Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jungkook didn’t make mistakes. 

Other people made mistakes and Jungkook stood by and watched them with a disdainful expression and wondered how they could be so stupid.  Why couldn’t people see things as clearly as he could?  Shouldn’t the obvious always be just that: obvious?

Obviously if you skate without knee pads, you will fall down at some point and scrape yourself.  Obviously if you guzzle hot coffee you will burn your throat.  Obviously if you skip class you’ll never learn the material.  Obviously if you put out for a guy too quickly he’ll lose interest. 

That last one drove Jungkook insane throughout almost the entirety of his college years.  He watched friend after friend after friend—gay or straight—succumb to the world’s most predictable fates over and over again.  Obviously once you sleep with him, he’ll start avoiding you.  Obviously if you give him head, he’ll tell his friends you’re easy.  Obviously if you want him to respect you, you should try respecting yourself first.  (Sniff.)

Jungkook didn’t make those mistakes.  He had a clear head on his shoulders. 

In high school, everything with his passing boyfriends had been above the belt (thank you very much).  In college, he’d been equally as prim thus far.  First of all, he refused to have a serious boyfriend because Jungkook had no plans on marrying any of the idiots his age.  Second of all, if he did decide to grace somebody with the gift of his presence, it was only after he’d made it inordinately clear that they’d never step foot past his bedroom threshold (nor he theirs).

Unfortunately, they all thought ‘no’ meant ‘convince me.’  They all thought they could charm, flatter, schmooze, and smile their way into his perfectly ironed pants, but they couldn’t.  Jungkook wasn’t going to put out, wasn’t going to let himself get taken advantage of just to get tossed to the side like… well, like a used condom. 

He’d seen what it had done to his friends and it wasn’t going to happen here.

Very early on in college, Jungkook had decided he’d only have sex after marriage.  This seemed the most rational way of preventing heartbreak.  Number one: if somebody would marry him without having had sex with him first, then obviously they were not marrying him for the sex.  Their love would be real—unclouded and pure.  Number two: it was impossible to be used by your spouse for sex.  Number three: your spouse couldn’t just have sex with you and then toss you to the side like it meant nothing.  Married people were in love. 

What it really boiled down to was just that: Jungkook only wanted to have sex with somebody he was in love with.  That was the only way to prevent all the heartache that clouded the deed otherwise. 

(Of course, Jungkook did have friends who were unmarried and in love and having sex… friends in happy relationships… but what if those relationships ended?  Could Jungkook live knowing there was just somebody walking around out there who knew what he looked like naked and wasn’t bound to spousal silence about it?  Absolutely not.)

Things were going so well for three-point-five years.  Jungkook had cruised through college mostly avoiding the male and female gaze, whichsoever way it fell upon him.  He’d been called a tease and a prude and a loser and a killjoy but he!!  did!!  not!!  care!!  His heart and dignity and self-respect were all intact ❤️ thanks!!  (He wasn’t ever even horny, either.  Several times he seriously considered whether he was asexual.)

And then the last semester of his senior year, Jeon Jungkook met Kim Namjoon.  The first time Jungkook saw Namjoon walk into class—gelled up hair, baggy clothes, backpack over one shoulder—he did a double take.  Stared shamelessly.

Jungkook was a virgin, not visually impaired. 

Namjoon was mouthwatering. 

Throughout class, Jungkook tried to keep his gaze averted.  He didn’t need to look at somebody who looked like that.  No good would come of it.  But then… Jungkook’s gaze kept falling on Namjoon like a bumblebee drawn to a sunflower.  Or honeysuckle.  (And his dick twitched more than once, the most horrific part of it all.)

Stuck.  For weeks and week, his gaze was stuck on him.  His heart would race whenever Namjoon would speak in class because it was only in those moments he could shamelessly stare.  What Namjoon said?  He had no idea.  He’d been busy making a mental inventory of all of his t-shirts and over-shirts and beanies and wristwatches and shoes.  It wasn’t weird or anything, but Jungkook worked out that Namjoon was definitely a boxers guy (maybe he cared about his sperm count; wanted to have lots of kids one day).  And Namjoon didn’t always wear socks with his shoes, but it didn’t immediately make Jungkook want to file a war crime petition.  Actually, maybe it was cute. 

It should’ve been the first sign to himself that he was down tremendously for that man, in hindsight, but… he just kept staring. 

A few weeks into class, Namjoon approached him first. 

“Hey,” he said, catching Jungkook’s sight in the hallway outside of class one day. 

Jungkook stopped and stared.  Kept his expression neutral.  He’d never let a boy think he liked him before and he certainly wasn’t going to fucking start now—

“Yes?” Jungkook greeted unflappably, as one ought to a stranger (well, no, one ought to greet a stranger much more politely, actually, but… desperate times). 

“You have good handwriting,” Namjoon said, approaching him.  He was sucking on a lollipop.  Jungkook’s gaze fell on the lollipop (not on Namjoon’s lips nor their proximity thereof, shut the fuck up). 

Namjoon followed Jungkook’s gaze with his own. 

“Oh, yeah,” Namjoon said, looking at the lollipop.  “I’m trying to quit smoking.”

“Don’t they have nicotine patches for that?” Jungkook asked, eyes narrowed. 

“No, no, not cigarettes,” Namjoon shook his head.  “Those are gross.  I’m trying to quit weed.”

Jungkook kept his mouth shut.  The man was trying to quit weed (admitted it to him so easily, as if it weren’t a prison sentence to be caught with it).

“Anyways,” Namjoon continued, cherry red lollipop back in his mouth and garbling his speech, “You take notes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answered, clipped. 

“Well, I missed class on Monday because I had to, like, do the dumbest shit ever for my roommate.  He had this guy he wanted to buy a dog from and then I had to drive out ninety minutes with him just in case the guy was a serial killer.  Anyways, he wasn’t but the dog was way uglier in real life than the pictures but we still brought it back and named it ‘Catfish’ because it was funny.  But, that’s not my point,” he paused.  He looked as if he were trying to remember why he’d stopped Jungkook.  “Oh yeah, notes.  Do you have the notes from Monday?”

Jungkook was stunned into silence for a moment.  Had it ever occurred to him—during any point in his weeks and weeks of stomach-tightening infatuation—that Namjoon was a touch dense?  It hadn’t.  It really hadn’t.  Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember a single thing Namjoon had ever said in class.  His brain jelly turned into pink static at the sound of Namjoon’s deep, gravelly voice each time.  He could’ve been reciting the North Korean national anthem for all he had ever paid attention.  (Was Jungkook shallow?)

Jungkook was distracted from that thought, however, when his gaze travelled from Namjoon’s mouth around his lollipop to the way his shirt stretched out over his massive chest…  His pecs were just… right there… so smooth and rounded…

“You know the notes are all online,” Jungkook told Namjoon’s chest.  “He uploads the slides at the end of every class.”  He sucked in a breath and half-mumbled, “Of course, writing notes by hand is best for information retention…”

“He what?” Namjoon asked, eyes bugging, lollipop extracted. 

“Did you… not know that?  Do you not check the student portal?”

“Oh.  I lost my password to that thing, like, sophomore year.  Never reset it.”

“How do you check your grades!?” Jungkook exclaimed, shocked by such a statement. 

Namjoon shrugged.  “I’m still here, aren’t I.  I’m sure it’s fine.”

Jungkook took a deep, calming breath.  Not my life, not my problem; not my life—

“So I’ve been wasting time taking notes this entire time and it’s all online?” Namjoon double-checked, equally as shocked. 

Jungkook fake-smiled.  “I guess.”

“Oh, that’s sooo fucking stupid,” Namjoon groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.  “That’s the dumbest shit ever.”

Jungkook kept his smile fixed. 

“Okay, bet.  Thanks anyways,” Namjoon said.  He readjusted his backpack, tipped his chin in farewell, and walked off. 

Later, Jungkook wondered how Namjoon was going to get the notes.  He still didn’t have the portal password.  Idiot.

Two weeks after that, Namjoon stopped coming to class.  First it was just one day (maybe he was sick?), then it was two (really sick?).  Then a week passed and he hadn’t showed up at all (had he died?).

Jungkook was troubled at the thought of somebody that beautiful dying.  He only knew Namjoon’s first name from him getting called on in class.  He searched him up on Instagram and, after filtering through several profiles, he finally found him.  Last photograph was three days ago, of him surrounded by friends at some house party (caption: What’s poppin’😝).  Definitely still alive.  Jungkook crept through his entire profile.  All of Namjoon’s pictures were taken with traumatizingly bad photo quality and camera angle, and all of his captions read like a cry for help, but Jungkook found himself smiling throughout his entire feed.  (Cute.  He was cute.)

“We were in that class together,” Namjoon said to Jungkook, jogging his memory, at a random house party they found themselves at together a weekend later. 

“Oh, right,” Jungkook blinked.  “Yeah.”

“I dropped out of the class,” Namjoon explained (finally).  “Was too hard.  He assigned too much reading.  Besides, it’s my senior year.  I just wanna coast.”  (Jungkook was taking that class as a senior year coaster class.)  “So I dropped it and now I’m in a film studies class, which is awesome because we just watch like two movies a week, and my friend’s in that class with me so I just copy his homework.”

There was something so mesmerizing about Namjoon when he spoke… his (deep) rich voice… his (massive) chest as it rose and fell… his (bulging) biceps as he moved his arms to accentuate his points… his full lips… his gorgeous honey-colored skin… his expressive eyes… just… something….

Jungkook hadn’t heard a single thing Namjoon said.

“Are you seeing anybody?” Namjoon was suddenly asking, dropping his gaze from Jungkook’s face and travelling south for a moment.

“What?” Jungkook faltered, blinking back to reality.

“Could I see you, if you’re not?”  Namjoon was leaning against the wall with one shoulder, arms crossed and grinning back at Jungkook. 

Jungkook recuperated.  That expression—the smug, cocky flicker in Namjoon’s gaze—was familiar.  Jungkook remembered the circle Namjoon ran with; that Namjoon definitely would’ve known who he was.  

“I don’t date,” Jungkook told him, flat. 

“I don’t date either,” Namjoon told him easily.  “Too expensive.”

“Enticing,” Jungkook grimaced. 

“Aren’t I?”  He just kept grinning.  He had dimples.  Big ones.

Jungkook just stared (mouth dry). 

“So.  Are you seeing anybody?” Namjoon asked again. 

“I don’t want to be,” Jungkook answered, eyes on Namjoon.  He took half a step back and found himself pressed against the hallway wall.  Namjoon scooted half a step forward and followed.  People eyed them as they passed.  Jungkook saw them. 

“No exceptions?” Namjoon asked, eyes on Jungkook’s lips. 

Jungkook shook his head.  

“Not even for me?” Namjoon pressed. 

“Are you special?” Jungkook asked, eyebrow arched.

Namjoon smiled and it reached his eyes.  “Yes.”

Ah, and Namjoon meant it.  Wasn’t trying to be clever or funny.  Was just straightforward and smiled a lot.  Grease-free.

“What makes you special?” Jungkook entertained.  He put his hands behind his back, pushed his hips forward. 

What made Namjoon special was that he was an ungodly good kisser.  After a couple more minutes of teasing each other back and forth, Namjoon had leaned over and looked at Jungkook with a questioning look, two inches from his face.  Are we doing this?

Jungkook liked that he got to decide.  He picked ‘yes.’

Namjoon leaned all the way over and kissed him.  Jungkook tilted his head back and let him, raised a hand and put it between their chests as they kissed, keeping Namjoon’s body off of him until further notice. 

Namjoon had a good bit of height on Jungkook.  Was definitely over six-feet tall.  Had at least thirty pounds on him too—all of it muscle.  He was just so big.  Big everywhere.  (Well, probably everywhere.  Not that Jungkook would ever know.)

They kissed for less than a minute before Jungkook slipped away, stepping to the side and down the hall. 

“I don’t have your number!” Namjoon called after him, panicked.

Jungkook did a double take over his shoulder, grinning back.

Namjoon’s kissing abilities qualified him for a real date.  Maybe Jungkook just wanted to spend his last semester kissing a stupidly hot guy—so what?  He hadn’t kissed anybody since junior year, and it had been subpar enough to put him off the act for over a year.  Namjoon was filling in the gaps stunningly. 

After their first dinner, Namjoon was walked back to Jungkook’s apartment (Namjoon lived with three roommates; Jungkook had previously curved at least two of them) and led to Jungkook’s couch.  

Namjoon wanted to get his hands on him immediately; Jungkook needed to lay down the ground rules.

He pulled away as Namjoon leaned in for a kiss. 

“Just kissing,” he told Namjoon, firm.

“Just kissing,” Namjoon repeated, nodding.  His eyes were on Jungkook’s mouth.  He put a thumb on Jungkook’s mole, pushed his lips apart, and drew him back in. 

And they just kissed.  If Namjoon thought that Jungkook would take pity on him, he was corrected.  The moment Namjoon started breathing a little too heavily, Jungkook pulled off of him and sent him on his way.  Thanked him for dinner. 

In a daze, Namjoon stood up and thanked him back.  Asked if they could do this again. 

A few dinners later, they found themselves back on the same couch. 

“Tongue?” Namjoon asked pulling back, so hopeful and offhand, hair tousled and eyes glossy.  Jungkook thought it was stupid hot. 

“Yeah,” he panted, “Tongue is fine.”

“Cool,” Namjoon grinned.  He smushed his face back against Jungkook’s and this time deftly slipped his tongue in between Jungkook’s parted lips and Jungkook swore he’d never moaned so loud from a kiss before.  His thighs instinctively pressed together.  It was thoroughly embarrassing; it was unbelievably enjoyable. 

All the while, Namjoon kept his hands above the belt. 

A few days later, Namjoon sat on Jungkook’s giant sectional couch and Jungkook sat on Namjoon, straddling him as they kissed. 

“You’re just so hot,” Namjoon moaned, wrapping Jungkook up in his arms and pressing them together as he kissed him, big hands spread along the entire expanse of his upper back.  It felt so good to be caged in by Namjoon. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed, kissing him back (feverishly), “But only kissing.”

“Only kissing,” Namjoon also agreed.  He pushed Jungkook’s lips apart with his own and brought back Mr. Tongue.  Namjoon did this thing where he’d hold Jungkook tightly by the back of his neck whenever they’d French kiss and it succeeded in Jungkook turning to putty in Namjoon’s arms and just (pleasurably) half-gagging into the kiss.  It’s like he could feel it up and down every nerve ending of his entire body.  Where the fuck had Namjoon learned how to kiss?  How did he know how to kiss like this but not how to use the university’s student portal despite being a senior? 

Jungkook sat on Namjoon’s lap while having his face eaten out, arms around Namjoon’s neck and legs hiked around Namjoon’s waist.  Despite the moaning and the panting and the way his back kept arching and heart kept racing, Jungkook was still lucid enough to know that he was hard against Namjoon’s lower belly and Namjoon was hard under Jungkook’s ass.  This was never a good position to try and wriggle himself out of unscathed. 

“Namjoon,” Jungkook breathed, unsuctioning his face from the other.  “We should stop.”

Panting, lips swollen and red, Namjoon just looked a little lost.  “This is fun, though.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook didn’t deny, “But…”  He flicked up an eyebrow. 

Namjoon didn’t follow.  “What?”

“You’re hard,” Jungkook put bluntly.

“Yeah, so are you,” Namjoon answered, oblivious as shit.  A gentleman wouldn’t have pointed that out, Jungkook huffed to himself. 

“Not very gentlemanly of you to point that out,” Jungkook accused.

“You did!” Namjoon accused back, hurt.

“I think I’ll do the accusing around here,” Jungkook told him, lips pursed.  He crossed his arms.

“Do whatever you want,” Namjoon said, staring and leaning hungrily back towards Jungkook’s pursed lips.  “Just let me kiss you.” 

Jungkook kept his eyes on Namjoon’s mouth, leaning as far away from his face as he could.  Leaning, leaning, leaning—

Jungkook fell off of Namjoon’s lap and onto his back, right on the couch.  Namjoon got right on top of him.  Jungkook sucked in one good breath before Namjoon got busy pulling it back out of him. 

It was so much worse (worse?) now, Namjoon laying on top of him and their two hard ons having nothing to do but press against each other through their jeans.  Jungkook’s hips started rutting up completely of their own accord and then—then—despite the blissful kissing—enough was really enough. 

“Namjoon,” Jungkook gasped, pulling his head to the side, “Stop.”

Namjoon rolled off of Jungkook and onto his own back, smushed against the couch.  Jungkook turned his head toward him.  Namjoon was grinning goofily up at the ceiling, chest heaving up and down.

“What?” Jungkook asked, trying to catch his own breath.

Namjoon turned to look at him, absolutely cheesing.  “You get so worked up.  You’re so fun to kiss.  Cute as fuck.”

Jungkook jutted out his bottom lip, indignant.   

Namjoon groaned out as he cooed at him, “So cute.”  He rolled halfway back over and Jungkook grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt, scrunching it up in his fist. 

“Sorry about the blue balls,” Jungkook said, almost shy.  He’d never apologized to anybody about that before; hadn’t cared to.  But he felt bad for Namjoon, he really did.  Cross his heart. 

“That’s okay,” Namjoon continued smiling.  “I’ll get you next time.”

“Ugh.  No you won’t,” Jungkook scoffed, pushing him back away. 

“Yes I will,” Namjoon teased, reaching a hand out to tickle him under his chin.  Jungkook slapped his hand away with a stupid smile of his own. 

“Go away,” Jungkook whined. 

“Cute,” Namjoon repeated, eyes crinkling. 

Jungkook swore they did more than just make out all the time.  They—almost embarrassingly—were rather inseparable, actually. 

Between classes, he’d sometimes catch Namjoon walking down the main university street.  When he did, they’d get lunch.  If not, they’d text the other and ask if they had dinner plans.  Soon, it was assumed they were one another’s dinner plans.  Dinner ended and they’d both automatically walk towards Jungkook’s apartment, as if there was nowhere else to go.  They were both criminal homebodies, they realized.  Jungkook would put on a TV show, Namjoon would lose focus first, hands wandering, and Jungkook would lose focus immediately after.  They’d end up horizontal on the couch, legs entwined and shirts rumpled and lips swollen.  They’d have to wait for either one (Namjoon was always a given) or both of their erections to go away and then they’d sit up, pull down their shirts, and Jungkook would walk Namjoon to the door.  They’d do it almost all again the next day.  It’d been weeks of it, and they were only getting worse. 

“Wanna keep making out?” Namjoon asked one night, laying over Jungkook on the couch.  They’d just stopped making out out of respect for Namjoon’s persistent boner.   

“You’ll cum in your pants,” Jungkook grimaced. 

“You won’t come in yours?”

“I have self-restraint,” Jungkook informed haughtily. 

“Fancy,” Namjoon commented.  “But I don’t care if I cum in my pants if it’s for you, baby.”

“Eww,” Jungkook complained, pushing him away half-heartedly (absolutely thrilled from his ears to his toes at the pet name).  “Get off.”

“No,” Namjoon teased, tightening his hold around him.  Jungkook just glared at him, arms locked to his sides.  “If I cum in my pants will you do my laundry?” Namjoon asked, grinning (always grinning with him). 

It was meant to be a joke but Jungkook answered thoughtfully, “Yeah.  I can.”  He had an in-unit washer and dryer; Namjoon was jealous of it. 

Namjoon grinned wider and kissed his cheek.  Then dragged his lips towards Jungkook’s and met them with a soft groan.  Jungkook opened his mouth for him and met his tongue with tongue.  He’d been practicing so well.  “How are you so cute and hot at the same time?” Namjoon desperately whined, minutes later.  Namjoon started rutting against Jungkook’s hips and one-hundred-percent blew his load within three minutes flat.  He came with half-choked out groans and stuttering hips in his sweatpants, and if Jungkook hadn’t been so thoroughly satisfied with himself, he’d have been so grossed out.  (Incidentally, he couldn’t believe he’d let Namjoon take his dry humping virginity that easily.  He’d barely put up a fight.) 

Later, Namjoon stood behind Jungkook with his hands around his waist, nibbling at his neck as he loaded the laundry machine.  He asked Jungkook what that nice-smelling purple liquid was and Jungkook knit his eyebrows together and asked ‘fabric softener?’ and Namjoon asked ‘yeah, what’s that’ and Jungkook closed his eyes and let out a soft moan.  Stupid hot.

He let Namjoon fall asleep on his couch as he went to bed, waiting for his clothes to dry, and was only 16% exasperated at the sight of him drooling on Jungkook’s couch cushions the next morning.  Shaking him awake, he gave him a new toothbrush, shoved him into his clean sweatpants, and demanded he buy Jungkook breakfast.

After that night, taking mercy on his poor couch, Jungkook decided they could make out on his bed if—if—Namjoon promised to behave.  Jungkook had never let a boy into his (very pillowy, very soft) bed before. 

Namjoon crossed his heart and swore to die.

That same night, Namjoon pulled off of Jungkook the second Jungkook told him to.  (Very good.)  But then he turned Jungkook around in bed and cupped him with his whole body as he threw an arm around his middle and buried his face in Jungkook’s neck and closed his eyes.  (Very bad.) 

“Go home,” Jungkook complained, half-hearted.

“Lemme take a quick nap,” Namjoon begged, sounding exhausted (even though all he’d done all day was go to one class, skip the other two, get lunch, get dinner, and make out with Jungkook in his bed as they ignored the courtroom drama they were supposed to be watching for Namjoon’s film class). 

“Fine,” Jungkook relented. 

Namjoon squeezed him around his belly before drifting off.  “You always smell so good.”

“Baby, why don’t you let me touch you?”

They were both starfished on Jungkook’s bed, mindlessly scrolling through their phones on a Sunday night. 

“You touch me all the time, what are you even talking about?” Jungkook asked tonelessly, scrolling through Twitter.

“I wanna go down on you,” Namjoon whined.  He dropped his phone, lifted himself up and sidled up next to Jungkook.

“Dirty.”

“You don’t have to go down on me.  Listen, I get not everybody likes giving head, that’s fine.  But I really, really wanna go down on you.  I think you’d be so cute—”

Jungkook raised an irate eyebrow.  He locked his phone and set it on his chest. 

“Ok, you’d be so hot if you let me.  You get all squirmy when we kiss—”

“No I don’t—”

“—and I just know you’d be so fucking sexy if I had my mouth on you.  Baby, please.  I really want to.”

Jungkook thought about it.  “But then you’d have to see me,” he whispered.  “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“We’ve been dating for like two months now,” Namjoon whispered back.  “It’s fine.”

Were they dating?  Jungkook just blinked stupidly.

“We can do it in the dark,” Namjoon suggested, eager as ever.  “I don’t have to see anything, promise.  Googie.”

(Jungkook hated how much he loved that stupid fucking nickname.  Namjoon had said it a few weeks ago, Jungkook had slapped his arm but couldn’t hide the stupid smile it drew out of him quickly enough.  It had stuck.) 

Actually, if Jungkook thought about it, turning the lights off wasn’t one of Namjoon’s worst ideas.

“Okay,” Jungkook agreed, voice tiny. 

A blink.  “Wait—are you serious?”

A beat.  “Yes.”

Namjoon’s face lit up.  “Oh my god, baby, you won’t regret this.”

“Turn the lights off.”

Namjoon scampered off the bed and turned the lights off by the switch at the door.  Jungkook’s room went pitch black. 

“Marco,” Namjoon suddenly said in the darkness, voice tense and unsure.

“Polo,” Jungkook said back, covering his face with his hands.  Oh my god, he was going to let this man put his dick in his mouth, wasn’t he.

“Marco,” Namjoon said again, closer.

“You’re like three steps away from my bed!” Jungkook snapped.  “How are you lost?”

“Mar—ouch,” Namjoon suddenly exclaimed, obviously having hit the side of Jungkook’s desk.  “Dresser, I think.”

“The dresser is by the window.”

“I can’t see the window!  It’s nighttime and you have those stupid blackout curtains!”

“Namjoon,” Jungkook whined to himself.

Finally, there was a weight at the foot of the bed and Namjoon climbed back on, blindly grabbing one of Jungkook’s feet (he resisted every urge he had to kick him).   

From making out to sucking dick—Jungkook felt like they’d missed some steps in between.  Handjobs, for one.  Hickeys, maybe?  Nipple play?  Was fingering before or after giving head (definitely after for guys, he decided).  Well, Namjoon had dry humped him a few times at this point, so, that had to count for something.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Namjoon exhaled.  He settled between Jungkook’s legs and blindly felt around Jungkook’s stomach and waist until he got his hands on the hems of his pants and tried to tug them down.  “Oh, they’re not elastic,” Namjoon belatedly realized. 

“Why would I wear pants with an elastic band?” Jungkook terrorized him in the dark.  “Am I a toddler?  Do I not have the motor skills to use buttons and zippers?”

“I wear elastic pants,” Namjoon objected.

“Yeah, trust me, I know,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Is it weird I think it’s sexy when you’re mean to me?” 

“They have a name for that.”

“I’d never call you one, though, I want you to know that.”

“Can you just—do what you’re supposed to be doing down there…”

Jungkook helped unbutton and pull his pajama bottoms off for Namjoon.  A shiver wracked through him when Namjoon finally ran both, wide palms over Jungkook’s legs as he breathed out slowly with unbridled wonder, “Soft.”

Jungkook’s chin trembled.

“Love these,” Namjoon murmured in the dark, grabbing Jungkook’s meaty thighs and squeezing them.  (Jungkook bit down a whimper, but felt himself begin to plump up regardless.)  “Wish you could see yourself in jeans.  Front and back.”

A hand skimmed up Jungkook’s inner thighs until Namjoon’s full palm was cupping Jungkook over his briefs. 

“Is this really okay?” Namjoon whispered. 

Jungkook squirmed.  The warm pressure of Namjoon’s hand against himself felt too good.  His heart was leaping.  It was way, way, way too late to back out now.  (Besides, he was only getting his toes in the water.)

“Feels good,” Jungkook encouraged, barely breathing.

“Yeah?”

Jungkook nodded, head rustling against the pillow.  He could hear Namjoon smile. 

Digging his fingertips into Jungkook’s waistband, Namjoon peeled them off quickly.  Jungkook’s felt a rush of cold air swarm him and that was when he finally realized he ought to be panicking.

He swallowed, “I’m—I’m only half—”

“Yeah, I got it, don’t worry—”

And suddenly a foreign hand was on Jungkook’s dick for the first time in his living memory.  His spine locked up and he sucked in a huge breath. 

Namjoon gently wrapped his fingers around Jungkook and applied pressure with his thumb as he dragged it up and down his shaft, getting him harder.  The glide was immediately aided by the (disturbing) amount of precum that was spilling out of Jungkook at an unending pace (Was this too much?  Not enough?  There’s no way it was ‘not enough’—god, it could only be too much.  Why had he agreed to this?  Why didn’t he have any lube?  Why hadn’t he died?  Why did he have to be a fucking virgin?!) 

Within what felt like less than a minute, he was fully hard.  No room for argument.  Fully hard in the pitch black with Namjoon’s warm breath mere inches from his dick (he couldn’t even spare a thought for his balls). 

“Oh, baby,” Namjoon cooed, “I can’t see it but I just know it’s c—”

“If you call it cute, Namjoon,” Jungkook muttered, collecting all his fear and channeling it into his egotism, “I will piss in your mouth.”

“Kinky.”

“I won’t let it be.”

“Okay, fine it’s not cute,” Namjoon murmured, kissing it now (Jungkook died a thousand deaths).  “It’s like Snickers fun size.”

Jungkook was ready to tear his entire head off (it was not Snicker’s fun size, what the fuck!  Turn the fucking lights on for all he cared right now!  It was like Snickers KING SIZE.  Did Namjoon just not know the difference between fun size and king size?  Maybe he thought king size was fun size since he had the most fun eating those ones?  Honestly, anything was possible with him…) but then Namjoon put his entire mouth over him and Jungkook’s mind went technicolor.  Oh my fucking god. 

If Jungkook thought Namjoon’s lips had been built for kissing, it was only because he hadn’t known what was accomplishable with them around his cock. 

He couldn’t help it when he threw his head back with a genuine shout and arched his spine up, legs falling completely apart.  Namjoon put his hands on Jungkook’s thighs and kept them spread as he bobbed his head up and down along Jungkook’s dick, lips stretched wide and tight around him, breathing hot air out of his nose in uneven huffs. 

“Namjoon—,” Jungkook cried, tears in his eyes.  In the darkness, every touch was magnified.  He felt so much.   

Namjoon only gurgled.  His mouth got tighter around Jungkook before he slowly pulled himself up, suckled on his tip for a good minute, and then pulled off, panting. 

“You okay?” he asked, hoarse.  He tenderly squeezed Jungkook’s thighs again, as if checking for a sign of life. 

Jungkook sniffled.  “Yeah.”

It was silent between them for a beat.

“Are—are you crying?” Namjoon asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.  Then he giggled, just once. 

“I’m going to strangle you in your sleep,” Jungkook mumbled, chin quaking, lifting his hands and wiping his stupid, wet eyes.  “They won’t find you for fifty yea—AH!”

Namjoon’s mouth was back on him with a vengeance—tongue digging into his slit now.  Jungkook dropped a hand to find Namjoon’s head, patting around for it aimlessly until Namjoon grabbed him by his wrist and buried his hand in his hair.  Jungkook pulled Namjoon’s hair and Namjoon choked out a moan, the vibrations from his throat travelling through Jungkook’s dick and straight into his spine.   

“I’m go—I’m gonna—,” Jungkook sobbed, “Nam—”

“Hey, ‘s fine, come.” 

His mouth dropped over Jungkook again, tongue swirling over his tip in a teasing circle before taking him further back down again.  And then, out of nowhere, there were fingertips just beginning to touch (caress?) his balls and Jungkook’s spine locked, thighs shook, and eyes squeezed shut.     

In between swallowing everything—and lapping up wherever he felt he’d missed—Namjoon also tried to assure Jungkook that he’d gone a great job.  That it wasn’t embarrassing to cry during your first blow job.  That they should definitely try this again some other time.  Namjoon was sorry if he hadn’t done a great job; he’d never blown anybody in the pitch black before but he promised Jungkook he’d given it his best.  (“If you think about it, the mouth really is the eye of the lower face,” he’d elucidated.)

Wiping his eyes and nose and trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d just orgasmed properly for maybe the first time in his entire life, Jungkook weakly told Namjoon that he’d also done a great job.  Jungkook hesitated but then apologized to Namjoon if he hadn’t been as sexy as Namjoon had thought he would be losing his oral virginity.

“What are you talking about?” Namjoon asked, genuinely confused.  Jungkook couldn’t see him, but he knew exactly which face he was making—his mouth and eyes were probably near-perfect little Os.

“I cried, Namjoon,” Jungkook wailed miserably.  He wanted to kick his legs but Namjoon’s head was still somewhere thereabouts. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon repeated.  “You were so into it that you literally cried from how good you thought it was.”  He kissed his thighs—kissed his thighs.  (Jungkook was glad Namjoon couldn’t see anything because he himself felt his dick twitch the tiniest bit.)  “Sexy.”

Well, now Jungkook wanted to cry again. 

“Uh,” Namjoon spoke up, awkward, “I’m just gonna get up real quick and leave without turning the lights on—”

“Are you leaving?”

“No—no, I—I’m just gonna use the bathroom.”

“Oh.  Okay.” 

“I’ll be right back.  Gimme like, honestly, three minutes.”

Jungkook breathed out a laugh.  “Okay.” 

The bed creaked when Namjoon slipped off and there was a draft of cold air when he swiftly opened Jungkook’s bedroom door and shut it behind him just as fast.  Jungkook let his heart beat out of his chest for thirty seconds before he also hopped out of bed, flipped on his lights, pulled off his top, picked up his underwear and pants, shoved everything into his hamper, and put on a new set of (clean, soft) pajamas. 

He was back in bed under his sheets, side lamp on, when Namjoon re-entered.  Jungkook smiled with utter mortification when he saw his (dimply) face again after what had felt like years off of his life.  Jungkook hid his reddening face under his blanket and Namjoon slipped in next to him, giggling just the same. 

“Cute,” he said, wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s waist and kissing his cheek.  “So cute.” 

It was Saturday afternoon and Jungkook was feeling dead lazy, and Namjoon had been feeling the same, so he’d come over to hang out and do nothing.  They’d ended up on Jungkook’s couch, napping in and out of consciousness for the better part of the last hour. 

Jungkook had his cheek on Namjoon’s shoulder and Namjoon had his hand on Jungkook’s waist.  It was calm and quiet between them.

“Baby,” Namjoon began, the way he always began when he wanted something from Jungkook.

“Yes?” Jungkook blinked, the way he always blinked when he knew Namjoon wanted something from him.

“You’re so sexy,” Namjoon said.  “Just really, really sexy.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jungkook egged on, smiling, pushing up his butt a little until Namjoon put his hands over it (he did). 

Namjoon licked his lips.  “Would you—I would like to do the honor of having sex with you.” 

Jungkook just frowned.  “We’ve talked about this, Namjoon.”

“No, no, I know,” Namjoon quickly defended.  “You wanna wait until you’re married to have sex.  And I think that’s totally cool.  That’s like… it’s like a really vintage thing to wanna do and I know the 90s are back and all that, so, like.  I think you’re so cool for being so unique and stuff, you know.  But, like.”  He paused to gather his thoughts.  “I just also think it’d be great if we fucked.”  He further paused to gather further thoughts.  “And I’m really good at it, too.  Promise.  You can ask like seven different people, I swear.  Not Jae, though.  He was in a bad mood and it threw me off my game.”

“What if I said you only like me because we haven’t fucked?”

Namjoon gasped at the audacity.  “That isn’t true at all.  I like you so much, even though you literally haven’t even touched my dick.  You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had; you do all my homework with me!  Honestly, I think I’d wait until marriage if you wanted.  But I just think that—that now would also be good.”

“Do you think I’d marry you, Namjoon?” Jungkook asked, amused, eyebrows arched.

“Maybe if I got a job…” Namjoon guessed.  “After college.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook agreed, smiling prettily.  He played with the strings on Namjoon’s hoodie between his fingers.

“So no sex until marriage then?” Namjoon double-checked.  “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Jungkook nodded. 

“Okay, that’s cool,” Namjoon decided.  “Can we make out, though, still?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed.  “Let’s do that.”

Namjoon cupped Jungkook’s ass with both hands over his pajamas and squeezed, mouths already on one another. 

“Perky little butt,” Namjoon hummed, squishing his ass in his palms now.

“You’re so annoying,” Jungkook huffed, pleased as ever.  He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s neck and melted into the kiss, breath hot and raspy.  He rolled his full weight over Namjoon’s torso as he kissed him and Jungkook swore he never knew kissing could make a person feel this light. 

The following Saturday, late at night, after they’d come back from a party they’d both been anxious to leave the second they’d walked into it, Jungkook was gasping for dear life between his pillows as Namjoon finally freed his lips to suck a mark over his throat. 

Jungkook’s fingers were digging into Namjoon’s back, over the fabric of his shirt.  (Jungkook’s own shirt was tucked tightly into the belt over his jeans, which he was still wearing because Namjoon had dragged him straight to bed.  It killed Jungkook to be on his bed with his outside clothes on but—but he’d just wash his sheets (again).  It was a miracle they’d even made it to the party at all; Namjoon’s eyes had been glued to Jungkook’s waist since the minute he’d seen him finish getting dressed earlier.  Immediately began whining that parties were stupid and they should stay home but Jungkook insisted that an acquaintance he didn’t even like very much only turned twenty-two once, so.  They went.  And eye-fucked one another from across the room the entire time until finding an excuse (Catfish had run away) to dip forty-five minutes later.  So, yeah, Jungkook hadn’t pressed the topic of them changing into pajamas before tumbling into bed together too much.)

Namjoon suddenly stopped sucking on Jungkook’s throat.  He buried his face in Jungkook’s neck and breathed heavily.  “Googie.”

“What?” Jungkook asked, eyes bleary.  “Why’d you stop?”

“It just—it just hurts,” Namjoon confessed.  “Hurts so much.”

“Your dick?” Jungkook asked, incredulous.

“Yeah,” Namjoon blurted out.  “Doesn’t yours?”

Not really.  Jungkook had incredible self-restraint, but he didn’t think Namjoon wanted to hear that right now.  “A little, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine feels like it’s gonna fall off,” Namjoon groaned. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes.  He’d heard that one before. 

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Jungkook asked, unaffected.  “It’s across the hall.”

Namjoon just looked at him, betrayed.  “Can’t we do something about it here?”

It was his expression.  His expression.  It just melted through the volcanic rock that was Jungkook’s heart like sunset-colored lava.  He was so sincere and so hurt.  A golden-hearted pervert.  He really did think his dick was gonna fall off if they didn’t do something about it. 

“What should we do?” Jungkook asked carelessly. 

“Can I touch it?” Namjoon asked, looking at him like a wounded puppy.  “Just for a second?”

That was miles better than anything Jungkook thought he was gonna say.  For that, he wanted to give him a treat. 

“Can I touch it?” Jungkook asked back, rounding his own eyes, sitting up on his elbows a little.  “Please?”

“Oh, OOH!” Namjoon suddenly groaned, eyes widening, air punched out of him, pitching forward in agony. 

“What?” Jungkook asked, panicked.

“It—it got harder, fuck,” Namjoon gasped, palming himself and looking incredibly unattractive keeled over like that.  But also stupid hot at the same time.  “Fuck, oh my god, I’m gonna die.”  He took a deep breath before mewling out, “Help me.”

With a determined little huff, Jungkook slid his hand down the pants of a boy for the first time in his entire life.  He got under Namjoon’s boxers, skimmed over his girth (holy fucking shit) and cupped the tip of his dick in his hands.  It was dripping wet at the end.  Really hard (but also squishy).  Jungkook didn’t think he himself had ever been that hard.  (It was quite flattering to know this was all because of some over-the-clothes kissing.)

Namjoon threw his head back in a horrendous, guttural moan at his touch.  Jungkook moved his hand up and down, not really knowing what to do.  Namjoon’s moans started sounding like they were coming from within the catacombs of his lungs—deep and wretched and feral.

“What do I do with it?” Jungkook asked, moving his hand up and down, not knowing how much pressure to apply. 

“A little tighter…”

Jungkook squeezed Namjoon’s dick in his hands and watched as Namjoon’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. 

“Jungkook—,” he choked out.

“What?” Jungkook asked, genuinely confused.

“Just—how—like when you jerk yourself off—”

“I don’t do that,” Jungkook told him honestly.  He really didn’t.  Maybe a few times a year, if that; not often enough to understand a technique for it.

Namjoon just exhaled sharply, eyes cinched shut.  “Th—that’s hot,” he mumbled. 

“That I don’t touch myself?” Jungkook asked, head tilted.  He’d already gotten better at touching Namjoon in the last fifteen seconds or so.  Held him firmly, but didn’t squeeze.  Ran his hand up and down his (considerable) length in a way that had Namjoon panting and moaning, panting and moaning… breathy little whines…

“Yeah,” Namjoon gasped.

“Maybe,” Jungkook whispered.  “Feel like it would still be hot if I said I did touch myself though—maybe every day?  Thinking about you?  Are you picturing it, Namjoon?”  He sped up his hand.  (He was so wet.)

“Yeah,” Namjoon whispered, a husk of a man under Jungkook’s touch.

“Yeah?”

Jungkook didn’t think he was doing a particularly great job at either the handjob or the dirty talk, but after some more gasping and moaning, Jungkook felt Namjoon cum in his pants and all over Jungkook’s hand.  It was hot (the cum, not the act). 

Namjoon flopped onto the bed with a groan and Jungkook just stared at his spunked up hand with macabre fascination.  

“That was the best handjob of my life,” Namjoon told him later on the couch, once they’d cleaned up and Jungkook had a load of laundry going as they browsed Netflix (it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet).  “I’ve never come so hard from a handy before.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook blushed.  “No it wasn’t.”

“It was,” Namjoon told him earnestly.  “You made the difference.  It was hotter because you were the one giving it.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but was pleased all the same.  They fell asleep later with Jungkook as the big spoon, his arms wrapped around Namjoon’s massive back and biceps. 

When Namjoon forgot his bus pass at home and was stranded at a gym half-way across town, Jungkook was the first person he thought to call.  Jungkook—sighing deeply, getting out of his warm bed—borrowed a friend’s car to go pick him up.  It was just past midnight.

“Who goes to the gym this late?!” Jungkook harassed Namjoon the very second he got into the passenger seat of the car.

“You made me eat all that pasta!” Namjoon sulked back, throwing his gym bag in the back and sinking into the seat.  “I had to.”

“This isn’t my fault!  And I let you eat almost the whole salad!”

“It’s not like they cancel each other out?!”

“Everybody knows they do,” Jungkook groused, pulling out of the gym parking lot.

“I think my bus pass is at your place,” Namjoon said, clicking his seat belt.

Jungkook just drove in silence for a few minutes, Pyramids by Frank Ocean humming through the speakers.  Namjoon mouthed along and tapped his feet as he looked out the window.

Turning smoothly onto the campus main street, surrounded by lights, the song changed to something R&B.  

“You’re a good driver,” Namjoon complimented, looking back in his direction.

“You’re just being cute because you know I’m annoyed,” Jungkook told him (secretly pleased and validated; he was a good driver).

“I’m not good at being cute, baby,” Namjoon said cutely. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes but Namjoon only had his gaze on Jungkook’s begrudging smile. 

“I want a nickname, too,” Namjoon suddenly began, leaning back and putting one foot on the dash.  “You have like five.”

“This isn’t my car!” Jungkook chided, reaching over and pushing Namjoon’s foot off the dash (he was at a red light).  “And I don’t have five!”

“Fine, you have one nickname and one pet name,” Namjoon brooded, crossing his ankles instead.  “I have nothing.  How come I’ve had your entire dick in my mouth, but you won’t call me something cute?”

“I will crash this car.”

“I love ambulance rides.”

“I—I don’t think I’m a nickname person,” Jungkook told him, eyes fixed back on the road, traffic moving again. 

“I want one.  It’s cute.”

“You pick then,” Jungkook said.

“I picked yours,” Namjoon pointed out.  “You should pick mine.”

“I don’t remember asking,” Jungkook mumbled.

“So should I stop?” Namjoon posed.

Jungkook pursed his lips, ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. 

“You could call me ‘Joon’ if you want,” Namjoon suggested.  “My friends do.”

“No,” Jungkook decided simply.

“Why not?!”

Jungkook flicked his gaze over at Namjoon, how the red, green, and yellow lights of campus and shopfronts blurred together behind his half-dark face.  He was so indignant; Jungkook smiled.

He shrugged.  “‘Namjoon’ is prettiest.”

Namjoon stuffed his hands in his hoodie and looked straight ahead, pensive.  “Okay, fine, yeah.  It is kinda sexy when you say my whole government name every time we talk.”

“One of us has to remember it.”

“Okay, as for pet name—”

“God help me—”

“I think…”

“If you say something traumatic…”

Jungkook could hear how wide Namjoon smiled. 

“Why can’t I be ‘baby’ too?” he asked Jungkook.

“Because I’m baby,” Jungkook informed him, tone leaving no room for argument. 

“I’m younger, though,” Namjoon pointed out. 

“Eleven days isn’t younger,” Jungkook scoffed.  “Eleven days is like a one-way journey on the Titanic.”

Namjoon scoffed to match Jungkook and turned back to look out the window.  “I’m so fucking sick of that movie.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook threatened, turning onto the street of his own apartment.  “Not yet.”

“I actually think it’s a trash movie,” he crossed his arms. 

Jungkook gasped.  “Namjoon-ah!”

Jungkook didn’t just keep Namjoon at his apartment like a pet dragon in a dungeon.  They went out, too.  Of all the boys that Jungkook had let near him, none had been as mindlessly clingy (possessive?) as Namjoon.  The whole time they were out, Namjoon walked half a step behind Jungkook, hands around his waist the entire night as if it were a game of ‘Follow the Conductor.’  Jungkook found he really didn’t mind it.  It wasn’t that Namjoon was breathing down his neck so much as it was having a very heavy, very solid presence around him at all times.  A safeguard (in a very sexy backwards cap), when it was Namjoon.  It was all a matter of perspective it turned out, Jungkook learned.

In the middle of the club, Jungkook stood with all his friends as Namjoon was firmly latched onto his hips from behind, slightly bent down to rest his chin on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Baby, do you want a drink?” Namjoon asked, mildly bored.

Jungkook nodded. 

Namjoon kissed his cheek, squeezed his hip, and went to go get one. 

Jungkook’s friends eyed the ridiculous grin that had sprawled across his face. 

“So…”  An eyebrow was cocked (quite judgmentally). 

Jungkook rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.  “He’s fun—I don’t know, whatever.”

“Yeah?  Fun?  What fun do you have with him?”

“All sorts,” Jungkook scowled. 

One took a mischievous sip of their drink.  “He doesn’t mind?  Your whole… no-sex thing.”

“Why would I be with him if he minded?” Jungkook wanted to know.

“He doesn’t mind yet,” they retorted.

“You’re all so fucking paranoid,” Jungkook squinted.  “It’s insane.”

“You’re the paranoid one,” one laughed back.  “You’re the one who’s convinced that—”

“Baby, they only had beer,” Namjoon complained, coming back with two glasses of tall, tall beers in his hands.  Jungkook took one and looked at it apprehensively.  Did they always have that much foam at the top?  When was the last time he’d even had beer?

“Does he even know your name?” one friend snickered under their breath. 

“Actually, that’s not true,” Namjoon said to Jungkook, head slightly bent.  “Beer was just cheapest.  But I swear this one’s good.” 

Jungkook looked Namjoon right in the eye, lifted his glass, and drank his beer.  It was fine.  It was heavy and thick and he might throw it up later but it was fine, it was good—

“Slow down,” Namjoon grinned, pulling the glass away from Jungkook (sloshing a little bit out onto the ground in the process).  “Here have mine,” he offered.  He took Jungkook’s half-drunken glass and gave him his own fresh one.  “I’m glad you like it.”

Jungkook didn’t like the beer. 

“It’s really good,” he told Namjoon.  “Thank you.”

Namjoon ran his free hand behind his neck, flustered.  “It’s just beer.”

Jungkook leaned over on his toes and kissed Namjoon’s (dimply) cheek.  Namjoon—thoroughly elated—leaned forward and kissed Jungkook on the side of his mouth.  “You’re so cute,” he mumbled to him.  “I’m so lucky.”  

Jungkook leaned further over, latched their hips together.  Said into Namjoon’s ear, “How quickly can you drink that beer?  This bar sucks.  I wanna get outta here.”  He drew back and looked at him with round eyes.

Namjoon chugged his beer in less than a minute.  Then he took Jungkook’s and polished his glass off for him too, impatient with his slow sipping.  Jungkook threw Namjoon’s arm over him, threw a smirk over his shoulder at his (bitter-ass) friends, and left the club just as quickly as they’d come in. 

Back at his place, Namjoon, warm and heavy, was breathing into his neck, panting out his name like a medieval beggar asking for bread.  Jungkook could feel all of Namjoon’s excitement through their clothes (his fine linen pants, and Namjoon’s polyester basketball shorts).  God, he was so thick.  Jungkook knew he’d felt him in his hand but…

Namjoon just kept his pace enthusiastic.  Pushed up against Jungkook’s groin, hips on hips, with uncomplaining eagerness and breathy little grunts.  Didn’t even suggest taking their pants off for this. 

“You feel good?” Namjoon gasped out.

“Yeah,” Jungkook panted.

“Cool,” Namjoon said, red-faced.  He started nibbling on his favorite spot, just under Jungkook’s ear.  Said his skin was super soft there.  (Obviously, Jungkook thought, since hair didn’t grow that high up and so he’d never shaved over it.  Of course it was soft.  It was soft there on Namjoon, too.  But he kept it to himself this time.)  Namjoon had the greatest lips ever for kissing.  They were soft and plump and always well-moisturized.  Namjoon couldn’t always be depended on to have remembered his wallet or apartment keys or even cell phone, but he did always have lip balm whenever Jungkook needed it.  (“Priorities, baby,” he’s said with a wink, when Jungkook had pointed it out to him once.  “Gotta be ready to kiss you at a moment’s notice.”  It’d been cute.)

Jungkook’s insides burned, pleasant and white-hot.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon said one night, lounging about on Jungkook’s couch with him.  Namjoon held him in his arms as Jungkook cushioned his head on Namjoon’s shoulder and took a personality quiz on his phone.

“Yeah?” he asked, semi-distracted.  (What kind of pasta was he?  Rigatoni: loud, positive, and energetic life of the party.  Ugh.  Stupid quiz.)

“Googie,” Namjoon repeated, petulant. 

Jungkook sighed dramatically.  It must be pretty serious by Namjoon’s standards if he wasn’t starting with ‘baby.’ 

“Yes?” Jungkook asked, slipping his phone into the side of the couch.  He turned around in Namjoon’s hold until they were face-to-face, chin on his chest. 

“I think saving your virginity for marriage is stupid,” Namjoon said, almost whining.

Jungkook huffed.  “Is this always on your mind?”

“When I’m with you?” Namjoon asked, equally incredulous, “Yeah.  It is.  A lot.”

“You’re a pervert,” Jungkook indicted, lips pursed.

“No, I know,” Namjoon agreed easily, blinking, “But I don’t think you should ever marry somebody without fucking them first, you know?”

“No,” Jungkook blinked back, “I don’t know.”

“What if they’re bad at it?”

“You can work on it,” Jungkook answered.  “Easy.”

“What if they’re really bad at it.  They don’t even let you buy cars without a test drive.  Think about it.”

Jungkook knit his brows.  “So then what’s the solution?”

“Well, if one of you knows what you’re doing then it would be okay.”

“They’ll know what they’re doing,” Jungkook assured him.

“But what if they don’t?” Namjoon challenged.  “Don’t you want to know?  Shouldn’t you be prepared?”

Jungkook couldn’t believe that Namjoon was trying to attempt to use his fixation with preparedness against him.  Secondly, Jungkook couldn’t believe that it was working.  (Namjoon made a very fair point: shouldn’t he be prepared?  What if he cried.  God—what if he cried.)

“What’s your best-case scenario for this conversation, Namjoon?” Jungkook asked plainly. 

“Well,” Namjoon thought, hands resting firmly on the small of Jungkook’s back, “Best-case… you agree that being a virgin is stupid and then we do something about it.”

“And if I don’t agree that being a virgin is stupid?” Jungkook inquired. 

“Then you keep being a stupid virgin,” Namjoon mumbled. 

“Good chat,” Jungkook told him.  He dropped his head on Namjoon’s chest and closed his eyes.  He was tired.  He’d done nothing all day.

Namjoon wrapped his arms around his back and buried his nose in Jungkook’s soft hair.  “Smells good,” he murmured.  They both took an easy nap. 

Jungkook thought about Namjoon’s argument for days. 

He’d always wanted to be a virgin at the point of marriage for the simple power move of it all.  But… but the flaw in his plan was so glaringly obvious now: what if sex with him was bad for his husband?  What if Jungkook’s being a stupid, inexperienced virgin ended up working against him?  Oh god, what would he do…

All Jungkook wanted was to lose his virginity to somebody he could be guaranteed to know loved and cherished him regardless of it.  That was all he wanted.  He wasn’t asking for the world!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But, fuck.  These days, was he?

They laid in the dark, fingers touching.  Jungkook had just given his first blow job (to Namjoon) not thirty minutes ago. 

“Do you like everything we do?”

Jungkook hesitated.  “Yeah.”

“Then, baby, you’ll like sex,” Namjoon tried to convince.  “Besides, if you’re worried about not being a virgin, then, you can relax.  It’s not like you’re gonna have a hymen I’m gonna break.  If anybody asks you, just lie.”  He paused.  “Though, usually people lie about not being virgins.  But… do what you have to do.”

Jungkook exhaled, tears pricking his eyes.  He was glad Namjoon couldn’t see him; he’d start panicking. 

Namjoon was so stupid (Namjoon was maybe right).

They were making out on Jungkook’s bed again, like they always were.  It was really nice, actually, to always have somebody who wanted to make out with you all the time.  Just soft and warm and comfortable and easy; a great way to end the day (or start it), all around. 

They were making out on Jungkook’s bed again, and Jungkook was laid on top of Namjoon, and his shirt kept riding up.  Instead of pulling it down, Namjoon just put his palms over the small of Jungkook’s back (naturally).  Then he crept his fingertips under the waistband of Jungkook’s pajamas.  Then dug them under his briefs. 

Jungkook made a warning noise in his throat, mid-kiss. 

Namjoon grinned, mid-kiss.  He slipped his hands down Jungkook’s boxers until he had each of his palms cupping a naked buttcheek.  He squeezed. 

Jungkook pulled back from their kiss with an irritated expression, elbows digging into Namjoon’s shoulders. 

Namjoon expressed zero contrition.  His grin widened as he began kneading Jungkook’s ass with his (very strong) fingers.  

“Squishy,” he said, beaming as bright as the moon. 

Jungkook was beginning to firm up underneath him, breath accidentally hitching (Namjoon smirked).  It was very annoying. 

“You have such a nice ass,” Namjoon complimented, hands all over as he played with it. 

“Thanks,” Jungkook said as drily as he could. 

“I was thinking…”

“Were you…”  He squinted.  “Have you...”

“We always make out…”

“Yes…”

“And we could keep making out, right…”

“Right…”  (Jungkook was fighting to keep his breathing even.  He and Namjoon were equally hard now.)

“But…”  (Namjoon giggled.  Butt.)

“But…”  (Namjoon giggled again.  Double butt.)

“Lemme put a finger in,” Namjoon suggested breezily.

“No,” Jungkook answered decisively.

“Just one finger,” Namjoon tried to convince.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Googie.”

“No.”

“A knuckle.”

“No.”

“Just the tip.”

“No.”

“Fine, the pinky.  Just the pinky tip.”

“Mmm.  No.”

But Namjoon was persevering.  He just smirked again and thrummed his fingers over Jungkook’s ass before cocking up an eyebrow and asking, “Are you scared you’ll like it?”

“Shut up,” Jungkook scoffed.

“You’re scared,” Namjoon grinned.

“No I’m not!”  

“No, I get it,” Namjoon nodded, back to squeezing Jungkook’s ass however he felt like it, “Starts with a fingertip and then suddenly you’re sitting on my whole cock.  It’s like a gateway drug.”

“You’re so stupid,” Jungkook whined (high and breathy, trying not to rut his hips against Namjoon’s massive dick underneath him). 

“Aww, whiny baby,” Namjoon cooed, reaching up to kiss his nose.   Then the mole just under his pout.

“I hate you,” Jungkook further whined, hitting his chest.  (He hated himself when he got whiny—god, this was all Namjoon’s fault.)

“Here, get on your back,” Namjoon said, pulling his hands off of Jungkook’s butt and onto his hips.  “You’re so hard, oh my god.  Let me do something.”

And, with a massive pout, Jungkook did as he was told for once. 

He didn’t make Namjoon turn the lights off this time.

“You’ve gotten really good at deep-throating,” Namjoon said casually to Jungkook over dinner the next night, watching him eat.

Jungkook started choking on the massive fried egg roll he’d been trying to take a bite out of. 

“I’ll fucking kill you,” he rasped, chugging from Namjoon’s glass of water.  “We’re in public.”

“Oh yeah,” Namjoon remembered, covering his mouth as he laughed into it. 

Jungkook swallowed the water, took a deep breath and glowered at him—only coming off the ledge at the sight of Namjoon’s very, very cute and very, very dimply cheeks peeking out as he giggled.

“Still,” Namjoon continued, “You’re really good at it now.  You used to gag so much, but I was just remembering this morning—”

“Namjoon-ah,” Jungkook said sharply.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” he said back, reaching over and stealing the rest of the egg roll off of Jungkook’s plate.  (An entire lifetime of hating—despising—sharing his food and yet Jungkook never said a word when Namjoon habitually picked things off Jungkook’s plate and put them on his own.  It was like Namjoon just always knew when Jungkook wasn’t going to finish eating something.)  He gave Jungkook a thumbs up.  “Keep up the good work.”

Jungkook watched him eat, happily so. 

“Aren’t those your friends?” Jungkook asked a few minutes later, looking at the newly arrived gaggle of guys at the entrance of the restaurant.  They’d looked over at Jungkook and Namjoon sheepishly before turning away.  Jungkook knew most of them by reputation, same as they probably knew him. 

Namjoon looked towards them as quickly as he looked away.  “Nah.”

They were definitely his friends, Jungkook knew.

“You sure?”  Then, “Did you forget to put your contacts in again?”

Namjoon shook his head.  He stole a steamed pork bun.  “I don’t talk to them anymore,” he shrugged.  “Have other friends.”

“Why don’t you talk to those friends anymore?” Jungkook asked later, curled up into Namjoon’s side.  Spring was nigh but it was an unseasonably chilly night.  He’d already turned off his heating and the weather said it’d be warmer tomorrow, so he and Namjoon decided to get through the night on body heat and blankets alone.  It was easily accomplishable when Namjoon was a six-foot log of muscle that was constantly burning up.  (His metabolism ran high; he worked out every single day, thank you for noticing.)  Jungkook clung to him across every limb.

At Jungkook’s question, Namjoon was uncharacteristically evasive.  He shifted his weight around, turned his face up towards the ceiling, and just shrugged his shoulders.  And then they laid in silence in the pitch black. 

It was so strange to Jungkook.  Namjoon had never behaved like that before, no matter what they’d talked about.  He was always so admirably cheerful or catastrophically direct. 

“Did you guys fight?” he pressed him (gently). 

“I just don’t talk to them anymore.”

“Did they say something?” he continued.  It bothered him that Namjoon was upset; had been quiet-ish since seeing them.

Namjoon shrugged, noncommittal.

“What did they say?”

Silence.

Then, “Was is something about me?”  It was his best guess.

Namjoon breathed in deeply and exhaled loudly.  “We didn’t make our bedtime tea,” he suddenly remembered.  “We forgot.”

“I don’t need it,” Jungkook assured.

“You won’t sleep good without it,” he worried.

“I’ll be okay.”   He tightened his grip around Namjoon’s chest and squeezed him. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Namjoon absently played with Jungkook’s hair until falling asleep first.  Jungkook laid quietly in the dark for a very long time and tried to organize his thoughts regarding his emotions for Namjoon.  He didn’t know when he’d collected so many. 

What Jungkook feared the most about sex was the vulnerability.  The physical, obviously, but—but it was the emotional vulnerability that was more terrifying.  Laying yourself bare for somebody.  Somebody who could tear you apart at your weakest if they wanted.  

Jungkook didn’t like being vulnerable at all; Jungkook did not like not having full control at any given moment.  Even if only temporarily, sex required its participants to surrender both of those things.  

But Namjoon didn’t. 

He’d never felt vulnerable with Namjoon; he’d never felt like he was at somebody else’s mercy with Namjoon.  It was bizarre.  It was making him lose his entire mind.  He couldn’t connect any of the jumbled thoughts shooting through his brain to one another; he couldn’t do anything.

He sat in the library with a textbook laid in front of him.  He buried his head in his arms over the book and did some breathing exercises. 

Namjoon had put his mouth on him, already touched him everywhere.  What vulnerability was left?  Jungkook had taken Namjoon in his own mouth, had had him cumming in his no less than a dozen times at this point.  There had always been the fear that those things would all feel humiliating, but they hadn’t.  Because it had been Namjoon.  They’d laughed, smiled, and giggled all the shame away together.  Even when Jungkook had been afraid, Namjoon hadn’t let him be.  He’d made it better. 

Ah, fuck. 

Maybe Jungkook didn’t love Namjoon, but he admired and respected him a great deal.  He had his charms—lots of them.  And Jungkook thought about those charms all day.  Sat in classes and rode buses and walked sidewalks thinking about them.  Lived his days just to return to them.  Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon. 

Namjoon—who said he’d wait until marriage.  Namjoon—whom Jungkook believed was sincere. 

Namjoon was sucking a hickey over Jungkook’s throat that night, one hand in Jungkook’s hair and the other stroking his (Snickers King Size, they’d settled) dick.  Namjoon’s hand was doing its best despite the constriction of Jungkook’s cotton pajama bottoms around it. 

“Namjoon,” Jungkook breathed out, eyes fluttering open and shut as Namjoon methodically pinched and squeezed. 

“Yeah?” he mumbled, teeth razing over his skin.

“What did your friends say about me?”

Namjoon exhaled hotly over Jungkook’s Adam’s apple.  “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” Jungkook said, slapping his back.

“Why do you wanna know?” Namjoon asked, propping himself up on his elbow.  He looked down at a rosy-faced Jungkook with frustration. 

“What’d they say?  I know they said something.”

“It was stupid,” Namjoon said, pouting.

“What was it?” Jungkook asked, smiling at the sight.

Namjoon buried himself back in Jungkook’s neck.  He kissed him across it three times.  “Said you weren’t gonna put out.”

Jungkook smirked.  He’d figured as much; fucking losers.  “Fucking losers.”

“Told ‘em to fuck off,” Namjoon enlightened, “After they asked me if I was wearing a chastity belt.”

Jungkook laughed, chest rising and falling as he shook with the force of it.  “I’m not Christian.  Just—like this.”

“I don’t think it’s very funny!” Namjoon exclaimed, propping himself back up indignantly.  “Almost got in a fist fight, I swear to god, baby.  They were being such assholes.”

“You didn’t tell them I’d already told you as much?” Jungkook asked back softly.  He lifted a hand and pushed Namjoon’s hair away from his forehead. 

“I didn’t have to tell them shit,” Namjoon glowered.  “Wasn’t their business.”

“They’ve all tried to get with me, you know,” Jungkook said.  “At some point or another.”

“I know,” Namjoon said, expression darkening.  Jungkook felt Namjoon’s fingers dig into him that much tighter.  He looked at Jungkook for a beat before dropping his head and catching him in a long, possessive kiss.  Namjoon began moving his hand over Jungkook’s dick again, and Jungkook found himself kicking his hips up into his fist. 

“Namjoon,” Jungkook gasped out.

“Okay.  I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” Namjoon promised, carefully slowing his hand down. 

“No.”

“Faster?”  He cautiously sped back up.

Jungkook violently shook his head from side to side on the pillow. 

“I’m confused—,” Namjoon stated, slowing his hand back down until he stopped.

Jungkook took a giant breath.  He took both of his hands and put them on the side of Namjoon’s head. 

“Namjoon-ah.”

“Yes, baby,” he said, so serious and concerned.  His eyes were searching Jungkook’s for any indication of where this was going. 

Jungkook could’ve cried; Namjoon was so good.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes,” Namjoon promised straightaway.  He turned his face slightly and kissed Jungkook’s palm. 

Jungkook took another calming breath. 

“Will you have sex with me?”

Namjoon froze.  Blinked.  And then froze again. 

“Like—now?” he eventually asked.

“Uhh,” Jungkook breathed, suddenly taking several things into consideration about his current physical state, “Tomorrow.”

Namjoon was so lost.  He really was like a dog that had caught the car; absolutely no idea what to do with his luck. 

“Why?” Namjoon whispered. 

Jungkook shrugged.  “I like you.”

“What about marriage?” he asked, eyes wide.  “I don’t want to—we can wait—I’ll wait.”

Jungkook broke into a wide, shy smile.  “I won’t tell anybody if you don’t.  Promise?” 

Namjoon nodded violently.  “I promise—I promise.  I promise.”  Now it was Namjoon who took Jungkook by the sides of his head and kissed him everywhere—a dozen happy kisses all over his face, top to bottom, side to side. 

Jungkook was back to laughing, eyes bright and heart light.  He looked at Namjoon with total adoration and Namjoon looked back at him with full devotion. 

“Are you sure?” Namjoon asked once last time, holding Jungkook’s face between his palms.

“Yeah,” Jungkook assured him, holding his wrist back.  “Are you okay with it?”

Namjoon sighed a giant sigh of relief.  “Googie, I feel like you just told me I’m going to lose my virginity.  I can’t fucking wait.”

Jungkook kept taking random deep breaths all day when it would occur to him during class or on the bus or in line for coffee: I’m losing my virginity tonight. 

Would colors look different to him tomorrow?  Would things change?  Would the world tilt on its axis?  Would every single song he’d ever heard about love or sex or whatever sound completely revelatory? 

By noon, he couldn’t bear the knots in his stomach. 

Jungkook:  tonight

Jungkook:  I don’t want it to feel like a big deal

Jungkook:  I just kinda wanna do it

Jungkook:  get it over with

Namjoon:  omg thought u were gonna cancel

Namjoon:  literally just cut my toenails

Jungkook:  focus pls

Namjoon:  ok, no big deal, got it

Namjoon:  what should I do with these rose petals then

Jungkook:  NAMJOON

Namjoon:  kidding kidding

Namjoon:  I do have a sex playlist tho

Jungkook:  burn it

Namjoon:  it’s on my phone???

Jungkook:  BURN IT 🔥🔥🔥

Namjoon:  ?

Namjoon:  like…onto a CD?

Jungkook:  i……

They got dinner together, as they always did, and Jungkook barely ate.  He tried not to think of it as a Last Supper, but it kind of felt like one.  The way he measured his lifespan was about to be unalterably changed, after all.  Soon there would be time B.V. (Before He Lost His Virginity) and A.V (After He Lost His Virginity).  He couldn’t believe he’d been born in 21 B.V.  (But then again, he’d done it to himself.)

Only he knew how much he suffered.  He was like Korean Jesus.

They met after class and Jungkook did a double take when he saw Namjoon standing outside his favorite restaurant.  Namjoon—who had smoothly, freshly shaved; put some obvious extra effort into his nice outfit; and kissed Jungkook on his cheek as warmly as he’d smiled when he’d spotted him. 

(It was super unnecessary; it was incredibly sweet.)

Jungkook didn’t eat much at dinner and Namjoon didn’t comment on it.  They got back to his apartment and the first thing he did was jump into the shower.  He stood under the steaming hot water for almost forty minutes, only actively showering himself for about five of them. 

Outside, staring at himself in the mirror, taking in his black hair and damp skin and pink-tinged face, he realized this was as good as it was going to get.  When he stepped back into his room—wearing his softest PJs, moisturized to within an inch of his life from head to toe—Namjoon was lounging around in bed, a lofi song playing from the soundbar.  He looked up as Jungkook walked in; did a double take. 

“Is this the sex playlist?” Jungkook asked, not making eye contact.  He tossed his towel and day clothes in his hamper.  He vaguely recognized Frank Ocean’s voice. 

“Nah.  It’s just some favorite songs.”

Jungkook just kinda stood in the middle of his own bedroom. 

“Hey,” Namjoon said softly, looking at him from bed, “Do you wanna make out?”

Yeah—he did.  He knew how to make out.  Jungkook crawled onto his bed, threw a leg over Namjoon, and settled himself over his waist.  He tried not to think about how it all felt so much more gut-wrenching today, how the back of his skull wouldn’t stop prickling and his skin wouldn’t stop burning hot on random patches over his body. 

And then Namjoon had his lips on his and his hands around Jungkook (one at the back of his neck, one on the small of his back) and suddenly the only thing he could think about was how fast his heart was beating.  The kiss began slowly and sensually, soft lips and quick breaths.  Then Namjoon parted Jungkook’s lips with his tongue and the press of their mouths got firmer and their breath hotter.  He tightened his grip around the back of Jungkook’s neck and Jungkook realized he couldn’t breathe.

He pulled away from Namjoon with a gasp. 

They stared at the other—each of their gazes dewy, lips swollen, chests heaving.

“Are you wearing make up?” Namjoon suddenly asked, looking meaningfully into Jungkook’s eyes.  (Jungkook was wearing one coat of clear mascara and a touch of eyeliner in his outer corners to make his eyes look bigger.  Namjoon wasn’t supposed to be able to tell.)

“Stop,” he whispered, near tears.  “I’m sensitive right now.”

“You look really beautiful—or, handsome.  You look really good.”

“Thanks.”

They just laid there for a few silent moments (had the playlist already ended?!).

Jungkook let out a breath he’d been holding for hours.  “This is so awkward, Namjoon.”

Namjoon sighed, propping himself up on one elbow.  He ran a hand through Jungkook’s damp hair, pushing it away from his forehead.  “Yeah, well.  People don’t normally schedule losing the v-card, to be honest.  It’s not really ‘losing it’ if you plot it first.”

Jungkook blinked.  (Had Namjoon just said something profound?)

Namjoon looked at him so sincerely, eyes wide of affection and his usual sweetness.  “There’s no pressure from me, you know.  If you’re not feeling it then you’re not feeling it.  We could just cuddle and go to sleep, or put on a movie or something.  It doesn’t have to be weird.”  Then he whispered, cupping his cheek, “Your first time shouldn’t be weird.”

It was touching, really, that Namjoon should be the one to try and ease Jungkook off the ledge when he’d finally gotten Jungkook this far. 

Jungkook looked at the mole under Namjoon’s bottom lip—the one that matched his own (the one he thought about ten times a day).  “Can we keep making out?” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon answered so easily. 

He pulled his arms around Jungkook again and shifted them onto their sides.  Jungkook slid an arm under Namjoon and hitched a leg over his hip as Namjoon tucked his thigh between both of Jungkook’s legs.  They were so much closer to one another in this position—chests pressed to the other, hearts beating less than a centimeter apart.  It was extraordinarily intimate.  Jungkook took a deep breath before flickering his gaze to Namjoon’s red mouth and kissing him again, eyes closed. 

The kissing was so much slower now; just a languid, endless exchange of spit and tongue and wispy eyelashes against flushed skin. 

Jungkook was the first to tilt his hips forward and press his groin against Namjoon. 

“I’m hard, Namjoon-ah,” he mumbled into his mouth.

Namjoon was the first to moan (just a little). 

“And so are you,” Jungkook added.  He captured Namjoon’s bottom lip between his teeth and held it there.  “Do something.”

Nodding, eyes glazed, Namjoon squeezed a hand between their stomachs and slipped it down the front of Jungkook’s pajamas.  Jungkook gasped unexpectedly when Namjoon gripped him much firmer than he’d been anticipating.

“Baby really did come to bed to get fucked,” Namjoon approved, stroking Jungkook inside of his pants.  He wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Jungkook shuddered along his entire body but kept his eyes on Namjoon.

“I really, really wanna be good,” Jungkook laid bare.  His eyes trembled as he took in Namjoon’s pleased expression.  (Pleased with Jungkook.)

“You’re always good,” Namjoon praised.  He drew Jungkook back in for a wet, breathless kiss.  Leaving his lips behind, Namjoon kissed him at the corner of his mouth, his chin, his jaw, under it, and began sucking a hickey into the side of his neck, working his tongue and teeth against his skin as leisurely as he could.  All the while, he was just as slowly stroking Jungkook with his palm, playing with his tip and making him whimper.

The heat between their bodies kept ratcheting:  Namjoon’s hand which felt like a brand against Jungkook’s skin, Jungkook’s heavy panting into the crook of Namjoon’s neck, and Namjoon’s warm breaths over his throat as he suckled along it.  And their clothes.

“It’s too hot,” Jungkook whined (sexily, he hoped). 

“Say less,” Namjoon murmured.  He gave Jungkook a good, final squeeze, withdrew his hand and then sat up enough to take his shirt off over his head with one hand.  Jungkook swallowed on nothing. 

Then he cast his dark gaze back over Jungkook.  

“You’re always wearing buttons,” Namjoon griped (sexily).  He undid the first two buttons of Jungkook’s pajama top before pulling it off over his head.  Jungkook immediately ran his fingers back through his hair to tame it, and Namjoon slid off his pajama bottoms.  And, without much warning, Jungkook was unexpectedly fully nude in front of another person for the first time in his life.  Namjoon had seen parts of him, but never all of him. 

His entire face burned.  He drew his legs up.  Namjoon was quicker. 

Pulling his legs back down, Namjoon climbed up and laid over him.  His weight was grounding.  (Jungkook’s fists were curled.)

“Jungkook,” Namjoon whispered, their noses an inch apart.  “You’re the hottest person alive.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispered back, slightly cross-eyed.

Namjoon ran his fingers through Jungkook’s hair.  “Do you wanna make out?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously, eyes wide. 

“I’m gonna take my pants off,” Namjoon told him.

“Okay,” Jungkook agreed. 

Namjoon slipped his own pajamas off and then suddenly there were two fully naked men on Jungkook’s bed for the first time in his life and he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself apart from just stare at Namjoon’s semi-hard dick with perfectly circular eyes. 

Thankfully, Namjoon always had a joke.  “I feel violated,” he teased.  “What if I want to turn the lights off now?”

Jungkook covered his eyes with his forearm and blushed bright pink. 

Namjoon fell onto his side next to Jungkook.  He turned Jungkook until they were chest-to-chest again, took Jungkook by the back of his knee, and hitched his leg over Namjoon’s waist again.  Then he pushed Jungkook’s arm away from his face, put a hand at the back of his neck, and kissed him again.  Deeply, eagerly. 

Jungkook wondered how long Namjoon was going to ignore both of their dicks trapped between their bellies (the strangest feeling of his life), but then he drew away and asked, “Googie, are you good?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook assured. 

“Your face is all red,” Namjoon smiled. 

“So is yours.”

Namjoon pecked his mole.  “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t really a big deal or anything,” Namjoon said, eyes locked on Jungkook, “But I didn’t like how I lost my virginity.  It was weird.  I was thinking about it, because of us, and I think your way is better.”  He paused before adding, “This feels better.  Even if we never do it.”

Well, Jungkook thought, now he had to do it (now he wanted to do it, more than ever).  What did he always tell himself?  That he wanted to have sex for the first time with somebody that he liked—or something like that. 

He shouldn’t ask for the world.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook said, squirming in his arms, wet between their stomachs, “C—can you finger me?”

Namjoon’s expression fell (with surprise).  “Right now?”

Jungkook pursed his lips, opened his mouth—

“I got you, I got you,” Namjoon panicked.  He turned around halfway and started blindly grabbing around for the bottle of lube he’d tucked into the corner of the bed. 

“Why are we both fully naked?” Jungkook suddenly remembered to complain about.  “This is so weird.”

“Listen,” Namjoon explained, bottle in hand, “We’re just breaking the ice.”

(Jungkook was trying to ignore the fact that he didn’t actually know anything and was refusing to admit that to Namjoon—that he was just a stupid little virgin overcompensating with arrogance as if his life depended on it.)

“I hate it.”

“You hate a lot of things, to be fair.”

“No I don’t!”

“Baby,” Namjoon soothed, chin hooked over Jungkook’s shoulder as he fumbled around with the bottle of lube behind his back, “You’re a hater.  It’s okay.  Some people are.”

Then Jungkook heard plastic crinkling—like a seal being ripped off a bottle cap. 

“Are you fucking opening it for the first time?!” Jungkook asked.  “Right now?!”

Namjoon sounded guilty when he said, “Bought a new one on my way over.  Thought you’d yell at me if showed up with a half-empty bottle.”

Jungkook huffed.  “Depends.  Why’s the bottle’s half-empty?”

“I think about you a lot,” Namjoon pouted, defending himself.  “Like all the time.  I promise.”

Something Jungkook really liked about Namjoon was that his honesty could always be depended upon; he was the least manipulative person he’d ever known.  If Namjoon said he’d almost run out of lube jacking off to thoughts of Jungkook, then Namjoon had almost run out of lube jacking off to thoughts of Jungkook. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook asked, pleased.  He hooked his own chin over Namjoon’s shoulder, looped an arm around his neck.  Their bodies could not be more tightly pressed together.  “What do you think about?”  Jungkook tightened the grip of his leg over Namjoon’s hip. 

Namjoon took a deep breath, his chest pounding against Jungkook’s.  “Uh.”  He’d snapped open the bottle and Jungkook could hear him pouring some out.  “Everything.”

“But we haven’t done anything,” Jungkook reminded sweetly. 

“Jungkook,” Namjoon shivered.  “Can I—can I finger you?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathed back, sad that the teasing couldn’t last forever.  Namjoon was tense against him. 

It was stupid, but Jungkook closed his eyes and kept them squeezed shut as Namjoon circled his rim, like he was going to give him shot.  When Namjoon did press in a slicked up fingertip inside, it was followed by a huff of laughter. 

“Did you—”

“Yeah,” Jungkook admitted, voice barely above a whisper.  “In the shower.”  He cleared his throat.  “For the past couple weeks.”

“Oh,” Namjoon said, speechless.  He pushed his finger experimentally further in.  Jungkook’s spine stiffened; he started breathing shallow little breaths against Namjoon’s shoulder. 

Namjoon’s dick twitched, which was good timing because Jungkook was desperate to both touch himself and have something to do.  “Can I touch…?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathed back, distracted.  “Yeah.”

Jungkook scooted an inch backwards and dropped one of his hands between their bellies.  He couldn’t see what he was doing, but Namjoon spasmed a little bit against him when he finally took both of their dicks in his hand together.  He touched themselves lightly, unfocused, already overwhelmed from how carefully and gently (and, dare he say, responsibly) Namjoon was stretching him open.  He asked for Jungkook’s permission to add a second finger, and then eventually a third.  (Kept his face buried in Jungkook’s neck, giving him reassuring kisses and nips in between everything.)

If somebody had asked Jungkook, he wouldn’t have pegged Namjoon as being as careful as he was, but then maybe Jungkook didn’t know Namjoon as well as he’d thought. 

“We should—roll over,” Namjoon eventually told Jungkook, having drawn back enough to be face-to-face again.  Their faces were deeply flushed and sweaty, mouths permanently hanging open.

But Jungkook thought if they broke apart from the cocooned position they were in—breaching the heat encompassing them so tightly—that he would die.  He told Namjoon so. 

Namjoon took it to heart. 

“Should I take—do you want me to take my fingers in deeper?” he asked Jungkook. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook panted.  “Do that.”

Namjoon repositioned his wrist and then he—

Jungkook’s spine locked and he clenched up fast as lightning at the first brush of Namjoon’s fingers against his prostate.  He couldn’t even get himself to shout or moan or anything remotely satisfying; he whimpered loudly and tears immediately sprung up in his eyes.  It felt so fucking good.  His heart was collapsing.  His internal organs were all shutting down one by one. 

His own wrist went lax and Jungkook felt spineless as Namjoon continued to rub against his prostate, slowly turning all of his insides into melted wax.  He prayed to re-solidify one day (just so he could feel the pleasure of Namjoon melting him back down again). 

“I’m—I’m gonna cum,” he cried, red-faced and delirious, hunched back against Namjoon’s chest. 

“Okay,” Namjoon panted, “Sounds good.”

Jungkook drew himself off of Namjoon and wept, “I don’t want to!” 

Namjoon, immediately confused, froze his fingers at once.  The loss of the stimulation so suddenly was worse than Jungkook could’ve ever imagined; it was like a bucket of ice water was thrown over his head.  

“Why’d you stop?!”

“You said—!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he wailed, eyes still pinched shut.  Desperate for motion, Jungkook started rutting down on Namjoon’s fingers himself.  Namjoon took the hint. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothed.  He withdrew his hand (endured the litany of curse words that flew out of Jungkook’s mouth within a nanosecond) and then gently rolled Jungkook over onto his back.  “This is better,” he calmed, eyes steady and misty.  “You can come just like this, if you want.  It’s okay.”

“Namjoon,” Jungkook said, looking up at him, palms up on either side of his head, “Your dick looks like it’s going to fall off.”

It was true; it did.  It looked ridiculously hard, vividly red. 

“That’s okay,” Namjoon breathed out.  “It’s fine.”

“Can…can I…”

Namjoon looked at Jungkook and bit his tongue.  His biceps were flexed as he had his elbows next to Jungkook’s shoulders.  “I—I don’t think that would help.”

Jungkook lifted his legs and wrapped them around Namjoon’s muscular waist.  He squeezed him between his thighs.  “What would help?” Jungkook asked, whispering.  He hooded his eyes, dropped his bottom lip. 

Namjoon groaned, dropped his head.  “Baby.”

“Can you just fuck me already?” Jungkook asked.  He cupped Namjoon’s chin in his hand and lifted his head. 

Namjoon looked conflicted; it was all Jungkook’s fault (he knew that). 

Jungkook licked his lips, took a quick breath, and said, “It’s not a big deal.”

Namjoon laughed—wide and dimply.  “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Well, that took convincing…” Jungkook ribbed.

“You’re so,” Namjoon began, leaning down and kissing him across his face, “Annoying.”

It took the edge off, for both of them. 

Namjoon leaned back on his heels, rolled on a condom, grabbed his lube, finally lathered some on himself (with a whimpery little moan of his own), and then leaned back down over Jungkook. 

“How flexible are you?” he asked a starry-eyed Jungkook. 

“Very.”

“Oh, good.”

Namjoon took Jungkook by each of his ankles and positioned them over his shoulders.  “I’m sure you’ve—uh—seen this in porn,” he explained. 

Jungkook refused to admit one way or the other.  

Stroking himself in those precious few, final moments, Namjoon was sure to look at Jungkook with eyebrows cocked and say, “I’m bigger than most dudes, you know.”

Jungkook’s mouth couldn’t get drier.  “I believe you.”

“Might ruin you for other dicks,” Namjoon grinned wickedly. 

“Who’s thinking about other dicks,” Jungkook asked breathlessly, sincerely.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of Namjoon—the muscles flexing along his shoulder blades, the perfect ridge of his torso, the world’s most perfect thighs…and, of course, at the delta of those thighs…that. 

“Will it fit?” Jungkook asked, eyes glued, finally re-familiarizing himself within his role of nerve-racked virgin.

“Yeah,” Namjoon said.  (Namjoon always said ‘yeah.’  Jungkook was going to die.)  “But,” he paused, (Jungkook held his breath) “Let’s be safe.”  He stretched over, grabbed his lube, applied it on his fingers again, and then double-checked that Jungkook was stretched out per his approval.  It all felt insane to Jungkook; this was taking forever. 

“It t-takes you t-ten seconds to cum in your pants,” Jungkook gasped as Namjoon’s fingers were pumping in and out of him again.  “H-how are you st-till hard—”

“You keep being so cute,” Namjoon panted.  He kissed his temple.  (He was so sweaty.  Shining silver from it, almost.) 

Then Namjoon took out his fingers, lined himself up, (Jungkook took a massive breath, shot his eyes up to the ceiling), and pushed in just the tip.  It was alright.  Jungkook nodded.  And then—and then Namjoon slid in a few inches altogether.

“Oh, fuck!” Jungkook moaned, arching his back immediately.

“Oh—Jungkook—fuck,” Namjoon wheezed, eyes bulging, “Don’t—move!”

“It’s so—big—”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

Jungkook canted his hips back down but couldn’t stop himself from turning his face and trying to bury it in his pillows.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  The stretch.

“You okay?” Namjoon asked, panicking.

“I’m—fine,” Jungkook assured him.  It was true; he’d just gone dick-brained.  He moved his hips around, trying to adjust himself to the feeling of Namjoon inside of him.  God, they were so close to one another right now.  He was totally exposed, completely vulnerable.  But—it occurred to him just then for the first time in his life—so was Namjoon. 

“Let—let me know—”

“You—move—”

Namjoon nodded.  He planted his hands near Jungkook’s head, breathing right over his neck.  The first few thrusts were just gentle rolls of Namjoon’s hips.  And then he pulled out longer and pushed back in slower.  And then faster.  And then Jungkook came over his stomach with only about five seconds worth of warning (a star-sighted orgasm that had left him nearly blinded), and Namjoon followed suit very shortly afterwards. 

Jungkook’s legs dropped from Namjoon’s shoulders, and Namjoon flopped onto his back next to Jungkook (fingers entwined).  Both of them breathed as if they’d just run a mile in under a minute.  

They didn’t speak for a few minutes.  Then Namjoon slipped off of the bed and tumbled off towards the bathroom.  By the time he’d wiped Jungkook down, Jungkook’s eyes were drooped with sleep.  His breathing had whiplashed in the opposite direction and was coming out slow and even now. 

Namjoon slid on his pajama bottoms and slipped back into bed with Jungkook, wrapping his arms around him.  Their skin was sticky with sweat, but if Jungkook didn’t care, then neither did Namjoon.  Jungkook, half-asleep, cheeks rosy, still lifted his head to lazily kiss Namjoon.  Then again.  Then again.  And then a last time (for the night).

“Will you keep it a secret?” he murmured.

“Yes.”  Namjoon didn’t hesitate.

“Do you promise?”

“I do.  I won’t tell anybody.”

Jungkook hugged him around his neck, buried his face there.  “Thanks.”  

Namjoon tightened his hold around Jungkook, and listened as he slowly fell asleep.  Running a hand through his hair, Namjoon (very shortly) followed suit. 

Jungkook woke up in the morning and turned to Namjoon.  Jungkook didn’t wake up to any snoring, so he knew Namjoon was already awake. 

“Namjoon,” he said, voice thick.

“Morning, baby,” Namjoon said, reaching over and hugging Jungkook across his chest.  He kissed his shoulder.  “First day as not a virgin.  Should’ve made you a shirt.  You excited?” he exhaled, breathing slow.

“Shut up,” Jungkook said back, neck crawling with heat.  He couldn’t believe that that was true.  “I feel sore,” he complained.  “I think your stupid dick is too big.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Namjoon remarked, smug.  “Can’t help it.  I can give you a back massage later.”

“I want one now,” Jungkook demanded. 

Namjoon sighed, propping himself up on his elbows.  “Okay, turn over.”

“Wh—seriously?”

But when Namjoon propped himself up, he pulled the blanket down with him.  With the blanket dropping away, Jungkook realized they were still both naked.  He’d fallen asleep while Namjoon had been cleaning him up and obviously Namjoon hadn’t bothered to put any clothes back on him.

“Why am I naked?” Jungkook accused.  “Not even the decency to put my pants back on me after fucking the living shit out of me, I guess?  Put yours back on, but not mine!”

“Hey!  I was gentle!”

“You are a pervert!”

“You’re heavy!” Namjoon defended.  “I couldn’t—”

“I’m not heavy!”

“Not like that—!”

“What other way is there?!”

“Can I make you tea?” Namjoon offered in a panic. 

“Actually,” Jungkook sniffed, “You can.  Thanks.”

In a daze, Namjoon stumbled out of bed and then tumbled off towards the kitchen.  Jungkook laid and stared at the ceiling and thought about how he wasn’t a virgin anymore.  Mostly, he wondered if it would change things between him and Namjoon.  So far (ninety whole seconds) it seemed like it hadn’t, but…

Jungkook ended up spending the entire Sunday in bed, resting and recuperating (and ruminating).  He had a very biddable Namjoon at his beck and call and didn’t give him a moment’s peace: sent him out to get lunch, had him carry him around the apartment all day (revenge for the ‘heavy’ comment), made him cuddle on the couch as they watched Jungkook’s favorite movie (Titanic (1997)—which Jungkook called a ‘same age friend’), made him be Jungkook’s headrest as they watched his second favorite movie back in bed, sent him to the opposite end of campus to pick up Jungkook’s favorite dinner, and then pouted and sulked incessantly all day in between. 

Namjoon handled him how he always did: perfectly.  Did everything Jungkook wanted, peppered his face with a thousand little kisses, kept making him tea, massaged whatever body part of his he could get his hands on, and had a goofy grin on his face all day (Jungkook was assuming that he was re-remembering he’d taken his virginity each time). 

“I lost my virginity, I’m not on my period,” Jungkook mumbled by the time they were rolling into bed and Namjoon asked if he wanted a sixth cup of tea before going to sleep. 

“You know, I’ve never taken anybody’s virginity before,” Namjoon said seriously.  “I wanna get it all right.”

“You did fine,” Jungkook grumbled, reaching over and throwing an arm and a leg over Namjoon as soon as he was in bed. 

“Are you still sore?” Namjoon asked.  There was just enough of a pleased little lilt in his voice as he asked the question to make Jungkook roll his eyes.

“No,” Jungkook lied, refusing to give him the satisfaction.  “I’m fine.” 

“I liked spending all day together,” Namjoon sighed, folding his arms around Jungkook.  “You’re cute when you’re clingy.”

Clingy.  Clingy little virgin.  That was the fear, wasn’t it?

Jungkook groaned and threw Namjoon’s arms off of him, rolling over in bed.  Namjoon giggled and rolled right on top of him.

“Get the fuck off,” Jungkook gasped.  “You’re the one who’s heavy as shit.”

“Aw, still mad about that?” Namjoon teased, licking in Jungkook’s ear (sicko). 

“Gross,” Jungkook grunted.  “You’re all stubbly.”  He elbowed Namjoon in the gut as best as he could. 

Namjoon fell back onto his back with a giggle, and Jungkook turned over and rolled right back onto his chest.  Namjoon’s hands immediately fell down to his ass (home sweet home).

“Now that it’s been twenty-four hours,” Jungkook asked, tone even, “…How was it?”

“Oooh, performance review?”

“Ugh,” Jungkook balked.  “Forget I asked.”

He tried to rolled back off of him but Namjoon anchored him in place by gripping onto his ass.  Jungkook shot him an irritated glare; Namjoon knew him better than to take those seriously anymore.  He wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s waist tightly and rolled them both over.  Now Jungkook was trapped under Namjoon—squirmy, breathless—and Namjoon was skimming along his soft, clean skin with his nose. 

“Smell good,” Namjoon murmured.  “Always do.”

Jungkook felt a flash of heat pass over every inch of his body.  He tried to press his thighs together but Namjoon had a thigh of his own between them.  And a chubby dick against Jungkook’s hip. 

“Namjoon,” he gasped, licking his lips.

Namjoon lifted his head and kissed him once.  “Yes, baby?”

“Do—do you want to take my virginity again?”

(Why the fuck not, Jungkook had decided.  You couldn’t break a hymen twice, after all.)

Namjoon was the one whose expression flushed with a pink-faced embarrassment.  “Can I?”

“Yeah.”

“So I was good?”  Namjoon asked self-consciously. 

(Oh god, Jungkook thought.  How to tell him.)

“Yeah,” he said, mouth dry, blinking.  “Really good.”

“It’s only gonna get better,” Namjoon promised, before kissing Jungkook in the very deepest corner of his neck.  It tickled; Jungkook giggled.  “The first time’s always the worst.  Remember the first time you got head?”

“Well, it was still pretty good.”

“Oh,” Namjoon smiled, kissing his jaw, “Then now’s gonna be great.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes.  “Don’t talk yourself up if you’re not gon—”

“I’m gonna,” Namjoon whined.  “Where’s the trust in this relationship?”

Jungkook was sulking on his couch, already in pajamas, when Namjoon came into the apartment a week later (he’d long been given a key). 

“Oh no—baby, what’s wrong?” Namjoon asked straightaway, spotting Jungkook’s crossed arms and giant pout from the doorway.  He took off his blaring headphones, kicked off his shoes, dropped his backpack, and went and kneeled next to Jungkook on the couch. 

“I got an 87 on my exam,” Jungkook told him miserably, not making eye contact. 

“Oh—that’s great!” Namjoon congratulated brightly, smiling.

Jungkook threw him a loathsome glare.  “That’s bad!”

“Oh—okay, okay, okay,” Namjoon corrected immediately, assuming a more appropriate countenance of mourning to match Jungkook’s. 

In truth, Jungkook got an 87 because his attention had just not been on schoolwork lately.  It was his last month of his last semester of college and he couldn’t care less about it.  He knew he was graduating, and with honors.  So why worry about school when he could think about Namjoon?  Why spend his nights studying, like he used to, when he could spend them wrapped up in Namjoon?  

“Do you want me to make you tea?” Namjoon asked, eyebrows wrinkled.

“Yes,” Jungkook said, voice small.

Namjoon stood up to make tea (cup, water, microwave (tea pot ignored), tea bag; Jungkook never complained).  Before he handed Jungkook the steaming mug, he went into the bedroom and dug out one of Jungkook’s microfleece blankets from his closet.  He wrapped Jungkook around in it until he looked like a marshmallow and then handed him his mug of tea.  Jungkook almost found himself crying. 

Namjoon sat next to him, feet up on the couch, and rested his head on Jungkook’s fluffy shoulder. 

“You’ll do better next time,” Namjoon told him.  “That’s what you tell me.”

Jungkook nodded, eyes almost watering.  

“Do you wanna cuddle when you finish your tea?” Namjoon asked, throwing an arm around Jungkook’s fluffy middle. 

“Yes,” Jungkook whispered, vision blurring.

“Aww, Googie, are you crying?” Namjoon asked, sounding sad.  He turned his face to look at Jungkook’s reddening one.  “It’s just one exam, it’s okay!  We’re graduating soon!  It’s okay!”  He squeezed him reassuringly.  “You’re literally the smartest person I know!”

Jungkook just looked down into the mug of green tea Namjoon had made him and shook his shoulders as he began to cry.  Wordlessly, Namjoon took the mug from his hands and set it on the coffee table.  He wrapped both arms around Jungkook’s blanketed form and brought him into his own chest as tightly as he could.  Jungkook just cried and cried and cried and he had absolutely no idea why, which made him cry more.  But he knew it wasn’t because of the stupid exam. 

Later, before getting into bed, Jungkook stood by his side table and awkwardly said to Namjoon, “I’m sorry for crying earlier.  I never cry.”

“I was trying to remember if I’d ever seen you cry,” Namjoon said thoughtfully, “And I hadn’t.  You really don’t cry.  You’ve seen me cry like five times.”

“That’s during movies, though,” Jungkook said, finding himself crossing his arms again, “That doesn’t count.  My crying was embarrassing.”

“It was cute,” Namjoon smiled up at him from between the pillows.  “Well, it was cute after.  During, I was scared because I had no idea what was happening.”

Jungkook half-smiled.  He put a knee onto the bed before getting in with him.  He sat by Namjoon’s side on his knees.  “I like you a lot, Namjoon.”  A lot, a lot.

Namjoon looked so pleased.  He brought his arms up to rest behind his head.  “I like you, too,” he grinned up at him, dimples popped.  “You’re being so nice to me today.”

Jungkook huffed.  “I’m always nice to you,” he said crossly, pinching Namjoon’s naked stomach (he slept shirtless all the time now because of course he did).  “Leave it to you to ruin the mood.”

“Oh,” Namjoon mused, taking Jungkook by his wrist, “There was a mood?”

“Not anymore,” Jungkook glowered.

“What was the mood?” Namjoon asked, grinning slyly. 

“Maybe I wanted you to take my virginity again,” Jungkook sniffed. 

“That’s a big mood,” Namjoon commented.  He tugged Jungkook by his wrist until he fell over his chest, head on his shoulder.  He kissed Jungkook on his forehead (Jungkook trying to fight down the biggest smile of his life and failing miserably).  He brought his arms around Jungkook and hugged him tightly around his back before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.  “But I think we should just go to sleep like this.  We’re both tired.”

“Okay,” Jungkook agreed quietly.  He shifted his legs so they fell over Namjoon’s, and Namjoon lifted his own to wrap them over Jungkook’s.  The weight under him and over him melted Jungkook’s anxieties off of him like salt over ice.  He slept well, more tired than he knew (Namjoon was right).

“Hey,” Namjoon began the next night, the very moment Jungkook got into bed next to him.

“Yes?” he asked, clipped.  (He’d just done ten steps of nightly skincare and if Namjoon was about to ask him to sweat it off, he had another thing coming.)

“Remember how you asked me to take your virginity again last night?” Namjoon began, walking two fingers up Jungkook’s arm as Jungkook watched him placidly. 

“Yes,” he said, flat.

“Could I cash that in tonight?” he asked, sheepish.

“I don’t offer rainchecks,” Jungkook said, taking Namjoon’s hand and swatting it off of himself.

“Googie,” Namjoon groaned, turning and whining into the pillow.  “C’mon.”

“Are you already hard?” Jungkook asked, observing how Namjoon was curling into himself as he moped. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon told him miserably.  He looked at him with pleading eyes.  “I imagined asking you and you being all shy and shit as you said yes.”

Jungkook bit his tongue.  “I was shy?”

“Yeah.  Sometimes you’re shy.  It’s hot.”

“What am I normally?  When I’m not shy?”

Namjoon froze.  “Is this a trick question?”

Jungkook smiled.  “Depends how you answer, doesn’t it, Namjoon-ah?”

“Baby…” Namjoon nearly wept in frustration.  “You’re so mean.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow.  He took a hand and quickly slipped it under Namjoon’s pants until he had a firm grip around his (truly) stiff dick.  “I was being nice.”

Namjoon threw his head back in the pillows and groaned.  And then Jungkook’s heart raced as he suddenly had a stiffening dick of his own to think about.  Namjoon looked good like this, all flustered and slightly dewy from his sweat.   Jungkook hadn’t even really done anything yet (he couldn’t believe he let Namjoon tease him about being sensitive). 

“What if I took your virginity tonight?” Jungkook asked, voice husky and seductive.

Namjoon (that idiot) laughed.  “Missed your chance by like—I can’t do math right now.  A lot of years.”

Jungkook used his other hand and flicked Namjoon on his forehead. 

“Baby!” he whined.

“Focus!” Jungkook instructed.  He loomed over Namjoon now.  “Look at me.”

Namjoon opened his eyes and did, breathing heavily, (massive) chest rising and falling erratically.  Jungkook still had an unrelenting hand over him (multitasking was an endurance sport). 

“Can I fuck you?” Jungkook asked Namjoon. 

“Anytime,” Namjoon grinned.  “Don’t have to ask.”

“You literally said no last night.”

“Okay, other than that.  Besides, that was because I had a stomachache from all the ice cream I had to eat to make you feel better.”

“So I can fuck you?” Jungkook asked again, ignoring that last part.

“Yeah,” Namjoon said, breathy.  “Do it.”

“Are you clean?”

“What?”

“Like—there.”

Namjoon’s eyes bugged, freezing his rolling hips under Jungkook’s hand.  “Wait are you asking if—if you can fuck me fuck me?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said, sprightly.

Namjoon looked affronted.  “I don’t—I don’t bottom.  I’ve never—”

“Oh my god—are you going soft!?” Jungkook interjected, smile fading, whipping his gaze towards Namjoon’s un-bulging crotch.  “Are you serious?!”

“I’m not a bottom,” Namjoon groused, looking at Jungkook with the most annoyance Jungkook had ever seen on his face. 

“So then just say no!” Jungkook snapped at him.  “Why the fuck did you go soft?  You’re such a drama queen!”

“I didn’t know you switched!” Namjoon accused. 

“I—I’ve literally only had sex like five times!  I didn’t know I switched either?!”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d only ever bottom!”

“It’s not my problem you just assumed,” Jungkook spat at him, pulling out his sticky hand from Namjoon’s sweats.  “Fucking gross,” he said, looking at the precum webbed between his fingers.  “Like, everybody switches!  Can’t believe you’re a giant fucking baby.”

“I don’t want a raincheck anymore!” Namjoon huffed, arms crossing over his chest.  He glared up at Jungkook with knitted eyebrows.

“And who was offering?!” Jungkook exclaimed back.  He scooted off of his bed and marched back into his bathroom to wash his hands. 

Big, stupid idiot. 

Not thirty minutes later, Jungkook (bored after scrolling through his phone) turned to Namjoon (still scrolling through his phone) and shyly asked: “If I can’t top, can I ride?”

Namjoon let his phone fall with a slap against his chest.

“Please?” Jungkook added, extra shyly, eyes extra big.  He wrapped both hands around Namjoon’s enormous bicep next to him and squeezed (for bloodsport). 

“Weren’t you like just a virgin?” Namjoon asked, breath hitched.

Jungkook immediately scowled.

“No, no, no!” Namjoon backtracked, turning to face him (phone sliding off his chest onto the bed).  “Stay the way you were.”  He leaned over and kissed Jungkook across his face, hitting all his favorite spots (cheeks, lips, nose, mole).  “Yeah—yeah, baby, you can ride.”

Jungkook was appeased.  “Yay.”

Not another thirty minutes later and Jungkook was sprawled over Namjoon’s hips, hunched forward, digging his palms into Namjoon’s abs as he moved his own hips around in tiny, experimenting circles.  He hadn’t even moved up or down yet and his thighs were already burning from how long it had taken him to even get in position, taking Namjoon’s seemingly endless dick into him inch by inch.  He felt like he was gonna pass out.  

“Th’s hard,” Jungkook panted out, forehead scrunched. 

“Imagine being me,” Namjoon half-wheezed, hands gripping Jungkook by his thighs.  “Trying so hard not just—fuck upwards.”

“I’ll kill you,” Jungkook avowed, feeling like he was sweating everywhere.  He dick was strained against his belly, red and flushed.

“I know,” Namjoon said, voice strained.  “I’m trying.”

“Ung,” Jungkook swallowed.

“You have to move, Jungkook,” Namjoon whisper-begged.  “Please.”

“You’re too fucking big,” Jungkook was almost crying.  “It’s so fucking big.”

“Does it hurt?”

Jungkook shook his head, sweat dripping down the sides of his temple.

“Then—then let me just—”

“Yeah—do it—,” Jungkook exhaled, overwhelmed.  He stroked himself and that only made things incrementally better. 

Namjoon moved his hands up to grab Jungkook around his narrow waist, fingertips almost touching all the way around, and gripped on to him tightly (biceps flexed).  With a massive, drawn-out groan that felt punched out of him, he rolled his hips upwards into Jungkook. 

Jungkook’s head fell forward, fingers digging into Namjoon’s skin and mouth dropping open of its own accord.  (He was pretty sure he’d drooled without meaning to.) 

“Oh, fuck.”

“You’re so fu-fucking tight,” Namjoon gritted out.

“A-are you compl-laining?” Jungkook gasped. 

“No.”

“Harder.”

Namjoon hiked up his knees, feet flat on the bed.  He didn’t give Jungkook any warning before picking him up by his waist and just thrusting into him as forcefully as he could.  Jungkook’s neck fell to the side, tongue lolling out.  He was absolutely gone. 

Maneuvering Jungkook onto his back, Namjoon slipped back into him with a smug grunt.  “And you wanted to top.”

Jungkook didn’t even have it in him to put up a fight; he just tried to find something to stuff into his mouth as Namjoon spread his thighs and pummeled into him with indescribable stamina. 

“I’m gonna get a—a noise complaint,” Jungkook cried, face wet as he let out an irrepressible stream of moans and whimpers and sobs. 

“Challenge?” Namjoon huffed, his sweat dripping onto Jungkook now.  He pulled out (Jungkook whined), flipped Jungkook over onto his knees, brought his hands back around Jungkook’s bruised waist, and pushed back in all at once (Jungkook screamed into his pillow). 

A noise complaint fine was ₩50,000 but as it was Jungkook’s first, he got off with a warning.  Namjoon said it was only fair they went half-and-half paying for the second one. 

“Are we boring?” Jungkook wondered aloud, head against Namjoon’s chest as he flipped through TV channels.  Everything on cable was boring and they’d already run through all their online options in the past few months.  He turned the TV off and threw the remote onto the other couch.  “Should we go out?” he asked, turning his head up to look at Namjoon.  “It’s Friday.”

“Do you wanna go out?” Namjoon asked, kissing his nose just because (all of Namjoon’s kisses were just because). 

“Not really,” Jungkook answered.

“Me neither.”

“So are we boring?” Jungkook asked again.  His neck was hurting at this angle but who cared.  “We never leave.”

“I know; my friends think I died.”

“Mine, too.”  Nervously (but hiding it), he asked, “Are you bored?”

“I don’t think I’ve been bored in months,” Namjoon answered truthfully, guilelessly.  “We’re always together.”

And it returned—that feeling of wanting to cry just because. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Jungkook said lightly, dropping his head back against Namjoon’s chest.  He wondered if Namjoon could tell his heart was beating faster; his hand was resting right over it, slung over Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“We’re good together, I think,” Namjoon said.  He dropped his head against Jungkook’s, the pressure of it feeling comforting. 

‘It’s not just the sex is it?’  The question burned a hole in Jungkook’s skull.  He knew it wasn’t fair to Namjoon for him to constantly wonder it, but he did.  What was worse was how often he considered the question in reverse when trying to sort through his own complicated feelings about Namjoon: It’s not just the sex, is it?

‘Complicated feelings’ was also a lie he kept repeating to himself.  He didn’t have complicated feelings about Namjoon; he adored Namjoon.  That was what was complicated. 

They graduated in just under a month and they weren’t talking about it.  Namjoon probably wasn’t talking about it because he thought nothing would change; Jungkook wasn’t talking about it because he didn’t want to face that everything would have to. 

“What should we get for dinner?” Jungkook asked.  He looked at his phone; it was already eight.  “It’s so late.”

“Thai?”

“Thai’s good.  I’ll order.”  He tapped open a food delivery app.

“Thanks,” Namjoon said.  He lifted his head off of Jungkook’s.  Kissed his forehead (just because). 

“Do you wanna take my virginity after dinner?” Jungkook asked nonchalantly, a few minutes later, dropping his phone back onto his chest.  He looked up at Namjoon, who had frozen. 

“How long until food gets here?” Namjoon asked, thinking.

“Said forty minutes.”

“Oh.  Could I take your virginity now?”

“I don’t know.  Can you take it now?” Jungkook asked, eyebrow arched.  “How fast can you get it up?”

“Baby!” Namjoon reproached.  “I don’t like being underestimated!”

Jungkook broke into a wide smile at Namjoon’s pout and just giggled uncontrollably. 

After a quick jaunt to get his mandatory supplies, Namjoon took Jungkook’s virginity for the seventh time on the couch.  After some quick negotiations, during which Jungkook made it clear to Namjoon that he was feeling very lazy, Jungkook got to lay on his back while Namjoon did all the work the entire time (if he was determined to top, then he’d suffer for it) and Jungkook enjoyed the experience tremendously.  They cleaned up just in time for the delivery doorbell and Namjoon answered the door shirtless and then said he forgot that delivery people could be girls too (as this wide-eyed one was). 

They ate on the floor next to the sofa, drank beer, and watched TV mindlessly.  Namjoon kept picking at Jungkook’s noodles once he’d finished his own, and Jungkook let him. 

“What’s Namjoon doing after graduation?” a friend asked Jungkook after class one day.  They were walking to dinner together. 

“He’s job-hunting right now,” Jungkook answered.  “He’ll find something.”

“What’s he majoring in again?”

“Philosophy.”

The friend tried to fight down a smirk. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes.  Everybody was such a little asshole all the fucking time for no reason. 

“Do you think you’ll stay with him after graduation?” they asked, genuinely curious.  “Everybody’s placing bets.”

“You all think I won’t?” Jungkook challenged. 

His friend snickered.  “You two have nothing in common.  Literally—nothing.  You’re just with him because—well.  That’s for you to know.”

“If it’s for me to know then why are you all so invested?” Jungkook asked, dripping disdain.  “What’s it to you?”

His friend grinned.  “Because it’s free entertainment.  You’ve turned half the men you’ve dated straight.”

Jungkook’s phone vibrated. 

Namjoon: my apartment had no food

Namjoon: went to your place

Namjoon: no food

Namjoon: i wanna die

Namjoon: baby

Namjoon: feed me

Namjoon: help me live

“I can’t go to dinner,” Jungkook decided, texting Namjoon back (‘men like you used to go to war and die, do u know that,’ and then, ‘omw, 10 mins. i can pick up beef and rice’). 

“Oh, c’mon,” his friend placated.  “Don’t be like that.  I was just kidding!”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook glowered anyways, turning on his heel and marching back up the street.  

Namjoon: get shin ramyun

Namjoon: the best 👍

Jungkook: that’s not real food u idiot

Jungkook: start boiling water

Jungkook wanted to see Namjoon’s apartment at least once (sheer curiosity’s sake) and so he was invited over one weekend when all of Namjoon’s (loser) roommates were out of town to go watch some sports game at a local stadium. 

“Are those just—do you all know whose socks are whose?” Jungkook asked immediately upon entry, wrinkling his nose at a pile of various socks by all the gym shoes at Namjoon’s front door.

“I knew you were gonna have feelings about the sock pile,” Namjoon sighed heavily.  “Listen, sometimes you’re in a rush…”

Jungkook giggled.  He hated the sock pile.  “That’s so gross, Namjoon.”

“Honestly, you should stop here, then…”

But Jungkook was very well-behaved and kept all his ensuing thoughts to himself.  It wasn’t so bad actually.  There was a total of five pieces of furniture in the entire apartment (including two chairs around a table meant for six people) and the air smelled stale (Namjoon informed him they did not have a regimented air-freshener replacement system) but it wasn’t as squalid as he’d feared (he was pointedly steered clear of the kitchen area).

Namjoon’s bedroom had plaid sheets over a mattress on the ground, folded clothes on every surface (he forgot to buy hangers during move-in week and then just learned to live without them), and a singular (ironic?  unironic?) taped up poster of Socrates on the wall. 

“Nice,” Jungkook commented, appraising everything.  He took a step over to open Namjoon’s sliding closet door.

“Oh—uh—,” Namjoon tried to stop him.

Jungkook opened the closet.  Saw it was starkly empty save for a turquoise colored glass bong on the top shelf.  Jungkook closed the closet. 

“Where’s Catfish?” he suddenly remembered. 

“Oh, we had to get rid of him,” Namjoon regretted to inform him.  “Gave him to the apartment that lives like four doors down.   I think he’s happier there…  Having a dog was really expensive,” Namjoon said, heaving a sigh.  

Jungkook didn’t press it.  He already had no idea how Namjoon paid for anything.  Didn’t have a family he talked about in depth, just passing mentions of his parents or a cousin here and there.  One time Jungkook had called his parents to complain that the university had incrementally raised semesterly tuition rates and Namjoon had only said it was cool that he could talk to his parents about things like that. 

“This place isn’t so bad, actually!  It just looks like nobody lives here,” Jungkook decided brightly, hands on his hips.  “But then I guess you don’t.”

Namjoon tilted his head, scrunched up his face, and stuck his tongue out.  “Fuck off.”

Jungkook tilted his head, scrunched up his nose, and smiled with all his (Namjoon said) bunny teeth.  “Thanks.”  

Spotting a stray piece of paper on Namjoon’s otherwise spotless bed, Jungkook bent down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking at it.

“Laundromat receipt,” Namjoon said.  “Proof the sheets are washed as of this morning.”

Jungkook’s face lit up.  “Aww—for me?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon admitted (bashfully, dimply). 

Jungkook pocketed the receipt, and then politely went and laid down at the head of Namjoon’s bed.  “These pillows suck.  Dead flat.”

“Shut up,” Namjoon grinned, kneeling down and joining him.  He half-laid over Jungkook (natural habitat) and soon they were as they always were, just halfway across campus. 

Jungkook flicked his gaze up at Socrates looking down at them.  “Bet he really set the mood with all your other hook ups.”

“You’re so annoying,” Namjoon mumbled, smiling into Jungkook’s neck as he nuzzled it (they’d been separated for almost twenty hours).  “I didn’t make a single joke about you being a virgin when I saw the shelf of super hero action figures in your room the first time I went in.”

“Well, duh,” Jungkook clicked his tongue.  “You were trying to hit.”

Namjoon breathed out sharply and shook with laughter against the crook of Jungkook’s neck, and Jungkook was very pleased with himself—face flushing with warmth as a wide smile spread everywhere. 

“Besides,” Jungkook continued, self-satisfied, “You still can’t make jokes about me being a virgin because we both know it was by choice.  People have been trying to fuck me since—oh, actually, why not ask your roommates?”  Jungkook threw a heavy leg over Namjoon’s hip.  “Is that why you never bring me around, Namjoon-ah?” 

Namjoon went from lax to tense in his arms in a second.

“Thought you’d wanna show me off,” Jungkook conjectured, voice light as a feather.   

Namjoon scoffed.  “I don’t even want them to look.”

“Why not.”

Namjoon nipped him.  “Mine.”

Jungkook swallowed, hot everywhere and mouth drying.  From how Namjoon experimentally rolled his hips against his, he knew Namjoon knew he was getting hard.

“Can I try something new today?” Namjoon asked, whispering into his ear.  “But you can’t touch yourself.”

Jungkook feverishly nodded his head, lips already parted.  Namjoon kissed him first.  Undid Jungkook’s pants and pushed them down his legs as he kissed him.  Stopped kissing him, crawled down between his legs, and pushed Jungkook’s sweater up his chest, tucked it under his chin.  Pulled Jungkook’s pants off his legs, then slid his underwear completely off.  Didn’t take off any of his own clothes.

“What are you—”

But Namjoon just looked at him a certain way and Jungkook fell silent.  “You’ll like it.”

That scared Jungkook as much as it excited him.  He had an idea where this was going, but he couldn’t get his mind to fully race that far ahead and put the exact words together.  He was already dribbling enough over his own stomach. 

Namjoon took Jungkook by his ankles and threw them over his shoulders.  Sneaking hands under Jungkook’s hips, he lifted them slightly until Namjoon brought himself down and had his tongue pressed flat against Jungkook’s rim.

Jungkook’s entire body reacted—spine arched, toes curled, throat constricted, stomach fell, eyes trembled. 

The thing about sex, honestly, Jungkook discovered, was that nothing was sexy the first time.  He’d been a blubbering and stuttering mess at all of his firsts.  Age hadn’t given him the confidence he’d hoped for, and he found himself reduced to his basest instincts every time Namjoon pulled on any of his strings like the first, fatal pluck of a siren’s harp.  Maybe in the future when Namjoon ate him out, he’d know how to be a less selfish partner in bed, but for now all he could do was clutch at the sheets, whimper incoherently, and oscillate his gaze from Namjoon’s head buried between his thumbprint-bruised thighs and the speckled ceiling. 

Namjoon’s tongue played around with him first, then he introduced a finger, and then he flipped Jungkook over onto his elbows, and then it was his entire tongue.  Jungkook just dropped his head between his shoulders and tried to retain any part of his dignity that he could, but he couldn’t retain any because Namjoon was fucking him open on his tongue and it felt so fucking good. 

Just as he was sparing a thought for the pitiful sheets underneath him, Namjoon gripped him tightly by his hips and lifted him just an inch higher and (god bless) finally wrapped his own hand over Jungkook’s dick and lifted his mouth off of him to press a quick kiss against the soft skin of his upper thigh and then he went back and then—

Jungkook felt terrible for the sheets.  Just awful. 

They let Jungkook catch his breath.  Then they stripped off the top sheet and Jungkook blew Namjoon comfortably over the clean, fitted sheet underneath.  He pulled his long hair up into a half-bun first, to give his boyfriend a good grip.  Once the fitted sheets were ruined, Namjoon informed him there were no spare sheets and that they would have no choice but to go back to Jungkook’s for the night.  Jungkook didn’t think he sounded particularly dismayed by the idea (which gratified Jungkook to no end). 

Back at his place, Jungkook cooked dinner (Namjoon showered), they ate together on the couch, Namjoon washed up (Jungkook showered), and then they cuddled in bed as they watched a mindless movie.  Jungkook wondered if he’d ever had such a good day before.   

They found themselves in a compromising position early in the morning a few days later.  They’d woken up almost at the exact same time, Namjoon had immediately thought Jungkook looked so cute with his ruffled hair and crusty eyes and kissed him first thing.  (Interestingly, Jungkook found he didn’t mind morning breath very much.  If you could just power through the first ten seconds (and get over the scratchy stubble), then it wasn’t so bad after that.  And Namjoon made it worth the sacrifice (best kisser he’d ever kissed, and all that).)

Namjoon kissed Jungkook, Jungkook threw his arms around Namjoon’s neck, and both of them were hard before they knew it.

“Baby,” Namjoon croaked, first words he’d spoken in eight hours, “Can I take your virginity again?”

“‘May I’ take your virginity again,” Jungkook corrected back, finding it was never too early to be a pedant. 

“May I take your virginity again?” Namjoon asked politely. 

“You may,” Jungkook granted, already wrapping his legs around Namjoon’s waist.  

“Bet,” Namjoon huffed, pressing more kisses against Jungkook’s mouth.  “Let me—lube—and then finger you,” he said, reaching back and pulling off Jungkook’s leg.  “Get on your stomach.”

Jungkook shook his head from side to side, eyes still half-sealed shut.  Tightened his legs around Namjoon’s hips.  Morning sex was supposed to be lazy sex.  “I don’t wanna.”

“You gotta.”

“I actually don’t.”

“It’s easier, c’mon.”

“You can finger me like this,” Jungkook argued.  “I saw it in porn.”

“Baby!” Namjoon exclaimed, offended.  “Did you watch porn without me?  Which ones?  Which kinds?”

“Namjoon-ah!” Jungkook griped.  “Focus.”

“Did you jerk off?” he asked instead, painfully curious. 

Jungkook opened his eyes to glare at him, six inches from his face.  “Of course I didn’t!”

“Baby,” Namjoon groaned softly (fondly), “You’re so weird.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook muttered, closing his eyes again (enjoying how thickly Namjoon was laying down the ‘babys’ that morning).  “Do it like this.”

“I still need lube,” Namjoon told him. 

“Ughhhh,” Jungkook groaned loudly.  “I’m being persecuted!”  He dropped his arms and legs from Namjoon’s body and flopped them against the bed like a starfish.  Namjoon scrambled over and grabbed the bottle of lube from the top of the side table and tore off a condom from the strip of them next to it.

Taking advantage of a close-eyed Jungkook, Namjoon buried both of his hands under Jungkook’s hip and flipped him over until he was on his stomach.  Before Jungkook could flip back around, Namjoon had his thighs straddling Jungkook’s and weighed him down. 

“Stay put,” Namjoon instructed.

Instead, he felt the incessant force of Jungkook kicking his back with the heels of his feet. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon sighed.  “Didn’t think about that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Jungkook scowled, mutinous.  “Your dick’s gonna come out an inch shorter, by the way, the next time you get it near my mouth.”

“It is easier to finger you on your stomach!” Namjoon exclaimed, pre-panicking.  “How am I the bad guy here?!”

“You just are!” Jungkook yelled back, over his shoulder.  “Are you even gonna do any of this fingering you keep talking about?!”

Grumbling, Namjoon opened the lube and poured some over his fingers.  “You’re just gonna clench up the entire time out of spite, I know you are.”

Jungkook dropped his head back to the sheets and grinned into them, shoulders shaking once as he laughed to himself. 

It was true, he was.  (And he did.)

On well-weathered days, they went for a jog.  Namjoon was all weightlifting and protein shakes most of the time, and Jungkook told him that cardio wouldn’t kill him every now and then. 

They ran through the university park, the forest preserve, and crossed the river bridge.  In the end, the run hadn’t proved Jungkook’s point well.  He was a sweating mess—swore that he was seconds from tearing his Achilles tendon—and Namjoon was a vision of golden-skinned, shimmering athleticism the entire time.  (Infuriating.  After a fifteen-minute break, spite alone carried him through the jog back to his apartment.)

“Thank god,” Jungkook breathed, once they were through the front door.  He walked over and leaned his head against his cool, steel refrigerator at once.  “Thought I was gonna die.”  He pulled his shirt off his head.  “Is the air conditioning even on?!”  (It was.)

Pinching his boyfriend’s smooth, toned stomach, Namjoon joked that he had no idea Jungkook was so unfit.  Jungkook vowed that he’d personally start melting a stick of butter into everything he fed Namjoon from now until forever if he kept at it. 

Namjoon only shrugged, drinking a glass of water.  “You’d be the one to suffer.”

“How?” Jungkook scoffed.

“I’d get slower at sex.”

“It’d be worth the sacrifice to me,” Jungkook promised him, eyebrows stitched in vexation. 

“We should work on your cardio,” Namjoon tutted. 

“You can shower alone,” Jungkook grumbled, heading into the bathroom and locking the door behind him, sticking his tongue out over his shoulder.

“Aw, baby, c’mon!” Namjoon protested, rattling the doorknob futilely. 

Jungkook stewed about the jab all day. 

At night, he threw Namjoon into bed and kept him on his back, weighing him down by straddling his waist.  He cheated this time by already having prepped himself, so Namjoon wasn’t ready for the speed and vengeance with which he sunk himself onto him and began grinding his hips at once. 

Thighs burning, heart hammering, breath shallow—Jungkook decided riding was fun.  Especially when he got to watch Namjoon be the one falling apart for once.  When Namjoon was the sweating mess, and Jungkook looked (and felt) like the golden-skinned, shimmering deity.    

“How’s my cardio?” Jungkook panted, each of his palms squeezing one of Namjoon’s pecs apiece, riding him into oblivion. 

And Namjoon—the self-proclaimed gym rat, eyes blown wide, legs hanging uselessly—couldn’t even muster up a single spare breath to respond. 

Several times a week, Namjoon and Jungkook went out to eat (having a rotating schedule of who got to pick the location, Namjoon still deferring approximately 50% of his slots to Jungkook despite it).  But recently, it’d been nicer to just come back from class and stay indoors for the night.  They’d meet at a grocery store after class, shop together, cart it all back to Jungkook’s place, and then marvel at all the choices before them as to what they wanted to make for dinner. 

Jungkook liked complicated ramyun kits and homemade pizza, and Namjoon cooked his first steak (Jungkook supervising closely).   Jungkook hummed and sang while he worked and Namjoon was known to rap (sometimes beatbox).  Their dinnertime playlist sprawled well past a hundred songs. 

“Food tastes better when we make it together,” Namjoon told him one night, sitting at Jungkook’s two-seater kitchen table across from him.  They’d just made fried chicken together for the first time.

Jungkook let out a small huff.  “You’re so sentimental all the time.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon admitted, reddening.  “Maybe.”

Jungkook mumbled from behind his glass of soju, “It’s cute.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon asked, ears perking up.

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered, mouth twisted into an embarrassed smile as he picked up his chopsticks.

“‘Shut up,’” Namjoon mimicked, high-pitched, grinning into his cup of beer.  “Cute.”

Kink negotiations were meant to occur prior to the act—unless one was Kim Namjoon, Jungkook learned too late. 

Namjoon was balls-deep in Jungkook on a harmless Wednesday night when he looked down at him underneath him—forehead glistening with sweat, panting like he was being set on fire from within—and asked: “Do you have a daddy kink?”

Jungkook looked up at him bewildered.  “What?” he choked out.  Namjoon’s stupidly big dick kept rubbing over his sweet spot, so naturally now was when that giant doofus wanted to talk about this.  “Namjoon—what the fuck.”

“Try it out,” Namjoon egged on, slowing down (torturously so).  “See if you do.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook glared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Just try.”

“Do you—do you want me to have one?” Jungkook asked, breathless.

“Yes,” Namjoon grinned. 

“Ugh,” Jungkook groaned, head flopping onto his pillow.  “All tops are the same!”  He closed his eyes, ruminating his life decisions.  He used to be a virgin—a happy, careless virgin.  This was all Namjoon’s fault.  

Namjoon slowly pulled out, slowly pushed back in.  Jungkook moaned, back arching up and toes curling against his will (hating to give Namjoon the satisfaction at that exact moment). 

“Now’s the—the time for experimenting,” Namjoon panted against his throat, mouthing against his skin there.  “C’mon,” he whispered into his ear (Jungkook shivered).  “Do it for me.  Say it.  Say ‘fuck me, daddy.’  C’mon, baby.”

“Just because you make me bottom, does not mean you can make me a fucking twink.”

“Just say it.”  He pulled almost all the way out.

Jungkook huffed.  “Fuck me, daddy.”

“No,” Namjoon moped.  “You have to say it like you mean it.”

“I c-can’t,” Jungkook gasped, eyes squeezing shut as Namjoon thrust back into him again.  “Can’t say it like I m-mean it.  You’re an idiot, not a father.”

“You won’t do it?  For me?”

“It’s not like your dick would get any harder.”

“You don’t know that.”  Namjoon mouthed along his neck again.  Took his earlobe and nibbled on it.  Traced the shell of his ear with his tongue before whispering, breath hot and intimate: “Be a good bunny.”

“Ung.” 

Jungkook’s entire body convulsed—head to toe.  He dug his nails into Namjoon’s back as a shiver rocked through him. 

“Ah!” he whimpered, neck bending towards Namjoon’s face and trapping him in the heat of it between his shoulder.  “What the—fuck you.”

“Bunny likes that,” Namjoon grinned.  He kissed Jungkook on his shoulder.  Then bit him gently on the same place.

When Jungkook opened his eyes, he saw spots in front of his vision.  His dick was throbbing and leaking uselessly onto his stomach and it was all so incredibly embarrassing.  He reached down to touch himself, defeated. 

He turned to face Namjoon, breathless, unable to speak, and got out, “I—will die—be-before I call you ‘daddy’ in bed.”

“Mouthy bunny,” Namjoon chastised, eyes glittering with mischief.  (Jungkook hated how his heart hammered each time Namjoon called him that, his body heated up from the back of his neck to his fingertips.  He thought the worst thing that would ever happen to his dignity was doing anything Namjoon asked of him as long as he preceded it with ‘baby’ but no—no, things could always get worse.  He should have known.)  Planting his hands under Jungkook’s thighs, Namjoon lifted himself onto his knees and wrapped Jungkook’s legs around his waist, lifting his hips off the mattress.  Jungkook’s eyes went wide once he realized how much thrusting power Namjoon would have in this position.  Before he could even pretend to protest, Namjoon began pummeling into him and Jungkook’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.  Roadkill bunny.

They sat watching TV on the couch one afternoon, Namjoon’s head on Jungkook’s belly.  A cop drama where the police were investigating the grim case of a college girl who’d committed suicide after her boyfriend had leaked nude pictures of her to his friends. 

“You never send me sexy pics,” Namjoon had the audacity to sulk, watching the episode.

“Are you even paying attention?  She killed herself, Namjoon.”

“Why don’t I get nudes, huh?”

“You’d have to fucking leave my apartment first for me to send you pictures at all,” Jungkook scoffed, disgusted.  “Disgusting.”

Namjoon considered the trade-off.  “Nah, I’m good.”

“Idiot,” Jungkook indicted fondly, flicking Namjoon’s forehead with his fingers. 

“Oooh, can you play with my hair?” Namjoon asked idly, attention still on the show. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed, running his fingers absently through Namjoon’s black hair.  He loved when Namjoon did the same for him (strong fingers), and thought it was cute that he likely did to Jungkook because he liked it done to himself as well (though he’d never asked before that day). 

“Namjoon-ah, what are your plans after graduation?”

It was early morning on a weekday.  They’d both woken up from how loud the birds were outside Jungkook’s apartment.  The seasons were changing quickly.

Namjoon buried his face in his pillow.  “I don’t know.”

He pretended to fall back asleep.

Jungkook had a thousand knots of his anxiety in his gut during finals week.  He had to study for exams (he’d ended up not doing so terribly on that one exam, after the professor had curved their grades and he’d wound up with a 94), he had to help (force) Namjoon to study for his exams (handwritten color-coded flashcards were working best thus far), and then he had to worry about his (their) future).

The company he’d always wanted to work for once he’d graduated—Korea’s biggest publishing firm, located in downtown Seoul—had headhunted him for a position.  The offered salary was exactly what he’d need if he had to make the four-hour move to Seoul and relocate.  His parents were supportive, his brother told him to follow his dreams, and Namjoon was (tentatively) happy for him.  He was still waiting on a couple of offers to get back to him, he told Jungkook, all of them also Seoul-based.  Jungkook just needed one of those stupid companies to just email Namjoon back ASAP and put him at ease. 

There was less than ten days left of their university life ahead of them now.  This semester had passed the quickest of them all.  Watching Namjoon stumble around his sunlit room as he quickly got ready to head to his first exam, Jungkook couldn’t help but be wistful that they hadn’t met one another sooner.  It wasn’t as if they went to an overpopulated university; why couldn’t their paths have crossed four years ago?  Why couldn’t Jungkook have had years and years of Namjoon stumbling around and mismatching his socks and borrowing his phone charger and brushing his hair before he brushed his teeth and eating every meal with him and forgetting to shave and giving Jungkook the sweetest little kisses before he left him to go to class? 

It was stupid. 

They passed all their exams, filed for graduation, and Jungkook borrowed a friend’s car and drove them thirty minutes to the beach.  They dipped their toes in the water, ate takeaway, and popped a bottle of moderately-priced champagne without having packed any glasses for it. 

“Gah!” Namjoon exclaimed, happy, dimply, sticky champagne fizzing out all over his fist around the mouth of the bottle, “It’s over.  It’s motherfucking over!” he yelled at the sea with his entire chest.

Jungkook laughed, the biggest smile imaginable overtaking his features.  Seeing Namjoon so happy only did the same to him. 

“Not gonna lie, Goog,” Namjoon shook his head, grinning ear-to-ear, “Really thought I wasn’t gonna make it through a couple times over the years, but, god, I’m graduating.”

“Congratulations, baby,” Jungkook said, big eyes twinkling.  Namjoon was so cute.  “I always believed in you, all four years.” 

“Don’t I wish,” Namjoon said, just as warm.

Jungkook held the bottle by the bottom and tipped it first into Namjoon’s mouth, who scrunched his eyes closed and chugged it like a champion.  “On to the future,” Jungkook smiled widely, taking a huge breath and purposely refusing to think about that unsure future as the sun set a brilliant amber and magenta over the water, behind Namjoon’s head. 

“On to the future!” Namjoon repeated, buzzing, swallowing the drink triumphantly.  He offered the bottle to Jungkook next and Jungkook took a giant swig.  Lowering the bottle, wiping his mouth, he leaned over and kissed Namjoon.  When he pulled away, Namjoon put a thumb on his mole, drew him back, and kissed him again. 

“I accepted the job offer.”

“The Seoul one?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“I emailed them this morning.”

They were sitting across from one another at their favorite restaurant for dinner.  Jungkook had finished his pork belly and Namjoon was working through his glass noodles.  The owner always gave them an extra half serving apiece—for being such good customers—so they always kept going back. 

“Did you get that apartment you called about?”

Jungkook nodded.  “I can move in at the end of the month.”

Namjoon chewed slowly and then swallowed.  “I don’t think I can afford to live in Seoul.  Not without a job.”  He picked around his plate, not looking at Jungkook. 

“So then, what?  Will you move back home?” Jungkook asked. 

Namjoon shrugged.  “I don’t have a job lined up, and I don’t think I’ll find one in a week.”

“Namjoon-ahhh,” Jungkook sighed, genuinely irritated, “You had all semester.  I told you a thousand times to let me help you, and you kept telling me you’d take care of it.  If I could’ve accessed your academic record myself, I would’ve applied to things for you, but you di—”

“I know,” Namjoon admitted, contrite.  “I know.  But.  It’s too late.”

“So what do we do?” Jungkook frowned, shoulders tense.  He didn’t like their options.  “I… I don’t know if I can afford both of us, but I—”

“No,” Namjoon cut him off, looking up.  “I wouldn’t live with you.  I wouldn’t accept that.”

Jungkook blinked, expression hardening.  He crossed his arms.  “Why not?”

Namjoon scoffed.  “I have pride, you know.  Please.  I’m not going to let you pay for me like that.  I’m not a housewife.”

Jungkook set his jaw.  “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Namjoon murmured, returning to his noodles, “You’d be holding the leash.”

“I mean I wouldn’t mind if it was the other way around,” Jungkook frothed.  And he knew he was telling the truth; he wouldn’t mind.  Not if it was just temporary.  It would’ve only been growing pains between them that he would’ve borne.   

“You’re just saying that,” Namjoon responded stubbornly. 

“I’m not.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Are you really being like this?”

Namjoon shrugged.

Jungkook just squinted at him, biting his tongue.  “You’ve practically been living at my apartment all sem—”

“Because I wanted to,” Namjoon stung back (poisonously), gaze still averted.  He set down his chopsticks and crossed his own arms, mirroring Jungkook.  “And I always paid for myself.”

Jungkook had never ever witnessed an irritated Namjoon.  “So then get a job in Seoul.  And then pay me back.”

Namjoon picked at his nails.  “I think I’m going to enlist.”

Jungkook blinked.  “Because you didn’t find a job?”

“Because I’ll have to eventually, no?”

“Yeah, but…”

Jungkook slumped back in his chair.  Namjoon leaned forward on his elbows, talking to Jungkook’s empty plate.  “I—I actually already applied.  I’m due to report in five weeks.” 

A cold sweat ran over Jungkook.  “You didn’t tell me?”

Namjoon looked down at his own plate now and shook his head. 

Jungkook stood up and stormed out. 

“Jungkook!” Namjoon called after him, panicking.  But by the time Namjoon had realized he couldn’t leave the restaurant without paying (and set about patting himself down in search for his wallet), Jungkook had already turned left and bolted down the street—running and running and running until his vision blurred. 

The sky was pink and gold. 

Over the weekend, Jungkook packed up all of Namjoon’s things.  His toothbrush, his cheap hair gel, his contact lenses, his spare glasses, his towels, his deodorant, his shirts, his pajamas, his hoodies, his endless pairs of underwear, his socks, his random notebooks, his chunky rings, his stray earrings, his lucky mug, his various chargers, the lotions Jungkook had gotten for him, his beanies that Jungkook had been ‘borrowing,’ the slippers Jungkook had designated for him and didn’t want anymore, his bottles of lube, and his ambitiously large pack of condoms.  

It took up one huge box.  Jungkook had no idea how it had all crept into his apartment over the past semester—item by item, bit by bit—but now it would leave all at once. 

Namjoon came to pick it up.  He balked when he saw the size of it, but otherwise didn’t say anything. 

Hands in his hoodie pockets, Namjoon turned to an icy Jungkook with penitence in his dropped gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.  “I should have told you earlier.”

“Just take your stuff.”

Namjoon looked at him.  “I don’t want to break up.”

Jungkook didn’t want to break up either.  But they were stupid if they didn’t think it wouldn’t have happened eventually.  ‘Nothing in common.’  Namjoon wasn’t the type of person you stuck with forever anyways.  He wasn’t serious.  Jungkook had always known parts of Namjoon were underdeveloped; he could now only wish he’d more thoroughly confronted that reality before he’d let them get this far. 

At least he hadn’t fallen in love he kept remembering with grim relief. 

“There’s nothing to do about it now.”

“Googie.”  Namjoon looked like he was about to cry, blinking quickly.

“You made me a promise,” Jungkook reminded, eyes dry, crossed arms tightening.  “Don’t forget it.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon mumbled.  “I won’t.”

Jungkook pursed his lips; waited for him to take his box and go. 

“Can we talk?” Namjoon asked, desperate. 

About what?  About how you broke my fucking heart?  You big, stupid, fucking idiot—I almost loved you.  I was getting ready to.  But you…

“No.” 

“Please.”

Jungkook was happy that he hadn’t let himself tip into Namjoon these past few months.  He’d gotten close, more times than he could count.  But he’d always stopped himself.  Hadn’t talked his heart up.  Had taught himself to separate love and sex just for its sake.

“Can you just leave?”

“Can I call you?  When you’re not so mad?”

“It’ll be pointless.”

“Jungkook, please—”

“Leave, Namjoon!” Jungkook eventually shouted angrily.  “Just take your shit and leave.”

Now Namjoon was the one who looked electrocuted; he’d never seen Jungkook genuinely angry before.  Jungkook’s playful irritation and playful reluctance he was used to, but he didn’t know what to do with genuine anger. 

He picked up the giant box without any further hesitation and walked back towards the open front door. 

Before he left, he awkwardly turned around at Jungkook’s threshold and said, “Good luck in Seoul.”

And then Jungkook saw his back retreat.

And then they were over.

Jungkook fell in love quickly and eagerly the second time. 

He graduated college and immediately moved to Seoul, having gladly accepted a position at the publishing company as a junior editor.  One year later, in the same building as him, a few floors up, a law firm moved in.  Lee Hanjae was a lawyer there specializing in finance and securities.  He was tall, good looking, five years older, respectable, (presumably) well-earning, and always smiled whenever he saw Jungkook in the company elevator (excellent teeth). 

Within his first month there, Hanjae asked Jungkook out on a date.  Within three months, they were engaged (to be married). 

It was fast—they knew that.  But love was love, and when you knew you just knew. 

Hanjae was a complete gentleman.  Jungkook was on his absolute best behavior with him at all times.  Only offered him the best version of himself; the version of himself he thought Hanjae wanted.  He was polite, charming, deferential, and sweet.  Everything a respectable lawyer would want in their spouse.  Hanjae saw Jungkook’s potential immediately and didn’t waste time (he was in securities, after all).  

Jungkook was proposed to on his twenty-third birthday and said yes before Hanjae could even finish the sentence.  The kiss they shared post-proposal had been a firm press of their lips together, both smiling.  

Within their first few dates, when Hanjae would drop Jungkook off at his door each night, Jungkook had told him that he liked Hanjae a lot.  Despite that, he strongly did not believe in—

Jungkook hadn’t even finished the sentence.  Hanjae had smiled softly, held his hand, and told him that he’d had a wonderful night and hoped to have another one soon, with Jungkook. 

After that, there’d been no mention of it.  Hanjae was the perfect boyfriend.  And then he was the perfect fiancé.  Jungkook was over the moon with him.  He was so sweet and gentle—loved holding Jungkook’s hand and kissing his cheek.  Jungkook would kiss him back on his lips and Hanjae would leave him smiling each time. 

“We’re perfect together,” Hanjae said one night, threading Jungkook’s hands in his own as they sat on the same side of a restaurant booth together, drinking wine.

“I can’t believe we’re getting married,” Jungkook gushed, squeezing his hand in Hanjae’s. 

“One month,” Hanjae grinned.  He had a long, handsome, narrow face.  His hair was always neatly parted and combed, and Jungkook loved how gorgeous he looked in his sharp suits and shiny shoes and expensive watches.  He looked every bit like the type of man that Jungkook had imagined he’d end up with. 

“One month,” Jungkook repeated.  He leaned in and kissed Hanjae quickly on his lips, just a quick brush. 

“Public,” Hanjae warned.

“I know,” Jungkook kept grinning, cheeks warming.  “Couldn’t help myself.”

Hanjae smiled.  “Eager.”

“A little,” Jungkook blushed.

“Have you thought about what we’d talked about?” Hanjae segued, taking a sip of wine with his free hand.  “Honeymoon destinations?”

Jungkook blushed deeper.

“Don’t be shy,” Hanjae said, taking Jungkook’s hand in both of his now.  “If you get shy then I’ll get shy.”

Jungkook sucked in a big breath.  “I was hoping somewhere tropical.”

“Cliché.”

“Traditional,” Jungkook amended.  “We could spend all day at the beach.”

“You hate the sun,” Hanjae reminded.

“I’d like it on my honeymoon,” Jungkook tried to convince, still pink-faced with embarrassment. 

“Where tropical?”

“Hawaii?”

“Hawaii?  You’re out to bankrupt me,” Hanjae teased.

“Please?” Jungkook asked, tilting his head.

Hanjae said he’d think about it.

Less than two years after his honeymoon, a month or so after his twenty-fifth birthday, Jungkook left his company building at the end of the day with the intention of popping into a convenience store to buy dinner.  His day had been grueling.  He didn’t feel like cooking, wasn’t even particularly hungry, and just wanted to get home and take a shower. 

Stepping into the store nearest his apartment building, he stood in front of the dozens of instant ramyun selections with a blank face.  The section for extra spicy Shin ramyun was cleared out.  He blinked.  He’d cry.  He’d really fucking cry.  Today was not the day for the universe to test him.  He was just a simple man asking for (at least) three packets of his favorite ramyun at the end of a draining day.  Whose dick would he have to fucking suck to—

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook snapped his head up at the voice.  He turned.  He did a double take.  It couldn’t be—

“Namjoon…”

And there he stood.  Looking—infuriatingly—exactly the same as the day Jungkook had seen him for the first time.  Tall, bulky, dimply, wearing oversized clothes, a black beanie, and sucking on a lollipop with one hand and holding a basket full to the brim with extra spicy Shin ramyun packets in the other. 

Jungkook’s eyes welled up with tears. 

Namjoon took a step towards him, arms wide.  “How are you?”

He came forward to hug Jungkook but Jungkook took a step forward of his own and shoved Namjoon in his big, stupid, (rock solid) chest with both hands. 

“Hey!” Namjoon exclaimed, almost dropping his lollipop.  “What—”

“You!” Jungkook shook, pointed a finger at him, shouting in the middle of a convenience store at seven in the evening, “Ruined my marriage!!!!”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon exclaimed, eyes widening, “You got married?  Congratu—”

“GAHHHH!!!” Jungkook screamed as he pummeled Namjoon’s dumb chest with his fists—lollipop shattering and ramyun packets falling out everywhere all over on the convenience store floor.