Chapter Text
Attending an after party is one thing, but standing in a party at a club is entirely another. Jungkook isn’t sure what he’s doing here, loitering as Taehyung chats up yet another boy that’s leagues below him, sipping a drink. He can’t even recall who the party is for. Who’s hosting it. Whether he was invited or not.
The thing is, these club parties have the potential to be actually be enjoyable. It isn’t work. After parties are for networking, socializing with designers and clients, talking his way into yet another contract. Club parties are for drinking and dancing and throwing himself on anyone who will take him to bed that night. That must be why he’s here, then.
But the sad part about tonight is no one has piqued his interest. He isn’t like Taehyung, where he’s willing to take just anyone, regardless of their status. Even if he says he’ll throw himself at just about anyone, it’s usually not true. He needs to know if they’re worth it or not first. Going to bed with someone is risky, in this industry. It’s better to risk getting photographed with someone who will boost his career, than someone who will tank it.
Again, though, tonight Jungkook’s eyes don’t find interest in anyone. His glass is empty, and the party is boring, and he has too much pent up energy left from his long work day. Surely someone can help him release it. A hot face; a stranger who doesn’t really know who he is; a guy with a big dick.
“Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung shouts over the music, slapping his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, getting his attention again. He nods his head over to the new, small crowd emerging from the VIP entrance. “New faces.”
“Did you find anything interesting with that loser you were talking to?” Jungkook asks, reaching for a pair of shots on a passing tray. The server gives him a pointed look, but he doesn’t care. Worst thing that happens is someone complains, and he can always buy their drinks for them.
Taehyung shrugs and downs the shot, stacking the glass with the empty cup. “We’re about to step out for a smoke, so if I find out, you’ll get a text from me,” he says, followed by a sneaky grin. To each their own, Jungkook thinks as he swallows his shot. Ugh, who drinks whiskey shots? “Good luck with the newbies. Please get dick tonight, I do not want to hear you complain tomorrow.”
“Go get your own mediocre dick, hyung,” Jungkook says, pushing Taehyung along. The more he watches the group that just walked in, the more he feels drawn to them. The man in the center… fuck, he’s hot. “I have my eyes on someone now. Let’s see if he’s worth my time.”
While Taehyung disappears to have a smoke with mediocre dick, Jungkook crosses the floor, weaving through giggling girls trying to dance on him. Which he’d be fine with any other day, use the dance floor to his advantage, but after all his years, he knows how to read people. The man he’s got eyes on is not a dancer, that much is obvious. But he definitely has a way of capturing the room’s attention. That much is obvious, too.
Jungkook falls onto the empty space on the couch beside him, reaching for the same shot glass as him, downing it in one go. “Cheers,” he says, smiling, placing the empty glass back on the cluttered table. The man stares back with an eyebrow raised, clearly displeased. “Who are you?”
“You don’t know me?” The man’s face is cocky now, lips twisted in a smirk as he looks up at Jungkook, pulling his unzipped jacket up his chest. His long hair is tucked prettily behind his ears, exposing dangling hoop earrings, and fuck. That’s even hotter. “Come on. Most people do lately.”
Lately. Maybe he’s a music type.
“But don’t you know me?” Jungkook retaliates, crossing his legs. He’s curious now, to see who this man is. Because he’s sexy and confident and that’s normally a recipe for good sex. He always loves a man with confidence. “Everyone knows me. I’d say people know me more than the President.”
The man reclines against the couch, grabbing the next drink that comes his way before Jungkook can. “Oh, I know you, but isn’t that such a stretch?” he asks, swallowing a short sip, glancing up at Jungkook knowingly. Alcohol clings to his lips, and Jungkook wants to lick it off. He’s losing quick, especially as the drinks begin to kick into his system. “More famous than the President, huh? All you do is pose and let people take pictures of you.”
Fuck, he’s an asshole. Why can’t Jungkook ever pick the guys who flirt nicely? He can’t even tell if this fucking nobody is being serious or just trying to get on his nerves.
“At least I don’t thrive on the losses of others,” Jungkook says, which isn’t entirely true. He’s fought his way into contracts before, with Eomma and Namjoon over his shoulders. They do everything in their power to keep a solid track on his career. Thing is that he’s never lost a contract. “A good song makes the charts, but at the cost of another? A shame, really.”
“You can’t tell me you models don’t walk all over each other like you do on the runway.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that?” Jungkook rubs his jaw, conflicted. He’s hot, but being an asshole, which is confusing for his dick. Because he likes that, getting fucked around with, but only to a certain extent. “Clearly you don’t know shit about the modeling industry. Why don’t you stick to what you know?”
The man raises his eyebrows, still smirking. “You’re easy to rile up,” he says, followed by another short sip from his glass. Jungkook glances around, reaching for a shot glass as it passes. He tips it back and swallows it, smacking his lips instead of answering. So what if he’s easy to piss off? “You know, I like that.” He leans closer, mouth pressed to the shell of Jungkook’s ear. “Means you fuck good.”
Jungkook shudders and finds an answer to his earlier question. Just trying to get on his nerves, then. Two can play at that game.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the man asks, lips still hovering against Jungkook’s ear.
“I can buy my own drinks,” Jungkook answers, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth. He needs a few seconds to figure out his next play here. “Are you sure you can afford a drink from here?”
The expression on the man’s face darkens; a sore spot, then. Jungkook can work with this, spin it into his favor. He’s not about to let pride get in the way of his night off. There isn’t enough time left in the evening. Soon enough he’ll get an angry call from Eomma—maybe Abeoji too, if he’s still awake—demanding he come home. He’ll get scolded for being reckless about drinking alone. He’ll tell them Taehyung was with him. They’ll say Taehyung is just as irresponsible as him.
So, before that can happen, he needs this man to get his shit together and invite him home. Because there’s no fucking way Jungkook is fucking in a club bathroom or getting a hotel room just for a couple hours.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an entitled brat?” the man asks, spreading his knees as he reaches for the newest tray of shots. Jungkook has, in fact, been told this plenty of times. At least once a week.
“Anyone tell you that you’re an asshole?”
“Ouch.” The man pouts, pink lips pursed, a finger coming to the bottom of Jungkook’s chin. “Did I hurt your feelings a little bit, baby?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, impatience simmering in his bloodstream. He doesn’t usually have to fight this hard to get his way, but he’s already halfway there so why stop now? Why give this man the satisfaction of giving in so easily? The hard work should go both ways.
The man’s expression changes, his finger dropping from supporting Jungkook’s chin. His eyes flicker above head, to the speaker. Jungkook hasn’t been paying close attention to the music these past couple of songs, but this next one is familiar. Makes him want to do dirty, nasty things. Maybe with this man, if he hurries up. Jungkook’s resolve isn’t going to last much longer.
As the man’s lips move along faintly to the words of the song, the deep, resounding bass shaking the walls, the type of music Jungkook would play alone in his bedroom with the house empty, he realizes something. It’s his song. The man… What’s his fucking name again?
Taehyung would know. Too fucking bad he’s busy with mediocre dick.
“This is your song,” Jungkook comments, sliding his eyes down the front of the man’s chest. His name’s on the tip of his tongue. Something with an S…
“See,” the man says, finishing the remnants of his glass. “You do know who I am.”
Jungkook listens closely to the lyrics, even over the chatter and laughter surrounding them. Then he hears it—his name in the song. It clicks. “Suga,” he says, relaxing his shoulders as the cocky smile on the man’s face grows. “But that’s not your real name, is it?”
“Min Yoongi,” the man says, tucking a piece of Jungkook’s hair out of his face. His fingers are so gentle, almost tender. “Don’t bother introducing yourself. I know your name, Jeon Jungkook.”
Jungkook shivers as Yoongi’s hand travels from the side of his face, down his neck towards his chest. “Don’t…” he trails off, watching Yoongi’s expression shift, eyebrow tilting. How can such a simple look be so teasing? “Don’t you want to get out of here? It’s loud… And hot.”
Yoongi catches Jungkook’s chin between his thumb and index finger, stabilizing it. “Is that what you want, baby?” he asks, brushing his thumb over Jungkook’s bottom lip. Jungkook won’t deny that it is what he wants, so he merely nods. “We can get out of here. Can I take you home?”
“Please,” Jungkook whispers, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.
After taking another shot together, Jungkook does a precursory check around the rest of the VIP section for anyone that he might know. Yoongi leans over to his left and talks to this man in a light pink button-up and round glasses for a minute or so, before pulling Jungkook to his feet with him. The excitement pumps blood to his heart, following Yoongi out through the VIP entrance. The woman at the coat check recognizes them both, so Jungkook frees his hand and accepts his puffy coat. He might be leaving with a man on his arm, but no one needs to know that.
“Do you live far?” Jungkook asks, as Yoongi whips out his phone to call a taxi to the street outside the club. The night is freezing, with harsh winds and the threat of snow. Which should be obvious—it’s mid January. And yet he chose to wear jeans that expose most of his legs, like an idiot.
Yoongi shakes his head as he pockets his phone. “Not really. In Cheongdam,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. It exposes his earrings once again, and Jungkook reaches out to flick one of them. He should have known. Dangling earrings are always a sign of an asshole. “You?”
“Hannam.”
“Figures. Entitled brat.”
Jungkook shoots him a glare. He’s the one who returned the question. “Whatever, asshole,” he mutters in response, as if they’re not going home together. He wonders what kind of view Yoongi has. If his bed is comfortable. If his dick is as big as his ego.
The ride to Yoongi’s apartment is brimming with tension. Jungkook’s legs are spread, just slightly, as Yoongi runs a hand up and down his thigh, just teasing. He ignores it for the most part, using the chance to check his text messages. Nothing from Eomma or Abeoji, but there’s a text from Namjoon about tomorrow’s schedule and one from Taehyung about taking home mediocre dick. Good for him.
Jungkook doesn’t let Yoongi touch him again after they leave the taxi. He’d rather be safe than sorry. He doesn’t know who is lurking, taking photos. Knowing the types of industries they’re both in, everyone is always bound to want the inside scoop on their business. Especially with who Jungkook’s family is. He’s not sure whether Yoongi’s famous enough for people to care, but he knows idols deal with fansites daily.
The interior of Yoongi’s apartment is sleek, neat. Straight out of a catalog. Muted colors, minimal decor other than a few record plaques hanging on the walls. Jungkook almost expected something bigger—more empty space to make room for that ego. But it’s just a boring, plain apartment that overlooks Seoul. How lame.
“Can I finally kiss you?” Yoongi asks, bringing his hand to Jungkook’s waist, guiding his back till it’s flush against the door. His lips hover close, breathing into Jungkook’s mouth, avoiding the connection. “You’re so…”
Jungkook tugs Yoongi closer by the lapels of his coat, then pushes it off alongside the jacket he wore in the club, sliding his hands down his newly exposed arms. Yoongi flexes under the touch, staring at Jungkook intently, waiting for something. “I’m so…” Jungkook echoes, placing a hand on the back of Yoongi’s neck, playing with his hair. It’s awkward, given their height difference, but they can make it work. “What? You didn’t finish your thought, Yoongi-nim.”
“God, you’re annoying,” Yoongi says, as his soft lips press against Jungkook’s, just a quick few seconds. Fuck, that feeling is satisfying. “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“I didn’t come all this way for nothing,” Jungkook replies, as Yoongi leans in again.
First a peck, just like the first kiss. Then longer, deeper, the remnants of whiskey on his lips. Yoongi’s hands travel from his waist, up to his coat, and Jungkook moves his arms to get the massive thing off of him. They need to move faster, so he drags Yoongi impossibly closer, letting his lips and tongue do all the hard work. It has Yoongi’s hands roaming his body in mere seconds.
“Your waist…” Yoongi whispers against Jungkook’s mouth, pulling away to watch as his hands slip underneath the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, caressing his skin. Jungkook leans into it, draping his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, trying to kick off his shoes at the same time. All the wiggling seems to recapture Yoongi’s attention. “What are you doing?”
“Taking off my shoes,” Jungkook snaps back, pushing Yoongi away for extra room. Why did he choose to wear these shoes tonight? Lace up boots never do anyone any favors, when it comes to this. “Question, before we continue.”
Yoongi leans against the wall, tongue poking his lips, shoes already off to the side. “What?” he asks, sounding bored, pieces of his pushed back hair falling loose. If Jungkook weren’t about to get fucked by him, he’d want to punch him.
Jungkook steps closer to him once his shoes are finally fucking off and takes Yoongi by the hand, pulling him in whatever direction he thinks the bedroom is in. “You’re clean, right?” he asks, when Yoongi takes the lead in guiding him towards his room. It’s dark, but Yoongi doesn’t do anything to fix it; just opens the curtains and lets the city lights do the rest. “I don’t sleep with anyone who’s tested positive for anything.”
The stare Yoongi gives him is both offended and bothered, but Jungkook will never be too careful when it comes to this. It’s too risky. “Of course I am,” he grumbles, and grabs Jungkook by the waist again, sucking in a breath between his teeth. Jungkook’s heart pounds against his chest, following Yoongi’s weight on his chest back onto the bed. “We wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
“Reassuring,” Jungkook responds, connecting his mouth with Yoongi’s again, moving to the pace he sets with his lips and gentle tongue. A palm slides from his chest down, down, down to the waistband of his jeans, popping the button.
It takes some extra maneuvering, but Jungkook kicks off his jeans and pulls Yoongi’s shirt off in the gap they pull away from each other. This time, when Yoongi leans in, he goes for the skin on his neck. The kisses are wet, but light, no teeth or marking involved. Sometimes Jungkook wishes people he went to bed with would leave hickeys all over him, but that’s too risky. If his parents saw them, he’d get so much shit for it.
Yoongi draws back, panting, pushing up the shirt all the way up his chest. Jungkook lifts his arms, lying back against the bed, pulling Yoongi down the back of his neck. Fuck it feels good, lifting his hips to rub himself against Yoongi’s hard cock. And even through his jeans, Jungkook knows it isn’t small. Bigger than average, maybe, and if it doesn’t feel good inside him, he’s going to be so fucking disappointed.
“Fuck,” Yoongi murmurs, moving a hand between their bodies to stroke Jungkook through his briefs. And it feels like fire erupting in Jungkook’s stomach, a soft whimper falling out of his mouth. “What do you want, hm?”
“Just—” Jungkook’s eyes shut when Yoongi’s thumb intentionally rubs the fabric of his underwear against the tip of his cock. Sneaky bastard, timing it like that. “Just fuck me already. You’re wasting my time.”
Yoongi scoffs, reaching over to his nightstand for lube and a condom. He throws it down on the bed beside Jungkook’s body, drawing back enough to shove down his jeans and underwear. Jungkook’s fingers slip around Yoongi’s exposed cock, the pink head, flushed like the rest of his body. He could absolutely take this into his mouth. Maybe not tonight, but another time. God, another time? What is he thinking?
“Spread your legs,” Yoongi says, sniffing, shoving Jungkook’s hand off as he settles on his knees. He pushes Jungkook’s legs wider himself anyway, licking his lips as he glances down at Jungkook’s ass. Lust clouds his eyes almost instantly.
Jungkook’s breath hitches at the first dry contact, thumb pressed lightly against his hole. He watches the way Yoongi’s eyebrows shift, tongue peeking out of pink lips, focused. The lube is cold to the touch, even as Yoongi massages it around his hole, zero warning when he slips his finger inside. It goes in smoothly, a snug fit. Has it really been that long since he’s fucked a guy?
Instead of moving his finger, Yoongi bends forward, kissing the exposed skin on Jungkook’s stomach. His muscles clench involuntarily, letting another pained whine fall from his mouth when Yoongi forcefully wiggles a second finger into him. Who knew Yoongi would be such a tease? The orgasm better be worth all this.
“Ah,” Jungkook breathes, shaky, as Yoongi’s fingers start moving in slow circles, spreading every few seconds. “Fuck, hy-hyung.”
It’s only there for a split second, but he swears there’s a smirk on Yoongi’s face, and it only makes Jungkook want to be louder.
As Yoongi works his fingers into him, loosening him up, he leaves kisses against his neck. At first, Jungkook doesn’t care. It isn’t doing much for him, just quick, peppered pecks against his skin. Until his tongue drags over a nipple and his body flinches at the sensation that spreads through his body. And Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he must notice, because he does it again, and again, and again, until Jungkook whines, “Stop it.”
“Feels too good?” Yoongi asks, almost sounding like he’s mocking Jungkook for it. “I thought so.”
“Am I stretched enough yet?” Jungkook murmurs, sitting up on one elbow, using his other hand to press his index finger inside along with Yoongi’s two. He lifts his chin to meet Yoongi’s gaze, but he’s only looking down at their hands meeting inside of him. “Should be, right?” He wiggles his finger out and sits up more, resting his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders. “Wanna stretch me more on your dick, hyung?”
Yoongi groans, capturing Jungkook’s mouth in a long, deep kiss, using the leverage of being on top to flip him over. Jungkook lands roughly on his elbows, ass sticking up, shivering as he’s exposed to the cold air. Fingers prod at the flesh of his ass, spreading his cheeks apart, thumb dipping in again. “Think you could take me like this?” he asks, sounding so fucking gone.
“I can take anything,” Jungkook responds, which probably isn’t true, but he can pretend for a simple hook-up. “Come on, hyung.”
“Who said you could call me hyung?” Yoongi asks, but Jungkook hears the rip of the condom package and knows he’s won. People love his body too much to resist fucking him.
Jungkook lifts his hips again when Yoongi pulls him back, resting his head in his arms. “It just makes sense,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. There’s no doubt in his mind that Yoongi is older than him, so why not? It’s even better that Yoongi doesn’t like it. “What, don’t like it when your hook-ups call you hyung?”
“Most of my hook-ups are girls, smartass,” Yoongi replies, the tip of his cock brushing against Jungkook’s entrance. Teasing, again. “Not my fault you were so desperate for me that I just had to take you home.”
That isn’t even remotely how tonight unfolded. “I am not desperate, you—fuck—fuck,” Jungkook moans, the warmth of being full and stretched overtaking the irritation. If it feels good already, he can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to have Yoongi actually fuck him. “Are you implying I should call you oppa instead?”
“Shut up,” Yoongi replies, and Jungkook opens his mouth to respond, but Yoongi moves and it feels too fucking good to constrain his moan. “Not so mouthy now, are you?”
“Just fuck me,” Jungkook mutters, and Yoongi does.
His pace is hard and fast, uncaring for how little Jungkook’s body has actually adjusted to having a cock inside him. The rough sounds of their skin smacking together, the hand on his back that keeps his chest pressed against the mattress. Every time Yoongi’s cock presses back into him, it punches out a moan, weak and desperate.
Maybe Jungkook was desperate for this. Just a couple of hours ago, he was complaining about no one he could set his sights on. And then Yoongi came in, looking way too fucking hot for his own good, and he knew that was what he wanted tonight. Lying here, with his face buried into his arms, muffling every whimper, that’s what he got.
“You’re so good,” Yoongi mutters, leaning over Jungkook’s back, hips grinding against Jungkook’s ass. The angle is off for a few seconds, but as he readjusts, it hits Jungkook’s prostate. He swears he sees stars for a second. “Feel good, baby?”
“So—so good,” Jungkook groans, pushing himself up from his arms, onto his elbows. Yoongi’s lips drag over the back of his neck, teeth nipping behind his ear. He feels so out of control here, with Yoongi pinning him to the bed and fucking him deep. “Can we—switch?”
Yoongi’s hands slide all the way from Jungkook’s shoulder blades down to his hips, slowly pulling out. He brings Jungkook up, coaxing him into his lap, knees folded at his sides. Jungkook positions himself over Yoongi’s cock, tilting his head back with a sigh as it slips inside him again. Better—much, much better.
“Go for it, sweetheart, you can do all the work. I don’t mind,” Yoongi says, cupping the back of Jungkook’s head to steady him long enough for a couple kisses. Sweet, long kisses that make Jungkook want to combust from within, especially with a cock inside him. He hasn’t felt this dick crazy in ages. “Aren’t you gonna ride me, pretty boy?”
Jungkook blows a piece of hair out of his eyes and mutters, “Don’t call me that,” as he perches some of his weight against Yoongi’s chest. He starts off slow, letting his body get comfortable sitting on Yoongi, rolling his hips forward. Apparently that did something, because Yoongi groans and grips his waist. “Is this—good, hyung?”
A smile appears on Yoongi’s lips, still smug and cocky and like he has the upper hand. “So good, baby,” he replies, squeezing Jungkook’s ass as it moves around him, quick to turn into rapid bouncing. “You can ride me faster, can’t you?”
“I hate you,” Jungkook breathes, squeezing his eyes shut as he grips Yoongi’s shoulders, focusing on the how fucking himself on Yoongi’s cock makes him feel. The pleasure twisting in his stomach. The heat on his skin. “Touch me more, fuck.”
One of Yoongi’s hands stays on his waist, while the other travels between them, getting around his cock. Jungkook cries out, whimpering, burying his face in Yoongi’s shoulder. His legs could hold out, riding Yoongi like this, but the longer it takes the more impatient he gets. He can feel the tightness building inside him. The orgasm is right there.
“You’re close, hm?” Yoongi asks, sounding so unaffected in comparison to how much of a mess Jungkook feels right now. He whines incoherently with a nod, and comes to a sudden halt when Yoongi grips his hips firmly into his lap. That’s not fair.
“Let me come,” Jungkook whines, pulling his head out of Yoongi’s warm neck, looking at him head on. With his smile and everything, god, he’s such an ass. “Hyung, please. What are you waiting for?”
“Relax.” Both of Yoongi’s hands shift back to Jungkook’s waist, keeping their hips flush as he moves them up the mattress. Jungkook’s head meets a pillow, legs moving up to tighten around Yoongi’s hips.
Then, without warning, he fucks Jungkook hard. And Jungkook thought it was rough before, but the bed rocks with every movement, his lips twisting as he cries out from sheer pleasure raking through his body. Yet again, he feels so close. It feels like he’s just about to burst, and then he finally does when Yoongi strokes his cock one swift time.
Cum spurts out in bits at first, but as Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut and arches his back, feels his load spill out in full. How it drips down his chest, to his collarbones, legs trembling even where they’re locked around Yoongi’s hips. And Yoongi continues grinding into him, onto his prostate, frustrated grunts, until his shaking arms let his weight collapse beside him. Jungkook’s hole is twitching around Yoongi, vision blurry from the overstimulation.
Holy fuck. That was even better than he imagined.
“Knew you’d be a good fuck,” is the first this Yoongi says, leaning on his arm with a raised eyebrow. “You satisfied, baby?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me that,” he mutters, pushing Yoongi away, wincing as he pulls himself off his cock too. The emptiness is a jarring difference, but it’s getting late now. He needs to go home. “Do you know where my phone is?”
Yoongi is busy pulling off the condom and tying it up to answer, so Jungkook huffs and storms out of the room to find his coat. It’s still lying on the floor near the entryway, just beside his shoes. He carries it back to Yoongi’s room, searching the pockets, finally producing his phone. No missed calls. Good, maybe he’ll get to sneak back in unnoticed.
“Are you…”
Jungkook’s phone rings with the word Eomma flashing across his screen. “Fuck,” he mutters, and answers before he can hear the rest of Yoongi’s question. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Eomma demands. Her voice sounds beyond exhausted. Ever since she retired and took up building her own agency, she hasn’t been sleeping the same. Her retirement also means she spends way too much time on Jungkook and his whereabouts. “You should be home already. Don’t you know what time it is?”
“Yes, Eomma, it’s past midnight. I see that,” Jungkook responds, hiking his briefs up his legs, reaching for his shirt only to remember that he literally has cum drying on his body. “I’m on my way home, okay?” He follows the light that’s shining into the room from the bathroom to wipe himself down with a towel or at the very least some toilet paper.
Eomma obviously doesn’t like this answer. “But where are you?” she repeats. Jungkook rolls his eyes as he accepts a damp towel from Yoongi, using it to clean himself up. “You went out hours ago. There’s no reason for you to stay out until so late. Didn’t Namjoon tell you about your early schedule?”
Shit. He has a shoot tomorrow morning, doesn’t he? “I know and I’ll be fine,” Jungkook replies, playing it cool despite the fact that he’s never fine at early morning shoots. He finishes getting dressed with Yoongi silently moving around him and checking his bed for sweat and cum stains. “Look. Eomma. I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Uh.” Jungkook thinks he ate a snack before he went to the club, but that’s probably it. “No?”
Eomma sighs. “Fine. I’ll leave a salad for you on the table. Don’t do this again, Jungkook-ah,” she warns, like she does every time Jungkook stays out late, and hangs up on him.
Jungkook shoves his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, fixing his t-shirt before pulling his coat over it. He looks relatively normal, doesn’t he?
“I was going to ask if you’re the type to crash the night, but I guess not,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook meets his eyes in the mirror. He’s dressed again too, but this time in a loose t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Lucky him, he doesn’t have to worry about his mother breathing down his neck regarding his whereabouts. “Too bad. Thought we could go for another round in the morning.”
That sounds amazing, honestly, judging how round one went. “Maybe if you didn’t take so long to get inside me, I’d reconsider,” he says, feeling his lips curl into a smile. “I hope you know better than to insult me again.”
“It got you in my bed, so maybe I should do it again, huh?”
“Goodbye, Min Yoongi.” Jungkook turns on his heel, and walks out without another word between them.
Wrapped up in his coat, Jungkook waves down a taxi and gives the address to a convenience store a few blocks down from home. He leans back against the car seat and forces himself to unwind, decompress, even after getting the living daylights fucked out of him. He’s still anxious. He’s still stressed. What was all that for if not to distract him from his life?
He has no idea whether Eomma will be awake when he gets home. She said she’ll leave food for him on the table, but that implies going to sleep. Jungkook isn’t in the mood to deal with any reprimanding. At least Abeoji will go easy on him if he’s the one who’s still awake. Maybe Eomma will forget everything by morning.
Jungkook pays the taxi driver and stands outside the convenience store, staring at the store front for a few seconds before heading home. Those chances of Eomma forgetting about this are slim. He can keep his hopes up for the five minutes it takes for him to walk home from the convenience store. Not like any punishment she’ll give will be severe.
He halfheartedly types the code into the gate, then the one for the front door. Downstairs is mostly dark, aside from the light shining beneath the door for Abeoji’s home studio. Jungkook bends over to untie his shoes, pulling them off to hold in one hand. Maybe if he tiptoes he won’t hear anything?
Just Jungkook’s luck that the door opens when he’s halfway up the stairs.
“Jungkook-ah? Is that you?” Abeoji calls out, his slippers scraping against the floor. Jungkook holds his breath and turns to find Abeoji at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, glasses on his nose. He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look happy either. “Yah, you’re not just getting home, are you?”
Jungkook shrugs, shifting in discomfort, hiding his shoes from Abeoji’s view. “No,” he lies. “I was outside for a little bit.”
Abeoji hums thoughtfully. “I was going to step out for a cigarette, do you want to join me?”
“Not tonight. I’m tired,” Jungkook says, deflecting. As much as he wouldn’t mind a cigarette right now. “Shoot in the morning. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Abeoji.”
“Mm, okay. Sure, Tokki-yah.” Jungkook rolls his eyes at the nickname. “Sleep well.”
Jungkook walks normally the rest of the way, shutting his bedroom door slowly, putting his shoes back in his closet. He takes the time to undress from his club clothes, and hops into the shower, washing away whatever cum he didn’t clean off earlier and the sweaty feeling of sex. The hot water is such a relief to his tight shoulders.
His mind drifts back to earlier in the night, as he does his skin care routine. Thinking of Yoongi’s hands, his body, his stupid, annoying, smug smile. Jungkook hasn’t had the time to sleep with anyone since before the new year began, so this was needed. Even if it was only a temporary fix to his impending stress. So worth it.
++
“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook complains, looking at the phone screen from his spot in the backseat. Namjoon always insists that he sit in the passenger seat and Jungkook in the back when the driver is taking them around. “I don’t want to go to this! There’s just going to be a bunch of old people.”
“Tell that to Mijung-noona,” Namjoon replies, unbothered. Jungkook sinks into the back of the car seat with a groan. Why do his parents have to ruin his day? It was going so well before this, too. “It’s celebrating your dad, Jungkook-ah. Have a little respect for that, you know? I’m sure you can leave after a couple hours like usual.”
“I do have respect for that, I’m just—I’m tired.”
Namjoon snorts. “Me too, kid,” he mutters, taking his phone back from Jungkook’s view. “But they want you there, so we’re going.”
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, still sulking. He feels greasy and tired and he isn’t even wearing nice clothes today. His shirt has a small stain from spilling coffee this morning and he threw on the nearest sweatpants after his last shoot. There’s no way Eomma and Abeoji are going to let him into their party looking like this.
These are the parties that Jungkook hates, maybe more than after parties. Because at least there, it’s about him. He can talk himself up to contract managers and bat his eyelashes and milk some worth out of it. But these—these are for his parents. The guests fawn over the fact that he’s the son of Kim Mijung and Jeon Juseong. They don’t care about Jeon Jungkook.
When the car comes around to Abeoji’s company building in Cheongdam, standing at almost twenty stories, there’s someone waiting for him in the artist lobby. A stylist—Jungkook recognizes her from Eomma’s staff. He feels bad, not knowing her name, but at least he isn’t going into this party looking fucking shabby. As much as he doesn’t want to be here.
She leads him to a green room, settling him down in front of a mirror. The last thing Jungkook wants to do right now is look at himself, so he shuts his eyes and lets them get to work. They apply makeup and style his hair and ask him questions about what he wants to wear; he chooses a simple look, just a button-up and slacks. Can’t go wrong with that, especially at these parties.
Jungkook avoids looking in the mirror for the remaining time he’s in the green room, escaping for good once he gets a pair of dress shoes to wear. He feels stiff, dressed like this, heading into a party full of people his parents’ age. There’s never anyone young, even if Abeoji claims that he’s befriended artists who are his age. It’s boring otherwise.
Yet, he still plasters on a fake smile at the first person who recognizes and greets him. He meets quite a few people—those who say they know him, and he pretends to know them too—before he finds his parents, chatting with long-time friends of theirs. Jungkook puts his hands behind his back and hovers over their shoulders, waiting.
“You’re here, good,” Eomma says, when she finally notices him standing close by. Their friends smile and greet him, before leaving the three of them alone. She reaches out to smooth out his shirt and places a hand beneath his chin. “Smile more. You look miserable.”
Because he is miserable, but he can’t tell her that. “Sorry, Eomma. I’m just tired,” he replies, lowering his head. It’s not so much shame as it is embarrassment. Because when things don’t go her way, Eomma throws a fit later. “Abeoji. Congrats on the milestone.”
“Thank you, my son! It’s a gift to have such a long career,” Abeoji says, squeezing Jungkook’s shoulder. It feels like a jab at Jungkook’s choice between modeling and singing. Everyone knows that even male models tend to have short-lived careers. “I wish you would have at least considered pursuing music. It’s such a huge part of our lives.”
“That’s okay, Abeoji. It’s not really something I wanted,” Jungkook says, fixing the sleeves of his shirt. His eyes feel tired. It feels like even with all the makeup piled on his face, they still failed to cover up his eyebags. “You know I still love music and all. Just listening to it brings me enough joy.” He shrugs off Abeoji’s hand and picks a glass of champagne off a nearby table. “How long do I have to be here?”
Eomma flips her hair behind her shoulder, turning her head to scan the room. It’s filled to the brim with guests, older ones like Jungkook predicted. Other CEOs and some of Abeoji’s old colleagues. Some of Eomma’s modeling friends too. There are a handful of younger faces that he catches a glimpse of, but everyone is blurring together at this point.
“At least two hours. And remember, smile,” Eomma says, practicing her fake smile with a look into Jungkook’s eyes. Jungkook mirrors it, as painful as it is to smile with how exhausted he feels. This is like torture. “Go. Be a good son and mingle.”
“Do I have to?” Jungkook mumbles, directed towards Abeoji, as Eomma walks off to greet one of her friends with a hug. It’s his party, after all. Celebrating his thirty-year long career; as many years since his first song was released and the fame began to build. “Abeoji, come on. Please—”
Abeoji clears his throat, and that in itself is his way of saying no. “You know the rules, Tokki-yah,” he says, and offers a sympathetic smile. It would soothe Jungkook if he actually meant it, but it’s just a guise. A false image created to make him feel better. “You do as Eomma says. You can leave at ten. Until then, mingle.”
“But—”
“Go,” Abeoji urges a final time, before he goes to join Eomma.
Jungkook throws back his drink in three long gulps, slamming the glass back on the table beside him. He wipes his lips, glaring at the crowd filling the room. Who the fuck is he supposed mingle with? He barely recognizes anyone here. And that’s shocking, because he’s probably been around a number of these people since he was a child. Yet not a single friendly face.
He strolls around the party, smiling, greeting anyone who greets him. He drinks two more flutes of champagne before he settles into his skin, talking business for a few minutes to one of the members of the board in Abeoji’s company. Something or the other about an issue that’s arisen with one of their artists, Jungkook doesn’t really understand it. But it’s keeping him busy. Wasting his time.
After almost an hour, he slips out of the party room and back into the hallway, just to get stopped by a security guard outside. “Where are you going?” he asks. The tag on his uniform reads Kang Changnam. Who does this guy think he is, stopping Jungkook like this?
“To… the restroom,” Jungkook says, because that much should be obvious. He raises a challenging eyebrow. “Is there an issue with that?”
“Guests may use the restrooms inside the hall,” Kang Changnam says, pointing inside the party to gesture to the opposite side of the wall.
Jungkook steps back, offended. There is seriously no fucking way this security guard thinks he’s a guest. “You’re mistaken, Kang Changnam-ssi. I’m not a guest,” he says, tilting his head to the side. Kang Changnam flinches at the direct address. “Should I let my father know that one of his employees won’t let me use a different restroom?”
“Wait, then you—you’re—” Kang Changnam blanches immediately and folds into a bow. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook-nim. I didn’t recognize you initially.”
“It’s fine,” Jungkook says, and bows back once Kang Changnam straightens up again. Even if it’s offensive that a guard literally employed by his father doesn’t know him, it was mostly an empty threat. Abeoji would tell him to use the restroom inside the hall, too.
A third voice clears their throat. “Sounds like the man is just doing his job,” the voice says, and Jungkook turns around with narrowed eyes. Yoongi smirks, as if he has the upper hand. “Do you mind if I use that restroom too? The ones in here are crowded.”
What the fuck. What is he doing here?
“Of course, Suga-nim,” Jungkook grits through a fake smile, turning back towards Kang Changnam, giving him another bow. You can never be too polite as a celebrity. “You’re welcome to follow me, I guess.”
“Thanks,” Yoongi says, leaving his glass of whiskey on the table inside the party. He gives a short bow to Kang Changnam as well, which he returns in rapid, anxious movement. Jungkook rolls his eyes and stalks forward, ignoring the echo of dress shoes trailing after him. “You’re such a brat. You were giving that guy a hard time for no reason.”
Jungkook huffs and pushes the restroom door open, letting it hit Yoongi on the way inside. He only came here to unwind for a few minutes, away from where he can hear the chatter. Not because he actually needs to pee or anything. “It isn’t my fault he didn’t recognize me,” he says, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. Yoongi stops in front of a urinal and unbuckles his belt. “Fucking disrespectful.”
“It’s you who’s disrespectful,” Yoongi responds. Jungkook can’t take him seriously when he’s literally taking a piss. “Don’t you have any remorse for treating someone like that?”
“You know, you really fucking annoy me.” Jungkook picks at the dirt beneath his nails. The only reason he let Yoongi tag along is because he didn’t want to make a scene in front of that security guard.
Yoongi flushes and zips up his pants, making his way to the sink to wash his hands. He’s a little too close for comfort, but Jungkook doesn’t make an effort to move away. Maybe Yoongi will do the smart thing and go back to the party so he can just be alone for once. He hasn’t been alone all fucking day and he just wants some peace of mind, even if it’s only for five minutes.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that,” Yoongi says, running his fingers through his hair a couple of times, adjusting his shirt in the mirror. Jungkook keeps his back towards it. He still isn’t in the mood to look at himself right now.
“You’re trying to piss me off on purpose,” Jungkook mutters, unfolding his arms to place either hand on the counter. He tilts his head to the side, enough to catch a proper look of Yoongi’s face. He looks hot, just like when they fucked a few days ago. It’s been over a week now, he thinks. “I didn’t do shit to him. It should be part of his job to know who I am.”
Yoongi clicks his tongue, running a hand over the back of Jungkook’s neck, tilting his chin down to level with him. Again, the height difference strikes Jungkook as an issue, but Yoongi makes it work. Somehow—like last time—he manages to take charge of the space. Powerful. It’s both sexy and infuriating.
“I thought people know you more than they know the President,” Yoongi says, lips a ghost touch away from Jungkook’s. He’s such a tease. “No?”
“A lapse in the norm,” Jungkook replies, leaning back as Yoongi leans in. He stops and stares at how close they are; at the freckles peering through the smooth makeup on his skin. Cute. “Point still stands. Everyone knows me.”
“Do they now?”
Jungkook puts a hand on Yoongi’s waist, securing his grip. He can feel a certain tightness in his pants, and he’s not leaving this restroom until something is done about it. “You did,” he comments, pressing his lips to Yoongi’s jaw. Kisses along the bone, down his throat, popping the buttons of his shirt open. “Hyung. Can I… suck you off?”
Yoongi lets out a breathless, rough laugh. “You want to?” he asks, tipping Jungkook’s head back up. His eyes are a little more curious now. Jungkook must have caught him off guard, but he recovers faster than most. All he does is smirk and stroke Jungkook’s cheek with his thumb. “If you want, then. Go ahead. I’m sure this mouth of yours can do much more than annoy me.”
For that, Jungkook almost pushes him away. Almost decides he’ll abandon the restroom and just hide in Abeoji’s studio for the rest of the night, until someone finds him. But he doesn’t because Yoongi is so fucking captivating, it’s bothersome. He smiles, and it’s natural; smug but pretty, as if he knows he’s worth the attention. And maybe he is, if Jungkook is getting on his knees in a bathroom for him.
“So obedient,” Yoongi murmurs, head turned to keep his gaze on Jungkook.
Jungkook removes Yoongi’s belt and opens the button of his slacks, watching them slip down his pale, slim thighs. He’s hard, fuck, and it’s so attractive. The way his cock is outlined in his briefs, lined up against his thigh. Maybe this is what he needs to get the stress from today out of his mind. A dick in his mouth. Jungkook smiles and places his hands on Yoongi’s hips, thumbing over the edge of his underwear.
“What?” Yoongi asks, gripping Jungkook’s chin to tilt it back up. “Hm, baby? You like this, too?”
“Can’t a guy just be excited to suck dick?” Jungkook asks, tugging the fabric down to meet Yoongi’s pants.
As soon as Yoongi’s cock is out, Jungkook wastes no time putting him into his mouth. He licks softly at first, getting used to the weight, the sensation. Yoongi has a hand resting on the back of his head, guiding his tip deeper every time Jungkook manages to push his head down. Until his nose is brushing against his trimmed pubic hair and all of his cock is in his mouth, and slightly in his throat.
He sits there, cockwarming Yoongi with his mouth, for at least a minute. But Yoongi seems impatient, maybe, thrusting his hips forward. Jungkook gags, digging his fingers into the flesh of his thigh, trying to steady himself. His lips are stretched around Yoongi, and as good as it feels, he almost can’t breathe. He’s not sure if his mouth can handle being fucked quite yet.
Jungkook eases his lips back down to the head of Yoongi’s cock, pressing a kiss against it. He slides his tongue along the side of his length, using a free hand to trace over Yoongi’s balls. Given how much teasing he’s done, he deserves it back. And Jungkook wishes so very badly he could draw this out, get the most out of this experience, but there’s already a risk from how long he’s been gone.
“You better come in my mouth,” Jungkook murmurs, eyes heavy as he works his lips back down Yoongi’s cock. The warmth and weight is comforting, shutting his eyes as he sits back on his heels.
“So perfect,” Yoongi breathes, trembling, hands steadying the back of his head. Jungkook flicks his eyes up, watching Yoongi’s gaze darken. “Are you offering for me to fuck your mouth?”
Jungkook nods as best as he can with half Yoongi’s cock down his throat. He gags a second time when Yoongi shoves his hips deeper, pressing his tip as far down as it can go. Yoongi’s fingers slip between the strands of his hair and grip his head firmly in one place, using that as momentum to snap his hips back and forth into Jungkook’s throat.
It hurts, but it’s too good for Jungkook to ask him to stop. He can just shut his eyes and let Yoongi fuck his mouth, use him, come in him. Forget about where he is, what his worries are. He can focus on the sex and the performance of it all, rather than everything else that haunts him. Blowjobs are even better because there’s something just… in his mouth.
“You’re unbelievable,” Yoongi mutters as Jungkook swallows the cum, hiding the grimace. “I can’t believe you let me fuck your mouth after saying you’d suck my dick.”
“I like it more,” Jungkook says, clearing his throat. He sounds rough already. Fuck, he probably looks like a mess too. “Will you help me too, hyung?”
Yoongi pulls Jungkook up by the arm without a word and unbuttons his pants, pushing them down his thighs, alongside his underwear. His cock is still out, bumping against Jungkook’s, the contact emitting a light sigh from him. He didn’t quite realize he was so hard. Now he just wants to come and be over with it.
Just like Jungkook asked, Yoongi helps, makes him come hard and fast. He strokes Jungkook in quick motions, facing the sink for easier clean up, hand wet with spit and precum. It’s so hot, how he acts like he doesn’t really care, but then leans in to whisper, “Doesn’t that feel so good, baby?” against Jungkook’s ear. It drives him crazy and he comes so hard his vision blanks.
“I needed that,” Jungkook pants, finally bearing a look in the mirror.
Much to his surprise, he’s not as repulsed by his reflection as he thought he would be. The image of him standing side-by-side with Yoongi, lips swollen, sweaty with their soft cocks still out—it’s hot. It makes Jungkook want to tackle Yoongi and make them fuck right here, on the bathroom counter. But Jungkook knows better. He has to get back to that party.
Which. Now that he’s thinking about it.
“What are you even doing here?” Jungkook asks, turning to Yoongi as he tucks himself back into his underwear.
“What are you doing here?” Yoongi retorts, mirroring Jungkook’s actions, only he takes the time to readjust himself more. “You’re a model.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is he being serious? “Why wouldn’t I be here?” he asks, washing his hands with soap and water. He’s going to stuff his face with food and he’s not going back in there with hands that have been all over Yoongi’s body, doing filthy things. “My parents are the hosts, hyung.”
Yoongi stops for a split second, but there’s hesitation in his next words. “Right,” he says slowly. “Your parents are the hosts. That makes sense.”
“Then?” Jungkook asks. “What are you doing here?”
A moment passes where Yoongi holds a contemplative look on his face. Then he says, “Your dad invited me.”