats by and catches in his hair—just for a second, pale pink stark against the black strands before it flies away in the breeze again.

Jimin is a weapon, a crossbow, a comparative rarity because melee seems to be the all-around standard. Looking at him, Jungkook can’t help but wonder—

“How’s Yoongi?” he asks.

Jimin shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Always bitching about my shitty standings on the written exams. Bitching some more when I destroy him in the physical rankings. The usual.”

Jungkook nods.

“How about Tae?”

“Tae’s…” Jungkook hums and looks up. “Just chillin’, I guess.”

Jimin laughs and bumps his shoulder. “So something did happen.”

“Shut up.”

“Your fault or his?” Jimin presses, laughing.

Jungkook shakes his head and mumbles something.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin says, and pats Jungkook’s shoulder. “Partnerships ain’t perfect. Hell, Yoongi and I fight like dogs and we’re still…all right, I guess.”

Jungkook sighs.

Briefly he considers asking Jimin about whether his and Yoongi’s soul resonance entails anything a little extra, but stops himself because he doubts the two of them are as emotionally constipated as Taehyung and Jungkook are. If anything’s happening, they’ve probably got it figured out.

Thing is Taehyung’s supposed to be good with people. Maybe it’s a separate case here; maybe he’s just not as good with Jungkook as he’d initially seemed to be. Or maybe Jungkook’s social ineptitude is enough to fuck up the both of them.

So instead Jungkook shoves his hands in his pockets and changes the topic.

“Are you going to the anniversary eve celebration? It’s almost April 1st.”

Jimin’s eyes brighten and then he prattles off, and Jungkook nods accordingly and tunes him out.

 


 

For the next week and a bit, Jungkook lives under a layer of awkwardness, never quite finding comfort in his apartment—his and Taehyung’s.

“Are you gonna use this?” Jungkook asks as Taehyung enters the cramped kitchen, gesturing to the glass on the counter that he knows Taehyung got out to use himself. Jungkook’s asking because he’s too lazy to rifle through the cupboard and find another, and because he’s feeling mildly vindictive.

“No.” Taehyung doesn’t look at him and goes to the fridge, grabbing the orange juice. As he takes a swig from the carton, Jungkook feels a petty burn of pride as he fills the glass—technically Taehyung’s glass—with water.

They make eye contact—cool edge of the tumbler pressed against Jungkook’s bottom lip, plastic opening of the orange juice carton pressed against Taehyung’s—a tense, awkward moment, working throats and a bit of that weird “I had your dick in my hand once” thought crossing both their minds.

Then Taehyung caps the orange juice and puts it back in the fridge, slamming it shut and leaving the small kitchen.

Petty as it may be, Jungkook takes another sip feeling like he’s won this one.

April 1st comes sooner than expected, and Jungkook knows Taehyung’s thinking the same thing he is.

The anniversary eve celebration is an event people usually attend as weapon-and-meister. This year is looking like it will end up a bit different. Maybe Jungkook will third-wheel with Jimin and Yoongi. Or maybe Taehyung will convince them to go with him first, and Jungkook will stay home, watching TV and pretending he isn’t bitter or sad.

 


 

In the end it turns out fine, because apparently Taehyung’s found some other people to go with.

And no, Jungkook is not bitter or sad.

The evening of April 1st, he tosses his outfit into his backpack and checks the mirror before he leaves his bedroom, knowing Taehyung is in the living room and wanting to make a lasting impression as he walks past—a “look at what you’re fuckin’ missing” kinda thing.

“Have fun,” Taehyung says from the couch, feet kicked up, naked legs showing from beneath his oversized t-shirt with the phrase ALL THIS AND A BIG DICK TOO stamped across the front. Jungkook got it for him on his birthday a few years ago. He’ll admit he’s a little surprised to see Taehyung wearing it even now. (He won’t admit that he’s just a little touched, in a weird way.)

Taehyung doesn’t take his eyes off the TV as Jungkook walks past. Jungkook fights a scowl. Still not bitter.

He grabs a sweater from the entrance closet, throws a quick “later” over his shoulder, and heads out. It’s not until he’s halfway to Jimin and Yoongi’s apartment that he smells the familiar cologne and realizes the sweater he’s wearing is Taehyung’s.

 


 

Jungkook’s tie is too tight.

Finger dipped behind the knot, he pulls and complains about it. Jimin nudges his shoulder and tells him to shut the fuck up because, hey, there’s that girl I was tellin’ you about.

Jungkook doesn’t recall being told about any such girl, but it’s more likely that he just wasn’t listening.

“You don’t have a chance,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook might not be much in tune with his own emotions, but he’s more perceptive than he seems, and he finds himself quite amused at the obvious jealousy in Yoongi’s tone.

Jungkook works at the knot of his tie, trying to keep it as crisp as possible while loosening it.

He wonders how Taehyung managed with his. Nights like these, he usually he gets Jungkook to tie it, because even though the tie is a staple in the academy uniform, he’d never quite learned how to make it look nice.

The hall is as it is every year, just as spacious, with just as many attendees. Students and professors and staunch higher-ups—“dogs to the system, pigs to the cause”, according to Taehyung. If he were here with Jungkook right now, that’s probably what he’d be saying. The school system is a slaughterhouse, yada yada.

Bronze-toned light filters from the glass chandelier above. Jungkook watches the speckled light glimmer off the polished floor as he swirls his champagne flute, pointedly ignoring the circle of conversation he’s in.

This champagne is very watered down, but still bubbly enough to look deceptively lavish and fitting for such a night. Jungkook wonders how much he’d have to sneak to move beyond just the warm buzz. He remembers when he and Taehyung attended this event during their first year; the alcohol had been the same weak concoction but it had been more than enough to get Taehyung’s lightweight ass decently trashed.

It’s funny how easily you get used to things.

The past two years, Jungkook had been at this ceremony with Taehyung. Now there’s no one at his side—not like everyone else at this joint seems to have. They always joked about which of them was the arm candy and which of them was the man, but right now Jungkook thinks he might easily reduce himself to an accessory if it would mean he could have Taehyung next to him to talk shit on the lavish set-up and people.

But when he sees Taehyung across the hall, his feet stay planted on the smooth, shining floor.

Jungkook operates by the principle that the worst possible outcome is also the most likely—don’t underestimate the strength of your opponent, the depth of your wound, the danger of the silence.

Maybe the academy has made Jungkook into somewhat of a pessimist, among other things.

Jimin nudges him with an elbow.

“No,” Jungkook says before Jimin even has the chance. “My tie is too tight, I can’t.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “So loosen your tie.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I already did.”

“So I don’t see the problem.”

“There are still factors,” Jungkook mumbles into his champagne flute, and takes a sip while glaring at a spot on the wall.

“Like?” Jimin presses, but then Yoongi takes him by the arm and murmurs something to him, pulling him toward the centre of the hall to dance.

Jungkook can’t hear what’s said but he does see the stupid fucking blush on Jimin’s cheekbones, and Jungkook reminds himself to make fun of him for it later.

It’s when he’s standing around near the tables—lavish things lined with hors d’oeuvres and refreshments—looking over the provided glasses of champagne and wondering how he could justify going back for another one, when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“I hear your tie’s too tight.”

Jungkook turns to Taehyung.

“Do you need help?” Taehyung grins his jackknife grin, the chilling one where his teeth show too much, a little sharper than they should be. A glint in the rich light. But they’re a little uneven too, a human imperfection to remind Jungkook that while Taehyung exists to kill, Taehyung also is just Taehyung—compassionate and snarky and kinda dumb when the moment calls for it.

“What?”

“With your tie.”

“My tie is fine.”

“My sources say otherwise.” Taehyung snorts. His hair is styled so that he maintains his usual boyish look while still looking fine. Dapper and golden in the warm hues of the venue. Jungkook’s fingers itch to thread into his perfectly tousled hair and ruin it, taking out his anger as he kisses him breathless.

The only thing Jungkook really does is stand there like a moron.

“My tie is fine,” he says again, and lifts his champagne flute only to remember it’s empty and lower it again. “Your sources are unreliable and possibly led by ulterior motives.”

“You sound so stuck-up right now.”

I’m bitter and I wanna bitch about it; sue me.

“So get me more champagne,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung stands with one hand shoved in the pocket of his slacks, the other fiddling with the crisp collar of his dress shirt. Jungkook knows it’s because he’s uncomfortable with wearing something that chokes so close to his neck. It’s why his uniform shirt is never done up right.

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on Jungkook’s reluctance because at this point he’s used to it. To Jungkook, it’s perfectly rational: what if you get judged for taking too much champagne? What if someone happens to look over every time you go up to the table and they see how much you’re taking for yourself?

What if, what if, what if.

Taehyung takes Jungkook’s empty glass and steps over to the table, puts that one down where the other empty ones are, and takes one that’s full. He gives the woman behind the table a charming smile, says something that’s probably equally as charming, and comes back.

Jungkook’s leaning on the wall, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

“Your tie is uneven,” he says, taking the glass. He takes a sip. “And you should’ve gotten me hors d’oeuvres too.”

“I’m not your slave.”

Jungkook fights a smile and hands the champagne flute back to Taehyung. “Hold this.” He reaches forward, fingers dancing at the side of Taehyung’s neck, and fiddles with the knot of the tie.

“Slave driver,” Taehyung says, head tilted slightly back to allow Jungkook’s fingers room.

Meister, Jungkook wants to correct. I’m your meister—yours, yours, yours.

He doesn’t though, and stays quiet and fiddles with Taehyung’s tie until the knot is smooth and tucked well at the edges.

The rational part of him knows what he has to do to solve this.

But looking at Taehyung, he finds it harder than it should be, lungs filled with a wet heat and something hard trapped in his throat.

“Do you wanna dance?” Taehyung asks.

“You know I don’t do that shit.”

“I know.” Taehyung pauses, looking everywhere but at Jungkook. Then he makes proper eye contact and it feels like it’s too much.

Jungkook’s knees go weak, shaky, and he wonders if this champagne really is as watered-down as he thinks it is, or if he’s just too soft a heart over certain things, certain people.

“I just don’t know what to say to you.” Taehyung laughs and he sounds nervous, almost; confused, maybe; awkward, quite possibly. “It’s weird, right? I feel like I’ve always known what to say to you. I feel like we always had that. I guess—sorry about being a massive dick recently. Yeah.”

Jungkook takes his champagne flute back from Taehyung.

“Yeah,” he says very stupidly.

Taehyung cocks an eyebrow.

Jungkook frowns. “Me too—uh, sorry. Or whatever.” Then he grabs Taehyung by the forearm and pulls gently.

He leads them to the balcony. Along the way he leaves his half-empty champagne flute on a table. Unsurprisingly, he’s not in much of a bubbly mood tonight.

Under the cold moonlight, Taehyung’s features are stark and alluring—the line of his forehead and browbone sharp, travelling down to the slope of his nose, softly lit against the black night. Jungkook traces his features with his eyes, wondering if he’ll ever get over how good Taehyung looks.

“You’re wearing makeup,” Jungkook accuses, elbows resting on the elegant banister.

“So are you.” Taehyung pokes Jungkook’s nose.

“It’s just—” Jungkook bats his hand away and finds himself giggling. “For style.”

“Well, it’s styling,” Taehyung drawls and rolls his eyes, leaning closer.

Jungkook shoves his shoulder, pretending he can’t feel his heartbeat pick up. “I’ll push you off, Tae. Smack flat on the concrete—first dead on academy grounds. The splattered scythe.”

“You’d make me a legend, dude.” He’s joking but at the same time he sounds almost wistful, almost gentle. An odd mix of happy and sad. Is Jungkook imagining it? He bites his lip, rolls the skin back and forth between his teeth.

“There’s a lotta things I wanna make you,” Jungkook says, and he lets those words sink in the air for a moment. He watches the clouds weave around the sharp starlight. “I think I fucked up,” he eventually settles on saying.

“One way to put it.”

Maybe if you push me off the balcony—

“Wanted make you”—my boyfriend—no, fuck—“a death scythe. And I fucked that up. Like, I know I fucked that up, I mean, and I’m sorry for fucking that up—”

“You didn’t fuck it up.” Taehyung steps closer, elbows on the metal railing as well, arm touching Jungkook’s. “Just…I dunno. It’s us, both of us fucked up us. I guess. We’ve always been reckless. I feel like I get my recklessness from you. You’re…a flame.”

Jungkook inhales, eyes closed, a smile playing at his lips. “That sounds…so fuckin’ gay.”

Taehyung chuckles. His knuckles brush Jungkook’s, fingers almost twisting together—a lot of things almost happening. But not quite. “You’re my flame, Jungkook.”

“Don’t—”

“I’m kidding.” Taehyung laughs, a soft and low sound. “You’re my meister. And I trust you.”

Jungkook thinks his heart is going to implode, but he doesn’t let it show. Warm and sweetened, the tips of his fingers tingling where they brush against Taehyung’s. The stupid side of him is itching to get his hands on Taehyung, to take him in for the sight he is, dressed up in a suit like this, such a stunning contrast to his regular disheveled appearance.

“And…I’m your weapon,” Taehyung says, so gently it tingles down Jungkook’s spine. “And I want you to trust me too, I guess.”

“I do,” Jungkook says quickly. He really does. He really, really, really does. Does Taehyung think he doesn’t?

“You were scared of me,” Taehyung says. Quietly. Apprehensively.

It hits Jungkook harder than it should. Back in the practice room, it was fear for sure, and he knows that. But fear of what? The gleaming cut of the bladepoint, the curved, honed edge of a tool made to kill, the danger entrusted in Jungkook’s hands—frankly, he’s gotten used to it. Come to appreciate it, to even revere it in a way, how vicious and bone-chilling Taehyung looks like that, steel and clotted blood in Jungkook’s hands.

“Not of you,” Jungkook says, because he knows Taehyung and knows the last thing he’d ever want would be to seem intimidating. “I was scared of fucking up. Fucking up our partnership and our bond and I don’t even—know. And then it happened and it’s just different, right? Different than what I thought it would be. It’s all just ‘cause…”

Cause I want you more than just when I need you.

He bites his tongue, stares at the white stars dotting the black night. His breath comes in thin wisps into the cold. Taehyung toes at the bottom edge of the railing. He’ll ruin the tips of his dress shoes, Jungkook thinks, looking down and watching him fidget.

“I read the book,” Taehyung says after a while. “You seemed off after that day at the library, and I just kinda figured, y’know? So I went and found the ones you were reading and flipped through ‘em.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook nods, unsure of what he’s supposed to say.

“So I get it, I guess. And we both fucked up…I guess.” Taehyung worries his hands together, calloused fingertips over scraped knuckles. “I dunno. Do you want me to say it, or…”

There’s that comfort again, Jungkook realizes. Right behind the low register to Taehyung’s voice, the way it holds a certain calmness in times like these—Jungkook feels the old relief. It’s common among weapon-meister partnerships, he has read, for one to feel at ease when with the other.

It’s just science, he tells himself.

The way his heart feels like it’s in his throat when he’s around Taehyung, the way he can’t separate the affection from the exasperation from the sentiment in his chest, the way it all just mingles together to form one fluid mass of emotion—

—it’s just science.

It’s funny because Jungkook’s cut his teeth on the most vile of beats and the most treacherous of circumstances but for some reason the one thing that makes him stop short is Taehyung.

“Yeah.” Jungkook laughs and tongues at the inside of his cheek. “You’re better with words.”

Taehyung’s smile is—nervous? Tentative? Worried? Jungkook’s not sure but he knows it renders him breathless.

“I mean”—Taehyung’s teeth worry at his lower lip—“you already know…what I’m gonna say.”

Jungkook nods. Maybe it’s the champagne, the lingering tingle on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the cool midnight breeze and the shroud of darkness lending him some confidence. Either way, it’s Jungkook who takes the first risk, the first step closer, the first fistful of clothing.

Shame about Taehyung’s pressed suit. Jungkook’s fingers grip hard, scrunching the silky fabric, pulling Taehyung closer by the lapel roll.

“I still wanna hear you say it,” he says softly—coyly—letting his lips part slightly, reddened by the gentle sting of champagne. His cheeks feel flushed; it’s the alcohol, the proximity, the way Taehyung responds exactly the way he wants him to. Their bodies are not quite flush, but Taehyung fixes that with a step closer, almost instinctive, almost a fall, a direct response to the magnetism.

Jungkook wonders about the laws of soul bonds, soul rejections, and then what comes after.

“I’m into you,” Taehyung says with a small, breathless laugh. “Like, y’know. I dunno.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“I mean—” Taehyung stumbles to explain himself. His fingers dance along Jungkook’s hip until he eventually gains the sureness to grip hard and jerk him closer. “More than that whole dick-on-dick action we’ve got going on. The—the real shit. I’m into you like that.”

Now Jungkook’s the one stuttering. “I—same,” he settles on saying, letting go of Taehyung’s lapel and smoothing his hand over the fabric in a slight apology for ruining it.

Taehyung snorts. “Gee, thanks, slick.”

“You’re the one for words,” Jungkook mumbles, ducking his head hiding his stupid, gleeful grin. “It’s fine, right? We—we’re fine?”

“We’ve always been fine.”

Then Taehyung slides his hands around Jungkook’s waist and pulls him into a hug, warm and solid and indescribably safe. Jungkook can feel the warmth of Taehyung’s palms through his suit jacket, gentle circles rubbed over the bruises on the small of his back.

“Don’t just hug me and end it there, you loser. This isn’t virgin hour.”

Taehyung barks out a laugh. Jungkook feels that same elation. He takes another moment to bask in the comfort, resting his head against Taehyung’s shoulder, pulling him closer until he can get rid of all the space between them.

“So what do you want?” Taehyung asks, breath warm on Jungkook’s neck, words quiet and low right next to Jungkook’s ear—only for him.

“Let’s go home.

Jungkook tilts his head to mouth at the side of Taehyung’s neck. Those hands on his back press harder, and Jungkook sighs and arches into the touch.

“I got a ride here.”

Jungkook shrugs. “We live close enough to walk.”

He doesn’t like having to pull away from Taehyung, but as they leave the venue he keeps their hands linked in that dumb but semi-romantic way that Taehyung would surely make fun of him for if he didn’t enjoy just as much.

 


 

It’s cold out, moist spring air, the distinct smell of a fading winter and the emerging thrum of life. Wind whips litter across the roads. They walk quickly, and they don’t live far off campus but Jungkook is impatient. He feels the prickle of skin, the sparks of warmth whenever his shoulder brushes Taehyung’s—surefire anticipation.

Jungkook’s practically bouncing on his toes when they’re in the elevator. Taehyung laughs and circles an arm around his hip, stilling him, and noses at his jawline with a murmured relax.

“Whose room?” Jungkook asks, pulling Taehyung through the hall.

Taehyung shrugs. “Either one.”

In all honesty Jungkook would prefer Taehyung’s—the thought of being in his room, enveloped by his sheets, smelling his scent in the covers and knowing that they’re in such a personal space of his seems…comforting, in a way.

All of this, really, is quite comforting.

It’s the first time they’re doing this without the haze of soul resonance and its galvanizing and very distracting effects. Frantic hands and shaking limbs. This is different, but Jungkook is young and a little desperate and very, very restless, so the feverish nature of their tempo remains fairly unchanged.

“Yours,” Jungkook says, fumbling with the keys and swinging the door open. Their apartment is dark, familiar. “You have everything, right?”

“Hopefully,” Taehyung says, kicking his shoes off as Jungkook does the same. He almost trips, and he grabs Taehyung to steady himself.

“You’d better or I’ll stab you.”

Taehyung snorts. “I could turn my arm into a blade, Jungkook.”

“Whatever. You couldn’t use it on me.

He grabs Taehyung’s forearm, forceful fingers digging into the skin. There’s so much smoothness to him considering his nature and what he is. Jungkook’s the one with the scars, the wounds, the proof of their fights.

He thinks about burdens and responsibilities and who carries who? but then his mind goes blank, and he’s not thinking about anything but the wet warmth of Taehyung mouthing at the back of his neck.

“Bedroom first,” he says, and it’s meant to sound like a command but his words are shaky and the syllables lack proper weight—too gentle, too light, too weak in that way Taehyung always gets him.

He grits his teeth and curses how easy he is, made so pliant in under a second as Taehyung steps behind him and presses his body against his back, kissing along the side of his neck. His hands smooth down Jungkook’s sides, slipping beneath the hem of the suit jacket, scraping at the wrinkled fabric where his dress shirt is tucked in, fingernails flirting with the edge of the waistband.

“Let me play for a second,” Taehyung insists, a smirk in his tone as he holds Jungkook in place, keeping them both in the foyer instead of in the bedroom, where they truly could be having a grand old time and enjoying each other to the fullest. But apparently Taehyung’s got his own agenda, and Jungkook really should’ve known that—especially without the driving impulse of resonance to crack his patience—of course Taehyung would like to tease.

“It’s already been a good fuckin’ second,” Jungkook mumbles, careful to keep his voice steady, to not betray how bad he wants to be thrown onto Taehyung’s bed and get fucked till he’s screaming, writhing beneath Taehyung. He presses himself back, shivering when he feels the heat of Taehyung’s groin against his ass. Taehyung’s fingers dig into the soft skin just above his hipbone.

“One more second,” he says, snickering, and pulls the fabric of Jungkook’s collar to the side to bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Jungkook arches and a helpless sounds slips from his lips before it morphs into a growl. He’s about to throw an elbow back to catch Taehyung in the ribs, but Taehyung knows him well enough to know when to stop testing him.

“C’mon,” Taehyung says, and presses his fingertips to the small of Jungkook’s back, urging him forward again.

They stumble through the short hall; Taehyung’s room is the one at the very end.

It’s a shock at first—Jungkook’s back hitting the bed as he gets shoved down, Taehyung standing at the side with a smirk on his lips, hands removing his suit jacket and then carefully undoing the top few buttons of his dress shirt. Jungkook picks himself up onto his elbows but can’t do much more than stare.

The jacket falls to the floor.

“You just gonna sit there?” Taehyung asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook scowls. “I’m not sitting, I’m lying down.” Reaching down, he quickly pulls his socks off and throws them somewhere on the floor. “You look dumb,” he comments, watching Taehyung hop on one foot as he does the same.

“I’m taking my socks off. The fuck do you want from me?”

“Sexy sock-removal.” Jungkook sits up and reaches for Taehyung once he’s sufficiently removed his socks in an unsatisfactory and very un-sexy way. He curls his fingers into the front of Taehyung’s dress shirt, feeling the buttons shift in his grip.

Taehyung looks good dressed up, Jungkook thinks, giving him a good once-over—the way his waist looks in those slacks, figure straight and sleek, how he comes off as dignified, almost imposing while so inviting at the same time. And yeah, he looks good in a suit, but he’d look a thousand times better in nothing.

Taehyung climbs over Jungkook, and a ripple moves through him, whole body twitching upward toward Taehyung. Just before Taehyung can rest over his waist, Jungkook flips them—not a roll, but a lean forward, turn, then down again—and sits in Taehyung’s lap. He wiggles, quite satisfied with himself. No matter how different he and Taehyung are in the bedroom as opposed to out, the ease Jungkook has when throwing Taehyung around remains a constant.

“For the record, you’re very light,” Jungkook says, circling his hips and slotting himself more snugly in Taehyung’s lap. He rocks forward, feeling Taehyung’s hardening cock press against his ass. They’re both fully clothed and the fabric is frustrating.

“For the record,” Taehyung bites back, “you’re an asshole and should let me have the upper hand anyway.”

“I’m not a soft touch.” Jungkook leans down and nibbles at Taehyung’s earlobe, scrapes his teeth along his jawline, and presses a comparatively sweet kiss to his cheek, his nose, his lips, soft and warm.

“Whatever.” Taehyung smooths his hands along Jungkook’s shoulders and slides them beneath his crisp suit jacket.

Jungkook hums and sits back, moving just out of reach so that Taehyung’s hands drop to his waist instead. Jungkook slips his jacket off with precision, movements slow and calculated, and then throws it off the edge of the bed carelessly. His eyes are on Taehyung, just Taehyung, and the intimacy is a soft tingle across his skin. His fingers toy with the edge of his shirt collar, and then he undoes the first button. The collar flags and cool air hits his skin. Then he undoes the second, the third, the fourth and fifth and—he lets out a squeak when Taehyung abruptly sits up, jerking him closer, moving farther back on the bed so he’s sitting up against the headboard.

“Tease.” Taehyung pulls Jungkook’s shirt from where it’s tucked into his slacks and swiftly undoes the rest, guiding it off his shoulders. Jungkook lets it slip off. The fabric is finespun and velvety and Taehyung’s hands smooth over the parts of his skin now exposed—his torso and his arms, the curves and dips of his muscles, his scars, his bruises.

Jungkook bunches up his shirt and throws it onto the floor. The waistband of his slacks dig into his skin and he shifts, trying to alleviate some of the pressure of his hardening cock pressing against the front of his pants.

“You too.” Jungkook undoes the rest of the buttons on Taehyung’s dress shirt, having him lean forward to let him pull it off. Jungkook’s eyes trail over Taehyung’s skin, and he watches the way his throat works as he swallows. Taehyung’s hands run appreciatively over Jungkook’s waist.

“You’re so hot,” Taehyung mumbles, and he leans forward to catch Jungkook’s lips in a slow kiss. A hot flush spreads through Jungkook’s body and he squirms, hips twitching toward Taehyung’s body, electricity sparking down his spine. Taehyung’s fingers dance above Jungkook’s waistband and then dip beneath it, hooking on the elastic of his boxer-briefs and giving it a good snap.

A small ah falls from Jungkook’s mouth, and he bites at Taehyung’s lip to retaliate. His hand rests at the back of Taehyung’s neck and he kisses him harder, slides his tongue out and licks at the roof of his mouth. The angle forces Taehyung to have to tilt his head upward slightly to kiss him, and Jungkook uses this leverage to his every advantage, fingers pressing gently beneath Taehyung’s jawline and teasing, coy and delicate.

Taehyung pops the button of Jungkook’s slacks, and before he can get any further Jungkook pulls away and sits back on Taehyung’s lap.

“I’m doing it,” he says, working at his pants, getting frustrated with himself for not having done this before they’d gotten comfortable on the bed.

“Get off my legs,” Taehyung says, wiggling until Jungkook moves aside with a muttered asshole. He does it far more gracefully and quickly than Jungkook is managing to right now, undoing his pants and pulling them off, followed by his underwear.

When Jungkook’s finally tosses his slacks and underwear to the floor—after a bit of struggling and lying back at awkward angles because he’s too lazy to stand up—he clambers back into Taehyung’s lap, tense with anticipation.

“Fuck, you’re—” Jungkook kisses Taehyung and finishes that sentence with a mumble, licking into Taehyung’s mouth, behind his teeth, pushing at his tongue, hot and heady and frantic, more aggressive than he needs to be. He rolls his hips, skin-on-skin, smooth and hot, his erection pressed against Taehyung’s.

His hands find purchase on Jungkook’s thighs, press into the supple skin, youthful and tight and giving under the pressure. The ache of his bruises travels through him, a warm pain that has him arching, shuddering, whining softly into Taehyung’s mouth.

“Are we—” Jungkook shifts, palm flat on Taehyung’s relatively unmarred chest. He marvels at how smooth skin has the capacity to be when it hasn’t been met with years of battling, at least not of the directly physical type Jungkook is involved in. Some of it must be psychosomatic, he thinks, with the constant wounds seeping into his bones and becoming something he feels he can’t entirely rid himself of. The proof of pain as a part of him. In either sense, Taehyung is—

—perfect. Not unscathed, but so breathtaking and stunning and—the best part—all Jungkook’s.

“Are we what?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook chokes, pulled out of his reverie, hand still set on Taehyung’s chest mid-appreciation.

“Anal?” he ends up stuttering out.

A laugh bubbles from Taehyung’s lips. “I mean—uh, fuck, y’know—”

“Like—” Jungkook giggles, a blush warming his cheeks. It’s real fucking dumb of him to get bashful over this, considering he’s sitting here naked in Taehyung’s lap, but his awkwardness is apparently universal, no matter how far his sexual comfort might extend. “You said—before, like, you said it was intense, so we don’t gotta—it’s chill, I mean, um—”

Taehyung laughs harder, shaking his head. He rests his forehead on Jungkook’s shoulder. “I was just nervous. Of—liking you. I dunno.”

“So you wanna do anal?”

Taehyung’s still laughing and Jungkook frankly feels a little confused. “Yeah, Kook. Absolutely. Can you stop calling it ‘anal’?” He lifts his head, lips swollen and red and very tantalizing, and meets Jungkook’s eyes.

“Why?” Jungkook snorts. “That’s what it is.”

“It’s…”

“It’s anal.” Jungkook grins.

“It’s crude,” Taehyung protests.

You’re crude. Priss. Fuck you, fuck me, fuck my ass. Anally. C’mon. It’s called anal—”

Taehyung slaps his thigh and Jungkook hates the way he jolts, cock throbbing as he chokes back a moan.

“I hate you,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook steadies himself, leaning over to Taehyung’s bedside table drawer, assuming that’s where he keeps his things. “What’s wrong with the word anal?”

“I dunno.” Taehyung’s warm palm holds Jungkook steady by the waist. “It sounds weird. Can we just—”

“It’s not weird. That’s what it is. Dick-in-anus sex.” Sure enough, Jungkook finds a bottle of lube and a few condoms thrown in among the mess of Taehyung’s other belongings—multiple pairs of earphones, a couple broken phone chargers, an old novel with water damage, a few other things.

Taehyung makes an affronted noise. “You did not just say anus in the bedroom—”

“You sound unjustly offended.” Jungkook meets Taehyung with a deadpan expression, but his eyes give away his amusement.

“I don’t even wanna be hard right now. My dick is a traitor.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “My anus is a traitor.” He hands the lube to Taehyung before he can bitch about his vocabulary further. “You wanna do it?”

“I—what?”

“You wanna finger me?”

Taehyung turns the bottle over in his palm. “I’ve never—I don’t wanna hurt y—”

“’Kay, I’ll do it.” Jungkook takes the bottle back. It’s just standard, cheap lube, probably used mostly when Taehyung’s alone. As begrudging Jungkook is to admit it, Taehyung’s kinda good, and there’s no way he has much trouble getting women wet. Must be the hands, Jungkook thinks as he smears lube over his own fingers. Nice, big hands, elegant knuckles, firm grip—among other things.

Those hands rub up and down Jungkook’s thighs, muscle tense and quivering as he tries not to clamp them too hard around Taehyung’s waist. A bit more pressure from those fingers, and Jungkook shudders at the hot wave of pain moving through his body, bruises stinging, burning.

“Good?” Taehyung asks gently. Jungkook doesn’t miss the satisfied note in his voice, the darkness in his eyes as he watches Jungkook react, the way he can’t suppress it.

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes. His back is arched and he squirms in Taehyung’s lap, biting his swollen bottom lip to keep himself from making too many embarrassing noises.

“Finger yourself,” Taehyung tells him, thumbs massaging circles into the marks on his thighs, working out where the most tender spots are based off how viscerally Jungkook reacts—gritting his teeth and hissing, letting out a helpless moan when it’s too much but so fucking good.

He nods and lifts himself slightly, reaching behind him and sliding one wet finger down his asscrack. He closes his eyes and rubs it around his puckered hole, teasing himself, pushing at his perineum and bucking his hips back. Taehyung reaches behind him and touches the soft inside of his wrist.

“C’mon, Kookie,” he croons. Jungkook opens his eyes to shoot him a proper glare, and then pushes one finger inside himself. He lets out a breathless little sound and immediately sinks his hips back onto that finger, wiggling it around to press at his warm inner walls.

“Oh—yes.” He shudders as he pulls it out slowly, feeling his knuckles tug at the rim, just enough friction to make him whine.

“Fuck, Jungkook.” Taehyung groans, low and appreciative, and holds Jungkook with one hand on his thigh and one on his waist, pressing, and it’s too much, it hurts and it burns and Jungkook moans, cock pulsing and bobbing heavily. Precome wells at the slit and drips down his length, hot and sticky.

“Ah—” Jungkook circles his hips, clenching his jaw. “It’s—been a while. Kinda hurts.”

“Take your time,” Taehyung reassures. His thumb dips into the fluid curve of Jungkook’s waist and applies just enough pressure to the fading bruise that his hips stutter. The head of his cock rubs against Taehyung’s lower belly and leaves a smear of precome.

Jungkook reaches behind him with his other hand and pulls his asscheek out of the way, pressing his finger deeper into his hole until the wider part of his hand is right at his stretched rim. He curls his finger, body twitching and jolting, breath coming in quick huffs. It’s so deep, and he can’t help the noises he makes, soft and pleased and mildly surprised whenever he crooks his finger harder, brushing it against some part inside him that sends a spark of heat up his spine.

“I’m gonna do two,” he says quietly, and pulls that one finger out so he can line up the second, taking it slow and stretching himself as he works it in.

Taehyung nods. “God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he murmurs, hand smoothing appreciatively across Jungkook’s taut abs, his trembling thighs. Then his fingers are curling so tentatively around Jungkook’s cock that he bucks into the loose circle of Taehyung’s hand, wanting more, more, more.

“Tae,” he pleads, hoping just that is enough to communicate what he needs.

“Open yourself up first.”

He whines and meets Taehyung’s eyes, putting on the best pout he can.

Taehyung frowns at him, but he grips Jungkook’s cock a bit tighter, pumping up and down at a slow, steady pace. Jungkook sighs and slides his two fingers out, then back in, crooks them repeatedly, pressing at spots along his inner walls, searching until—

Mnnah—oh, fuck.” He writhes away from the sensation only to push himself back, hips twitching until he finds the right angle again, fingertips pressing—just—right—there, massaging firm circles into his prostate. “Oh, God…” He tries to focus on his breathing, on the way Taehyung’s touching him, the way he coos quietly and kisses Jungkook’s collarbone, the light scrapes of teeth.

He shifts his fingers back and forth by the bottom knuckle, trying to focus on stretching himself, because it feels so good but he also wants to move on, wants to feel Taehyung inside him, pulsing and thick and hot and filling him up in a way his fingers never could. Taehyung’s hand strokes up and down his cock, palm rubbing the tip, pulling the foreskin over and then rolling it back, thumb flicking beneath the head. Jungkook’s hips twitch as he tries to keep himself still, to keep himself from fucking into Taehyung’s hand, to keep from looking too desperate, but—

“Tae—” he gasps, his abs tense, and he curls forward, cock throbbing in Taehyung’s too-loose grip. His thighs are aching and the way Taehyung presses on his bruises isn’t helping. “Three, I’m—nngh, gonna do three—now.”

He pulls his two fingers outward, spreading them to stretch his rim, giving him room to work in the third slick finger.

“F—fuck,” he spits, back tensing as he lets out a sharp hiss. It fucking hurts—but he pushes his ass back onto his fingers nonetheless, wiggling the digits around and whimpering when they graze his prostate again. More precome leaks from the slit of his cock, thick and hot and getting all over Taehyung’s knuckles. “It feels—it feels so good, Tae, I, ah—

He swallows and whines, thighs shuddering and calves straining. He collapses forward, burying his face in Taehyung’s shoulder. He feels—lost. Delirious and needy and kind of pathetic, because here he is, sitting on top of Taehyung having flipped him, technically with the fucking ‘upper hand’, but still quivering and whimpering like a little bitch. It’s not that he minds much; it’s more about the principle of the thing.

Jungkook’s thinking about control again.

Then Taehyung’s fingers dance up and graze the bruises on his ribs, and he’s not really thinking at all.

“You’re always so bruised,” Taehyung comments. “When does it happen?”

Jungkook pants, crooking his fingers inside him, mind fizzling as he tries to focus. “I just—bruise easily. It’s all—uh, all harmless, really, just in class, or o—on missions, I—mmh, oh—fuck, ohh—”

His hips twitch and be rolls his ass back onto his fingers, keeping up the rhythmic pressure on his prostate.

“Tae, I’m ready, I’m—”

Jungkook slips his fingers out with a crude squelch, wincing at how empty he feels, at the wet glide of lube down his thighs. Taehyung leans up but Jungkook catches him with a palm on his chest.

“Stay down.”

Taehyung glares but reclines again, hands settling on Jungkook’s hips.

Jungkook wipes his fingers on the blankets and reaches for the condom, tears the wrapper with shaky hands, and sits back to roll it onto Taehyung’s cock. He hisses in response, hips jerking into Jungkook’s hand. Tossing the wrapper, Jungkook grabs the lube and squirts some more into his palm. He rubs it over Taehyung’s cock, and once again his hips twitch. For a second Jungkook almost feels bad for making Taehyung endure this long without any relief. He takes time to appreciate the solid weight of Taehyung’s erection, the thick vein and girth, and Jungkook’s seen it before but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it. Taehyung’s cock is lovely.

Jungkook shifts and lines himself up, hand gripping the base of Taehyung’s throbbing cock, other palm flat on his lower belly as he lowers himself. And Taehyung is big. It’s not Jungkook’s first time with a guy, and while he’s not the most experienced, he definitely knows how to handle himself. But he tenses up as Taehyung’s cock enters him, breaching the initial tight rim and pushing deeper into his asshole.

“Oh—” Jungkook lets out a clipped gasp and whines high in his throat, staying still and biting his lower lip. “Fuckfuckfuck, oh God—”

“You okay?” Taehyung tightens his grip on Jungkook’s hip and stops him from sinking any lower.

“I’m fine.” Jungkook grips Taehyung’s wrist, then steadies and lowers himself a bit more. Taehyung is thick and hot and pulsing inside him, lubed-up and sliding deeper, deeper. Jungkook shudders, feeling hazy, feeling filled and so, so wonderful.

“I—ah, Jungkook—oh, fuck.” Taehyung’s head dips forward and rests on Jungkook’s shoulder, hands shaking as he grips his sides, palms sliding up to the gentle curve of Jungkook’s waist and then pressing at his sides where the muscle still aches from the training he’d done in class the day before. A squeeze of Taehyung’s hand, and beyond the delicious haze of pain, Jungkook finds himself quite satisfied with just how well Taehyung’s hands fit with his body.

It’s not something that’s never crossed his mind, the way he’s felt with other people as opposed to the way he feels with Taehyung—safer, surer. Because there’s never any guarantee that one body will coincide so well with another, that they’ll fit as if they are cut to match, but here he and Taehyung are, pressed so close with no angles digging unintentionally into tender points, no unwanted pressure and no forced, awkward positions to make it work.

Just comfort. A good, solid fit.

Jungkook shivers when he feels Taehyung’s bony hips press flush against his ass, and he wiggles around, settling, adjusting.

“That feels nice,” he whispers, back arching at the smooth stroke of Taehyung’s palm down his spine. His hand rests just above Jungkook’s tailbone. “Feels—really nice, Tae. Love how you feel inside me.”

Taehyung kisses Jungkook’s shoulder, the hollow of his neck, his jawline. He sucks his earlobe into his mouth and flicks the piercing with his hot tongue. Jungkook croons, quite content, and gives an experimental roll of his hips.

Nnh, shit, Jungkook.” Taehyung groans and his hips twitch upward. Jungkook threads a hand into Taehyung’s hair, pulling his face away to give him a look—unyielding and heated. Taehyung swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and Jungkook feels a buzz of elation run down his spine.

“My pace,” Jungkook says, not bothering to hide his smirk.

Taehyung’s lip pulls up in a snarl but he still relents, lying back and letting Jungkook do as he likes. Once again Jungkook rocks his hips, sighing when he feels Taehyung’s cock drag inside him, rubbing against his inner walls. His rim is stretched around the girth and he can feel every throb and twitch of Taehyung’s cock as it works in and out of his tight hole.

But he keeps the pace slow.

After a while, it’s not even for himself to adjust and get comfortable, and more to just enjoy the way Taehyung steadily comes apart beneath him, entire body jerking as he tries to keep still, hands tensing and releasing and shaking as he grips Jungkook’s slim waist.

“Jungkook—” he chokes out.

“Mm.” Jungkook scrunches his nose in a grin.

Taehyung groans and squeezes his eyes shut. “Jesus Christ—I’m gonna die.”

“Chill.” Jungkook giggles and kisses down his jawline gently.

“I’m gonna die and it’s gonna be your fault.”

“My ass is killer, is what’s you’re saying,” Jungkook jokes, and he briefly thinks about mentioning something about a killer anus but he’s pretty sure Taehyung would punch him in the throat if he brought that word up again.

“No, you just suck and I hate you. Please—”

Jungkook snaps his hips down and they both let out low, strained sounds of pleasure. He loosens his grip on Taehyung’s hair and instead rests his hands on his shoulders. He gains leverage by digging his knees into the mattress and using the strength of his thighs to pick up the pace, rocking himself back and forth in Taehyung’s lap.

“Sh—shit.” Jungkook moans and a tremor moves through him. He pants and tries to keep the pace steady and quick, but his thighs are threatening to give out and his calves are aching and every time Taehyung’s hands tighten on his waist he feels weak, overwhelmed, too full and too good, as if he’s trying to tackle more than he can handle and his prowess is not what he thought it was.

His cock leaks all over Taehyung’s stomach, trapped between them, and the head rubs back and forth on Taehyung’s stomach and he jerks, writhes, trembles. Taehyung squeezes his bruises again and he gasps and grits out more, like that, please and then Taehyung gives him more and Jungkook is—

Jungkook can’t—

He collapses, panting and ruined, using Taehyung’s body for support.

“I—oh God, Tae, I can’t, I’m—” He swallows and smooths a hand down Taehyung’s chest. “Flip me, please.”

Taehyung laughs, clearly enjoying Jungkook’s breathlessness. “’Kay.”

And he might not have as much experience with guys as Jungkook has, but he sure as hell knows how to fuck. It’s the same movement—the lean up, turn, then back down—and Jungkook’s already so delirious it makes him feel lost for a second. He blinks and he’s on his back, fumbling hands holding onto Taehyung’s upper arms, and he’s looking up at him.

Taehyung’s hair falls over his eyes. Sweat drips down the sides of his face, eyes dark, and a chill runs through Jungkook’s spine.

“You’re hot,” he blurts like an idiot. At this point he doesn’t care how stupid the things he says are.

Taehyung laughs, kisses him, hot and open-mouthed, and mumbles, “You too.” He spreads Jungkook’s thighs and pushes his cock inside him again. Jungkook writhes and arches against the sheets, sighing as the strain is taken off his body, relaxing and just taking it as Taehyung fucks him. He coos in approval and drags his nails down Taehyung back at the first thrust, and then digs them into his side as he keeps going, holding onto him tight, keeping him close. Sweat beads along Jungkook’s temples, his neck, down his spine, and he’s hot and loud and absolutely loving every minute of this.

“Tae—” Jungkook grapples for Taehyung’s hands and brings them to his waist, pressing them into the bruises just under his ribs. “Can you—ah, yeah, oh—”

He groans and arches, thighs clamping around Taehyung’s waist, and then Taehyung pushes his legs open again, hot palm on Jungkook’s knee. With a growl he leans down to mouth at Jungkook’s neck, pushing him to the precipice—the pressure of Taehyung’s teeth at his vitals, hand sliding down Jungkook’s chest, curling around his cock, giving him quick, smooth strokes.

It’s exactly what Jungkook wants; it’s everything he could ever want, but he’s nothing if not demanding—writhing and insistent and nippy, purring like a cat in Taehyung’s hands but scratching at his shoulders as well, moaning with every thrust, head thrown back to allow Taehyung better access to his throat.

“Ohh, fuck—nnh, you feel s—so good, you fuck me so good—”

Taehyung laughs and licks at the sweat dripping down Jungkook’s neck.

Jungkook is so erotically responsive and this must be great for Taehyung’s ego, and it’s also great for the sex; Jungkook is pliable and pleased and Taehyung digs his fingers into his bruises and fucks him harder and harder, lube squelching where their skin slaps together. Shifting himself slightly, Jungkook goes tense and groans loud and long when Taehyung’s cock rubs against his prostate each time he fucks into him. Jungkook growls and snaps his teeth, feeling the pleasure build in him like something dangerous, something he can’t handle, something he has to take out on someone—which would invariably mean Taehyung in this situation.

“You’re so—difficult.” Taehyung snarls and delivers a sharp nip to the side of Jungkook’s neck, and then sucks, rolling the skin between his teeth until Jungkook’s whining unhappily, until he’s sure a hickey will form.

“I’m just—” Jungkook doesn’t have an explanation really. He’s just needy and he likes to fight back, elastic and tussling and admittedly hellish to deal with. Taehyung’s a saint for setting himself up to be regularly fucking someone as fussy as Jungkook. “I want more.

Taehyung grunts and grabs Jungkook by the thighs, hauls him back on the bed some, lifts his hips a bit higher, and fucks into him at that angle, faster and rougher. Jungkook squirms and whines, the tension in him melting and resurfacing again. Taehyung’s hand pumps Jungkook’s cock quicker and more thick precome dribbles out the slit.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Jungkook pants and his fingers curl, grappling helplessly, and Taehyung tilts Jungkook’s hips with a forceful grip and holds him there, groaning as Jungkook twists beneath him.

“Yeah, oh fuck, I’m close,” Taehyung says, kissing Jungkook’s shoulder with such a stark bit of softness behind the gesture that it almost feels misplaced.

“I—yeah, mm-hm.” Jungkook nods frantically. “Me too.”

Taehyung’s hand tightens around Jungkook’s cock and he strokes him faster, and everything between them is wet and rough and Jungkook tenses, lower belly tight, heat curling at his navel, muscular thighs trembling as he tries to keep them from clamping around Taehyung.

“I—I’m coming,” he grits out, and Taehyung grunts, fingers pressing harder into his soft flesh and hard muscle. Jungkook bites Taehyung’s shoulder when he comes, vaguely feeling the skin break beneath his teeth as he tries to muffle his sobs of pleasure. His cock flexes and jerks and hot come spurts over his chest, leaving a warm and sticky mess all over his skin.

“Fuck, yeah—” Taehyung’s breath is punched-out and shaky. His thrusts get erratic and he moans against Jungkook’s skin, cock throbbing when he comes, and Jungkook feels the way he twitches, filling the condom in thick pulses, hips rolling into Jungkook’s tight body as he rides it out.

Then it’s quiet, very peaceful, warm and only a little uncomfortable in that usual post-sex wetness. Jungkook lies there, panting until his thoughts coalesce into something distinguishable.

Taehyung is pulling out, fingers holding the condom in place and then slipping it off and tying it. It’s almost mesmerizing, the way his fingers move in the darkness. He tosses the dirty sac of lube and latex presumably into a trash can against the wall; Jungkook’s too tired to lift his head and see.

“Can you clean me?” Jungkook asks, putting on his best puppy-dog eyes, body buzzing with contentment.

Taehyung snorts. “We should shower.”

You can. I’m gonna sleep.” Jungkook pokes him lethargically and buries his face in the sheets, feeling an intricate and fine-tuned solace come over him when he smells Taehyung in the fabric. “So clean me.”

“You’re gonna hate me tomorrow if you don’t clean up now.” Taehyung brushes his the pad of his thumb next to Jungkook’s eye. It tickles. “You’re still wearing makeup too, remember?”

Fuck.

It takes a little more and back and forth and an unnecessary amount of bitching on Jungkook’s part, but they both end up in the cramped shower together, squinting in the too-bright light of the bathroom, muscles slack and fingers shaky with exhaustion as they gently wash each other’s bodies.

“I’d rather look ugly forever than wear makeup again,” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing the last of the soap suds off his face.

“That is statistically impossible.”

Jungkook frowns and throws Taehyung a look. Even through the steam and the hot spray of water, he can see Taehyung’s cheesy grin.

You’re impossible. And gross and smooshy,” Jungkook mumbles, and he turns Taehyung around to begin working the shampoo through his hair for him. He sighs under Jungkook’s touch.

“You like my grossness and smooshy-ness.”

“And also delusional, apparently.”

“Maybe you like that too.”

Jungkook rubs his thumbs in circles over Taehyung’s scalp, and he hums contentedly and nudges back into Jungkook’s touch.

“Maybe,” Jungkook mumbles. Taehyung’s not meant to hear it, not really, but he does, and once he’s washed the shampoo out of his hair he turns around and teases Jungkook about it between kisses, pressing closer to him, saying maybe he is a soft touch, or maybe Taehyung’s just turning him into one.

Which is all frankly bullshit.

 


 

There are a lot of tricks to this. Jungkook thinks he’s got it down pat. He sticks to the rooftops.

“Where is it?” he asks.

Shut up, it’ll hear us.” Taehyung’s tone is sharp through the bond.

Jungkook stays quiet, hand sliding up and down the handle of his scythe—of Taehyung. The distinction is always blurred. Wind whistles between the abandoned skyscrapers, the broken windows.

Stop touching me like that.

Jungkook blinks. “What?”

Like that.

“I’m just”—Jungkook spins the handle, blade swinging in a wide, graceful arc—“holding you.”

Well—don’t do it like that.

Jungkook squints at the scythe. The hard point glistens in the moonlight, elegant red spattered along the silver edge.

“Are you insinuating that I’d molest a glorified knife?”

Taehyung’s irritation snaps down the spine of the handle. “I’ll turn back into human form and punch you in the mouth.

A piece of concrete cracks behind them. “Later, maybe.” Jungkook turns. Readiness sparks at his fingertips. He and Taehyung, they’ll take this thing down right here on the rooftop.

“Resonance?” he asks.

He feels Taehyung hesitate.

“It’ll be fine,” he promises.

This is the first mission they’ve been on since the anniversary eve celebration, since the resolution of their little spat, since the other things that happened that night.

You sure?”

“Completely.”

So Jungkook focuses, brings himself in, feels the first sparks of a changing wavelength coalescing into something beyond a fizz and more of a flare-up.

If you get horny and get us killed—

Jungkook rolls his eyes, feeling Taehyung’s wavelength, as serene and sure as always, slowly coming into sync with his. He’s never felt like he’s got anything more in his life.

“Shut up, Tae.”

And with the initial cracks of the concrete beneath a set of claws and the giant, looming thing creeping up onto the rooftop, Jungkook tightens his grip on the steel handle, knowing with absolute certainty: he and Taehyung have got this.

Easy as anything.