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“Do you know my favorite thing about the beach?”

“The sand and the sea?” Hoseok guesses, slipping his shades down to gaze at the expanse of blue beyond the shoreline.

“Definitely not sand.” Seokjin shudders. It gets into everything—food, clothing, luggage—and places on the body it has no business being. “But the sea is nice,” he concedes.

Jimin is the next one to try his luck. “The way the waves always tug Namjoon-hyung’s swim shorts down?”

“Hey!” Namjoon protests, pink-cheeked, untying and re-cinching the string on his shorts—for the third time since they’ve arrived—then knotting the cord for good measure. “Those parents almost had me banned from the beach.”

“You scarred their children for life,” Jimin says, not quite managing to stifle a fit of giggles.

Namjoon’s blush darkens into an alarming shade of red, and Seokjin is about to offer him a cold pack or a towel to hide behind when another voice pipes up beside him.

“The random handjob you got in the changing room that one time?” is Taehyung’s guess. Then he has the nerve to wink.


“It wasn’t random. We were deeply in love,” Seokjin sniffs. The man had long fingers and very agile wrists.

“You met the guy at the food cart five minutes before it happened,” Hoseok mumbles around a bite of his ice cream cone. “You were deep-throating a hot dog.”

Seokjin flicks sand at him. Traitor. “We had a connection. It was magical.”

He ignores Taehyung’s snort.

“So magical that he disappeared and no one’s seen him since.”

“You make it sound like I murdered him.”

“You slayed him with your charm and your hotness, hyung,” Jimin says, then turns to high five Taehyung. Seokjin nods his approval.

“People,” Seokjin says, finally answering the question. “People are the best part about the beach.”

“So Tae was right. It was the handjob.”

Jimin ducks just before Seokjin’s palm connects with the back of his head.


“You’ve been staring at that lifeguard for an hour,” Namjoon says, reaching for a towel and scrubbing it over his wet hair after a dip in the water that miraculously didn’t result in accidental nudity. “Do you know him?”

Seokjin sucks on his flamingo-pink straw, downing a gulp of whatever fruity alcoholic concoction Jimin just gave him. “Not yet.”

But oh, he plans to get acquainted. Immanently.


To call the man gorgeous is an understatement. He is belongs-on-the-cover-of-every-fashion-magazine-in-the-world hot.

He’s built, which isn’t surprising. It’s likely one of the job requirements, what with having to fish people out of the ocean. But this is the sort of physique that comes from a regular gym routine. One obviously involving weights.

Speaking of which, his arms—

“Does anyone have a napkin?” Taehyung asks. “Hyung’s drooling again.”

Jimin sticks a flimsy tissue to Seokjin’s bottom lip. He tears it off, balls it up, and tosses it back at Jimin, picking at the bits of paper still clinging to his lip.

Anyway, where was he? Oh, yes. Arms.

Very muscular. Thick. He could probably bench press a bus. (Or Seokjin himself, at the very least.) And his right arm looks to be covered in a full sleeve of tattoos, but his shirt is partially blocking the view.

Seokjin curses that shirt, wishing it a swift demise.

The wind picks up, ruffling the lifeguard’s dark hair and blowing strands of it into his eyes until the man shoves his sunglasses up to anchor it in place. His hair is just the right length—not too short, not so long as to be unbearable in the summer heat—perfect for tangling one’s fingers in and grabbing a handful.

Something on the man’s ear catches the sunlight. Several somethings, actually. Piercings? If Seokjin lets himself dwell on the other spots on his delectable body where the man might have studs or hoops, he won’t survive long enough to do anything about it.

Not that he’s done anything about it so far. He needs a plan, he needs—

The lifeguard chooses that moment to whisk his shirt off and toss it on the back of his chair. Seokjin gasps (to be fair, so do Hoseok and Taehyung), his vision going fuzzy for a moment. He puts his drink down before his unsteady hands spill it.

Gods above. Maybe he should make wishes more often.

His back is magnificent. Seokjin wants to dig his nails into that tan skin, leave little half moon marks there. Wants to trace the swirls and bold lines of his tattoos (it is a full sleeve) with his tongue. And that waist! It’s begging for Seokjin to wrap his legs around it while the man rails him into oblivion.

Shit, the plan. The one he doesn’t have yet. But first, a bit more ogling.

“Look at the way the sun glistens off his back, like he’s been marinated in a special sauce.” Seokjin licks his lips. “I should ask if he needs help reapplying his sun cream.”

Jimin chokes on his beer. Hoseok gives him a hearty thump between his shoulder blades.

“One, that is a disgusting metaphor, even for you,” Jimin says once he stops coughing. “Two, we’ll have to call Yoongi to defend your sorry ass once the poor man has you arrested for displaying dangerous levels of horniness in public—”

“That’s not a thing,” Namjoon mutters.

Taehyung jerks a thumb in Seokjin’s direction. “In his case, it is.”

“—so you might want to factor that into your master plan,” Jimin finishes.

Seokjin scowls at everyone except Hoseok, who (so far) hasn’t accused him of having a libido that’s so out of control it requires legal intervention. “Give me a little credit. I’m not going to ravage him like a wild animal.”

“But you want to,” Jimin says, then crab-crawls backwards out of Seokjin’s reach.

The details of what he wants are not up for group discussion, but yes. He wants. So very much.

“I’m fully capable of being discreet,” Seokjin points out, which is mostly the truth.

“So, what’s your move, hyung?” Taehyung asks.

Namjoon grabs a book and pretends to read. Seokjin refrains from noting that it’s upside down. “Count me out of this conversation.”

“You could try faking heatstroke,” Hoseok suggests, gently plucking the book from Namjoon’s hands and flipping it around so the text is legible.

Seokjin shivers. “Then I’d end up in the hospital with a needle in my arm. Unless he’s also a nurse or a doctor who likes to moonlight as a lifeguard in his spare time, that won’t work.”

“Or you could just talk to him, y’know, casually,” Jimin says, “without gawking like you’re in the presence of a god.”

“You mere mortals wouldn’t understand.” Seokjin frames the man between his fingers, wondering where he’d fall on the creeper scale if he snapped a couple photos on his phone. Or took a short video. “He’s been kissed by the sun. Blessed by it. By the heavens themselves.”

“Maybe he does have heatstroke,” Namjoon says without looking up from his book. “Has anyone checked?”

Seokjin ignores him.

“Kissed. By. The. Sun.”


After several (even more) terrible ideas are pitched—including one involving a crab disappearing up the leg of Seokjin’s shorts and please, Mr. Lifeguard, could you help get it out—it’s clear that Seokjin has to come up with a brilliant scheme on his own. Typical.

“What if I pretend I can’t swim?”

It seems like the most obvious course of action, but Seokjin has always been a strong swimmer. He was even captain of his high school swim team. Thankfully, he’s an even better actor.

He gets three dubious glances and a sigh from Namjoon.

“Won’t it be obvious that you’re just messing around?” Taehyung asks, arching a brow.

“Not if I play the part well.” And he plans to. “Seok-ah, pass me a bottle of water, please.”

Hoseok hands one to him, and Seokjin twists off the cap. “I’ve been told that I look very good wet.”

“Who said that?” Namjoon asks. “Handjob guy?”

Seokjin tosses some of the water at him, grinning when he yelps and curls protectively around his book. Revenge taken, Seokjin pours the water over himself, letting it drip down his face and soak into his shirt. The pale pink was a good choice. As the fabric molds to his skin, it shows off his chest and his nipples, which harden as he pictures the lifeguard’s perfect form, those strong, capable arms lifting him up and holding him tight . . .

Turns out Seokjin’s nipples aren’t the only thing getting hard.

“This is a lot of work for a potential hook-up, hyung,” Taehyung says, interrupting his daydream. “When was the last time you got laid?”

Namjoon claps his hands over his own ears. “Can we talk about literally anything else?” he whines. “I don’t need to know this.”

“Didn’t you sneak off with someone at Jimin’s party last month?” Hoseok asks.

“It was just the six of us, so unless it was one of you . . .” Jimin glances around the group. “It definitely wasn’t me or Yoongi.” He waggles his brows. “We were busy.”

Namjoon starts humming, losing his place in his book as the wind whips at the pages.

Taehyung pokes Seokjin’s shoulder. “You were wine-drunk. I caught you trying to make out with one of Jimin’s mannequins.”

Come to think of it, Seokjin does recall that the man’s kissing was extremely subpar. Much too stiff.

“He did what,” Jimin gasps. “Hyung! You could’ve wrecked my designs.”

“Relax,” Seokjin soothes. “I didn’t touch any of your pieces.” Just an inanimate object that he mistook for a human being, apparently. It really has been a bit of a dry spell. “Now, back to the plan. If I hold my breath long enough, maybe I can convince him that I need mouth-to-mouth.”

The lifeguard’s lips look decadently soft. Seokjin would very much like to feel them against his own.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Namjoon asks, wide-eyed, dropping his hands. “The guy’s never gonna fall for that.”

“Yeah,” Jimin chimes in. “I don’t think he’ll be convinced.”

It’s nice that his dearest friends have such faith in him.

“Leave this to a professional, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin says.

“Happy to. Let me know when you find one.”

The little shit.

Seokjin stands and dusts the sand off the ass of his shorts and the backs of his legs. “Useless, all of you. All I asked for was your support, but you don’t care about your poor, lonely, sex-deprived hyung,” he says, holding his chest as if his heart is in danger of breaking.

Hoseok winces and picks at a thread on his shirt. Taehyung is suddenly very invested in reorganizing the picnic basket. Namjoon rolls his eyes.

Jimin rises from his towel, empty glass in hand. “Good luck perfecting your drowning aesthetic. I’ll be at the bar.” He shares a meaningful look with the others. “Come get me if he succeeds.”

If! Seokjin will show them how it’s done. They’ll think twice about making fun of him when he bags himself a hot, new man with his impeccable talents.

They’ll see.


This isn’t working.

Seokjin is trying, he really is, but every time he makes himself sink deeper into the water, instinct and experience kick in, and he’s swimming. Which is the opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing.

He needs to face reality. He sucks at pretending to be bad at something he’s good at.

The lifeguard’s watchful gaze catches his briefly during his sweep of the swimmers in his charge, and Seokjin swears there’s a hint of a grin there. He couldn’t have imagined something so beautiful.

He sighs and slaps at the water, splashing himself. He’ll have to do this the old fashioned way, he supposes. Talk to the guy, get his number, exchange dick pics, have incredible phone sex, and, finally, mind-blowing, in-person sex.

Jimin will never let him live it down.

Time to hoist the white flag and preserve whatever’s left of his dignity. He wades toward the shore, pausing when something brushes his ankle. Eh, it’s probably a fish. Or a piece of seaweed.

Then there’s a mighty tug.

Seokjin loses his balance, flopping backwards into the water, arms flailing with nothing to catch himself on. As he slips below the surface, he discovers the culprit.


He gives Seokjin a thumbs up and a big smile, then darts away like some mythical merman, although the neon orange and green swim shorts shatter the illusion.

Right. Go with it. (He owes Taehyung a nice dinner.)

He pops his head above the water long enough to holler “Help!” then falls back in, thrashing around for better effect. Once he’s stopped overthinking it, it’s easier to trick his body into believing the lie. Maybe he’s not so bad at this after all.

One of his pinwheeling arms thumps into something solid, and for a second, he thinks it might be Taehyung returning for another round of encouragement, but the arm that loops around his waist is heavily tattooed.


He sucks in a startled breath and a mouthful of the ocean along with it. (Not his best move.) He’s coughing and sputtering when the lifeguard hoists him out of the water and carefully deposits him on the beach.

“Easy there.”

A hand rests on Seokjin’s shoulder to steady him as he hacks up a lung, while the other gently pushes his sodden hair out of his eyes.

Ugh. Seokjin is doing his best impression of a drowned rat and his sun god is right here in front of him, water dripping off his tanned, toned skin, a concerned look on his gorgeous face.

Worried about him.

His throat burning from guzzling salty sea water, Seokjin attempts to catch his breath without launching into a fresh coughing fit.

“That’s it. Nice and slow.”

Seokjin doesn’t have time to appreciate the man’s soft voice or the other situations in which he’d enjoy hearing those words before he’s hacking again, fresh tears stinging his eyes.

This is not the sexy scene he was hoping it’d be. Well, on his part anyway. The lifeguard is knocking it out of the park.

It strikes him then that he’s being incredibly rude. He hasn’t even acknowledged the man.

“Th-thank you,” he wheezes.

“Shh.” A finger presses to his lips. “Don’t try to talk yet.”

Aish. Any more of that and Seokjin’s dick is going to make itself known. His gaze covertly drops to his shorts and the conspicuous bulge growing there.

Too late.

The fact that he’s sitting up also means he missed out on his one shot at being “resuscitated” via the lifeguard’s lips on his.

A startled chuckle from said lifeguard tells Seokjin that he accidentally voiced that thought out loud. Perfect.


“He really fucking did it!”

“Told you so.”

“You owe me 20,000 won and a bottle of wine, my choice.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Quiet, all of you.”

Hoseok is the first to reach Seokjin’s side, his brows pinched with concern, his usual sunny disposition nowhere to be found. Seokjin’s sure he’ll get a lecture later about taking dangerous risks for ridiculous reasons.

The lifeguard smiles at the group that gathers around them, keeping them at bay with an arm held out in front of Seokjin.

“Hang on, everyone. Give him some space. He’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?” Hoseok asks.


The man’s mega-watt grin must reassure Hoseok because he nods and ushers Jimin, Namjoon, and a soaked-but-extremely-pleased-with-himself Taehyung out of the way.

“I’m fine, Seok-ah,” Seokjin rasps, sounding like he swallowed a bunch of sand along with the sea.

“Let’s get you checked out, hmm?” The lifeguard surveys the group, then his gaze lands on Seokjin. “It’s standard procedure, nothing to worry about, and I bet your friends will feel better afterward, right?”

Four heads bob in agreement, and Seokjin finds himself nodding along. Fine by him, as long as this man is the one doing the checking.

“Great. I’ll bring him back when we’re all done.”

Seokjin is contemplating the best and least embarrassing way to lever himself upright again when he’s saved by those fantastic arms. The lifeguard scoops him up as if he weighs no more than a child, and Seokjin hangs on tightly to the man’s neck and—because he’s milking this for all it’s worth—lays his head on his shoulder, taking in his scent.

The lifeguard smells of summer: a mix of sun cream, sweat, and the sea. Seokjin wants to lick the salt from his skin.

He adds that to his wish list. For now, he plans to make the most of their time together.

In any way he can.


The room is too small. And stifling. Though both of those things could be the direct result of the man crammed into the tiny space with Seokjin.

It seems to be an office when it’s not being used as an impromptu first aid station. There’s a small desk, a pair of uncomfortable plastic chairs (Seokjin’s ass is already protesting, and not in a fun way), a locker to store belongings, and a window that looks like it’s been sealed shut.

The lifeguard bends over the desk to rifle through one of the drawers, his exquisite behind close enough to touch. Seokjin waves his hands at his burning face.

He already misses being cradled in the man’s arms. He felt so safe. So turned on. Shit, it’s hot in here.

“How are you doing?” the man asks, turning back around, his gaze focused on Seokjin. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. Jeon Jungkook.” He collects the cup that had been sitting on the desk and passes it to Seokjin. “Here. You look thirsty.”

He’s not wrong—in either sense of the word. Seokjin shakes the cup. Ice. Cold. Yes. Nice. He takes a long pull from the straw, sighing as the water soothes his irritated throat.

“Jungkook,” Seokjin repeats once he swallows, his voice still gravelly. “Thank you, and thanks for saving me,” he says to the man’s bare chest.

“That’s what I’m here for. You sound a bit better. Less like you’ve been gargling with a bucket of sand.” The lifeguard chuckles. “My face is up here, sir.”

Seokjin wouldn’t be surprised if his ears spontaneously burst into flame. “Right. Sorry.” He sets the cup back on the desk and presses his cool palms to his neck. At least none of the others are here to witness this. “Kim Seokjin,” he introduces himself, finally daring to glance at something other than the enticing nipples that are only centimeters from his mouth.

Big mistake.

Jungkook is even more stunning up close. Big, brown eyes. Perfect Cupid’s bow lips. Seokjin wants to suck and nip the plump bottom one. Wants to slip his tongue inside and taste. He has soft-looking hair, damp from sweat and sea spray. His sunglasses have vanished, leaving his fringe half pasted to his skin and half sticking up in little tufts. Seokjin hopes he didn’t lose his shades in the ocean.

When Jungkook scrapes his bangs out of his face, Seokjin spots another glint of metal: an eyebrow piercing. He’s slightly (more than slightly, if he’s honest) disappointed that his nipples aren’t done.

“Don’t be sorry. I like your eyes on me.”

Before Seokjin can figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to do with that, Jungkook frowns and rests his palm on his forehead.

“Whoa, you’re hot.” His fingers skim down Seokjin’s cheek, lingering at his jaw for a moment, then settle on the collar of his shirt. “How about we lose this?” he asks, plucking at the top button.

Seokjin should’ve taken the stupid thing off before he got in the water, but he thought the sight of it plastered to his body would be alluring. Like his own personal wet T-shirt contest. Jungkook’s fingertip skips south, abandoning the button to trace a lazy circle around Seokjin’s nipple.

Or maybe it was a solid decision.

As Seokjin gasps at the unexpected contact, Jungkook repeats it with his other nipple.

“Feel good?”

Good? Fucking fantastic, more like.

“Glad to hear it.”

Seokjin claps a hand over his mouth to keep any other wayward thoughts where they belong. What happened to Suave Seokjin, who could wink his way into anyone’s pants? The man who never failed to land his target with nothing more than a sultry smirk?

This Seokjin is a mess.

Jungkook goes to work on the buttons, derailing Seokjin’s pity party. He pops the last one through its hole and peels the clingy fabric away, his focus shifting from Seokjin’s collarbones to his chest and stomach. It might be a trick of the shitty lighting, but when Jungkook’s gaze hits the waistband of Seokjin’s shorts and drifts to the undeniable evidence of a full-on boner just below that, his eyes darken.

“Aren’t you a treat.”

Seokjin’s fiery blush creeps down his neck. He shakes his head, praying that will activate whatever brain cells haven’t been obliterated by his sheer horniness. “Says the god of muscles and obscene beauty.”

“A god, huh?” Jungkook laughs, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

Seokjin’s dick twitches.

“People must be dying to get rescued by you.” Wait. “Uh, that came out wrong.” He should just stop talking.

“Actually, it was a pretty quiet day until you came along.”

Jungkook winks, and Seokjin’s temperature rises a couple more degrees.

“I . . .” He dodges the playful look Jungkook gives him, resuming his staring contest with those mouth-watering nipples. “I wouldn’t want you to be bored at work.”

“Mission accomplished,” Jungkook says, flexing first one pec, then the other.

Seokjin whimpers. If the man’s goal is to make him come untouched, he’s dangerously close to succeeding.

Of course Jungkook notices the sound. “Are you hurt?” He slides a hand up Seokjin’s thigh, pushing the fabric of his shorts as he goes. “I didn’t finish checking you over.” He plucks at the neatly tied string on the waistband. “Can I take these off? I like to be thorough.”

A trickle of sweat rolls down Seokjin’s neck. He’s not sure if he’s being saved or tortured.

He gives a jerky nod and rises on wobbly legs, gripping Jungkook’s shoulder for support. Jungkook carefully strips off Seokjin’s shorts and tosses them to the floor where they land with a wet slap. Seokjin’s freed cock bobs against his stomach, already slick at the tip, but Jungkook pays it no mind. He guides Seokjin back into the chair, sinking to his knees in front of him.

Jungkook studies Seokjin’s legs, scouring him from toes to hips. “I can’t find any scrapes or cuts,” Jungkook says. He prods gently at various muscles and tendons. “Is anything tender?”

“No, nothing.” Seokjin gnaws on his lip. He’s going to draw blood soon if Jungkook doesn’t touch him. Really touch him. Hands-on-dick, preferably.

“Hmm.” Jungkook’s tongue pokes out as he continues his exam. Seokjin would very much like to feel that on his cock as well. “How about here?”

Jungkook’s fingers glide, feather light, from the root of Seokjin’s dick to the leaky head. He eyes Seokjin intently as he goes, a wicked smile parting his lips as Seokjin moans, loud and long.

“Sounds like I’ve found the problem. I’ll see what I can do to make it better,” Jungkook announces just before he leans in and plants a kiss on the tip.

It’s official. His lifeguard is trying to kill him.

Jungkook nudges at Seokjin’s knees, spreading them wider to make room for himself. He teases Seokjin’s balls with more of those barely there caresses, then curls his hand around the base of Seokjin’s cock. He kisses his way up the thick length, pausing at the top to trace the slit with his tongue.

Seokjin shivers, his eyes fluttering shut. He can’t keep them open. Can’t look at those soft lips and talented tongue working at his dick. He needs to think of something incredibly unsexy, or he’s going to lose it. Grocery lists. Dumpsters. Public toilets. Dirty dishes.

A sharp pinch on his thigh shatters his concentration.

“Ah!” He forces his lids open, glancing down at Jungkook, who chooses that moment to take him in his mouth and suck. Hard.

He pulls off again with a wet pop. “Eyes on me, remember?”

So he wasn’t kidding about liking to be watched. Fuck.

Satisfied that he has Seokjin’s attention, Jungkook resumes his torment, his head bobbing as he swallows him down, slow and deep. Seokjin’s fingers tangle in Jungkook’s hair, gripping the messy strands. His mouth feels so good. Too good.

When Jungkook’s free hand drifts to his balls and squeezes, Seokjin yelps.


Jungkook releases him immediately. “Is something wrong? Do you not want—”

“No, no. I do.” Seokjin wipes at his sweaty face. He’s melting. “Just not yet. I don’t want it to be over so soon.” And if Jungkook keeps this up, it will be. “I’d rather come . . . with you.”

Jungkook’s frown transforms into a wolfish grin. “That can be arranged. But first, let’s cool you off.”

As Seokjin puzzles over how he expects to accomplish that while they’re baking in this oven of a room, Jungkook pops the lid on Seokjin’s cup and tosses back some water. Of course he’s parched. Seokjin should’ve offered—


Seokjin’s liquified brain doesn’t connect the sound with the source until Jungkook closes his freezing lips around Seokjin’s nipple.


Seokjin jerks and almost jumps out of the chair, but Jungkook’s hands at his waist prevent his escape. Jungkook gives his other nipple the same treatment then tugs on it with his teeth.

“Mmm, so sensitive,” Jungkook murmurs as he reaches for the cup, collecting another cube and rolling it on his tongue.

“I don’t think this is helping—yah!”

Jungkook zeroes in on Seokjin’s throat, sucking at his pulse point, his fingers taking the place of his mouth at Seokjin’s nipples. He pinches and rubs, returning some of the lost warmth only to steal it again seconds later.

“No? Are you sure?”

Seokjin’s not sure about anything. He’s even second-guessing his own name. “I—”

Cold water spills across his chest, turning his words into a shuddery gasp. Jungkook throws the empty cup aside and laps at the rivulets streaming down Seokjin’s skin. With one last, chilly kiss to the crown of Seokjin’s dick, he stands and takes off his shorts, revealing his own arousal.

His cock is everything Seokjin was dreaming it would be. Hard, thick, made to be worshipped. Seokjin wants to ride it, wants Jungkook to fuck up into his tight hole.

Jungkook settles in the other chair, facing him, and drags Seokjin’s closer—with him in it—until the two seats are touching, forming a makeshift bench. He lifts Seokjin’s thigh onto the top of his and slides his leg over Seokjin’s other thigh, bringing them near enough for their cocks to brush together.

A fresh wave of heat sparks in Seokjin’s veins as he realizes what Jungkook intends to do. How he’ll get them off.

Jungkook grabs his hand and waits until Seokjin is tracking the movement before he licks a sloppy stripe across Seokjin’s palm. “Sorry, had to improvise.” Right. Lube probably isn’t something you toss in your backpack when heading out for a day of lifeguarding. Jungkook does it again, and again, and Seokjin swears he can feel the phantom pass of Jungkook’s tongue on his dick. Satisfied with the slickness, Jungkook guides Seokjin’s hand to his cock while he spits in his own palm and grips Seokin’s length, intertwining their fingers around both.

Oh. Seokjin likes a man who knows how to get creative.

It’s a little awkward at first, not quite a coordinated effort, and Jungkook’s laughter breaks the tension as he rests his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. His lips explore the ridge of Seokjin’s collarbone then settle at the base of his neck, dotting kisses there. He resumes sucking at the place he’d chosen earlier, and Seokjin is sure it’s going to bruise.

Not that Seokjin minds. He’s already planning the week’s outfits around which shirts he can wear to best show it off.

As incredible as it is to be the focus of Jungkook’s care and attention, Seokjin realizes he’s doing a shit job of returning the favor. He might be many things (don’t ask Jimin to elaborate), but a selfish lover he is not.

Threading his fingers in Jungkook’s hair, he tugs until Jungkook pulls away from his throat with a low whine.

“I wasn’t done,” he pouts.

“You’ve had your fun. It’s my turn.”

Seokjin doesn’t wait for a response, just zeros in on his target: the small mole on Jungkook’s neck. If Jungkook wants to leave a reminder of himself on Seokjin’s skin, Seokjin will gladly give Jungkook something to remember him by. He worries at the spot with his teeth, and Jungkook moans, the vibration tickling Seokjin’s lips. As he fastens his mouth there and sucks, he moves their joined hands faster over their cocks, setting a steady rhythm.

Jungkook’s hips jerk, lifting from the chair as he pushes into their dual grip. Seokjin laps at the mark forming on Jungkook’s throat and draws back to admire it, proud of his work. Dipping his head, he lets the saliva pooling under his tongue dribble onto their dicks, easing their thrusts.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Jungkook says, thumbing the leftover spit from Seokjin’s lip.

Seokjin stares at that lush mouth. He still hasn’t had a taste.

Cupping Jungkook’s nape, Seokjin surges forward and devours him. Tongue and teeth and the softest lips he’s ever had the pleasure of kissing. He swallows every needy sound Jungkook makes, jacking their cocks faster.

He wants to hear more of those sweet little noises. Wants them permanently ingrained in his memory. Something he can replay on those lonely nights when it’s just him and his own hand.

Jungkook breaks the kiss, panting against Seokjin’s cheek, his shaky grip losing some of its finesse.

“I’m close,” he rasps, licking at the corner of Seokjin’s mouth. “But I don’t want to get there without you.”

Seokjin groans, his balls pulling up tight. “You keep talking like that and I’ll beat you to it.”

“Oh, yeah? That a challenge?”

Evil, beautiful man.

Jungkook moves their hands with renewed purpose, his grin positively filthy. “Look at that big cock, dripping like a fucking faucet.” He bites Seokjin’s lip, hard enough to sting. “You’re gonna soak us both, aren’t you. Make a real mess. Isn’t that right?”

Fuck. If Jungkook ever gets tired of lifeguarding, he could set the porn industry on fire.


“Mmm, good.” Jungkook squeezes their cocks and snags Seokjin’s nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Then he pinches it roughly. “That’s it, baby. Come all over us.”

Something snaps inside Seokjin, his senses fritzing as his orgasm hits. He lists into Jungkook, sinking his teeth into his shoulder to muffle his shout. He’s vaguely aware of a similar noise coming from Jungkook, their release splattering their chests, bellies, and hands, warm and sticky.

Once the buzzing in his ears subsides and his body stops trying to rattle itself apart, Seokjin manages to sit up just in time to see Jungkook slip two of his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them with gusto. An aftershock rolls through Seokjin, stealing his breath.

“Delicious,” Jungkook murmurs, sampling Seokjin’s fingers next.

“Greedy thing.” Seokjin wipes a smear of cum from Jungkook’s stomach and pops it in his own mouth while Jungkook watches, riveted.

“We should do this again,” Jungkook suggests, his gaze heating up. “I want to fuck you,” he adds shamelessly.

A spark of interest stirs Seokjin’s tired cock. Yes. Next time. “I want that, too.”

Among other things. Seokjin fantasizes about climbing up the ladder to the lifeguard chair and sucking Jungkook off while he’s sitting there. Imagines Jungkook taking him apart in the ocean with the waves crashing against their bare skin.

“In the meantime,” Jungkook says, a dimple forming in his cheek—Seokjin can’t resist giving it a gentle poke—“I’d be happy to offer you private swimming lessons. Just the two of us.” He winks. “Can’t have you drowning on me.”

Seokjin wonders if he knows it’s not necessary, that he can indeed swim. If it means spending more time together, he’ll gladly go along with it.

“You’d be there to save me.”

Jungkook’s smile is soft and sweet. “I would.”

Seokjin leans in to kiss him again, slowly and thoroughly, savoring the press of his lips, the flick of his tongue as it strokes Seokjin’s.

His earlier discussion with Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Namjoon comes to mind. People might be the best part about the beach, but this man in Seokjin’s arms is his favorite.