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There are times when Seokjin misses Jungkook’s long hair. Like now, with Jungkook on all fours on the mattress, as Seokjin fucks him so hard the bed shakes, holding onto a fistful of Jungkook’s hair for purchase. The long hair was easier to hold onto, but he’s beautiful either way. So gorgeous, really, that it’s almost irritating. 

They’re all pretty physical with each other, but it’s the two of them, the oldest and the youngest, who playfight the most. Seokjin read about this phenomenon once, called playful aggression or something. When you see something so unfairly cute that you feel the contrastingly violent urge to squeeze and punch and hit it. He can’t say the defense mechanism hasn’t done him any good, because it was during one of their playfights— Seokjin’s grip tight around Jungkook’s wrists, pinning him to the floor of the studio— that Seokjin noticed a flush on Jungkook’s cheeks and a tent in his pants. 

Long story short, that’s how they ended up in this arrangement.

“Harder,” Jungkook pleads, hands balled into fists so tightly they’re almost the same shade of white as the sheets.

“I don’t know,” Seokjin pants between thrusts. Genuine concern gives way to deliberate provocation. “I’m not sure you can take any more than this.”

“Fuck you, hyung,” says Jungkook, but whatever malice he tries to put into his words is drowned out by the overwhelming need that drips from his honey-sweet voice. “I can— you know I can— I need it, fuck.” 

“You’re being bad,” says Seokjin. “What do good boys say?” 

Jungkook groans, face pressed into the pillowcase stained with his sweat and tears. “Hyung, I swear to god, if you don't—”

Seokjin pulls out. Jungkook squirms and sobs, trembling beneath Seokjin. That’s all it takes, really. “Please,” Jungkook begs, voice breaking. “Please please please.”

“How could I say no when you ask so nicely?” Seokjin smiles. Pets a gentle hand down the small of Jungkook’s back, before gripping it tightly enough to bruise. Slamming in at a merciless pace, drawing sobs from the back of Jungkook’s throat until he tenses under Seokjin and comes hard, shaking and moaning through it.

They’re going to break the bed one of these days.

 


 

It’s been months since he and Jungkook started doing this, whatever this is. Sneaking around during what little downtime they had, cramming into the bathroom two at a time. Seokjin cramming his hand down the waistband of Jungkook’s pants. Memorizing the curve of his cock, nipping at the divot of his neck, low enough to be hidden by a high-collared shirt. Covering his mouth to muffle the delicious, whiny moans that escape, for fear of being heard by the others. 

They’ve gotten bolder as time went on. After Jungkook learned that Seokjin, too, had fantasized about roughing him up since the beginning, he tossed aside his initial shame and started coming to Seokjin with more diverse requests. Like slipping a silk tie into Seokjin’s hands, asking to be bound to the bedpost, a bold look in his wide eyes despite the red staining his cheeks. They’d christened the kitchen counter, too, with Jungkook joking flippantly about Seokjin filming an Eat Jin with Jungkook himself as the entree. And even once backstage in their performance outfits. Jungkook was too far out of his mind to pay attention to the potential mess. Seokjin had to be the one to kick the clothes out of the way in the last moments before he came to ensure they wouldn’t stain.

But no matter what, their trysts always followed this pattern— Jungkook’s ideation, and Seokjin’s implementation. 

“Isn’t there anything you want to do?” says Jungkook one evening, perched in Seokjin’s lap like he belongs there as he hatches shiny Pokemon on his Nintendo Switch. 

Seokjin peers over his shoulder to watch the egg hatch. It’s not a shiny. He turns to Jungkook and observes the long eyelashes casting a soft shadow on his defined cheekbones. The curve of his nose, the scar on his cheek. He could make a list of all the unassuming details he had memorized about the youngest over time, those unexpected little quirks that cause something hot to stir in his stomach. “Not particularly,” he lies. It doesn’t feel like a lie— more of a half-baked truth, really. “I want to do whatever you want to do. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” 

Jungkook stays silent as he stares down at the screen. When he finally looks up, it’s to shrug. “I guess. You’d tell me if there was something you wanted to try, right? You know I’m down for anything.”

“Of course,” says Seokjin. Jungkook shifts in his position on Seokjin’s lap, leans back a bit more, and Seokjin lets himself revel in Jungkook’s body heat against his own for a few more minutes before tugging the Switch out of Jungkook’s hands, and gripping his hips instead to chase the innocuous moment down the inevitable path of something more. 

 


 

“Hyung,” Jungkook gasps into the darkness of Seokjin’s bedroom, hooking his legs around Seokjin and digging his nails into Seokjin’s back. “Hyung, more, more—” 

Seokjin gives it to him, everything he can. A bruising grip on his hips, a nasty bite on his shoulder, and a painful tug at his hair as he thrusts into Jungkook’s perfect, tight heat. 

A hand comes up and wraps around Seokjin’s wrist, bringing it to Jungkook’s own neck. The imploring look in Jungkook’s eyes tells Seokjin all he needs to know. Sweetly submissive, baring his neck for him and him alone. A rush of adrenaline prompts Seokjin to tighten his fingers, momentarily cutting off Jungkook’s breath. 

Jungkook lets out a stifled cry and unravels around him, tears squeezing out the corners of his eyes as he spills all over his own chest. Seokjin follows shortly, and as he comes down from his high, he thinks to himself that it might be dangerous to keep on fucking face to face like this. Because at least when Jungkook is on his hands and knees, Seokjin can quell the urge to press their lips together and kiss him through the orgasm.

Later, after Seokjin has cleaned Jungkook up with a soft towel, they lie there in the bed together. Jungkook’s back is tucked into Seokjin’s chest, and Seokjin’s got an arm thrown over him. He looks at the pixels on Jungkook’s Switch and watches another Pokemon egg hatch. Pay attention to me instead, Seokjin catches himself thinking, even knowing how childlike it is. He’s already lucky Jungkook doesn’t mind cuddling.

“What should I nickname this one?” says Jungkook.

“Worldwide handsome,” says Seokjin on autopilot.

Jungkook wrinkles his nose and says, “Ew.” He names the creature Yeontan instead, and Seokjin shoves him on the shoulder, gasping with mock horror.

“I can’t believe you, Jeon Jungkook. I should not be lower on your priority list than the family dog.” Jungkook giggles at Seokjin’s dramatism, which he knows full well is what Jungkook is angling for. But even as they joke around, Seokjin wonders how much Jungkook really needs him at all. Deep down he knows the connection the seven of them have is incomparable. But when it’s just the two of them— when they’re either fucking each other or just plain fucking around— they spend so long pushing each other’s buttons that it’s hard to tell.

He looks at the bite mark on Jungkook’s shoulder, and wishes he could stake a claim on Jungkook that lasted for more than a day or two.

 


 

Slurping ramen from a paper cup at 3 am, standing at the kitchen island in slippers he stole from a hotel, Seokjin certainly doesn’t feel like a billionaire. Maybe that’s why he and Jungkook had gravitated towards each other. Jungkook, the kid who settled for a shitty hundred-dollar bed so he could have more space to turn his room into a home gym instead. Then again, all of them are like this, to some extent.

Next to him, Yoongi slurps on his own cup of ramen, though he’s wearing Taehyung’s Gucci slides instead of hotel slippers. The two of them enjoy talking over a midnight snack once in a while, to keep themselves sane through the way the world shifts and tilts around them, through the vertigo of fame and glory. 

Yoongi’s telling Seokjin about another idol he’s friends with, whose relationship was outed against his own will. The public’s response had been mixed— overwhelmingly positive from fans, but negative from netizens— and the two idols who were dating both suffered from anxiety issues as a result. “I never quite know what to say in situations like these over the phone,” Yoongi admits, cutting an extra-long noodle in half with his chopstick. He slurps up the rest of it and shrugs. “It’s weird. We make music that comforts so many people, but one on one? It’s kind of daunting.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Seokjin agrees. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

“What would you say, hyung?” 

Seokjin stirs his soup and mulls it over as he watches the smoke dissipate into the air. “Sometimes things are just out of your control, you know? There’s nothing you can do except be there for them. I think that alone is bound to be a comfort.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. “Thanks, Jin-hyung.” 

Seokjin pats his shoulder and smiles. “Hey, it’s no big deal.” It’s what he’s here for, as the oldest. They all have roles. There are those of them that produce music. That give life to their songs with gorgeous, emotional voices. Or those whose bodies flow like water to the beat. As for Seokjin? He’s here to fill in the gaps, provide whatever the others need, in the moments when they need it. 

Probably to break the ice, Yoongi says, “This whole situation had me thinking about that time there was a condom in the back of your selfie and the fans freaked out.”

Seokjin chokes on his noodles. He wipes a hand hastily across the back of his mouth and says, “Yeah, they’ll never let me live that one down. God, I don’t even want to think about what would happen if I were in a relationship.”

“It wouldn’t go to shit, at least not on Bighit’s side,” Yoongi offers. There's a knowing look in his eye that Seokjin doesn't want to decipher as he says, “We don’t have a dating ban.”

“I do. I’ve imposed one on myself,” says Seokjin. He slurps down the remainder of his soup and throws the cup away. 

Yoongi goes to bed shortly after that, and so does Seokjin after washing out the spicy taste with a glass of water. On his way back to his room, a crack in Jungkook’s door tells him Jungkook’s lights are still on. Had he been awake all this time? He pokes his head in to tell Jungkook to sleep, but Jungkook is buried under the covers. Hm. Kid probably fell asleep playing games on his phone. Seokjin turns off the lights for him and heads to bed.

 


 

Jungkook is uncharacteristically quiet. Which is fine when his pretty mouth is wrapped around Seokjin’s cock. Not so fine later on, when Seokjin’s fingering him open on the couch while the others are out, and he’s gripping the cushions tight, not making a single sound and looking somewhere far off. 

Seokjin tests the waters. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, 'm fine. Put it in already.” Gruff, and less eager than usual. 

“You know we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Seokjin tacks on. 

A muscle clenches in Jungkook’s jaw. “It’s always about what I want, isn’t it?”

Seokjin pulls his fingers out. He knows an incoming confrontation when he sees one. “Is there a problem?” 

“No,” says Jungkook unconvincingly. “Just keep going.” 

Seokjin keeps going. 

 


 

The comeback has all seven of them working their asses off. Blood, sweat, tears and all. After eight hours of practice from dawn until late afternoon, the others file out of the studio. Seokjin and Namjoon stay behind to work on the dance break under Jungkook’s guidance.

“Like this,” says Jungkook, demonstrating the move perfectly, all flexibility and power and honed muscle. After a long day, Seokjin feels the familiar twitch of irritation settling in his jaw. He’s well acquainted with the emotion. He used to think it was pettiness, jealousy at a boy five years younger than him having five times as much talent. Nowadays, he knows it’s something far worse. 

Jungkook helps Namjoon first, and barely lays his hands on him. Just watches, corrects him verbally, nods and beams when Namjoon finally gets it right. When he moves on to Seokjin, though, he’s all hands. He grasps carelessly at Seokjin’s arm, bending it into position. Prods at Seokjin’s shin with his toes as he says “no, not like that, spread your legs a bit more.” 

Jungkook is always hard on him, on all of them, because he is ten times harder on himself. Seokjin knows that. But being aware of your own emotions doesn't always stop you from feeling them anyway. Especially not when Seokjin's shirt is soaked through with sweat, and his legs are shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Jungkook starts rattling off something like “when you look at the camera, you have to be wary of your expressions,” like Seokjin hasn’t practiced just that a hundred, no, a thousand times already. While Jungkook's getting up in his space he steps on Seokjin's toe, and before Seokjin can fully register that it was probably an accident, he has already elbowed Jungkook in the gut. Hard enough to knock the breath out of him and send him stumbling backwards into the electric fan, which whirrs chaotically as it and Jungkook both fall to the floor. 

“Shit,” says Seokjin. “Shit, Jungkook, I’m sorry. I— I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

He extends a hand to help Jungkook up, but Jungkook has taken Namjoon’s instead. Hauling himself up, he shoots Seokjin a cold look, and wordlessly exits the studio. 

Namjoon turns to Seokjin. “We’re all tired. I’m sure he gets it. I can talk to him, if it’ll help.”

“I’ll talk to him,” says Seokjin. “It was my fault, anyway.” 

 


 

Whatever’s been simmering between them since that day on the couch finally comes to a head when Seokjin knocks on Jungkook’s door and Jungkook answers, “Leave me alone.” 

Seokjin enters the room anyway, because they should get this conversation over with now rather than a week down the road when they’re performing on camera for Mnet. Jungkook could use a little more pragmatism himself, Seokjin thinks bitterly, as he sits down on the foot of Jungkook’s bed and still Jungkook refuses to look at him. 

“I brought ice,” says Seokjin. “You fell pretty hard. Let me see your bruise.” 

“I’m fine,” says Jungkook.

Seokjin lifts up the hem of Jungkook’s t-shirt. On the left side of his body, where he hit the fan, there’s a blotch of purple blooming against otherwise smooth skin. 

Just as Seokjin is about to press the ice pack there, Jungkook snatches the ice pack out of his hand, and tosses it aside on the bed. He takes Seokjin’s hand and presses it to the bruise, pushing down on Seokjin’s hand until his thumb is digging right into the bruise. Seokjin can feel the way Jungkook tenses up, can see the way he bites his lip to hold in the pain. He tries to pull away, but Jungkook holds him there, eyes fiery, and says— 

“What? Don’t you always like doing this when we fuck?”

It sounds unnecessarily crude coming from Jungkook. “I like it because you want it,” says Seokjin. “I’m not— I’d never hurt you on purpose outside of that.”

“Then we can fuck right now. You can add a few more bruises to the tally and we’ll call it even. You can even choke me out. I'm asking you to.” 

“Jungkook,” says Seokjin slowly. “I know you’re mad at me— and I’ll admit, I lashed out at you earlier when I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. But it feels like there’s something more to it that I’m missing and I’m gonna need you to walk me through it.”

“Why do you always do that?” says Jungkook. There are tears of frustration in his eyes now, and even now he looks beautiful, too beautiful to be real. “Stop trying to sound like a counsellor or something. You think you’re like, our designated emotional pillar, and I hate it. News flash— I don’t want your comfort or your pity. I want you for you.” 

It sounds like a confession. Seokjin’s heart beats dangerously fast and loud in his chest. Jungkook must notice, too, exactly how it sounds, because he deflates and looks away.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he says quietly. “I’m fine with what we have, and I never asked for more. I know you don’t want to be in a relationship.” 

Something sinks to the pit of Seokjin’s stomach. “You heard that. With me and Yoongi.”

“It’s fine, hyung. I get it. I’m just a convenient hole for you to fuck.”

The accusation stings like a slap in the face. “Jungkook,” says Seokjin, harsh. “Stop. Think about what you’re saying. You know you mean so much more to me than that.”

“Do I?” Jungkook sniffles angrily, like he’s mad that he allowed himself to be this sad. “Do I really? Because I like you so much, hyung. So much it hurts. But I don’t know what you think about me— about us. And I’m too scared to ask.”

A tear slides down Jungkook’s cheek, and Seokjin reaches up to catch it. He cradles Jungkook’s jaw in his hand, and before he can think better of it, he kisses him. 

The soft, surprised noise that Jungkook makes is better than anything Seokjin has ever heard. His bottom lip trembles, and Seokjin licks across it reassuringly before deepening the kiss. Jungkook makes another sound, less shocked and more pliant, and melts into the kiss.

They pull away after a few moments to breathe. Jungkook looks at him, and Seokjin is reminded of that boy he first met all those years ago, wide-eyed and earnest, unfairly gorgeous and compassionate, the person he was often frustrated with before he discovered that the source of that frustration was a blinding, overwhelming affection. 

“Please don’t tell me you only did that to make me feel better,” says Jungkook. “Because that was the best kiss I’ve ever had, and I’d never be able to live it down.”

“No way,” says Seokjin. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that for fucking ever.”

Jungkook lets out a breathless laugh. “Why didn’t you just do it earlier then?”

“I thought you just needed somebody to fuck you up a bit, relieve your stress. I didn’t think it had to be me.” Seokjin shrugs. “I was young once, I know how it feels. Anybody could’ve pinned you to the ground that day and you’d have popped a boner.”

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “That wasn’t— you know that wasn’t because you had me pinned down, right? I mean, yeah, I like it rough and all, but mostly that’s just because it’s you. You’re the only one I want to do this with.”

“... Oh.” Seokjin hadn’t known that. The admission blindsides him. Seokjin’s heart leaps at the thought that Jungkook, all doe-eyed and pink-cheeked and sweetly shy, could be his. The feeling is as exhilarating as it is scary.

“I’m sorry for not saying anything earlier,” says Seokjin. “And all that stuff about the dating ban— you know I didn’t mean it that way, right? I say things all the time, but when it comes down to it… I’m just as scared as you are.”

The trepidation that comes with emotional vulnerability always makes his heart race. But then Jungkook looks at him so trustingly, and it cancels out. 

Jungkook takes Seokjin’s hand in his own, and swipes his thumb across the back of it. “Nothing has to change. It’s not like I need you to hold my hand on TV. You don’t have to be scared. We’ll be okay.”

Seokjin huffs out a laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re good at everything. If you challenged all your demons to a fist fight, you’d win in five seconds flat.”

Jungkook giggles. “That’s not true at all. I’m kind of shit at talking about my feelings.”

“I am, too. Exhibit A— literally five minutes ago.”

“You always know just what to say to us, though,” says Jungkook. “You’re amazing, hyung. I really don’t know where the six of us would be without you.”

Those words lift a weight off Seokjin’s shoulders that he didn’t even know was there. 

“Feelings that aren’t my own, I can do,” says Seokjin. “It took me years to figure out I didn’t actually want to punch you, I really just wanted to punch you in the mouth. With my mouth.” 

Jungkook throws his head back and laughs, wholeheartedly, and a smile finds its way on Seokjin’s face. “We can do that,” he says, running a hand up Seokjin’s arm sweetly. “As many times as you want. Whenever you want.” 

Seokjin kisses him again, soft and chaste. How could he not?

“You know,” Jungkook goes on, “I meant it when I asked you what you wanted to do to me. I know we kind of have to put up a front all the time. I’m not nearly as good at it as you are, and even so I’m always exhausted after a press tour. So… I just want you to know you can be honest with me, at least. All of us. But mostly me. Please don’t have sex with any of the others.”

Seokjin laughs. “I won’t. I promise. Just you.” He rubs a slow circle into the back of Jungkook’s hand, and says, “Well… there is one thing I want.”

 


 

Jungkook likes it slow, too. That’s a revelation in and of itself. Their arrangement had served the dual purpose of allowing Seokjin to vent his frustrations, and getting to see Jungkook come apart. With the first one out of the way— though it still doesn’t feel real that Jungkook returns his feelings— Seokjin can focus on the second. They have all the time in the world.

Seokjin kisses up and down Jungkook’s chest, flicks his tongue across Jungkook’s nipple and sucks on it until Jungkook is squirming helplessly beneath him, moans half-bitten off into the back of his fist.

Seokjin moves it aside, marvels at the pretty red tint of Jungkook’s lips, and indulges himself by pressing a kiss there.

“Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he says.

“Yup,” says Jungkook, even as the tips of his ears turn red. “All the time.” 

“Tsk,” Seokjin clicks his tongue. “You’re such a little shit sometimes, you know that?”

“But you like it,” says Jungkook.

Seokjin hums in assent, and pets down Jungkook’s thighs. He spreads them further apart so he can kiss and nip at the tender skin there, and relish the little ahs that escape Jungkook’s mouth. 

Jungkook’s hips are twitching sporadically, cock bobbing cutely against his stomach. Seokjin hasn’t touched it all this time, kissing and licking and sucking everywhere but. Jungkook might be reaching his limit, soon. 

“Hurry up,” Jungkook demands, fists grasped tightly in the sheets.

“Patience, young grasshopper,” says Seokjin. “You’re the one who said you would let me do things my way.” 

Jungkook shudders as Seokjin thumbs across the junction between his thigh and crotch. “I thought that would involve less talking and more fucking.” 

“If you keep talking, maybe we won’t be fucking at all.”

“You’re so mean,” Jungkook whines.

Seokjin smiles. “But you like it.” 

“Nghhhh,” says Jungkook, too far gone to form a retort. 

Seokjin presses a parting kiss to Jungkook’s thigh, barely a soft graze of lips against skin, and Jungkook’s cock jumps, hips jolting upward. 

“Hyung, I—” He swallows hard, and Seokjin watches his face morph as he tries and fails to get his emotions under control. “I’m so close— please?”

This time he asks unprompted, and just for that Seokjin presses a kiss to the top of his head. He lubes up his fingers, and presses one to Jungkook’s entrance. Jungkook’s body responds in kind, throwing his head back as he gasps and tightens where Seokjin’s finger pushes in. 

“Mmh, I— feels good, more, please—” 

“Anything you want, baby,” says Seokjin. “Anything for you.” 

He adds another finger, feeling Jungkook stretch around him, and with his free hand he takes Jungkook’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers together. Jungkook lets out a choked whimper and comes, just like that, tightening around Seokjin’s fingers, his beautiful features suspended in picture-perfect pleasure for a second before he melts into the bedsheets, gasping for air.

Seokjin’s not too concerned about his own erection, but Jungkook insists, so he lets Jungkook suck him off, as tender and gentle as Seokjin himself was just prior. Jungkook rubs little circles into Seokjin’s thighs as Seokjin comes, and swallows every last bit of it, eager as ever. 

Afterwards they lie together, neither of them distracted or pretending to be distracted by anything else.

“So you like it like this, too,” says Seokjin. It’s partly a statement, partly a question. 

“Mm, I guess,” says Jungkook. “Mostly just 'cause it’s you.” He traces a path along Seokjin’s arm, the warmth of his touch making Seokjin’s heart leap towards his throat. “I like you, Seokjin-hyung. I like you a lot.”

He goes all red as he says it, as if he’s thought about saying it for a long time, and now that he finally can, he won’t stop. 

“I really like you, too,” says Seokjin. He lets himself kiss Jungkook on the nose, run his thumb over Jungkook’s scar, and finally lets himself feel all of the things he’s been holding at bay.