come near me

by pettey

Series: cheap and cheerful [1]

Category: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Choking,
Come Eating, Fights, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mild
Blood, Minor Injuries, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Switching,
eventual friends with benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettey/pseuds/pettey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
<p>Jeongguk has always been weirdly jacked on that
adrenaline high thing with no ways to punch it out, and Jimin is always
curious about figuring out frustrating things.</p>
</blockquote>

come near me

**Author's Note:**

> **original prompt:** _“normally we duke it out to vent our frustrations

but this time someone initiated a kiss in the middle of the fight and
suddenly we’re fucking against the nearest flat surface”_ (strayed
majorly from that srry)
>
> not future fic per se but set in some vague shitass approximation of
the group’s future
> super weird and confusing and kinda balled
> **please read the tags before proceeding with this;** violence-related
tags aren’t for the smut
Three hours in his room, after an ice pack and a nap, and Jimin is slowly
cooling off with his temples still on fire. And when Jeongguk finally
comes in, looking very hesitant, to apologize or whatever he might call
these things, something presses heavy on Jimin’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk says, nervous fingers drumming at the door frame.
Not getting anything in reply, he shuffles closer to the bed. There must
be something in Jimin’s silence that stops him, keeps him from going any
further. “I’m—”

“I know,” Jimin says. “I know. We’ve been here before.”

Something’s gonna give soon, it sure must, because Jimin has been at this
slow business of trying to figure out Jeongguk’s issue for a long time.
Longer than he should’ve been.

The issue, Jimin thinks, is this rush the kid has, about everything
physically thrilling but entirely innocent; like edgy amusement park
rides or rare MMA classes. Super manly sports, and all that. All that
dude-like thunderhead cockery. That commonplace type, the boy-learning-
the piss-tinged-taste-of-beer thing.

At least it used to be that but then somehow shifted, maybe last year.
Waited to start showing itself only now. And even though all of that
energy is being used up on Jimin in this lowkey way, he knows Jeongguk
better than anything, which makes Jeongguk’s idea of a subtle approach
look like a tactical nuke-out.

“Hyung, I really am—” Jeongguk leans close, and Jimin jerks back.
“Sorry.”

And Jimin finds himself grinning, as he leans back against the wall.
Cradles his head that still buzzes with the dull pain from today’s
rehearsal, the cold metal of that stage support pillar still a throbbing
imprint on his back. It was a hard shove.

“I know,” he says, shaking his head. “Gotta rest some more,” he crawls
further up the bed. “Okay?”

Every time when it ends up in more than mild bruises, Jeongguk treads
carefully for a few days. Jimin thinks how much his own curiosity plays
into this.

Because Jeongguk happens to be this real piece of sheer human talent who
is entirely dude with no cruelty to him but a lot of force; who puffs
himself out, chest and pretty feathers – what Jimin quietly calls “double
dickage” – which is offset by all these soft boyish things and feelings,
the curls of his perm and kind eyes, always wide and curious, and the
need to care for his hyungs in awkward ways.

Jimin finds it interesting how the effect gets ruined whenever Jeongguk’s
head gets all bad, all up there in that adrenaline high. The thing that
makes Jeongguk push harder, fight in ways not entirely playful, hurt
Jimin kind of for real. Not too much, never serious, but it’s that –
real.

Jeongguk never gives promises and never swears on it, choosing to

silently brood in his guilt, like an overgrown puppy by Jimin’s aching
side.

Hyung has to rest some more, Jimin says every time. And Jeongguk takes a
walk from that. Jeongguk treads so carefully then.

Every single time, Jimin gives it three days.

﹍﹍﹍

Two in the morning, he usually finishes with the workout routine. Watches
his reflection in the gym’s showers. Traces the wicked patchwork of
bruises littering his ribs, the patterns that have nothing to do with
dancing or pushing his own body.

Sometimes Jeongguk pushes him not with the usual half effort, but instead
almost at full force that ends for Jimin in fat-ass headaches, a worse
throb of pain in his limbs. Sometimes Jeongguk hits him slightly, all in
jest but with that innocently mild type of force that leaves hard marks
on Jimin’s softer sides. Patches of skin on fire. Jeongguk hides his face
every time, staring at the floor.

And Jimin is curious about the way Jeongguk has always been weirdly
jacked on that adrenaline thing. Almost like some kind of unaware junkie
just stumbling blindly without the normal means to get their itch off on
regular basis. Play-fighting others helps him some, it seems.

Either way, Jimin is too curious to not see it till the end.

Because there’s a certain beauty about what you allow others to get away
with, Jimin supposes. Their intentions, your own control of it. And
whatever games people tend to play with him, typical middle school
assholery or sometimes unamusing words and things a little more cruel, it
comes down to one thing. All of it is granted by his patience and genuine
curiosity. Softness of heart is for other things, not that.

He’s doing fine, has it under control.

One of those nights comes, a careless kind that happens every time
they’re on breaks between promotions, that leaves his back sore for
longer than usual. Kind of fucked up after he’s been shoved against the
wall; almost thrown into it, sideways, his back ramming into the edge of
a glass shelf.

It stings like hell. Turns out not to be big, the wound, the cuts are
tiny but deep and need stitches. It isn’t that big of a deal in the break
time, but he still gets a mild scolding from the management and a quick
patch up at the hospital. Everything happens to be so mild, because there
is no schedule to be postponed.

Watching Jimin change and hiss at the pull of bandages, Jeongguk keeps
quiet.

“Jeonggukkie?” Jimin is surprised to find that Jeongguk looks at him

through a wash of tears.

The air is rather strained, and it seems to Jimin that no matter how
sorry Jeongguk is for his accidental violence, or how guilty he feels,
there is something else.

As they cuddle to sleep that night, Jeongguk finally speaks. “Hyung,” he

breathes, his hand skimming over the bandages that hug Jimin’s back,
“I’m—really sorry.”

Jimin closes his eyes, nuzzles into Jeongguk’s neck. He can hear Taehyung
snoring in the bunk above them, Hoseok mumbling out fragments of sleep
from his own bed. Jimin aches so badly, the dull pain of the cuts and
something else, this acute thing in his chest.

“Friends don’t do this, Jeongguk,” Jimin finally says. There’s pressure

on the wound then, the touch growing heavier. It burns. “Friends tease
your asshole but they’re more careful than that.”

And somehow, as Jeongguk’s nails dig through the fabric of his sterile
dressing and into the raw aching skin, Jimin doesn’t stop him. Not the
worst pain Jimin has lived through, not even close. Jeongguk pushes on,
his breath stuttering, pushes at the cuts and some flimsy boundaries. At
Jimin’s curiosity, maybe.

“Hyung,” it sounds like a gasp.

“Hey,” Jimin says, shifting closer, throwing his bare thigh over
Jeongguk’s hips. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re upset and, uh—”

It really is odd, feeling Jeongguk’s nervous breath on his cheek and

heavy hand on his back that keeps pressing and pressing. Jimin waits with
this genuine wonder, because he just really, really wants Jeongguk to
find the courage to explain himself.

"You’re hurt,” Jeongguk breathes, finally. Sounds like he’s choking

something back.

“Jeon Jeongguk,” Jimin whispers, hoping there’s calmness to his voice,

hoping to soothe this trapped sick thing, “stop shaking.”

Jeongguk lets out a strange laugh, loud enough to wake someone up. Jimin
winces, from the gasp too close to his ear and the scrape of nails on his
raw skin. Or maybe the near-subliminal message all of this is conjuring.
Confused boys, overworked boys, dumb and big boys who are not entirely
chill in the head – fucking. He sighs. It can’t be that stupid.

“Go to sleep,” he says. Feels Jeongguk nod but make no attempt to move.
“Jeonggukkie,” Jimin aims to flick him on the forehead but misses in the
dark, grazing his temple instead. “In your bed.”

﹍﹍﹍

Jimin rubs sleep from his eyes before fumbling around the bathroom space
to get his razor. He hasn't shaved for a few days, and his face looks
thinner than usual. He’s too groggy to do a good job of proper shaving
but still goes through with it, slowly and with his bad eye not helping
the case as it’s still almost glued with crust at the corners.

“Lookin’ like shit, Jiminie,” he curses at the sudden voice, scowls at

Taehyung’s very ruffled up reflection in the mirror.

Taehyung stands there in his underwear, squinting at the bathroom’s

bright lights like it’s the worst thing that could possibly be happening
to his eyes in the moment. Then he’s stepping closer, his big hands
coming up to smooth over Jimin’s back, the way both he and Hoseok tend to
do, always helping Jimin with the old stiffness. And even though Jimin
tries really hard not to flinch when hard palms begin to knead at his
shoulders, he just can’t help a pained noise from slipping out. His back
has long healed since the only accident everyone knows about, but these
days there is always something fresh on his skin.

“What’s that?” Taehyung sounds confused. “Did you pull something again?
Yah, Jiminie, you promised to be an adult about this.”

Before Jimin can burst into a rightful bout of shit-talk, Jeongguk

stumbles in, kind of like a sleepy grumpy puppy not making it around the
corners properly, and proceeds past them to the tub. There he bends,
shower head already in hand and positioned over his nape, and opens the
tap.

Taehyung just looks at that, mouth agape, and giggles. “You’ve got your
own bathroom,” he says as soon as Jeongguk finishes spraying himself with
ice-cold water for no reason.

Shaking his wet hair, Jeongguk only grunts in reply. And then, looking up
to meet Jimin’s eyes in the mirror, he consents, “Namjoonie-hyung’s
morning dumps take longer than _Running Man_ ’s been fuckin’ airing.”

He’s smiling, looking pleased that Taehyung barks one of his adorably
deep laughs. The sound dies down the moment Jimin lets out a hiss,
jerking away from Taehyung’s hands, and dropping the razor. It clangs
loudly against the sink’s enamel. Fingers attempt to tug Jimin’s shirt
up, and he slaps the touch away, twisting around and giving Taehyung a
pointed look.

“Just a thought,” Taehyung sounds a little pissed off, “but maybe certain
idiots should see teacher Bae about their shit.” Teacher Bae is the
company’s physical therapist but Jimin knows the words suggest another
thing altogether.

After Taehyung leaves, the silence drags in the way Jimin hates the most.
Stiff and awkward.

They have never been like that.

They always tend to sing a lot at home, the two of them, because Jimin
has had this habit of singing wherever he goes. It started as a constant
exercise to build up the strength of his voice and just kind of stuck. In
their first dorm’s only bathroom, Jimin would often struggle to shave
around his ankles and trail off in the middle of a song, and Jeongguk
would take it up and lead to the chorus alone, all the while going about
his skincare routine.

Jimin sighs, rubbing at his furrowed forehead. When he looks up, Jeongguk
stares at him, eyes wary and a little guilty behind his dripping bangs,
and just stands there.

Looking away, Jimin decides to break this ugly thing first, feeling
annoyed by everything awkward that surrounds them now, “When do you think
they’re gonna move us?”

They have been hearing talks, all just rumours of course, about them
having to move dorms again sooner than expected. Maybe for the last time
as a group that has to always live on each other’s heads. Could be
anything, really, all this inner gossip, but Jimin couldn’t think of a
better thing to say.

“Hyung.”
From the corner of his eye, Jimin sees movement. As Jungkook takes a step
forward, Jimin raises his arm. Puts his palm up, fingers spread.

But Jeongguk only asks, “Want a piggyback to the kitchen?”

It’s so unexpected and welcome, Jimin feels something bubbling up inside

of him. He starts to giggle silly. It’s alright, he nods to nothing in
particular.

Jeongguk turns and bends his knees a little to accommodate Jimin’s climb
on his back, arms wrapping around his legs for support. It’s been ages,
but Jimin marvels at the way those huge hands still struggle around the
thickness of his thighs.

For this one moment it seems that everything is worth it somehow, all the
confusion and ache Jimin's been going through for years, because in the
kitchen they break out into the shitty ballad with which Taehyung has
been pissing everyone off for weeks, and Jimin still holds tight onto
Jeongguk’s neck as they spin around a little. Jeongguk’s mouth is stuffed
with a piece of toast, Jimin helping him munch on it from the cosy place
on his back. All of this pushes their coffee-wired but soft manager to
start yelling at them to calm the fuck down and start getting ready
before they give him an aneurysm.

“Make that two hundred, Jiminie,” the poor man adds around his coffee
mug.

“Now don’t be mad, hyung,” Jimin smiles, trying to fit his chin over the
top of Jeongguk’s fluffy head. “We’re gonna drag our butts just fine.”

And it’s true for him too. Jimin keeps dragging himself like that for
months towards end of the year shows, with every other week getting more
and more of that good old tingle. It's a weird feeling. Not fear but a
caution.

﹍﹍﹍

The night is a little cold in their company’s gym, a good kind of chill
and empty, and Jimin means to last right up till early hours of morning.
Usual workout routine but twice as frantic, maybe too rushed and not
entirely healthy, but there are things looming that need him in good
thick shape.

Or maybe, with that deadweight of having been pushed around more than
usual, he just needs this private time and some empty space. Nights are
good for that, both mute and buzzing with white noise. Good even for his
head.

He ought to think of simple things anyway. His image for minor solo
activities and muscle mass and perfectly recycled vocabulary; old soap
dramas and his family, what his brother’s new hobbies are, how to be a
better help to Taehyung with learning the lines from the new script.
Lyrical writing and what to wear to the airports. All that simple and
easy stuff, and not of Jeon Jeongguk and the way his hands have been
rougher.

He shouldn’t think about this shit or the confusion that has been
replaced by a really sick curiosity. Like something Jimin needs to crack
and look at its unsound insides.

“Ditched me again,” comes a small voice as soon as Jimin steps into the
living room with his workout bag slung over his good shoulder. “We always
do the all-nighters together.”

Jeongguk is actually pouting at him from the couch. Jimin glances

sidelong at the nest there; can’t see it really in the dull glow of
hallway lights, but Jeongguk is definitely pouting.

“So you could flex your smug muscle pig butt and piss me off the entire
night?” Jimin flicks his hair, still wet from the shower. “No, thanks.”

“That’s—what?” He looks almost startled. “Hyung, you okay?”

Jimin scoffs. Sure he is. “Sure,” he shrugs and pads towards the closest
bathroom, liking the way his socked feet slide on the wood.

He is fine to all his bits and pieces, so he makes a point not to break
the routine. Stops to ruffle Jeongguk’s hair on his way, but somehow it
lacks the usual weight. When he moves to pull away there's a sudden grip
on his wrist. Jeongguk holds it in place, an odd anchor, then moves
closer, just enough to examine the purples around Jimin’s wrist bone.
While the strange inspection lasts, Jeongguk is holding his breath. A
little unnerving.

Then his gaze shifts, over Jimin’s chest and damp neck, to settle on his
eyes. And Jeongguk just looks at him, unblinking, no trace of previous
petulant puppy gloss. Jimin gently wiggles in the hold and clicks his
tongue in displeasure. The grip is too rough a weight over the old
bruises.

There is that tell-tale heat of annoyance beginning to creep in, the real
thing, and Jimin doesn’t want to feel that when it comes to Jeongguk. The
boy who has never been an intentional asshole, had the strength to hurt
but never would in the grave sense of it.

But Jimin’s wrist is turning numb now, and his fingers hurt in the cold
prickle of restricted blood flow.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk says and does not sound it at all. “Are you hurt?” His
face is that sheet of stuff that’s all smooth and blank.

This is ridiculous. Jimin huffs, lets out a disappointed whisper, “A

little.”

He could have easily fought Jeongguk off when it came to it. But he stays
still, in this ache and weird type of calm, and watches Jeongguk lean in.
There’s a soft press of lips to his wrist bone, they’re thin and dry
against his pulse point.

“What’s going on with you?” Jimin asks, this bored type of wonder to it.
“Just tell me.”

Jimin gets a lot of things about people and their intentions and what
people could really be about. He knows his boys as well as anyone
possibly can. But he still can’t quite figure out what this particular
thing of force is about.

“Jiminie-hyung,” Jeongguk doesn't say anything else and simply bites at

another bruise, almost drawing a yelp out of him, making him rip his hand
out of the hard grip.

It might be the first time he takes a step back. He looks at Jeongguk’s

glazed expression, shakes his head.

“Sort it out,” he says levelly and backs away.

﹍﹍﹍

It’s a week since the night in question, and Jimin is sticking band-aids
over fresh cuts on his forearm. Still shuffling in the doorway, Jeongguk
is wearing a complex expression of emotional pain while watching Jimin
work.

It was a glass this time, nothing too serious but unpleasant as hell.
After having been pushed into the kitchen counter, feeling the hot sting
on his skin from a litter of tiny shards, Jimin was studying Jeongguk’s
flushed face that was still hovering above him.

Jeongguk hadn’t known there was broken glass. Jimin thought that if all
of them would have taken being tidy more seriously, people wouldn’t be
cutting themselves on broken glassware. Grabbing at the pair of
prescription glasses on his face, he was glad to learn they were still
intact.

When something started to trickle down his elbow, Jimin winced, detaching
himself from the hard countertop edge, and tried to assess the damage.
Jeongguk reached out to help keeping his arm up and just stared. Kept
quiet, gulping hard. His fingers were trembling slightly as he was
brushing the tips over Jimin’s bright blood. It wasn’t much or anything
serious, really, but—

Looking at Jeongguk’s face, Jimin realized that there was something

exploding in that head for sure. Another type of experience. Something
very high. Jimin himself felt his old curiosity dissipate, replaced by
something quite clinically empty.

He knew Jeongguk wasn’t thinking when he dropped his head down to kiss
Jimin’s minute cuts. It might’ve been the fucked up adrenal high of his,
making him fall into that disturbing aspect of self.

Sitting on the cold edge of the tub now, Jimin sticks a band-aid over the
last cut and huffs at the yellow-pink anime print. Without having to
look, he knows that Jeongguk is quietly boiling in the doorway. Biting
his lips, maybe twisting his hands in locks. His restless energy seems to
charge the air. Jeongguk almost glows with that panic, it’s so real.

For a brief moment, Jimin catches himself staring at his own reflection
in the dark matted tile. He looks relaxed; his face has gone vacant.

Jimin sighs, “Guess you might really have a thing about that, huh? Any
reason for letting it out on me though?”

Jeongguk twitches in what could be surprise. “‘Cos—you never stopped me.

And you’re never mad. You don’t look mad.”

There were other words, Jimin senses, beneath all of that. Something
about trust. “Jeongguk, I don't look like a lot of things when all of you
decide to push it too far. Just means I choose to handle some of it.”

The tension is almost visible in the way Jeongguk holds himself up. “So
you’re mad?”

Jimin regards him carefully, feeling his own mouth twist into a smile.
“No. I’m not mad. Hurt, though. Like, I don’t care but you—you look like
you do. Maybe it’s the point.”

Jeongguk lets out a strangled noise, kind of indignant, “No, of course

not—I, uh—it’s not the point. The point is,” one hand is at his nape,
twisting at the hair there. “The point is—you were supposed to be hurting
me too.”

Jimin can’t help but laugh at that. He goes at it for a while, throwing
his head back, but careful not to fall off the edge. “What in the fucked
up hell did you watch?”

“It’s not like that,” Jeongguk is shaking his head, hands in front of his
chest with their palms up, as if to calm Jimin down. “It’s not about… sex
stuff.”

They haven’t openly ventured into the area of _detailed_ intimate talk as
far as details go, but the two of them have had enough quiet nights of
all kinds of porn binging to know of some things. Certain things that are
made clear by a bunch of tacky home videos full of gay dicking, and both
of them quite obviously getting off on that. And if it isn’t sexual—

“Tell me how it is, then,” Jimin just looks at him.

It’s just the whirr of the fan now, but Jimin is waiting. His mouth curls
up into a smile that he hopes is encouraging as he takes in Jeongguk’s
silence, the stiff nervousness of his motions.

Then Jeongguk chuckles, rubbing at his arm, “It was an accident when I
first—uh, last year, I got, like, a real bad burn on my arm, remember?”
He waits for a nod and sighs. “Happened a lot, like when we used to do
bungee jumping, or in my boxing classes, or wrestling and all that other
shit—It’s when,” he stops, suddenly looking unsure again. “I don’t know.
I don’t know, hyung.”

Jimin shakes his hair out of his eyes, runs his fingers through the damp
bangs. He feels calm and somewhat full. Mildly fucked up. It’s kind of a
curious burn.

His voice naturally drops once he decides to speak about this one thing
that’s been eating at him. “Thought I’d lost it, Jeongguk. That last bit,
you know? Of whatever respect you had for me,” there’s tiredness behind
his voice but he tries to let Jeongguk know that he regards all of it as
something pretty chill. He cocks his head to the side, watching Jeongguk
refuse to blink. “Thought you really went all asshole on me.”

“It’s not like that,” Jeongguk takes a step forward, seemingly anxious.
Maybe to make Jimin understand something he doesn’t quite get himself
yet.

Jimin studies his face. Jeongguk doesn’t look up. His big teeth, very
white, cut at his bottom lip, like he’s mulling over something he doesn’t
want to admit to.

Jimin sighs, “Okay.” Maybe it is. Maybe he’s crossed the point where it
all kind of flips around, the curiosity is no longer that. He has to ask
one thing, though: “What do you want?”
Jeongguk keeps quiet, his head low, and goes to tug on his hair again.
This just won’t do. So Jimin leans forward, tries to catch his eye again.
“This about control?” Jeongguk shakes his head. “No? Then what?”

“I just need to let this,” he skips a beat, “thing. Let it out. It’s the
rush? Dunno. It gets bad when I don’t do that—or if I can’t.”

“What about gym stuff? Or your MMA stuff? With teacher Kang?”

“Doesn’t work like that, ‘cos—like, I need a response? You know,” he

trails off, a little lost for words. “I think I kept at it ‘cos I was
super sure you’d push me back. Eventually.”

Jimin coughs, a couple of times. Clears his throat, “Close the door.”

Jeongguk complies and stays there to just shuffle in place. Jimin shuts
his eyes for a second, reaches for the calm in the spots of color that
the hard press of his fingertips leaves on his lids.

He blinks it off, “You really do feel guilty, huh?” Jeongguk nods. “Okay.
Now come here.”

Jeongguk smiles and skittishly approaches him, one hand hesitantly

reaching for something and then dropping empty. Jimin extends his good
hand, palm up, a peace offering.

“Jeongguk, when you need something, you have to talk about it. Ask for
it,” their fingers fit well together, just as always. “Otherwise people
assume all sorts of stuff. Go dumb, go batshit.”

“You didn’t.”

“Well, guess there was some kinda gut feeling you had, telling you to use
it on me. Push it all on your hyung.” He pauses. Voice thin and tight, he
says, “I’m not your toy, Jeongguk.”

“I know that.”

Jimin smiles, “Funny that. You knowing of it and not the others.” He lets
go of Jeongguk to ruffle up his own hair again, another favorite
grounding habit. “And we’ve talked about it—conversations, right? People
who care about each other have them. You were okay with having them
before.”

“Well, before I didn’t need to—you know.”

“Yeah,” Jimin ducks his head, away from the lights that keep hurting his
eyes. “Listen, it’s kinda not… something that can happen in our place.
This kinda piss-poor fight club shenanigans or whatever.”

“I know.”
Jimin nods, smoothes over one of the band-aids even if there is no
practical need for that. Finds Jeongguk’s hand again to hold onto it
tight. “Just talk to me when this—your thing—happens. Talk to me. Okay?”

He tilts his head to keep the glasses from slipping all the way off his
nose. Attempts to untangle his fingers from the loose grip to push the
frames back, but Jeongguk does it for him.

“I will,” he says, rubbing at the bridge of Jimin’s small nose before

adjusting the glasses.

Jimin closes his eyes against the warm weight on his cheek. “Well that
was some real freaky kinda chat, if you ask me,” he mutters. “Balls-
aching.”

“Totally,” Jeongguk chuckles. “Thank you.” And slowly, very gently, he

begins to stroke Jimin’s hair.

﹍﹍﹍

Four or five nights a week have always been borrowed for talking but now
the nature of it is turning rum. Strange but not quite.

Because Jeongguk talks about his thing instead, like a sort of

replacement therapy. Hesitant in the first weeks, he starts talking in
more detail; talks of wanting it. Sometimes of tacky things like winning
a particular fight, of tasting blood or hearing bones crunch under his
fists or feet, all those bland little things. But mostly he talks of
using his hands. Sometimes of how he’d cob someone until his knuckles
peel to bright meat, how that someone would smash his face right up in
return.

Jeongguk talks a lot like that, of hurting, whispers into the crook of
Jimin’s neck, soothed by soft caresses on his back, gentle fingers
threading through his overdyed hair.

What was that thing Jeongguk said ages ago? Jimin fails to remember the
exact words. Something about bringing him back to who he is or whatever.
And it’s good that he comes to Jimin when he’s shaking with it. Jimin is
always ready to listen.
And when the explosion comes, Jimin doesn’t even have the time to be
surprised. He rises at the sound of door opening and freezes, dead calm
in his cluttered hotel room that smells of muggy tropics and all things
pleasantly sour. It’s their final stop for this year’s tour, not a single
demanding day ahead of them in the schedule, because they finally sort of
made it. Earned the right to slow down.

Maybe not him, though.

Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, but Jeongguk is there, strutting in and

slamming the door behind him. He leans back against it, palms pressed to
expensive wood, and looks unreal. Something in his eyes, growing,
gleaming. In the bluish, flickering light of the TV’s flat screen, his
face seems paler than usual, the skin taut.

Jimin hesitates, “You okay?”

“Hyung,” the voice small, shaky, but his steps are far from it. He moves
up slowly, one step at a time, as if to ask: _is this okay?_ “I’m gonna
fuckin’ explode.”

“Jeonggukkie, hey, listen—” Jimin takes a step back, towards the window
and the city’s lights. “You’ve been doing so well. Haven’t you?”

And he keeps talking and talking, as if to keep off a scared animal, and
registers that his own feet are unsteady. He’s backing away, stumbling
over Taehyung’s suitcase and messy piles of cotton and bed covers on the
floor.

Now, this is not his way at all. He stops, curtains off the window. “Are
you scared?”

Jeongguk nods. Something odd in his eyes now, behind that soft surprise.
It eats away at Jimin’s tender resolve, so he grabs for the remote to
turn up the volume until it drowns out the hum of hotel’s corridor and
outside traffic.

He sighs, nodding, combing through his too long hair. “Okay,” he says.
Takes a step back, now solid, unflinching, not in fear but led by
something else.

He is working himself up into that stubborn angry thing he’s tried to

grow out of. Because he needs to. Needs it for what he has to do.

For an unbearably drawn out moment of halted violence, Jimin thinks he

might choke on thick stifling air. Nothing is smooth when Jeongguk
finally moves. He is there in a second, his speed as scary as always, and
getting right to it, aiming the first punch to Jimin’s ribs. It’s still
too slow, so Jimin is able to dodge it and a few more flings that follow,
until a really clean knee-kick to his ribs knocks him off. He latches
onto Jeongguk’s shirt and they stumble for a bit, a little awkward
because touching the face is off limits.
It’s so ridiculous and scattered, reminds Jimin more of the first-years
taunting each other.

Then his stomach swoops, his blood running cold, because somehow Jeongguk
manages to spin him right into a headlock that has Jimin leaning up on
his toes, helplessly clutching at bulging arms around his neck and head.
Soon it gets hard to breathe, his body refusing to cooperate, but he
remembers to turn his head a little, clear the airway, and then braces
himself before the move. Hands pushing at the inside of Jeongguk’s arm,
chin tucked in the space there, Jimin wiggles his shoulders and then
sinks in the hold. With more space for movement now, he steps back,
manages to lock his foot around Jeongguk’s ankle and twist both their
bodies to the side, all to Jeongguk’s annoyed grunting. It takes only a
moment to bend forward and throw Jeongguk to the floor, wincing at the
pull in his working shoulder. He stumbles off balance – it hasn’t been
that good from today’s morning – and follows right after.

And they’re on the floor in one kicking and punching pile of dumb
violence that reminds Jimin of a silly dog fight rather than anything
proper. At some point he manages to push on top of Jeongguk, pinning him
to the floor, one knee to the other’s sternum and both wrists held in
tight lock over his head. Jeongguk puffs, wiggling, all of it putting a
strain on what feels like every muscle in Jimin’s body used to keep both
of them in place.

And then one hand is ripped free out of Jimin’s hold, and it flies up to
fist Jimin’s hair, tugging him sideways, dragging to the bad bending
point of his neck, left and right, forcing him to let go. In his trying
to clear his darkened vision, Jimin is tugged back up with little effort,
to stand a little unsteady on his feet. He feels his knees knock against
Jeongguk’s through the blur of pain, but before he could start moving,
there comes a sudden grip on his throat. Firm, steady, and he’s gulping
against it, getting really fucking pissed off.

This just won’t do.

Won’t do at all.

He skitters and trashes, clutching at the burning hold on his scalp, then
at the iron grip on his neck. He hasn’t been held like that before, not
ever. A muscle in his thigh twitches, a sign of the oncoming crash. The
top of his head is numb, and there is an awful burn in his chest. And it
hurts, hurts so bad indeed. The vision goes out in spots but then Jimin
makes a leap for it. He growls and manages to side-kick Jeongguk above
his knee, enough to knock him off balance. It gives Jimin space to
breathe and then land a loud slap, an open palm falling flat to
Jeongguk’s ear like it’s some kind of drum. He blinks, watching Jeongguk
stumble, and sends him to the floor with a backheel.

For a moment Jimin has to hang on to himself with both hands braced on
his knees. Every sound comes to him as from somewhere far away, like he’s
moved underwater. He blinks against the sensation. The rush of blood, the
burn on his throat. Jeongguk looks like he’s in that space as well, his
ears must be ringing like hell.

Jimin takes a step back, blinking through the sting, waiting for Jeongguk
to get up. When he does, shaking his hair like a ruffled dog, everything
seems to shift. Something off the brakes, that adrenaline kick of
Jeongguk’s.

It comes so sudden that Jimin has no time to react with his slackened
reflexes. Jeongguk flings his arm out, breaking all those rules, and
Jimin tastes blood in his mouth. He hopes his nose isn’t broken because
no mask can hide that shit. And besides, the shape of it is already weird
and unfortunate enough. There’s no time to think about flat broken noses
that much, really. Somehow his fist ends up connecting with Jeongguk’s
jaw, and it goes downhill right from that point.

It all blurs in a motion, drowns in the cotton clogging his ears. The way
they just keep punching each other like idiots, both not really knowing
what they’re doing, not well enough to do any proper damage. Jimin just
hopes they won’t get quite literally murdered for this in the morning.

It stings like hell, the skin of his hands and face, and then they both
hit the wall, Jeongguk hovering over him, his breath hot and labored on
Jimin’s face.

Behind his closed eyes, Jimin feels his throat ache under the hard press,
must be Jeongguk’s forearm. Sweat trickles down his temples, something
thick and sticky pooling in his mouth. The taste no different from the
usual nosebleeds they tended to get in the rush of promotions from the
fucked up blood pressure. But Jimin refuses to spit on the hotel’s
carpeting and gulps that mess down. Keeps at it while pinned like that,
swallowing and willing the nausea away.

He opens his eyes. Dim lights still hurt his vision. The ache spreads,
the hot and cold weight of the blood moves in his stomach.

He stands there, watches Jeongguk’s flushed face. Watches him breathe,

how his chest is rising and falling. Sees his lips slightly part. Right
there – the faintest suggestion of bruising. Jimin wonders if his neck
will be colored worse than Jeongguk’s jaw and cheekbone. Jimin can see it
as if through a tunnel.

“Feel better?” he rasps, the sound barely audible in the choking hold.
“You won.”

For a brief second there is a chilly thought in Jimin’s hazy mind, that
Jeongguk will keep going.

And then the pressure on his throat is gone, replaced by the light touch
of Jeongguk’s calloused hand. Fingers spread wide, he palms at Jimin’s
thick neck, pushing in only shy of painful, then down to his chest. It’s
a slow way down to Jimin’s abdomen. The touch is hot, burning even
through the thick cotton of his shirt. And the weight is different now.
Forces the muscles of his stomach to strain. Jeongguk lets out a shaky
breath, must be from the way Jimin’s hot body feels under his rough palm.

Head lolled to the side, Jimin reaches out to stroke up Jeongguk’s stiff
neck. Soft little patterns from the nape and through his messy hair until
Jimin has himself a fistful of it, gripping it roughly and watching
Jeongguk squeeze his eyelids shut.

“Hyung,” is the only thing he manages out, a choked little sound.

Then, struggling against the force with which Jimin is holding him up by
the hair, he lurches forward, almost blindly, to latch his mouth onto
Jimin’s bloody one.

And that shit right there feels entirely of the moment. It’s eager and
sloppy, almost clueless and so wet, the way of Jeongguk’s kissing. He
doesn’t dare press closer, moving only his lips.

Jimin opens up for him easily, hand gently tilting his head for better
access, and huffs in annoyance every time their teeth clash. Sucking on
Jeongguk’s tongue, drawing a moan out of him from beneath all that eager
puffing, Jimin wonders what his own mouth might taste like right now. To
him it feels sticky and gross inside, the corners of his lips are covered
in red crust and burning. What a gross mess, keeps replaying in his head,
as he feels their mixed saliva trickle down his chin.

It’s a low buzz in Jimin’s ears and a headful of questions when

Jeongguk’s hand slides up his flimsy shirt, fingertips pressing at the
taut skin before travelling down to the waistband of his sweatpants. And
right then it seems very important to Jimin that they slow the fuck down
this wet hot and very gross mess of a thing. Not that he isn’t into
getting his dick wet post-tour, but it so happens to be Jeon Jeongguk
kissing him, badly, suddenly, in the aftershocks of some completely
different physical high.

“Jeonggukkie,” Jimin pushes at his chest, “look at me.”

When Jeongguk does, his face is so open, flushed. Filmed with sweat. His
eyes wide and pupils blown in a very obvious way which Jimin has only
seen a few times during post-gig excitement. But there must be something
pressing on Jeongguk, he seems so unable to contain the little shakes
within his frame. So he leans in again, completely draping himself over
Jimin.

Trying to hold all that aroused weight up, Jimin groans from the strain
and then from the hot open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, a wet and icky
trail down his aching throat. Jeongguk suddenly licks at the sweat there
and stops, just breathes like that. Breathes deep and so fucking weird.
His nose is squashed against Jimin’s skin in a rather silly way but it
can’t keep Jimin’s concern away.

Jimin gives it a beat, and then another, his hands running up and down
Jeongguk’s back where he subtly works his fingers against stiff muscle,
careful not to press too hard at whatever bruising might be there. It’s
almost enough to lull him into something familiar, their usual tired ways
of cuddling, but then Jeongguk reaches back to find Jimin’s hand and
guide it away, lower, until—

“Hey, wow, Jeongguk—” Jimin rasps out as soon as his hand is pressed to
Jeongguk’s ass and being urged on.

“You can, uh,” Jeongguk licks his lips and the tip of his tongue brushes
Jimin’s heated neck. “You can—Please.”

“What—” Jimin begins and feeling his hand being pointedly shoved between
Jeongguk’s clothed asscheecks, thin fabric giving easily under his
fingertips, he has to close his eyes. Enough to brace his very tempted
but responsible being.

Because it’s Jeon Jeongguk, pressing him against the wall, asking him to
quite possibly venture into sexual territory that tastes suspiciously
like unprompted anal.

“Idiot,” Jimin’s giggle rings out, tasting of some particular hysteria.

“Idiot, I’m not gonna do that. And didn’t you tell me—you told me it
wasn’t sexual.”

“It’s not,” Jeongguk sighs like he is very bummed out right now, about
everything at once. “This is a different thing. A new thing.”

Jimin laughs, incredulous, “How new?”

“Like, five minutes new.”

“Must’ve been some tight five minutes. Being so jazzed about wanting
something up there.”

“Well, hey, shut up. I’ve done some stuff. Myself, you know, like—”

“Oh, yeah, I know.” Jimin pauses to card his hand through Jeongguk’s damp
hair. Heavy weight on his shoulder, heavy thump of the other heart
against his chest. “Why is the thing happening now?”

“You’re hot,” Jeongguk says in that casual kind of tone, “and I trust
you. And I just thought about it sorta like—maybe it could help? With the
main thing. Instead of—you know?”

Jimin has to think about it. Could it help with “the main thing”? Could
be like converting energy?

He hums, “Instead of getting our faces and voices all fucked up and
pulling very important muscles and probably getting brutally murdered by
the management?”

“That,” Jeongguk sighs and presses this impossibly tender kiss to the
hollow of Jimin’s throat.

“Jeonggukkie, I’m not gonna just—”

“It’s fine, just—do something. Something. You wanna, right?” He waits for
Jimin to nod – because Jimin surely does wanna, very much so – and arches
his back in invitation for more touching. “Please.”

With that he rolls his hips against Jimin’s, once, twice, until he falls
into a slow rhythm that still comes off as rather demanding. His hands
moving up Jimin’s shirt again to trace his tense bruised back, pressing
at the ridges of his spine as he goes up and down in time with the
rutting of his clothed and already hard cock against Jimin’s.

The touch grows heavier, hotter, getting some type of edge to it, and
Jimin doesn’t care, holding Jeongguk’s hips while helping keep their
movement steady. It begins to take a toll on his back, though, that has
turned into one giant numb spot in this position even despite the mindful
pressure of fingers against the muscles there.

Feeling Jeongguk’s ragged breath against his shoulder, Jimin is suddenly

hit with this tangible wave of everything brightly sad; longing and lust
and a lot of loneliness, as if finally catching onto Jeongguk’s
wavelength. All from their rocking together and the shared taste.

It might be hard for Jeongguk to talk in the moment, so Jimin guides him
with a whisper and steady hands, spins the two of them around. Jimin
finds his own mouth opening to spill words soft and dirty, hearing
Jeongguk reply with something equally embarrassing.

And he swears it’s the last time he talks like that, about taking someone
raw or choking on cock while riding his own fingers, he swears it’s
always the last one of those horrible speeches as he falls to his knees,
immediately pulling onto Jeongguk’s sweatpants. The strings seem to have
tangled and Jimin fumbles with the knot in annoyance but slaps Jeongguk’s
hands away.

“Chill,” he says, finally getting the knot loose and letting the pants
pool on the floor. “I got it.”

He’s got it so much that when faced with the straining fabric of
Jeongguk’s briefs, he can’t help a moan slipping out. There’s a faint
damp patch on the front which makes Jimin want to tease but he decides
against it. Just leans in and softly blows on that dark spot. That earns
him a sharp intake of breath and he looks up, meeting Jeongguk’s wide
eyes and making a point to keep their gazes locked as he leans in to
mouth at the obvious line of erection through the fabric. He’s pleased to
see a very pretty flush on the other’s face that only turns a deeper
shade of pink with every drag of his mouth over the shaft.

There’s a point to this, Jimin decides, because he’s got to treat his
ears to something fresh – breathy curses and whimpering will do just fine
– because he’s the one doing the teasing this time. He finally hooks his
thumbs under the waistband to pull the briefs down, letting Jeongguk’s
cock spring free and chuckling at another soft curse coming from above
him. All in all it takes him another few – no doubt torturous for
Jeongguk – minutes of teasing, his mouth chasing the head playfully, his
eyes never leaving Jeongguk’s, before he finally steadies the already
very hard cock and softly taps at his cracked lips with its leaking tip.

Maybe it kind of is an asshole move, seeing that Jeongguk’s hands curl

into fists against the wall instead of gripping Jimin’s hair and fucking
into his mouth, but Jimin is thoroughly enjoying the drag of it, of his
lips down the hard length, which he follows with licking long, thick
stripes, pressing the flat of his tongue to hot skin. He’s loving the
choked up sounds it earns him, and then, finally, he is wrapping his lips
around the head and sucks. Imagines how obscene this must look with all
the dry blood, and reds and soft blues that litters their skin; must be
an A-okay sight too, if the way Jeongguk twitches in his mouth is
anything to go by.

Shifting on the carpet, Jimin finally swallows down the length of

Jeongguk’s dick as far as he can, working his free hand around what he
can’t fit, and tries to keep his eyes still locked with Jeongguk’s, tries
to follow every reaction as he sucks shallowly at first, drawing these
raw grunting sounds from somewhere deep in Jeongguk’s chest. He feels
Jeongguk’s hips jerk up, tentative but somewhat helpless in the need, and
allows a few shallow thrusts into his aching mouth.

“Jeonggukkie,” he breaks away and leans back, his hands lazily stroking
the now spit-slick shaft, gently tugging down the foreskin, “lemme just
do it—in, you know, a kinda chill fashion, like? For now, ‘cos my
throat…” He laughs, realizing that they both have been slipping more into
their dialect since the start of the fight. “Let’s see ‘bout that thing
as it goes, yeah?”

It might be true that they still have a couple of weeks to go until the
next major point in schedule but Jimin would rather be safe than sorry,
his voice already weak enough even after years of scratching it through
training. Something itches at the back of his head, like little nasty
nails of fear; but Jeongguk nods, muttering something unintelligible, and
lets his hands fall to pet Jimin’s hair.

It’s a sudden display of everything tender and mindless that has Jimin’s
stomach twisting from something he can’t quite figure out.

“Okay now,” he pauses, feeling the sudden need to study Jeongguk’s

flushed cock with great curiosity.

He hums, traces the most prominent vein on the underside with his thumb,
follows right after with his open mouth, soon switching it to his tongue,
licking in broad and thick stripes, and back up to lap at the wet tip.

“Feel free to shoot the stuff,” Jimin chuckles. “I mean cum in my mouth,
like,” and laughs some more, adding ‘should you feel so inclined’ and
‘warn a guy though’.

Fingers are still stroking his hair when Jimin leans in again,
shamelessly nuzzling down the length, the tip of his nose cool on the hot
skin, and eventually diving in to gently suck on the balls. He works his
mouth for good measure, taking in the desperate tone of Jeongguk’s gasps,
the barely there scrape of nails on Jimin’s scalp.

And when he finally drags his mouth back up to suck at the head and then
swallow all the way to the base, until he feels himself gagging, Jimin is
fairly certain he’d rather do just that – choke on Jeongguk’s cock to
help him ease off that twisted high.

It’s not necessarily what Jimin aspires to do in times of frustration,

because even though he likes to please, dicks aren’t the best tasting
things out there. Not that he’s tasted many, only maybe three or four of
some random—well now there’s Jeongguk’s, and it’s bigger than anything
Jimin had in his mouth. But he still swallows down well, works Jeongguk
up slowly and steadily, builds him up with the good amount of pressure of
his hands and tongue.

He motions for Jeongguk to start moving. Allows Jeongguk fist his hair
and then buck into his mouth, the tip hitting the back of his throat
every other thrust. Palms running up and down Jeongguk’s strong legs,
Jimin tries to control his breathing, feeling his nose brush the coarse
hair now and then. A particularly deep thrust has Jimin gagging and he
chokes around it. Feels a shiver run through Jeongguk’s tensed thighs.

The roll of Jeongguk’s hips has been careful but the movement breaks,
turns uneven, as he begins to shudder with the first waves of orgasm,
gently tugging on Jimin’s hair, urging him to stop, but only managing to
slip out to the tip. Jimin waits for it, still sucking on the head, the
way he likes his own blowjobs to go. And feeling hot spurts of cum fill
his mouth, Jimin kind of begins to regret not spitting instead, but
swallows the bitterness diligently, choking only a little. Some of it
spills in a mix with saliva, trickles down his chin. His eyelids squeezed
shut, he feels a gentle swipe on his face, thumb gathering up that sticky
mess. Behind the rush of blood and his own ragged breathing clogging his
ears, Jimin can hear Jeongguk’s raspy post-orgasmic gasps and more
muttering which, admittedly, is kind of cute.

Jimin coughs and blinks his eyes open. Sees Jeongguk’s head tipped back
against the wall, his brow furrowed and lips bitten to a deeper shade of
red. It’s a lovely, lovely look, so Jimin turns his head just slightly to
mouth at the fingers that still rest on his cheek. He swallows around
them, trying to mimic his earlier performance as best as he can, and
feels Jeongguk’s cock twitch against his cheek. What a horny bliss of
youth, getting it up like that.

He chuckles, liking how hoarse Jeongguk’s voice is now, how the press of
thumb is a good dull sensation on Jimin’s tongue.

“Can we kiss now?” is the first thing Jimin hears when he’s up on his
feet, groaning at the ache in his knees. “Hyung, I wanna kiss.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you to be one for that, honestly,” Jimin hums.

Still a little bewildered, he pushes at Jeongguk’s chest, refusing to be

tugged into any more tongue sucking while he’s got his mouth all gross.
“Trust me, you don’t wanna taste that,” Jimin chuckles.

“Whatever.”

Jeongguk licks at his fingers instead, the ones that are still wet from
being in Jimin’s mouth, and winces. His eyes flutter open and he looks at
Jimin, expression so open and pleased and sated.

“Your teeth are, like, pink,” he marvels. Washed off blood, Jimin
supposes. “Hope my dick isn’t,” Jeongguk glances down to check and it’s
the most hilarious thing Jimin has probably witnessed.

Jeongguk clears his throat before dropping his hand to cup Jimin’s still
clothed erection. “What should I—you sure you don’t wanna…”

Still a little dazed from the weight of it all and the welcome pressure
on his crotch, Jimin can only sigh.

Jeongguk, it seems, is very eager to get something going today, “Maybe

you could think of… something else you might wanna? I’m sayin’ I wanna
know if it could help, like, you stickin’ it up—” He laughs at Jimin’s
displeased groan that comes out as more of a whine, really. “But I get
it.”

Jimin lets it sink in, a little distracted by Jeongguk’s grip, a tight

circle at the base of his cock, “There’s this thing, ah—shit, stop with
the edgin’—”

“What’s that, hyung?” Jeongguk snakes one arm around Jimin to pull him in
and then finally dips his hand past the waistband, not commenting on the
lack of underwear, and gives a few experimental tugs. His strokes are
drawn out, slow at first, making Jimin’s head spin a little from having
to hold back. “What’s that, eh?”

“Your thighs—just. I wanna do a thing—slow down, wouldja?”

“What d’ya want with them?”

Jimin presses closer, bucking up into the tight fist around his cock and
dropping his hands to knead at the hard muscle of Jeongguk’s bare thighs.
Suddenly all of it begins to feel like too much. His head is so heavy
now, and he finds support on Jeongguk’s shoulder, pressing his mouth to
the damp skin of Jeongguk’s neck. They stay like that for a moment, in a
fuzzy haze of static and arousal.

“To fuck them,” the words come out low and a little gravelly, making
Jeongguk visibly shudder. “Better for everyone. Such a wunnerful thing.”

“Do that,” Jeongguk drops his hands, wiping one dirty palm on both their
shirts. His mouth does that crooked shithead smile, still somehow shy,
and it’s the one Jimin mostly hates but also finds endearing. “Show me
this wunnerful thing.”
Jimin laughs, a little breathless. “Yeah, okay, don’t get that bratty
cockhead all full of itself again,” he mutters.

There is more dumb snickering directed at his back as he sets off to

rummage through Taehyung’s suitcase, knowing his best friend tends to
stash up on travel packs of cheap lubricant. As if it were some kind of
ritual instead of convenience made to cater to Kim Taehyung’s habit of
jerking off every sleepless free hotel-hour he gets.

After finding a literal kilo of the thing in question, all on one

perforated string tucked in the inside zip pocket, Jimin only giggles. He
rips off one pack out of what looks like thirty, and turns to see that
Jeongguk has kicked off his pants to the side and is leaning against the
wall now. Completely relaxed and eyeing Jimin up. The shirt is no longer
there and Jeongguk doesn’t look like he is about to start moving any time
soon.

Bright pack in hand, Jimin strides back and touches Jeongguk’s arm,
feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of his caress, “How about we—”

“I’m fine right here,” Jeongguk gulps but looks serious about this.
“Maybe it… will be much better like that. You know.”

There go his fingers again, worrying little hairs on his nape, and then
he turns to face the wall with his palms flat against it for support.
Quickly glances at Jimin over his shoulder as if to check for something.
Jimin has to step away to take his own pants off and then help Jeongguk
settle into a better position, gently pushing above his tailbone, asking
him to move back just slightly to accommodate the few centimeters they
have in height difference.

When Jeongguk does, spreading his legs a little for better access, Jimin
finally gets himself a proper feeling; first dragging his hands from the
small of Jeongguk’s back to knead at his ass for good measure and then,
encouraged by the sharp exhale that Jeongguk muffles into his arm,
presses hard to the flesh of one of his inner thighs. With one hand
massaging like that, Jimin tries to open the pack like that, the idiot he
is, but before he could let go of Jeongguk to do the job properly, there
is a sudden offer of help. Shrugging, Jimin passes him the lube. It’s
unclear why Jeongguk takes his sweet time with it but Jimin hardly minds,
deeply engaged by feeling up his thighs instead.

“What’s it say?” Jeongguk is biting on his bottom lip, hands on the wall
again, and watching Jimin over his shoulder, because he is always curious
about everything mildly new happening. Like getting his thighs covered in
lubricant that smells sickly sweet but Jimin supposes it’s just the kind
of scent Jeongguk usually likes.

“Water-based, latex safe,” Jimin chuckles and briefly digs his short
nails into where it feels the softest. He quotes further, “‘Makes real
pleasure last longer.’ My ass it does… It’s like eighty packs on two
strings or something, though he takes only, like, half of that, and—” It
looks kind of painful for Jeongguk’s neck to be craned like that, so
Jimin asks him to relax, making a thorough but quick work of slicking up
his thighs. “Sometimes I wonder if Taetae’s hands are gonna just turn
into one giant calloused—”

“Can we—not talk about gross things on your best bro’s body right now,”
Jeongguk sounds mildly irritated, but nothing like the real thing. That
kind is actually the reason they’re even in this moment in the first
place.

Jimin leaves a gentle slap where he’s finishing with the lube, liking the
hard yet soft feeling under the press of his fingers. All of it makes him
wonder how it would be for Jeongguk to make a good job of Jimin’s own
thighs. Satisfied with the smooth and slick feeling under his palms,
Jimin spreads the rest over his length, sighing at the sensation, and
reaches up to trace the soft skin of Jeongguk’s tense back. No bruises,
thankfully.

“Okay, so, move up a little and—” before the words are out, Jeongguk
moves to close his legs, throwing a questioning look over his shoulder.
Jimin shuffles closer, sighing as their thighs touch. After finding a
good position, he guides the head of his cock to rub between the small
gap formed by Jeongguk’s meaty thighs, and realizes that he probably
isn’t going to last long at all at this point. “A little closer.”

He takes a better hold of Jeongguk’s hips, humming in approval and then

finally sliding between his thighs, fitting just under his balls,
immediately feeling Jeongguk press tight around him. It’s a perfect type
of smooth pressure that has Jimin giving a few experimental thrusts, slow
and careful. With his palms that move to lay flat on Jeongguk’s taut
stomach, he feels soft skin and hard muscle straining, and finally starts
to roll his hips, even and steady to build a rhythm.

The heat is creeping over his skin again, from the hairs on the back of
his head and down his back. The kind of heat that sends shudders in its
wake as it rushes down, all of it washing over him in a mix of everything
his hands reach out enough to feel, and the tang of blood and bitter ache
from before is flooded by this tug in his belly. Everything too sensitive
and entirely overwhelming but so, so pleasant. He gasps, fucking into the
heat, hearing Jeongguk curse at the new angle that edges him a little
into desperate. The slide is good and the right kind of easy, the
pressure is hard enough around Jimin’s cock as he moves his hips,
steadily picking up the pace, getting more riled up with each loud slap
of skin against skin.

This could have been more embarrassing any other time, but this isn’t
that kind of night, because it’s Jeongguk, all hard but mellow and asking
for the weirdest type of help; who is bracing himself against the hotel
room’s wall and flexing his muscles at the feeling of cock sliding
between his thighs, and balls slapping against his skin, and then he’s
reaching one hand to tug on his dick that Jimin can see is half-hard.
Unbelievable.

It’s far from ideal but the image is so pretty it pulls Jimin in closer.
It keeps pulling at him, until the first heavy tug of oncoming orgasm is
there, all from the look on Jeongguk’s face. And he is a sight, too, with
eyelashes fluttering, his red mouth open and shining from too much biting
and licking, and his cheeks bruised and dusted with pink. All of it
coming down on Jimin in shivers. He feels his movements grow more
erratic, his body as slippery as Jeongguk’s feels under his touch, and
then his knees feel like they could buckle from everything at once,
everything hot and wet and a little clumsy. Somehow it seems to him kind
of weird, maybe even fucking _impolite_ , to just cum like that all over
Jeongguk’s thighs.

He laughs at the thought and shifts. “Gonna pull out now,” but before he
can make a move, Jeongguk makes an attempt—a very sad one—to reach back
and grab at him.

Failing at that, Jeongguk goes back to stroking himself and just gasps,
“Do it like that, it’s fine, I—I wanna know how it is.”

That seems to do it for Jimin, who is pressing closer again, giving a few
particularly fast and rough thrusts, and then pushes their bodies against
the wall, knocking all breath out of their lungs. Jeongguk’s legs slide
open, not too wide but just enough to accommodate, and Jimin sort of ruts
between them like that, finally spilling all over Jeongguk’s thighs and
dirtying the wall in the process.

“Okay, wow, hyung—you’re lucky it’s paint,” Jeongguk mumbles against the
surface, his left hand still jerking himself off at a rough pace even
while being restricted like that. “You’re cleaning this shit up
yourself.”

“Gimme a goddamn second, I ain’t even soft yet,” Jimin groans against
Jeongguk’s back, tasting sweat, and then feels himself being spun around
and pressed against his own mess.

Jeongguk’s face is pink from exertion, shiny with sweat, and something
slow burns in his eyes. He leans forward, a little cautiously, until
their hips meet, and his hands press firmly to the wall on either side of
Jimin’s head. He sets off to finish like that, rutting against Jimin’s
solid aching body that he has caged between his arms, grunting into
Jimin’s ear all the way. It’s not much of an orgasm this time, but Jimin
still makes a face at getting his stomach covered in Jeongguk’s sticky
release.

The weight kind of feels suffocating now, forcing Jimin to push it off.
Jeongguk is breathing hard, leaning away from him. His lips part, as if
he’s deciding against saying or not saying something. His arms seem
rigid, muscles twitching; his eyes black and huge but far away. He
doesn’t say a thing. Shaking a little, maybe for something Jimin isn’t
able to help with.

There it is, Jimin thinks. Fuck.

Feeling confused and very tired, he asks carefully, “Do you feel better?”

“Not sure.”
Jimin licks his lips, “Okay. Did you, at least, like it?” Which is a
horribly stupid thing to say, he knows, but still waits for an answer.

“Of course—hyung, for fuck’s sake. ‘Course I liked it. It’s not about
that.” His back is hunched when he rubs at his face. “But guess it
doesn’t work like that after all.” After a pause that drags too long for
Jimin’s liking, he blurts, “Wanna keep trying?” His lips twitch into a
semblance of a smile, very uncertain.

“Wanna wash that cum off?” Jimin smiles back and shifts to rest his
weight against the wall. “Say, I can lick that up for ya.”

Jeongguk closes his eyes, failing to suppress a shudder. “Have at it.”

And sinking to his knees again, this time feeling the carpeting itch at
his raw skin that will burn later for sure, Jimin starts with the
lapping. Mouthing at Jeongguk’s skin, sucking a little at the soft spots.
The flat of his tongue gathering his own cum, and his hands moving in
small patterns on the small of Jeongguk’s back, more for the smooth
feeling of skin than in search for balance.

He keeps swallowing and thinking how all of it – the fist throwing and
the dicking – is just this typical sophomoric fuckery.

They’re young and poorly equipped and not jaded at all. And the idea of
being hurt or being naked in the restricting way of their lifestyle, even
with the luxury of making the music they like, just feels like something
so needed and great in the moment.

They’re not total idiots, Jimin thinks. They’re into mindfulness, and all
that. He wonders why exactly he is thinking that with his mouth full of
cum.

“Mindful stuff. You know?” he hears himself ask, swollen lips moving
against Jeongguk’s relaxed stomach.

He leaves it at that. Leaves all these things to chance.

In the days that follow nothing changes at all and, just as he’s used to
doing, he gives Jeongguk three days to come back with tongue itching to
talk of bad, painful things again.

One week after their domestic promotions end, a week before their small
winter break takes them to Busan, they have themselves a quiet place in
the dorm, and Jeongguk asks for a quick fuck. Jimin doesn’t even blink.
Says there are too many people, all that nosy noisy human traffic. Says
they have to think about it.
They think about it right up until Hoseok leaves with a visit to his
parents. They think about it really loudly. Jeongguk feels thick inside
of him, strokes slow and lazy, and then he is pushing Jimin’s face hard
into the soft linen, hips snapping with more force. It’s still clumsy and
a little bit clueless, the way Jeongguk does it, but feels good anyway.
It’s the first time Jeongguk takes him in a proper bed, instead of
fucking him against any convenient surface where they couldn’t be seen.
It’s softer than usual. He kisses better now, too.

And as they later cuddle in Hoseok’s unfortunate bed, refusing to think

of having to wash the sheets from all of their nasty, Jeongguk starts
talking again. Lets it fall out naked, over the two of them, in the
dreamy and lonely kind of night. Then suddenly he asks, “Hyung, are you
happy?”

He must’ve been waiting for some time, gathering the courage for the
question.

Seeing Jeongguk’s lips part, forming a soft round _O_ – something he does
when nervous and waiting – Jimin tries to remember the last time he felt
something certain.

Both of them were quick to see that they could use each other, but also
too rushed to even discuss any of it. Jimin is sure there’s no need for
that, thinking that their more liberal schedule is going to happen soon,
and how they both will finally find someone to love and date, do all that
jazzed up stuff. Most probably someone within the industry.

But then that someone never laid all night with Jeongguk and his anxiety,
never listened to Jeongguk’s nightmares, never heard an entire imagined
life Jeongguk had hoped to earn for himself. Each of those nights Jimin
swore was the right one, to really and finally make up his mind.

Right now Jimin doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t feeling the happy
much, but that’s only natural, seeing that he isn’t feeling much of
anything.

He lies there by Jeongguk’s side, watching the expression before him

shift into worry. That face, softly illuminated by the orange glow of
streetlights, looks pretty. Tired, nervous, waiting.

“Why’d you ask?”

“It’s just. You’ve kinda—” Jeongguk takes a deep breath. “It’s dumb but.
You used to, dunno, hold so much loneliness inside? Something like that.”
He pauses, worries his lips. His eyes never leave Jimin’s. “So—are you
happy?”

And the funny thing about it, everything Jimin does or gives these days,
all of it doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem real now, and he’s clueless
of what to say. He smiles, wants to say it’s alright. Wants them to feel
something, be sure of something – anything, whatever.

“Look at my face,” Jimin knows that his smile is unsure. “You tell me.”
There must be something.

Please see something, Jimin thinks.

Come hold my hand.

**Author's Note:**

> for my numero uno and his helluva way to

[jack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KY0TZQTwwbk) and my'kaya (getit)

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