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Jungkook is obviously bored.
Individual shoots are always a little slow with all the waiting and down time, but Hoseok doesn’t usually mind, he can always find use for some down time. Especially today - the location is a house, with beds, so it serves as the perfect opportunity to chip away at his truly appalling sleep deficit.
Or it would be, if it weren’t for one very obviously bored Jeon Jungkook and his very annoying, very pinchy fingers.
“Yah, you brat,” Hoseok grumbles, fending him off with another half-hearted slap. “Get out, go bother Jimin.” It sounds whinier than he intends, but he’s been playing this same useless tune for a good ten minutes now and it only seems to rile the kid up more, makes his grin grow wider and gleeful to the point of nose-crinkling.
Maybe it’s the nose crinkles, but Hoseok can’t keep a straight face. He’s got no hope of establishing any kind of authority when he can’t stop smiling. Hoseok wouldn’t take him seriously either. It’s just that it’s very hard to be stern after what makeup have done to Jungkook’s face; dozens of tiny freckles, and his cheeks powdered pink like he’s three hours deep into non-stop dance practice. Flushed has always looked cute on Jungkook and even if he complains about the makeup concept ruining his muscle pig image or whatever it is he’s going for, he knows he looks cute. It’s perfectly clear from the look on his face that he’s aware of what an adorable little shithead he is.
Jungkook launches another attack - his hand shooting up between Hoseok’s legs and wriggling under the loose hem of his shorts, fingers skittering over his thighs, nipping sharply. Hoseok shrieks, kicking out in a slightly frenzied thrash of his legs, but Jungkook just giggles as he dodges the socked foot aimed at his face.
“Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok tries for low and warning, but feels ridiculous. His mouth wobbles halfway between a frown and a grin.
“Yes, hyung?” Jungkook blinks innocently, grinning and clearly amused as he strikes again. Hoseok can only squeal and clutch at the pillow he’s been using as a makeshift blanket, curl in on himself.
Jungkook’s hand snakes up between his thighs even though Hoseok clamps his legs together in an effort to keep him at bay. Jungkook’s hands are strong and so are Hoseok’s thighs but not when they’re being touched like this; firm, gripping and prising apart - trying to. His wriggly fingers and the struggle is only making it worse.
“Jungkook!” Hoseok cries wretchedly.
It’s just, his fingers - and. It’s not like Hoseok has designs on the kid, but he’s sensitive and Jungkook’s not holding back at all. He’s all innocent mischief, it obviously doesn’t even occur to him that it’s… more than ticklish. He can’’t explain the hot little shivering pulses right to his dick every time Jungkook snags at a pinchful of his thigh, but that’s how it is.
He’d been almost asleep when Jungkook snuck in; his defenses were down. He was vulnerable. How is his body supposed to react, woken up by hands on his thighs. He is not a pervert. Despite what Taehyung would have the entire world believe with his totally inaccurate impressions of the way he apparently touches himself in his sleep.
He clutches the pillow down low over his middle and squeezes his eyes shut.
“I came up here to get away from you,” he snaps as his tummy clenches with another wave of heat. The giggle dies in Jungkook’s throat and he feels immediately guilty. “I’m trying to rest,” he sighs.
Jungkook tugs his hand out from between his thighs looking sheepish. “Sorry, hyung,” he says. He gets up off the bed. Hoseok is flooded with relief. “I’ll leave you alone.”
There’s space between them now, no one’s touching anyone inappropriately anymore, but the feeling lingers. Hoseok doubts whether he’ll be able to salvage his precious nap opportunity now, too unsettled by the shameful pleasure of Jungkook’s hands on his skin. His dick is hard because he’s a desperate loser that gets it up for the slightest touch, from a kid even; how could anyone nap knowing that?
Hoseok’s shame spiral is interrupted when Jungkook abruptly turns back and snatches the pillow away before Hoseok can even blink.
“Jungkook!” Hoseok cries, clutching at himself but it’s too late, Jungkook, pillow raised over his head ready to deliver a rain of cushiony fury, has seen.
He freezes. Hoseok watches the tips of his ears turn even pinker than his makeup, the flush creeping down his neck. “Hyung?”
Hoseok pulls his knees up, pressing his legs together so his shins forms a barrier to shield Jungkook from his stupid perverted dick. He should be mad, he’s entitled to at least a small outburst of humiliated indignation, but he’s too flustered, ashamed. “It’s - I told you to stop,” he says helplessly, voice raised with embarrassment.
Jungkook’s eyes widen almost comically. “It’s because of me?” His voice squeaks.
“No,” Hoseok huffs. “Not exactly. I’m sensitive.” Hoseok sees the way Jungkook’s eyes follow the self-conscious clench of his thighs. “It’ll go away.”
“Oh,” is all Jungkook says. He lowers the pillow still dangling from his fingers raised over his head, and sits back down. It strikes Hoseok as a weird thing to do, but he’s grateful when Jungkook hands his pillow back for him to hide under.
Jungkook’s lips are pressed tightly together, eyes darting all over; the floor, the wall, the bedspread. Hoseok wishes Jungkook wasn’t such an awkward kid. Anyone else would have turned tail and ran by now, the lesser of many awkward courses of action. Hoseok would make his excuses and slink off himself, but he doesn’t really want to have to explain his inappropriate dick to anyone else today, thanks.
“What is it?” he asks finally, weary. He doesn’t know what else to do. It seems like Jungkook might want to talk about his dick some more, which is just great.
“It’s just,” Jungkook’s gaze fixes on Hoseok’s hands clasped over the pillow. “You really got it up just from,” Jungkook’s eyes drag down the exposed length of Hoseok’s thighs. “Just from me touching you like that?”
Hoseok didn’t know it was possible to blush this hard. He feels hot; embarrassed but a little defensive too. It’s not like any of them have the time or privacy to touch themselves very often or anything, let alone to be touched by someone else. It’s one thing for Hoseok to know how pathetic this makes him look, it’s another entirely for Jungkook to imply he’s thinking it too.
Jungkook reaches out a tentative hand up between his legs and brushes his fingers gently against the underside of his knee.
Hoseok jerks his legs away. “It’s not funny,” he whines.
Jungkook meets his eyes. “Who’s laughing, hyung.” It sounds bolder than he looks; eyes focused on the hand he has dipped between Hoseok’s knees rather than his face. The tips of his hesitant fingers feel soft and warm, tucking into the crook of his knee, thumb stroking just under his kneecap.
Oh, Hoseok thinks, shifting gears despite not being sure he even has one for this. Jungkook knows he’s hard, and he’s reaching out. He wants to touch. And Hoseok knows he wants to let him. He knows other things - shouldn’t, bad idea, irresponsible. But he sees the uncertainty in Jungkook’s face and Jungkook’s touch, the fear there just as present as the curiosity, and most importantly, the bravery despite it.
His bravery makes Hoseok feel very soft towards him, a kind of mixed up fondness for a dongsaeng. He wants to reassure him, praise him, give him whatever he wants.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says distractedly, eyes still trained on the climb of his hand up Hobi’s thigh. He catches at the corner of the pillow and glances up, meeting Hoseok’s eyes briefly. “It’s my fault. Can I - ?” He pulls and Hoseok allows the pillow to be drawn away, dropped to the floor.
It’s surreal; Jungkook is twisted at the waist, both hands one each on his thighs. Hoseok can’t stop looking at the length of Jungkook’s fingers, at his wide palms and solid knuckles against the paler skin of his own inner thighs.
Hoseok might have had half a chance at retaining some dignity if he hadn’t changed out of the shorts for the shoot and into these stupid comfy basketball shorts - perfect for napping but not so great for hiding erections. He’s lying there with his dick all but perfectly outlined under flimsy and unforgiving fabric, not fully hard, but completely obvious. And Jungkook’s just staring at it.
Hoseok closes his eyes. The tips of Jungkook’s fingers inch up the legs of his shorts. “Enough, Jungkook,” he says, voice low.
The bed shifts. “You want me to stop?”
Hoseok opens his eyes to Jungkook leaning over him, hovering, knee sunk into the mattress by his hip. Hoseok can feel all the parts of him that want to reach for him, to wrap his arm across his broad back and pull him down, the urge at the base of his spine to arch up, press himself close, the want in his thighs to spread under Jungkook’s hands and find their home either side of his waist.
Jungkook lays a hand on his hip, fingers warm where the hem of his t-shirt has ridden up. It makes him shiver a little, enough that Hoseok feels very weak - and what was Jungkook’s question? Does he want him to stop?
“I want,” Hoseok starts, but he’s at a loss, betrayed by his uncooperative mouth. Apparently he’s reached the limit on how many times he can make himself say no to something he so clearly wants.
“Yeah…?” Jungkook’s fingers snag on Hoseok’s waistband as they creep lower, a little clumsy and unsure, skimming over the fabric. Hoseok gasps, hips jerking, when Jungkook’s fingers make contact with his dick.
He knows he should tell him to stop, and he’s going to. For sure. Any second now. Meanwhile, Jungkook is touching him like he’s never come across a hard dick before, fingers gentle and curious, the cup of his palm settling over him. Hoseok opens his mouth but then Jungkook rubs firm up the length of his cock and the sound that comes out of him is definitely not a request for Jungkook to stop. The feel of it, warm pressure; the noise Hoseok makes is downright embarrassing.
It makes Jungkook look up at him. Finally. As if he’s just remembered there’s a J-Hope attached to the dick he’s feeling up. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. He doesn’t look like he’s having any second thoughts hmself. Hoseok’s pinned, disarmed by that look, the unguarded eagerness. His tongue lays thick and useless in his mouth.
The room feels too warm, the air around them feeling somehow swollen, oppressive, as heavy as Jungkook’s touch. Hoseok can’t help but shift under it. His thighs fall open as he grinds slow up into the weight of Jungkook’s palm, eyes slipping shut. Sensation enshrouds him, cocoons him from the persistent nag of his better judgement.
It’s not even just that it’s Jungkook touching his dick. They’re working. Supposed to be. The others - Behind Jungkook, the door is open, but the room is small and tucked away at the top of a staircase on the side of the house that was declared to be useless for its lack of sun-catching aspect. The members and staff are occupied. Someone would have to come looking, and even then, Jungkook’s broad shoulders would shield Hoseok almost entirely from view from the doorway.
“Hyung.”
Jungkook wants his attention but it’s hard for Hoseok to listen to whatever it is he has to say with the feel of fingers flitting over his cock, teasing little touches that make Hoseok’s breath catch and stutter in his throat. “You’re sensitive here too, huh?”
Hoseok opens his eyes. The little shit is smiling. “If you’re just going to tease…” Hoseok is surprised by how much of a growl his voice sounds.
Jungkook’s expressions shifts; something flashes in his eyes, lips pressing together tight. He throws a leg over Hoseok’s thighs and climbs right up on him. And then there’s no hesitation to the way his hands push up under the loose legs of Hoseok’s shorts, warm palms sliding right up his thighs. Jungkook’s fingertips find the edge of his underwear and he pushes under that too.
Hoseok inhales sharply through his nose. It’s been long coming but the feel of Jungkook’s touch against his bare skin is still, somehow, a surprise. He lets the shock sound in his throat, keeping his mouth resolutely closed as he watches the movement of Jungkook’s hands under his shorts; the sight sparking heat in his belly just as much as the feeling.
He’s pinned like this, beneath the solid weight of Jungkook’s body, and Jungkook spreads one hand up high on his thigh, thumb digging in on the inside where Hoseok’s so sensitive, the other curling hot around his dick. Hoseok tenses, feeling overheated and overwhelmed and annoyed with how he can’t even move, and he wants to. He wants to buck his hips and he wants to moan and he wants to fuck his cock into Jungkook’s fist, he wants -
Jungkook’s hard too, Hoseok can see him in his silly bright yellow shorts.
“This is a very stupid idea, Jungkook,” Hoseok says, reasonable but breathless. Jungkook just glances up at him, meets his eyes with his head still bent to where he’s touching him. His hand doesn’t let up, his stroke a little awkward, clothing restricting movement, and even if it could be better Hoseok’s not going to discourage the kid with criticism now.
Jungkook shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do.” He raises his eyebrows. Hoseok wonders how anyone, including himself, fell for his whole guileless act. How he failed to see the mischief there, the challenge.
Hoseok doesn’t want to play any games now, not with his cock leaking in Jungkook’s fist. Jungkook’s got him, anyway. He’s won. Hoseok cannot deny a thing with his body willing and eager, granting Jungkook permission. Hoseok puts his hands on Jungkook’s knees, fingers spreading and pressing into firm muscle, and Jungkook smiles like conquest.
“Don’t mess up your clothes,” Hoseok says curtly, eyeing the strain of Jungkook’s cock under his shorts.
“Do you want me to take them off?” Jungkook asks, earnest. Hoseok doesn’t have a moment to consider the question nor the entire concept of a naked Jungkook in an anything but platonic context before he’s got his hands at his waistband and then Hoseok watches, breathless, as Jungkook tugs his shorts and underwear down his thighs, and his cock springs free, flushed and heavy.
Hoseok’s mouth waters, itching to taste, touch. Hoseok forces himself to drag his eyes away, but Jungkook’s already looking down at him smugly. “Don’t take it personally,” Hoseok mutters, rolling his eyes, and then tries not to think about whether or not Jungkook actually should. He’s just hard up, right?
He grabs at Jungkook’s cock, gives him a few easy strokes and Jungkook makes the nicest low, pleased noise, eyelids fluttering. His cock feels good in his hand, thick and hot - it’s been so long since Hoseok’s touched anyone like this.
“Hyung,” Jungkook moans, reaching for Hoseok’s waistband. Hoseok takes his hand off Jungkook to let him get his cock out too. It lies curved up against his belly, full, shining wet at the head. He’s not sure what he’s expecting but all Jungkook does is scooch up closer and nudge his dick against it. The damp hot contact makes Hoseok gasp and shift under him, just a little, enough to get their cocks lined up better, conveniently.
Hoseok can’t help himself even if it’s embarrassingly adolescent; they rub clumsily against each other for a hot moment, but it doesn’t last long before Jungkook ups the ante. He scoops his hand under Hoseok’s cock, knuckles bumping his tummy, and holds him up so they can grind together more firmly, more satisfyingly.
It’s all way too easy, way too good, and Hoseok can’t watch anymore. He tips his head back, swallowing tightly, fingers clenching on Jungkook’s knees. When he opens his mouth his voice shakes, “Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook’s hand is beside his throat, pressing down into the pillow as he leans his weight into the steady grind of his hips. “Is this okay?” he asks, breathless.
“Yeah,” Hoseok tells him, voice deep in his throat. He arches his back, luxuriating in the delicate feel of Jungkook cupping him to keep them close, to keep their cocks dragging molten silk together. “Can you come like this?”
Jungkook doesn’t falter; constant, perfect clumsy friction. “Mm,” he affirms behind bitten lips, flushed cheeks, dropping his head to watch their ruddy cocks sliding together, shining slick with pre-come. “Yeah - soon,” he nods.
Hoseok squeezes Jungkook’s knee and takes his hand away to spit into it. He wipes the wet over the head of Jungkook’s cock making him whine. He spreads his spit and their pre-come slicks them up, makes the whole thing smoother. Jungkook seems dazed, incapble, so Hoseok gathers everything together, closes Jungkook’s fingers around them both, and folds his own hand over the top. He squeezes, and it’s like he’s got his hand about Jungkook’s throat rather than his cock, the strangled sound he makes.
“Oh,” Jungkook’s eyes screw up, his hips stuttering. It feels good, better, with them held tighter together and sliding wetter. Hoseok doesn’t have to move his hand - Jungkook does it all with his hips; deep, tight rolls that butt his cock up against Hoseok’s in all the right ways. His toes curl in his socks, tense heat building low in his belly.
They catch a good rhythm, and Jungkook seems to be holding onto them on his own now, so Hoseok lets go and pets him instead; strokes his thigh, squeezes his hip. It’s greedy of him, wanting and taking more, feels a little depraved when he knows it’s because it might be his only chance. His hand wanders up Jungkook’s side, taking the hem of his t-shirt up with it, and he watches appreciatively the way the firm muscle of Jungkook’s middle works with the movement of his hips. He’s grown up so good. Hoseok has to congratulate himself somewhat for the smoothness with which Jungkook moves against him. All that time in the practice room.
Jungkook’s too focused to notice the way Hoseok’s admiring him, thank God. It’d only be an ego boost or a reason for Jungkook to tease him and Hoseok’s not gagging to give him either. He’s already too soft on his dongsaengs. On this one in particular, maybe. He knows he couldn’t bring himself to tease Jungkook for the helpless noises he’s making now, the way he’s gasping, “Hobi-hyung -” as the steady roll of his hips steadily comes undone.
“That’s it, Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok murmurs soft encouragement to soothe the furrows between Jungkook’s brows, to ease the humiliation of the strangled noise he makes as he starts to come. Hoseok contains the mess in the palm of his hand just in time, saving them both from coordi noona wrath.
Jungkook’s come is hot in Hoseok’s hand and his body is still, save for his gasping breaths. His cock feels sticky and awkward against Hoseok’s. After a beat Hoseok gives in and smears the mess into the bunched up leg of his shorts, scrunching the fabric in his hand.
It’s happening now, Hoseok’s better judgment is finally catching up with him. He can feel the deep downturn of the corners of his mouth. He goes to pull his shorts back up over his straining cock and Jungkook moves, finally, dropping down to rest his weight on his elbow. Hoseok blinks, Jungkook’s face now barely an inch from his own, and Jungkook’s hand - still between them, closes around his cock again.
“Ah - you don’t have to -” he gasps, but Jungkook ignores him entirely despite the intense, close way he’s staring, and begins to stroke his cock.
“Hyung, can I -?” Jungkook’s voice is so soft and close; he’s already leaning in, hand working faster. Hoseok has hesitated enough. Their mouths touch and he whimpers, hands finding Jungkook’s irritatingly and increasingly broad shoulders and holding on as he kisses him.
Jungkook’s kiss is shy but his touch is confident, sliding over his cock firm and quick with a little twist on the upstroke that has Hoseok’s hips jumping. His lips part eagerly for the hesitant flick of Jungkook’s tongue; he kisses him back shamelessly, enouraging Jungkook to curl his tongue deep against his own, hot and slick.
He’s close, thighs trembling. He feels almost burning everywhere Jungkook’s pressed against him. The close heat of him, his hand on his cock, slick press of his mouth, all of it blurs into one hot rolling body of sensation. Hoseok gasps away from the kiss and at the last second snatches his hand from Jungkook’s shoulder and yanks his waistband back up, over his cock. Hoseok shudders as he spills inside his shorts, his come and the fabric hot and heavy against him.
Jungkook touches him, thumb stroking gently over the damp patch with wonder on his face. Hoseok makes a displeased noise and twitches, too sensitive there even through the fabric. It’s quickly becoming uncomfortable, but he feels too winded in a calm and sated way to do anything immediate about it. He’s sinking into the mattress underneath him three times as heavy now.
“Hyung?” Jungkook’s mouth is very red and swollen, his makeup is smudged.
“Yah, you’re a mess,” Hoseok says softly, voice raspy. He pushes gently at Jungkook’s chest until he moves, allows him to sit up. Jungkook looks so uncertain, which just makes him look very young, so Hoseok, with a pang of guilt, reaches down to pull his shorts back up for him. He smiles at him, pets his hair, attempts to get it back in place. “I should clean up.” He pats Jungkook’s cheek.
“I’m sorry about your shorts hyung,” Jungkook says.
Hoseok is sorry too, keenly aware of them, drying sticky and tepid against his skin, and maybe for more than that but he’s not sure, so he just puts on a brave smile. “They’ve seen worse. You should go, they’re might be ready for you now,” he says.
Jungkook hovers in the doorway. “I’m sorry for being so annoying too.”
“You never apologise. What is this, huh?” Hoseok squints at him. “Just watch your hands next time, okay?”
“Yes hyung,” Jungkook says with a sheepish, relieved smile. Hoseok rolls his eyes and throws his useless pillow at him, but Jungkook ducks out of the way and down the stairs before it hits him, leaving Hoseok alone to waddle across the hall to the bathroom and attempt to salvage his shorts, having given up entirely on his sanity.