The first time Jimin whimpered “want you, hyung” into his ear, Namjoon knew there would be Consequences.
He may be an atheist, but Namjoon isn’t totally a nonbeliever. He believes in the tipping scales of the universe: a stroke of luck here means misfortune later on, a win in the present traded for a loss in the future. The score always gets evened. As Seokjin says, about Namjoon himself in fact, “God is fair.”
So Namjoon fully believes that, because he has received the gift of getting to kiss living human embodiment of cotton candy Park Jimin, there will eventually be a price to pay. He’s had a remarkable streak of luck so far: he didn’t fumble his words when he confessed his attraction, Jimin smiled dazzlingly instead of turning him down, they embraced in a loving kiss that was so good it made Namjoon’s foot want to pop. Everything’s been going perfectly. Too perfectly.
And now that Jimin’s ready to take their relationship to the next level, meaning Namjoon is going to lose his virginity on his birthday to the hottest and kindest man alive, Namjoon is on high alert for the other shoe to drop.
He doesn’t know what kind of magic Jimin pulled, but somehow through a combination of aegyo, begging, and straight up bullying, Jimin manages to clear out their entire dorm for the day. Taehyung and Jungkook are off eating somewhere with Yoongi, Hoseok is shopping, and Seokjin had just wiggled his eyebrows mysteriously when Namjoon asked his plans. They have the entire dorm to themselves for six delicious hours, during which Namjoon fully plans on losing every type of virginity a person can lose.
(He'd suggested he try giving Jimin a blowjob a few weeks ago, but Jimin had pouted and said he wanted to give Namjoon as many firsts as he could on his birthday, and Namjoon has never once been able to resist Jimin's whims when he's pouting.)
Namjoon wakes up the morning of his birthday and does a quick mental check-in with himself. His body feels good -- healthy, strong, literally brimming with untapped horny energy. He's excited and a little bit nervous, but he trusts Jimin to take good care of him and keep him from making too big a fool of himself. In the back of his mind, he's vaguely worried about the karmic ramifications of fucking Jimin and thus reaching the pinnacle of human achievement and happiness, but he figures he can at least enjoy his birthday luck before the universe decides to smack him back down again.
As he hears the unnecessarily loud sounds of the other boys leaving the dorm, Namjoon takes an extremely thorough shower and puts on his finest pair of sweatpants, the ones that make Jimin's hands stray to his thighs when they're sitting next to each other. He does his best to comb his hair into a style that says, "Yes, hello, I am a birthday boy and a sex-haver, nice to meet you." It doesn't look very different from his normal style, but it feels different.
He trots downstairs for breakfast and sees Seokjin, the last member to leave, slipping out the door. "You'll get your seaweed soup tonight, Namjoon-ah," Seokjin calls behind him.
My first seaweed soup as a non-virgin, Namjoon thinks. He can't wait.
The dorm is suspiciously quiet as Namjoon scarfs down some leftover takeout. He wipes his sweating palms on his thighs and wonders if Jimin is going to pounce on him from behind a corner or if he's meant to track his boyfriend down. He gets up and slowly meanders through the dorm, peeking around doors and fully expecting to get a surprise armful of beautiful boy. He doesn't get one, even when he barges his way into his own room hoping to see Jimin bundled up in his bed.
The only room left is Jimin and Hoseok's room, so Namjoon makes his way there, skin tingling in anticipation. He opens the door and the sight he finds is beyond anything he could have expected or asked for: Jimin, lying on his front on his bed in nothing but a snapback. His peachy ass looks like heaven; the sly smug look in his eyes looks like hell. It's all exceedingly perfect.
"Hi, hyung," Jimin says. His tone is one of unwavering confidence, which is a relief to Namjoon. Jimin's struggled with self-esteem -- they all have, especially pre-debut -- but now that he's had a few years of performing under his belt, his swagger has gotten more genuine and less put-on. He still lifts weights like a man possessed and wears clothes that toe the line between douche-y and sexy, but Jimin's edges are softer and more self-possessed now.
It makes sense, especially, that Jimin is confident now, in front of his neurotic virgin hyung. Jimin has made it perfectly clear that he's had at least a handful of sexual experiences and that his fuckboy outfits aren't just for show. He seems more than capable of teaching Namjoon a thing or two.
"Jimin," Namjoon says, barely able to get the name out without choking. Jimin's ass is just right there, next to his lean little waist and that's next to his sloped back, which is just below his muscled shoulders and his round biceps and then Namjoon's staring at his boyfriend's gorgeous face, free of makeup and full of light.
"Happy birthday," Jimin says with a cocky grin. He pushes himself up, arms bulging, and settles back on his haunches. The blankets under him are bunched up just enough that they cover his crotch, leaving just a tantalizing little dark trail of hair visible. Namjoon knows Jimin well enough to know that he probably practiced arranging the blanket until it was placed perfectly, and he finds it hopelessly endearing.
Jimin reaches his arms out to Namjoon and Namjoon stumbles his way over to the bed, sitting onto the bedspread heavily. He grins, probably dopily, at Jimin, and gets rewarded with a kiss. The sensual way Jimin grabs his jawline and holds him in place makes Namjoon feel very much like Jimin's in charge.
If this encounter was a porno, it would probably be called 'Young Fratty Twink Seduces Virgin Math Tutor.’ Namjoon would definitely watch it.
"Gonna take good care of you, okay hyung?" Jimin whispers against Namjoon's mouth. Namjoon nods with his eyes closed, surrendering to the firm embrace of Jimin's bulging arms. He knows Jimin has seen his porn history -- all the boys have -- which means Jimin knows he's got a thing for American frat porn and wore the snapback for him. Namjoon doesn't deserve a boyfriend this cutely erotic.
"You'll show me what to do?" Namjoon asks, more because it feels sexy coming out of his mouth than because he actually thinks he needs instruction. Jimin hums affirmatively and grabs Namjoon's ass with one of his small hands. Namjoon lets Jimin manhandle him; it's not hard, considering Jimin's got muscles to spare. With blind trust, Namjoon allows Jimin to tug him onto his tiny little twin bed. There's barely room for both of them, but that's okay.
"What have you been wanting to try first?" Jimin asks. He gestures to the planes of his chest like he's a visual menu of Namjoon's options. "I know you've been thinking about my mouth, so maybe I could..." He trails off, licking his tongue across his obscenely plump bottom lip.
"I actually want-- want to be inside you for the first time," Namjoon says haltingly. He thinks it sounds romantic, which is good, because he's mostly terrified of nutting two seconds after Jimin starts mouthing over his dick. Nutting after two seconds into Jimin's ass instead feels a little more forgivable.
Jimin gets a pleased Cheshire cat-like smile on his face, eyes heavy-lidded and nostrils flaring. He has the audacity to look flattered, even though he knows he's got Namjoon wrapped around his little finger. "Ambitious," he says fondly. "Here."
He guides Namjoon's fingers from his hip to between his asscheeks. Namjoon feels a cold jolt climb up his spine when his fingers meet wet soft openness instead of resistance. Jimin's rim gives under the slightest push as Namjoon dips his fingertip inside. Jimin wriggles, pushing his ass back against Namjoon's hand.
"I kind of thought this would be what you wanted," Jimin says. "Didn't want you to have to wait on your birthday."
"But making me wait for weeks before my birthday was okay?" Namjoon asks with a grin. There's no anger behind his words, just gentle teasing. Jimin laughs, clearly delighted with himself for tormenting Namjoon successfully.
"Well, duh, hyung, gotta make you work for it first," he murmurs into Namjoon's mouth. Namjoon can't even pout because his bottom lip is now being sucked into Jimin's mouth, but that's okay. He's a little distracted by the warm slide of Jimin's hole around his fingers.
"Seriously, though, you don't have to wait anymore," Jimin whispers after he releases Namjoon's now well-sucked lip. "You can just lube up and slide in, hyung. I'm all ready for you."
"Fuck, Jimin," Namjoon sighs. Each word is a shivery zap on his skin. Jimin is like a sparkler in his hands, bright and electric and hard to contain. He keeps kissing Jimin -- he feels like he can't pull away, because he's drowning in Jimin's lips. His fingers feel right inside his boyfriend. Finally Jimin tugs him away by the hair, and the sharp pain on his scalp makes Namjoon whimper.
"Seriously, that wasn't a request," Jimin says with a cocky grin. Sweat is starting to darken the hair that tufts out under his snapback. He's holding himself tight as a drum, and there's a manic energy coursing underneath his taut exterior. Namjoon realizes that Jimin is just as desperate as Namjoon feels, and he thanks the universe for bringing two insanely horny idiots together so serendipitously.
Even though it's not quite as romantic, Namjoon can't deny the appeal of just... pushing himself inside Jimin like a caveman. He figures there's time for finesse and sweetness later. Right now, Jimin wants to get Namjoon's dick wet, and Namjoon is loath to deny his boyfriend anything. He grabs the tube of lube that's been strategically placed on Jimin's bedside table and yanks his pants down to mid-thigh so he can squirt a cold drizzle directly onto his hard cock. He shivers at the feeling but it doesn't temper his arousal, because he's going to put his cock inside Park Jimin, and literally nothing could stop him.
He grabs the base of his cock in a too-tight grip and lets Jimin push him gently off the bed so he can rearrange. The bed seems too small for them to fuck comfortably in most positions, and they have the simultaneous revelation that another approach is necessary. Jimin drops down to his hands and knees and crawls along the bed until his ass is pointing at Namjoon. There's a little wet glimmer between his cheeks that catches the light. Namjoon stares at the curve of his muscular thighs and can't resist a quick pinch of one before he steps forward so he can align his dick with Jimin's hole.
A painful sting, like the smack of a rubber band but ten times worse, impacts against Namjoon's toe. He yelps confusedly and tries to hop away on instinct from whatever monster is clearly lurking under Jimin's bed trying to bite at his toes. He bounces on the ball of his uninjured foot, trying to ricochet backwards as quickly as possible. For one weightless moment, he thinks he's achieved the power of flight, and then he realizes he's not so much airborne as he is hurtling face-down towards the floor.
There’s a few impacts that follow Namjoon’s fall. He takes down the bookshelf on his way down, and the wooden frame bangs against his back with a painful smack. The books also tumble around his body, landing on his head and arms. All of these injuries, however, pale in comparison to the main one: Namjoon was hard when he fell face-first, and his extremely enthusiastic penis hit the ground first with a loud pop.
It’s all he can do, really, lying on the ground covered in books with his dick throbbing in pain beneath him. He’s too scared to move, terrified that if he shifts at all his penis will undoubtedly separate himself from his body. Visions of his broken dick, packing up a bindle and walking out on him, swim through his pain-addled mind.
He hears Jimin distantly yelling “Hyung! Namjoon-ah!” and Namjoon bemusedly thinks to himself that Jimin was supposed to be yelling his name for an entirely different reason today. He lies there, twitching as each breath sends rivulets of pain up his dick.
Though dazed, Namjoon feels when the books are lifted off of him and Jimin’s cool palm touches his forehead.
“Hyung!” Jimin yells again, directly into Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon grunts out something that’s not quite Korean. Little hands brush his shoulders and comb through his hair and then, slowly, Jimin wedges his hands under Namjoon’s arms and turns him over onto his back.
“I thought you died,” Jimin hisses balefully. “I thought my ass killed you, hyung.” His lower lip wobbles and his eyes mist over, a stark contrast to the snapback still perched on his head. He pats over Namjoon’s face and chest, giving his pecs a solid grope after he ascertains that Namjoon is, indeed, alive.
“Jimin,” Namjoon chokes out. “I think I need to go to the hospital.”
Jimin blinks and gropes Namjoon’s chest again, as if to say, but you’re fine?
Then his gaze slips downward, past Namjoon’s chest. His face goes white. Namjoon can’t see where he’s looking without sitting up, but he can imagine.
“I think you need to go to the hospital,” Jimin replies.
It’s a coordinated effort getting there. Jimin refuses to let Namjoon look at his penis, so Namjoon struggles back into his sexiest sweatpants with a little hand tightly clutching his chin and forcing it skyward. Jimin pulls some random clothes onto himself (the snapback sadly doesn’t make it into the ensemble) while yelling to their manager on speakerphone to take them to the hospital immediately. He refuses to explain anything deeper than “Namjoon-hyung’s hurt, hurry up.” The venom in his tone keeps their manager from asking further questions, and Namjoon feels immense relief that Jimin is taking charge like this.
Jimin stops in their miniscule kitchen on their way out the door and grabs a bag of frozen dumplings. He holds it out to Namjoon wordlessly. Namjoon holds it to his dick, taking in a quick inhale at the pain, and waddles out the door behind Jimin.
The ride to the hospital is silent – Jimin hisses behind his teeth when the manager tries to ask what happened – and brutally awkward. Jimin keeps rubbing Namjoon’s arm, trying to be sympathetic, but all Namjoon can focus on is the red-hot pulse of agony simmering between his thighs. He wants to sob and scream at the same time. He’s dealt with uncertainty before – he trained to debut, after all – but he’s never wondered if his literal dick is going to fall off.
It’s going to fall off before he gets a chance to put it in anybody, no less. Namjoon closes his eyes. For sale: virgin dick, never used.
“We’re here,” Jimin whispers, breaking Namjoon out of his poetic despair. Namjoon awkwardly navigates himself and his frozen dumplings through the waiting room and sits miserably with the manager while Jimin strides to the reception desk, occasionally gesturing as he explains the situation. Namjoon winces when he sees Jimin mime the way he’d splatted against the ground.
Finally, Namjoon’s brought back to an examination room and he’s instructed to change into a paper gown. He yanks his shirt off then pauses, fingertips resting on his waistband. He doesn’t want to see it. He keeps picturing a bloody dick stump, or a penis squished completely flat.
It can’t be helped. Namjoon grits his teeth and hooks his waistband out and down. The sight when he glances downward is enough to make him woozy and lean back against the examination table, because his dick is bent at an odd angle and there’s purple swelling under the head that makes him think of hemorrhaging. He wonders if there’s ever been a successful dick transplant. He’s semi-famous. Maybe a fan would donate a dick to him.
He pulls the paper gown on and soon the doctor, a cheerfully smiling middle-aged woman, bustles in. She takes in how he’s sitting ashen-faced, holding the gown away from his crotch.
“So why don’t you tell me what happened,” she says. Namjoon winces and nods.
When his (carefully gender-neutral) story is finished and she’s completed her gentle genital prodding, Namjoon receives a penile ultrasound, which was not exactly his ideal birthday gift. He does, however, receive the news that he doesn’t have a fracture, just severe bruising, and he will indeed be able to have sex.
In six weeks.
It honestly feels like she’s told him he only has six weeks to live.
After she’s finished explaining how to manage the swelling, has written him a prescription for some powerful painkillers, and booked his follow-up appointment, Namjoon limps back to the waiting room with the bag of soggy defrosted dumplings and stops dead in his tracks. There, clustered around Jimin, are the entirety of Bangtan Sonyeondan, each looking nauseous and miserable.
“Guys?” Namjoon says.
“Namjoon-ah!” Seokjin screams, and they launch themselves at him, though they show enough consideration to give his crotch a wide berth when they hug him.
“I brought you your soup,” Seokjin says and holds up a takeout container. “Don’t scare us like that!”
“You told them what happened?” Namjoon asks Jimin, taking the soup. He supposes soup and a dick that will eventually work are all he can ask for right now.
Jimin nods, lips twisted in contrition. “Didn’t have a choice. Jungkookie was about to start crying if I didn’t tell them.”
Namjoon can’t fault Jimin, then. He’d have done the same.
As they head back to the dorm, the members pester him with questions about the treatment plan and the pain he’s feeling. Taehyung mournfully delivers a little eulogy to ‘Fap Monster,’ and Namjoon laughs so hard he almost forgets the unnatural tightness and searing pain in his dick. (The key word being almost – he has a feeling the memory of it will stick with him long after he’s too old for his dick to work.)
They fuss over him as if he’s got the flu instead of a battered penis, making sure he’s situated comfortably on the couch and bringing him tea. Namjoon takes it all in stride, especially when Jimin plays along by draping himself over Namjoon’s side and pouting mournfully. “My boyfriend is so brave,” he tells them all with a wistful little sigh. “Injured in the line of battle.”
Namjoon enjoys the jokes, because they’re a welcome distraction, and it doesn’t even really hit him that he can’t have sex until Jimin’s crawling into his bed that night and sending him off to sleep with a sweet kiss instead of something a little more explicit. Namjoon groans when Jimin pulls away, but he supposes it’s better than making out and getting riled up only to be unable to do anything about it.
Namjoon’s got the next day off to rest, so he wakes up hours after the rest of the band is already off to dance practice. He stretches languidly. It feels pretty great to wake up well-rested for once until he sees the little note on his bedside table in Jimin’s unmistakeable handwriting: 42 days. Then the full weight of how long he has to wait hits him and he sits there dazed. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last.
He says as much to Jimin that night, when they’re cuddled up on the couch watching a drama. Jimin cards his fingers through Namjoon’s hair and says thoughtfully, “Oh, but you’ve made it this far already. I think you can last six more weeks.”
Namjoon frowns. “But I’m the horniest person I know.”
Jimin just looks at him, pink-cheeked, and smiles. “Yes,” he agrees. It doesn’t make Namjoon feel better.
What Namjoon realizes he failed to take into account is that, while he is absolutely the biggest horndog on the planet, Jimin is absolutely a close second. And right now, Jimin doesn’t have a dick injury holding him back.
Namjoon realizes he is well and truly fucked when the texts start coming.
They come at all hours, sometimes when Namjoon’s innocently eating breakfast, sometimes when he’s sitting across from Bang PD. He and Jimin had never texted much before (living in each other’s pockets tends to make that unnecessary) but now they’re a daily occurrence and they are seriously testing Namjoon’s limits.
The texts start tame, if a heavy-lidded Jimin selfie with toothpaste on his lip could be called tame. Namjoon can at least pretend that the seminal overtones of the picture are unintentional. But then Jimin does what he does best: he escalates.
Each image is paired with a cheery little message, like Jimin is sending Namjoon thirst traps for purely motivational purposes. A coy ass shot comes with “Have a great day today, hyung!” Frequently, the photos come with a scribbled-on number, as if Namjoon isn’t acutely aware of how many days he has left before his dick is back in commission.
Jimin suggests that they try to do non-sexy things together, like playing video games or going on long bike rides by the river, and Namjoon says yes, eager for the distraction. But, somehow, even the most innocuous activities end with Namjoon’s fists clenched and his brain a dizzy whorl of horned-up frustration. Jimin makes the breathiest whines when he’s losing in Mario Kart; Jimin’s ass taunts him as it flies past on a bicycle; Jimin turns cooking dinner into a finger-sucking marathon. It’s all a lot to handle. Namjoon is suffering.
And this brings Namjoon back to his belief in the karmic tipping scales of the universe. He’s lucky enough to love and be loved by Park Jimin – to fuck Park Jimin, eventually, if he doesn’t die first – so of course he’s suffering. It’s the price he pays. These six weeks, the longest weeks of Namjoon’s life, are simply the cross Namjoon has to bear.
No one just gets to fuck Jimin. They have to pay. And Namjoon is more than willing to pay his fair share.
He tries sharing his philosophy about this to Jimin, when they’ve got about two weeks of the countdown left, but Jimin just falls over laughing into his lap, exposing some toned tummy in the process. Namjoon doesn’t think he quite understands.
During the last week before Namjoon attains Total Dick Freedom, Jimin unleashes what can only be described as a campaign of sexual terrorism against Namjoon specifically. He starts sucking lollipops like it’s his job and he makes sure to give each one long, teasing licks. His jeans somehow get tighter, which Namjoon didn’t realize was physically possible, and all of his shirts seem to somehow slip off of a shoulder. Worst of all, Jimin starts asking Namjoon really in-depth questions about the books he’s reading and then sits there pawing at Namjoon’s thighs while he answers.
Namjoon has performed in countless shows and practiced for twelve hours straight but that last week is probably the most difficult week he’s ever lived through.
Finally, it’s Namjoon’s day of reckoning. Jimin offers to go with him to the doctor for his follow-up appointment but Namjoon waves him off, insisting he can go alone. The atmosphere in the dorms is tense as Namjoon heads for the door, and he feels a little like a man about to be put on trial.
The doctor greets him, and Namjoon expects some sort of vigorous test or maybe some archaic-looking tools. Instead, she just takes a quick glance at his penis, does some quick rummaging around down there, and proclaims him very much good to go.
“Bet you’re relieved, huh?” She jokes with him.
“You have no idea,” Namjoon says faux-casually with a little laugh. He shoves his hands in his pockets, worried he’s going to vibrate out of his skin if he’s not careful. He sends a quick thumbs up to the Bangtan group chat – it’s met with an explosion of celebratory gifs – and then he’s on his way back to the dorms.
He expects the rest of the band to have cleared out by the time he gets back; after all, they owe him and Jimin a redo, don’t they? But instead they’re all gathered in the living room with party hats on, waving streamers and noise makers. Hoseok starts a big whooping cheer and the rest join in while Namjoon stands blankly in the doorway.
“Happy birthday, hyung!” Jimin yells, running up to give him a hug. Namjoon accepts the hug, briefly wondering if perhaps the last six weeks were some sort of sick dream and today is actually his birthday.
“We thought you deserved another celebration,” Seokjin says. “Plus we got you a belated gift.”
“A gift?” Namjoon asks. Sure enough, Jungkook is gleefully bringing over a large box that’s been haphazardly wrapped. “You guys already got me stuff for my real birthday, though.”
“It’s just a token of appreciation,” Taehyung says. “To show how grateful we are for you. Also we kind of wish you’d had these six weeks ago.”
Namjoon furrows his brows in confusion but takes the box. He digs his fingertips into the wrapping and pulls it free, conscious of everyone’s eyes on him. When he digs the tabs of the box open, he freezes for a second, then bursts into a belly laugh.
Tucked into the box are matching knee and elbow pads and a bright red helmet.
“You guys,” he gasps out, but he can’t stop laughing and the laughter is contagious. Jimin does a full 360 degree twirl from the force of his laugh and Yoongi’s entire gums are visible. Taehyung knees his way up the couch into Namjoon’s space and insists on helping him put the protective equipment on, fussing with the buckles and straps until Namjoon is decked out in colorful plastic.
“Do I look sexy?” Namjoon asks, which sets Jimin off laughing again.
“Sexiest I’ve ever seen you,” Jimin replies through his giggles, and next thing Namjoon knows he’s being hauled out of the room by a tiny handsome force of nature. They’re followed by shouts of “Hwaiting!” and “Happy birthday!” as Jimin tugs them into his bedroom.
Jimin doesn’t usually use his strength on Namjoon so it’s a surprise when he pushes him directly onto the bed and then clambers onto his lap with the ferocity of a feral cat. “Whoa,” Namjoon gasps, pleased.
Maybe if they hadn’t had to wait the extra six weeks, there would’ve been a bit more finesse, a little more romance. Maybe they could’ve exchanged steamy I-love-yous while kissing each other into oblivion. Maybe it could’ve been an utterly serious, extremely sensual experience.
But instead, Jimin yanks Namjoon’s clothes off and then insists on putting the elbow and knee pads back on despite Namjoon’s protests. Instead, Jimin positions Namjoon until he’s sitting up against the wall, as far from the edge of the bed as possible. Instead, Jimin gives Namjoon’s cock feather-light touches while he prepares himself, refusing to get any rougher in case he hurts Namjoon again.
It’s not the first time Namjoon had pictured, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Jimin sets his mouth onto Namjoon’s neck and doesn’t let up, trailing sharp kisses and sucks onto his collarbones and chest that’ll linger for days. It feels like another bonus birthday gift.
Jimin lets a long, glistening string of saliva dribble past his lips and onto Namjoon’s cock and the wet sensation makes Namjoon throw his head back. His helmet thunks loudly against the wall.
“See, aren’t you glad you’re wearing that?” Jimin asks, and before Namjoon can respond, Jimin’s got his cock in a vice grip and is slowly lowering himself down onto it.
“Guh,” Namjoon says eloquently. Jimin’s ridiculously tight and wet around his cock, squeezing in rhythmic clenches that make him stutter his hips up without thinking. Jimin hisses but takes the thrusts as they come.
Jimin moves in bed like he moves onstage, but it’s a thousand times more intimate. When he leans back on his hands to ride Namjoon, throwing his hipbones in stark relief, Namjoon can tell that this is a private performance for him alone. Jimin clutches him by the jaw and exhales hotly into his mouth as he rides Namjoon and it feels staggeringly intimate, enough that Namjoon forgets he’s covered in bike gear.
Namjoon doesn’t come immediately, which he’s pretty proud of, but he doesn’t last long either. He figures Jimin can’t blame him, though, after what he’s been through. He plants his feet onto the bedspread and jackrabbits up into his boyfriend, shivering from the combination of tight heat and slick kisses.
It’s only another few moments before he’s tumbling over the edge and emptying himself inside Jimin, and in his post-nut daze he has just enough coherence to be endeared by Jimin’s pleased little hum.
His whole body is jelly afterwards, and he trips over his own feet when he gets off the bed so he can go down on his boyfriend. Jimin lets out a shocked yelp, then smacks Namjoon on the arm.
“Don’t scare me like that,” he hisses, and then immediately relaxes into a moan as Namjoon presses his mouth to his cock.
Afterwards, when they’re lying together in tangled sheets and Namjoon’s still wearing half the pads, Jimin turns over with an evil glint in his eye.
“How would you feel about edging?”