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Somebody's Dream Life

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The bouncer scans Taehyung’s ID without looking away from his face and touches his hand as he takes the cover. “Have fun, gorgeous,” he says, and Taehyung gives him a haughty eyebrow that could be rejection or invitation as he walks past.

It’s probably neither, it’s probably just a thing he’s doing with his face for everyone else to read what they want there. Taehyung is used to his own beauty, and he knows how to deal with it better than Jungkook does. 

Jungkook’s just anxious. It was a long line to get into the club, and he’s not excited to be going out tonight, and he doesn’t understand why they’d put this big alpha bouncer—radiating violent, sweaty-smelling pheromones—in the orderly omega line.

He hands over his ID without looking, focused on Taehyung’s back disappearing into the dark beyond the door. But when the bouncer scans it, his phone gives a sharp beep that makes Jungkook jump to attention.

“Nope.” The bouncer tosses back his card.

“What? It’s me.” Jungkook stares down at his ID, a good, lifelike picture of his fully adult face.

“You can’t come in. Go on, go away.” The bouncer actually swats at him, like he’s a fly, so brusque and dismissive it’s obviously meant to be cruel. Jungkook takes a step back but he also leans forward, the sudden rush of confusion inside him tunneling to one point.

“Taehyung!” he tries to call past the bouncer’s shoulder—he needs to tell Taehyung he can’t come in, he needs to see what Taehyung wants to do now, he just needs Taehyung—but as he moves forward, the bouncer shouts and shoves him away, a hard strike to the chest.

Jungkook crashes into the cement wall of the building, gaping as the wind is knocked out of him. Shocked tears prickle behind his eyes.

The next people in line, a big group of girls, hang back—it looks like some of them are startled and want to leave—and Jungkook can’t make his body move even though he can tell the bouncer is getting angrier that everyone is just staring. And then, appearing like a golden angel in the dark shape of the doorway, Taehyung returns. “What’s going on?”

“Your fucking friend tried to hit me,” the bouncer says.

Jungkook is too hurt and surprised to answer, but a couple of the girls jump to his defense. “That’s not true!” shouts the smallest one, standing right in the center.

“I was just trying to find Taehyung.” Jungkook’s voice is weak and damp, how he feels but not how he wanted to sound.

Taehyung frowns.

“He can’t go in. He’s on the blacklist,” the bouncer says, and adds defensively—to the girl, which is funny in a way, this little omega girl becoming the arbiter— "It says he’s violent.”

The girl is unimpressed, and Taehyung looks appalled. But Jungkook knows right away. "Is this about what happened at Wolf?"

Taehyung whirls on the bouncer. "Jungkook pushed someone who was harassing him! It was totally justified."

The bouncer sets his jaw. "All I know is, he's on the list, so he can't go in."

"I'll just leave," Jungkook says. He feels sick. 

Last weekend, in a club called Wolf, Jungkook didn't just push the alpha who had him backed into a corner—he punched him, so hard the guy's nose bled. It was not worth it. Jungkook got kicked out of the club, and his hand hurt for three days. He didn't like being someone who hit to solve his problems, but he was still scared of what might have happened if he hadn't.

"You can stay," he mumbles as he pushes around the rope, but Taehyung is still ranting behind him—demanding the cover back and getting it, it sounds like.  

Taehyung stomps over with the girl from the line. "He can't just smack people like that!" she says. "I'll talk to the police if you want me to, that was awful."

"Should we call the police?" Taehyung asks. He's angry, too, but he looks a little lost, in his way, ready to channel his energy down the path a leader clears for him.

"No," Jungkook says. "He'll just say I hit him first."

"You didn't," the girl says, but some of the fire has gone out. They all know he didn't, but that doesn't mean anything. Everyone expects alphas to lash out sometimes, but a violent omega is an aberration, and punished accordingly. If there's video from Wolf last week, Jungkook could end up in more trouble than he is now.

The girl sighs, and Taehyung looks worried. "I just want to go home," Jungkook says. 

Taehyung takes the girl’s number before she goes back to her friends, in case Jungkook changes his mind later. “Do you want to get a taxi?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook hesitates. No, he doesn’t really want to sit in a car with a driver for half an hour and end up at his brother’s place, answering questions about why he’s back so early. When he said “home,” he kind of meant—

“Come to mine,” Taehyung says. “We can eat choco pies and watch Cypher concerts.”

That’s what Jungkook meant. He smiles sincerely and Taehyung grins back. They can walk—Taehyung pays blood money for a little hovel of a room because it’s in the center of everything, right where he wants to be—and they stop at a convenience store on the way to get their snacks. Jungkook picks up some salonpas gel, too. His shoulder already aches where the bouncer knocked him into the wall.

Taehyung is waiting near the counter, arms piled with junk food, and his jaw drops when he spots the salonpas. “Did he hit you really hard?” he asks, his lower lip trembling.

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, quick in warning. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and then we’ll both be crying—”

“I’m not crying.” Taehyung snatches the salonpas and turns to the counter suspiciously fast. But when he’s done ringing up, he approaches Jungkook with only cautious calm. 

They walk without talking for a block or so. Taehyung’s absorbed in his phone. He puts it away and says, “I don’t mean to guilt you or anything. I just worry about you sometimes, going around trying to fight alphas.”

“I’m not trying to fight anyone.” Jungkook hunches his shoulders. It’s a loud night, bright and hot. People are still heading to their parties, not home, and they make their way through bodies like fish swimming upstream. “It just keeps happening.”

“Do you think—” Taehyung stops, twisting his lips.

“Not usually,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung grins, fast and shallow. “I was going to say, do you think there’s a reason you want to challenge them?”

“I didn’t want to challenge anybody,” Jungkook whines. “I just—” He stops himself before he says wanted you.

“Okay,” Taehyung says. “Well, if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

Jungkook side-eyes him.

“I’m serious! You have to let me be the hyung sometimes.”

“I let you buy the snacks.”

Taehyung leans into Jungkook’s side. “Just let me say this. I love you, okay? However you want to live your life, whatever—” He pauses, gulps, the sounds of the busy night filling the gap and making it huge. When he starts again, he sounds less sure. “Whatever you do. Whoever you want to be with, or be, or anything. Anything. I just want you to be happy and safe.”

Jungkook checks, but Taehyung’s gaze is glued to the ground in front of him. 

So, he’s asking—he’s barely asking, he’s basically saying he already knows something is up. Something about Jungkook is not built the way everyone thinks he should be.

And Taehyung is right about that, but he still doesn’t understand. Because the thing is, the happier Jungkook gets, the less safe he is. But it’s not his responsibility to try to stay safe in a world that wants to hurt him, either with the slow grind of expected omega-type behavior or some other, harsher punishment when he steps out of line.

Jungkook has people he talks about this, but Taehyung isn’t one of them. Taehyung is an emissary from a better, kinder world, a place where nothing is complicated or unbeautiful or wrong. He’s who Jungkook hangs out with to talk about art and dance until dawn and follow the news about their favorite hip hop group, Cypher. Taehyung is already upset about their derailed night, and Jungkook doesn’t want to say anything—not even something true—to make it worse.

So Jungkook just grins and says, “Okay, Eomma.”

Taehyung huffs. “Can you imagine if people’s moms actually said stuff like that?”

Actually, Jungkook’s mom does. “Your mom doesn’t say she loves you no matter what?”

Taehyung shrugs uncomfortably, eyes still down. He’s not supposed to feel bad, ever, at all; Jungkook keeps making him feel bad somehow. “Sorry,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung shrugs again but brisker, shaking it off. “Of course she does. I just have this one memory, when I had a growth spurt in high school, and she kept crying because she was afraid I was getting too tall. You know alpha girls don’t like it when guys are taller than they are.”

Jungkook wrinkles his nose. If nothing else, Taehyung doesn’t have any problem getting attention from alpha girls.

“She just wants me to be happy,” Taehyung adds.

Jungkook nods, hanging back politely as Taehyung enters his building’s door code.

Taehyung’s room is objectively terrible, but Jungkook likes it anyway. The small space is charmingly cluttered with Taehyung’s things, mysterious little whizgigs he finds at secondhand stores and flowing bolts of multicolored fabric. Taehyung lights two illegal candles and a purple-shaded desk lamp, warming the darkness more than he illuminates it, and starts digging around in his drawers.

Jungkook goes into the bathroom to splash water on his face. He glares at his reflection in the mirror, its big fearful eyes and sallow color. He tries to get a look at his back, but he can’t find the angle, and it hurts to twist around.

He comes out to find Taehyung has changed into a black t-shirt and gray boxers, old, worn stuff. The eye makeup he’d had on is gone, and as he rubs his hands through his hair, the curl falls out of it. He seems smaller than he did in his club clothes, younger. He looks softer than Jungkook has seen him lately, maybe softer than anyone has seen him in a long time.

“What?” Taehyung asks, defensive.

Jungkook’s staring. “You look cute,” he says, caught too off-guard to lie.

But Taehyung just scoffs like Jungkook is making fun of him. “Shut up.”

There’s nowhere to sit except the bed, but Taehyung is relaxed as he sprawls out. Jungkook has spent a lot of time here, wrestling or snuggling with Taehyung as they play games or watch videos, and if he feels anything wrong or excessive about that, Taehyung never has to know.

Taehyung gestures with his phone. “Jiminnie says that hyung says you might really have a case.” 

Jungkook gawks. Ever since Jimin started dating a tall, handsome hyung who happens to be an omega rights lawyer, Taehyung has declared every inconvenience a violation of his rights and keeps threatening to sue basically everyone. The joke has metastasized because Jin-hyung plays along instead of shutting him down, and Jungkook isn’t sure if they’re joking now. Mostly he’s squirmy at the idea that Jimin and Jin know what happened tonight.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Taehyung says. “Come sit.”

Jungkook plops down with his usual force and hisses in pain. Taehyung frowns, and there’s no hiding. "Will you help me with this?” Jungkook hands over the salonpas.

Taehyung tuts but opens the package. Jungkook leans forward, elbows on his knees, so Taehyung can push his shirt up and get to his shoulder. Taehyung makes an indignant sound at whatever he sees.

“Does it look bad?” Jungkook asks.

“You have a big bruise.” Taehyung pushes Jungkook’s shirt over his head and guides it down his arms, carefully gentle so Jungkook doesn’t have to move. He leans across Jungkook’s back to do it, nuzzling into the side of Jungkook’s neck and letting the underside of his chin brush over Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook exhales long and slow, relaxing under the wash of Taehyung’s sweet pheromones.

Cuddling like this, scent-marking, is supposed to be a harmless social ritual between omegas, a way to meet their needs for comfort and affection. And Taehyung’s scent is comforting to Jungkook, calming his heart and dulling the ache in his shoulder, but there’s more to it than that. He smells so good, sweet and salty and almost creamy. It makes Jungkook remember something—not quite a moment but a sense-memory, strawberry milk on the beach at home. It’s addictive. It’s more than comforting. Jungkook doesn’t just want to cuddle, he wants a taste.

Or something.

Taehyung smooths cool salonpas over his shoulder and the sharp menthol cuts through their own scents mingling. It clears Jungkook’s head, especially as his hurt and adrenaline fade. “Poor baby Jungkookie,” Taehyung says. It could go genuine or teasing depending on how Jungkook decides to take it—that was probably intentional, if he’s finding Jungkook’s mood difficult to read. Jungkook certainly is.

Shock calming, Jungkook feels a secret, shameful trickle of relief. He didn’t really want to go out, put himself through the whole exhausting dance of pretending to look for a nice alpha while avoiding all the bad ones. He just wanted to spend time with Taehyung. “Alphas suck,” he says sourly.

“Not all of them,” Taehyung says.


“Even Jiminnie?”

“Especially Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook says, pouting, even though that’s not true. “You can tell him I said so.”

“Mm.” Taehyung sounds amused. He finishes his ministrations to Jungkook’s bruised shoulder and noses the side of his neck again, taking Jungkook’s hand and putting it in his own hair to share his scent back. Jungkook rubs his thumb down Taehyung’s neck, finding the bump of his pulse and the scent glad that he can’t feel, but that makes his own pulse kick in return.

“Even Namjoon-hyung?” Taehyung murmurs.

Jungkook snorts. He doesn’t actually even know Kim Namjoon, a rich, famous alpha rapper. That whole philosopher-poet thing he does in his live broadcasts could all be fake, and if he’s a horrible person, he’s surrounded by people who will protect him.

But as soon as Jungkook thinks that, he regrets it. Namjoon has worked hard to present a gentle, thoughtful public image, so at least he understands it’s important. He hasn’t done anything to hurt Jungkook, and, well—Jungkook really wants to believe he’s good. It’s just nice to imagine he’s out there, somewhere, not being a jackass.

“Not Namjoon-hyung,” he admits, and Taehyung laughs. He tosses Jungkook a choco pie and gets his laptop from underneath the bed to pull up some Cypher videos. Their music videos are all awesome, but it’s really the live performances that are fun to watch. Taehyung and Jungkook have been to eight concerts, starting years ago in the little venues, and the presence of those three rappers is still the best thing Jungkook has ever felt. Plus one time Jungkook saw Jung Hoseok in an Innisfree, and he didn’t say anything—he’s too awkward to meet a famous person, it just sounds awful—but he did catch a whiff of pheromones and expensive cologne that still makes him want to roll around on the floor if he thinks about it.

Watching YouTube videos of old concerts isn’t as good as that, but it’s as close as Jungkook can get on demand.

Jungkook curls up under Taehyung’s arm, drinking up that sweet scent. Jungkook hasn’t put his shirt back on, still careful of the salonpas (or that’s what he tells himself) and Taehyung’s hand covers a lot of Jungkook’s waist. It contrasts how narrow Taehyung’s chest feels under his cheek. They fit together well, matching one another’s bigness and smallness like puzzle pieces.

“Ddaeng.” Jungkook points at the thumbnail.

“Kookie,” Taehyung says condescendingly. “Learn about foreplay.”

Jungkook huffs. He’d bet he knows more about foreplay than Taehyung does. Taehyung’s always hooking up with the biggest, most powerful alphas in the club, which might be less gross than Jungkook imagines but probably isn’t.

Jungkook doesn’t say any of that, though—that’s not the kind of thing they talk about. Taehyung must be thinking about those alphas now, that’s why he’s making sex jokes. He went out ready to hook up. He could be taking his pick of alphas, and instead he has to be here, sharing all the rich, delicious pheromones of his excitement with no one except Jungkook. 

“Sorry I messed up your night.” Jungkook looks at the screen instead of Taehyung.

“You didn’t. I’d rather hang out with you and Yoongi-hyung than some assholes in a club, anyway.” Taehyung clicks on one of the live performances of “Tear” before Jungkook has to answer.

It honestly does feel like foreplay to Jungkook, watching Namjoon stride to the center of a stage in his all-black outfit and start growling controlled fire into the microphone. The fine hairs on the back of Jungkook’s neck rise, goosebumps rippling down his spine and under the line of Taehyung’s arm around his side, in response to some frequency hidden in the depths of Namjoon’s voice. He loves this trembling feeling, but sometimes—maybe a little, right now—he fears it, too. That a stranger can do this to him.

“Do you think it’s true that biology takes over sometimes?” Jungkook asks, busying himself with opening his choco pie so he doesn’t have to look up at Taehyung’s face. “That we can’t control ourselves?”

“No way,” Taehyung says firmly. “That’s just something people say so they can get away with deciding not to control themselves.”

“Sometimes I feel like I lose control,” Jungkook says. “Not when I’m with someone, but when….” He trails off, heating with a blush, and stuffs choco pie in his mouth.

“When you imagine Namjoon-hyung?” There’s laughter in Taehyung’s voice, but not meanness.

Jungkook shrugs, but if he acts embarrassed Taehyung will pounce, so he admits, “Yeah.”

Taehyung hums an assent, deep, and lying on his chest, Jungkook can feel it. “It’s different when it’s a fantasy, though, that’s hot.” 

Yoongi moves into the center of the screen, purring the opening of his verse, and Taehyung takes a deep breath. Maybe an involuntary one.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, even though he doesn’t keep much space between his fantasies and his actions. He goes to the clubs with Taehyung and dances while Taehyung finds a strong, appealing alpha to take him home, and then Jungkook pulls out his phone and goes on the kind of app Taehyung probably doesn’t even know about to find his own hookups.

Jungkook lets the conversation fade and they watch the video together, their silence gone breathless as Hoseok closes the song with his powerful rap. Jungkook licks chocolate off his fingers, tastes his own skin under the sweetness. Taehyung must be sweating or—or something—and he smells so good, filling the air.

Jungkook should get his shirt, but it’s too warm already, and he doesn’t want to leave Taehyung’s side. Jungkook’s goosebumps haven’t faded, prickling under Taehyung’s hand on his skin. 

The next video rolls up, a live performance of “Seesaw.” Jungkook smiles and Taehyung makes a noise like “unf.”

"I don't really want anyone to be mean to me," Taehyung says. "But sometimes I imagine Yoongi-hyung being mean."

It's almost funny to think about, with Yoongi at his absolute cutest to perform "Seesaw." "You want that little hyung to spank you?" Jungkook asks.

It's a joke, because that’s a game they play—Taehyung likes a lot of attention, and when he's bored he pokes and pinches at Jungkook until he gets it. Even annoyed attention is worth it, to Taehyung, and he acts like he's won something when he bothers Jungkook into slapping his ass or the inside of his thigh.

It's a joke, it's all just a game. He isn't expecting Taehyung to hiss on his exhale and murmur, "God, yeah. Sure."

Jungkook licks his dry, marshmallow-sticky lips. He reaches across Taehyung for the water on his bedside table and takes a cool sip. Taehyung takes the glass back from Jungkook's hand when he's done, drinking after him. He settles lower on the bed after the shifting around, his face closer to Jungkook's now. He's focused on the screen, he probably doesn't even realize.

Yoongi trips delicately down the bench on the stage, smirking heavy-eyed at the camera like he knows he did good. "Yeah," Taehyung says again, more lightly, "that hyung can throw me around however he wants."

"He doesn't strike me as a throwing-around guy," Jungkook says. "If you want him to spank you, you probably have to stay where he tells you to."

Taehyung actually gasps. "Oh my god, Kookie."

Jungkook laughs to keep from doing something else. He's close enough to hear the click when Taehyung swallows. 

So that's… that was right. Jungkook was playing, but that's what Taehyung wants: for a serious, small-boned alpha hyung to tell him what to do. Taehyung, so confident it looks almost arrogant when he’s comfortable and sullen when he’s afraid, isn’t someone Jungkook thinks of as obedient. He’s actively disobedient, even, always chasing after his own whims.

But maybe he’d do what Yoongi told him. “All fours, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi would say, and—fuck—Taehyung would just do it, tidying his long limbs into place on some kind of huge, luxurious bed only a famous rapper could afford. Leather headboard, satin sheets. Taehyung would arch his back, spread his knees, shake out his hair as he relaxed into his position.

But he wouldn’t drop his head, he’s not that obedient, not even for Yoong-hyung. He’d look over his shoulder, a challenge in his dark gaze. I’ll be good for you as long as you make it good for me.  

That’s a challenge Yoongi would meet. He’d walk up slow, no hesitation but no rush, either, and put his sure hands on Taehyung’s skin, massaging the meat of his ass and thighs. Jungkook lets that part go vague in his imagination and gives himself one guilty, indulgent second to picture Taehyung’s perfect, pouty mouth opening with a gasp at the first hard smack.

Taehyung traces slow circles on Jungkook's waist like he doesn't notice he's doing it, his attention on the laptop screen. The motion creeps closer to Jungkook's navel, and it makes Jungkook want to roll over for him, belly-up and bare. Jungkook's supposed to feel like that all the time, but the submissive instinct never hits him as hard as it has him right now.

He wants to ask, do you ever think about being the one to hold Yoongi-hyung down? Do you ever imagine slipping off his pants and finding him wet and ready, the way you get? But Taehyung's a good omega who never would. 

That bouncer called Jungkook violent. And maybe he is, last week he hit an alpha so hard he could smell the blood on his hand after. It made him sick. Taehyung is holding him and scenting him like this to give him comfort, and instead it's making him tense all over, wet and hot between his legs. He can guess what it means for Taehyung and he knows what it means for himself, and it’s different but he’s taking it anyway.

Maybe. But Taehyung did ask all those leading questions on the sidewalk, digging around in secrets Jungkook doesn’t hold very close. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?" Jungkook asks.

Taehyung jolts. "There is not. That guy was an asshole, don't let him get to you."

"Hmm." Jungkook wasn’t asking for reassurance. He really wants to know what Taehyung thinks. But he also doesn't want to admit what he’s wondering, because he doesn't want Taehyung to stop touching him.

Taehyung rubs his nose in Jungkook’s hair. "Sweet Kookie. Really bad people don't worry about being bad, you know. You have to love yourself, Namjoon-hyung says so."

Jungkook smiles, his body's reaction to the touch, as Taehyung clicks on the video for "Love."

“How come you smell so good?” Taehyung asks. His face is still in Jungkook’s hair, near the back of his neck.

“You do too. Like ice cream.”

Taehyung makes a small, breathy laugh, even though that wasn’t a joke. “You smell like peaches. A day past ripe, when they’re gonna get juice all over you.”

“Is this love?” Namjoon asks, on the screen. 

“Do you want Namjoon-hyung to spank you?” Taehyung asks, like that’s a normal thing to say, like this is something they talk about. Jungkook would have thought he couldn’t get any hotter—there’s no ventilation in Taehyung’s room, there are more pheromones in here than oxygen—but his blush scalds him. He whines instead of answering.

Taehyung pouts, a big, melodramatic one that’s probably hiding a real one. “You never want to tell me stuff. I told you.”

He sure did. Jungkook wilts in the glare of his attention, and he turns away from that gaze to focus on the screen again. Namjoon is wearing a flowy robe over his clothes, striding around and smiling in this brilliant, engaging way that makes it look like the stage is his home and he’s welcoming Jungkook to it.

“No,” Jungkook says. “I like Namjoon-hyung because he seems nice.”

“That’s right.” Taehyung throws his other arm around Jungkook’s chest to fully encircle him, floppy and reckless but somehow still careful of Jungkook’s bruise. “Nobody’s going to hurt our Jungkookie, not even as a game.”

Jungkook cuddles in, and one of Taehyung’s long legs slides around his hip so he’s more in Taehyung’s lap than anywhere else, and it’s totally unrelated when Jungkook says, “He seems so big. I feel like we’d fit together nice.”

“Mm,” Taehyung hums into his ear. 

Jungkook has read Namjoon’s height online and understands, in theory, that they’re not all that different in size. Namjoon is taller than he is for sure, though, and looks so huge when he stands between the other, smaller guys in Cypher, or when he fills a stage with his presence.

Jungkook spends a lot of time in the gym, trying to get bigger, but he can make himself small when he wants to. It comes easier than he wants to admit. He does it now, curling his knees up and relaxing into Taehyung’s hold, wrapping his hands over Taehyung’s forearm to pull it into his own chest. All he has to do is turn his head to nuzzle into Taehyung’s downy neck.

“You gonna be a good boy like this, for Namjoon-hyung?” Taehyung asks.

That is a weird thing to say, it’s weird, and Jungkook would think about that if it didn’t hit him with a rush of submissive arousal that makes him sigh, “Uh-huh.”  He shakes his head clear, breathes, and adds, “Maybe at first.” 

He nips lightly at Taehyung’s throat and Taehyung throws his head back in his own sign of submission. Jungkook’s heart fumbles. He knows he’s pushing too far, but Taehyung keeps pushing back.

Taehyung laughs as he recovers and pinches Jungkook’s chest. “No fair.”

“You started it,” Jungkook says, pinching back at the smooth skin inside Taehyung’s knee. Taehyung’s leg twitches. Jungkook leaves his hand there, on top of Taehyung’s thigh.

The next video starts playing automatically—it’s “Ddaeng,” and Taehyung must have had enough foreplay, because he doesn’t change it.

Jungkook doesn’t like his own smell much—it reminds him of being sweaty, or uncomfortably turned on somewhere he shouldn’t be. It feels dirty and it smells dirty, overripe, like Taehyung said. It’s heavy around him now, drawing his attention to the wetness and the weight between his legs. But Taehyung said he likes it, and even though what they are doing is something strange and new, Taehyung is so comfortable that Jungkook can believe it’s going to be fine.

It’s a testament to how good it feels to have Taehyung’s thumb rubbing back and forth across his collarbone that Jungkook can barely concentrate as Hoseok opens his elegant arms and starts the first verse of “Ddaeng.” 

Taehyung's pinkie rests near Jungkook's nipple but not on it, and the proximity is heavier than a touch, sending goosebumps prickling down Jungkook's chest. Taehyung's breathing too hard for someone sitting still, and he shifts, rubbing his hips into the mattress, like he’s trying to reach an ache Jungkook knows too well.

This is wrong, this is not allowed. Affection between omegas is about community, about self-care, about making themselves good partners for alphas. It's something teenagers do to figure out puberty. It's not supposed to be about two grown-ups ditching the alpha club for the night and making a tiny room smell thick with sex to no one's benefit except their own. It's greedy, debased. Unnatural. Jungkook does this with people he meets online, with his friend Yugyeom who never calls him during the daytime. He doesn’t do it with Taehyung.

He wants it so bad.

Maybe he hit his head when that bouncer pushed him into the wall, and this isn't real. That would explain a lot.

Yoongi's verse is next, and Taehyung actually groans, first when he starts and second when he dips suddenly into fierce growling in the middle. 

“So, what next?” Taehyung moves his hand, tracing a line down the center of Jungkook’s chest. “You’ll only be good at first, and then?”

His hands cover Jungkook’s stomach, and Jungkook wants to roll over for him, wants to fight back, maybe wants to do both, trade it back and forth all night. He wants to find out if Taehyung tastes as luxurious as he smells. He wants it too much to just let himself have it, because it can’t possibly be right. Taehyung can’t want the same things. Jungkook doesn’t answer, he asks, “What are you doing?”

Taehyung freezes. On the laptop, Namjoon takes center stage, his voice sinking into Jungkook’s bones.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung whispers. And that’s right, probably. It’s easy to get pulled into following Taehyung’s lead, because he doesn’t have any brakes or, really, physical flaws of any kind, but most of the time it’s a mistake to think there’s a plan behind his frenetic momentum. “You just smell so good, and—and I don’t want you to feel bad anymore.”

“I’ll feel worse if we go too far and you can’t look at me tomorrow,” Jungkook says. But when Taehyung starts to take his hands away, Jungkook holds them in place. His pulse is like a gong.

“We’re friends. We’ll be friends tomorrow.” Taehyung pauses long enough for one breath. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like, with another omega. And I think you know.”

“You’re curious?” Jungkook asks. That’s not his favorite word, but… he can work with it.

“I guess,” Taehyung says, near a whisper. “If you’re into it. With me.”

Jungkook squints up at him, twisting his neck. “Obviously I’m into it. Everybody wants you.”

“Obviously. Ha.” Taehyung nuzzles under Jungkook’s ear. His mouth is open, the brush of his face across Jungkook’s jaw is wet. “You feel really good like this.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, even though maybe it is that weird. He doesn’t want to resist. He sinks in Taehyung’s hold. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? I can be Namjoon-hyung,” Taehyung says. Namjoon feels far away, though. The laptop’s sliding sideways off their knees, and the video’s changing but Jungkook can’t tell which one’s up next. Taehyung’s fingers are tracing his waist and hips. “I think he would like your body. What do you want him to do with it?”

What does he want? It’s a new video, but still Namjoon, that deep, rough voice. And maybe in real life it’s not clear how much bigger Namjoon is, but in the fantasy, it’s a lot. Jungkook is small enough to fit in his lap, get careful touches and kisses and praise. Praise, even though in this fantasy, he hasn’t done anything yet except be himself all up in Namjoon’s space.

He imagines Namjoon’s hands, huge and gentle. He imagines sinking to his knees between Namjoon’s thick legs and Namjoon holding his jaw—not pulling, not thrusting, just touching his face—as Jungkook uses his mouth to work him to aching, shaky need. 

He’d be so good. He’d make Namjoon like it. He’d make him want it so, so bad. And then that huge, powerful alpha hyung would lie back, cock heavy on his stomach, pliant and ready for Jungkook to use his tight body.

Jungkook shuts his eyes, commits every small detail of Taehyung’s body around his to memory—the light, tripping touch of his fingers, the brush of his wash-worn shirt against Jungkook’s back, his heat and scent and breath—in case it’s about to stop, and admits, “I want to fuck him.”

Taehyung jolts. “You mean, like, you imagine you’re an alpha?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Sometimes I imagine he’s an omega,” he says, which is only sort of true. Sometimes the man in the fantasy changes. “Sometimes I think about that big alpha hyung taking an omega dick. Begging for it.”

Another shock runs through Taehyung’s body. “Oh. Wow.” He rolls his forehead against Jungkook’s hair and bites gently at the junction of Jungkook’s shoulder and neck. Jungkook drops his head back, chest bare for him, and if it’s strange to be talking about fucking an alpha man while he’s showing submission to another omega, he doesn’t care. He feels so good, head buzzing and spine shivering and dick wet and aching between his legs.

Taehyung’s body moves away and Jungkook feels briefly, entirely bereft, but when he turns to look in wounded surprise, he finds Taehyung playing with the hem of his t-shirt as he reclines against his pillows. And in his dark eyes, there’s a challenge. He said he’d be Namjoon. He asked what Jungkook wanted.

Jungkook’s breath catches. He moves the rest of the way around, kneeling between Taehyung’s legs. “Should I be Yoongi-hyung, instead?”

“Sure.” Taehyung leers, both comical and devastating. “Let’s get it, hyung.”

He is absolutely making fun of Jungkook but it doesn’t matter: this is the hottest thing that has ever happened in Jungkook’s pitiful life. It tumbles over his body, molten like lava crashing through rock, and a low noise rips out of his chest. That look on Taehyung’s face might be more false bravado than real courage, though, so Jungkook says, “Tell me what feels good, or if you change your mind,” and scoops his hands under Taehyung’s lower back, his silken skin, to guide him up and get his shirt off.

Jungkook closes the laptop, cutting Hoseok off mid-verse, as Taehyung lies back down. It gets very quiet, and Jungkook's heartbeat is loud.

For all Jungkook’s shit-talking, this is terrifying. He runs his knuckles up Taehyung’s side, barely touching, tracing the shape of his breath as it moves in and out.

“That’s it?” Taehyung asks, his voice heavy and smooth even though his chest is shuddering.

“Yoongi-hyung’s going to take his time with you.” Jungkook thinks of the way Yoongi smirks at the camera during “Seesaw,” how confident he always is, and steps into the persona. Yoongi is calm. Jungkook imagines being that way and feels calmer. “Hyung will wipe that smug look off your face.”

Taehyung opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but it disappears into an exhale as Jungkook circles one hard, dark nipple with a fingernail. 

“That’s okay?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah. Feels good,” Taehyung says, quieter now.

Jungkook nods, swallows down the saliva filling his mouth, and dips his head to press his lips and then his tongue to Taehyung’s nipple, pinching the other lightly and then harder and harder as Taehyung arches into him. Taehyung’s fist grips Jungkook’s hair, but he doesn’t pull him away or stop him from moving as Jungkook licks and kisses a path up Taehyung’s chest, his neck, his shoulders and jaw.

Taehyung whines when Jungkook lifts away. “Still good?” Jungkook asks.

“More,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook drops his forehead on the center of Taehyung’s chest and tries to breathe, like the shimmering heat rising off Taehyung’s skin is going to make his spinning head any clearer. He’s dreaming, he must be. He can’t keep up. He puts little kisses down the side of Taehyung’s ribcage to make him squirm, to check if he’s real. “More what?”

He means, how do you want me to touch you? He means, what’s just a fantasy and what’s really okay? But Taehyung whines like Jungkook is teasing him, and says in a high voice Jungkook has never heard, “More please. Please fuck me.”

Jungkook pauses, hands tight around Taehyung’s chest, and then kneels up. He looks at Taehyung’s face—open, vulnerable, true—and checks his own heart for any real hesitation underneath his astonished disbelief, and finally he nods. He eases Taehyung’s boxers down his hips and stands by the bed to get rid of his own jeans, too enthralled to be ashamed of how he stares. Taehyung’s dick curves up toward his belly, thick and glistening-wet and so hard—when did that happen? Was it Yoongi in his fantasy or Jungkook hovering over him that got him this way? Jungkook’s instinct is to take Taehyung’s knee and pull his leg open, but he stops himself. He had that thought earlier—Yoongi wouldn’t throw Taehyung around. He’d use his quiet command, and it wouldn’t even occur to him he might not be obeyed.

Jungkook pitches his voice as low as he can get without being silly, almost whispering to bring it to a rasp. “Spread your legs for hyung.”

Taehyung’s lips part first, his chest rising, and his eyes shut with a frown of real effort as he rolls his long thighs apart. His heels dig into the mattress, and the air is so heady with his sweetness that Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed.

“That’s good, Taehyung-ah,” Jungkook says, just because he can. There’s something knowing in Taehyung’s gaze, but he still shivers under the praise and spreads even wider to make room for Jungkook to settle between his legs.

Slick shines in his curls. Jungkook touches Taehyung's knee and slides his fingertips along his skin until he can trace the line of wetness on his inner thigh. "You're so handsome," he says. Inexplicably, it makes Taehyung laugh.

"Touch me." Taehyung’s hips kick up. 

Jungkook circles his thumb around Taehyung's nipple again. “All I’m doing is touching you.”

Taehyung makes a noise of frustration but he keeps lifting into it, and Jungkook presses harder.

Taehyung's mouth is open, wet and red, and Jungkook wants to kiss it, roll his tongue deep inside, taste those tiny sounds Taehyung keeps making. But he's not sure if that's what they're doing here, and Taehyung throws his head to the side, slapping his hand over his mouth, as Jungkook keeps playing with his chest. "Fuck, please just get on with it," Taehyung whines. 

So maybe not.

Jungkook sits back, trailing his hand all the way down the line of Taehyung's body to make him shiver and because he can, because this is Taehyung saying yes and Jungkook certainly isn’t going to take his hands away. "You have a condom?"

Taehyung huffs and digs it out of his bedside table, throwing the packet at Jungkook's face. Jungkook catches it neatly. "You better behave yourself, Taehyung-ah."

Taehyung pouts at him.

"Baby." Jungkook says, and the pout gets a little softer. "Touch yourself, I want to see."

His fingers only slip a little against the foil, clumsy as he watches Taehyung's hand slide down his own stomach, wrap around his cock and pump once. He slides lower, gathering wetness on his fingers as he cups his balls, and they share a shuddering exhale.

Jungkook rolls the condom on and stares as Taehyung rocks his hips into his hand. "You just going to watch?" Taehyung asks, too breathy to sound tough.

Not even Yoong-hyung could keep his calm right now. Jungkook is smoldering like red coals, about to catch. But he pouts a little, thoughtfully, like Yoongi would. "Is that how you get what you want?"

Taehyung sighs and lets his hand trail lower, sliding one long finger inside himself. "I’m ready." He makes clear, even eye contact. "I want you, hyung."

It's embarrassing, honestly, how well that works on Jungkook. He takes Taehyung's hand and guides it away, replacing it with his own. Two fingers slip easily into Taehyung's slick, hot pressure.

"You can just do it," Taehyung says, his voice thick. "I'm fine."

"Fine," Jungkook repeats, a little disgusted. Who has Taehyung been letting treat him like that? Jungkook knows how much better it feels if you warm up. Lightly, he says, "You don't fuck Cypher for fine," and he curls his fingers until Taehyung gasps.

As Taehyung squirms and pants on the bed, Jungkook learns the shine of sweat and slick on his skin and the motion of his muscles and the almost-syrupy sweetness of pheromones when he's aroused. Jungkook needs to remember it all. Because Taehyung might just be playing, slightly messing up a pack ritual, riding out the emotions of a bad night, but Jungkook has wanted this for so long. If he only gets it once, he’s going to keep every bit.

Taehyung is stretched out underneath him like a sacrifice, like a gift. He smells rich, like submission, but there’s no answering call of heavy alpha pheromones in the air. Jungkook’s most dominant impulse is to take care of him, to protect him. He is going to make Taehyung feel so good, better than he’s ever imagined when he’s with his parade of gross, mean alphas. 

He shifts down and takes the flushed, wet head of Taehyung’s cock in his mouth—he doesn’t taste as sweet as he smells but he tastes like the ocean, like something that lives in its darkest depths—and Taehyung keens. "I'm too close, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," Jungkook says, lifting his head to speak. "Give me one like this and then I'll fuck you for real, okay?"

Taehyung's glazed eyes connect long enough for him to nod, and Jungkook keeps working—his mouth gently and his fingers fast and hard—until Taehyung throws his head back and falls open and comes for him. His muscles flutter, small and subtle, around Jungkook's fingers.

And maybe Yoongi couldn't lift Taehyung easily but Jungkook can, and he takes his hand out of Taehyung and hoists his hips up in one smooth motion, pushing inside him while Taehyung is still trembling through his orgasm. He gets one hand under Taehyung’s back and the other around his dick again, working him through it. Taehyung cries out and snaps his hips. 

“Still feels good?” Jungkook asks.

“God, yeah, Kookie—hyung—I mean—” Taehyung cuts off as Jungkook grinds his hips in a slow circle. “Yeah.”

Kookie-hyung. Jungkook likes that way too much, fuck, along with the heat and pressure of Taehyung’s body around his cock, his hips twitching in Jungkook’s hands, as he gives one huge, final shudder.

Jungkook pitches his weight forward to get more control. “Okay?”

“So good,” Taehyung says, panting. “Don’t stop, please don’t—”

“I won’t,” Jungkook says, the easiest promise. “You keep breathing. Can you suck on your fingers, make them really wet for me?”

Taehyung puts two fingers in his open mouth, stilling a little with something to do. He looks up with his big eyes all wide, an angel fallen into Jungkook’s hands.

Jungkook grinds into him again, rolling his hips in a long, smooth stroke. “That’s perfect. You feel good?” 

Taehyung nods without taking his hand out of his mouth.

Jungkook shifts them again, getting his knees stronger under him and hooking Taehyung’s leg over his shoulder, so he has the stability to start fucking like he means it. He snaps his hips up, finding the angle, and Taehyung nods again, sucking harder on his hand. Jungkook blows hair out of his eyes and smiles down at him. “Look at you. Such a good boy for hyung, huh?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen in something like outrage—he says he’s a good boy, to general disbelief, at least twice a day—but he doesn’t take his fingers out of his mouth to protest. Jungkook drops his head back and lets instinct take over, just feeling it, Taehyung’s writhing body and tight heat. Everything smells like heaven, cream and sugar. And—like Taehyung said—sweet, ripe peach.

Taehyung makes a pouty noise around his hand, whining for Jungkook’s attention back, and Jungkook looks down at him again. “Sweet thing,” Jungkook says, to placate him. “Baby. You’re so good. Touch yourself again, okay?”

Taehyung takes his hand out of his mouth, smearing drool across his lips and chin, and squeezes his eyes closed as he grabs his cock. The pleasure wracks his body, makes him spasm around Jungkook, and the sparks rush up Jungkook’s spine, an electric current closed between them. Jungkook pulls out far enough to wrap his hand around the base of his own dick—squeezes once, hard, to calm himself the fuck down—and then adds two fingers to make it bigger when he pushes back inside. 

The pressure is shocking, and Jungkook’s sensitive fingers feel everything, the heat and wetness and Taehyung’s muscles clenching around all that fullness. Taehyung almost yowls, and his neighbor bangs against the wall. “Fuck you!” Taehyung shouts back, hoarse, and then he grabs Jungkook’s arm and says, “Feels good, feels so good—” 

“Okay,” Jungkook says, but Taehyung keeps chanting it under his breath as he works his own cock and Jungkook rolls into him, good, good, so good. Jungkook’s heart swells with too much fondness. He takes a deep breath and starts counting by sevens in his head to hold his tension tight, tight, tight as Taehyung shakes and cries for him. 

Until finally Taehyung curls up, his toes pushing down Jungkook’s calf and his hand coming to Jungkook’s shoulder—and then he must remember that it was hurt, because he moves his hand to Jungkook’s face instead, holding his cheek. He tips his own head back and pulls Jungkook toward his bare, open neck. “Will you—will you bite me?”

He keeps turning Jungkook’s whole world over on itself. Jungkook’s heart clenches as he closes his teeth around the spot between Taehyung’s neck and shoulder where, earlier, Taehyung bit him, and Taehyung’s body shakes as he comes again.

Jungkook gives in and follows him down, hips twitching into him, as Taehyung holds his face and noses his hair. He collapses onto his side, hand in the center of Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung’s heartbeat is pounding, so fast Jungkook can see it in the hollow his throat, and Jungkook stays there and breathes as he feels it slow down.

Once they’ve both stopped panting, he deals with the condom in as few movements as possible. His lungs feel frozen. They should clean up or something, but he doesn’t want to move and break the spell.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung says eventually.

Jungkook smiles. “You did come the second time, right?”

Taehyung gives him a slow blink. “I think I came four times? Three or four? They kind of ran together.”

“Cool.” Jungkook yawns. He only had one, but it was a gorgeous, powerful one, with Taehyung clinging to him like a raft in a turbulent sea, so it counts double at least.

Taehyung keeps blinking at him. “I didn’t know it could feel that good.”

“Like, with another omega?” 

“Like, sex.”

Jungkook lifts his head, propping his cheek on his fist. He wondered, flattered himself, but he wasn’t sure. Taehyung looks drowsy and—if Jungkook says so himself—well-fucked, his eyes heavy and his neck marked up and his hair a messy halo around his face. He is so beautiful, so good at carrying himself, that he always looks perfect, like an advertisement for whatever he’s doing. But that’s just his face. It takes more work to actually read his mood, work Jungkook has learned how to do. He seems dazed, and maybe almost alarmed by it. Too surprised.

“Is everything okay?” Jungkook asks.

Taehyung nods. “I’m good. I’m just… not used to…” He trails off and a tremor runs down his long body. Jungkook watches it, all the way to his toes. 

He tucks his own foot under Taehyung’s sole and wiggles it to be cute. “The only reason to deal with all this omega bullshit is having multiples.”

Taehyung laughs, kicks him lightly back. He’s so outgoing, so empathetic and perceptive of other people’s needs, that sometimes it’s hard to tell he isn’t nearly as capable of managing his own moods. He’s barely in control of his tornado of chaos, doesn’t notice he’s getting upset until he’s already deep in it. He comes to Jungkook in tears or looking for advice more than anyone Jungkook knows, even his same-age and younger friends.

Taehyung takes much better care of other people than himself, and he’s always going to red-lit clubs and letting alpha strangers look at him, and he’s got all kinds of rules about gender and type in his head, and Jungkook is the socially maladjusted one but he’s still worried. “Sex isn’t just about alphas getting off.” He pokes Taehyung’s side hard, a spot of brattiness to arm himself against his own tenderness. “You should be with people who make you feel good, too.”

Who has been treating Taehyung wrong, rushing him through fucks or cheating his orgasms? It will mess up his whole life if he figures out that other omegas do it better after all, push him into Jungkook’s shadowy world of jailbreak sex apps and social derision. But Jungkook has made that calculation too, and he thinks it’s worth it. 

Taehyung looks perfect, flushed and broken around his pleasure. He should have this every night, if he wants it.

Taehyung meets his gaze. “I thought I was, I thought… I don’t know. It’s not fair to ask me to think right now.”

Jungkook’s heart fills with more than he wants to admit. He drops his head and buffs his lips against Taehyung’s shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you feel good, anyway.”

“So good.” Taehyung stretches languidly, filling Jungkook’s head with another rush of sunny pheromones as he lifts his arms. “I guess I don’t usually touch my dick so much, I always kind of thought that was just for jacking off.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Omega dick can do everything alpha dick can, and more than once. It always deserves attention.”

“My wise Jungkookie,” Taehyung says, his voice opening up sleepily as he settles into his usual stream of bullshit. “I guess I always thought omega sex would be the same as masturbating, or maybe it would just be… nice. You know, like friends cuddling. I could imagine kissing you, but—”

Jungkook picks his head up again.

“It never occurred to me you could fuck like that, truly,” Taehyung continues obliviously. “Well done. I guess I didn’t think about that trick with your fingers. Hands, that’s a whole new world I have to consider. What?” He blinks up at Jungkook, who’s looming over him, staring into his face.

“You imagined kissing me?”

“Oh.” Taehyung bites his lip, and something possessive moves through Jungkook like a shadow. “I guess sometimes. You smell so nice. You smell kind of edible, honestly. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I wanted to. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to.”

Taehyung’s lips move, then his throat. “I wanted to.”

They stare each other down. The game’s over, and they didn’t talk about changing anything. But they’re also lying naked in Taehyung’s bed, just covered in each other, and Jungkook could never resist this daring look on Taehyung’s face.

“Taehyungie-hyung,” he says, to be clear about who they are, that he isn’t playing, “give me a kiss.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow into the smoldering look he’s always giving alphas in the club, except then he’s usually baring his throat and waiting for them to come to him, and now he’s rolling closer instead, reaching for Jungkook’s head to pull him down.

Jungkook’s jaw drops in surprise at the force or maybe his instinct to submit right before their lips connect, and he tastes Taehyung’s open mouth, cream and sugar and the strange depths of the ocean. The tip of Taehyung’s tongue passes over his own, the smallest parry, and then Taehyung eases back and sucks Jungkook’s lower lip.

Taehyung turns on his side, shifting closer, and cups Jungkook’s face, holding him steady and pressing small, delicious kisses to his mouth over and over. Jungkook’s heart gets a little bigger with each one. He slides his hand around Taehyung’s waist to hold him tight, keep him here. He would never have imagined that Taehyung—Taehyung, of all the gorgeous wild-eyed hilarious confident people—would kiss like this, so precious. He takes shaky, gasping breaths and trembles in Jungkook’s arms.

Jungkook said a kiss but they fall into each other, lingering longer with each press—Jungkook could stay forever, especially as Taehyung relaxes and starts to open up, exploring Jungkook’s mouth and making deep, velvety noises when Jungkook pushes back.

Taehyung moves his thigh between Jungkook’s legs to get closer, grips his bicep and rolls a little more on top of him, and as they generate a new energy between them, Jungkook’s hips start moving under their own power. He grinds his balls against Taehyung’s thigh, chasing the pleasure, and hisses into Taehyung’s mouth when his dick slots into the crease of Taehyung’s hip.

Taehyung slides his fingers down Jungkook’s back until he can get a handful of Jungkook’s ass. He’s hard again, too, his erection leaving slick smears on Jungkook’s stomach.

“Another round?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook is too close to actually see his eyebrows waggle, but he can hear it in Taehyung’s voice.

Jungkook has a feeling he might be offering something big, but he says it calm and easy. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Taehyung pauses. His big eyes fill Jungkook’s vision. “Really?”

“Hell yeah,” Jungkook says. “If you’re into it.”

“I’m—yeah.” Taehyung’s hands leave hot trails all over Jungkook’s body as he searches. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Jungkook says stupidly. He imagines the look Taehyung gets on his face when he’s dancing with someone, the dark fire of his attention, and then imagines it all focused on him.

Jungkook wants it. But more than that, he wants to Taehyung to have it.

Taehyung nudges his shoulder and Jungkook lies back, tucking one arm under the pillow and letting his knees fall apart. He feels relaxed and giddy at the same time, skin primed for Taehyung’s touch. Taehyung draws a line down the center of Jungkook’s chest and stomach to his damp pubic hair. One fingertip, and Jungkook feels it everywhere. He has to close his eyes.

“Should I be Namjoon-hyung this time?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook kind of forgot about that. The absolute truth is that having Taehyung himself, a beautiful, type-perfect omega covered in sex and slick and Jungkook's scent—his own odd, kind Taehyungie-hyung—over him like this makes it impossible to think about anything else. Jungkook lifts one leg to brush his thigh along Taehyung's side, making himself shiver. "If you want."

Taehyung pouts, considering. "I guess not, if the fantasy was you fucking him. We need a different fantasy for this." His fingers keep stroking up and down Jungkook's belly, almost absently but probably not, he probably knows exactly what he's doing. It feels so good, each brush sending tingles radiating across Jungkook’s skin and into his bones, and it calls to every submissive instinct he has, makes him want to go pliant for whatever Taehyung will do with him.

He doesn't usually give into that feeling, doesn't trust it or anyone he's with enough, but he can give it to Taehyung now. "You can be whoever you want," he says. "Come on, hyung."

Taehyung smiles—Jungkook would call it a shy one, if that wasn't absurd—and presses into Jungkook’s side. He puts a soft kiss on Jungkook’s open mouth and finally moves his hand down, cupping Jungkook’s balls. Pleasure tugs down Jungkook’s stomach and he shifts his hips restlessly to push harder into Taehyung’s hand, his legs falling wider apart, and Taehyung’s finger presses into Jungkook’s perineum, lightly circles his hole.

Jungkook gasps into Taehyung’s mouth. It feels good, it feels perfect, but also—this is how Taehyung touched himself, when Jungkook watched. This might be how he touches himself when he’s alone, what he likes. Curious exploration, slow. He closes his eyes like it feels as good to him as it does to Jungkook.

“Inside?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook nods quickly, can’t even finish saying yes before Taehyung’s finger is slipping inside him as quick as a secret, pressing along his inner walls and lighting him up. Jungkook grunts, loud in spite of himself—the neighbor bangs the wall again—Jungkook chokes it down and turns his face into Taehyung’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung whispers gravely. “I’ve been planning his murder for weeks.”

Jungkook sputters out a laugh, which is a strange and wonderful way to feel with Taehyung inside him, almost too many different kinds of happiness to bear. Taehyung adds another finger and pumps them harder, keeping an unerring pressure on his spot. Jungkook catches his rhythm and starts riding it, rocking his hips. “Oh, Jungkookie,” Taehyung says, voice low. “Oh, that’s so nice.”

Jungkook nods and grabs for Taehyung’s shoulder, holding tight, and watches Taehyung’s face as Taehyung stares down his body. It’s only another minute or so until a smooth warmth spreads deep into Jungkook’s muscles, washing up his core like a wave. He lets it coax him open, blinking up at Taehyung as it recedes. 

Taehyung gawks back. “Was that…”

Jungkook nods. “A little one,” he says. “I’ll come harder when you get your dick inside me.”

Taehyung makes a deep sound, almost frowning as he licks his lips, and his erection twitches against Jungkook’s hip.

“I’m ready,” Jungkook says. “I want it.”

Taehyung nods. He reaches over Jungkook and digs out a condom—Jungkook pinches his ass while it’s right there, giggling meanly. Taehyung huffs and, kneeling up, looks over Jungkook’s body like it’s a complicated puzzle.

“Should I turn over?” Jungkook asks. “Better angle?”

Taehyung nods slowly. “Is that okay?”

Jungkook grunts and uses his full effort to roll over onto his stomach without falling off the side of Taehyung’s bed. Once he gets there, Taehyung hisses in dismay.

“What?” Jungkook asks, but Taehyung’s hand lightly touches his hurt shoulder. Jungkook is so drenched with hormones he doesn’t feel the pain anymore, but it must look bad. 

“Why do you even go to clubs?” Taehyung asks. “It always ends in some disaster.”

The truth catches in Jungkook’s throat. His impulse is to keep it back, but it threatens to choke him. It’s the hormones again, making him obedient, making him want to answer. 

He knows that’s what it is, and he could stop himself if he really tried, but it’s just Taehyung. It’s okay to let himself go. “I go to hang out with you.”

There’s an airless pause, and Jungkook can’t keep still in it, a neediness he doesn’t have enough self-control to be humiliated by making him rock his hips in the empty air. Taehyung’s weight shifts and his lips press gently on Jungkook’s back. “I’ve got you,” he says, and moves to kneel between Jungkook’s legs and rip open the condom.

Jungkook settles in, getting his knees solid under him and dropping his cheek on his arms, and, oh—he finds his own face staring back at him from the mirror on Taehyung’s door. It’s dim enough that he didn’t notice before in the low light, but now that he can watch Taehyung moving into place behind him, his concentration so intense it’s almost predatory, Jungkook can’t see anything else.

Taehyung shapes Jungkook’s ass and thighs in his hands, spreading him open, and Jungkook focuses on his breathing to try to be patient while Taehyung works on whatever he’s thinking, but he just wants it. “You’ll like it,” he says. “I promise you’ll like it.”

Taehyung makes a tiny, astonished laugh. “It’s not that. You…” He hesitates, but says only, “You look so good,” and lines himself up. 

Jungkook watches in the mirror as Taehyung rocks forward and back again, filling him slowly, just a little deeper with each gentle thrust. Jungkook could take it harder, more, but this is good, this is so smooth and easy he opens like a flower in perfect sunshine. Taehyung’s head falls back and he groans so deeply it feels seismic, it feels like the world around them freezes to watch his beautiful face twist in pleasure.

Taehyung finally seats himself, fingers scrambling as he grips Jungkook’s hips tight, and he moans again as Jungkook sighs. The stretch of Taehyung inside him is the perfect fullness, just enough to press new sensations deeper under his skin. He quakes as Taehyung pulls back and pushes forward once more, lightning catching along his bones. 

Taehyung tries to reach for Jungkook’s cock, a little clumsy, and Jungkook shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, surprised by how wrecked he already sounds. “Just want to feel you.”

Taehyung stops, which is the opposite of what Jungkook wants. He tries to twitch his hips but Taehyung holds them still. “I thought you didn’t like it like this.”

Like this means head down and ass-up, means vulnerable, and Jungkook does hate that this is expected of him, that there are people who catch the smell of his sweat on the street and feel entitled to it. But now, with Taehyung so tender and awestruck, so attentive, he can find the pleasure in it. “I like it sometimes,” he says, watching Taehyung’s face in the mirror. “I’ll like it with you.”

Taehyung pulls his lips between his teeth, stares over Jungkook’s back spread out below him. He looks a little overwhelmed, his chest heaving. He nods to himself, thinking Jungkook can’t see. It’s a funny thing to have to gather his bravery for, maybe, but it doesn’t feel funny to Jungkook.

Taehyung steadies his hold on Jungkook’s hips and starts to move, slow while they get the angle perfect and then he lets his pace climb. Jungkook rocks back to meet him. He can smell himself, syrupy and bright—he smells like submission—but Taehyung is still just as sweet. Deep grunts punch out of Taehyung with each thrust of his hips, the way he’s working, and that’s Taehyung’s careful, elegant hands opening over his hips and back. So Jungkook feels pliant and pleasured but only because, underneath it all like a foundation, he feels safe.

His eyes don’t want to focus but he strains to look at the mirror again, at Taehyung’s face. He looks dark and hot, he looks powerful, and it looks good on him.

“It feels good,” Jungkook says. “Just like this.”

Taehyung’s nonverbal, only responding with a more emphatic groan, and it shakes Jungkook all the way down, sending another deep, thick rush of pleasure through him. He melts under the heat of Taehyung’s light, lets it burn him away, and Taehyung thrusts ragged and hard, chasing his own orgasm, as Jungkook rolls through a series of smaller ones that play over him like a melody, variable and endless. He comes to Taehyung the way waves come to the shore, over and over, he’s wet and drooling on Taehyung’s sheets, and Taehyung is trying to say words but Jungkook can’t understand them, not until Taehyung finally buries deep in him, hanging onto his hips and curling over his back and shuddering as he lets go one more time.

Jungkook collapses in his own wet spot—though realistically, there’s nowhere dry left on this bedspread—and Taehyung drops down beside him. Jungkook was relaxed after the last round and now he’s boneless, liquid like the last dregs of Taehyung’s guttering candles.

“Hunh,” he says.

“Nmph,” Taehyung replies.

A comfortable quiet stretches between them. Jungkook’s eyes fall closed even though he’s too sticky to sleep, he knows he is. He can’t move yet. Taehyung drags himself up first, drinking some water and handing the glass to Jungkook. Jungkook gets it on his face as he tries to drink, but Taehyung only laughs at him a little bit.

Taehyung’s private bathroom is a lucky luxury Jungkook has never appreciated more than right now, and the sound of the shower gets him stirring, the truly horrifying mess they’ve made chasing him out of bed. He trades places when Taehyung is done, the water divine even though the shower is so small that Jungkook’s shoulders touch the walls.

He comes out to find the room new, a fresh cover on the bed and the wreckage of choco pies and discarded clothes put away. Taehyung is smiling and giving him a pair of enormous satin boxer shorts and telling him to just stay.

So Jungkook stays, sinking right back into Taehyung’s bed, into his arms. “You want more salonpas?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook’s shoulder feels fine, which means either it really is fine or it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker tomorrow. But he knows which option means Taehyung touching him more, so he nods and rolls over onto his belly, eyes closed, as Taehyung’s hands smooth more gel across his shoulder.

“Do you do that a lot?” Taehyung asks. “With other omegas?”


“You’re good at it,” Taehyung says doubtfully.

“I’m good at everything,” Jungkook says, and Taehyung gives him a light, well-earned slap across the back of the head. 

Jungkook is laughing as he rolls back over, hooking one arm under his pillow. Or Taehyung’s pillow, under his own head. He bares his armpit like that, and he can smell himself, but it doesn’t bother him as much as usual. Taehyung liked it. Taehyung… might really like it.

Taehyung has to reach over him to put out the lamp, but he stops halfway, dropping his hand on Jungkook’s chest. He searches Jungkook’s face, and he doesn’t seem to mind making himself available for Jungkook to look back.

“I’m glad you had fun,” Jungkook says. He wants to say: call me any time. I can fall in love with you, if that’s okay. Let me ruin your life.

But that’s not urgent, not right now. They can see how much is new tomorrow. Tonight, Jungkook is satisfied. 

Taehyung starts and stops once, twice. “There’s a rumor Hobi-hyung’s going to drop into the TXT show tomorrow night,” he eventually says. “Do you want to go with me?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung nods and turns the light off. He bullies Jungkook up onto his unhurt side and settles in behind him, arm tight around Jungkook’s waist. He presses his face into Jungkook’s back, sighs once, thick and rich as honey, and his voice is already half-asleep as he says, “Good. That will be a lot more fun than a club.”