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The university gym held heat long after practice. The cheer squad had cleared out twenty minutes ago. Jimin stayed behind to stretch a knot in his calf and to hunt his warmup jacket for the third time this week. He checked the benches and the racks. Nothing. That left the shower room, where the vents never worked and the tiles always shone.
He pushed through the swinging door and hit hot, wet air. One shower hissed at the back, curtain half open. He stepped closer, sneakers sticky on damp tile.
“You lose something again, princess?”
Yoongi’s voice came from behind the steam like a hook. Jimin rolled his eyes even though he knew Yoongi could not see it.
“Not talking to you,” Jimin said. “Talking to the jacket I am going to suffocate when I find it.”
“Try strangling fabric and I am calling security,” Yoongi said, and the water cut off. The curtain shifted. He stepped out with no towel and no shame. Water ran off his hair and cut lines down his chest.
Jimin should have turned around. He did not. His eyes dropped on reflex and stopped dead. Yoongi was big. Thick and heavy, flushed from the heat, the kind of size that makes your stomach clench before you decide what to do about it.
Yoongi saw where Jimin looked. Of course he did. His mouth curved.
“Found what you were looking for,” Yoongi said.
“I was not looking,” Jimin said, dragging his gaze up. “I walked into disaster.”
“You call this disaster and I will start feeling sorry for you,” Yoongi said. He came closer, warm soap and steam and arrogance. “You get lost on the way to the mirrors or did you come to critique my form.”
“I came to tell you your team stomped straight through our transition,” Jimin said. “You owe us a clean run on Friday.”
“Tell your squad to stop counting like a broken watch,” Yoongi said. “The court listens to winners.”
“The court listens to whoever is louder,” Jimin said. “I can be louder.”
“I know,” Yoongi said, and somehow made it sound like a problem.
They stared. Water dripped from his hair to his mouth. Jimin watched the drop and hated himself for watching. He should leave. He did not. He stayed with his pulse in his throat and the heat in his stomach daring him to do something stupid.
Yoongi lifted a hand to the hem of Jimin’s cheer top and waited there. “Say stop and I stop.”
Jimin swallowed. He did not say stop.
Yoongi tugged the top off and tossed it away. The soaked sports bra clung to Jimin’s breasts, nipples hard and obvious. Yoongi hooked two fingers under the band and pulled. Elastic scraped over sensitive skin and they spilled free to the humid air. Yoongi looked. Not like a joke. Not like a dare. Like a man finally seeing what he had wanted to see.
His hands went to Jimin’s waistband. He paused again. Jimin did not push him away. Yoongi yanked shorts and underwear down in one rough pull. The fabric slapped the tile. Jimin’s pussy glistened in the light, wet and open from heat and want he could not deny anymore.
Jimin’s jaw set. “Go ahead. Say it. Make your joke. Tell your team.”
Yoongi’s eyes flicked up. “Why would I tell anyone. It is not my body to talk about.”
Jimin blinked. He had expected a smirk shaped like mercy. He had not expected that. The fear in his throat shifted and loosened by a notch.
“Are you scared of me or scared of a story you told yourself about me,” Yoongi asked.
“Do not make this ugly,” Jimin said. “Do not turn it into a thing you win.”
“Say stop and I stop,” Yoongi said. “Say slower and I slow down. Say harder and I listen.”
The tension inside Jimin broke into hunger. He grabbed Yoongi by the neck and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like heat and salt and a day full of curses. Yoongi kissed back like he meant to prove a point. Tongue pressed. Teeth clicked. Hands braced Jimin to the tile.
“Not talking,” Yoongi said against his mouth. “Working.”
His mouth moved to Jimin’s throat, then lower. His hands lifted Jimin by the hips and spread his thighs. He dropped to his knees with a dull slap of skin to tile and stared for a long second like he had no intention of wasting it. His thumbs stroked the slicked pussy lips and pushed them open. Then he leaned in and licked a slow filthy stripe from bottom to top.
The shock ripped a gasp out of Jimin. His hand found Yoongi’s wet hair and gripped, unsure whether to pull him away or keep him there. His body decided for him. His hips rolled forward into Yoongi’s mouth.
“Do I look like I am about to tell anyone,” Yoongi asked, and sucked Jimin’s clit into his mouth in the same breath.
Jimin swore, one palm slapping tile to steady himself. Yoongi grinned into him and sucked harder. He flicked the tip of his tongue quick and mean until Jimin’s legs threatened to go out from under him. Then Yoongi pulled back and licked slow again, saliva and slick mixing and dripping to his chin.
“Already this wet,” Yoongi muttered, more to himself than anything. “All that attitude and you are dripping for me.”
“Shut up,” Jimin said. His voice cracked.
Yoongi stood in a smooth, wet rise and pressed Jimin to the wall with his chest. His mouth covered Jimin’s and swallowed the next insult. His hands came up to Jimin’s breasts and filled those palms like they had been waiting for this job all season. He cupped and lifted, thumbs pressing into the outer curves, then sliding over and in to circle the hard tips. Jimin hissed and arched. The sensation shot down the center of him like a wire from chest to clit.
“More,” Jimin said. “I am not glass.”
Yoongi pinched one nipple between two fingers and rolled it until Jimin gasped, then soothed the sting with his tongue. His other hand pinched the other nipple and pulled. He sucked hard, slow, greedy. Jimin’s breath hitched. His pussy clenched on nothing and begged for something.
“Good,” Yoongi said against his skin. “Tell me if you want it different.”
“Lower,” Jimin said, because pride did not mean starving. “Use your fingers.”
Yoongi slid his hand down Jimin’s stomach, past the fine hair, to the wet heat. He rubbed his fingers through it once and shook his head like he could not believe how wet Jimin was. His middle finger pressed at Jimin’s entrance and pushed in at a careful pace. The stretch burned and then went sweet when Yoongi curled and rubbed that front wall. Jimin’s knees trembled. He set his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder to hold himself up.
“Another,” Jimin said.
Yoongi added a second finger. He paused when the tight ring resisted, then pushed through slowly until both were buried to the knuckle. He set a rhythm that was not gentle and not cruel. Focused. His thumb found Jimin’s clit and pressed steady. He did not chase pretty patterns. He pressed where Jimin lived and worked it.
Jimin could not hold the sounds in. He tried. His body told on him. His pussy clenched hard around those fingers, sucking them deeper, slick running down Yoongi’s wrist. His head tipped back to the tile and he cursed with no air behind it.
“You like that,” Yoongi asked, teeth closing lightly around a swollen nipple before his tongue soothed it. “Tell me.”
Jimin dragged his nails down Yoongi’s back and left red marks in wet skin. “I like it. Do not stop.”
Yoongi thrust his fingers faster, curled them deeper, ground his thumb until Jimin’s thighs shook and his jaw went loose. He held Jimin at the waist with his other arm when Jimin’s legs started to go. He kept working him through the tremors and did not let up until Jimin broke.
Jimin came hard, a rough sound ripped out of him and bounced off tile. His pussy clenched down and milked Yoongi’s fingers. Slick gushed and dripped and turned Yoongi’s wrist shiny. Heat whipped through Jimin until he felt boneless and feral at the same time. Yoongi slowed only when Jimin flinched, coaxing him down with a few lazy circles on his clit that made him shiver and curse.
Yoongi pulled his fingers out with a wet pop and pushed them to Jimin’s mouth. “Taste how sweet you are.”
Jimin took them in and sucked until Yoongi’s eyes went black. He let them go with a dirty drag of his tongue over the knuckles and smiled like sin.
Pride flared. Jimin shoved Yoongi back against the wall and dropped to his knees. “My turn.”
Yoongi’s cock stood thick and flushed, precum shining at the swollen head. Jimin wrapped his hand around the base and squeezed slow. Yoongi swore and his head tapped the tile.
“Scared I will bite,” Jimin asked, mouth already opening.
“Do not tease unless you are going to,” Yoongi said, then hitched a breath when Jimin swallowed him halfway down.
Jimin worked him with spit and heat and stubborn intent. He took him deep until his throat stretched and burned and then he did it again. Wet noises filled the shower room. Yoongi’s hand locked in Jimin’s damp hair, tight but not forcing. Jimin gagged once, pulled back to breathe, and slid down again. This time he let his teeth scrape lightly along the shaft on the way up. Not hard. Just sharp enough to mark the line between control and chaos.
Yoongi jolted and swore. “You little brat. You bit me.”
“Not hard,” Jimin said around the head, tongue circling. “You can handle it. Or are you all bark.”
“You are going to pay for that,” Yoongi said, jaw tight and eyes wrecked.
Jimin grinned and sank down again. He closed his teeth near the base for a quick nip, pressure sharp without pain. Yoongi hissed and swore again. Jimin hummed around him and watched his thighs shake.
“You like it,” Jimin said, lips red and slick. “Admit it.”
Yoongi laughed once, broken at the edges. “You are the devil.”
Jimin shoved him back into his mouth and bobbed fast. Cheeks hollowed. Spit ran down his fist as he stroked the base. He cupped Yoongi’s balls and rolled them, then squeezed until Yoongi’s legs threatened to give. He alternated sloppy depth with quick teasing scrapes that kept Yoongi guessing which sensation would hit next. Every time his teeth grazed, Yoongi cursed and tried not to thrust. Every time Jimin gagged, Yoongi groaned like he was going to lose it.
“Gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” Yoongi said, voice rough and crushed. “I am close.”
Jimin pulled off with a wet pop and stroked him hard. “Not in my mouth. Save it. I want to feel you inside me.”
Something dark and simple slid over Yoongi’s face. He grabbed Jimin under the arms and hauled him up. The kiss was filthy. Yoongi tasted himself on Jimin’s tongue and groaned into it. His cock pressed hot against Jimin’s stomach and pulsed like a demand.
“You bit me,” Yoongi said, breath hot. “Now I pay you back.”
Jimin smirked. “Try.”
Yoongi spun him to the wall and pressed him flat, one palm between Jimin’s shoulder blades to hold him there. His other hand grabbed Jimin’s ass and spread him open. Jimin’s pussy was slick and swollen, the lips pink and wet, the opening clenching with nothing in it.
“Look at you,” Yoongi said, voice rough. “Soaked from mouthing off and sucking me.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Jimin said, pushing back.
That snapped the last thread of restraint. Yoongi lined up and pushed in with one hard thrust. Jimin cried out as the stretch burned wide and then filled him deep. Yoongi bottomed out and held there, chest to Jimin’s back, breath hot against Jimin’s ear.
“So tight,” Yoongi said. “Taking me so deep.”
Jimin dragged a breath in like he had forgotten how. “Move.”
Yoongi pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in. The slap of skin on skin echoed. He did it again and again until Jimin’s feet slid on wet tile. Jimin set his hands wider and braced. Yoongi hit a rhythm that was brutal and clean. No mercy. No wobble. Hips snapping, cock driving, breath hard and mean.
“You think you are in control,” Yoongi said. “Listen to you. You are squeezing me like you will not let me go.”
“Shut up,” Jimin said, and then he moaned loud enough to make himself angry.
Yoongi grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, bending him at the spine. His other hand slid up and grabbed Jimin’s breasts from the front, squeezing hard. He pinched both nipples until Jimin’s breath shattered. Then Yoongi sank his teeth into Jimin’s shoulder and bit hard enough to mark him. Pain sparked and turned to heat in a blink. Jimin clenched around him and swore for real.
“Harder,” Jimin said, voice wrecked. “Do not stop.”
Yoongi fucked him harder. The sound turned obscene. Wet. Loud. His cock dragged over the spot inside that made Jimin’s legs shake and made his mouth forget how to insult. Jimin started pushing back into every thrust, grinding, greedy. Yoongi’s growl turned into a rough laugh that said he knew exactly what that meant.
“Say it,” Yoongi demanded. “Say you love me fucking you like this.”
Jimin clawed at the wall, chest pressed to cold tile, heat all through him. Pride tried to hold, then broke down under the next three thrusts. “I love it. I love it. Happy.”
“Ecstatic,” Yoongi said, and drove in so hard Jimin screamed. “Come on my cock.”
Jimin’s orgasm hit like a rip through his whole body. His pussy clenched and milked Yoongi’s cock in tight pulses. Slick poured down both their thighs. He cried out and rode the thrusts, shaking and open and full. Yoongi groaned and his rhythm stuttered. He buried himself to the hilt and came hot, deep, and hard. He held Jimin there and pumped through it until it spilled out around the base and ran down Jimin’s legs.
They stayed like that, joined and shaking, while the water hummed in the next stall and the steam wrapped everything up. Yoongi’s breath came down first. He pulled out slow. Cum leaked and ran in white lines down Jimin’s thighs. Yoongi slapped his ass once with a flat palm and a crooked grin.
“That is payback for the bite,” he said.
Jimin turned and glared, legs unsteady. “If that was payback, I should bite you more often.”
“Careful,” Yoongi said. “I will make sure you cannot walk next time.”
“Big words,” Jimin said, grabbing for his shorts and almost missing them when his knees wobbled.
Yoongi leaned on the wall and watched the mess drip out of Jimin like it was art. “Look at you. Wrecked.”
“You wish,” Jimin said, pulling his shorts up and hissing when the fabric dragged over too-sensitive skin. “I will be on the mat tomorrow while you limp to your locker.”
“Big talk for someone who just screamed,” Yoongi said.
“I did not scream,” Jimin said, cheeks hot.
“Tile does not lie,” Yoongi said. He pushed off the wall and stepped in close again. “And neither do you when you cum.”
Jimin shoved him in the chest. Not enough to move him. Enough to wipe the grin for a second. “Listen. I mean this. You better not say one word about this to anyone. Not a hint. Not a joke. Not a look.”
Yoongi’s smirk paused. He caught Jimin’s jaw and tilted his face up. His eyes were sharp and steady. “Do I look like a guy who runs his mouth about something like this.”
“Yes,” Jimin said on reflex. His voice betrayed the fear under it.
Yoongi’s mouth tilted in something that was not a smirk. “Then hear me. I am not telling a soul. Not the team. Not the squad. Not anyone. It is none of their business. This stays between you and me.”
Jimin searched his face for the punchline. It did not come. The knot in his chest loosened another notch. He hated that it mattered. He needed it anyway.
“If you are lying,” Jimin started.
“I do not need to lie,” Yoongi said, releasing his jaw with a squeeze. “I already fucked you. Why would I give away my best win for free. It is mine.”
“You are disgusting,” Jimin said, scowling to cover the shake in his knees.
“And you loved it,” Yoongi said, arrogance back in place. “Relax. I am not stupid. What happens in here stays in here.”
Jimin tugged his shirt on, winced when the damp fabric scraped his abused nipples, and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door.
“You moved my jacket,” Jimin said, frowning.
“You drop things,” Yoongi said. “Someone has to keep the place safe.”
Jimin stared at him for a second longer. “If this gets out, I swear I will end you.”
“It will not,” Yoongi said flat. “Same shower if you change your mind.”
“There will not be a next time,” Jimin said, voice sharp, legs unreliable, slick still running down his thighs.
“Sure,” Yoongi said, grin lazy. “Whatever you say, princess.”
Jimin opened the door, then glanced back. Yoongi still leaned there, hair plastered to his face, cock heavy, cum streaking his thighs, a grin carved on his mouth like it owned the place.
“Fuck you, Yoongi,” Jimin said.
“Already did,” Yoongi said.
Jimin left into the cooler corridor, jacket over his arm, body buzzing and sore, dignity dented and alive. His phone in the squad chat pinged with reminders for Friday. He typed a reply that did not include the way his legs shook.
He told himself there would not be a next time. He told himself he could keep this in a box and sit on the lid.
Behind him, the shower hissed on again. He did not look back.