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Jimin shows up before Yoongi even expects him to, while he’s still setting up for his live, uses the keycard Yoongi gave him earlier to let himself in and offers the staff that followed him just about the most polite fuck off Yoongi thinks he might have ever heard. It’s followed right on its heels by, “No, I won’t be returning to my room tonight,” in the kind of tone where Yoongi knows if he could see his face, he’d be smiling, warm and friendly.
Jimin can be terrifying but he does it so sweet that it kind of makes you embarrassed to feel that way. Yoongi likes it maybe more than he’s supposed to, which Jimin has definitely figured out.
“Don’t mind me,” Jimin says with a nod at the livestream setup and a sly smile.
He leans against the wall, hip cocked to the side, legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest, all angles, and he tips his head as he watches Yoongi, like Yoongi is still an interesting puzzle to figure out, like they haven’t been right up in each other’s pockets for over a decade. Jimin knows what he’s doing. He knows how to use his body; how to move it, yes, but also how to arrange it just so. He knows people like to look at him, men and women both, and he knows how to give them something good to look at, and Yoongi is, after all, just a man.
The corner of Jimin’s mouth barely twitches upward but one of his eyebrows arches. “They’re waiting for you, Agust D. Aren’t you going to talk to them? Let them tell you how good you did tonight?” He knows how to use his voice, too, satoori sitting right there in the back of his throat, deeper and rougher around the edges when he wants to play with Yoongi a little bit. Fuck him up pretty good like that.
“Rather you tell me,” Yoongi says, and he’s just being honest, but Jimin’s face turns fond and he saunters to where Yoongi is sitting, leans on his hands over the table between them to get their faces close together. Close enough to take over his vision, to feel his breath. His eye liner on one side is the smallest bit smudged, and Yoongi has a feeling right in the center of his chest about it, how much he likes that little smudge.
“You sweet for me, hyung?” Jimin says, and kisses the corner of his mouth. He’s quick. Doesn’t give Yoongi time to turn his head and get more. “You down real bad?”
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says like he’s real annoyed about it, but they both know it means “yes,” because it’s always meant yes. This is part of the game, too. Gives Jimin a little something to push against, to sink his teeth into, before Yoongi gives him whatever he wants. He already knows Yoongi will do anyway, so it’s safe to play like this, the push and pull of it, the giving in. It wouldn’t have always been.
“Yeah, ok, I know, ok,” Jimin huffs, but he doesn’t mean it either, and his cheeks go a little pink right after. “Go on, then.”
Yoongi gets the stream going, and it isn’t long before he’s coaxing Jimin onto screen with him, which they both knew would happen despite the glare Jimin pretended at when Yoongi first suggested it. It’s better this way. This way Jimin can’t tease him like he could from off-screen, like he’s teased him before at other times in other hotel rooms. Yoongi knows better than to give Jimin opportunity to tease—except, of course, when he wants nothing more than Jimin to tease him until he’s desperate for it. Right now, he’s still riding the post-concert buzz, and he feels like he might actually implode if he has to talk to ARMY while Jimin touches himself over his clothes. Or bites his lip the way he does. Or starts sucking on his fingers, which he’d done to Yoongi once before, and that might have been the quickest he’s ever ended a stream.
It’s comfortable to have Jimin there with him, too, though. Their banter is easy. Jimin is charming, as he always is. Maybe a little more distracting than he ought to be, considering, but Yoongi feels too good to bother thinking about it too hard, what ARMY is going to say about the stream tomorrow. If there will be gifs that show just how he looks at Jimin when he can’t fucking help himself. Hell, he watched a Youtube compilation video once that Jimin sent him along with a string of laughing emojis and he couldn’t even be that embarrassed about it. That’s just what Jimin does to his face.
Of course, their conversation, it gets him thinking about the past, like a lot else lately has got him thinking about it. That nostalgia that gets caught in the back of his throat sometimes, the way he tries to keep it sweet so the bitterness can’t take root in him. Gets him thinking about the last time they played this venue, how Jimin came to his room then, too, but it had been a much cheaper room with a bed that squeaked so loud it made them both blush, and made Jungkook blush, too, the next morning, when the others were teasing them about it. Gets him thinking about last year, when Jimin came to him and said, “I’m not going to stop, with the others, you can’t ask me—”
Yoongi had cut him off, said, “Yeah, I know,” because he had known. And Yoongi understands. They’re all half in love with each other, feels like, all these different ways of loving. Tangled up like the chords under the desk in Namjoon-ah’s studio; pull on one and the others are bound to follow, somehow tangled more every day and no telling how it started. It’s been that way for so long, Yoongi can't even imagine not being.
But Jimin had followed that up with, “Hyung, I love you, you know?”
And he’s gone for Jimin. Just absolutely gone for him. Helplessly enamored right from the start, which wasn’t always an easy thing to be. It still isn’t always easy—how could it be, with the life they lead—but Yoongi is getting better at saying I love you with his words.
He wishes, a lot of the time, that he'd figured it out earlier. Back when Jimin's insecurities were big enough to swallow him up, angry at himself and everyone else for who and what he is. First, trying to be what he thought he had to be, and then later, so hungry that it seemed there was never enough love to fill him.
But Yoongi says it now, easy I love you s, and Jimin says it right back, and neither of them is starving anymore.
It took a long time for them to get here.
When Yoongi flicks the live off, Jimin’s laugh goes full-body the way he does, all those good feelings just bubbling up so hard in him that it tosses him half out of his chair. So Yoongi grabs him and stands them both up and pulls Jimin close while he’s still laughing, because fuck, he loves to kiss a laugh right from Jimin’s mouth. He tosses Jimin’s bucket hat aside and Jimin’s hands come up to cradle Yoongi’s jaw as he keeps giggling into the kiss, and Yoongi’s hands find his waist under the giant shirt. He backs Jimin up until his ass hits the desk so he can lean into him and make the kiss deeper. Jimin’s giggles feel like the bubbles in champagne. The ache tomorrow when Jimin is gone will be worse than a champagne hangover, though, Yoongi knows from experience.
It feels good to touch Jimin, to squeeze his fingers just a little too hard so he can get that gasp from him. Maybe leave a few finger-shaped bruises on him for him to press on when he flies home alone. He might put some marks on Jimin’s thighs for good measure with his mouth and teeth. Wishes he could suck a bruise onto that pretty throat of his, but he’ll behave. They’re both in town to work, after all. He remembers the drill.
He still presses wet kisses to the side of Jimin’s throat to hear that hitched gasping right up close. He fumbles behind him while his mouth is still attached because he doesn’t want to stop tasting the sweat from Jimin’s skin to grab his chair and pull it forward. It makes it easier to push Jimin’s shirt up to get his mouth on Jimin’s belly if he has somewhere to sit. Jimin giggles a little at the first touch, a little too light to be anything other than ticklish, but he groans when Yoongi nips at a bit of skin right near his belly button and then soothes the bite with his tongue. It’s comforting, the little bit of softness around his tummy that Jimin has finally allowed himself over all that muscle.
“Jimin-ah,” he says, nosing over his abdomen, “You’ve got to eat well while I’m on tour, Jimin-ah.”
Jimin runs his fingers through Yoongi’s hair and looks down at him with a soft smile, because Jimin is sweet for him, too, is the thing and he knows what Yoongi means to say. That this is another way Yoongi says I love you . “Aigoo, hyung, I know. I’m going to miss you.” He means when he has to leave tomorrow, but he means more than that, too.
“You’ll be fine. You’ll have Taehyungie and Jungkookie to keep you company,” Yoongi says, and lets his thumbs circle over the dip of Jimin’s hip on both sides, rubs his lips over more skin to maybe keep keep a taste of Jimin in his mouth when he’s gone. The feel of his soft skin on his lips. He can pretend for now that Jimin isn’t talking about enlistment, too. The 21 months waiting on the horizon, feeling like an approaching black hole. Yoongi doesn’t actually know how to be apart from him. From any of them. “Joon-ah’s home, too.”
“I’m good at multitasking, you know,” Jimin answers, a little breathier than Yoongi is sure he’d want acknowledged. “Maybe I should video call you next time I’m with one of them, hm? To tell you how much I miss you?”
Yoongi huffs and bites him again, but he’ll pick up the call and they both know it.
It’s easy for Yoongi to trail his tongue right along the low waistband of Jimin’s pants, to tug them down a little more, to press wet kisses along Jimin’s Adonis belt and nuzzle into the sparse hair under his belly button. Jimin makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat and tugs his own shirt out of Yoongi’s fingers to rip it over his head and toss it aside; he’s the biggest tease Yoongi has ever met, but his own patience often runs short. Yoongi snorts a laugh into his belly and Jimin narrows his eyes at him.
“Gonna do anything down there, Agust D?” Jimin asks, going for bratty, but it’s a bit too affected to land how he wants, and he knows it. Doesn’t stop him, though. He quirks an eyebrow with that sideways little smirk of his.
“Dunno,” Yoongi says, just to be a shit. “Thought I’d stay right here for a little bit.” He latches his mouth just next to Jimin’s happy trail, low low low but not where Jimin wants him. Jimin hisses when he bites, then a deep moan rumbles in his chest when Yoongi sucks the same spot hard, presses his tongue to it, bites it again. When he finally lets go, there is a deep red spot, shiny with spit; it’ll turn purple tomorrow. Yoongi hums in satisfaction and lets his eyes drift up Jimin’s torso. He looks long from this angle, beautiful, powerful and strong; if Yoongi had the inkling to stand, he would put his mouth on Jimin’s brown nipples because he likes the way that always makes Jimin squirm. Instead, he cups his palm over where Jimin is just starting to chub up in his pants, squeezes a little, rubs a little, keeps their eyes locked. He loves to feel him getting hard, in his hands or his mouth. He’s not picky. Greedy, sure. But not picky, not when it comes to Jimin. He’ll take everything he can get, anything he can get. It’s always been that way.
Jimin’s impatience wins out; he growls a little and pulls clumsily at the button on his pants so he can push them down, sliding his ass onto the desk behind him while Yoongi helps him work his jeans and his underwear down his legs. Yoongi has to yank his shoes off before his pants can hit the floor, and then he’s got Jimin naked in front of him and he must make a sound or a face or something because Jimin laughs and sinks his fingers in Yoongi’s hair like he’s done something endearing.
“Ah, hyung, you like what you see?” Jimin asks.
“Shut up,” Yoongi answers.
Jimin laughs and the sound makes Yoongi so happy that he has to hide his smile against the inside of Jimin’s thigh. He can feel the muscle ripple under the skin when Jimin leans back on his hands, and it makes him want to latch on with his teeth, so he does. Jimin gasps, twitches like he wants to pull away, but his fingers tighten in Yoongi’s hair and press him closer instead. Yoongi doesn’t even take his mouth off of Jimin’s thigh when he slides up higher, just letting his tongue and lips drag over the warm skin, listening to the way Jimin’s breath stutters above him, feeling the tremble in his belly. One of Jimin’s hands leaves Yoongi’s hair to wrap around his own length, stroking lightly, encouraging his cock along as it hardens in his chubby fingers. Yoongi can feel how his own eyelids flutter with pleasure at the sight, tickling against Jimin’s thigh as he bites down again.
Jimin takes a deep breath, and then another, squeezes around the base of his dick. “Gonna mark me up good? Send a message home with me?” Jimin likes it when he does that, sends him away with a new set of bruises for Kook to get all riled up about.
Instead of responding, Yoongi just moves to another spot to bruise up. Jimin grunts and then he rubs the head of his cock on Yoongi’s cheek; it’s a little sticky, a little wet, the pre-come he must have left behind. Yoongi wants to taste it, wants to whine that Jimin wasted it on his cheek and not his tongue, but he knows Jimin likes to mark him up, too, in his own way. Claiming territory. He is that way, territorial, and he knows Yoongi is his.
When his teeth are done itching with the need to bite, Yoongi finally turns his attention elsewhere, presses a little kiss to the hand Jimin still has around himself, then another on his shaft, and then just under his crown, right where he’s most sensitive. He doesn’t try to stop the low moan that is pulled out of him when he feels pre-come against his lips and tastes it when he licks them. Jimin tugs his hair, taps the head of his cock on Yoongi’s lips.
“C’mon, hyung, show me how good your mouth is. Not too worn out from the show, right? Saved some for me, I know you did, hm?” Jimin says.
The weight of him feels good, soft skin over that hardness, thick on Yoongi’s tongue. Real and here with him, mouth all full of Jimin Jimin Jimin, like maybe Jimin is his favorite song to have in his mouth after all. Jimin swears when his cock slides down Yoongi’s throat and he pulls Yoongi’s hair so hard it hurts. Hurts in that good, sharp way. He breathes hard through his nose right against Jimin’s groin, taking in the smell of him before pulling back, swirling his tongue right where Jimin likes. He knows exactly what to do because he knows Jimin. Knows his smell and his taste, the way he sounds when he’s feeling real good, how his muscles tense and flex under Yoongi’s hands.
He runs his hands up the back of Jimin’s thighs and pushes so Jimin has no choice but to tip back onto his elbows, knees spread apart. Every part of him is pretty, his dick lying against his stomach and his hole right there like an invitation. One Yoongi is eager to accept, and Jimin certainly doesn’t complain when Yoongi licks wetly over his hole and up onto his perineum.
“Dirty fuckin’ mouth,” Jimin says, head lolling back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “You’re so—” His moan interrupts him.
Yoongi kisses his hole. “Gonna open up for me, jagiya.” Then he puts his tongue back on him, hard and purposeful.
“God, you really—you can’t say—when your tongue,” Jimin pants. Then less than a minute later, “Lube, get the lube, pocket.”
Yoongi doesn’t want to take his tongue off him yet, but Jimin will start getting needy before long, and Yoongi won’t fuck him with just spit and horny determination—not anymore. They’re too old for that shit now, no matter what Jimin says when he’s worked up. (Yoongi won’t be able to tell him no , either, so) he regretfully stops long enough to grab Jimin’s pants and paw around in the pockets until he pulls out a tiny bottle of lube. He has no idea where Jimin got it, if he brought it all the way from Korea with him, if he had it in his pocket the whole concert. He notices enough to see it’s not an American brand, but not much else, before he’s wetting the fingers of his right hand.
While he’s busy doing that, Jimin grabs his own legs from behind his knees, holding himself spread wide open so Yoongi can slip his middle finger right into Jimin’s tight heat.
Jimin makes a sound like he’s choking. “Finger all in there and not even a kiss, yah, this hyung,” he says, and it's so rough, but there’s a whine trying to sneak out around its edges, too. Yoongi knows what the complaint really means, that Jimin needs him close so he doesn’t tremble right out of his skin.
Yoongi, of course, gives him what he needs. It’s not a chore to kiss Jimin, even if it means he has to get up to lean over him. He’s frustrated that he’s still got his shirt on right away, because he wants to feel Jimin’s chest pressed against his, but he’s not frustrated enough to do anything about it, not when he’s sliding his ring finger in with his middle, and not when he’s got Jimin’s plush mouth starting to whine right into his so he can scoop it out with his greedy tongue.
Jimin doesn’t let Yoongi finger him long before he’s batting Yoongi’s hand away so he can get at his pants. He doesn’t bother pulling them down, just gets the button undone and the zipper down and then sticks his hand into Yoongi’s boxer briefs to pull him out. He’s not gentle about it; the rings on his fingers are cold and hard and they hurt a little but in a way that Yoongi doesn’t really mind at all. It just brings attention to how hard he is, makes the embers in his pelvis burst into flame, and suddenly he feels desperate, too.
“Jimin-ah,” he croaks. “Jimin-ah, lemme—”
“Yeah,” Jimin answers. “Yeah, here, let’s—” And he pushes Yoongi back onto his chair before crawling up after him, knees sticking out from below the arms of Yoongi’s chair, shins parked next to Yoongi’s hips, tugging Yoongi’s shirt off over his head. He reaches back, takes Yoongi in hand and taps him against his hole, once, twice, a few times (Yoongi loses count), and then sits right on it. Sinks down steadily, probably too fast, judging from his hiss. But then his ass meets Yoongi’s thighs and he groans like Yoongi’s dick just forced it out of him. He pulls Yoongi’s head back by a handful of hair to put his plush, pink lips on the thin skin of Yoongi’s throat.
Yoongi would let him rip it open with his teeth if he asked.
“You go out there,” Jimin says, breathy and dark, “all swagger and, and confidence, hip first and all, hyung.”
“Yeah, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi asks. It’s hard to follow what Jimin’s trying to get at when he’s so deep inside him, when Jimin is rocking his hips like that, hard little thrusts that slide his dick over Yoongi’s belly.
“You think they know?” He licks a wet stripe right up the side of Yoongi’s throat, up to his ear where he can suck the lobe in between his soft lips.
“Know?” Yoongi can feel Jimin’s smirk against his skin.
“How soft you are on me.”
Yoongi bucks his hips hard, just once, groans into it and feels Jimin’s gasp with the hands he’s got squeezing around Jimin’s rib cage, fingers wrapped right over that “Nevermind” tattoo that maybe was the first sign that things were never going to be simple between them.
“Not soft for you now, am I, Jimin-ah?”
Jimin’s abs tense and release, his eyes shut tight, fluttering eyelashes against Yoongi’s cheek, arms wrapped around his neck like he’s clinging for dear life but they’re barely moving, grinding more than fucking, really, because sometimes Jimin likes it like this, pressure right up on that good spot inside him.
“Yeah, soft on me,” Jimin insists. “Soft on me and hard for me and everything. Taking care of me so good.”
Yoongi is soft on him sometimes. Most of the time. Melts on him. Soft like summer ice cream, sticky and sweet between Jimin’s demanding fingers. And if Jimin told him to lick him clean, he would, he’d do it. Has done it before. Doesn’t have any shame in it, either, being soft on Jimin, not even when the other guys give him shit about it in that grinning happy-for-him way they do now.
It’s better than when Taehyung used to shoot him apologetic looks sometimes and Yoongi didn’t know why but he kind of did. Or when Hob-ah would see the kids running off together again, giggling and whispering, and he’d touch Yoongi’s bicep, his cheek, his hip, say, “Aish, let your Hob-ah make you feel better, hm?” and then he did, like it was just easy.
Well, so it wasn’t all bad. Sometimes Yoongi needed it nice and easy like that. Opened up so wet and soft inside that Hoseok could slide right in, easier than it sometimes was for Yoongi to breathe.
But that was a different thing than this, what Yoongi has—gets to have—with Jimin, Jimin squirming on his lap like before but now he’ll stay after. He’ll stay tomorrow, too, as long as they let him. And when Yoongi gets back to Korea, Jimin will be there. Steady steady, like the tide of their hips, they’ll keep coming together. Yoongi gets to have that now. He won’t take it for granted.
(He also won’t think about the end of the year, what’s coming for them both too fast. He won’t. Won't think about how terribly he misses Jin-hyung and Hob-ah.)
Yoongi opens his mouth for Jimin’s fingers and lets him press down on his tongue, shove into the back of his throat, pull him around a little just because he can. Jimin spits right into Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi is always embarrassing for Jimin, so of course, he moans about it. It’s good, it’s good to have his mouth full of Jimin, to have him surrounding him and on top of him and bouncing on his dick like its choreo they’ve practiced hundreds of times, thousands of times—because they have. Jimin takes from him what he needs, but Yoongi takes in his own way, too, getting as well as he gives, rocking his hips to meet the way Jimin’s rolls on him. Hands on Jimin’s waist, his hips, his round, firm ass. Then on his cock, not even stroking, just giving him a warm tunnel to fuck himself into.
“Always so—so sweet to me,” Jimin says, half a gasp, half a groan. He slips his spit-sticky fingers from Yoongi’s mouth and slides them down around Yoongi’s throat, just holding, holding him there steady like he might be able to feel the words Yoongi doesn’t say. “You feelin’ it, hyung?”
“Yeah, ‘min-ah, yeah, feelin’ it.”
“Gonna come?”
“Fuck.”
Jimin fucks himself faster, harder, forehead to forehead with Yoongi, breathing the same air back and forth, world shrunk down to just the places their bodies meet, over and over. “C’mon, hyung, wan’ it, give it to me,” Jimin slurs, and he’s close, too, Yoongi can tell. He knows what it looks like when Jimin is close, the way his toes curl and his belly gets tight, half-lidded eyes slamming closed, and mouth open.
Yoongi can feel himself teetering on the knife’s edge, but he needs to feel Jimin come on his cock before he can let go. He needs to know he made Jimin feel that good. (Good enough that Jimin will miss it when he’s gone, that Jimin will think about it. Maybe think about it while he touches himself, too, when Yoongi can’t be there to do it for him). So he angles his hips to hit Jimin’s prostate harder, nudging the fat head of his cock right where Jimin needs him on every stroke.
“So good for me,” Jimin says, a low whine right against Yoongi’s jaw. His mouth drops to Yoongi’s throat and his whine continues: “Just like that—hyung, so good, like that, almost there.”
Yoongi grits his teeth so he can make it last just that little bit longer. Just a little longer until every part of Jimin clenches tightly around him, come landing hot on Yoongi’s chest and stomach. When he’s done, he drops onto Yoongi’s chest like a ragdoll. But he doesn’t let Yoongi slow down. “Give it to me, Yoongi-yah,” he says, a mumbled plea. “C’mon, it’s mine.” He kisses Yoongi’s clavicle right next to where he’s rested his face. “Gonna take part of you home with me, hyung,” he says before he stretches his head up to kiss Yoongi.
It’s not even a particularly lustful or teasing kiss, either. It’s soft. It’s so sweet. Domestic, he’d call it.
He bucks and comes so hard he’s pretty sure his eyes roll into the back of his head for a second. Then he and Jimin are panting together, touching in as many places as possible. Jimin’s head is in the crook of Yoongi’s neck. Lying together while their breath steadies and their heart rates slow down even after Yoongi’s started to get soft inside him is nice. Close. Not the way you’d cling to someone you were just fucking because you are young and hormonal and don’t understand your feelings. Which Yoongi already knew was true, of course he did, they aren’t really any of those thing anymore. It just hadn’t always been that way for them, is all, and he wants to make sure he remembers what this feels like so he can take that with him the same way Jimin’s going to take the evidence Yoongi had been inside him home. All those sharp angles of him softened into curves in Yoongi’s lap.
After a while, Jimin sighs. “M’legs are asleep, hyung,” he says in a sleepy but matter of fact way, lisping a little. “And my ass is already a little sore. Brute,” he adds, but he doesn’t mean it at all, can’t even muster up the energy to put any kind of emotion in it.
“Jimin-ah, do I need to carry you like a princess into the shower, ah?”
“No,” Jimin says, though he hesitated too long to have not considered it for a second. “Did you eat anything?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” Jimin retorts. “Answer the question.”
“Other than your ass, you mean?”
“Hyung, oh my god.”
“Best thing I’ve eaten since I’ve been in the states,” Yoongi continues.
“You’re so gross.” Jimin’s giggling, though.
“Definitely the best Korean I’ve had here.”
“You call Jungkookie annoying.”
Yoongi snorts. “He learned from the best.”
Jimin glares up at him with furrowed brows. He’s stern when he says, “Shut up and let me take care of you.” They stare at each other for a beat, and then they both laugh. Jimin curls up tighter against him, giggles shaking his shoulders. “Shut up,” he says again, still laughing, and goddamn, Yoongi is so in love with him. The kind of in love that leaves a little ache in his chest when he thinks about it too much. (Not about the enlistments, though, he’s not thinking about that. Not right now.)
“Alright, I’ll order us food,” Yoongi says, because his desire to see Jimin eat outweighs his desire to keep teasing him. And it’s something to do. Yoongi is always at his best, ironically maybe considering, when he says less and does more.
He’s not happy about having to separate their bodies, or about Jimin wiping off his chest and belly and slipping on clothes again (though it is admittedly satisfying to see Jimin in his concert shirt, name right there on him like he wanted people to see how he belonged with Yoongi). But it’s good to sit next to him on the floor next to the coffee table and banter. It’s good they get to be comfortable together, and laugh, and tease. It’s good to see him eating and pink-cheeked and happy. It’s better when Jimin lays his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and sighs content after Yoongi has snuck too much meat in his bowl. He takes Yoongi’s hand and tangles their fingers together.
“Jimin-ah, drooling on my shirt there.”
“Weren’t complaining about my spit earlier.”
“Not really complaining now. You know.”
“Yeah,” Jimin agrees. “Yeah, hyung. I know.”
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
And Yoongi believes him.