Chapter Text
The longest Jungkook has ever gone without falling back into it was four years. He’d moved abroad for university, and had buried himself so deep into his schooling that he didn’t return home once in the entire four years he was studying. He didn’t even call him. He pretended he didn’t exist.
It’s easy to pretend someone doesn’t exist when you’re on the opposite side of the world.
It’s easy when he isn’t in the same city, let alone the same country. It’s easy for Jungkook to not feel the urge to just open his phone and text him, telling him to come over simply because Jungkook is horny and needs release. It’s easy for Jungkook to not want to choose a random hotel room and tell him to meet him there, dress up in his sluttiest outfit and favorite trench coat, and wait in the room to surprise him and tempt him into giving in again and again.
But then again, Jungkook had more than enough material to get him through those four years. He had videos of them together, photos sent to him over the years, text messages in the thread he’d blocked but never deleted. He didn’t need other partners—the thought of anyone else touching him simply made him want to vomit. There was only one person in the entire world Jungkook ever wanted to touch him, and that person was the one Jungkook had gone abroad for school to get away from.
Jungkook made real progress in those four years. He’d detoxed his body from the need for him—at least, the physical need for him. Jungkook knew that his body would always reject anything that wasn’t him, but as long as Jungkook had the material they’d created together, then he would be able to make it through life partner-less.
He was okay with that.
He was proud of himself for the progress he’d made in the four years he was away.
All of his progress went down the drain the moment he returned home for his mother’s funeral.
The moment he stepped off the plane and was greeted by him—everything fell apart for Jungkook, yet again.
He’d become devolved into nothing more than a creature of habit once more.
In Jungkook’s defense, he tried not to give in.
Really.
That’s what he likes to tell himself, anyways.
“How is Vivian?” Jungkook asked as he took a long inhale from his vape while he lounged on his bed, completely bare with his back on the mattress and his legs spread, bent at the knee. Banana milkshake-flavored vapor filled the air as he exhaled a dragged-out puff of smoke.
An open invitation. A test of temptation.
“Do you really care?”
“Of course I do,” Jungkook answered. He rolled his eyes. “That’s why I asked.”
“She’s going to kill me. It wasn’t exactly in the plans that I’d be gone for—” A pause. “—Five hours and counting. She thought I was just picking you up and dropping you off at home.”
Jungkook scoffed, taking another hit of his vape. He hated that he vaped, but to be honest, nicotine was at the bottom of the list of vices he knew were bad for him and yet, he was unable to give up.
Vice number one was lounging against his headboard, nude with his cock slowly chubbing back up as he stared at Jungkook.
“Just tell her I was hungry, so you took me to dinner, and we lost track of time catching up,” Jungkook said sarcastically. It was a big fat lie, and Jungkook knew it, and so did he. But neither of them cared—or they did, but they didn’t care enough to care that much. Lying was something that appeared to come naturally to both of them, for they’d been lying to those around them for so long that Jungkook almost couldn’t remember when the lies had started.
Almost.
“You do talk a lot. She’d believe it.”
“Oh, I’m sure she would.” Jungkook moved his head to the side, craning his neck so he was looking at him. He purposefully opened his legs further, fluttering his used, abused, and swollen pussy, basking in the way his eyes zeroed in on Jungkook’s core, his pupils dilating with lust and need.
It was pathetic.
It was disgusting.
It was wrong.
It was so fucking hot.
“You really think I won’t fuck you again?”
“No,” Jungkook answered. He knew he’d fuck him again; he could never resist Jungkook, just like Jungkook could never resist him. It was a never-ending cycle they were caught in, and they themselves are the reason the cycle will never come to an end.
The moment they had reunited at the airport, Jungkook had to fight the urge to reach out to him, to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him all over him and everywhere inside of him. It was an urge that felt like ants crawling under his skin; it drove him crazy, and the longer he fought it, the worse the prickling sensation in his veins got.
They had both done an okay job at not giving in until they’d arrived at Jungkook’s house, and he’d helped Jungkook take his suitcases inside.
The second they were both inside, it was like everything barring them from each other disappeared, and they were left facing only their most dangerous addiction: each other.
It happened in a blur of teeth, spit, tongue, hands on clothes, hands on skin, clothes flying as they were removed until both were left in nothing, completely bare and open. One second, Jungkook had been standing in the entry hall, setting a suitcase down as he stared at him from the front door, and the next, Jungkook was shoved up against the wall, his cheek pressed into the stucco plaster as one hand held his chin, keeping his mouth open as it was explored by a wet, hot tongue he’d spent four years away from—while his other hand was spreading Jungkook’s pussy lips open from behind, tugging and pinching and rubbing at his clit until Jungkook was reduced to nothing more than a whining mess, his arousal gushing out of his hot cunt and down his thighs under the skirt Jungkook had chosen to wear.
“You’re gone for four years, then you show back up and you’re in a skirt without underwear, and you think I won’t fucking do anything about it?”
The words went straight to Jungkook’s pussy, and he moaned, his pussy clenching around air while his clit was roughly handled.
“You think I don’t know what you were trying to do?”
“Do you?” Jungkook panted into another messy, tongue-only kiss. “What was I trying to do?”
A growl sounded, and a rough thumb pressed on Jungkook’s clit, making him cry out. “You thought that four years away was going to keep you safe from me. That you could show back up, looking like that, and I wouldn’t take a bite.”
Jungkook smirked, rolling his eyes—but that only earned him a rough pinch to his abused clit, and he cried out again, his eyes clenching shut as he pushed his ass backward, grinding it onto the hard cock that was pressing against him.
The feeling of that cock pressed in between Jungkook’s ass cheeks after so long awoke something Jungkook that he had spent so long suppressing to the point he’d even been so foolish as to think it was dead forever, never to wake back up again. It was a monster inside of him, one that got hungrier and hungrier until it consumed him—that monster was inside of both of them.
And they had awoken it again.
Jungkook was so wet that it was pointless to even bother with going through the full motions of proper foreplay, and to be honest, Jungkook didn’t even want it to drag on. He wanted it so bad, the sensation of being full to the brim, full of him. He wanted to feel the sensation of his walls being dragged against by the thick, long cock he knew better than he knew his own body as his body was used as nothing more than a pathetic cum doll.
He wanted to be fucked to the point he couldn’t remember his own name.
And so he was.
As always, Jungkook was fucked silly.
First, he was fucked right there against the wall. It was rough, painful, and oh so good. The drag of cock against his inner walls as he was thrusted into from behind, his face shoved against the wall while a hand clenched around his throat, constricting his airway in the most delicious way—it felt like heaven in the most depraved, disgusting way.
He was filled to the brim with hot ropes of cum against the wall; they never used condoms, so Jungkook was not surprised by the fact he was creampied. In fact, he loved it. They both did. The possibility of Jungkook ending up pregnant was always something that had exhilarated both of them to the point that there had been a few times throughout the years when they’d actively tried to get Jungkook knocked up.
Unfortunately, they’d never succeeded.
Jungkook never told him it was because he was taking birth control behind his back.
They took only a short break after that first time, only long enough for Jungkook to be picked up into strong, muscular arms, his legs wrapped around a small but filled out waist as cum leaked out of him and dripped onto the floor. They moved to the couch for round two, ripping the sofa-cover off and adding to the existing stains from their disdainful trysts in the past.
Jungkook was fucked on that couch on all fours before he was forced to hold his mouth open and let it be fucked, too. He loved the taste of their cum mixed together, loved the taste of himself, loved the way he felt like he could taste the depravity of what they were doing with each other. It was just as rough as the first time against the wall was, and Jungkook loved every single moment of it. He loved the pain of the sex they had. It reminded him that it was real, that he was committing a sin, that he deserved the pain he was receiving.
The pain would be his retribution.
They fucked multiple times on that couch, Jungkook getting filled to the brim with so much cum, it was like they were making up for all of the lost time from the last four years. He was covered in the sticky substance by the time they were through with the couch, and the couch had new stains on top of the old ones, and it gave Jungkook a thrill. He loved knowing that when he had guests over, they were sitting atop those stains as they were hidden by a sofa-cover. There was only a thin layer of patterned fabric separating his guests from the horror of the relationship he’s been a part of for the last decade and a half.
With cum leaking down his thighs, pooling under him, dribbling down his chin, spurted all over his body—Jungkook looked like the most delicious, unholy sin, and that only spurred on the charged energy in the house between the two of them. It only made him more desirable, the way he still looked like the same cumslut he had been four years ago when he’d ran away and tried to rid himself of this.
It was glorious for both of them to be back together, joining their bodies again in such a way that went against nature itself.
Finally, they moved to the bedroom, and Jungkook was shoved face first into the mattress as his ass was ate out, stretched open, and impaled on his favorite cock. The only cock to ever take him in these ways. He was reserved for one person and one person only; that person filled him every which way he could and every chance he had.
This was just as much for him as it was for Jungkook.
Cum leaking out of his ass, Jungkook rode him with one hand around his throat while Jungkook fingered himself, playing with his clit and driving himself further into oversensitivity. In the time they’d been apart, Jungkook hadn’t lost his stamina, and that was something that he was full of pride over. He was still able to keep up, still able to out-fuck him, and that made Jungkook feel powerful.
Jungkook leaned down, his tits brushing against the hard chest he had to admit he’d missed while he was gone. He whispered into his ear, “You miss me, baby? Miss my pussy, so full of your cum? Miss me taking more and more from you, even when you’ve given all you have to give?”
He received a moan in response as he pressed his fingers down on his neck, and he preened at the way eyes rolled back in head.
Jungkook’s pussy clenched once, twice, three more times and then he could feel abs beneath him constricting in a dry, painful orgasm as the cock inside him twitched and twitched but spurted no cum, having been milked completely dry. Jungkook’s own orgasm followed immediately after, and he flooded the bedding and mattress beneath them with his own juices, mixed with now-hours-old cum.
“You can admit it, you know,” he was told as he was drilled for what was probably the tenth time just that day.
“Admit what?” he grunted between thrusts.
“That you missed me.”
“You wish.”
“I know you did.” A kiss was pressed against his neck, followed by a bite. Jungkook moaned loudly, his back arching at the pain of the bite, and he clenched his pussy on the cock inside of him. “If you didn’t miss me, why practically beg me to fuck you, huh?”
“You think I was begging you to fuck me? Please. I can fuck whoever I want. I don’t have to let you fuck me.”
“Oh, let me fuck you, huh? You think I don’t know that my cock’s the only cock you’ve ever had? That you can’t bring yourself to let anyone else touch you. Face it, I’ve ruined you. You’re mine.”
He was right. Jungkook wasn’t going to admit it, but he was right, and Jungkook knew it. There was a part of Jungkook that had been begging to be fucked; it was why he’d worn the skirt without panties in the first place. He knew it’d be easy access, and easy access was never denied. Not by him.
And Jungkook hadn’t stopped any of the many times they’d fucked today. He could have. But he didn’t. And it was because he’d missed him, missed this fucked up man in a fucked up way, and he needed him. Needed him to consume Jungkook, fill Jungkook up inside and out, and make him his again.
“Then shut the fuck up and fuck me like I’m yours,” Jungkook taunted. “Stop fucking me like I’m your wife.”
He knew that was going to strike a nerve.
And strike a nerve, it did. Jungkook was flipped over onto his stomach and dragged to the edge of the bed, his legs yanked off so he was standing, and his back pushed forward so he was bent over. “You wanna be fucked like you’re mine? Okay. Bet. Hope you still like it rough, you fucking whore.”
The second that cock pounded into him, bottoming out in one thrust that was so painful, it immediately made Jungkook’s eyes fill with tears and had him seeing stars in the corners of his vision. It was so euphoric, and it only took a few thrusts for Jungkook to squirt everywhere, screaming as he came harder than he had at any point during that day.
The phone rang as soon as Jungkook’s screaming stopped, but the thrusting didn’t stop. Not even when the call was answered did Jungkook get a moment’s respite from the friction, the abuse on his pussy, though the thrusting did slow to a quiet pace so as to not be picked up by the phone’s microphone during the call. “Hi, honey. Yeah, I’m still with Jungkook. I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. We’ve just been catching up. He was hungry from the flight, so we got some dinner and drinks. I drank a little too much, so I think I’m going to stay with him tonight. Yeah, I’ll be home tomorrow. Okay. I love you, Viv. I’ll tell him you said hi. Bye.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” Jungkook said as soon as the call ended. He snorted when the phone was tossed to the side haphazardly. His voice was hoarse as he sat himself up on the edge of the bed and looked up. His pussy was gaping from the abuse it’d received over the last five hours. “Got too drunk to drive, did you?”
“I could say something corny right now, but I won’t.”
“Everything you say is corny, so out with it.”
He leaned down to press his lips to Jungkook’s before he said, “I’m drunk off you. Off your pussy.”
Jungkook snorted, pushing him back. “That was so fucking corny.”
“Told you,” he said, smirking.
Jungkook rolled his eyes and leaned back on the mattress. He looked around, surveying the room. “You’re helping me clean up the mess we’ve made then, if you’re staying the night. I’m not sleeping on these disgusting sheets.”
“Yes, baby,” he said. The term of endearment both irked Jungkook and made him feel special. He knew that not even Vivian was called baby , and she was the wife. Only Jungkook ever got called baby , and it was always when they were alone. It made his skin crawl and made him swell with pride. He was his baby .
He helped Jungkook clean up like he was ordered to; he handled the cleaning of the living room—wiping down the wall that he fucked Jungkook against and fixing the sofa-cover before gathering all of their clothes and throwing them into the washing machine—while Jungkook took care of the bedroom, deodorizing his mattress and replacing the sheets with fresh, pressed ones, completely free of any wrinkles.
When they were done, Jungkook told him he was hungry, and within thirty minutes, they had fried chicken delivered from Jungkook’s favorite spot. They ate in the living room, occasionally feeding each other and stealing kisses in between chicken wings, and it felt just as domestic as the many times they’d done stuff like this before had. It felt like they were in a real relationship.
A real fucked up relationship built on lies and sin.
After they ate, they fucked one more time, but it was more lazy and sensual than all the other times. This time was full of passion, full of the love they’d finally given into feeling, and Jungkook’s tears were stopped by plush lips as he was fucked deep and slow, his ears being filled with the sweetest of nothings whispered into them.
They came together, but not before Jungkook had lifted up off of him to adjust just ever so slightly that when he came, he was cumming into Jungkook’s ass, and then Jungkook instructed him to get one of his plugs from the bedside table so he could sleep with his cum filling him to the brim that night.
They fell asleep with Jungkook cockwarming him, his cock buried to the base inside Jungkook from behind while the butt plug kept Jungkook’s ass full of his seed. Jungkook felt sated, full, warm, and he knew that in the morning, he’d wake up feeling disgusting, dirty, sinful.
But for now, he was going to savor it and relish in the sins he’s committed tonight.
The next morning, he left, but first, he got two more tastes of Jungkook’s pussy and ass, eating his cum out of Jungkook like a man starved while Jungkook rode his face with abandon. They showered together, and he fucked Jungkook against the tile one last time before finally cleaning themselves off, ridding their bodies of the smell that gave away their depravity and infidelity.
Their clothes had been washed and dried, but he’d also left so many clothes here at Jungkook’s over the years that it honestly didn’t matter if he wore the same outfit he’d been in when they’d gotten here. Or rather, it wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t for the simple fact that Vivian didn’t know that all of the clothes Namjoon had claimed to have lost in the laundromat over the years were actually here at Jungkook’s, left behind after unholy trysts.
He left not long after getting dressed, making sure to kiss Jungkook silly one more time, their tongues moving languidly against one another, sensual and slow and messy. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the funeral?” he asked when he pulled away, a string of spit connecting their mouths.
“Of course,” Jungkook responded. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Bye, baby,” he said, breaking the string of spit between them with his tongue. “See you then.”
“Bye, Namjoon,” Jungkook said.
Jungkook hated funerals. He found them preposterous, unnecessary. He found them to be exhausting, mentally and physically draining, and a sham. The idea of a group of grief-stricken people mourning the loss of a person before throwing a party under the guise of celebrating the dead’s life… it made Jungkook roll his eyes.
Then again, he’d never attended a funeral for someone that was a good person when they were living.
Everyone he knew who had died was a piece of shit, so he didn’t see the point in pretending that they were star citizens just for the aesthetic of a funeral.
This funeral was no different—in fact, it was even more unnecessary and pointless in Jungkook’s opinion.
It was his mother’s funeral.
Jungkook’s mother was a horrible woman when she was alive, and Jungkook had never been so happy as he was the day he received the call from the nursing home that she’d finally croaked. She was cruel, especially to her sons. They were a product of her raising, and yet she treated them as if they’d been raised by animals, by monsters who molded them into monsters instead of simply facing the fact that she’d pushed the two of them together, drove them straight into each other’s arms to seek comfort from one another in depraved ways.
She was awful to him and Namjoon.
And because of her, the two of them entered the cycle they were now in.
The cycle they’d never be able to escape.
The day he and Namjoon had finally placed her in the nursing home was one of the most freeing days of Jungkook’s life. He claimed her house as his, forging her signature to sign the deed over to him, and after they left her to rot in the nursing home, he and Namjoon had fucked on every single inch of their childhood home.
They’d covered the memories of their childhood trauma brought on by the hands of the woman who’d birthed them in their cum as they partook in the very sin that she’d once tried to exorcise out of them.
The moment Jungkook arrived at the funeral home, he wanted to scream at every person there. Every time someone came up to him to offer their condolences, he wanted to grab them by their shoulders and yell at them, “She abused us! She abused us, and turned us into the monsters we are today! She turned us into animals with a need for each other we can’t control! She’s the reason we’re fucked up!”
He didn’t speak a word. Not when person after person placed their disgusting hands on his shoulder and told him they were sorry for his loss.
Sorry for his loss. Jungkook wanted to snort at that.
Loss? There was no loss here.
Only freedom from the thumb of their mother.
Namjoon stood close to Jungkook when the service began, their fingers close enough that they could brush—but they kept their distance. They were in public, after all, and Namjoon’s wife was here. But that was okay with Jungkook, because he replayed what had transpired between the two of them before the funeral.
Right there against the casket that contained their horrid mother’s putrid and rotting body.
“I know you hate funerals,” Namjoon said as he approached Jungkook in front of the casket. The funeral was going to start in three hours, and they’d rented out this entire room for the day.
The moment Namjoon locked the doors, Jungkook knew why he’d bought out the room for the whole day.
Neither of them were dressed in their funeral suits. They’d change into them just before the service, so that they were void of wrinkles and presentable. The way their mother had always raised them to appear in public.
“But I’m glad you came back for this one,” Namjoon continued, his hands finding their place on Jungkook’s waist.
Jungkook stared down at the casket, one side open to reveal the peaceful face of their mother. Her eyes closed, she looked like she’d once been a wonderful soul when she was alive. Jungkook knew better. She was the catalyst for what he’d turned into.
She had hated Jungkook from the moment he was born; a boy with a cunt was already against nature, and she’d thought she could make a man out of him through her abuse, but instead… all she succeeded in doing was driving him into the arms and onto the cock of his own brother.
Jungkook was the spitting image of their mother, while Namjoon favored their long-dead father. He hated himself for it, though he’d spent years telling himself that the reason he looked just like her was because it was the universe’s way of slapping her in the face: give her abomination of a son her face to constantly remind her of how pathetic she was.
Karma for her own sins.
Namjoon’s lips pressed against Jungkook’s neck, and Jungkook craned his neck to give him better access. “Joon…”
“Yes, baby?”
“Vivian’s not in this building, is she?”
“No,” Namjoon answered. “She’s still at home, getting ready. I told her I was coming by to make a final check on things before the service.”
“Good,” Jungkook said. He looked back up at Namjoon, his eyes hooded with desire. Slick was already dripping out of his cunt, his pussy burning hot with need. He held Namjoon’s gaze as he grabbed one of his hands, and dragged it along his bare stomach, and down until he shoved it into the waistline of his sweats. He jolted, letting out a moan when Namjoon’s fingertips came into contact with his clit, already swollen with need and sensitive.
Jungkook’s other hand reached up to grip at Namjoon’s hair as his brother rested his chin on Jungkook’s shoulder, biting at Jungkook’s ear to elicit moan after moan from him while his fingers worked his clit, twisting and tugging and pressing and circling the nub until Jungkook was left shaking, his legs turning into jelly as he was taken closer and closer to his release.
Just before Jungkook was about to cum, Namjoon removed his fingers and yanked his hand out of Jungkook’s sweats. He made quick work of ridding Jungkook of his pants, tossing them onto one of the chairs behind them, then removed his own jacket and placed it under Jungkook’s feet, before he returned them to the position they had been in. His fingers returned to their work on Jungkook’s clit, driving him back to the edge, and then Namjoon moved his hand down and shoved three fingers into Jungkook’s hot, wet heat at once, stretching him open and making Jungkook cry out.
Jungkook immediately gushed his orgasm all over Namjoon’s fingers.
“So desperate for me, baby,” Namjoon cooed into Jungkook’s ear as he pumped his fingers in and out of Jungkook, dragging his orgasm out as long as he could.
“Joon—Joonie,” Jungkook panted, his legs shaking as he rode out his orgasm.
“Yes, baby?”
“I want you to fuck me against this casket,” Jungkook breathed out. “I want her to see us one last time.”
“Bend over,” Namjoon ordered. Jungkook splayed himself across the casket, making sure to keep his eyes fixated on their dead mother. His legs spread as far as he could manage, he was presenting like the meal of a lifetime for Namjoon.
“Hope you enjoy the show, mama,” Jungkook said to the body as he felt Namjoon line himself up with his entrance and shove inside with one fluid thrust forward. Jungkook’s body jolted forward at the penetration, his cunt feeling like it was being ripped apart by Namjoon’s cock. “Hope you’re watching us, mama. Watching how well I take Joonie’s cock in my cunt. He’s so big, it hurts sometimes, but I can take it. I’ve gotten so good at taking it. Aren’t you proud of me, mama?”
Namjoon didn’t say a word as he plowed into Jungkook time and time again, his cock hitting Jungkook’s cervix with every painful thrust. It was exquisite—they fucked without remorse against the casket, the sounds of their wet skin squelching together filling the room. Anyone who walked by could probably hear the debauchery being committed in that room, and that lit a fire within Jungkook. Anyone could hear his brother fill him with his cock in front of their dead mother’s body in the funeral home. It gave him a thrill.
He only wished that his mother was able to actually see the two of them.
He wanted to rub it in her face that for all the abuse she’d put them through, and all the ways she’d tried to separate the two of them, they still found each other again and again. They still craved each other. They still needed each other.
It didn’t take long before the two of them were cumming, their orgasms mixing together as Namjoon continued to thrust into Jungkook as he spurted his cum inside of him, painting his walls white and pushing his seed as deep into Jungkook’s cervix as he could with each pistoning of his hips.
As they finally caught their breath, bodies still joined together, Jungkook panted out, “I have a plug in my pocket. I can hold your cum inside while you grab it.”
Namjoon moaned, and slowly pulled out of Jungkook’s cunt. Jungkook pressed his hand against himself to keep as much of Namjoon’s cum in him as he could while he waited for the plug. When Namjoon came back, Jungkook instructed him to finger the cum back inside before he shoved the plug in—and Namjoon was so good at doing what he was told, he complied without a second thought, fingering Jungkook’s sopping wet, messy pussy and fucking their cum back into him before he replaced his fingers with the oversized plug.
Jungkook had chosen this specific plug because he knew he wouldn’t be able to flex his pussy to the point of it falling out. It was much too big, the bulb near the base of the plug. It caught on his pussy and locked itself in place.
Once the plug was in place, Jungkook pushed off of the casket and knelt down in front of it, sticking his tongue out. He heard Namjoon let out another moan as he licked their tryst off of the casket, cleaning the polished epoxy. Then, he looked at Namjoon expectantly.
Namjoon knew exactly what to do.
He placed his cock against Jungkook’s lips, pushing inside, and stood still as Jungkook cleaned his cock off, swirling his tongue over it and pushing his nose to the base of Namjoon’s crotch, gagging when the tip of his cock hit the back of Jungkook’s throat. He pulled off of Namjoon with a loud pop, then stuck his tongue back out for Namjoon to put his fingers on it.
Jungkook repeated the same cleaning process on Namjoon’s fingers, making sure any and all evidence of what they’d just done was gone, save for the cum that filled him to the brim, held inside by the knotted plug.
Now, Jungkook was in plain black suit, similar to the one Namjoon was wearing, and they were standing side by side at the front of the congregation of people who had gathered to “celebrate” the life of the bitch they were burying. On Namjoon’s other side stood Vivian, dressed in a ridiculously ugly black dress that made Jungkook want to gag in the worst way possible, and her hair was pinned back into loose curls that hung down her back.
By no means was Vivian ugly. Jungkook actually thought she was insanely gorgeous. But her fashion sense sucked, and she was a clueless bitch. She’d been married to Namjoon for ten years, and it was her obliviousness that made it so easy for Namjoon to pretend he was happily married.
In another reality, Jungkook liked to think that he and Vivian might’ve been friends. Best friends, even. Maybe. But the reality they were currently living in—there was no chance of them being best friends. Jungkook simply maintained a façade with Vivian, pretending to give a shit about her as a brother-in-law when behind closed doors, it was Jungkook that kept Namjoon’s sexual hunger sated. It was Jungkook that was the object of said sexual hunger. It had always been Jungkook that Namjoon wanted to hang on his cock day in and day out, and it would always be Jungkook.
In another reality, Jungkook liked to think maybe he and Namjoon were boyfriends. Not brothers. There’d be no blood relation between them. They’d just be boyfriends. Maybe they’d have met in a cute, romantic way, and built a relationship that was founded on love and honesty. They’d be together publicly, holding hands in front of other people, and wouldn’t have to pretend they weren’t actively feeding into a disgusting codependent addition to one another.
As the funeral sermon continued, Jungkook blocked it all out and thought about him and Namjoon as their fingers continued to dance just barely on the thin line between touching and not giving in. Electricity danced between them, charging the air, and Jungkook wondered if anyone else in the room could sense it, or if it was just him and Namjoon.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Namjoon periodically glancing down at where their hands were, his fingers twitching as if he were fighting the urge to reach out to Jungkook.
Part of Jungkook wondered if the universe made them brothers as a sick joke. Sometimes, he felt like they’d been destined for each other, and the universe had decided to throw in the biggest obstacle it could think of, and so it made them brothers. Their blood relation made their desire for each other impossible, taboo, disgusting. It made them monsters.
They were helpless for each other. Defenseless against the burning need within each of them that screamed out for the other.
The funeral dragged on slowly, and eventually, Jungkook started dissociating to the point he was barely mentally there. It wasn’t until they announced that the actual burial would now take place in the cemetery, and asked for everyone to make their way over that Jungkook was yanked out of his dissociative state—by the explosive sensation of Namjoon touching his hand, sending shockwaves of electricity up Jungkook’s arm that made their way straight to his pussy.
He clenched around the plug still embedded inside of him and nodded when Namjoon pursed his lips just enough that only Jungkook would catch the kiss he was blowing him.
As they lowered his mother’s casket into the ground, Jungkook found that he felt nothing.
Not sadness. Not despair.
Not even anger. Not even revenge.
He’d fucked all of his feelings out with Namjoon before the funeral.
Now, he felt nothing. He felt void.
Well, he did feel one thing.
As the casket containing their now dead mother’s body touched the bottom of her grave, Jungkook and Namjoon looked at each other from across the burial site, their eyes meeting.
They communicated without words. They both knew what the other wanted.
Each other.