“And you ended up fucking a minor,” Taehyung says, throwing the starburst at Jungkook. “It was consensual!” Jungkook cries out before he’s slapped upside the head. “He didn’t say you raped her,” Jimin mumbles. “We aren’t talking about consent.”
“Whatever,” Jungkook snaps and hands the starburst to Jimin. Taehyung and Jimin lean in. “Well?” Jimin says. “Where’s my go?” Jungkook looks up and then back to the side, sulking. “Fuck this, I don’t wanna play anymore,” he mutters.
“Aw come on,” Taehyung tugs on his arm. “You’ve got a lot of shit on Jimin, share some will you?” Jungkook ignores him, not even sparing a glance, until he feels something wet by his elbow. He looks down and sees Taehyung biting him.
“Let go you dog!” Jungkook yawps, searching blindly behind himself to grab a handful of candies. He hucks them at Taehyung, splashing the rainbow colors around his heft of brown hair. Jimin picks up a yellow starburst and holds it up. “It’s my tur-”
“No,” Taehyung says, wiping his mouth. “I have to make up for Jungkook’s failure.” He feels the younger pierce him with a glare, but ignores it. “I’ll tell you about the time Jimin got his dick splintered by his headboard.”
“He what?” Jungkook oohs, face lighting up. “Oh god, Taehyung, no,” Jimin mumbles, folding his knees up to bury his face in. Taehyung flicks his hands at Jungkook to grasp the light of attention again. “He had the toy between his mattress and headboard, but when it slipped, the idiot didn’t know and rammed in at the wrong angle. Thus, sacre bleu, instant splinter.”
“How do you know all the details?” Jungkook asks, lip twitching. Taehyung frowns. “Because he was here at my apartment. I heard a string of loud cuss words so when I went upstairs, he was crying like a bitch.” Taehyung imitates furrowed brows and quiet sobbing sounds. “God, okay that’s enough,” Jimin peeps from his knees, the yellow of his starburst rolling between his fingers. Jimin only ate yellow starbursts, he thinks all the other flavors have a bad aftertaste.
“But he cried more when he couldn’t get off-”
“Taehyung!” Jimin whines, his face now barely visible by how far he’s hidden it into his knees. Jungkook can see the tips of his ears turn red. “He couldn’t get off?” He tilts his head at Taehyung. “What do you mean?”
“Ugh you know,” Taehyung says, dipping his fingers into the puddle of candies in front of him. “Um,” Jungkook mumbles, “not really.” Taehyung rubs his palms over the starbursts. “What? You’ve never used a fleshlight before?” When Taehyung doesn’t get a reply, Jungkook’s stare blank, he lours. “Seriously?”
“Hey, it’s not a big deal, not everyone uses manmade things to get off.” Jungkook raises a hand to his chest, chin lifted up. “I personally prefer a real woman, with a real puss-”
“You can’t get off normally after mid-session using the toy,” Taehyung says, unamused. “So what happened?” Jungkook asks, leaning into Taehyung a little too close. “Why are you so interested?!” Jimin groans, his face now flushed when he finally retreats from his legs.
“I just jerked him off till he came,” Taehyung says, forthright, like stating the weather. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” Jimin cries out, kicking one leg out to push Taehyung off his balance. “Hey, c’mon, it’s just Jungkook, it’s fine,” Taehyung defends, bracing himself on his elbows. “It’s not like he cares anyways, right?”
Jungkook looks away from him. “Y-yeah,” he whispers. “Why would I care?”
That night Jungkook can’t sleep. He keeps picturing Taehyung’s hands over Jimin, rubbing them in between his legs. It makes Jungkook wonder if Jimin’s face was as red as it was today during it, if he was embarrassed, or if he enjoyed it. Jungkook turns to his side. He must have enjoyed it, since Taehyung made him cum in the end.
It makes him tsk, wishing he’s never heard the story because now he can’t get it out of his head, can’t get the wonder of what Jimin’s face during orgasm may have looked like. Thinking back, Jungkook always found Jimin to be a handsome guy. He must look beautiful, all flushed. Jungkook’s cock twitches.
He reaches down and grips it, blushing alongside the familiar heat gathering in his stomach. He gives his shaft an upstroke and it feels good. Touching himself to the thought of Jimin feels good. He uses the fabric of his shorts to drag over his head, teasing, before letting go. His breathing is labored as he feels himself rub up against the bulk of his elastic hem.
Whining pathetically, Jungkook flips himself around and buries his hips into his mattress. He drags his cock against his covers, feels the bundle of soft fabric curl around him, his shorts playing their part in sticking to his shaft to form a tight, hot grip, and Jungkook whines weakly. He feels his cheek burning against the cool cover of his pillow and ducks his face into it, embarrassed with the whole situation, yet despite it all, Jungkook starts humping the bulk of his sheets faster. The bed creaks wildly, but it just feels so good, he can’t bring himself to care about his roommates. They probably hear him, the walls thin in their dorms, but damn them because the imaginary source of Jimin getting jerked off in his head becomes too much, and within just a few seconds, Jungkook cums into his sheets.
He’s biting at the fluff of the pillow, muffling his voice, harsh breaths letting past his nostrils. He feels the room pulsing around him, his ears numb in ringing, his brain wobbly in his skull. When everything settles down, Jungkook reaches down between his legs. “Ah,” he whimpers, raising his hips off the bed. He feels his wetness when swiping a palm over the mattress and whimpers even louder. His cock is twitching again, the pit of his stomach kicking in with a harsh flare, and Jungkook is back to humping his mattress until he passes out in sleep, atop his own mess.
The next day, Jungkook is over at Taehyung’s place. “You’ve got it all,” Jungkook says as he rummages through some dvds. “Your own apartment, a career in music…” He picks up an album and looks at it. It’s a corny photo of taehyung leaning against a brick wall with swirly gold letters that curl into each other above his home-styled hair—Cypher V. Although the album had completely flopped, the effort is still there, obvious under the way Taehyung has it all placed out with details. Jungkook had taken a listen to it once, and to be candid, it was bad. Taehyung wasn’t made to filthy rap. He was more the poetic type, despite his squishy personality.
He looks up at his friend, who’s working on his laptop, lying stomach down. His feet swing back and forth in the air before dropping down to his bed. “I know being successful like me is hard, but do you wanna go out for burgers or something? We can bring Jimin,” he says, closing the lid of his laptop and getting to his feet.
Jungkook’s fingers twitch to the sound of Jimin’s name, his mouth going dry. Taehyung stretches his arms. “Yes? No? We can go for waffles if you’re not feeling burgers.”
Jungkook swallows thickly. “No, it’s fine. Let’s go get J-Jimin.”
In the end, Jimin and Jungkook are sitting in front of each other, Taehyung on Jimin’s side. The man’s busy on his phone, eating fries, not noticing the way Jungkook’s staring at Jimin’s cheeks hollowing around a straw. It’s obvious the cup is empty, the loud slush of ice moving around being the only thing in it, but Jimin tries to get the drops of soda clinging onto the ice like a brat, and his cheeks are sucking around the plastic curl of the straw too harshly for Jungkook’s own good.
It’s patent what’s playing in Jungkook’s mind—Jimin on his knees for him—and it doesn’t stop the bulge in his pants from growing. He starts squirming in his seat, face red from arousal because now Jimin is running his lips over the top of the straw. He does it absentmindedly while lost in thought, eyes fixed at the table across from them, and Jungkook finally breaks in on himself.
He slithers a hand down to his pants, over the strain between his legs. Bringing his thighs together to build pressure, to form a cushion of tightness, he starts to rub. He uses his left hand to eat his salad. It’s a bit awkward, but it gets the job done and neither of his friends notice anyways, not like they can; how dumb would they sound, “Hey Jungkook you’re eating your salad with your left hand, ha ha…” Totally an idiotic statement even for Taehyung.
When Jimin is slipping off his straw, to which Jungkook frowns at because his lips looked so pretty when they suck, he grabs at his burger. It sounds moronic, but the dip in the burger bun from Jimin’s fingertips make Jungkook think of soft skin, and how Jimin would probably dig into the fat of Jungkook’s ass.
Jungkook rubs against his cock harder, limiting his arm movements because then it would be too easy to be caught, but the thrill of publicity, not that Jungkook was ever into public masturbation, makes him all the more willing to get off. Especially with Jimin right in front of him, his body a mere three feet away.
With Jimin looking down, biting into his burger, it’s a canvas for Jungkook to picture Jimin eating him out. Pulling him in by the hips, burying his face into his ass, kissing and sucking filthily, and oh fuck, Jungkook is trembling, the ketchup of his fries smearing against his cheek as he dips his head down, orgasm ripping through him.
He does a good job shutting himself up throughout the clutching contractions, but when he opens his eyes, he sees Taehyung staring at him. “Yo,” he mutters, “what the fuck just happened.” Jungkook digs his fingernails into his thigh, his red face scrunching up in panic. “I sneezed,” he blurts, turning his face to cough into his elbow, just because.
“Who the fuck sneezes like they came in their pants?” Taehyung says and before Jungkook can start begging him to shut up, he sees that Taehyung is joking, and had actually bought his lie.
“What happened?” Jimin says with that damn straw back between his perfect lips, and Jungkook has to look away from them. “To sneeze quietly in public, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to look like you came in your pants,” Taehyung informs him obnoxiously, and Jungkook can feel the heat on his cheeks burn his eyes—how many times is he going to use that phrase?
“Jungkookie cumming in his pants?” Jimin says, chuckling, and oh god, it has a different effect when Jimin uses it, Jungkook realizes, his hips already twitching. “I don’t think he would be that dirty to begin with,” Jimin says, running his lips over the straw, looking directly at Jungkook, and Jungkook has to grit his teeth.
“Here,” Jimin says, extending his hand to Jungkook’s cheek. He swipes a thumb over the ketchup stain and brings it over to his own lips. Sucking around the red, he still stares up at Jungkook, and it’s safe to say that Jungkook has never been so eager to get home and beat the fuck out of his meat until he becomes impotent.
“So you didn’t feel that?” Taehyung asks, his shoulder slumped against Jungkook as they watch some badly directed horror movie. “Feel what?” Jungkook says, popcorn spilling out of his mouth, and Taehyung grimaces. But he gets an idea and reaches up to pluck a kernel from the side of Jungkook’s cheek, promptly putting it in his mouth.
Jungkook immediately meets eyes with him. Taehyung smiles. “So you felt it,” he says. “That wasn’t like Jimin to do that. I wonder-”
“It didn’t mean anything,” Jungkook mumbles, already turning pink under the glow of the television. “Oh, you wouldn’t be as red as a bitch right now if it didn’t mean anything,” Taehyung banters and sits up. “Hey, bitch,” he says, eager, but Jungkook grabs his nape and shoves his face into the popcorn bowl.
“Don’t call me bitch,” he snarks and lets Taehyung go when he starts digging his nails into Jungkook’s thigh. There’s popcorn up his nose and Taehyung cries out, “Fuck why do you do this to me! I’m only trying to tell you Jimin likes you, Jesus fucking chri-”
“What did you say?” Jungkook says, not trusting his ears, breath caught in his throat. “Uh, I didn’t say anything,” Taehyung stammers, his hands swaying in front of his reddening face. “Did I say something? I don’t think so, because if I did I would remember it. You know my memory is amazing, really, I can recall things from-”
“Taehyung!” Jungkook yells, doubling with the screams of the pretty blonde girl in the movie. Taehyung slumps down in the couch. “Oh fuck,” he mumbles, wishing the couch would swallow his useless I’ll-keep-your-secret-don’t-worry-Jimin ass up.
“I can’t believe you guys called me over at 2-fuckin-AM to play starburst,” Jimin mumbles, his pillow by his side, the sleep in his eyes being rubbed away by his hands. “Shithead,” he points at Taehyung, “you better have a hell of a good story to tell me.” Jimin slumps down on the couch, pushing in between Taehyung and Jungkook.
He’s wearing sleepwear; a black tshirt and loose briefs, and Jungkook can feel his naked thigh press against him. “Well where’s the damn candy?” Jimin growls, arm swung behind the back of the couch, his fingers lingering by Jungkook’s shoulder where they meet, and it’s obvious the boy isn’t in a good mood, but Jungkook can’t help but think how hot Jimin is when he’s angry, his brows furrowed, beautiful lips pulled down in a pout. Jungkook looks down and sees Jimin’s pillow stuffed between his legs, the swell of his round thighs slotted against it. He squirms to suppress the arising heat in his stomach.
“I’m going first,” Taehyung says, feeding Jungkook a sloppy grin before looking at Jimin. “I don’t like the way you’re staring at me,” Jimin mumbles, leaning away from Taehyung. “What is it?” He narrows his eyes. “Did you go through my history again? Okay, I admit it, I sometimes listen to your album. Make all the fun you want about me, but do it after I go to sleep, please just let me crash.”
Jimin’s about to push Taehyung off, setting space free for him to claim the couch, but he’s shoved backwards into Jungkook. “Ouch, what the hell?” Jimin grunts, his hands pushing himself up, but his ass is amid Jungkook’s thighs, almost pressing into his groin, and Jungkook sucks in a breath.
“He likes you back,” Taehyung says and throws the starburst at Jimin. He gets up and shuffles to collect his wallet and keys. Without another word, Taehyung leaves the apartment, the snap of the lock echoing throughout the room.
The television is still murmuring quietly as Jungkook’s fingers twitch around nothing, his heart twisting in on itself in his chest. Jimin is still between his legs, the scent of his vanilla milk shampoo and faint, washed away cologne heavy under Jungkook’s nose, and the boy feels as if he’s going to pass out from the proximity.
The silence drives him crazy, yet Jungkook still says nothing, his insides curling and chest heaving. He sees Jimin’s fingers clutch the cushion of the couch before he shifts back, ass completely pushed against Jungkook. Jungkook’s body goes rigid, his breath playing tug of war in his throat.
“I’m sorry Jimin, I have to g-go,” he says, trembling hands going down to push Jimin away, but Jimin only grabs them from behind. He slowly drags them down to his waist, feels Jungkook’s large palms rest against him, and sighs.
“Can we stay like this?” he says, voice gentle, unlike when he first came in. “No,” Jungkook whines more than he says, his fingers shaking wildly against Jimin’s hips. “I can’t, I have to get to the dorms...”
Jimin looks over his shoulder, profile a mix of bright highlights from the television screen. “I know you want to fuck me,” he says and Jungkook’s eyes go wide. “Yesterday at the diner, I knew what you were doing under the table.”
“No, J-Jimin that’s n-not true.” Jungkook sounds like he’s crying, giving Jimin a sense of how easy it would be to break him, and it makes him grip Jungkook’s hands in anticipation. Jungkook tries pulling them away, sniffles small and weak, and it urges Jimin to keep working his hips back. “Aren’t you ashamed?” Jimin whispers, enjoying how Jungkook’s fingers begin to dig into his waist, strength finally kicking into his system. “Don’t you feel guilty for being so dirty in public?”
“I told you that’s not t-true...” Jungkook’s becoming braver, but he stays pliant behind Jimin, his chest heaving, whines becoming louder. Jimin loves hearing them, arousal spreading all throughout his body. He wants to hear more.
“So shameless,” Jimin pants, his own voice on the edge of sounding desperate because he feels Jungkook’s cock under the cleft of his ass, twitching and throbbing. “Jimin,” Jungkook grunts, his head falling back to the soft arm of the couch. “J-Jimin...oh fuck…”
Jimin whines, his head clouding up with Jungkook’s voice. He knew Jungkook had a talent, knew the boy’s singing was something to be proud of, but hearing it in this manner, fuck, Jimin’s gonna lose it. He glances over his shoulder again and sees Jungkook’s neck in view, veins strained.
“Jungkook,” Jimin whispers, his hips slowing down, but Jungkook quickly tugs them in, too lost in the feeling, and starts to grind up into them himself. His shame starts to rename itself as his cock presses into the space between Jimin’s cheeks, the layers of fabric amid them rustling with the television’s whisper.
Jungkook’s fingers slip under Jimin’s shirt, running them alongside his ribs and down to his stomach, gently caressing his lower abdomen. Jimin closes his eyes, feeling Jungkook’s large hands roam his tingling skin, his fingertips cold when they press into his muscles. But that’s all Jungkook does with his shy hands; mold around Jimin’s shape.
“If we’re gonna do this,” Jimin breathes, “you’re gonna have to be more valiant.” He waits for a response, but when he looks back and sees the boy’s blown pupils, Jimin deems them worthy enough and sits up. Heart rattling in his chest, Jimin hooks his small fingers around the hem of his briefs. Slowly dragging them down, he feels Jungkook’s staring, watching the cloth slide off the curve of his ass.
Jungkook groans when the briefs fall down to Jimin’s bent knees, his ass left bare. He hesitates, but remembers what Jimin told him, and reaches to run a palm over the smooth roundness. Jimin pushes back on it, chest leaning forward till it meets the arm of the couch. He sticks his ass higher and something hot bubbles inside Jungkook. He’s seen this pov in porn, seen how girls would bend over like this to be eaten out, but Jungkook is unsure if that’s what Jimin’s implying.
“Jimin?” Jungkook whispers, his fingers slightly pressing into the supple fat. “D-do you want me to-”
“Are you always this kind during sex?” Jimin hisses, but there’s a teasing element in his tone that makes Jungkook blush. Jimin grips the end of his black tshirt and tugs it enough so it exposes his hip bones. He raises his ass higher, exposing the swell of his balls and just the slight underside of his hard cock. Jungkook’s mouth dries, eyes affixed on Jimin’s anatomy. He presses his tongue behind his teeth and slips his hand down to the base of Jimin’s shaft.
Jimin spreads his legs wider and angles his hips to the side. Jungkook holds back a groan and slides his palm further up till he feels the bulb of Jimin’s cockhead. He gently swipes a finger over it and feels just how wet Jimin is. It makes Jungkook remember his own session in bed, how pathetically fast he’d gotten turned on, but now he doesn’t feel so embarrassed, as Jimin is the same.
When Jungkook slips his palm down, smearing the precum over his shaft, Jimin moans, burying his face into the couch. Jungkook wraps a tight fist around him and gives a few slow strokes, the curiosity of pleasuring a man building throughout him until he remembers that Taehyung’s done this already, has felt Jimin first. Annoyance suddenly fills Jungkook, and before he can think any further, he finds himself grazing his teeth, licking up a filthy wet stripe, and biting at one of Jimin’s asscheeks.
“Jungkook, w-what are-” Jimin twists his waist, body shifting, but Jungkook holds him still. “Don’t tell me Taehyung’s done this too,” he says, voice low, and Jimin shudders at how suddenly he’s switched personas. “No,” he whimpers, head falling back down onto the couch. “It’s all yours." Jimin deviously teases his ass back, swaying it side to side.
Jungkook’s chest rumbles with a groan before he leans in and spreads Jimin’s round cheeks apart. He can barely see the details, anything really because the lights are off, but the glow of the ongoing television has enough mercy to show him the pucker of his entrance. Jungkook swipes two fingers over his tongue and brings them to rub against Jimin.
He’s done this to girls, has his own way of slowly setting the show, letting them cast as the anticipating audience while he easily follows the script, but it’s different when he’s here with Jimin. He feels nervous and almost nauseous, like he’s forgotten his role. He fears he’s not suited to be the protagonist, that he may not being enough. It’s Jungkook’s first with a man, that man being his friend since high school, but that’s not part of the concern right now because he knows Jimin’s been with a few guys. He knows he’s had experience.
This is one of the things he knows about his friend that Taehyung doesn’t; Jimin’s careless behavior. Jungkook’s seen the boy hook up with a middle aged man when they went to a bar together, and at the end of the night, Jungkook was walking home alone.
But Jungkook doesn’t want to think about what those men have done, doesn’t want to picture how their night together was, as now he’s slowly pushing a finger into Jimin. “Fuck, Jungkook, wait,” Jimin grits out, his face twisted in pain. “You need lube, something to help me out here.”
Jungkook looks puzzled and Jimin sighs helplessly. “I’m not one of your girlfriends,” he says. “I don’t produce my own fluids.” Jungkook smiles but his mouth quickly flexes into a low moan as he runs a finger down Jimin’s perineum. Jimin peers at him over his shoulder, the heat in his eyes loud.
Jungkook slides his digit back up to Jimin’s hole and traces the rim, feeling the docile flesh move with him. “Jungkook,” Jimin heaves. “Please, I’m so hard.” Jungkook’s hips twitch, his cock pulsating in his shorts. He moves his hands so they lay on the side of Jimin’s ass. He drags his thumb over the fat and spreads the cheeks apart, promptly spitting into the parting. Jimin stutters, taken aback, but before he has a chance to question how Jungkook’s become so bold, he feels something hot and wet drag against his rim.
“Oh fuck,” Jimin cries, pulling at the cushion of the armrest, tears already building up on his waterline from anticipation. Jungkook pushes the tip of his tongue into Jimin and closes his mouth, lips pressed up against Jimin’s flushed skin. He sucks before pulling off to flatten his tongue over the rim, dragging it up and around, playing with the wetness of his own saliva as Jimin begins to shake under him.
“Please, Jungkook yes,” Jimin whines, pushing back on Jungkook’s face, urging him on. Jungkook collects enough spit in his mouth to let it ooze down onto Jimin, promptly working his tongue to fuck the fluid inside him.
It’s not long before Jimin’s dripping onto the couch, his cock slick and shining under the luminescent light extruding beside them. Jungkook reaches down to collect Jimin’s precum and smear it onto his entrance, quickly pushing in two fingers to stretch him out. He leans back in and eats him out simultaneously with his flexing digits, running his tongue into the dip of where his fingers loll down on his rim.
The feeling is similar to what Jungkook’s done in the past, but except there’s no extra folds nor nubs to get into. Unlike a girl, Jimin is smooth and simple. Yet despite it, Jimin has so much more to offer—he’s far better than any bitch Jungkook’s played with.
Jungkook’s got four fingers in and a tongue swirling relentlessly when Jimin begs for it to stop, for it to be enough because, “I’m gonna cum if you k-keep going, K-Kook.”
When Jungkook pulls away, string of spit extending lewdly from his lips to Jimin’s rim, Jimin staggers and his hips sway to the side. Jungkook looks past the rise and fall of his ribs and sees the way his red face is pressed against the cover of the couch. Jimin’s cheek is squished, big lips messy with drool. He looks absolutely crude.
Jungkook slips his hand between Jimin’s legs to take hold of his cock again, but Jimin’s body shakes and he sobs, “S-stop, I’m so close.” Jungkook retreats and sits back, leaning against the couch, watching Jimin’s legs shake.
“Fuck, I can’t think straight,” Jimin mumbles, pushing himself up by the arms. He glances over at Jungkook and sees him rubbing himself through his shorts. There’s a large wet patch at the front of where he’s stroking, and Jimin salivates.
He shifts, moving Jungkook’s legs aside so he has room to lay stomach down. “Fuck baby,” he whispers, splaying his fingers across Jungkook’s hardness. He feels him twitch within his shorts, the weight of his cock heavy by the side of Jimin’s hand.
When Jimin starts to tug down Jungkook’s shorts, Jungkook stops him. “No,” he whimpers. “I’m already…” Jimin looks down and sees the glistening peep of Jungkook’s cockhead, red and angry. “Just a little?” Jimin begs, tongue already sticking out. He doesn’t even give Jungkook a chance to answer before he’s pressing against his slit.
“J-Jimin, s-s-stop,” Jungkook carps, breaths being punched out of him. Jimin doesn’t listen though and bounds his lips around Jungkook’s head. In the face of play, Jimin is a good boy and doesn’t suck, he only opens and closes his lips, creating a warm, pulsating suction. Jungkook seems to like it as he’s blushing like a mad man, hands shaking by where they lay limp by his sides.
Jungkook stays mute, he only heaves, looking down at Jimin. “Better than the straw?” Jimin mocks, lips rolling around Jungkook’s wetness, and Jungkook turns his face away in shame. “Don’t be so soft,” Jimin chaffs, sitting up to strip of his shirt and Jungkook stares at his body. Jimin’s not too muscular but not too feminine either. He’s got smooth, firm slopes, a body carved of careful glass. Jungkook would love to be the one to break it.
However, despite Jungkook’s deft correlation, Jimin’s the one pushing him down, the one leading direction. And with Jimin’s dominance comes care as he’s reaching down and picking up his pillow to place under Jungkook’s head. They exchange smiles before Jimin raises his ass to tug down Jungkook’s shorts.
He looks back at it, admiring how hard it is just for him, and gives Jungkook a cheeky grin. “How long have you waited for this?” Jimin whispers, his fingers creeping behind to slowly stroke Jungkook’s shaft. Jungkook controls his expression of any pleasure, hoping to seem calm and collected, but Jimin can see through his front.
“Two days?” Jungkook breathlessly says, knowing it’s not the answer Jimin wanted, yet nonetheless, his honesty makes Jimin chuckle. “I guess I’m the desperate one here,” Jimin says, sighing towards the end. Jungkook doesn’t ask a follow up question, doesn’t think it will be fitting because there’s something sad behind the heat in Jimin’s eyes. Something that talks love rather than lust.
Jungkook doesn’t have the courage to ask, he doesn’t trust his intentions nor mouth because these past two days have been confusing for him—he’s only seen Jimin in the light of filthy desire and nothing else.
After a few pants leave Jungkook’s lips, Jimin’s fingers pressing into his slit, Jimin picks his hips up to align Jungkook under him. He looks down at Jungkook’s face, watches him stare down at their lower halves in anticipation, and feels his arousal gush deeper inside him.
Not able to hold back any longer, Jimin presses Jungkook’s tip against him, feels it pulsate once, twice, before sinking down. He feels the burn of being stretched, and feels that Jungkook’s not so long, but he’s wide and has a well arched curve to his shaft. It hits Jimin in the right place once it’s all in and makes him reel forth, his fingernails scratching Jungkook’s shirt.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, his heartbeat pattering underneath Jimin’s palm. “Yeah,” Jimin breathes, face already twisted in pleasure. “You already feel so good, fuck...I don’t know if I’m gonna last long.” Jungkook bites his lip, his head a mess as he didn’t know he could have such an effect on Jimin, but if there’s four seasons and hell and heaven exist, he's not too far off on promise.
Jimin starts off slow, picking himself up, dropping down lazily, all while watching Jungkook’s face. The boy’s expressions are dazed and heavy, his eyelids low, brows furrowed. It burns Jimin from the inside out, seeing Jungkook in this state. He starts to move his hips faster, rolling them in larger circles, and Jungkook’s fingers come up to latch onto his waist.
“Fuck,” Jungkook whines, watching Jimin’s cock sway with his movements, how it bounces but snaps back to his navel. There’s a wet stream from Jimin’s slit all the way down to his balls, where the precum mixes with Jungkook’s own. The squelching sounds and slapping of skin between them are filthy, louder than the movie playing, and Jungkook has to hold back his arising orgasm.
Jimin keeps a steady rhythm above him, hips rising and falling, pretty stomach clenching, flaunting his toned abs. Everything about Jimin’s body makes Jungkook closer to cumming. Everything about him makes Jungkook wonder why all things had to topple into two days.
Jungkook’s gripping Jimin’s waist roughly, his own hips snapping up to meet Jimin’s as his surroundings become distorted. His breaths are barely coming out in pants but rather, in gasps, and Jungkook’s nearing, feeling the room squeezing in on him, the heat in Jimin’s walls clinging onto him and pulling him into a strong, fervent orgasm.
His face, his stern, blissed expression while cumming makes Jimin’s body convulse and break in on itself, throwing his heart out on the platter as his own orgasm swallows up all the living fibers in his being, greedily holding everything down to contract and blister.
Jimin’s still rocking back and forth, heaving harshly, as the feeling ebbs away, his surroundings finally leveling with him. When he opens his eyes, Jungkook is looking up at him, his gaze shy and uncomfortable, just like in the beginning. Jimin smiles and slowly straightens his back, feeling the dull pain of his strained muscles.
When he starts to get off, Jungkook grabs him by the arm. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know my whole two day crush was stupid and it - it wasn’t worth this, worth what we just did-”
“Hey,” Jimin says, still panting, staring down at Jungkook. “You sound like an idiot right now, you know?” Jungkook blinks, his round eyes so clear, you’d forget how they looked a mere minute ago. “When have you been the type to fuck with feelings?”
Jungkook goes silent. He looks down at their connected halves and then back up at Jimin’s face. “But it’s different,” he says. “I...” he looks away from Jimin’s eyes, “felt something.”
“I’m glad you felt good,” Jimin says bluntly, not trying to understand Jungkook’s words because he knows Jungkook doesn’t see him in the same light, and he didn’t expect him to after this anyways. This was just a one time thing. Out of fun, out of pleasure. He slowly stands up, feeling Jungkook slide out of him, and crashes at the side of the couch, sighing heavily.
“No,” Jungkook whines and sits up. “I started thinking about you after what Taehyung said about you, about the whole headboard…you know…”
Jimin scoffs, and it sounds pained. “You’re serious?” He throws his head back. “Wow, and to guess I’ve been holding back on you for a year and a half.” Jungkook’s face reddens. “For that long?” he asks, voice small.
“Yeah and I didn’t think I’d be confessing to you. At least not in this way.” Jimin looks at Jungkook. “Hey, but don’t worry about it, I’m sure I’ll get over it soon.” They stay silent like that, turning to the television and watching the movie’s ending scene. When the credits start to roll in, they slip back into their clothes and Jimin goes to turn the lights on.
“I don’t regret this,” he tells Jungkook when he comes back to the couch, cans of beer in his hands. He throws one at Jungkook. “I always wanted to fuck you,” he says, a small shameless smile tugging his lips, “—and even if it happened for the wrong reason, it doesn’t matter.” He cracks open the small pick of his beer and takes a gulp.
Jungkook rubs his thumb over the cold water dripping off his can. “Can we do it for the right reason next time?” he says, gazing at Jimin through his lashes, and Jimin just stares at him. “Don’t try to make me feel better,” he says, scoffing, but Jungkook pushes him down.
He’s kissing Jimin, running his lips over the boy’s, desperately trying to prove he’s honest. The gurgling of the beer spilling onto the carpet hisses underneath them, far down from where Jimin’s pushed underneath Jungkook on the couch, but he doesn’t care when he feels Jungkook’s lips on his.
He feels as if he’s too quick to give in, too quick to trust Jungkook, but he still wraps his arms around the boy’s neck and tugs him in to deepen the kiss. They’re a mess of wet tongues and harsh pants in a few seconds, and Jimin has to push Jungkook away if he wants his lungs to live.
“Jungkook...” Jimin heaves, and Jungkook can’t help but stare at how beautiful his lips look after being kissed. He tips in them again, swallowing the words out of Jimin’s mouth. “Jungkook,” Jimin mumbles, moaning when Jungkook bites on his plush bottom lip. “Listen to me…” Jungkook, never minding the words, continues to kiss Jimin until the man tsks and pushes on his warm chest, keeping him away.
Jungkook looks down at him, stares at the way Jimin’s hair is splayed out over the arm of the couch, how pink his cheeks are, how gorgeous he is. He almost loses himself in regret, not knowing how he hadn’t fallen for Jimin in all those years, within all the days where Jimin had been there for him, looking at him, where he was always the one to pull him out of slumps, to give him advice and care for him when he felt no one was there, but Jungkook was too dumb to notice.
“I don’t know what it takes for a kid to change in two days,” Jimin says, breaking Jungkook of his thoughts. “But I don’t think this is right.” Jungkook grips the cover of the couch, feeling his heart sink to his stomach. “W-why?”
“I don’t want this to be a leash for you. You shouldn't be resorted to wanting me,” Jimin sighs, distracting himself from Jungkook’s frown by reaching to run a hand over his bangs, brushing his hair back. “In the moment, when Taehyung left, I guess I was just too overwhelmed and thought I had won, that I had finally got you, but,” he looks into Jungkook’s eyes, “I was being selfish.”
“No,” Jungkook breathes, his voice mellow and soft, and it reminds Jimin of how he was in the beginning, how resentful he was to stop this and get to his dorms, and it makes the feeling of guilt all the more heavy on Jimin’s shoulders.
“Jimin,” Jungkook says, voice raising slightly. “I know two days isn’t a long while, but fuck, do you know what those days did to me?” Jimin squints at him, not taking him seriously. “What,” he says. “I made you rub one out in public, that’s no big deal, everyone’s done that at least once in their lives.”
“Oh god, just shut up Jimin will you,” Jungkook groans, getting off him. “I felt like I couldn’t think straight when I was with you,” he says. “Every time Taehyung mentioned your name, it felt as if my ribs were squeezing in on me, I’ve never felt so breathless before.”
“Okay Shakespeare,” Jimin says, reaching down to pick up the fallen beer can, hoping to deal with Taehyung later, and sets it on the coffee table in front of them. “I’m not joking,” Jungkook whines. “When I was,” he trails off, looking down at the couch, “touching you...and when I remembered that Taehyung had his hands on you before me, I didn’t like it.”
Jimin looks over at Jungkook, listening. “The thought of someone else putting their hands on you now, I don’t want to picture it,” Jungkook says, his head hung low. “All those men, your habit of drinking,” he glances over at the beer, “I want it to stop. It makes me feel,” he clutches his fingers into his palms, “this anger. Like I don’t want you to drink your problems away or to latch onto random guys to make you forget, I wanna be there for you, and I want you to lean on me.”
Jimin stays silent for a while, his heart beating quietly in his chest. He feels warm and calm, like he’s being cradled, before looking to the side and seeing the familiar rainbow of candies on the ground. He goes to pluck one up and comes back to throw it at Jungkook.
“My confession,” he says, face pulled in an embarrassed frown. “I wouldn’t let Taehyung touch me after the whole fleshlight incident, but when he told me to think of you, I…” Jimin looks away, not finishing what he started, leaving Jungkook’s face to slowly burn up in realization.
"Oh god,” Jungkook whines, burying his face in his hands. “Jimin, you,” he peeps through the gaps of his fingers, “you’re a freaky bitch.” Jimin’s face twists into a grimace. “I’m not the one confessing a year and a half later!” he says, reaching over to throw a punch at Jungkook.
Jungkook grabs his wrists and laughs, pulling them both down on the couch, Jimin atop him, swinging his arms relentlessly. Once they’ve had their fun, Jimin lays over Jungkook's chest, hearing the small rabid jerks of his heart.
“You better not tell this to Taehyung when we play starburst next time,” he says, mumbling the words into the warm dip of Jungkook’s sternum. Jungkook reaches down to brush Jimin’s hair back till the boy tilts his head and is looking up at him.
“I think it’s the reason why he left his apartment in the first place. He’s a generous fucker,” Jungkook says, watching the stars in Jimin’s eyes gleam. “You’ve got a dirty mouth,” Jimin says and leans to sigh into the crook of Jungkook’s neck.
“And you’ve got bad taste,” Jungkook says, insulting himself, but Jimin only laughs and kisses his neck.
“Not all of us are yellow starbursts, Kook.”