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It was late at night–the kind of late where the streets were dead and dark, with no one in sight and the only sign of the living being establishments like the police station Officer Min Yoongi was currently grinding out yet another graveyard shift in. Part of him didn't mind. He was an introvert, after all, and by working nights like this he avoided the craziness of daylight when most crimes, reports, and calls came through.
But that consequently meant Yoongi was the one who had to deal with the aftermath of said crimes, reports, and calls. Besides the annoying reports he had to finalize and the call logs he had to go through, the absolute worst part was having to tend to whoever got thrown into the holding cells. They always had something to say, something to complain about–whether it was that they were being mistreated during their stay or that they'd been wrongfully arrested. And Yoongi hated it, because he knew it was all bullshit–bullshit he couldn't silence or shut out.
He'd grown used to it over his years as an officer, though one thing that had never sat right with him was Park Jimin. A serial offender of petty crimes that gave him a roof over his head for a couple of nights at a time. A nobody–a very annoying nobody at that–whose sole purpose seemed to be making Yoongi's life harder. The Yoongi specifically part might just be Yoongi's own selfishness talking, but during lone nights like these, it certainly felt like Jimin targeted him on purpose.
"Officerrrr!" The word drags out in that sickeningly sweet lilt that Yoongi has come to know all too well.
He ignores it, only momentarily pausing his task of filling out paperwork before resuming when nothing follows. The quiet is short-lived, however, because the title sounds again, and again, and again, until Yoongi has no choice but to slam his pen onto the table with a sigh and push himself to his feet, his lower back protesting at the suddenness after being tied to a chair for hours on end.
Yoongi trots through the mostly empty station, passing only one or two lingering souls who are either on shift or overworking for the sake of pleasing their training officers.
"What do you want, Park?" Yoongi speaks up once he comes to a stop in front of the delinquent, who now sports platinum blonde hair. Yoongi swears it was pink the last time he saw him... or was it orange?
Jimin sauntered up to the bars, slipping his hands through the sizeable rectangular gaps and pressing his face against the opening until his cheeks are squishing against the metal. "I need to go to the bathroom," he confesses with a bat of his eyelashes.
Yoongi presses his lips into a thin line and takes a considerable step back when he sees Jimin's fingers reaching to skim his uniform button-down. "No, you don't."
A pout drops from Jimin's plush lips until his bottom one is jutting out dramatically. "Yes, I do! You can't decide my needs for me, Officer."
"I'm not deciding shit, I'm just unwillingly seasoned in your little tricks, Jimin-ah," Yoongi points out with a quirk of his brow. "You say you need the restroom, but then you just end up taking a lap around the office and ultimately rob me of my own desk chair."
A giggle bubbles up Jimin's throat, and Yoongi hates the way the blonde's eyes crinkle cutely at the gesture. "Aish, c'mon, Yoongi-nim! That's just for when I want to stretch my legs. It's really cramped in here, y'know? And besides... I like being around you without these bars between us."
And there it is. That tactless flirting that seems to just be part of who Jimin is. It's been directed at Yoongi so many times that it doesn't even affect him anymore–or at least, that's what he tells himself. Because at the end of the day, Yoongi is still a deprived hermit, and he can only shut out so much.
When Yoongi rolls his eyes and turns away with the full intention of returning to his desk, Jimin speaks up again. "No, but seriously... I actually do need to go pee."
It makes Yoongi pause and contemplate for all of five seconds before he’s giving in and unlocking the delinquent's cell, watching as Jimin practically twirls out into the hallway with a victorious grin.
Jimin leads the way, and Yoongi doesn't even bother trying to change that. The blonde has been here enough times to know this station like the back of his hand, and he wouldn't try to make a run for the door–God, sometimes Yoongi wishes Jimin would do that so he could be rid of him for the next couple of nights until he inevitably returns.
Once they reach the restroom, Jimin pushes the door open, outstretching his arm even after he steps in to keep the door open, throwing an expectant look over his shoulder at Yoongi. "You're not gonna come in?"
Yoongi deadpans the delinquent, staying firmly rooted in his spot. "From what I know, you don't need your dick held or wiped for you."
Jimin's lips quirk, but he plays it off with a shrug of his shoulders. "No, but don't you need to, like... supervise me to make sure I don't bolt?"
"Jimin, just go fucking piss." Yoongi's patience slips as he gestures vaguely over Jimin's shoulder.
"And you just do your job, Yoongi-nim! Detective Jeon always comes in!"
Yoongi rolls his eyes at that. "I'm sure he does," he mutters, knowing that the only other weakness their station detective has besides banana milk is pretty little misfits with a big mouth.
Jimin lets out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Fine. Have it your way, Officer No-Fun," he mutters, letting the heavy bathroom door swing shut between them.
Yoongi stands in the hallway with his arms crossed, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He listens for the sound of the zipper, or the flush, or running water–anything to signal that this trip was actually legitimate.
Instead, almost two minutes pass in complete silence.
Then a loud crash echoes through the door, followed by the metallic rattle of something tumbling across tile. Then, dead quiet again.
Yoongi’s eyes snap open. His head jerks toward the door, every law-enforcement instinct kicking into gear as he curses under his breath. "Jimin?"
No answer.
"Jimin, if you're breaking shit in there, I swear to God–" Yoongi doesn't wait for a response. He shoves the door open with a push, stepping inside ready to catch the delinquent trying to climb into an air duct or shatter a mirror.
Instead, he stops dead in his tracks.
Jimin is sitting casually on the edge of the marble sink counter, legs swinging back and forth over the edge, surrounded by the quiet hum of the flickering fluorescent lights. The overturned metal trash can sits innocently by his feet, clearly kicked over on purpose.
A triumphant smirk slowly spreads across Jimin's lips as he watches Yoongi burst through the doorway, chest heaving slightly.
"See?" Jimin hums softly, tilting his head with another bat of his eyelashes. "I knew you couldn't resist coming in after me."
Yoongi lets out a breath, the door clicking shut behind him as his patience officially touches bottom. "You're such a fucking nightmare."
He doesn't waste time stepping toward Jimin and grabbing hold of a lean bicep, gripping and tugging hard enough to pull him off the counter and back onto his feet. Jimin goes voluntarily, but the laugh he lets out makes Yoongi wish he could arrest him all over again–punish him in some way that would actually knock him down a few pegs.
"C'mon," Yoongi grumbles, dragging Jimin along toward the exit.
But before he can even reach the handle, Jimin digs his heels firmly into the tile alongside a theatrical whine. "Officer, please."
Yoongi doesn't even know what Jimin is pleading for, but he squashes the little desire he has to find out.
Instead of complying, Jimin uses the momentum of Yoongi dragging him to close the distance, spinning on his heel until he's pressed right into Yoongi’s space. Before Yoongi can open his mouth to bark an order, Jimin’s free hand snakes down, his palm casually but firmly cupping the line of Yoongi’s groin through his dark uniform trousers.
Yoongi freezes on the spot.
His breath hitches in his throat, his brain stalling out completely as the sudden friction sends a jolt straight up his spine. His grip on Jimin's bicep tightens involuntarily, knuckles turning white, but he doesn't pull away–he can't.
Jimin feels the precise moment Yoongi’s stern resolve shatters into stunned silence. His slow smirk returns as he takes advantage of the officer's momentary paralysis, slipping effortlessly out of Yoongi's grip and dropping down to his knees on the cold bathroom tile.
Looking up through his lashes, Jimin hooks his fingers into the brass buckle of Yoongi’s duty belt, tugging gently to pull the older man an inch closer. The contrast between his innocent eyes and the purposeful touch on Yoongi's waist is lethal.
"Just give me five minutes," Jimin murmurs, his voice dropping into a purr that vibrates against Yoongi's stomach. His small fingers make quick work of the belt buckle, the metallic clink echoing off the tiled walls. "If you still want to throw me back in that cell after... I'll go quietly."
Yoongi swallows hard, his hand hovering uselessly over Jimin's soft blonde hair–halfway between shoving him off and burying his fingers in the roots. His lower back hits the wood of the bathroom door as Jimin pops the top button of his trousers and drags the zipper down, freeing the semi beneath his underwear.
"Jimin, you're fucking crazy..." Yoongi rasps, his head thumping back against the door frame as his eyes flutter shut.
"Maybe," Jimin whispers, his warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin before his lips finally press against the exposed tip. "But you're not stopping me."
Yoongi’s inhale feels like it can't quite reach his lungs.
Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. His soft lips press another kiss to the tip of Yoongi’s cock, then another just below, tracing a lazy path down the underside. The touch is teasing and nowhere near enough.
"You’re already getting hard for me," Jimin murmurs against the sensitive skin, his voice dripping with that same sickeningly sweet lilt. "And here I thought you hated me, Officer."
"Shut up."
The words come out strangled. Yoongi’s fingers twitch at his sides, still refusing to commit–still holding onto some thread of professionalism that’s fraying with every passing second.
Jimin’s tongue darts out, dragging along the ridge of the head in a slow, wet stripe.
Yoongi’s hips jerk forward involuntarily.
A giggle bubbles up from Jimin’s throat. "See? Your body’s way more honest than your mouth." His fingers wrap around the base, feeling the gradual swell as blood continues rushing south. "I’ve been waiting to do this for months. Every time you threw me in that cell, every time you rolled your eyes at me… I’d go home and think about shutting you up just like this."
Yoongi’s jaw clenches and Jimin leans in again, this time dragging his parted lips along the entire length, from base to tip, leaving a glistening trail of saliva in his wake.
Yoongi’s hand finally moves–not to shove Jimin away, but to brace against the bathroom door behind him. The wood is cool against his palm, grounding in a way he desperately needs right now.
Jimin notices easily.
"There you go," he coos, tilting his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Yoongi’s cock. “Just relax. Let me take care of you for once.”
A glob of spit drips from Jimin’s mouth, landing on the swollen tip and sliding down slowly. Jimin’s thumb follows it, smearing the wetness in lazy circles, spreading it across the head until it’s slick and glistening under the fluorescent lights.
Yoongi’s stomach tightens at the sight. His uniform shirt suddenly feeling too hot and restrictive.
Jimin works with a patience that feels almost cruel. Little kitten licks up and down the length. Soft sucks against the skin that never quite take him in. His fingers toy through the mess he’s making–saliva pooling, dripping down onto the base, slicking everything up until Yoongi is fully, achingly hard and trembling with want.
"Look at you," Jimin breathes, pulling back just far enough to admire his work. A string of spit connects his bottom lip to the tip of Yoongi’s cock and he doesn’t bother wiping it away. “So pretty like this. All flushed and breathless. Bet no one at this station’s ever seen Officer Min like this, huh?”
"Jimin." The name scrapes out of Yoongi’s throat like a warning with no teeth. "I said shut up."
"...Okay."
Jimin’s eyes glitter with mischief, his tongue darting out to catch that string of saliva before it breaks. Then he parts his lips and takes Yoongi into his mouth.
The pleasure is immediate. Wet and tight and perfect.
Yoongi’s head digs back further against the door as a sound escapes him–something between a groan and a curse–and his hand finally finds its way into Jimin’s platinum blonde hair.
"Fuck," he breathes.
Jimin hums around him in response. The vibration travels straight up Yoongi’s spine, settling somewhere at the base of his skull. His fingers tighten in the soft strands, not knowing whether to push down or pull away.
The delinquent takes his time. There’s nothing rushed about the way he moves–no frantic bobbing, no desperate gagging. He sinks down slowly, inch by inch, letting his tongue flatten against the underside as he goes. His plush lips stay sealed tight around Yoongi's cock, creating a suction that makes Yoongi’s knees threaten to buckle.
The fluorescent lights continue their quiet hum overhead. A faucet drips somewhere in the background, each droplet hitting the sink basin with a soft plink. Beyond the door, the station is silent–no footsteps, no radio chatter, no sign that anyone might walk in on the scene unfolding in this cramped bathroom. And it all just reminds Yoongi of how wrong this is.
Jimin pulls back until just the tip rests on his tongue. His eyes flutter up to meet Yoongi’s, and the sight alone nearly undoes him–those wide, innocent eyes framed by platinum blonde bangs, looking up like Yoongi is the one with all the power here.
They both know that isn’t true.
"You taste good," Jimin whispers, his voice slightly hoarse now. His pinkie finger traces idle patterns on Yoongi’s thigh. "Better than I imagined."
Yoongi’s throat bobs. "You’ve imagined this?"
"Ofcourse." Jimin’s tongue laves over the head again, teasing the slit until Yoongi’s hips buck forward. "In my cell. In the interrogation room. That one time you bent over to pick up a pen and I almost lost my mind right there."
A flush creeps up Yoongi’s neck. He should say something–should regain some control of this situation–but then Jimin’s mouth is on him again, sinking down deeper this time, and any coherent thought becomes a luxury he can’t afford.
Jimin’s technique is unfortunately well practiced. He alternates between deep, slow pulls that take Yoongi to the back of his throat and quick, shallow bobs that focus all the attention on the sensitive head. His hand works what his mouth can’t reach, twisting slightly on every upward stroke, spreading the slickness around until everything is wet and warm and obscenely loud in the quiet room.
The sounds alone could drive a man insane. Soft, wet and rhythmic alongside Jimin’s occasional hums of satisfaction and the catch of breath every time he pulls off to fill his lungs through his nose before sinking back down again.
Yoongi’s grip on Jimin’s hair tightens. His hips start moving of their own accord–small, aborted thrusts that he can’t quite control.
"Jimin-ah," he grits out.
The delinquent responds by taking him even deeper, until his nose presses against the dark curls at the base. His throat constricts around the intrusion, and the sensation rips a broken moan from somewhere deep in Yoongi’s chest.
He’s going to come. At this rate, with this pace, with Jimin’s tongue doing things that should be illegal even outside of a police station...
Jimin senses the shift instantly. He speeds up, his cheeks hollowing with tight suction while his hand pumps the base in time with his mouth. The wet sounds fill the bathroom, urgent and unrestrained, driving Yoongi right over the edge.
Yoongi’s hand fists tightly in Jimin’s platinum hair, holding him buried deep as the coil in his gut snaps. A groan tears from his throat, and his hips buck upward into Jimin's mouth, keeping him there.
Jimin doesn't pull away. He takes every single throb, his throat working around the pulses as Yoongi comes, swallowing greedily while keeping his eyes locked onto Yoongi’s undone expression. His free hand stays firmly wrapped around the base, milking out the absolute last drops of pleasure until Yoongi is left trembling, his back sliding helplessly against the door.
When Jimin finally lets him slip free, he does so with a soft pop. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a smug smirk spreading across his lips as he pushes himself up from his knees and runs a hand through his messy hair.
Before Yoongi can even catch his breath, Jimin reaches out and grabs Yoongi’s wrist, twisting it slightly to glance down at the watch strapped to his skin.
"Hmm..." Jimin hums, his eyes trailing over the digital numbers. "Looks like I took six minutes. A little over the five you gave me... but don't worry. I'll do better next time."
Yoongi lets his head thud back against the door, his eyes still half-closed as his brain slowly reboots. "There is no next time," he rasps, his voice completely wrecked as he glares down at the delinquent.
He reaches down with numb fingers to pull up his trousers and fasten his belt, though his hands are shaking too much to manage the buckle properly on the first try.
Jimin just chuckles, stepping in close to push Yoongi’s hands gently out of the way. With practiced familiarity, his fingers make quick work of fastening the leather strap and snapping the heavy buckle into place.
"Sure," Jimin whispers, leaning up to press one last, lingering kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s flushed cheek before pulling back with a wink. "Whatever you say, Officer."