Chapter Text
🥂🍾🎊
It begins with a taunt.
A few weeks in, his inclusion into the relationship is novel, still feels fresh—enough that Jungkook, regrettably, has yet to get his mouth on Taehyung, at least in the way he wants.
Not for lack of trying, in his impassioned defense. But this—thing—whatever it could be called—is new enough that they’re still yanking each other aside wherever and whenever they can get away with it, hot-blooded for the quick and easy. It serves itself up as a thrill, one that demands they rush to feel the rush, stumbling into whatever closet or corner or bathroom stall will have them and fumbling to undress for sloppy stolen moments. It’s exciting—Jungkook doesn’t think he’s ever liked anyone so much, let alone two people at once—but it’s a newer dynamic, one that has yet to evolve into the kind of care with which Jungkook would like to take or be taken apart.
It’s with that well in mind that Jimin taunts him. Almost openly, were anyone at the party listening a little closer.
They’re off to the side of it all, no one paying much attention. Cozied together on a sofa that might be older than Jungkook himself, the kind with cushions that sink in the center and force its occupants to awkwardly fall into one another. Any eyes that wander to them might move on after a few disinterested seconds; they’re clearly close, comfortable with the contact. Their shoulders pressed, Taehyung in the center, far enough away from the rest of the party that no one looks closely enough to see the way his nails are dug into his thighs.
“I mean, he’s just so fuckin’ big, Jungkook ah,” Jimin is sighing secretively between them. Taehyung practically glows with the flush he’s had for a half-hour, blood and liquor and lust. “Like, stupid big. Can barely get your mouth around it.”
His hands gesture an exaggerated approximation. When they drop, one lands on Taehyung’s leg, slipping far enough down on his inner thigh that Taehyung could trap his hand were he to squeeze his legs together.
He looks like he’d like to, if it wouldn’t draw more attention to them. They like to think they’re getting better at hiding things like this, though Jungkook would argue they’ve always been shit at it, even before two turned into three. It’s a kind of art, curling close enough to be suspicious but moving slowly enough to avoid drawing further attention. The sort of playbook Jimin’s subterfuge falls under, talking with his hands enough that no one notices now that one has fallen to stroke Taehyung’s inner thigh with lazy intent.
When they’d picked him up, Jungkook had teased him, calling the uncharacteristic shorts a choice in the dead of winter. He’s starting to think it may have been more of a choice than he’d realized. Taehyung’s thighs look like heaven, his legs spread just-so apart.
“I mean, I had to get used to it, y’know?” Jimin keeps going, chatting as casually as though he’s talking about a new workout routine and not sucking his boyfriend’s dick. He’s got a filthy mouth, appalling if he’s allowed to really get into it, and it’s always delivered in the softest, sweetest lilt, angelic enough to make Jungkook’s head spin.
“Jimin,” Taehyung mutters a strangled warning. His face is relaxed and open and easy—it’s a party, after all—but his voice is strained, belying tension. A few seconds later someone passes, wandering eyes wandering by and down the hall. Jungkook is reminded that they’re no more than a few feet from most of their friends, the music and conversation of the few-dozen mingling bodies only just loud enough to cover them.
Jungkook knows Jimin too well to think almost being caught might deter him. If anything he’s twice as excited once the person passes, though Jungkook can’t deny a heat itching under his own skin at the idea of being noticed. Jimin leans further in, a glint in his eyes.
“Honestly! First time he dropped his pants I almost didn’t know what to do,” he exaggerates a low whine, hand inching closer up Taehyung’s thigh with each word. “S’too hot, really, too much. He makes you work for it, right, you think there’s no way that’s gonna fit but you want it so damn bad you try too hard and choke yourself on it—”
“Jimin,” Taehyung groans, face getting redder. Jimin’s fingers brush too far up, under the hem of his shorts, and Taehyung clamps a steeled grip of a hand on Jimin’s wrist in warning.
“Let me play,” Jimin says, halfway between a pout and an order.
His free hand pinches Taehyung’s forearm, and Jungkook watches Taehyung hiss out a breath between gritted teeth, fighting back the pain as long as he can—a valiant thirty seconds before his face twists in a grimace and he snatches his hand back, freeing Jimin’s. A muffled curse slips out under his breath as he rubs at the reddened skin.
“Thank you,” Jimin says primly, patting Taehyung’s thigh like a particularly obedient dog’s head. “Now, where was I?”
“I have seen it, you know,” Jungkook mumbles, feeling dizzy. And, somehow, defensive. “His dick, I mean.”
“Haven’t had it in your mouth yet, though,” Jimin shrugs. And then his eyes fix right onto Jungkook’s, predator locking onto prey, all too knowing when he smiles and says, “Just not up to the challenge, I guess.”
Jungkook’s ears feel hot. “Would have had him in my mouth the first time we hooked up, asshole, if you’d have been able to stop slobbering over it for even a minute—”
“Please don’t fight over my dick,” Taehyung sounds pained. “Somehow it’s even worse than whatever you were doing before.”
Pressed on either side of him, a metaphorical angel and devil slumping ungracefully into his shoulders—and Jungkook has zero reservations casting Jimin as the latter in this moment—they both glance down between them. Taehyung squirms under their gaze, the bulge at his crotch getting a little too obvious the longer it goes on. Embarrassingly, Jungkook’s mouth almost waters.
Jimin’s on a similar wavelength. “God, you’re so hot it’s unfair,” he groans, shoving at Taehyung’s chest in a poorly-disguised attempt to feel him up. Jungkook eyes the not-so-subtle groping of Taehyung’s chest, but privately he agrees with the sentiment: it should be impossible for someone to look this good in an oversized fuzzy sweater and cargo shorts, thick-rimmed glasses framed by soft dark curls and that damn near perfect face. The sweater only makes matters worse when Jungkook rereads it, a bold all-caps declaration, I CONCEIVE ON NEW YEAR’S EVE!
In fairness, Jimin’s choice of top might be even worse. Jungkook really can’t decide. I ❤️ COCKtails is emblazoned across his chest, the last bit of the word half the size of the rest of the text. The heart flakes glitter off with his every move, and when Jungkook imagines someone following a trail of red sequins like breadcrumbs to wherever they end up sneaking off to tonight, he can’t bite back a snort.
“What’s so funny, huh,” Jimin huffs. “You’re the one that’s drooling.”
Jungkook has to resist the impulse to check. He knows he’s not, but he also knows he might as well be, with how clearly he’s indicated his interest. “I’m just starting to think you two planned this.”
“What? Never,” Jimin bats his eyelashes, fingers slipping that much further up under the hem of Taehyung’s shorts. Taehyung is doing an impressive job of ignoring it, but the glance down gives him away. Jungkook would hand him a pillow for his lap if it wouldn’t just call more attention to them.
“People are gonna see,” Jungkook breathes the warning, but he can’t even fool himself into pretending he cares. Clearly it’s not believable to his boyfriends, either; Taehyung gives a resigned half-shrug, Jimin’s eyes light up at the prospect.
“What are they gonna see, Jungkook?” Jimin asks, almost innocent, if Jungkook didn’t know any better. “S’not like you’re on your knees in front of the couch. We’re just talking.”
“Talking,” Taehyung repeats dubiously.
Jungkook barely hears him. He’s already thinking about it, imagination miles ahead, picturing himself dropping to his knees in front of the sofa and getting Taehyung in his mouth to give him what he deserves with less than half a thought left for the rest of the party’s reaction.
He thinks Jimin might be able to tell, judging from his smirk as he eyes the flush creeping up Jungkook’s neck, but two can play at that game.
“Bet you’d love to see me there,” Jungkook taunts right back, his voice hoarse. He licks over his lips, watches both his boyfriends’ eyes fall to the motion, the tug of two lip rings and his gaze lidding to fix down with lust. “You’ve thought about it, right? It’s why you’re so desperate to see it now.”
“Who could blame me?” Jimin complains, loudly enough they get a glance over from the nearest group. He ignores them shamelessly, only lowering his voice to add, “Fuck, we should have sat at the table. Bet you could crawl right under that shitty party tablecloth and no one would notice.”
“No one would notice, right by the kitchen?” Taehyung tries to scoff, but he sounds affected too, low voice breathy and pitching into a higher tremble with arousal.
“Maybe they would, then,” Jimin isn’t deterred. He bites his lip in a smile, a schoolboy swapping secrets, or a playground challenge: “Fuck it, that’s hotter. Would love for someone to come ask us where you went, Jungkook. Bet you wouldn’t even skip a beat, you’d be so eager. Picture that, huh? Sitting nice and quiet and hidden away, under the table between his legs… drooling on his cock, listening to our excuses... Would only be a little white lie when we said we hadn’t seen you in a bit.”
“Fuck,” Jungkook can’t keep it from slipping out under his breath. Taehyung looks like he agrees, caught in the crossfire and starting to squirm more and more under Jimin’s prying hand.
“Don’t think I’d let you try to speed up and get off easy, either, nuh uh,” Jimin shakes his head. A minute ago, Jungkook would have called it impossible for Jimin’s expression to get any more smug, and yet Jimin’s smirk intensifies before his eyes. “I think you’d look too pretty on your knees to let you do anything else for a good long while. Warming his cock ‘til you’ve got a lapful of spit, listening to us talk and kiss and tease about our plans for the night like you aren’t there.”
Jungkook does imagine it. The weight on his knees, the ache in his jaw, cock hanging heavy and throbbing for touch between his legs. He shudders despite himself.
“I’d have to get mean, just ‘cause you like it so much,” Jimin’s sigh is singsong, playing at a resignation he clearly doesn’t feel. “Scold you for teasing him, like it’s not exactly what I told you to do. Push your head down on him, tell you to be nice and suck it properly—he’s been good, why don’t you think he deserves to feel good?”
Jimin drops his voice to a whisper when someone passes by a little too close. He’s no longer bothering to stop or change topics when it happens, and one of them should probably remind him they don’t actually want any of their friends to be subjected to their antics any more than they already have been, but both Jungkook and Taehyung are fixed on his words.
“Could I,” Jungkook swallows, and amends. “Would you let me touch myself?”
“Jesus,” Taehyung mutters. If his voice gets any more strained, Jungkook is going to worry about his vocal cords. Or blood pressure. If Jungkook looks at Taehyung’s lap again, he isn’t confident he’ll have the self control not to drop to his knees right here, right now, in front of the entire room.
Jimin’s lazy smile turns catlike. “Hm. Maybe,” he pretends to consider, tapping his chin thoughtfully. His other hand remains on Taehyung’s thigh, fingers soothing tantalizing circles just under the hem of those damn shorts. “Not at first. You’d know what you were there for, right?”
More than anything, Jungkook wants him to continue, wants to keep hearing the spell those sinful lips so easily weave around the three of them. He’s been a part of whatever this is now, though, and known Jimin for longer, to understand—this, too, is a game. Dangling a prize over him, making him earn it; in the subtlest way possible, Jimin wants him to beg.
Jimin, he’s learned, likes to make him work for it. Luckily, Jungkook enjoys a good challenge even more than he enjoys giving head.
“Of course,” he manages, marveling that his voice comes out as cleanly as it does. There’s just a subtle shake to it, only made audible by dropping it so low. Almost competitive, “To make Taehyung feel good.”
Taehyung makes a low noise, more of a keen than anything. Jimin ignores the plea, eyes glittering.
“Good,” he all but purrs. “You know you wouldn’t be under there for yourself. But… I’d consider letting you touch yourself. Maybe when you’re desperate enough. When you’re wound up so tight that a few words could tip you over the edge, I’d step on your cock to check if you’re hard enough to earn it. Let you try to grind up into the pressure, hump my shoe if you wanna be touched so bad.”
Jungkook’s head spins to imagine it, heat surging downwards. The seat of his pants is suddenly tighter.
Taehyung distracts, his nails leaving imprints in his bared thighs. “I’m,” he tries through gritted teeth. “Can we go?”
“Have some patience,” Jimin has the audacity to pout at him, and then double-takes. “And try to look a little less fucked up. If you can. People are gonna look over when we get up.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Taehyung hisses, glaring down at his lap.
Still lightheaded, Jungkook recovers enough to roll his eyes. His voice betrays his daze. “They’re gonna know no matter what. Grown men don’t go to the bathroom together.”
“We do,” Taehyung tears his eyes away from his crotch with a hurt frown.
“Yeah, to hook up,” Jungkook snorts and gestures to the wider room with a hopefully not-too-noticeable tremble in his fingers. “You don’t think they’ve figured it out?”
“The effort makes the difference,” Jimin defends. “We try to be discreet.”
Jungkook squints. “I’m not sure you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Can we please,” Taehyung buries his face in his hands, voice coming out muffled through the exasperated massage. Heavy with implication: “Talk about this somewhere else?”
“I’d love to, darling, but I don’t think Jungkook will be doing much talking once we get you alone.”
“I hate you,” Jungkook doesn’t bother to deny it. Like every time before, he gives in, “How are we doing this?”
Jimin thinks. “Pace it out. You go first.”
“What, and you follow? Even though I never come back?”
“Exactly,” Jimin has the audacity to reach over and boop his nose. Jungkook bats it away, trying to look annoyed, but his heart is pounding in his chest and he knows it’s showing on his face. “In fact, I like that best. Waiting on your knees, ready to get used.”
“Fuck,” Taehyung groans again. “Just pick a place before I finish right here.”
“Fine,” Jungkook surrenders, unwilling to wait any longer, especially not armed with those two images. He speaks quickly, voice dropping even lower. “Where do I go?”
“Upstairs bathroom, second door on the left,” Jimin answers promptly. He’d ‘gone to the bathroom’ soon after they’d first arrived, his usual scouting tactic. “The downstairs one is getting all the traffic, almost no one’s gone up the stairway. I’ve been watching.”
“Of course you have,” Jungkook tries to snark, but its bite is absent when he’s this eager. He stands, but before he can move much farther, Jimin catches him with a hand grabbing the hem of his shirt.
When Jungkook sees Jimin’s smirk, he considers ignoring him and brushing past, but just over a month into this relationship he has yet to learn his lesson. He’s not sure he ever will. He leans down.
“We’ll knock five times,” Jimin murmurs. Okay, so, useful info for once, not just a last comment to fuck with him—Jungkook feels guilty he considered ignoring Jimin. Until Jimin adds, always so sweet, “Remember how we want to find you. I presume we’ll be able to follow the trail of drool.”
“Fuck you,” Jungkook sighs, and straightens before he can hear Jimin’s answer to that. He’s pretty sure he knows what it would be, anyway.
🥂🍾🎊
The bathroom is right where Jimin said it would be. It’s nice, nicer than their last indiscretion like this. Clean, at least, and spacious enough to allow for limited movement. Probably one of the things Jimin had looked for. It’s a bonus, and they’re not always so lucky. Yesterday had been a closet with barely enough room to turn around, and in their desperate attempt to slot together Jungkook had tripped over a shoe and thudded into the wall. They’d stumbled out of the closet and back into the thick of Taehyung’s own birthday party with averted eyes and swollen lips, Jungkook’s more due to his face smacking into drywall than the action he’d attempted to get in on. (Though, in his boyfriends’ defense, they’d more than made up for it later.)
Once inside the bathroom Jungkook locks the door behind him, and rummages through cupboards until he finds a stack of folded towels. He throws down two for his knees, and kneels with a huff. He keeps his hands loose at his sides—he considers touching himself but thinks better of it when he remembers Jimin’s taunts, closing his eyes and letting his imagination do the work.
There’s not much left to the imagination at this point between them, aside from this, and his mind conjures up such a picture-perfect rendering of Taehyung’s body—one part in particular—that the vision is more than enough to keep the fire stoked.
He doesn’t count the minutes, but he knows he only waits a few. He expected no more than ten, and it’s definitely nowhere near that much later that five deliberate knocks sound on the door. Jungkook leans over to flip the lock and settles back on his heels.
“I think I bought us fifteen minutes,” Jimin says, words tumbling out in a rush as he and Taehyung crowd into the bathroom and close the door behind. “Hope you’re up to the challenge.”
The lock re-clicks. Jungkook notes two things. The first: the bathroom he’d noted as spacious is suddenly much smaller with three bodies crammed into it. Second: Jimin has learned how to work him up all-too-well. The idea of a challenge does something wicked to the heat simmering under his skin. He might actually be drooling, and if he isn’t already he’s certain it’s only a matter of a few minutes more.
Fifteen minutes. It’s not quite the first time he’s pictured, the slow tease and build he’d like to give his boyfriend, but it does make things interesting, in a way he should probably feel some sort of guilt for. All he can feel, though, is a heady excitement buzzing in his chest, a drunken dizziness he can see echoed in his boyfriends’ eyes. Particularly Taehyung’s, who looks one strong breeze away from finishing the game early.
“I won’t need it,” Jungkook says confidently, setting his chin in a defiant challenge of his own. “That’s more than enough time for me.”
Jimin looks satisfied with the cocksure assurance. Even moreso when Jungkook grabs Taehyung’s hip and tugs him closer. “Get to it, then.”
“As soon as you get these damn shorts out of my way,” Jungkook mutters, shaking hands fumbling the zipper. “C’mon. I wanna see it.”
“You’ve seen it a dozen times,” Taehyung mutters, rocking his hips forward impatiently.
Jungkook isn’t listening. He’s staring at Taehyung’s cock, sprung free, thick and hard and waiting for him. Without anything else in the way. No underwear. Jungkook battles through the static filling his brain to haltingly manage: “Fucking knew you two planned this.”
“It was going to happen either way,” Taehyung retorts. “You know us, I’m just saving laundry—oh fuck—”
Aware of the ticking clock, and quite frankly unable to resist any longer, Jungkook wastes no further time wrapping his mouth around the head of Taehyung’s cock and spiking his tongue into the slit. Taehyung hisses through his teeth, one of his hands flying up to grip into Jungkook’s hair.
Jungkook appreciates the sting at his scalp. He can feel the weight of Jimin’s gaze on him, but Jungkook ignores it to focus on his goal. He flicks his eyes up to Taehyung in the way he knows looks good, wide and pretty and fixed upwards in worship. Taehyung meets his gaze with blown pupils, a heat flushed in his cheeks.
“You look so pretty for us, hyung,” Jungkook rasps when he slides off with a pop, hand dancing up to fist Taehyung’s cock in his absence.
“Thanks,” Taehyung sounds dazed. His hand is gentle in Jungkook’s hair, but it trembles like he wants more, wants to grab Jungkook and force him back down. Jungkook wants it too, and he makes sure to catch Taehyung’s eyes when he sticks his tongue out and takes his boyfriend back into his mouth, making a show of rolling back his eyes and moaning low in pleasure. Taehyung’s hand spasms in his hair, hips stuttering. “I—ah, shit—”
“Give him a moment to get used to it, baby,” Jimin teases, slinging an arm over Taehyung’s shoulders and smacking a sloppy kiss to his cheek.
Jungkook hollows his cheeks, eyes closing, savoring the heavy weight and warmth and taste heady on his tongue. He bobs his head with pursed lips, knowing his lip rings can be felt with each tantalizing drag on skin. He only blinks open his eyes again when he lets Taehyung’s cock slip free to mouth down its length instead, nuzzling close and offering into skin, “Don’t bother,” his voice thick to his own ears. “S’like you said, Jimin. You wanna choke yourself on it.”
Taehyung muffles a curse into his fist. Jimin’s eyes alight, and he purrs, “Do it, then. Is that the best you can manage? C’mon, get it down. I thought you wanted to make him feel good.”
That competitive edge sharpens. Jungkook narrows his eyes and doubles his efforts, tongue laving along the underside as he works to take more and more of Taehyung’s dick into his mouth. And Jimin may be a lot of things, a goddamn siren foremost among them, but he wasn’t a liar—Jungkook can feel the pleasant stretch at the corners of his mouth, his jaw already beginning to ache with effort.
The struggle only makes it sweeter. He’s nothing if not persistent, pushing himself down further, inch by inch. Tears sting at his eyes, and through fluttering lashes he looks up to watch them watching him. Arm still slung over Taehyung’s shoulders, Jimin rests his head against Taehyung’s and looks down, eyes dark with barely concealed interest. In contrast Taehyung’s are glassy with arousal, and Jungkook’s pride swells to be watched so intently by them both.
He fuels himself imagining the moment Taehyung loses the last of his control. He ignores all strain, more desperate to feel Taehyung fill his mouth than he is to draw breath—and he’s rewarded for his effort with the sharp gasp that rips from his boyfriend’s lips when Jungkook succeeds, closing watery eyes to feel Taehyung’s cock pulse at the back of his throat.
For a moment he stays there, savoring the feeling as long as possible. He can feel his chin wet, spit slicking his lips and filling his mouth, every inch heavy on his tongue. Jungkook grunts around the length, satisfaction flooding his veins to push past limits and prove himself and rise to a challenge and finally, finally feel Taehyung’s cock twitch on his tongue like he’s dreamed of.
The tip of his nose just barely brushes Taehyung’s abdomen, and then Jungkook pulls off with a small pop of suction, wet smearing under his eyes and a watery cough spasming in his throat. “Fuck,” he sucks in a gasp, keeping one hand gripped around the base. Taehyung’s hips rock forward to fuck it, spit slicked along his length and stuttering out a wordless demand for more. Jimin claps a hand over Taehyung’s mouth before it can get too loud.
“That’s better,” Jimin plays at the same bait he’s dangled, but there’s too much hunger and pride glittering in his eyes for Jungkook to feel anything but victory. “Thought you’d never get it down.”
“Looks like I’m doing just fine,” Jungkook rasps. He jerks his chin up in a nod to Taehyung, who doesn’t look like he’ll last much longer. Jungkook keeps his fist curled loose around Taehyung’s cock, pleasure thrumming through him. “You jealous I’m not giving you the same attention, or jealous you’re not in my place?”
“What did I say,” Taehyung manages a strangled moan, muffled behind Jimin’s hand. “About fighting over my dick.”
“Oh, but darling, it’s so worth fighting for,” Jimin whispers. And then his free hand fists in Jungkook’s hair, opposite Taehyung’s own grip and twice as rough. “Too bad we gotta be quick, hm? Dick this nice deserves some time taken. Don’t you think so, Jungkook?”
Jungkook hisses as Jimin uses the grip in his hair to make him nod, but he’d be lying if he said the force was unwelcome. There’s a strain at the seat of his own pants, and there’s an intense allure to the way Jimin’s breathing has grown almost as ragged as Taehyung’s, his gaze dark with desire. Jungkook knows he’s pushing Jimin to the edge too, albeit indirectly, and can only begin to dream of the reward he’ll be able to demand later.
Unsure how long it’s been or how long they have left—and his boyfriends seem even less concerned with time—Jungkook leans back to lick up the length. Before he can lower himself back down, though, he’s stopped by the hand in his hair, stinging at his scalp, and glares up with a reproachful grunt.
It’s not him being teased this time, though. Jimin’s gaze has shifted to Taehyung, eager and calculating at once to watch the way Taehyung whines in protest, his hips circling forward. “C’mon, please, what the hell, please—”
“Just wanted to hear you ask nicely. It’s important to remember your manners,” Jimin says sweetly. He yanks back Jungkook’s head, loosening his other arm from Taehyung’s shoulder to hook a thumb in the side of Jungkook’s mouth instead and lean down. “Tongue out.”
Jungkook lolls it out in a second, keeping his eyes fixed up obediently. If he’s not mistaken, Taehyung’s own jaw slackens automatically, lips parting as if to obey too, but Jungkook misses the moment when his eyes roll back to feel Jimin spit on his tongue. Arousal burns thicker. He barely has time to process it before he’s shoved back down on Taehyung’s cock, all the way down, too-deep too-fast and his throat spasming in protest. The tip pokes back too far, and Jungkook’s chest seizes, valiantly swallowing back a gag. Even that is worth it to see the way Taehyung reacts, to both the wet warmth of Jungkook’s mouth and the pressure wrapping right where it feels best.
“This is okay, right?” Jimin asks, too casually. He gives Jungkook’s head a shake, pressing him down further until his nose is no longer brushing but pressed into the soft give of Taehyung’s stomach, nearly retching. Heat pools at the base of his spine and pulses through his cock, and Jungkook wonders, absently, if he might come from this if given enough time. “Does it hurt like I promised?”
Jungkook’s chest convulses in another strangled attempt for air. This time a string of spit follows him off Taehyung's cock, snapping only when he bends in half to cough. He sniffles once, swallowing too much. Only takes a second to recover before glaring back up with watering eyes, “Doesn’t hurt enough.”
His hoarse challenge elicits a proud hum from Jimin, and another groan from Taehyung. The latter’s hand moves instinctually to finish the job, and Jimin and Jungkook move as one to slap it away. “Fuck off,” Taehyung groans, thrusting his hips forward again.
“I don’t think you’d be very happy if I did,” Jungkook can’t resist croaking, grinning stupidly up at them. Pride and desire surge in tandem in his chest, and it makes him more snide than usual. “I’d think that’s the last thing you’d want, actually.”
“Finish the fucking job or let me do it—”
And then the doorknob wiggles.
They fall immediately, comically silent. Paralyzed—at least for a few seconds, and then Jimin catches Jungkook’s eye, tipping his head in clear indication. Jungkook’s grin returns.
Taehyung’s eyes shoot open, shaking his head in warning, mouthing something that might be don’t you fucking dare if Jungkook were bothering to read his lips. If Jungkook weren’t already wrapping his lips back around the head of Taehyung’s cock, one curled fist jerking the length lazily and his other palm cupping Taehyung’s balls. Taehyung stuffs a fist into his mouth to muffle his reaction, but silently Jimin pulls his hand away, replacing it with his own fingers. They splay on Taehyung’s tongue, pressing down and back harsh enough to make him drool and fight back a gag of his own.
Jungkook forgets to listen for footsteps walking away, and once again finds he can’t even pretend to care. A rush flushes through him at Jimin’s next words.
“Do you think you can take him?” Jimin murmurs, its intent clear. His voice has broken into the lower, raspy register Jungkook adores, seductive enough to send a shiver down his spine. Jungkook’s own arousal doubles, swelling in him like a tide. “I wanna watch him use your mouth, baby, wanna watch him fuck your face, can I see?”
The thrill speeds Jungkook’s pulse. “Fuck. Yeah, yes. Please.”
He lets himself be guided. Jimin’s grip softens from a fist in his hair to a hand on his head, between the back of his skull and the wall, angling Jungkook forward just enough to create more of a straight line down his throat. Taehyung braces his hands on the wall behind Jungkook, steadying himself.
The rock of his hips is easy to take—at first. Taehyung is careful for as long as he can be, but he’d been trapped and teased in between them for almost an hour, and his self control stretches thin in no time at all. His thrusts start to get sloppier, more forceful, a steady rhythm to chase the heat of his mouth that makes Jungkook burn in turn. Taehyung pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in to the base, nearly eliciting another gag.
Jungkook squirms and pants under it, until he can’t any longer, drowning in lust and the wet sounds of his mouth getting fucked. He can’t help a little moan slipping free with each thrust, the sound of it getting louder and more obscene each time the pace picks up. Taehyung’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he fucks Jungkook’s face with increasing intensity, movements becoming more urgent, more insistent, and it’s all Jungkook can do to—
“Take it,” Jimin whispers, palming himself with a trembling hand, eyes fixed on the length of Taehyung’s cock pistoning into Jungkook’s mouth. Jungkook struggles to swallow, body starting to buzz but still determined. He thinks, absently, his throat will be sore tomorrow, but right now he couldn’t care less in the face of making his boyfriend feel good, letting Taehyung use his mouth like a fleshlight. He can hear Taehyung's breaths quickening, a pattern Jungkook has learned to hone in on in the last few weeks. “He’s so close, sweetheart, you’re doing so good, love watching you take it, take it for—”
A knock on the door.
Taehyung’s hips stutter to a halt. They wait in silence, Jungkook feeling dizzy to be frozen with cock stuffing his mouth, filling him to a stretch of his lips and an ache in his jaw. Cockwarming, Taehyung’s dick twitching on his tongue, torn from the edge. Dazedly Jungkook laps at the underside, ignoring Taehyung’s muffled gasp and frantic hand wave.
There’s no footsteps leading away. Only another knock, and Jimin elbows Taehyung. It’d be cruel if it didn’t do something so sickly sweet to all three of them, the tension in the cramped bathroom thickening as Taehyung tries to take a shuddered breath, managing, “J-Just—Just a minute.”
The moment of prep did nothing for him. He sounds appropriately wrecked, half his cock still sheathed in Jungkook’s mouth. It’s so fucking over, Jungkook thinks with fond resignation, and a lack of remorse that should probably concern him.
They’re bad influences, his boyfriends. Terrible, really. Because when Jungkook looks up through watering eyes to catch Jimin’s heavy gaze, he reads the same desire there that’s burning in his own blood. Same thoughts, same page, and Jungkook begins to bob his head slowly, lips pursed and cheeks hollowed. Taehyung’s hand flies up to clap over his mouth, a valiant attempt to mask a low whine.
A pause. Then, “Taehyung? Are you okay?” Namjoon’s voice is muffled on the other side of the door. Its tone is a split of endearing concern and deserved suspicion.
“Go on, tell him,” Jimin breathes into Taehyung’s ear, and strokes an encouraging hand through Jungkook’s hair. The message is clear: don’t stop.
Jungkook has no plans to. If anything, he speeds his pace, even more determined to coax Taehyung closer, back to the climax he’d been on the precipice of.
“F-Fu—Fine!” Taehyung twists his moan into a cough. “Fine, just—feeling a little s-sick.”
“Okay,” Namjoon says slowly, concern and suspicion still battling evenly. A pause. “Do you… need anything?”
“Yeah, you do,” Jimin breathes again, so little breath exhaled with it that it’s barely audible even to them. This time it’s into Taehyung’s neck, a wet kiss pressed into his pulse. “You need to come, don’t you, baby?”
His hand on the back of Jungkook’s head shoves down, holding him in place. Jungkook takes it, throat clicking in a messy swallow, spasming around the tip, milking it as he struggles against his body to stay still instead of retching. Taehyung’s hiss is just barely still under his breath, and immediate, “Oh Jesus fucking—”
Jimin pushes Taehyung’s face down into his shoulder to muffle his climax, grimacing at the bite. Jungkook barely sees it in his peripheral vision, much more immediately concerned with Taehyung coming down his throat. Instinct and his numb body finally wins, and he shoves involuntarily at Taehyung’s thigh, freeing his mouth with a gag he can’t mask and a thick swallow. Jimin looks down at him imploringly, his hand scrambling to slap over Jungkook’s lips, but Jungkook just licks at his palm like a child with a teary-eyed shrug. Jimin is undeterred by the attitude, sticking his tongue out at him.
“Tae? Are you okay?” Namjoon asks, concern sounding like it’s winning. At least for a moment. “Are you—oh my god.”
“Mmwhat?” Taehyung slurs into Jimin’s shoulder, hazy with his orgasm.
“You’re fucking—you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Namjoon’s groan is exasperated.
“N-No!” Taehyung insists immediately, in weak defiance. It’s a mistake.
“You didn’t even hear what I was accusing you of! Fuck, are they—you’re all in there, aren’t you?”
Jimin starts snickering, pulling back his hands for his turn trying to cover his own mouth. Jungkook leans forward to muffle his own laughter into Taehyung’s thigh. Taehyung whines, kicking at them both with a frantic whisper, “It’s not funny! Help me!”
“Oh my god, you are! I can hear—the bathroom? Really? Again? You guys are gross!” his yell gets distant with fading footsteps. “Every fucking time! Just—start hanging a sign!”
It’s their cue for the giggles to burst out, no longer muffled. Taehyung’s own deep laugh gasps out even as he tries to look mad, tucking himself back inside the shorts and sinking down to the floor. Jungkook kicks out numb legs from underneath him to collapse into the wall, wiping a wet chin and wheezing with laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Taehyung tries to say again, but he hasn’t stopped grinning.
“It’s a little funny,” Jungkook rasps, hand flopping out exhaustedly to pat Taehyung’s shoulder in sympathy.
Taehyung sighs. “He’s right, you know?”
Jimin drops to sit cross-legged, eyebrow raised. “What, that we’re gross?”
“No—well, a little,” Taehyung considers. “But we should probably consider getting a sign at this point. One of those hotel doorknob hangers. Don’t come knocking, you know?”
“I’ll look into it,” Jimin says. Jungkook can’t tell how serious he is, and decides it’s better not to ask. Jimin shoves Jungkook’s shoulder lightly, perking up to ask, “So! How was it? Five stars?”
Taehyung puts his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead stressedly. “What is this, a Yelp review?”
Jungkook thinks about it. “Good introduction, authentic stakes, pacing was a little fast. I’m gonna need a round two to really give my honest opinion. Maybe a third.”
“I’d say we’ve overstayed our welcome anyway,” Jimin says with zero remorse. “C’mon. Sooner we get home the sooner we can finish this. And by this I mean me.”
He clambers back to his feet with a huff, offering a hand out, first to Taehyung and then the both of them reach down to Jungkook. Jungkook clasps both offered hands and stands with their heave up. He winces at the faint pins-and-needles that haven’t yet dissipated fully, but he can tell with a shake of each leg that he can walk.
He looks up to catch his boyfriends watching him, the combination of concern and desire touching. Jungkook rolls his neck, grimacing at the pop, and leads the way, gracing them each with a fond kiss on the cheek as he passes.
They don’t stumble out, per se, more graceful than last time. And the hallway is empty, coast clear, the sounds of the party muffled and drifting up from downstairs. They almost make it out cleanly, no one looking too close. Until they wave a goodbye to Seokjin by the door, a quickly muttered thanks for hosting—his eyes cut to them suspiciously, scanning them up and down and taking in the truth in an instant.
“Oh, you’re leaving already?” he’d sound concerned, were it not for both eyebrows raised challengingly. “Did something come up? Let me rephrase, did something get up?”
Taehyung half-smiles, half-grimaces. Jungkook snorts. Jimin looks proud. They meet each others’ eyes, and break into another fit of giggles.
“There had better not be a single spot of any kind of evidence whatsoever anywhere in this home, and I do mean anywhere,” Seokjin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You hear me? If I find anything you’re banned, for good this time. It’s bad enough that we all know, but I don’t need to know.”
“Sorry, hyung,” Jimin calls over his shoulder cheekily, dodging an exasperated kick and blowing a kiss. They all but flee before they can hear the sputtered response, spilling out of the entryway into the night air.
“You know,” Jungkook says, glancing at the time on his phone, and then the lettering on Taehyung’s sweater. “If we get home in the next hour—without scarring the cab driver, I mean—there’s still time for a New Year’s kiss.”
“There’s time for more than that,” Jimin says demurely, making no promises on the taxi front.
“Was hoping you’d say that.”
🥂🍾🎊
