Archive of Our Own

—

Jimin reckons that, by the time he’s forty, he’ll have morphed into a perfect shrimp. 

Entirely his fault, though. 

As a 28 year old nerd slaving over his master thesis seven days a week, Jimin spends a lot of time slouched over his computer, at home or the library, word-vomiting into his research. Or, according to Seokjin hyung, using school to delay the troubles and tribulations of getting a job and living adult life.

His back is perpetually killing him—that’s how he became acquainted with all pain patches available at his favourite pharmacy on campus. Surprisingly, his back pain is not the reason he’s paying the pharmacy a visit at this time of night. 

For someone with a comfortable background living by himself in a quaint condo, not forced to live off of ramen and overly processed food by a tight budget, one would expect Jimin to eat more healthily. 

It’s not like he only eats fast food and fried chicken (he’s been blessed with the fit gene, sue him) but he’s aware he should join the chia seeds and detox smoothies club the more he approaches his 30s.

A more balanced diet would do him wonders, but Jimin, rather stupidly, would rather brave two or three days of feeling bloated and nauseous than pay the toilet a daily visit. 

He’s a classic tummy ache survivor. 

Sometimes he’ll just go and drown two whole-milk venti frappés and brace for impact, but it’s been almost four days now and, afraid he’ll have to go to the hospital, Jimin turns to the good ol’ over-the-counter laxatives. 

That’s why he’s been standing in front of the aisle in sweatpants and a hoodie, as inconspicuous as he can, googling the difference between a bulk-forming and a stool softener. 

It’s embarrassing enough he’ll have to buy some, he’s not asking Mr. Cho for an in-depth explanation. 

He’s standing there, pondering the results Google offered when a soft, gentle voice asks, “May I be of assistance?”

There, standing a polite distance away, is a young man. 

A tall, gorgeous young man, wearing a white lab coat with the pharmacy’s logo embroidered on the chest and an ID badge clipped to the front pocket. 

Well, fuck. 

There’s a reason why Jimin decided to come for ‘poop aid’ at nearly 1AM: he was hoping it’d be empty. 

Besides Mr. Cho, of course, the technician who works overnight shifts. Jimin has met him once or twice—a greying middle-aged man too done with life to care that Jimin is constipated. 

The person walking down the aisle however, is definitely not Mr. Cho.

“May I help you?” the boy offers in that polite customer voice, gesturing towards the shelves as he stops right next to Jimin. “What is it that you’re looking for?”

Jimin can’t find his voice, unsure if he’s frozen into mortification or simply stunned into silence. 

The boy is a head taller than him, his overall presence intense but not intimidating, the white coat hiding what is definitely an athletic build. 

He looks a bit tired, like any customer service worker, but his handsome features still shine through—soft cheeks that contrast with the sharpness of his jaw, soft doe eyes and a shapely nose, with lips that have a soft upwards curve, shaped like an angel’s bow. 

And then there’s Jimin—in sweats and an old hoodie, looking like an unshowered, constipated gremlin in front of this cute boy who is the spitting image of the picture printed on his work ID badge, sitting prettily atop the words Jeon Jeongguk - Pharmacy Technician. 

“Sir?” Jeongguk presses, those long, beautiful fingers held in a polite clasp in front of him.

Perfect, now Jimin just looks like a lost crackhead. 

“Uhm—hi,” he manages weakly, pushing his glasses up his nose and pocketing his phone. Jeongguk doesn’t need to see his Google search, this is already going to be embarrassing enough. 

“Yes?” Jeongguk arches a brow, waiting.

“What—which would be best?” Jimin asks, turning towards the shelves. “Or q-quicker.”

He feels Jeongguk’s eyes on the side of his face, the amused smile tugging at his lips, but he keeps looking forward, forcing his eyes to roam the shelves as if he knows what he’s looking at.

Jeongguk is professional enough to ignore his blundering, turning as well. “It depends. What are your symptoms?”

“It’s not for me,” Jimin blurts out like a fucking idiot. “It-it’s for a friend.”

Jeongguk nods, unable to hide his smile this time. His teeth peek through it, large and white and cute, like that of a bunny. 

Jimin wants to disappear on the spot.

“I believe an osmotic lax would be the best option if it’s for a short-term relief,” Jeongguk explains, slipping into his professional role easily. “How’s your friend’s water intake? Does he keep up with the daily quota, or does he tend more towards dehydration?”

“He,” Jimin gulps down the weird feeling of the lie, looking at the floor. “He drinks water.”

Jeongguk hums, rubbing his chin in thought. “Then it’s not a lack of moisture or water absorption. Let me guess,” he turns to Jimin with a knowing smile. “Not a balanced diet? Lots of white flour carbs and grease and no fibers?”

Jimin shakes his head, afraid he’ll whistle like a locomotive if he tries to speak. He’s blushing so hard his entire head feels like a furnace.

“How long has he been constipated?” Jeongguk goes on, crouching to peruse the lower shelves. “Has it been over 48 hours?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Is he on controlled medication?”

“No.”

“Well,” Jeongguk says, standing up with two small boxes in his hand. “This one is Bisacodyl,” he starts, pointing at the green one. “It’ll cause quite a bit of cramping and discomfort, since it stimulates the intestines with muscle contraction, but it’s a good option for severe constipation.”

“And the other one?”

“This is Senna,” Jeongguk changes hands expertly, juggling the boxes so he can hold the yellow one closer to Jimin. “A more natural option since it's basically a plant extract, and gentler on the stimuli. Will take a bit longer to take effect, though.”

“Which do you recommend?”

“Either will give the same result,” Jeongguk shrugs, holding up the green box. “But personally, I’d go with Bisacodyl. If I may be frank, your friend will go through a few hours of hell,” he chuckles, eyeing Jimin knowingly. “It’ll provide a faster result, with quicker evacuations. A more immediate relief—high risk, high reward sort of thing.”

Jimin can’t help but fawn a little over how hot Jeongguk sounds explaining it, voice low and polite, each word pronounced precisely. 

It would be even hotter if it wasn’t for the fact he’s talking about poop.

“I'll take it,” Jimin nods, taking the box while Jeongguk puts the other away. 

“Perfect. Anything else?” 

Jimin shakes his head. “Just that, thank you.”

“If you would follow me,” Jeongguk gestures towards the register. “I’ll ring your order up.”

Jimin drags his feet after him, resigned to his fate. 

He weaves through the aisles he’s memorised by now, following Jeongguk like a kicked pup, wondering why he lied that the medicine wasn’t for him, when all it did was make him look more pathetic and absurd. 

Jeongguk works at a pharmacy, for fuck’s sake. 

He’s probably had to deal with worse shit than some random constipated dude. Now he’ll just assume Jimin is some weird loser, and if there was ever a slight chance Jimin could even befriend the cute tech, let alone openly crush on him, it’s gone out the window alongside his dignity. 

“Bisacodyl is best for short-term relief. It shouldn’t be used for extended periods of time, okay?” Jeongguk snaps Jimin out of it, explaining as he slips behind the counter, typing something into the cash register. “Overusing can cause dependence.”

“Okay, I’ll… tell him,” Jimin says in a small voice, keeping his head down, hating every second of this. 

Jeongguk, on the other hand, seems to be loving it. 

“Tell him to hydrate,” he adds, taking the box from Jimin to scan the barcode. “It’ll be a rough night.”

“Can’t be worse than it already is.”

His words bring a smile to Jeongguk’s face, something more of an amused grin, but he doesn’t comment. “That’ll be 5,000₩.”

Jimin should tap his card, wait for the payment to be processed, get his receipt, bid Jeongguk goodbye and go drown in his own misery spending the night on the toilet. 

But that’s not what he does. 

He pays, gets his receipt. 

But he doesn’t leave, doesn’t say goodbye. 

“Are you new?” is what he asks instead.

“Hm?”

“Are you… new here?” Jimin repeats, voice lowering with each word until it’s barely a whisper, the crippling embarrassment coming back tenfold.

“Oh!” Jeongguk blinks, eyes softening. “No, actually. I usually work afternoons, but I’m covering the overnight shift today.”

Jimin frowns. “Did something happen to Mr. Cho?”

“He’s gone down to Gwangju to see his daughter,” Jeongguk says, a cute dimple appearing on his left cheek. “She just had a baby.”

“Oh!”

“But he’ll be back tomorrow, I think,” Jeongguk adds, sort of scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Tonight is my last night on the rotation schedule.”

Jimin should offer a polite ‘Tell him congratulations!’ or ‘That’s nice!’ but, again, he lets his mouth run amok. 

“It must be tiring to work overnight, right?” he says, clearly stalling. 

“Hm?”

“I mean, covering a shift that isn’t yours and all. You know, working overnight since you’re not—I mean, since you’re not used to working so late at night because you… work… afternoons.”

It’s painful, seriously. 

If Jimin thought himself mortified when they had that little poop talk, it’s nothing compared to the monstrosity he just spewed. 

At least he seems to be providing top notch entertainment to the tech who looks absolutely gleeful, the soft smile on his lips taking a turn towards a more smug, amused smirk. 

“I don’t mind staying awake for the right reasons,” Jeongguk says, arms crossed over his chest, the fabric stretching beautifully over his muscles. “It’s not the worst shift, either.”

“Ah, I see. You must have things to do, I’m sure. Just because it’s late at night doesn’t mean it’s not work, right?” 

Jimin wishes to be sedated as soon as possible, thank you.

Jeongguk watches quietly, letting Jimin keep digging his own grave.

Biting his tongue, Jimin takes a couple steps back, nearly crashing into a display of baby wipes. 

“I… I think I’ll go now,” he grimaces, shuffling awkwardly towards the door. 

“Okay.”

“I need to go take these,” Jimin holds the bag up as if Jeongguk wasn’t the one who sold the laxatives to him. “To my friend!” he adds with a half-shout, clutching the small bag to his chest. “He… needs them.”

“Go on, then,” Jeongguk smiles, tilting his head towards the door, waving Jimin off. “We don’t want to keep your friend waiting, do we?”

Accepting defeat, Jimin lets his shoulders sag, turning on his heel determined to never set foot in this pharmacy ever again. 

He’ll go home and overthink this entire interaction until he drives himself insane, cringing and crying over every single catastrophic detail while (hopefully) pooping his brains out. 

He’s almost at the door when Jeongguk asks him to wait.

Jimin stops, but doesn’t turn. “Yes?” he croaks out, hand on the handle.

“What’s your friend’s name?” comes the question, surprisingly soft. 

Too nervous to look back and see Jeongguk’s expression, he keeps staring at his hand, at the metal handle, at the red PUSH sign. 

He can feel Jeongguk watching him, his eyes on the back of his head, but he doesn’t turn. 

“Jimin.”

“I’m Jeongguk.”

That makes him turn, looking at Jeongguk over his shoulder, the smallest hint of a smile appearing on his lips. 

“I know,” he says, nodding at his ID badge. 

Jeongguk follows his stare, as if just now noticing he has a nametag. 

“Right.”

“Well, I’m—I’m gonna go,” Jimin stutters, finally pushing the door open, saving himself the embarrassment of saying something entirely inappropriate. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jimin-ssi.”

—

Calling it ‘hell’ was putting it mildly. 

Those were a good six hours of exorcising a horde of doo-doo demons. 

Jimin is the one to blame, though. He didn’t exactly follow the instructions. 

Bloated and nauseous, desperate to finally poop, he took four pills instead of two. Needless to say, he spent the night and well into the early morning taking turns between tossing around in bed with horrible cramps and getting disembowelled in the toilet. 

The sun rose with him sitting hunched in that bowl, feeling faint and drained, skin clammy with cold sweat, knees weak, lips pale—not to mention how sore his ass feels, as if he’d ridden a fucking cactus dildo—but he pooped his guts out, and that’s what matters. 

So after a thorough shower where he had to sit on the floor lest he passed out from the heat, Jimin chugs as much water as he can and sends an email to his professor asking to reschedule their orientation meeting to next week. 

Then, he shoots Jin hyung a text that says ‘pooped!’ and proceeds to black out for the rest of the day.

—

Jimin wakes up hours later, just after sunset, still feeling faint. 

He eats a light meal—something healthy for once—and drinks lots of water but it doesn’t seem to do much. 

A quick Google search tells him he probably needs electrolytes, and so Jimin downs a hoodie and goes on his merry way to the pharmacy, hoping Jeongguk won’t be there.

Technically, it’s not afternoon anymore so it should be safe.

The pharmacy sits tucked into a corner by the Korean Language Institute, its bright fluorescent lights spilling onto the pavement outside when Jimin walks in.

It’s a rather big franchisee, with neat aisles divided into rows, each dedicated to a specific frailty: cold and flu, allergies, sterile dressings and pain killers to one side, skincare, toiletries and supplements to the other. 

Extending through most of the far back is the counter, sectioned off by a waist-high countertop and endless shelves of controlled medication. Thankfully, the technician standing there is not Jeon Jeongguk—it’s the small, soft-spoken boy with cat-like eyes, easy to spot in his lab attire. 

Yoongi, if Jimin remembers correctly. 

He’s working the counter, helping a young woman with something Jimin can’t really see so he dives for one of the aisles to find the electrolytes himself.

He’s about to round the corner into another aisle when Jeongguk materialises behind him. 

“Did your friend finally poop?” he says as a way of greeting. 

Jimin freezes, eyes scrunched shut as he mentally curses his entire bloodline for his outstanding luck. 

Of course he was gonna run into Jeongguk.

Oh, well. 

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“What do you think?” he snorts, turning to look at him.

What a mistake. 

Jeongguk looks even more gorgeous today, his hair combed back instead of falling into his eyes. 

“From your deep sunken eyes and dry lips, I’d say your friend experienced some rough hours of extreme bowel movements,” Jeongguk says, some laughter slipping into his professional tone as he reaches out to straighten a few askew bottles of cough syrup on the shelf behind Jimin.

“You didn’t lie when you said it would be hell,” Jimin huffs, a small smile taking over when Jeongguk truly laughs this time, shaking his head. 

“I’m not allowed to lie,” Jeongguk counters, brow raised in challenge. 

“Right,” Jimin swallows, pushing his glasses up.

“I work with medications, lying about their effect would be unethical.”

Jimin nods, alternating between fidgeting with his glasses and the drawstrings of his hoodie. 

“Fuck, of course you can’t lie about medication. So silly of me. It’s—”

“Why are you so nervous?” Jeongguk turns towards the shelves when he asks, readjusting things that don’t need readjusting, his smirk softening into a smile. 

“What?”

“You,” Jeongguk says around a soft sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “Why are you so nervous to talk to me?”

Jimin groans, slapping a hand over his face. “I’m embarrassed.”

“Of?”

“You. Because you know I lied. And now you know that I—” he waves his other hand around, “that I poop,” he finishes, already cringing mid sentence. 

God, he’s an idiot.

“I’d be more worried if you didn’t,” Jeongguk chuckles, slightly tapping his elbow to Jimin’s as if telling him to stop hiding. “It’s normal. Everyone poops.”

Jimin keeps hiding behind his hand, but his smile is visible and he can almost hear Jeongguk smiling, too. 

Something easy and warm settles his nerves, then. 

Perhaps because a part of him accepts that not only is Jeongguk a healthcare professional, someone who understands the human body, its necessities and shortcomings, but he’s also—contrary to Jimin’s romantic fantasies—a human being, who poops and pees like any other. 

“There’s a customer,” Jeongguk suddenly says, his voice low. “I’ll be right back.”

Jimin lets his hand fall, watching Jeongguk retreat behind the counter, his professional smile back in place as he listens attentively to a professor who seems confused about his prescription.

Watching Jeongguk from afar, Jimin finds himself checking his bank account to see if he can splurge on trivial things like travel-size tissue packets or lip balms, if only to make his interaction with Jeongguk that bit longer.

Seeing that both Jeongguk and Yoongi are busy, Jimin peruses the shelves of skincare, shooting quick glances at the counter every now and then, waiting for the right moment to go up to the red line taped on the floor that marks the place customers should queue and wait for his turn.

The second Yoongi calls for the last customer in line, freeing Jeongguk, Jimin approaches with a decisive “I’d like a Pedialax, please. Watermelon flavoured, if you have it.”

Jeongguk looks up, fighting a grin. “You sure?”

Jimin mirrors his smile. “Yes.”

Jeongguk hums, eyes twinkling. “Gonna try a kiddy laxative this time?”

In answer, Jimin flashes him the Google search still open on his phone screen. Common medication name mix-ups.

It was a shot in the dark, with a 99% chance Jeongguk would find it too much of a cringy, lame joke, but the smile he gets in return is totally worth the 1%.

“Gimme one second,” Jeongguk winks.

He disappears behind the pharmacy aisles for a moment, completely out of view. 

Unfortunately, it’s not long enough for Jimin to bolt out of there and move to the smallest town he can find. 

The wink throws him off, and Jimin doesn’t know what to do with himself. He wasn’t expecting Jeongguk to reciprocate.

He has about twenty seconds to panic in silence before Jeongguk is returning to his spot, placing a plastic bottle on the counter between them, the deep pink liquid sloshing a bit before settling down. 

“I’m inclined to believe this is what you’re looking for,” he gestures at the bottle, biting back a laugh. “Pedialyte.” 

If the floor could open and swallow Jimin whole, that would be really helpful right now.

“Pedialyte is a rehydration solution,” Jeongguk starts in that fucking issuferably soft voice, clearly struggling to keep his professional posture. “It replenishes water, sugar and other minerals lost due to vomiting, diarrhea or fever. It would be best for mild to moderate dehydration, which I believe is what your friend is experiencing right now.”

“Right,” Jimin coughs, eyes flicking between the bottle and Jeongguk’s delighted gaze. “That’s what I meant.”

“I figured,” Jeongguk chews on his fucking perfect lip, not really able to hold back his laughter. 

A little chuckle escapes him, scrunching up his nose so cutely Jimin wants to take a gentle bite out of it. 

Or a whole chunk.

“But if you’re truly looking for another viable solution for constipation, I can go get Namjoon-ssi,” Jeongguk goes on, gesturing towards the door behind him, which seems to lead into an office. “He’s our resident pharmacist. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you better than me.”

Jimin groans, the sound morphing into a self-deprecating laugh of acceptance. 

Jin hyung is right, he is a lost cause. 

“Now you’re just milking it.”

“Can you blame me? You’re giving it to me on a plate,” Jeongguk laughs along, his eyes curving into two little crescent moons. 

Jimin is kind of spiraling straight into the arms of unhealthy infatuation. 

“Good call on the electrolyte though,” Jeongguk hums with a sharp nod, recomposing himself. “An oversight on my part last night. Should’ve recommended them along with the stimulant, since evacuation would make you lose not only water but sodium and potassium too.”

Jimin huffs at that, slumping a bit on the counter. 

“Explains why I’m still feeling awful,” he pouts, “even though I drank a shit ton of water.”

“Water is great,” Jeongguk says, “But you need minerals too, and sometimes there’s just not enough of it in bottled water. Of course you could get them from food but we know your friend doesn’t really follow a balanced diet, otherwise he wouldn’t be needing eccoprotics.”

Jimin understands one-third of what Jeongguk just said, and he’s pretty sure there’s a little scolding hidden in there, but still he melts like a complete idiot. 

Jeongguk could read him antibiotic leaflets and Jimin would still listen intently to every single word. 

“What else?” he whispers then, grasping at straws to stall as much as possible to keep Jeongguk talking. 

“What do you mean?”

“What else would you recommend?” Jimin clarifies, starting to feel a bit sheepish. “To avoid another…” he gestures at his stomach. “Bloating.”

Jeongguk leans forward a little, hands on the counter, his expression turning into something a bit more playful. It’s obvious he knows what Jimin is doing, but doesn’t seem to mind the stalling.

“Well, you could cut off some of the gluten intake. Or take probiotics,” he starts, tilting his head in thought. “They’re essential when it comes to helping restore and maintain a healthy digestion and overall immunity. The best option, again, would be for them to be naturally introduced through food, but they can be taken as dietary supplements as well.”

“Which one do I buy?”

“I wouldn’t recommend you take them now,” Jeongguk chuckles under his breath, straightening. “You should wait a few days, at least. Let your gut settle first, you know? Your digestive system needs to recover.”

Jimin snorts, “Fair enough.” 

He hangs his head, weirdly disappointed he can’t suddenly turn into a hypochondriac just because of his flourishing crush on the pharm tech, which makes Jeongguk’s chuckle develop into more of a laugh. 

He slowly steps out from behind the counter, disappearing briefly into one of the OTC aisles. Returning, Jeongguk sets a box down next to the Pedialyte, resuming his position on the employees-only side. 

“In a day or two, you can start a mild multivitamin,” he says, lightly pushing the box closer to Jimin. “There’s no harm in a supplement like this. It’ll help fill in nutritional gaps, giving your body a little boost.”

Just then, Yoongi comes up behind Jeongguk, holding a prescription slip. 

“Jeongguk,” he calls in a deep, almost bored voice. “Can you double check the SIG on this for me? I think it says BID but the doc’s handwriting makes it look like BT.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk looks over, scanning it quickly. 

It’s the most mundane of actions. 

Jeongguk isn’t doing anything, really. 

He’s just standing there, looking over a fucking piece of paper, but Jimin nearly melts onto the counter, trying to hide how his heart flutters with infatuation at the sight.

Intelligence is so fucking sexy.  

“BID,” Jeongguk nods, passing the slip back. “PO, NR.”

“Thought so, thanks.”

Jimin watches Yoongi return to his spot, the tech shooting him a brief glance before calmly going over the prescription with the other customer. 

“No offence,” he tells Jeongguk, his eyes still on Yoongi. “But it sounded like you just said a whole bunch of nothing.”

He turns when he catches Jeongguk smiling from the corner of his eye, bringing his attention back to him.

“None taken. I don’t exactly expect you to understand our lingo,” Jeongguk shrugs. “It’s just directions for how many times a day it must be taken, if it’s oral or—” he cuts off, lips curving into a smirk when he catches Jimin’s childish reaction to one particular word. “Of course your mind would go there.”

Already neck deep in shit, Jimin takes a dive. 

He shrugs, cheeks bright red, and says, “Still sounded kinda hot.”

That earns him a laugh. “Trust me, there’s nothing hot about my work.”

Jimin almost—almost—says something stupid like ‘who said anything about work?’ but thankfully some higher power stops him before the words spill out of his mouth. 

He veers into another route, however, fully aware that there is a customer waiting and he’s selfishly holding up the line.

“You said you didn’t work night shifts.”

Jeongguk arches a brow. “I don’t.”

“But it’s night,” Jimin licks his lips, noticing Jeongguk’s eyes following for a brief second.

“Technically,” Jeongguk drags his vowels, “it’s evening.” 

Handsome, intelligent and funny? Jeongguk is a wet dream. Jimin desperately needs to find a way to download the brain software that turns him into a ‘normal’ person who can flirt without sounding like a complete loser.

Jimin knows he’s kind of attractive and that, per Jin hyung’s constant reminder, he’d be an unstoppable incubus had he been more outgoing and confident in his looks. 

His shyer, borderline demisexual disposition and awkward nerd vibes kills the mood every time. Still, that doesn’t stop him from being a hopeless, incurable yearner fantasising about singing his name as Jeon Jimin and the two-story home they’ll buy after the wedding (with the dog they’ll adopt at the local shelter).

It’s all great and wonderful until Yoongi comes to shut it down with a single, “Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk’s posture shifts immediately. 

Gone is the teasing smile and the sparkly eyes, replaced by that little pout of a kid who got scolded. 

He’s at work. 

There are customers waiting.

With ease, Jeongguk slips back into that poised, polite posture of a pharm tech. 

“Would that be all?” he asks, gesturing at the bottle of Pedialyte and the multivitamins. 

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, hiding his embarrassed smile with a sniffle. 

Jeongguk rings up the items, tells him the price. Jimin pays, gets the receipt. 

It’s all the same as last night. 

He should get the bag, thank him and leave. But again, Jimin can’t shut the fuck up. 

“This is better than a Gatorade, right?” he chirps, rocking on his heels. “Like, is it better than those sports drink thingies?”

“Yeah, you can drink Gatorade too if you want, but Pedialyte will be a better help and stop you from feeling like a raisin.”

“Ugh, I hate those things. Raisins. Ugh, they taste so awful, especially when people put them in bread,” Jimin goes off, pretending to be holding a bread loaf. “You bite down, thinking it’ll be all soft and then—ack.”

Jeongguk laughs softly, fidgeting with the receipt he’s yet to hand over. “I’m not a fan of raisins either.”

“It’s so—”

“Jeongguk.”

Yoongi’s tone leaves no room for argument this time.

Jeongguk lets his gaze hang for a second, giving Jimin his receipt and bag. 

“Here you go. Hope your friend feels better soon,” Jeongguk says as his parting words, already picking up his work tablet and gesturing for the next customer to step up to the counter. 

Their goodbye is silent, just a quick glance before Jeongguk turns to the customer with that cute, “Hello. How can I help you?”

—

“He’s not working today.”

Jimin spins around with a gasp, nearly knocking into a display of hand creams. “What?”

“He’s not here,” Yoongi says, knowingly.

“Who?” 

Yoongi stares at him over the frame of his glasses, brow arching in that ‘do you think I’m stupid?’ way. Jimin doesn’t blame him.

“I—I just need more…” Jimin looks around the aisle, racking his brain for something he can buy that won’t look absolutely ridiculous. “I—uhm, I just came to…”

“You can just let him ask you out, you know?” Yoongi turns, adjusting his glasses with the back of his wrist, amusement softening his features. “Get his number, chat for a bit, go out on a date—the whole dating shebang.”

Jimin flushes red, avoiding his eyes. 

“I mean,” Yoongi grins, tilting his head to force eye contact. “I bet you have a small drugstore at your dorm at this point.”

“I needed all that.”

Yoongi arches a brow. “You need three different brands of lip balm?”

“My lips are dry, and I didn’t like the first brand I tried.”

“You also bought a 100-pack of Band-Aids,” Yoongi starts enumerating on his fingers, smile turning into a smirk. “Did you need all that, too?”

“I’m clumsy.”

“You also got vitamins, mint floss, eye drops…”

“I wear contacts sometimes.”

“A freaking thermometer.”

Jimin scoffs. “It’s good to have one, just in case. Flu season is right around the corner.”

“And,” Yoongi emphasises, wiggling all the five fingers he has held up. “ Last night you bought another travel sized hand cream. The same you bought three days ago.”

“I lost the other one.”

Yoongi drops his hand, shoulders shagging with fond exasperation. 

“Stop buying all this unnecessary stuff. You can just talk to him, you know? Like a normal person.”

“What if I’m a hypochondriac?’ Jimin defends lamely.

Yoongi laughs then, a gummy smile that makes him squint and it’s really fucking cute. 

“You’re not,” he tuts with a head shake. “You just have a gargantuan crush on Jeonggukie.”

God, is Jimin that fucking obvious? 

Yes, his brain supplies unhelpfully. Painfully so.

Jimin thinks back to the ongoing collection on top of his dresser, boxes of muscle creams, toiletries, vitamins and painkillers sitting there collecting dust and making a dent on his wallet.

“Fuck,” he grons into his palms, hating that his small hands don’t really cover all of his burning face. “This is a catastrophe.”

“Why?” Yoongi frowns, taking a step closer. “You have nothing to fear, really. Jeongguk thinks it’s cute. He’s so smitten with you he won’t stop talking our ears off.”

“That’s not really the problem,” Jimin mumbles. 

“So what is?”

“Poop.”

Yoongi simply blinks. 

“He knows I have tummy issues,” Jimin clarifies, face burning in mortification. 

“And?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“That you… poop?” Yoongi’s frown deepens, his lips pulling into a straight line. 

Jimin needs the floor to open and swallow him into the burning depths of hell. Immediately. 

“Stop talking about it, please.”

“Kid, look at me.”

Jimin lets his hands fall, struggling a bit to hold eye contact. But Yoongi’s expression is soft, almost amused.

“Besides a dedicated professional working in the medical field, Jeongguk is painfully bisexual,” he says, eyes twinkling. “He’s well acquainted with backside stuff.”

“I know, but—”

“He’s also a human being, like you and me. And, like any other human being, he also poops.”

“I know, but—”

“Phone,” Yoongi interrupts him, extending a hand, palm up. 

“What?”

“Whatever. You write it,” he shrugs, waving it off. “Samcheong-dong, 95-2. La Clé Jazz Club.”

Jimin hurries to unlock his phone, saving the address on his notes app, fingers trembling a bit.

“What—”

“He’ll be there tonight,” Yoongi says, eyeing the customer that just walked in. “Go talk to him outside this place.”

—

The La Clé jazz club sits quietly amongst the elegant, hanok-style houses of Jongno-gu. 

The surrounding streets are narrow, filled with that crisp money air, and Jimin wonders for the nth time if this is a bad idea. 

He wasn’t sure what he was walking into, the little research he did on the club not giving him much to work with, so he opted for a casual look—black jeans and a soft, midnight blue knitted sweater that Jin hyung told him would look good (after he talked Jimin down from the ledge).

Yoongi didn’t give him a specific time, so Jimin decides 7PM is a reasonable hour. He mutters some cheap pep talk bullshit to himself as he climbs up the stairs into a side street, following the directions on his phone, watching the blue dot move with him.

The map had shown that the club sits right in the middle of a cluster of sinewy alleys, so Jimin hopped off the bus near Gyeongbokgung and walked the rest of the way there, hoping it would help him build the confidence to walk into a bar alone on a random Thursday. 

He can hear some voices already, a laugh here and there, and the occasional noise from the nearby houses. A couple more steps and he turns a corner into the right alley, footsteps slowing to a stop. 

The alley is empty save for a small group gathered outside the club, sharing drinks and chatting quietly, bathed in that soft light spilling from the open door. What actually catches Jimin’s attention sits across from them, right beneath a CCTV lamppost—a motorcycle.

Jimin doesn’t know much about motorcycles beyond the basics, but that mass of steel draws him like a moth to a flame. 

He shuffles closer, admiring the exposed engine, the glossy finish of the tank, the thick tires, everything that tells it’s clearly a custom. 

All that chrome and sleek black gives the motorcycle an aggressive visual. 

Powerful, and absurdly intimidating.

“Kawasaki Z900.”

The words come from the left, amused and painfully familiar. 

“She goes zero to a hundred under four seconds, something unexpected for a naked bike.”

Jimin’s head snaps up, blood colouring his cheeks at the sight. 

Jeongguk.

He leans against the wall just a couple steps from the light, somewhat still in the shadows, one boot-clad foot crossed over the other, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. 

“It’s a streetfighter,” he says, that devilishly handsome face disappearing behind the cloud of smoke he exhales, tilting his head up to blow it away from Jimin on second thought.

Gone is the cute tech from the pharmacy, with his white coat and polite smile. This Jeongguk is all sharp edges and piercing eyes, reeking of danger and leather.

It’s a bit of a mindfuck.

“Hi,” Jimin swallows, fumbling with his glasses. “I—Hi. Hi.”

Jeongguk smiles, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling slowly, cheeks hollowing, half-lidded eyes set on Jimin.

“I, uhm—sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Jimin watches him stretch the silence on purpose, exhaling softly towards him this time. 

“Understandable,” Jeongguk shrugs, thumb flicking against the filter to shake off the ash, smoke curling around him in silvery tendrils. “You were busy drooling over my girl,” he nods towards the bike.

Jimin blinks. “It’s… yours?”

Jeongguk pushes off the wall, closing a bit of the space between them. 

Not close enough to touch, but enough for Jimin to feel the intimidating presence of his jumpsuit, for him to smell the trace of engine and gasoline amongst tobacco and a muskier, woodsy cologne. 

“Are you stalking me now?” Jeongguk asks, palm resting on the bike seat. 

He doesn’t sound alarmed, or upset. Merely curious.

“I-I dropped by the pharm earlier a-and Yoongi-ssi said you’d be… here,” Jimin mumbles, not seeing the point in conjuring up a lie. Jeongguk would see right through it anyway. 

“Hm,” Jeongguk tilts his head, bringing the cig up for another drag. “Did he?”

Jimin follows the movement, unable to look away. 

Jeongguk knows why he’s here, knows he didn’t just show up to a random jazz club because he’s a John Coltrane enthusiast. So Jimin lets himself stare openly, drawn to the way Jeongguk’s lips pucker, following the length of the cig to the glowing embers at the end, the smoke that’s now exhaled purposefully onto him. 

“Here,” Jeongguk extends the cig towards his mouth, offering to share.

Jimin hesitates.

Not because of the nicotine, no. But because there’s something in Jeongguk’s eyes that has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“Go on,” Jeongguk says, voice low.

Suppressing a shiver, Jimin leans in, letting Jeongguk raise the cigarette to his mouth. The moment the filter touches his lips, Jeongguk exhales sharply, something akin to a barely audible growl following the sound.

Jimin searches his eyes, but Jeongguk’s are busy tracking the tongue peeking out to wet his lips out of habit. 

“Try it,” he says. “It’s a kretek. The cloves make it sweeter.”

With a quick glance at the black cig, Jimin parts his lips around the filter and inhales, trying to get the smoke into his lungs. 

As expected, he chokes on it like an idiot. 

He wheezes like a squeaky toy, coughing violently, eyes watering from the burn and the hit on his dignity. 

Jeongguk bursts out laughing, plucking the cigarette back and gently waving the sweet smoke away from Jimin’s face.

“S-Shut up,” Jimin wheezes, folding a little. 

Jeongguk rounds the bike to Jimin’s side, taking a slow, measured drag of his cig. “That was pitiful,” he grins, smoke slipping through the gaps on his teeth. “First time?”

Jimin glares half-heartedly, trying not to cough because he can feel the stare of that group near the door, their eyes lingering on him and his pathetic attempt at looking cool.

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, turning his back on him.

“Oh, come on,” Jeongguk leans a little closer, voice dropping. “I’m just teasing you.”

“That’s all you’ve been doing for the past two weeks.”

“How can I earn your forgiveness, mm?” Jeongguk pouts, tilting his head so his eyes appear softer, rounder. The classic, subtly manipulative puppy eyes. “Can I offer you a ride?”

“What?”

“I noticed the way you were eyeing my girl. Wanna go for a ride and see what she can do?”

Jimin pales. “Wait—now?”

Jeongguk nods.

Jimin throws a glance at the motorcycle, the entrance to the club, then back at Jeongguk with a question in his eyes.

“Yes or no, Jimin.”

The call of his name spoken like that is like a molotov cocktail to his dormant, lustful side.

It’s quite obvious he’s older—he’s had to hand over his ID several times in all those visits to the pharmacy. Saying it like that—plainly, with no honorifics—is a clearly calculated move on Jeongguk’s part. 

A deliberate choice Jimin doesn’t mind in the slightest.

He stares at that mountain of metal, parked quietly behind Jeongguk like a caged beast waiting for the moment it’ll be thrown into the fighting pit. Then his eyes shift to Jeongguk himself—to his racing jumpsuit, his chunky boots. To the thin silver chain around his neck, to the sheen of saliva on his lips. To the excited glint in his eyes.

Jeongguk reads the answer on his face before he says it. 

His face lights up in victory, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to keep the grin at bay. His gaze dips to Jimin’s lips, full of hunger, glowing with that sparkle that tells Jimin he’d been waiting to hear exactly that. 

“Hey. Tae,” Jeongguk calls towards the group.

A ridiculously handsome boy with blue hair stands out amongst the group, his head popping out cutely from their gossiping circle at the call of his name. “Yeah?”

“Mind if I borrow your helmet?”

—

Seoul becomes a blur.

The engine rumbles hot beneath them, soaring through the streets with a low growl that thrums in Jimin’s bones like the bass boosted songs he likes to listen to while writing his thesis. 

Only, this time, it feels much more liberating.

He hadn’t really thought about what would entail—letting Jeongguk take him for a ride on a motorcycle like that.

He just stood there as Jeongguk fastened the helmet over his head, calmly instructing him on how to swing a leg over the backseat or lean with him whenever they took a turn.

And now, here he is, streetlights bouncing off the chrome-like finish of his helmet, fully plastered to the broad back in front of him, arms wrapped tight around Jeongguk’s waist—the only warm, solid thing keeping him tethered as he’s taken on an emotional ride much wilder than the one provided by a streetfighter motorcycle.

Jimin doesn’t do this. 

He doesn’t climb onto the back of a motorcycle and takes off into the night with a hot ‘almost’ stranger. 

He’s not some emotionally constipated introvert with nonexistent social skills but he’s had his fair share of disappointments to learn not to open up, to not let anyone too close and, if he’s to be honest, he’s lost a bit of his touch when it comes to social interactions that doesn’t revolve around research and academics.

Jimin is a nerd. 

Not the unshowered, incel nerd—he’s more of a smart, will talk about a topic of interest for hours kind of nerd, but a nerd nonetheless. 

He’s not a corporate baddie like Jin hyung and much less a cool, brooding mystery like Jeongguk. 

He’s just Jimin. 

A student who, according to Seokjin, is borderline obsessed with fine tuning his brain back to the demands of his research after wasting two years of his life lending his skills to the artillery unit in the army.

Right now, though, he’s just the boy on the back of Jeongguk’s bike, doing all he can to reel in the fluttering in his chest, trying to reason with himself that what he feels is the thrill of the ride. Nothing more. 

It’s like a dream. 

Something Jimin has only experienced in books or films, the sort of fantastical night that’s endless, swallowing them in the glow of stars and the infinite possibilities of a romance novel. 

The novelty of it all has his heart hammering wild, butterflies going haywire in his stomach from the thrill and the soft, gentle way Jeongguk guides him to hold on tighter, to lean with him. 

Once in a while, Jeongguk will bring a hand down to rest over his in a quiet, grounding acknowledgement before they’re moving again, surging forward through the city, the neon signs blending into a mess of bright colours, glowing softly against the dark of night. 

He tries to calm his breathing down, chest brushing Jeongguk’s back with every inhale, syncing to the hum of the engine, but all it does is fill his lungs with the cold, humid air of the Han River and the lingering trace of smoke on leather. 

Jimin is sure Jeongguk will park somewhere along the river, perhaps cross the bridge to the other side of the city where they’ll buy some snacks from a street vendor and stroll for a bit before sharing a timid, giggly kiss under the moonlight like they do in dramas. 

Instead, Jeongguk starts woving lazily back through more familiar blocks, looping past Cheonggyecheon stream back into Jongno-gu, finally parking somewhere close to Tapgol Park. 

It’s a small, inconspicuous side street not far from exit 5 of Jongno station, flanked by small restaurants and clothes shops, and the sudden stillness rings loud in Jimin’s ears, the rush of the ride slowly tapering down to silence. 

Jimin doesn’t let go immediately, even after Jeongguk’s gentle fingers come to pry them apart. 

He wishes the ride had taken longer, wishes he could stay pressed against Jeongguk’s back, wishes he could still feel the warmth of his body through the leather.

Wishes he could still pretend he’s somebody else. 

But the bubble bursts soon enough, and he sits back, letting his hands fall to his thighs. 

“You okay?” Jeongguk asks, his voice muffled by the helmet.

Jimin nods.

“Jimin?”

“I’m okay,” he says, wobbling a bit when Jeongguk toes the kickstand into place. 

It’s a bit of a cinematic moment, honestly. 

At Jeongguk’s request, Jimin swings one leg over to step off, minding his legs not to burn himself on the engine, the gravel crunching softly when he stumbles. 

Then comes Jeongguk, dismounting with ease, lifting his hands to his helmet and twisting the clasp free in one swift motion. He pulls it off slowly, shaking his head, thick strands falling around his face in soft swirls, slightly damp with sweat. 

Jimin is too caught up in the visual he barely feels when Jeongguk unclaps his helmet, too, setting both aside. He does notice, however, the smirk gracing Jeongguk’s lips when he brushes the hair off his face.

Jeongguk oozes this quiet confidence that makes Jimin feel like he’s been thrown into a whirlwind, body charged with a sort of electricity that’s too foreign and overwhelming. 

And Jimin is scared—scared of what this could mean, of what it’ll lead to. 

It’s easy to pine and daydream from afar, to fumble his words and look like an idiot with a crush every time he shows up at the pharmacy, but it’s a whole nother story when he has Jeongguk right in front of him like this, outside that safe space his workplace provides, where there’s still a boundary they can’t cross. 

Here, Jimin can’t hide. 

He can’t hide the quick rise and fall of his chest, the tremble of his lower lip, the flickering of his eyes searching for an answer he can’t quite put together a question for. 

“You’re shivering,” Jeongguk notices in a sweet sort of déjà vu. “Are you cold?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin answers honestly. 

“Was it the ride? Was it too much?”

“No,” Jimin shakes his head, breath catching. “It—it was awesome, I loved it. It-It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“You,” Jimin huffs, face burning. 

“Unbelieveable,” Jeongguk says, clicking his tongue. “Two weeks and you’re still intimidated by me?”

Jimin averts his eyes, afraid he’ll do something stupid like kiss Jeongguk if he sustains that intense eye contact. “No,” he says instead. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Jeongguk presses, catching his gaze before Jimin can look away. “Hm? Tell me.” 

The smug tilt of Jeongguk’s mouth turns into a more genuine, amused smile. 

“Is it the leather suit? I know it looks intimidating, but it’s more for protection than to look cool—though it does make me feel a bit sexy when I wear it.”

Jimin’s face is a flaming red shade now, growing impossibly redder by the second.

It makes Jeongguk laugh. 

“You’re not really savvy on this whole flirting thing, are you?”

Jimin scoffs, wrapping his arms around himself with a pout. “As if it wasn’t blatantly obvious before.”

“I’m honestly surprised,” Jeongguk continues, his gaze dragging down Jimin’s body and up to his face. “You’re such a babe.”

“Stop,” Jimin groans, hiding behind his hands, growing the reddest he’s ever been to the sound of Jeongguk’s delighted chuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk holds him by the wrists, trying to gently tug them down. “You fluster so easily, I can’t help myself.”

It’s maddening, the way that simple touch lights a fire deep in his gut, something hot and needy that Jimin had kept dormant all this time and that he’s losing control over rather quickly. 

Though he partakes in masturbation frequently, it’s been well over seven years since he’s laid with someone. 

Five since he’s last been kissed.

And here he is, letting Jeongguk shake awake the hunger he’d buried deep within his psyche—the hunger of someone who’s been touch-starved for far too long, and that nagging loneliness, that need for connection starts gnawing at his wits, the void he’d tried to fill with books begging him to feed off of this mouthwatering banquet in the form of one Jeon Jeongguk. 

“Are you sure you’re not cold?” Jeongguk asks when he shivers, and Jimin has half a mind to slap him for it.

The wind has picked up again but it’s not the cold that makes him shiver and Jeongguk knows it.

It’s the way he looks at Jimin, the way his gaze doesn’t waver, the way the dim street around them has simmered into nothing but the white noise mingling with the shallow breaths shared between them. 

“Your crush on me is so cute,” Jeongguk starts, breath falling on Jimin’s parted lips. He smells of clove cigarettes. “Every time I see you walk into the store I wonder what bullshit ailment you’ll come up with this time.”

He leans in slowly, giving Jimin a chance to back off, but he doesn’t. So Jeongguk keeps going until their foreheads brush, until his fingertips trace the line of Jimin’s jaw. 

“I look forward to seeing you every time, too.”

Jimin holds his breath, waiting for the kiss, for the moment Jeongguk will claim his lips and devour him whole. 

But that moment doesn’t come.

Jeongguk grabs him by the back of his neck, holding him closer, but he doesn’t move further. He closes the distance as much as he can, nose brushing Jimin’s, his mouth ghosting over Jimin’s trembling lips, but he doesn’t cross the line.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “The temptation is killing me.”

Jimin parts his lips further open, a quiet exhale that tells him ‘you can kiss me’, feels Jeongguk’s gaze drop to that offering and yet, Jeongguk refrains, pulling back and creating space between them.

“I need to tell you something.”

The words aren’t cold, but they drive a knife through the haze Jimin has fallen into, and he blinks back the sting of rejection to look Jeongguk in the eye.

No matter how painfully obvious desire is written all over Jeongguk’s features, Jimin spirals into a chaos of possibilities. 

Jeongguk is going to say he can’t entertain this because he’s been in a relationship all this time or that Jimin is too much of an uncool person for him or that he thinks Jimin is a fucking creep for folloeing him to the club and is filing a restraining order. 

Or worse, that he’s actually straight.

Sensing the spike in his anxiety, Jeongguk breaks into a small smile, not bothering to beat around the bush. 

“The attraction is mutual, Jimin-ah. I’m not stopping this because I don’t want to kiss you. I do,” he cackles, running a hand through his hair. “I wanna do much more than that, actually.”

“I—you, what?”

“Forgive me for being too forward and blunt, but have you even had sex?” 

Jeongguk looks him dead in the eyes when he asks it, those usually doe-like eyes shining with a darker, meaner glint.

“What—I mean, yes?” Jimin stutters, a bit taken aback by those words. “Hm, I know it doesn’t look like it and it was—yes. It’s been a while but, yes? Yes.”

Jeongguk arches a brow, biting back a smirk. “Was it good sex?”

Jimin doesn’t know what to say, and that is an answer in itself.

“Thought so,” Jeongguk nods, inhaling sharply. “Want me to take you back to campus myself? Or would you prefer I walk you to the station?”

Jimin hates how his eyes mist a bit at the rejection. “I–I know I might be inexperienced but—”

“It’s not that,” Jeongguk rushes to comfort him. He reaches for Jimin’s hand, thumb caressing the soft skin there. “It’s me.”

“Huh?”

Jeongguk looks a bit pained when he says, “I’m not the best person for you to get involved with sexually, especially if you’ve been more abstinent.”

Jimin frowns, feeling like a parrot when all he can do is repeat, “What?”

“I’m… intense.”

“Intense?”

It’s silent then, Jeongguk seeming to ponder his words for a moment.

Then, he rounds the motorcycle to the other side, calmly removing the helmet off of the pillion seat. Jimin follows his every move, confused and weirdly intrigued by Jeongguk’s cryptic behaviour. 

Making sure Jimin’s eyes stay on him, Jeongguk bends over until his face is level with the passenger seat, dragging the tip of his nose along the leather, nuzzling the fabric still carrying the warmth of Jimin’s bum.

Eyes fluttering shut, Jeongguk breathes in deeply, downright sniffing the seat, dragging his nose along the leather, his tongue soon following. He leaves a wet trail right in the middle, licking his lips as he stands back upright.

He opens his eyes.

“Does that answer your question?”

—

It’s not really a surprise that Jeongguk is a college student, too. 

Biochem and pharmacology. 

Top of his class, too. 

But his tax bracket does come as a surprise, especially when Jeongguk tugs Jimin inside a discreet three-story building on that same street, and his place turns out to be a spacious two-bedroom flat much fancier than his own studio. 

Owning a 14 million won motorcycle should’ve been enough of an indicator that Jeongguk had some good money, but Jimin couldn’t imagine he was this well-off for a student, especially when they met while Jeongguk was working a more modest job.

And truly, he would’ve questioned it or paid more attention to his surroundings to try and figure it out, had Jeongguk not jumped his bones the moment the front door clicked shut behind them. 

Not that he’s to blame. If it were for Jimin, he would have his pants down to his mid-thighs and Jeongguk’s cock drilling into his ass by now, but Jeongguk had enough self-restraint to get them out of that alley and into his building to avoid a conviction for public indecency. 

The thing about Jimin’s self-inflicted abstinence is that he is, ironically, a quite sexual person. 

As abstinent as he is, the want is still there—the want for someone to match his needs and desires, for someone to ease the burn of all that energy that cannot be fully expelled by masturbation. 

It helps, of course, to settle the nerves and whatnot, but self-love brings a different sort of satisfaction, opposed to the one achieved through the touch of another. And Jeon Jeongguk? He’s a pair of steel pliers ready to cut the wrong wire on this ticking time bomb. 

Jimin lets him do it. 

He lets him peel back the shyness and the hesitancy until Jimin goes from that stuttering mess who blushes at the sight of him to a frenzied, sweaty pulp ready to be fucked. 

“You sure you can handle me?” Jeongguk pulls him by the wrist, pinning him against the wall with that hard, warm body. 

“Mhm.”

“Absolutely sure?” Jeongguk presses, making it so his lips brush Jimin’s with every word. “Last chance to back off, baby.”

Jimin is notably overwhelmed, trembling so much his teeth rattles, but he manages a smile down at Jeongguk’s chest, nodding once. 

“Words.”

It’s been years.

Years since Jimin allowed himself to be so close to someone, to see each individual lash rimming their eyes, sharing the same air. 

It’s almost uncomfortable, the sensation of someone crossing the line into his personal space, standing so fucking close. 

Jeongguk’s aura alone makes him lightheaded.

“Y-Yeah,” Jimin whispers, not really caring how utterly pathetic and desperate he already sounds. “Jeongguk, please.”

Jeongguk brings those warm hands up to Jimin’s face, cupping his cheeks and pressing just slightly to make his lips pucker. “Begging already?” he grins.

Jimin full out moans, knees buckling a bit from how desperate he feels. 

He’s scared. 

He’s excited. 

He’s fucking terrified.

He’s scared to find out exactly what Jeongguk meant by intense. 

He’s excited to be properly loved—to be fucked within an inch of his life, to experience the kind of rough sex that only exists in the smutty books he reads in secret. 

He’s fucking terrified of how much he wants Jeongguk to ruin him.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Jimin takes a shuddering breath, knees buckling from the intensity of that stare, the temperature transfer between his face and Jeongguk’s palm, the shrinking space between their lips.

It’s maddening.

“I’ve wanted you like this since that first night,” Jeongguk tells him softly. “Blushing like crazy just because you were ashamed to buy laxatives.”

Jimin groans, mortified.

Jeongguk hides a chuckle against his cheek, turning it into a kiss that is delivered precisely to the corner of his mouth. “Who knew cute nerds have tummy issues, huh?”

“Sto-o-op.”

“And that they’re little liars too,” he pulls back to look at Jimin, those doe-like pupils sparkling with mischief, “can’t believe you said it was for a friend.”

“T’was stupid, I know.”

“T’was cute,” Jeongguk throws the whiny tone back at him, thumb coercing Jimin’s lower lip open. “But don’t worry, we’ll get that ass loose enough constipation won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Christ,” Jimin fights his hold, tilting his head down to hide the furious redness of his face. “Don’t be gross.”

Jeongguk just laughs, caging him further into the wall by bringing his arms up on either side of Jimin’s head, leaning down until their noses brush. “Just keeping it real, baby.”

Whatever retort Jimin was trying to come up with dissipates into a whine when soft, warm lips shut him right up. 

Jeongguk is quick to slip his tongue inside, groaning into the kiss when he feels Jimin’s fingers seeking the back of his neck to pull him closer.

“God, I wanna fucking ruin you,” Jeongguk groans into the kiss, hands curling into tight fists by Jimin’s head, clearly holding back from doing just so.

Jimin moans into his mouth, brain swifting through every kiss scene he’s ever seen and trying to bring that knowledge to action, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem keen on letting him mimic it. He dominates the kiss pretty easily, kissing Jimin with teeth and tongue, clearly amused by his nearly virginal eagerness. 

And he doesn’t touch.

His hands are very much set on the wall by Jimin’s head, their only point of contact being their mouths and Jimin’s hands in his hair, trying to bring him closer, to get him to fucking ravage him already.

But Jeongguk doesn’t budge, resisting every push and pull. 

“Why aren’t you touching me?” Jimin pouts when they break for air, rolling his hips into Jeongguk’s in search of friction, wanting nothing more than to feel the weight of his body on his, forcing his way in between his legs and fucking him senseless.

“I want you to get a bit more desperate,” Jeongguk answers honestly, trailing his tongue down Jimin’s neck.

“More?” Jimin laughs, knowing Jeongguk can feel his erection pressing into his thigh. 

“Yeah,” Jeongguk whispers against his throat, kissing his way up Jimin’s ear. “I want you so deep in subspace it’ll take me forever to bring you back.”

It comes like a tidal wave.

Jimin starts trembling as if he’s being electrocuted, the words sinking into his psyche like ice on his spine. The shaking worsens when Jeongguk finally touches him, teasing the hem of his sweater, seeking the soft skin underneath.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe with me,” Jeongguk states, kissing down Jimin’s neck. “If at any point I make you uncomfortable, you tell me, okay? And if you feel like you can’t speak, you pinch me.”

Jimin nods.

“I mean it, Jimin.”

Jimin quivers with nervousness, breath coming out in quick bursts when Jeongguk’s hands rub up his stomach towards his nipples, mapping out the expanse of his chest. 

“Think of a safe word,” Jeongguk says, sucking a small bruise on his throat. “A random, odd word. Anything that comes to mind.”

Jeongguk surely meant the usual ‘Cincinnati’ or ‘kumquat’, but Jimin is already toeing that numb, dreamlike headspace and his nerdy brain jumps to their comfort zone, making him blurt out a breathy “Syllogism.”

It makes Jeongguk pause, smile evident in his tone when he repeats the word aloud, followed by a fond “Nerd.”

Jimin smiles, too, willing himself to focus on the sensation of a foreign touch, on the warm hands on his waist.

On how good Jeongguk feels.

“First things first.”

Jeongguk dropping to his knees makes Jimin gasp, thinking he tripped and instinctively trying to help him up.

They both laugh at the absurdity of it, Jimin’s mind then going for the next plausible explanation: he’s gonna get a blowjob.

The thought must be written all over his face, because Jeongguk looks up with that infuriating smirk tugging in his lips, nipping it right in the nub.

“Of course I’ll suck you off, baby. But we gotta take care of this first, okay? No shoes in the house.”

Jeongguk goes for Jimin’s right foot first, then the left, dragging the moment out until the action turns even more erotic than it inherently is. 

He calmly sets Jimin’s shoes to the side and makes quick work of his boots, too.

Jimin keeps his eyes down the entire time, riddled with nerves, anticipating the moment Jeongguk will flip the switch and manhandle him like a rag doll, pin him down and make him a human fleshlight. 

And, once again, Jeongguk surprises him.

He pulls Jimin close into a hug, gently guiding him to the crook of his neck, his other hand rubbing down Jimin’s back in a soft, soothing caress. 

“Wrap your arms around me,” he instructs, bending slightly to lift Jimin up by his thighs as he does so. 

Jimin whines, overwhelmed by the action and the woodsy scent of Jeongguk’s cologne. He wraps his arms around Jeongguk’s neck and his legs around his waist, holding on tighter when Jeongguk takes off into the flat.

“You’re doing so good already,” Jeongguk tells him, one arm coming up to wrap around Jimin’s waist, holding him tight against his chest. “So, so good. I’ll make you feel incredible, baby.”

Jimin suddenly feels an odd need to cry.

He digs his nose deeper into Jeongguk’s throat, keeping his face buried there even after he feels the dip of the mattress. The tremors have yet to subside, and Jimin nearly kicks Jeongguk in the groin when he feels his hands skim the waistband of his pants.

“I’m going to take these off, okay?” Jeongguk says. He pops the button first, then drags down the zipper teeth by teeth, slowly sliding the jeans down Jimin’s legs. “You’ll be more comfortable that way.”

Jimin bites back a gasp when he feels Jeongguk’s hands working the fabric off his body, gently lifting each of Jimin’s feet to ease the fabric past them.

“Breathe,” he drops a quick kiss to Jimin’s knee, surging forward to bring their foreheads together. ‘Breathe, baby.”

Jimin tries. 

He fights the stutter of his chest, trying to match his breathing with Jeongguk’s, but it’s hard. The feeling of foreign sheets, the bare skin of his legs pressing against the hard leather of Jeongguk’s jumpsuit, the mattress, the lights—it’s all too much.

“In,” Jeongguk places one hand right above Jimin’s heart. “And out.”

“I-I need…”

“Yes?” Jeongguk cups his cheek tenderly, discreetly tilting his head to alleviate his airways. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

Jeongguk’s eyes are piercing. 

Endless. 

He stares right into Jimin’s soul, anchoring him in this new reality where only they exist. It’s incredibly vulnerable, and raw. Honest and intimate—something Jimin isn’t used to. 

Something he thought of as a mere conductor for fiction and poetry musings.

Yet here it is, laid upon him.

For the taking.

“S-Skin,” Jimin stutters through the shivers, finally finding the strength to move his arms. He tries for the zipper of Jeongguk’s jumpsuit but his fingers tremble too much for a steady grip. 

Jeongguk stops him. 

“Let me.”

The zipper makes a loud rasping sound when Jeongguk unzips it to the waist, shedding the sleeves with practiced ease. He lets them hang loose around his hips as he takes off the sweaty undershirt, the fabric peeling off his skin in one smooth motion.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” He runs his hands up and down Jimin’s thighs to soothe him, slowly bringing them up to the hem of his sweater, sliding the fabric up Jimin’s chest until Jimin gets the hint and sits up just enough to let him pull it off, exposing his chest to the pale light of the room. 

Only in socks and underwear, Jimin barely has time to feel self-conscious—or admire all that golden skin before Jeongguk is crawling up his body, shielding him completely.

“There,” Jeongguk says, one hand holding his weight so he can cradle Jimin’s cheek with the other, their heads together again. “Now you can feel me, all of me.”

He breathes in deeply, making sure his chest brushes Jimin’s with each inhale, grounding him. 

“Can you feel me?” He pulls back slightly, those magnetic eyes boring into Jimin’s own. “Can you feel my skin on yours?”

Jimin cries out, eyes squeezing shut in a bit of a panic. He wraps his arms around Jeongguk, pulling until that body settles on top of him like a blanket, seeking the comfort of a living, breathing human. 

It’s such an onslaught of sensations—Jeongguk’s weight, the smell of his skin, the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing. 

It’s all too fucking much, all at once.

Jimin has never been held like this.

Seen like this.

“Jeongguk,” he sobs, grinding up against Jeongguk’s pelvis to try and ease the ache in his own groin. This foreign emotion meshing with the sexual desire spreading under his skin is something Jimin’s never felt before. 

It’s really fucking raw.

“I’m here, Jimin.” 

Jimin hides a sob on his shoulder, feeling the hot teardrops finally spill and run down his temple into his hairline, blending with the sweat beading at the roots. 

Jeongguk shushes him, whispering soft sweet nothings as he takes Jimin in his arms, crawling them further up the bed towards the headboard. 

He lays Jimin on the pillows, kissing away the tears wetting his cheeks with tiny, silly pecks.

“How about we take the edge off first, mm?” he presses a kiss to Jimin’s ear, playfully nibbling the lobe. “Get you used to getting pleasure from me.”

Jimin melts under him, grabbing Jeongguk by the hair and tugging harder to get his point across, but again, Jeongguk barely reacts.

His mouth goes lower, laying kiss after kiss down Jimin’s sternum, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. 

“Now,” Jeongguk guides Jimin’s hands up to the headboard, pressing them into the pillow by his head. “Can you keep these up here for me? It’ll be just for a moment.” 

His eyes leave no doubt it’s a command, not a request.

Jimin nods, curling his fingers into the pillow and holding on tight to stop himself from moving an inch. 

“Good.”

The tremors that had subsided significantly come back full force when Jeongguk runs his hands down Jimin’s body to his thighs, parting them to make space for himself.

He peppers kisses down Jimin’s chest, purposefully dodging his nipples to leave little love bites all over his stomach, making sure his chest brushes against the erection tenting Jimin’s underwear as he goes. 

“J-Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk halts all movements. “Yes, baby?”

“My,” Jimin swallows a teary chuckle. “My glasses are fogging up.”

Jeongguk launches himself up to hover over him, a cute smile parting his lips when he sees Jimin like that, blond hair splayed over the white pillows, face flushed, glasses askew, grinning up at him.

“I can’t see you,” Jimin laughs, stilling to let Jeongguk slide the delicate frames off his face.

Jeongguk carefully folds each leg in, setting Jimin’s glasses on the nightstand. He cups his cheek for a moment, hand sliding over Jimin’s chest and up his arm to intertwine their fingers. 

“Now you can.”

“Barely,” Jimin giggles. “I have astigmatism.”

The last thread of nerves unravels with the laugh they share, Jeongguk hiding the tail end of his chuckles into Jimin’s neck, letting go of his hand to tangle his fingers in Jimin’s hair, kissing his way up to his mouth. 

He wipes the smile right off Jimin’s face with that kiss, soft moans filling the air when he slides his tongue into Jimin’s mouth, licking along the ridges on the roof. 

It makes Jimin moan even louder, hands coming down to hug Jeongguk closer, blunt nails sinking into his broad back. 

“Disobeying me already?” Jeongguk forces Jimin’s hand up again, pinning him by the wrists this time. 

Jimin whines brokenly into his mouth, arching his body as enticingly as he can.

Taking pity, Jeongguk brings a hand down to cup his bulge, dragging a finger along the outline straining the fabric, teasing the damp spot at the tip with a couple teasing taps. 

“You’ve got a freak spark somewhere in there, don’t you?” Jeongguk smirks, slipping his hand into Jimin’s boxers. “Perhaps I should fan the flame.”

Eyes pouring want and hunger, Jeongguk wraps a hand around Jimin’s small cock, pumping the shaft with drawn out, slow twists of his wrist. 

“O-Oh my God. Jeongguk—”

“Does it feel good?” Jeongguk’s jaw juts out when he licks his lips, squeezing the base before sliding up to tease the head, dragging a nail along the ridge and up to the slit. “Hm?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Can my baby take a little pain?”

Jimin whimpers at those words, head reeling with a thousand possibilities as to what pain might entail. Given what he’s seen so far, Jimin is more than willing to fuck around and find out.

He nods, gasping when Jeongguk bends down to his chest, nibbling on his nipple rather enthusiastically while jerking him off. 

“Good.”

Jimin expects a slap, maybe a stronger bite, not for the skin of his frenulum to be pinched until he’s squirming, whimpering a little pained cries right into Jeongguk’s waiting mouth.

It’s entirely new, the feeling akin to when his skin gets caught on the zipper but in a more twisted, incredibly arousing way. 

Jimin finds himself craving more of it.

“Ngh,” he groans, biting down on Jeongguk’s lip to stop himself from batting his hand away. “Gguk…”

“Does it hurt?” 

Jimin nods weakly.

“You want me to stop?”

“N-No,” he breathes into his mouth, writhing when Jeongguk releases him, hand wrapping around the base with a firm grip. 

“I’m starting to think we’re a match made in heaven,” Jeongguk chuckles, kissing and nibbling Jimin’s jaw all the way down his clavicle, rolling the skin between his teeth and making sure it bruises.

Jimin cries out loud at the sharp teeth digging into the thin skin of his collarbone while Jeongguk palms him lightly, the fabric of his underwear stretching as much as it can to accommodate Jeongguk’s movements, the damp spot sticking to the back of his hand. 

He whines and twitches through it all, melting under the pressure to his taint when Jeongguk tugs his boxers down and hooks the elastic under his balls. 

His cock bounces up, slapping against his lower belly with a wet smack.

“Ggukie…”

Jeongguk shuts him right up, smearing the precum all over Jimin’s cock and giving it a mean twist on the upstroke. Jimin screams into his mouth, gasping for breath when Jeongguk’s skilled hand wanders lower, this time pinching the paper thin skin of his balls. 

“Vocal, aren’t we?” Jeongguk cups him this time, loving how Jimin trembles through the pain of the squeeze. 

Eyes rolling back, Jimin can’t find his voice to try and answer, as rhetorical as it was. 

He’s overstimulated, the pain unlocking parts of him he wasn’t ready to face, and he instinctively tries closing his legs around Jeongguk’s hand to escape it.

Big mistake.

Jeongguk pries them back open right away.

“Why’re you hiding from me?” He grunts, putting some of his weight on his hands keeping Jimin’s knees spread wide.

“I-I’m n-not—”

Jeongguk slaps the shaft of Jimin’s cock, pressing his palm down to make the pain spread.

Jimin fucks into it, hips flexing to get that little bit of friction, letting the pain shoot up his groin and spread through his limbs. 

His dick is absolutely throbbing. 

“Who said you could hump my hand?”

Jimin ignores him, feet planted on the mattress to push his hips up further, brain going a little syrupy and delirious, wishing the pain wasn’t dissipating as quickly.

“Bold thing to do when I have my hand on your dick,” Jeongguk eases the teasing, fingers trailing up Jimin’s navel to flick at a nipple.

“You said we’d get t’edge off’irst,” Jimin squirms, feeling a bit too hot in his own skin. 

“I did, didn’t I?”

The flip of the switch finally comes. 

Jeongguk grabs Jimin by the hips and pulls him down the bed, crawling down with him to lay between his legs. He all but yanks Jimin’s boxers down and off in one brusque move, bunching up the fabric in his fist rather than throwing them away.

He sits up on his knees, eyes never leaving Jimin’s face when he sneaks a hand under the jumpsuit, working his cock to full hardness while holding Jimin’s boxers to his nose.

Jimin’s breath hitches at the sight. 

There’s Jeongguk between his legs, jerking off to the scent of his underwear, looking so fucking debauched Jimin doesn’t know what to do other than watch him pump himself with long, leisured strokes, nose lost to that mess of pale grey fabric he breathes in like a drug.

And looking. 

Always looking.

Jeongguk keeps his eyes wide open, incensed pupils glued to Jimin’s every twitch, reading even the smallest facial cues, steering him down this twisted path he’s carved out himself. 

Jimin all but throws himself down that rabbit hole, melting under the powerful, wordless dominance exuding from Jeongguk’s pores. 

They’re not even touching, not really, but Jimin feels these invisible hands all over his body, coaxing his bones apart, knocking the air out of his lungs, coiling around his throat to choke every thread of sanity out of him. 

Jimin has never really thought much about arousal fuelled by scent, but it’s like his senses hone in to every single thing he can smell now—the building sweat, the leather, the fabric softener of Jeongguk’s comforter, the clove cigarettes, the subtle hint of cologne and the raw, characteristic smell of sex.

Jeongguk’s eyes tell of a visceral, animalistic sort of passion Jimin’s never seen before.

Something truly intense, like he said, but also so intrinsically human. 

Some sort of primal, dormant aggression that awakens in only a handful of lucky ones—a complex, multifaceted attraction that’s not for the faint of heart.

At the same time, the more they share such a sensual moment, the more Jimin understands it’s one of those simple pleasures that are easy to fulfill when there’s trust and the honest desire to even out the playing field. 

So Jimin lets Jeongguk get his fill, baring his body for him to ogle and desire.

He lets his head loll to the side, shuffling the hot throb in his own core to the backseat and letting this need to pleasure Jeongguk sit on the front of his mind. 

Falling under the spell of this intoxicating subservience coiling inside his guts, the more Jeongguk jerks off to him, the more Jimin sinks further into the bed, plunging head first into that fuzzy headspace.

Jeongguk groans at the gesture, nuzzling Jimin’s boxers like an addict. He’s quite the sight in that godforsaken jumpsuit shoved haphazardly to his hips, just low enough to tease the curve of his cock, sweat beading his hairline, cheeks splotched red.

He lures Jimin in like the serpent of Eden, calling to him, asking him to let go. 

So he does.

Jimin blindly reaches for Jeongguk, pulling until he falls over him like a blanket, stealing a moment to let himself be completely taken over. Jeongguk kisses him like a man starved, blending pleasure with the pain, letting Jimin’s hands roam the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles shifting underneath. 

“Tell me to chill,” Jeongguk pleads in a strained voice, pumping himself viciously, clawing the pillow by Jimin’s head to the point of almost tearing the cotton. “Tell me to go slow with you.”

The air between them thickens with arousal, those words stirring nerves Jimin forgot existed, and he pushes his hips up incessantly, rubbing his cock along the hard leather pooled low on Jeongguk’s hips, spurting precum all over it. 

Jeongguk keeps on begging, warring with himself, flushed and breathless, while Jimin paints his back red, drawing faint pink lines all over his skin. 

Eyes slipping shut, Jimin lets his exploring touches speak the words lodged in his throat, a blissed out smile lighting up his face when it all explodes in a flash of white. With Jimin’s name on his tongue, Jeongguk comes all over his pants, a dark wet patch coating his crotch. 

Once the fog clears, he slowly removes his hand, and that’s when Jimin sees he’s had his boxers wrapped around his hand all this time. 

He brings it to Jimin’s chest, pressing the defiled fabric to the dip between his collarbones and squeezing. Hot, sticky cum trickles down and around Jimin’s throat like a necklace, Jeongguk’s wicked tongue following its track. 

Jimin struggles to keep his grip on reality but Jeongguk insists on ripping his mind apart, hurling him into the arms of sensorial mayhem. Fully handing himself over, he cries out loudly when Jeongguk shifts to bite his neck, slobbering it up with hot, lewd swirls of his tongue.

Jeongguk brings his hand to the back of Jimin’s hair, yanking his head back roughly to lick him from chin to chest and up to his earlobe, where he takes it into his mouth and sucks gently, only pulling back to whisper a mixture of mild degradation and praise. 

He shifts down Jimin’s body to lay between his legs again, biting hard on the inside of his thigh. Jimin mewls, squirming in the sheets, but presses his leg up against Jeongguk’s mouth, silently asking for more. 

And Jeongguk gives it to him. 

He grunts into his skin, sinking his teeth on Jimin’s hipbone while his hands rub up and down his thighs. Then, he takes Jimin in his hand again, giving the tip of his cock a little squeeze. 

Jimin knows what’s coming—this part is familiar, something he’s seen in porn many, many times.

Staring deep into his eyes, Jeongguk parts his mouth slowly, breathing hotly over the head of his cock before dragging his tongue up the head to the slit. Soft, pink lips pucker up to kiss the tip, hiding the wicked workings of the tongue rendering Jimin speechless. 

It’s borderline vulgar, the way Jeongguk sucks him into his mouth, tongue pressed flat to the underside, throat muscles spasming to swallow him completely. 

Head thrown back against the pillows, Jimin lets the moans tear out of him, unabashedly. Jeongguk bobs his head up and down, hollowing his cheeks, sucking him off as if he’s a pouch of Caprisun.

Jimin can only lie there and take it. 

It feels good, to know Jeongguk is getting off on pleasuring him just as much as he does providing it. 

It feels good—this deep satisfaction of knowing he’s pleasing Jeongguk by letting himself be used by him. 

He’s starting to understand what Jeongguk meant by intense. 

Jeongguk sucks him off like he’s the most delicious of lollipops, alternating between taking him all the way down and suckling at the tip, making these little smack noises that drive Jimin insane. 

He pulls back to dribble a bubbly string of saliva onto the tip and Jimin watches, enraptured, as it trickles down his length to pool at the base where Jeongguk’s waiting mouth rests open, ready to swallow it all. 

Jimin screams his name, pulling at his own hair in agony when Jeongguk starts to gag on purpose, using his hands to work him to the edge. 

He’s not big—in all honesty, Jimin sits just under average, but fuck if it’s not the hottest thing to have Jeongguk purposefully choking on him. 

“Good?” Jeongguk grins, voice raspy and low. 

Jimin can’t conjure a single thought, much less vocalise it. He just whines, quivering under Jeongguk’s spell, watching him bend down further to suck his balls into his mouth, rolling them gently on his tongue.

It’s maddening, the push and pull. 

Jeongguk stimulates him to no end, but not far enough to have him tipping over the edge. He keeps Jimin on his toes, just shy of crossing the line but never going through—a peaking wave that won’t break. 

When Jeongguk promised him ‘intense’, Jimin honestly expected whips and chains—the sort of play that leans towards the bondage he knows of, the kind that would render him physically powerless. 

And he is. 

Powerless, that is. 

But this is a whole nother level of dominance. 

It’s command guided by pleasure. 

It’s control without controlling.

Jeongguk leads through care, attuned to every single reaction he coaxes out of Jimin, peeling back layer by layer. 

Jimin cries out in pain, arching off the bed, toes curling into the messed up sheets when Jeongguk crawls up his body, kissing him, slow and sensual. 

He tastes himself for the first time on Jeongguk’s tongue—that warm, bodily taste of precum and skin that propels him into a deeper, animalistic state. 

He lifts his hips up, rubbing himself on the hard leather still covering Jeongguk’s straining cock. 

“Jeongguk,” he’s absolutely aching by now, leaking all over Jeongguk’s lower stomach, searching for a crumb of relief. “P-Please.”

Jeongguk only smiles, teasing a hand down, down, down. 

He lifts Jimin’s left leg higher onto his thigh, leaning forward to spread him wide. Two of his fingers find Jimin’s rim, massaging the twitching ring of muscles until the folds start to loosen. 

The fact he does it dry, surprisingly, makes Jimin feel even hotter. 

He knows Jeongguk won’t hurt him, won’t force himself onto him without proper prep but the idea makes him hot and bothered either way, torn between grinding down on his fingers and up against Jeongguk’s clothed cock. 

When his fingers disappear, Jeongguk shushes Jimin’s complaint with a few pecks, tender and affectionate, before sitting up. 

This time, Jimin has enough presence of mind to truly look, to take in all of Jeongguk—his toned arms and broad chest glistening with a thin, nearly imperceptible sheen of sweat. 

Mouth watering, he follows the path of a single drop of sweat running down the quivering pane of muscles leading down Jeongguk’s navel, crotch hidden by the bunched up leather around his waist. 

Jimin gapes up at him, realising quite belatedly that he’s the only one fully naked. “J-Jeongguk…”

Jeongguk groans, running his hands through his hair, looking down on Jimin like a tiger ready to pounce. His hair clumps up in sweat strands, a few rogue ones sticking to his temples.

Jimin watches him stick a hand into the jumpsuit pocket, pulling out his phone and throwing it carelessly to the side. It bounces off the bed, falling to the floor with a loud clatter.

Jeongguk goes for the other pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes.

It seems to be what he was looking for.

He flips the top open, tapping the pack until one sticks out, pulling it free with his lips. 

Jimin watches, enraptured, as Jeongguk tosses the pack aside, cigarette dangling from his lip as he reaches back into the pocket for the lighter. The flick of the flint sounds sharp in his ears—a mimicry of the spark the view sets off in his veins, as if he himself is that roll of tobacco Jeongguk’s about to set ablaze.

Eyes on Jimin, Jeongguk cups a hand around the cig, shielding it out of habit as he lights it up, the embers at the end brighten when he takes a sharp draw.

The smell is immediate.

Hot tobacco and spicy cloves, swirling around them in a haze that Jimin can’t help but crave.

“Wanna try again?” Jeongguk smirks, smoke spilling out of his mouth alongside the words.

Jimin simply parts his mouth invitingly, waiting for Jeongguk to bring it to his lips like he did outside the club, but that’s not what he does. 

Instead, he takes another draw, holding it in.

Biting back the moan threatening to rip out of him, Jimin meets him halfway, rising on his elbows while Jeongguk leans down, feeding him the smoke straight from his lungs.

It slips into Jimin’s mouth like rolling waves, the sweet clove coating his senses, sharp and stingy, numbing his tongue when it hits the back of his throat. This time, he manages to keep it in. 

Jeongguk smiles into it, tilting his head just enough to take another drag while Jimin lets the smoke out in a hesitant, shuddery cloud. The taste lingers, thick and unmistakable, but Jimin revels in it. He feels the heat of the ember end through the filter pressing into his cheek when Jeongguk cups his face, silently asking him to part his lips again. 

The kretek is a stronger, more powerful blend, and it’s obvious in the way Jimin feels his head buzzing deliciously with that second blow. It’s not just the smoke that passes through—Jeongguk himself comes with it, settling in on Jimin’s tongue, scratching along his throat on the way down his system, keeping this back and forth between them until there’s nothing but the scent of cigarettes and the faint smears of grey on white fabric from the fallen ashes. 

Jeongguk sits back then, and Jimin watches him stick a hand down his pants, working himself under the fabric, only the tip peeking out of where the zipper ends. 

Even through that haze circling his head, Jeongguk’s eyes burn with lust, drinking in all the little sounds Jimin lets out from being edged with a view such as this. It’s fucking torture.

Licking his lips, Jimin shifts his focus to the glistening cockhead caught in Jeongguk’s fist, precum coating his fingers like fruit glaze.

He wants a taste.

“Next time,” Jeongguk chuckles, the cigarette between his lips bouncing as he speaks. “Tonight is about you, baby.”

With one last drag of his cigarette, he puts it out on the nightstand, leaving behind a burnt circle on the wood. 

Exhaling up and away from Jimin’s face, he lays fully on top of him this time, arms cradling Jimin’s head closely. 

Jimin’s eyes roll with a flutter when Jeongguk’s warm breath ghosts over his cheek, arms wrapping around his shoulders, toes rubbing up and down Jeongguk’s calves as their bodies melt into each other.

“Wan’ it,” he slurs, beyond turned on by the smothering weight on him, whining pitifully when Jeongguk bites down on his neck, adding another jewel to the love bite necklace already blooming on his skin. 

“Want what, baby? Me?”

Jimin nods.

“Where?” His hand smooths over Jimin’s body, curling over his ass to find his rim once again. “Here?”

Jimin hides a mewl in the crook of his neck, arms shaking with this overwhelming need to have Jeongguk, to surrender to this vulnerability he’s feared for so long.

There’s some shuffling then, Jeongguk holding him close as he rummages through what Jimin assumes is the nightstand.

The crinkle of a condom packet, a bottle cap snapping open, some mild fussing and then Jimin is crying out loud, consumed by the wild sensation of another’s touch and the cold, slimy lube coating his hole.

Jeongguk pulls back just enough to watch his face, slick fingers massaging Jimin’s rim, willing the muscles to relax and let him in. His eyes bore into Jimin’s, wild and fiery, and he pushes his finger in slowly, gently caressing his insides. 

Jimin arches off the bed, loving how Jeongguk reaches much deeper than he can when alone. He moans even louder when Jeongguk sinks his finger as deep as it’ll go, pressing against his prostate.

“Fuck,” Jimin cries out, hiding his face in Jeongguk’s chest, trembling through the hot boiling pleasure Jeongguk so expertly coaxes out of him with a single touch. 

“Have you thought of me like this?” Jeongguk asks, pulling his finger out to tease Jimin’s fluttering hole. “Hm? Fucked yourself wishing it was me?”

Jimin nods, then shakes his head. 

Nods again. 

“M-More,” he pants against Jeongguk’s chest, trembling like a leaf when Jeongguk keeps circling his rim instead of giving him another finger.

“I got myself off to the thought of you too,” Jeongguk confesses in a whisper, tilting his head so his lips brush Jimin’s ear when he says it. “Many, many times.”

He starts kissing down Jimin’s neck, distracting him from the two fingers he slowly pushes all the way in.

“Oh, how I imagined how you’d sound,” Jeongguk goes on, caressing his prostate with gentle curls of his fingers, the warm palm of his hand flush with Jimin’s taint. “How you’d feel under me.”

Two heavy, fat tears pour from Jimin’s eyes at the stretch of a third finger. He squirms and trembles under Jeongguk, legs jerking involuntarily as he tries to escape this hot wave barreling into him like a wrecking ball.

“Gonna come, baby?” Jeongguk grins, nuzzling his ear, tongue curling wetly from lobe to conch.

Jimin nearly draws blood biting back a scream, weakly slapping at Jeongguk’s arm when he increases the pressure against that bundle of nerves, churning his insides with hot, boiling pleasure.

“Come on, give it to me.”

The moment Jeongguk changes the angle ever so slightly as to make his forearm rub against Jimin’s neglected cock, the orgasm tears through Jimin like a lightning bolt, claiming every one of his senses. 

Mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled to the back of his head, Jimin bursts like fizzing champagne, painting his stomach and Jeongguk’s chest white with cum. 

“Ye-e-es,” Jeongguk growls victoriously, leaning down to lap at the mess splattered all over Jimin’s chest while finger-fucking him straight into overstimulation. 

Jimin meets him thrust for thrust, rolling his hips down to get those fingers deeper, riding out the orgasm with small little twitches, yanking Jeongguk up into a nasty kiss. His lips are slick with cum, and something about tasting himself on Jeongguk’s tongue like that makes him want to give it all, to have Jeongguk gnawing at his bones and feasting on his flesh. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Jeongguk breathes into the kiss, manouvering them a bit so he’s fully on top of Jimin now, withdrawing his fingers with a slow, teasing pull.

The emptiness is immediate. Jimin loathes it.

He arches into Jeongguk with a whine, craving more of his fingers, of him, of anything to fill this devastating void Jeongguk left behind.

And he wants to tell him, wants to ask for it, but the words are nothing but a tangle of letters and disconnected syllables in his brain, overridden by this new command centre that will only ever execute orders, not give them. 

The tears flow freely, running into his hairline, blurring his vision no matter how many times he blinks. He starts shivering harder now, frantically clinging to Jeongguk’s shoulders, scratching his skin in his desperation to have more, more, more. 

“What is it, baby?” Jeongguk smirks, totally unbothered by the scratches all over his arms, grabbing Jimin by the hips to keep him still. “You want more of me?”

Jimin whines needily—doesn’t even know if he’s nodding as he wants. All he knows is this need to be filled, to be so full of Jeongguk he’ll never, ever feel this crushing emptiness again. 

Looking up at Jeongguk, all he sees is the other’s gleeful smirk, eyes burning with this eerie fascination that’s more primal and dangerous than before.

“Want me to fuck you?” he taunts wickedly, hovering above Jimin like a shadow, giving the tip of his nose tiny, kittenish little licks. 

All Jimin manages is a weak, high-pitched noise. Jeongguk shushes him with more kisses. 

“Can you take it rough, though?” he asks, voice gruffer—more intimidating. “Hm? Can my baby handle me if I’m being a bit meaner?”

A borderline manic grin splitting his lips, Jeongguk works a hand between them, pushing his fingers back into Jimin until they’re fully buried, the tendons on his forearm moving deliciously under the skin, the veins running down his hands more defined than ever with the effort. 

“Hmm? Can I fuck you like I want to?”

Jimin can only cry and nod, trying to stifle the sobs pouring out of him like rain, overwhelmed by the darker, erotic aura engulfing them. He’s nearly vibrating out of his skin, a little lost lamb in the claws of a famished wolf, all pink and glowy, blond locks fanned out of the pillow like an angel’s halo. 

“My baby,” Jeongguk brings their foreheads together, pulling his fingers out. “You know exactly how to please me, don’t you?”

The noise that leaves Jimin’s lips is a whiny, pathetic thing that snaps whatever modicum of decency had been holding Jeongguk back. He sits back quickly, pushing his jumpsuit and underwear down to his mid thighs, just low enough to free his cock. 

It’s big. 

Thick. 

Red and leaking, with an angry-looking vein running along his left iliac furrow, feeding the pulse that makes his cock twitch. 

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Jimin reaches out a trembling hand that Jeongguk immediately bats away. He roughly pushes Jimin back, climbing over him to plunge his tongue into his mouth in a nasty, filthy kiss.

His movements are less restrained now, more uninhibited. 

His hands feel heavier on Jimin’s body. 

More possessive.

Like there’s an angrier itch he needs to scratch. 

Jimin feels himself slipping further into an odd, foreign sort of awareness, more conscious of his own body at the same time his mind empties completely. 

It’s like Jeongguk’s touch lights every single one of his nerve endings, forcing Jimin to feel everything that more intensely—the way the sheets stick to the sweat on his back, the way his toes curl inside his socks, the way Jeongguk’s fingertips dig into the meat of his ass so harshly as if meaning to force the tiny blood vessels to burst and paint the bruises for him.

A hand goes down his leg to hitch it over Jeongguk’s waist, moving up his hip and his torso to curl at the base of his throat, a thumb ever so slightly pressing into his pulse point. Jimin throws his head back with a loud cry, baring his neck, silently begging for more. Jeongguk indulges immediately, pressing harder until that delicious drop in his blood pressure makes him even more lightheaded.

That’s when he feels it—the hot, blunt tip of Jeongguk’s cock rubbing along his crack, catching over his rim over and over but never pushing in. 

Jimin melts into the mattress with a needy whimper, legs spreading as far as they go, limbs falling to his sides as he succumbs to the torturous teasing, letting Jeongguk set the tone.

And what a fucking excruciating tone it is. 

He drags his cock up and down, watching in absolute delight as Jimin caves, shifting his hips in a mindless daze, trying to get his cock to catch. So Jeongguk stills completely, a borderline sadistic grin on his face as he watches Jimin slowly break.

He’s finally in that non-verbal, euphoric state. 

Exactly where Jeongguk wants him to be.

He sits back, one hand pressing down on Jimin’s lower abdomen, the other guiding his cock, pushing it in slowly, inch by inch. 

Jimin’s pained cry rings loud in his own ears. He’s not used to taking a cock he’s not in control of, much less a big one like this with a real, breathing human at the end of it. 

“Shh,” Jeongguk murmurs, folding back over Jimin, arms on either side of his head, cradling him closer. “You’re already taking me so well, baby. You’re doing so, so good.”

Jimin whimpers brokenly in response, the praise washing over him like a soothing balm, Jeongguk shushing him with eager kisses and poorly concealed chuckles.

“Stop clenching,” Jeongguk grunts, sinking deeper, hips flush with the back of Jimin’s thighs. “C’mon, you can take me.”

Fighting the woozy droop of his lids, Jimin searches Jeongguk’s eyes, needy little whimpers punched out of him every time Jeongguk moves. 

There’s something so good about being used like this. Jimin can only hope the dreamy smile on his face conveys it. 

“Still so tight,” Jeongguk chuckles, letting some of the deranged spill from the cracks on his mask. “You sure you’re not a virgin?”

He grips Jimin by the back of his thighs, using them to prop himself higher up, adjusting the angle in search of a very special spot. 

The more Jimin cries, the harder he moves. 

The stretch is overwhelming, Jimin rocking up the bed with each thrust, letting out the most obscene moans every time Jeongguk sinks in. 

Letting go of one leg, Jeongguk combs his fingers through Jimin’s hair, fisting the back to yank him up halfway, smashing their mouth together.

It’s not enough to silence him. 

Jimin screams into his mouth when Jeongguk starts thrusting faster, pushing him flat into the mattress. 

“Shh,” Jeongguk slams a hand over his mouth, putting some of his weight onto it. “I have neighbours, baby.”

Jimin looks up at him with wide eyes, face blooming a pretty red from the lack of oxygen. 

The surprise in those irises makes Jeongguk cackle, picking up the pace, the sound of their skin slapping echoing throughout the room, bouncing off the walls alongside Jimin’s muffled screams. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Jeongguk bends to growl low in his ear, forcing Jimin’s head to the side, baring his neck so he can add a few more hickeys to his collection. 

Jimin’s eyelids flutter close, Jeongguk’s palm muzzling him so good the hot puffs of air fan back onto his face with each ragged breath. Something about the way he’s so roughly silenced makes Jimin’s cock throb, bouncing uselessly between them, the precum pooling in his stomach slowly dripping down his sides as he’s pounded into like a piece of meat, over and over again. 

Amidst the mindblowing euphoria, epiphany claims a quick spot at the dinner table.

This is what it means to be so throroughly fucked. 

He may have had a human cock in him before, experienced what he thought was ‘making love’—slow, timid, emotional—but Jeongguk shows him the other side of the coin. Jeongguk shows him what it’s like to shed all inhibitions, what it’s like to embrace the innate, instinctual drive to fuck. 

It’s like Jeongguk awakens something in his DNA, something hardwired deep in his psyche that only needed a little push to be brought to the surface.

“Baby. Look at me,” Jeongguk cups his jaw roughly, adjusting his slacking grip. “Fucking look at me.”

Fighting the tears, Jimin opens his eyes, groaning in pain, feeling it reverberate back into his face and all the way up Jeongguk’s arm. Jeongguk seems to feel it too, something feral tinting the cloud in his eyes. 

“I’m gonna flip you over,” he growls, saliva dangling from his bottom lip, “and I’m gonna mount you,” he shifts his hips, aiming right into Jimin’s prostate, “and you’re gonna fucking take it.”

Jimin wails, walls spasming around Jeongguk’s cock, muscles straining with the onslaught of sensations assaulting every single cell of his body. Jeongguk pulls out all the way, manhandling him onto his stomach, flipping his whole world upside down. 

The pillow is slightly damp under his cheek when Jimin slams face first into it, Jeongguk letting all his weight onto his back, pinning him down.

It’s hard to breathe like this, his lungs filled with the soft scent of Jeongguk’s fabric softener and the musky sweat drenching the sheets, but Jimin fucking loves this feeling of being under Jeongguk, so small and helpless, with Jeongguk’s sweat dripping onto his back, trickling down the valley of his spine.

The AC hits Jimin like a snowy blow when Jeongguk sits back on his heels, smacking him hard across the ass. 

“Spread.”

Jimin hides most of his pained cry in the pillow, pain spreading all over his body like wildfire, stemming from that sweet spot carrying Jeongguk’s handprint. 

As expected, another slap comes. Harder than the first. Meaner.

Biting back a sob, Jimin does as told, slowly lifting his hips as far as they’ll go without rising from the bed, spreading his trembling knees apart. He squirms, trying to shy away from Jeongguk’s hungry gaze when he holds his cheeks apart, admiring his handiwork with a small grunt of approval.

Jimin is gaping, he knows. 

He can feel it.

He can’t close up no matter how hard he clenches and that seems to drive Jeongguk wild—he keeps murmuring something under his breath, calloused thumbs caressing the fluttering muscles with reverence, holding Jimin open so he can lean and let a warm glob of saliva dribble right in.

Delirious with lust, Jimin feels it trickle slowly inside him, searing his insides like a claim. It’s as if he feels the warmth of the branding iron melting his flesh in the form of JJK, marking him as Jeongguk’s little pliant, subservient doll.

“That’s it baby,” Jeongguk grunts, teasingly slapping the head of his cock on Jimin’s gaping hole a few times before slamming back into him, burying himself to the hilt, balls deep. 

Jimin screams. 

“This,” Jeongguk puffs, grip slipping from all that sweat. He falls forward, nose pressing into the dip between Jimin’s shoulder blades. “This is good sex.”

He wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, tightening his hold when he ends up fucking him too far up the bed. He drags Jimin back down, drilling into him so hard the slap of skin on skin stings on the back of Jimin’s thighs, red and tender from the rough fucking. 

“Ngh,” Jimin sobs, trying to lift his head, only to be forced down by Jeongguk biting his back, teeth sharp and unforgiving, adding the final touches to the smattering of bruises he’s inked on his skin. 

Feet kicking, arms trembling, Jimin grits his teeth and does what Jeongguk asked him to—he takes it. Tears fall freely, joining the pool of saliva trickling down the corner of his mouth, soaking the pillow shoved under his head.

The bed creaks obscenely under them, joining the cacophony of wet, filthy sounds in the room. 

Jeongguk pulls back to watch himself stretch Jimin’s tight rim, loving the way it clings desperately to his cock whenever he pulls back, head catching on the rim. Lube and spit stretch in thin tendrils with each stroke, stringing filthily between their bodies, adding another layer to the mess of heated skin and laboured breaths. 

Jimin thrashes on the sheets, screaming when Jeongguk smacks a hand over his mouth again, ramming right into his prostate, set on yanking yet another orgasm out of him. 

The act of getting muzzled hurls him right to the edge, that nasty mess of tears and snot seeping through Jeongguk’s fingers awakening a side of him that craves being depraved—used. 

“Fuck, can I come inside?” Jeongguk breathes down his neck, dripping sweat.

Jimin is too far gone to answer, loving how Jeongguk smears that goopy mess up his face when he yanks him by the hair, forcing his spine to its limits.

“Mm?” Jeongguk presses, sheathing himself inside Jimin, grinding down hard. “Can I fucking fill my baby up like the pretty cumdump he is?”

Jimin sputters something unintelligible, clawing at the sheets, nodding his head frantically. The pain on his scalp is almost unbearable, Jeongguk’s fingers curling in a tighter grip on his roots, speeding up his thrusts.

“Come for me, baby,” Jeongguk growls in his ear, breathing down on him like a rabid animal. “Come on my fucking cock.”

Jimin barely has time to feel him pull out before Jeongguk is flipping him over, pushing his legs up and ramming his cock back inside, fucking him into the mattress like a man possessed. 

Jeongguk’s presence is smothering, and Jimin doesn’t know what to do other than take his cock, sluggishly spreading his knees, feet dangling in the air as he’s pounded rough and deep. 

It doesn’t take much longer for him to burst at the seams.

A scream tears through Jimin’s throat, a wave of hot pleasure crashing over him as he spurts white ropes of cum all over the place.

“Ye-e-es,” Jeongguk growls, drooling all over himself. He runs a handle up Jimin’s chest, cum and sweat and spit mingling in a frothing white goo he sucks off his fingers. “Ugh, fuck—yes, baby. Fucking come on my cock—fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Head thrown back, Jeongguk comes with a shout, pinning Jimin down and fucking him through the wave, arms trembling where they hold him up. 

Out of breath, Jimin feels his vision slowly dim at the corners, letting darkness claim him just as Jeongguk’s arms give in and he collapses on top of him. 

As they ride out the climax, Jimin floats somewhere in the depths of his mind, clinging to the fog muddling his senses while Jeongguk rises to his elbows, forehead to Jimin’s chest, trying to even out his breathing. 

They stay like that for a while.

The emotion comes like a trainwreck the moment Jimin feels Jeongguk running his fingers through the sweaty strands at his temples, gently scratching his scalp as he does so. 

One sob escapes past his lips. 

Then another, and another. 

“You did so good, baby. So good,” Jeongguk coos in a soft whisper, pressing kisses all over Jimin’s cheeks, pushing the damp locks back to reveal Jimin’s fluttering eyes. 

He looks so beautiful like that—pink from head to toe, hair a mess of sweaty locks, lips bitten red, eyes swollen. 

Jeongguk’s little masterpiece.

“You were perfect,” Jeongguk goes on, caressing wherever he can reach, letting Jimin come back into his body,  working through the haze of such an intense high.

Jimin watches him in silence, a little glaze-eyed, gnawing at his bottom lip to keep the tears at bay, but they come anyway.

“Are you here with me?” Jeongguk asks, giving Jimin a soft, gentle smile.

Tears flood Jimin’s eyes, but he manages a nod. 

“Can you vocalise?”

Jimin opens his mouth, but it’s clear he’s still having some difficulty speaking. 

“That’s okay. Words feel a bit difficult right now but they’ll come back to you. For now just blink and nod, okay?” Jeongguk shushes him with soft clicks of his tongue. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jimin pushes into his hand, whining brokenly through his tears when he feels Jeongguk pull out.

Then, he grows hysterical. 

Jeongguk sits up immediately, pulling Jimin into his arms, wrapping him a tight, grounding embrace. “Hey, hey, hey. Baby, look at me. Look at me.”

Jimin wails in his arms, hiding his face instead. Jeongguk lets him.

“Breath in, baby. Follow my lead, okay? In and out. In and out,” Jeongguk guides with a softly spoken voice of command. “In—hold it. Now, let it out. Yes, you’re doing so, so good. One more, okay? Deep, deep breath.”

Slowly, Jimin’s sobs settle into quiet, exhausted sniffles. Jeongguk lets him take what he needs, rocking them gently back and forth, one arm around Jimin’s back, the other massaging his left thigh with gentle circles of his thumb. 

“Now,” Jeongguk says, bringing their foreheads together, cradling Jimin’s cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

Jimin shakes his head, a smile breaking through. 

“Did it feel good?”

He gets a loopy giggle and a sniffle.

“Okay,” Jeongguk pulls back, tilting Jimin’s chin up to meet his eyes. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m gonna help you into the shower, then we’re gonna warm up and eat something delicious. If at any moment I do something you don’t like, you pinch me. Are we understood?”

Jimin nods. 

“Good. Wrap your arms around me.”

From his reaction, Jeongguk realises Jimin is still heavily under the influence of subspace. 

His eyes flutter close and he shudders, mouth falling open in a soft, broken breath. But he obeys the command without fuss, slowly bringing his arms up and around Jeongguk’s neck, hiding a little moan under his ear. 

Sensing that Jimin is content just holding onto him, Jeongguk guides him with gentle touches until Jimin wraps his legs around his waist, locking his ankles tightly behind his back.

Then, he fusses a bit to dislodge his jumpsuit, pushing it down as far as he can, using his toes to sort of drag it down the rest of the way, boxers following soon after. 

Once they’re both naked, Jeongguk takes Jimin straight to the shower, keeping a steady arm around his middle as he effortlessly manoeuvres them around inside the shower.

“Tap me if it’s too hot,” he whispers, holding Jimin up by the bottom and slowly walking them under the shower spray. Jimin moans into his shoulder, trembling a bit, but doesn’t complain.

At first, Jeongguk simply stays there, letting the water cascade down their bodies, soothing their muscles until Jimin starts showing signs he’ll manage to stand on his own. Once he feels Jimin is a bit more stable, Jeongguk sets him down on his feet. 

He claps one of Jimin’s wrists tightly, anchoring him while he blinks back the last of the haze. Clouds of steam rise all around them, clinging to the white tiles, wrapping them up in a veil that mirrors the dense fog they immersed themselves in. 

“You with me?” Jeongguk grins. 

Jimin nods, sighing in relief. 

It feels good to be taken care of. There’s this crushing, bone deep exhaustion imbued in all of his movements, at the same time he’s taken by this overwhelmingly new level of sexual satiety—a sort of euphoria that makes him want to crawl into Jeongguk’s skin. 

Attention stolen by a hand moving down between them as discreetly as possible, Jimin frowns when he sees Jeongguk roll a condom off his soft cock, quickly tying it up. 

Feeling Jimin’s confused eyes on him, Jeongguk halts, smiling a bit sheepishly.

“Heat of the moment,” he chuckles, tossing the used condom for later disposal. “I’d never risk our health like that.”

There’s a bit more presence in Jimin’s eyes when he looks at Jeongguk, those beautiful pupils searching his face, shining with wonder and gratitude. His gaze roams all of Jeongguk as if seeing him for the first time, loving how he wears that sex afterglow like second skin, comfortable in his nudity.

“I’ll wash your hair for you. Is that okay?” Jeongguk asks.

Jimin nods.

With a gentle touch to his elbow, Jeongguk guides him out of the stream, squirting a bit of shampoo into his palm. “Close your eyes.”

A soft, tired sigh falls between them, Jimin swaying in place while Jeongguk gently works shampoo into his hair, fingers moving with utmost care, massaging the scalp he was brutally yanking at minutes ago. 

It’s comforting. 

Jimin has never shared a shower with anyone, much less had a lover wash his hair like this, but it doesn’t feel foreign or overwhelming. Surprisingly, with Jeongguk, it’s pretty easy for Jimin to let himself be seen bare like this, in a moment void of anything sexual, where nudity feels much more daring and intimidating.

Jeongguk takes his time, taking turns washing them both with a quiet kindness, tipping Jimin’s chin up to wash the tear tracks off his face, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Hug me.” 

Somewhere under the daze of subspace, Jimin wonders why Jeongguk would ask that since Jimin would only get in his way, but it seems important so he wraps his arms around Jeongguk, waiting for further instructions. 

Without taking his eyes off of Jimin, Jeongguk starts washing his own hair, rushed and mechanical, trying to get it done as quickly as possible. Jimin gives him a small smile, letting him know he’s okay, that there’s no rush. 

Running his hands up Jeongguk’s shoulderblades, Jimin takes a moment to feel them move, suds roll smoothly down between them, disappearing down the drain. It’s fascinating.

Giddy, Jimin reaches behind them and flicks the handle to a higher heat. 

Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch, reaching out to tug Jimin under the stream with him until he’s flush against his chest.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jimin nods, eyes falling shut.

Water cascades around them as if wishing to partake in their embrace, washing away the heaviness that keeps the words at bay, mingling with the soft kiss Jeongguk places on his lips. 

In the cocoon of the stall, Jimin allows himself to float back to the surface, following the path Jeongguk patiently traces for him like a breadcrumb trail. 

“Thank you,” is the first thing he says, voice barely a whisper.

It’s enough, though. Jeongguk immediately pulls back with a grin spitting his face, leaving all these obnoxious pecks all over Jimin’s cheeks, stopping only when the cute giggles turn into unrestrained laughter.

When they step out the whole bathroom is steamy, smelling of sweet shampoo and body wash—pink peonies and amaretto, sweet and gentle with a spice of sexiness that’s quite fitting for someone like Jeongguk. 

There’s something so sweet in the way he moves, in the way he wraps Jimin in a gigantic fluffy towel, sitting him down on the closed toilet seat, promising to be quick.

Jimin watches him dart into the bedroom butt naked, loving how domestic and comforting it feels to see Jeongguk move around normally through the open door. 

He had this preconceived notion that Jeongguk would be quick to hide his soft cock as it wouldn’t look as sexy as the angry, leaking erection he sported before. But here he is, walking into the bathroom with a bundle of clothes in his arms, crouching down in front of Jimin with this cute, toothy grin that steals Jimin’s breath away.

“Let’s get dressed,” Jeongguk chirps, setting the clothes on the counter and reaching for Jimin’s wrists, curling his warm hands around them, steering him up and around. “Up, up.”

It’s a much more vulnerable affair, to stand there and let himself be dressed. 

It’s like they tap into a much more intimate level of closeness, with Jeongguk dressing him up layer by layer, face an inch from his crotch when he kneels to help Jimin into the sweatpants. At the same time, Jimin feels this bone-deep happiness spreading throughout his body, watching the happy glow emanating off of Jeongguk while he guides Jimin’s arms into the t-shirt sleeves, a smile etched permanently onto his face. 

“Happy?” he asks, straightening Jimin’s clothes.

The answer is obvious, but Jimin offers it anyway.

“Happy.”

“Good.”

Jeongguk dresses himself quickly, a similar combo of an oversized t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, though they look much more flattering on him than they do on Jimin.

Not that he’s complaining. 

He might be drowning in fabric and Jeongguk had to roll the waistband twice so he wouldn’t trip on the hem, but the clothes smell exactly like Jeongguk and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

With a kiss to his cheek, Jeongguk easily guides Jimin down on the closed toilet seat, giving his forehead a little teasing flick before turning to rummage the cabinet for the dryer. Jimin loves how he unconsciously starts humming a little happy tune, disentangling the cord, plugging the dryer and such.

It’s the sort of domestic intimacy Jimin’s always yearned for, the genuine drive to care for that is usually seen as ‘being too much’, and he’s grateful Jeongguk overflows with it.

“Thank you,” Jimin scrunches his nose, the softest smile gracing his lips, looking up at Jeongguk when he comes to stand between his legs, dryer in hand.

Jeongguk flashes him one of those disarming toothy smiles, the faintest dust of pink colouring his cheeks. 

“This is for me, too.”

As gentle as he can, Jeongguk starts combing Jimin’s hair back with his fingers, untangling the knots one by one. 

The dryer roars to life, that soothing whirring noise swallowing the room, drowning everything. And in that noise, with Jeongguk distracted, Jimin finds a moment to commit it to memory—the feel of his fingers in his hair, the physical affection, the caring touch. 

He glances up at Jeongguk’s face, admiring him, taking in the way he nibbles on his bottom lip when he’s focused. Jeongguk just looks so beautiful in the low light of the bathroom, bundled in that cosy white t-shirt, damp hair falling messily on top of his head, cheeks flushed from the warm shower.

Eventually caught, Jimin closes his eyes, letting the steady rush of air lull him a bit, the heat brushing over his scalp and neck like a careful hand when Jeongguk gently tilts his head down to let the dryer blow at his nape. 

When Jeongguk switches the dryer off, silence rushes in all at once, but soothing all the same. 

Jimin is gently pulled away from his slumber, meeting Jeongguk’s kind eyes. He simply puckers his lips, giving him that pleading look.

Jeongguk responds right away, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, fingers taking a firm grip on the still warm strands. He bends over and presses a firm, possessive kiss to Jimin’s lips, letting out a deep grunt when Jimin’s tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth.

They pause then, letting the flame settle back into a soft ember—soft and aching all at once. Jeongguk lets their mouths brush softly, barely there, and when he pulls back Jimin is smiling shyly, fisting the front of his shirt. 

“One more,” he says, tugging just enough for Jeongguk to get the hint.

Their foreheads touch first this time, breathing each other in, before Jeongguk captures his mouth in a slow, careful kiss this time, ending it with three little pecks before moving up, sniffing playfully while tickling his sides.

Jimin yelps, trying to evade the fingers slipping under his t-shirt, dissolving into a heap of helpless laughter. 

“Stop—ah–stop, stop,” he giggles, trying to twist away, sending a bunch of toiletries flying to the floor. “Ggukie, stop.”

Their laughter fills the bathroom, bright and cute and happy, and Jeongguk beams at him when Jimin finally snatches his hands, forcing him to surrender. He pretends to hang his head in defeat, lip jutted out in a pitiful pout Jimin immediately kisses away. 

“Meanie,” Jimin goes for pouty but it comes out breathy and smitten—he’s smiling too bright for it to be effective.

Jeongguk apologises with a few kisses to the tip of his nose. 

“Okay?” he checks.

“M’kay.”

After tidying everything up, Jeongguk cuddles Jimin onto his side, one arm wrapped tightly around him while they waddle out of the bathroom in search of his phone. Thankfully it didn’t crack when he all but hurled it away. 

He orders them some Shake Shack—two classic burgers with jalapeño, truffle fries, chicken bites and milkshakes.

“Here I am,” Jeongguk huffs, setting his phone aside. “Indulging your bad eating habits. I’m a horrible person.”

“Should’ve ordered something else,” Jimin counters, hiding his face in Jeongguk’s chest.

“Too bad I’m craving a juicy burger, huh?” Jeongguk has barely put his phone down when it pings with a new notification.

He reaches for it lazily, barking out a laugh when he sees the preview on the screen.

Jimin perks up, curious eyes flitting to the phone. “What is it?”

Jeongguk simply turns the phone towards him. 

It’s open on a KakaoTalk chat with someone named ‘My Other Testicle’. 

Mr. Testicle is currently going on an angry rant, his messages popping up one after the other now that Jeongguk’s has turned off airplane mode.

My Other Testicle, 7:28PM

omg who is that

bitch you didn’t tell us you were seeing someone

My Other Testicle, 7:29PM

omg 

wait

is that the cutie from the pharmacy

My Other Testicle, 7:30PM

omg it’s him isn’t it?!

it’s jimin 

omg 

holy shit 

he’s cute

why didn’t you tell me you invited him?

bitch

My Other Testicle, 7:49PM

asshole 

answer me

My Other Testicle, 7:51PM

you guys coming back for the show?

My Other Testicle, 7:58PM

???????

My Other Testicle, 10:33PM

i can’t believe you missed my show for ass

you horny cockroach

what kind of friend are you

this friendship is ruined

My Other Testicle, 10:34PM

you better not get jizz on my helmet

jeon jeongguk i swear to god

i’m gonna fucking kill you

“Oh,” Jimin laughs. “Testicle seems really angry.”

“He’s just being dramatic,” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, thumb dragging across the screen to type out a response. “Taehyung has been my best friend since forever, he’s acting like an ass on purpose.”

“That’s why his number is saved under ‘other testicle’?”

“It’s just a dumb joke we’ve had since middle school,” Jeongguk explains, adjusting his grip on Jimin’s waist. “He’s pissy ‘cause I missed his show at the club.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t fret,” Jeongguk gives his arm a little reassuring squeeze. “I’ve seen him sing that exact same set a bazillion times, trust me.”

“Still. I—”

Jeongguk immediately puts his phone down, turning Jimin around to face him, tilting his head up with a soft tap to his chin. “None of that. You showing up was the best thing I could’ve asked for, and everything that came after was perfect.”

“But,” Jimin pouts. “Your friend…”

“Is pouting because he’s actually dying to know what happened after we left,” Jeongguk huffs fondly. “He’s nosy as fuck, you’re gonna love him.”

Jimin is unconvinced, a small pout souring his mood. Jeongguk notices, of course, and is quick to shoo it away.

“I don’t like this frown on you.”

Jimin shrugs. “I feel guilty for, I don’t know, stealing you.”

“Technically, I’m the one who stole you. I’m the one who took you for the ride of your life and—ha! There it is. Now we’re talking.”

Jimin’s smile widens, and he pushes at Jeongguk’s chest with an exasperated eye roll. “Stop.”

Jeongguk leans in anyway, capturing Jimin’s lips in a quick, soft kiss. “I promise you I loved every second of our night. But,” he hesitates, licking his lips nervously. “If you’re down, we can go to the club tomorrow night to make amends. Tae sings every Thursday and Friday.”

Jimin blinks. “Tomorrow?”

“Or next week—whenever you’re free.”

Blush creeping up his neck, Jimin’s mouth curves in a small, hopeful smile. “Like a date?”

“Like a date.”

—

Jimin has been shooed to the side while Jeongguk opens the window and strips his bed of the soiled sheets and runs a wash on their clothes, delegated to film-picking duty. 

Jeongguk wants him to keep his mind active and in decision-making mode to make the best of their time while Jimin is still somewhat euphoric—he knows Jimin will crash pretty soon, and he wants to have everything in order before that happens. 

“Need help?” Jimin asks shyly, watching Jeongguk try to hide his soiled jumpsuit inside the covers he’s all but shucked out of bed. It’s a miracle they didn’t rip.

“I’m good,” Jeongguk’s voice is muffled behind that mountain of cum-covered fabric in his arms, but the smile bleeds through either way. “Gotta take care of this—it’ll be just a second.”

Jimin watches him go, disappearing out in the hall to shove it all in the wash along with Jimin’s clothes—mainly his boxers. 

He tries not to think too much about what happened to it and what sort of fluid it’s drenched in.  

Popping a boner right now would surely send him into a coma. 

Jimin also pretends he doesn’t see through the door when Jeongguk removes his leather jumpsuit from its hideout in the sheets and shoves it into a trash bag, treating it like a biohazard.

In all honesty, it probably is. 

Still scrolling through the options, Jimin watches Jeongguk come back with a fresh bedding set, wrestling the fitted sheet onto the bare mattress. It’s absolutely hilarious, the way he flops around to keep the sheet in place, huffing and puffing like a fussy kid. 

When he’s done, Jeongguk shoots him a knowing look. 

Jimin averts his eyes to hide his grin, switching to another streaming platform. 

Somehow, Jeongguk looks even more attractive like this, hunched ungracefully over the bed adjusting the sheets, than he did in the leather jumpsuit and chunky boots. 

Not that Jimin didn’t file that view for later spank bank, don’t get him wrong, but there’s something about soft, domestic Jeongguk that has his heart in an unyielding grip. 

“Come,” Jeongguk says, patting the fresh pillows invitingly, smoothing the fabric flat. 

Jimin is on him in a second.

They flop onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Jeongguk rolling them around to lay on their sides, squeezing Jimin in a bear hug with a dramatic sigh. 

“That’s it. I’m kidnapping you.”

Jimin looks up as best as he can, wrapping his arms around Jeongguk’s waist. “Kidnapping me?”

“Mhm,” Jeongguk nods, giving Jimin’s lips an obnoxiously loud peck. “It’s the final step to my final form.”

He pulls back, working a hand between them to count on his fingers. 

“Broody and mysterious, check. Wearing all black, check. Badass bike, check. Mindblowing sex, check. Kidnapping you is the final step to becoming the sexy main character of smutty fanfictions.”

Jimin giggles cutely, smoothly bringing his hand up to Jeongguk’s splayed palm and intertwining their fingers. “Into fanfiction, are we?”

“Everyone reads fanfic nowadays. It’s cool now,” Jeongguk defends himself dramatically, kissing their joint knuckles. “You gotta keep up with the trends, baby.”

There’s that word again. 

Baby.

Jeongguk has been obviously avoiding it after sex, but the endearment slips easily from his lips this time, evoking a full body shudder Jimin can’t really stop. Nor the soft moan that follows it. 

By the time food arrives, Jeongguk is shirtless and Jimin is nearly coming in his pants.

They both freeze at the sound of the doorbell, Jimin looking up at Jeongguk with wide eyes. 

“That was fast,” he pants, running a hand through his hair. It’s all sweaty again.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk half-curses, half laughs, scrambling off the bed in a rush, fumbling for his t-shirt as he yells a breathy “Coming!”

Oh, the irony of that statement. 

Jimin watches him dart to the door, stumbling all over his own feet. He’s quick to adjust himself in his pants, ignoring his boner by busying himself arranging the pillows so they can sit back and eat comfortably. 

He can hear muffled voices from the entrance, some plastic bags rustling and polite words. Jeongguk reappears moments later, arms loaded with food, eyes bright with hunger—the biological type this time around. 

“The hunt was bountiful, milord,” he declares pompously, dropping them on the bed unceremoniously.

Jimin sits up, trying his best not to crack at that stupid joke. 

He fails terribly.

“You’re so silly,” he laughs, helping Jeongguk unpack everything. 

They set everything down carefully, crafting a makeshift picnic blanket with napkins to protect the fresh sheets. 

Jeongguk dashes to the kitchen after everything is set, returning with a pint of water for each of them, setting Jimin’s on the nightstand closest to him.

“I keep neglecting your hydration,” he says firmly, rounding the bed back to his side. “Drink.”

Jimin doesn’t even bother fishing for a joke or retort, snatching it up and guzzling down two-thirds of it in one go.

“Forgiven,” he lowers the cup with that loud exhale of relief people do in commercials. It makes Jeongguk smile, letting out a little endeared breath through his nose, settling in too. 

He reaches for the remote, waking up the screen that’s gone on standby. 

“Dig in,” Jeongguk says, gesturing at all the take-out containers laid in front of them. 

They sit side by side, knees touching, elbows bumping. 

Jeongguk is the one who ends up finally picking something to watch—Tokyo Drift. The type of classic everyone has seen a hundred times. 

As soon as he’s distracted fixing the subtitle settings, Jimin steals a bunch of his fries. 

“Wow,” Jeongguk says slowly, not looking away from the TV. “That’s the kind of person I’ve invited into my home, huh? A criminal.”

“I’m spicing up your fanfic dreams.”

Jeongguk snorts, tossing the remote aside after hitting play. “Me fucking you like that wasn’t spicy enough for you?”

Jimin promptly chokes on his food, bits of chewed bread flying out of his mouth. 

“Gross,” Jeongguk fake gags, handing him a napkin as if he wasn’t tongue deep in Jimin’s mouth five minutes ago. The double standards are truly mindblogging. 

The opening credits roll as they dig into their burgers, tearing into them like they haven’t eaten in days, no manners in sight. Jimin moans in ecstasy, grease and cheese exploding in his mouth, yelping when Jeongguk suddenly leans in to kiss him.

“You had a bit of ketchup.”

Jimin freezes for half a second, breaking into stunned laughter when Jeongguk turns, pretending to watch the film neither of them is really watching. 

“You have some ketchup too,” he sighs, reaching out his own grease covered hand to pull Jeongguk into another, more lingering kiss. There’s no rush, just a warm and sleepy touch of lips. 

When they part, Jimin keeps them close for a moment, foreheads touching.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey,” Jeongguk answers back. 

He finds himself sharing another kiss with Jimin, smiling into it, making sure it remains something quick and sweet.

They don’t talk much after that, gobbling up their burgers and the side snacks in no time, occasionally feeding each other or stealing kisses under the pretense there’s some stray ketchup smear here and there. 

Now fed, they quickly succumb to exhaustion, piling up the empty containers on the nightstand to be disposed of later and hurrying under the covers, sinking into the mattress like two giggling kids. 

Jeongguk is quick to dim the lights, pulling Jimin into his arms, rocking them back and forth.

Jimin groans, one hand coming down to push Jeongguk’s hand away from his sore ass.

“Now I’m really feeling it,” he laughs under his breath, tucking his face into Jeongguk’s neck. He can hear his smirk, Jeongguk oozing that smug pride of a job well done.

The film plays on, half forgotten, washing the bedroom in that soft TV glow that bounces off of Jeongguk’s face when Jimin looks up, barely lifting his head, eyes soft and droopy with sleep. 

“What is it?” Jeongguk whispers, tracing slow shapes along his spine.

“Just looking.”

Jeongguk smiles, already halfway asleep. “Am I that hot?” 

Jimin answers by reaching up to pull him into a kiss—a quiet press of lips that is both ‘yes’ and ‘goodnight’. 

Jeongguk falls asleep like that, the hint of a smile tugging at his cheeks. 

“Goodnight,” Jimin whispers to him, brushing away the soft strands that have fallen over Jeongguk’s eyes. 

He stays awake for another minute, just letting his eyes roam Jeongguk’s face, tracing the gentle slope of his nose, the curve of his lip, the sharpness of his jaw, the scar on his cheek—memorising the way his features soften when he’s asleep, how every breath he takes tickles Jimin’s forehead.

“It’s unfair of you to steal my heart like this.”

A secret meant for no witnesses, confessed in a whisper mostly muffled by the screeching tires of drifting cars. 

Jeongguk shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to Jimin’s forehead, so light it’s barely there. “I know.”

In the morning, he wakes Jimin up with morning sex and Pedialyte.

—

Two weeks later, Jimin is in the library working on his thesis when he’s approached by a smiling boy in very swaggy clothes. 

It’s Jung Hoseok, one of Jeongguk’s friends. Jimin met him last week at the club, but they didn’t talk much. Though a social butterfly with a warm hug and an iconic heart-shaped smile, there’s something about how cool Hoseok is that makes Jimin feel super intimidated.

“Hi,” Hoseok greets softly, stopping by Jimin’s study desk. He carries a big gift bag in his hands, a pompous red bow tying the handles together. “Jimin, right?”

“Yeah?” Jimin looks up from his notes, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously. “Yes, that’s me.”

“For you,” Hoseok says, setting the gift down and walking away. Just like that.

Jimin watches him go, utterly confused.

“Wha…” 

His eyes flit between the bag and Hoseok’s retreating figure, wondering what the hell just happened.

Curiosity wins, of course, and Jimin reaches over his notes to drag it closer, surprised by the weight. 

It’s much heavier than he thought. 

He slowly tugs the pretty bow loose, trying not to jostle it too much and bother the other students with all that loud, crackly tissue paper.

Aware that he’s blushing like crazy and dragging even more attention to himself, Jimin can’t really blame the students trying to hide their curious glances behind textbooks—who wouldn’t be curious to see what’s inside?

To satiate his curiosity—and theirs—he peels back the last layer of paper, both hands reaching inside to try and grab it. His fingers meet a solid surface, something round and solid that’s inside a soft dust bag. 

Jimin’s pulse roars when he realises what that weird shape is. 

He all but yanks it out of the gift bag, fingers working the dust bag off with little care to reveal a brand new, shiny helmet. 

It looks menacing, the shell all sleek and modern, with a badass finish in matte black. The visor is tinted and glossy, mirrored just like Jeongguk’s, showing Jimin his own stunned, beaming reflection. 

He turns it in his hands like a precious jewel, running his fingers slowly along the outer curve, tracing the inner padding. 

It certainly wasn’t cheap.

It feels and smells expensive. 

The brand name doesn’t ring any bells, but the overall design screams money. 

Ignoring all possible onlookers, Jimin brings it up to his face, discreetly seeking more of that clean and plasticky smell of gear, something about it reminding him of Jeongguk. 

He sinks back into his chair with the helmet in his hands, staring at himself in the visor, trying to swallow that weird knot in his throat that makes him want to cry. 

This feeling is something entirely new, something Jimin can’t pinpoint. So he just sits there for a moment, holding the helmet to his chest, letting a single stray tear escape—an outlet for this quiet, overwhelming feeling he allows himself to feel. 

His mouth curves up slowly into a soft, happy smile. 

Just to check if there’s a note, Jimin reaches into the gift bag, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline when his hand meets what seems to be a small, rectangular box.

He sets the helmet down, pulling the bag closer to peer inside. He dips back in, pulling out a neat little box wrapped in deep red paper, some cute little hearts drawn onto it. 

There’s also a white envelope—no sender, no signature.

He goes for the note first.

The handwriting is painfully familiar by now, the same loopy penmanship of little love notes scribbled on the back of his pharmacy receipts.

It simply states, ‘So that you have your own when we go to the club tonight. I’m picking you up at 7.’

There’s no name signed at the bottom, only a small, poorly drawn poop emoji.

Biting back a teary laugh, Jimin reaches for the red box, turning it slowly in his hands, trying not to rip too much of the wrapping. It’s cute and he wants to keep it.

But Jimin cracks and the laughter explodes out of him the second the paper comes off, revealing the most precious yet absurdly ridiculous present. 

He gets the nastiest looks from everyone in his immediate vicinity, some shushing him with angry hisses, and Jimin tries his best to muffle it with a sweater paw but the moment his eyes flick back to the box he loses it altogether. 

He tries to breathe through it, he really does. His stomach hurts and his eyes are burning with joyful tears, but the moment he manages to calm down in the slightest, that stupid penguin is looking back at him and it starts all over again. 

Jimin wheezes like a lunatic, laughing so hard he has to grab onto the edge of the desk to stay upright. It takes him what feels like hours to sit back and breathe through that glorious laughing fit.

He eyes the gift on the table, smiling so bright his cheeks hurt.

The box is a small and cute-looking medicine pack, a cartoonish penguin sitting at the front under the colourful, round letters that spell Pedialax—chewable laxative tablets, watermelon flavoured. 

Smiling like a lovesick idiot at the cute joke, he vows to safekeep it like a family heirloom, but when Jimin flips the box around, he notices the seal has been violated.

When he lifts the lid, he understands why.

The medicine has been removed, and inside sits what seems to be a fluffy keyring instead. 

Jimin pulls it out, expecting it to be an acorn or a cookie, given it’s brown and round, but is met with a smiling poop-shaped plushie holding up a tacky, glittery heart that spells ‘wanna be my pooyfriend?’

As if he’d say anything other than ‘yes’.