Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was the morning after and Jimin’s massive headache bloomed with thorns, pressing into tender flesh and pulsing through every cavern there could be. The expanse of his head weighed heavier than a stack of bricks, and Jimin could have sworn if he even attempted to move an inch, his skull might just crack in the middle.

He could feel a mild source of light on him, yet he refused to open his eyes. His pinched eyebrows didn’t make the spinning world any less painful, so he tried to focus on something else— like the disgusting sheen of sweat that coated him throughout. Jimin could sense his back sticking to the sheets, dampness adoring his skin in places you would never want it to. Making every layer of fabric entirely unbearable… That is, if only he wore any to begin with.

Jimin’s eyes blew open, hands hastily roaming underneath the covers. Not a single sign of underwear, just absolute bareness and the lingering heat of his own presence.

Jimin sat up faster than he should have, pulling the duvet away until it lazily toppled to the floor. Greeting not only a sudden surge of pain at the back of his head, but the alarming sight of his own dick, liberated and all. Forcing Jimin to wrack his brain and recall any reasons why his body ached like he climbed a mountain overnight, or ran a marathon in record time, leaving him with literally nothing except memory fog.

The door to his bedroom swung open like thunder, and Jimin jumped demeaningly high at the sound. His roommate of a few years, Jung Hoseok, made a face from the threshold; putting up his hand to block the unwanted indecency of noon.

“You could have at least waited until I’m gone.” He mumbled under his nose, the faultless image of celibacy. Looking away like he’s never seen anything more shameful than this. “You animal, can’t believe you haven’t had enough.”

A whispered cuss and Jimin scrambled the sheets back to cover himself, his head still pounding like someone used it to play a game of basketball. “What are you even talking about…” His voice rasped from lack of use, if not overuse.

“What am I talking about?” Hoseok’s question wasn’t meant to be answered, the sneering tone too confronting as he made his way to Jimin’s bedside table. Placed a pack of painkillers and a glass of water, a statement in and of itself— the thud too loud against the other’s ringing ears. “Don’t tell me you forgot what happened.”

“Enlighten me.” Jimin shut his eyes, hands running up and down his face. Hoseok plopped somewhere next to him, already dressed for the day. Baggy everything, just how he liked it.

“I was gonna say the same thing, though I’m not sure if I wanna know. Came back from my parent’s house a little after three, you were already out cold in bed.”

Jimin hummed, fingers brushing through the chill dusk of his hair. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what brought him to his current state; naked, half-awake and arguably beaten.

He remembers Hoseok leaving for his mother’s birthday on Friday, meant to return late towards the weekend. Jimin finished with work the same day and took up Taehyung’s offer to hang out at their favorite bar. It wasn’t anything unusual, they love drinking together, especially after Jimin taught Taehyung how to; over the course of the years.

Taehyung often started off with his favorite sweet options on the menu, the few cocktails that thankfully fit his palette of preferences. Refreshing and fruity, perhaps a little less than Taehyung himself, though. No beverage could ever compete with the likes of him, and Taehyung was the kind of guy to entertain the poeticism of it all at their regular, secluded corner table. Making Jimin scoff at first, then smirk. Knowing that deeper into the night, Jimin will smile, and finally— giggle with crimson powdering his cheeks. Slip from his chair and laugh like Taehyung was the funniest person alive.

The bar is closest to Jimin’s neighborhood and he always suggests Taehyung should stay over, hang out some more. Be it either catching up on some TV drama or anime release, or collapsing on his bed for a napping session, anything and everything they do together always left the best type of feelings in Jimin. Even if Taehyung was… The more expressive one of the two. Teasing Jimin, poking his buttons good-naturedly from time to time. Never running out of compliments to drown him with, not an ounce of shame stopping him from showing his appreciation with or without a proper reason.

Jimin always found it silly. A little embarrassing, perhaps. He could walk into the practice room of their company building, ready to keep drilling the sequence of a new performance, when Taehyung would open his mouth and announce to everyone in the room that: “A hot new bombshell enters the villa.”

The other dancers would laugh under their noses while a sleepy Jimin would shuffle to the benches, dropping off his bag and water bottle. Forcing his lips to stay put and not stretch into a grin, though Taehyung always noticed the effort. Would walk up and greet Jimin with an arm slung around his shoulders. A little weighty and a lot warm.

“Go back to your stretches.” Jimin could feel that Taehyung’s body was still a little taut in the early morning, at least by the way he almost leaned on him. Just the developed senses of a dancer, he supposed. Comes with experience.

“Help me out?” Taehyung would ask him quietly, just by his ear. “You know it’s harder for me... I can’t be as flexible as you.”

“Shut up.” Jimin would lightly nudge him with his elbow, a scoff escaping his lips. Could hear Taehyung smiling without even glancing his way. Lingering just a little more before they returned to their spots on the floor.

They were always like that, or rather, Taehyung was. A confident guy, charming to a fault, and not just in a professional sense of the word. His charisma bloomed on stage— an explosive flower, petals burning red like flames, but it traveled beyond the flashing lights of concert halls and endless mirrors of numerous practice rooms. Taehyung’s flower never withered, as though no season could put him out of his prime.

Jimin couldn't remember what it was, exactly. What happened before the total blackout of today, what kind of steps he took to end up making out with someone in his room. No clear memory of last night to recall, just the faint smell of sex still clinging to his sheets. Tickling his nose, stirring up his imagination to try and recreate the image in his head.

Jimin tried a little harder after getting side-tracked in his ruminations. His memories kept intertwining with each other like snakes, no clear picture to recall, but he pushed through the warm, twisting bodies covered in scales.

Him and Taehyung went to that bar, he knew that much. Had a great time as usual, then stumbled into the backseat of their label’s private ride on their way back home. Jimin knew he had a few soju bottles left from some previous celebration, and that was another reason to have Taehyung stay a little longer, to which the other never refused. The thing that Jimin really liked about Taehyung, among many, was that Taehyung rarely said no . Not to Jimin, at least… Never to Jimin.

Some blurry fragments of them drinking in the living room flashed before his eyes, both on the carpet next to each other. Colors buzzed inside the television screen faster than Jimin’s limbs shifted from one position to another, his hands pouring shots in dream-like motion— slow and unfocused. Laughing about something ridiculous Taehyung kept mumbling; maybe another one of his many disaster fling stories, or peculiar one-night stands. He had a lot of those, good and questionable, and although Jimin knew next to nothing about the queer side of intercourse, he didn’t mind hearing Taehyung relay his experiences in both grave detail and grand abstraction. Not especially relatable, sure, but it was almost like reading that one newsletter subscription you never actually get rid of. Overwhelming in a general sense and largely unneeded, left unread in the expanse of your inbox, but without it— it just doesn’t feel right. It’s not that you miss it per se, but you’re used to being informed.

You’re used to being on the receiving end.

Jimin wracked his brain on what could have happened next. Him and Taehyung appeared in his bedroom at some point, for no clear reason. Judging by the state of his room now, in the aftermath… All Jimin could do was focus his gaze on the heap of clothes that fell from the gap in his closet— a few shirts and some pullovers left on the floor. He couldn’t fathom what they were doing last night with his things, why his wardrobe was needed in the first place.

He should ask Taehyung once he finds his phone, wherever it is.

Jimin flinched when two dainty fingers snapped before his eyes. Hoseok was talking to him this entire time, and Jimin registered absolutely nothing of it in his dazed memory train. Slipping past the rails inside his head, the carriage shaking from every pebble in its way.

“I said , I’m not cleaning the living room. You’re on your own.” Hoseok got up, stretching his back. “I got you some haejangguk, though, it’s in the kitchen. Eat it while it’s hot.”

Jimin plopped back onto his pillows, the mental gymnastics taking a toll on him more than he could have asked for. All Jimin really wanted was to let his heavy body sink into the mattress and be swallowed, before the hangover strikes him full force from head to toe. Let the agonizing ache seep into layers of foam.

By the sound of it, Hoseok moved towards the door, done with his fruitless interrogation.

“Did you know her?”

Or not.

“Who?” Jimin muttered through the growing throb at his forehead, eyebrows pinched and eyes shut.

“The girl.”

“What girl?” The back-and-forth was starting to get on Jimin’s nerves, a slightly different color to his tone.

“God, Jimin, the one you slept with!” Hoseok's reply was tamed for Jimin’s sake, though equally as frustrated. His hand was clutching the handle of the door, staring at the man overtaken by the results of a severely good night. “How much did you drink?”

Too much to remember, apparently. Couldn’t even recall what time Taehyung left his place, and why he didn’t stay over. Jimin left a mental note inside his head for later, to check if Taehyung got home safely.

“Hyung, please…” Came out a defeated whisper, Jimin slowly rolling onto his side. Brainstorming was beyond him at that point, his eyelids weighing him down; back into the crushing arms of slumber.

“Okay-okay… Got it, no more.” Hoseok spared him, softer this time. “Just get some rest before tomorrow.”

Jimin hummed as a response, already halfway into some blurry beginning of a dream. The door clicked to a close and the rest of the world fell silent, dipping into pools of obsidian.

It was only some hours later, when Jimin forced himself to crawl out of bed and take that long-awaited shower, did he finally piece things together. He found his phone under his bed, probably lost within the crumpled sheets before it got pushed aside too far during the night. Jimin’s charger was still inside the bag he carried yesterday; he often packed it, just in case. Plucked into the device and pressed down his PIN, waiting for his phone to come back to life. Fearing that once the wi-fi gets recognised, his private messages might explode with an array of unwanted news.

Jimin braced himself for the worst, eyes shut and wincing. Expecting the hiccups of notifications to erupt in the palm of his hand, a dozen mentions on social media making him wish he never woke up, and yet… There was nothing. Not a single text to be perceived, no girl trying to arrange another meeting in secret. Empty.

He should be relieved, and he was, but just… It felt strange. Too good to be true.

His shoulders fell, body at ease. He opened his inbox to make sure nothing was there, leaving as soon as he came. Checked the calls he made recently and they were all from Taehyung, their teammates, their managers and the drivers of their company. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at all.

Jimin pressed on the gallery icon, curious. Him and Taehyung take a bunch of photos when they’re together, even if they never post them. The memories were always for their eyes alone, for them to laugh at and discuss. They rarely shared it with the rest of the world.

His eyebrows furrowed before Jimin fully assessed the strange amount of darkness on his screen. Rows of pictures under terrible lighting, fragments of bleak color showing from different parts of a frame. Jimin swallowed what was stuck inside his throat, holding his breath as he opened the very first one.

Just a blurry snap of his bedroom floor, the pattern of his little carpet still recognisable. Jimin exhaled, swiping next. A similar one, just slightly tilted. Two more of the same kind later, and Jimin almost considered laughing if every image ended up being the same. Maybe there was really nothing to worry about, aside from the amusing state of his intoxication.

He saw an edge of his bed in the following photo, and then— a video that he swiped too fast for. Taken aback by the fact that it was black and only five seconds long, he let it play on auto, volume on.

It sounded like he was mounting his bed, the creasing of the duvet louder than his breathing. Or was it the other way around?

He swiped once more and out came a longer video, thirty seconds long. He pressed play, perhaps far too soon— flooded with breathy, incoherent sounds of someone’s pleasure; eyes blown out of proportion at what he’s hearing.

That sounded too much like himself. Heaving alongside the muffled drag of sheets, the quiet, teasing squelch of contact filling up his ears. Too close. Someone was way too close, he could almost hear their smile as they breathed with Jimin. Hissed at whatever Jimin kept doing to them, unabashed. Cursing underneath their nose before taking initiative, and that’s when it hit Jimin the hardest. The obscene groan that someone punched right out of his chest, as if Jimin got pierced with a stake.

The sneer that got cut off at the very last second sounded far too familiar. His heartbeat reacted accordingly once the video ended, ceasing for a moment far too grave.

He swiped without thinking. The image of a bare chest underneath Jimin placed every puzzle piece together for him; horror seeping into his veins in the shade of morbid white.

That was Taehyung’s abdomen Jimin was leaning his hands against. And he was sitting on his best friend’s fucking dick.

Jimin dropped his phone back onto the bed, as if those same hands that seeked support from Kim Taehyung got burned by the sheer memory of what truly happened. He may not know each detail of last night, hell, he may never truly recall… But Jimin could place one thing in particular. Could see it before his very eyes, his clouded mind clearing up like someone dunked him into the coldest water. Could hear his own breath hastening before his thighs began to ache, could envision Taehyung taking over the pace, exactly how Jimin wanted him to; maybe even begged. Harder. Better. Filling him up to the brim.

Jimin came on Taehyung’s cock. Intoxicated and arguably straight, he came like he never had before, and he certainly hadn’t; not in those conditions. Not with the help of someone oh-so-very close, pounding into him like Jimin was made for it. Made to take him, everything Taehyung would give, a little cumdump for a friend.

Jimin groaned with his eyes shut, palms on his head, gripping locks of his hair just to feel something other than insurmountable dread. Kim Taehyung must never know of this, he thought. Taehyung should never know of these appalling videos, and most importantly, not what they’ve allowed themselves so shamelessly. He must never ever discover the mistake of yesterday night.

But Taehyung didn’t have to, really— he already knew. Or rather, he’d never forgotten.

Taehyung, for one, didn’t need to search for clues the morning after. All he needed was, perhaps, a bucket and a lot of water down his throat, but that's besides the point. He spent his Sunday coming back to his senses, yet it was much less of a hassle than it probably was for Park Jimin. At least, that’s what he dared to imagine for the remainder of the weekend, certain memories stretching his lips into a grin.

Otherwise, why would Jimin remain as quiet as a mouse after all that… Heart-to-heart fun they’ve had?

Taehyung almost felt bad for him, but the feeling of elation overpowered any hint of sympathy. How could he feel bad for giving in, when this is something he’s been dreaming of from the very beginning— a hidden desire left unattended between the sheets of his own bed in the dark of night, and all for the sake of them ? How could he feel bad, when Jimin enjoyed himself a little too much, not like regular friends normally would even amidst drunken delirium?

Good thing that Taehyung and Jimin were anything but regular. And Taehyung wanted to keep it that way.

A pre-concert meeting awaited them on Monday morning, and Jimin entered the room later than everyone, as he often did. That wasn’t an issue despite the limited space on the couch, for Taehyung saved Jimin a spot right beside him. Like he always does. Like they always do.

Taehyung pretended not to notice the second of hesitance— the paralyzing pause that took over Jimin, a fraction of uncertainty running through the tension in his eyes, no longer dimmed with sleep. Jimin had very little time to come to a decision, before the strange lack of action from his part became a concern for everyone present. Because why wouldn’t Jimin sit next to Taehyung? Why would he suddenly act so weird about it?

Taehyung kept patting the space to his right, just at the end of the couch, so thoughtfully prepared while the other guys took up the rest, armchairs included. Kept his face easy and eyes soft, recovering from the bloated tenderness of early mornings. Making it so much harder for Jimin to simply look away and occupy the chairs near the producer, like it’s no big deal. And maybe it wasn’t, if not for the hidden implications only him and Taehyung would likely understand. That this is somehow because of what happened on Saturday night. That Jimin can’t look Taehyung in the eyes despite his friend being balls-deep inside him just a day ago.

Jimin hoped, with all of him, that Taehyung wouldn’t get any ideas. That he was adorably clueless post-hangover and would never even consider the crazy possibility of them having anything more than drunken banter. But to test his theory, whether Taehyung remembered even a portion of Saturday night, was something Jimin simply could not afford. Neither the deep embarrassment of confrontation nor the terrifying shift in their decade-long friendship.

Choose wisely, Jiminie , he heard inside his head… Unfortunately for Jimin, he couldn't really tell who's faint voice it was, urging to make his fateful decision.

He squeezed into the designated seat, Taehyung to his left— drowsy and unaware of the alarming way Jimin’s heart dragged through its rhythm, slower than it ever should. Fearfully smashing against his ribcage just from being so close to the one he’d rather avoid; shoulder to shoulder as the meeting begins.

Their concert producer relays the topic for discussion in a casual manner; no pressure despite the moderate urgency, though Jimin could barely focus. Every breath that Taehyung took seemed almost amplified beside him, or perhaps Jimin was simply too intuned for his own good. Not even Namjoon’s resonating voice, curious and involved, was able to fully engulf him into conversation.

Taehyung slightly shuffled, even closer than he already was. Jimin could feel his warm skin brush against his own— goose-fleshed and cool.

“You okay?” Taehyung sounded like he was way too deep inside his head, his lips just under Jimin’s ear. A breathy whisper grazing Jimin’s neck.

He nodded instead of forming words; and although seemingly soft-spoken, Taehyung was still Taehyung. Heavy-eyed and observant to a fault, watching Jimin’s profile for a moment longer. Like everything was written on his face. Like he was but an open book, no blank page able to trick Taehyung into thinking otherwise.

“You seem off.” He murmured even quieter this time, and Jimin suppressed a chill that threatened to make him shiver.

“I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well.”

Contradictory, but it made sense in Jimin’s brain— made sense in general. Even if he didn’t sleep for several days straight, he could still be, potentially, quite swell. And Taehyung understood that, he really did. So much so, that he gently crept his hand behind Jimin to place it on his lower back.

For comfort, really, yet Jimin almost wanted to curse. What was normally a much appreciated back rub became a reason for his body to lightly jolt from contact, an attentive stare from Taehyung to further tickle his nerves. Make Jimin a bit too aware of the warmth emanating from behind and by his side. Make him wish for this meeting to finish as soon as it had started. And somewhere soon enough— it did, though Jimin felt like it dragged on for hours before he got the opportunity to rush out of the door.

Practice time was better, they were too focused on getting the job done. On polishing performances and perfecting the details; from head to toe, every line and every tip of a finger. Too occupied by their own reflections in the mirror, by the guidance of the choreographer, by the acute directions of Hoseok. Suggestions, experiments, attempts. The country— no, the whole world praised them for their flawless teamwork and impeccable artistry, and all seven modestly prided themselves in their collective strengths. Their serious attitude and dedication towards their craft was enough to distract them for hours on end. Days. Weeks. Months, if you will, smoothly flowing into many, many years.

Jimin forgot about his little issue, frankly, and Taehyung never showed a single sign he’d deem suspicious. Jimin believed he was safe, the usual nonchalance of Kim Taehyung more than reassuring throughout the days. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They were just like always, just like before, and Jimin almost started to pretend that the incident was all in his head.

Until the day for concert outfit fittings had come. Jimin completely forgot about the concept sketches he personally agreed to months ago, and how it would look on him.

The stylist showed Jimin to his side of the hangers, him and a few other members changing in the same room, careful yet quick. They needed to make sure every item fit perfectly and sizes matched up, today was the final wardrobe assessment. Last chance for needed changes to be made, in case something didn’t add up. In case something didn’t look appealing enough for the artist. 

Yoongi finished earlier, he was quite satisfied with every pairing, no adjustments needed. Spent a little longer on jewelry and went out of the room, another person taking his place to start changing. It was Taehyung, but Jimin was still far from the realisation.

Taehyung’s eyes immediately landed on the red mesh hugging Jimin’s upper body, leaving very little for the imagination of anyone who saw him. Jimin’s tattoos peeked through the material without much effort, the captivating nevermind of his ribs— a bold statement to his entire ensemble. A direct answer to his intentions, a wish to command the starstruck crowd. So what if the entire stadium will stare at Jimin with their hungry eyes? So what if tens of thousands will cheer with foam filling up their salivating mouths? Nevermind. That's how it should be. That’s how it’s always been.

Jimin actively conversed with the staff in his corner of the changing space, with the strangest feeling spreading somewhere down the nape of his neck. Like he’s being watched. Like the weighty gaze of someone in the room drew messages across his back, each line deeper than the other, spreading into flesh.

That was Taehyung subconsciously carving his initials onto Jimin’s skin. But what Jimin doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Looks very good on you.” The stylist encouraged. “What do you say?”

Jimin looked himself over in the mirror once again, taking off the white jacket and then putting it back on, all to help himself decide a little faster. But hesitance was his dearest friend. “It’s eye-catching for sure.” He said, trying not to seem ungrateful, because he wasn’t. Jimin was very enthusiastic about this look from the very beginning— he requested it, after all, though something made him waver at the very last minute. He was elated to see the outfit on himself, just a few tweaks before being completed, but now that Jimin was meant to produce his verdict— his chest became a little heavy and his tongue felt clumsy in his mouth.

“Keep it.” A voice he knew too well had spoken from behind. Jimin held his breath.

Taehyung appeared in the reflection of the mirror for Jimin to observe, trying out the red-white biker gloves he’s planning to wear on stage. Clenching his fists to see how well they fit, how tightly they embrace his knuckles.

And then his eyes found Jimin’s, a gaze that’s charged like heavy static. Chaining Jimin to the floor, his feet unmovable and numb. Leaving with no choice but to watch how long Taehyung will keep this going, how long he’s willing to keep eye contact through reflective surface— a sculpted figure from another world, trying to idly reach him.

The stylist mumbled something about giving Jimin a few minutes to think it through while she made a call, but no more. Assuming that Taehyung needed a word with him, given the noticeable change of energy between them. But Jimin barely registered her leaving, the door closed shut. He couldn’t tear himself away from the image of a steady, almost eerily quiet Taehyung, calmly taking off his gloves. Filling up the little space they had with presence only Taehyung could maintain, the air between four walls now almost stuffy. Heavyweight.

His fathomless eyes slowly slid down Jimin’s frame, from the richness of his lips to the curve of his neck. Gliding down his collarbones until he caught the placement of his nipples, arguably hiding behind vermillion mesh. And Jimin wasn’t sure what was worse— the fact that they were left alone, the deadly, suffocating silence of the moment, or the ghost of a smile lightly teasing Taehyung’s lips.

Jimin managed to look away at last, clearing his throat. Picking up another ring nearby, as if to inspect it. Anything but to face the other person in the room. Anything but to feel the weight of Taehyung’s attention on himself.

Taehyung stalked closer, his steps soft against the carpet below them, softer than expected. Jimin zeroed in on the delicately carved silver in his palm, trying with all his might to ignore the obvious by adding another ring to his finger. But nobody knew. Nobody knew how hard it was, to withstand the new layer of heat creeping up to his right. Nobody could ever understand how demanding of a task it was, to keep Jimin’s composure intact, keep his cool when Taehyung’s single glance was chilling enough.

Jimin briefly wondered if he ever noticed this about Taehyung before. Maybe it was always felt. Maybe it was an unspoken rule of the world that he never fully realised until then. A world that could bend over backwards for Taehyung’s every flick of a finger. A world that he could easily command, however he deemed fit.

“Having trouble with your wardrobe?” Taehyung murmured next to him, as if they weren’t the only ones inside the room. As if there was a need to almost whisper.

Jimin sort of shrugged, eyeing the large box of accessories on the table to his left. He couldn’t even find the words to reply with, nevermind the wish to look back at Taehyung. Hoped that he could go without it, if he was being honest.

“Why?” It landed like a hush at Jimin’s ear, gentle and thoughtful. “You wanted to show more skin this concert. What happened?”

Taehyung happened.

“Do you think it’s too much?” Jimin mumbled, an attempt to distract Taehyung from whatever he might have assumed in his head. Avoiding the man’s gaze for as long as he could. “I love when they go crazy, I do, but… You know…”

Taehyung’s stare was trained on him, deeply attentive, yet he briefly glanced back at the mirror in front of them. Watched the way Jimin’s reflection scratched his own forearm absentmindedly, awaiting Taehyung’s response. Unsure. A certain tenderness trapped inside a toughened shell.

Taehyung suppressed a smirk from making itself known. Instead, he crept one hand around Jimin’s dainty waist, his right hand on the respective side, as well. Pulling Jimin a step or two away from his reflection, as if to take a better look at his entire body. The grip Taehyung had on him was softly firm, the pads of his fingers touching skin through the webs of his top. Jimin could feel Taehyung’s heat bleed into him, seeping through his human casing like a type of poison one would beg for.

“Jimin-ah… Since when do you only dress up for the fans?” Taehyung murmured from behind, almost pressed into his back. Glaring back at their proximity inside the mirror. “Don’t tell me the checkered skirt was for someone else, as well. Fur boots and bare legs. I simply won’t believe you.”

Jimin’s lips were dry, he dared to wet them. Memories of their previous photoshoots flash through him, a bright room draped in orange. Red wine of his hair, a torn white shirt tucked into a skirt, massive boots to complete the look. A bold choice, encouraged by the team, and Jimin felt great about it. Thrilled, even. Empowered. There was really nothing he couldn’t pull off, at the end of the day. He could do anything he ever wanted, as many times as he pleased.

Jimin returned to the present, observing two bodies in front of him. Jimin and Taehyung, both clad in white and red, confronting their own reflections as if they were someone else. Jimin wondered if they were. Because how else could he have allowed himself a one-night stand with his best friend?

“You’re right.” Jimin breathed out a little, shoulders pulling back by just a bit. Taehyung was right about everything. Jimin loved surprising their fans with new concepts and choices, it was true, but he also followed whatever his heart desired the most. He couldn’t say no to himself.

In some cases… More often than he probably should. Sometimes the opportunity for exploration only brings more trouble than good. Jimin understood that now.

“But I’m keeping the jacket on at all times.” Jimin said it lightly, almost joking. His body finally regained a bit of ease under Taehyung’s palms. “Can’t have them see the phases of the Moon. Not yet.

“Nipples out but a new tattoo is where you draw the line.” Taehyung smiled at his decision, amused. His hands loosely slid down to Jimin’s hips, barely coming to a stop before he could detach himself. “You’re so mean, Park Jimin.”

And Jimin chuckled along with him, of course he did, though his laughter got cut off short. When one of Taehyung’s big hands slid just a fraction lower down his left hip, a seemingly good-natured smack delivered halfway to his ass.

“But not with me.” The impact from Taehyung’s palm got soothed with the deep velvet of his voice, wrapping up the mild burn at his cheek in a blanket of sensations.

Jimin turned around when Taehyung was already retreating; his ghostly touch taunting, prickling his skin with tiny needles. Jimin wasn’t quick enough to ask what Taehyung meant by that, the stylist barging in with apologies for taking longer than she anticipated. Something about the group’s sponsored clothing arriving minutes ago, and her having to check whether everything they needed was delivered safely.

Jimin watched in a daze as Taehyung expressed how much he liked his wardrobe to the staff, yet everything else was a blur. Jimin remembers saying ‘yes’ to the mesh at some point, when he was asked again. Then he moved on to trying out the custom denim, more of the members flooding the changing room soon after.

Taehyung couldn’t track down the moment he started breathing a certain way towards Jimin. It was a combination of things, one detail stacked on top of the other, barely holding on. The very core of him, the entire structure of Taehyung’s ever-building, ever-growing feelings would shake from the force of Jimin’s character.

He could have sworn it started way before debut, but Taehyung was too young to know. Too young to understand what it could mean, too clueless to even consider. Imagine. Dream about. It was beyond anything he could have ever visualised inside his head, and Taehyung wasn’t new to fantasy. But to think of liking Jimin in a way much different from a friend… He couldn’t place his feelings for the longest time.

Until it clicked. Until Taehyung began maturing along with Jimin. For better or for worse.

With age came the realisation that desire is not something to be kept under a lock and key. Not something to be ashamed of, but embraced as a gift of sorts. Taken as a blessing in disguise, the most human type of rapture, and used to its fullest potential.

And while Jimin was mostly private with his explorations of the opposite sex, Taehyung wore his deviant accomplishments and discoveries practically on his sleeve. On his broad chest, lush hips and refined shoulders. They were wrapped around his solid neck and hanging from his legs. Adoring every inch of his, from head to toe, to the very tip of Taehyung’s long and dainty fingers. Honing his devilishly handsome face until it’s impossible to withstand.

The members got the kick out of it, witnessing Taehyung’s gradual transformation. Sensing the confidence that began to spread its wings the more Taehyung would open up to them. The more he’d share what’s truly on his mind and make his voice known. The more he’d joke around and cast his wicked spells on everyone who dared to meet his eyes. Irresistible he had become, the life of their little parties. So easy to fall in love with, only to have Taehyung trap you in his thrilling, endless game of push and pull.

Jimin didn’t notice how he got sucked into Taehyung’s fun, but it was all just play in the end. They were friends, of course Jimin would play along until their cheeks would hurt from smiling. Because Taehyung was shameless and Jimin was enchanted by the fire that lived inside of him.

Jimin didn’t know that Taehyung’s fire would eventually turn wild. Or that he would somehow get caught up in the flames.

It was the day of the concert in Seoul, almost two weeks after the night Jimin tried to forget. The team of seven was warming up, an array of vocal exercises and runs complimenting physical stretches from every corner of the room. They had less than thirty minutes left before it was time to head out, their star personas to flourish under explosives and the roar of an entire stadium.

Soundcheck from a few hours ago went without a hitch, despite the way Jimin and Taehyung came out to greet the fans. Nothing wrong with it at all, although opinions could vary depending on who’s being asked. Question Taehyung and he might reveal that Jimin looked as ravishing as always, the dress pants he chose for the brief interaction— true eye candy, a delicate treat. A worthy compliment towards his stunning assets. And the equally as black jacket that accentuated Jimin’s tiny waist? Taehyung would eat him up right then and there.

Ask Jimin, however, and he won’t say a thing. Will skip the matter altogether, in fact, an unreadable expression as an answer. Will never admit that Taehyung’s fitted leather jacket was strangely diverting while they sang, more than his style choices usually were. Too much attention to his upper body, he thought, although the jean-clad legs weren’t much better. And the hat on Taehyung’s head? An eye sore. Distracting.

Now that the group was sheer minutes away from facing their beloved people, none of them had the capacity to remain distracted. They start the concert with a bang, and top shape is what neither of them deprive the performance of. Their task is to command the crowd, the task of the crowd is to be commanded. To take in every spark of energy that burns in front of their very eyes.

The fans erupt after the first few songs, fired up and trembling as if the ground beneath them was the reason. But the boys knew how to shake millions of hearts, and the ecstatic feeling of basking in fervent devotion made their own heartbeats run faster than light.

Jimin tried not to focus too much on those moments, when they retreated to the back for a change of clothing, for water, for a minute to breathe. He tried not to memorise the look in Taehyung’s eyes, the electrifying smile that knocked the air out of Jimin’s lungs. The way his friend would run backstage ablaze, a red-hot trail behind him and a buzz to his body. Charged, ready to conquer the world. Ready to be swallowed by the heat he had created, and let it control him. Set him free for the remainder of the concert.

They changed into their black attire; fit for seven beautiful, chained swans. Jimin was zipping up a boot he loosely put on in a rush, while there was a minute to spare. Crouched down near the steps that lead towards their stage lifts, his sky-blue coat pooling around him with dignity and class. The cheering of the audience was exciting, thrilling to Jimin, but also served as a fantastic background noise to calm his mind before a melancholic song. So perfect, in fact, along with the back-and-forth chatter of staff and signals being spoken out loud, that Jimin didn’t notice Taehyung emerging from the hallway. Pulling on his pearly coat, a few others following behind.

Jimin straightened up, carefully fixing his buttons from bottom up. Making sure the chain that decorates his bare chest doesn’t latch onto fabric by accident.

Taehyung was meant to pass him by and get into position like the rest, but he slowed down just in time to part his lips near Jimin’s ear. So he could hear him clearly through the muted racket of a giant stadium.

It wasn’t even a word, though, not a sentence. Taehyung released a sound next to him that was much more animal than human. Like the low and heavy bark of a canine, just when Jimin fastened the last button of his coat— his chest disappearing behind an ocean of blue.

Taehyung legitimately went woof , that nasty dog. Jimin wanted to hate it, to keep cool at all costs, but the shit-eating smirk that unwillingly spread on Jimin’s face betrayed his own strategy.

“You need to be put on a leash.” Jimin murmured with the lightest heat dusting his cheeks, a strange feeling scratching from somewhere deep inside. Tickling, satisfying some unwanted itch, like Taehyung’s ridiculous acts are worth something more. Like his absurd comments and gestures are of value to Jimin. Petting, teasing Jimin’s ego like it was a little kitten.

He couldn’t stand that guy.

Taehyung matched his smile, sharp and terribly aware. “Do you volunteer?”

Jimin purposefully ignored the question, sizing up the man for a short moment. Tapping the soft underside of Taehyung’s chin with his finger, just to regulate that unruly cockiness for their own sake.

“And muzzled.” Jimin concluded his previous sentence, his face too close to Taehyung’s for a second more; both of their eyes darting up and down to take a glimpse of their beguiling lips.

Jimin broke eye-contact and headed out to take his position underneath the stage, joining everybody else. Taehyung was right behind him, keeping his gaze on Jimin’s figure for just a little longer. Right until the last minute of their break set off the timer through their in-ears. Beckoning the artists to get into the mood that’s painted in shades of blue and grey.

They turned into graceful birds once desolation and mirrors bled into tragedy. And just like swans, they spread their wings into their darkest dance, a flock around them to support their every fall and every rise. Giving away every bit of their soul to music, to the captivated audience, before it was time to drink the poisoned chalice and shed some blood.

And if Taehyung slipped his right hand back to meet Jimin’s at the end of their performance of desperate, painful love… Then Jimin took it, held on tight while the team leaned on each other for a little more. Clasping Taehyung’s hand tighter than ever. Almost hearing how all of their collective breaths magically existed as one.

They were given a moment to drink water and speak towards the crowd, sweat dripping down their backs and temples. Jimin had some piece of feather stuck to the side of his nose, and the members lightly teased him after Seokjin kindly took it off. But Jimin wasn’t new to this, he was an idol. He joked it off, saying that fanservice was really not his cup of tea, which sent Hoseok into a fit of laughter.

Taehyung cracked a smile at the far right corner of the stage, twisting the cap of his bottle back into place. Even the slightest hint of fanservice was off limits, but sex with his own bandmate certainly was not. Taehyung found that quite amusing.

The night allowed the seven stars to burn with everything they had. To light up the sky above them and thousands of beating hearts in front with something truly exceptional; something impossible to explain with words alone. And the concert went well, Jimin had thought, it all went extremely well. Because the tense unease had vanished from his system, the one that’s been accumulating for weeks. Like all he needed to beat this looming anxiety was a single concert, a two-and-a-half hour rollercoaster ride of music, dance and emotion.

Everything went better than his worried mind dared to imagine. Even the taunting from Taehyung’s part was not excessive, a blessing Jimin was not expecting to receive despite how much he yearned for it. Taehyung didn’t spare Jimin from his inviting tiger eyes, of course, or a dazzling smile Jimin couldn’t help but mirror. Taehyung did not pull back when a chance to lessen distance would bestow itself, but that was just a part of everyday language. To touch, to brush against each other, to rest their heads and lean in from behind, to give a reassuring pat, to laugh and breathe next to their faces. Their communication was primarily physical, tactile, felt . Adorned by a word or two just to make their dizzying dance a little clearer.

But Taehyung was always clear. Jimin was just too blind to recognise the volume of Taehyung’s actions. That, or he didn’t want to acknowledge how loud Taehyung really was, for he was practically screaming.

Ignorance is bliss, yet silence is inherently acceptance. And with the way the two have been moving, going about this concert: intoxicated by the ambience of love and adoration, by the drive of passion and the burning fire of success… Taehyung could see that Jimin was caught up in his intricate web long before he understood what it could be. Elated, swallowed by the energy of the crowd and surrendered to the high of performing, Jimin couldn't possibly find the strength to go against another wave at the end of the day.

He will simply let it drag Jimin back into the ocean he always belonged in.

Backstage was a mess. Vibrating at the frequency no human should experience, but the charge that seven people carried back with them after every concert was stronger than lightning— bouncing off of walls and shaking the floors beneath their blazing feet. Capable of blowing the entire venue down if any of them stay put for longer than needed.

Jimin wasn’t sure how it happened, but he didn’t pay as much attention as he should have. He was too happy, if something like that was even possible to experience. He was so happy to perform, so happy to light up the stadium and drown in the energy of everyone. He was so happy to be among his favorite people. He was so happy to receive an explosive amount of cheers. He was so happy… That Taehyung shared the same feelings with him, not an ounce of exhaustion despite how much their bodies ached.

The other members were faster at changing and heading out towards their designated cars. Taehyung and Jimin kept laughing about their invisible missteps on stage, or when they leaned in on each other too far down during a verse in ‘Butter’, or all the catchy, hilarious signs that their fans would wave around. The two of them were rushed by the staff to exit the building, and by the time they were back into their casual attire, there was only one vehicle left for them to take.

Jimin crawled into the backseat with Taehyung right behind him, a quiet giggle bouncing between them. They were still recovering from Jeongguk’s wardrobe malfunction, the extent of his buttons giving up on maintaining public decency for his chest. How it looked from Taehyung’s perfective to his right, and Jimin’s perspective to his left— a fragment of hot panic that cracked a coy bunny grin.

The driver asked whose house they should stop at first, and Jimin almost groaned at the thought. His and Hoseok’s apartment was so much further from the stadium. He should have taken a car with him, but it was too late to change now. Hoseok gave up waiting for Jimin after his pleas were deemed unsuccessful back at the venue. Jimin just had a lot to talk about with an equally buzzing Taehyung, unlike Hoseok. He seemed very eager to hit the bed as soon as possible.

Taehyung was already looking at him when Jimin turned his head. “My place is closer.” He hushed, just for Jimin to understand.

Taehyung wasn’t wrong. And despite Jimin’s liking towards peace and quietude, at that moment, he hated the thought of a silent journey back home after dropping off Taehyung.

“Would you mind if I crashed for the night?” It came out as barely a whisper, but worked marvelously at softening the edges of Taehyung’s eyes.

“Not at all.”

They huddled into a corner after the driver set course to Taehyung’s part of town, going through the photos they took at soundcheck and the hours before the main event. Jimin wanted to show the videos he took of Seokjin and Jeongguk fighting for a piece of bread, a plethora of ridiculous photos with the rest of the members in between.

They laugh at every passing clip and picture, curled into the seats despite the pull of the safety belts, closer than they’ve been for the past weeks. Jimin kept swiping further and further back at his screen, showing the glorious archive he had accumulated, every angle— another chuckle from Taehyung, lightly brushing against Jimin’s cheekbone. Tickling.

Jimin kept gliding his thumb across the surface, expecting every other photo to be the last, until he eventually got there. To a place he wasn’t meant to show anyone at all, let alone Taehyung. But there was just too much going on lately, sue Jimin for forgetting. Not even for the better, but for the absolute worst— he almost entirely forgot, and there was no way to undo the damage that has already been done.

Ask Jimin why he deleted the multitude of dark photos from that cursed night— he wouldn’t be able to reply. But the darkness of the blurry shots was taking up space on his phone, and Jimin took a lot of them in his dizzy state. Now, ask Jimin why he kept the other videos and pics, much clearer than most— he would rather jump out of this moving car than find a way to answer.

Speaking of which, the door to his left looked especially inviting— beckoning to escape. Because Taehyung saw a glimpse of himself through all that darkness, a split second of his navel on autoplay, before Jimin swiped back to reveal a shot of Yoongi posing like the coolest guy.

Jimin felt like his entire body froze and thawed in a matter of a millisecond, his fingers going numb as they awkwardly locked the phone and lowered it face-down, towards the seating. Jimin would throw up if he had any food left in his system, or curl into a ball and roll into the gap meant for their legs, but… He did neither. He couldn’t do a single thing, to be exact. His trembling heart was as heavy as stone; his breathing almost painful, like his lungs were stiff. He couldn’t turn his head or look the other way. Jimin simply let himself fall into the pits of what he’d done, breaking into a billion pieces at the end of such a fatal drop.

Silence was deafening, apart from the quiet hum of the vehicle, the gears that their driver changed so swiftly. Not a single worry in the world where he was sitting.

Jimin expected a snicker, a full-blown laugh, some taunting comment that would leave him wanting to be swallowed by earth. But Taehyung did nothing of a such, not even a little bit. Like he wasn’t even mildly disturbed, or shaken, or surprised. Like what he saw was only natural. Obvious. A given. Leaving Jimin to dread even the slightest change of breath, the smallest change of energy and air within the car. Taehyung was a ticking time bomb, capable of anything outside the realms of his own ordinary. And since none of the ordinary came through, Jimin was preparing for the biggest boom .

Jimin gulped down the lump in his throat when Taehyung pulled out his own phone, calm and steady as he pressed on the glowing device. Typed something short before Jimin felt his phone vibrate into his thigh.

Shit. Jimin would rather pull his hair out than check the message he received, but he had no choice. Or dignity. Or anything remotely holy about him and his life choices recently.

Jimin was reluctant, slow, but he opened the notification.

Taehyungie, 00:58

I have a better angle.

Jimin’s eyes widened in an instant, a seamless sense of fear seeping under his skin. He could have sworn he felt a cold run through him, like from the jab of some unwanted needle. Filling up his veins with a surge of chill-inducing disbelief.

He flicked his head to meet Taehyung, a troubled whisper breaking through the silence. “Why do you still have it?”

Taehyung leaned in a little, his left arm stretching across the backrest of their seat like a panther; barely a sound from brushing against that salon leather. There was nothing but darkness around them, between them, and yet it didn’t feel enough to hide Jimin from Kim Taehyung.

“Why do you still have it?” Taehyung wondered, just as quiet, but it sounded more like judgment. One Jimin couldn’t really argue against or walk around, because how could he? Jimin should have simply deleted everything. Discard every memory of that night and hope for the best.

So, why didn’t he?

“Taehyung-ah.” Jimin wanted to reason with him, explain himself somehow, without truly knowing why. Why he wanted to reach an understanding between them, like Taehyung was a priest Jimin came to for repentance. Like Taehyung was some omnipotent god able to punish him however he deemed fit, for a sin he didn’t even mean to commit.

It was an accident, Jimin kept reminding himself. Both of them just made a stupid mistake under the influence. Nothing more and nothing less.

“Taehyung, I…” Jimin kept staring down at his own hands, unable to look his friend in the eyes. He had nothing to say, no words that could truly defend him. And in the worst moment, it felt like all the exhaustion from the concert had suddenly decided to return, landing onto his shoulders. Press him further into the backseat, leaving that heavy weight hanging from Jimin’s chest so that he barely had the strength to breathe.

“—We have arrived.” The driver quickly inserted, his tone slightly apologetic for interrupting. It was only then that Jimin noticed they weren’t moving anymore, the vehicle standing still inside the parking lot below Taehyung’s apartment building.

Taehyung swiftly opened the door closest to him, stepped out and held it, clearly for the other man. Jimin’s head spun at the thought of having to endure this newfound tension, a potential confrontation, for a whole entire night and morning. Jimin wondered if he could still ask their driver to take him home, to a sleep-stricken Hoseok. If Jimin could still find a way to vanish and never show himself again.

Taehyung’s head bent down a bit to flash a telling glare towards his hesitating friend. A glint of something underhanded in the slant of Taehyung’s ebon eyes. “It’s bedtime, Jimin-ah.”

The way he said it let Jimin know that he was doomed, one way or another. He had a chance to pull the superstar card and demand the chauffeur to take him away, and yet… Jimin was never like that. He wouldn’t even find the courage, the proper sentence, not as long as Taehyung looked at him like that, awaiting. Like Jimin’s armor was completely see-through, clear as water of the springs they visited that summer. Like there was nothing left to hide, neither for Jimin nor Taehyung.

Jimin doesn’t remember the elevator journey upwards, or the deafening silence that followed every step of theirs. Taehyung’s tired, peaceful yawning as the ground beneath them kept pushing higher, or the journey to the furthest, most secluded door of the hallway. Jimin was too busy processing the corner he managed to trap himself in, in every way he could possibly think of.

He needed a plan of some sort, a strategy to follow. Pretend to be terribly worn out, lightweight and dizzy, so Taehyung could spare him for the night. Concerts took a giant toll on their bodies, Taehyung knew how it felt to have zero strength. Better yet, he could pretend his head hurts like it never had before, a migraine that’s been growing ever since the end of their final performance. Wouldn’t be the first time. Taehyung even knew what kind of painkillers he used to battle it.

Jimin was close to jumping when Taehyung touched his nape from behind, bringing him back to where he stood— by the kitchen counter with a glass of water in hand. Zoning out, because that’s the only way he can escape the inevitable.

“You should shower first.” Taehyung said right next to him, his fingers too good, lightly massaging the back of Jimin’s neck. He always knew how to do it well. Must have been the length of his hands— the dexterity, perhaps, or the attentive precision. Jimin almost wished he could press a little harder, for his muscles were always begging for relief after over-exertion.

Jimin also wished his brain could just shut up for once.

“No, you should go. It’s your house.” Jimin quietly mumbled without turning around. Placed down his glass on the dark surface of the kitchen island. Jimin wasn’t sure if he could trust his hands with that no more. Wasn’t sure if he even took a sip from it, either.

“Then as the owner of this house, I get to set the rules, don’t I?” Taehyung murmured, his voice much closer than it was. Jimin felt it brush against the same spot Taehyung had his hand on just a few seconds ago, languid and hot. “Park Jimin goes first.”

Jimin didn’t have the power to snicker anymore, leaving his answering ‘ha’ as a listless scratch against the air. A weak attempt for a smirk, coming out a bit more strained to count as a smile.

“What is this, Simon says?” He asked, barely an ounce of energy left.

To be completely honest, Jimin didn’t think much of his question, it was mostly a way of supporting conversation. Trying to tease Taehyung back, get the upper hand, if that was even possible. To the very least— distract the guy from the gigantic elephant in the room, the one taking up every bit of space.

Jimin expected an immediate response, you see, a playful jab of some kind in return. What he did not expect, or even recognise at first, was the silence that followed his mindless question. Mildly concerning quietude, beckoning Jimin to turn around and access the situation at once. But he refused. Especially when he felt Taehyung swiftly trap him at the island.

Taehyung's long arms encircled Jimin from behind like a snake that wraps itself around its prey, aiming to suffocate. Yet Taehyung’s objective wasn’t to kill Jimin, oh no, at least not physically. Though he wouldn’t refuse eating him up. Swallow Jimin whole until it absolutely hurts, his jaw burning in a beautiful ache.

Taehyung calmly grabbed onto the edges of the counter, his torso so closely pushed to Jimin’s back— he had no choice but to press up into the island; the cold of the surface bleeding across Jimin’s pelvis, even through his pants. He didn’t mean to gasp, but everything happened so quickly and at once, it felt as though his head was spinning. From the chill at Jimin’s front and the heat covering the entirety of his back, the hefty pressure Taehyung purposefully applied. Like it was nothing. Like it was easy for him, and maybe it was.

Because Taehyung was taller, broader than Jimin. Larger by quite a bit, though Jimin somehow always managed to forget. Dismiss the fact, look over it, it didn’t mean a thing. Jimin was strong, agile and resilient, notably so. He did martial arts, he did dancing all his life, he does all kinds of training. And yet he couldn’t… He just couldn’t.

Jimin wanted to believe he was just too tired to resist. That the smothering presence of Taehyung, his sturdy chest pushing up against his smaller frame, the heady remains of his cologne and the sweat-stained scent of his skin— all of it was just too much to handle after a long, exhausting day of work.

“Taehyungie says.” The honey-voiced said in the most chilling manner. Jimin could have sworn the hairs on his nape were raised. “Why would you listen to anyone else, when I’m right here?”

Jimin couldn’t tell if Taehyung was gently playing with the ends of his hair or whether he was only imagining it. The press of Taehyung’s hips into his ass was a bit too distracting.

“Unless you want to talk about the way you looked on top of me instead. Riding my cock so eagerly, like it was your first time ever.” Taehyung’s tone sharpened by a little, a smooth glide of a knife against thin paper. “Oh, but it was, wasn’t it?”

Jimin couldn’t manage a single word. He wasn’t sure if he knew how to speak at all, every sentence Taehyung dared to say rendering him speechless. His heart kept pounding inside his head, his mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. Stupefied. Immobile.

Taehyung lingered for a second longer, needing a moment to take in the outlines of Jimin’s frozen profile. The plush of his protruding lips, the button nose. The helplessness, the lack of struggle settling into his every crevice. The near-defeat, unknowing what to do. Because that’s what straight guys do, don’t they? They let their best friends handle them any way they want.

“Shower’s all yours, bro.” Taehyung detached himself, a casual pat on the shoulder. Like buddies do. “I’ll order takeaway meanwhile— your favorite.”

He disappeared into the hallway, probably into his room. Jimin was only able to breathe out as soon as he heard the click of a door.

Jimin lowered his forehead to touch the cool surface of the counter, hoping it would freeze his brain into working properly again. Placed his hands on top of his hair, tousling the strands with a wearied grunt. Pulling a little, wishing that the ache of his scalp could distract him from the violent swirl of his thoughts.

He needed to get himself together. Playing along with Taehyung was fun and all, but he couldn’t let him go too far. This was… This was more than just a game. Taehyung knew about that stupid night all along, he remembered. With footage of his own to remind him. Because Jimin and Taehyung always took pictures. They always… Liked to capture the most important moments spent together.

Fuck.

Jimin took his time in the shower. Scrubbing off the filth of a two-and-a-half hour concert. Scrubbing off the filth of his own mind, like it was stuck to his skin, gripping with its nasty claws.

He looked over the fact that Taehyung had a towel and a bathrobe ready for him, hanging just beside Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s gown was lavishly long, a dark blue velvet that drowned his stature like it were the ocean. Jimin knew… He’d seen it many times before.

Jimin’s gown, the one he wore over himself, was a dark, rich shade of vermillion. Almost like a dying flame, coating his tender body. Keeping him warm. Making sure he always ran a little hot, swallowed by a hungry ring of fire.

Jimin was out of the shower around the same time Taehyung reappeared again, leaning just by the door. One hand perusing the contents of his phone, while a few neatly-folded items of clothing were squeezed tight at the other underarm. He looked up and handed Jimin everything he had in a blink of an eye— both the phone and the clothes.

“The smallest I could find.” Taehyung mentioned easily in passing, heading inside to wash up. “Answer the door if delivery comes. They might call beforehand.”

Jimin was left standing like that, his hands full. Looking down at the things he’s been given, a strange feeling in his gut from the thoughts that took over his head. The blatant way Taehyung addressed their difference in size, though it never seemed significant to Jimin. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t.

And the fact that Taehyung left his phone for him to handle, completely unattended. Basically inviting him to search through it, find the god-forsaken evidence of their mistake. Delete it.

Jimin could delete it, and the sheer idea of doing so sent a flaring string of hope across his body. A sense of revival painting its way into his chest, a small glimpse of victory. If Jimin can’t erase the memories from Taehyung's head, he could at least erase them from his phone. One evil less.

Jimin rushed into the living room, avoiding Taehyung’s bedroom like the plague. He could barely stand the sight of his own bedroom at that point, too many associations he couldn’t be bothered to sort out. Jimin would much rather occupy the living room couch if he’s going to sleep over, though he doubted Taehyung would allow him. They never slept in separate beds, for as long as Jimin could remember. Not just sleepovers, but during most of their travels, too. Get-togethers. Late-night hotel room heart-to-hearts that would eventually knock them both out.

Jimin shed his bathrobe and pulled on the change of clothes with another odd twist in this stomach. The pale blue shirt was a regular size, the shoulder line only slightly lower than Jimin’s. Nothing dramatic. Taehyung loved to exaggerate and push his buttons.

The shorts… The navy shorts were fine, just that they hugged his bottom a bit too well. The tee wasn’t as long as Jimin would have liked it, not enough to hide even half of his figure. It barely reached his hips.

Why in the world would Taehyung keep something like this in his own closet? Unless he used it as some version of a crop top, judging by the faintly wider style at the waist.

Jimin didn’t need to think about it.

He crashed onto the couch with Taehyung’s phone in his hands. He knew the lock pattern, at least the last one. He begged whatever gods were out there that Taehyung didn’t change it.

His thumb swiped across the screen, dragging at the dots. Pulling the line towards the final stop with a gulp.

It unlocked. Jimin almost couldn’t believe it, halting for a second in case he imagined it. But it was real. The picture Taehyung had on his home screen was a group photo from their last vacation, all seven. Smiling by the campfire. Sated by a hearty meal and drunk on the ambiance of a well-spent rest.

Jimin chewed on his lower lip and he pressed on the gallery icon. Scrolled through rows of recent concert pictures, photos of Yeontan, Taehyung’s daily outfits and mirror selfies, as well as a plethora of thirst traps. Ones that didn’t just start and end with his striking face, but containing angles far more… Diverse. Jimin made sure to scroll through them as quickly as he could.

It felt as though there were too many photos, despite the few weeks that passed since the incident. Was Taehyung trolling him all along? Was he just teasing him back then, inside the car?

A flicker of rage, and Jimin felt an urge to crush that phone with his bare hands. He didn’t, of course. He couldn’t do that, technically speaking, but bashing the device against a wall sounded much more promising. Tempting.

His eyes landed on a tiny blotch of darkness at the corner of the screen, like it wasn’t meant to be there. Zeroed in and touched the spot with the pad of a finger. And pulled. Pulled down so he could see it.

Rows of squares colored in some shade of black and pale. There it was, it must have been.

Jimin wasn’t sure where to start, his chest suddenly heavy, anticipating the worst. Everything he saw in his own footage was just heavy breathing, a string of moans and fragments of bodies. Unfocused, semi-coordinated shots. He hoped to witness something similar, but given Taehyung’s perspective, Jimin didn’t know what to expect.

He opened a random video out of a few, preparing himself. Checked the volume to make sure it wasn’t too loud and pressed play.

There was some dark noise on the screen and a whoosh of a sound, as though Taehyung was dragging his phone against the sheets, or trying to take hold of it properly with one hand. He was also blocking the mic with his finger, for when he released it— Jimin could hear the surroundings much clearer.

Himself.

The camera finally found the main event, and it was so much worse than Jimin imagined. His own body, dipped in sweat, moving in ways Jimin didn’t know it was capable. Like some starving little bitch, eager to be filled.

Jimin watched as the other him, the one he couldn’t recognise, dragged his hips in desperate motion back and forth. As if some meat up in the ass was something to be excited about, vocalising every satisfying push with shaky breaths and silent cries.

Taehyung’s other hand came into view, adoring Jimin’s arm, his chest, his shoulder, moving towards his face while Jimin chased the feeling of his walls being filled up. Taehyung brushed away some hair from Jimin’s face, every sticky strand, and cupped his cheek so tenderly— Jimin of the present time sort of furrowed his features.

Taehyung had big hands in general, but especially compared to his own. That hand inside the video, it could cover most of Jimin’s face if it wanted to, but it only caressed the side. Strangely calm while Jimin was bursting at the seams from pleasure.

“How is it, princess?” Taehyung’s voice came out from behind the screen, deep and tingling, satisfied with what he’s seeing. His hand bounced along with Jimin, pressed to any patch of skin he could reach while the other man shook like a leaf. “Good?”

Jimin was deeply submerged. Not an ounce of understanding, just pure, burning desire for Taehyung’s cock. “Fuck. Shit!” He whined, trying his best to go even faster. Impatient. “So— so good.”

Jimin stopped the video. He couldn’t take it any longer. Seeing himself in that state was close to unbearable, and the cup of his mixed up feelings was terribly overflown.

If this was just a single video, what else would Jimin see if he dug a little deeper?

The bathroom door unlocked inside the hallway, and Jimin’s trembling heart fell to his feet. The sound of Taehyung coming out sent his entire body into alert, an electric surge making Jimin fumble with the phone, practically dropping it towards the floor. He shoved it to the other end of the couch, as if untouched, settling himself into a pillowed corner with knees pressed tightly to his chest. Grabbing his own phone as a distraction, the one he abandoned at the coffee table some time ago.

Jimin refused to look up for the longest time. He endured the panic-filled noise inside his ears, caused by a sudden rush of movement, his blood gushing throughout the expanse of his veins. Busying himself with a mindless scroll through his socials, despite the thin layer of fog obscuring his vision.

A white blot walked past the archway and Jimin ignored it, knowing who it was. What Jimin didn’t know, perhaps didn’t fully realise after the little scare he got, was how utterly delectable he made himself look from afar. Taehyung caught sight of him with the corner of his eye, turning back to watch the beauty play pretend.

Jimin rested against a set of pillows, his sculpted legs blocking most of his physique, though certainly not the most important part. In fact, it almost seemed as though Jimin wanted to grab Taehyung’s attention with that timid pose. Defensive and in hiding, a smooth pair of legs squeezed together to shield Jimin from the world. From the big bad wolf that’s always lurking within these walls, never leaving him alone. The beast of this castle, bewitched by the eyeful that sat quietly within his chamber, afraid to make even the slightest sound.

But not afraid to show himself in full display— a poor attempt at averting Taehyung’s gaze away from himself. Instead, it easily landed on Jimin’s semi-hidden crotch and lower, so delicately wrapped in the fabric of those shorts. Candy for the eyes, honey for the soul.

The buzz of a door robbed them of their silence. Jimin glanced up on reflex, to access the source of noise, only to meet the sight of who he worked so hard to dismiss.

Taehyung. And not just any Taehyung, but a freshly-showered, mostly bare and covered in nothing but a towel Taehyung.

Jimin wanted to implode, quite frankly. Because Taehyung skipped his costly robe for a single towel— the spitting image of modesty. A deluxe gray towel hugging only around the edges of his hips, revealing so much of his sun-soaked skin. Too much of it, in fact. Teasing Jimin’s eyes with the fine and subtle lines of Taehyung’s chest. A taunting V line diving into fabric. A faint shadow of a happy trail.

Maybe being drunk in the same house with Kim Taehyung wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At least Jimin wouldn’t have to deal with this man’s insatiable bravado sober. Perhaps he would have even laughed if he was tipsy enough.

“I’ll get it.” Taehyung muttered, the turn on his heel too slow and cool to be bothered.

“Tae—” Jimin hated that it bothered him, even if it was a sliver. He shouldn’t be bothered, it was none of his concern. “At least put on some shorts!”

“Why? Afraid the delivery guy will fall to his knees at the sight?” Taehyung carelessly replied as he made his way towards the entrance.

Taehyung couldn’t fool him. They always ask the employees to leave their orders by the doors outside. It’s only safer that way, if they’re not receiving delivery from the hands of managers and company staff. Then why does Jimin feel antsy all of a sudden?

“Common decency, Taehyung, I’m sure you’ve heard of it!” Jimin raised his voice, resisting the urge to get up. “There are cameras in every corridor!”

“You don’t say…” Taehyung trailed off, too far into the other side of the apartment. “Should I put on a show for the security? A little stripping on a night shift?”

That’s it. That was enough for Jimin to scramble off the couch in a haste, his jaw tight and phone abandoned on the cushions. Stomping his way through the apartment, barefoot and provoked.

Taehyung came into view, checking the little monitor to see who’s on the other side. The camera flashed the empty hallway of his quarters, and a full bag near his doorstep rug.

Jimin crossed his arms behind Taehyung, a few steps away. “Can you be serious for once in your life?”

Jimin could see a glimpse of a smirk, working the side of Taehyung’s cheek, but it somehow lacked the sweetness of a casual mock. It felt a bit too biting to Jimin.

“I doubt you could handle me serious.” Taehyung stated, throaty and composed. His hand reached for the handle of the door, and the multi-leveled locks.

Jimin was affronted, a huff pushed through his mouth. “You act as if I haven’t known you for a decade.”

“And you act as if I haven’t fucked you senseless.”

Jimin struggled to respond. “We were drunk—”

“—Yet we don’t have to be.” Taehyung stopped what he was doing, opting to face Jimin to get his point across. Leaning with his shoulder on the doorway. “I’d much rather you remember just how good it felt.”

They took a moment to just stare, barely a blink to interrupt them. Jimin took a deep breath in hopes of keeping himself collected until the very end, even as the other man approached him to hear out his new counter-argument.

“Taehyung. I’m straight.”

“And I’m a pink rhinoceros. Obviously.”

“Taehyung-ah!” Jimin allowed himself to show a tinge of something more, or perhaps it simply jumped out of his mouth. A youthful type of aggravation, a higher lilt to his voice.

Taehyung sighed but it was quiet, deeply-seated from inside his chest. “Fine.”

Jimin didn’t expect Taehyung to part his arms in soft defeat. As if trying to spare Jimin from any further confrontation and headache.

“Come here.” He beckoned into his embrace, and the cadency of his tone disarmed Jimin. He didn’t know how to act. The man sounded so calm and gracious, like Jimin knew he was sometimes, but not… Not when he’s practically naked, with just a towel away from pure disaster.

Jimin knew he was staring at Taehyung’s pecks a bit too much, but he couldn’t help it. “Put some clothes on first.”

“Why? You’re straight. Shouldn’t be a problem.” Taehyung’s voice regained that sharper quality just by a little bit. He kept holding his arms for longer until Taehyung understood that Jimin had no way to prove him otherwise. No way to argue back, not when all Jimin could concentrate on was Taehyung’s body. 

Taehyung got closer to him, so much closer than needed. “Unless it is. A problem.”

Jimin refused to meet his eyes. At some point, he just couldn’t do it anymore— keeping up with Taehyung, witnessing the way he looked at him. The way Taehyung lingered with every part of his being, his gaze intense, his breaths too near, his presence— surrounding. Jimin couldn’t focus anymore, couldn’t respond with much else; his bones exhausted, his throat overused, his thoughts all thawed and boiled down into this useless mass. Jimin couldn’t tell if he was feeling numb, or light-headed, or simply incapable of fighting back.

Then he felt this gentle, chill-inducing touch upon his temple. Taehyung’s warm fingers brushed through the strands of Jimin’s hair, for his own pleasure, perhaps. Observing how hard Jimin tried not to show that he liked it; keeping his eyes low, around Taehyung’s midriff, then lower, before averting his gaze entirely. Trying not to roll his eyes at a particular caress. Trying not to shut them close while Taehyung massaged his scalp.

“Mm?” Taehyung hummed, still searching for his answers. Murmuring into Jimin’s ear, toe-curlingly deep. “Is it now, Park Jimin?”

Maybe Taehyung being naked was an issue after all, but it was merely one among a million.

Jimin moved forward with a sigh, resting his forehead against the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Closing his eyes at last. “You’re impossible.”

“So are you, Jimin-ah.” Jimin could hear that charming smile through his voice, pulling him closer, just like the arms that Taehyung wound around his waist. Pressing them chest-to-chest. “Impossible… To resist.”

The first sensation of Taehyung’s lips touching the side of Jimin’s neck was knee-buckling, he felt it far too strongly. It was embarrassing, to say the least, but Jimin had half the mind to even think of what it meant. It didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that Taehyung should keep going. He can’t stop now, or Jimin might just break down and spill like sand onto his floor.

Jimin’s breathing became frequent, each stroke of lips against gooseflesh skin— a jolt of sorts, making Jimin want to curl his hands into some cloth, to hold for dear life while he hadn’t dispersed into the air. He only had one option for a piece of fabric, and that was Taehyung stupid towel. He can’t hold on to that. He won’t hold on to that. That’s like jumping into the cage of a tiger and closing the door behind you.

Taehyung’s mouth was hot on the expanse of his neck, stopping to suck at a spot he somehow knew would affect Jimin the most. Nipping at his pulse point, then licking it better. Pulling the softest huffs of breath from Jimin that Taehyung could have possibly expected. Kissing his skin with a smile on his face, endeared by the hesitant way Jimin hooked his hands on Taehyung’s nape. It was like witnessing a flower bloom, unraveling its petals one by one. It was like waiting for a cat to warm up to your advances— a little more, and he’ll start purring.

“Did you like what you saw on my phone?” Taehyung whispered between leaving trails of himself on Jimin’s jawline. The question elicited a wispy moan from Jimin, his brows furrowed, trying to cope with Taehyung’s roaming hands under his shirt on top of everything else.

“Did you like yourself being a little slut for me?”

The heavy kiss Taehyung left right by his earlobe was too much, in addition to all that verbal taunting. Jimin couldn’t help but let a tiny whimper skid through his teeth, only confirming Taehyung’s theory.

“Did you see the part where you begged to suck me off?” Taehyung slowly switched to Jimin’s other side, his words vibrating against the man’s skin. Jimin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, dragging his nails against the bare shoulders of his friend.

“You were pathetic. Starving for cock.” Taehyung mouthed at his Adam’s apple, under his chin, before making his way elsewhere. “Never had a proper one before I gave it to you out of pity. Not like you had any at all.”

“Tae…” Jimin tried his best, he really did. There was a growing twist at his gut, a molten heat coating his abdomen. He wanted to pull on Taehyung’s hair in case it’d make it easier to deal with, but all he had the strength to do was bury himself further into Taehyung’s skin. Hoping to find shelter, to hide the flush on his face, though Taehyung could feel it anyway. It practically burned him.

“Give it to me. I want it so bad, Tae, you don’t understand. ” Taehyung mocked Jimin’s voice, higher in pitch, breathy and slurred from alcohol against Jimin’s other ear. “That’s what you said to me back then. Please, Taehyung. I wanna taste .”

“Taehyung, please.” Jimin couldn’t take it anymore, wanting to jump out of his own skin. A little more and Taehyung will sense the mortifying swell inside his shorts, if he hadn’t already.

Taehyung took hold of Jimin’s hips to pull the guy away, revealing a rosy, flustered Jimin on full display. Blown-out darkness in his eyes and parted, bitten lips.

“Please, what?” Taehyung asked, and it almost hurt how lukewarm his voice became, a shade of grim indifference. His eyes, usually hot as lava, turned into cooled-off steel.

“Please…” Jimin didn’t know what to say, or how to word it. He tried to pull Taehyung by the nape to remain how they were before, feeling too exposed when they’re apart, when Taehyung watched him, but the man was unyielding. Solid. A firm grip at his pelvic bone, keeping distance. Depriving Jimin of something he’s too afraid to ask.

“That won’t do with me, Jimin.” He said, and Jimin almost felt like he was being scolded. In the middle of the damn apartment hallway, feeling like a load of mush with bones. “Say it, while I’m interested.”

“Fuck, just—” Jimin struggled to hold his gaze, so Taehyung helped him out. Captured Jimin’s chin in his left hand, not to hurt, but to direct him where it mattered the most. Took a moment to observe the puppy quality of Jimin’s imploring eyes.

Jimin caved in with a heavy gulp. He had nowhere else to go from here on out.

“Just take me. Please.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Take you? Where?”

Jimin couldn’t remember the last time he was humiliated like that, but he kept pushing despite the faint tremble in his legs, threatening to mess with his stance. Despite the enjoyment Taehyung was getting out of this, hidden behind the typical aloofness of his face.

“To bed.” It came out as half a whisper, Jimin lightly clutching Taehyung’s forearms.

“To bed?” Taehyung was so good at acting, Jimin wanted to curl into a ball and scream. The make-believe surprise of his features was so lenient, like he was talking to a child. “You want to sleep?”

Jimin sunk his fingers into Taehyung’s arms, needing a semblance of stability to cope with the embarrassment coiling him from within. Feeling out some of those protruding veins under Jimin’s palms, delicately drawn for Taehyung to wear. Clutching, before Jimin could gather himself and spit it out.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Taehyung expected him to take a little longer. The genuine intrigue that changed the look in Taehyung’s eyes, the way he slightly worked his jaw, and the smallest pull at the corner of his lips— it set something off in both of them.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Taehyung’s arms ended up at the back of Jimin’s thighs, pulling him up with a mild bounce. Jimin clung to Taehyung’s neck with a gasp, a breathy giggle escaping him, melting into the skin of Taehyung’s shoulder. It felt like Taehyung picked him up so easily. Was he always able to do that?

Jimin landed into the silky sheets of Taehyung’s king-sized bed, melting into a sea of midnight blue. The soft tint of light around the edges of the ceiling, under the floating bedside tables, offered some clarity into the darkness. A more lucid definition to their bodies, the features at hand.

Taehyung approached the foot of the bed and Jimin was up on his knees in a second, taking hold of the hem of his towel. Stopping himself last second from doing what seemed only right.

Taehyung observed the sight before looking back up, firm and questioning. “What makes you think I’d allow it?”

“What makes you think I would ask?” Jimin talked back, snatching the cloth from Taehyung’s hips. But instead of finally getting a glimpse of what he needed, Jimin met another layer of fabric, significantly darker.

Taehyung was wearing sleep shorts underneath the towel this entire time, hanging low enough for Jimin not to see the hem.

Jimin always knew that Taehyung drove him crazy in some sort of way. And no matter what the circumstances, he always managed to find new ways of driving Jimin up the wall.

He got too excited, and now Taehyung had another reason to look down on him. Like Jimin was desperate for dick.

“Don’t you dare laugh.” Jimin dropped the towel on the floor. He couldn’t halt the shamefaced frown from spreading, tightening his eyebrows and chin. He didn’t want to see the likely-smug expression on Taehyung, opting to focus on the damp piece of cloth the man used to cover himself.

“Oh, I’m not laughing, kitten. I think it’s kind of cute.” Taehyung palmed his cheek, guiding Jimin to look forward. To face his shame head-on, no matter how much it would hurt his pride. “Look at you, all red in the face. And we haven’t even done anything.”

Taehyung’s other hand slid under Jimin’s shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps on his skin until those fingers found what they’ve been looking for. Jimin didn’t even have the time to process, or take a deep breath, before Taehyung’s thumb ever-so-slightly grazed Jimin’s left nipple. Pushing a silent gasp out of his mouth, before Jimin could bite down his lip to keep calm.

“No biting.” Taehyung’s voice was airy, his other thumb moving along Jimin’s lower pillow. Waiting to see if Jimin would get the memo and open up.

He didn’t, perhaps purposefully, still trying to maintain a semblance of control. Because drunk Jimin clearly didn’t give a shit about his dignity at all. Because doing this sober was so much scarier, so much more significant than on a fuzzy, spinning head. Even if Taehyung’s gentle fingertips felt so terribly good against his chest, tickling the nerve buds until Jimin had no choice but to jolt, electrified. Tense up like the most sensitive thing.

“Stubborn.” Taehyung pointed out so calmly, his right hand detaching from the other’s skin. “Too bad I’m not one of your girls. I don’t fall for that.”

His long fingers slid halfway into the hem of Jimin’s shorts, chillingly close. Making the man’s eyes bulge at the prospect of Taehyung’s touch where he needed it the most, taking a sharp inhale until—

Until it was gone. Taehyung moved away completely, breaking apart all contact that they had, and Jimin felt like his heart dropped down and shattered to the floor.

Jimin watched Taehyung round the bed to open up a drawer, like he’s completely alone. Like Jimin wasn’t with him, laying himself out onto a silver platter.

His reaction was instantaneous.

“Okay, I’m sorry— Tae, please.” Jimin felt like a child, about to throw a tantrum. Taking his shaky breaths, trying to keep himself together. Realising that that’s exactly the problem. “I’m just— I don’t know if I can do this. It isn’t easy, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung stopped what he was doing, looking back at Jimin. You could see everything on that blushing face of his, every bit of frustration and fear. The torment, the anxiety that came with facing himself, being so vulnerable.

The two of them were always quite open with each other. Maybe not to this extent, however.

Taehyung breached the gap and bent down to capture Jimin’s lips. Knocking the absolute air out of Jimin’s lungs, a long and weighty graze of lips against his own. Jimin felt like Taehyung might have sucked away the last remains of his turmoil, filling him with nothing else but the thought of Taehyung, the taste of his hot mouth, the scent of his clean skin.

Jimin whimpered into the kiss, like this was exactly what he missed the most. What he craved beyond the obvious. He wondered if drunk Jimin felt the same type of elation back then, the overwhelming buzz inside his chest and the aching pull below his stomach. He wondered if drunk Jimin even cared for this at all, if he was patient enough to partake in any form of foreplay.

Getting screwed in more ways than one must have been fun. But doing this now, getting to learn what fulfillment truly meant when all you could breathe, all you could sense was Taehyung— it might just be better than anything he had before.

Taehyung pulled away but just a little, faintly smiling at Jimin’s weak attempt to bring him back. He brushed away the hair from Jimin’s glossy eyes, sending another surge of warmth across his face. Watching how responsive Jimin became to every little thing Taehyung would do, the smallest muscle spasming under his touch. Jimin, in turn, felt as if he caught some sort of fever. Like his entire body set on fire.

Taehyung spoke into his parted lips, his warm breath making Jimin’s head spin more than it already did. “Let go of it, sweetheart. Don’t let the last time be your best.”

His coaxing was followed by another solid kiss, burning Jimin to the bone. Finalising the desire Jimin tried to push away for the past several weeks.

Taehyung never made it easy for him. Whether it was years ago, before the incident or after, even at this very moment, Taehyung had never been easy to withstand, to deal with. To understand. But Jimin was always drawn to challenges, and Taehyung was his biggest challenge yet.

Jimin was close to sobbing. A thin sheen of sweat gathered around his temples as another longing moan broke out of his lungs, feeling the searing blaze of Taehyung’s tongue on his hole.

One minute he’s working him open relentlessly, meaning to make Jimin’s entire body squirm and fall apart from every stroke of a tongue. Every fat, wet swab across Jimin’s perineum, and every smack of lips against exposed, delicate skin. Then the next minute— he’s teasing the ring of muscle so painfully slow, like they had all the time in the world. Like Jimin’s sanity wasn’t on the line, when Taehyung aimed to drive him utterly insane.

Jimin tugged on the silky ribbon that held his wrists together, wrapped around the thin cutout at the top of the headboard. A cherry-blossom pink— so innocent in color, so pleasant on the skin, despite how terribly restricting it was for Jimin. He pulled on it multiple times, unafraid to break the structure of the bed if he had to, but it was no use at all. He was stuck, trapped by some pretty piece of fabric and a famished man that used his tongue as well as he sang.

Too sensitive , Taehyung said before tying Jimin to his bed. You won’t last a minute with all that inexperience.

Jimin didn’t believe him at first, he thought it was ridiculous. He’s not some squirmish, touch-starved virgin to climb the walls from a little stimuli. But it’s been quite some time since Taehyung set out to unravel Jimin, layer by layer, and Jimin wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.

Taehyung had his arms around the full expanse of Jimin’s thighs, holding him still. Yet the man had the legs of a dancer— action-prone, quivering, restless no matter how hard Jimin tried to settle. At a particularly wretched wail, Taehyung squeezed his legs in warning— a solid clutch around his flesh, and Jimin wasn’t sure if helped at all. It certainly didn’t stop Jimin from sensing the flex of Taehyung’s biceps on his skin, the stern jostle for better access to his hole, or the hot breath burning him from deep within. It only made Jimin dreadfully aware of the ache that agonized his cock, lightly leaking at the tip.

Jimin’s breath stuttered, a cute little hiccup. “Tae— Taehyung, please.”

Taehyung looked up, a cold glance towards the mess Jimin was making of himself. Left his final heavy swipe between Jimin’s cheeks, like he just finished a filling meal.

“Don’t get your tiny dick excited. Nothing to be wet about.”

Jimin was relieved his ass could get some momentary rest, but the subtle twitch of his dick at Taehyung’s words was the least bit reassuring. Jimin never thought a mean glare from Taehyung and a bunch of nonsense would evoke a reaction such as this. He wasn’t as small as Taehyung made it seem. He wasn’t! Taehyung was just… God.

He swallowed down the thickness in his throat. Opened the eyes he shut to gather himself, only to see Taehyung warming up the lube he pulled out of his bedside table.

Jimin’s body jolted all at once, a panic-filled pull on his bounded wrists. “Taehyung, I won’t— I don’t think I’ll last.”

“I know you won’t.” Taehyung casually claimed; settling between Jimin’s open legs, bent at the knees. “But you will need the prep.”

Jimin huffed, feeling as Taehyung’s lubed up thumb circled, teased around his rim. Sending another chill to run down his naked spine. “Just put it in me. I can take it.”

And Taehyung smiled, awfully aware. Lowered himself to face Jimin, took in the mist fogging up his boundless eyes, and murmured: “No, you can’t.”

Jimin wasn’t given the opportunity to gasp. Taehyung’s mouth swallowed everything he had to offer, once Jimin felt a long and dainty index finger breach through the bundle of muscle.

His fingers were methodical, committed, his mouth— softly relentless. Gathering Jimin’s every passing sound, every breathy squeak at a particular twist Taehyung so generously gifted. Jimin couldn't believe he was able to forget how good Taehyung’s thrusting felt, how easily liquor erased the best part of their previous night together. Jimin was almost envious of the guy from the past, of the Jimin that lived within their digital galleries. That should have been him, and in a way it was, of course. But that should have been him keeping the memory of being stuffed, deep inside the caverns of his brain. Having every stroke engraved across him like tattoos, never to be removed.

Jimin squeezed his thighs together when Taehyung’s mouth traveled lower, down his neck. Lapping at Jimin’s nipples, toying with them with his mouth. Grazing with his teeth and using his tongue to fiddle with the buds.

Taehyung entertained the squeeze he was receiving from the sides at first, possibly finding it endearing, until Jimin pressed even harder under the pressure of his mouth, trapping Taehyung in between his legs. Forcing him to part Jimin himself, with both of his hands.

Jimin was flexible, but he could still feel the mild pulling near his groin. He wasn’t mad about it. He was mad about the fact that he enjoyed it, just like his untouched, aching dick.

“Taehyung, can we— Ah, fuck!” Jimin was so struck by the third finger entering his hole, his back arched by itself.

Taehyung pressed him down, his palm too close to where it hurt the most. “Not until you’re stretched enough.”

The wail that burst from Jimin’s mouth was almost hard to listen to, a violent tug on Taehyung’s heartstrings. There were tears in Jimin’s eyes, threatening to escape, caused by the unbearable swelling of his girth. It hurt so bad and Jimin couldn’t even touch himself to ease the pain, not to mention having Taehyung cover his entire length with just a single hand.

The salt rolled down his heated cheeks, sobbing at the touch-starved spilling of his dick. The burning anguish of coming just from the stretch of Taehyung’s fingers. The whine-inducing thought that they both knew this was going to happen.

Jimin didn’t notice when Taehyung left his rim alone or when he had the time to wipe his fingers clean. He was too distracted by his crying, until two giant palms cradled his face. Drying Jimin’s tear tracks with the careful swipes of warm thumbs.

A molten kiss seeped through the skin of Jimin’s forehead. And then his hands began to feel a little easier, until completely freed from the clutches of the ribbon.

Jimin briefly touched his wrists, even though they didn’t hurt as much as he expected. Gathered the courage to open his eyes once his breathing got a little better.

The sight of Taehyung, bare chest and lightly tousled hair, wiping some of the mess Jimin left on himself, did something to him. He was still high from the feeling, his dick still aching red and yearning. It wasn’t enough. It will never be enough.

“Taehyung.” It was barely a whisper. A weak hold on Taehyung’s shoulder, then the nape, trying to pull him back. “Please.”

Taehyung knew what he meant. Jimin’s tiny fingers fumbled shyly with the strings of Taehyung’s waistband.

“Beg for it, angel. Ask me nicely.” He said, removing the sticky strands of hair from Jimin’s forehead.

Jimin caved in, practically mewling. “Want your cock. Please, give me your— Want it so much, Taehyung-ah. Please. Please.”

Taehyung couldn’t help his smile, a soft caress to Jimin’s lower lip with his fingertip. Watching as a new wave of tears pooled at Jimin’s pretty waterline. “You sweet thing. I guess I could use a little cocksleeve before I tear you apart.”

Nothing ever sounded more appealing to Jimin than that, his moping heart suddenly coming back to life. This time, he opened up his mouth willingly, Taehyung didn’t even have to ask. Lolled his tongue out just a little, unsure if he’s being too forward, too fast. But Taehyung cooed at him, and that made Jimin’s chest flutter just a bit.

Taehyung’s shorts were dropped towards the floor, and Jimin could have sworn he salivated. Had to take a moment and stare, nothing on his mind but the wish to take Taehyung into his mouth, no matter how big he truly was. Knowing it would likely leave his jaw a little sore. Maybe a lot.

Taehyung approached him, placing his knees on each side of Jimin’s chest. Taking himself by the base and teasing his head against Jimin’s cheek, his full lips, a slow drag that made the stars in Jimin’s eyes dissolve into shimmering dust. Yet the man did nothing about it. He let Taehyung do whatever he wanted, however long, he was already too far gone into his head. 

Jimin’s mouth went slack from the weight of Taehyung’s cock, leaning on his lower lip, and the first push of the tip was better than anything Jimin could have imagined. And he never imagined this at all, or so he liked to believe.

Taehyung allowed Jimin to have a tender start, enjoying the gentle, timid sucking and the kitten licks. It was unfair how adorable he was, so soft around the edges, so flushed and pink wherever Taehyung did and did not touch him. Prettiest plaything, unaware of the cruel things he’s really capable of. Unaware of just how much Taehyung had wanted this.

Taehyung opened him up slowly, the smallest thrusts against Jimin’s burning, hollow cheeks, but Jimin got the taste of it soon enough, wanting more. Taehyung hissed once Jimin figured out that he could swirl his tongue, and do it well. His tongue was pretty long, a topic of discussion among fans and their members alike. At last, Jimin could put it to good use, pulling out a deep and wanton groan from the man above him.

Taehyung didn’t think he’d start to feel that telling tug so quickly, motivated by the delicious drag against that wicked mouth, but perhaps Jimin was always meant to suck his dick. Always meant to warm him up, ignite the fire better than anyone else.

He had to pull on Jimin’s hair to get his mouth away from him. The drag against his scalp was strangely pleasant, mollifying the immediate dejection of being parted with Taehyung’s cock, but only for a little. Jimin still whined about it, not a single care of how far gone he looked.

“Not bad.” Taehyung laughed at his enthusiasm, smearing Jimin’s dribble across his length with one hand. “Now open wide for me like the good little slut that you are.”

Jimin obeyed without question, though he wasn’t entirely prepared for the deep thrust Taehyung aimed for. He felt the head push into the back of Jimin’s throat, and his lower lash line turned a little blurry. His hands kept clutching the sheets and then the sides of Taehyung’s thighs, so Taehyung placed both of Jimin’s arms higher onto the pillow. Working his tense mouth open like it was just another hole for Taehyung to use.

The occasional choke and little hums weren’t helping by far, further tugging against Taehyung’s stomach, warning about what came next. It was a few more relentless thrusts and a tear stain next that Taehyung pulled away completely, only a string of Jimin’s spit left behind between them.

Jimin almost forgot about their initial objective. He was so prepared to endure the aching stretch, to swallow down every bit of cum, that when Taehyung had freed him— he was ready to beg him to come back.

He didn’t get the chance to complain, though. Taehyung grabbed his faint little body by the hips and rolled Jimin onto his front, firmly pushed into the bedding. All Jimin could do was gasp before the push of Taehyung's cockhead into his rim knocked all the air from within.

Jimin’s head got pressed into the sheets and from that moment forward, it was all an overwhelming course of fire taking over every inch of him. He never knew he needed this. He never knew. But now that Taehyung showed him what exactly he’s been missing out on, Jimin didn’t think he’d ever want to go without it. Without Taehyung’s meaty dick rammed into his heat.

Taehyung’s hips were a steady, persistent type of sensuous, and while Jimin noticed that during every other practice, the bedroom was even worse than the dance floor. Worse for Jimin’s ass, of course, because it wasn’t gonna get a minute’s rest.

Each jostle dragged Jimin’s cock against expensive silk, and the constant stimulation from both sides reverted him into a babbling, drooling, sweating little mess.

Taehyung pulled him by the arms so Jimin’s back pressed to his chest, the angle making every thrust seem so much deeper. Jimin was crying before he knew it, another devastating moan once he could feel Taehyung’s heavy, blazing breath upon his neck.

“That’s right. Baby likes being a cumdump for me, doesn't he?” Taehyung mouthed at his skin, holding Jimin down just how he needed to.

“I lo– I love it!” Jimin breathed out after a sob, nodding so furiously. His dick was bulging up again. Jimin felt like he was going to burst into a thousand pieces.

“Wanted to fuck with a star so badly. Here you have it.” Taehyung’s words were punctuated with well-timed lunges, and Jimin could feel his own precum leaking down his length. “Take it. Take it even better than you did before.”

The multi-layered curse Jimin had slurred was unintelligible after Taehyung bit onto his earlobe, and all Jimin could mumble after that was a continuous string of breathless “fill me up” , “please” and “Taehyung.”

Taehyung chose to topple him from behind, covering Jimin from head to toe with nothing but himself. Giving Jimin two fingers to suck on while Taehyung’s steady railing began to settle down in pace. Engulfing, clouding Jimin with everything there was to give. From the intoxicating thought of being skin-to-skin with Taehyung’s warmth, to the scent of them together, damp and completely bare, to the feeling of those long fingers filling up his mouth, feeding him like he was starved. Taehyung was everything in that very moment, and perhaps, this was something Jimin of the past would never be able to remember.

Taehyung unloaded with a growl into Jimin’s shoulder, and all of that liquid heat pooled inside Jimin. Helping Jimin find his long-awaited semblance of peace, like this was everything he ever truly wanted to achieve.

He was pressed into the bed under Taehyung’s hefty weight, and it was the best feeling in the world. They breathed together, slow and deliberate, willing the fever to subside a little from their heads.

Jimin couldn’t stop the tired, silly grin from spreading when Taehyung left a trail of kisses on the side of his face. All he had the strength to do at that point was slightly lift his hand to play with Taehyung’s hair.

“Should I get off of you?” Taehyung murmured into Jimin’s temple, almost a purr. Jimin shook his head, the dopey smile still etched into his features, though his eyelids soon began to droop. He was too sated by the moment. He might just want to stay like this forever, or at least until their next shared schedule.

They laid like that some more, Taehyung’s hands softly caressing wherever they could reach.

“Then… Should I still get that takeaway, or…”

Jimin’s eyes flew open. He turned his head to face Taehyung.

The laugh the two erupted with was louder than any moan they’ve ever made.