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“Okay, I'm done with sand castles,” Jimin announced, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. “I'm right here, pay attention to me.”
Hoseok looked up from the other end of the couch with an expression of exaggerated innocence. “I posted like four comments on your Weverse post, does that not count as paying attention to you?” Seeing Jimin's scowly pout, he broke into a fond grin. “Oh, he's serious,” he commented, locking his phone with an exaggerated movement and reaching dramatically over to the table to set it down.
Jimin huffed. “I'm always serious,” he said primly.
“Of course,” Hoseok agreed easily. “Serious as a heart attack, that's our Jiminie.” He rolled up to sit on his knees in the middle of the couch, close to Jimin but not touching. “How's this?”
“Hobi.” Jimin flopped back into the corner of the couch and ran his hand through his hair, as much a self-consciously attractive gesture as a habitual one. A grin played around the corners of his mouth. “It's not your birthday anymore, you know.”
“So, what,” Hoseok shifted infinitesimally closer, deliberately refraining from contact, “it's Jiminie diva hours again?”
“Always.” Jimin reached out to grab Hoseok by the shirt, overbalancing him. Hoseok shrieked a laugh and caught himself on the arm of the couch and Jimin's shoulder. Jimin cackled, wrapping an arm around his neck.
“Oh this is what you want, oh, I see,” Hoseok cried, shifting to dig his fingers into Jimin's ribs and make him yelp and wiggle.
“Foul!” Jimin yelled, trying weakly to fend him off, almost kneeing him in the chin. Hoseok backed off the tickling and wormed in to dig an arm around and under Jimin instead, pulling their bodies flush. “Oh,” Jimin gasped. “Now you're getting it, oh,” he yelped again as Hoseok managed to shift and grab his ass. “I do like a man who knows what he wants,” he purred, wrapping a leg around Hoseok's waist to grind up against him teasingly.
“Ooh, Jimin, yeah,” Hoseok cooed, then nipped at at Jimin's jaw until he took the hint and tilted his head back to make more space. Hoseok nosed along his throat, savouring the high, breathy noises Jimin was making, before biting down on his collarbone.
With an outraged cry, Jimin shoved him back and up into a sitting position, following him up until the two of them were a tangle of knees and elbows in the middle of the couch. They grappled for a few moments, out of breath and laughing, until Jimin untangled himself enough to push Hoseok against the back of the couch and straddle his lap.
“I thought my birthday was over,” Hoseok remarked, taking the opportunity to grab a double handful of Jimin's ass. “Oh, Jiminie,” he moaned, playing it up, delighting in the delighted scrunch of Jimin's eyes when he smiled.
“Oh, J-hope,” Jimin moaned, playing along, weight lifted slightly off Hoseok's lap to roll his hips into a mesmerizing body wave, the best, goofiest lap dance, with a too-sultry expression on his face and a twinkle in his eye, his own hands sliding up his torso and Hoseok's hands on his ass helping him along. Jimin moaned, and Hoseok moaned, competing with each other in a rhythmic crescendo until they broke off laughing and Jimin collapsed down into Hoseok, draping over him like a giggly blanket.
“J-hoooope,” Jimin whispered in his ear, breaking into giggles again at the end.
“Jimiiiiiiin,” Hoseok replied, sneaking one hand up the back of Jimin's shirt, making him squeak and then hum languorously. His neck was right there, so Hoseok kissed it. With a tiny offended noise Jimin kissed him back, once, twice, and then sat back down on his lap, directly over his hard-on: a decisive victory. All the air went out of Hoseok's lungs.
“Oh,” Jimin said, very quietly, and pulled back far enough to look Hoseok in the eye. Whatever he saw there made him smile – a sly little thing, half formed and hood-eyed. He shifted his hips. Hoseok's breath caught.
“Jimin,” he said quietly, and Jimin leaned in the last little bit and kissed him.
Soft, to start, but it picked up quickly, and when Hoseok nipped at Jimin's lip he gasped, parted lips making room for Hoseok's tongue. Hoseok pulled him closer, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades, other arm firm around his hips, and Jimin melted into him, meeting Hoseok's foray with his own wickedly skilled tongue. The scraped-bare edge of a whine rose into the quiet of the room, and Hoseok realised it was coming from him.
Jimin sucked hard at Hoseok's bottom lip and let it go with a pop, not going far, breathing hard.
“Hobi,” he whispered, “Hobi, I want-” He broke off and rocked his hips down like he couldn't help it, and it felt so good Hoseok held him there, grinding up against him a few times until Jimin dropped his forehead against Hoseok's and gasped out, “Lube, is there-?”
“Fuck, hang on,” Hoseok let go with one arm and groped around between the cushions, “I think we left- ah!” He came up with a half-empty tube. Jimin kissed him again, hips circling, and Hoseok broke away to ask, “How do you want it?”
“Right here,” Jimin murmured, cheek pressed to Hoseok's temple, hips still gently working. “Lay me down and fuck me, do it here, I want you.”
“Jimin,” Hoseok whispered, turning his face into Jimin's neck, running his hands up Jimin's sides and back down, feeling Jimin's spine arch, the dip of his waist as his hips moved. “Okay.”
They repositioned. Hoseok tipped Jimin gently off his lap, lowering him to lie flat on the couch, with Hoseok between his legs. Jimin was in sweatpants, the easiest thing in the world to take off, and, it transpired, no underwear.
Jimin laughed quietly when he saw Hoseok's face. “Why would I wear underwear to your birthday hangout?” he teased.
“Why are you like this,” Hoseok retorted helplessly, uncapping the lube.
Jimin went quiet when the first finger went in, focus entirely internal. Hoseok never got tired of seeing it, watching the minute shifts of expression cross his face. The second finger brought out a low, breathy hum, involuntary and beautiful; the third, openmouthed panting, and Hoseok gently pet him in long strokes from belly to chest and back until his breath evened out.
“'m good,” Jimin said on a little sigh, settling further into the cushions and reaching for Hoseok. “Come on.”
Hoseok undid his own loose jeans, pushed down his boxers and slicked himself up. Braced on one hand above Jimin, he held himself steady with the other hand and pressed in, one long smooth glide. Jimin's face went slack.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Fuck.”
Hoseok agreed. The way Jimin felt around him was something he had never gotten used to; something he hoped he never would get used to. Hot, and smooth, and clutching him tightly as he held still, waiting. He laid his cheek against Jimin's and Jimin held him close with one hand cupping his jaw, the other resting on his hip. Hoseok put his face in Jimin's neck, mouthing at the soft bit under his jaw, moving down to kiss apologetically at the part of his clavicle that held a slightly reddened mark from the earlier bite, feeling Jimin relax fractionally, bit by bit.
Jimin's hands found Hoseok's shoulder blades as his voice found Hoseok's ears.
“You can move.”
Hoseok drew most of the way out, then thrust back in, his face still pressed to Jimin's throat, feeling through his eyelashes the way Jimin's breath caught.
“More.” It was barely a whisper, but it was enough.
As Hoseok picked up the pace, Jimin's legs wrapped around his waist, guiding, holding him close. Hoseok shifted his own angle slightly, and Jimin gasped sharply, then tried to keep breathing evenly. Hoseok kept interrupting it, kept hitting his prostate, kissing his neck, kissing his mouth, hitching one of his legs up even further, until Jimin's breathing was ragged and edged in the ghost of a moan.
His hands on Hoseok's back gripped hard enough to bruise; the sound of their bodies meeting was the loudest sound in the room.
“Hobi,” Jimin said suddenly, a squeezed-out sound, and when Hoseok met his eyes, they were wide below his furrowed brow. “Are you. Baby. Are you close?”
“Yeah,” he panted, realising abruptly that it was true, he was so close he could feel it in his teeth.
“Come with me?” So sweetly pleading that Hoseok was powerless to resist.
“Yeah.” He reached for Jimin's cock, stroked once, twice, and Jimin buried his face in Hoseok's neck and gasped and gasped, shuddering.
Hoseok unraveled. The hot clutch of Jimin's orgasm pulled his own out of him, and he thrust deep and emptied himself until he was spent.
When he came back down, Jimin was petting his hair, holding him cradled between arms and legs where Hoseok had slumped on top of him.
“Happy Birthday, my Hobi,” Jimin said, dropping a kiss on his cheek, then on his lips.
“Birthday's over,” Hoseok found the energy to object.
“Mm, it's still your birthday somewhere,” Jimin murmured, and kissed him again.