He isn’t thinking about it. Not really. It’s late, he’s been confined within the walls of the practice room for hours. Some time ago, Yoongi poked his head in to say that he was going home. With him gone, Jungkook is the only one left in the studio. His muscles ache. The sensible thing to do would be to head back to the dorm, too.
But Jungkook continues to lie flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Warm, gooey adrenaline thrums through his body. Even though he thoroughly exerted himself, the exhaustion hasn’t hit yet. He wants to keep going, keep dancing, but pushing himself until he drops won’t give him what he’s seeking. Satisfaction—that’s what he needs. A rush of euphoria to reward himself for working so hard. He isn’t thinking about it until suddenly he is, and suddenly his body is just as interested in that idea as his mind is.
It’s easy to lie there and run his hands from his chest down to his abdomen. He digs his fingertips into each divot in his abs before dragging them back up, enjoying the sensation across the muscles. He’s worked his ass off to get like this. To get a body like this. He likes it. It deserves to be appreciated, sometimes. If only by him.
He flicks the pads of his thumbs over his nipples, tugging the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth as he feels them harden. Sensitivity is a blessing and a curse—sweet torture, now. Heat floods his core as he rubs his thumbs back and forth. His shirt is still preventing full contact, but there’s something about it that he likes. Feeling himself through his shirt. It feels dirtier, like it’s somebody else’s hands on him. He rolls his nipples, enjoying the shift of the fabric. He pinches the left one and the heat spikes. His cock thickens in his sweatpants. If he’d worn jeans, they’d be tight. He would be able to feel the strain and the constriction. But this is good enough.
When he finally dips his hand into his underwear, he’s so hard, he’s leaking. He doesn’t bother restraining his voice as he closes his fingers around his length, groaning into the silence. It echoes around the room and bounces back to him, sounding foreign to his ears. He’s never heard himself like this. Before, sounds were muffled into a pillow or drowned out by the shower. This is new. He’s torn between letting himself make more noises and biting down on his lip to keep quiet, but the slickness of his hand working up and down his cock is more enticing. He likes those noises. It’s wet. Wet wet wet, he’d like to be wetter.
He yanks his shirt up, exposing himself to the empty room. He didn’t lock the door, because he didn’t plan on doing this. No one will walk in. Even if someone does—If someone does…
He catches sight of himself in the mirror and freezes.
Sweat glistens on his skin. He’s wet, his whole body is wet—not just his cock. Hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks exactly like he does after a two-hour concert, except his shirt is rucked up and his cock is twitching in his hand. It’s humiliating, seeing himself like this. He couldn’t even wait to do this in the privacy of his bedroom. He had to do it on the practice room floor where anyone could walk in and see him.
He wants to cum so badly. So, so badly.
Pulling one leg up, he shifts a bit so that he has a better view of himself in the mirror. His debauched self, with its dark eyes and wet skin and heaving chest. Chest that he worked hard for, abs that he worked hard for. Cords of muscle in his arm that flex with every stroke of his cock. He wants to cum, and wants to watch himself come undone.
“Please,” he whispers, not sure who he’s addressing. “I’ve worked for it, just… just… please, g-give me…”
It hits him hard enough to punch the air out of his lungs. He’s cumming, painting his hand and his stomach and dribbling onto the floor. He’s cumming, his eyes are lit up in ecstasy and his jaw is slack and his body is trembling. He’s cumming, and then he’s not cumming anymore and the heaviness settles into his limbs.
Lying there, completely spent in every sense of the word. His skin is a gross sort of tacky, and he can tell how swollen his bottom lip is from where he’d been chewing on it. His hair is fucked up beyond what finger-combing will fix. Lying on the floor of his company’s practice room, thumbing over the head of his cock as it softens just to get him through the aftershocks. He’s disgusting.
But he’s satisfied. And that’s enough, for now.
It’s easy to tell when Jungkook is agitated. His temper isn’t the most volatile, but his fuse is the shortest. He’s inclined to snap and slam doors or plug his ears with headphones and block the world out. Jimin isn’t too hard on him about it—Jungkook needs space to be angry, just like the rest of them. He rarely gets physical. His chilly silence is threatening enough.
Jimin’s fights with Jungkook are rare; not at all like the screaming matches with Taehyung. As much as Jimin loves spending time with him, he knows Jungkook needs his space. Silence doesn’t always need to be filled with words. And when Jungkook is agitated, Jimin knows that it’s better to wait until the ice has thawed before attempting to speak with him. Because Jungkook doesn’t talk about emotions. He shuts down.
So it’s weird that Jungkook seems agitated but he still comes into Jimin’s bedroom anyway to cuddle and play games. He’s quiet, his mind seems elsewhere, but he doesn’t push Jimin away.
“Jungkook… Are you alright?”
“Huh? I’m fine,” is the response.
Jimin isn’t satisfied with that, but there’s nothing he can do. If Jungkook says he’s fine , there’s no point in trying to squeeze anything else out of him. Then he might actually get upset, then he’d leave, and Jimin is really comfortable tangled up in him while he plays some mindless game about dragons on his phone. Eventually, Jungkook will talk to him. He always does. That’s the relationship they have.
The Incident happens a few days later. Jungkook is still behaving oddly—distant, distracted—and Jimin hears from Hoseok that he’s gone to the studio for some late-night practice. Jimin packs up and heads there, too, hoping that this will be an opportunity for them to talk. He hears music as he approaches the practice room. It’s not theirs—Jungkook must be taking a break.
But that isn’t what he sees when he cracks open the frosted glass door.
Jungkook is on the other side of the room, on his knees in front of the mirror. The hem of his shirt is stuffed into his mouth, leaving his chest and abs on full display, and his sweatpants are pushed down off his hips. One arm is braced on the mirror, the other is flexing prettily as his hand strokes over his cock.
Oh, Jimin thinks.
And that’s all he can think because Jungkook is jacking off in front of their practice room mirror and Jimin has walked in on it and there’s nothing else in his mind except for Oh.
The easiest solution here is to leave. Close the door, make himself scarce. Wait until Jungkook comes out, and act as if he’s just arriving. This isn’t the first time he’s walked in on somebody like this, and for as long as Bangtan continues to live together, it won’t be the last. But he can’t get his feet to follow through on this idea. He remains firmly rooted in place, unable breathe.
Jungkook is into it. Watching himself.
He’s got his face inches from the mirror, eyes locked on his own through a curtain of sweaty bangs. Even though the door is visible in the reflection from where Jungkook is sitting, he doesn’t notice. He’s too focused on himself, on the slide of his hand up and down his cock. Jimin is, too. He can hear the smacking across the room. It’s—Jungkook’s dick is really wet. Did he bring lube? Was this premeditated?
Jimin isn’t really privy to anyone’s kinks, and this isn’t even close to the weirdest thing he’s ever heard of, but it also isn’t something he would consider doing himself. The risk of someone walking in—exactly like he’s just done—is too high. Jungkook didn’t even lock the door. Jungkook isn’t paying any fucking attention to the door. He’s consumed in what he’s doing and Jimin’s never seen him like this.
A high whine floats over. It’s a noise dripping in arousal and desperation, but because it’s Jungkook, it still sounds musical. Like a sinner’s melody. Jimin bites down hard on his bottom lip as Jungkook kicks his hips up, liquidly rolling into his hand. Suddenly it becomes a ferocious battle to stay still because Jungkook is a fucking vision . Jimin wants to press him flat against the mirror, knees apart, yank his hair back to make him arch into the glass. Jungkook is flexible. Jungkook is powerful and flexible and capable of holding odd positions if hyung tells him to and Jimin has never thought of it in a sexual sense but now it’s all he can think about.
The hem of Jungkook’s shirt is transferred to hook over his thumb, leaving his mouth free. A needy moan escapes him as he lurches toward the mirror. His tongue lolls out, flattening against the glass. It can’t taste good, but Jungkook is gone. He’s so fucking gone that he’s dragging his tongue up the mirror, kissing it, leaving wet smears of spit behind.
“Fuck, please…” Jungkook’s hand works faster over his cock, bumping his knuckles into the mirror. He’s kissing himself like he’s kissing somebody else, passing for a pornographic WINGS short film. “Let me… Let me—I’ve been so good. Worked hard. Wanna cum. Please, pleasepleaseplease—”
Jimin feels unreasonably close to orgasm without having touched himself. His cock is throbbing in his jeans, crying for relief because the sight is so fucking hot. Jungkook claws at the mirror, teeth trying to catch skin that isn’t there and suck marks that won’t appear. He won’t stop begging the phantom entity to let him cum and just as Jimin starts to really wonder who he’s talking to, his body pulls taut and thick ropes splatter onto the mirror.
Jungkook drops his shirt, letting his forehead thump against the glass as he languidly milks himself dry. He’s loose, now. Loose, spent, relaxed. Jimin is anything but. In fact, he should really hightail his ass back home because there’s absolutely no way he’s going to be able to focus on choreography tonight—
Their eyes meet in the mirror.
Jimin only sees the initial spark of recognition in Jungkook’s foggy gaze. The next second, he’s slamming the door and bolting down the hallway as fast as his wobbly legs will carry him.
What Jungkook does not do upon returning to the dorm is speak to Jimin. He needs some time to cool off, and suspects that Jimin does, too. He flops into his own bed for the first time all week—he’s been sleeping in Jimin and Hoseok’s room—and stares at the ceiling.
He’d seen the door open out of his peripheral, but hadn’t bothered to check who it was. Hadn’t wanted to, way too caught up in himself. It turned him on to the point of delirium. Being watched. He’d gotten too wrapped up in it. But, of all people, it’s Jimin who saw. Jimin saw him lose his mind and slobber all over the mirror and cum at the sound of his own desperation. It’s Jimin. If it were anyone else, Jungkook might be able to find a way to laugh it off, even at the expense of being labeled kinky for the rest of his life, but it’s Jimin. It’s Jimin, and that makes it difficult.
If they speak now, Jimin will be hasty to stuff the incident into the bottom of a bag and lock it in the back of a closet to be forgotten forever, but Jungkook isn’t sure he wants that. While he may have allowed himself to be watched, Jimin watched him. The act of watching indicates desire, and going from an audience member to a participant is just a matter of stepping onto the stage.
So Jungkook decides that he won’t speak to Jimin immediately.
He doesn’t speak to him at all the next day. Jimin avoids him like the plague, prompting Seokjin to ask if they’re fighting. Jungkook assures him that they’re alright—something he’d done got on Jimin’s nerves. Seokjin calls him a brat and throws a dirty kitchen towel at him, telling him to apologize. Their schedules are packed for the next few days. Rhersals, photoshoots, filming for a commercial. They don’t have time to talk, so it isn’t a big deal that Jimin won’t look him in the eye. Jungkook fools around with Taehyung instead and pretends that everything is alright.
But because everything isn’t really alright, he jumps at the opportunity to get Jimin alone one evening after dance practice.
“Hyung, do you think that you could stay behind with me to work on something?” he asks. “Just us?”
Jimin freezes like a deer caught in headlights, spooked. “I-I don’t know. I… kind of wanted to… clean my room?”
It’s the flimsiest possible excuse, and Hoseok hears it. He scoffs humorlessly as he pulls his iPod out of his bag and unwraps his headphones. “You? Clean?” he says. “And I want to go skydiving.”
“Take Jungkook with you,” Yoongi grouses as he walks by. He’s been eager to get back to his studio from the moment they set foot in the practice room. In the middle of working on a song, probably.
“Please, Jimin? It won’t take too long,” Jungkook tries and that’s enough.
Jimin relents with a nod, raking his hair back with one hand. Jungkook doesn’t miss the ripple of his throat as he swallows. “Okay. But quick. I’m tired.”
The other members file out. Taehyung throws them a peace sign over his shoulder. Namjoon pulls the door closed behind him, and then it’s just the two of them. Alone. Jimin won’t meet his eyes. He won’t look at the mirror, either.
“What do you want?” he asks.
Jungkook exhales slowly. Their entire relationship, and their careers by extension, ride on him not fucking this conversation up. “I know you saw.”
“I know you know I saw. I fucking—I’m sorry. Okay?” Jimin wrings his hands anxiously, pacing in the direction of the door. “I should’ve knocked or something. But I wasn’t expecting—whatever. It’s fucking whatever, okay? I’m sorry.”
“I’m not upset,” Jungkook says carefully. “There’s… a lot of things I could’ve done differently to prevent this, but I didn’t do them.”
“Like lock the door? Or maybe jerk off in the bathroom at home, like a normal person? There’s a mirror in there too, you know.”
“Not like this one.”
Jimin throws him an incredulous look. Glances from him to the mirror and back again. “Buy a full-length mirror for your bedroom if you need to be weird. If you think I’m gonna start covering for you so that you can have alone time here, you can fuck right off.”
“That’s not it. I’ve only done it twice.” Taking slow, measured steps, Jungkook approaches him. “The first time wasn’t planned, but it… I couldn’t help it. I had to do it again.”
“Yeah, you sure looked into it,” Jimin grumbles. He folds his arms across his chest.
“You watched.” It’s not a question. “I noticed the door right away, Jimin. You watched a lot.”
When Jimin opens his mouth, his expression indicates that it’s to argue. Thrown a barbed objection at him. Then he shuts it again and clenches his jaw. “So what if I fucking watched?” he hisses. “But you knew I was there the whole time and didn’t say jack shit.”
“I didn’t know it was you. If I’d known it was you, maybe I would’ve asked you to come in.”
Jimin’s face goes blank, his skin paling. “Wh-What?”
Perhaps Jungkook is reading the situation wrong, but he’s already lept off the pier and into the water. He can’t exactly take back what he just said. He’s never put a face to his imaginary partner while he’s touched himself, never given himself that kind of freedom. It’s painfully easy to make it Jimin’s face, though. He loves Jimin. Jimin loves him. They’re physical enough. They can reach just a little bit more.
“I’m not… thinking about anything specific while I’m...” His voice is stilted, hand movements jerky. “I-It’s just for my own sake. To make myself feel good. That’s… fine, right? I’m allowed to want that, right?”
Jimin’s tone softens. “Of course you are. I’m not saying you aren’t… It’s just not—y’know. Conventional.”
“I like being able to see myself. I look—My body looks good.” He decides to push a little. “Don’t you think it looks good?”
Jimin holds his gaze for a long moment, then rakes his eyes down the length of Jungkook’s body. “Y-Yeah, Jungkookie. It looks good.”
Warmth blossoms in his chest, and he preens at the compliment. “What’s the point if no one appreciates it?” he asks quietly. “It’s not enough just to have it. I want to be touched. Even if it’s just me.”
Jimin turns toward the mirror, staring at his reflection. A moment later, he wanders closer until he can reach out and brush his fingers against the glass. “I can’t see myself like that,” he murmurs. “Something is always wrong. Too this, too that.”
“You’re perfect to me.” Jungkook presses himself against Jimin’s back, winding his arms around his waist. It’s comfortable to hold him, to lean his head on Jimin’s shoulder. They look good together, like this. “Always have been, always will be.”
A snort leaves Jimin’s chest, but it’s colored with amusement instead of bitterness. “You’re biased because I’ve never let you think otherwise.”
“Or maybe it’s just because I love you,” Jungkook says, hiding his face in the crook of Jimin’s neck.
Jimin groans. “Goddammit, Jungkook. You can’t get sentimental on me while we’re trying to have an adult conversation about the fact that I saw you jizz all over the mirror with your shirt pulled up to your tits.”
“Maybe I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal that you saw,” he replies.
“If anyone in the group was going to turn out to be an exhibitionist, I am the least surprised that it’s you.”
“I refuse to go to sleep tonight believing that you have no kinks. Something fucked up turns you on.”
“Which we aren’t going to talk about,” Jimin says as a little bit of redness begins to creep up his neck. “If we can agree that you’ll be more careful about your masturbation habits, i.e., locking doors, then this can stay our secret.”
Jungkook smiles against his neck. Jimin smells good. It’s tempting to dart his tongue out for a quick taste, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. “I like having secrets with you.”
“I do,” he insists. “I like that every time you look at me, you’ll have to think of me busting a nut against the practice room mirror with my tits out.”
A rosy blush colors Jimin’s entire face, his eyes squeezing shut as laughter makes his body shake. “You’re fucking evil. Where did we go wrong raising you?”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Jimin huffs out a heavy sigh and sags in his arms. “I wanna go home. I need a drink.” He gently bumps their heads together. “Have a drink with me. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
He does. He really does. Every time Jimin averted his eyes or moved to stand beside another member for a group photograph, Jungkook’s heart squeezed. Sleeping alone was so difficult after becoming accustomed to passing out in Jimin’s bed when they stayed up too late watching movies or playing games. Jungkook missed Jimin with every aching breath he took this week.
He’s got an apple in his hand now.
All Jimin needs to do is take the first bite.
Jimin realizes exactly how bad of an idea this is when Jungkook slides his legs into a wide V on the floor and stretches his arms flat out in front of him. It’s a good few moments before he realizes that he’s staring at Jungkook’s ass and he quickly averts his eyes. They’re going to practice choreography. Nothing else.
The weirdness kind of went away after their conversation. It’s not hard to look Jungkook in the eye anymore because Jungkook smiles so incredibly sweetly at him every time. Jimin can’t help being weak for him. And agreeing for a practice session, just the two of them, was definitely a moment of weakness.
“Are you stretching?” Jungkook asks, muffled by his arms.
Jimin reaches for his right leg. “Are you sleeping?” he fires back.
“I could be. This isn’t that uncomfortable.”
“If it’s easy, you aren’t stretching thoroughly enough. The idea is to prepare your muscles for extra exertion.”
Jungkook sits up and flops over on his side. He cranes his neck so that he can flash Jimin a lazy grin. “If I’m not doing it correctly, why don’t you help me?”
“Remember Yoongi complaining about me almost popping his shoulder out of joint? You don’t want me to help you.”
“Yoongi is weak. And has a bad shoulder. I can handle a little pressure.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Jimin says, hauling himself to his feet. He retrieves Jungkook’s phone, searching for the song they’re supposed to be rehearsing. “I’ll kick your ass.”
“Is that all you’ll do to it?”
The comment makes Jimin’s skin prickle. Things haven’t been weird, exactly, but every once in a while, Jungkook will blindside him with something like that. He doesn’t tease Jimin about The Incident, but slips those kinds of remarks into their conversations instead. Then he gives Jimin a Look . Sultry, smouldering. Like he’s not joking.
When Jimin looks up, Jungkook is still sprawled on the floor, but his eyes are dark and intense. “Were you hoping for more?” he asks, testing to see what kind of response he’ll get.
Jungkook sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, catches it between his teeth, then slowly tugs it free. It’s not nerves or an idle gesture—it’s to make Jimin watch. Because now Jimin is starting to notice all those little things about Jungkook. The pretty shape of his lips, the way he chews on them while he’s thinking, how soft they look, what they would feel like against his own. He’s always watching now, and Jungkook knows.
“Let’s dance, Jimin.”
So they do.
Once they’re moving, it’s easy to drown in the music. They’ve learned the choreography already, now it’s just a matter of polishing it up. Jimin focuses entirely on his own body, making sure that each movement is sharp and fluid. He practices the bits he’s sticky on when Jungkook steps away to restart the song. It’s only during their fourth run through the song that he even bothers looking at Jungkook.
Their styles are markedly different. Jimin’s delicacy versus Jungkook’s powerful precision. Jungkook is like a machine—one that can body roll like water. In the past, Jimin felt that he needed to dance harder just to be seen next to him, but he’s learned to appreciate their differences. They’re complimentary, filling in each other’s gaps to make a single, complete piece.
Jimin thinks about that while he breaks for water. How they’re like the north and south poles on a magnet; bonded opposites. It’s just uncomfortable now because things he was trying to ignore are being forced under his nose. Such as: Jimin being wildly attracted to Jungkook. That’s a thing he tried to avoid actively acknowledging. But what is he supposed to do now? Now Jungkook is right—it’s impossible to look at him and not conjure up the image of him orgasming. Because Jungkook looks pretty when he cums and Jimin isn’t supposed to be thinking about that.
“You wanna keep going, or do you need another minute?” Jungkook asks.
Jimin sucks down another large gulp of water. “Gimme a minute. I’m hot.”
“Yeah, you are.”
They lock eyes across the room. Jungkook doesn’t even flinch, while Jimin’s stomach is doing an Olympic gymnastics routine.
“Your dancing,” Jungkook says. “You look hot.”
And that’s the threshold. Jimin physically feels himself reach it. He’s absolutely had enough of this. Sucking in an unsteady breath, he massages his thumbs into his temples. “Why are you doing this to me?” he snaps. “What are you trying to get out of it?”
“Who said I’m trying to get something out of it?”
“Would you fuck off?” He caps his water bottle with shaking fingers, then pitches it across the room. It explodes on impact with the wall, spraying water everywhere. He’s too angry to even be satisfied by the way it startles Jungkook. “If you can’t say exactly what the fuck it is that you want, I’m leaving. I’m not playing this game anymore.”
Jungkook hesitates. Then he crosses the room, closing the space between them. The air settles for a moment, and Jimin realizes that Jungkook is scared. Scared of losing Jimin to whatever is he wants.
Jimin isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what Jungkook wants.
“I want it to be you in the mirror with me.”
“Do you think I’m easy or something, Jungkook? Just because I’m attracted, I’ll jump at the chance to get my hands on you?”
It’s not even a valid accusation, and the shock on Jungkook’s face is telling enough that he hadn’t even considered that as a response. “N-No, but I—”
It’s a potential reality, though, and one Jimin is afraid of. Being used for somebody’s amusement without being loved. He knows Jungkook loves him, that he isn’t like that, but he has to eliminate even the slightest possibility of that being the case. So he lets the words tumble out without filtering anything. “But you? How about me? Did it ever occur to you that I’ve been struggling with this? You can’t just spring shit on me like ‘Oh hey, do you think you could touch me while I jerk off?’ I’m not a—not fucking… plaything.”
Indignation flares up in Jungkook’s eyes, as if he has the right to be indignant. “Sorry for wanting intimacy with you? Super flattered that you’re convinced I can’t think past my dick.”
“This isn’t intimacy,” Jimin says. “This is kink fulfillment. You’re horny and depraved, and you want to drag me into it because I know and can’t tell anybody about it.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Jungkook’s expression falls eerily blank. “I want hands. So fucking humor me, or I’ll harass you about it until you do.”
This isn’t the dumbest thing they’ve ever fought about, but Jimin sure as hell isn’t going to the group for counsel. He wishes he could, though, because he’s handling it poorly. He wants to be sure of Jungkook—he’s sure he’s sure now. But adrenaline won’t allow him to slam on the brakes—it steamrolls him right from one bad decision to another.
“On your knees, then,” Jimin says, jabbing his pointer finger in the direction of the mirrors. “Over there.”
He locks the door. Since he’s calling the shots now, he wants the door locked. He turns the music up, too, putting on a playlist of canned American pop. Then he wanders over to where Jungkook is waiting for him, cross-legged in front of the mirror. Looking defiant.
Jimin nudges him with his toe. “Take your shirt off. You wanna be seen, don’t you?”
Jungkook wordlessly follows his instructions, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He looks like he wants to curl in on himself, but he doesn’t. He rolls his shoulders back and waits.
“Didn’t I say to get on your knees?”
Once Jungkook is in the position he wants—the position from the day of The Incident—Jimin kneels down behind him and presses up against his back. He’s seen Jungkook naked before. They’ve done their fair share of shirtless cuddling when it’s been hot. But this is new. Jungkook sucks in a tense breath when Jimin’s fingers skate up his stomach.
Jimin flattens his palms on Jungkook’s skin. Like this, he’s breathtaking.
“You’re like this because you’ve worked for it, right?” he murmurs against the shell of Jungkook’s ear. With his index finger, he traces the outlines of muscle. Up the center of Jungkook’s abs, under his chest, back down the side, crossing back and forth as he goes.
Jungkook quivers underneath the touch. He tilts his head back, resting it on Jimin’s shoulder. “I look good. I won’t always. I wanna enjoy it.”
Jimin can’t help scoffing. “That’s one way to justify it,” he says. He lightly drags his nails up Jungkook’s skin, earning a soft gasp. “Like that?”
He interrupts Jungkook by flicking over a nipple. It’s no secret to anybody that Jungkook is sensitive, but Jimin isn’t expecting the breathy keen. The noise shoots straight to his own cock. “Feel good?”
“All that shit about the mirror and you aren’t even looking.”
Jungkook lazily lifts his head again. “I’ll look when I wanna look.”
“Then I must not be making it interesting enough for you,” Jimin says. In reality, he has no idea what he’s doing. But Jungkook doesn’t have to know that. They’re still fighting. Sort of. Battlegrounds have shifted.
He toys with Jungkook’s chest until he’s gasping and whining and hardening in his sweats. Jimin does his best to keep his face neutral, but it’s impossible not to react to the way Jungkook is writhing in his grip. Curiosity gets the better of him and he slips one hand between Jungkook’s legs, squeezing.
Jungkook jolts. “F-Fuck, Jimin…”
Jimin bites his lip, rubbing the heel of his hand up and down Jungkook’s covered length. He’s big. That’s all Jungkook is, isn’t he. Big and powerful and bossy, but so easily taken apart. The control Jimin has over him right now is addicting.
“Take your cock out,” he says into Jungkook’s ear. “Wanna see the little shit.”
Jungkook struggles to get his waistband over his hips without separating from Jimin for too long. “Not—Not little.”
It’s alien, wrapping his fingers around a cock that isn’t his own. It’s warm and hard, but not what he’s accustomed to. Jungkook’s reaction, however, is what he wants—the way his back bows and his hips rut up into the sudden stimulation. Jimin experiments, smearing the little bit of precum at the top with his thumb, stroking the whole length at a brisk pace, then slows when Jungkook gets too twitchy.
“Want… Jimin, I want…”
When Jungkook doesn’t finish his sentence, Jimin squeezes his thigh. “What?”
“Want… your fingers. I-In my mouth.”
The request might’ve struck Jimin as weird earlier, but he doesn’t think twice about it now. He shifts closer, not caring that his erection is pressing against Jungkook’s ass, and lifts his hand. Jungkook eagerly takes his middle and ring fingers, tongue wrapping around them as he sucks. He’s blissed out, rocking his hips while Jimin lets him bob his head on his fingers. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck from underneath his hairline, pooling at his collarbone.
Honestly, Jungkook is fucking right about the mirror.
“Wanna cum?” Jimin’s voice is wrecked, throat dry from swallowing too many times.
Jungkook nods fervently, popping Jimin’s fingers out of his mouth for a moment. “Been good,” he pants. “Wanna cum, please…”
“Have you been good, though? I think you’ve been naughty, convincing hyung to do this.”
A distressed whine escapes Jungkook’s lips. “Wanted it to be you,” he babbles. “Needed it to be you. You… make me feel good. Happy. Wanted… Fuck, l-let me cum, Jiminie. Jiminie, please.”
Happy. Wanted .
Jungkook adores him. And here Jimin is, doing exactly what he’s accusing Jungkook of. Manipulating him. It’s so...
“Look at yourself,” Jimin orders. “Look at yourself, then you can cum.”
Jungkook does. He meets his own clouded eyes in the mirror, roving up and down his body. Fixating on his weeping cock, then back to his face. He reaches for Jimin’s fingers again, tongue lolling out like a thirsty animal. One, two, three more strokes, and Jungkook falls apart.
White coats the glass.
Jungkook chases Jimin’s wet fingers when they’re pulled out of his mouth, licking them without any real intention. Closing his eyes, he lets his head drop back against Jimin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jimin.”
“Yeah,” Jimin croaks, burying his face in Jungkook’s hair. It smells a little like sweat, but mostly like his shampoo. The scent is soothing. “I’m sorry, too.”
The text from Jimin to meet him at the practice room feels like a court summons. They’ve been doing their best to keep their interactions to a minimum without raising suspicion, although Seokjin always seems to know when something is up. Jungkook has avoided getting cornered, but it’s only a matter of time before the group descends upon them. He can handle exposing his illicit activities, but he refuses to humiliate Jimin. So, even though anxiety makes him feel like vomiting, Jungkook agrees to meet him. They have to fix this before it’s too late.
Jimin is waiting for him, sitting against the practice room mirror with his legs stretched out in front of him. He doesn’t speak, but motions to the floor beside him. Jungkook shuffles over and sits down, knotting his fingers in his lap. The silence is uncomfortable.
“You..” Jungkook’s voice catches in his throat. “Y-You wanted to talk?”
The exhale Jimin releases is heavy. “I wanted to apologize,” he says, “for… for what I said the other night. The stuff I accused you of. I know that—I know that it’s not like that.”
“I got mad,” Jungkook responds. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad, ‘cos I get it. Why you thought that.”
Jimin looks guilty . The stricken expression is all it takes for Jungkook to look away again. “I didn’t think that. I don’t. Jungkook, you’re the most unbearably genuine person I’ve ever met. There’s no possible way you’d be able to… t-to get intimate with somebody without any feelings involved.”
Jungkook pulls his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. “I never sought anybody out for it.”
“Besides you,” he confirms. “But you… you’re… I-I like you, Jimin. I like you a lot.”
“I like you too, Jungkookie. Too much. Things were fine, weren’t they? Before this happened.”
Shrugging, Jungkook buries his face in his knees. “Yeah.”
‘Fine’ is one way to put it. He hadn’t made the mental connection between his increasing need to spend time with Jimin and his desire to be touched, but now that he has, it’s…
“Gonna be hard to go back to that,” he says.
“Yeah,” is all Jimin says. Then they’re both quiet again.
Jungkook wants to cry, but he doesn’t. If he wasn’t so reckless, this wouldn’t have happened. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Jimin asks for space. Of course he’ll comply—he’s overstepped his boundaries enough—but it’ll kill him to do it.
“I don’t wanna lose you,” he whines helplessly. “I’ll stay away if you want, but p-please don’t make me do that.”
“Jungkookie, I would never—”
He’s pulled into a fierce hug and clings to Jimin like a lifeline. “It’s not just sex, I promise. I know I made it seem that way, but it’s not, I just… I just…”
“It’s alright. Kookie, listen.” Jimin’s hand rubs up and down his back a few times before knotting in his hair. “I panicked, okay? I felt vulnerable and I lashed out at you and I’m so fucking sorry. I love you.”
“I love you, too. It… doesn’t have to be physical. I just want to be with you.”
“It’s okay if it’s physical.”
Jungkook abruptly yanks himself out of Jimin’s grip, staring incredulously. But Jimin looks as serious as he’s ever been. There isn’t a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Jungkook would take anything , but it would be a dirty fucking lie if he said he didn’t crave the intimacy. “You… You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not,” Jimin insists. “All I’ve been able to think about is when I’m gonna be able to get my hands on you again for real.”
A whimper slips out without warning. Jungkook’s eyelids flicker shut as his cheeks are cupped, and Jimin presses his thumb against his lips. “Want you to touch me,” he mumbles. “Want you to love me.”
“Mm, I do, baby.”
Baby , fuck. He likes that way too much. “Wanna touch you too, though.”
He feels possessed as he descends upon Jimin, crushing their lips together. There’s no grace, just sloppy, inexperienced fervor. But Jimin’s lips are so unbelievably soft and pliant. If Jungkook were in the mood to be romantic, he might think that Jimin tastes like starlight, but he’s too caught up in the fact that they’re Kissing to be descriptive. He paws at Jimin, wanting to feel him. Wanting to memorize every inch of him, even though his brain is overloaded already.
“I’m gonna get you off,” he says once they part to breathe.
“You don’t have to.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “You made me feel so fucking good, I want it to be fair.”
He gently pushes Jimin onto his back. There’s no need for the mirror today, not with Jimin laid out in front of him. It’s even better than the mirror, because Jimin can touch him back. Jimin is more beautiful than his own reflection.
Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.
Jungkook palms over the growing hardness in his jeans, licking his lips.
He knows what he wants to do. The feeling of fingers pumping in and out of his mouth is still fresh in his memory. Unbuttoning Jimin’s jeans and sliding them down off his hips, Jungkook leans down to kiss his abdomen. Jimin’s muscles twitch.
Jungkook shifts his attention to the front of Jimin’s underwear, mouthing over the fabric. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that this is weird, this is a weird thing to want, but he can’t shake the urge. His mouth is watering by the time he tugs Jimin’s hardening cock free from its constraints and kisses the head.
Jimin sucks in a sharp breath. “F-Fuck, Jungkook. Fuck. You don’t have to do that, you really don’t—”
“Want to,” he says. “Want to, want to so bad.”
Gripping the base of Jimin’s cock with one hand, he runs his tongue up the entire length. It tastes odd and salty. He pauses to suckle on the head, bitterness flooding his tastebuds. But it’s still good, because Jimin lets out a long, loud moan, and Jungkook knows it’s good for him, too.
Jimin’s hands tangle in his hair as Jungkook sinks his mouth down on his cock. There’s too much to get all the way down without choking, even though the idea of choking is suddenly very appealing. Jungkook bobs his head, stroking what he can’t fit with his hand. His eyes fall closed, floating a little bit. The weight of Jimin’s cock on his tongue is so pleasant, the fullness of his mouth makes him feel so much more satisfied. If he could just sit with Jimin’s cock in his mouth, he would, but that’s for another time. Once he can press his nose against Jimin’s stomach without gagging. Right now, he just wants Jimin to cum.
“Oh my God,” Jimin groans, nails scraping bluntly against Jungkook’s scalp. “Feels so good, baby. Y-You’re… s-so good. So good.”
The praise shoots sudden, unexpected heat through Jungkook’s body. He’s good . Whining softly, he sucks Jimin with a little more enthusiasm. He doesn’t even realize he’s rocking his hips against the floor. All he knows is that Jimin feels amazing in his mouth.
Jimin suddenly yanks on his hair. “J-Jungkook, fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
Pain blossoms in Jungkook’s scalp, shooting straight to his cock. He whimpers, but doesn’t slow his pace. It isn’t until hot liquid spurts into his mouth that he realizes Jimin was trying to get him to pull off. It doesn’t matter now, though. He swallows down as much as he can, coughing and sputtering because he was caught off guard.
Jungkook is dizzy when he finally lifts his head. Cum dribbles onto the floor. Jimin’s chest heaves rapidly as he comes down, trembling. Jungkook wants to speak, but he isn’t sure he can. He hasn’t even cum but he feels so sated. Like an emotional orgasm.
“You didn’t have to swallow,” Jimin mumbles. “We can wipe jizz off the floor.”
“I wanted to.” Jungkook lays his head down on Jimin’s thigh. “I had to know what you taste like.”
Jimin huffs out a tired laugh. “That’s super gross.”
“I liked it, though.” He blinks up at Jimin hazily. “Did you like it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I liked it, Kookie.”
They pull themselves together slowly. Jimin yanks his pants up, trying to avoid the wet spot on the floor, while Jungkook tugs his shirt down enough to hide how painfully hard he still is. Jimin is a fucked-out dream. Sweaty hairline, flushed cheeks, misty eyes. More than anything, Jungkook wants to kiss him and never stop, but they really do need to finish their conversation.
“We can’t have a proper relationship,” Jimin says somberly. “I’ve looked at it from literally every angle in existence, and it’s just not going to work. What’s gone on between us is gonna have to stay secret.”
“I know, hyung.”
Jimin takes a measured breathe. “But.”
Jungkook waits, unwilling to allow himself to get too visibly excited.
“We… We can keep doing this. On one condition.”
“No more practice room rendezvous,” Jimin says sternly. “You might not care if other people watch, but I definitely do. That was the most anxiety-inducing blowjob I’ve ever had.”
Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve had more than one blowjob?”
“W-Well, no, but I’m just assuming that they aren’t all like that.”
“If you’re so paranoid about somebody walking in, you should’ve picked a different place to meet.”
“Uh. How about I wasn’t expecting you to jump me?”
“I’m sorry. Maybe I can give you an apology blowjob later.”
Jimin swats him. “Fuck off. At least make sure we’re home, behind a locked door.”
“Whatever you want,” Jungkook says, smiling. “So we’re cool?”
“Cool?” Clicking his tongue, Jimin leans in to kiss him. He knots his fingers in Jungkook’s hair again. “All that and you ask if we’re cool? You’re something else.”
Jungkook crawls onto Jimin’s lap, settling over his hips. It’s comfortable, even though he’s a little bit bigger than Jimin. They fit together, just right. Just like they always have. “Are we, though?”
“Yeah, we are.” Jimin sighs and gives Jungkook’s ass a squeeze. “But I’m giving the next blowjob. There’s no way in fucking hell that I’m letting you get more experienced than me.”
Giggles bubble up in Jungkook’s chest. “I’m not trying to do that, I just like having your dick in my mouth.”
“I don’t care. Anything you can do, I will do better.”
“Because I said so.” And that was that. Jimin urged Jungkook to let him up, stretching his arms over his head as he clambered to his feet. “Let’s get back to the dorm before everyone starts wondering where we are.”
“Seokjin-hyung already knows something’s up. What should we tell him?” Jungkook asks.
“I’ll think of something on the way home.” Jimin motions to the remnants of cum on the floor. “Clean up your mess before we go.”
“Oh, that’s my mess?”
Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath when Jimin suddenly crouches down in front of him and grabs his hair, looking him dead in the eye. His voice is low and gravelly when he speaks. “You couldn’t swallow all of it, remember?” he says. “Good boys take everything they’re given. You wanna be good, don’t you?”
Biting his lip, Jungkook nods hastily.
“Then clean it up. Maybe you’ll get a reward when we get home.”
Jimin smiles and kisses the tip of Jungkook’s nose. “That’s my baby. Meet me outside when you’re done.”
He goes to the bathroom for paper towel and uses that to clean up the floor. Jungkook isn’t thinking, not really. He’s just excited to get back to Jimin. To lean on him during the car ride home, to cuddle on the couch, to fool around in their bedrooms after dark. He makes eye contact with himself in the mirror for a few moments.
It never was just about being touched, was it?
Jungkook pitches the paper towel in the trash can on his way out, flicks off the light, and closes the door behind him.