Archive of Our Own

“Open up,” Jimin said, cut off with a fit of giggles, a fluffy mountain of whipped frosting poised on the pad of his finger. He stumbled forward a little, bracing himself against the counter with his free hand, and smeared it all over Jungkook’s lips.

“Jiminie hyung, we need to save some frosting for the cake.” Jungkook darted his tongue out to clean it off, sickeningly sweet and tasting of vanilla, trying his best to hide how flustered Jimin was making him.

Jimin, pointedly ignoring him, dipped his finger into the bowl and scooped out more frosting before popping it into his own mouth. Jungkook watched it slide over his spit-slicked lips, red and swollen from wrapping around the lips of the bottles he’d already downed. He swallowed around the dry lump in his throat and averted his gaze to take a swig from his own drink—he definitely needed it.

“Screw the cake,” Jimin said, tipping the rest of his drink down his throat and chucking it across the kitchen to land in the wastebasket. Jungkook winced when glass crashed against glass and it shattered in the bin. “I don’t know how to bake, anyway. It's probably terrible."

Truthfully, Jungkook was practically counting the minutes until Jimin got bored and retreated to his room to do his own thing. It wasn’t like Jungkook didn’t enjoy spending time with Jimin—it was actually the exact opposite. He enjoyed spending time with Jimin a little too much. And Jimin… well. When Jimin drank, his physical affection levels (which were already painfully high) dialed up to a thousand. And Jungkook didn’t know how to handle it.

“Jungkookie,” Jimin whined, slotting himself into Jungkook’s side and wrapping a warm arm around his waist, his head lolling onto Jungkook’s shoulder, and, yep, there it was.

“Maybe you should go to bed.”

“Not tired,” Jimin said petulantly, tilting his head back to look up at Jungkook, his nose brushing his jawline. "Let's at least decorate the cake first."

“Okay,” Jungkook said, not entirely able to keep up with the rapid shifts in Jimin's mood. But he was a weak man and he was pretty sure denying Jimin anything was against the laws of nature.

They had a couple more drinks while the oven timer counted down, chatting about this or that while Jimin ran his hands up and down Jungkook’s ribs and dragged his nose up and down his neck, breath fanning hot over his collarbone, and Jungkook’s heart was beating so fast he was afraid it might break out of his own chest.

Beep.

Jungkook had to stop himself from breathing out an audible thank god when he grasped the excuse to untangle himself from the mess of Jimin’s limbs wrapped all around him, and once the weight of his body was gone the fog in his head immediately cleared and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

He busied himself with pulling the cake out of the oven and setting it on the counter, and then he poked around the cabinets while it cooled to look for the decorating supplies.

When he turned around, Jimin was staring down at the fresh-baked cake with a faraway look in his eyes, the rim of a fresh bottle pressed against his lips without drinking.

“Do you hate me, Jungkookie?” Jimin said, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. A lock of blue hair fell over his eyes and Jungkook’s fingers twitched with the urge to push it away.

Jungkook paused. “What?”

“You're always running away from me,” Jimin said with a pout in his voice, hardly even opening his mouth to grumble the words instead. “Hurts my feelings.”

Jungkook crossed the kitchen to dump the cake supplies onto the counter and leaned against it so he was eye level with Jimin.

“I don’t hate you,” Jungkook said with all the sincerity he could muster, hoping Jimin would hear the way it came through in his voice. He was never good at displaying his affection through words like Namjoon was, or physical affection like Jimin—he had always been better at grand gestures, something he could show outside of himself.

He worried his lip between his teeth as he scanned Jimin’s face. He still looked a little sad, and Jungkook internally kicked himself for putting that look on his face. He was afraid Jimin had drunk enough to tip him over into crying territory, and that could not happen tonight, not with Taehyung out of town.

With that in mind, he sprung into action—he gently pulled Jimin’s bottle from his grip, and Jimin complied easily, loosening his fingers without question. Jungkook poured it in the sink before chucking it in the trash bin, and then looked down at the frosting, searching for a solution.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, sorting through the pile of decorations on the counter. “What color do you want the cake to be?”

Jimin glanced from Jungkook to the cake and then back again. “What do you mean?”

“Look.”

Jungkook fished a box of food coloring from the mess of cake decorations and dumped the jars of colors out on the counter, spilling over in a glass rainbow. Last year for Seokjin’s birthday Hoseok had bought all the cake decorating supplies he could get his hands on to make him something nice, but a small (not Jungkook’s fault) kitchen fire had forced them out of the apartment for a few hours, ruining their plans. It may or may not have also resulted in a ban of drunk baking, which…

Well, what Namjoon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Jimin picked up the little gel pots one by one before settling on a deep red and a yellow, and Jungkook passed him a wooden spoon so he could stir it in.

“My hair used to be this color,” Jimin said with a soft smile as the orange blended together. “I liked it.”

“I did too.”

“Should I dye it back?”

“No,” Jungkook said, tucking the little piece of hair away before his brain caught up to the action. “I think the blue suits you. It looks nice. You look like... a water sprite, or something.”

Jimin huffed, but Jungkook could tell he secretly loved the compliment from the obvious way the corners of his lips turned up and made his eyes sparkle. He hit Jungkook hard in the shoulder before turning his head away to hide his face. “Shut up.”

With Jimin successfully distracted, they navigated the rest of the cake decorating process with ease. Slowly, Jimin forgot what he’d been sad about, having too much fun with smearing frosting over his creation and dousing it in glitter and candles and little gems they weren’t positive were even edible, but Jungkook didn’t have the heart to tell him it probably wasn’t a good idea to put them on there because Jimin couldn’t stop talking about how pretty they were.

Once they’d finished, they both stepped back to admire their creation.

“It looks nice,” Jungkook said.

“No, it doesn’t.” Jimin giggled and tipped his head against Jungkook’s chest. “Let’s see if it tastes better than it looks.” He reached for a nearby knife and sliced into it easily. The mountain of frosting dipped in an almost sickening way against the blade, and Jungkook truly had zero desire to put it anywhere near his mouth. He was already unfathomably stressed from having Jimin in such close proximity for the past few hours (why was he always bending over? No human needed to bend over that much) not to mention the alcohol still settling something sour in his stomach, making him feel a little dizzy and nauseous.

But when Jimin spun with a chunk of cake poised between his fingers and a bright smile that made his eyes curl into cute little half-moons, Jungkook opened his mouth without question to let Jimin slip it between his lips.

However, it would be one thing if Jimin just fed it to him and then let it go—no, he did what Jimin always did and let his fingers linger in such a way that they were resting on Jungkook’s lower lip, heavy and warm, waiting for Jungkook to dart his tongue out and clean the frosting from the tips. And Jungkook did what he always did. He panicked.

He jerked backwards and coughed, little chunks of cake flying from his mouth and the glob of frosting dropping on the floor, and he slammed a hand over his mouth to stop more cake from falling out and making him even more embarrassed than he surely would be in about two seconds when he stopped nearly choking to death.

“Are you okay?” Jimin squeaked, rushing forward to tip Jungkook’s chin up and make sure he wasn’t still choking, a deep line of worry etched between his eyebrows. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a big bite.”

“It’s fine.” Jungkook wasn’t about to tell him the real reason he choked. He had a carefully crafted facade, years worth of practice, which was basically just never let Jimin know he makes you want to literally sink into the floor and die.

But Jimin still seemed worried—he snatched a napkin from the counter and wiped the frosting from Jungkook’s mouth and chin. Jimin was much more sober than he was before, but Jungkook could still tell by the glazed look in his eyes and the high pink dusting on his cheeks (not to mention the awkward fumbling with the napkin as he smeared the sticky frosting over Jungkook’s mouth) that he was at least still a little buzzed.

“All better,” he announced, crumpling the napkin in a ball and dropping it on the counter. He looked so pleased with himself, and Jungkook would swear he felt his entire heart liquefying from the sight alone. He didn’t have it in him to tell Jimin that he could still feel the stiff, sticky frosting all over his face.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said, more to fill the air than anything, and his voice came out as more of a whisper than he intended. Jimin was just a few inches away, so close that their noses were nearly touching. Jimin’s eyes darted from Jungkook’s eyes to his lips, and then his shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath that fanned over Jungkook’s nose and drowned him in the scent of sweet buttercream.

They stared at each other for a beat too long, just long enough that it erred on the side of being uncomfortable. Jungkook’s head was slowly filling with thoughts of how pretty Jimin looked with the sliver of moonlight from the curtains falling over his cheek, how fluffy and soft his hair looked. How it would feel to thread it around his fingers.

“We should go to bed. I mean—you know. I should go to bed, and you go to bed, too,” Jimin blurted. He turned on his heel to dump all the dishes littering the counter into the sink, and he seemed to consider washing them for a second before deciding against it and instead breezing past Jungkook to the stairs that lead to the upstairs bedrooms.

“Yeah,” Jungkook responded, a beat too late, once Jimin was already halfway upstairs. He looked from the dishes in the sink to the empty beer bottles in the trash, and then to the mound of orange frosting that Jimin called a cake.

“Fuck,” he whispered into the dark.

Jimin had already locked himself away in his bedroom by the time Jungkook finished washing the dishes and headed upstairs. He also may or may not have downed a couple more beers to ease the nervousness fluttering in his gut from his close call with Jimin in the kitchen, but that was between him and the (surprisingly judgmental) cold, blue light of the refrigerator.

The second he made it into his room he shut the door behind him and flopped down on his bed with his limbs spread out all around him, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He could have so easily leaned forward and captured Jimin’s lips in a kiss. He’d felt Jimin’s lips in a lot of ways over the years. Usually it was when Jimin was feeding him (why was he always feeding him, honestly) but also because of how naturally affectionate Jimin was, always pressing soft kisses into the member’s necks, their wrists, their palms. Jimin was so good at reminding people he was there for him—physical affection was his love language. But Jungkook had spent a lot of years pushing Jimin away whenever he tried to comfort him, too afraid to face the reality of how his body reacted to Jimin’s touch.

With a sigh, Jungkook glared down at his jeans.

He was half hard, mostly due to the unhelpful images of Jimin that floated around his brain during his shameful dishwashing session. Jimin’s lips, inches away from his face. The weight of Jimin’s hand on his stomach, searing hot even through three layers of winter clothing. The faint smell of strawberries that wafted to Jungkook’s nose every time he breezed past him. The scent of sweets and clean mint that lingered on his breath. The high pink flush of his cheeks that Jungkook knew went down to his chest.

And, never mind, he was fully hard now.

He groaned and slammed his head back against his pillows in frustration, both thanking and cursing whichever god made Jimin the way he is.

He shimmied his hips a little, breathing a tiny little gasp when his erection pressed against his zipper. It was a little painful and a lot distracting, and he knew he had to decide quickly on what to do about his problem. He could try to will it away and go to sleep. After all, he may not even be able to come at all because he’d had a few drinks.

Or he could accept it, get himself off, and then build a wall over his shame and repress it.

He shifted again, his teeth meeting his lower lip to muffle a groan, and, yeah, that decided for him.

Without looking at his own hand, almost like it was betraying him, he popped his zipper and sighed a little breath of relief when the stiff, constricting fabric moved away, and then he pulled down the elastic of his boxers to let his cock spring free. He was already wet, the tip slick with sticky precum, probably from practically being edged all night from Jimin inappropriately pressing his body against him at every opportunity. He took a slow, shaky breath, and stroked downward, swallowing a moan.

He went to work at sliding his hand over his length, curving his palm over his cockhead, tangling his free hand in his hair to tug lightly, the burn grounding him enough to control the gasps and moans threatening to bubble up in his chest.

He tried his best to think about anyone but the one person his body wanted him to think about—he tried to picture a nameless body, maybe someone he saw on TV. Anyone who didn’t have messy, sleepy shock of silvery blue hair or a pair of thick, muscular thighs. But every time he got lost in the pleasure all he saw was that familiar pair of lips wrapped around short fingers, a pink tongue licking off a mound of bright orange frosting.

He could feel himself getting close embarrassingly fast, and so he picked up his pace, not caring about how his bed springs were getting a little louder and his gasps were getting a little out of control, unable to muffle the sounds anymore as he reached his peak—and just as he was about to come, just as he was on the razor’s edge, tipping slowly over, all the heat rushing to his toes, the only thing he could think of was Jimin’s lips wrapped around his cock instead of his fingers, his lips painted white with his release.

And he was chanting breathy little gasps of Jimin’s name while fucking into his fist with a steady rhythm, his orgasm so close he could taste it—

“Jungkookie?”

It was like someone had dropped him straight into an ice bath. His building orgasm dropped promptly off a cliff, and his hand stilled and squeezed around the base of his cock.

He hadn’t locked the door.

A wave of several different emotions washed over him at once, but his head was mostly filled with plans on how he could explain what he was doing. It if was just him jerking off, sure, that was embarrassing but not the end of the world. But he was undoubtedly chanting Jimin’s name along with god knows what else, and Jimin definitely heard, and now it was far too silent and Jungkook was absolutely terrified of opening his eyes.

He inhaled a deep, shaky breath, the longest he’d ever taken in his life, and then he looked over at Jimin.

He was standing just on the inside of Jungkook’s door, hand wrapped around the frame and his lips dropped open in shock. But he wasn’t looking at Jungkook’s face—his eyes were trained full on Jungkook‘s cock, so hard from being edged that it was pulsing and swollen in his grip.

And as much as Jungkook hated to admit it, there was something about the situation that felt pulled straight from his fantasies to the point where he wasn’t sure it wasn’t a fragment of his imagination. Maybe his fantasies had gone way too far and he was now hallucinating Jimin in front of him.

“Hi,” Jungkook said, not knowing what else to say.

He was growing more uncomfortable by the second, but it mostly had to do with how desperately he needed to come, and something about Jimin looking at him like that, dressed in nothing but a pair of loose joggers and a soft cream t-shirt that showed a line of skin above his waistband, was making Jungkook's throat dry and his chest burn with pure, white-hot desire.

“Were you—”

Jungkook blinked, not sure how to answer.

“How much did you see?”

“A lot.”

“Ah. Well.”

A pause.

And then, tentatively, like he was afraid of making too many harsh movements and scaring Jungkook away, Jimin took two steps into the room and softly closed the door behind him.

Warmth instantly pumped through Jungkook’s body, the fire of pure, burning anticipation. He wasn’t sure if he should feel afraid or excited. All he knew was that he was hyper aware of Jimin’s every small movement, the way he took timid steps on the balls of his feet with his eyes running all over Jungkook’s frame, lingering on the hand gripped around the base of his cock, and then finally his eyes darted to meet Jungkook’s. There was a fire lit behind his gaze, and when Jungkook glanced down, he could see that Jimin was half hard under the loose material of his sweatpants.

“Hyung,” Jungkook breathed, not afraid of sounding needy anymore, sliding his hand over his cock with newfound confidence.

“Stop touching yourself,” Jimin said, and Jungkook’s grip immediately loosened in response to Jimin’s words, his hand falling open on his leg.

Jimin climbed up onto the bed, settling on his knees between Jungkook’s legs and placing his hands on either side of Jungkook’s cock.

“Do you always think about me while you get off?”

Jimin ran his palms up and down Jungkook’s hipbones, dipping down almost to the space between his legs, dragging his fingers through the fabric. Jungkook suddenly felt like the surrounding air was made of water. Jimin’s presence was like drowning.

“I try not to but,” Jungkook choked around a gasp when Jimin leaned down and exhaled, his hot breath ghosting over his sensitive cock. “I can’t help it.”

“Well.” Jimin flattened his palms on Jungkook’s stomach, and his hands were so soft, his fingers so warm. He slid them up, his touch featherlight, until Jungkook’s shirt was up around his armpits and his chest was on full display. Jimin’s eyes didn’t leave his body for a second, his eyes hungry and drinking in every dip of his abdomen. “Let’s make sure you can’t ever think about anyone else.”

Jungkook whined, his hips bucking up instinctively. Jimin pushed his legs together and climbed up on Jungkook’s knees to hold him down and stop him from moving, and then he went back to work at touching every inch of Jungkook’s body—he slid his fingers over the bump of every rib, over the hardened buds of his nipples, over the harsh cut of his hipbones. Every touch seared hot into Jungkook’s skin, making his cock pulse with how badly he wanted.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said again, looking up at Jimin with desperation, wanting to be touched so badly. He’d been so close, and now having the subject of years of suppressed desire perched on top of him was making him nearly want to cry with how much he could feel everything, his cock so hard and heavy on his stomach, twitching whenever Jimin dragged his fingernails just hard enough to bite into his skin.

“Patience,” was all Jimin said. He tugged Jungkook’s shirt off before going for his own, and as soon as it was off Jungkook’s hands flew to grip at his ribs. Jimin had always been thick with muscle, compact, but he was still so small that Jungkook’s hands could practically wrap around his waist. He pressed his thumbs into Jimin’s hips and kneaded his fingers into the skin, letting out a shuddered, broken breath at how good, how perfect and heavy and real he felt underneath his hands.

“Gorgeous,” Jungkook whispered, more to himself than anything, running his hands down Jimin’s sides and then over his thighs, dragging his fingernails over the fabric. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Jimin let out a nervous little giggle, the same one he always did whenever Jungkook praised him, but it felt more intimate and personal in the little bubble around them. It was almost like Jimin was hearing it for the first time, and Jungkook’s heart clenched with how familiar and real it was. This was real. This was real.

“You’re a sap,” Jimin grumbled, wrapping his head hands around Jungkook’s wrists and tugging them off his legs. “And I didn't give you permission to touch me yet.”

Jungkook whined, flexing his fingers and fighting to put his hands on Jimin again, but he held his wrists firm in his hands.

“Don’t touch,” Jimin warned, leaning heavily over Jungkook to put his hands above his head, his chest so close to Jungkook’s face he could smell the sweet scent of his body wash. He had to suppress the urge to lift his head and drag his lips over his skin, desperate to find out if he tasted as good as he smelled.

Jimin pulled back onto his heels and returned his attention back to Jungkook’s thighs, kneading at the fabric of his sweats, still eyeing his exposed cock. If Jungkook wasn’t so unbelievably worked up he’d have half a mind to be embarrassed. But the way Jimin was looking at him like he wanted to devour him whole was only spurring him on.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Jimin breathed, one of his hands dragging up his own leg to grip at his own cock, sliding his palm over it. His shoulders shook with a little gasp that turned up into a whine at the end. Jungkook could see how thick he was as he pumped himself through the fabric.

“Let me touch you, I’ll make you feel good, Jimin, please.”

“That’s still hyung to you, Jungkookie,” Jimin said, tapping the tip of Jungkook’s cock with his free hand, and Jungkook slammed his head back against the pillow with a heavy groan.

Jimin slipped off the bed and pulled off his sweatpants before kicking them in a corner, and then Jungkook hastily removed his own pants and chucked them off the side of the bed. Jimin paused before breaking out in a fit of laughter.

“You’re so eager.”

“I’ve been waiting for this for an embarrassingly long time.”

Jimin climbed back onto the bed, bracketing Jungkook’s waist with his knees and sitting on his chest. Jungkook couldn’t help but groan once he got a good look at Jimin’s cock, thick and pink and drooling precum. It looked so delicious that he ran his tongue over his lips, wanting nothing more than to taste him—and Jimin surely noticed, the way he scooted forward a little, wrapped his short fingers around himself—and oh, he looked even thicker like that, heavy and flushed and wet.

“You’re panting, Jungkookie."

“Let me taste you,” Jungkook gasped, leaning forward, trying to press his lips to the head of Jimin’s cock.

Jimin’s hands fell to Jungkook’s hair, twisting into the strands close to his scalp, the familiar burning tug punching a gasp and a little whine straight from Jungkook’s throat.

“You like that,” Jimin said with a touch of mischief, tugging a little harder, and all Jungkook could do was moan again in return. He felt so powerless, with Jimin everywhere, Jimin holding him down, pressed on his chest, dangling his fat cock so close to his mouth with his hands wrapped in his hair. A little thought floated by, faint enough that he could hardly catch it, the realization that he really was wrapped around Jimin’s finger.

But perhaps he always had been.

“Can I fuck your throat?”

“Fuck, Jimi- hyung, yes, yes, pl—”

Before Jungkook could even get the words out, Jimin was pushing his cockhead against his lips—and fuck, he tasted so good, his precum salty and bitter but somehow so Jimin, and he longed for more, his tongue darting out to clean every drop from the tip and from his own lips. Jimin was such a tease, pushing it up against his lips and pulling it back, until Jungkook’s lips and chin were soaked with spit and cum.

“You look wrecked already.” Jimin tightened his grip in Jungkook’s hair to tilt his head up more, pressing his cock against his lower lip. Jungkook slipped his tongue between his lips to push it into the slit, and Jimin visibly shuddered and pressed Jungkook’s head back against the mattress.

“Fuck my throat,” Jungkook said, his words muffled by Jimin’s cock between his lips. He needed Jimin inside him, anywhere. Jimin let go of Jungkook’s hair, making him whine once the burn went away.

“Relax,” Jimin whispered, and then he was pushing into Jungkook’s mouth.

He was so thick and heavy that Jungkook’s had to stretch to accommodate his girth, his lips spread in what must have looked absolutely obscene. Jimin tasted like bitter soap and salt, but somehow it was even better than sweet. His own cock twitched against his abdomen, drooling precum into a wet puddle, hard and desperate to be touched.

“You feel so good—fuck, so good,” Jimin groaned brokenly, falling forward onto his elbows to push his cock deeper in Jungkook’s mouth, his knees tightening around his head. “You want me to ride your face, Jungkookie? Want me to use your mouth, come down your throat?”

Jungkook did his best to nod but Jimin’s knees held his head in place, so he groaned to confirm instead. He couldn’t stand another second not touching Jimin, and so his hands flew to Jimin’s ass to knead at the soft flesh. It felt as good as it looked, firm and full, and it fit perfectly in his hands.

“Feels good, so good, good—” Jimin whined as he started slowly moving his hips, gently at first, just getting Jungkook used to his length—and Jungkook was loving it, tensing his tongue to run along the vein underside Jimin’s cock, swallowing the tip down his throat. Jimin was already babbling and groaning and they’d hardly started, and it filled Jungkook with a surge of pride at how much he could break Jimin just with his mouth.

“Can I go harder?”

Jungkook pressed against Jimin’s ass in response, pushing him deeper into his mouth, hoping the message came across: please.

And Jimin did, he dragged his cock heavily over Jungkook’s tongue until the tip was just between his lips again. Jungkook laved his tongue over it, suckling the head, milking every drop of precum from the slit, and then Jimin pushed all the way in until Jungkook’s entire mouth was full and his cock pressed against the back of his throat. Jungkook gagged, adjusting to the stretch, and Jimin gasped—there was a heavy thud above him where Jimin’s hand slammed against the wall, followed by the scrape of his fingernails.

Jimin gasped, pulling out of Jungkook’s throat just barely, and then sliding back in, cursing under his breath.

Jungkook couldn’t do anything but hum and moan around Jimin’s length, loosening his throat and flattening his tongue so Jimin could go deeper. He was dizzy, delirious even, with how overwhelmed and turned on he was, with Jimin boxing him in and using his mouth, using him.

He dug his fingers even deeper into the skin at Jimin’s ass, but he couldn’t help but explore a little further. His fingers wandered, slipping between Jimin’s cheeks and finding his hole. He pressed the pad of his finger against it, rubbing in small circles. Jimin’s hips stuttered, forcing himself deeper into Jungkook’s throat and making him choke.

“D- do,” Jimin gasped, his head falling so his forehead rested against the wall. “Do you have lube?”

Jungkook tapped Jimin’s left hip and gestured at his bedside table, and Jimin was off him in an instant, rummaging through it and pulling out a bottle before slamming it shut and settling back on Jungkook’s chest.

His cock was swollen and red and absolutely drenched, dripping all over his chest, and Jungkook’s chin was just as wet with a mixture of spit and precum.

“You look so good like this.” Jimin trailed his fingers through the mess on Jungkook’s chin, pushing some back into his mouth, which Jungkook sucked greedily from his fingertips. “So fucked out, lips swollen and red from my cock. Like you were made to take it.”

“Want more.”

“I want to ride you,” Jimin said. “Can you finger me, Jungkookie? Can you open me up so I can take your cock?”

Jungkook nodded fervently, his hands flying to the bottle of lube on the bed. He was shaking with so much sensitivity and need and nerves that his hands shook as he squeezed the lube all over his palm, some of it dripping onto his chest.

“I love how needy you are, so desperate.”

Once Jimin had gauged that Jungkook was ready, he slipped his cock back into Jungkook’s mouth, settling his knees back around his head, and Jungkook’s hands went back to Jimin’s ass, pressing a finger against his entrance.

Jimin groaned, snapping his hips forward but not hard enough to make Jungkook choke this time, even though Jungkook wanted Jimin to make him choke, wanted to gag on Jimin‘s cock down his throat as badly as he needed to breathe. He slipped one finger fully inside, running it around the ring of muscle to loosen him while Jimin gasped and moaned above him.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jimin babbled, working his hips forward into Jungkook’s mouth and then pushing back on Jungkook’s finger as he opened him up. “You like being used by your hyung.”

Jungkook hummed around Jimin’s cock in response, adding another finger once Jimin was ready for it, and Jimin cried out in pleasure when Jungkook curled his fingers and stroked his prostate. Jimin pushed back to fuck himself on Jungkook’s fingers, pulling out his cock so only the tip was against his lower lip, and at that angle Jungkook could watch him more easily. Jimin looked so beautiful, grinding his hips down as Jungkook fucked him open, his hips jerking every time Jungkook circled his messy cockhead with the tip of his tongue, his head thrown back with his pretty, thick lips open in a broken moan.

And there were so many things Jungkook wanted to say, he wanted to call him beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, but the words died on his tongue, so Jungkook decided he would have to show him instead—he added a third finger, fucking into Jimin and curling them until Jimin was almost crying out and whimpering, fucking Jungkook’s throat long forgotten.

“I’m ready,” Jimin said finally, and Jungkook drug his fingers over his walls a couple more times for good measure before Jimin slid off his fingers, shuddering at the loss. He really looked fucking beautiful, glistening with sweat, flushed down to his chest with his hair pushed back off his face.

“You’re.” He paused with a long, deep shudder when Jimin slicked lube over his long-neglected cock, though he hardly needed it with how wet he was. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And maybe the words were a little too tender, a little too romantic for what they were doing, which was just sex, just Jimin using Jungkook’s body because they were both worked up and desperate and had no one else. But he knew he had to tell Jimin then or else he never would.

Jimin paused thoughtfully with his feet planted on the bed, one hand splayed over Jungkook’s sweat-slicked chest to hold himself steady and the other gripping the base of Jungkook’s cock so he could sink himself onto it. They made eye contact for a few long seconds, and it was like Jimin’s eyes were looking through him instead of at him. Jimin looked at him like that often and Jungkook always looked away, but this time he needed Jimin to know.

Jimin didn’t reply. His shoulders rose with a deep breath, and then he exhaled slowly as he sunk himself down on Jungkook’s cock.

He was impossibly tight, warm, wet, everything —it was like his hole was sucking him in, gripping him, and Jungkook cried out needily, his hands flying to Jimin’s thighs to ground himself, to push his nails into his flesh. He’d been hard for so long, and his arousal hit him again like a wave and flooded back at once, and suddenly he was so close he was nearly numb.

“Jungkookie,” Jimin gasped, shuddering as he fully seated himself. He moved his hips experimentally in little circles, adjusting to the stretch and panting shallowly. “Hyung is gonna use your cock, gonna fuck myself on it until I come. Okay?”

“Anything, use m—” Jungkook choked when Jimin rolled his hips forward, tightening around him. “Use me, whatever you want.”

Jimin slowly slid off Jungkook, whining a little in pleasure mixed with maybe a bit of pain from the stretch—and then he sank down on it again. Jungkook pulsed inside him and Jimin let out a breathy little gasp.

“You take me so good.” Jungkook fought the urge to close his eyes and let the pleasure take over, desperate to watch every muscle that flexed under Jimin’s golden skin as he fucked himself on Jungkook’s cock, how Jimin pushed his hair back from his forehead and threaded it through his fingers. “So pretty, so pretty sitting on my cock.”

“You’re so thick,” Jimin panted, picking up his pace, his thighs shaking from pleasure and the strain beneath him. He placed both his palms on Jungkook’s stomach for leverage to fuck down on him even harder, faster—his hair fell in his eyes and splattered sweat over Jungkook’s abdomen, and fuck, Jungkook was so close.

“Jimin, I’m gonna come if you k-keep going,” he said, reaching out to get him to slow down, but Jimin only picked up his pace, punctuating the end of every thrust with a little grind of his hips, the dark look in his eyes pure sin, predatory as he stared into Jungkook’s eyes with his hole stretched around Jungkook’s thick cock.

“Not until I come f-first.” Jimin threw his head back with a cut off moan, grinding his hips down over and over as he hit that spot inside him, making the most beautiful, high, lewd sounds Jungkook had ever heard in his life. He could feel his orgasm rushing over him like a wave, coming on suddenly, but Jimin didn’t say he could come yet.

“Jimin, please, please, please—”

“So close already?”

“Fuck, yes, you look so good bouncing on my cock. Could watch you ride me for hours.”

Jimin gasped, his entire body shuddering under the praise. “Jungkook, need you deeper. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Jimin didn’t need to tell him twice—Jungkook rose on his knees in a flash, still buried deep inside Jimin, his hands planted firmly on his waist, and then he was pushing Jimin on his back and hooking his knees over his shoulders. Jimin let out a surprised little yelp, his hands flying to Jungkook’s shoulders.

Jungkook snapped his hips forward experimentally, relishing the way Jimin cried out and squeezed his eyes shut when he hit his prostate.

“Open your eyes. Wanna look at your beautiful face.”

Jimin opened his eyes, fucked out and hazy with bliss.

“You fuck me so good,” he babbled as Jungkook slammed his hips into him, the damp air filled with the sound of skin on skin and the lewd, slick sounds of lube. “No one can fill me up like you.”

Jungkook caged Jimin in to nip his ear, running his tongue over the lobe and then sucking a bruise into the skin at the base of his neck. “No one can fuck you like me,” he parroted, punctuating every word with a snap of his hips. “No one will ever fuck you like I do.”

“Don’t want them to, only want you.”

“That’s right.” Jungkook tangled a hand in Jimin’s hair and tugged his neck to the side to expose the skin, peppering it with a trail of purple bruises and red lines from the drag of his teeth. Jimin arched his back to meet Jungkook’s thrusts, his head thrown back in pleasure but his eyes still open, trained on Jungkook every time he moved from his neck.

“Close,” Jimin whined, raising his arms over his head and fisting the sheets until the pulled from the corners of the bed. His body was so lithe, so much smaller than Jungkook’s, so delicate. Jungkook leaned down to lick a thick stripe up Jimin’s chest, tasting like the bitter tang of soap and leftover traces of cologne, before dragging his tongue to circle his nipple and drag his teeth over it.

“Oh my god,” Jimin cried, his upper body twisting and the muscles of his abdomen tensing as Jimin curled in on himself, his whines and cries growing louder and more frequent, keening every single time Jungkook snapped his hips forward. “Gonna come, gonna- gonna come, Jungkook, Jungkook.”

Jungkook angled his hips and thrust into Jimin once, twice, hard, and Jimin’s head crashed back into the sheets as he let go, his entire body tensing underneath Jungkook’s as he cried out his name, babbled pleas, practically screaming, spilling white all over himself, his hole tensing and milking Jungkook’s cock.

Jungkook didn’t slow down his pace, fucking into Jimin harder as he chased his own release, and the noises Jimin made downright sinful, choking and gasping with oversensitivity as his hands clawed at the sheets, torn between fucking himself down and crawling away, lost in pleasure—his knees clamped around Jungkook’s neck on his shoulders, twitching and convulsing.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook gasped, hardly aware of what he was even saying. “What did I do to deserve having you wrapped around me, huh?”

Jimin was too far gone to respond. He reached up and dragged his nails down Jungkook‘s arms, hard enough to leave marks. Jungkook smeared his hand through Jimin’s cum on his belly and then slipped his fingers into his own mouth, and tasting Jimin’s release was what he needed to send himself over the edge—the movement of his hips faltered and he shuddered, pumping deep into Jimin a few more times before he was spilling inside him with Jimin’s name on his lips.

Jungkook collapsed, the mess of cum and split and who knows what else sliding stickily between them.

Jimin opened his eyes and blinked a few times at Jungkook, his smile sleepy and soft, and it was so syrupy sweet and full of bliss that Jungkook’s heart clenched at the sight.

He was suddenly hit hard with the overwhelming feeling of wanting to see Jimin look at him like that more often, of wanting to look at that exact face right before he fell asleep. The realization was like someone had sucked all the air from his lungs.

Jimin must have noticed him panicking, because his hand instantly went to Jungkook’s head and stroked at the hairs hanging around his ears in a comforting gesture, silently asking Jungkook what was wrong without pushing him too hard to answer.

God, Jimin had always been so good at that kind of thing.

“Jimin,” Jungkook slurred, not quite having full control of his voice yet. He averted his eyes to the rumpled bed sheets near the top of Jimin’s head, his smaller hands still curled loosely into them, a small reminder of what they’d just done. Jimin waited, patient as always.

He paused, trying to pull the words from his own chest. Jimin deserved better, he deserved someone who could do something as simple as having a conversation, when Jimin was so warm, so kind, so open—

“Me too,” Jimin said, cutting him off from his own thoughts. Jungkook’s eyes flit back to Jimin’s in surprise. “I can hear you thinking. You’re such an open book.”

Jungkook brought his hand to Jimin’s cheek, hovering over the skin before sliding the pad over the smooth skin there, a little sticky with sweat but still like porcelain under his fingers. Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut, long lashes laying over his cheekbones.

“You don’t even know what I was about to say,” Jungkook whispered.

“I want to keep doing—this, too. With you,” Jimin said, his eyes still shut, voice small. “I don’t want this to be the only time.”

“Jimin. Look at me.”

When they met eyes again, their gazes were impossibly close, impossibly vulnerable. Jungkook had always thought Jimin’s eyes held so many secrets, pools of golden brown honey where it was impossible to see past the surface. But Jimin had stripped himself bare for Jungkook, naked in more ways than one, laying beneath him with all his secrets laid out. And Jungkook would be a fool to not meet him halfway.

And Jungkook may not be good with words, but Jimin had always spoken better in the language of gestures, and that he could do. He leaned down slowly, never taking his eyes off Jimin as he brushed their lips together. Jimin just stared up at him, letting Jungkook do what he wanted, and with more confidence Jungkook sealed their mouths together in a kiss.

Jimin’s lips felt even better than his wildest imagination. They were soft, pillowy, full. So perfect again his, so right, and within seconds Jungkook was drunk from kissing Jimin, mesmerized by the smooth slide of his tongue and the tiny little gasps he breathed into his mouth.

He tasted like buttercream.

“Jungkook! Jimin!”

They broke away from each other’s lips, startled, as heavy steps flying up the stairs paired with Hoseok’s voice drew close.

“Uhh,” Jimin said, ripping the corners of the sheets off Jungkook’s bed and wrapping them around himself in a panic, leaving Jungkook to dive for his discarded pants on the floor and shove them over his crotch just as Hoseok slammed Jungkook’s door open.

There was a long, awkward pause—Jungkook and Jimin just staring at Hoseok as his eyes darted between the two of them, his mouth opened midway like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“Hoseok hyung,” Jimin finally said once the silence had drawn on too long, irritated, wrapping the sheets further around himself.

Hoseok gave his head a little shake and then finally averted his eyes to the ground, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Sorry I uh. wasn’t expecting that.”

“Join the club,” Jungkook mumbled.

“I- I came to tell you that uh, we’re home, and, uhh… there was a cake on the counter, and Namjoon ate a piece but he swallowed a whole jewel that was for costume jewelry or something so we’re taking him to the emergency room just in case.”

Jungkook and Jimin exchanged a nervous glance.

“So yeah, just get dressed, and…” Hoseok slowly backed away, his eyes still trained on the ground. “Meet us downstairs.”

The door shut with a gentle thud, and they sat there for a few seconds of silence before meeting eyes, which made them both break down in a fit of laughter.

“I knew you shouldn’t have put those on the cake.”

“They looked pretty."

“Nothing even has a chance to look pretty when you’re standing next to it.”

Jimin groaned in annoyance, but he still climbed onto Jungkook’s lap anyway, peppering his jawline up to the corner of his mouth with soft kisses. “You’re lame.”

“You love it.”

“Maybe a little.”

They sealed their lips together again, wrapping their arms around each other and lazily licking into each other’s mouths.

“They’re coming down in a minute,” Hoseok’s voice filtered from downstairs. “They were fucking.”

“They were what?” Seokjin’s voice screamed back, sounding equal parts horrified and amused.

“Oh my god, we left them alone for one night,” Yoongi groaned, barely audible.

“Finally!” Taehyung bellowed, his voice clearly meant for Jungkook and Jimin to hear. “They’ve been pining over each other for ages, even Namjoon noticed—”

“Hey!”

“Namjoon, you swallowed a piece of jewelry, for god's sake.”

“It was on a cake.”

“We should go downstairs,” Jimin said finally, climbing off the bed and pulling his clothes back on. “We have to face them eventually.”

“We’re never gonna hear the end of this.”

Jimin reached out to lace their fingers together before pulling Jungkook's hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it.

“Worth it.”