Chapter Text
The post had come loose again. The dirt it once stood securely in had become too wet, causing the wood to shift and bend over, and then it had become too dry. With the wind, the support at the base had been stripped away, and pounding it back in only caused the earth to crack, the lines splintering out over the dust like a spider shooting its web.
“Damn,” the man grunted as he push on the fence again, praying that somehow this time the outcome would be different. Insane. The year was making him insane. It was driving them all insane. His wife, nagging on and on about the heat even in October, the fan she constantly used haunting his dreams with its crackling. His son, still so delusional about his future and his hopes when all his father needed was him to stop keeping his hands so clean and face reality in the dirt. The town, denying him any relief as more people fled every weekend, desperate to find land that wouldn’t crumble beneath their feet.
They were all insane, but he at least knew he was. He was no coward. He wasn’t about to run away. He owned his farm after years and years of sweating and bleeding and crying as he flung dirt in the wind only to have it fly back with his screams of despair. After tragedy and loss and disaster and this damn drought that was never ending. After surviving a mother fucking war only to come home to a dying son and a wife more than ready to leave him.
He had survived much worse than a damn post not staying in its hole, but he kicked it nonetheless as he stood up and sighed, his back stretching out as he surveyed the rest of his land. That broken board warping on the patio. The barn door sticking in the corner. The decision to sell the horse or not. What to do with his son. All of these problems pressed on his mind as he leaned his weight on the fence.
His eldest wouldn’t look it if Jihyun hadn’t died. The youngest had been a bigger baby than Jimin ever had been. He had always been stronger, too. To die of a mere fever at five had been Park Haneul’s greatest loss. He hadn’t just lost his youngest. He could tell, even then, that he had lost his future. As the oldest, Jimin would have always taken over the farm, but Haneul could tell his son would never do well enough to handle the work on his own. It would have passed to Jihyun.
But now, Hanuel not only had to fight his wife and the weather and God himself, but he also had to fight his son on a daily basis. His son, with his hair he had somehow managed to bleach blonde. He wouldn’t be surprised if it all fell out prematurely. He had insisted Jimin shaved it the next day. It meant he didn’t spend as much time playing with it and running his fingers through it. Eighteen already, and yet he looked like a child. He acted like one, too. His father couldn’t deny that Jimin had a way with the animals that even he didn’t, but when it came to manual labor, the boy was useless. Hanuel was at his wits' end.
With the dirt. The wind. The leaves signaling that yet another thing was dying. The cow who refused to produce milk anymore and was wasting away every day. With the stupid, lazy, worthless town doing nothing to stop itself from disappearing. With his son, who was shuffling around the field petting the cows as he stopped every once in a while to pick up a wildflower to stick in his hair or in his overall’s pockets.
The man kicked his fence again, grumbling as he went to get the proper tools. He was tired of fighting, but he refused to give up. As his son was no use around the farm, he would make him get a job in town and hire someone else. People were desperate for jobs, and he was desperate for a useful hand. Hopefully, he thought with another muttered curse, he could find someone more reliable than the damn post coming out of its hole.
Opal was Jimin’s greatest present who had never been a gift at all, and he refused to let his father sell her. She still had her uses. He had taken to helping deliver mail just to make sure she had a purpose. And she was his only companion. Not that his father cared, but Jimin loved to lay on her back and just rest against her, lazily stroking her side as her mane tickled his face. Her ear would twitch, and her hoofs would pick up slowly as she nibbled on the grass. And when Jimin rolled off her side to look up at the sky, the field she grazed in would tickle his skin. After he followed cloud after cloud until it left his view, his daydreams floating away with them, he would climb back up and go reluctantly home, enjoying the way the breeze tickled his nose as Opal trotted down the road.
The wind was changing.
Jimin was sure of it. It wouldn’t threaten to shred his soft skin anymore with sharp sand swirling all around. It would bring rain. The ground would grow muddy again. It would soften, and with it, his father’s temper would, too. Jimin was sure of it.
He at least dreamed of it, as he sighed at the silent dinner table and in the barn every morning as he milked the cows and as he lay in bed at night, staring up at his dark ceiling.
The wind was going to bring a change.
If it didn’t, then Jimin would finally catch the last breeze and ride with it as long as he could. He would chase the wind and carry himself up to the clouds he watched wistfully every day.
Jimin was sure of it.
To envy a rock took a special mindset. Min Yoongi didn’t like to move like a stream, flowing from one spot to the next in whatever direction the earth took him. He didn’t like to be tossed around by the wind and be forced to move with the seasons. But he didn’t have the luxury of being a rock. He could dream of one day being stationary. Of having a place to plant roots in. For now, he chased roots of his own, making sure they stayed covered and watered and protected until their time came to produce or be pulled up.
As the train’s brakes screeched, he rubbed the smooth rock in his pocket with his thumb, glancing around under his hat’s brim before ducking his head as he hopped off. A cloud of dust burst up, slapping at his ankles, when he landed, but he looked back in the direction he had come, noticing the clouds were still following him. It wouldn’t be long now.
Still, he moved slowly, never in a hurry. He walked idly through the town with a purpose, stopping at all the usual spots to look at yellowing pieces of ripped paper ruffling in the wind as pins and staples worked to keep them attached. Help Wanted and Job Listings were always easy enough to find, but Yoongi always had a particular job in mind, and farmers rarely posted up any papers on bulletin boards.
It was the grocer who told him about mister Park, and Yoongi made his way leisurely out of town down the dusty road, glancing occasionally at the slowly moving clouds.
It was almost time.
He wasn’t always right. Sometimes his calculations were off or he got on the wrong train or someone gave him bad directions, but the house soon came into view, and by the time Yoongi tramped up the steps, shaking out the last remnants of dust from his ragged coat and knocking his boots against a broken board, his knock coincided with the first roll of thunder.
He was right on time.
The tattered handkerchief around his neck, the canvas bag slung over his shoulder, the tear on the brim of his hat, the caked mud—mud, not dirt—on his shoelaces—Jimin wasn’t sure what to look at first as he peeked around his father in the entryway. They had barely finished dinner, but already the sky was turning dark, and hope swept through the door around the stranger standing on their porch. The man sucked in a breath and waved a hand, his greeting gruff and yet not impolite as he introduced himself and informed them he had heard mention of Park Hanuel needing help on his farm.
Jimin glanced at the back of his father’s head before shrinking back into the kitchen at the words.
“Who’s at the door?” his mother asked as he helped clean up the table.
“Someone asking for work.”
“Really?” she said, wiping her hands and stepping out, her footsteps as soft as always. Unlike Jimin’s father, who hammered and pounded and hacked at the earth, Jimin’s mother moved softly. At least, she used to. As a child, Jimin thought she literally floated. She certainly snuck up and caught him enough times for him to think her feet never touched the ground. Her gait had changed as well as her whole demeanor since his brother died, though. With Jihyun’s death and with nightly arguments and with the wind battering her life away, she didn’t float anymore. Her softness had almost been completely chipped away, and Jimin sighed as he filled up the sink to begin washing them.
“Don’t do that yet,” his mother said as she came back in, her presence making him startle a little, a dish clattering against another as he dropped it. “I need to warm him something up.”
“Him?”
“The hand. Get out of the way.”
“Yes, mama,” Jimin said, stepping aside and twisting his lips as he placed himself against the wall.
“—not much,” his father was saying as he clomped around the corner, his boots hard on the floorboards, “but we never go hungry. Afraid we don’t have a spare room, though.”
“I can sleep in a barn,” the stranger beside him said as he came into the doorway, his bag still on his shoulder. He looked around the kitchen, his eyes lingering on Jimin long enough for Jimin to look away, though there was not much to look at. The fading picture of fruits in a basket on the wall, slightly crooked. The lines in the floor that only led to the stranger’s shoes as he sat down and put his bag in an empty chair.
“This is Min Yoongi,” Jimin’s father said as he scrapped a chair across the floor to sit back down, his elbows falling hard on the table.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Jimin’s mother said as she handed the man a plate.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“And that’s my son, Jimin,” Jimin’s father said, pointing to him. The man—Yoongi—lifted his head slightly in greeting, so Jimin dipped his, just a slight nod. He stood there, his hands behind his back and brushing against the wall, as his father spoke about the work and his mother bustled around the kitchen. He watched as the man chewed and nodded and swallowed and mumbled his thanks as he drank a glass of water.
Despite his clothes, the man’s face looked clean. Tan from hours in the sun and yet somehow still fair. He looked cleaner than any other farm hand Jimin had ever seen. But Jimin knew the real sign would be his hands. If he had dirt under his fingers, if he had calluses on his tips, if he had a strong grip, then his father would hire him. Considering he was eating at their table, he had probably already passed the inspection. Jimin brought his own hands in front of him to examine. He looked at his palms and felt over his knuckles and spread his digits out.
His fingers had always been short, the last stubborn bit of baby fat leaving his face seemed to refuse to leave his hands. He kept his nails trimmed and clean. He used oils or glycerin to help keep them soft. He had grown to love his hands because he had tended to them with great care.
But his father saw them as a sign of weakness.
Yoongi’s hand was wrapped around his glass as he and Jimin’s father continued to talk, and even from across the room Jimin could tell his hands were nothing like his own.
Jimin finally moved to excuse himself. His mother and father barely reacted. Yoongi looked up at him, though, an oddly kind smile on his face as he nodded his head again. Jimin frowned before nodding back. As he scurried out, pulling on his fingers as he went, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, an odd sound making him look toward the door.
It was too soft to be a knock. His father and Yoongi’s voices continued lowly in the kitchen, and his mother was quiet. The sound continued. A quiet tap that repeated enough that Jimin moved to the door. Moving cautiously, he opened it to peer out, his mouth dropping as he saw the darkness had deepened, but across the whole yard strips of light warbled in the air as drops of rain fell tentatively from the sky. They did not streak or stream or scream as they fell. They merely whispered as they kissed the ground.
The air had changed, too, and Jimin felt it cool his face as he stood dumbly in the door. He welcomed the rain and the cool and the night as his father welcomed a stranger into their home. Jimin only hoped of their two guests, the rain would stick around.
The one light from the porch wasn’t enough to light the way to the barn, but Yoongi always carried a flashlight with him. He’d used it to check on the animals, letting them all sniff him as their new roommate, before climbing up the ladder. One benefit of so little rain was the loft was completely dry, the hay almost sizzling, though Yoongi could see enough holes that had gone unnoticed that would need to be patched up immediately tomorrow. None were big enough to cause any alarm for the night, but the rain was trying to get in, a few pitiful drips managing to get through and fall on Yoongi’s new bedding. He expected to find rats or mice burrowed deep in the warmth as a shelter from the coming storm, but nothing stirred as he kicked around before dropping his bag.
The lady had offered him a bath, but he’d declined for the time being. Tomorrow he would see how often he would need to bathe based on the work he had to do. The job sounded routine enough. The man grew mostly corn, though Yoongi wasn’t sure how much there would be to harvest. If the rain held, they could grow some spinach, as frost would never be an issue in the region. Yoongi could envision some green beans, too, and squash, though the place could do with more shade. The land was flat and barren, two measly trees wilting in the front yard attempting to provide decoration more than anything.
At a particularly loud boom, Yoongi heard the cows fussing, so he dropped his bag and slid back down the ladder, noting how rough the edges of it were. He would need to sand it tomorrow. When the thunder passed, and Yoongi was finished hushing the cows, he stopped at the door, noticing how it didn’t quite close all the way. The rain wasn’t hard enough to be whipping inside, but it was another thing to fix. At another rumble, Yoongi heard another sound that made him peer out the door.
The boy was outside.
He’d been so awkward when Yoongi first came in, Yoongi hardly even noticed him pasted up against the wall like he’d never seen another human being. He just stood there playing with his fingers while Yoongi tried to listen to his father, and in his attempt to not be seen, he was extremely distracting. He had a terrible haircut, the sides buzzed and the top shorn poorly, but what he had left was blonde. He looked tan enough, like someone who lived on a farm, but his stature was small, almost frail looking. And Yoongi had never been particularly muscular or broad, but his muscles were defined enough. The boy—Jimin was his name, apparently—looked weak, and Yoongi wondered what was wrong with him. He seemed young enough to be able to help around the farm enough.
He was standing on the porch still. He had been there when Yoongi finished eating and left. He had backed up out of the way, scurrying like a scared mouse, when Yoongi walked past. The rain never bothered Yoongi, so he barely even flinched as he stepped into it to come to the barn. He hadn’t thought any more of the kid.
But there he was, hanging onto the patio post and sticking his hand out, his palm up to catch the rain, and drop after drop was splattering against his hand.
He looked like a child, and Yoongi thought it was dumb, to be so intrigued so easily by the rain, to be so captivated so quickly by a scrawny farm boy, but Yoongi stood at the barn door, watching as Jimin grew in his confidence. He took a step down the stairs, next, ducking a little when the bigger droplets rolling off the roof hit his head. And then he laughed.
Giggled. He giggled.
Emboldened by the sound, Jimin took another step until he was completely off the porch, his bare feet wiggling into the ground. Yoongi could see from the porchlight how the boy moved tentatively, looking up at the sky and then laughing again as he blinked against the rain.
And then, like a rejuvenated plant, Jimin came to life.
He ran to hide under one of the trees, shaking his head and his entire body before running back out into the rain. He looked down at his feet as he moved and up at the sky as it rolled on above him. He spun and twirled and laughed the entire time, and Yoongi watched, enthralled and amused at the boy’s response. It must have been a long time indeed since it had rained for the boy to react in such a way.
But at another boom, the boy froze, and Yoongi smiled for a moment, wondering if Jimin was scared, if he would lie awake shivering at every sound of thunder, if he jumped at flashes of lightning, but the boom hadn’t come from the sky. Jimin’s father stood on the porch, and Jimin froze in the dirt that was finally becoming mud.
“—your ass inside right now,” the man was shouting.
Yoongi almost turned to go.
There was nothing to see, after all.
Fathers shouting, men using volume and force to make people do what they want.
Yoongi had been traveling back and forth across the country for four years. It was always the same.
But no one reacted to rain like Jimin had. Rain was a relief, certainly. Seemingly a miracle in some parts, yes. Sometimes a godsend literally bringing life back to a community. But it wasn’t for playing in, for dancing under, for laughing at.
So Yoongi pressed his face against the barndoor, watching closely through the increasing downpour as the rain started to rattle the roof a bit harder, the soft plinks turning into jabs. The increased pressure made Jimin’s head bend, too, and his shoulders hunch as he tried to shelter himself from the storm. He hurried up the steps, though his movements were not carefree and happy like the excitement he had when he first came down them into the rain merely moments earlier, and flinched when his father smacked the back of his head.
There was nothing to see, then. Just the rain graying Yoongi’s view like paint running down a canvas.
Then the porchlight went out, and with his flashlight, Yoongi went to the loft to sleep.
The world was still rust colored and tan when Jimin woke up the next morning. No birds had flown in over night to nest in their trees. His parents were still surly and silent as they hurried through breakfast with the sun barely adding to the yellows and browns of the farm.
But there was someone sitting across from Jimin at the table.
He had the same clothes on as the night before, the same tattered handkerchief around his neck, the same floppy hat, though he had enough manners to take it off while they ate. His hair was shaggy, but long, black and straight enough to fall into his eyes when he stared at his plate. He either knew how to read a room, or he was also normally surly and silent in the morning. He mumbled a thanks when Jimin’s father got up and followed him out after dusting off his hat on the back of his chair. He hadn’t even exchanged a glance with Jimin, but Jimin had been looking up at him in between every bite.
He moved slower in the morning than his parents, never seeing the rush. You could never truly beat the sun, and the animals would fuss but never die if they weren’t let out at the same time every day. Jimin kicked at the ground as he watched his father and Yoongi walk away toward the fields, wanting for the first time to follow them.
A stranger was a stranger, but it was something new. New like the rain had changed the dirt overnight into something more solid that didn’t scatter everywhere as Jimin scuffed at it again. He didn’t look very lively, but he had already brought life to Jimin. No one came to their town. People left. Their neighbors, his best friend, the priest. Everyone left. Even if the man was only here temporarily, like the rain had come and gone already overnight, Jimin was curious. He wondered, as he opened the barn, how he had slept in the hay. He wondered where he was from and where he would go next. He wondered what stories he had to tell of anywhere that wasn’t here. Jimin had never wanted to follow his father to the field, but he wondered that morning if he could follow the hand he had hired one day.
The sun was making the farm turn yellow as Jimin led Opal and the cows out to graze, walking between them and behind them when one lagged to make sure everyone made it. Nothing looked different from the night before, but Jimin could tell something had changed. He ran his hands over the top of the grass and laid down to close his eyes as the sun continued to rise, a small smile on his face the whole time. Because for the first time, Jimin truly understood how much one night of rain could change one’s life.
There were many reasons Yoongi loved farming.
The feeling of puny insignificance under a vast sky, the inability to control the slightest changes in the weather, the fragility of a stem and bud and life itself, and through all of that, the power to still create life. To beat the elements. To succeed no matter what fate’s plan was for you to fail. He loved the dirt beneath his fingers, the stirring of new beginnings as he planted and watered and pulled. And he liked the solitude. The silence as he worked that kept his mind clear.
So the boy, sitting on the fence kicking his legs back and forth, the heel of his boots clumping every time they impacted with the wood, was disturbing Yoongi’s peace. He had shown the father he knew what he was doing, and that had earned him the right to work alone. And yet there Jimin was, watching him.
“Don’t you have any work to do?” Yoongi grunted up at him, the kid’s legs kick, kicking before he said,
“Nope.” Yoongi had no reason to not believe him. The boy seemed to be in charge of the animals, and they were grazing nearby. Hanuel had said something almost every morning, too, about how useless the boy was. Yoongi didn’t think he was useless—he had seen the cows and the horse up close enough to know the kid knew what he was doing. They were clean and healthy and seemingly happy, and the milk Yoongi got to drink every morning was some of the best he’d ever had. The eggs, too, and Yoongi had had his fair share of bad experiences with enough birds to know chickens were some of the stupidest creatures ever but also needed to feel completely safe before they produced anything worth eating. The kid knew what he was doing, even if his father didn’t realize it. His father didn’t quite know what he was doing, anyway, that Yoongi could already tell.
But he did as he was told. He fixed the roof on the barn in his spare time, the boy holding the ladder for him without Yoongi even asking, and he fixed the barn door, and he felt the soil and listened to the wind and watched the sky, waiting for the right time to plant and harvest. There were a lot of things that Yoongi loved about farming, and the gamble, the anticipation, the elation when every calculation went right was what kept him moving from farm to farm so he could always show up just in time.
And he loved the dirt. Wiping the sweat off his brow even under the autumn sun. He loved watching the dirt run off his body and down a drain or back into a muddy puddle if there was an outside hose or shower. The Parks had two bathrooms, though, a rarity indeed, and it went unsaid that Yoongi should use the one upstairs by Jimin’s room. The boy didn’t question his father. The boy was a mouse, shaking and timid at the dinner table, running and hiding whenever his father was on the prowl. Yoongi hadn’t heard the boy laugh since the first night, nor had he seen him dancing. But he saw him often.
And Jimin saw him. He followed him everywhere when he could. He stood at his door, waiting for Yoongi to leave the bathroom at night, though he always retreated as soon as the steam started to escape. He glanced up between every bite at every meal.
If Yoongi didn’t know any better, and, he realized before long that he didn’t, the boy had never seen another human being before. That was absurd, as the boy went into town every day to see if there was any work to do, his fingers patting and rubbing his horse’s mane and side the whole time, but the place was mostly filled with people on their way out the door and those recently entered. Meaning everyone was old or a baby. Yoongi had been in plenty of similar towns. Those still young and able left. They had enough sense to see a lost cause. The cities offered wealth and fortune and opportunity. The cities offered false promises and disappointment and death themselves. It took good sense to preemptively see that.
That was why Yoongi didn’t settle down in either. But people would always need food, so Yoongi would always have work to do. The job was fulfilling in and of itself, but after a couple of weeks, he was starting to get bored. His cards were wearing thin, and there was only so much he could do alone up in the hay loft. He was only human, and everyone needs entertaining. The dance hall in town was clearly where most people went on the weekend, but Yoongi wasn’t a dancer. He didn’t like the smell of smoke, either, and there wasn’t a drop of alcohol to be found for miles. Yoongi gambled enough with crops to never feel the need to risk any of his money, and while the Parks had a radio they listened to every night, sitting around on the floor with his employers was not his idea of fun and relaxation.
No, Yoongi would have to find a way to entertain himself, and with no one else around, that someone was just going to have to be Park Jimin.
As a child, back when Jimin tottered and Jihyun babbled, both boys would follow their father around as he worked on the farm. Or Jihyun would be tied to his mother’s back while Jimin played with a stick in the dirt or dragged an empty pail behind him. His father would always explain everything he was doing, but most of the time Jimin wasn’t really paying attention. He was more interested in the sky or the fields or “What’s over there.” At a certain age, it was cute. The little boy with his head in the clouds.
But then the war happened, and Jihyun died, and Jimin’s father came back with something missing, and Jimin realized his feet would never leave the ground. It was why he liked to ride Opal or lie in the grass or daydream still, though. But his imagination could only take him so far. After eighteen years, he had seen everything there was to see in the tiny town and their small farm and his room’s ceiling.
Then Min Yoongi had shown up, and suddenly Jimin had something to look at. Something to dream about. Something to follow around and watch work. Something to pay attention to.
The man was vastly different from Jimin’s father. Smaller in stature and yet stronger. He reminded Jimin of the stallion that had come to breed Opal four years ago. He towered over Jimin, his muscles rippling, his hoofs deadly, and yet Jimin never feared him. Opal didn’t, either. The horse had a control, a meekness to him that made him seem gentle.
Yoongi reminded Jimin of that horse. And like that horse, Yoongi was going to do his job and then leave. Jimin knew he shouldn’t get too close to the man. But he felt himself drawn to him like he was to the horizon, to “What’s over there.”
Jimin was no child, but his curiosity was still innocent enough to not be able to keep him away from Yoongi. And so he followed the man, looking as often as he could, wondering why everything he did looked so different than his father had. It was just farming. Something Jimin had never cared for. He cared about the animals because he knew they cared about him. But the dirt? The roots? The pokey leaves? They meant nothing to Jimin, and yet they meant everything to this farmhand. Jimin wanted to know everything, so he watched, a stick trailing behind him in the dirt as he followed Yoongi from field to field, and Jimin learned for the first time what it took to be a farmer.
The boy clearly had no experience. He was entirely too easy to tease.
The way he blushed into his plate when Yoongi’s foot hit his intentionally under the table. The way he cleared his throat whenever Yoongi looked up to intensely meet his gaze.
And yet he never ran away completely. He didn’t cower under Yoongi like he did around his father. He certainly wasn’t hiding. But while Yoongi normally loved the quiet, he was tired of the boy simply following him around.
“Get down here and help me,” he grunted one afternoon, and the boy did squeak a little like a mouse, then, but he scurried right over and squatted down to see what Yoongi was doing up close. “See this?”
“Yes,” Jimin nodded as he held onto his overall straps.
“You know what these are?”
“Um, the roots,” Jimin said.
“Which roots?”
“The, um, the corn’s roots?” Yoongi looked at him, trying not to judge him too harshly when Jimin cocked his head at him. Instead, Yoongi merely sighed as he stood up and brushed his hands on his pants, trying not to smile when Jimin did the same even if his fingers weren’t dirty at all.
“Corn has two different types of roots. Your father never taught you this?”
“Probably. I just probably didn’t listen.”
“Why not? What else do you have to do?”
“Plenty,” Jimin huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Lots of people to follow around, huh? Did you bother the other farmhands this much?”
“Never had one,” Jimin mumbled, his eyes looking down the rows of corn.
“Never, huh? And here I thought I might be special.” It was meant to tease, and Yoongi grinned a little for good measure when Jimin’s eyes flickered to him. The boy wasn’t dumb. He caught on immediately. But he clearly didn’t have an answer for Yoongi, so Yoongi snickered and went back to work, smiling to himself when he heard the boy pick up his feet to follow him again.
“Can you tell what’s wrong here?” he asked in another row, the stalks shielding them from the sun as they squatted down.
“It’s dry,” Jimin said, patting the ground. “Everything’s too dry.”
“And?” Yoongi nudged.
“And? These roots are sticking out too much. But that’s because it’s so dry. That’s the real issue. There’s no point in putting more dirt on them if it’s just going to blow away.”
“You know more than your father thinks you do,” Yoongi hummed.
“That’s right,” Jimin said, sounding haughty as he stood up.
“But you don’t know much.”
“I know plenty.”
“Sure, kid,” Yoongi said, carrying on again. He could practically hear Jimin scowling before he followed after him.
“I’m not a kid,” he said one more as he stood by his horse, stroking her hair as Yoongi pumped water into a pail.
“Oh, spoken like a true adult,” Yoongi said sarcastically.
“I’m eighteen.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I finished school.”
“So you can read and write. So what? You know nothing of the world.”
“That’s not my fault,” Jimin protested, the huffiness in his voice dying out like the corn wilting in the sun.
“No? Why’s that?”
“I can’t go anywhere or do anything. I’m stuck here. It’s not my fault I don’t know anything.”
“So you admit it,” Yoongi said, raising his eyebrows at the boy just to see him look defeated. “And says who? No one’s forcing you to stay here.”
“I’m not like you,” Jimin said, but Yoongi was already walking away, because he had chores to do.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi asked one afternoon when they sat sharing an apple. “You’re not like me?”
“You,” Jimin said as he sat up, waving a hand at Yoongi.
“You’re not like me? Devastatingly handsome?” Yoongi asked. “Intelligent? Talented?”
“I’m not someone who can just do whatever he wants,” Jimin said, throwing the core of his apple far into the field before hugging his knees to his chest.
“But you wish you were?” Yoongi asked. He didn’t need an answer, so when Jimin said nothing, Yoongi got up and went back to work.
“I don’t do whatever I want,” Yoongi had to tell him one day as he watched Jimin work carefully but too slowly on a planting technique Yoongi had shown him for spinach, the month of October fading away.
“Huh?”
“I’m like a plant,” Yoongi said as he squatted down and grabbed Jimin’s hand, cupping his fingers behind his to show him properly how to make the hole and cover the seed up. “I’m not free to do whatever I want. I have to grow, or I have to die. I have to produce something, or I’m useless. And yet you’re right,” he said as he made Jimin’s fingertip tamp the dirt down before letting go of them, “I can do what I like more than you can. I can grow in the direction I want. I can produce bigger, better fruits if I want.”
“W-why?” Jimin asked, his eyes wide and his fingers trembling a little as he put them on his knees and looked up at Yoongi like he always did, something warm stirring in Yoongi’s stomach at the sight.
“Because,” he said as he stared right back, “I have experience. I’ve seen the world. I know people outside of this town. I’ve traveled and learned. So I can’t do whatever I want, but I can certainly do more than you can, Park Jimin.”
“That’s not fair,” Jimin mumbled.
“No? All you have to do is leave yourself. Then you can grow big and strong just like me.”
“But I—” Jimin said, his head snapping up as Yoongi stood. His hand darted out to grab Yoongi’s pants, and Yoongi looked down at him curiously. “What if I—you—you’ve taught me a lot already. Couldn’t you teach me some more?”
“What do you want to know, kid?” Yoongi asked, a grin on his face as he cocked his head at the boy.
“Everything,” Jimin breathed.
He only had a season left. It wasn’t nearly enough time. But he had proved himself to be a diligent student. And Yoongi was having fun. So he nodded before pulling his leg away so he could get back to work. He would show Jimin everything his fingers had learned since he left home himself, and maybe the boy would learn a thing or two.
The plinking on the roof matched the tapping of Jimin’s feet as he lay on his stomach, his head rocking back and forth to the song on the radio. The soft footsteps of Yoongi coming down the stairs made him look up, the guy’s hair fresh from the shower still dripping a little when he reached the bottom and cocked his head at Jimin.
“Where’re your parents?”
“They had a meeting,” Jimin said, rolling over to his side. “Come sit. It’s raining out.”
“I know,” Yoongi said, not moving for a moment. Jimin had watched him for weeks, giddy how in the past week Yoongi had been looking back more and more every day. Jimin still didn’t know what to do when Yoongi looked at him or knocked his foot under the table or grabbed his hand to direct him, but Jimin knew he wanted more. It was different from how Taehyung and he used to look at and touch each other. That was shoulder and hip bumps and slaps on the arm and crushing hugs when he said goodbye. That was mirth and friendship shining in their eyes. Jimin didn’t know enough of the world to know how to describe how Yoongi looked at him, but he knew he liked it.
“I can change the station,” he said, hating how he didn’t know what would please Yoongi best. The man loved farming. Jimin was learning to appreciate it, but that couldn’t be all there was to life. He knew it wasn’t all Yoongi knew and loved. It couldn’t be, not with all the places he had been.
“This is fine,” Yoongi said, looking out through the front door again and not moving.
“They won’t be back for a couple of hours,” Jimin mumbled, something sizzling in his gut akin to when he and Taehyung had snuck onto old man Warner’s farm. He had no idea what they were about to do that could get them in trouble, but Jimin felt the tension in the air. He whispered accordingly, then, not wanting to get caught even if his father was miles away. “Won’t you come teach me something?”
That got Yoongi’s attention, as his head pivoted back around as his eyes darkened.
“What do you want me to teach you?”
“Anything. What can we do?” Yoongi thought for a moment, looking out at the rain again as his lips twisted.
“I just showered,” he muttered to himself before continuing before Jimin could question his comment, “Do you have any cards?”
“Cards? Maybe.”
“Let’s play cards.”
“I know how to play cards,” Jimin frowned, sitting up anyway and crawling over to the end table to open up the drawer where his father kept a few nick knacks.
“You know how to play Slap Jack?” Yoongi asked as he shuffled in and sat down on the rug.
“Um,” Jimin said as he sat to face him. “No.”
“Then you don’t know how to play cards. Give me those,” Yoongi said, holding his hand out for the cards. Jimin gave them up easily, though he still frowned as Yoongi started to shuffle them.
“I know how to play poker.”
“Oh, a true man of the world,” Yoongi teased. Jimin tried not to squirm or pout. Yoongi’s tone was never mean, not like Jimin’s father’s was when he sounded like he was giving Jimin a praise when someone else was around that was really nothing more than an insult. Yoongi’s words didn’t make Jimin hate himself or feel like a disappointing failure that would never be able to please anyone, but they still made him feel defensive, like he had to stand up for himself and contradict the man. He found himself listing off all the games he knew, but Yoongi continued to look unimpressed as he dealt them each a stack of cards.
“That’s great, kid. Here’s how you play this game, though.”
“A child could play this,” Jimin huffed once Yoongi explained, as the rules were incredibly easy.
“Which is why we’re playing it,” Yoongi said, grinning up at him slyly before it turned sweet as he lifted his eyebrows. “You can go first, kid.”
“Not a kid,” Jimin mumbled before sighing as he needed to stop walking right into Yoongi’s traps. Rolling his neck once, he took a deep breath and hunched over to begin the game.
It really was a simple game, but Jimin could tell immediately what the trick was.
It was all about staying calm and confident, and while Yoongi looked perfectly at ease like he always did, Jimin felt himself shifting constantly. He sat up straight then leaned over. He flipped his cards slowly and then quickly. His hand wavered in the air in case the next card was a Jack. He felt his heart beating faster like it was trying to keep tempo with an upbeat song that came on the radio.
He could tell he was going to win as soon as they started.
But he bit his lip and did his best, and when a Jack finally appeared and his hand moved too slowly, twitching in the air before deciding to come down, Yoongi’s was already there, and his eyes were looking at Jimin, waiting for him to move.
“I’m bad at this,” Jimin sighed, trying to remove his hand in defeat only to freeze as Yoongi’s twisted around to hold onto it. With his fingers around Jimin’s wrist and his thumb on his fingers, Yoongi leaned forward, tugging Jimin toward him at the same time. To steady himself, Jimin put his other hand on the ground, his eyes widening as Yoongi lifted his hand up a little, his other hand coming to run a finger over his palm. Jimin’s entire hand twitched at the touch, Yoongi’s fingertip a bit rough as it traced over Jimin’s veins and lines.
“You’re shaking,” Yoongi mumbled, his breath hitting Jimin’s hand and making Jimin shake his head.
“Am not.”
“I’m trying to teach you something, but I think you’re too focused on the game.”
“What? What are you trying to teach me?”
“To calm down,” Yoongi said, his finger almost tickling as it traced over Jimin’s wrist.
“I’m perfectly calm. Is this part of the game? What are you doing?”
“Looking at your hands. You have such little fingers.”
“They’re cute,” Jimin huffed. “Like me.”
“Yes,” Yoongi hummed, his agreement making Jimin shiver again, his fingers trying to curl a little in Yoongi’s grasp. “Are you watching?”
“Watching what?” Jimin said, hearing himself whisper again as the room seemed to have shrunk as Yoongi felt closer now.
“What I’m doing to you.”
“What—what are you doing?” Jimin said, his mouth hanging open between words as Yoongi smirked up at him.
“You say you’re not a kid, but your inexperience shows so badly, it’s way too obvious. Look, you’re practically panting, and all I’ve done is touch your palm.”
“I’m not panting,” Jimin said, trying to pull his hand away, now, but Yoongi’s grip tightened around his wrist, and he pulled on his arm again. Trying not to squeak, Jimin held himself up even as his chest and head moved closer to Yoongi. The man’s head had risen, and he stared at Jimin for a moment, the music already fading out of Jimin’s ears as his heart pounded in them. He wanted to trace Yoongi’s eyes looking all over his face, but instead he just froze, his bottom lip parted from its partner again as he tried to remember to breathe. This wasn’t like any staring game he had ever played before. He even blinked and didn’t get called out. Jimin didn’t know what game they were playing anymore, or what Yoongi was trying to show him, so he pulled his arm away and sat back, rubbing his wrist more because it felt suddenly cold than because it hurt as he frowned across at Yoongi.
“This is stupid. Are we going to play cards or not?”
“No, I’m going to bed,” Yoongi said, already standing up. The pit in Jimin’s stomach made him frown up at him, the disappointment obvious on his face.
“Please don’t go yet. We can play another game. Or we can just talk. Or sit here and listen to the radio. I just thought it would be a good time to get to know each other, so we—”
“Why?” Yoongi asked, the question making Jimin freeze again.
“Why what?” he asked, hoping Yoongi didn’t bring up how he would leave again soon. His answer made Jimin lift his head, though, a spark of hope lighting in his stomach.
“I’m just wondering why you’re asking me that now, when I’ve been here for weeks. You could have asked me to stay any time. But now, since your parents are gone, y—”
“That’s not why,” Jimin said, shrinking the second the lie left his lips. Yoongi knew it, too.
“You’re smarter than you think, kid,” Yoongi said, actually smiling a little. “There’s an opportunity here, and you see it. Now you just have to take it.”
“What opportunity?” Jimin frowned, not sure what Yoongi was talking about. It was raining. It was almost winter. He had no money of his own. He had nowhere to go unless he tried to find Taehyung. He couldn’t run away now just because his parents went to town for some meeting.
“I’ll be in the barn,” Yoongi said unhelpfully, grabbing his coat by the door without another word. The rain grew louder when he left, but soon it was quiet again, the radio trying to fill the room as Jimin sat on the floor trying to think about what Yoongi had meant.
He was a little surprised it took so long, but even though Yoongi had fixed the door, he knew even without it squeaking when it opened. The cows and Opal stirred, and the sound of the rain changed, and Yoongi tried not to smile too widely as he tried to stay still in the loft. He turned a page in his book and listened to soft footsteps hesitating before the ladder moved just enough for Yoongi’s eyes to flick over to it.
“Um, Yoongi?” Jimin said, his voice sounding smaller than normal, though he was far enough down below for distance more than hesitation to explain his volume. But Yoongi knew he must be nervous, too, since he had taken so long to leave the house. Yoongi wondered how much time they had now.
“You can come up,” Yoongi answered, sitting up and putting his book aside. Despite the turn the weather had taken in the span of a couple of hours, the loft was still warm. The hay and the lamp and the blanket Mrs. Park had lent him were enough, and yet Jimin was shivering as he came up the ladder. The whole thing was practically shaking. And once he reached the top, he stood a little stooped over even if there was plenty of room to stand up straight. He always wore the same pajamas that made him look even more like a child. Pants and a long sleeve button up with a collar. Soft cotton. A light blue fabric.
They were soaked. As was Jimin’s shorn hair and entire face, like the whole sky had cried and used him as a tissue.
“What are you thinking?” Yoongi mumbled, getting up immediately and pulling a towel off a string where he hung his clothes.
“I didn’t know—I didn’t know what to do.”
“What are you talking about?” Yoongi mumbled as he came to drape the thing over the boy, knowing it wasn’t going to be good enough. He moved it to Jimin’s hair instead, rubbing his head and muffling the boy’s words.
“You’re right, I know nothing. I’m just a kid. I want to—I hate it here. So much. I just want to talk to you. I want to know about anything and everything. What’s it like outside of this stupid town? I just really, really like you, but I don’t know what’s going on, and I feel so stupid—”
“You like me?” Yoongi said, pulling the towel off the boy’s face to notice how red his cheeks were. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?” Jimin said, his face looking defiant enough to make Yoongi smile warily.
“Because I’m leaving soon.”
“So? So I can’t like spending time with you and talking to you? So I just shouldn’t even try?”
“No, I’m not saying that,” Yoongi mumbled, looking down at how the boy was still shaking. “You should go change.”
“But you said—at least I thought you—didn’t you want me to come?”
“I did. But not like this. You’ll get sick.”
“Why did you want me to come?” Jimin said, taking a step closer. “What did you want to show me in the barn that you can’t in my father’s house?” Jimin really was smarter than he realized, and Yoongi smiled at the boy’s choice of words.
“Take off your clothes, and I’ll show you.”
“Wh—what?” Jimin sputtered, whatever confidence he had had melting off him like the rain still dripping from his clothes. Yoongi turned around, taking the towel with him, and went to stand by his makeshift bed, lifting his eyebrows when he looked at Jimin again.
“Surely you know basic survival skills at least,” he said. “Your body will keep you warmer than your wet clothes will. Take them off and hang them up, then you can have this towel. I might even give you a blanket.”
“Th-then—” Jimin said, his eyes darting around. “Look away.”
“No,” Yoongi smiled. “It’s my room.”
“It’s my barn!”
“It’s your father’s barn. If you want me to show you why I asked you to the barn, do as I say.”
“B-but,” Jimin mumbled, his fingers twisting together as his toes—his bare feet—curled into the hay.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never changed in front of someone,” Yoongi said, almost wondering if he had assumed too much of the boy. “Gym practice? Swimming?”
“I—I have. But that—that’s different.”
“How so?” Yoongi asked, knowing what his answer would be but wondering where Jimin’s head was at.
“Everyone was naked then.”
“Oh. Very well, then,” Yoongi shrugged, putting the towel down and pulling off his shirt. Once his head was free, he grinned at Jimin, whose mouth had popped open. “Are you impervious to cold or something? Hurry up,” he said again as he shucked his pants. Even without being wet, Yoongi shivered as the chilly air hit him, and he retreated to his bed immediately, feeling no shame at being a bit of a wimp when it came to the cold. He gave Jimin one more eyebrow raise once he was safely under a cover and a nod at the blanket he had left behind before the boy started moving.
What was almost impossible to believe was that Jimin didn’t know what he was doing.
The way he moved slowly and shyly was intoxicating, and the boy really didn’t have a clue. Yoongi wondered if he had gone dancing in the rain to get so wet or if he had just stood under the downpour like he was trying to wash his fears away. Perhaps he thought the rain would help him interpret Yoongi’s vague words and their meaning.
He was skinnier than Yoongi had imagined, but all his baggy shirts and overalls made sense as he stripped off his wet top. His whole body was shaking as he tiptoed across the loft to hang it up before he fumbled with his pants. He moved faster once they were off, the embarrassment perhaps settling in, as he yanked the towel up and started to dry himself off. He turned his back to Yoongi, and Yoongi had to smile, because Jimin really didn’t know what he was doing. If he thought it would bother Yoongi less to see his backside, he really was clueless.
His wet underwear was sticking to him, accentuating the curve of his ass that was too often hidden in his overalls and loose pajama pants, and when he bent down to towel off his legs, Yoongi snuck his hand down his body to readjust himself. When Jimin finished and hung up the towel only to hug himself and look unsure again, Yoongi lifted up the blanket a little, sitting up a bit to make sure Jimin knew there was room.
With his head a little ducked, Jimin hustled over, taking the top of the blanket away from Yoongi to get under it himself.
“Underwear, too,” Yoongi said as Jimin laid on his side, chuckling softly at the way the boy’s eyes enlarged.
“But that’s—”
“I won’t look or touch, if that’s what you’re worried about. But you’re soaked. Come on, now.” Jimin licked his lips at the instructions and then bit his bottom one before taking a deep breath. With the blanket up to his neck, his arms disappeared under it, and Yoongi felt the boy knee his leg as he wrestled his wet underwear off, dropping them outside onto the hay.
“There we go. Now you can warm up,” Yoongi said, lying on his side himself with a hand under his cheek as he looked at the way Jimin’s face was burning. Yoongi had come to really enjoy looking at the boy, especially his face. He was glad to know his body was so perfect, too. He had misjudged the boy initially, believing his father too much. But Jimin’s clean nails and fairer skin wasn’t a sign of laziness. He did work of his own. He just cared about staying as pure and as beautiful as possible, even if he didn’t quite know it himself. Yoongi didn’t want to ruin him completely yet. The boy was smarter than he thought, but he still knew nothing. To move too quickly would spoil him. Would scare him. Would scar him.
Yoongi grew plants and watched the sky and used his fingers to make sure seeds and roots and leaves were exactly where they needed to be. He worked with small, precious, beautiful beings on a daily basis. He had all the patience in the world, then. Jimin was already beautiful, so Yoongi just wanted to do his best to help him finally fully flourish.
No, he still didn’t see anything. It had been three days since they planted the stupid spinach seeds, and he still didn’t see anything. They must have done it wrong. Jimin whacked his stick on the ground, the way the dirt flew up around the end of it making Yoongi’s head lift and look back at him.
“You alright there?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jimin mumbled, looking back down to where Yoongi had told him to check. He saw nothing. He didn’t know what he was supposed to see.
He hadn’t known in the barn, either, as Yoongi lay on his side staring at him. Jimin didn’t know what he was supposed to be seeing. Or what Yoongi wanted to see. Jimin didn’t know, and Yoongi didn’t tell him.
Standing up, Jimin beat the stick again to avoid stamping on the invisible spinach. He had lain there naked beside the guy all night and nothing had happened. They hadn’t even spoken. In the morning, his clothes were dry, so he got up and tended to the animals before going back in for breakfast, making up some excuse about hearing them fussing before anyone else got up.
His parents hadn’t even questioned him. They just told him to go get dressed. They hadn’t even seen.
Because there was nothing to see. Nothing had happened.
But something had. Jimin knew it.
“God damn it,” he sighed, realizing what Yoongi was doing. Something was happening under the dirt, but Jimin couldn’t see it.
“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asked, concern in his voice again.
“Nothing,” Jimin huffed, poking the ground with his stick before looking around for Opal. “I’m going for a ride.”
“Alright, have fun.”
“I will,” Jimin said for some reason. As he swatted at the tall grass and climbed onto Opal’s back mainly just to rest against her neck and sigh, Jimin thought about what Yoongi had seen or what had happened that Jimin hadn’t seen in the barn last night.
He had been naked around Taehyung plenty of times, though his friend was always the first to suggest shedding their clothes, especially when they went swimming. But that was different. That was stripping quickly and laughing as they ran down to the water. That was lying on their backs with their hands under their heads and drying under the sun. It was autumn, and Jimin had eventually gotten warm under the covers, but it hadn’t felt like enough. Yoongi had been right there, and Jimin didn’t know how old he was or where he was from or anything about his family, but he wanted him to hold him. To warm him up. To show him god damn something like he promised he would.
Groaning, Jimin rubbed his face into Opal’s main before sighing and sitting up.
“What should I do, Opal?” he said, patting her neck as her tail swished. He thought of the way Yoongi held his hand and looked at him and spoke to him, and while Jimin didn’t have a term or a word or a label for it, he knew it was different. He knew in his belly and his soul and his beating little heart that Yoongi was trying to show him something that no one else ever had.
But unlike Yoongi, Jimin was impatient. He preferred animals because with them you just knew immediately if they were sick or pregnant or something was wrong. You didn’t have to wait days for them to show some sign of life and then months until they maybe produced something you could eat.
Jimin was good with animals, and the next morning when he was chasing around one of the chickens that got loose, he finally had an idea. If Yoongi wouldn’t just come out and show Jimin, Jimin would have to make him. He just needed to give the man a little incentive. A little encouragement. And Jimin wasn’t sure exactly what Yoongi had seen last night when Jimin undressed, but Jimin knew he was something Yoongi liked. Even if Yoongi denied it and said Jimin knew nothing and insisted he was leaving soon, Jimin knew that Yoongi liked him, too.
He had made a mistake before.
That one who cried and clung to him and scratched him as she screamed. He had left before the father could find his gun. Had he made a mistake with Jimin?
The boy was running his bare foot up his ankle and under the hem of his pants to rub against the small hairs there. No amount of looking at him was making him stop. Even as his parents sat at the head and foot of the table. If anything, whenever Yoongi looked up to let Jimin know he wasn’t subtle or inconspicuous at all, Jimin didn’t duck his head or blush or look away like he used to. If anything, his toes just curled into Yoongi’s skin or his whole foot left his pants only to run up the outside of them all the way to Yoongi’s knee. The boy was short, but he was flexible, and the view above the table barely changed as he took another bite of his food.
Yoongi hadn’t touched him or anything that night in the barn, but Jimin was touching him now.
Out in the fields, instead of walking behind Yoongi like he used to, Jimin walked in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back as he swayed back and forth while they walked. Or he walked beside him, their shoulders touching unnecessarily, and even there under the wide sky like at the table, he would smile up at Yoongi now. And when Yoongi tried to work, Jimin asked questions now. He got down next to Yoongi before Yoongi told him to. He put his hands in the way so Yoongi would have to move them. And he did things wrong on purpose.
The boy was smarter than Yoongi had given him credit for.
But Yoongi was amused, and it was fascinating to see the boy trying so hard. So he put his hands on his and corrected him, speaking lowly and slowly as he repeated the information, and he watched as Jimin nodded, his breath always changing slightly, just enough to give him away, every time Yoongi touched him or looked for too long.
It would be any day now, Yoongi realized. The boy was almost ready. Yoongi just had to wait, and in the meantime, he laughed as Jimin grew bolder and more confident.
Getting lost in a corn maze was not fun as a child. Now, though the stalks towered over Jimin, he could probably close his eyes and still find his way out of the field. He would never get lost on his own farm.
But he made sure Yoongi was busy one afternoon before slipping away, crossing a row and walking away a bit before turning back the way he came. Taking a deep breath, he made sure to warble a bit as he cried out,
“Yoongi? Where did you go?”
“Huh?” he heard faintly. “Nowhere. Where did you go?”
“I don’t see you.”
“Obviously not. I’m going to the next field.”
“Yoongi!” Jimin cried out, trying not to huff at the man’s uselessness. “Help!”
“Jimin,” Yoongi said back, not at all worried or afraid. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t find you,” Jimin called back, rustling a few nearby stalks for effect. “Where are you?”
“Jimin,” Yoongi said again, his voice sounding a little closer but not nearly enough.
“Yoongi? I’m over here. Where are you?”
“Jimin, stop moving,” Yoongi said, so Jimin dropped his arms to join his feet that hadn’t moved an inch. “But keep talking. Which way did you go?”
“I don’t know. Yoongi, I’m scared.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
“It’s so hot, what if I pass out?”
“It isn’t hot,” Yoongi said, his voice louder now. Jimin took a few steps away every time he spoke, though, hoping the man’s voice would cover up the noise of his boots. “Why did you leave?”
“I just wandered off, like one of my silly cows,” Jimin grinned.
“You were daydreaming, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“And here I thought you were paying attention.”
“I was,” Jimin called out, sucking in a breath when he spotted Yoongi through some leaves. “You said it was almost time to harvest. You said the corn was looking good.”
“Yes, I was, I—” Yoongi’s words stopped as he stepped between two plants into the row Jimin was in. He was several feet away, but he put his hands on his hips when he spotted Jimin. “There you are.”
“Here I am,” Jimin said, his hands behind his back as he smiled. He twisted his torso back and forth before stepping to the left, disappearing into the next row.
“Jimin,” Yoongi said, something in his voice that made Jimin giggle. “What are you doing?”
“You have to get me.”
“I did. I found you.”
“You have to catch me,” Jimin said, backing up and going to the new row.
“I do, huh?”
“Yes,” Jimin said, though he probably didn’t say it loud enough. His heart was beating incredibly fast, and he wrung his fingers together, waiting to hear what Yoongi would do. When he took his first step, Jimin sucked in a breath, desperately trying to hear if he was coming closer or moving away. For too long, he couldn’t tell, but then he saw Yoongi’s black hair peeping through, and he gasped a little before giggling.
“Jimin,” Yoongi called out, a warning in his tone, but then Jimin turned and ran. He laughed as he went, making sure to protect his face as he ran between stalk after stalk. He had never gotten lost in a corn maze before, and he knew the field now backwards and forwards, but as he ran, he couldn’t stop laughing, and eventually, the more his breath came out ragged, the more he realized he had confused himself. He had crossed over and backtracked so many times to try to confuse Yoongi that he had confused himself. He stopped to catch his breath in one row and look around, trying to stand on his toes to see over the stalks for a sense of direction, but he could see nothing.
He could hear Yoongi nearby, and he looked left and right before going to the left. He turned left again to head down the row and then crossed over to the right, only to smack into something that was way too hard to be a plant. It didn’t bend or break as Jimin ran into it, and it reached up to grab him to hold him steady. The fingers curled into Jimin’s arms, and a boot stepped on his feet before the person he bumped into mumbled an apology, and as a bead of sweat ran down Jimin’s cheek, he panted up into Yoongi’s face.
Something in his eyes, in the color as dark as amber syrup, made Jimin smile. He had been the one to be caught, but for some reason he felt like he had won. He even opened his mouth to say so, to taunt Yoongi, some surge of confidence wanting to bubble out of him with a giggle, but then Yoongi’s hand moved up to his neck, his fingers curling around the skin there, and their boots bumped into each other again as Yoongi crashed their lips together.
Jimin froze, the hands he had put out in front of him to avoid toppling over flat on Yoongi’s chest as Yoongi pressed against him. His lips were soft, and his mouth was warm, but Jimin still shivered at the rough tips of Yoongi’s fingers against his neck, barely scratching as they made sure he kept still. As if he was going to go anywhere.
Yoongi grabbed his hip with his other hand and gripped him there, too, stepping even closer until Jimin’s arms were squished between them. Another kiss, Jimin’s first kiss turning to two and three and too many to count as Yoongi’s hand came to his back to hold onto him. Yoongi hadn’t just caught him. It was like he was never going to let go as he slipped his tongue into Jimin’s mouth, the intrusion making Jimin squeak a little until he stayed still again for Yoongi to continue.
He didn’t know what to do. Or say. He didn’t know how he should react. What Yoongi wanted. He had nothing to compare to the way Yoongi’s lips moved against his, but it didn’t seem necessary. He knew nothing except that his heart might burst. He didn’t know what to do, but he let a sound trickle out of his throat into Yoongi’s mouth that he had never heard before, and it made him tremble again, his fingers finally twitching to hold onto Yoongi’s shirt.
Afraid that was why Yoongi’s lips started to leave his own, Jimin clung to him and surged up to kiss him again, and he met a change on Yoongi’s face. The shape of his lips wasn’t the same, and as he kissed him again, he could tell he was smiling.
Jimin had no idea what game they were playing, or who had even won. He didn’t know anything except that when Yoongi kissed him again, he felt himself whither a little. His mouth and throat even started to feel parched, and as Yoongi kissed him one last time, he had no idea what to say. He didn’t know what to do.
Yoongi only stared at him, their foreheads almost touching, and Jimin unclenched his fists, smoothing out his shirt a little as Yoongi’s hands moved back to his arms. He rubbed them up and down a few times softly, and Jimin couldn’t take the way he was looking at him anymore. Dropping his head, he knocked it into Yoongi’s chest, the man chuckling a little above him as he wrapped his arms around him. His hands scratching lightly at his back made Jimin shiver and cuddle closer, wondering if he would ever catch his breath or if his heart would ever calm down again.
For the first time ever, at least for a little while, as Yoongi kissed him, Jimin had gotten lost in a corn maze, and he had felt no fear at all.
Min Yoongi never skimmed on a job or skirted his work before. He had never stolen from or cheated an employer. He didn’t even use the same name everywhere he went, and he often made up a different background every time, but he still had integrity.
He didn’t finish his work that afternoon, though. He had other work to do.
He dragged Jimin out of the corn field and told him to get his horse while he went to the house.
“Ma’am,” he said when he entered the kitchen, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm.
“Yoongi. Is everything okay?”
“Was wondering if I could pack Jimin and I a lunch today. He wanted to show me the pond nearby.”
“Imagine it’s more of a puddle right now,” Mrs. Park said as she smiled. “Though with the rain we’ve been getting—”
Yoongi tuned her out as she packed him some food, his eyes glancing at the bare walls and wishing there was a window so he could see out better.
“—a good boy,” Mrs. Park was saying as she wrapped up some bread.
“Ma’am?”
“Jimin, I meant,” the lady clarified. “He’s a good boy. Just—not cut out for the work, I think. Few people are. Some days I don’t think I am.”
“He’s stronger and smarter than you think,” Yoongi said, taking the bundles from her with a bow of his head. “Thank you.”
Jimin was waiting with Opal, the boy drumming his fingers against his thigh, though he straightened up and grew serious as Yoongi approached.
“Let me grab my blanket,” Yoongi said as he passed Jimin the food. Jimin always rode Opal without a saddle, but Yoongi grabbed one of the packs on his way back out of the barn. “She’ll let me ride?”
“She’ll do whatever I say,” Jimin smiled, patting the girl’s mane with a smile as Yoongi put on the bag and loaded up both sides.
“Is she saddle trained?”
“She used to be, back when my father used her more for farm work. But we don’t need one.”
“No,” Yoongi said, tightening the straps and patting the horse’s side, too.
“Yoongi,” Jimin said as his fingers ran over the brown hair toward Yoongi’s. “Are we—”
“Not yet,” Yoongi said, patting the boy’s hand once before reaching for Opal’s mane to help lift himself up onto her back. Jimin almost looked impressed at him once he was seated, so Yoongi shrugged. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I know,” Jimin mumbled, his words making Yoongi warm as he offered the boy his hand. Jimin shook his head, though, and swung himself up with Opal’s help.
“What did you tell my mother?” Jimin asked as he sat down, patting Opal for her help.
“That we’d be at the pond.”
“Then we’ll go to the pond,” Jimin nodded, though the horse didn’t move. Yoongi looked over his shoulder and toward the house, wondering what was wrong.
“Jimin?”
“Sorry,” the boy squeaked. “You’re just—” Yoongi looked around again, trying to see Jimin’s face that was ducking.
“Oh, am I too close?”
“No—”
“I don’t want to fall off, after all,” Yoongi said. He hadn’t thought at all when he put his hands on Jimin’s thighs and then snuck one around his waist to hold onto him. He hadn’t thought about how the boy’s ass was pressing up against his crotch. He wouldn’t have thought about it at all if Jimin hadn’t said anything. “You want me to walk?” he mumbled into Jimin’s ear, grinning when the boy shook his head and kicked his feet just enough for Opal to move.
Yoongi had ridden enough horses to be used to the way their muscles flexed and moved under his thighs, their power evident even when slowly walking, but it was something else entirely to feel Jimin as they went. Yoongi had watched him for weeks riding the horse. He rested on her and looked completely free when perched on her back. Most of the time he was smiling or laughing as he rode her, whether he was working or messing around. The way he was keeping his back so straight now wasn’t right. He was way too rigid, and Yoongi moved his hand over his leg as he put his chin on the boy’s shoulder.
“Relax.”
“I am.”
“Sure,” Yoongi chuckled, squeezing Jimin’s thigh and laughing when it made the boy’s heels kick into Opal. The horse whinnied and sped up even as Jimin yelped and clung to her hair as Yoongi held onto his waist. Yoongi hadn’t felt someone under his fingers in such a long time. The dirt and plants had kept him preoccupied so well since he had arrived that he had almost forgotten how intoxicating it was to have a person beneath him. Or in front of him, as the case on Opal was.
But he could feel every move Jimin made. Every breath he took. Every reaction he made to the way Yoongi’s hands started to wander. Opal’s pace turned leisurely, as there was no hurry, so by the time Yoongi saw what could remotely resemble a pond with a clump of trees nearby, well beyond where Jimin usually took the cows to graze, the boy’s breath was quick again. He wasn’t sitting up straight anymore but kept hunching his shoulders and then shifting around, and once again Yoongi had to wonder if the boy knew what he was doing. He had to, and while Yoongi hadn’t really intended to, once he had thought about and looked and felt Jimin pressing back against him, it was hard not to let his blood rush south.
“Kid,” he mumbled when Jimin stopped the horse by the trees, Opal’s tail swishing at flies as some birds squawked above them.
“Not a kid,” Jimin mumbled back, his hands leaving the horse’s hair to grab onto Yoongi’s. One took his wrist, and the other his hands, and while Yoongi had his arm securely around him, Jimin still jolted a little when Yoongi’s other hand trailed up his thigh and skimmed over his crotch.
“Alright, baby boy,” Yoongi said, grinning at how Jimin’s cock was obviously hard under his overalls. He heard Jimin suck in a breath, though Yoongi couldn’t be sure if that was from being touched or from the term. He moved his hand up to Jimin’s stomach, hugging him and rocking forward a little, wondering if he could tell he was growing hard himself. Jimin had no experience, but he was smart enough to figure out what was pressing up against him.
“Since you’re showing me your special spot,” Yoongi said against Jimin’s neck, grinning again when Jimin shivered, “how about I show you something, too. Another lesson, if you will. Does that sound good?”
“Wh-what lesson?” Jimin said, his fingers still curled around Yoongi’s as his heart beat all the way through his back to Yoongi’s chest.
“Well, you know how to come with your hand, don’t you? You’ve done that before, right? Up in your room with no one around where no one could hear you. You’re just a kid, so you’ve surely done that before.”
“Not a kid,” Jimin said again, his words a mere whisper. The sun was shining even if a cool breeze meant they had no fear of sweating, so there was no hiding here under the empty blue sky.
“Right, baby boy, I’m so sorry,” Yoongi said, his suspicions confirmed when Jimin shook a little under his hands. “I can show you how to use your mouth if you want.”
“L-like kissing?”
“It’s like kissing, yes,” Yoongi said, smiling as he put his lips on Jimin’s neck, the boy’s skin warm. “We can just do that more if you want, too. But you seemed to pick that up quickly.”
“I—I’d like to learn something new,” Jimin mumbled.
“Good. That’s good,” Yoongi said. “And you’ll let me show you?”
“O-okay,” Jimin nodded, his head finally turning over his shoulder when Yoongi started to let go of him.
“It’s not something we can do on a horse,” he chuckled as he slid down, wincing a little as standing up made him more aware of his cock hardening against his thigh. “Let poor Opal graze while I teach you.” He lifted his hand up to Jimin, smiling when the boy blushed and actually looked shy. Yoongi couldn’t figure him out, as he surely knew what Yoongi was offering to do to him even if no one ever had. Jimin slid off Opal with expert ease, his hand still in Yoongi’s once his feet hit the ground.
In the corn earlier, Yoongi’s heart had gone from concerned to a little annoyed to delighted when Jimin literally ran away from him like a giant tease, and he had probably moved a bit too quickly and harshly for the boy’s first time.
“You’ve really never been with anyone? No one’s ever kissed you before today?” he mumbled as he put his palm on Jimin’s face and tugged at his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Jimin opened his mouth for him and shook his head, his hands loose at his side. “So I really am special,” he smiled, trying to not let his ego sore too much at the confession. The boy was beautiful, and he released his lip from his thumb only to replace it with his own lips. They were almost the same height, but the boy seemed small as he tilted his head up and let Yoongi back him up against Opal. The horse shook her head and took a few steps away, so Yoongi pecked Jimin and pulled away to laugh, only dropping Jimin’s hand to get the bag off the horse before she got too far away.
Jimin stood fidgeting with his fingers as Yoongi unfurled the blanket to spread it out under the trees. He dropped the rest of the bag and then got on his knees, patting the blanket as he looked up at Jimin.
“Come lay down. But take your overalls off first.”
“My—” Jimin said, his eyes wide as he looked around.
“We came here because no one will be around, didn’t we? Isn’t that why you said you wanted to show me this spot?” Yoongi asked, smiling again when Jimin nodded. “No one will see us, then. Now, come on, kid.”
“Not a kid,” Jimin said, looking and sounding every bit like one minus a huffy foot stomp.
“Okay, baby boy, do you want me to undress you?”
“I-I can do it,” Jimin mumbled, his hands shaking as he undid the first button on his left strap.
“Jimin,” Yoongi said gently as he watched the boy fumble with the second one. “We don’t have to. If I misread—”
“Want to,” Jimin said. “I just don’t want to do anything wrong.”
“Which is why I’m going to show you first. I’ll show you as much as you want until you feel confident, alright? Does that sound like a good deal, baby boy?”
“That—wh—why are you calling me that?” Jimin said, his words barely audible as the other strap fell away and the pants fell off him on their own. His shirt barely hit his hips, so without the jeans hiding him, it was easy to see how his cock was starting to stick out.
“Do you not like it?” Yoongi said, his eyes on the boy’s crotch as he spoke even as Jimin tried to pull his shirt down to cover himself. “Don’t do that, baby boy. I saw you last night.”
“I—” Jimin gasped before he let his hands fall away.
“Come lay down now. And I can call you something else if you’d like. You can tell me what you like best. I just figured you’d like it. Was I wrong?”
“It-it’s fine,” Jimin said as he stepped onto the blanket and sank to his knees. “I like it.”
“Good,” Yoongi said, patting the blanket again. “All the way, now. Let me show you something that’s even better than kissing. Would you like that?”
“Y-yes,” Jimin nodded as he lay down, his fingers reaching for his shirt hem again.
“You can do anything with your hands but hide yourself,” Yoongi said as he reached the boy’s hand first and held onto it as he sat up a little. “People like to do different things with their hands, but there’s no wrong or right way, okay? You can pull my hair or grab onto the blanket or do whatever you want, but I need to see and hear you. Understand?”
“I—I don’t know what—I don’t understand. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to show you how to give a blowjob,” Yoongi said, smiling sweetly when Jimin’s eyes widened. “You’ve at least heard of one, I see.”
“You—you’re going to give me one?”
“How else will you learn?” Yoongi said, moving Jimin’s hand aside and then dropping it as he crawled in between the boy’s legs.
“But—but,” Jimin said, his tongue licking his bottom lip excessively.
“Unless I hear no, I’m just going to start,” Yoongi said, looking up at the boy one more time.
“I just—” Jimin said as Yoongi pushed his shirt up and started to tug his underwear down. “You’ve done this a lot?”
“Yes,” Yoongi said as he revealed the boy for the first time. His cock was short and chubby and so adorable he almost cooed. Jimin’s hands moved again, but he caught himself, so they grabbed the edge of his shirt to give himself something to do. His whole face was red, and his chest was already heaving. When Yoongi touched his thigh just to push his legs a little apart, his whole body jolted, and Yoongi really did coo then.
“Relax, baby boy. It’ll feel good.”
“I-I don’t know what to do, though.”
“I told you. Whatever you want with your hands, and then you just need to learn. You’ll have to watch. The most important step is no teeth. Got that? No teeth, baby boy. You can do your lips like this,” Yoongi said, demonstrating once Jimin looked up at him. “Everyone has their preferences, but let’s just find out what you like.”
“Wh-what if—” Jimin said, his shirt positively crumbled as he wrung his hands. “If—I come?”
“That’s literally the goal, baby boy. Just warn me or let me pull off beforehand, okay?”
“O-okay,” Jimin whispered, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he nodded.
“Okay. Let me show you how it’s done,” Yoongi said, giving Jimin one more smile before he bent down.
It was unlike daydreaming in class when the teacher droned on and walked around tapping a ruler against her palm. Jimin wanted to pay attention now. His inability to keep his eyes open as Yoongi engulfed his cock wasn’t for a lack of desire or will. He wanted to. He did for a few seconds, but then he couldn’t handle the way Yoongi managed to hold his eye contact while his hands held Jimin’s thighs apart and his tongue licked him from tip to base and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked and swallowed.
Everything in him was screaming to slap a hand over his own mouth, too, as the most embarrassing noises were leaking out of it. At least, Jimin thought they were embarrassing. He didn’t know what he was doing. Unlike Yoongi. Yoongi clearly knew what he was doing. That thing with his tongue, and his lips, and his entire mouth, and even his hands on Jimin’s thighs that were moving suspiciously lower and lower every second.
Yoongi had been right—sometimes Jimin at night while he stared at his ceiling dreamed of things he couldn’t even fully picture. Now whenever he wanted, he could just think of Yoongi’s mouth, and already Jimin felt like he was somewhere and someone else. He wasn’t Park Jimin living on some dingy, dry farm with nothing to see for miles around on a itchy woolen blanket under a yellowing tree, he was Jimin on a feather bed with ice cream waiting to eat and his favorite song playing on a record player while his boyfriend—lover—husband—what was he? He was the farmhand. The hired help. The migrant worker. He was going to leave soon, and Jimin would be Park Jimin again, stuck on his father’s dying farm.
“Ah, Yoongi,” Jimin said, his head thrown back as his fingers flew to the man’s hair. His eyes did open, then, when Yoongi hummed, the vibrations coinciding with Jimin’s cock shaking as he started to tremble, his legs pushing out on either side of Yoongi. For a moment, Jimin felt like he had been punched, but it felt good, so the analogy didn’t make any sense. Jimin had managed to never be punched before, not seriously, at least. But his air left his body as he came, only for his lungs to immediately want it all back. He gasped, his feet still digging into the blanket, as he tried to push Yoongi’s head off, but it was too late, apparently.
He always came a measly amount, and yet when Yoongi finally pulled off and showed Jimin his tongue, Jimin could see it. That stuff he usually wiped on a towel and tried to hide, just sitting on this farmhand’s tongue. A wheeze got caught in Jimin’s mouth as he panted, watching in amazement as drool dribbled down Yoongi’s chin as he kept his tongue out. He pointed to his mouth and raised his eyebrows for some reason. It wasn’t like Jimin could look away. And then his lips closed together, and Jimin saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“And that,” Yoongi said when he opened his mouth, his voice even deeper and rougher than it usually was, “baby boy, is how you give a blowjob. How was it?”
Jimin felt his entire body flush as Yoongi rolled his shoulder and neck, his back popping as he spread his arms out and twisted his wrists. When he stretched his fingers and looked down at Jimin again, Jimin suddenly realized how naked he was. He pushed down his shirt and tried to turn on his side only to have Yoongi in the way. And he laughed.
“No need to be embarrassed. You’re really pretty.” Jimin groaned a little, wondering why his heart was fluttering so much before blinking up at Yoongi. The sun was behind him now, and he seemed to realize why Jimin’s eyes started to water as his head started to move until he was blocking the light. “Did it feel good?”
“Y-yes,” Jimin said. “T-thank you.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Yoongi said, laughing a little. “Don’t usually get a thanks.”
“W-what do you usually get?”
“One in return,” Yoongi said. “Or something better.”
“B-better?”
“This was better than kissing, right? And sex is better than a blowjob.”
“Sex?” Jimin whispered, his fingers curling as Yoongi moved out of the way so he could finally lay on his side, his cock sensitive as it flopped against his thigh.
“Kid, please tell me you know what sex is.”
“I’m not a kid,” Jimin huffed. “Of course I do.”
“Alright, baby boy,” Yoongi said, holding his hands up in defense. “But between men?”
“I-I’ve never done that.”
“No, of course you haven’t. Clearly. But you know how it works?”
“Is it—did we not just do it?” Jimin asked, biting his lip in embarrassment when Yoongi paused before laughing, his gums showing as he smiled. His hand came down onto Jimin’s thigh as he got a hold of himself, and the sound more than the feeling made Jimin jump a little. It didn’t hurt at all, but his eyes flew to Yoongi’s hand as his fingers moved quickly over Jimin’s cheek to his crack. “Wha—” he tried to say, rolling over onto his back so Yoongi would move his hand.
“No, no, another time, sorry,” Yoongi said. “I’ll show you that later. Just the blowjobs today. Of course. Did you pay close enough attention? Think you could give one now?”
“I—” Jimin said, his mouth dry as he tried to cover himself with his shirt again now that he felt exposed. At his squirming, Yoongi handed him his underwear back and then raised his eyebrows.
“Yes or no, kid? I just need to know what I should do.”
“Not a kid—” Jimin frowned as he got dressed. “Do with what?”
“With my erection,” Yoongi said, his hand resting over his crotch.
“Oh,” Jimin squeaked. Somehow, he had forgotten about the ride over here, about feeling Yoongi growing hard behind him. “Can-can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, baby boy. What is it?”
“Earlier—” Jimin said as he sat up on his elbows, feeling relieved now that his underwear was back on. “On Opal—did you—did your erection happen because of me?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t because of your horse, so no need to be jealous,” Yoongi said, actually grinning.
“Wh-why did it happen?”
“Kid, surely you know enough basic biology to know a man gets an erection when he’s aroused.”
“Aroused—”
“When he’s sexually attracted to someone.”
“Me?”
“Again, it certainly wasn’t your horse,” Yoongi said, smiling a little goofy as Jimin blinked up at him. As Jimin gaped, Yoongi suddenly cleared his throat, his hands resting on his thighs as he sat back. “Kid—Jimin, I wouldn’t have just put my mouth on you if I wasn’t attracted to you. You get that, right?”
“Right,” Jimin nodded, his whole body flushing again as his heart fluttered. “Just that—no one’s, um—”
“Hey,” Yoongi said, the word sharp even if he seemed to collect himself immediately. “It’s a big deal, your firsts, I get it, so I’m honored, okay, kid? As long as you feel good, then we’re doing well.”
“Not a kid,” Jimin said, frowning a little.
“Alright, baby boy,” Yoongi said. “So what do you say? Did you learn enough? Want to show me what you learned?” Jimin swallowed and wiggled his toes as he looked at Yoongi. He let his eyes trail down his chest and to his crotch. With his pants, it was much easier to see his shape. Taking a deep breath, Jimin nodded, because unlike any classroom lesson he’d ever had to sit through, this was one Jimin actually wanted to learn. He was afraid he hadn’t studied nearly well enough, but he would do his best, and hopefully, in the end, Yoongi would at least be pleased with his work.
He was shaking entirely too much, but Yoongi had to appreciate his determination and stubbornness. He was clearly nervous, so much so that Yoongi had to ask him several times if he was sure he wanted to. And he definitely scraped a bit too much so Yoongi hissed and had to remind him about not using teeth. And he got too eager. Yoongi was nowhere near the boy’s size, so Jimin trying to fit it all in his mouth instantaneously was absurd. Yoongi had to talk him through the whole thing, but for some reason, Yoongi found that he didn’t even mind.
For once, he was glad for the kid’s awful haircut, as he could keep an eye on his face, and Yoongi even propped himself up on his elbows for a better view a couple of times. Though every time he did, Jimin positively whined, and that only made Yoongi pull him off to give him an eyebrow raise.
“You’re—you’re not—” Jimin said as he gasped for breath, his hands waving around in the air.
“I’m not what?”
“You don’t like it,” Jimin said, his plump lip well on its way to being swollen sticking out as he pouted.
“Did I say that, baby boy? I don’t expect perfection. It’s your first time. Go on. Just use your tongue this time. Don’t even put it in your mouth.”
“But—will that feel good?” Jimin mumbled.
“Yes, Jimin. Trust me. Bend back down now. Unless you want to stop.”
“No,” Jimin said, shaking his head and leaning back down. He stopped halfway, though, to bite his lip. “Can I—can I touch it?”
“That is the idea,” Yoongi said, trying not to smile.
“With my hand?”
“Of course, baby boy. Hold it steady and then give it a kiss.”
“O-okay,” Jimin said, sucking in a deep breath. His fingers shook as he wrapped them around Yoongi’s cock, and just to see his mouth drop open, Yoongi thrusted his hips a little to move it between the boy’s fingers. Then Yoongi stayed still, finding himself holding a breath as Jimin bent down and put his lips on Yoongi’s shaft. Even his lips were trembling, and for some reason, this made Yoongi fall back onto the blanket, a sigh escaping his lips as Jimin gave a kittenish lick to where he had kissed before repeating the actions higher.
“Feels good, baby boy,” Yoongi said, reaching down to scratch the boy’s head. “I didn’t even show you this technique. Look at you.” Jimin hummed, probably not even realizing how good it would feel, against Yoongi’s cock, and Yoongi’s hips thrust up a little. “Try your mouth again, though, okay? Just suck on the head a little. The top. Keep your hand there. That’s it.” The boy took direction exceptionally well, and when Yoongi said so, praising how well he was doing, he took the compliment well, too. He seemed fueled on by the praise, and Yoongi used it to his advantage.
He scratched Jimin’s head and told him he was doing well and just told him to do whatever Yoongi knew would feel good. And he got better every time his lips wrapped around Yoongi’s cock. Each kiss shook less, and each lick lasted longer until Jimin was practically drooling, his spit dribbling down to Yoongi’s balls and wetting the blanket below him. He started to move faster, too, and his hand started to stroke Yoongi, and eventually, the noises and the enthusiasm and techniques he had clearly learned from the best pushed Yoongi over the edge.
He pushed Jimin’s head away, trying not to laugh at the way the boy whined when Yoongi replaced his hand with his own, his other one reaching up to rub his head and try to catch all his cum to avoid making too much of a mess. He wiped his hands on the grass when he was done and flopped back onto the blanket, letting out a contented sigh. It had been months since anyone had touched him, and even longer since anyone had given him a decent blowjob, and he found himself lifting his hands up to Jimin.
“Come here, baby boy.” Jimin cocked an eyebrow, clearly confused, but he gave Yoongi his hands, and with a yelp, landed on the blanket beside Yoongi.
“Now I’ll teach you how to cuddle,” Yoongi said, rolling them onto their side and putting his arm around the boy. “Though I should probably put on some pants.”
“It—it’s okay,” Jimin said.
“Oh, you like this?” Yoongi asked, wiggling his hips a little even if his cock was still sensitive.
“I—I think so,” Jimin said. “I mean, yes. Did—I did well?”
“You did excellent, baby boy. Now shush. I need to close my eyes. Relax. Close your eyes.”
“Okay,” Jimin mumbled as Yoongi curled up around him.
It was until Yoongi was almost asleep that he remembered exactly where he was and who he was with. He ran his fingers up and down Jimin’s arm softly, then, as he thought, wondering how much of a mistake he was making. He wondered if the boy’s dad would go for the shotgun, or if Jimin himself would. It would be Jimin.
“What?” Jimin asked when Yoongi chuckled.
“Nothing, baby boy,” Yoongi assured him, kissing the boy’s neck. “Everything is excellent.”
Because even if Yoongi wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting himself into, he knew the Parks didn’t own a shotgun.
Jimin didn’t know much, but he knew how this would end. He wasn’t a child.
Still, he lay on his side picking at the blanket, his legs a bit chilly without his overalls and yet warm from the body pressed against his back. He hadn’t fallen asleep. His body was too aware of Yoongi. Of his hand moving lazily over Jimin’s arm. Of his breath against the back of his neck. Of how he often shifted his arm under Jimin to avoid it falling asleep. Jimin knew this was just a moment, and that wishing it could last a lifetime was a pipe dream, but he shut his eyes and took Yoongi’s hand in his, the action making the man still before he continued his ministrations.
“Yoongi,” Jimin said, somehow feeling naked all over again, “after this, where will you go?”
“In the winter I go home.”
“Home?” Curiosity overcame his fear, and Jimin opened his eyes to turn around. Yoongi let him go easily but never stopped touching him, and once he was facing him, Jimin couldn’t help but blush a little when he remembered what they had done mere minutes ago. Yoongi still hadn’t even put on any pants.
“My parents live out east,” Yoongi said, his eyes moving slowly over Jimin’s. “I’ve—I’ve never told anyone that.”
“Oh?” Jimin asked, his heart expanding a bit like his eyes at the confession. “Why not?”
“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged, his hand slipping under Jimin’s shirt and pressing against his back, warmth exuding from his fingertips that still made Jimin shiver as he snuggled closer, his hands balled together in the space between their chests. “No one’s ever earned it.”
“Oh. I did that good?”
“I don’t mean that, baby boy,” Yoongi smiled softly. “But you did well. I meant—I don’t know how else to say this, so you can laugh if you want, but there’s something about you.” Jimin didn’t laugh.
“Me?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Yoongi said. It was he who laughed as he pulled on Jimin’s back to bring him closer. Jimin couldn’t imagine his breath smelled pleasant—not that Yoongi had tasted bad, just salty and earthy, like the dirt he surrounded himself with had seeped into his skin, but Jimin hadn’t minded at all—so he bit his lip to keep his mouth shut as Yoongi continued to search his face. “You hate it here, don’t you?”
“Here?” Jimin asked, shaking his head before realizing what Yoongi meant. “The farm? Absolutely.”
“When you run away, where will you go?”
“Oh,” Jimin said, squeezing his own fingers. “I won’t—that’s just a dream. I can’t run away. I don’t have any money. I don’t know anything.”
“What if I taught you?”
“Taught me what?”
“How to survive on your own. How to travel around.”
“How would you do that?”
“Very well, I imagine,” Yoongi said, grinning when Jimin furrowed his brows at him. “What I mean, baby boy,” Yoongi said, his thumb coming to smooth out the wrinkles on Jimin’s forehead before his palm rested on the side of his cheek, his thumb brushing against his skin softly, “is what if you came with me? I could show you.”
He wasn’t flying on a magic carpet, but Yoongi had come in on a raincloud, and soon he would drift away with the wind, and soon this would all be over, and yet—
“You’d let me?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi said, smiling a little. “Never offered it to anyone else, but I have to say, kid, I like showing you things. You’re a good learner.”
“Not a kid,” Jimin mumbled.
“Right,” Yoongi said, scratching the back of Jimin’s neck before letting his hand roam to his shoulder and arm down to his elbow and his hands. Jimin let him have one, watching as Yoongi intertwined their fingers. “We could just go for the winter. If you hate it, I’d bring you back. That way maybe your dad won’t want to murder me.”
“I wouldn’t want to come back.”
“You say that, but—”
“I hate it here. They hate me.”
“They don’t, Jimin.”
“They do. I’m not Jihyun. My brother,” Jimin added when Yoongi looked up at him. “He died years ago. We were just kids, but they both seemed to know he would grow up big and strong, like a good farmer. I think that’s what bothers me the most. They don’t even know. He could have grown up to hate farming just as much as I do. But I’m not him, and I never will be, so they’ll never be happy with me. To them, I’m just a failure. I’m the weed.”
“Jimin,” Yoongi said, his hand squeezing Jimin’s fingers hard. “If anything, you’re a flower. Maybe a honeysuckle.”
“A honeysuckle?”
“It grows on a vine.”
“But vines are bad.”
“They are? Who’s the farmer, now?”
“They take over everything,” Jimin said, blinking when Yoongi just stared back at him. “Why—why am I a honeysuckle?”
“Well, you smell sweet like honey,” Yoongi said, “and you were suckling on my—”
“No!” Jimin said, ducking his head so quickly he knocked Yoongi’s chin a little. The man just laughed, though, and went back to rubbing his back consolingly. It wasn’t even cold outside, but Jimin snuggled closer to Yoongi’s warmth until he felt bold enough to put an arm around the man. Yoongi hummed and scratched his back a little in approval, and Jimin smiled against his chest. He had slept with Taehyung before in his bed or his friend’s, but that was different. That was turning away from each other to sleep or kicking one another to share the space. This was different, and while Jimin didn’t know what he was doing, he knew that he liked the warmth and closeness.
“Back home—” he said after a moment, lifting his head slowly so his words weren’t muffled and he didn’t hurt Yoongi’s chin again. “Your parents would let me stay with you?”
“Of course. They’re very friendly. My mom loves guests. I have a brother, too. He’s older than me and doesn’t live with them anymore, but he visits for the holidays.”
“A brother?”
“His name is Geumjae. He’s twenty-four.”
“How old are you?” Yoongi laughed, and Jimin blushed a little, embarrassed he hadn’t asked before.
“I’m twenty-two.”
“You always act—you talk like you’re much older.”
“Because I’m experienced, baby boy. But you can be, too.”
“Your brother—is he—um.”
“He’s not like me. He’s married. I’m going to be an uncle soon.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve really never told anyone this,” Yoongi said, though he was smiling.
“Even though you—you do this a lot?” Jimin asked shyly.
“Do this,” Yoongi said slowly, sucking in a breath. “No, I don’t do this. I admit I usually end up having sex with someone everywhere I go, but I don’t do this with them.”
“What—what’s different, then?”
“You, baby boy,” Yoongi said, smiling again as Jimin bit his lip. His mother had warned him growing up about being wary of strangers. Of not falling for lies and tricks. Of staying away from travelers. But she had always meant salesmen, who lied just to steal your money. But her advice ran around in Jimin’s head, warning him that Yoongi could be lying. Jimin was nothing special. No honeysuckle vine. Just a common flower. A buttercup, maybe. And yet—
“You’d really let me come with you?”
“Yes.”
“When can we go? Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Yoongi asked before chuckling. “Not until after the harvest.”
“But that’s weeks away.”
“Yes. But that’s why I’m here. That’s my job. I can’t leave before the job is done.”
“Then—what will I tell my parents?”
“Do you want to?”
“If I—if I just leave, they’ll be so mad.”
“They’ll be hurt,” Yoongi added, though Jimin couldn’t quite believe that one. His mother could stare out the window wistfully, but it would never be for him. His father could mourn over the loss of a bad crop, but he would never cry for him.
“If I tell them—what do I say? What do I say we are?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Jimin said, hating how he didn’t know anything, “what are we?”
“I’m Yoongi, you’re Jimin.”
“No, I mean—together. What are we together?” Jimin asked, trying not to hold his breath as Yoongi looked at him. Because Yoongi was looking at him. At his terrible haircut and bad bleached job. At his slightly different shaped eyes. At his wide nose. His plump bottom lip currently stuck between his teeth. “Are we—” he whispered, wishing Yoongi was somehow holding him tighter, “wrong?”
“Do you feel wrong?”
“No. Yes? I feel—a little like when my friend and I snuck out Mr. Warner’s farm. We didn’t steal anything or mess with his fences, but we weren’t supposed to be there, either.”
“Baby boy,” Yoongi whistled, the teasing obvious. “I’m going to have to start calling you bad boy.” At Jimin’s frown, Yoongi laughed again before rolling Jimin onto his back. “Stay here. This is a pants conversation.”
“A pants—” Jimin asked before blushing. Yoongi patted his chest before rummaging around for his underwear and pants to put back on. He handed Jimin his overalls, too, and Jimin put them on over his legs but left the straps for later as he sat up, his chin on his knees.
“Listen,” Yoongi said when he sat back down beside him, “I have been with men and women, and while body parts may be different, there really is no difference in being with one or the other. What you are, what I am, is not wrong. But wrong people will tell us we are wrong. What we are—I don’t care what you call it, understand? But we can never tell the world what we’ve done today. I can’t be your boyfriend or your husband.”
“So your parents—my parents—what would we tell them?”
“Just that we’re going to travel and work together. No one will bat an eye at two men, Jimin, but, and I’m sorry—” Yoongi said, his voice soft as he reached out to squeeze Jimin’s arm. “But it’s 1931, and people would rather kill us with stones and let us love each other. Do you understand?”
“Love?” Jimin asked, looking up at Yoongi with wide eyes.
“Hey, I know that look. Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid. I’m just saying.”
“I’m not a kid. Stop calling me a kid.”
“Sorry,” Yoongi said, raising his hands in defense. “You’re just so easy to tease. You really hate it that much? I mean it nicely.”
“I prefer baby boy,” Jimin mumbled into his knees, curling up a little when Yoongi laughed.
“Me too. But that’s just an example of something I can’t call you around other people. Understand?”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“We should be heading back. There’s no rush for you to make up your mind. Just know that the invitation stands,” Yoongi said, patting Jimin’s arm one more time before standing up and stretching his back out and arms over his head. Jimin looked out at the water and at Opal a few yards away before sighing and standing up. He gasped a little when he felt Yoongi helping him up and holding onto him, his arm wrapping around his waist again.
“You’re welcome,” Yoongi said with his face close to Jimin’s, “to my cozy little barn loft whenever you want.” Jimin wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he reached himself up with the intention to peck Yoongi’s lips, but as soon as they touched, Yoongi took over. His lips and his tongue and his entire mouth did taste a bit salty, but there was something sweet that Jimin wanted to chase. He grabbed Yoongi’s shirt as the man held onto his hips, and he let Yoongi lick into his mouth and nibble on his lip like he was constantly doing. The kisses grew sharper, nothing unpleasant about them at all, as their lips smacked wetly against each other, and Jimin felt himself being tilted back from the force.
Only when Opal was close enough to nicker at them did Yoongi stop, his head turning to the side to look at the horse while Jimin tried to regain his balance and clear his eyes and catch his breath.
“That’s our cue,” Yoongi mumbled, kissing Jimin one more time before patting his bottom. Jimin felt himself swaying a little as Yoongi cleaned up, startling when a piece of bread was tossed his way. “We’d better eat on the way back so your mother doesn’t get suspicious.” Nodding, Jimin gnawed on the bread a little before getting Opal ready.
Yoongi was no knight in shining armor, but he certainly looked it when he got back on Jimin’s horse and offered him a hand up. Jimin was no princess, and he could get on his horse perfectly fine without any help, but he took Yoongi’s hand, anyway. His dream of running away one day had always been only that, but maybe, with Yoongi’s help, it could finally become reality.
Waiting to harvest what had taken weeks or months to grow was always the hardest part of farming, even for someone as patient as Yoongi. But it was always the most rewarding part of the job.
Plus, unlike every other farm he had worked on before, here Yoongi didn’t feel the usual antsiness he did as the crops turned ripe. He was ready to move on, and yet he couldn’t leave Jimin behind.
He was pretty sure the boy would come with him, but he really was like a vine, wrapping around and up Yoongi’s ankles and legs. Yoongi could cut him away, but he had no desire to. He had meant what he said—this had never happened before. What had started out as a way to entertain himself had shifted so quickly, like a cluster of clouds suddenly turning dark as the temperature dropped, but Yoongi knew not to fight the wind. It had always led him where he needed to go. He only hoped Jimin would want to follow the current, too.
Yoongi himself was not a vine, but he could only control himself so much. He was destined to lean toward Jimin like a plant toward the sun. He was fated to let the boy wrap around him. He was predisposed to have found him and to never let him go. Somewhere between the teasing and the kissing, Yoongi had realized Park Jimin was not just another boy. He only hoped the kid was able to see how special he was before Yoongi had to leave.
Like the first drops of rain on parched ground, it took a few days for what Yoongi had said and done and offered to really sink past Jimin’s skin into his very core. But once it did, Jimin could feel himself bursting out of the dying ground. He woke up a couple of days later with a huge smile on his face that he carried down with him to the breakfast table to share with everyone there. Yoongi lifted an inquisitive eyebrow at him, his mother barely noticed, and his father grunted,
“Good dreams, huh?”
He raced to finish his chores and galloped into town to find some work, even letting himself stop at the grocer to buy a lollipop to suck on as he delivered some letters. He practically flung himself off Opal when he found Yoongi sitting at the edge of one of the fields when he got back to the farm, coughing a little from the sugar in his mouth as he ran toward him.
“Hey, k—” Yoongi started to say, only catching Jimin in time to not be completely smashed against the ground as Jimin tackled him. He had finished his candy long ago, but he hoped his lips were still sweet as he crashed them into Yoongi’s. He had no technique even after all the times Yoongi had kissed him. He didn’t know what he was doing as he tried to lick into Yoongi’s mouth like the guy always did.
“Okay, whoa,” Yoongi said as he pushed Jimin away and rolled them over to hover above him. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I want to go,” Jimin said, trying to pull Yoongi toward him again. “I want to go with you. Please take me with you.”
“Oh—right,” Yoongi said. “Okay—I’d love to. But, hey, baby boy, not here.”
“Please?” Jimin pouted, tugging on Yoongi’s neck again.
“No. I told you, you can come to the barn whenever you want. You haven’t even visited me once.”
“I was thinking,” Jimin said, his lips twisting as he dropped his hands to his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m not upset. Come see me tonight?”
“Okay,” Jimin nodded, his toes wiggling in his boots.
“Do you want me to show you something new? Or should we just practice something else?”
“What else—what else could we do?” Jimin asked, shivering a little as Yoongi looked down at him.
“Sex,” Yoongi said, the word so short and simple but still so effective in making Jimin suck in a sharp breath. “If you want to, tonight when you shower, clean yourself well for me.”
“C-clean myself?”
“Your ass, baby boy.”
“My—my—” Jimin said.
“It’s that thing at the bottom of your back, and—”
“I know!” Jimin said, smacking Yoongi’s chest only to gasp and slap the same hand over his mouth. His eyes went wide, and Yoongi’s did, too, but then the guy just laughed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s alright,” Yoongi said, laughing still as he sat back and pulled Jimin upright with him. “I shouldn’t have teased so much. I just wanted to make sure you knew what I meant.”
“I know what you mean!” Jimin said before putting his palm over his mouth again. “I’m sorry,” he said much quieter. “I’ve just never—”
“I know. That’s why I was going to tell you what to do. But you may smack me again.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimin mumbled.
“It’s okay,” Yoongi said, laughing a little again. “And we don’t have to. But if you want to, clean yourself. Try to get a finger up in there and—”
“A finger?”
“I mean, don’t use anything else,” Yoongi said nonchalantly. “You don’t want to scratch yourself. Are your nails too long? Let me see.” He grabbed Jimin’s hand to examine his fingers while Jimin sat there dumbly, trying to figure out what the guy was talking about. “Yeah, just be careful. Or trim your nails first. And if you do decide to come, steal your mother’s Crisco, yeah?”
“C-Crisco? Wh-what for?”
“For lubricant,” Yoongi said, patting Jimin’s hand before putting it down. “You do know men don’t naturally lubricate, right? You really know nothing, huh?”
“I know that! I know we don’t—I know that, but, but, shortening?” Jimin gaped.
“It works well and doesn’t smell much, and I’m sure your mother has plenty on hand. If not, there are plenty of other options. Do you want me to steal it? Your mother likes me, so I could probably just—”
“I’ll get it,” Jimin said, standing up before Yoongi could see how red his face was. The sound of Yoongi laughing as Jimin got back on Opal to ride away swirled in the wind and followed Jimin all the way back to the house. The man had come out of nowhere, and even if he called Jimin the vine, that was what he felt like to Jimin. A lush, fervent, dark green plant with leaves big enough to hide under, its stalk as round as a tree’s, and its fruit tempting enough to send shivers down Jimin’s spine but sweet enough to leave him sighing contentedly. Yoongi was all that and more, and Jimin knew their crops would soon be ready to harvest and Yoongi would jump on a train to go east, but Jimin would follow him. He would warp his vine around Yoongi’s leaves, and no matter how hard the wind blew, nothing would ever be able to tear them apart.
Fitting, fated, even, that it rained that night.
The rain beat so loudly against the roof that Yoongi didn’t even hear the door open. When Jimin’s head appeared at the top of the ladder, Yoongi actually jumped a little, laughing as he put his book aside.
“You surprised me.”
“It’s raining,” Jimin said, as if the sound on the roof wasn’t obvious. He was soaked again, and Yoongi tsked as he stood up.
“Don’t you own a rain jacket?”
“Yes, but I—I was in a hurry.”
“Nervous, are we?” Yoongi asked as he took Jimin’s bag from him, peering inside curiously to see what he asked for plus some extra clothes.
“Y-yes,” Jimin admitted, his fingers twisting together as he nodded.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Yoongi reminded him as he put the bag down. “It’s up to you.”
“I want—I want to. I want you to—to show me,” Jimin said, swallowing between nods.
“It might hurt a little,” Yoongi said as he stepped toward the boy.
“O-oh.”
“I’ll be as careful as possible, of course. I’m just warning you. You’re free to tell me to stop whenever you’re uncomfortable, though. Got it?”
“Y-yes, I understand. B-but—well,” Jimin said, looking down at his bare wiggling feet. “I’m nervous, but I want to. I promise. I want to with you.”
“Jimin,” Yoongi said, smiling a little as he held out his hand for the boy to take. “I’d love to with you. I’ll really be your first, huh?”
“You know I—”
“I know, baby boy,” Yoongi whispered, only making sure he was audible over the rain as he pulled Jimin toward him, the boy’s shirt plastered to his shirt already from the rain. “Just can’t believe it. Can’t believe when I stepped off another dusty train to another dried-up town I’d find you. You’re really perfect. Can’t believe you’re going to let me put my hands all over you.”
“O-oh,” Jimin squeaked, the sound making Yoongi smile as he reached up to cup the boy’s face.
“Are you ready, then? For me to show you what’s even better than a blowjob?”
“O-oh,” Jimin said again, his lip trembling as he nodded into Yoongi’s palm.
“Good. Let me take care of you, then.”
Yoongi loved working with his hands. The control needed when touching something so precious was crucial. He had to move with expertise and yet naturally. Even if he had done this before, Jimin hadn’t. And Yoongi had never with Jimin. Each person was different, even if the process was generally the same. Yoongi moved with care to unbutton Jimin’s shirt. He would move with care the rest of the night. His eyes would help him watch for any signs of discomfort, and his mouth would taste the sweetness Jimin produced, and his hands would be on him the whole time, working to keep him from flying away while helping him reach higher than he ever had before. Yoongi was used to working with his hands, and he would make sure, under his care, Jimin finally blossomed.
It was all a bit too much.
Jimin felt battered around by the rain, drowning in it as he struggled for air, and yet comforted by the security it brought. The promise. He reveled in the trembling and shivering it brought. In the way it made him burn inside. At the harsh jabs piercing his very core and the softest touches upon his skin. Jimin loved everything about it, even the first shots of pain coursing through his body as they were quickly replaced with pleasure.
The way Yoongi started to kiss him before he had even finished undressing him. The hands roaming over his chest and the fingers catching on his nipples, pert from the rain and cold as the cool air hit them. The way Yoongi brought him to his blanket and told him to lay down as he stripped off his own clothes. The look he gave Jimin’s body that made Jimin want to squirm away and hide, but he remembered Yoongi told him never to do that. The way Yoongi didn’t let him be cold for long as he joined him in the hay, his body draped over him as he kissed him again. The feeling of his lips on Jimin’s before they trailed down to his neck and chest and thighs, every spot they touched left feeling tingly and on fire.
The way Yoongi talked him through every step, explaining why Jimin needed to turn over for him as he actually stuck his hand in the container of Crisco. The embarrassment that flooded through Jimin as he thought of Opal, mounted by her stallion, as he stuck his own ass in the air. He didn’t know if he wanted to whimper or weep at the way his cock was already hard when Yoongi leaned over him, his body so warm and welcoming, and started to work a finger into him.
It was all so much.
The whispering in his ear. The praise as Yoongi breached his rim. The feeling of being stretched. The rain covering up every tiny sound he made. The hay poking into his head. The kisses against his neck as Yoongi worked his finger in and out. Jimin didn’t know if he should talk in return or just concentrate on breathing, but he settled on the latter as a necessity. He opened and closed his eyes until black dots formed, Yoongi’s lamp flickering nearby and one steady stream of rain leaking through a hole in the roof a few feet away ruining the hay it wet.
It was all overwhelming.
The way Yoongi told him he’d have to get to three fingers. The way his hand reached under Jimin and tugged on his cock after what felt like eternity. The way Jimin cried out and then shuddered and fell over when he came. The way he panicked and felt like he had messed up because the last he checked, Yoongi only had two fingers in him.
“Shh, shh, baby boy. It’s okay,” Yoongi just kept saying as he withdrew his fingers and rolled Jimin over. “Breathe. Just a minute. Catch your breath. There we go.” His hand was on his own cock when Jimin groaned and opened his eyes. There were wet patches below him, not only where his cock had spurted, but also where he had been drooling against the wool, and he tried to wipe at his mouth in embarrassment, but Yoongi tsked at him.
“It will always be messy. Leave it, baby boy. Are you doing okay?” Afraid of what his voice might sound like, Jimin nodded, his fingers twitching against the blanket as he watched Yoongi leisurely stroke his own cock.
It was all too much.
The ease the man had. The control. The aura. Jimin lifted himself back up, Yoongi’s eyebrows raising a little in surprise, and dropped his head back into the spot it had been before, the blanket cold against his mouth as he lifted his ass again. His whole body was trembling, but he willed himself to stay upright for Yoongi.
“You’re perfect, baby boy,” Yoongi whispered, the kiss he gave Jimin’s shoulder making Jimin whine into the blanket, the sound foreign and yet so familiar. With his face on fire, he thought of Opal, of how scared he had been when she made a sound he had never heard before when her stallion first mounted her. He tried to say Yoongi’s name, but his voice came out as a garble, and that only made him groan again, trying to hide his head completely as he rooted his knees to stay as still as possible.
“Jesus, there’s no way this is your first time,” Yoongi said reverently, the sound of his fingers squishing around in the Crisco again making Jimin’s whole body burn. He had thought he would just put the can back in the morning, but not now. Not after Yoongi’s fingers just went to his ass and back for more of the oil. Jimin tried to assure Yoongi it was. That he didn’t know what he was doing. That Yoongi was special and had caught him like that day in the corn fields in a way no one else ever had or would.
But his body was moving instinctively, and Jimin only let out another strange sound deep in his throat when Yoongi’s fingers pressed back into him.
And it was almost too much.
Minutes later when Yoongi draped over him to replace his fingers with his cock. With the feeling of the head alone against Jimin’s rim. With the way he pushed him so slowly that Jimin scrambled and had to lift his head to breathe. With the hands that held onto his hips and the chest that pressed against his back. With the words whispered into his ear.
Jimin hated farming. The planting and watering and waiting and waiting and waiting for harvest time was agonizingly slow and boring and frustrating.
He felt like an entire season had come and gone before Yoongi was full inside, and another year rushed by before he came, but in that time, Jimin felt all of the years that had brought him here, to his barn loft with a hired farmhand pushing him into the prickly hay, their breaths mingling as the rain drowned out their moans.
He thought he saw the future, too, of Yoongi and him leaving in a week, the fields empty and a dark cloud in the sky rolling in like the train on the tracks they climbed onto. A small house, nestled between dozens of others on a busy street, Jimin clinging to Yoongi as all the horns and lights dazzled and scared him even while Yoongi just softly chuckled. Another house with a fence and chicken coop and garden bursting with color. A record player and Jimin and Yoongi dancing in the living room.
A room he didn’t recognize. Strange clothes. A machine that didn’t exist yet. A fear in his gut, a horse shaking its head, a piece of rope, papers filling a paper. Things Jimin hadn’t and would never see in this life, and yet everywhere, Yoongi. His floppy hat replaced, and his handkerchief gone, but his smile was the same. His eyes, still piercing. His voice, soothing and deep. And his hands. Everywhere. Always.
As fall ended, another season began, but Jimin knew now, that no matter when or where he was, Yoongi would be with him. And the rain would follow right behind them.