Work Text:
---
Yoongi’s teeth ache. There’s a muscle twitching at the hinge of his jaw, a subtle plea for him to unclench, to relax. But Yoongi doesn’t feel very fucking relaxed right now.
Even at the back of the room, slouched against the wall, Yoongi can see everything. Can see the crowd in front of him, a roiling mass of jumping and dancing. Screams and cheers as the people clearly enjoy the show. Yoongi grinds his teeth.
It’s not just the crowd Yoongi can see from back here. The wail of a guitar rises over the screams and Yoongi’s eyes are drawn back to the stage and the spotlight in the center. Drawn to the singer leaning into the mic, both hands curled around it, eyes closed as he belts out a few drawn out notes.
The ache in Yoongi’s jaw intensifies.
He stands in the back by choice, out of view of the lights, tucked away nearly in the corner of the dingy club. But that doesn’t seem to matter. Somehow, Jimin still spots him. Because of fucking course he does.
The song shifts and Jimin’s eyes open, immediately finding Yoongi and locking their gazes. He’s crooning into the mic now, lips pressed to the mesh, plush and red beneath the stage lights. With eyeliner smudged around his eyes, they look dark, hooded, making Jimin look almost dangerous.
Neither of them look away.
It feels like time skips a beat, two. Yoongi can feel his blood boiling, anger rising in his chest as Jimin sings the last few notes of the song. His eyes send a challenge that Yoongi wants to rise to. When he pulls back from the mic, waving to the crowd, his eyes still linger on Yoongi.
Before he turns and steps off stage, Jimin smirks and winks in Yoongi’s direction. The crowd screams, clearly thinking the gesture was meant for any of them. But Yoongi knows what it really is, that it was meant for him. Clenching his hands into fists, Yoongi turns away and makes his way through the crowd to the bar. He needs a fucking drink.
---
[Namjoon]
We’ve got another gig booked this weekend
Bigger club this time
Moving up in the world, hyung!!
Place called Singularity. Heard of it?
I can see you reading these, are you gonna fucking respond??
Rolling his eyes, Yoongi leans over in bed to stub out his cigarette in his ashtray. He reads the messages again, using his now free hand to scratch at his bare belly. It’s still early and, while Yoongi’s awake, he hasn’t gotten out of bed yet. Hadn’t really wanted to, but a new gig… that has his fingers itching for his guitar. Except…
[Min Yoongi]
Who else
[Namjoon]
Good morning to you too
Headliner is some local one?? They’ve been gaining steam lately
I’ll send you their stuff
When Namjoon doesn’t go on, Yoongi huffs to himself and rolls over onto his side.
[Min Yoongi]
And??
He already knows what to expect. Even as the typing bubbles appear, Yoongi knows exactly what the message will say.
[Namjoon]
Hollywood Dolls
Bingo. Yoongi scowls, already feeling like he needs another cigarette.
[Namjoon]
They’re opening
We’re up after, before the headliner
And, well, that isn’t so bad. As long as they’re not the openers, as long as Park Jimin and his stupid fucking Hollywood Dolls have to go first, open for them. Shit, Yoongi doesn’t think Park fucking Jimin has ever even been to Hollywood. What a stupid fucking name. So pretentious, just like Jimin.
[Min Yoongi]
Good
The only response Yoongi gets is an eye rolling emoji. Rolling his own eyes, Yoongi pushes himself up in bed, reaching across the room for his guitar.
---
The greenroom is packed and loud, sound bouncing off the puke-colored walls. It’s fucking annoying, Yoongi can’t even hear himself think.
Despite the club being nicer, the backstage area is fucking tiny and there are only two greenrooms. Of course the headlining band would get one to themselves, which leaves Yoongi stuck with the Hollywood Dolls. As soon as he saw the sign on the door, D-Day with Hollywood Dolls right beneath it, Yoongi wanted to turn around and leave.
He’d rather be warming up and getting ready in the fucking dumpster out back than have to deal with Park Jimin and his sorry excuse for a band. Fucking Park Jimin, who is leaning into the slightly warped mirror against the wall, tracing eyeliner around his eyes.
As Yoongi watches, Jimin’s eyes flick in the mirror, meeting his, and he smirks.
Scowling, Yoongi snaps his gaze away and looks around. It’s especially annoying that no one else seems to care. Hoseok seems to be having a great time, practically draped over the guitarist from the Hollywood Dolls. Seokjin is showing Hoseok something on his phone and the two are giggling together. The Dolls’ bassist is hanging off Seokjin’s shoulder, pointing at something on the screen that makes all of them burst into another fit of giggles.
And Namjoon, a lost fucking cause that one. Yoongi’s drummer is usually quiet and focused, saying he needs to meditate as part of his pre-show ritual. But that’s clearly gone out the damn window with the sparkly eyed drummer from the Dolls crouched in front of him. Namjoon is talking to him about breaking one of his sticks on stage, and, as he moves his arm to demonstrate, Jungkook gasps, looking like he’s half a second from crawling into Namjoon’s lap. He’s pretty sure the fluffy haired drummer is drooling.
So Yoongi’s on his own, no help from his bandmates, his team. Just him, leaning against the wall in the corner, pretending to tune his guitar. He can feel that his fourth string is close to snapping and makes himself pause, fingers flexing against the headstock. It’s not like he can even hear to do it anyway, can’t fucking focus with all the noise. And all this fucking -
“Who took a piss in your coffee this morning?”
Yoongi looks up from his guitar strings, finding Park Jimin standing in front of him. “Excuse you?”
Jimin cocks his head to the side, giving Yoongi an exaggerated up and down as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Why do you look like you’re about to throw a tantrum?”
“Fuck you, I don’t look like that.”
“You’re practically pouting,” Jimin laughs. “Grumpy little kitty cat doesn’t like sharing?” he coos. “Thinks he’s too good to be packed into one dressing room with another band?”
“Too good to be packed in here with people like you,” he sneers, gritting his teeth. “Shitty opening band begging for gigs. They put your name so small on the flier, I couldn’t even fucking read it.”
The teasing smirk drops from Jimin’s face, replaced with an angry scowl. Mask slipping away, the real Jimin, angry and annoyed, shining through. “Fuck you,” Jimin hisses at him. “We got this gig just like you did. They wanted us.”
“Maybe,” Yoongi concedes. “But they wanted us more.”
Jimin looks murderous, eyes flashing, and for a second, Yoongi thinks the other singer might lunge for them. But a knock on the door breaks them apart, both turning as it opens. The backstage manager appears, glancing at the seven men packed into the tiny room before he focuses on Jimin.
“Hollywood Dolls up in five.”
Stepping back from Yoongi - and when the fuck did they get so close? - Jimin gives him one last poisonous look before turning away. He gathers his bandmates, practically dragging Jungkook away from Namjoon, shoving them all toward the door. Jimin follows behind them, glancing back just once. Yoongi blows him a kiss, more than satisfied with Jimin’s furious expression.
Pleased with himself, Yoongi flops onto the couch in the now quiet room. Settling his guitar on his lap, Yoongi goes back to tuning his instrument, pretending not to see the eye roll that Hoseok and Namjoon share.
---
D-Day is fucking fire, have you heard how their singer growls? I swear I had chills!
Out of control, and he’s so hot, I want him to step on me!
So hot and their music is insane, have you heard their new EP? It goes so fucking hard
Yoongi smiles as he scrolls through the thread on Twitter, stopping on the comments of fans singing his praises. It’s not that he’s egotistical or has a big head, but being a small band in an oversaturated scene is often thankless. Having built up a small but decent sized fanbase and having people talking about their music always makes Yoongi feel good. They need the buzz if they want to get bigger, to actually try to fucking make it.
So any publicity is good publicity, even if it’s about Namjoon nearly tripping off stage or Yoongi cursing out a guy after a show. Still gets their name out there. Unless, unless, the Dolls are included.
Because more and more often, when Yoongi finds tweets and posts about D-Day online, it’s accompanied with comments and posts about the fucking Hollywood Dolls. Maybe it’s because they’ve been playing so many of the same shows, or because, even if the scene is oversaturated, it’s not that big.
They’re not even similar, though. Stylistically, musically, they’re so fucking different. Park Jimin is basically a fucking pop punk princess, no matter how hard he tries to be hardcore and Yoongi is trying to stay true to actual grunge and real punk. None of Jimin’s sparkles and flash.
But still, they’re compared and contrasted and mentioned together. And Yoongi sees it as he scrolls, comments about the Dolls, about Jimin appearing more frequently. For every person who compliments Yoongi’s music, his stage presence, there’s almost always someone saying Jimin is just as great.
A fucking joke, really. Yoongi can’t help scoffing as he reads another comment.
The sound of a throat clearing has Yoongi blinking, looking up from his screen. Hoseok is staring at him, hands on his hips.
“What?”
“Oh, sorry,” Hoseok purrs. “Are we disturbing you, hyung-nim?”
Yoongi fights the urge to scoff at Hoseok too, pocketing his phone and reaching for his electric guitar. “Just checking the buzz from the last show.”
“There won’t be a next show if we don’t fucking practice,” Namjoon points out.
“I don’t have to practice,” Yoongi says primly, turning to give Namjoon a sour look where he sits behind the drum set. “I’m perfect.”
Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay asshole.”
Slinging his guitar strap over his head, Yoongi sticks out his tongue at Namjoon before turning away. Hoseok is beside him now, bass settled against his chest. When they make eye contact, Hoseok grins.
“You see the reviews for the Dolls too?”
Raising an eyebrow in question, Yoongi nods. “Yes?”
“Did you know the fans ship you two together?”
Yoongi blinks. “Ship who?”
“You and Jimin, they think you’re cute together. That you have chemistry.”
“You’re fucking disgusting,” Yoongi snaps, aiming a kick at Hoseok’s shin. But Hoseok easily dances away, dissolving into giggles as Yoongi mimes throwing up.
---
Despite how shitty the greenrooms are at these venues, Yoongi would love to be in one right now. He’d rather be in the musty, under-ventilated room than out here at the side of the stage. They’re standing in the wings, watching as the Hollywood Dolls finish their set.
They don’t need to be here watching. Yoongi could be relaxing in the greenroom, writing lyrics or tuning his guitar. But Hoseok and Namjoon insisted, so here he is, watching Park Jimin strut around the stage.
Yoongi is leaning against a pillar, guitar hanging at his side from the strap over his shoulder. He should just turn around and go backstage, but somehow, he feels stuck. Stuck watching Jimin on stage, his bright orange hair looking like flames in the stage lights. He looks two meters taller on stage, singing and spinning and leaning into the audience as they reach for him.
Fucking annoying. Yoongi turns his attention away, choosing a spot on the wall on the other side of the stage to stare at while the set finishes.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take too much longer, Jimin crooning a few more words into the mic before the music fades out and Jimin thanks everyone. There’s cheers and applause and the Hollywood Dolls come bouncing off stage.
Hoseok and Namjoon are there, slapping backs and raining down praise. Ridiculous. What a couple of idiots. Yoongi just scowls, waiting for the stage crew to hurry up and reset the stage. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to decide if he has enough time for a cigarette, when Jimin comes sauntering toward him. He stops in front of Yoongi, staring through lowered lashes, tongue stuck obscenely into the side of his cheek.
“What?” Yoongi barks.
“What did you think?”
Yoongi huffs, giving Jimin a very clear up and down as he shifts his face into a mask of indifference. “Couldn’t even hear your voice over all the guitar feedback,” he drawls. “Your guitarist playing with his fucking feet out there?”
“You love my voice,” Jimin says with a roll of his eyes. “Know you do, everyone does.”
“If I wanted to listen to a cat wailing, I’d hang out in the alley behind Namjoon’s apartment,” Yoongi laughs.
Jimin’s face twists and he steps forward, shoving at Yoongi’s shoulder. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi shrugs, ignoring the lingering feeling of Jimin’s warm palm through his shirt. Instead, he gives Jimin a mocking leer. “Takes one to know one, pretty boy.”
He realizes his misstep almost immediately, cursing himself as Jimin’s eyebrows rise. “Knew you thought I was pretty.”
“Not on your fucking life,” Yoongi scoffs, maybe more derisively that intended as he tries to cover for himself. “I wouldn’t fuck you if someone paid me.”
But that only makes it worse, Jimin tilting forward just a little, grinning at him. “You think about fucking me, Min Yoongi?”
“Only in my nightmares,” Yoongi grits out.
Jimin laughs and shakes his head before sauntering away toward the greenrooms. He makes sure to bump Yoongi’s shoulder with his own, snapping his teeth at him mockingly before he disappears.
---
[Namjoon]
We’re playing at House of Cards on Saturday night
Some new band from Daegu coming up, supposed to be banger
Headlining here before they go to Tokyo
Some Asian tour they’re doing? Might get picked up for a US leg
Yoongi watches the messages roll in, leaning back against his kitchen counter.
[Min Yoongi]
That’s good press. Good for networking. Maybe they’ll think of us if they do another tour and want a dedicated opener
[Namjoon]
Maybe
Squinting at his phone, Yoongi tries to puzzle out Namjoon’s less than enthusiastic response. He should be fucking pumped, this could be a huge opportunity.
[Min Yoongi]
Why maybe?
The response takes too long.
[Namjoon]
We’re opening
[Min Yoongi]
And who the fuck is up after us?
This pause is even longer. Something churns in Yoongi’s gut as he realizes what this must mean, unsurprised when Namjoon’s message comes through. He curses under his breath, kicking his kitchen cabinet as he reads it.
[Namjoon]
Hollywood Dolls
---
The crowd is amazing tonight, a churning mass of screams and cheers. Yoongi can hear them screaming along, singing back his own lyrics even through his in-ear monitors. He can barely hear himself as he presses his lips to the mic, growling out his lyrics.
He feels alive tonight, in his element. The lights shine down on him and Yoongi is powerful on stage, hands sure and deft on his guitar. They’re more than halfway through their set tonight and the crowd has been into it from the start. They call out, reaching for the stage, for Yoongi.
Yoongi scans over the crowd, teeth bared in a feral grin as he takes in the people here to see them. He licks his lips, taking a breath and -
Jimin. Jimin is there, staring at Yoongi from the edge of the crowd. Yoongi isn’t even sure how he spots him, but once he does, it’s like he can’t look away. Jimin’s got his tongue poking into the inside of his cheek again and his eyes are dark, mocking.
And suddenly, somehow, Yoongi feels like he’s been turned inside out. Something in Jimin’s gaze that almost makes him feel naked. Like Jimin can see right through his clothes, down to Yoongi’s skin, deeper to his bones, his soul.
Yoongi tries to shake it off, a zing of heat rushing down his spine as Jimin tilts his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips. But he can’t seem to look away, Jimin doing something with his tongue. He’s got his lips slightly parted, rolling his tongue over his teeth and Yoongi nearly misses a fret, fingers slipping before he recovers himself.
Fucking Park Jimin.
The spell breaks as quickly as it began, and Yoongi tears himself away, refocusing on the music.
---
The door to the bathroom opens while Yoongi is washing his hands. He glances up on instinct, hardly even surprised when he sees Jimin stepping through the door. Their eyes meet in the mirror and Jimin smirks at him, tongue slipping out again to trace over his bottom lip. Gritting his teeth, Yoongi looks back down at his soapy hands.
But Jimin doesn’t take the hint. Yoongi hears the click of Jimin’s heeled boots as he moves closer, but Yoongi refuses to look up again.
“You almost fucked up out there tonight,” Jimin purrs. “Almost missed your cue.” He clicks his tongue, as if he’s disappointed.
“I never fuck up,” Yoongi replies, still not looking up from the sink.
“You’re not fucking perfect,” Jimin snorts. “Far from it.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond, just turns off the water and shakes his wet hands over the sink.
“Seems like you got distracted up there,” Jimin continues. “What were you looking at, kitty?”
At that nickname, dripping with mocking scorn, Yoongi looks up. Their eyes meet in the mirror as Yoongi reaches for a paper towel and he realizes that Jimin is much closer than Yoongi expected.
And he looks fucking hot. It’s annoying.
He’s in a shirt that’s more rips than fabric, showing honey toned skin and firm abs, a tattoo scrawled along his ribs and a ring through one nipple. His hair is artfully messy, orange locks swept off his forehead and dark shadow and liner smudged around his eyes. Yoongi wants to punch that smug look off his face.
Instead, he tears off a paper towel and dries his hands. “Nothing good,” Yoongi murmurs. “Something that almost made me sick.”
Jimin laughs, loud and open, and steps even closer. He’s so close, nearly touching Yoongi’s back. Yoongi can almost feel the heat of Jimin’s skin through his own t-shirt.
“Yeah?” Jimin taunts. “Seemed like you were about two seconds from popping a boner up there.”
Fucking asshole.
“Fuck you,” Yoongi huffs, balling up the paper towel and throwing it into the trashcan.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you kitty?”
Finally having enough, Yoongi spins around, nearly toe to toe with Jimin. “I’d like you to get out of my fucking face,” he snarls.
Another laugh and Jimin moves even closer. So close that Yoongi is backed against the sinks, their chests nearly touching. “No,” Jimin says quietly, his eyes dropping to Yoongi’s mouth. “I don’t think you would.”
And then Jimin is kissing him. Or Yoongi is kissing Jimin. He doesn’t know. It’s sudden and expected and - they’re kissing. It’s wet and messy, a blur of teeth and lips and tongues and Yoongi can’t help but groan into the kiss, hands coming up to clutch at Jimin’s shirt.
He hears the sound of fabric tearing, the rips in Jimin’s shirt no doubt getting bigger as Yoongi twists his fingers into the material. But neither of them care, neither of them stopping long enough to check.
Because the press of Jimin’s mouth is insistent, almost violent. It feels like it’s all teeth and tongues, Jimin shoving his tongue into Yoongi’s mouth half to choke him, licking at the backs of his teeth. And Jimin’s teeth seem to be everywhere, nipping hard at Yoongi’s lips, tugging at the flesh before letting go and diving right back in.
But Yoongi gives as good as he gets, shoving a hand up Jimin’s shirt to tug at the ring in his nipple. The sound Jimin makes is obscene and Yoongi takes the opportunity of Jimin’s momentary distraction to suck on his tongue before licking into Jimin’s mouth.
They’re pressed so close together, Yoongi’s other hand in Jimin’s hair, fingers knotted in the orange strands to drag Jimin nearer. He’s not being gentle about it, sure it must sting as he tugs harshly. But Jimin doesn’t seem to care, lapping at Yoongi’s swollen lips as he grips the back of Yoongi’s neck with one hand, fingernails digging into Yoongi’s skin. His other hand is on Yoongi’s ass, squeezing hard through his jeans.
Yoongi feels like he can’t get enough oxygen, panting wetly into Jimin’s mouth as they tangle together. He can feel when Jimin slides a leg between his own, pressing into his groin. And Yoongi’s not hard, not yet, but he can tell he could get there if this continues. If Jimin’s plush lips and long, teasing tongue keep doing what they’re doing.
“Fuck,” Yoongi grunts, shoving Jimin away so the other man stumbles.
Pain blooms from Yoongi’s lower lip, Jimin’s teeth having sunk deep. Jimin stands a few paces away, chest heaving, shirt nearly ripped clean in two. He laughs, something mean and heady that goes straight to Yoongi’s dick. Before Yoongi can say anything, Jimin spins on the heel of his boot and stalks out of the bathroom, leaving a dazed Yoongi in his wake.
Trying to regain control of his breathing, Yoongi leans against the sink, mind whirling and spinning. When he licks his swollen lips, he tastes blood.
---
The van is already running when Yoongi gets outside, headlights cutting through the darkness along the cramped side street. He doesn’t say anything as he tugs open the passenger door and climbs inside, barely sparing a glance at his bandmates. Namjoon is sprawled in the back, staring at his phone, but Hoseok is behind the wheel, looking annoyed.
“Took you long enough,” Hoseok scoffs.
Yoongi just grunts in response, buckling his seat belt as Hoseok puts the van in gear. But he doesn’t move and Yoongi waits, staring straight again even though he can feel eyes on him.
“There’s blood on your mouth.” Hoseok pauses. “Your lip is bleeding. Hyung, what the fuck?”
“I got in a fight.”
Hoseok laughs and it’s joyful and mocking at the same time. “Yeah?” he asks, and Yoongi makes the mistake of looking at him, seeing the mirth in his eyes, the knowing smile. “With who?”
“Fuck off, Hoseok,” Yoongi snaps, slumping in his seat ad wiping at his mouth as both Hoseok and Namjoon erupt into laughter. Fucking Park Jimin.
---
“Jesus fuck, Yoongi,” Namjoon snaps, the beat from his drums suddenly cutting off. “What the fuck is your problem?”
Yoongi spins around, returning the scowl Namjoon is giving him. “Fuck off,” he growls. “I’m just tired.”
And he is tired, but he’s still trying his best. Sure he’s fucked up a couple chords, gotten tongue tied over his lyrics a couple times. But that’s what practice is for. His friends need to give him a fucking break.
Apparently they don’t agree. “Hyung’s been off since that night he got into a fight,” Hoseok points out.
“Someone must have kicked your ass good then,” Namjoon adds.
Yoongi advances on him, fists clenched at his sides. “No one fucking kicked my ass. It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh yeah?” Hoseok calls, and Yoongi turns to him now. “What was it like then?”
Instead of answering, Yoongi shrugs off his guitar and stomps over to the couch on the side of the room. He scoops up his bottle of water and takes a long drink, squeezing his eyes closed for a few seconds. Maybe he is a little distracted. Distracted thinking about Jimin and his warm lips, his nipping teeth, the way his hands felt.
But it’s just because Yoongi’s fucking pissed about it. Nothing else.
Nothing that keeps him up at night, hard in his boxers, or has him hissing in the shower as he touches himself, gritting his teeth so Hoseok doesn’t hear him in the other room.
“You know,” Namjoon begins when Yoongi doesn’t turn around, “you have to see him this weekend.”
Yoongi scowls at the wall. “See who? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
A cop out, and a pathetic one at that. Of course Yoongi knows Namjoon means Jimin and his fucking band.
“Don’t play coy,” Hoseok laughs. “You’re not that cute.”
Dropping his water bottle, Yoongi frowns over his shoulder. “I’m plenty cute.”
“You look like a cat someone found behind a dumpster,” Namjoon says. “Have you considered taking a shower any time in the past few months?”
“Fuck you Namjoon,” Yoongi grits out, finally turning around. “I showered this morning.”
And if he fucked his fist in the shower to the thought of teeth on his skin, that’s no one’s fucking business.
“Yeah?” Namjoon grins at him, crooked and sly. “Well you fucking stink.”
“Pheromones,” Hoseok says, shaking his head. “Nasty.”
Yoongi picks up his water bottle and throws it at him.
---
Being on stage is euphoric, orgasmic. Yoongi lives for this, for the thirty minute sets he gets to play at dive bars and seedy clubs, singing into a mic and bleeding his fingers dry on his guitar strings. With Hoseok beside him and Namjoon behind him, he feels invincible. A fucking god beneath the stage lights.
And it’s good tonight, so fucking good as the crowd sings along with him, chants his name. As they finish their set Yoongi feels like he’s half on fire, thanking the crowd as Hoseok slings an arm over his shoulders and drags him off stage, knocking their heads together.
Namjoon is there when they get to the stairs, dragging them in and slapping their backs, squeezing shoulders. “Fuckin’ killer tonight.”
“I feel like I could punch the sun,” Hoseok laughs, pretending to punch Namjoon in the belly.
“Amazing set,” Yoongi agrees, disentangling himself from his friends. Adrenaline buzzes through his body, his hands trembling with it. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
Hoseok and Namjoon nod, Namjoon offering a hand to take Yoongi’s guitar from him. He passes it over and watches as his friends disappear backstage, his own path taking him down a narrow hallway to a back door.
He shoulders it open, hands already fishing in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. But as he steps out the door, fitting a cigarette between his lips and raising his lighter, Yoongi realizes he’s not alone.
Jimin is already there, leaning against the brick wall. He has a cigarette of his own between his lips and he doesn’t look at Yoongi, head tipped back as he stares upwards.
Hesitating half out the door, Yoongi decides he’s not going to back down. Not from Park Jimin. He chooses his own spot on the wall, leaning against the brick and bringing the lighter up again. As he cups his hands around the flame, he can’t help but remember the way Jimin’s mouth felt on his own. After taking a deep drag and exhaling the thin smoke into the air, he speaks.
“Didn’t see you out there tonight.”
“Didn’t need to watch your shitty show again,” Jimin replies. “You always play the same lame songs.”
They’re not looking at each other, but Yoongi is sure whatever expression Jimin is wearing would piss him off. “We fucking don’t.” Yoongi frowns. “We’ve got a great catalog, and the set list tonight was fire.”
“Uh huh.” Jimin shrugs, taking another pull off his dwindling cigarette.
Yoongi watches Jimin from the corner of his eye, sees the way Jimin shifts, shoulders rolling in his leather jacket as he tosses his nearly kicked cigarette to the ground. He steps on it with the toe of his heeled boot, grinding it into the concrete.
When he turns toward him, Yoongi tries not to stiffen. They’re close already, and Jimin doesn’t have to take more than a few steps to be right next to Yoongi. He reaches out, plucking the cigarette from Yoongi’s lips and taking a drag. Yoongi stares at him in stunned silence, lips still slightly parted. Jimin only tilts his head, tossing the cigarette away and blowing the smoke into Yoongi’s face.
“You fucking -”
But Yoongi doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Jimin grabs him by the front of his shirt and crashes their mouths together.
Jimin tastes like fire and gasoline. Cigarettes and vodka on his tongue as he shoves it into Yoongi’s mouth, forcing him to get a taste. But Yoongi’s momentary shock doesn’t last and he meets Jimin head on, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, slotting their mouths together in a wet slide.
Something like a growl rumbles in Jimin’s chest and he shoves Yoongi back against the brick, caging him in against the wall. And as much as Yoongi wants to push Jimin away, not let himself be manhandled like this, he’s too preoccupied with Jimin’s mouth.
It’s just as hot and heavy as before, just as wet, but somehow even filthier. The wet sound of their mouths moving together is loud in the alley, quiet save for them. The slick press of lips and tongues and the harsh sound of their breathing is almost overwhelmingly loud in the narrow alley.
Jimin’s lips feel just as good as Yoongi remembers, better. So thick and plump, his mouth latching around Yoongi’s lower lip to suck it into his mouth, nibbling lightly. It seems less about the pain this time, maybe, Jimin’s bites not so harsh, but his kiss still just as insistent. Needy, almost desperate.
Their hands roam between them, Jimin getting both of his under Yoongi’s shirt, slightly cold fingers sliding over Yoongi’s ribs and up to his nipples, twisting them almost painfully. And Yoongi’s got his hands running over Jimin’s body, squeezing greedily at his hips, his ass as their bodies fit closer together.
And this time Yoongi is getting hard, the two of them pressed so close, their hips bumping together. But Yoongi can feel the press of Jimin’s cock through his tight jeans, grinding into Yoongi’s hip as they rut together. Jimin shoves a leg between Yoongi’s thighs again, pressing hard into his groin and Yoongi groans, fighting off the wave of arousal.
With a grunt of effort, Yoongi grips the lapels of Jimin’s leather jacket and shoves him away. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” Yoongi growls.
Jimin grins at him, all kiss bitten lips and wild eyes. “What’d you say about it, kitty? Takes one to know one?”
“I fucking hate you,” Yoongi snarls. But that only makes Jimin’s smile widen. “Hate you and your fucking music. Bet you’ve never even been to fucking Hollywood.”
“Sounds like you’re fucking jealous,” Jimin laughs, his eyes raking over Yoongi’s body.
“Of you?” Yoongi spits. “You don’t have any fucking talent. What’s there to be jealous of?”
“You’re such a bitch,” Jimin hisses. “Why don’t you just fuck off and suck my fucking dick?”
And Yoongi, never one to back down from a challenge, especially one from Park Jimin, drops to his knees.
There’s a moment when Jimin stumbles back slightly, only Yoongi’s hands on his hips keeping him in place. Jimin goggles at him, clearly stunned. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Yoongi stares up through his lashes, tugging at Jimin’s belt and the fastenings of his pants. “You want me to stop?”
A pause, a moment of tense hesitation… and then Jimin shakes his head.
Rolling his eyes, Yoongi returns to unbuttoning Jimin’s jeans. He’s not gentle as he tugs down the denim, dragging it down Jimin’s thighs to reveal a pair of tight, black boxer briefs. Yoongi immediately leans forward, lips parted, to mouth at the outline of Jimin’s cock.
“Fuck,” Jimin rasps, one hand flying to Yoongi’s hair, fingers twisting in the strands.
Pleased by Jimin’s immediate reaction, and through his clothes, Yoongi continues. He licks along the length of Jimin’s cock before dragging his open mouth over it, lips moving along the straining length. Jimin is so hard beneath him, cock twitching when Yoongi suckles at the head through the cotton of his underwear.
“Don’t fucking tease me,” Jimin grits out, yanking hard at Yoongi’s hair.
Yoongi’s lashes flutter and he considers ignoring him, but… well, he’d rather have Jimin’s dick in his mouth rather than sucking on his briefs.
Hooking his fingers in the waistband of Jimin’s underwear, Yoongi tugs them down to his jeans, letting them rest at mid-thigh. Jimin’s cock bobs out, hard and flushed at the tip. The head is sticky with precum, more already welling from Jimin’s slit.
It makes something in Yoongi almost purr to see how affected Jimin already is from so little. He’s going to make him tremble.
Surging forward, Yoongi parts his lips, tongue lolling out as he sucks the head of Jimin’s cock into his mouth. The bitter tang of precum explodes on his tongue and Yoongi laps it up, swirling his tongue over and around the crown. Jimin lets out a deep groan, fingers tightening slightly in Yoongi’s hair as Yoongi swirls his tongue in teasing circles.
When he finally sinks down over Jimin’s length, nose nearly touching the trimmed hair at the base of his cock, Jimin makes another satisfying noise. Yoongi lets him sit there for a moment, Jimin’s dick so hot and hard, twitching slightly on his tongue.
Yoongi is good with his mouth, great with his tongue. He knows he is, has included lines about it in his songs. And he’s not someone to brag about something without the evidence to back it up. So when Yoongi hollows his cheeks and begins to move, he pulls out all his best tricks.
It’s easy to lose himself in the feeling of a cock in his mouth, of his tongue teasing and sliding over the underside. So easy to suck and lick and relax his throat to almost choke. It’s wet and messy, drool leaking from the corners of Yoongi’s mouth, drool gathering on his chin. But that’s how he likes it.
And it’s clear Jimin likes it too, moaning and letting out muffled curses, his fingers so tight in Yoongi’s hair. He can’t seem to stop tugging at the strands, the sharp zings of pain sending jolts of pleasure straight to Yoongi’s own cock, straining in his jeans. Jimin has his other hand braced on the wall behind Yoongi, fingernails scrabbling at the brick as Yoongi works him over.
So easy to make Park Jimin fall apart like this, with his mouth and his hands, bring his fingers up to fondle Jimin’s balls, squeeze his thighs and hips. Jimin is practically trembling beneath him, thighs tensing rhythmically, hips giving little aborted jerks. Until he can’t seem to hold back, a particularly vicious suck of Yoongi’s mouth having Jimin cursing loud, body jackrabbiting forward and forcing his cock down Yoongi’s throat.
Yoongi gags at the unexpected intrusion, tears springing to his eyes. He pulls back, choking and coughing for a moment, blinking to clear his vision. His throat convulses slightly and Yoongi pants hard, gripping Jimin’s hip to keep himself upright.
“Fuck,” Jimin hisses, and his hand is out of Yoongi’s hair, on his cheek now, tilting Yoongi’s head up, studying his face. “Did I hurt you, shit I didn’t mean to -”
“Fuck my face,” Yoongi interrupts, voice hoarse and garbled. He grabs Jimin’s hips, trying to pull him closer again.
Jimin stares at him, eyes wide, uncomprehending. “What?”
“Fuck,” Yoongi repeats, voice firm despite the rasp, “my face.”
A beat, two. Jimin stares and then - suddenly, so sudden, his hand is back in Yoongi’s hair, twisting harshly as his eyes darken. “You fucking…” he trails off, not finishing as he brings his other hand to his own cock, stroking himself loosely.
“You want it?” Jimin asks, voice low and dangerous. He leans forward a little, rubbing the sticky wet head of his cock against Yoongi’s lips. “Open wide.”
Yoongi lets his tongue loll, Jimin dragging the tip over it once, twice, before he’s feeding his cock into Yoongi’s mouth. The hand in Yoongi’s hair doesn’t let go, holding Yoongi steady as Jimin presses forward, his length sliding along Yoongi’s tongue. He gives a few experimental rolls of his hips, cock reaching a little further each time. Yoongi lets his tongue tease along the underside of Jimin’s cock, earning himself an appreciative hiss from the contact.
Jimin starts slow, a languid pace, as if to test the waters, test if he’s really allowed to do this. It’s boring. If Yoongi wanted to give a boring fucking blow job to some gritty punk boy, he could pick anyone from the crowd. They’d be begging for it, hell, they’d be on their knees for him. So as Jimin slowly begins to thrust, the head of his cock just barely brushing the back of Yoongi’s throat, he’s starting to get impatient.
It’s considerate maybe, the way Jimin is starting slow, eyes darting between the way his cock disappears into Yoongi’s mouth and Yoongi’s eyes. As if he’s checking in, making sure Yoongi is okay. As if he cares.
And that’s a little odd, a little too intimate.
Yoongi doesn’t want intimate or considerate, he wants to choke on Park Jimin’s cock. He wants the Park Jimin he knows, biting and mean and hot in all the worst fucking ways, to make him gag.
Shifting slightly on his knees, Yoongi makes an unhappy sound. Jimin stops immediately, brow furrowed as if in concern. Ugh. He pulls back and Yoongi licks his lips.
“I told you to fuck my face,” Yoongi rasps.
Jimin frowns, his hand tightening in Yoongi’s hair and Yoongi fights back a moan at the sting. “I am -”
“You’re not,” Yoongi snaps. “You’re wasting my fucking time.”
“I’m trying not to hurt -”
“You won’t fucking hurt me, Park Jimin.” Yoongi sneers, eyes dropping to Jimin’s slick cock. “Not with this little thing.” When he rolls his eyes back up, Jimin’s gaze has darkened, jaw tight. “Don’t be a pussy,” Yoongi adds. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
The fingers in his hair tug again and Yoongi does moan this time, eyelashes fluttering. And that seems to be all the invitation Jimin needs. Spurred on by Yoongi’s jeers, or maybe the clear sign that he wants this, Jimin takes the opportunity of Yoongi’s mouth being open to shove his cock past Yoongi’s lips.
There is no slow this time, no careful testing of Yoongi’s limit. There is Park Jimin growling under his breath as he slams his hips forward, burying him fully in Yoongi’s throat.
Yoongi chokes, throat convulsing around the intrusion as Jimin’s cock slips into his throat. Batters into his throat. Thick and hot and bruising. And when Yoongi gags, Jimin doesn’t let up, grinding himself deeper.
“You fucking like that?” Jimin hisses through gritted teeth.
Forcing himself to breathe shallowly through his nose, Yoongi swallows around Jimin’s cock and moans.
“Fucking hell,” Jimin grunts, and then he’s pulling back, only to slam home again.
It’s a good fucking thing they don’t have another show this weekend, because there’s no way Yoongi would be able to sing. Not with the way Jimin seems to have finally found his spark, let go of his carefully held control.
Wet and messy, almost brutal. Overwhelming in all the best ways. Jimin’s hand is tight in Yoongi’s hair, holding him in place as he thrusts into his mouth. Jimin buries himself to the hilt every time, pelvis bumping Yoongi’s nose, groaning with every thrust. The sounds Yoongi is making, wet gagging, choking noises, broken, sloppy sounds, are loud in the alley, echoing off the walls.
“If I knew this was all it’d take to get you on your knees choking for me,” Jimin mutters, trailing off as he slams into Yoongi’s open mouth. “Fucking knew you wanted me, can’t fucking hide it.”
There is little finesse to all of it, just Jimin fucking into Yoongi’s throat with abandon, growling out filth as Yoongi trembles and takes it. He’s drooling and choking, gagging with every thrust, tears dripping down his cheeks. But he loves it, loves the way it feels to have Jimin hold him like this and use his throat. He tries to use his tongue, curling around the underside of Jimin’s length, but it’s all he can do to remember how to breathe.
“Shoulda fucking done this on stage,” Jimin growls as he rolls his hips, tugging at Yoongi’s hair to tip his head back a little. “Let everyone see you like this. How fucking pretty you look like this. My pretty kitty.”
A garbled moan catches in Yoongi’s throat, his eyes closing as he sucks in air through his nose. He expected the degradation, for Jimin to call him a slut, anything like that. Yoongi didn’t fucking care what Jimin said about him, and maybe he’d even like it. But the praise, calling Yoongi pretty… That’s a little unexpected.
But not unwanted, not when Jimin’s pace is faltering, hips jerking a little desperately now. And Jimin is still talking, talking about how good Yoongi’s mouth feels, how he wants to take him apart, suck his dry. Filthy promises and whispers spilled into the night as Yoongi takes it all.
Yoongi’s is so hard in his jeans, cock throbbing against his zipper. But it’s all he can do to hold on now, one hand on Jimin’s hip, clinging to him, the other braced on the ground. All he wants is to touch himself, but at this point, he’s not sure he could manage. Just shifting his hand from the ground to palm at himself is difficult, Yoongi tipping forward a little, gagging himself further on Jimin’s cock.
“Fucking needy,” Jimin grunts. “So fucking turned on from my dick in your throat that you need to touch yourself?” Yoongi expects him to laugh, but instead Jimin groans, cock twitching in Yoongi’s throat. “S’fucking hot.”
Jimin shifts a little, one leg sliding forward to press between Yoongi’s spread thighs. The angle isn’t great, but the slight pressure against Yoongi’s groin, his aching cock, has him moaning. That and, maybe, Jimin calling him hot. But that doesn’t fucking matter.
The slight friction has Yoongi moaning, his throat convulsing around the cock in his throat and Jimin swears. His fingers tug hard at Yoongi’s hair and he slams his hips forward, grinding against Yoongi’s chin as his cock jerks and he comes, spilling down Yoongi’s throat.
Yoongi barely even tastes it, Jimin so far down his throat that Yoongi barely has to swallow. He does though, leaning back with a gasp as he tries not to gag on the last traces of cum. Tipping slightly to the side, Yoongi catches himself with a hand on the ground, hanging his head and closing his eyes as he fights to breathe again. His other hand moves to his groin, clumsily tugging at the button of his jeans.
A pressure on his hand has him freezing. Yoongi opens his eyes, seeing the toe of Jimin’s heeled black boot pressed to his fingers, holding them in place. Blinking, Yoongi jerks his head up, finding Jimin watching him with interest.
“Don’t,” Jimin says, applying pressure against Yoongi’s hand, his cock.
Yoongi bites back a groan and glares at him. “Fuck you.”
“That’s the idea,” Jimin laughs.
Uncomprehending, Yoongi watches as Jimin tucks himself back into his jeans. His foot applies slight pressure again and Yoongi is furious about how good even that little bit of relief feels. Yoongi lets his hand fall away and Jimin withdraws his foot.
“If you can wait and not come in your pants like a fucking teenager…” Jimin begins, grinning down at him. “We could go back to my place?”
Yoongi stills, tilting his head to the side as he studies Jimin. His place. “Yeah?” Yoongi croaks. “And then what?”
Jimin’s grin doesn’t slip as he offers a hand to pull Yoongi up. “And you can fuck me.”
Heat spikes through Yoongi’s core and his dick throbs in his jeans. It sounds dangerous somehow, sounds like a mistake. Going home with Jimin, seeing his apartment, fucking him in his bed. Intimate, different. Not what they do, not at all what Yoongi planned. Though he didn’t plan this either, or the kiss in the bathroom. He’s not sure either of them know the rules of whatever game they’re playing anymore
And yet… Yoongi takes the offered hand, letting Jimin tug him back to his feet. He doesn’t respond firmly, just uses their still clasped hands to pull Jimin into his chest and kiss him again. The kiss is messy and wet, Yoongi bringing his free hand up to cup Jimin's jaw, squeeze at the hinge of his mouth until he parts his lips. Jimin licks into his mouth, no doubt tasting himself on Yoongi’s tongue.
Teeth nip at Yoongi’s lips, a familiar feeling now, one he thinks he’s starting to crave. That tiny hint of teasing paint. Jimin draws back and pulls away, stepping out of Yoongi’s space, but keeping a grip on his hand. “You coming, kitty?”
“I better fucking be,” Yoongi huffs.
Jimin just laughs, bright and delighted, a wildness to it that makes Yoongi stumble after him as Jimin tugs at his hand. Their fingers intertwine and Yoongi lets himself be pulled toward the mouth of the alley. Hopefully his bandmates will grab his guitar for him, but Yoongi can worry about that in the morning.