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The apartment smells faintly of citrus cleaner and something sweet Jimin had sprayed in the air - something light, nervous and hopeful. Jeongguk is at the kitchen counter, pretending to scroll through notes on his tablet when Jimin steps out of his room. He looks up, and pauses.
Leather trousers - soft black, fitted but not loud about it. A cream shirt tucked loosely at the waist, sleeves rolled just enough to show his wrists. His hair, dark blonde and fluffy, pushed back from his forehead like he’d run his fingers through it too many times while deciding if it was too much.
It isn’t too much. It’s perfect.
”You look …” Jeongguk swallows. Casual. Be casual. “Nice.”
Jimin’s mouth curves. A little shy. A little proud. “Nice?”
”Yeah. Date-worthy.” He forces a grin. “Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.”
Jimin laughs, soft and bright, but there’s something under it. A flicker. “I’ll be back later.”
Jeongguk nods. Too quickly. “Have fun.”
Their eyes hold for a second longe than they should. Long enough for something unspoken to hover between them - tensions, what ifs, things neither of them have ever been brave enough to name. Jimin grabs his jacket and looks back over his shoulder. “Wish me luck?”
Jeongguk lifts his hand in a lazy salute, smiling wide enough to feel it strain despite it not reaching his eyes. “Good luck.”
The door closes, and the apartment immediately feels bigger, and far too quiet. Jeongguk stands there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door like it might open again. Like Jimin might poke his head back in and say never mind. It doesn’t, and he’s gone.
Jeongguk exhales sharply and shakes himself out of it. This is fine. It’s just a date. People go on dates all the time. He puts his headphones on, lets the music flood in and secludes himself in his room, buried in textbooks, notes, and highlighters. Anything structured, anything that makes sense. An hour passes quickly. Then another. He doesn’t check the time. He doesn’t check his phone. He doesn’t think about where Jimin may be sitting, or who might be looking at him the way-
He doesn’t.
At some point, faintly, he thinks he hears the front door - but he’s deep in an article, headphones on, pen moving, and he doesn’t register it fully. Just a blur of muffled sound under the music. It isn’t until he stretches his neck and pulls one headphone off that he notices something is … different. The air has shifted.
There’s a soft thud somewhere down the hallway. The quiet creak of a door hinge. His heart jumps before his brain catches up. He checks the time.
Two hours.
He pulls the headphones off completely. Silence. Then- a knock. Soft. Knuckles against wood. Jeongguk’s chest tightens.
“Yeah?” He calls, trying to sound normal. The handle turns slowly, and Jimin steps in.
He’s changed. The leather is gone. The cream shirt has been replaced by a soft oversized hoodie - one of Jeongguk’s. Sleeves too long, swallowing his hands. His hair isn’t as carefully styled anymore; it’s fallen forward slightly, the effort from earlier washed away.
He looks smaller like this. Quieter.
“You’re back early,” Jeongguk says, pushing his chair back.
“Yeah.” Jimin leans against the doorframe like he needs it. There’s something tucked under his arm - a bottle - but Jeongguk’s attention is on his face. On the faint crease between his brows.
”How was it?”
“It was… fine.”
Fine.
Jeongguk doesn’t like the way that word sits in the air.
“Are you okay?”
Jimin hesitates. Then lifts the bottle slightly, almost sheepish. “Can I come in?”
Jeongguk nods immediately. “Yeah. Of course.”
Jimin steps fully into the room and sets the bottle down on Jeongguk’s desk, carefully moving a stack of notes aside first. The glass catches the lamplight - deep red liquid inside.
Jeongguk barely registers it. He’s watching the way Jimin avoids his eyes. The way he exhales like he’s been holding it in since the door closed behind him earlier. “So?” Jeongguk prompts gently. “What happened?”
Jimin shrugs again, but it’s thinner this time. “He was nice. Just… not it.”
Not it.
Jeongguk swallows down the flicker of relief that sparks, sharp and immediate. He hates himself for it. “That’s okay,” he says instead. “You don’t have to force it.”
Jimin gives him a look then - something searching. “I know.”
There’s a small silence.
Jeongguk reaches absently for the bottle, finally glancing down at it. “You planning on getting drunk in my room?”
A tiny smile ghosts over Jimin’s mouth. “Maybe.”
Jeongguk turns the label toward himself, and freezes. He lifts his brows. “Wait.”
Jimin’s eyes flick up, watching him carefully now.
“That’s- ”
“Your favorite,” Jimin finishes quietly.
Jeongguk looks from the label back to him. “You hate this.”
“I don’t hate it.”
“You said it tastes like regret.”
“It does,” Jimin admits. “But it’s not always a bad thing.”
The words land softer than they should. Jeongguk stares at the bottle for a second longer, something warm and aching spreading through his chest.
“You didn’t even notice,” Jimin adds, almost teasing, but there’s vulnerability under it.
“I wasn’t looking at the bottle,” Jeongguk says before he can stop himself. Jimin’s fingers tighten slightly around the sleeve of the hoodie — his hoodie. Jeongguk clears his throat and stands. “I’ll get glasses.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
He moves past Jimin toward the kitchen, their shoulders brushing just barely. The contact is small, accidental - but it lingers like static. When he comes back, Jimin is sitting on the edge of his bed now, hands folded loosely in his lap, gaze unfocused.
Jeongguk sets the glasses down and pours. The deep red fills them both. He hands one over.
Their fingers brush.
Jimin looks up at him, softer now. Less composed. “Thanks,” he murmurs.
Jeongguk sits beside him, close enough that their knees almost touch. “Next time,” Jeongguk says lightly, though his voice isn’t quite steady, “we’re pre-screening. I’m vetting them.”
Jimin huffs a small laugh. “You’d scare them off.”
“Good.”
The room feels smaller now. Warmer. The wine sits heavy in Jeongguk’s hand, but heavier still is the fact that Jimin showed up here first. Changed into his clothes. Brought his favorite bottle. Not to get drunk. But to sit with him.
And for the first time that night, Jeongguk lets himself really look at him.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, softer this time.
Jimin meets his eyes and nods. Jimin takes a careful sip. Immediately, his nose wrinkles. “Oh,” he mutters under his breath, swallowing with blatant reluctance.
Jeongguk huffs a quiet laugh. “Still regret?”
“Tastes worse when you’re emotionally vulnerable,” Jimin replies with a grimace, but he takes another sip anyway. He sits on the edge of the bed, one knee bent, the oversized hoodie pooling around him like he’s been wrapped in it. The neckline has shifted slightly, sliding off one shoulder without him noticing - revealing a smooth line of collarbone, golden against the dark fabric.
Jeongguk notices. He’s leaned back in his desk chair now, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee. His hair is tied back messily, strands falling loose around his temples. He holds his own glass loosely, barely drinking. He should be studying, but he isn’t.
Because Jimin keeps stealing glances at him. Small ones, quick ones - over the rim of the glass, through his lashes.
And every time Jeongguk catches him, Jimin looks away first - pretending to examine the label on the bottle, pretending to adjust his sleeve. What Jimin doesn’t notice is that Jeongguk hasn’t stopped looking at him at all.
He’s completely enraptured.
By the way the hoodie - his hoodie - swallows Jimin whole. By the flash of bare shoulder against black cotton, by the way his lips look plush and soft from the wine, slightly parted like he’s thinking about something he hasn’t said. By the way his hair is fluffy again, untamed now that the date-version of him has dissolved. This version feels real. Comfortable.
Jimin shifts, reaching into the pocket of the hoodie to pull out his phone. “I think I’m done with dating apps,” he murmurs.
He stands and crosses the short space between them, leaning forward slightly to place his phone on Jeongguk’s desk.
And Jeongguk’s breath falters.
The sweats sit low on Jimin’s hips - soft grey fabric hugging the curve of them before disappearing under the oversized hoodie. The movement makes the hem lift just slightly at the back, revealing the natural line of his waist.
It’s subtle. Mostly unintentional.
Jeongguk’s fingers tighten around his glass. He forces his gaze upward again, but not before the image brands itself somewhere permanent.
Jimin doesn’t see it.
He’s looking at the phone now, tapping it pointlessly. “It’s exhausting. Pretending to be interesting to people who don’t actually see you.”
Jeongguk swallows. “I see you,” he says quietly.
Jimin stills. Slowly, he turns his head.
Their eyes meet. There’s something in Jeongguk’s expression he hasn’t let show before. Something unguarded. Heat and softness tangled together. Jimin’s gaze drops - just briefly - to Jeongguk’s mouth, then back up.
“You always do,” he says, barely above a whisper.
They’re close now. Closer than before. The wine sits on the desk. The music still hums faintly from Jeongguk’s abandoned headphones.
The wine level dips lower.
Jimin’s tolerance has never been impressive, and it shows in the way his words soften at the edges, in the way his limbs seem looser now - less guarded. He’s sitting cross-legged near the pillows when he suddenly pats the mattress beside him. “Come here,” he says, voice warm and just a little slurred at the corners. “Stop sitting over there like a disappointed dad.”
Jeongguk snorts. “I am not-.”
“Sit.”
There’s no real force behind it. Just something coaxing. Jeongguk hesitates for half a second. Then he sets his glass down and moves, settling beside him on the bed, back against the headboard. Jimin smiles - soft, satisfied - and without ceremony shifts onto his side. He lowers his head onto Jeongguk’s thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Jeongguk goes very still.
Jimin sighs contentedly, cheek warm through the thin fabric of Jeongguk’s sweats. “Better.”
Jeongguk’s heart is beating hard enough he’s surprised Jimin can’t hear it.
They talk quietly - about nothing important. The date. A stupid comment the guy made. A shared memory from last semester. The wine bottle empties another inch.
Jeongguk holds his glass loosely in one hand. His other hand, almost without permission, drifts into Jimin’s hair. It’s soft. Fluffy again, like earlier. His fingers brush lightly at first - tentative - then more confidently when Jimin hums in approval and shifts closer.
“Don’t stop,” Jimin murmurs, already half-asleep.
Jeongguk doesn’t. He combs his fingers back gently, nails grazing faintly against Jimin’s scalp; slow, repetitive, soothing. Minutes pass and Jimin’s breathing quickly evens out.
Jeongguk lets himself look.
At the way the hoodie bunches around Jimin’s shoulders, at the relaxed curve of his mouth. He melts at the vulnerability of him - sprawled across his lap, trusting and unaware of Jeongguk’s internal crisis
And then … Jimin stirs.
“M’phone,” he mumbles suddenly.
Jeongguk barely has time to react before Jimin pushes himself upright. The sudden movement makes Jeongguk quickly set his wine glass aside, instinct taking over the moment Jimin shifts his weight.
Jimin leans forward across Jeongguk’s lap, reaching toward the desk where his phone lies just out of range. He stretches, just a little too far.
“Wait-,” Jeongguk starts.
Jimin’s balance fails, and Jeongguk’s hands move on reflex. One arm wraps around Jimin’s waist to steady him, the other braces at his side.
For a split second, everything freezes.
Because beneath the oversized hoodie- there’s nothing. No waistband. No barrier. Just warm, bare skin under Jeongguk’s palm. Slender and taut. The heat of him unmistakable.
Jimin inhales sharply.
Jeongguk’s fingers tighten before he can stop himself - not gripping, just… confirming what he’s feeling. Bare. His brain struggles to catch up with the revelation.
Jimin’s hand finds the desk, stabilising himself, but he hasn’t moved away yet. He’s half sprawled across Jeongguk’s lap, hoodie riding up slightly from the stretch. Slowly, Jimin turns his head, but their faces are close; too close, and Jeongguk’s hand is still at his waist.
Warm skin against skin.
Neither of them dares to speak, words trapped by the sudden heaviness in the air.
Jimin’s eyes flick down briefly to where Jeongguk’s hand rests, then back up. When he speaks, his voice is softer than it’s been all night.
“I thought you’d notice sooner.”
Jeongguk’s pulse pounds in his ears. “Notice what?” he asks, though he very much knows.
Jeongguk’s hand hasn’t moved. It’s still splayed at Jimin’s waist, fingers pressing into warm skin, thumb resting just above the low band of his sweats.
Too close.
The hoodie has ridden up slightly from the stumble, exposing more of that smooth line - the sharp dip of muscle that disappears beneath the fabric. Jeongguk can feel the subtle indentation there under his fingertips, the place where waist curves into hip.
His breath is no longer steady, and when Jimin feels it he shifts - not away, up.
He pushes himself back onto his knees, steadying himself with a hand against Jeongguk’s shoulder. The movement pulls him upright, the oversized hoodie sliding higher along his torso before settling again.
And suddenly Jeongguk is confronted with him.
The shape of his waist - bare and narrow under his hands. The sweep of his hips beneath the soft grey fabric. The unmistakable curve where they flare and fall.
It’s not dramatic, nor is it exaggerated; it’s just real, and far too close.
Jeongguk’s fingers flex involuntarily, brushing along that sharp V where skin dips beneath the waistband.
Jimin inhales.
The room feels smaller than it ever has. Jeongguk swallows, his voice rougher now. “Jimin…”
Jimin’s hand tightens slightly on his shoulder. He’s close enough that Jeongguk can see the faint flush climbing his neck. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. “You didn’t pull away,” Jimin says quietly.
Neither did you, the words hang there, unspoken.
Jeongguk’s other hand hovers uncertainly at Jimin’s side before settling carefully at his other hip - steadying, but not claiming. His thumbs press lightly into bare skin.
It would be so easy to slide lower, to dip his fingers beneath the fabric and feel the heat against his palms. Instead, he looks up at him, really looks at him - at the uncertainty and want tangled together in his expression.
“Are you sure?” Jeongguk asks, barely above a whisper.
The question seems to be what finally shifts Jimin into action, his answer not verbal at first. He leans forward, slowly, carefully; until his forehead almost brushes Jeongguk’s. His voice is gentler again. No teasing, no wine-slurred confidence.
”I’ve been sure.”
Jeongguk’s restraint feels paper-thin, teetering on a knife’s edge. But he keeps his hands where they are - firm at Jimin’s waist, thumbs brushing just slightly as if testing reality.
They stay like that for a while. Jimin kneeling between Jeongguk’s legs, Jeongguk’s hands steady at his bare waist, thumbs resting just above the low band of his sweats.
Neither of them moves, nor does either of them pull away. Jimin searches his face, eyes darker now - not just with want, but with vulnerability. He tilts his chin slightly, lashes lowering before he looks back up at him through them.
“What are you thinking?” he asks carefully.
Jeongguk exhales slowly, like he’s been holding it for minutes. “I’m thinking,” he admits, voice low and honest, “that if I say it out loud, we can’t pretend this is nothing anymore.”
Jimin’s fingers curl lightly into the fabric of Jeongguk’s shirt.
“I don’t want it to be nothing.”
The air shifts again - less charged now, more open.
Jeongguk studies him. “We’ve been drinking.”
“I know.”
“You had a bad date.”
“I know.”
His thumbs press slightly into Jimin’s waist as he searches his expression. “I don’t want this to be because you’re disappointed. Or because of the wine.”
Jimin shakes his head immediately. The movement brings them closer. “It’s not,” he says, firmer now. “The date didn’t go well because-” He hesitates, swallowing. “Because he wasn’t you.”
The confession lands gently, and Jeongguk’s breath still catches under the weight of it.
Jimin keeps going, quieter now. “He was nice. Attractive. Said all the right things. But the whole time I kept thinking about how I’d rather be here. With you. Drinking your terrible wine.” A faint, fond smile. “Wearing your hoodie.”
Jeongguk’s hands tighten reflexively at his waist.
“This isn’t the alcohol,” Jimin adds, eyes steady, as if trying to channel every ounce of reassurance he can. “I’ve wanted this. For a while.”
The vulnerability in his voice does something to Jeongguk’s restraint.
“I’ve wanted it too,” Jeongguk admits, barely above a whisper. The words feel like stepping off a ledge. Jimin’s expression softens - relief flickering there.
“Then tell me,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Jeongguk hesitates for only a second. “I’m thinking,” he says slowly, honestly, “that you’re sitting in my lap, and I can’t remember the last time I tried this hard not to kiss someone.”
Jimin’s lips part slightly at that. “And?” he prompts.
“And I’m thinking that if I do, there’s no going back.”
Jimin leans in just a fraction more, their foreheads brushing now. “Maybe I don’t want to go back.”
There’s just silence, warmth, and breath shared between them.
Jeongguk searches his eyes one more time. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
It’s not rushed, not uncertain. Just sure. The room feels impossibly small now - not because of tension, but because everything has narrowed down to this space between them, and Jimin is refusing to look away.
Not this time.
Instead, slowly - deliberately - he shifts.
He lifts one knee, then the other, turning in the cradle of Jeongguk’s legs until he’s facing him fully. The movement is careful but unhesitating, guided by instinct more than thought.
Then he settles, right into Jeongguk’s lap.
Jeongguk’s hands instinctively slide from his waist to steady his hips, breath catching as Jimin adjusts - the oversized hoodie slipping, sleeves swallowing his hands as he drapes his arms over Jeongguk’s shoulders.
His fingers disappear into the cuffs, knuckles brushing the back of Jeongguk’s neck. They’re so close now that their knees press together, chests nearly aligned.
Jimin’s lashes lower before he looks up at him again - soft, open, vulnerable.
“Kiss me,” he whispers. Jeongguk’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly.
“How?” he asks, voice rough.
Jimin swallows, then answers honestly. “Like you’ve always wanted to.”
That does it. Jeongguk lifts one hand from Jimin’s hip to cradle his jaw instead, thumb brushing lightly along the line of his cheek. His other hand remains firm at his waist - grounding both of them.
He leans in slowly, giving Jimin time to pull back, but he doesn’t. Their lips meet gently. Soft and tentative. The first brush is almost chaste - a testing of warmth, of breath, of reality. Jimin exhales into it, and the sound alone makes something in Jeongguk unravel. He kisses him again - slower this time. Deeper. His thumb strokes along Jimin’s cheek, and Jimin melts into it with a quiet hum, fingers curling at the nape of Jeongguk’s neck.
The world narrows and the day falls away, taking with it the months and years of almosts.
Jimin shifts closer in his lap, pressing chest to chest, his arms tightening around Jeongguk’s shoulders as if afraid he might disappear.
And something in Jeongguk finally gives. His hand at Jimin’s waist tightens, fingers flexing against bare skin. He pulls him in - closer, firmer - and the kiss intensifies naturally. Still not rushed, but no longer hesitant.
Jimin responds immediately, lips parting against his, breath hitching as he leans into the hold. His hands finally finding Jeongguk’s hair, tangling in the loose strands at his temples.
Charged with all the things they didn’t say for months.
Jeongguk tilts his head, angling closer, his grip firm and certain now. Jimin makes a soft sound - surprised but pleased - and hugs him tighter, knees pressing into Jeongguk’s sides as if to anchor himself there.
When they finally pull back, it’s only far enough to breathe. Foreheads resting together. Jimin’s lips are flushed. Slightly swollen. His eyes heavy, but clear.
“That,” he murmurs softly, “is what I meant.”
Jeongguk lets out a shaky breath, hands still steady at his waist.
“Yeah,” he replies quietly. “I know.”
The space between them barely exists anymore. Jimin kisses him again before either of them can say anything else - less tentative this time. His hands tangle fully into Jeongguk’s hair, sleeves slipping back enough for warm fingers to press at his scalp. He tilts his head, seeking more.
Jeongguk responds instinctively.
Their lips part naturally.
Jimin shifts in his lap, trying to close whatever distance still remains between them. His body presses closer, chest to chest, thighs tightening at Jeongguk’s hips as if proximity alone isn’t enough. A soft sound escapes him when Jeongguk’s tongue brushes gently against his - exploratory, unhurried. Jimin melts into it.
He follows the movement, eager but not clumsy, kissing him deeper, like he’s memorizing the shape of it. Like he’s trying to fit himself into every space Jeongguk gives him.
Jeongguk’s hands slide down from Jimin’s waist to his hips - firmer now. Grounding. Claiming.
When Jimin shifts again, seeking friction, Jeongguk helps him - fingers tightening at his hips, guiding him forward. Pulling him more directly against him. The movement draws a sharper breath from both of them.
Jimin’s grip on his shoulders tightens, knees pressing in at Jeongguk’s sides as he settles more fully in his lap. The oversized hoodie bunches between them, but it doesn’t dull the heat building there.
The kiss grows heavier. Hungrier.
Still not frantic - but charged with months of restraint finally unraveling. Jeongguk angles his head, deepening it again, and Jimin answers immediately, leaning into him, chasing the warmth of his mouth like he’s afraid it might disappear.
Their breathing becomes uneven.
Hands roam - not reckless, but searching. Jeongguk’s thumbs press into the curve of Jimin’s hips as he keeps him there, steadying the subtle rocking that starts without conscious thought.
Jimin breaks the kiss only long enough to drag in air, lips brushing back to Jeongguk’s almost instantly.
“Don’t stop,” he whispers against his mouth, punctuating with a devastating roll of his hips, Jeongguk doesn’t.
He kisses him again - slower this time, deeper - letting it linger, letting Jimin feel exactly how much he’s wanted this.
And when Jimin presses closer once more, Jeongguk’s grip at his hips tightens in answer. It’s utterly consuming, and Jeongguk wants nothing more than to pull Jimin down harder, to roll their clothed cocks together until they’re gasping. But he breaks the kiss first. Not because he wants to.
Because he needs to breathe, and think.
Jimin’s lips chase his for a second longer before he blinks up at him, flushed and a little dazed.
Jeongguk keeps his hands steady on his hips. “Jimin,” he says softly, grounding them both. “If we go further… I need to know you’re absolutely sure.”
There’s no teasing in his tone now. No haze of wine. Just clarity. Jimin searches his face, still straddling his lap, fingers curled into his shoulders. “I’m sure,” he says.
Jeongguk studies him carefully. “Not because of the date.”
“No.”
“Not because you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“Not because we’ve been drinking.”
Jimin shakes his head, more firmly this time. He cups Jeongguk’s jaw with both hands, sleeves swallowing his fingers again. “I want you,” he says quietly. “I’ve wanted you.”
The certainty in his voice settles something deep in Jeongguk’s chest. “Okay, okay.” Jeongguk murmurs, resolute.
And then, without another word, he slides his hands fully under Jimin’s thighs and stands.
Jimin gasps in surprise - arms tightening instinctively around Jeongguk’s shoulders as he’s lifted with ease.
“Show off,” Jimin breathes, a faint laugh in his voice. “Where are we going?”
“Your room.”
“My room?” Jimin says automatically.
Jeongguk smirks faintly, already moving toward the door and stepping into the hallway. “Your bed’s bigger.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate, the implication is as clear as ever. We’ll need the space.
Jimin’s laugh this time is softer. Warmer. His forehead drops briefly to Jeongguk’s shoulder as they move.
The hallway feels different now - charged, quiet, intimate in a way it’s never been before. Jeongguk nudges Jimin’s bedroom door open with his foot and steps inside.
He lowers him carefully toward the mattress.
“Wait,” Jimin says suddenly.
Jeongguk pauses immediately.
Jimin slides down from his arms, bare feet hitting the floor. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing at the bed. His date outfit is still there - leather trousers half-folded, cream shirt crumpled near the pillows. Jimin huffs softly. “Hold on.”
He climbs onto the bed on his knees to clear it, reaching forward to gather the discarded clothes.
Jeongguk stays near the doorway.
Watching.
The hoodie shifts as Jimin leans forward, fabric sliding up along his back. It exposes the long, clean line of his waist - smooth and warm in the soft lamplight. The curve where it narrows and then rounds again at his hips.
The sweats sit low, dipping just enough to emphasize that shape - the roundness beneath the fabric, the subtle tension in muscle as he stretches forward.
It isn’t exaggerated.
It’s just… him, and it’s fucking devastating.
Jeongguk’s jaw tightens.
His hands flex at his sides, restraint fraying as he takes in the sight - the vulnerability of it, the unguarded intimacy of Jimin kneeling on his own bed
in Jeongguk’s hoodie. The arch of his back and the temptation that comes with it.
Jimin gathers the clothes quickly, tossing them onto a nearby chair. When he turns back, still on his knees, he catches the expression on Jeongguk’s face and stills. The room is quiet. Jimin’s breath falters slightly under the weight of that gaze. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs — though there’s no real protest in it.
Jeongguk steps forward slowly, closing the distance. “Like what?” he asks, voice low.
Jimin swallows. “Like you’re about to lose control.”
Jeongguk reaches the edge of the bed. His hands come to Jimin’s hips again - firm, warm, deliberate.
“Only if you’re still sure,” he says.
Jimin nods. No hesitation.
Jeongguk’s grip tightens slightly, but he doesn’t climb onto the bed. He stays standing at the edge of it, tall and steady, while Jimin remains on his knees in front of him.
The difference in height shifts the energy instantly. Jimin looks up at him - breath a little uneven, hair falling softly over his forehead. The oversized hoodie drapes over his frame, sleeves still swallowing his hands.
Jeongguk reaches out. Not roughly. Not hurried. He cups Jimin’s face in both hands, warm palms framing his jaw, thumbs brushing lightly along his cheekbones. His fingers slide back into Jimin’s hair, tilting his head upward just enough so their eyes lock fully.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
Jimin does. There’s no uncertainty there now. Just heat. Trust. Want.
Jeongguk leans down and kisses him. It’s not tentative this time, it’s deep. Intentional.
His hands hold Jimin steady as their mouths meet, angling him exactly where he wants him. Jimin exhales against his lips and leans into it, hands coming up instinctively to grip at Jeongguk’s waist.
The kiss grows fuller, slow but consuming. Jeongguk’s thumbs press gently at Jimin’s jaw as he lifts it, lips moving with controlled hunger rather than frenzy, all shared breaths and licks that make Jimin’s toes curl.
Jimin makes a soft sound - needy, breathless - and arches slightly upward to chase him.
Jeongguk doesn’t let him chase. He keeps control of the angle, the pace. When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction. Their lips still brush when they speak. His voice is low. Close.
“Take it off,” he whispers against Jimin’s mouth.
The words are meant for the hoodie, but the command of it has Jimin melting. He inhales sharply, eyes flickering with understanding.
The sleeves fall back slightly as his hands lift to the hem. For a moment, he hesitates - not in doubt, but in anticipation - gaze still locked on Jeongguk’s.
Jimin holds Jeongguk’s gaze as his fingers curl into the hem of the hoodie. Slowly, he lifts it. The fabric drags upward, exposing warm skin inch by inch - the smooth plane of his stomach, the subtle definition beneath, the long stretch of his torso as his arms rise overhead. His body elongates with the movement, muscles pulling taut for a brief second before relaxing again.
The hoodie slips free and drops somewhere onto the floor.
His hair falls messier around his face now, ruffled from the fabric. A faint flush spreads across his chest, and there - scattered across his skin - are the small smatterings of ink Jeongguk has only ever glimpsed in passing.
Delicate lines. Minimalist shapes. A constellation near his ribs. Something script-like written along his side.
Jeongguk exhales slowly.
He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing.
Jimin remains on his knees, bare torso rising and falling gently, watching him with that same open, vulnerable heat.
Jeongguk steps closer. One hand comes back to Jimin’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly along his lower lip - not pushing, just tracing.
“Against the pillows,” he says quietly.
Jimin swallows, then shifts backward on his knees, retreating slowly until his back meets the pile of pillows at the headboard. He settles there, propped slightly upright, hair tousled, skin warm under the soft light of the room. Waiting with his eyes not leaving Jeongguk’s.
Jeongguk follows, climbing onto the mattress with controlled intent. His eyes don’t leave Jimin for a second. There’s hunger there. But more than that - there’s reverence.
Like he’s memorizing every inch before he touches him again. Jeongguk moves forward on the bed, settling between Jimin’s legs, his hands resting warmly at his thighs.
Jeongguk’s restraint snaps clean in two. In one swift motion, he shifts his weight and pulls Jimin flat onto his back. It’s controlled, not harsh - but decisive. The mattress dips as Jimin lands, a soft surprised laugh leaving him before it dissolves into a breathless exhale. Jeongguk follows immediately, hovering over him, hair loose around his face, eyes dark and focused. For a second, they just look at each other.
Jimin’s chest rises and falls quickly. His hands rest loosely at his sides.
Jeongguk leans down and captures his mouth in a kiss that’s deeper than before - not frantic, but consuming. His hands move with purpose, sliding down Jimin’s sides, over his hips.
“Still okay?” Jeongguk murmurs against his lips.
Jimin nods without hesitation. “Yes.”
Jeongguk shifts again, lifting Jimin’s legs carefully and settling them over one of his shoulders. The position makes Jimin’s breath hitch - the stretch, the closeness, the intensity of being looked at like that. Jeongguk’s gaze drags down his body slowly, appreciatively, before returning to his face.
“You’re unreal,” he says quietly.
Then his hands slide to the waistband Jimin had hooked earlier. He doesn’t rush. He keeps eye contact.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulls the sweats down, along with the thin fabric beneath, inch by inch. The movement feels heavier than it should - charged with meaning, with choice.
Jimin’s fingers curl into the sheets as the fabric is eased away and tossed aside.
There’s a pause. A breath.
Jeongguk leans forward, bracing one hand beside Jimin’s hip, the other smoothing slowly up his thigh - reverent, almost disbelieving. “You trust me?” he asks quietly.
Jimin nods, eyes soft but burning. “I do.”
Jeongguk exhales, something between relief and hunger, and lowers his mouth to Jimin’s again, slower this time. Jeongguk kisses him like he’s starving.
Slow at first; mouths parting, fitting, then deeper when Jimin’s hands slide up into his hair and tug gently. Jeongguk groans softly into the kiss, the sound low and unguarded, and Jimin feels it vibrate through him.
Their tongues meet and Jimin sucks on Jeonggk’s, making the brunet groan.
Jimin’s breaths break into small, involuntary sounds between kisses, little gasps when Jeongguk’s hands move lower, when his fingers press into skin and muscle like he’s memorising the feel of him.
Jeongguk’s palm drags up Jimin’s thigh again, slow and deliberate, then back down. Not rushed. Not careless. Every touch feels intentional and exploratory. His other hand braces beside Jimin’s waist, thumb stroking absent-mindedly along the curve of his hip.
Jimin arches slightly into him without thinking.
Jeongguk notices. He shifts forward, letting more of his weight settle between Jimin’s legs, bodies aligning naturally. The friction draws a sharp inhale from both of them.
“God,” Jimin breathes, head tipping back against the pillow.
Jeongguk follows the movement, mouth trailing from Jimin’s lips to his jaw, then down the line of his throat. He kisses there slowly, lingering, tongue brushing lightly over warm skin before soothing it with a softer press of his lips.
Jimin’s hands slide down Jeongguk’s back, gripping through the thin cotton of his shirt.
“It’s not fair,” Jimin murmurs, voice unsteady.
Jeongguk hums distractedly against his collarbone. “What isn’t?”
“I’m the only one naked.”
Jeongguk stills.
Jimin looks up at him, lips flushed, hair spread messily across the pillow. “That’s rude.”
Jeongguk huffs a quiet, breathless laugh. “You’re complaining?” he asks.
“Yes,” Jimin says immediately. “It’s mean.”
Jeongguk leans down and kisses him once more - slow, deliberate - before pulling back. “Stay,” he murmurs.
Jimin watches him carefully as Jeongguk shifts off the bed. The loss of contact makes the air feel cooler instantly, so Jeongguk doesn’t waste time.
He hooks his fingers into the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. The fabric lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten. His hair falls fully loose around his face, no tie holding it back.
Jimin’s breath catches.
Jeongguk steps out of his sweats next, pushing them down and kicking them aside. He straightens slowly, completely unguarded. The ink along his arm catches the dim light - intricate lines winding from wrist to shoulder and spilling onto the top of his chest. The tattoos frame him, emphasize the strength in his shoulders, the defined lines of his torso.
Jimin swallows visibly.
“Okay,” he whispers. “That’s… not fair either.”
Jeongguk smirks faintly, stepping back toward the bed. “You asked.”
Jimin props himself up slightly on his elbows, gaze dragging openly over him. “I forgot about the chest,” he murmurs.
Jeongguk climbs back onto the mattress, settling between Jimin’s legs again. The heat returns instantly, doubled now - skin against skin.
Jimin exhales sharply when their bodies meet fully.
Jeongguk braces his hands on either side of him for a moment, just looking down.
“You’re staring,” Jimin says softly.
“So are you.”
“Yeah.” Jimin reaches up, fingertips brushing lightly over the ink on Jeongguk’s chest. “Can you blame me?”
Jeongguk catches his wrist gently and presses a kiss to the inside of it. Then he lowers himself down, slow and intentional, mouths meeting again - deeper now that there’s nothing in the way. Their chests brush. Their hips shift instinctively closer. Every movement draws a soft sound from one of them - a quiet sigh, a muffled groan, breath hitching when skin slides against skin.
Jimin’s legs tighten slightly around Jeongguk’s waist.
Jeongguk responds without thinking, hands sliding up Jimin’s sides, then down again, exploring, mapping. His mouth moves from Jimin’s lips to his neck, kissing, tasting, soothing every mark with another gentle press. “Still okay?” Jeongguk asks again, softer this time.
Jimin nods, pulling him back into another kiss instead of answering.
Their bodies move together slowly - not rushed, not frantic - just drawn together by months of tension finally unraveling.
He kisses Jimin until he’s pliant beneath him - until his hands clutch at Jeongguk’s shoulders instead of directing, until his breaths come softer and deeper. He trails his mouth down Jimin’s chest, lingering, learning what makes him react - the small hitch in his breath when Jeongguk’s tongue traces slowly; the way his back arches when fingers press just right.
“Jeongguk-,” Jimin whispers, overwhelmed already.
Jeongguk looks up at him from where he’s kissed a path down his body, and he has to pause. Because Jimin already looks undone.
Hair a mess against the pillow. Lips swollen. Skin flushed from collarbone to hip. Eyes glassy and heavy-lidded as he watches Jeongguk like he can’t believe this is real. “You look…” Jeongguk trails off, shaking his head slightly.
“What?” Jimin breathes.
“Like you’ve been waiting for this as long as I have.”
Jimin lets out a shaky laugh that dissolves into a soft sound when Jeongguk’s hands slide lower again - careful, attentive. He keeps eye contact as much as he can, checking, reassuring. His touch is steady and patient, coaxing instead of rushing, easing Jimin open with quiet murmurs and gentle praise when he tenses.
“Relax,” Jeongguk whispers, brushing his lips over Jimin’s thigh. “I’ve got you.”
Every movement is deliberate. Earned. He listens to every small sound Jimin makes - the soft gasps, the quiet whimpers he tries and fails to swallow. Jeongguk adjusts immediately when Jimin’s fingers tighten in the sheets, when his breathing stutters.
It’s not about urgency. It’s about care.
“You okay?” Jeongguk asks one more time, Jimin is already trembling.
“Jungkook, please…” it comes out breathless, unsure, a warning and a plea all at once.
Jeongguk glances up at him from where he’s pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses along his stomach. The look in his eyes is dark, focused - but there’s something softer beneath it.
“Let me,” he murmurs.
Jeongguk settles between his thighs, hands sliding up the inside of them, spreading them gently, thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin there. He kisses lower. Slower. His mouth is warm, unhurried, reverent.
The first real touch makes Jimin jolt.
Not because it’s rough — it isn’t. It’s the opposite. It’s slow. Intentional. The brush of lips and tongue that feels exploratory at first — and then certain.
Jimin’s back arches off the bed instantly.
“Oh-”
The sound is raw. Unfiltered. Jeongguk’s hands flatten on his hips, steadying him as his mouth works with increasing confidence. He’s watching Jimin the entire time - watching how his fingers knot in the sheets, how his stomach tightens, how his breathing fractures.
Every soft noise Jimin makes seems to fuel him. “Jungkook-” it dissolves into a broken gasp when Jeongguk presses closer, deeper, tongue moving in a slow rhythm that builds and builds and builds.
Jimin’s thighs start to shake. His hands find Jeongguk’s hair, fingers threading through dark strands, not pushing him away - pulling him closer. ”Don’t stop,” he whispers desperately.
Jeongguk doesn’t.
He adjusts slightly, one arm wrapping more firmly around Jimin’s thigh, keeping him open, keeping him right there. The sensation turns overwhelming in the best way - heat spiralling tighter and tighter in Jimin’s core.
He’s not quiet anymore.
Soft moans turn breathless. His head tips back. His body moves instinctively, chasing friction, chasing more.
Jeongguk hums softly against him at one point - and the vibration nearly ruins him.
“Please- ” Jimin doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. More. Always more.
The pressure builds until it’s unbearable. And then Jeongguk’s hand slides up, fingers brushing, circling, adding just enough -
Jimin comes apart with a strangled cry, hips lifting helplessly as pleasure crashes through him in waves. “Fuck-!”
Jeongguk holds him through it. Doesn’t move away. Doesn’t rush. Just lets him feel it - lets him shake, lets him breathe, lets him come back down slowly.
When he finally lifts his head, lips flushed and eyes darker than before, Jimin looks completely undone.
And Jeongguk looks wrecked by the sight of it. “You’re unreal,” he says quietly.
Jimin lets out a weak laugh, still catching his breath.
Jeongguk crawls back up his body, kissing him again - letting Jimin taste himself on his tongue. It’s slow. Deep. Intimate in a way that feels almost more vulnerable than anything else.
But they’re not done.
Jeongguk braces his hands beside Jimin’s shoulders, pressing him gently back into the mattress.
“Wait,” he murmurs.
There’s something in his voice - heavier now. Needier.
He shifts forward, settling between Jimin’s legs again, but this time he doesn’t lower his mouth.
Instead, he moves over him.
Jimin’s legs instinctively lift, wrapping around Jeongguk’s waist. He pulls him down closer, heels pressing into the small of his back.
Their bodies align fully now - heat against heat.
Jeongguk keeps Jimin’s head and shoulders pinned softly to the mattress with the weight of his chest, one hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, tilting his head back for a deeper kiss.
The other hand grips Jimin’s hip.
They move together slowly at first.
Then deeper.
More intense.
The earlier softness melts into something hungrier again - but this time it’s grounded in the intimacy of what just happened. Jimin is hypersensitive now, every brush of skin sending aftershocks through him.
“Kook-ah,” his voice breaks again, overwhelmed all over.
Jeongguk’s forehead presses to his.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” Jimin breathes immediately. “Don’t you dare stop.”
The rhythm builds until they’re little more than sharp hasps and the slapping of skin against skin. Jimin’s legs tighten around Jeongguk’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer, wanting to feel everything. The wine in their blood hums warm and reckless - but their movements are still honest.
Jimin digs his nails into Jeongguk’s back as the intensity climbs again - harder now, pulling a sob from his bruised lips. The line between pleasure and too-much blurs deliciously, and they cling to each other, kissing like they’re afraid the other might disappear.
Jeongguk is still braced over him, still moving with that slow, consuming rhythm - but something unravels in both of them at the same time.
It hits them.
This is the line.
Once they cross it fully, there is no pretending this is just tension. No pretending this is just curiosity. No pretending this won’t change things.
Jimin sees it flicker across Jeongguk’s face; that split second of hesitation. Not about consent. Not about want.
About after.
Their friendship. The easy laughter. The comfort of it.
Jimin cups his face. “Don’t,” he breathes, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. “If we stop now, I’ll lose my mind.”
Jeongguk exhales shakily against his mouth.
“I don’t want to ruin us.”
Jimin’s legs tighten around his waist, pulling him down harder, closer; like he’s afraid Jeongguk might actually pull away.
“You won’t,” Jimin whispers fiercely. “You could never.” And then, softer - more vulnerable than he’s been all night: “I’ve wanted you too long to pretend I don’t.”
That does it. Whatever thread of restraint Jeongguk was holding onto snaps completely. He kisses him like he needs him to breathe. Pure desperation.
Months, maybe longer, of swallowed tension pour into the way his hands roam Jimin’s body. The way he presses him deeper into the mattress. The way his breathing turns ragged, almost pained.
Jimin meets him with equal urgency.
There’s nothing neat about it, they’re sweat-slicked and chasing a high that almost feels painful. Every nerve on fire as Jeongguk picks up his pace, slamming into him over and over - met by Jimin’s hips until their skin pinks.
“God, Jimin-, ” Jeongguk groans against his mouth, like the name has weight to it.
Jimin’s fingers tangle in his hair again, pulling him down for another kiss that’s almost messy with need. They’ve thought about this too long. Imagined it too long.
Denied it too long.
And now that they have it - skin against skin, breath shared, legs wrapped tight - it feels unbearable to go slow.
Jimin arches up into him, shameless now. No pretending. No restraint.
“If this changes things,” he pants, eyes blown wide and shining, “then let it.”
Jeongguk stills just long enough to look at him properly.
There’s fear there.
But there’s something stronger.
He presses his face into Jimin’s neck, voice rough and honest in a way that feels almost sacred.
“You’re all I want,” he says.
The admission lands heavy between them.
And that’s it.
The desperation - but it’s not reckless. It’s certain. They hold each other tighter. Move together harder. Kiss like they’re trying to memorize the exact shape of this moment.
It isn’t just lust driving them anymore. It’s the realization that they’ve been orbiting this for so long that pulling away now would hurt more than falling ever could.
Jimin’s hands slide down Jeongguk’s back, nails digging in, urging him closer - like he wants to crawl inside his skin.
Jeongguk answers by gripping his hips firmly and rolling into him with a need that feels almost reverent.
The sounds between them turn rawer. Breaths broken. Names spoken like confessions. They cling.
Because if this ruins them, at least they’ll have this.