Work Text:
Heats suck. Like, objectively, they suck.
Normally, Jungkook considers himself a rational human being. He can cook—well, he can cook ramen, but it counts—and he can clean, and he only cries at romance movies if they’re actually cry-worthy.
When he’s in pre-heat, though—well, once he cried because Yoongi called his ears too floppy. Which had then, in turn, made Yoongi apologize profusely and pat said ears. Which, for some reason, had only made Jungkook cry harder.
So, yeah. Heats suck.
There’s a knock on his bedroom door. “Jungkookie,” Jimin calls, cautiously, like he knows Jungkook has spent his whole day so far in bed watching sad romance movies. He probably does. Jungkook’s never been a quiet crier.
“Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook says, trying to sniffle quietly.
“You wanna come out of there?” Jimin says. His voice is warm, and it only makes Jungkook want to cry even more. Stupid pre-heat.
“No, thank you,” Jungkook says. “I’m good.”
“You sure?” Jimin says. “I made popcorn. We could watch a movie out here. We could cuddle.”
Jungkook’s ears perk up. Cuddles are hard to resist. He can get himself off as many times as he needs to, but unless someone cuddles him, the ache never subsides. It’s not like his hyungs won’t cuddle him. He just gets—self-conscious. Sometimes, when he’s in pre-heat, Jungkook forgets where he is, and they’ll all be sitting together in the living room, someone touching him, ruffling his hair, or petting his ears, and he’ll whine.
No one says anything about it, but he can’t help feeling bad. Like he’s just a stupid, needy bunny who can’t differentiate between platonic affection and someone actually wanting him.
Still—, “Really?” Jungkook asks. “You’ll cuddle me?”
It’s a silly question, and he knows it. Jimin has never turned down physical affection in his life, especially not with Jungkook.
Jimin’s laughter is so loud that it feels like he’s standing next to him. “Sure, bun,” he says. “I’ll cuddle you as much as you want.”
When Jungkook opens the door, he reaches up, and runs a hand through his hair, pausing to play with one of his ears. “Missed you, bunny,” he says. “You’ve been cooped up in there ever since your pre-heat started.”
Jungkook flushes. “I—I didn’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable,” he says. “I know I get a little—much, around my heats.”
Jimin swats at his arm. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says. “Your hyungs love taking care of you.” He manages to look impressively intimidating for someone carrying the largest, fluffiest blanket Jungkook has ever laid eyes on.
“What’s that for?” he asks.
“For the cuddling,” Jimin says, very seriously. “I came prepared. This is going to be one of the best cuddling experiences of your life.”
Jungkook laughs. “I think you might be my new favorite hyung,” he says.
Jimin’s eyes curve into pretty crescents. “Could you say that in front of Jin-hyung?” he says sweetly.
Immediately Jungkook’s smile turns into a pout, ears drooping a little. “Is this just a competition for you?” he asks.
“Of course not,” Jimin says. Then, “But if it were, I’m winning, right?”
Jungkook shoves at his chest. “You’re lucky you’re a good cuddler,” he says.
…
They end up arguing over which movie to watch, which only gets settled when Jungkook says, “I’m the one in pre-heat, so I should pick.”
“How does that work?” Jimin asks.
“This is tailored to my comfort, so the movie should make me most comfortable.”
Jimin stares at him like he’s trying to see through him.
Jungkook blinks.
“Fine,” he huffs. “We’ll watch what you want.”
“Best hyung ever,” Jungkook says, leaning over to smack a wet kiss on Jimin’s cheek. Jimin laughs, falling back into the couch from the strength of it. He pulls Jungkook along, hands wrapping around his wrists and tugging until Jungkook falls gracelessly atop him.
Jimin’s hands wrap around his shoulders, and the way he helps him settle and noses at Jungkook’s neck reminds him of home, the warmth of someone knowing exactly what you need, exactly how to help. “You’re—good at that,” he says. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you took care of bunny hybrids before.”
“I’ve known you since forever,” Jimin says. “I think that counts. My sweet bun.”
Jungkook gets the urge to hide, even though there isn’t enough space between them to manage it. “Yeah,” he says, “but I don’t—I’ve never—I mean, I never asked you to—ugh, why do you smell so good? It’s hard to think.”
Jimin pulls him even closer, laughter in his eyes, and Jungkook is suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s straddling his lap, Jimin’s hand at the small of his back, so close to his tail Jungkook would be uncomfortable with it if it were anyone else. “It’s the pre-heat,” he says. “You’ve always been sensitive to smell. Makes sense that it affects you even more in your current state.”
“You’re the expert now, Jimin-ssi?” Jungkook asks.
Jimin nods very enthusiastically. “Yes,” he says, tone serious, “I’m the certified Jungkook expert.”
It pulls a laugh out of Jungkook, tension ebbing away, and he feels looser. It’s Jimin. He’s known Jimin since they were both kids. He loves Jimin. It’s fine. “You’re comfy,” he says, wiggling a little in Jimin’s lap like he’s testing it out. “My favorite seat.”
Jimin doesn’t say anything to that, only looks at Jungkook in that particular way of his, like he does when Jungkook’s just woken up and his hair is still an unruly mess on his head, but Jungkook—
Jungkook wants to die, a little bit. “I don’t know why I just said that,” he says. “I’ll just—go hang myself with my bedsheets, or something.”
He makes to pull away, but Jimin doesn’t let him. “Jungkookie,” he says, cupping Jungkook’s face like he’s scared he’ll hurt him, like Jungkook’s something delicate and precious for him to keep safe.
Jungkook’s heart thumps persistently against his ribcage, which is a little ridiculous, because Jimin’s the touchiest person he’s ever met. He touches Jungkook all the time. It’s not—special.
“Hyung?”
It’s not.
“You should ask for help when you need it, Jungkook.”
It’s not.
But with the way Jimin’s looking at him, it feels like it could be. He leans in, just a little, just enough for Jungkook to tell, with how close they are, and—the law of gravity just— stops working. It shifts, and Jimin is the thing pulling him in.
(Although maybe that’s always been a little true.)
When he kisses Jungkook, mouth warm and soft against his, Jungkook’s whole body goes taut, like a violin string about to snap. It’s disconcerting, how easy it is to fall into it, how it doesn’t feel any different than letting Jimin feed him or play with his ears, just—more. Like he could grow to crave this, too, like everything else Jimin gives freely.
He tries to pull away, but only ends up clutching at Jimin’s shirt. The cotton is soft and worn, and it’s too big on him, which probably means it was Jungkook’s at some point. Jungkook can’t even bring himself to be mad about it, the urge to smile welling up inside him.
Jimin chooses that precise moment to run a hand over his tail.
Jungkook’s smile turns into a desperate huff of breath, almost a whine. “Hyung,” he says. “That’s—,”
“That’s what, bun?” Jimin asks, giving Jungkook’s tail another firm stroke.
There’s a promise in the words, and suddenly, Jungkook can only think of how easy it would be for Jimin’s hand to slip lower, under the waistband of his pants, past his tail and between his cheeks, draw teasing circles against his rim until Jungkook is leaking slick and begging for anything Jimin wants to give, anything at all—
“Jimin,” Jungkook says, forcing his foggy brain to articulate words. “You can’t—,”
“I can’t what?” Jimin asks. “Can’t take care of you? Can’t touch you? Can’t fuck you?”
Jungkook whines in his lap. The pre-heat already makes everything feel so intense, and Jimin’s hands tightening around his waist while he says the words like he means them, like he’s thought about it just as much as Jungkook has, alone behind a hastily locked door—it’s overwhelming, and it makes Jungkook want to let Jimin do whatever he wants to him.
“You shouldn’t,” he says, because, really, they shouldn’t. It’s rushed and stupid and it could mess everything up.
“You don’t want me to? I’ll stop if you don’t want this, bun.”
Jungkook bites at the inside of his mouth. He does want it. He always wishes he had someone to take care of him during his heats, even though he can never bring himself to ask.
“Jungkook?” Jimin says. “Are you alright?”
Fuck, there’s that urge to cry again. “Why are you so nice to me?” he asks. “It’s not fair.” He wants to bury his face in Jimin’s chest and breathe him in until it fills his lungs and he forgets there’s something beyond Jimin.
Jimin’s answering laughter is melodious, washes over Jungkook like a caress. “Because I love you, dummy,” he says. “Whatever you want that to mean—it’s okay with me. Everything is—more, with you.” When their eyes meet, Jungkook finally gathering enough strength to look at him, the way he’s looking at Jungkook is honest, open, like he’s waiting for what he has to say and nothing else. “Just want you here.”
“I—I want you too,” Jungkook says. “Want you to take care of me.”
Jimin kisses over the fullest part of his bottom lip, just once, then pulls back. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.
The urge to chase after Jimin’s mouth is very much there, and Jungkook shifts forward before he even realizes Jimin said something. “Just touch me,” he says, flush climbing steadily up his neck. “Anything. I don’t care.”
Jimin shakes his head. “I do,” he says, voice firm. “With how long I’ve wanted to touch you, I’ll make damn sure it’s good.”
“Like it could be anything else when it’s you,” Jungkook says, imagining sinking down on Jimin’s cock, guiding it to his hole, watching Jimin’s face when he realizes Jungkook is already dripping, all because of him.
“Really?” Jimin says, voice a near-perfect copy of Jungkook’s earlier tone. “You’ll let me?”
Jungkook blinks. “I don’t look that starstruck,” he says. “And besides, you couldn’t even see. My door was closed.”
“Bold of you to assume I need to see you to know what you look like.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Jimin puts his hands over his eyes. “If I told you right now that Taehyung has been stealing your potato chips ever since you bought them,” Jimin says, ignoring Jungkook’s scandalized squeak, “then your eyes would go really wide for a second, and then you’d make that little bunny nose-scrunch of extreme offense.”
Nose scrunched up, Jungkook says, “You’re annoying, you know that?”
Jimin laughs, pecking the frown off Jungkook’s face. “And yet, you still want to kiss me,” he says.
“I’m starting to reevaluate that,” Jungkook says, but even as he tries to look stern, when he meets Jimin’s eyes, his ear twitches, and he wants to laugh.
“Anything I can do to stop you?” Jimin asks. He tugs at Jungkook’s ear, and it’s probably not even meant to rile him up, but it does. Instinctively, he grinds down. Wants—something.
“Oh,” Jimin says. “You like that.”
“I’m going into heat,” Jungkook says. “It doesn’t take much.” His hips don’t still. It’s easy to chase the growing pressure, to focus on the way Jimin’s hands squeeze at his sides and picture more, harder, faster. Picture Jimin tugging at his hair, pushing his head down, forcing him to take more than he can, calling him eager and needy for making himself come on his thigh like this, where any of them could walk in and see—
“It’s okay,” Jimin says. “Take what you need.”
“The—the door isn't locked,” Jungkook says, even though he’s already close, impossibly hard just from how solid Jimin feels beneath him. “Someone could come in.”
“We could always just tell them to go back out,” Jimin says, sounding so perfectly unaffected that Jungkook would be a little offended if he wasn’t so turned on.
“Jimin,” he says.
“What?” Jimin asks. “Do you need a little help?” His hand trails deliberately over the front of Jungkook’s sweatpants, a finger snagging on his waistband, and slipping just below, resting there. “Tell hyung. Come on. Big bunnies use their words.”
Everything grows warmer. “Touch me,” Jungkook says.
“That’s not very polite, bun,” Jimin says.
“Touch me, please. Please put your hands on me, hyung, I need it.”
Jimin curses under his breath. His hand wraps around Jungkook’s cock, already slick with precome. The angle is a little off, but it’s Jimin touching him, warm and there and—good. Too good.
“Pretty,” Jimin says. “Look at you, Jungkookie, so pretty.” He flicks his wrist on the upstroke, and Jungkook has to bury his face in Jimin’s neck to muffle the whine that bubbles up his throat. The rush of embarrassment makes everything sharper, makes the swirl of heat low in his stomach feel like it’s about to singe him. He could come like this. In the middle of the living room sitting on Jimin’s lap, just from the warmth of Jimin’s palm on his cock.
“Hyung,” he says, “Hyung, I—it’s too much.”
Jimin’s other hand comes to rest on Jungkook’s cheek. He brushes his thumb over the bit of paper-thin skin right below his eye. “It’s okay,” he says. “You can come. Hyung wants you to feel good.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I want—inside. Want to feel you. Want hyung’s cock in me.”
A strangled groan escapes Jimin. He gives Jungkook’s cock a final stroke before pulling away. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he asks, in that betrayed tone of voice he gets when Jungkook has just stolen food from his plate or tugged a pillow out from beneath him.
“Hyung said he wanted to take care of me,” Jungkook says, lower lip jutting out. “Hyung shouldn’t be mean.”
“Brat,” Jimin says. “Should leave you like this. Big bunnies can take care of themselves, right?”
“No,” Jungkook whines. “Come on, Jiminie, don’t be mean.”
“Well, then,” Jimin says, hands gripping at Jungkook’s waist, firm, but not enough to hurt, “you should ask me nicely if you want me to be nice.” His breath tickles Jungkook’s earlobe, sends shivers down his spine.
“Hyung,” he says. “Jimin-hyung, please fuck me.”
“Pants off,” Jimin says, helping Jungkook wiggle out of his sweatpants. He tugs his shirt off too, and it’s a little strange, to be so bared when Jimin hasn’t even unbuttoned a single button, but the openly hungry look on Jimin’s face makes it worth it.
“This is very unfair,” he says, running a hand down Jungkook’s abdomen. The touch makes him twitch. “You’re too pretty.”
Jungkook snorts. “You’re the one saying that?” he says. “Have you been near a mirror recently?”
Jimin bites down on his lip. “I mean,” he says, gaze dark, “I could use one right now. To show you just how pretty you look. Would you like that?”
Fuck. Jungkook can’t help the rush of heat the thought gives him. Jimin making him watch while he fucks him, drives deep into him, grips his jaw and makes him look—
Jimin giggles. “Oh,” he says, “your cock is pretty too, Jungkookie. Look at it. All hard and leaking for me.” He swipes at the precome welling at the tip, and then brings his fingers up to Jungkook’s mouth, smears it over his bottom lip. Jungkook opens up, tongue darting out to swipe at Jimin’s fingers. “You really want to be full?”
Jungkook nods, and Jimin pushes his fingers into Jungkook’s mouth. “Hyung will fill you up,” he says, free hand gripping Jungkook’s asscheek, fingers digging in hard enough to leave a mark.
He’s so wet. It’s embarrassing. He whines around the fingers in his mouth.
“What’s that?” Jimin asks. “Baby bun’s not full enough yet?”
Jungkook shakes his head, cheeks burning with shame.
Jungkook pulls his fingers out of Jungkook’s mouth, and spreads him apart with both hands. “Needy bun,” he says. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already like this.” He pushes two fingers in, thrusts them inside without warning. Jungkook’s wet enough that it doesn’t really hurt, a dull sting overshadowed by the pleasure of finally having something inside. “You can take this, right?”
There’s concern beneath the condescension, and that alone is enough to make Jungkook feel a fluttering warmth deep inside, something light and good, so much like Jimin himself. He nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I can take it. Hurry up and stretch me. Wanna feel you.” Jimin is very obviously hard beneath him, and Jungkook wishes he could see more than the bulge in his pants, wants to touch, to taste.
“Patience,” Jimin says, fingers curling inside Jungkook in a way that makes him think he could come just from this. “You’re so wet, bunny, you can take more than this.” He pushes a third finger inside, begins rhythmically thrusting them in and out. The squelch is obscene, too loud in the quietness of the room. They never even got around to putting on a movie.
Jungkook gives in to the urge to hide. He buries his whines in Jimin’s neck. “Hyung,” he says, voice coming out small and breathy, rutting his hips against Jimin’s thigh. It’s not enough. He’s too empty.
Jimin pats his hair. “It’s alright,” he says. “You’re so good, so wet and tight, prettiest bunny.”
The moan that escapes Jungkook is too loud. He wants to cry. “Hurry,” he says. “Hurry up and get inside.”
“Anything for you,” Jimin says, and Jungkook just wants—more. More warmth. Deeper. He kisses Jimin again, hands tugging at his belt, unbuckling it clumsily while Jimin’s tongue licks inside his mouth, hot and wet and claiming.
He makes a triumphant little sound when he finally tugs Jimin’s cock free, and Jimin laughs when he pulls away. “All yours,” he says.
“Don’t make fun of me,” Jungkook says, mouth curving into a pout.
“You’re cute,” Jimin says. “Not my fault you’re looking at my dick like it’s an early Christmas present.”
“It kind of is,” Jungkook says, breath hitching when Jimin guides the tip to his hole. He rubs it back and forth through the wetness a few times, and then, finally finally finally—pushes in.
“Big,” Jungkook whines, “So big, Jiminie. Good thing it’s not like the rest of you.”
Jimin tugs at his ear again, pulls on it enough that it hurts, in a way that makes the pleasure feel sharper. He doesn’t thrust, not yet, letting Jungkook get used to him. “Be good,” he says. “Or I can’t give you what you need.”
“I can—I can be good,” Jungkook says, breath catching in his throat when Jimin gives an experimental little thrust.
“You’re going to be a good bun for hyung?” Jimin asks, smiling when Jungkook nods so eagerly his ears flop back and forth. “Feel so good on my cock, bun,” he says. “Should make you keep it warm all the time.”
“I can do that,” Jungkook says, eager, and Jimin starts fucking him in earnest, hips slapping against him.
“Yeah?” Jimin asks. “You want to be my little cockwarmer? Sit pretty on my cock?”
“Yes,” Jungkook says. “Yes, hyung, yes, please—ah, feels good.”
Jimin fucks him hard, hands gripping at his waist, cock thick and perfect inside of him. He’s so lost in the pleasure, so close to tumbling of the edge, so caught up in the feeling of Jimin fucking him, that he doesn’t even notice when the door creaks.
“Jimin-ah, have you seen my—what the hell?”
It’s Yoongi’s voice, high and startled.
“Your what?” Jimin asks, and doesn’t stop fucking Jungkook.
“My keys,” Yoongi says. “I came to ask about my keys.” He sounds far away, and Jungkook is vaguely aware that he’s staring, wide-eyed. It’s hot, being exposed like this, having someone watch him take Jimin’s cock.
“I could help you look for them after I’m done,” Jimin says, voice even, like he’s not currently driving his cock up into Jungkook with impressive vigor. “You wanna help me out here?”
Jungkook goes still, fingers clutching at the fabric of Jimin’s shirt. “What?” he asks. It’s a little hard to focus with Jimin bouncing him on his cock.
“You don’t mind, bun, right?” Jimin says. “Want Yoongi-hyung to help you feel good?”
Jungkook swallows. “I think you should ask him.”
Jimin laughs. “He’s already hard,” he says.
Jungkook turns to look. It’s—true. Yoongi is staring, and he’s— he’s hard. He’s hard because of Jungkook. “Well,” Jungkook says, gesturing towards the general direction of Yoongi’s dick, “do you want me to do something about that, Yoongi-hyung?”
Yoongi’s eyes go wider. “Alright,” he says, so shy it’s endearing.
“You know,” Jimin says. “Yoongi-hyung should be mad right now. He’s wanted to help you out a lot longer than the rest of us.”
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi hisses.
Jungkook blinks. “You have?” he asks.
Yoongi coughs. “We all want you to be happy, bun,” he says, moving closer to ruffle Jungkook’s hair, which should probably feel strange, but doesn’t. It’s just his hyungs taking care of him. In a new way maybe, but the feeling is the same. Warm. Warm and bright.
“Thank you, hyung,” Jungkook says.
“Great,” Jimin says. “Now hurry up and get your cock out, I’m close.”
Yoongi glares at him, but doesn’t protest when Jungkook twists around to pull him down for a kiss. It’s different, kissing Yoongi. His mouth is less plump, feels different against his own, and he tastes different too, but it’s still—it’s still good. It still makes Jungkook want.
“What do you want hyung to do?” Jimin asks.
Jungkook takes a second to think about it. “Come on my face,” he says finally, peering up at Yoongi through his eyelashes like he’s asking him to pay for his dinner.
“Jesus, Jungkook,” says Yoongi.
“Pretty please?”
“We all know you want to, hyung,” Jimin teases.
Yoongi sighs, and begins unbuckling his pants like it’s some great burden. “You two are lucky you’re cute,” he says.
The sight of his cock takes Jungkook by surprise. It’s—pretty. There’s no other word for it really, even though Jungkook’s never thought of a cock as pretty before, but when Yoongi wraps a hand around it and starts jerking himself off, that’s the only thing that he can think.
His hand looks good moving along his shaft, thumbing at the head, and Jungkook likes the way his eyes close when he groans. He looks—pretty.
“Turn around,” Jimin says, which makes Jungkook finally pull his eyes away from Yoongi’s cock. “You need to be facing him.” He pulls out just long enough for Jungkook to settle the opposite way, and then grabs his hips and thrusts back inside.
Jungkook moans. “Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, hyung that’s—,”
“I have such a pretty view now,” Jimin says. “Pretty Jungkookie. Gonna fill you up. Full of come. You want that?”
“Yes,” Jungkook says. “Yeah, want it.”
“You hear that, Yoongi-hyung? Bun wants come. You should come all over his pretty face, get him messy.” He grabs Jungkook by the ears, bares his neck. “I bet the little slut wants it.”
And that—that’s all it takes, Jungkook whining and twitching when he comes. It doesn’t take Yoongi long to follow, just a couple more hurried tugs of his cock before warm come hits Jungkook’s mouth, his cheeks, his neck.
“Fuck,” Jimin says. “Baby bun’s so warm and tight around me.” He thrusts a couple more times, hard, chasing his own pleasure, making Jungkook shiver with oversensitivity, and then he spills inside.
Yoongi leans down to wipe some of his own come off Jungkook’s face. “Sorry I got you dirty, bun,” he says.
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says. “I liked it. But you still owe me cuddles. Both of you.” His voice is stern.
“Sure thing, bun,” Yoongi says, and Jimin pulls him closer against his chest.
…
Later, after Jimin’s pulled his softening cock out of him, after they’ve cleaned him up, after he’s pestered them for kisses, they all huddle under Jimin’s gigantic blanket and agree to watch Iron Man even though Jungkook has seen it, like, one thousand times on average and—he’s happy.
He’s really, really happy.
(And maybe heats aren't the worst thing.)