Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The bass from someone’s leftover speaker rattled faintly through the floorboards, a dull thump-thump-thump that had. Jeongguk didn’t know whose room it was coming from and didn’t care. The house was empty. That was the only fact that mattered. Four other guys packed off to some lake cabin for a long weekend.

He was sprawled on the worn leather couch in the common room, one arm slung behind his head, the other scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

Then he heard footsteps on the stairs. Light, hesitant.

Jeongguk didn’t look up. He knew the way Jimin moved through the house. They’d shared the upstairs bathroom for eight months and Jimin still knocked on his own doorframe before entering a room.

“Jeongguk?”

The voice came soft. A little frayed at the edges.

He tilted his head back against the couch cushion, finally letting his gaze drift toward the staircase. Jimin stood on the bottom step, one hand gripping the banister, bare feet pale against the dark wood.

Blonde hair fell in feathery pieces over his forehead, grown out a little too long so it curled at the ends. The old t-shirt he wore hung loose off one shoulder, revealing a sliver of collarbone, and below that, gym shorts that did absolutely nothing to hide the shape of his ass.

Not that Jeongguk had ever noticed. Not that he’d spent the past semester cataloging the exact way Jimin’s waist curved inward before flaring out at the hips. Not that he’d jerked off three times in the last month to the memory of Jimin bending over to pick up a dropped fork in the kitchen.

“What’s up?” Jeongguk’s voice came casual. He locked his phone and dropped it on the cushion beside him.

Jimin didn’t answer right away. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers tightening on the banister. The lamp on the end table cast a buttery glow across his cheekbones, catching the faint flush that crept up from his neck.

“Can I—” Jimin stopped, swallowed. Started again. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Jeongguk gestured at the empty recliner across from him. “Floor’s yours.”

But Jimin didn’t take the chair. He drifted closer, perching on the arm of the couch instead, close enough that Jeongguk could smell the fabric softener clinging to his clothes and something underneath it, something warm and clean and distinctly Jimin.

“It’s weird,” Jimin said.

“Okay.”

“Really weird.”

“Jimin.”

“I know.” Jimin laughed nervously, high and breathy. Jimin tucked a strand of blonde hair behind his ear, and Jeongguk tracked the movement with a focus he hoped didn’t show on his face. “I just—I’ve been going crazy. Like, actually losing my mind, and I don’t know who else to ask.”

Jeongguk waited. His heart had started a slow, thick drum against his ribs, but his face stayed blank. Years of poker nights with the guys had been good for something.

“I can’t cum.”

The words landed in the quiet and just sat there. Jeongguk blinked.

“What?”

“I can’t—” Jimin’s voice cracked, and he dropped his face into his hands, elbows digging into his thighs. The position made the back of his shirt ride up, exposing a strip of lower back, sun-kissed gold and impossibly smooth. “I’ve tried. So many times. Different ways, different—I don’t know. Nothing works. I get close and then it just stops. Like my body forgets what it’s supposed to do.”

When he lifted his head again, his eyes were glassy. Not crying—not quite—but stripped bare in a way that made Jeongguk’s chest tighten.

“Have you…” Jeongguk cleared his throat. “Have you been with anyone?”

Jimin shook his head. “Never. That’s the stupid part. I’ve never even—I mean, I’ve kissed people. But nothing else. And I thought maybe it was just nerves, or I wasn’t doing it right, but it’s been months of trying by myself and I can’t—” He broke off, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “I’m going insane, Jeongguk.”

The way he said his name. Soft and pleading.

Jeongguk’s jaw tightened. A pulse of heat rolled through his gut, and he shoved it down with practiced force.

“What are you asking me?”

Jimin’s gaze flicked up to meet his. Big brown eyes, dark lashes, a vulnerability so raw it felt indecent to look at directly.

“Everyone’s gone,” Jimin whispered. “And you’re—I mean, you know what you’re doing. Right? I’ve heard the girls talk. I’ve heard the stories.” A flush crawled up his throat. “I just need someone to show me. To help me figure out what’s wrong. Just a hand. Just—show me how.”

The silence that followed was a physical weight. Jeongguk felt it pressing down on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Just a hand.

The phrase echoed in his skull, mocking him. Just a hand. Just a casual favor between roommates. Just Jimin spread out and trembling and—

He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t not do this.

“Jimin.” His voice came out rougher than he intended. “You know what you’re asking, right? That’s not—that’s not a small thing.”

“I know.” Jimin’s hands were twisting in his lap, knuckles gone pale. “I know it’s crazy. I know it’s weird. I’ve been standing in my room for forty minutes trying to convince myself not to come down here.”

“So why did you?”

Jimin released a shaky exhale. “Because I trust you. And because if I don’t figure this out soon, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Jeongguk dragged a hand over his face. The metal of his lip ring was cold against his palm. Inside his head, a war was being fought with no clear victor—desire clawing up one side, restraint digging in its heels on the other.

“You’re serious,” he said finally.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything.” Jimin leaned forward, and his fingers brushed Jeongguk’s knee—just a graze, barely there, but it sent a bolt of electricity straight up Jeongguk’s thigh. “Please. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

The word please in that soft, wrecked voice.

Jeongguk’s resolve didn’t crumble. It detonated.

“Upstairs,” he said. “Your room. Now.”

Jimin’s breath caught. His lips parted, like he hadn’t actually expected to get this far.

“Really?”

“If you’re going to change your mind, do it in the next five seconds. Because once we’re in that room, I’m not stopping unless you tell me to.”

The warning hung in the air between them. Jeongguk watched Jimin process it—watched the flicker of uncertainty, the rapid blink, the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

Then Jimin stood. The gym shorts shifted, clinging to the curve of his ass as he turned toward the stairs.

“Five seconds are up,” Jimin said, and his voice only wavered a little.

--

Jimin’s bedroom smelled like vanilla candles and clean laundry. Fairy lights were strung along the headboard of his bed, casting a warm amber glow across rumpled white sheets. The curtains were drawn. The door clicked shut behind them with a soft, final sound.

Jeongguk stood near the desk, watching Jimin hover in the center of the room like he’d forgotten where his own furniture was.

“You’re nervous,” Jeongguk said.

“Obviously.” Jimin laughed, thin and hollow. “My hands are shaking.”

“Show me.”

Jimin held out his hands, palms down. The tremor was visible even in the dim light. Delicate fingers painted softly pink. Jeongguk reached out and wrapped his own hand around Jimin’s wrist.

“We don’t have to do this,” Jeongguk said, even as his thumb stroked over the thin skin there. “Say the word and I walk out.”

Jimin stared at the place where Jeongguk’s tattooed fingers circled his wrist. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip.

“I don’t want you to walk out.”

“Then tell me what you’ve tried.”

The question seemed to ground Jimin, pulling him back into the reality of the situation. He withdrew his hand gently and sat on the edge of the bed, knees pressed together.

“Um. Just—my hand. Lotion, sometimes. I tried the shower. I tried watching stuff.” The flush deepened, spreading down his neck. “Porn, I mean. Different kinds. It all feels good at first and then I get right to the edge and… nothing. It fades.”

“Show me how you do it.”

Jimin’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“If you can’t show me, you’re not ready.” Jeongguk crossed his arms over his chest. The posture made his biceps strain against the tank top, the dark ink of his sleeve tattoo visible down to his elbow. “I’m not going to touch you until I know what’s not working.”

For a long moment, Jimin just stared at him. Then, with a slow, trembling inhale, he laid back on the bed. His blonde hair fanned out against the white pillowcase. The loose t-shirt rode up, exposing that strip of stomach again—smooth, flat, with the silver glint of a bellybutton piercing catching the fairy lights.

Jeongguk’s mouth went dry.

Jimin’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his gym shorts. He paused, looking up at Jeongguk through his lashes.

“Don’t stop now,” Jeongguk murmured.

The shorts came down. Jimin lifted his hips to shove them past his thighs, and the shirt bunched higher, and then—

Jeongguk forgot how to breathe.

Pink. Pale, blush-pink lace, hugging the swell of Jimin’s hips, dipping low enough to show the faint lines of his pelvis. The fabric was sheer in places, opaque in others, and it cupped his cock with a delicacy that felt obscene.

“You wear panties.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jimin made a small, strangled sound. “They’re comfortable.”

“Look at me.”

Jimin’s gaze dragged up reluctantly. His cheeks were scarlet, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths.

“They’re fucking gorgeous,” Jeongguk said. The words scraped out of his throat, rough and honest. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Don’t hide.”

A tiny whimper escaped Jimin’s lips. His hand moved—hesitant, unpracticed—and pressed flat against the lace, palming himself through the fabric.

“Like this,” he whispered. “I usually start like this.”

Jeongguk moved closer. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge, close enough to see the way Jimin’s fingers trembled, close enough to smell the faint vanilla of the sheets.

“Keep going.”

Jimin’s hand rubbed slow circles. The friction of lace against sensitive skin made him gasp, his hips twitching upward involuntarily.

“It feels good,” he breathed. “It always feels good at first. And then I—” A frustrated noise. “Nothing.”

“Take them off.”

Jimin obeyed, shimmying the panties down his thighs and kicking them onto the floor. His cock sprang free—not huge, but pretty, curved slightly to the left, the head flushed pink and already glistening. He was trimmed neat, the blonde hair a shade darker than the stuff on his head.

“You’re wet already,” Jeongguk noted. His voice had dropped to something lower, something he barely recognized. “That’s a good sign.”

Jimin wrapped his fingers around the shaft. The contrast of his small, pale hand against his own flushed skin made Jeongguk’s cock throb painfully inside his jeans.

“Show me the grip you use.”

“Tighter?”

“Looser. You’re strangling it. Here—” Without thinking, Jeongguk reached out and adjusted Jimin’s fingers, wrapping his larger hand around Jimin’s and squeezing gently. The contact sent a jolt through both of them. Jimin’s breath hitched audibly.

“Like that,” Jeongguk said. “Slow strokes. Don’t rush.”

Jimin’s hand began to move. Up. Down. The slide was slick now, pre-cum beading at the tip and smearing down with every pass.

“Oh,” Jimin gasped. “Oh, that’s—that’s better.”

Jeongguk watched. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it. Every instinct screamed at him to take over, to pin those slender wrists to the mattress and swallow Jimin’s cock down until he sobbed—but he held himself still. Barely.

“Talk to me,” Jeongguk said. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Warm.” Jimin’s eyes had gone unfocused, lashes fluttering. “Tight. Like there’s pressure building up but it’s—it’s stuck. I can’t push through.”

“Stop thinking about the finish line. Just feel it.”

Jimin’s strokes grew quicker, more desperate. His free hand fisted in the sheets. His back arched, the bellybutton ring flashing silver, and a broken moan slipped past his lips.

“Jeongguk—I’m close—I think I’m close—”

And then his face crumpled. The rhythm stuttered. His hand fell away, and he slumped against the mattress, chest heaving with frustration.

“I can’t,” he choked out. “See? See? Every fucking time.”

Jeongguk moved before his brain caught up. He swung a leg over Jimin’s hips, straddling him without making contact, braced on his knees so their bodies didn’t quite touch.

“Hey.” His hand cupped Jimin’s jaw, tilting his face up. “Look at me.”

Brown eyes, wet with unshed tears of frustration, met his.

“I’m going to help you,” Jeongguk said. “And I’m not going to stop until you cum. But you have to trust me. Whatever I do—whatever it looks like—it’s just teaching. You understand?”

Jimin nodded, the movement small and jerky.

“Words.”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

Jeongguk’s thumb traced over Jimin’s cheekbone. Then he leaned down, and before Jimin could react, he pressed his mouth to the junction of Jimin’s neck and shoulder.

Not a kiss. An open-mouthed, sucking pressure that pulled the blood to the surface.

Jimin gasped. His hands flew up to grip Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“What are you—”

“Distraction.” Jeongguk’s voice was muffled against skin. He moved higher, dragging his lips up the column of Jimin’s throat. “Your body’s too focused on the goal. You need to get out of your head.”

A kiss pressed behind Jimin’s ear. Another at his pulse point. Jimin’s fingers dug into the muscle of Jeongguk’s shoulders, half pushing, half pulling.

“This is—mmh—this is practice?”

“Everything’s practice.” Jeongguk sucked hard at the spot where neck met shoulder, and Jimin cried out—a high, startled sound that dissolved into a moan. “When someone does this to you someday, you’ll know how it feels. You’ll know what you like.”

He pulled back to admire his work. A dark, purpling bruise was already blooming on Jimin’s pale skin.

“That’ll stay for a week,” Jeongguk murmured. “Every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember.”

Jimin’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

Jeongguk worked lower. Mouth trailing down the center of Jimin’s chest, tongue flicking over the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He pushed the hem up, exposing the belly button piercing—a simple silver barbell, glinting in the fairy lights.

“Did this hurt?” His tongue circled the piercing.

Jimin’s stomach clenched. “N-not really. Just a pinch.”

“You like pain?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“We’ll find out.” Jeongguk’s teeth grazed the skin just below the piercing, and Jimin’s hips bucked.

“Oh fuck.”

“Good?”

“Y-yes.”

Jeongguk’s hand slid down, bypassing Jimin’s cock completely and pressing flat against the inside of his thigh. He pushed, spreading Jimin’s legs wider.

“You’re staying in your head again,” he said. “Stop thinking about what’s going to happen. Stop worrying about why you can’t finish. Just—” He nipped at the soft skin of Jimin’s hipbone. “—feel.”

Then his mouth moved lower.

Jimin’s cock was hard and leaking, bobbing against his stomach, but Jeongguk ignored it entirely. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the crease of Jimin’s thigh, then another, then licked a broad stripe up the sensitive skin there.

“Jeongguk—that’s—that’s not your hand.”

“No, it’s not.”

“That’s your mouth.”

“Very observant.” Another lick, closer this time. The scent of Jimin’s arousal was thick in the air—musky, clean, intoxicating. “Still trust me?”

A beat of silence.

“Yes.”

Jeongguk’s tongue traced the base of Jimin’s cock, a slow, wet drag that made Jimin’s whole body jolt. The sound he made was nothing short of wrecked—a keening whimper that shot straight to Jeongguk’s groin.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god—”

“No gods here,” Jeongguk murmured against heated skin. “Just me.”

He took Jimin into his mouth.

The taste bloomed on his tongue—salt and skin and the faint bitterness of pre-cum. Jimin cried out, hands flying to Jeongguk’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands and pulling.

“F-fuck—Jeongguk—this isn’t—this can’t be—”

Jeongguk pulled off with a wet pop. A string of saliva connected his lip ring to the head of Jimin’s cock.

“It’s practice. Someone’s going to do this to you eventually. Better to know what it feels like.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth descended again, and this time he took Jimin deeper, letting the head nudge against the back of his throat. The noise Jimin made was guttural—a choked-off scream that he tried to muffle with his own hand.

Jeongguk reached up and grabbed that hand, pinning it to the mattress.

“Don’t hide,” he growled around the cock in his mouth. “I want to hear you.”

He hollowed his cheeks and sucked.

Jimin’s back bowed off the bed. The belly ring flashed. His thighs clamped around Jeongguk’s head.

“Ah—ah—please—something’s—I think it’s—”

Jeongguk’s tongue pressed flat against the underside of Jimin’s cock, and his hand slipped lower, cupping Jimin’s balls and squeezing gently.

Jimin shattered.

The orgasm ripped through him with violent force—hips jerking, voice breaking on a sob as he pulsed hot and thick across Jeongguk’s tongue. Jeongguk swallowed, kept swallowing, relishing the salty flood and the way Jimin’s body convulsed beneath him.

But he didn’t stop.

Jimin’s hands pushed at his head. “Too much—sensitive—Jeongguk, I can’t—”

Jeongguk sucked harder.

The overstimulation hit like a live wire. Jimin’s protests dissolved into wordless, high-pitched cries, his body thrashing between pleasure and something sharper, something that bordered on pain. The lace panties were still crumpled on the floor. The hickey on his neck was darkening to a deep plum. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Jimin’s gaze dropped—red-rimmed, dazed, utterly broken open.

Jeongguk held his stare and swallowed again, deliberately, letting Jimin watch the movement of his throat.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he said, and lowered his mouth once more.

Jimin’s body hadn’t stopped shaking.

The aftershocks of his orgasm still rippled through him in weak, involuntary twitches, his thighs quivering where they rested against Jeongguk’s shoulders. The fairy lights above the bed swam in his vision—soft amber blurs that refused to focus. His chest heaved. Sweat cooled tacky on his skin.

And Jeongguk was still between his legs.

“I said I’m not done.” The words vibrated against the tender inside of Jimin’s thigh, lips brushing sensitive skin with every syllable. “You came. Good. But you still don’t know your own body.”

Jimin’s throat worked around a swallow. “I—Jeongguk, that was—I’ve never—”

“I know.” A kiss pressed to the crease where thigh met hip. Then another. Then the wet drag of tongue tracing a path downward. “That’s why we keep going.”

Jimin’s fingers, still tangled in Jeongguk’s dark hair, tightened reflexively. Not pulling away. Not pushing closer. Just holding on like Jeongguk was the only solid thing in a room that had gone soft at the edges.

“But you already—I mean, your mouth was—”

“That was step one.” Jeongguk’s hand slid under Jimin’s knee, lifting it, draping the leg over his shoulder. The new position opened Jimin up—exposed the pink, furled skin of his entrance, still untouched, still vulnerable. “Your hand didn’t work. My mouth worked, but only because you weren’t thinking about it. Now we figure out what else works.”

Jimin’s breath caught. His head lifted off the pillow, blonde hair sticking to his damp forehead, eyes wide and glassy and caught somewhere between terror and desperate curiosity.

“What else?”

Jeongguk didn’t answer with words.

Instead he lowered his mouth.

The first contact was barely there—just the tip of his tongue, warm and wet, tracing a slow circle around Jimin’s rim. The reaction was immediate. Jimin’s whole body seized, a sharp gasp tearing out of his throat, his heel digging into Jeongguk’s back.

“Oh—oh fuck—Jeongguk, that’s—that’s your-“

“I know what it is.” Another circle, slower this time, the metal of his lip ring a cool contrast against all that heat. “You ever had anyone touch you here?”

“N-no. Never. I didn’t even—I never thought about—”

“Think about it now.”

Jeongguk’s tongue flattened, licking a broad stripe from the base of Jimin’s balls up over his entrance, and Jimin made a sound that didn’t even qualify as human. High-pitched. Broken. His hands flew to his own face, pressing against his mouth, trying to muffle the noises spilling out of him.

Jeongguk reached up and grabbed both wrists.

“What did I say about hiding?” His voice was gravel against tender skin. “I want to hear every sound you make. Every single one.”

He pinned Jimin’s hands to the mattress on either side of his hips, thumbs pressing into the delicate bones of his wrists. Then his mouth returned to its work.

This time, he didn’t tease.

His tongue pointed, pushing past the tight ring of muscle, and Jimin screamed.

Not a moan. Not a gasp. A full-throated, startled scream that echoed off the bedroom walls and probably carried through the empty house. His back arched off the bed, the bellybutton piercing catching lamplight, and his thighs clamped around Jeongguk’s head with enough force to make his ears ring.

“Ah—ah—Jeongguk—that’s—oh god, oh fuck, that’s—”

“That’s what?” The tongue withdrew just long enough for the question, then pushed back in, deeper this time. The muscles gave way slowly, reluctantly, clenching around the intrusion.

“It’s so—I can’t—I don’t have words—!”

“Try.”

Jeongguk’s tongue fucked into him in shallow, rhythmic thrusts, and his nose pressed against the sensitive skin behind Jimin’s balls. The sensation was overwhelming—wet and hot and impossibly intimate. Jimin’s cock, which had gone soft after his orgasm, was already twitching back to life against his stomach.

“It feels—mmh—full.” Jimin’s voice cracked on the word. “Like I’m—like there’s something—ohh—”

Jeongguk hummed against him, and the vibration sent a shockwave through Jimin’s nervous system. His hips bucked. His fingers clawed at the sheets where Jeongguk still held him pinned.

“Please. Please, I need—”

“Need what?” The tongue pulled out completely, replaced by the pad of a thumb, pressing lightly against the spit-slick entrance but not pushing in. “You have to tell me. You have to learn to ask for what you want.”

Jimin’s face was a mess—tears drying on his cheeks, lips bitten red, eyes so dark the pupils had nearly swallowed the brown. He looked wrecked. He looked desperate. He looked more beautiful than anything Jeongguk had ever seen.

“I don’t know what I want,” Jimin whispered. “I don’t know. Just—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Good enough.”

Jeongguk released his wrists and shifted lower, both hands sliding under Jimin’s ass to lift him off the mattress. The new angle tilted Jimin’s hips up, spread him wider, put everything on display. The puckered skin of his entrance glistened with saliva, twitching every time Jeongguk’s breath hit it.

“Look at you.” The words came out reverent, almost awed. “You’re so fucking pretty here. Pink and tight and clenching around nothing.”

Jimin whimpered.

“You know what I’m going to do?” Jeongguk’s thumb traced the rim again, not pressing, just feeling. “I’m going to eat this pretty little hole until you forget your own name. Until you can’t remember why you were ever scared of this. Until the only word left in your head is my name.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

His mouth sealed over the entrance, tongue plunging deep, and Jimin sobbed.

The sound was wet and wrecked, matching the obscene noises coming from where Jeongguk’s mouth worked against him—slick, slurping sounds that filled the vanilla-scented room. Jeongguk ate him out like a man starved, alternating between deep, fucking thrusts of his tongue and broad, flat licks that covered the entire area.

“Jeongguk—Jeongguk—oh my god—!”

The tongue circled, pointed, pushed back in. His lip ring dragged against the sensitive rim, that cool metal shock making Jimin jerk and gasp every time it caught.

“You taste so fucking good.” The words were muffled, spoken directly into Jimin’s skin. “Better than I ever imagined.”

Jimin’s brain, hazy and pleasure-drunk, caught on the word. “I-imagined?”

Jeongguk paused. Just for a heartbeat. Then his tongue resumed its work, slower now, more deliberate.

“You think I haven’t thought about this?” He pulled back far enough to look up at Jimin’s face, his chin and lips shiny with spit. “You think I haven’t jerked off thinking about what you’d sound like? What you’d taste like? What your face would do when I finally got my mouth on you?”

Jimin’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I didn’t—I never knew—”

“You weren’t supposed to know.” Jeongguk’s thumb pressed harder now, just barely breaching the tight ring of muscle. Jimin’s breath stuttered. “This was supposed to be about teaching you. About helping you. And it is. But I’m not going to pretend I haven’t wanted this for months.”

“Months,” Jimin echoed. The word came out faint, disbelieving.

“Months.” The thumb pushed in to the first knuckle. “Every time you bent over in those tiny shorts. Every time you walked around the house in nothing but that oversized hoodie that kept slipping off your shoulder. Every time I heard you in the shower and had to lock myself in my room so I wouldn’t do something stupid.”

“That’s—ah—that’s a lot to—nngh—”

“Too much talking.” Jeongguk withdrew the thumb, replacing it with his tongue again, pushing deeper than before. “Think later. Feel now.”

His hands spread Jimin wider, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of his asscheeks, and his mouth worked with a single-minded focus that left no room for thought. Jimin’s protests dissolved into wordless keening, his hands fisting in Jeongguk’s hair and pulling—not to push away, but to hold him closer.

“More. More, please, more, I need—”

“What do you need?”

“Your—your fingers. Please. I want—” Jimin’s voice broke, his face burning, but he forced the words out. “I want something inside. I want to feel full.”

Jeongguk groaned. The sound vibrated against Jimin’s entrance, and Jimin cried out, his neglected cock leaking a steady stream of pre-cum onto his stomach.

“Good boy.” Jeongguk’s voice was wrecked. “Good fucking boy, asking for what you want.”

He brought his hand up, two fingers pressing against Jimin’s parted lips. “Get them wet.”

Jimin’s eyes went wide, but his mouth opened obediently. Jeongguk pushed his index and middle fingers inside, and Jimin’s tongue immediately began working—licking, sucking, coating the digits with as much saliva as he could manage. The action was clumsy, unpracticed, but the enthusiasm made up for it.

“Look at me.”

Jimin’s gaze snapped up. Around the fingers in his mouth, around the spit gathering at the corners of his lips, he looked directly into Jeongguk’s eyes.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look away.”

Jeongguk withdrew the fingers slowly, a string of saliva connecting them to Jimin’s bottom lip. Then his hand moved down, down, past Jimin’s straining cock and heavy balls, until the wet fingertips rested against his entrance.

“Ready?”

Jimin nodded. Then, remembering himself: “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”

The first finger slid in.

The pressure was intense—a slow, stretching burn that made Jimin’s jaw go slack. His rim clenched around the intrusion, trying to push it out, but Jeongguk held steady, giving him time to adjust.

“Breathe.” The command was soft but firm. “Breathe and relax. Your body’s never done this before. Let it learn.”

Jimin exhaled, long and shaky. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His muscles loosened.

The finger pushed deeper.

“Ohh,” Jimin breathed. “Oh, that’s—that’s different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Different—ah—I don’t know yet.” A nervous laugh, cut short when Jeongguk’s finger crooked slightly. “Oh! Okay. Okay, that’s—that’s good. That’s really good.”

Jeongguk’s smile was slow and knowing. “Found it.”

He crooked his finger again, pressing against that same spot, and Jimin’s vision whited out for a second. The pleasure was different from anything he’d ever felt—not the sharp, focused sensation of his cock being touched, but something deeper, more diffuse, radiating outward through his entire pelvis.

“That’s your prostate,” Jeongguk said, as casually as if he were explaining a math problem. “Some guys can come just from this. You want to try?”

Jimin’s head thrashed against the pillow. “I can’t—I already came once—I can’t possibly—”

“You can. And you will.” A second finger pressed against the stretched rim. “But I’m going to need to open you up more first. Think you can take it?”

“Yes. Yes, whatever. Just—don’t stop touching that spot, please—”

Jeongguk’s tongue replaced his finger.

Jimin wailed.

The dual sensation was obscene—Jeongguk’s tongue fucking into him while his thumb pressed up against the perineum, massaging the prostate from the outside. Every nerve ending in Jimin’s body felt raw, exposed, lit up like a live wire. His cock bounced against his stomach, so hard it hurt, the head an angry purple-red.

“Pleasepleaseplease—I’m close—I think I’m close again—!”

Jeongguk pulled his mouth away just long enough to speak. “Already?”

“Don’t stop—oh god don’t fucking stop—”

The tongue plunged back in. The thumb pressed harder. Jimin’s second orgasm hit like a freight train.

It was different from the first—less explosive, but deeper, rolling through him in waves that seemed to go on forever. His cock pulsed, spilling thin, watery cum across his stomach and chest, and his entrance clenched rhythmically around Jeongguk’s tongue.

But Jeongguk didn’t stop.

The tongue kept moving, kept licking, kept pressing against that oversensitive spot even as Jimin’s body tried to curl away from the sensation.

“Too much—Jeongguk—I can’t—”

“You can.” The words were steady, almost gentle, but the tone was iron. “You said you trusted me. Trust me now.”

Tears streamed down Jimin’s cheeks. His whole body was trembling, caught between pleasure and the sharp edge of overstimulation. Every lick sent electric shocks through his system. Every breath was a sob.

But he didn’t say stop.

He didn’t say the safeword they’d never established.

“Look at me,” Jeongguk commanded.

Jimin’s eyes, red-rimmed and streaming, met his.

“Good boy. Keep looking at me. I want to watch your face when you come again.”

“Again? Jeongguk, I can’t possibly—”

“Shh.” A third finger, slick with spit and the lube Jeongguk had somehow produced from his pocket, pressed against the now-pliant entrance. “One more. I know you have one more in you.”

Three fingers stretched Jimin open, and the burn was back—but it was a good burn, a grounding burn, something to focus on besides the relentless overstimulation. Jeongguk worked them in slowly, scissoring them apart, spreading Jimin wider than he’d ever been spread.

“You’re taking my fingers so well.” The praise was murmured against Jimin’s inner thigh. “So fucking tight. So greedy. You know what you look like right now? Taking three fingers and still trying to pull me deeper?”

Jimin shook his head, beyond words.

“You look like you were made for this. Like this pretty little hole was made for me.”

The fingers thrust in deep, curling against the prostate, and Jimin saw stars.

“Jeongguk—Jeongguk—fuck—I’m—something’s—!”

The third orgasm was dry—his body had nothing left to give—but it hit harder than the first two combined. Jimin’s back arched so high his shoulders lifted off the bed. His mouth opened on a silent scream. His muscles clamped down on Jeongguk’s fingers with bruising force.

And still, Jeongguk’s tongue returned.

Licking. Soothing. Working Jimin through the aftershocks with gentle, rhythmic strokes until the tension bled out of his body and he collapsed, boneless, against the sweat-soaked sheets.

For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing—Jeongguk’s heavy and controlled, Jimin’s shallow and ragged.

Then Jeongguk crawled up the bed, bracing himself over Jimin’s limp body, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You did so good,” he murmured. “So fucking good for me.”

Jimin’s eyes fluttered open. The fairy lights reflected in them like distant stars.

“That was practice?” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

Jeongguk’s lip ring glinted as he smiled.

“We’re just getting started.”

The words hung in the vanilla-scented air like smoke.

Jeongguk watched Jimin's face—the flutter of his lashes, the way his kiss-swollen lips parted on a shaky exhale. That body, still trembling with aftershocks, lay sprawled across tangled sheets, the pink lace panties long since discarded somewhere on the floor. The bellybutton piercing caught the fairy lights with every shallow breath.

Jimin's throat worked. "Jeongguk, I can't—I don't have anything left—"

"You have more than you think." Jeongguk's hand slid up Jimin's thigh, palm warm against sweat-cooled skin. "Your body just doesn't know it yet."

A whimper slipped past Jimin's lips. His cock, soft and spent, twitched anyway.

"I need you on your stomach."

The command landed heavy. Jimin's eyes widened—that deer-in-headlights look Jeongguk had come to crave, the one that said he was terrified and aroused in equal measure.

"W-why?"

"Because I said so." Jeongguk's lip ring glinted. "Now roll over."

For three heartbeats, Jimin didn't move. His gaze searched Jeongguk's face, looking for something—reassurance, maybe, or an explanation, or permission to say no. But Jeongguk just waited, patient and immovable, his hand a steady weight on Jimin's thigh.

Then Jimin rolled.

The movement was slow, clumsy, his limbs still uncoordinated from three orgasms. He ended up on his belly, arms folded under the pillow, face half-buried in the fabric. The position made his ass look obscene—the curve of it, the way his cheeks pressed together, hiding that pink, furled entrance Jeongguk had spent so long worshiping.

"You have no idea what you look like right now." Jeongguk's voice dropped an octave. "No fucking idea."

Jimin's response was muffled by the pillow. "I probably look like a mess."

"You look like a fucking dream."

Jeongguk's hands found Jimin's hips. He tugged, repositioning, pulling that perfect ass higher until Jimin was on his knees, chest still pressed to the mattress, back arched in a deep curve. The new angle spread him open—exposed everything.

"Jeongguk—" Jimin's voice pitched higher. "This position is—I feel so—"

"Exposed?" Jeongguk finished. "You are. Completely. And you're going to stay like this and take whatever I give you."

A shudder ran through Jimin's spine, visible beneath the pale skin, the delicate knobs of vertebrae. His hole clenched around nothing, still slick and slightly open from Jeongguk's earlier attention.

"Look at this pretty little hole." Jeongguk's thumbs pressed into Jimin's cheeks, spreading him wider. The pink skin glistened. "Still wet. Still waiting for me. You know what I'm going to do, Jimin?"

Jimin shook his head, face buried.

"I'm going to eat this ass from behind. I'm going to bury my tongue so deep inside you that you'll feel it in your throat. And then—" He paused, letting the anticipation build. "Then I'm going to fuck you open with my fingers until you're begging me to stop again."

The sound Jimin made was barely human.

"But first." Jeongguk's palm cracked against Jimin's right cheek—not hard, just enough to sting. "I want you to say it. Say you want this."

"I—ah—I want this."

"Say what you want me to do."

A pause. Then, muffled and shaking: "I want you to—to eat my—my ass."

"Good boy."

Jeongguk lowered himself onto the bed behind Jimin, settling between spread thighs, his face level with that perfect, presented entrance. From this angle, he could see everything—the tight pucker, the smooth skin of the perineum, the heavy sack hanging below, still drawn up tight from Jimin's recent orgasms. The sight made his own cock throb, still trapped in his jeans, aching and neglected. He ignored it.

His tongue touched down.

Jimin gasped, back arching deeper, pushing back against Jeongguk's mouth. The taste was clean, faintly salty from sweat, with something muskier underneath. Jeongguk groaned against the sensitive skin, the vibration making Jimin's thighs quake.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—"

Jeongguk's tongue circled the rim, slow and deliberate, tracing the puckered edge. Then he pointed it, pressing in, breaching the tight ring in one smooth push.

"Aah—! Jeongguk—!"

The angle was deeper than before. From behind, with Jimin's back arched and his ass tilted up, Jeongguk's tongue could reach places it hadn't before. He pushed in as far as it would go, nose pressing against the base of Jimin's spine, chin wet with spit.

"Your tongue is so—it's so deep—I can't—I can't think—"

Jeongguk pulled back just enough to speak, lips still brushing the sensitive skin. "You're not supposed to think. You're supposed to feel."

Then his mouth sealed over the entrance again, and he ate with a hunger that bordered on obscene.

He licked broad stripes from Jimin's balls up over his hole, tongue flattening and dragging. He pointed it and speared inside, fucking in shallow, rapid thrusts that made wet, slurping sounds echo through the room. He sucked—actually sucked—on the rim itself, pulling the sensitive skin into his mouth, worrying it with his lips and the cool metal of his piercing.

Jimin's responses came in waves of sound: gasps, whimpers, full-throated moans that seemed to be wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest. His hands fisted in the sheets. His hips rocked back, instinct taking over, chasing the sensation.

"Look at you." Jeongguk's voice was muffled, spoken directly into Jimin's skin. "Grinding back on my face like a needy little—"

"Don't stop—please don't stop—"

"Wasn't planning to."

Two fingers pressed against Jimin's entrance, sliding alongside Jeongguk's tongue. The stretch made Jimin cry out, a sharp, startled sound that dissolved into a broken moan as the fingers pushed deeper.

"Taking my fingers so well," Jeongguk murmured, pulling his mouth away to watch the digits sink into the tight heat. "Look at this greedy hole. Swallowing me up."

The fingers crooked forward, pressing against the prostate, and Jimin screamed into the pillow.

"That's it. That's the spot, isn't it?"

"Y-yes—yes—right there—oh god right there—"

Jeongguk's tongue returned, licking around the stretched rim, feeling the muscle clench and flutter against the intrusion. He added a third finger, working it in slowly, scissoring them apart. Jimin's entrance gave way, the resistance melting into eager acceptance.

"Feel that? Feel how much you can take?"

"It's—it's so much—full—I feel so full—"

"Good full or bad full?"

"Good—good—fuck, Jeongguk, it's so good—"

Jeongguk's tongue pushed in alongside the fingers. Three fingers and a tongue, stretching Jimin wider than he'd ever been stretched, filling him in a way that bordered on too much. The wet, obscene sounds of it filled the room—slick flesh against slick flesh, spit dripping down Jimin's perineum and balls.

"The sounds you're making," Jeongguk breathed, pulling back to watch. "Your ass is so wet. So fucking wet and open for me. Can you hear it?"

Jimin whimpered. His hips rocked forward, then back, fucking himself on Jeongguk's fingers.

"I asked you a question. Can you hear it?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I can hear it. It sounds—ohh—it sounds so nasty—"

"You like how nasty it sounds?"

"Mmh—mmhmm—I love it—I love how nasty it sounds—"

Jeongguk's fingers curled, pressing hard against the prostate, and his tongue speared back inside. He worked Jimin with a rhythm now, fingers and tongue moving in tandem, a coordinated assault on every nerve ending.

Jimin's cock, which had been soft and spent minutes ago, was hardening again. It hung heavy between his thighs, the head an angry red, pre-cum beading at the tip and dripping onto the sheets. His balls drew up tight against his body.

"I'm—I'm getting close again—I don't know how but I'm—"

"Already?"

"It's too much—it's so much—I can't stop it—"

"Then don't stop it." Jeongguk's fingers thrust deeper, harder, the wet squelch of them obscene. "Cum for me. Cum on my fingers and my tongue like the desperate little thing you are."

Jimin shattered.

The orgasm was dry—his body had nothing left to give—but it wracked through him with brutal intensity. His back arched so deep Jeongguk could count every vertebra. His entrance clamped down on the fingers inside him, the muscles rippling in waves. A broken scream tore from his throat, muffled by the pillow.

And Jeongguk didn't stop.

His fingers kept moving, kept pressing, kept fucking into that oversensitive hole even as Jimin's body tried to curl away from the sensation. His tongue lapped at the stretched rim, tracing the edge where skin met skin.

"Too much—Jeongguk—too much—ahn—!"

"You can take it." The words were steady, almost gentle. "You've taken everything I've given you so far."

"It's—ah—it's so sensitive—I can't—"

"So sensitive." Jeongguk's tongue circled the rim again, feather-light. "But you're still pushing back on my fingers. You're still asking for more."

Jimin sobbed. His hips, seemingly beyond his control, ground back against Jeongguk's hand.

"See? Your body knows what it wants even when your mouth doesn't."

The fingers thrust in again—slower now, gentler, but still relentless. Every movement sent electric shocks through Jimin's overstimulated nerves. His cock twitched, trapped somewhere between pleasure and the sharp edge of too much.

"Look at you." Jeongguk withdrew his fingers slowly, watching the way Jimin's hole gaped for a moment before clenching shut. "So wrecked. So open. I bet I could fit my whole cock in here right now."

Jimin's breath caught. "Your—?"

"Shh." Jeongguk's palm soothed over Jimin's ass, rubbing gentle circles. "Not tonight. You're not ready for that yet. But soon."

Another whimper. Another involuntary rock of the hips.

"But for now—" Jeongguk's fingers slid back in, curling against the prostate with practiced precision. "For now, I'm going to keep playing with this pretty little hole until you have nothing left. Until the only word in your head is my name."

"Jeongguk—"

"Say it again."

"Jeongguk—Jeongguk—oh fuck—!"

The fingers moved faster. The tongue returned. Jimin's world narrowed to the wet heat of Jeongguk's mouth, the stretch of fingers, the building pressure somewhere deep inside him.

"Eyes on me."

Jimin turned his head, cheek pressed to the pillow, tear-streaked face visible. His gaze found Jeongguk—found those dark eyes watching him from between his own spread thighs.

"Good boy. Keep them there."

Jeongguk's tongue plunged deep, his fingers thrust harder, and Jimin's eyes rolled back before snapping forward again, fighting to obey.

"I'm—I think I'm—something's happening—"

"Let it happen."

"It's different—it feels different—ah—ah—!"

Jeongguk's fingers curled. His tongue pressed flat against the perineum. And Jimin's body convulsed, a dry orgasm so intense it bordered on painful, his vision whiting out, his mouth open on a scream that had no sound.

And still Jeongguk's fingers moved.

Milking the last aftershocks. Drawing out every tremor. Pushing Jimin beyond every limit he'd ever imagined.

"That's four," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the small of Jimin's back. "Think you have another one in you?"

Jimin's response was a broken, incoherent moan.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The tongue returned, lapping at the stretched, sensitive rim. The fingers slid free, replaced by the pointed tip of Jeongguk's tongue, pushing deep into the now-pliant entrance. No resistance now. Just heat and wetness and the taste of Jimin's surrender.

"Jeongguk—Jeongguk—I can't—please—"

"One more." The words were muffled against Jimin's skin. "Give me one more and I'll stop."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Jeongguk's mouth sealed over Jimin's entrance. His tongue fucked in deep, curling and thrusting. His hand wrapped around Jimin's spent cock, thumb pressing against the oversensitive head.

And Jimin, impossibly, began to climb again.

"There you go. There you fucking go. Taking it so well. Such a good boy for me."

The fifth orgasm was nothing but sensation—no physical release, just a wave of pure, white-hot pleasure that crashed through Jimin's body and left him sobbing into the pillow. His muscles gave out completely. His legs collapsed, flattening him against the mattress.

Jeongguk crawled up the bed, bracing himself over Jimin's limp body. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Jimin's neck, then another to his shoulder blade.

"Good boy," he whispered against sweat-salted skin. "Such a good fucking boy."

Jimin's only response was a weak, trembling exhale.

The fairy lights flickered. The vanilla candle had burned down to nothing. And in the silence that followed, Jeongguk's cock throbbed painfully in his jeans—hard, neglected, desperate for attention he hadn't allowed himself.

Not yet.

And then Jimin drifted.

Not sleep—his body was too wrung-out, too electric for that—but something adjacent, a floaty half-consciousness where the fairy lights blurred into amber smears and the vanilla-scented air felt thick as water. His cheek rested in a cooling spot of drool on the pillow. His limbs were dead weight, pressed into the mattress by gravity and exhaustion and the lingering echoes of five orgasms.

Behind him, the bed shifted.

The sound of a belt buckle. The scrape of a zipper. Denim rustling against skin.

Jimin's eyes didn't open, but his breath caught. "Jeongguk?"

"Yeah." The word came out strained, rough at the edges. "I'm still here."

"What are you—"

A pause. Fabric hitting the floor. Then Jeongguk's voice, lower than before: "I've been hard for two hours, Jimin."

The words landed somewhere in Jimin's chest and bloomed outward, a slow heat that made his spent cock twitch against the sheets. He turned his head, cheek peeling off the pillow, and opened his eyes.

Jeongguk was standing beside the bed, jeans pooled at his ankles, boxer briefs pushed down to mid-thigh. And his cock—

Jimin's mouth went dry.

It was thick. Thicker than anything Jimin had ever imagined, the shaft flushed an angry red, veins visible along the sides like rivers on a map. The head, broad and slick with pre-cum, jutted toward his navel, curving slightly upward. Nestled at the base, heavy and drawn tight, his balls hung full against the dark thatch of hair. The black ink of his tattoos curled up his hip bones and disappeared under his tank top.

"Stop staring." Jeongguk's voice was almost a growl. "You're going to make me come before I even get to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

"Get to what?" Jimin's voice came out as a croak.

Jeongguk didn't answer with words. He climbed onto the bed—slow, deliberate, the mattress dipping under his weight. He positioned himself against the headboard, pillows shoved behind his back, thighs spread wide. His cock stood straight up, bobbing with his pulse, the head glistening.

"Come here."

Jimin's body protested as he pushed himself up. Every muscle ached—his thighs, his lower back, the deep core of him where Jeongguk's fingers had been. His arms trembled. His entrance still felt open, slick, tender.

"I don't know if I can move," he admitted.

"Then crawl."

The command sent a shiver down Jimin's spine. He crawled. Slow, uncoordinated, his limbs not quite obeying, but he crawled across the rumpled sheets until he was between Jeongguk's spread legs, face level with that straining cock. Up close, it was even bigger. The scent of him—musk and salt and something sharper underneath—filled Jimin's nostrils.

"I've never—" Jimin's voice cracked. "I don't know how to—"

"I know." Jeongguk's hand found Jimin's hair, fingers threading through the blonde strands, gentle but firm. "I'm going to teach you."

Jimin's lips parted. His tongue darted out, wetting them. "What do I do first?"

"First." Jeongguk's grip tightened slightly, guiding Jimin's head closer. "You put your mouth on it."

The head of his cock brushed Jimin's bottom lip. Pre-cum smeared across the pink flesh, slick and warm and tasting faintly of salt.

"Just the tip," Jeongguk murmured. "Just kiss it. Get used to the feel of it."

Jimin pressed his lips to the head. Soft. Almost chaste. The skin was smooth and hot, velvet over steel, and the bead of pre-cum that leaked onto his tongue made his stomach flip.

"Good. Now lick it."

Jimin's tongue emerged, tentative, tracing a slow circle around the crown. The taste was stronger now—bitter and salty, not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Jeongguk's breath hitched above him, and that small sound, that tiny loss of control, made something flicker in Jimin's chest.

"Like that?"

"Exactly like that." The hand in his hair was trembling. "Now take it into your mouth. Just the head. No more than you can handle."

Jimin opened his mouth wider, guided the tip between his lips. The stretch of his jaw was immediate—Jeongguk was thick, thicker than he'd looked, and the head alone filled his mouth almost completely. His tongue pressed flat against the underside, feeling the ridge, the slit, the throb of Jeongguk's pulse.

"Hnngh—" The sound vibrated around Jeongguk's cock.

"Fuck." Jeongguk's head fell back against the headboard, the tendons in his neck standing out. "Just like that. Keep it there. Let yourself adjust."

Jimin held still, breathing through his nose, eyes watering slightly. The weight on his tongue. The heat. The way his jaw ached already, stretched wider than it had ever been. Saliva pooled in his mouth, threatening to overflow. He swallowed instinctively, and the contraction made Jeongguk's hips jerk.

"Sorry—" Jimin started to pull off.

"Don't." The hand in his hair held him in place. "Don't you dare apologize. That was—fuck, that was good. Do it again."

Jimin swallowed again. Jeongguk's groan was guttural, torn from somewhere deep.

"You're a fast learner." The words were almost accusatory. "Now I want you to take a little more. Halfway. Only what you can handle. And if it's too much—" He tapped Jimin's thigh twice. "Tap me twice and I'll stop."

Jimin pulled back far enough to look up. "Twice?"

"Twice. Now stop stalling."

Jeongguk's cock slid back into Jimin's mouth. This time, Jimin pushed further. The head hit the back of his throat sooner than expected, and his gag reflex triggered—a sharp, sudden contraction that made his eyes water and his shoulders heave.

But he didn't tap.

He pulled back, gasping, a string of saliva connecting his bottom lip to the head of Jeongguk's cock. "Sorry. I—it hit something."

"Your gag reflex." Jeongguk's thumb brushed a tear from Jimin's cheek. "Everyone has one. You learn to control it."

"How?"

"Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat. And don't try to take too much too fast." The hand in his hair gentled. "This isn't a race. I'm not going anywhere."

Something about that—the steadiness of Jeongguk's voice, the patience, the way his thumb still rested against Jimin's cheekbone—made Jimin's chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the cock in his mouth.

"Okay." He took a breath. "Okay. Let me try again."

This time, when the head hit his throat, he stopped. Held. Breathed through his nose like Jeongguk had said. The urge to gag was there, a flutter of panic at the back of his tongue, but he swallowed it down.

"That's it." Jeongguk's voice was reverent. "That's my good boy. Now hollow your cheeks. Suck."

Jimin sucked.

The sound Jeongguk made was almost wounded—a harsh, broken groan that vibrated through the headboard. His hips bucked, just a little, just enough to push another inch into Jimin's mouth before he caught himself.

"Fuck—sorry—I didn't mean to—"

Jimin pulled off with a wet pop, a strand of spit bridging the gap. His face was flushed, lips swollen and slick. "It's okay. I liked it."

Jeongguk's eyes went dark. "You liked it."

"I liked the sound you made. I liked that I made you make that sound."

"You have no idea what you're doing to me."

Jimin's smile was small and shy and somehow wicked. "Then teach me more."

Jeongguk's grip on his hair tightened, the metal of his lip ring glinting as his mouth curved. "Lie back. On your back. Head hanging off the edge of the bed."

"Off the—?"

"The bed. Now."

The position felt vulnerable in a way Jimin hadn't expected. His shoulders rested on the mattress, his neck curved, head tipped back so his throat made one long, straight line. The fairy lights swam in his upside-down vision. Blood rushed to his head, a pleasant dizziness joining the floaty aftermath of his orgasms.

Jeongguk stood over him, cock in hand, stroking slowly. From this angle, Jimin could see the underside of it—the thick vein running along the shaft, the weight of his balls, the way pre-cum beaded at the tip.

"This position." Jeongguk's voice was strained. "It opens your throat. Makes it easier to take all of me. But I need you to listen carefully."

Jimin's upside-down gaze found Jeongguk's face.

"If it's too much, you tap my thigh. Understand?" Jeongguk's hand pressed against Jimin's throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the column of it. "I want to feel you swallow around me. I want to watch your throat bulge. But you tap me the second it becomes too much."

"Twice."

"Twice." The pressure of Jeongguk's hand disappeared. "Now open your mouth. Stick out your tongue."

Jimin obeyed. His jaw ached and his neck was already protesting the angle, but something about the position—the vulnerability, the trust, the way Jeongguk loomed over him, dark-eyed and straining—made his cock twitch against his stomach.

Jeongguk fed his cock into Jimin's open mouth.

The angle was different. Deeper. The head bypassed Jimin's gag reflex almost entirely, sliding smooth and hot down the channel of his throat. Jimin's eyes went wide. His hands flew up, gripping Jeongguk's thighs, nails digging into the muscle.

"Breathe," Jeongguk commanded. "Through your nose. Don't panic."

Jimin's throat convulsed around the intrusion. The urge to gag was distant now, replaced by a strange, full pressure that radiated down into his chest. He could feel Jeongguk's pulse against the roof of his mouth. Could feel his own heartbeat hammering in his temples.

Then Jeongguk pulled back, and air rushed into Jimin's lungs.

"Good. Good. Again."

The cock slid back in. Deeper this time. Jimin's throat bulged—Jeongguk could see it, the outline of himself moving beneath the delicate skin. His hand found Jimin's neck, fingers splayed over the protrusion, pressing just enough to feel himself inside.

"Holy fuck." The words were reverent, almost disbelieving. "Look at you. Taking me so deep."

Jimin couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but lie there, throat full, eyes streaming, hands clutching Jeongguk's thighs like an anchor. The world had narrowed to this: the taste of skin, the weight on his tongue, the rhythmic slide of cock in and out of his throat.

His own cock was hard. Again. After five orgasms, after being drained completely, he was hard and leaking against his belly, the head an angry red.

Jeongguk noticed. Of course he noticed.

"You're getting off on this." It wasn't a question. "You're getting hard from having my cock down your throat."

Jimin's response was a garbled, wet sound that might have been "yes."

"Touch yourself."

Jimin's hand fumbled downward, wrapping around his oversensitive cock. The touch made him whimper, the vibration traveling up through his throat and around Jeongguk's shaft.

"Slow," Jeongguk instructed. "Match my pace. When I push in, you stroke up. When I pull out, you loosen your grip."

He demonstrated—a slow thrust that filled Jimin's throat, then a withdrawal that left the head resting on his tongue. Jimin's hand followed, stroking up, loosening, stroking up, loosening. The coordination was clumsy at first, his rhythm faltering, but after a few strokes, he found it. The tandem movement. The mirrored pleasure.

"Good boy. Such a fast fucking learner." Jeongguk's hips began to move faster. "Now I'm going to fuck your throat. Not hard. Not yet. But I'm going to fuck it. And you're going to keep stroking yourself—slow—and you're not going to come until I tell you to."

A garbled sound of protest. Or agreement. Even Jimin wasn't sure.

The pace increased. Jeongguk's hips snapped forward, cock plunging deep, and Jimin's throat opened around it like it had been made for this purpose. Spit bubbled at the corners of his mouth, dripping down his cheeks, pooling in the hollows of his collarbones. His hand moved on his own cock, slow and steady, the pleasure building in careful increments.

"Look at me."

Jimin's gaze rolled upward, finding Jeongguk's face. The upside-down angle made it strange—Jeongguk's eyes were dark pools, his lip ring glinting, sweat beading at his temples. He looked wrecked. He looked powerful. He looked like a god demanding worship.

"Eyes on me. Keep them on me. I want to watch your face when I cum down your throat."

The words made Jimin's cock twitch in his hand. He wanted that. He wanted that so badly it scared him.

The thrusts came faster now, less controlled. Jeongguk's breathing was ragged, his abs clenching with every stroke. The hand on Jimin's throat tightened—not choking, just holding, feeling the movement beneath.

"I'm close," he gritted out. "I'm so fucking close. Where do you want it?"

Jimin's answer was to suck harder, hollowing his cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of Jeongguk's cock.

"Fuck—okay—okay, you're going to swallow. You're going to swallow every drop." The words tumbled out, half command, half desperate prayer. "And you're going to keep your eyes on me the whole time. Understood?"

A garbled mmhmm vibrated around his shaft.

Jeongguk's thrusts stuttered. His rhythm broke. His fingers dug into Jimin's hair, holding his head in place as his hips slammed forward one last time.

"Ah- fuck Jimin I’m- "

The first pulse of cum hit the back of Jimin's throat. Hot. Thick. Saltier than he'd expected. He swallowed reflexively, the muscles of his throat milking Jeongguk's cock, and above him Jeongguk let out a sound that was half-scream, half-sob.

"Fuck- keep looking at me-"

Jimin's eyes stayed locked on Jeongguk's face as pulse after pulse flooded his mouth. There was so much of it—ropes of white that coated his tongue, his palate, the insides of his cheeks. He swallowed and swallowed and still there was more, dripping from the corners of his lips, sliding down his chin.

The hand on his throat felt every swallow.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Jeongguk's hips kept jerking, little aftershocks pumping more spend into Jimin's willing mouth. His chest heaved. His thighs trembled. "Look at you. Still looking at me. Still swallowing."

Jimin's own cock was throbbing in his grip, pre-cum slicking his fingers. He hadn't been given permission to come. Hadn't been told to stop stroking either. His hand kept moving—slow, steady, relentless—while Jeongguk's release dripped down his chin and pooled in the dip of his throat.

Finally, Jeongguk pulled out.

A thick string of saliva and come connected his cock to Jimin's swollen bottom lip. It stretched, broke, fell away. Jimin's mouth stayed open, panting, tongue coated white, throat still working to swallow the last of it.

"Did I—" His voice was wrecked, barely a whisper. "Did I do okay?"

Jeongguk dropped to his knees beside the bed, one hand cupping Jimin's come-stained cheek. His eyes were wet. Not crying, exactly, but close. Overwhelmed. Raw in a way Jimin had never seen him.

"You did perfect. You were perfect." His thumb traced Jimin's bottom lip, smearing the mess. "I'm going to think about that for the rest of my fucking life."

Jimin's hand was still on his cock. Still stroking. Slow. Torturous.

"Jeongguk." His voice cracked. "I need—I can't—please let me cum."

Jeongguk's gaze dropped down Jimin's body to where his hand moved on his flushed, leaking cock. The sixth erection of the night. The sixth time his body had climbed toward release despite having nothing left to give.

"Poor thing." The words were almost mocking, but the tone was tender. "You're so desperate and you haven't even realized yet."

"Realized what?"

Jeongguk's hand closed over Jimin's, stilling the movement. Jimin whimpered—a high, desperate sound.

"That I'm not done with you."

The silence that followed Jeongguk's words was thick enough to choke on.

Jimin's hand still rested on his own cock, frozen mid-stroke, the come drying on his chin and throat and the dip of his collarbones. His chest heaved. His thighs trembled. The fairy lights blurred and swam in his vision, and somewhere beneath the fog of six orgasms and a throat fucked raw, a single coherent thought surfaced.

What are we doing?

"Jeongguk." His voice came out wrecked—hoarse and cracking, barely above a whisper. "Jeongguk, wait."

Jeongguk's hand, which had been sliding up Jimin's inner thigh, stilled. His dark eyes flicked up, the lip ring catching amber light. "What's wrong?"

"I—" Jimin swallowed. The taste of spend still coated his tongue. "I need a minute. I need to—can we just—" He pushed himself up on trembling arms, the blood rushing from his head making the room tilt. "Can we just stop? For a second?"

Something flickered across Jeongguk's face. Concern, maybe. Or guilt. He sat back on his heels, hands retreating to his own thighs. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Fuck, Jimin, I'm sorry—I should've—"

"No." Jimin shook his head, blonde hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. "No, don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. I just—" He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the mess. "I need water. And I need to think. Just for a minute."

The bathroom light was harsh and fluorescent when Jimin flicked it on—a brutal contrast to the vanilla-scented amber of the bedroom. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and flinched.

God. He looked destroyed.

His lips were swollen to twice their normal size, the bottom one split slightly at the corner where Jeongguk's cock had stretched him too wide. A smear of drying cum traced from the corner of his mouth to his jawline. His neck—his neck was mottled with red marks, the beginnings of bruises where Jeongguk's hand had pressed and held. His eyes were glassy, the whites shot through with broken blood vessels from the throat-fucking.

And the bellybutton piercing. The little silver barbell Jeongguk had kissed and licked and worshiped hours ago. It winked at him in the fluorescent light like a secret.

I look like I've been devoured.

He turned on the tap, let the water run cold, and splashed his face. The shock of it helped clear the fog. He cupped water into his mouth, swished, spat. Did it again. And again. The taste of Jeongguk lingered stubbornly on the back of his tongue.

The bathroom door creaked.

"Jimin?" Jeongguk's voice was softer now. The dominant edge had been shelved, replaced by something more tentative. "You okay in there?"

"I don't know."

The honesty of it surprised him. He hadn't meant to say that. He'd meant to say I'm fine or just a minute or something else that would buy him time to shove all these feelings back into whatever box they'd escaped from. But the word okay had triggered something, and now his throat was tightening for reasons that had nothing to do with a cock.

Jeongguk appeared in the doorway, still shirtless, his jeans pulled back up but unbuttoned. "Talk to me."

Jimin gripped the edge of the sink. The porcelain was cool against his palms. "What are we doing?"

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"This." Jimin gestured vaguely at himself, at Jeongguk, at the bedroom beyond. "All of this. You're my roommate. My friend. You're—we live together, Jeongguk. We share a bathroom. We split the grocery bill. And now you've had your tongue inside me and I've had your—" His voice broke. "What does this mean?"

Jeongguk leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. The movement made his biceps flex, the black ink shifting. For a long moment, he didn't answer.

"I don't know," he finally said.

"That's not helpful."

"I know it's not." He pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the small bathroom. The space felt even smaller with both of them in it—Jeongguk's height and breadth eating up all the available air. "But I'm not going to lie to you. I don't know what this means. I don't know what it's supposed to mean. I just know—" He stopped. Jaw clenching.

"Know what?"

The silence stretched. A bead of water dripped from the tap, hitting the porcelain with a soft plink.

"I know I've wanted you for months." The words came out rough, scraped raw. "I know I've jerked off thinking about you more times than I can count. I know I've watched you walk around the apartment in those little shorts you wear and I've had to leave the room because I couldn't control my own fucking face." He dragged a hand through his black hair. "And I know that when you came to me tonight—when you asked for help—I said no at first because I was scared."

"Scared?" Jimin turned from the sink, facing him fully. "Scared of what?"

"Of this." Jeongguk gestured between them. "Of what I'd do once I started. Of the fact that I wouldn't be able to stop. That I wouldn't want to stop."

Jimin's breath caught. "You said no at first? You—I don't remember you saying no."

"Internally." A bitter half-laugh. "I fought myself for a good thirty seconds before I opened my mouth. You didn't notice because you were too busy being desperate." The word landed heavy, and Jeongguk winced. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

"No, you're right." Jimin's arms wrapped around himself, a belated attempt at modesty that felt absurd given everything they'd just done. "I was desperate. I am desperate. I couldn't—I can't—" He stopped, frustration rising. "You don't know what it's like. Months of trying. Months of nothing. I thought there was something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"Easy for you to say. You just came down my throat."

The bluntness of it hung in the air between them. And then, impossibly, Jeongguk laughed. A real laugh—short and surprised and almost reluctant, like he hadn't meant to let it out.

"Fair point."

Jimin felt his own mouth twitch. "This is insane. This whole night is insane. I asked my roommate to help me jerk off and somehow I've had my first six orgasms—"

"Six? I counted five."

"The throat thing counted as six."

Jeongguk's eyebrow arched, the lip ring quirking with his smirk. "The throat thing."

"Shut up."

"I'm not making fun of you. I'm just—" He shook his head, the smirk fading. "Jimin, I need you to understand something. What happened tonight—all of it—that wasn't just me being a good roommate. That wasn't just me helping out a friend."

Jimin's heart stuttered. "Then what was it?"

"It was me taking an opportunity I've been fantasizing about for months." The words were steady, deliberate. Jeongguk wasn't looking away now. His dark eyes held Jimin's with an intensity that made the bathroom feel even smaller. "When you asked me to help, part of me knew exactly where it was going to lead. Maybe not the specifics—I didn't plan on five orgasms or the throat thing or any of that—but I knew I wasn't going to just give you a hand and walk away. I knew I was going to push."

"Push," Jimin echoed.

"Push every boundary. Try every excuse. I told myself I was teaching you. I told you I was teaching you. And some of that was real—I did want to teach you, I did want to help—but some of it was just me being selfish. Me wanting to see how far I could take it before you said no."

The confession landed like a physical weight. Jimin's grip on the sink tightened.

"But you didn't," Jeongguk continued, quieter now. "You didn't say no. Not once. And I kept waiting for it. Kept expecting you to tap out or push me away or tell me to stop. But you didn't. You took everything I gave you and you asked for more."

"Because I wanted it." The words came out before Jimin could stop them. "I wanted all of it. Even the parts that scared me. Even the parts I didn't understand. I wanted—" He swallowed, his throat aching with the movement. "I wanted you."

The air shifted.

Jeongguk took a step closer, then another. The bathroom was so small that two steps brought him directly into Jimin's space, close enough that Jimin could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could smell the sweat and sex still clinging to both of them.

"You wanted me," Jeongguk repeated, like he was testing the words. "As in—you liked it. Or you wanted me specifically."

"Both." Jimin's voice was barely a whisper now. "I think—I think I've wanted you for a while. I just didn't know that's what it was. I didn't have a word for it. I just knew I liked when you were around. I liked when you looked at me. I liked when you sat next to me on the couch and your thigh touched mine and you didn't move away." He laughed, a shaky, fragile sound. "God, that's pathetic, isn't it? Thigh touching. That was the highlight of my month."

"It's not pathetic." Jeongguk's hand lifted, hesitated, then cupped Jimin's jaw. The touch was gentle in a way it hadn't been all night—not commanding or controlling, just present., just there. "I noticed every time. Every single time. I noticed and I didn't move away either because I was hoping you wouldn't notice how hard my heart was beating."

"Your heart?"

"Racing. Every time. You'd sit down next to me during movie night and I'd lose the entire plot because all I could focus on was the six inches of couch between your hip and mine."

Jimin's eyes stung. He blinked hard. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you're my roommate. Because we live together. Because if I said something and you didn't feel the same way, it would make everything weird and you'd start avoiding me and I'd have to move out or you'd have to move out and—" He stopped to exhale. "I'd rather have you as a roommate than not have you at all."

"That's—" Jimin's voice cracked. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me and it's also the most depressing."

"Welcome to my entire emotional life."

A laugh bubbled up from Jimin's chest—wet and surprised and a little hysterical. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Jeongguk's shoulder. The skin was warm and smelled like salt and something muskier underneath. Jeongguk's arms came up around him, careful and tentative, like he was holding something breakable.

"So what now?" Jimin's voice was muffled against Jeongguk's collarbone. "We just—we did all of that. And now we're standing in the bathroom confessing feelings like we're in some kind of drama. What happens tomorrow? What happens when the other guys come back?"

"I don't know." Jeongguk's hand traced slow circles on Jimin's bare back. "I don't have a plan. I didn't think I'd get this far."

"You didn't think you'd get this far."

"I thought I'd help you come and then you'd thank me and we'd never talk about it again and I'd spend the rest of the semester jerking off to the memory in the shower like a creep."

Jimin pulled back, looking up at him. "That's a very specific fantasy."

"It's not a fantasy, it's a coping mechanism." But Jeongguk was smiling now. "Look. I don't know what this is. I don't know if it's a relationship or a hookup or just two friends who needed something from each other. But I know I don't want tonight to be the end of it."

"You don't?"

"I want to wake up tomorrow and see you in the kitchen making that terrible instant coffee you like and know that last night actually happened. I want to—" He stopped, jaw working. "I want to do this again. Not just the sex. This. Talking. Being close. I want to see where it goes."

Jimin's heart was doing something complicated in his chest—fluttering and aching and expanding all at once. "Even if it makes things weird with the other guys?"

"The other guys can deal." Jeongguk's thumb traced Jimin's cheekbone, wiping away a smudge of drying cum. "We'll figure it out. We'll tell them or we won't tell them. We'll be discreet or we won't. I don't care. I just—" He took a breath. "I don't want to go back to pretending I don't notice you."

"You really noticed me? All this time?"

"Jimin." Jeongguk's voice dropped, something darker flickering behind his eyes. "I noticed you the day you moved in. You were wearing that oversized sweater that kept slipping off your shoulder and you couldn't figure out how to work the coffee machine and you kept biting your lip when you got frustrated. I stood in the kitchen doorway for a full minute before you saw me. A full minute. Just watching you."

"You never said—"

"I know. I should have." His hand slid from Jimin's cheek to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the sweat-damp blonde hair. "But I'm saying it now. And I'll keep saying it. For as long as you want to hear it."

Jimin's eyes welled up again. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but one escaped anyway—tracing a hot line down his cheek and dripping onto Jeongguk's bare chest.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm crying. I don't know why I'm crying."

"Because you've had six orgasms and an emotional breakthrough in the same night." Jeongguk's lips brushed his forehead—soft, barely there. "Your body doesn't know what to do with all of it."

"My body doesn't know what to do with any of this." Jimin's laugh was watery. "I came to you because I couldn't make myself come and now I can't stop crying in the bathroom. This is not how I thought tonight would go."

"How did you think it would go?"

"I thought—" He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I thought you'd be weirded out. I thought you'd say no. Or I thought you'd give me some advice and send me back to my room and I'd spend another night failing and hating myself. I never thought you'd—" He gestured at the bedroom, at the rumpled sheets and the fairy lights and the discarded pink panties on the floor. "All of that."

"Neither did I." Jeongguk's arms tightened around him. "But I'm glad it did."

"Even the crying?"

"Especially the crying."

Jimin pulled back, frowning. "That's a weird thing to say."

"I mean it's good that you're crying. That you're letting yourself feel it. Earlier tonight you were holding everything in. You were so twisted up you couldn't even let yourself cum. And now—" He gestured at Jimin's tear-streaked face. "Now you're a mess. An absolute mess. And I mean that as a compliment."

"You have a strange way of giving compliments."

"You like it."

Jimin opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Because he did. He liked it. He liked all of it—the weird compliments and the dominant commands and the gentle aftercare and the bathroom confessions. He liked the way Jeongguk looked at him, like he was something precious and something filthy all at once. He liked the way his body felt right now—wrung out and aching and somehow more alive than it had ever been.

"I like you," he said quietly. "I don't know what kind of like it is yet. But I like you."

Jeongguk's expression did something complicated—relief and hunger and tenderness all tangled together. "I like you too. Whatever kind of like it ends up being."

"So we're—what? Figuring this out?"

"Figuring this out." Jeongguk nodded. "Together."

"Together," Jimin repeated, testing the word. It felt heavy, important. It felt like a promise neither of them had meant to make.

They stood there in the harsh bathroom light, naked and cum-stained and tear-streaked, holding onto each other like the world might shift if they let go. The faucet dripped. The fairy lights flickered through the open door. And somewhere outside, a car passed, its headlights sweeping briefly across the bedroom window before disappearing into the dark.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Jeongguk asked eventually. "Not for—I mean just to sleep. You look exhausted."

"I am exhausted." Jimin's body confirmed this with a bone-deep ache. "But I don't think I can sleep. My brain is still—" He made a vague spiraling motion with his finger.

"Overthinking?"

"Always."

Jeongguk pressed another kiss to his forehead—longer this time, lingering. "Then we'll lie down and not sleep together. Figuratively. Not sleeping, literally sharing a bed."

"You're rambling."

"I'm nervous."

"You? Nervous?" Jimin pulled back, genuinely surprised. "Why are you nervous?"

"Because I just told you I've been pining for you for months and you said you might like me back and I'm trying very hard not to fuck this up by saying the wrong thing or pushing too hard or—"

"Jeongguk." Jimin's hand pressed against his chest, palm flat over his heart. It was beating fast. "You're not going to fuck this up."

"You don't know that."

"I know you. I've lived with you for a year. I've seen you burn toast and forget to pay the electric bill and leave your laundry in the washer for three days. You're a disaster of a human being and I still—" He stopped to swallow. "I still like you. So whatever you say or do right now, it's not going to change that."

Jeongguk stared at him for a long moment. Then his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smirk and wasn't quite a smile.

"You called me a disaster."

"A lovable disaster."

"There's that word again."

"What word?"

"Love." Jeongguk's voice was careful. "You haven't said it directly. But you keep dancing around it."

Jimin's face heated. "I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—"

"I know." Jeongguk's hand found his, fingers interlacing. "I'm not asking you to say it. I'm just saying—when you're ready. If you're ever ready. It's okay."

The word hung between them, unspoken but present. Jimin felt it in his chest like a second heartbeat.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

They didn't go back to the bedroom right away. They stood in the bathroom a little longer, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. Jimin's tears dried on his cheeks. Jeongguk's thumb traced absent patterns on his hip.

And when they finally did move—when Jeongguk led him back to the rumpled bed and pulled the sheets up over both of them and wrapped an arm around his waist—Jimin felt something loosen in his chest. Something that had been wound tight for months, maybe years. Something that finally, finally, had permission to let go.

"Jeongguk?" His voice was barely a whisper in the dark.

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For saying yes tonight."

A pause. Then Jeongguk's lips against the nape of his neck, soft and dry.

"I'd say yes every time," he murmured. "Every single time."

And Jimin, too exhausted to cry again, just pressed back against the warmth of Jeongguk's chest and let his eyes fall closed.

—

The first thing Jeongguk registered was heat.

A furnace of it pressed against his chest, soft and yielding and smelling faintly of vanilla and salt and something muskier underneath. His arm was draped over something that rose and fell with slow, even breaths. His cock—already hard, already aching, already leaking a damp spot against his boxer briefs—was nestled against the curve of what his sleep-fogged brain slowly identified as an ass.

Jimin.

The name surfaced through the haze of waking like a stone dropping into still water. Last night. The confessions. The crying. The six—no, five, whatever—orgasms he'd pulled from Jimin's body with his tongue and fingers and cock. The way Jimin had looked at him in the bathroom, tear-streaked and swollen-lipped and completely, devastatingly honest.

I like you.

Jeongguk's eyes opened. The fairy lights had died at some point during the night, their batteries finally giving out, but pale morning sun filtered through the blinds—enough to make out the shape in his arms. Jimin lay curled on his side, facing away, the sheets tangled around his waist. His bare back was a canvas of smooth skin and faint pink marks from Jeongguk's mouth, the dip of his spine a shadowed valley leading down to the swell of his ass barely covered by rumpled cotton. His blonde hair was a disaster—sticking up in six different directions, matted flat on one side—and his breathing was still deep and slow. Still asleep. Still completely unaware of the predicament pressed against his lower back.

Jeongguk didn't move.

He didn't trust himself to move.

His cock throbbed—an insistent, demanding pulse that made his jaw clench and his fingers curl against Jimin's stomach. The head was already slick, the foreskin pulled back, the sensitive underside rubbing against the damp fabric of his briefs with every tiny shift of Jimin's body. Fuck. He'd been hard before in the morning—that was normal, that was just biology—but this was different. This was the result of hours of dreams he couldn't quite remember but could still feel in the tension of his muscles, the shortness of his breath, the way his hips wanted to roll forward on pure instinct.

Don't.

He tried to pull his hips back. Just an inch. Just enough space to think. But the movement made Jimin stir—a small, sleepy sound escaping his lips as he pressed back against the retreating warmth.

"Mmm." The sound was barely audible. "Cold."

Jeongguk froze. His arm was still draped over Jimin's waist, his hand flat against the soft skin of his stomach. The bellybutton piercing was cool under his pinky finger. Jimin shifted again, settling more firmly against him, and this time there was no mistaking it—his ass pressed back directly against Jeongguk's cock, the thin layers of fabric doing absolutely nothing to disguise the shape or heat or urgency of his erection.

Jimin's breathing changed. A hitch. A pause. The telltale rhythm of someone waking up.

"Jeongguk?" His voice was sleep-roughened, cracking on the second syllable. "Is that—are you—"

"Don't move." The words came out strained. Jeongguk's hand pressed more firmly against Jimin's stomach, holding him in place. "Just—give me a second."

"A second for what?" But Jimin didn't move. His body was rigid now, the sleepy pliancy replaced by something more alert. "You're—"

"I know what I am."

"It's poking me."

A laugh punched out of Jeongguk's chest despite himself. "I'm aware."

"Is that—is that normal? For morning?" Jimin's head turned slightly, one eye visible over his shoulder, the lashes still clumped with sleep. "Or is it because of—"

"It's because of you." Jeongguk's honesty was brutal in the morning light. No filters, no careful planning. "It's because I woke up with you in my arms and my body remembers everything we did last night and my brain apparently decided to keep running the highlight reel while I was asleep."

Jimin's visible eye widened. "Highlight reel?"

"You don't want to know."

"I—" Jimin swallowed. The movement shifted his whole body, and Jeongguk felt it everywhere—his cock, his chest, the arm still wrapped around Jimin's waist. "I kind of do."

The confession hung in the air. Small and quiet, but unmistakable.

Jeongguk's hand slid lower on Jimin's stomach, just barely, just an inch. "You kind of do what?"

"Want to know." Jimin's voice was breathier now. "What you were dreaming about."

"I don't remember the specifics." Jeongguk's lips brushed the nape of Jimin's neck as he spoke, not quite a kiss, not quite not a kiss. "Just the feeling. The shape of it. I was inside you. Somewhere. Somehow. And you were making those sounds you make—the ones where you can't decide if you want more or if it's too much—and you kept saying my name like it was the only word you knew."

Jimin shivered. A full-body tremor that Jeongguk felt everywhere.

"That's—" Jimin's voice cracked. "That's very specific for not remembering."

"I remember enough."

Silence. The room was brightening by the minute, the morning sun painting stripes across the rumpled sheets.

"Jeongguk?"

"Yeah?"

"Last night you said—you said you wanted to do this again. Not just the sex. But the—" Jimin's voice faltered. "The rest of it. The talking. The being close."

"I meant it."

"So did you mean the sex part too?"

Jeongguk's hips twitched. Involuntary and desperate. "Jimin-“

"Because I've been thinking." Jimin turned more fully now, twisting in Jeongguk's arms until he was on his back, looking up at him. The motion dislodged the sheets further, exposing the pale expanse of his chest, the pink marks on his neck that had darkened overnight into proper bruises. His lips were still slightly swollen. His eyes were still glassy with sleep. "I've been thinking about what you said. About pushing boundaries. About seeing how far you could take it."

"Jimin—"

"How far?" The question was simple and direct. Jimin's gaze didn't waver. "How far did you want to take it? If I hadn't stopped us last night—if I hadn't asked for a break—how far would you have gone?"

Jeongguk's jaw clenched. His cock throbbed. The combination of Jimin's innocent expression and the filth of the question was doing something catastrophic to his self-control.

"All the way," he said. "I would have taken you all the way."

"You mean—"

"I mean I would have fucked you." The bluntness was deliberate. "I would have opened you up with my fingers and my tongue until you were begging for it, and then I would have pushed inside you and I wouldn't have stopped until you came on my cock. That's how far. That's what I was dreaming about."

Jimin's breath caught. His lips parted. And underneath the sheet, something shifted—his hips, pressing up, seeking friction that wasn't there.

"Oh," he whispered.

"Is that—" Jeongguk forced himself to pause, to check. "Is that okay? Me saying that?"

"I don't know." Jimin's honesty was as brutal as Jeongguk's had been. "I don't know if it's okay. I just know it makes me feel—" He stopped. "It makes me feel like last night. When you had your mouth on me and I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I just felt."

"Is that a good thing?"

"I think so." Jimin's hand lifted, hesitant, then pressed flat against Jeongguk's chest, over his heart. "It's racing again."

"It's always racing around you."

"Mine too." Jimin's fingers curled slightly, nails grazing skin. "Jeongguk, I—I want to try."

"Try what?"

"Try—" A flush crept up Jimin's cheeks, pink and pretty and devastating. "What you said. What you were dreaming about. I want to try it. With you."

The words hit Jeongguk's spine like lightning. His cock jerked, a bead of precome soaking through his briefs. "Jimin, you're still sore from last night. You're—I had my tongue inside you. My fingers. You came five times. Six. Whatever. Your body needs—"

"My body needs you." The interruption was quiet but firm. "I woke up and I felt you against me and I—I didn't want you to move away. I wanted you to press closer. I wanted—" His voice dropped, barely audible. "I wanted this."

"Fuck." The word was punched out of Jeongguk's lungs. "Fuck, Jimin, you can't just—you can't just say that—"

"Why not?"

"Because—"

Because I'm trying to be good. Because I'm trying not to push. Because last night I promised you we'd figure this out together and that means not just taking what I want the moment I wake up hard.

But Jimin was looking at him with those eyes—sleepy and sincere and shot through with something that looked a lot like want—and his hand was still on Jeongguk's chest, and his hips were still shifting under the sheet, and the bruises on his neck were stark against his pale skin, and Jeongguk was only human.

"Turn around," he said.

Jimin blinked. "What?"

"Turn around. On your side. Like you were before." Jeongguk's voice had dropped into something lower, rougher—the same register he'd used last night when he'd told Jimin to take his cock deeper. "I'm going to give you what you asked for. But I need you to trust me."

Jimin's breath shuddered out of him, but he turned. Slowly, carefully, the sheets tangling further around his legs until Jeongguk reached down and pulled them away entirely. The morning light painted Jimin's body in shades of cream and gold—the dip of his waist, the curve of his hip, the swell of his ass. The marks from last night had bloomed into faint purple bruises at the small of his back where Jeongguk's thumbs had pressed and held.

"Beautiful," Jeongguk murmured. The word escaped before he could stop it. "You're so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?"

Jimin's shoulders hunched slightly. "I'm not—"

"You are." Jeongguk's hand slid down Jimin's spine, tracing each vertebra, watching the way Jimin shivered under his touch. "I've thought it for months. Every time you walked past me in the kitchen. Every time you sat on the couch with your legs tucked up and your hair falling in your eyes. Beautiful. All the time. Even when you didn't know I was looking."

"Jeongguk—"

"Shh." His hand reached the swell of Jimin's ass and stopped. "I'm going to touch you now. And I'm going to keep touching you until I'm inside you. But if it hurts—if it's too much—you tell me. You say stop. You tap twice. Like last night. Understand?"

Jimin nodded, his face half-buried in the pillow.

"Words."

"I understand." The response was muffled but clear. "Tap twice. If it's too much."

"Good."

Jeongguk's hand squeezed, just once. Just enough to feel the give of flesh, the way Jimin's ass fit perfectly in his palm. Jimin gasped—a small, surprised sound—and his hips pushed back involuntarily.

"You like that?"

"I—yes. I think so."

"You think so?"

"I know so." More certain now. "I know so. I want—Jeongguk, please—"

"Please what?"

"Please touch me. More. I want—" Jimin's voice broke as Jeongguk's thumb traced the crease where his ass met his thigh. "I want to feel you. Inside me. Like you said."

Jeongguk's cock throbbed painfully. He reached down with his free hand and pushed his briefs down—finally, finally freeing himself—and the sound he made when his cock slapped against his stomach was almost feral. Jimin heard it. Jimin's whole body tensed.

"Is that—"

"Yes." Jeongguk's voice was strained. "That's what you do to me. That's what you've been doing to me since you asked me for help last night. I've been hard for hours, Jimin. Hours. And now I'm going to—" He stopped. "I need to get you ready first."

"Ready how?"

"The lube. Where is it?"

"Nightstand. Top drawer." Jimin's voice was smaller now. Nervous. "Jeongguk, I've never—no one's ever—"

"I know." Jeongguk pressed a kiss to Jimin's shoulder blade as he reached over him for the drawer. "I know you haven't. That's why we're going slow. That's why I'm going to make sure you're ready. I'm not going to hurt you." He found the bottle—half-empty from last night—and settled back behind Jimin. "I'm going to make you feel so good you forget your own name."

The click of the cap was loud in the quiet room. Jeongguk squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, warming it between his palms. The scent of it—something faintly sweet, vaguely medicinal—mixed with the vanilla and salt and morning air.

"Spread your legs," Jeongguk murmured. "Just a little. Just enough for me."

Jimin obeyed. His thighs parted, one knee drawing up toward his chest. The position opened him—exposed the pink furl of his entrance, still slightly swollen from last night's attention, still glistening faintly from residual lube and saliva. Jeongguk's mouth went dry.

Fuck. He looked debauched. Wrecked. And Jeongguk hadn't even been inside him yet.

"Tell me if it's cold."

His slick finger pressed against Jimin's entrance. Not pushing in—just resting there, letting the heat of his skin warm the lube. Jimin's whole body jerked.

"Oh—"

"Cold?"

"A little. It's—" Jimin's voice was high, tight. "It's a lot. Even just that. Even just your finger there."

"I haven't done anything yet."

"I know. I know, but I can feel it. I can feel where you're going to—" He broke off, a shudder running through him. "Please. Please, Jeongguk. I'm ready."

"You're not. But you will be."

Jeongguk pushed. Slowly, so slowly his hand trembled with the restraint of it. The tip of his index finger breached Jimin's entrance, and the sound Jimin made—a choked-off whimper, half-muffled by the pillow—went straight to Jeongguk's cock. The tightness was incredible. Even just one finger, even with all the prep from last night, Jimin's body clamped down like it was trying to pull him deeper.

"Breathe," Jeongguk instructed. "You're holding your breath. Breathe, Jimin."

A shaky inhale, a shuddering exhale. The muscles around Jeongguk's finger relaxed fractionally.

"Good. That's good. You're doing so good." He slid deeper, knuckle by knuckle, until his finger was buried to the hilt. Jimin was hot inside. Tight and hot and velvet-soft, and Jeongguk had to close his eyes for a moment and think about baseball statistics or grocery lists or anything that wasn't the way Jimin's body was gripping his finger like it never wanted to let go.

"How does that feel?"

"Full." Jimin's voice was wrecked already. "It's—you're—it's so much. Just your finger is so much. How is it so much?"

"Because you've never done this before. Because your body's still learning." Jeongguk withdrew slightly, then pushed back in. A tiny movement, barely an inch. Jimin moaned. "Because you're sensitive. Every nerve you have is waking up right now and it's all new and it's all happening at once."

"Jeongguk—"

"I'm going to add another."

"Another—" Jimin's voice pitched higher. "Another finger?"

"You need to be stretched. Otherwise it's going to hurt when I—" He stopped. Breathed. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "Yes, I trust you."

"Then let me take care of you."

The second finger was harder to work in. Jimin's body resisted, the tight ring of muscle clenching against the intrusion, and Jimin himself was making small, punched-out sounds against the pillow—not pain exactly, but overwhelming sensation, his hips twitching between pushing back and pulling away.

"Relax," Jeongguk murmured against his shoulder blade. "Relax, Jimin. Let me in."

"I'm trying—I'm trying, I just—"

"I know." He pressed a kiss to Jimin's spine. Then another. Then another, trailing down the knobs of his vertebrae until he reached the small of his back. "I know it's a lot. But you're taking it. You're taking it so well."

His fingers—two of them now, buried deep—curled slightly. Searching. And when they found what they were looking for—that small, firm spot that made Jimin's whole body seize—the sound that tore out of Jimin's throat was barely human.

"Ah!—"

"There it is." Jeongguk's voice was dark with satisfaction. "There you are."

He pressed again, gentler this time, a slow circle of pressure that made Jimin's hips buck uncontrollably. "Feel that?"

"I—I can't—Jeongguk—"

"Shh. I know. I know." His fingers worked slowly, stretching, pressing, coaxing Jimin's body open. A third finger joined the others, and Jimin cried out—a wordless, desperate sound—but his hips pushed back, not away. Seeking more, asking for it.

"Please," Jimin gasped. "Please, Jeongguk, I'm ready, I'm so ready, please—"

"What do you want?"

"You. Inside. I want—I need—" His voice broke on a sob. "I need you to fuck me. Please. Please fuck me."

The words shattered something in Jeongguk's chest. His fingers slipped out, and Jimin whined at the loss, and then Jeongguk was positioning himself—cock slicked with lube, the head pressing against Jimin's entrance, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"Last chance," Jeongguk said. His voice was barely recognizable. "Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this."

"I want it." Jimin's hand reached back, fumbling, finding Jeongguk's hip and gripping hard. "I want it. I want you. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

Jeongguk pushed.

The head of his cock breached Jimin's entrance, and the world narrowed to a single point of sensation. Heat. Tightness. The clutch of Jimin's body around him, inch by devastating inch. Jimin screamed—not in pain, not exactly, but in something beyond words—and his fingers dug into Jeongguk's hip hard enough to bruise.

"Breathe," Jeongguk gasped. "Breathe, Jimin, breathe—"

"I can't—it's—you're so—"

"I know. I know." He stopped moving, sheathed halfway, every muscle in his body screaming. "I'm right here. I've got you. Just breathe."

Jimin's body relaxed by fractions—microscopic releases of tension that let Jeongguk sink another inch deeper.

"Oh god," Jimin whispered. "Oh god, oh god, oh god—"

"No god here. Just me." Jeongguk's forehead pressed against the back of Jimin's neck. "Just us. Just this. You're doing so good, Jimin. You're taking me so well. You feel—" He broke off, a groan tearing from his throat. "You feel incredible. So tight. So hot. I can feel every inch of you."

"You're—you're all the way?"

"Almost." One more push. One more breath. And then he was buried to the hilt, his hips flush against Jimin's ass, his cock swallowed completely by Jimin's body. "There. There. Fuck. Fuck."

They stayed like that for a long moment—frozen, trembling, breathing the same air. Jeongguk could feel Jimin's heartbeat through the walls of his body. Could feel every tiny clench and flutter of muscle around his cock. Could feel the way Jimin's hand was still gripping his hip, grounding them both.

"Move," Jimin whispered. "Please. Move. I need—I need you to—"

Jeongguk pulled back. Just an inch. Just enough to feel the drag of Jimin's body against every sensitized nerve. Then he pushed back in, and Jimin moaned—a low, guttural sound that vibrated through both of them.

"Like that?"

"Yes—yes, like that, more—"

He set a rhythm. Slow at first—deep, rolling thrusts that let him feel every ridge and contour of Jimin's channel. The room filled with sounds: the slap of skin against skin, the wet obscene noise of lube and precome, Jimin's gasping moans and Jeongguk's ragged breathing. The morning sun crept higher, painting their bodies in gold.

"Harder," Jimin gasped. "Please—harder—"

"You want harder?"

"Yes—fuck—yes—"

Jeongguk's hips snapped forward, and Jimin cried out, and the rhythm changed—faster now, harder, the head of Jeongguk's cock hitting that spot inside Jimin with every thrust. Jimin was babbling now—a stream of yes and there and please and Jeongguk that blurred together into incoherence.

"You're close," Jeongguk growled against his ear. "I can feel it. You're tightening around me. You're going to cum on my cock, aren't you?"

"I—I—"

"Aren't you?"

"Yes—yes, I'm going to—I'm—"

"Then cum." Jeongguk's hand slid around Jimin's hip, finding his cock—hard and leaking and untouched—and stroked once, twice. "Cum for me, Jimin. Now."

Jimin shattered.

The orgasm ripped through him—visible in the arch of his spine, audible in the scream that tore from his throat, tangible in the way his body clamped down around Jeongguk's cock like a vice. He pulsed and spasmed and came, hot stripes of it painting the sheets beneath him, and Jeongguk fucked him through it—through every wave, every shudder, every broken cry.

And when Jimin's body went limp, Jeongguk didn't stop.

"Jeongguk—" Jimin's voice was thin, over-sensitive. "Jeongguk, I can't—it's too—"

"You can." Another thrust. Another. "You can take it. You're taking it so well. Just a little more. Just—" His rhythm stuttered. His control frayed. "I'm close. I'm so close. Where—"

"Inside." Jimin's voice was barely a whisper but completely certain. "Inside. I want—I want to feel it. Please."

The plea broke him. Jeongguk's hips slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and he came with a roar that echoed off the bedroom walls. Pulse after pulse of heat flooding Jimin's body, marking him from the inside out, until Jeongguk's vision whited out and his arms gave way and he collapsed against Jimin's back.

For a long moment, there was nothing but breathing. Two bodies tangled together, slick with sweat and lube and come, hearts pounding in tandem. The bird outside kept singing. The sun kept rising. And Jeongguk, still buried inside Jimin, still trembling with the aftershocks, pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Jimin?"

"Mm?"

"I meant what I said last night." His voice was wrecked—hoarse and raw. "Every single time."

Jimin's hand found his, interlacing their fingers against the sweaty sheets.

"I know."

BONUS PART

The week had been a special kind of torture.

Jeongguk catalogued every moment like a man taking inventory of his own damnation. Monday morning, Jimin walked into the kitchen wearing an oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing the faded purple remnants of Jeongguk's mouth on his collarbone. Their roommate Taehyung was sitting at the counter eating cereal. Jeongguk's coffee mug cracked in his grip—not enough to shatter, but enough to send a hairline fracture spiderwebbing through the ceramic.

"Everything okay?" Jimin asked, innocent as a fucking lamb.

"Fine." The word came out strangled. "Mug's old."

Jimin's eyes flicked down to the fracture, then back up to Jeongguk's face. A corner of his mouth twitched. "Maybe you should be more careful with your grip."

Tuesday brought worse. Jimin in the living room, curled on the couch in those tiny gym shorts that rode up every time he shifted, revealing the lower curve of his ass. Jeongguk sat in the armchair across from him, pretending to study, actually counting the seconds between each torturous adjustment of fabric. Their roommates filtered in and out—Yoongi grabbing his keys, Jin looking for his phone charger—and every time, Jimin would glance at Jeongguk and then away, a private joke thickening the air between them.

By Wednesday, Jeongguk had a permanent ache in his jaw from clenching it.

Thursday afternoon, he walked past the bathroom at exactly the wrong moment. The door was cracked—just an inch, just enough—and through it, he caught a glimpse of Jimin stepping out of the shower. Water beading on pale skin. A pink towel barely covering anything. The bellybutton piercing catching the fluorescent light. Jimin's eyes met his through the gap, and instead of yelping or slamming the door shut, he just stood there. Looked at Jeongguk looking at him. Bit his lower lip. Then reached out, slow as a dare, and pushed the door closed with a soft click.

Jeongguk stood in the hallway for three full minutes before he could walk again.

Friday was the worst. Friday night, all five of them crammed into the living room for a movie—some action film nobody was really watching. Jimin sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch, right between Jeongguk's legs. Not touching. Not quite. But close enough that Jeongguk could smell his shampoo. Close enough that when Jimin shifted, the back of his head nearly brushed Jeongguk's thigh. Close enough that Jeongguk spent two hours in a state of excruciating semi-arousal, hidden only by the darkness and the throw pillow strategically positioned in his lap.

When the movie ended and everyone started drifting toward their rooms, Jimin stretched—arms over his head, spine arching, the hem of his t-shirt riding up to expose a strip of stomach and the silver flash of his piercing—and said, "Goodnight, everyone," without looking at Jeongguk once.

Jeongguk didn't sleep that night.

Now it was Saturday. The house was empty again—Taehyung gone to visit his girlfriend in Busan, Yoongi and Jin at some music festival in Incheon for the whole weekend—and Jeongguk was in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to convince himself that the knocking in his chest was just anxiety and not anticipation.

A soft rap at his door.

He knew that knock. Had memorized it over the past week—the hesitant pause before the knuckles hit wood, the particular rhythm: two quick taps, then a third after a breath.

"Come in."

The door swung open, and there was Jimin.

He was wearing a thin white t-shirt and grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. Bare feet. Damp hair—freshly showered, then. His cheeks were flushed, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The bellybutton piercing glinted every time the fabric shifted.

"Hey." Jimin's voice was soft. Nervous. But underneath the nerves, something else. Something that hadn't been there a week ago.

"Hey." Jeongguk didn't move from the bed. Didn't trust himself to move. "Roommates are out."

"I know."

"All weekend."

"I know." Jimin stepped inside, closed the door behind him. The click of the latch was deafening in the quiet room. "That's why I'm here."

Jeongguk's hands curled into the sheets. "Jimin—"

"It's been a week." The words rushed out, tumbling over each other. "A whole week of not being able to—of having to pretend everything's normal when I can still feel—" He stopped. Swallowed. His hand lifted to his neck, fingers brushing the spot where the darkest bruise had finally faded to yellow-green. "I can still feel you. Everywhere. All the time. Even when you're not touching me."

Jeongguk's cock stirred. One sentence, and he was already half-hard. Pathetic. Desperate. He'd been edging himself all week on memories alone—jerking off in the shower with his fist clamped over his mouth, coming into his hand while thinking about the sounds Jimin made when he was close—and none of it had helped. None of it had taken the edge off.

"It's been a week," Jimin repeated. Stepped closer. "And I've been thinking. About everything. About what we did. About what you said." Another step. He was at the foot of the bed now, close enough that Jeongguk could see the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his pulse in his throat. "About how you said we were just getting started."

"Jimin." The name came out rough, scraped raw. "If you're here for what I think you're here for, you need to say it. Out loud. Because once we start, I don't—" He broke off, jaw tight. "I've been holding back all week. Watching you walk around in those shorts. Watching you stretch on the couch. Watching you exist in the same space as me and not being able to touch you. And now you're here, in my room, with the door closed, and I don't have any restraint left. So if you don't want this—if you're not sure—walk out right now."

Jimin didn't walk out.

Instead, he reached for the hem of his shirt. Pulled it over his head in one slow, deliberate motion. The fabric whispered against his skin, mussed his damp hair, dropped to the floor in a soft heap of white cotton.

Jeongguk's breath stopped.

Underneath the shirt, Jimin was wearing lace.

Not the pink panties from that first night—these were different. Black. Sheer. Delicate straps that sat high on his hips, cutting across the jut of his hipbones. The fabric was so transparent Jeongguk could see the pale shadow of his cock nestled beneath, the curve of his ass barely contained by the cut. And there was more—a matching bralette, equally sheer, equally black, the lace cupping the flat planes of his chest with zero function and maximum devastation.

"You—" Jeongguk's voice failed. He tried again. "When did you—"

"I bought them." Jimin's flush deepened, spreading down his neck to his chest. "Online. After Wednesday. After you saw me in the bathroom. I couldn't stop thinking about the way you looked at me. Like you wanted to—" He bit his lip. "Like you wanted to devour me."

"Still do."

"I know." Jimin's hand dropped to the waistband of his sweatpants. Hooked a thumb under the elastic. "That's why I bought them. Because I wanted—" He pushed the sweatpants down. They pooled around his ankles, and he stepped out of them, and then he was standing in Jeongguk's bedroom in nothing but black lace and silver jewelry, his cock visibly hardening beneath the sheer fabric. "I wanted you to see me like this. I wanted to be ready for you."

Jeongguk stood up.

The movement was involuntary—his body acting without permission from his brain. He crossed the distance between them in two strides, and then his hands were on Jimin's hips, fingers digging into the lace, pulling him close. Jimin gasped, his hands landing on Jeongguk's chest.

"One week," Jeongguk said, his voice low and dangerous. "One week of you prancing around this house like you didn't know exactly what you were doing. One week of me jerking off every night thinking about the way you felt around my cock. One week of—" He stopped. Breathed. Pressed his forehead against Jimin's. "Tell me what you want. Right now. Say it."

"I want you to fuck me." Jimin's voice trembled, but his eyes didn't waver. "Again. Harder this time. I want—I want you to not hold back. I've been thinking about it all week. What it would feel like if you really let go. If you didn't treat me like I was going to break."

"Jimin—"

"I'm not going to break." Jimin's hand slid up Jeongguk's chest, over his shoulder, around the back of his neck. Fingers threading into his hair. "You showed me what my body could do. Now I want to know what yours can do. I want—" He pulled Jeongguk's head down, lips brushing his ear. "I want you to ruin me."

The sound Jeongguk made was barely human—a growl that started somewhere deep in his chest and tore its way out of his throat. He spun them, walking Jimin backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Jimin fell onto the mattress, bouncing once, and Jeongguk followed him down, caging him with his arms.

"You have no idea what you're asking for." His mouth found Jimin's neck—the spot where the bruise had faded, the spot he'd marked a week ago—and sucked hard. Jimin's hips bucked up, a whimper escaping his lips. "No idea how many times I've imagined this. You. Under me. In my bed. Wearing—fuck—" His tongue traced the edge of the bralette strap. "Wearing this. Like you bought it just for me."

"I did." Jimin's voice was breathy, already wrecked. "I did buy it just for you. I thought about you the whole time I was picking it out. Wondering which one you'd like. Which one would make you—ah—"

Jeongguk's teeth grazed his nipple through the lace. Jimin's back arched off the bed, his fingers fisting in the sheets.

"Which one would make me what?"

"Make you look at me like that." Jimin's eyes were glassy, fixed on Jeongguk's face. "Like you're looking at me right now. Like you want to eat me alive."

"I do." Jeongguk's mouth trailed lower, kissing down Jimin's sternum, his stomach, the spot just above the waistband of the panties. His tongue flicked against the bellybutton piercing—cool metal, warm skin—and Jimin gasped. "I want to taste every inch of you. I want to make you come so many times you forget your own name. I want to fuck you until you can't walk straight. Is that what you want?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "Yes, Jeongguk, please—"

"Please what?"

"Please—" Jimin's hips lifted, seeking contact, seeking friction. "Please stop teasing. I've been teased all week. I can't—I need—"

Jeongguk's hand pressed flat against Jimin's stomach, pinning him to the mattress. "You need what?"

"You." Jimin's voice cracked. "Inside me. Now. I need you inside me now."

The black lace panties came off with one sharp tug—Jeongguk didn't bother being gentle, didn't bother trying to preserve them. The fabric tore at the seam, and Jimin yelped, and then he was naked except for the bralette, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach, his entrance already slightly slick from the lube he'd apparently applied before coming here.

"You prepped yourself?" Jeongguk's voice was incredulous. "You came in here already prepped?"

"I told you." Jimin's flush had spread all the way down his chest now. "I wanted to be ready. I wanted there to be no waiting. I wanted you to just—" He broke off on a moan as Jeongguk's thumb pressed against his entrance. "Oh god—"

"You're so fucking—" Jeongguk couldn't finish the sentence. Didn't have words. His jeans were off in seconds, his cock springing free—hard and thick and already leaking, the head slick with precome. He positioned himself between Jimin's thighs, the tip pressing against that tight, waiting hole. "Last chance. Tell me to stop."

"Don't stop." Jimin's legs wrapped around his waist. "Don't you dare stop."

Jeongguk pushed.

The first inch was always the hardest—Jimin's body resisting, clenching, then yielding in a rush that made them both groan. Jeongguk's hands gripped Jimin's hips hard enough to leave marks, and he didn't try to be careful about it. The restraint he'd shown last time—the slow, patient stretching, the constant checking in—was gone. Burned away by a week of wanting.

"Fuck," Jimin gasped. "Fuck, you're—you're going faster than last time—"

"Do you need me to slow down?"

"No—no, don't—" Jimin's nails raked down Jeongguk's back. "Don't slow down. I want—I want to feel it—"

Jeongguk buried himself to the hilt in one hard thrust. Jimin screamed—not in pain, but in shock, in pleasure, in the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled. His body clamped down around Jeongguk's cock, muscles fluttering, adjusting, and Jeongguk held still for exactly three seconds before pulling out and slamming back in.

"There." His voice was a growl against Jimin's ear. "There. Is this what you wanted? My cock buried inside you? No waiting. No gentle buildup. Just me fucking you like I've been wanting to all week?"

"Yes—yes, fuck, yes—"

Jeongguk set a brutal pace. Not the slow, rolling rhythm of their first time—this was faster, harder, the slap of his hips against Jimin's ass filling the room with obscene percussion. The bralette had ridden up, the lace bunched around Jimin's collarbone, and Jeongguk ducked his head to suck a bruise into the newly exposed skin of Jimin's chest. Then another. Then another, marking him up as thoroughly as he had a week ago.

"You're so tight," he grunted. "So fucking tight. I've been thinking about this all week—the way you feel around me, the sounds you make—"

Jimin was making sounds. Incoherent sounds, punched out of him with every thrust—tiny "ah, ah, ah"s that rose in pitch as Jeongguk angled his hips and hit that spot inside him.

"Right there—right there, please, don't stop—"

"I'm not stopping." Jeongguk's hand slid between their bodies, wrapping around Jimin's cock. "I'm not stopping until you cum. And then I'm not stopping after that either. I'm going to fuck you through it. I'm going to keep fucking you until you're so overstimulated you can't breathe. Understand?"

Jimin's only response was a broken moan.

His cock was leaking steadily now, slicking Jeongguk's palm as he stroked in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation—Jeongguk's hand on his cock, Jeongguk's cock in his ass—was clearly overwhelming him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth open, his whole body trembling.

"Look at me."

Jimin's eyes fluttered open.

"I want you to look at me when you cum. Can you do that?"

"I—I'll try—"

Jeongguk's rhythm stuttered—he was close too, closer than he wanted to admit, the sight of Jimin laid out beneath him in torn lace and fresh bruises pushing him toward the edge. But he held on. Held on through sheer force of will, fucking into Jimin's tight heat while his hand worked Jimin's cock.

"Cum for me." His voice was ragged. "Cum on my cock, Jimin. Let me feel it."

Jimin's orgasm hit like a wave—visible in the arch of his spine, audible in the scream that tore from his throat, tangible in the way his body clamped down around Jeongguk's cock. Hot stripes of come painted his stomach and chest, soaking into the bunched-up bralette, and his eyes—glassy and unfocused—stayed locked on Jeongguk's the entire time.

"Good," Jeongguk breathed. "Good boy. So good for me."

He didn't stop.

Jimin's body went limp, but Jeongguk kept thrusting—slower now, but deeper, grinding against that spot inside him with every roll of his hips. Jimin whimpered, his hands pushing weakly at Jeongguk's shoulders.

"Jeongguk—it's—it's too much—"

"Is it?" Jeongguk's voice was dark, almost teasing. "Or is it just a lot? There's a difference." Another thrust. Another one. Jimin's whimper pitched higher. "You told me not to hold back. You told me to ruin you. This is what that looks like. Taking my cock after you've already cum. Letting me use your body until I'm finished."

"I—I don't know if I can—"

"You can." Jeongguk's hand cupped Jimin's jaw, forcing eye contact. "You can take it. You took three fingers. You took my tongue. You took my whole cock last time. You can take this. You can take me fucking you through the overstimulation. Can't you?"

Jimin's breath hitched. His eyes were wet—not crying, but close, tears of sensation clinging to his lashes. But he nodded.

"Words."

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "Yes, I can take it. I can—ah—" His hips jerked as Jeongguk hit his prostate dead-on. "I can take it. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"That's it. That's my good boy."

Jeongguk's pace quickened again. He was close—so close—the tight clutch of Jimin's body around his cock driving him toward the edge with every stroke. His hand left Jimin's jaw and gripped his hip instead, fingers digging into the jut of bone, holding him steady for the final, punishing thrusts.

"Where do you want it?" His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. "Where do you want me to cum?"

"Inside." Jimin's legs tightened around his waist. "Inside me. Fill me up. Please, Jeongguk, I want to feel it—want to feel you—"

The plea broke him. Jeongguk's hips slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and he came with a roar—pulse after pulse of heat flooding Jimin's body, marking him from the inside out. His vision whited out. His arms gave way. He collapsed onto Jimin's chest, his face pressed into the crook of Jimin's neck, his cock still twitching inside him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then Jimin's hand lifted, trembling, and carded through Jeongguk's sweat-damp hair. "Okay?" he whispered.

Jeongguk laughed—a broken, breathless sound. "You're asking me if I'm okay?"

"You're shaking."

He was. He hadn't noticed, but now that Jimin mentioned it, he could feel the tremors running through his muscles, the aftershocks of an orgasm that had been building for seven excruciating days.

"I'm okay." He pressed a kiss to Jimin's throat. "Better than okay. You?"

"Sore." Jimin's voice was small but satisfied. "Really sore. But good. Really good." A pause. "Jeongguk?"

"Mm?"

"You tore my new panties."