Hoseok’s halfway through taking off his makeup when he realizes he still hasn’t stopped sweating, which is, on reflection — he looks over and sees Yoongi pulling his coat up over his shoulders, knit hat pulled firmly down over his ears — odd. The aircon is blasting.
He looks down at the smeared cotton pad in his trembling hand and wonders why his hand is trembling, but then Jimin comes back from the bathroom, tear-smudged and laughing hoarsely. He even does a little shimmy at the door.
“Man of the hour!”
“That was embarrassing,” Jimin says, laughing crookedly, and then promptly bursts into tears again.
“Oh,” Namjoon says, eyes going wide.
Taehyung gets up and ushers Jimin over to the couch, hand on his back. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says. Jimin whimpers.
“Ah, okay,” Namjoon says, “can we please have a little privacy?” He bows politely as the staff start to make their way towards the door.
“Taehyungah,” Jimin says. His voice is odd. Not just wet sounding but rough, too. “Hurts.”
Seokjin cocks his head, lips pursed.
Yoongi goes, “What?”
One of the makeup noonas pauses at the door, frowning, and says, “Is he —?”
A bead of sweat winds its way down Hoseok’s temple. On the couch, Jimin curls over the arm wrapped around his belly and says plaintively, “Why’s it so early?”
“Oh, fuck no,” Yoongi says. He pulls Seokjin to his feet. “Hyung, I want to leave.”
Seokjin nods, clapping his hands. “Yep.” He puts his palm on the back of Yoongi’s neck. “Let’s go, then.”
Namjoon is crouched in front of Jimin, but he looks over at that. “The trainer still hasn’t looked at Yoongi hyung’s shoulder.”
“It can wait,” Yoongi shoots back, grabbing his bag. Seokjin takes it from him before he can slip it over his shoulder, which makes Yoongi glare at him, but he doesn’t take it back. “I’m not getting dragged down into a heat with Jiminie tonight.”
Jimin makes a soft, awful noise into the back of the couch where he’s pressed his whole face. Taehyung murmurs, “The car’s almost out front, baby.”
Distantly, Hoseok realizes that he can smell the cherry balm Jungkook swiped over his lips before the encore started. That was an hour ago. He touches the back of his hand to the sweat clinging to his jaw.
Jungkook’s eyes snap over to him. “Hyung?”
Yoongi looks over. Seokjin says, “Hoseokah, you should leave too, before it’s —.” He tilts his head to the side, pausing. Hoseok can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest, hot and wild. “Ah.”
Yoongi sucks his teeth. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Hyung,” Jungkook says again, softer this time. He touches the back of Hoseok’s hand.
“Don’t,” he hisses, pulling away. Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his mouth pulling into a soft, oh-shaped thing.
From the couch, Jimin says wetly, “Hyung?”
Yoongi grabs Seokjin’s hand. “I want,” he hisses, teeth gritted, “to leave.”
Jimin says, “Taehyung, I think you’re going to have to fuck me right here.”
Namjoon rises quickly. “Okay,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “Okay, we’ll figure this out in the morning, I think. Dunno why the suppressants aren’t working, now of all times.” He laughs in a hollow kind of way, but then his voice gets firmer, more resolute. “But nothing we can do about that, now. We’ll figure it out. I’ll call Sejin hyung.”
“Hoseokie hyung,” Jungkook says, soft-voiced. “It’s okay if —”
From the couch, Taehyung says to Jungkook, “I did tell you.”
Jungkook frowns. “What?”
“I told you they were going into heat,” Taehyung insists.
Jungkook takes a beat and then says, “I think I would’ve remembered that, hyung.”
Hoseok is going to take all of his clothes off, in a minute. Every inch of his skin is on fire, prickling uncomfortably with sweat, and Jungkook is right there but –
He’s not looking at him anymore. He’s walking towards Taehyung, frowning in concentration, and Taehyung is saying, “I did, when we were on stage, I said —”
“Oh my god,” Yoongi says.
“I said,” Taehyung carries on, “Jimin needs me.”
Jungkook makes a hot, impatient noise. “He was literally sobbing.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Jimin announces, but it sounds half-hearted.
Hoseok’s brain is on fire and Jungkook is still, still walking towards Taehyung and it’s like the room has stretched taffy-like, dream elongation, only this might be a nightmare, actually, with the way Hoseok’s chest feels empty, yawning, cracked open. Every time Jungkook takes a step away from – every time Jungkook takes a step towards Taehyung, something sharp bolts through Hoseok like a door closing, like a gunshot, like a log cracking and crumbling to ash, and Taehyung says, “and then I nodded to Hoseokie hyung,” and Jungkook opens his mouth –
and Hoseok says –
Hoseok says, “You can hear him just fine from there, Jungkook.”
Everyone in the room falls quiet.
“Ah,” Namjoon says, softly.
Taehyung smirks. Jimin turns on the couch and puts his mouth right on the inside of Taehyung’s thigh. Like it’s where he belongs, some animal instinct to get marked up with Taehyung’s smell, like he doesn’t mind everyone knowing he’s an omega, one who gets fucked and knotted and scented up by his alpha on the regular.
Like he doesn’t even mind saying it to himself.
Hoseok spins, facing the wall, and puts his face right up against the cool brick. Can’t think. Everything hot and muzzed up and messy and he can feel now that his pants are wet, that it’s not just sweat, that he’s starting to slick through his underwear. Probably they’ll be able to smell it on him soon.
He hasn’t had an unscheduled heat since he was a trainee.
Quietly, he says, “I didn’t forget.” He licks his lips. “I didn’t forget to take my suppressants, I swear.”
Behind him, he can hear shuffling, Jimin whining for Taehyung to take his pants off, just so he can have a little lick, just a taste, Yoongi hissing something that he can’t quite make out, but all of that kind of fades away under the sound of Jungkook’s boots thwicking towards him, the soft sound of his breath when he’s close enough to say softly, “Hyung, it’s okay.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.” He licks his lips. His skin feels stretched, overheated. He should’ve known – halfway through the concert. He should’ve known.
“Let me?” Jungkook says, and then, firmer: “You’ll feel better.”
If he lets his alpha touch him, breathe on him, rub his jaw along the back of his neck, the tight awful feeling in his chest will go away, but he – can’t. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just breathes.
He’s never had a problem with his suppressants before. Takes them every day at the same time washed down with the same vitamin drink that his doctor prescribes. One of his manager’s daily tasks is to double check that he’s taken them, and the rare time he’s thrown them up or been too sick to swallow, he gets them delivered intravenously instead. It’s not uncommon for idols to be fastidious about their suppressants, though admittedly he’s the only one he knows who personally looks up the closest suppressant-stocking pharmacy out of rote, utilitarian habit whenever he travels anywhere outside of Seoul.
He’s never had a problem with his suppressants before, but tonight halfway through the concert he started feeling this empty, yawning thing in his belly while Jimin was still smiling and laughing easily and asking Yoongi if he was going to kiss Namjoon right up there on stage with his boxing gloves still on.
So, whatever’s happening here tonight – it’s on him. He’s the first domino.
Jungkook’s breath ghosts the back of his neck.
“Not —.” He shuts his eyes. “Not yet, Jungkookah.”
“Hobah, don’t be silly,” Namjoon says, orbiting closer.
Hoseok puts his head down. He – he doesn’t really understand what’s happening.
“Did I fuck something up?” he asks, looking at Namjoon out of the corner of his eye.
Namjoon steps closer. “Hobalah,” he says, sweet-voiced, in this way that makes the skin around Hoseok’s eyes go even hotter. “We haven’t performed – really performed – in months.” Namjoon shrugs. “It’s natural you’d have an intense response to it.”
“Fuck,” he breathes. Namjoon’s voice is so kind. It’s awful.
“Jiminah,” Hoseok calls. “I’m sorry.” Fuck. “I’m really sorry, Jiminah.” If Jimin can’t perform tomorrow…
Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. “Look, Yoongi left and Jimin’s – fine, I think, about it,” and, like on cue, there’s a soft moan from behind them. Taehyung’s deep, breathy moan with slick, mouthy sounds underneath it.
Jungkook huffs a laugh. Hoseok shivers.
“Hobah,” Namjoon says, encouragingly, “Let Jungookie touch you, yeah? We’ll figure tomorrow out. We always do.”
He shifts forward. “Hobi needs you right now, Jungkookah, yeah? Put your hands on him, make him feel safe, like he’s gonna be okay cause you’re gonna take care of him, aren’t you?”
On the wall, the tips of Hoseok’s fingers go red, then white.
He wants to tell them that he’s fine, he’s fine but Jungkook is saying, “Yeah, hyung,” and then lower, just for him, “Hyung, I wanna touch you so bad, is it okay?” but he’s not really even asking permission ‘cause his hands fall soft and warm and heavy on Hoseok’s back, curling towards his belly, and the sound that comes out of Hoseok’s throat is awful.
“Sh,” Jungkook says, nose to the back of Hoseok’s neck. “Sh, baby, I got ya,” and then, “ah, hyung, you really got all worked up, you’re hot all over.”
“Kookie,” he says, helplessly, “I’m in heat.” His palms are so sweaty they’re slipping against the wall.
Namjoon laughs, easy and low. “Alright. Right.” He checks his phone, then pitches his voice a little louder. “Taehyung, can you zip it up? The car’s ready for you four, gonna take you back to the dorm. I’ll talk to Sejin hyung about the plans for tomorrow.”
Jungkook shifts like he’s going to step back.
Hoseok finds his hands aren’t on the wall anymore. They’re on Jungkook’s hips, holding him close. “I wasn’t —,” Jungkook nudges along his neck. “I wasn’t gonna move away, okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, breathing out through his nose.
In the corner, Jimin makes a needy sound and Taehyung tells him, “You can – soon, Jiminah, okay?”
He wants to say something, something about Namjoon doing too much, how he must be tired too, how normally they all just fall into their own beds after concerts, too tired to cuddle never mind fuck, and here they all are now because Hoseok looked over at Jungkook halfway through the concert under the rafters and Jungkook’s smile had been – explosive. Reorienting.
He’s seen Jungkook almost every day of his life for almost a decade. What is wrong with him?
He can’t get the words to form, though, not right now with Jungkook pressing close enough that Hoseok can feel the shape of his cock against his ass. Not with the way he’s swaying a little, humming softly in Hoseok’s ear like everything’s soft and easy and good right now, no matter the white noise chugging in Hoseok’s brain.
Jungkook’s palms slide to his belly. Hoseok’s head tips back. “That’s it, hyungah,” he murmurs.
Later, he won’t remember much of how they get out of that room with all their belongings accounted for, though he’s sure he can thank Namjoon for the way the hallways are cleared, security posted up at each end, blank-faced and turned politely away while Jimin keeps pausing to push Taehyung against the wall and rub his face against Taehyung’s throat.
He will remember, though, how the door was in sight, will remember thinking that all he needed to do was walk through that door, and then get in the car, and then let that car take him home and at the end of all that, he could have. He could have Jungkook.
He stops walking.
Vaguely, he notices the way Taehyung looks back over his shoulder, waiting for them.
He turns towards the wall. Puts his palms up on it. Breathing. He can feel his breath shuddering in his own hot lungs.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says, sweetly, sliding his arm along the back of his shoulders, tucked up close. “You’re doing so well.”
“Jungkook,” he says. He stops. Tilts his head. “Jungkookah,” he says again. “Put your fingers in me.”
“Ah,” Jungkook says.
“I —.” He stops. His – it’s all. Melted. Melting. Can’t think. The door is at the end of a long, long hallway. Nightmare elongation. Maybe he’ll write a song about it, he thinks, and almost laughs. “I can’t,” he grits out.
Jungkook says, “You don’t have to.” Hoseok’s not sure they even know what they’re both talking about but then Jungkook’s fingers are teasing at the back of his trousers, dipping under, and it doesn’t matter.
“Yes,” he hisses, and Jungkook pushes his hand down the back of his pants.
“Oh, hyung,” Jungkook breathes, and he sounds genuinely – sad. “You’re soaked.” His fingers slip right through the wetness between Hoseok’s ass and start to circle at his hole, not wasting any time.
“Put them in,” he mutters, heated. “Just put them in me.” Jungkook’s hard dick is pressing into his hip. “Fuck me with —,” choking off when Jungkook finally does, neatly pressing forward with two fingers, sliding them in easy and steady until the rest of his curled fingers are nudging between Hoseok’s cheeks.
“Taehyungah,” he hears, and looks over to see Jimin looping his arms around Taehyung’s neck. “You could do that to me, if you wanted? You could. I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t, you could put me on the floor – show everyone my pretty, slick hole —”
“Fucking,” Hoseok breathes, watching his knuckles whiten against the wall. “S’good, Kookie,” he mutters, pushing back against the fuck of his hand. “S’really good.”
Though really what it is is – not enough, and maybe Jungkook knows that because he slides his mouth against Hoseok’s ear and mutters, “I can’t wait to get my knot inside you, you have no idea, hyung.” Hoseok’s knees feel like – puddles. Bags of honey. Sweetness locked up inside of something else.
He can feel the muscles flexing in Jungkook’s arm along the length of his back.
“Take me home,” he says, and Jungkook flips him, taking his fingers out roughly, too quick, in a way that has Hoseok crying out, but then Jungkook is pushing him against the wall, kissing him in this kind of head-spinning way and Hoseok wants to tell him he doesn’t know how much more head-spinning he can take, frankly, but he’s too busy lifting his leg around Jungkook’s hips to draw him closer, rolling his hips like he can take Jungkook’s cock inside of him right through their clothes.
Jungkook’s breath shudders through him. “If you keep doing that,” he mutters, hot between their hovering mouths. Hoseok lets his eyes slide open, looking at Jungkook all close and soft.
Taehyung clears his throat. “This is very —,” he waves his hand, as if to encompass a whole range of fill-in-the blanks. “But,” he says, and gestures to where Jimin is on his knees, nosing around at Taehyung’s crotch.
“Right,” Hoseok says, straightening and dropping his leg, and then realizing he actually doesn’t have the ability to push Jungkook away from him right now, not when they’re pressed together from shin to forehead and it feels good and right and helplessly, horribly safe.
“Can you – step back?” he manages. Jungkook swallows audibly. He can hear Taehyung coaxing Jimin to his feet again.
The SUV is pulled right up to the door, though security still flanks them on both sides as they file out. In the car, Taehyung pulls the privacy partition separating them from the driver closed, pushes Jimin into his seat, buckles him in, and then takes both of his hands in his own and starts to kiss his knuckles, starting from one end to the other.
Jungkook slides his palm to cup the back of Hoseok’s neck. Hoseok looks down at his thighs and takes several calming breaths.
“Does that help?” Jungkook asks.
“Not at fucking all,” he admits. Jungkook pushes his fingers through his hair.
The van is quiet except for the soft sounds of Taehyung’s lips, Jimin’s responsive hums. It usually is after a concert, though sometimes they slide each other soft-voiced compliments out of the corner of their mouths or go over, for the third time, a particularly funny moment. If the circumstances had been different, they would’ve been making fun of Jimin, probably.
The circumstances being what they are, Hoseok’s tongue is still thick with half-ashamed apologies cutting against his teeth. He feels marble-mouthed, stupid, over-heated. He wants Jungkook to push him down on the van floor and fuck him right there, with Taehyung and Jimin watching.
They keep driving, the street lights flickering over their faces. “I’m so hot I’m cold,” Jimin says unhappily at one point, which makes sense. He can’t remember the last time Jimin would’ve had to wait this long for Taehyung’s knot, with how their heats are meticulously scheduled.
Since they were trainees, the suppressants have worked fine for them. No problems.
He turns and looks out the window to the dark cityscape freckled with light, but mostly he gets caught looking at his own ghostly, sweaty reflection staring back at him.
In the elevator up to their dorm, Taehyung checks his phone and says, “Namjoonie’s staying over at Yoongi’s with him and Seokjin tonight,” and then curls his mouth to whisper in Jimin’s ear, probably something about how that means he can fuck Jimin anywhere he wants tonight, right on the foyer floor if that’s what he wants, because Jimin makes an aggrieved noise and says, “I want to be in a bed.”
Hoseok tilts his head. “Did. Did he say why, or is there, like, something wrong with his own place?” He laughs. “Yoongi just, uh, usually prefers to sleep alone after performances, you know?”
Jungkook says, “Hyung.” His fingers curl against Hoseok’s hip.
Taehyung looks up. “He didn’t say. I’m sure.” He licks his lips. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Hoseok sniffs, rolling his shoulders, which dislodges Jungkook’s hand, which feels like a punch to his solar plexus. He closes his eyes.
Jimin says, “Taehyung,” in this meaningful way into the silence that follows.
“I’m fine,” Hoseok says, without opening his eyes. He was – he was so sure that Yoongi had left early enough to avoid getting dragged down into this heat with them.
And he is fine. He’s fine enough to push through the elevator doors without Jungkook touching him, fine enough to get inside the dorm and toe his shoes off, rehearsing the conversation he’s going to have with his doctor tomorrow morning about upping the suppressant strength and fuck the consequences because they can’t afford this happening again, fine enough even to tell Jungkook, “I’m going to take a shower,” while Jungkook looks back at him bewilderedly, and to get halfway through soaping up before his heat hits him so hard in the belly that he actually drops to his knees right there on the tile, gasping.
The spray hits his back, and he can hear his name being called, and he wonders vaguely hysterically if heats have ever induced actual honest-to-god hallucinations before, but then there are cool, strong hands sliding over his flanks, touching him everywhere.
“Hyung, why are you being so – stupid,” Jungkook says. Hoseok laughs.
“I don’t know,” he says, because he feels suddenly like he might cry.
Jungkook tries to lift him then but he makes a soft noise, thinking about how he doesn’t want to be up just yet, how it feels good to be low and soft and finally near to Jungkook, who is wet and naked and touching him with just the tips of his fingers running over his spine.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says, breathing out this weighty exhale and shifting on the balls of his feet. “Right,” he says. “Open your mouth,” and then Jungkook is kneeling in front of him, stroking his half-hard dick and saying, “C’mon, open up and suck,” and it’s suddenly very, very easy to just listen.
Jungkook’s sweet cockhead pushes past his open lips and he moans so loud he’d be embarrassed if he weren’t thinking about how he wants to do this forever. Suck on Jungkook’s cockhead for the rest of his fucking life.
“Ah,” Jungkook murmurs, “that’s it,” and his hand strokes along the shaft, pumping himself to hardness, which is nice. Hoseok likes that, the way he can feel Jungkook getting harder and thicker and hotter between his lips. He slides his tongue along the inside of Jungkook’s foreskin, dips the tip into his slit and groans hotly at the taste of Jungkook’s precome.
The shiver in his brain starts to quiet. Jungkook puts his hands on the tense muscles of his shoulders, and those, too start to – melt. He sucks. His mouth is filling up with saliva, dripping out of the corner of his mouth.
Jungkook says, “Can you lick my knot?” and Hoseok – he can. He can absolutely do that. He shifts, mouthing down the shaft and then placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the base of his knot. Fat, sweet, slick skin. He’s gonna have that in him soon, and Jungkook is saying something about how if Hoseok wants they can fuck in the shower, he’ll carry him out on his knot afterwards.
There’s a knock on the door and then Taehyung’s voice: “Uh, sorry to interrupt —”
“Keep sucking,” Jungkook tells him, and Hoseok feels his eyes slide closed again, shoulders dropping from where they were trying to hunch up.
“Right,” Taehyung says. “Anyway. Jimin’s uh – worried,” he grunts in this very specific way that means he’s just received an elbow to the side, “not worried, exactly, wrong word, but uh, he wants to —”
“Hoseokie hyung, I want to watch you take Jungkookie’s knot, please!”
“That,” Taehyung says, succinctly.
Jungkook laughs, soft and close. He puts his fingers on Hoseok’s jaw and tips his head up, brushing his thumb along his parted lips. “You hear that?”
Hoseok huffs a laugh. “Did I hear Jimin being a demanding brat?”
“Uncalled for!” comes from the doorway.
“You wanna?” Jungkook asks.
“Yeah,” Taehyung mutters, “you may have heard in the elevator but he’s being extremely picky tonight about our fuck location.”
Jimin makes an annoyed noise. “How is it picky to want to be fucked in a bed? That’s just – normal! That’s just baseline normal! Oh my god.” There’s a muffled sound and then he’s saying, “Hyung, stop sucking Jungkookie’s pretty dick and come get fucked with me in bed!”
Hoseok looks up at Jungkook’s smiling, sweet face. “It is a pretty dick,” he says, softly, dropping a kiss on the head. “So pretty.”
Jungkook’s mouth tips open. He rubs the head over Hoseok’s lips, slick and velvety. “Hyung,” he says, and Hoseok realizes for the first time that Jungkook’s voice is strained. “I wanna fuck you.”
He licks his lips. “Yeah.”
“Can I fuck you?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You can fuck me.”
“Okay,” Jungkook says. “Good.”
“Oh my god,” Jimin says loudly from the doorway. “Can we move these negotiations to a goddamn bed, please?”
Hoseok’s on his back with his knees cocked wide when Jungkook slides inside of him.
Jungkook’s dick fills his hole and presses into him in this deep kind of way that makes him very aware of the space between his spine and his belly button.
“Tight,” Hoseok breathes, sliding his ankle along the back of his thigh, and Jungkook laughs softly.
“Isn’t that my line?”
Hoseok drags his bottom lip into his mouth. “Yeah,” he says. “Tell me how I’m all nice and wet instead, how ‘bout?”
Jungkook lowers down on his palms, gets his mouth against Hoseok’s ear. His shoulders ripple. “So wet, hyung,” he says. “Dripping for me like a pussy, aren’t you?”
Hoseok groans, throwing his head back, and shoves his hips up to meet Jungkook’s fuck.
Next to them, Jimin and Taehyung are fucking in the same position, but Taehyung’s giving him these short, sharp thrusts that have Jimin’s breath catching, his fingers gripping at the sheets. He makes a thoughtful noise, “Taehyungah,” he says, and Hoseok can hear the way his mouth is wet and slurry already. “Sometimes I wish I had a pussy, you know? So you could take turns fucking my ass and my pussy at the same time.”
Jungkook makes a rough noise and buries his face in Hoseok’s shoulder. Hoseok touches his back. “Don’t stop,” he tells him, but Jungkook’s hips are steady even while he makes this kind of helpless noise against Hoseok’s throat.
“Jiminah, keep talking,” Hoseok says, smiling at the ceiling.
Jimin makes a pleased sound. “Just thinking,” he says. “Or you could put your fingers in me while your dick’s in my ass,” he says, softly, like he’s saying sweet, pretty nothings instead of talking filth. “I’d like that, I think. Full up with you, Taehyungah.”
Taehyung says, “You don’t need a pussy for me to take turns fucking your holes, baby,” and Jungkook’s hips do stutter then.
Hoseok grins, licking at the shell of his ear. “Oh, you liked that?”
Jungkook nods. “Maybe,” he admits.
“Good,” he says, and then, “maybe I’ll clean your dick up with my mouth when you’re done being a good alpha for me, okay, baby?”
“Fuck,” Jungkook says, all sharp and sibilant. He pushes up onto his hands. “Is it good? Do you want it – harder? Faster?”
He slides his hands down Jungkook’s flanks, where the muscles are rippling and pulling with his fuck, everything tilting soft and good and sweet when he’s under his alpha. “Just keep doing what you’re doin’ how about?”
Jungkook’s smile goes crooked. “Got it,” he says, and leans down to kiss him with his happy, crooked mouth.
When Taehyung knots, he always does it silently, like it’s no big deal, no extra exertion or effort on his or Jimin’s part to push his fat knot inside of Jimin’s clenching hole. So, he’s not surprised exactly, but still -
“Oh,” Hoseok says. Taehyung is collapsed happily on top of Jimin, eyes closed, snugly fitted up inside him. Jimin’s watching them with soft eyes. He smiles when he sees Hoseok looking at him. “You always look so pretty together,” Jimin says, voice sweet. He skates his hand down Taehyung’s sweaty back.
Jungkook, on the other hand, tugs Hoseok back to look at him, hips rabbiting, voice choked, while he says, “Hyung, hyung, I can’t – I’m gonna —,” like he needs permission, like Hoseok isn’t scrabbling at his back, breathing in his ear, telling him how much he wants it.
“Are you ready?”
“Been ready, Kookie,” he hisses, and pushes his hand between their bodies so he can wrap his fingers around his dick.
Jungkook reaches between them too, leaning away as he shifts so that he can get his hands on the base of Hoseok’s thighs, thumbs framing his hole.
“You gonna watch?” He touches his tongue to the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes, and tugs a little with his thumbs so that Hoseok can feel his hole spreading.
“You’re gonna make me come,” he mutters, and Jungkook does it again, nudging forward with his knot, opening him up and then pressing forward, gentle shoves of his hips that have Hoseok’s toes curling. “That —,” he gasps, “yeah, like that.” He wants to come like this, with Jungkook gently, relentlessly spreading him open for his knot.
His orgasm isn’t any kind of barreling thing – it goes like honey from his belly to his spine and out to his fingers until suddenly he’s tipping his head back, Jungkook’s knot stretching his rim, tugging on it, pushing past the ache of it, filling him up. His dick pulses, come slicking up between his fingers. “J’ngkookah,” he gasps out, mouth open, “Oh, Jungkookah, I’m —”
Jungkook kisses him. Or rather, fits his mouth against Hoseok’s and moans, low and deep, as he comes and pushes his knot inside of him, moving his mouth in these little nudging motions that are oddly gentle and sweet and demanding.
Hoseok breathes out. Slides his fingers up into Jungkook’s hair, tugging a little. There it is.
They must sleep, because the next time Hoseok opens his eyes, Jimin is blinking back at him. Taehyung’s rubbing Jimin’s belly in this kind of serenely happy way. Jimin lifts his head. “I feel fine,” he says, stretching his arms above his shoulders, like he’s testing everything out. “I feel good.” Sometimes, getting knotted is enough to stop their heats. Other times they go on for days. Jimin rolls his shoulders again, then concedes, “Okay, well, I feel like I could definitely get fucked again, but that might not even be heat-related. I’ve been like super horny lately.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s absolutely the heat. Not once in your life have you let me come in your ass twice in a row when you weren’t in heat.”
Jimin slits his eyes at him. “I guess you’re not interested in finding out if that’s on the table for you tonight, either.”
Taehyung frowns. “Let’s not get hasty…”
Jungkook smacks his lips sleepily, nudging a kiss against Hoseok’s shoulder. “S’gone down, want me to pull out?”
Hoseok hums his agreement, and Jungkook reaches down while he shifts his hips backwards, thumbing softly over his hole when he’s done in this soothing little gesture. He used to only do it during heats, but Hoseok noticed a few months ago that he’d started doing it any time they fucked, like he was saying, “Bye bye for now, see you later.”
Like he’d stopped worrying, somewhere along the way, about looking too earnest or silly or something just cause there weren’t any hormones pumping through him.
Jungkook flops over next to him, hooking his knee over Hoseok’s sweaty thigh. “Nice,” he says, appreciatively.
Hoseok laughs. “Feelin’ good, baby?”
Jungkook hums. “Mhm.” He looks over. “How you feelin’?”
“Honestly?” He rubs his hand over his belly. “I can’t really tell. It almost feels more like…pre-heat? Like the week before?”
Jimin snaps his fingers. “Yeah, hyung, that’s exactly it!”
“Kinda horny, kinda tired, kinda —,” he hesitates.
“Weepy,” Jimin supplies.
“Baby,” Taehyung says.
Jimin lets himself be kissed on both cheeks, both eyelids, and both corners of his mouth and then he’s saying, “Let me call Namjoon, I wanna see how they’re doing.”
“They’re probably sleeping,” Taehyung says meaningfully, flicking his gaze over at Hoseok.
“Yeah,” Jimin says easily, “so let’s find out for sure.”
Right. Out loud, Hoseok says, “Well, while I’m still capable of doing anything other than begging Jungkook to breed me into the floor —” Jungkook choke-laughs, and Hoseok continues, “— I’m gonna go make some tea,” and with that he primly pushes Jungkook’s leg off him and scoops his underwear off the floor.
In the kitchen, his bare feet make soft thwicking sounds against the sleek floor. He fills the tea kettle and clicks it on, pulling out mugs and the peppermint tea bags they keep around for him. The bags make a soft, rustling noise as they drop against the ceramic, and he curls his toes against the cold floor, listening to the hush of the kettle steaming up.
He sighs when warm arms wrap around him from behind. One of Jungkook’s hands palms his bare belly. He tips his head back, closing his eyes, letting Jungkook’s warmth settle into him.
After a minute, Jungkook says, “You’re so – funny, hyung.” His nose snuffles along the side of Hoseok’s throat, up along his hairline. “You never push me away except when you’re in heat and fucking dying for my knot.”
Hoseok swallows. The kettle hisses. After a minute, he says, “I know.”
Jungkook kisses the side of his throat. Hoseok lets him, and then pulls away, leaning back against the counter. “It just – caught me off guard.” The kettle clicks off, but neither of them move to touch it. “I’ve never – we’ve never had a problem with our suppressants, not once all these years.” He shakes his head. “I guess we should feel lucky.”
Jungkook tilts his head. “You haven’t,” he says, “but I have.” He leans back on the opposite counter. “You don’t even remember, do you?”
In the light coming in through the windows, the milky neon lights and the streetlamps and maybe a bit of starlight, too, Hoseok can see that Jungkook is smiling, mouth turned up at the corners, but he doesn’t look — happy.
“Do you?” Jungkook says.
Hoseok looks at him.
There had been a crowd at the airport. It was during their Wings tour. Somewhere in South America, jet lag so bad Yoongi had thrown up in the bathroom and Jimin was wearing a cap, sunglasses, and face mask the whole time. There was a crowd and Hoseok had somehow gotten separated from the rest of the members, even though he’d had a bodyguard and a manager with him the whole time. He’d ended up taking a separate car to the hotel, and he’d laughed, breathless with adrenaline, when his manager had made a joke about having to airlift him out of there. He’d even stopped at his own hotel room to drop off his bag and change his clothes, before joining the others in the room they always booked for business meetings with the managers and when he’d pushed inside, Jungkook was –
“Hobi hyung,” he’d said, face screwed up and wet. Two staff had their hands on his shoulders. It had taken Hoseok a minute to realize they were holding Jungkook back. In the corner, one of their managers was holding his side awkwardly, as if he’d been shoved. Hard.
Namjoon had come over to the door where Hoseok had stopped when he’d seen the strange tableau in front of him. It clicked closed softly behind him. Jungkook was –
His chest was heaving.
“You’re okay, yeah, Hobah?” Namjoon said, in this kind of weirdly performative voice. “Sejin hyung said you were fine, the whole time, no problems at all,” and he’d reached out to put a reassuring hand on Hoseok’s shoulder.
“Don’t fucking touch him,” Jungkook said.
Hoseok remembers, even then, worrying that Jungkook’s voice would be shot for the concert if he kept up like that.
Then he’d looked over from Namjoon’s wide-eyed hesitation to where the others were looking on uncomfortably and Jungkook’s face was – wrecked. Some kind of awful, animal misery etched all over it. “Jungkookah,” Hoseok said, voice soft.
Jungkook’s eyes had screwed up. “Hyung,” he whined. “I thought you were —,” he choked out, voice raw.
After that, everyone had cleared out, even the manager hyungs once Hoseok had had a very red-faced conversation assuring them that yes, he did know about all the non-penetrative sexual options, and yes he knew how important it was to avoid any injuries the day before a performance, and thank you, I’m glad I’m fine, too, ha ha no harm done.
When the door clicked closed, though, Jungkook had just said, “Please, please, please can I —,” and Hoseok wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, but he said “Yes,” anyway. Automatically.
Jungkook had pressed him against the door and spent a quarter of an hour smelling him, grumbling unhappily at every new scent that wasn’t his and pressing his face, his throat, all over Hoseok’s body, ankles to temple.
It almost hadn’t really even been sexy, except of course for the way it had been, and Hoseok had been trembling by the end of it.
Afterwards, Hoseok had talked him through it, told him how to fuck his thighs instead, talked dirty to Jungkook while he jerked him off. They’d even taken an ice bath together when the rut was mostly over but Jungkook still couldn’t quite bring himself to not be touching him at least somewhere.
Now, Jungkook says, “I thought there was something – deeply, deeply fucked up inside of me, for like. A really long time, after that.”
Hoseok closes his eyes. “I remember,” he says.
“Turns out I was just – stressed,” Jungkook says, laughing. “And really in love with you,” he adds.
Hoseok does turn around at that, lifting the kettle and pouring the hot water over the tea bags. “You were a baby,” he says. “You’d just presented like a few months before,” he reminds him.
“Nah,” Jungkook says, coming around him to hold the tea bag strings so they don’t fall into the hot water. “The doctor said it can happen anytime, it’s just the combination of like stress hormones and love hormones and hormones hormones or something.”
The kitchen is quiet. Hoseok puts the kettle back on the stand.
Finally, he says, “I’m not sad.”
Jungkook looks at him. “Just 20% sad.”
Hoseok laughs. “Okay,” he says, “20% sad.”
The concert was ending, and Jimin wouldn’t stop frantically rubbing at his forehead, and Hoseok had rehearsed what he was going to say, but mostly he had kept replaying that moment under the rafters when Jungkook had looked over at him and pulled a funny face, laughing. He’d come over and slapped Hoseok on the ass and said, quietly, into his ear, “Love you, hyung.” That had been it. Jungkook told him some version of that every day, in front of and behind cameras.
The only difference, of course, was that this time they’d all, at some point, been thinking the same thing: what if we’ve already given our last live concert and we didn’t even realize at the time that it was the last one?
So, Jungkook had said, “Love you, hyung,” and Hoseok had thought, unbidden, What if it’s the last time he says that and I don’t even know it? What if I don’t even know it when the last time happens?
So, 20% sad.
Next to him, Jungkook leans against the counter and crosses his ankles. “You remember the other thing that happened in Brazil, then, right?”
“Other than you fucking my brain out for 12 hours straight?”
“Okay, I apologized and rubbed Vaseline on your chafed thighs for like, a week after that,” Jungkook protests, smiling. He shifts over to the fridge. “Is there fruit? Jimin sent me out here for fruit, actually,” he comments and then orbits back to drop a kiss on Hoseok’s bare shoulder, adding, “though, for the record, I was already coming out here to help you with the tea.”
“Noted,” Hoseok says. “I think there’s some in the fridge? There should be a platter from – yeah, there.”
“Anyway,” Jungkook says, balancing the tub of prepared fruit in the crook of his elbow and reaching for two of the tea mugs. “The other thing you’re forgetting is that the doctor was able to give me a shot of like extra strength suppressants the next day and I was fine. We had a great performance. Flawless, I think, is what you said. And my next rut wasn’t even that bad – like the rebound was manageable. You liked it, anyways, ‘cause that was the time we figured out I could —”
Hoseok shoves his hand against Jungkook’s mouth. “Okay! Okay, thank you. I see your point.”
Jungkook laughs. “You sure? I could go into more detail if you want, about like, the noises you made…”
Hoseok smiles prettily. “Oh, I think I hear Jimin calling for his fruit,” he says and neatly grabs the other two steaming mugs off the counter.
Later, in Jungkook’s room, after Jimin’s given them the full report (“Yoongi isn’t in heat, but he didn’t want to be alone either, but we can’t say that to him or near him or like acknowledge that he’s a person with feelings, I guess”) and with the taste of strawberries and peppermint tea on their tongues, Hoseok kisses him, soft and slow, against the bedroom door. It’s important, he thinks, for Jungkook to know: “80% happy, though, remember?”
Jungkook pulls back, looking at him. He takes a deep breath. He pinches his nose. “Hobi hyung,” he says, in this thick voice.
Oh, fuck, Hoseok thinks. “What? What?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “Hyung,” he says, making a rough noise in the back of his throat. “You’re so sexy when you’re good at math.”
They fall into the bed, laughing and kissing, and Hoseok isn’t sure how many times they’ve done this – just like this, with Jungkook giggling hotly between kisses – but that’s okay. It’s not the last time, either, not right now.