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The elevator dings, its polished doors sliding open to reveal plush, ivory carpeting.
Taehyung reaches back briefly, his fingertips brushing along the back of Jimin's hand. Idly, he moves to lace their fingers together, before retracting his hand entirely as a stranger steps into the elevator. The doors slide shut once again, the lift jolting back to life as it continues its upward climb.
They stand closely, masks pulled up to the bridge of their noses. They're only half-changed; Jimin is still in his leather trousers from the show, but his satin shirt has been swapped out for an oversized, grey sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder.
With makeup still smudged along tired eyes and tousled hair kissed with static, they wait for the elevator doors to open once more.
Another ding echoes through the speakers, and Taehyung steps out first. He sidles past the stranger, and with Jimin following close behind, they make their way to the latter's hotel room.
Taehyung fidgets restlessly, his hand lightly resting over Jimin's waist as the latter searches through his bag haphazardly. It takes a moment before Jimin finds his keycard, pushing it into the card slot. The lock opens with a short, musical note, and with one hand over the handle, Jimin pushes the door open.
Immediately, they're greeted by the cold touch of the air conditioner and the familiar scent of hotel rooms—of fresh linen, soft carpeting, plywood and aged leather trimmings.
Jimin is also acutely aware of another scent, a muted one, emanating from Taehyung subtly. Sweat and cologne mask the undercurrents of what Jimin can only describe as need, if need had a scent. Pheromones, he believes they're calledㅡlaced with something bittersweet and desperate.
It's the way Taehyung smells after a workout, or after dance practice. It's the way he smells after sex, a little hot and sticky and sweet. Jimin is reminded of why they'd skipped dinner and hurried back to the hotel, exchanging heated glances in the back of their van.
It happens quickly: Jimin drops his bag to the floor, and he kicks off a single, white sneaker. The door falls shut behind them and Jimin barely gets the other shoe off his foot, before Taehyung is pulling him in by the waist. Jimin stumbles, one hand catching the younger's shoulder and the other pressing flat against the wall.
And, oh.
His stomach does that thing. It swoops, the floor seemingly pulling away from beneath his feet. His belly fills with liquid heat, honeyed and needy.
It's easy to feel this way when Taehyung is looking at him like that—all dark, hungry eyes and a pretty mouth. Jimin swallows.
He'd known this was coming; he could feel it in the weight of Taehyung's stare, all evening. He could feel it in the lingering glances and the fleeting touches, and the quick brush of lips over his inked skin between performances.
Jimin knows Taehyung has been eyeing him the entire night, and is well aware of the younger's quiet fixation with Jimin's satin shirt and leather trousers. On more than one occasion, he'd caught Taehyung staring at the ribbons along the front of his pants, where his trousers lace shut all the way up to the waistband.
On and off the stage, Jimin had felt the fleeting touch of a hand over the back of his thigh, a brief squeeze over his ass, a palm along his waist—yes, Jimin had been well aware.
He'd known, and yet, when Taehyung leans in close and teases a kiss along his lips, Jimin has the audacity to act coy and unassuming.
"What is it?" Jimin asks. He bats his lashes in that playful, endearing way that he knows drives Taehyung a little insane.
"You look good," Taehyung says, straight to the point as always. Blunt and unapologetic. Jimin's mouth quirks upwards with a poorly suppressed smile.
"I do?" Jimin asks, even as Taehyung pulls him close—no, closer. They're drawn flush together, connected by the hip.
Taehyung scoffs.
Like this, Jimin can make out the prominent swell of Taehyung's arousal through the cotton of his sweatpants. It presses over the inside of Jimin's thigh, hot and heavy. Slowly, Jimin lowers his gaze and he makes a show of taking a curious, little peek.
"Well, what have we here?" Jimin muses, his words laced with the edge of a quiet laugh. The heaviness of his hometown dialect comes through, wrapping around his voice thickly.
But Taehyung doesn't seem to be in the mood to be teased, and he's quick to frown, bottom lip pushing out into a small pout.
"Don't," Taehyung mutters.
"Don't what?" Jimin asks, grinning slowly.
"Don't tease," Taehyung says, a little bitingly.
"Or what?" Jimin lifts a brow, his smile tipping into a satisfied smirk.
Taehyung presses his lips together thinly, and Jimin gets his answer in the form of a firm backwards nudge as the younger pushes him up against the wall. Briefly, Jimin winces, his lips parting around a soft noise of surprise.
"Y—" Jimin starts.
He's cut off as soon as he begins, as an eager mouth presses over his own in a feverish kiss. The kiss muffles his words, and when Taehyung sharply nips at the petal of his rosy mouth, Jimin parts his lips readily.
It's only been hours since their last kiss, stolen behind tall racks of clothes, yet somehow it feels like it's been years. Taehyung kisses Jimin like he's his everything, and Jimin melts into it with ease.
Soft hands come up to cradle Jimin's jaw, tipping his head up as Taehyung deepens the kiss. Pushing away from the wall the slightest bit, Jimin leans forward until his chest is pressed to Taehyung's, their hearts racing in tandem.
They break apart too soon, both of them still exhausted from the show. Jimin barely gets to catch his breath, before Taehyung is kissing him again, chasing his lips until Jimin gives in, welcoming the younger's tongue into his mouth.
Jimin doesn't register the absence of Taehyung's palms from over his jaw, until he notices the upward slide of his shirt. Eager hands curl into the hem of Jimin's sweatshirt, dragging it up and off of him; they pull apart, lips tingling, so that Taehyung can pull the shirt over Jimin's head before letting it fall to the ground.
Jimin's hair curls against the static as his shirt is pulled off, before settling into a deep red halo. Tousled and fluffy, his hair frames his face prettily, and Taehyung can't help but stare for just a moment longer.
He stares just until Jimin grows shy, the apples of his cheeks turning pink beneath a smattering of light brown freckles.
This time, it's Jimin who murmurs, "Don't."
Flustered, Jimin turns the attention onto Taehyung, small hands pulling and pushing at Taehyung's shirt until he's able to peel it off of him. Out of the way, it finds its way to the floor, right next to Jimin's sweatshirt.
Taehyung's sweatpants are the next to go, as Jimin firmly tugs at the drawstrings and then the waistband, watching as the grey pants pool around the former's slender ankles.
Finally, they both look down at Jimin's pants, the black leather stretched taut over his firm thighs and svelte hips. With nimble fingers, Taehyung tugs at the strings that hold the front of Jimin's trousers together, pulling them loose.
Their eyes meet briefly, and Jimin holds his breath at what happens next.
Slowly, Taehyung sinks to his knees, so that he's facing Jimin's hips. Ardent hands travel the length of Jimin's legs, from his calves to his thighs and up to where the front of his pants lace up prettily.
Hooking a finger into the ribbon, Taehyung tugs at it again, freeing a single end from its confines.
Then, carefully, Taehyung leans forward and takes hold of the string with his teeth.
Taehyung pulls back slowly, watching as the knots unravel. He stares, gaze dark and eyelids heavy, as the leather slides down and reveals the wet spot over Jimin's boxers, where his cock is already hard and heavy and damp with arousal.
"Fuck." Jimin's mouth is dry, his eyes unfocused the longer he simply stares.
His thoughts have been reduced to static white noise, and there's little more he can do but obediently step out of his trousers as Taehyung peels them off of him. He watches, with bated breath and building anticipation, as his cock continues to stiffen within its cottoned confines.
Taehyung is—Taehyung is a lot of wonderful, beautiful things. He's funny and warm and kind and clever and charming and witty and sweet. But no amount of warmth and sweetness can ever seem to compensate for the fact that Taehyung is a complete and utter tease.
Idly, Taehyung presses a ghost of a kiss to the top of Jimin's thigh. Another kiss lands just above his knee, where faded stretch marks bleed into the muscled girth of his thigh. A kiss to the inner curve of his shin, and another just along the outside of Jimin's thigh soon follow—Taehyung worships his way up to his favourite altar, reverent in the way he slows down as he reaches the tented front of Jimin's boxers.
Eager, Taehyung leans forward, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the dark grey cotton. He noses at the curve of Jimin's cock through the thin material, his lips catching against the fabric where it's damp with desire. Pausing, he gives the spot a little lick, tasting what is to come.
Unable to hold back, Jimin gently cradles the younger's jaw with a single hand and he drags the pad of his thumb over the plump curve of his bottom lip, tracing its outline with a quiet fascination. With his dark eyes clouded with need, Jimin hooks his thumb along the corner of the younger's mouth.
He watches, awestruck, as Taehyung parts his lips and takes the digit into the damp heat of his mouth. Pursing his lips around Jimin's thumb, Taehyung takes hold of the digit and sucks languidly, his tongue rolling against it. Jimin nearly groans at the sight—Taehyung's oral fixation will be the death of him one day.
"Fuck." It's all Jimin can say.
"Yeah," Taehyung murmurs, lips pouting the slightest bit. He leans in, nuzzling against the hard outline of Jimin's cock, then peers up at him through long, pretty lashes. "Can I?"
Jimin stares, the cogs in his mind jammed stuck.
Doe eyed and sultry, Taehyung blinks his eyes up at the other and asks, "Wanna fuck you—can I?"
"Fuck," Jimin says again, like a broken record. "Yeah."
"Yeah, okay," Jimin exhales, slightly out of breath.
The grin that curls over Taehyung's lips borders on wicked, a silent promise of debauchery. With a fleeting kiss over Jimin's tented arousal, Taehyung moves to stand on his feet once more, stepping out of his own boxers as he does so.
With his fingers hooking into the waistband of Jimin's underwear, Taehyung tugs the latter closer until their hips are drawn together. Slowly, he pulls the material down—lower and lower, until Jimin is able to step out of them.
In no time at all, Taehyung crowds in closely, stealing a quick kiss from Jimin's lips. He ducks down, his mouth latching onto the soft skin of Jimin's neck, before dragging his teeth over the rise and fall of a steady pulse. Eager, Taehyung nips at the skin, before dragging his tongue over the transient redness, soothing the fading pain.
Reds and purples and blues are slow to bloom over his skin, like watercolour rosettes over tan silk. And when Taehyung pulls back to survey his work, he almost looks pleased with himself.
"Pretty," Taehyung breathes, his voice catching against the swell of his heart.
This time, it's Jimin who leans forward, kissing Taehyung with the kind of gnawing hunger that threatens to scald him from the inside out. With his arms wrapped around Taehyung's neck, Jimin helps the younger lift his weight off the floor, toeing at the carpet lightly as he jumps into his arms.
Strong thighs wrap around Taehyung's slender hips, as Jimin grips onto the latter's shoulders for support.
"'ve got you," Taehyung breathes, his large hands coming down to cradle the curve of Jimin's thighs. Briefly, Jimin touches their foreheads together in a moment of tender affection.
Gently resting Jimin's back against the wall once again, Taehyung runs his hands up the backs of the former's thighs, his slender fingers reaching over to tease along the soft skin of Jimin's sensitive perineum, before spreading his cheeks apart.
Instinctively, Jimin tenses, his rim fluttering in anticipation. He holds his breath expectantly, and when Taehyung finally rocks his hips forward, they both tremble.
Damp heat teases at Jimin's entrance, as Taehyung's cock drags between the cleft of his ass. Precum sticks to his skin, where the head of Taehyung's cock nudges along the tight ring of muscle.
It's not nearly enough, and yet—somehow—it's too much. It's perhaps a testament to how long it's been since they've done this, their bodies sensitive to the slightest touch.
Ah, Jimin thinks to himself. This is what it means to be touch starved.
It feels like it's been ages since they've had the chance to fuck—longer still since Jimin has been on the receiving end.
It's not that he minds it; Jimin loves fucking Taehyung. He loves burying his cock inside the younger, loves bottoming out until there's not even an atom's worth of space between their bodies. Jimin loves making him see stars, loves to hear the broken cries and hushed mewls that escape Taehyung's pillowed lips.
Jimin loves all of it, but he also loves this: Taehyung's cock inside him, and his hands all over Jimin's body. And so, he says as much.
"In me," Jimin gasps, dizzy with lust. "God, I want you in me."
Taehyung doesn't need to be told twice.
The journey to the bed is short, and Taehyung only stumbles once, helping Jimin onto the bed. He leaves for a moment, and when he returns, it's with a packet of lube and latex over his cock—vaguely, Jimin makes a mental note to himself, to someday let Taehyung know that he'd like to get fucked without it.
Leaning back, Jimin lets himself sink into the mattress, watching with hungry eyes as Taehyung climbs onto the bed and over him. He watches with barely concealed admiration, the underlying currents of love and warmth clouded with heated desire.
Taehyung is all beautiful, tan skin and curved edges; his chest is warm, belly soft to the touch, and Jimin adores it. He loves the slight swell of Taehyung's tummy, and the soft meat of his thighs. He adores the way Taehyung's waist is cradled by love handles that sit over the belt of his trousers. Jimin loves the roundness of his ass, and the soft firmness of Taehyung's broad, browned shoulders.
Jimin thinks that if he wanted to, he could wax poetic about Taehyung's body. For now though, all Jimin wants is to be ruined, and Taehyung is more than happy to oblige.
Taehyung's fingers are long, but they're slender, and even with two fingers working him open, it's never quite enough to prepare Jimin for the width of Taehyung's cock.
And so, when he's just about relaxed enough, Jimin hurries him on impatiently.
"'M readyㅡreadyㅡyour cock," Jimin blabbers, hastily drawing the younger closer. "I need—please—"
Taehyung wastes no time in settling down between Jimin's legs, his hands sliding down to spread his cheeks apart. The ringed muscle is glistening with lube, skin flushed a deep, ruddy tan.
Taehyung guides his cock over the rim of Jimin's entrance, teasing circles over it. He smears the precum across Jimin's perineum, watching as it mixes with lube and spit. Then, slowly, Taehyung eases his cock past the rim of Jimin's entrance, bit by bit. He watches, as his cock snags and catches every so often, dragging against the sensitive inner walls as he gently rocks his hips forward.
The first slide is a little tight. They groan together, and Jimin's back arches off the sheets as he tries to adjust to the younger's girth. Toes curling, Jimin fists a hand into the sheets and sucks in a shaky breath.
They both still for a moment, with Taehyung only halfway in, and it's only when Jimin nods does Taehyung inch his way in further and further, until he's buried to the hilt. He waits for several seconds, until Jimin murmurs his assent.
Slowly, Taehyung pulls back, and when he pushes in again, the slide is a little easier. In and out—Taehyung works up a rhythm, his jaw tight and his brows furrowed.
With every thrust, the lube squelches lewdly, audible even through their laboured breathing and the slap of skin against skin.
Planting his feet over the mattress, Jimin lifts his hips and brings his arms around Taehyung's neck, blunt fingernails pressing red indentations into the younger's broad back. He meets every thrust with his hips, rocking down and grinding needy circles over Taehyung's cock until the latter is trembling in Jimin's arms.
Hooking one leg over Taehyung's waist, Jimin pulls the younger man down until he's pressed impossibly close, his cock filling Jimin to the brim.
"Oh, fuck," Jimin breathes, when Taehyung's cock drags along the sensitive gland that sits right against his sphincter. His voice pitches a little higher, coloured red with need, and Taehyung picks it up with ease.
"There?" Taehyung asks, circling his hips experimentally.
"Yeah," Jimin gasps, breath hitching audibly.
With one hand fisted into the sheets, Taehyung pushes himself up and repositions himself a little, angling his hips so that every forward thrust has his cock nudging at the spot where Jimin wants him the most.
Slow at first, and then quicker, Taehyung picks up his pace, fucking Jimin hard and fast. Skin slaps against skin as Taehyung bottoms out with every deep thrust, beading perspiration clinging to his brow and trickling down the length of his spine.
The bed groans beneath their weights, headboard knocking against the wall every so often, its rhythm thrown off as Taehyung's thrusts grow erratic. He whimpers and grunts, quiet and muted, and he buries his face in Jimin's neck as his thighs tense.
Minutes feel like seconds, which in turn feel like minutes or even hours; Jimin's soft cries get louder with every passing moment, a rising staccato of moans that builds with the impending crescendo of their orgasms.
They come within seconds of each other, swallowing down each other's quiet whimpers and low moans with a feverish kiss. Taehyung comes first, filling up the condom until the latex grows heavy and drags along the rim of Jimin's entrance.
One thrust, then another—the condom slips off, and Taehyung's cum seeps out, trickling down the cleft of Jimin's ass. It's enough to push Jimin over the edge, the damp heat dribbling down his skin.
He spills onto himself, pearlescent white beads clinging to the skin of his underbelly. A few droplets land mere inches away from the edge of his sternum, hot and sticky. Taehyung's hand is on him in seconds, milking him through the orgasm until Jimin is writhing and whimpering with oversensitivity.
When Taehyung doesn't stop, he rolls to the side, whining softly until the younger's hand falls away from Jimin's sensitive cock.
"No more," Jimin whimpers, curling in on himself.
"Okay, baby," Taehyung murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jimin's bare shoulder.
Jimin sighs, relaxing into the tender show of affection, and he closes his eyes. His temples are throbbing, head pounding with a tension headache. He's tired and sensitive and—ah. Taehyung kisses his shoulder again.
Lower and lower, Taehyung kisses his way down the length of Jimin's body—over his shoulder, and the curve of his waist, the jut of his hip, and then—oh.
Jimin gasps softly, body jolting when Taehyung's tongue drags over his soft cock. His hips twitch, and Jimin brings a hand up instantaneously, muffling the quiet sound that borders somewhere between a whine and a sob.
Opening his eyes once more, Jimin lowers his gaze to the sight of Taehyung cleaning him up. The sight is a lewd one, somehow moreso than the thought of Taehyung fucking him.
Jimin's mouth runs dry as he stares, hand still pressed to his bitten lips as he breathes shallowly through his nose. He watches as Taehyung licks him clean, tongue dragging over and under the girth of Jimin's cock. Ducking lower, Taehyung mouths at his balls and over his perineum, careful teeth pulling out the half-filled condom before he licks at the rim of Jimin's ass—once, twice, in and then out. Jimin holds his breath.
Working his way back up, Taehyung licks up the shaft of Jimin's flaccid cock, his tongue swirling languidly around its head. Pink lips wrap around Jimin's cockhead, and Taehyung hollows his cheeks as he swallows around him.
Satisfied, Taehyung pulls off with a quiet pop that makes Jimin's belly tense with butterflies. Then, slowly, Taehyung lifts his gaze to meet Jimin's, doe eyed and sultry as he peers up at him through lengthy lashes.
Jimin's mind is blank.
"Wow," he croaks finally, after several long seconds. The giggle that leaves Taehyung's lips seems almost out of place.
It takes Jimin a while to catch his breath. He's exhausted, body limp and heavy and overheated. His legs are thrumming with adrenaline, buzzing with overexertion.
He imagines Taehyung must be more tired, their bodies still fatigued from hours and days and weeks of intense training and rehearsals.
"C'mere," Jimin murmurs, once his heart is no longer lodged against his throat. He beckons the younger closer, weakly grasping at his shoulder. "Wanna kiss you."
Taehyung obliges, climbing up to press his lips to Jimin's in a gentle, lingering kiss. Laying his weight over Jimin, Taehyung sinks into his boyfriend as the tiredness settles into his bones.
Exchanging lazy kisses, they pull apart only when their eyelids begin to grow heavy. Closing his eyes, Jimin wraps his arms around Taehyung's waist, turning until they're both lying on their sides.
"I love you," Taehyung mumbles, nosing along the curve of Jimin's jaw.
Smiling softly, Jimin cracks open an eye and peers up at the other sleepily. "Love you, too," he murmurs quietly.
Despite the air conditioning, it's hot. Still, they stay wrapped around each other anyway, their bodies entwined until it's no longer easy to tell where one ends and the other begins.
That night, Jimin sleeps better than he has in weeks. Fucked out and exhausted, he slips into the world of stardust dreams and brightly lit fantasies, his body still pulsing with the music and buzzing with the heat of the stage.