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“Namjoon, again, how are you not getting this?"

Namjoon stumbled once more and looked down shamefully. He had come so far from his days of cringing at dance practices and praying he'd always be at the back of the choreo formations. But sometimes, especially on days like today when he kept fumbling a simple maneuver, he felt like a dumb pre-debut kid all over again.

"Sorry, I'll figure it out," he called to the room. Hoseok nodded but his jaw was still set determinedly, like he didn't trust that they'd ever be able to be able to leave the studio.

Hoseok called out for a five minute break and the members scattered around the dance studio.

Namjoon propped himself against the wall and slid down until he was seated on a mat. The "Dionysus" choreo was complex, sure, but it wasn't the chaireography or the fall that was giving him trouble – it was his strut with the thyrsus, though he was just using a practice stick for now until their stage prop got delivered.

A water bottle clouded over with condensation appeared in his peripheral vision and Namjoon glanced up to see Jimin, sweat-drenched and angelic. Taking the water bottle gratefully, Namjoon felt like Tantalus from the Greek myths – the real delicacy he craved was just out of reach.

"It'll click," murmured Jimin. "You'll get it, Namjoonie-hyung. It's more about the attitude and swagger than the actual moves. Once you have the real thyrsus, it'll be easier."

Namjoon smiled ruefully up at Jimin. "I thought I was over feeling self-conscious onstage. Spare confidence, please?" He held up his hands like the emoji Jungkook loved to send to the group chat.

Jimin laughed. "I'll let you in on a secret," he said conspiratorially, leaning close so that their heads were only a foot or two apart. Namjoon tried not to notice how easily Jimin bent over at the waist to talk to him, despite how deep the stretch was.

"If you just act confident, you'll look confident." Jimin said, patting Namjoon's head in a way that was almost condescending but still sent a little shiver down the back of Namjoon's neck.

That evening after dinner, Namjoon kept turning Jimin's words over in his head. He'd move on to a new train of thought and then return to Jimin's advice, examining it and probing at it like a glossy, polished stone he'd found on a nature walk.

He thought about how Jimin looked so effortless and ethereal when he did things that scared the shit out of Namjoon, like raise his shirt to expose his toned stomach or approach the members for physical affection whenever he wanted to snuggle.

He appraised his memory of trainee Jimin, who talked a big game and showed his fear in equal measure, and stacked it up against modern-day Jimin, who contained so much self-love and affection that it splashed over his edges and out onto the other members.

Namjoon decided he owed it to scared little "No More Dream" Jimin to try his hardest.

He grabbed a duffel bag and changed into some loose sweats. He was going to head to the dance studio and spend an hour or two strutting in front of the mirror, no matter how embarrassed he made himself, until he had at least a tenth of the sexy energies Jimin emitted on a daily basis.

On his way out the door he ran into Jimin, cheeks pink and wet hair from the shower slicked back across his scalp. Jimin glanced confusedly at the bag in Namjoon's hand.

"I'm headed to the studio again," he admitted. "Since I'm the reason practice was so inefficient today. Figured I could try to work through "Dionysus" a few more times."

Jimin rolled his eyes, at contrast with the sweet smile playing along his plush lips. "I guess I'm the last person who can tell you to take it easy and stop worrying about choreo, hyung. Let me come with you and keep you company, at least?"

Namjoon got halfway through a stuttered decline of Jimin's offer (honestly, that's further than he usually gets) before Jimin was already headed to the doorway and slipping on a pair of slides.

"I know you, hyung. All the practice alone in the world won't help if you get shy again once we're in the studio with you."

Namjoon privately agreed.

The walk to the studio was short and the spring air was balmy on their skin. Jimin kept bopping his head and doing little wiggly dances in time to the music playing in his ear from one of Namjoon's airPods.

The practice room looked mostly unchanged from when they had been there that afternoon, except for the addition of a thin cardboard box several feet long resting on the mats at the back of the room.

"Oh, the thyrsus must have arrived early," Namjoon said, making a beeline for the package as Jimin turned on the lights.

The packaging fell away beneath his hands to reveal a long, gleaming black wood instrument with silver trim. He admired it, lifting it and turning it under the light. It was spotless. He always loved seeing their creative concepts manifested in reality; it felt like a zapping reminder that they had the ability to make their dreams tangible.

“Look,” he turned to Jimin, holding the staff gingerly. Jimin gave it (and Namjoon) a slow once-over. Namjoon felt sweat beading on his hairline already, even though he had yet to practice even one step of choreography.

“Great, you can practice with that, hyung.”

Namjoon twirled it in his hands, looking at himself in the mirror. He knew the thyrsus would be big but it felt ungainly, huge, a spotlight on him.

He started posing with it, tossing his shoulder back and gripping it tightly while he arranged his features in what he hoped was a seductive expression, but then he remembered Jimin watching him and stopped abruptly.

“It’s okay, Namjoonie-hyung. That’s why I’m here! I’m gonna do my parts of the choreo where I actually interact with you, but apart from that, I’m just gonna observe. I promise I won’t laugh at you.” Jimin paced to the side of the practice room and leaned against the wall. “Let’s start from the beginning of your solo, okay? I’ll count off. Just let loose.”

Jimin counted him down then kept an eight count, watching Namjoon like a hawk. Namjoon quietly murmured half the words of his verse, just to keep himself on track with where he was in the song, as he tried to prowl on beat and give off a vibe of untouchable coolness.

He immediately tripped over his own feet and dropped the thyrsus.

“It’s okay! Try again,” Jimin called from where he was perched on the practice mats. He counted off once more.

Namjoon made it through the first few seconds of the verse fine, refusing to watch himself in the mirror but at least delivering some semblance of a strut. Then he reached the point in the choreography where he was supposed to swivel his hips down and crouch behind the staff.

He made the mistake of glancing towards the mirror, saw himself, and snorted. He sat heavily down on his ass and covered his face with one hand.

“Namjoon-hyung!” Jimin scurried over to him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s just…” Namjoon hesitated. “Maybe you or Hobi could pull this off but I’m not… sexy onstage. I can do cool choreo, I can do intense choreo, but this? I’m not some god of drinking and sex, I’m just Moni.”

Jimin poked Namjoon on the nose. “Hyung, how many times have I talked about how I slip into a character onstage? When I’m out there doing splits and shaking my ass, I’m not Park Jimin who cried at a webtoon last night. I’m somebody else. I’m taking little pieces of who Park Jimin is and I’m exaggerating them and performing them. You just need to do the same.”

“How do I do that?” Namjoon asked, exasperated. “I have this huge prop and I just – I feel so stupid.”

“Hmm.” Jimin tapped his chin thoughtfully and paced in a slow circle around Namjoon. Despite the heat of the studio and the sweat pouring down his back, Namjoon shivered, feeling exposed. Jimin reached out and ran a finger along the shaft of the thyrsus.

“I don’t need to tell you what this symbolizes,” he said. “You wrote the lyrics. Don’t think of this as a prop. Think of it as your dick.”

When Namjoon coughed, Jimin laughed but kept a firm grip on the staff.

“No, I’m serious. Tell yourself that you’re a god, right, a god with a huge dick, which I know you don’t need help imagining,” he winked. “It’s an extension of you. It’s about taking parts of yourself that are true and acting like they’re bigger and more powerful than they are. Take that little part of Kim Namjoon where this strikes home, and exaggerate it for the performance.”

Namjoon had to physically wrench his eyes away from Jimin and will his heart to stop beating so fast. Jimin was a flirt. Jimin reveled in attention and had always been a flirt. He probably flirted harder with Namjoon than the other members because he still got a rise out of Namjoon, even after years of knowing each other.

“It’s my dick.”

“Right,” Jimin nodded. “Let’s try again.”

This time, Namjoon made it all the way through his crouch but started cringing as he walked towards the mirror and had to look at himself. Jimin, who had jogged over to join in for his part of the choreography, stopped short and stared at Namjoon like he was a puzzle to be figured out.

“Hyung,” he said slowly. “You don’t have to actually believe that you’re a Greek god. You just have to act like it.”

He grabbed Namjoon’s shoulder and imitated the quick body roll that he did next in the choreography. The gaze he shot towards the mirror was heavy-lidded and promising. Suddenly the studio felt devoid of air and Namjoon was floating, weightless, about to drift into orbit.

“See?” Jimin turned towards Namjoon. “I’m kind of a slut, so I acted like it. You have a big dick. You need to act like it.”

Namjoon knew he was bright red but he nodded. He had to at least try, or he would be wasting Jimin’s time.

They ran the choreography once more, and Namjoon only broke character when Jimin joined him and he got flustered watching Jimin’s hips swivel in the mirror.

“Seriously, hyung?” Jimin huffed.

“It’s just such a contrast,” Namjoon winced. “You look so effortless and I’m here with this big stick.”

“Big dick,” Jimin corrected with a smirk.

They decided to try again from the spot in the choreography where Jimin placed his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. Once again, Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from watching Jimin and he lost his rhythm.

Jimin just looked so… little and flexible next to him.

Namjoon had been horny every waking second since he hit puberty and he had eyes, so of course he knew that Park Jimin was attractive. He usually ignored it, though, so he could focus on things like composing a speech for the goddamn UN. But it was always there, thrumming beneath the surface – a little voice inside his head that whispered insidiously about how nice Jimin’s lips would feel against his dick, how his fat thighs would jiggle if he rode Namjoon.

Jimin doing body rolls next to him after making Namjoon viscerally aware of his own dick was not helping matters.

“Do I have to just do this choreo next to you nonstop until it stops distracting you? Because I will if that’s what it takes,” Jimin offered exasperatedly.

Namjoon should have said no and preserved what little dignity he had left. Instead, he gripped the thyrsus with white knuckles and nodded.

“Fair enough,” Jimin shrugged. He grabbed Namjoon’s shoulder, faced the mirror, and arched his back and swiveled his hips, again and again and again.

He never once hesitated or questioned himself. He just made eye contact with himself in the mirror, stared at his reflection like he’d die if he didn’t get to fuck it, and kept working his hips and thighs, dropping into lower and lower squats.

Namjoon’s mouth felt very dry and he realized he had no concept of the passage of time. Jimin could have been doing this move for five seconds or for several hours. All Namjoon knew was that he could comfortably watch this for the rest of his life and that he had a boner.

Oh god. He had a boner.

Namjoon flinched reflexively and tried to pull his shirt down to cover where his dick was now pressing insistently against the front of his sweatpants. Of course, all that did was direct Jimin’s attention to it.

“Hyung, are you…” he asked, staring directly at Namjoon’s crotch.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” Namjoon stammered. “I don’t know why, I just–”

“No, this is great!”

Namjoon froze. “What?”

“Yeah, we can use this!” Jimin grabbed the thyrsus again and shook it in Namjoon’s grip for emphasis. “This song is about your dick, it’s about partying hard and going all night long. Use this energy! Think with your dick!”

Namjoon didn’t know a polite way to say ”actually, I’ve been trying my entire life to stop thinking with my dick.”

“Oh… kay?”

Jimin pushed himself into Namjoon’s space. He held the thyrsus up between them.

“This is your dick,” he repeated. He ran his hand up the shaft and toyed with the leaves ornamenting the end of it. “It’s huge, and it’s powerful, and everyone watching you right now wants it. When you’re on that stage, let it guide you. Stop thinking with your head,” he let go of the thyrsus to tap Namjoon’s forehead, “and start thinking with this.”

He reached down and cupped Namjoon’s actual, real-life, flesh and blood dick through his sweatpants.

In Namjoon’s defense for what he did next, he had just been told by an unfairly gorgeous man to stop thinking. So it wasn’t his fault that his brain had shut down completely. And it definitely wasn’t his fault that his next course of action was to grab Jimin’s wrist and thrust up until his palm with a gasp.

He immediately pulled himself back after the first thrust, but the damage was done. Jimin stood there frozen with wide eyes.

Namjoon was just about to run panicked out of the studio when Jimin snapped himself out of it and squeezed his dick again through his sweatpants.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Let go. Do what you want. Take what you want.”

Namjoon made a strangled noise that was definitely not sexy and grabbed Jimin, pulling him into a hot, tongue-heavy kiss with the thyrsus trapped between them.

Jimin moaned and kissed back; he briskly led them backwards until his back hit the mirror and Namjoon was pressing him against it, caging him in and rutting their hips together. Jimin whimpered and tugged on Namjoon’s hair to lead his mouth down to Jimin’s neck.

“Come on,” he hissed.

Well, Namjoon had always considered himself sensitive to the needs of others.

He bit and sucked down Jimin’s neck, leaving a streak of bruises in his wake, the skin blooming pink and purple under his lips. Jimin writhed and keened, pretty noises falling from his mouth and soaking into Namjoon’s skin.

Namjoon growled as he kissed back up Jimin’s jawline. He was about to whisper something undeniably filthy, probably about how he’d always wanted to wreck Jimin like he deserved, but then made the mistake of making eye contact with himself in the mirror over Jimin’s shoulder.

He barely tensed – just a split second of indecision, of questioning himself – before Jimin caught on, grabbed him, and spun them around then pulled Namjoon towards the cushioned practice mat on the side of the room.

“Don’t lose focus on me now, hyung,” Jimin panted. He threw himself down on the mat and stared up at Namjoon. “You want me? Have me.”

Somewhere, deep in Namjoon’s consciousness, the mantra that Namjoon wasn’t good enough, wasn’t sexy enough, wasn’t desirable, was still repeating endlessly. But it was being drowned out by every other cell in his body, which screamed at him that he deserved this.

He focused on yanking Jimin’s t-shirt off and couldn’t help himself from biting tracks down his chest, lingering on his nipples until Jimin was whimpering and squirming against the mat. Namjoon placed his hands at Jimin’s waistband, a question dancing on his tongue, and Jimin just nodded.

“Take ‘em off, do it,” he moaned. “You deserve to get what you want.”

Namjoon tugged the sweatpants down and tossed them aside then blinked in shock when he was confronted with Jimin’s thick, gorgeous thighs, cute cock, and absolutely no underwear.

“God,” Namjoon breathed. “If you told teenage me about this, he’d nut so hard he’d go to space.”

“That’s a shame, because teenage me would’ve loved to have made that happen,” Jimin replied. He hooked his leg up around Namjoon’s hip and tried to thrust, but Namjoon pulled back in shock.

“Wait, really?”

“Obviously? I’ve been trying to sit on your dick for years!”

Namjoon ran a hand down Jimin’s tiny waist, fingering the curve of his hipbone. The contrast in their positions, with his clothes fully on and Jimin naked and spread out below him, made him feel immeasurably powerful and desired.

“So… you’d want me to fuck you?” He said, kissing down Jimin’s sternum.

“Please, hyung.”

“On the mats? In the middle of the dance studio? You want my dick that bad?”

“Like I said. ‘M kind of a slut.”

The desire pooling in Jimin’s eyes was going to his head. Namjoon felt like he was fifty feet tall, like he could move buildings, like he could speak and the whole world would listen. He followed that mental trail and threw caution to the wind. “We’re gonna need lube, then.”

Jimin rolled over, plump ass in the air, and started rooting around behind the pile of mats, until he found a small beat-up duffel bag. He dug into it and tossed a small bottle over his shoulder that bounced off Namjoon’s forehead and landed in his lap.

“Ow, Jimin, fuck–” he grumbled, then: “Why is there lube in the dance studio?”

“It’s Taehyungie’s. He gets all worked up after rehearsing “Singularity” and needs to jerk off.”

“Oh.” Years of providing porn on the dorm computer for his members’ entertainment had desensitized Namjoon to this kind of thing, but he still eyed the dance mats with newfound concern. Jimin turned back around and grabbed Namjoon’s cheek, leading him back into a wet, slow kiss. He tongued his way into Namjoon’s mouth and licked insistently against him, sighing and letting out little whimpers as Namjoon pushed him down against the mats again until they were lying parallel to the mirror.

“Stay focused, Namjoonie-hyung,” Jimin murmured through pink, kiss-plump lips. “Gotta get me wet before you stick that big cock in me.”

Namjoon bit back a whine (seriously, how did Jimin say such shameless things so easily) and glanced down to slick up his fingers. When looked back up, Jimin had one hand in his own hair and the other holding his thigh. His legs were folded, pressed up against his chest, and, ridiculously, his toes were pointed perfectly.

“Um, shit, wow,” Namjoon gasped, fumbling the lube closed. He stared at Jimin, all on display. Was this a prank? It had to be a prank. It was all happening so fast. There was no way he was this lucky. Was Jimin fucking with him?

His internal panic attack was interrupted by Jimin, who whined “Joooonieeeee” petulantly and pouted at him. Namjoon gulped and leaned forward on one elbow to kiss and nip at Jimin’s thigh. Jimin wasn’t even sweaty. He still smelled sweetly of peach body wash. It should be illegal for me to touch him, Namjoon thought to himself as he tongued up the side of Jimin’s half-hard cock then sucked the tip into his mouth. There was the slightest tang of precum but it mostly just tasted like clean skin and it was velvety soft against his lips.

He traced his fingertip in a circle around Jimin’s hole and almost dropped Jimin’s dick in shock when his finger slid in easily. The tight muscles that would have normally made this a slow process were already relaxed. Jimin hummed and tossed his head back, eyes closed.

“Do another one,” he said bossily.

Namjoon slid a second finger in easily and shivered at how warm and soft Jimin felt inside. “How…?” he pulled off of Jimin’s dick to ask. Then he immediately took him back into his mouth, bobbing his head and fitting as much into his mouth as his meager blowjob experience and pathetic gag reflex would allow.

“How many times do I have to remind you that I’m a slut? Also, I may have, mmm, done this in the shower earlier, so…” Jimin shrugged, arching his back against the mat. He wiggled his hips a little and slid down further on Namjoon’s fingers with a soft gasp.

Namjoon scissored his fingers apart then slipped a third finger in. What felt like thirty seconds later in Namjoon Standard Time (but had to have been at least a few minutes), Jimin was whining again, telling him to “just fuck me already, c’mon.”

Namjoon pulled his fingers out of Jimin, tugged his waistband down a few inches, and slicked up his aching cock with way too much lube (“shit,” he cursed as he accidentally spilled some on the mat). Jimin whimpered and reached down with both hands to spread his cheeks so that Namjoon had a perfect view of his hole, wet around the rim and constricting every few seconds. Once again, Namjoon had to wonder: why him? Why now? Was this all a test to get him to start believing in a god?

“Stop thinking,” Jimin hissed. “Fuck me, c’mon, I want you so bad.”

With a little shake of his shoulders, Namjoon pushed forward and started to press into Jimin, biting his lip at how good he felt. Everything – the tight squeeze around his cock, Jimin’s little shallow breaths that made his abs flex, the pink dusting Jimin’s cheeks – was overwhelming and decadent.

Fucking Jimin felt like it was Chuseok, Namjoon’s birthday, and the moment they presented at the Grammys all rolled into one.

“That’s it,” Jimin whined, shallowly rocking his hips onto Namjoon’s cock as he slowly pushed all the way inside. Namjoon gasped at how good it felt and buried his face into where Jimin’s neck connected to his shoulder. He shuddered at the slick drag of Jimin’s walls around his cock, tight and hot and absolutely unparalleled. Jimin groaned and opened his legs, then crossed them again behind Namjoon’s back, pulling him close and using his heels against Namjoon’s thighs to force his cock impossibly deeper inside him. “Fuck, Joonie, so big.

Namjoon slowly pulled almost all the way out, hating every second he wasn’t fully sheathed inside Jimin, and hesitated with just the tip left inside. He felt so good, so full of concentrated power that it scared him. He was so wanted, so needed by Jimin, gorgeous talented Jimin who had pillow lips and, apparently, a knack for dirty talk.

“Harder, please, god,” Jimin hissed. “Wanna feel you in my guts. Shit,” he gasped and Namjoon thrust forward again, a little harder this time, their thighs smacking together.

“Fuck, Joon, you’re fucking me so deep, gonna ruin me for anyone else.” His voice kept breaking over his exhales as Namjoon pumped into him for a third, a fourth, a fifth time.

Namjoon didn’t like to admit it to himself, but sex made him kind of… stupid, sometimes. He got caught up in the moment too easily, overeager like a dog finally given a treat. So it took a few more thrusts into Jimin’s tight, slick, perfect heat for Jimin’s words to finally rattle their way through his skull and into his brain. Holy shit. He was a god, he had to be, it was the only explanation for what Jimin was saying to him, Namjoon may have been an atheist but he was divinely ordained to fuck Jimin hard enough that he’d never want anyone else, just Namjoon pounding into him and filling him up.

Namjoon was so lost in fantasy that it took him a moment to realize he was coming.

Already.

After thirty seconds.

White-hot panic sunk its claws into his muscles and he gasped as he emptied himself spurting and hot into Jimin, who had frozen in shock. In his stupid, sex-fogged brain, Namjoon desperately thought maybe he could fuck Jimin through it anyway, but the first thrust after ejaculating had him crying out in oversensitivity and he pulled out of Jimin, cock slick with lube and cum.

He cringed, looking from his cock to Jimin’s wet hole to Jimin’s face, which was terrifyingly blank. Namjoon wanted to transform into a roly poly bug, curl in on himself, and roll into the street to live out a pathetic, spineless existence in the trash where he belonged. He couldn’t believe he had done that. It must be some sort of record, reaching a personal high and a personal low all within half a minute.

Jimin stared down at where his cock lay, still hard, on his stomach, then raised his eyes to meet Namjoon’s. Whatever he saw in them (probably Namjoon’s fervent desire to reenact The Metamorphosis) made his eyebrows crawl up his forehead and his lips twist in what was either sympathy or pity.

“Hyung,” he started hesitantly.

“Oh my god, Jimin,” Namjoon moaned in misery, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t… Fuck, of course this happened, I’m so sorry, you’re just so hot…”

Through the gaps in his fingers, Namjoon saw Jimin sit up gingerly and reach a finger down to trace where his rim was twitching, letting out little drips of cum onto the dance mats. He sat, hair ruffled, while he gazed at Namjoon.

“So I think we’ve got two options,” Jimin murmured. “Either you find a way to get me off, hyung, which I think we’d both prefer, or… I sell this story to Dispatch.” He said playfully.

“...Oh,” Namjoon sighed, thrilled Jimin wasn’t kicking him out entirely. He wanted to smack his forehead against the mirrors. He was so embarrassed, shame burning hot inside of him until his cheeks glowed.

“I’m not mad,” Jimin assured him in a low, soothing tone of voice. “It’s really okay. Please stop overthinking. You didn’t ruin this.”

“Of course I did, Jimin! You were saying all those… things… and it just happened. I’m so sorry.”

Jimin’s soft, open expression morphed into something a little more mischievous. “You liked when I talked about your big dick, Joonie-hyung?”

Namjoon groaned, face still buried in his hands. “Obviously I liked it. I liked it too much.”

“Look at me.” Namjoon whined when Jimin pulled his hands away from his eyes and made reluctant eye contact with him. “Hi, hyung. Guess what? I liked it too. I like you.”

Namjoon scoffed disbelievingly and Jimin poked a bossy finger into his dimple. “Yes, idiot, I like you and this didn’t change things. I’ve liked you for so, so long. You really didn’t notice me staring at you and licking my lips like, all the time?”

“I don’t know, I just,” Namjoon hung his head. “I just thought you were a sexy person, I guess.” Hope was clawing its way up his spine. His head was in turmoil, self-doubt and insecurity and confusion all spinning together, but piercing through the chaos was the shining beacon of Jimin likes me, he likes me and it’s not a joke, it’s for real that made him want to pick himself up and try again.

“No one said it can’t be both,” Jimin laughed. He leaned in slowly, giving Namjoon plenty of time to back away if he wanted, and kissed him. Unlike their earlier biting, frenzied kisses, this was molten and languid and full of promise. The steady press of Jimin’s tongue licking against his helped Namjoon calm himself down and relax his tensed shoulders.

For a few minutes, they sat like that, kissing deeply in the silence until Jimin started releasing little whimpers again. Namjoon pulled back and kissed down Jimin’s chest and over his collarbones.

“You’re still hard,” Namjoon observed in disbelief.

Jimin snorted and wiggled his hips, his cock shifting heavily against his stomach. “Of course I am. You really were fucking me so good, I wasn’t lying.”

“Wish I still was,” Namjoon replied with a pout.

“Fuck, I wish you were too,” Jimin said. He bit his bottom lip between his teeth and stared at Namjoon like he was a thick slab of steak. “Want you to get me off.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon asked. He reached out teasingly and played lightly with the head of Jimin’s cock, rubbing it between his fingertips. Jimin whimpered and tensed, his abs twitching. “What do you want?”

“God, anything,” Jimin exhaled. “Your mouth, your fingers.” He squirmed, shifting on the mats, and Namjoon was struck with the realization that he would do anything to keep that look of pleasure on Jimin's face. “Want you to fill me up, please Joonie, make me as full as I was on your dick.”

Namjoon blamed Jimin’s jokes earlier for what he said next.

“What about this dick?” he asked, pointing at the thyrsus where he had dropped it on the mat next to Jimin.

Jimin’s inhale caught in his throat with a harsh, ragged sound and Namjoon immediately questioned everything he had ever done or said.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he groaned, burying his face in Jimin’s chest. “I’m such a horny idiot, sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Jimin was deathly still beneath him and Namjoon was terrified of looking up to see the inevitable repulsion and pity on Jimin’s face. How had he fucked up this catastrophically? He had the most gorgeous man alive under him, still wanting him even though he came after eight pumps, and he said that?

When Namjoon finally pulled his head up to look at Jimin, he saw him chewing on his bottom lip. Finally, Jimin shook himself and said in a tiny, hesitant voice:

“I mean, you could. If you want.”

“W-what?”

Namjoon didn’t have to look down to know his dick had just twitched embarrassingly. Judging by the gleam in Jimin’s eye, he hadn’t missed it either.

Holding eye contact, Jimin reached out to the side and grabbed the thyrsus. He dangled it with two fingers, glancing down at it faux-disinterestedly.

“You wanna fuck me with this, hyung. I’d let you.”

He pressed the thyrsus into Namjoon’s hands, which had for some reason just gone numb. For a second, Namjoon just stared at the gleaming, immaculate wood in his hands. Jimin was into this? Jimin was trusting him to do this?

The ache in Jimin’s eyes told Namjoon everything he needed to know. He pushed Jimin back onto his back on the mat and put down the thyrsus to grab the lube, slicking up his fingers once more. Jimin spread his thighs (and, god, all that gorgeous flesh did something to Namjoon) and pulled his cheeks apart again to show Namjoon his fucked-out hole.

Jimin was still stretched out so Namjoon slid three fingers in at once, shuddering at the feeling of his own cum hot and sticky inside of Jimin. Jimin keened high-pitched and rocked his hips down onto Namjoon’s fingers. Namjoon glanced over at the thyrsus to estimate its diameter and winced. It was thick, thick enough that Jimin’s little fingers couldn't quite close around it all the way. Still, Jimin was being so sweetly accommodating to Namjoon, letting him inside his fucking body, the least Namjoon could do was fuck him as hard as he had asked for.

Namjoon slicked his pinky finger up with lube and nipped at Jimin’s bottom lip to distract him from the stretch as he pushed all four of his fingers in. Jimin’s eyes were closed in pleasure and he hummed as Namjoon forced his fingers deeper, stretching Jimin out around their widest point and rotating them slowly to get Jimin acclimated to the internal pressure. When he judged Jimin loose enough, Namjoon slipped his lube- and cum-slick fingers out and wrapped them around the very tip of the bottom end of the thyrsus until it shined in the overhead lights.

Namjoon gripped the thyrsus near the end. He felt a little ridiculous positioning the huge staff like it was a regular sex toy but the anticipation on Jimin’s face helped him feel more confident. At this point, he’d happily do whatever it took to keep Jimin’s forehead crinkling in desire.

He pressed the blunt tip of the thyrsus up against Jimin’s hole. The black wood and silver tip looked gorgeous together and Namjoon was thankful, again, for the opportunity to bring their creative vision to life.

Especially when the staff looked that good steadily pressing into Jimin. He’d grown impatient and rocked his hips down onto the thyrsus until it breached him and Namjoon could see how much Jimin was struggling to take the stretch at first.

“Jimin?” he asked, petting one hand down his thick thigh.

“It’s good, it’s just–” Jimin gasped as the staff slipped in another inch. “Just a lot. It’s really, hah, different. From what I’m used to. Obviously.”

The thyrsus was inside Jimin past the silver tip now, and when Namjoon pulled it back out to thrust it in he saw white cum streaked against the black wood of the shaft. On the second thrust, Jimin groaned and skidded up the mat an inch.

Somehow, Jimin’s body accommodated the intrusion and Namjoon began flicking his wrist more quickly, the thyrsus sliding in and out, accompanying wet noises making him blush. Jimin bit his lip and shifted his hips, then turned his big eyes onto Namjoon. “Can you, um…” Jimin wiggled on the thyrsus, trying to direct it towards his prostate.

Namjoon jumped a little in eagerness, had always liked having some sort of direction in bed, and re-angled the thyrsus, pushing one hand down on Jimin’s hip to anchor him. Jimin reached down between his legs and his hand found Namjoon’s, squeezing on top of it and guiding the tip of the thyrsus until it pressed against a spot that made him arch his back and squeal.

With almost zero effort, Jimin pulled his hand away from Namjoon’s and hooked it behind his right knee, yanking his calf up and back until it was stretched up by his collarbone. Namjoon stared, pathetically susceptible to displays of competence of any kind. Of course Jimin showed off his flexibility during sex. Of course it just made Namjoon more desperate to impress him.

Jimin kept squirming, seemingly torn between fucking himself harder on the staff and pulling away from it when the pressure on his prostate was too overwhelming. Namjoon shifted and pressed his entire left forearm across Jimin’s stomach, bracing with his body weight to keep Jimin in place. The embarrassment from earlier had faded slightly, still there but less miserable, and now that Namjoon had already come he could put all of his focus on fucking Jimin like he had begged for.

Jimin pulled his leg even higher until his thigh trapped Namjoon’s arm against his stomach. Namjoon glanced away to his left, flustered by how spread open Jimin looked, and gulped when he made eye contact with himself in the studio mirror again. This time, he didn’t cringe and look away, ashamed of his reflection. Instead, his eyes traveled over the scene, darting from the flush spreading over Jimin’s chest to his toes curling up by his head to the gorgeous contrast of his pale ass and the thick black wood pushing inside.

“Jimin,” he whispered, pulling his arm off Jimin’s stomach and pushing Jimin’s thigh closer to his chest. Jimin hissed and stared up at him with unfocused eyes. “Look,” Namjoon ordered with a jerk of his head towards the mirror.

Jimin turned his head and emitted a low, broken moan when he saw them together in the mirror. He stared, transfixed, as Namjoon filled him up with the thyrsus, the force from the thrusts making his thighs shake.

“Joon, oh my god,” he gasped. His eyes darted across the mirror, never lingering for too long, and his mouth hung open. “How deep is it?”

“Um, here, I can–” Namjoon slowly pulled the thyrsus out of Jimin, biting his lip at the little whimpers Jimin kept making. Jimin gaped at the visible slick shine on the wood marking how much of the thick staff had been inside him.

“Fuck,” Jimin cried out when Namjoon slicked up more of the staff and pushed it back in, adding another inch inside him and targeting his prostate. Jimin moaned, head lolling back on the mat. Namjoon felt a twinge of guilt for this, but he wanted to see more of the thyrsus disappear inside Jimin, find out how much more his lithe little body could take.

Well, Jimin had kept telling him to take what he wanted…

Keeping an eye on Jimin’s face to spot any pain, Namjoon twisted his wrist and fucked upward with the staff, pinning Jimin’s hip in place with his other hand. Jimin’s gasps took on a harsher, breathless tone as Namjoon steadily pushed the staff until he could see a slight bulge press up against Jimin’s stomach from within.

Jimin groaned, hole clenching around the thyrsus and body shaking, as Namjoon put more force in his thrusts. He watched the staff disappear and reappear beneath Jimin’s taut lower stomach. A glance upward confirmed that Jimin seemed past the point of speech as he was staring glassy-eyed at the protrusion in his guts, plush lips parted and a thin string of spit escaping between them. Jimin pressed his hand against his stomach in wonder and keened when the thyrsus pushed up against his palm. The force of Namjoon's thrusts, deep and rapid, had Jimin shaking. Jimin's eyes rolled back and he panted, tongue lolling out from between his pink lips, as he pushed down where the staff was fucking into him and stretching out his body.

Namjoon’s self-esteem, which had gone into hiding earlier, was now rushing back, riding the wave of endorphins and euphoria caused by Jimin’s gorgeous slack-jawed expression. He was the kind of person who hated taking credit for his accomplishments that had been group efforts, but he was soaring on the knowledge that he was the only person responsible for Jimin’s fucked-out whimpers.

“Jimin, look at me,” he whispered. Jimin blinked up at him, eyes watering. “Do you wanna come?”

Jimin whined, high-pitched and clear, which Namjoon figured using context clues meant yes.

He settled back on his knees, thankful for the padded mats under them, and pushed Jimin’s legs out to the sides until they were spread open and he could lean in to take Jimin’s cock into his mouth once more. Jimin shuddered, immediately clenching his thighs back around Namjoon’s head as he bobbed his head up and down Jimin’s leaking cock. He still couldn’t take it all the way, but he hoped maybe Jimin would let him practice more in the future until he could relax his gag reflex and take Jimin into his throat.

Namjoon pulled back the thyrsus slightly, shifting from slow, belly-deep thrusts to short, sharp thrusts that hammered at Jimin’s prostate. Above where his ears were surrounded by Jimin’s plush thighs, he heard Jimin whine and swear at the change in tempo. No longer held down by Namjoon’s hands, Jimin’s hips writhed and jumped, thrusting up into Namjoon’s mouth and down onto the staff.

Namjoon pulled up and tongued at Jimin’s slit, gazing up at Jimin’s heaving chest. “You look so good,” he said, tugging quickly at Jimin’s dick. “Can’t believe I get to have you like this, so gorgeous for me.” Everything about Jimin – his quivering thighs, his dirty little hip thrusts – was spurring Namjoon on, and he stoked his internal flame of self-confidence by asking: “Who’s fucking you so good, Jimin?”

“Y-you are, hyung, Namjoonie,” Jimin choked out. “Faster, please.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon asked. He increased the pace of both his hands, making Jimin’s feet scrabble on the mat. “You want this dick?”

“Always, fuck, always wanted it,” Jimin moaned. “Please– I’m going to–” and then he was digging his heels into Namjoon’s shoulders and coming with a shout, cum spurting pearlescent and thick onto his stomach.

Jimin heaved a huge, shuddering breath like he’d been deprived of oxygen and collapsed onto the mat, covered in sweat and cum. Namjoon panted above him, trying to decide where to kiss first, before he remembered more practical matters and slowly eased the thyrsus out of Jimin’s twitching hole. He dropped it on the mat next to them and gently turned Jimin onto his side so they could lie face-to-face, knees interlacing between them.

Jimin shifted his hips, a thoughtful expression on his face, then reached up weakly and smacked Namjoon on the arm.

“You asshole,” he said with a little grin. “You fucked me all loose.”

“Um,” Namjoon gulped. “I– sorry? I thought you, thought that was what you wanted?”

“Yeah,” smirked Jimin, letting his cheek pillow onto his forearm. Namjoon wanted to pinch it so badly. “I guess it was.”

“Sorry…” Namjoon blushed. “I didn’t realize it would be uncomfortable after. I haven’t really done something like this before.” He gestured to the thyrsus.

Jimin snorted. “You think I have? I don’t just go around letting idols stick stage props up my ass, sorry to disappoint, hyung.”

“Guh,” Namjoon said. He covered his face with one hand, but he was smiling, pink and happy behind his fingers. “How are you still so confident even now?”

When he peeked out, he saw Jimin looking at him with a soft, affectionate expression. “Has it occurred to you that I’m not actually that confident? I’ve liked you forever, but I started freaking out when you kissed me. But then you panicked, so someone had to take charge of the situation, and I acted like I knew what I was doing until I actually did.”

Namjoon leaned in and Jimin met him halfway in a slow kiss. They luxuriated in the steady press of hands against skin and the soft wet noises of their tongues sliding together. Jimin pulled back, glanced down, and started cackling.

“Has your dick been out this whole time?”

“I– yes?” Namjoon laughed, tucking it back inside his sweats as Jimin whined “nooo, don’t put it away now!” He pressed a quick kiss to Jimin’s forehead and lay back on the mat, enjoying a brief rest in Jimin’s arms before they inevitably had to clean up themselves and their surroundings.

---

A week later, Hoseok was clapping delightedly from the studio sidelines as Namjoon nailed the “Dionysus” choreography with the maknae line in formation behind him.

“Yes!” he shouted, pausing the music before Jungkook’s solo. “That was perfect, Namjoonie!”

“Really?” Namjoon grinned, twirling the thyrsus confidently. It felt amazing to watch himself in the mirror and be proud of his movements, to see the reflection of himself that he performed onstage in front of thousands of people. “It’s all because of Jimin’s help.”

“I didn’t realize Jiminie was helping you!” Hoseok slapped Jimin on the back as they shuffled back in place to start the choreography from the top.

“Yeah, he was giving me some extra rehearsals.” Namjoon’s lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. What he was saying was true – his performance of the song had definitely transformed thanks to Jimin’s help. And they had met several more times in the dance studio to “rehearse,” as well as in Namjoon’s room, the shower, and, one memorable night, in the laundry room up against the dryer.

“Maybe you two should rehearse together more often.”

Jimin grinned as his eyes met Namjoon’s across the room. They still hadn’t told their bandmates yet about this new exciting thing bubbling between them, but they planned on doing it soon, probably in a way that would be outrageously adorable and make Yoongi screech in feigned disgust. Until then, though, they were enjoying the thrill of keeping it a secret. Jimin was sometimes outrageous and always insatiable, eager to push Namjoon up against walls for a kiss or ride him until his thighs were shaking in exertion, hand clamped over Namjoon’s mouth to muffle his moans and keep him from waking his bandmates.

“It would be my pleasure,” said Jimin, eyes full of promise, and Namjoon blushed.