Chapter Text
“You…”
“It wasn’t personal.”
Jeongguk felt his knees giving way as he gripped the doorframe of the dressing room, the gentle voice of his dreams echoing mercilessly in his head, now a nightmare. Not personal. Not… Was the floor falling out from underneath him? He couldn’t feel gravity doing him any favors. Was this what a violently broken heart felt like?
“Everything we—I didn’t—it’s—it’s all over because of you,” Jeongguk gasped. “B-Before it even started. I never even—my—you—no.”
But the look on his face said “yes.” Jeongguk stared and stared, trying to breathe properly, but the look didn’t fade, and it hurt more than any kind of physically inflicted pain could ever. Jeongguk read that face, that beautiful face, like an epic novel, trying to make sense of the past four months, trying to understand why five minutes ago he had had the entire world in the palm of his hand, and now he had nothing—no career or job prospects, no space to dance in without facing ridicule, and no one to love.
The joyful anticipation was over. It was fucking over.
4 MONTHS EARLIER
The city that never sleeps was wide-awake. A symphony of car horns mingled with the sounds of voices and the dynamics of music fading in and out along the streets. Yellow taxis were bumper-to-bumper with the few scattered cars that were sparkling clean (until winter came in full force), and a rush of people crisscrossed the busy intersection each time the WALK symbol appeared in place of STOP, sometimes without the signal even indicating it was safe.
Tired businessmen and aspiring Broadway stars alike traveled the hectic New York City street on a daily basis, but Jeon Jeongguk cared very little about them. With his AirPods in and his black bag slung over one shoulder, he kept his head down as he hopped down the stairs into the subway system, his black hair trapped in his eyelashes. He pulled out his MetroCard, tempted to hop the rails because he was in a hurry, and who was going to be able to catch him? He tended to move nimbly, as dancers do, snaking through the throngs of people until he found where he needed to be. Nobody paid him much attention, and he liked it that way—for now.
The 1 Line through Manhattan, New York was full for late Tuesday morning. There were three men arguing about a business deal at the end of one car, and a few seats down, an older woman was reading the newspaper while squinting slightly with her glasses on. Across the aisle, two teenagers were cuddling closely and whispering. Jeongguk picked a seat on the opposite end of the subway car, tossing his bag onto another seat beside him so that no one could occupy it. He had gotten on at 28th Street and was now on his way to his designated stop of 72nd Street.
“Now arriving at—42nd Street,” the voice overhead said as the subway came to a rolling halt. Jeongguk planted his feet firmly into the ground and gripped his iPhone a bit tighter, eyes still glued to the screen as he watched yet another pas de deux routine on YouTube, his body swaying slightly as the subway came to a full stop, spat out a slew of passengers, swallowed another handful, and continued on.
Like clockwork, the subway then stopped at 72nd Street, and Jeongguk exited with about a dozen others in his car. He only had one minute of the YouTube video left, but seeing as it was the pas de deux between Odile and Ziegfrid from Act III of Swan Lake, he knew he couldn’t just stop watching. He had to pay close attention and finish the video. He let other passersby jostle him around, bumping shoulders with him as he ascended the staircase, eyes flicking up only a few times to make sure that he wasn’t about to walk straight into a pothole like a cartoon character.
Studying was all the Jeongguk could do to placate his constant fear of failure, since he woke up every morning feeling like he was falling behind. Most dancers started young and spent years honing their craft. Jeongguk had started when he was sixteen, ancient by dance standards, especially given the professional direction in which he wanted to go. Starting dance so late felt like not understanding the joke that everyone was laughing at—isolating. So now, whenever he had a few minutes of free time, even on crowded subways, he studied. That was, after all, the reason why he was in New York City and not Seoul, South Korea, where he probably belonged. He had staggered onto a plane at age eighteen with no plan at all and nothing but two suitcases (and a tearful kiss from his mother) to scare himself into taking dance seriously, and it had almost killed him (quite literally—he’d spent two nights sleeping on the streets when he first arrived). Luckily, he now had a very intelligent and caring roommate and a very small, cozy, shared apartment to keep him safe. His roommate enjoyed supporting Jeongguk’s talents because he was the exact opposite, clumsy and working on Wall Street as probably the only decent man in the stock exchange.
Now Jeongguk was on his way to ballet class, because four years ago one of his instructors had nearly castrated him in a state of dramatic agony for never having wrapped his hand around a ballet barre before. And poor Jeongguk, with barely any knowledge of the English language at the time, had broken down sobbing before agreeing to take ballet lessons. It wasn’t like ballet was the natural progression for him. Jeongguk had started with pick-up hip hop classes in Seoul and then he had moved into some beginner contemporary lessons out of curiosity. His love for the art had quickly escalated into something of a fiery passion, but ballet was the foundation for everything. Or so they said. “They,” those collective group of anonymous assholes who apparently know all there is to know about the world.
Studio 74 was situated close to Central Park near the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and West 74th Street, only a block or so east of Broadway. Jeongguk shoved the heavy door open with his elbow, the video finally finished, and then he tucked his phone away and held the door for a girl who seemed like she was in a rush. She was probably headed to the same class as Jeongguk, intent on not being late. Jeongguk attended the open advanced ballet class three days a week, so the teacher was quite familiar with him and always let him stroll right in, etiquette more of a guideline because at least Jeongguk’s ass was in a ballet class and she didn’t need to pull out the dramatics.
Jeongguk pulled his beanie off and ruffled his black hair, glancing in the dressing room mirror and chuckling shortly at himself. Then he shrugged out of his oversized sweatshirt and stepped out of his track pants, now wearing his black dance leggings and form-fitting white shirt, all customary for a professional level ballet class and absolutely not something he would have dared to wear four years ago. He fumbled in his bag until he found his black ballet slippers, well-worn and very loved, and he slipped them onto his feet. With one last glance in the mirror, he tossed his phone into his bag and left the dressing room for the studio.
“Good morning, good morning,” Tatiana, the instructor, said breezily as she turned to the adult students lined up at the barres that were staggered throughout the massive studio. A floor-to-ceiling mirror occupied one long wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows occupied the opposite. The floors were laminate grey, and the walls were white with countless pictures of dancers hung all around. There was a piano in the far corner, and the accompanist, Valerie, was ready with a smile. Studio 74 was one of the few open studios in the city with an actual accompanist and not just a teacher with a Spotify playlist.
“Yes, we’ll start with pliés, then. First position to begin. Open on five, six, seven, eight. Demi plié, demi plié, grand plié, take your time and add resistance as you come up, please! Port de bras forward, pay special attention to the hips. Cambré back, watch the hips again, please. Tendu, second position. Demi plié…”
Jeongguk wasn’t a stranger to the typical opening exercises for barre. He only gave Tatiana half of his attention, knowing her repertoire of exercises well enough to daydream as he, much like most of the other students in the class, went through the port de bras full out and only marked the feet. As Tatiana motioned to Valerie to begin, Jeongguk tilted his head to the side and cracked his neck, and then he situated his feet in first position.
As he went through his pliés, Jeongguk allowed his eyes wander around the room, letting his head follow the proper motions as he searched, looking for familiar faces. He had made a few friends during his time at Studio 74 and liked to take class with them. When he did a smooth tendu into fourth position, he caught Mina’s eye, and Mina gave him a radiant smile before beginning another plié. Then his eyes flicked over to the other barre.
“Strong sous-sus, strong, strong,” Tatiana encouraged as she circled the room, and though Jeongguk had a tight fifth position sous-sus, legs and ankles squeezed together perfectly, his attention was entirely elsewhere. At the adjacent barre was a brand new face, and Jeongguk nearly dropped his heels prematurely as he stared. The man was an absolute vision. He had soft, muted blonde hair parted to the side and complete with an undercut, a few strands hanging in one eye, and brown eyes that had an alluring, mischievous intensity to them. He had the perfect bone structure, an angelic aura to him as he softly pliéd and finished the exercise, lifting his chin just a little and then using a pinky finger to move his hair away. As the newcomer’s eyes flicked around the room, Jeongguk’s breath caught in his throat in an almost comical fashion, because just the way he surveyed a room was enchanting. When the man drummed his fingers on the barre and listened to the slow tendu exercise Tatiana was explaining, he sat in one hip in third position, and Jeongguk was hypnotized. He was wearing the exact same clothing as Jeongguk, but he was smaller in build with perfect lines, muscular thighs, and the turnout of a god (something only a dancer could appreciate).
It was magnetic, the way that Jeongguk was drawn to the man the entire barre portion of the class. He couldn’t stop looking. Every time that he thought he had it under control, his eyes would just wander right back over to stare. It was physically impossible to not look.
“…Yes, beautiful. Thank you, ladies. And for the men!”
Now in the center work portion of the class, Jeongguk made sure to find a spot amongst the dozen or so men that was close enough to the newcomer, but not painfully obvious. The man had chosen a spot front and center with purpose, so Jeongguk took a space in the back row, one to the left.
“Yes, petit allegro,” Tatiana said with a pleased sigh, standing at the front. “Begin in fifth position.”
Jeongguk used his hands as feet to mimic Tatiana’s movements, absorbing each changement and glissade, reversing the combination to the left prematurely in his head because he knew it was coming. Tatiana smiled and then swirled a pointer finger and flicked it to the left, indicating that they needed to complete the combination right and left. The other men on the floor nodded and began hastily marking through the moves to the left as Tatiana briefly mentioned a few key technique points she was looking for, and Jeongguk looked into the mirror at the man front and center.
Caught.
Jeongguk averted his eyes almost instantly when he realized the man was just standing there, hands on his hips, eyes trained in the mirror solely on Jeongguk. Jeongguk cracked his knuckles and marked a few of the steps with his hands, trying not to look as if he’d just been caught sneaking a peek. Thankfully, the pianist began the musical selection, distracting everyone.
By the time the men were asked to do a tour en l’air combination, Jeongguk was fully sidetracked. Just watching this man do sissonnes was mesmerizing. He carried himself with such grace and poise, but as a student, he seemed… distracted. Like all he wanted to do was rip off his ballet shoes and roll on the floor, maybe take a Graham class or throw all technique out the window and do straight up contemporary or hip hop. He was phenomenal in ballet technique, but as Jeongguk watched the man shake out his legs and roll his neck in preparation for the combination, it was quite obvious that he was itching to do something else.
But he was still so goddamn good. He had a certain maturity to his movement that Jeongguk coveted instantly, even without knowing so much as the man’s name. He was the kind of ballet dancer that Jeongguk envied, mostly because he didn’t seem so… uptight. Like he didn’t eat, sleep, breathe, bathe in ballet, but was just naturally gifted with it. Surely it had to be after years of hard work, but it looked so effortless.
The class lined up on one side of the room for the grand allegro combination, and Jeongguk found a spot towards the back, since he tended to enjoy processing the combo and watching others make mistakes upon which he could improve by the time his turn came around.
“Am I a good student?”
“…What?” Jeongguk whispered, eyes wide as he heard a soft whisper in Korean. He whipped his head to the right and almost fell into the two girls beside him. The very man he had been envying all class was now standing by his side, arms crossed, sitting in one hip again as he watched the teacher.
“Ah, I knew you were Korean,” the man whispered, sounding pleased. “So, am I?”
“W-Why are you asking me?”
“Because you’ve been staring at me the entire class,” the man said, still speaking Korean like a secret language, and Jeongguk felt his ears burn. “So I just figured that maybe I was just that good.” He rolled his head slowly to look at Jeongguk, his grin widening. “Or maybe you were just fucking me with your eyes, which is both scandalous and a huge turn-on. You’re not very smooth.”
“I’m—What? I’m plenty smooth,” Jeongguk retorted, his heart cartwheeling violently in his chest.
“You’re plenty cute, too. If we weren’t in the middle of grand allegro, I’d bend you over a ballet barre,” the man casually said, and Jeongguk choked on his next breath, using a fist to cover his mouth as he coughed slightly.
“We’re literally—” Jeongguk started, but then he shook his head and ran a hand down his face as the man’s eyes nearly disappeared when he smiled at Jeongguk’s reaction.
“With the entire class watching. Watching how well you’d take me, Jesus, I can see it now. But don’t worry. I’ll let you come to me,” he said softly, and then he lifted his chin up with another small smile at a dancer who had just looked over his shoulder in search of a partner. The blonde man stepped up, and moments after his port de bras, he began to sail across the floor. Jeongguk watched in quiet awe at how weightless the man looked, how easy the technique seemed to come for him. His grand jeté en tournant was stunning. His lines, everything about him screamed “graceful.”
Except the way he spoke. That was fucking filthy, and Jeongguk shivered on the spot as his turn came around, and he took to the floor. In the middle of a light-footed pas de bourrée, he noticed the man unabashedly watching him, arms folded across his chest again, head cocked slightly to the side, full lips twisted into a little smirk. Jeongguk should have stumbled, but instead, he did an absolutely perfect double cabriole right in front of Tatiana, earning a nod of approval and a “very good, Jeongguk, very good” comment.
Perhaps he performed well with an audience.
After the final révérence, the class of over thirty students bowed and curtsied to Tatiana and to Valerie in thanks, and then Tatiana dismissed the group, asking that those who were taking the eleven-fifteen Graham technique class grab some water and come ready to work with Janessa, their instructor. Jeongguk contemplated his options in a heartbeat, watching the man head to the dressing room and following quietly. He often stayed for the modern class, but he was tired, and if his mystery blonde dirty talker wasn’t staying…
He wasn’t. Jeongguk slipped into the dressing room and watched the man wipe his brow with a towel and toss it aside, and then he grabbed for a pullover white sweatshirt and yanked his black ballet slippers off. As he straightened up, he noticed Jeongguk stepping into his own track pants, trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably. So Jeongguk chose to take action instead of remaining a sitting duck.
“Is this your first class?” he asked, grabbing his own sweatshirt and sidling over to the man.
“Mm, first class at Studio 74. First time in a dance studio? Not at all,” he answered smoothly. “Been at it for eighteen years. Training for a purpose now. Are you? Seeing as you’re here and not part of a company.”
“Who says that I’m not?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Right. Um, well, I have my eye set on a company that’s offering their first ever open audition,” Jeongguk admitted openly, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Ah, yes. Vorfreude,” the man said, and Jeongguk felt his eyes widen.
“How’d you know?”
“Oh, honey. I literally gave up a contract with Parsons Dance Company to take my shot at Vorfreude,” the man replied with a flash of sympathy in his beautiful eyes. Beautiful eyes that looked like they could devour Jeongguk in one bite.
“Oh. Um, well—you’re very good,” Jeongguk said, suddenly feeling heavier, a bit despondent. Shit. If this man going to audition, then Jeongguk stood no chance. Then again, Vorfreude was the top contemporary dance company in the country, probably top five in the world. An open audition was sure to be a chaotic free-for-all, but they had been smart about it, insisting that interested parties submit initial applications to be selected for the open audition. The applications were due next month.
“Thank you. You’re rather magical when you dance, too, though I’ve only seen ballet technique,” the man said with a vague gesture and a shrug, grabbing his black bag and hitching it onto one shoulder. “I’m taking a Horton technique class at The Ailey School tonight, so please excuse me—I need to pretend that I’m going to eat a decent meal.”
“Pretend that—wait, what?” Jeongguk said, pivoting as the man brushed right past him. “Hey, wait!”
The man stopped halfway down the hallway and whirled around with the grace of a true professional dancer, eyebrows raised.
“Um, I—I didn’t catch your name,” Jeongguk said lamely.
“That’s right, you didn’t. Jeongguk,” the man added as an afterthought, and then he grinned and disappeared down the staircase.
***
“I’m sorry, run that by me again.”
Kim Namjoon set the cereal box onto the countertop after lifting it to pour his breakfast into a bowl, too distracted by what Jeongguk had just spewed off to do much of anything. He turned and leaned his lower back on the countertop, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side. Then he used a pointer finger to push his wire-framed glasses back up onto his nose, looking every in the man in power that he was, especially wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt with the sleeves unceremoniously rolled up so he could eat.
“I’ll summarize.” Jeongguk plopped into the kitchen chair, still wearing plaid pajama pants and a massive black t-shirt nearly to his knees, his hair tousled from sleep. “Ballet yesterday. Hot new guy. Korean. Told me he’d bend me over a ballet barre. Total exhibitionist. Talented as fuck. Didn’t even get his name.”
“Yeah, you summarized, but that’s still—you know,” Namjoon said with a small gesture, turning back around to get his cereal box. “I mean, you’ve had your fair share of men hit on you and sleep with you, JK. Trust me, I’ve heard eighty percent of them.”
“These walls are paper thin, it’s not my fault.”
“But never like that,” Namjoon continued, giving Jeongguk a weary look as Jeongguk grinned tiredly, propping his head in his hand with his elbow on the table. Namjoon poured the bowl of chocolate cereal with his back turned, and he heard Jeongguk sniff quietly and sigh. He poured the milk, grabbed and spoon, and then turned around with the bowl in his hands. Without a word, he scooped up some cereal and held it up to Jeongguk’s mouth. Jeongguk, chin still in his hand, opened his mouth and accepted the bite, chomping down heavily as Namjoon took a seat across from his roommate.
“Thanks for the fix. Guess I should make breakfast,” Jeongguk sighed. “Do you think someday egg whites will ever taste good?”
“No.”
“What if I don’t see him again, hyung?” Jeongguk whined as he yanked open the fridge with dramatics, making sure to arch back and throw his head. Namjoon snorted with laughter and with a mouthful of cereal. Maybe he was twenty-two, but Jeongguk preferred to be the baby of the house when Namjoon was around. It was like he naturally fell into the headspace when he was with his (makeshift) big brother.
“I mean, New York City isn’t as big as people think,” Namjoon said. “And the professional dance scene here is a bubble, isn’t it? That’s what you said before. So I’m sure you’ll bump into each other eventually in classes.”
“I should’ve followed him to The Ailey School,” Jeongguk grumbled.
“Right, that wouldn’t have made you look like a stalker.” Namjoon spooned more cereal in his mouth, his eyes round with fake innocence as he chewed and Jeongguk glared.
“Okay, I get it. I’m obsessing and it hasn’t even been one day. He was just—he was really cute. No, wrong word. He was…” Jeongguk cracked his first egg and let the egg whites drip into the bowl, tossing the yolk into the sink. “He said that I was cute. He was… something.”
“I’ve always marveled at how poetic you are,” Namjoon teased.
“You’d know the word if you met him,” Jeongguk swore, whisking the egg whites and then opening the fridge again for the spinach and a tomato to dice up. “Like, we talked for maybe five minutes in total, and I learned absolutely nothing about him except that I think he wants to fuck me five ways to Tuesday.”
Years ago, Namjoon would have choked on the milk and sputtered in disbelief, but he had been dating Taehyung for three years now, so his tolerance was higher. Kim Taehyung, two years older than Jeongguk, who had come to New York City from South Korea to study music (the violin) at The Juilliard School. Namjoon had quite literally knocked the poor guy to the ground and spilled hot coffee all over him, seeing as he wasn’t the most graceful human to exist. Instead of the typical bark of a city slicker, Taehyung had laughed until he was in tears and had promptly asked Namjoon to pay him back by having dinner together. Poor, awkward, young genius Namjoon had shyly brought whimsical, musical, happy Taehyung back to the apartment after the third date. So now Jeongguk and Taehyung were something akin to best friends, and now Namjoon didn’t go bug-eyed and do that fake laugh that made Jeongguk cringe whenever Jeongguk talked about his sexual escapades.
“And you didn’t just take him up on it?” Namjoon asked, amused.
“Well, the way he said it made me think that he prefers to top,” Jeongguk casually said. “And he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would go quietly, you know?”
“What, you think he’d fight you for a position of power?” Namjoon joked.
“Either way, I think I’d win that fight,” Jeongguk replied, plating his food with a satisfied little smile. “He definitely looks like a power bottom. I could talk him into it, guaranteed.”
“I…” Namjoon blew out a breath and glanced down at his cereal, his spoon hovering in midair sadly. “Can’t believe I’m having a discussion about gay sex right in front of my breakfast.”
“There’s a meme for that, “Jeongguk said as he dropped his plate on the table and slid into the chair with a grin. He glanced up at the clock hanging above the stove. “Shit, why am I always late?”
“Don’t make it a habit,” Namjoon said as he had been for years, shoving his chair back and grabbing his empty bowl to wash in the sink. “I’m done at four-thirty like usual, but Tae wants to go to The Guggenheim before it closes for the day.”
“And you’re agreeing? Whipped,” Jeongguk teased.
“Uh, one hour of museum hopping in exchange for a sleepover? I’ll take it,” Namjoon said.
“Yeah, ‘sleepover’ means you’re going back to his place for a marathon night of sex. You’re not fooling anyone,” Jeongguk said, still shoveling food into his mouth. Namjoon swatted the younger’s hair, and then he fixed up his sleeves and shrugged into his suit jacket.
“Probably won’t be home tonight. Make your own dinner. Love you.”
“You can’t even cook! I’m not—okay, yeah, love you, too,” Jeongguk sighed as Namjoon waved over his shoulder and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. Jeongguk then shoved the rest of the food into his mouth, tossed his plate in the sink (being home alone meant he could clean up later), and then ran into his small little bedroom to get dressed. He had a twin bed pushed up against the wall and a tall chest of drawers, and that was about all that could fit in the shoebox-sized space. Namjoon had used it as an office before Jeongguk came along. When he had first moved in, Jeongguk had slept in Namjoon’s bed, curled up around the older like a koala, scared of sleeping alone. Now he at least had his own room.
After somehow managing to dress himself properly, Jeongguk ran out the door, checking the time. He had to be at work by nine o’clock, and he admittedly felt lucky to not have pulled the opening shift that started at five in the morning.
Double Shot was one of the few independently owned café-coffee shops in the city, situated right near the 33rd Street subway station on the outskirts of Koreatown. Years ago, Namjoon had secured an apartment in Kips Bay for the sole purpose of being close enough to Koreatown so he could enjoy some decent food every now and again. The staff at Baekjeong NYC knew the two roommates by name. Jeongguk had taken a job at Double Shot because of its location, and because Korean-speaking patrons flooded the little shop on a daily basis, giving him an excuse to revert to his native tongue.
“Hey, sorry. I’m not late, am I?” Jeongguk asked breathlessly, throwing the door open to the backroom.
“…Nope.” Kim Seokjin stared at the clock for about five seconds and watched as the second hand ticked away until it was officially nine o’clock. He was in the middle of grabbing more lids for the to-go coffee cups. He didn’t look tired, even though he usually had the opening shift as manager of the little café, but that was just Seokjin by nature. He was five years older than Jeongguk, but Jeongguk had a running theory that he was actually a vampire because he didn’t seem to age and he didn’t like bright sunlight.
“You got laid last night, didn’t you?” Jeongguk said after staring at Seokjin for no more than a few seconds.
“Perceptive as always, kid,” Seokjin said with a grin, and then he disappeared out into the main room. Jeongguk snickered, clocked in, and then threw his apron on, grabbing his Double Shot baseball cap and jamming it on his head. He wistfully glanced at the clock—two minutes past nine. Only five hours and fifty-eight minutes until his shift ended. He was planning to take a hip hop class over at Broadway Dance Center at 7:30pm, and it couldn’t come fast enough.
“So. Tell me about the lucky guy,” Jeongguk said quietly as he poured some milk to make a latte, Seokjin wiping down any spills on the countertops as the other two female employees on shift, both of whom had no interest in the sexual escapades of two gay men in their twenties, continued to take orders.
“I mean, I was just out at Aphrodisiac for a few drinks,” Seokjin began, naming one of Jeongguk’s favorite nightclubs for gay men in the entire city. “Got a little drunk, saw a cute guy. We made it to the bathroom. I didn’t even catch his name.”
“Yeah? Bathroom stall blowjob?” Jeongguk asked with a snicker.
“I got the blowjob. He got it up the ass,” Seokjin said casually, and Jeongguk almost dropped the milk carton from laughing so hard. One of the girls at the register, Charlotte, looked over her shoulder curiously as another order churned out of the little machine to Jeongguk’s right.
“But was it any good?”
“Six out of ten,” Seokjin rated.
“Mm. Should I—hand me that rag,” Jeongguk said, and then he cleaned the steam wand swiftly and then tapped his little container of heated milk on the countertop a few times before pouring it into the takeaway cup. “Should I tell you about my day yesterday?”
“Unless you had sex, probably not. ORDER FOR SCOTT?” Seokjin called out in English, and then he slid the coffee Jeongguk had finished making across the countertop to the waiting businessman. He turned back to Jeongguk. “What happened?”
“There was a hot guy in my ballet class.”
“Your kind of hot guy or mine?”
“My kind of hot guy,” Jeongguk said. Seokjin preferred his men to be strong, muscular, or sturdily built, sometimes all three. Jeongguk tended to gravitate more towards men who weren’t as rough around the edges. “New guy in my ballet class. Looked like an angel, moved like sex on legs.”
“Now that’s a description,” Seokjin said, amused.
“Yeah, and I wouldn’t say that normally. But he told me he wanted to bend me over the ballet barre because he thought I’d take him well, and he wanted everyone to watch.”
“What?” Seokjin exclaimed, catching the attention of several patrons when he dissolved into his signature windshield wiper laugh, throwing himself against the countertop. Jeongguk just poured some almond milk for the bitchy girl yapping away on her cell phone, prepping to make her skinny latte.
“So I’m pretty sure he wants to have sex with me,” Jeongguk casually said. “Except he walked out of the studio before I could catch his name.”
“Think you’ll see him again? ORDER FOR DAISY!” Another to-go cup across the countertop. The girl didn’t stop her conversation on the phone to snatch up her coffee.
“I don’t know. The dance world is pretty small. There’s a chance,” Jeongguk reasoned. “I just want to find out his name. He’s blonde and he’s Korean, too. Cute as hell, but also kind of… I don’t know. Is dangerous a cheesy word?”
“Yup.”
“Dangerous.”
“I think I might be lactose intolerant,” Seokjin complained, leaning against the countertop as Jeongguk grinned, cleaning off the steam wand again and tossing the little towel onto one shoulder absentmindedly. He continued to make the orders as Seokjin called them out, using his year and a half of training to slip into some kind of automatic rhythm. He tended to dance in his head or review ballet variations he was learning while he worked. Sometimes Seokjin stuck out a foot to trip him when Jeongguk started to move his feet in dancing patterns, leading to a fake fight that involved a lot of pretend boxing.
“Hey, you said blonde, right?”
“Mhm.”
“And cute as hell?”
“Mhm.” Jeongguk poured the shot of espresso into the cup and then began to add the milk.
“But also kind of… uh, dangerous-looking?”
“Yeah?” Jeongguk added a question mark to his voice as he stirred the drink he was working on.
“Who also might recognize you from the back and is kind of staring at you?”
Jeongguk popped a lid onto the to-go order, slid it to Seokjin, and then turned around with his eyebrows raised. Then he froze and stood rooted to the spot, staring back at the man who was staring at him. It was him. It was the blonde guy from the ballet class, dressing in black dance leggings and a baby blue sweater that was down to his knees (complete with sweater paws), a black beanie, and black-framed glasses that surely did nothing for his eyesight.
“Excuse me, sir? Can I take your order?” Charlotte asked politely. God damn it, Charlotte, Jeongguk thought when the man’s eyes flicked away.
“Sure. Small Americano, please.”
“Of course. Can I have a name, please?”
“Jeongguk.”
“Really?” Charlotte asked, sounding happily intrigued as Jeongguk threw his dirty rag onto the countertop and spun back around. Jeongguk 2.0 was grinning ear-to-ear, his eyes little crescents, pleased with his fantastic trick. “Small world. One of the baristas has the same name.”
“What are the odds?” the man said airily, pulling out his credit card. Charlotte accepted it to swipe, and Jeongguk just stared at his apparent namesake. The man accepted his card back without even looking at Charlotte, and then he scooted off to the side.
“Hey, look at that! It’s time to switch duties, Jeongguk-ah,” Seokjin said out of nowhere, bumping Jeongguk’s hip and shoving him to the side. “You can clean the countertops and call out names for a little.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Jeongguk hissed.
“Talk to your potential fuck buddy,” Seokjin hissed back. “He’s staring at you like he’s going to eat you alive.”
Jeongguk made some faces at Seokjin with wide eyes and a lot of sputtering, but then he grabbed the rag with a scowl, took a deep breath, and turned to face the pickup counter.
“Hi,” the man said almost immediately.
“Yeah, hi, Jeongguk,” Jeongguk said disdainfully. The man gave him a genuine smile.
“Fancy seeing you here. Figured you had to have a job somewhere, yeah? I teach kids’ ballet at a local studio. Though sometimes, I think making coffee might be less stressful,” he mused, leaning his elbows on the high countertop and resting his chin in his hands. Jeongguk raised his eyebrows.
“You won’t even give me your name and you’re telling me about your job?”
“Names aren’t important. I just happen to know yours,” the man said, amused. “I live over in Chelsea. Guess I’ll have to come get coffee here more often. Didn’t see you at Studio 74 for barre class this morning.”
“Yes, well.” Jeongguk gestured vaguely to the coffee shop, but then he paused. It hit him then that this man was showing genuine interest in him—flirting, playfully obvious sexual advances, staring with those eyes, Jesus Christ. He wasn’t trying to sugarcoat it or even make Jeongguk work for it. Jeongguk had nothing to lose, that much was apparent, so he took his chances. “I’m taking a class at Broadway Dance Center tonight.”
“Oh, yeah? What time?” The man was intrigued, leaning in a little.
“Seven-thirty. Intermediate-advanced hip hop. You into that kind of thing?” Jeongguk asked, setting the rag on the countertop and leaning in. The man’s eyes sparkled.
“I can be,” he replied. “I could use a hip hop class. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Good. And I’ll be in ballet tomorrow.” Jeongguk ran the rag along the countertop a few times. Right on cue, Seokjin slid the finished coffee across the countertop, his eyes flicking between the two flirting men. The man smiled, picked up his coffee, and tilted his head a little to the side.
“You’re so fucking cute. I’d like to see you dance hip hop. Bet ‘cute’ isn’t all you are,” he said, and then he leaned a bit to the left as Jeongguk raised his eyebrows again. “Thank you for the coffee!”
“Any time,” Seokjin said over his shoulder in a singsong voice. The man took a few steps back and sipped his coffee, shivering happily at the first sip.
“I’ll see you tonight, then, Jeongguk-ah,” he said, and then he stifled a little laugh and ducked out of Double Shot. The moment he was gone, Jeongguk turned and threw the rag right at Seokjin’s head. Seokjin snorted with laughter and resumed his usual spot as Jeongguk snatched up the next receipt with the order on it, ignoring the looks he was getting from Charlotte and the other cashier, Lilia.
“You asshole,” he hissed.
“Asshole? Me? You just made plans to see him tonight in a dance class,” Seokjin pointed out. “You should be thanking me.”
“…Thanks,” Jeongguk sighed, secretly pleased as he removed his cap, pushed his hair back again, and shoved the hat back on. The next four hours couldn’t go fast enough.
“ORDER FOR LUCY!”
***
Jeongguk glanced up at the red awning for Broadway Dance Center on West 45th Street, feeling right at home with all the dancers milling around on the sidewalk outside. Some in, some out, all with the same mindset. Jeongguk enjoyed being surrounded by people who had the same passion he did. He climbed the stairs and headed straight to the designated studio for the hip hop class.
The lights were already low with hints of red, blue, and green. There was music playing in the background, and at least two dozen dancers were already in the studio stretching and chatting animatedly. Jeongguk, now wearing his black Adidas trackpants, oversized black t-shirt, and black snapback, stepped forward to join in. He had on his favorite sneakers with red details, his go-to choice for a hip hop class. He swung his arms a few times, and then he grinned and reached forward to exchange a high-five and handshake with Kim Yugyeom, one of the most kickass street dancers (he specialized in popping and krumping) and a good friend who happened to show up to a lot of classes the same time Jeongguk did.
“Haven’t seen you in class for a solid two weeks,” Yugyeom said, cracking his knuckles. “Bet you’re rusty after doing all that ballet.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it,” Jeongguk said with a grin. “Where’s JB? Been awhile since I’ve seen him, too.”
“He’s been out in California a lot,” Yugyeom said. “Guess he thinks the hip hop scene is better out there, but what do I know?” He suddenly stopped talking, peering over Jeongguk’s shoulder. He jerked his head up once with a tongue-biting grin. “Check out Tinkerbell over there. He looks like he wandered in here by mistake.”
Jeongguk glanced to his right, and his heart lurched. Tinkerbell was none other than Jeongguk 2.0. He was wearing ripped black jeans and a white t-shirt, and he walked in putting on a black snapback that had a yellow smiley face on it. He stopped and dropped his bag in the pile, and then he straightened up and stood in a perfect third position, surveying the studio with his head tilted slightly down. Fuck, he was so beautiful. Jeongguk was aroused just looking at him standing there. He looked out of place but not lost, which was a relatively phenomenal feat. When Jeongguk had taken his first class at BDC, he had stood by awkwardly, his heart racing. Not this guy. He looked like he was the star of the show.
“ALRIGHT, LET’S GO, PEOPLE!”
Jeongguk nudged Yugyeom on the shoulder, still glancing over at Tinkerbell (good code name, he thought to himself) discreetly as he found a spot towards the front to the left. He swung his arms again, because they usually only got one song for a cardio warm-up. Jeongguk joined in with the jumping jacks and the high-knees, his adrenaline pumping immediately with the thrill of doing something other than pliés.
The instructor had hundreds of thousands of subscribers on YouTube, so naturally, there was another guy in sweats standing by with a professional camera, ready to film the finished combination towards the end of class. Jeongguk had gotten his fair share of positive YouTube comments thanks to being chosen to star in a small group for a few combos, so he silently hoped that tonight was no different. The class took a quick water break before regrouping to learn the combo for the night.
“Good to see you.”
“Oh—hi,” Jeongguk said, trying to calm his nerves when Tinkerbell approached. “Hey, I’m glad you made it.”
“Yeah, I’m excited,” Tinkerbell said, shoulders pressed back. “I’d ask you to stand next to me, but I think you already have a few friends.”
“Um, I mean, I do, but you’re more than welcomed,” Jeongguk said with a small gesture. Tinkerbell dropped his water bottle on top of his bag with a little grin.
“Nah, I’m okay. Maybe you can just find me after class.”
He then just walked away, past at least a dozen people to find a spot towards the front with a very commanding stance once he stilled, his hands on his hips as he waited. Jeongguk just shuffled back over to Yugyeom, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
The song of choice was “Numb” by Rihanna featuring Eminem. It was far less street dance and a lot more… sensual. Just in the first two eight counts, Jeongguk could hear Yugyeom laughing quietly, trying to figure out how to make the combo work for him. They started the combo about a minute a fifteen seconds into the actual song itself.
“Make sure you hit every count of the music,” the instructor said to the sweating, eager, attentive class after thirty minutes of choreography. “Right off the bat, yeah? Don’t half-ass it. From the top of the combo, mark those selling points with me. You have that eight-count freestyle intro. Then you have—five, six, seven, eight—snake, and pa! And HIT, HIT, pa-pa! Get low, and PA-da-da-HA, yes, yes and MILK this, milk it, milk it, YES.”
Once the entire class had learned the combo and Jeongguk could feel it seeping into his bones, the instructor split everyone into groups so the dancers had more room to perform. Jeongguk and Yugyeom were in the same group, and not unlike other times they were together, they garnered a lot of attention when they danced. Jeongguk finished the combo laughing, high-fiving Yugyeom and pointing at the instructor with another laugh because he was applauding in amusement.
“NEXT GROUP!”
Jeongguk folded his arms, catching his breath, and tried to watch all ten dancers in the group. He failed miserably before the actual combo even started. His eyes fell right on Tinkerbell, and right on cue, Tinkerbell noticed. He stared at Jeongguk without wavering, and then he winked, did a few casual hip rolls, and started the combo on the correct count.
Holy fucking hell.
He wasn’t just good at ballet. Tinkerbell was exactly like Jeongguk had said—he was sex on legs. He moved with a sensuality that Jeongguk should have expected, but it was still mesmerizing, enough to make Jeongguk’s jaw drop as he watched. What amazed him most, though, was that Tinkerbell didn’t just dance the choreography. He finished every movement in the combo, never using a move as the transition and instead finding every single beat, obvious or not, in the music. He freestyled without hesitation when the choreography finished, body rolling and melting into every move like he was made to dance hip hop and nothing else.
“ALRIGHT, THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!”
Then Jeongguk held his breath and waited, hoping that maybe he would get chosen to be in a small group for filming purposes. He didn’t have to wait long. The instructor called for three dancers, and Jeongguk was one of them. The class applauded and gathered around, and Jeongguk swelled with pride, something that never usually happened because he preferred to remain as humble as possible so that he didn’t inflate his ego. But with Tinkerbell off to the side watching, he felt immortal.
Jeongguk was the center of the trio, and he milked every moment to the camera, knowing that the more he played around, the more tempted the instructor would be to use this combo for YouTube footage. Jeongguk wasn’t always big on being filmed, but it was great for his professional career to have an online portfolio of sorts.
“Absolutely fucking kick-ass,” the instructor said as the class cheered for the trio. “Next group! Seven of you, let’s do this!” He then started calling names.
Jeongguk stood by and watched the group of seven dance, impressed with how differently each dancer took on the choreography. The instructor seemed equally as impressed, but then he held up a hand.
“Uh, let’s do a solo,” he said, and the class exploded into catcalls and cheers, joking around with one another. “Yeah, a solo for sure. Guy did the combo better than I did, I’m embarrassed. Smiley Face, c’mere. Show everyone how to do this shit.”
Jeongguk felt his eyes widen as Tinkerbell bowed his head with a smile over all the applause, and then he jogged forward and took his spot in the center of the room. Jeongguk stared and stared, because there was just… no way. Jeongguk had been coming to BDC for well over a year. He had taken every class possible with this instructor. He’d been in small groups before, more than he could count. But a solo? He’d never gotten a solo, yet Tinkerbell walked in and got one on his first day. How was it even possible?
Oh. That’s how, Jeongguk thought. Suddenly, he couldn’t even be mad. He watched Tinkerbell play to the camera and do the combo with a type of ease that absolutely no one else had been able to achieve, not even Yugyeom. He was fluid and captivating, had a total understanding of how his entire body worked from head to toe, and he knew how to work a room and a camera. Girls were swooning. Guys were hollering. And Jeongguk just kept staring, trying to absorb what he was seeing, trying to determine if it was real.
“THAT’S THE ONE!” the instructor hollered, clapping loudly as Tinkerbell laughed and shook his head, waving his hand in embarrassment from all the attention as the camera pulled away and the rest of the class piled into the center of the room. “ALRIGHT, COOL DOWN! GREAT CLASS, FAMILY.”
When class was dismissed, Yugyeom tried a few times to engage Jeongguk in conversation, even mentioned a few bars they could go to, but Jeongguk was completely distracted, and Yugyeom could tell.
“You know him? Blondie? I thought he was gonna fall flat on his face, but goddamn. Proved me wrong,” Yugyeom said, amused. “I think he likes you, though. He’s been staring at you the whole fucking class.”
“Uh, yeah. I know him. I’ll, uh…”
“Yeah, catch you later. Hey, come to krumping with me next week!” Yugyeom called out as he backed away with a salute and then ducked out of the studio. Before Jeongguk even had a plan, Tinkerbell came right over, bag slung on his shoulder.
“You were great,” he said politely.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t get a solo filmed,” Jeongguk said with a short laugh.
“Aw, come on. You’re just a little stiff, that’s all,” Tinkerbell said with a Cheshire Cat grin, Jeongguk raised his eyebrows, leaning back a little.
“Stiff?”
“No, not at all,” Tinkerbell said, but Jeongguk didn’t blink, so he shrugged. “Only a little.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you, too,” Jeongguk sighed, immediately frustrated. Stiff? How the hell was he stiff? Hip hop was his thing. That was where he had started. Stiff in ballet, maybe, but in hip hop? Shit, was he slipping?
“I was hoping we’d get to that,” Tinkerbell casually replied. “But anyways. I guess I’ll see you in ballet sometime soon.”
“I’m going out tomorrow night.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Jeongguk shoved his hands in the pockets of his track pants and cocked his head slightly to the side, feeling his jaw tighten. This man had some goddamn nerve, looking as cute as he did and saying things like “you’re just a little stiff.”
“Where are your usual hauntings? Anywhere I might know?” he asked nonchalantly, though his eyes were sparkling.
“Few friends and I were gonna go to Aphrodisiac. Gay club in Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Mm.” Tinkerbell lifted his chin slightly, looking pleased. “I might be busy.”
“Just thought I’d tell you. You have a name yet?”
“Nah.” Tinkerbell grinned again, biting his lower lip as he did. “It’s way more fun to play it like this. Make you work for it. See you around, Jeongguk.”
“Yeah, see you around, Tinkerbell.”
The man turned back around like he was on wheels, smooth and graceful, standing in third position again. He looked utterly amused.
“Are you assigning me a code name?”
“Bye.” Jeongguk snatched up his bag and walked right past Tinkerbell, trying not to turn back around and throw the man up against the mirror to have his way.
***
Tinkerbell didn’t show up to ballet the next morning, and Jeongguk admitted only to himself that he was disappointed. He tried to forget that he didn’t even know the man’s name, but it was becoming increasingly hard on him.
“He’s Korean, right? So just make different combinations of names and say them all to his face until one makes his eye twitch.”
“That’s—you’re an idiot,” Jeongguk said, and Seokjin snorted with laughter, still perched in Jeongguk’s kitchen chair with his feet kicked up on the table like he lived there. Namjoon was sitting across from him drinking a beer, having already lectured the elder three times about feet on the furniture but clearly not interested in a fourth attempt.
“Baby, what do you think about this outfit?”
“Who are you trying to impress?” Namjoon asked, raising one eyebrow at Kim Taehyung. Taehyung stood in front of his boyfriend in skintight black pants and a purple silk button-up with a few buttons undone, a black choker around his neck. He had on smoky make-up, and his faded pink hair made him look like an ethereal fairy. He was the opposite of Namjoon in every single way, but even Jeongguk couldn’t stand by and deny how great they were together.
“You, obviously. What do you think?” Taehyung asked, pulling Namjoon’s chair out and then settling right into his lap with a grin.
“A lot of things I can’t say in front of these two,” Namjoon casually replied, running his hand down Taehyung’s back affectionately. He was dressed down in dark jeans and a nice black t-shirt with a few rings on his fingers, his brown hair pushed back off his face, not wearing his glasses. Across the table, Seokjin was in torn up dark jeans and a white button-up, casual and carefree, his dirty blonde hair parted on one side and messily swept back off his forehead.
Jeongguk clapped a few times to get his friends’ attention. “Okay, none of you matter. I need to know if this is okay.”
“Oh, right. You’re hoping your little blonde vixen shows up tonight,” Seokjin said knowingly. “So that’s why you look so good.”
“I do? Perfect,” Jeongguk sighed. He was wearing his best skintight black leather pants, a white low-cut t-shirt, and a baby blue Gucci jacket, his most prized possession that he had bought last year after scoring a successful dance job for a TV show.
“Alright, kids, let’s get a move-on,” Seokjin declared, clapping his hands and rising to his feet. Taehyung turned and kissed Namjoon firmly on the lips, nuzzled his nose, and then hopped up and immediately whacked Jeongguk on the ass, grinning.
“You gonna introduce me to this guy?”
“Yeah, I would if I knew his fucking name,” Jeongguk said, and Taehyung raised one eyebrow.
“He’s been flirting with you for two days straight and you don’t know his name? He’s good,” Taehyung said, grinning, holding open the door of the apartment and then silently taking out his own keys to lock the door. Namjoon had given him a key about six months ago “for safety,” but Jeongguk knew exactly what it was for.
There was always a line out the door at Aphrodisiac, so when the quartet hopped out of their taxi van, they weren’t surprised that they had to take a little walk to join the queue. Seokjin walked to the back of the line and held out his hand like he was commending the opponent at the end of a soccer match, greeting familiar faces all waiting to enter the club.
It only took about fifteen minutes to make it to the front of the line, seeing as they had arrived early enough not to be denied entry due to high capacity. The four of them all had different strategies when it came to Aphrodisiac. Seokjin always went straight to the bar to both flirt with the bartender and get a drink, but also scope out the entire club from a good vantage point. Namjoon knew the deejay, so he always started off by saying hello while Taehyung went to find a good booth for them to make out in later. Sometimes Jeongguk followed Taehyung, and other times, he went to the bar to start off his night the right way.
“Hey. Love Potion Number Nine, please,” Jeongguk ordered as he approached the bar, glancing over to see Seokjin sitting in a barstool, already laughing with not one, not two, but three hot guys who were swarming him almost obsessively. The specialty drink was the strongest Aphrodisiac offered, and Jeongguk planned to down several of them, because he hadn’t seem Tinkerbell yet.
One drink. Two drinks. A wild turn on the dance floor with Taehyung that had men desperate to grab at either one of them and Namjoon intervening. By his third drink, Jeongguk was in quite a state and had almost completely forgotten why he was at the club in the first place. He had danced with three gorgeous men already, and all three of them had put their hands all over him. Jeongguk was used to it—men liked to touch him a lot, especially his hair and his waist.
It was in the middle of a sensual song with heavy bass that Jeongguk saw him from across the room. He wasn’t difficult to spot. The moment he stepped in the direction of the dance floor, the crowds parted like something out of a movie scene. Men stopped flirting with each other just to stare, but none of them were lucky enough to catch his eye. Jeongguk, it seemed, was the only one who existed in the crowded club. There he was, wearing torn black jeans, a silky white button-up, and a crushed velvet red blazer. Rings adorned almost all of his fingers, and his blonde hair was styled off his face, a few strands hanging down his forehead. He had on eyeliner, and his sharp eyes were locked right on Jeongguk.
Holy shit.
Jeongguk had quite literally just gotten his third drink, hadn’t even take a sip yet, as Tinkerbell approached him, ignoring the attempts of other men who wanted to dance with him. He sidled past a few dancing patrons, and then he stopped right in front of Jeongguk.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, and then his eyes flicked down to Jeongguk’s drink. Without a word, Jeongguk held the drink up. Tinkerbell held Jeongguk’s gaze and wrapped his lips around the straw, take a sip. A really long sip. Holy shit, he drained three-fourths of the drink without stopping to even take a breath.
“Might as well finish it,” Jeongguk said. Tinkerbell licked his lips, and then he shrugged and downed the rest of the drink. Jeongguk tossed the cup aside onto a table, and then he lunged and grabbed the waitress who was walking around with ready-made drinks on a tray. He grabbed two and handed one to his blonde suitor.
“What a gentleman,” Tinkerbell complimented with a small smirk. “I came here by myself to find you, so you better ask me to dance.”
“Eh. I don’t know,” Jeongguk said with a shrug, feeling the alcohol coursing through his veins. “Don’t think you deserve it.”
“Dance with me.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Jeongguk sarcastically said. The man rolled his eyes, though he looked amused, and then he slipped one hand behind Jeongguk’s neck and pulled him closer.
“Dance. With. Me,” he emphasized in nothing more than a whisper in Jeongguk’s ear.
“Okay.” How could he argue? Jeongguk slipped his hand into Tinkerbell’s and dragged him straight to the middle of the dance floor, his palms already sweating in anticipation. Most of the time, he had to endure the awkward stuttering and stumbling with a guy to figure out how they should dance together. Not with this man. Tinkerbell just twirled himself in a circle, pressed his back right up to Jeongguk’s chest, grabbed Jeongguk’s arms, and fastened them around his waist.
“Show me what you’ve got, then,” the man said, tilting his head to speak in Jeongguk’s ear. Jeongguk took a deep breath, listened to the music for all of eight counts, and then practically melted right into Tinkerbell like they were made for one another as they began to dance.
It was feral, the way that Jeongguk felt. An uncontrollable, almost animalistic desire, need, to be with this man, to touch him, to jump his skin, to learn everything about him. He was pressed up to Jeongguk’s body entirely, and Jeongguk felt like it still wasn’t enough. He wanted to hold this man tighter, harder, until he understood. The way they were dancing with each other was down and dirty. There was nothing polite about it. Jeongguk’s hands had a mind of their own, and his dance partner wasn’t making a single attempt to stop him. Fuck, he wanted this man more than he had ever wanted anyone in his entire life. He was dizzy with arousal, already sweating, barely able to focus with the state he was in.
“Tell me your name.”
“No,” the man gasped when Jeongguk pulled their hips together even closer. He wanted Tinkerbell to fucking know what was going through his head, all the explicit thoughts.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Then who’s name am I gonna say when I get myself off later tonight?” Jeongguk breathed in his ear. He felt the man physically shudder, and then he turned his head and leaned back just a little, his lips on Jeongguk’s ear.
“Jimin.”
Jeongguk nearly swallowed the name when he grabbed the man—Jimin—by the neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Their lips met hot and heavy, Jimin gasping into Jeongguk’s mouth. Jeongguk immediately capturing Jimin’s lower lip between his teeth and then threading his fingers through Jimin’s hair before kissing him again. And again. And again, over and over until Jeongguk completely forgot that they were both mildly drunk and sweaty and in the middle of a club with dozens of eyes possibly on them. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a kiss, better than any drunken encounter Jeongguk had had at Aphrodisiac before, a kiss that made his entire body figuratively burst into flames. There was lip biting, a lot of tongue, and muffled moans that they were each stifling with more kisses. When he finally pulled his lips off Jimin’s, he breathlessly assessed the situation. Jimin’s hands were underneath his shirt, and Jeongguk had one hand in Jimin’s blonde hair, the other gripping his waist firmly. Jeongguk wasn’t doing fucking anything to hide the fact that he was hard beneath his jeans, and neither was Jimin. Neither one of them was doing much of anything to contain the dangerous spark between them.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Jimin whispered in Jeongguk’s ear.
“Yeah, but—oh,” Jeongguk added, but Jimin couldn’t hear him. He was already walking away, parting the crowds just by existing, dozens of hungry eyes watching him stroll by. Jeongguk’s entire body jolted like he’d just received an electric shock, because these men could eye-fuck Jimin all they wanted. It didn’t matter. Jimin had just willingly made out with him. Jimin was hard and on his way to the bathroom because of Jeongguk, had suggested the bathroom because of Jeongguk.
So Jeongguk gave Jimin a two-minute head start. He would have lasted longer had he not been drunkenly thinking of Jimin’s mouth on his cock. He shoved past a few other dancing club goers, and then he pushed open the door to the massive men’s bathroom.
Aphrodisiac was relatively shameless in its promotion of bathroom trysts. The stalls were narrow but made with wooden doors, floor-to-ceiling with no possibility of anyone peeking in on what was happening, complete with sturdy double locks. They also had condoms and lube readily available at the sinks and in each stall, and Jeongguk had brazenly used the bathrooms to his full advantage many times before.
But holy shit, not like this.
“…Jimin,” he said the moment he walked into the bathroom. He didn’t say it as a question, didn’t say it timidly. He said it like he was staking his claim. There was a bit of silence, and then Jeongguk heard a breathy moan and a soft thud from the second stall on the right. Jeongguk had never once heard Jimin make any utterances besides speaking and breathing heavily, but he knew for a goddamn fact it was the man he was looking for. He took his chances and lunged for the stall, and then he threw open the unlocked door.
“Fuck,” he breathed, slipping in and pulling the door closed, locking it with trembling fingers. Jimin was leaning against one of the adjacent walls, head tilted back against the wall exposing his entire neck, his jeans already down past his thighs, his blazer hanging on the hook inside the door, his hand wrapped around his hardened cock. Jeongguk lunged planted his hands on the bathroom stall wall right above Jimin’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together roughly, unable to believe the audacity of this man. Already trying to undress, already getting himself off.
“You gonna make me do this by myself?” Jimin breathed, licking his lips.
“No.” Jeongguk didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the bottom hem of Jimin’s shirt and yanked it up, and Jimin immediately grabbed it to hold it up. Then Jeongguk dropped down to his knees, grabbed Jimin by the hips, and immediately took his cock into his mouth. Jimin let out a beautiful moan that went straight to Jeongguk’s cock, unfiltered and so fucking hot. Jeongguk wasn’t an amateur. He relaxed his throat and took Jimin down deeper, pleased when he heard Jimin let out a steady streaming of whispered curse words. Jimin was already collapsing further back against the wall of the stall, one hand in Jeongguk’s hair, the other still holding up his shirt. Jeongguk sucked and used his tongue to destroy Jimin until he knew Jimin was about to cum. He didn’t have to say anything—he could feel it happening. So he pulled off, grinning wickedly.
“You seem to like doing the fucking,” Jeongguk breathed. “But so do I. So now what?”
Jimin blinked hazily at him, chin still tilted up slightly, a few strands of hair falling into one eye. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Jeongguk could barely breathe. He had told Namjoon the other day that he would never bottom, but shit, he was more than willing right now. Maybe that’s what the right guy could do to him. He stared Jimin down, thinking Jimin was going to laugh and argue, assert his dominance, put up a decent fight. But instead, he just held up a fist.
“Rock, paper, scissors for it,” he said, licking his lips again. Jeongguk wanted to laugh, but he was also so aroused that he couldn’t think of any better solution than the one Jimin was offering. So he stuck his fist out and let Jimin say the usual Korean words in a whispered singsong voice. One round, two rounds, three—winner. Jeongguk triumphantly bumped his fist for rock against Jimin’s scissors. He expected Jimin to argue, to demand a rematch, but he didn’t. He just let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes for a moment.
“You better be fucking worth it.”
“You’ll be getting yourself off to it for days after, don’t worry,” Jeongguk replied, pressing Jimin up against the wall. Jimin smirked.
“I already have been.”
Jeongguk attempted again to swallow Jimin’s words, kissing him fiercely, not even stumbling when he reached into the little shelf to grab a packet of lube and a condom. He didn’t even break the kiss (but savored Jimin’s quiet moans) when he grabbed Jimin by the hips and pulled his jeans the rest of the way down. He spun Jimin to face the bathroom stall wall, and Jimin let out a little breath of surprise, immediately pushing his ass back into Jeongguk’s hands.
“Eager,” Jeongguk murmured, desperate to unbutton his own pants but refraining for the sake of making the moment last. He ripped open the packet of lube with his teeth and squeezed all of it onto his fingers. He was about to reach down when he heard Jimin laughing. “What?”
“You won’t need to do much,” Jimin said breathlessly, glancing over one shoulder. He was already bent slightly at the waist, forehead pressed to the bathroom stall wall. “You said you’d be here tonight.”
“And?”
“And so I already fucked myself open earlier thinking about this,” he breathed. “Fifty-fifty chance I’d have to bottom, so you better be a step up from a dildo.”
“Fucking hell, are you kidding me?” Jeongguk practically growled, and so he gave Jimin no warning. He reached down and slipped one finger into Jimin, and when he was met with absolutely no resistance, he let out a small whimper, dropping his forehead onto the top of Jimin’s shoulder. He added a second finger, and then he curled both of them carefully. Jimin let out a breath of pleasure, pushing down onto Jeongguk’s fingers, immediately satisfied at the feeling. Jeongguk carefully scissored his fingers, trying to save every pretty sound Jimin was making to the hard drive in his brain. He added a third finger, and that was when Jimin’s moans started to fill up the entire bathroom stall, fucking shameless and loud, with absolutely no regard to other patrons or innocent bathroom goers. It was so hot that Jeongguk had to use his other hand to reach down and unbutton his own jeans to relieve the pressure.
“Another,” Jimin gasped. “Add another, it’s not enough.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jeongguk said to himself, and then he added his fourth finger and found Jimin’s prostate with ease. Jimin let out a drawn out moan, fucking back onto Jeongguk’s fingers, whispered curse words falling from his lips, his palms pressed into the wall as he searched for more. This man was going to test Jeongguk’s stamina, and Jeongguk had assumed he was ready. Maybe he wasn’t.
“Hurry up and fuck me already,” Jimin managed to say. “You’re just drawing it out, you asshole.”
“That desperate?” Jeongguk asked him, subsequently tearing open the condom wrapper with his teeth. He pulled his jeans and underwear down further and rolled the condom on, hissing at how sensitive he was, and then he grabbed another packet of lube and used his teeth yet again, because he was still four fingers deep in Jimin. “Maybe I’ll make you cum just from my fingers first. Teach you a lesson.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jimin said through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll start touching myself.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Jimin removed his right hand from the wall and immediately grabbed his cock, choking on his breath when his hand made contact. Jeongguk grabbed Jimin’s right arm in a flash and slammed it roughly up against the stall wall again, pushing Jimin’s chest into the wall as well. Jimin let out a huffy breath, sounding pleased.
“So graceful in ballet,” he whispered, “but so rough here. Goddamn, Jeongguk-ah. You better be the walk and not just the talk.”
Jeongguk covered himself in more lube, and then he gripped Jimin’s hips and lined himself up, his heart pounding in his ears, his hair caught in his eyelashes. He blinked rapidly, and then he teased just the tip at Jimin’s hole as Jimin let out a strangled little growl, trying to push back. Jeongguk responded by pinning Jimin to the wall again, and then he scooted his foot forward and thrusted up into Jimin smoothly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jimin cursed immediately. “Holy shit, fuck.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re so tight,” Jeongguk gasped, slamming one hand into the stall by Jimin’s head and wrapped his other arm around Jimin’s torso, his knee nearly giving out. “How the fuck are you still so tight?”
“Oh my God,” Jimin moaned, his legs trembling as his hands scrambled for some kind of purchase, something to hold himself up. “Fuck, you’re big. How the fuck—shit, Jeongguk-ah,” he interrupted himself when Jeongguk gave an experimental roll of his hips. Jeongguk swallowed heavily, his vision blurring, his head spinning in dizzying circles. He was embarrassingly close to finishing already even though he had literally just stuck his dick in the man. He took a few deep breaths, resting his forehead on Jimin’s shoulder again.
“If I don’t last long, it’s your fault,” he whispered, and Jimin let out a strangled laugh, still adjusting to being full.
“I won’t last more than five minutes. Bring it on.”
Jeongguk steadied himself, and then he found some stability and rocked his hips forward. Jimin responded immediately, the pleased breath he let out was so sensual that Jeongguk almost came right then and there. Instead, he gritted his teeth and focused, decisively grabbing Jimin by the hips and starting to steadily fuck into him. The more he found a rhythm, the louder Jimin became. He had no fucking regard for anyone else, didn’t care that the whole bathroom, maybe even nearby club goers, could hear him getting fucked—and getting fucked well. He was vocal about it.
“Fuck, you’re good at this. Shit, right there, right there. I can’t—Jeongguk-ah, oh my God. Shit, you weren’t kidding. Gonna think about how big you are for fucking days. God, right there, oh my fucking God. Yes, yes, yes, yes—” His chants were interrupted by his own moan, one that he didn’t even try to stifle, and Jeongguk continued fucking him at the same pace while also sucking another hickey onto his neck. Jimin seemed to like the double assault, tilting his head willingly and fucking back onto Jeongguk to help out. He was a wreck, hands still on the wall, refusing to touch himself even though Jeongguk hadn’t said a goddamn thing about it.
“J-Jeongguk-ah,” he stuttered. “Touch me. Touch me, please, I—fuck, please touch me.”
“You feel fucking amazing,” Jeongguk gasped as Jimin’s rim tightened around his painfully hard cock. He hadn’t even gone just a little soft like he typically did. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this turned on, this aroused, this needy. “Shit, you’re perfect.”
“So touch me,” Jimin insisted. Jeongguk didn’t argue. He thrusted up roughly, deeply into Jimin and grabbed his cock at the same time, and Jimin didn’t moan this time—he almost cried. It was a completely different sound that went straight to Jeongguk’s cock.
“Feel good, baby?” he asked, almost delirious with pleasure.
“So fucking good,” Jimin moaned. “Wanna cum. C-Can’t hold it any longer. Fucking me so well, holy shit.”
“Go ahead, baby. You can cum,” Jeongguk panted, angling his hips carefully. With a few more thrusts and a deft flick of his wrist, Jimin trembled and then stilled with a cry, slamming his palm against the stall as he came hard, cum splattering all along the wall. The very sight of it, coupled with how he tightened around Jeongguk when he came, had Jeongguk seeing stars in his vision. He released Jimin’s cock after milking out the orgasm and only had to thrust three more times before he spilled into the condom, nearly collapsing from the intensity of the orgasm that washed over him.
“Fuck,” Jimin gasped, steadying himself on the wall.
“You made a mess,” Jeongguk scolded breathlessly, trying not to laugh. But then Jimin let out a hoarse chuckle.
“Thank fuck you were worth it,” he said, and Jeongguk swelled with pride, feeling himself soften inside of Jimin slowly. “Jesus, I would’ve been so disappointed.”
“Give me an actual bed and I’ll do better,” Jeongguk whispered in his ear.
“I bet you fucking would.”
Jeongguk grabbed his cock at the base to hold the condom in place, and he pulled out of Jimin and immediately tugged the condom off to discard it in the little trashcan after tying it in a knot. Meanwhile, Jimin grabbed a handful of paper towels and handed them to Jeongguk instead of using them on himself. Jeongguk quickly cleaned himself off, and as he tossed the paper towels into the trashcan, Jimin pulled him in closer.
“Thanks for that,” he said softly, his pupils still blown, his lips swollen from biting them while being fucked. Jeongguk tucked himself back in and zipped up his pants, trying to make sense of his disheveled self. Jimin leaned back against the stall wall, pants still down, cock still out, head tilted back as he surveyed Jeongguk with half-lidded eyes. Any other man Jeongguk had decided to have a bathroom tryst with had never looked so effortlessly goddamn sexy after being fucked while drunk. Jimin was a different kind of creature.
“I’ll leave first. You, uh—might need a minute,” Jeongguk said, his eyes flicking up and down Jimin’s body with a shit-eating grin. He expected Jimin to reply with something snarky, but Jimin just let out a little mocking laugh and then gave him a genuine, half-drunk grin before nodding. Then he lifted his shirt and bit it between his teeth to clean off, and Jeongguk stumbled just short of the door. Not that he valued looks over personality, but Jesus fucking Christ. Jimin was Jeongguk’s wet dream—soft around the edges with a fiery personality, a big mouth, and muscle covering every inch of his toned, lithe body. Jimin was everything Jeongguk felt he wasn’t.
“You were leaving?” Jimin asked kindly, batting his eyelashes as he reached for some toilet paper to wipe both the stall wall and his body down.
“Sure I was,” Jeongguk said. Can I have your number? But he couldn’t get the words out. Instead, he just licked his lips, feeling in desperate need of another drink suddenly. “See you around.”
“Yeah, only if you promise we can do that again.”
“What?”
“See you around,” Jimin said, wiping down his abdomen. Jeongguk half-expected to hear a thwick-thwick-thwick sound from his abs as he wiped bottom to top, but nothing happened. Instead, he sniffed, nodded, and then pivoted, letting the door fall closed behind him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he almost fell over laughing. His hair was a tousled mess, his eyes were shining, his lips were redder than normal and slightly swollen, and he had a dark bruise on his neck from their dance floor make-out session. He unquestionably looked like he had just had sex in the bathroom.
Own it.
Jeongguk strolled out while adjusting his shirt, making sure the hickey was visible, and then he made his way back to the dance floor in search of his friends.
“GUK!”
Jeongguk made a beeline for Namjoon and Taehyung, and the moment he got close enough, Taehyung burst out laughing and hopped off Namjoon’s lap.
“How was it?” he asked knowingly.
“Eleven out of ten, would fuck again and again,” Jeongguk replied without hesitation. “He’s a fucking wet dream, I swear to God. He came here by himself to find me.”
“Is he loud?” Namjoon asked wearily. “If he’s loud, don’t bring him over on weeknights. I need to sleep.”
“I’ll gag him,” Jeongguk casually offered, and Namjoon almost choked on his drink.
“So where is he?” Taehyung asked curiously, peering over Jeongguk’s shoulder.
“Don’t know. He was pretty casual about it. Just said thanks and we parted ways. If you see a blonde guy in a red blazer who looks like walking sex, let me know,” Jeongguk said.
Taehyung opened his mouth to respond, but then his honey brown eyes widened.
“Uh.”
Jeongguk glanced over his shoulder, and he shuddered inwardly. Even his cock attempted to respond. Jimin was running his fingers through his sex-mused hair, shamelessly pushing way men trying to flirt with him using his fingertips as he made his way to the bar. He was staring at the dance floor with narrowed eyes, though, like he was looking for someone.
Someone like Jeongguk.
“That’s him?” Namjoon chimed in. “Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah, I second that,” Taehyung agreed with his boyfriend. “What the hell are you doing? Go get him.”
“We just fucked in the bathroom,” Jeongguk said. “I’m pretty sure we don’t need to talk any further.”
“Uh, he’s kind of staring at you,” Taehyung said, and then he grabbed Jeongguk by the shoulders and spun him around. He was right. Jimin was leaning against the bar with a new drink in his hands, ankles crossed, head tilted a bit to the side, and he just so happened to find Jeongguk at that moment. Jeongguk also tilted his head as if asking for permission. Jimin just gently lifted his chin and gave a little shrug, and then he turned back around.
“Go,” Taehyung insisted, shoving Jeongguk forward. Jeongguk huffed, but then he weaved through the dance floor and approached the bar.
“Can’t stay away?” Jimin asked before Jeongguk could say a word. Jeongguk leaned his elbows on the bar.
“You were staring. Besides, I only came over here to ask for your number,” he said smoothly, even though he felt like an idiot. “You did say you wanted to fuck again, so I figured a phone number would be a good place to start.”
“That’s a line,” Jimin teased, turning in his chair to face Jeongguk. “But sure. I like you. In fact, Jeongguk-ah, I think I’d be happy to bottom all the time if you’re the one fucking me. Maybe it’ll help you be a little less stiff when you dance.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Jeongguk snapped, but Jimin grinned, looking delighted. He held out a hand, palm up, so Jeongguk smacked his unlocked iPhone into the man’s hands. Jimin plugged in his number and then handed the phone back, and Jeongguk stared.
“Yeah? Now I get your full name?” he asked tiredly, seeing PARK JIMIN in the contact name with a heart emoji, HOTTEST MAN YOU’VE EVER FUCKED as the company, and the phone number. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Actually, you’re a pain in my ass, but we can negotiate that later,” Jimin said. “I’ll see you soon, Jeongguk-ah.”
“How do you know it’s not ‘hyung’?” Jeongguk retorted childishly. Jimin raised his eyebrows, amused.
“Just a hunch. Am I right?”
“…Bye, hyung,” Jeongguk sighed resignedly, and then he turned away, the sound of Jimin’s happy laughter following him as he made his way back to his friends.