Work Text:
The ring isn’t far from home.
Down the walkways of a dreary, damp street, past the buzzing convenience stores, there’s that stumpy building with a few broken windows Taehyung’s explored one too many times.
The stench of rusting metal and abandonment tends to lure in creatures without any other place to be, which makes it fitting that the fighting ring is stationed in the parking lot behind it, out in the empty cold.
Taehyung trudges up, mud seeping into his joggers, and in his hands, he’s got nothing but wrapped tape and a half-eaten jerky, snags another bite as he takes in the vacated area illuminated by a large neon ‘welcome’ sign.
Droplets spitting from the sky land on the dirty platform. There are blotches of blackish crimson smeared in all corners, a pretty colour when he’s not the one bleeding it.
Splinters from the rope dig into Taehyung’s palm as he hauls himself up.
In about 21 hours, right here, he’ll taint the floor with more red.
He won’t be in shoes, nor sweats, and the pulse at the back of his mind will not be as collected, as rhythmic. He won’t have the same awareness as he does now, not even to take in how the rain spills from his strands to dampen the skin beneath his hoodie.
It will be him, one other person, and a pot of money in between them.
He lifts his gaze from the floor.
There, right across from his corner, a shadowy figure thrums.
It’s just smoke, not real. Not there. But in Taehyung’s eyes, it’s leaning against the ropes, ambiguous in height, weight, a black fog hovering over the face because he doesn’t really know what Tokki looks like.
He just knows he’s fast.
In a breath, the figure ascends for him. A shadowed fist, tight and packed, splitting through raindrops to meet Taehyung’s jaw. It feathers away immediately upon contact, disappearing into damp air, and Taehyung sniffs, taking the last bite of dry meat.
The shadows respawn in the corner.
Plastic crinkles in his palm as he tosses it aside and watches as the outline of Tokki rounds up its stance once again.
Taehyung follows.
Tape grits around his palms as he lifts both hands, circles his leg behind him. The pulse behind his eyes sputters. Sounds of plunking water becoming a bass beneath his feet when he staggers forward.
This is a part of practice. Dancing with his own conjurations, creating his own challenge, punishing himself for a loss before it happens. It’s the only preparation he has to beat the inevitable, or what could be if he weren’t so positive he’ll beat him.
He’s never lost before.
In the same place, 21 hours later, Taehyung officially catches sight of Tokki.
They’re a couple of meters away in a field of chaos; a crowd huddled in one humid, unbreathable parking lot below the singular light source, all calling out forms of hit him you cuck! while drowning their sorrows in cheap booze and the thrill of violence.
It’s the first time they’ve met. Tokki’s got this puppy-ish look to his eyes, like he’s waiting to be given a treat. The rest he’ll see when the guy takes that mask off before their match begins, but it’s not their turn yet.
It is cute, the black bunny ears drooping from his hood, a cloth loose around his neck and pulled over his nose. A little lame, but if it’s meant to tempt Taehyung, it’s working. He’s definitely not the size of a bunny.
Judging by his opponent’s build, looks like Taehyung’s shadows hadn’t been far off. The real Tokki is broad-chested, wide-shouldered, his fists pink and calloused, his waist carved to a cinch, and it may not be the most important thing, but the way his ass looks in those loose shorts is ludicrous. Got Taehyung’s insides buzzing with a bit more passion than usual.
He’s not sure if that passion is to pound him to the floor, or pound him to the floor.
Tokki greets him with nothing but a slight tilt of the head, his pretty little eyes glaring assaultively. Taehyung gives a wry smile in return.
His attention snips to the centre when one of the fighters drops, a heavy body slamming onto the platform near Taehyung’s side, and it’s a brutal fall; he’d been dominating for most of the first round. Makes a few angry betters toss food into the ring.
He wipes a splatter of blood off his cheekbone, looks down at his fingertips. Clicks the liquid between his thumb and index, finding no stick, no tack. This fighter’s blood is thin. He loses a lot of it rapidly. If Taehyung were in there with him, he’d worry about making him bleed for longer by slashing him with jabs in tender spots to cut him open until he’s too delirious to make a hit.
He wonders what Tokki’s blood looks like.
Peering upward again through his lashes, he sees the bunny already reciprocating.
His sharp eyebrows are pinched, pupils wide in the direction of Taehyung’s bloody fingers, and probably on how he doesn’t care to wipe them.
It’s their turn now.
The hefty crowd begins adjusting to the rotation, aligning new bets with one another at a table in the far right of the parking lot.
Without doing anything about his dirty hand, Taehyung peels his t-shirt off, leaving him in only the black nylon shorts.
Almost as though magnetized, his eyes are searching for Tokki again.
He might be a little curious what Mister Speedy’s face looks like, though he’s barely able to catch a glimpse as people start to grow rowdy and wild when the speaker holds his arms out.
“Alright, alright.”
The ref points towards Taehyung, and the air thickens.
“In the blue corner, Hongdae’s very own undefeated champion—V!”
He usually blocks out the deafening screeches. He’s less here for people than the winning pool by the end of it.
Slipping between the ropes, Taehyung steps up, padding bare feet across a navy floor. He claps his taped hands together, swiping a tongue across his teeth as the first ripple of tension starts up at the back of his head.
The lack of rain makes it easier to recognize things. Like dark colours, and dented skin. Faces. Feelings.
“In the red corner, we have our visitor, also undefeated, supposedly-“
Someone from Tokki’s corner tosses an empty water bottle at the speaker, he jerks away and laughs nervously. “Right. Undefeated champion from Busan—Tokki!”
Tokki steps up. Mask off.
Taehyung’s wrung-out arms nearly go limp.
Fuck.
Fuck Tokki is beautiful.
The speaker points to the middle of the platform, Taehyung’s feet move before him, the bunny’s leer stabbing into him when they get close.
The sharp, sizzly eyes work so well with the rest of his softly curved features. Pretty lips pursed and wet.
Taehyung wants them to split.
When coming eye-to-eye, it’s more obvious that Taehyung is taller. About an inch, maybe a little more, maybe less. He subtly attempts to smell the guy, but can’t, of course. His nose has gone blind after years of tolerance to all kinds of bodily fluids.
He figures the bunny would smell as nice as he looks though. Of star fruit—like the little sparkles in his iris. Got the kind of nose Taehyung wants to bite and bruise and break, to watch the waterfall of his favourite colour slip between cherry lips to lick at, to litter his muscled, sun-kissed skin with deep imperfections.
Yes.
It hits Taehyung so suddenly—the gut-wrenching urge, one that craves so deeply it tears into him.
He wants Tokki soaked in his blood.
He wants the wispy dark strands dripping with a blotchy substance that smells like him. Watch it dribble from his collarbones, down his sternum, slipping over the curve of his hips like strokes of a paintbrush. Wants it so badly, he’d break his own skin to make it happen.
They tap fists once and back into their respective corners.
Taehyung can’t get the giddy grin off his face and Tokki looks enraged by it, something dark and hollow beneath his lashes as he bounces on the balls of his feet. But Taehyung’s more focused on the pattern on his gloves, the tiny light pink diamonds, just like the tip of his nose. Despite the look of pure malicious intent, the nickname fits so well. He’s rather meek, and wild. Completely naive to what Taehyung has planned to make what he wants happen.
Upon the speaker’s curt whistle, they weave towards each other.
It takes a total of three full seconds of battling for an upper hand—swiping fists, leaning, trading—before Taehyung practically hands it over. Feigns a misstep for Tokki to grasp onto and lurch forward.
Bunny makes the first punch, all crazy-eyed, all serious. It’s sort of laughable.
How much has he bet on this fight? A few hundred? A lifetime?
Tokki would’ve hit him clean if Taehyung hadn’t pulled back just enough for the thick gloves to graze his cheekbone and cut. A satisfied grin forms on his face—quickly smashed off when Tokki goes for a second. He didn’t expect that one. Tokki is certainly fast.
A grumble of ‘holy shit’ drifts into his mind from behind him, and he’s reminded they’re not alone. That this isn’t just a game he’s playing with a cute boy, they’re in the middle of a championship with a little more than nothing to lose. He’s got to make it at least a bit believable.
Taehyung roots himself in place, cracking his neck once to release a bit of pain from the whiplash that left hook gave him.
Tokki looks adorably crazed. Huffing and puffing, nostrils flared, blinded with fogginess. Taehyung might not be entirely gone with rage, but his heartbeat thunders with a mimic of adrenaline and excitement for all different reasons.
He can also hear Tokki’s heartbeat loud and clear. A staccato rhythm banging against his ribcage unforgivingly, yet he zeros in on Taehyung as though his own body is just an afterthought. But to Taehyung, it seems like the little thing is singing for him, asking to fist it from his chest and take a bite.
His tongue rolls behind his teeth.
“C’mon, baby bunny,” he murmurs low, a curled hand gesturing.
Tokki’s face goes red.
This time, Taehyung sees his shadows in him.
The way he slides across the platform, his wrapped feet making nary a tap as he moves—and for the blink of a moment, Taehyung thinks the bunny’s disappeared into the air just like smoke.
Then his stomach is caved in. He hunches over in a wet cough as Tokki’s fist drives into him and twists—he’s sure his skin has slightly torn under the glove.
A rill of rouge drips down as Tokki shuffles back, and it’s perfect. Looks like a gorgeous sort of fabric rolling off his palms, waiting to be worn.
There’s another swing at him, assuming he’s distracted. Taehyung tilts himself aside to block it. Tokki’s eyes blow open as he grins and veers forward, and immediately, the bunny catches him by wrapping an arm around the neck to lock him in a clinch.
Taehyung likes this position.
He can finally smell the sweet sweat that clings to Tokki’s body, the struggling bunny’s nape hairs threading through his fingers, and the blood from his palms sticking silky strands together.
“—fucking kill you,” Tokki utters between them. Taehyung chuckles, adjusting to slip his own arm underneath and push at him. From that, he’s able to hold the big guy back against the ropes, the clinch giving way to drive a few sharp punches upward. He delights in the sight of Tokki’s jaw bruising under his knuckles.
He draws a breath into his lungs when he notices a seeping cut on the shell of the bunny’s flushed ear, not really remembering when it happened. It’s a small thing, not large enough to swell the whole thing. The colour slipping from it is pretty, the texture not as light as he expected for skin so soft.
He presses his mouth underneath his lobe to whisper hotly, “I could drop you right here, sweetheart. D’you understand that?”
Tokki pants and wriggles in his hold, gruffing, “Then try.”
He’s realized Taehyung’s holding back. Letting some hits slide. Letting himself bleed.
“That’s enough,” Ref calls at their side, and Taehyung keeps himself from breaking his jaw.
“One minute.”
They’re torn apart by a hand pushing at his chest.
The call-outs from below the platform grow almost unbearably loud as their one-minute break begins.
Although Tokki’s flushed out from all the struggling, he doesn’t pull off the ropes, letting what appears to be his coach stand up on the ring behind him and place an ice pack on his chest.
He’s already so close to Taehyung’s design.
Sliced ear dripping, all the way down his neck, cheeks blossoming pink and purplish, with smears of dark red that aren’t just his own, but also Taehyung’s, all across his gloves, arms, chest. The rise and fall of his pecs slows, and he doesn’t break eye contact with Taehyung as he walks backward into his own corner.
The pit of Taehyung’s gut jarringly crackles to see him like this. Dishevelled, disproportionate, his semblance flying above them somewhere.
It might be delusional to assume the bunny’s got the same sort of idea on his mind—staring at him all heady, unlike before, his eyelids dipped and lips parted. Just quiet. As though he’s not even taking in what his coach is saying in his ear. Taehyung likes that.
It feels longer than a minute as he retreats, time slowing down to the occasional tick, lighting dim and flickery, just him and Tokki and nobody else. Not even the chump wiping up his bleeding skin. Luckily, the cuts are deep enough to open back up after a bit more playing.
It’s not surprising that Taehyung himself will already need stitches.
He rubs a thumb at the swollen skin under the gash on his cheek. There’s wetness running down his face, over his neck and sticky in other unseeable places.
Too much of it not on his canvas.
He can tell the bunny is watching as he collects some liquid and lathers it over his sheathed knuckles, does the same with the other hand before confirming his suspicion. Sure enough, Tokki’s looking, and making the same sort of mortified, encapsulated expression he’s been carrying every time Taehyung pulls something like this.
That’s what he spends the first half of his break doing, the second half he spends gulping down water and levelling his breathing.
Most of it is spent ignoring the useless advice shouted at him from the faceless shadows below. Many assume that just because he doesn’t have a coach means he’s directionless. His first coach is long dead, Taehyung’s never needed one since.
“Times up!”
The second round goes about the same. But with much less painting than Taehyung would have hoped.
Tokki doesn’t let himself get hit that easily. He makes Taehyung work for it, a rather rare but not so surprising feat in quite a while. Since Taehyung’s been so caught up trying to splatter his skin rather than actually fight him, he’ll agree he’s not at his very best.
The round ends with Tokki having an upper hand in total hits landed, or so he thinks. He’s not paying too much attention to the specifics.
“Center?” he offers with a point to the floor as the third round begins, and Tokki hesitates.
Facing off in the center doesn’t give Taehyung the advantage. He’ll be overtaken by speed in jabs, and he can’t easily get under. Not the most ideal position to be in, but Taehyung’s not looking to attack. He’s looking to get as close as possible.
As expected, Tokki’s wariness rises enough that he gruffs a refusal, instead stomping a light foot to encourage Taehyung to come after him.
Interesting.
Lifting a playful eyebrow, he approaches a bouncing bunny, swiftly raising his left fist.
Just as he hoped, Tokki remembers his technique of fainting and going the opposite way—the falsified technique. Without making a move to dodge the first hit, Tokki rounds a left hook before Taehyung’s fist could even curl into another one, and lands at a point on his jaw perfectly.
A little too perfectly, because the world’s axis suddenly tilts, and all Taehyung makes out is a flickering neon sign before white spots cloud his vision.
“ —s’ over. The fight’s over.” An irritating voice speaks over him, louder than the humming from the bright sign.
His lashes flutter open. For just a moment, lying back and gazing up at a night sky filled with quiet stars feels peaceful enough.
Then he moves, heeding his surroundings as the ref pulls him to sit up against the corner.
The sight of his blood on the floor grounds him.
Puffing a laugh, he pinches the bridge of his nose as the ref asks him questions about his head that he really doesn’t care to answer right now, even though it is pounding and he can’t hear through the intense ringing in one of his ears.
Tokki is his priority.
Attempting to lift his chin high enough, Taehyung finds the bunny. First spots the pretty orbs that have captured him all night, and gives him another lazy smile. It’s a bit painful as his lip tears at a corner.
Tokki’s eyes drift all over his slumped body. They’re blank now. He meets Taehyung’s gaze for a total of three seconds before snapping his head around to his stressed coach, the guy calling for him with a warning.
Only then does Taehyung begin scoping beyond the platform.
He lifts himself—feels like his feet are sinking into the floor even while leaning against the ropes. Tokki got him pretty good.
“You’ve got to leave,” the ref says in his ear before escaping the platform in half a second.
Losing tonight didn’t go anyone’s way, especially not those who bet on Taehyung’s win.
Which—they hadn’t been wrong to. He could have won. He would have. This one just didn’t matter to him.
"You get paid out, fucker?"
Something splashes against his back, and Taehyung winces as cold trickles down his spine. He glares behind, but it’s too dark to make out faces from where he stands. Not to mention the mob of bodies and fists zipping in all different directions.
"V!" another voice calls.
It takes him three scans around the floors to find where it’s coming from, eyes locking on the hand that reaches for him. He takes it without a second thought.
His feet hit the ground, and his jaw drops as Tokki’s grip tightens.
A scarf gets thrown around his neck.
“Wrap it.”
He listens, looping it around once to cover half his face, using his free hand because for some reason Tokki won’t let go of his other one. Looking back up, he finds the bunny masked with the same cloth he walked in with, hood over his head.
“Cute.” He pulls a bunny ear over Tokki’s eye, and a hand snatches his wrist.
“Fuck you.”
Bunny throws the ear back and whirls around, holding Taehyung’s hand at the base of his spine to drag him through the horde. Their palms are sweaty, cut open and stained with injuries, but they fit like puzzle pieces.
The room Tokki pushes him into is somehow more congested than the parking lot. The air tastes gritty, soot catching at his throat, and it’s so dark, nothing but beams of moonlight spilling through glassless windows.
Taehyung has no idea where they are. He zoned out watching the way his slender fingers brush across Tokki’s. By the looks of it, it’s one of the rooms in the decrepit building.
He stumbles inside, straight away noticing how the ground is covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt that rises at every step. He’s suddenly grateful he found his shoes on the way out.
Tokki slams the battered wooden door shut, then slams Taehyung right up against it and tears the scarf off his face, his own hood already on the floor somewhere.
Adrenaline hasn’t faded just yet between them, at least not for Taehyung. If it did, the gaping cut under his eye would beg for more attention. All he can sense right now is the prickling up his back as Tokki scans him thoroughly.
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Taehyung tilts his head.
Another inch forward. Tokki stabs him with a finger against his chest. Taehyung wants it to sink into his skin. “That fight was a fluke,” the bunny says through his teeth, shoving the finger in hard enough that it stings. “You treated it like a fucking… like a…”
Like a game.
“You fought nothing like I’ve heard you do. You didn’t attempt anything—didn’t take any risks or throw heavy punches, barely any for fucks sake.”
“That’s exactly how I fought. You just beat me.”
He shrugs, a little quirk to his lips. “Congrats.”
The punch Tokki clocks him with nearly drops him again, before he’s tugged back against the door, a forearm pushed at his throat. He coughs, spitting blood at their feet. There’s only numbness and occasional throbbing on that side of his face now.
"Jeez—"
“Don’t fucking play with me.” Jungkook’s arm fits like a damn rock against him. Fucking muscles. Taehyung is too tired and delirious to do more than just grab at it. “I don’t care what you think about me, what you heard or whatever, I don’t know- but I didn’t need a pity fight like that one. It’s disrespectful—”
“Disrespectful?”
Taehyung gets both hands on the guy’s chest and shoves. Dust puffs into the air when Tokki hits the ground.
Straddling him, Taehyung surprises himself with how swiftly he manages to pin both his hands above his head. “Bunny,” he scoffs, a few deep huffs leaving his lips, “I let you put me to sleep on that floor—my floor.”
“Exactly.” Tokki grunts, appearing equally too exhausted to break himself free but still trying. His blood is thick alright. “Nobody, ugh—nobody fucking does that!”
He goes silent when Taehyung folds over to bring their faces close, mouth curling. Dipping his head down, he appreciates the sight Tokki’s bare, sweat-sheened torso makes beneath him—arched, his weak points presented.
“Wanna know the real reason I did what I did?”
Tokki’s hooded eyes are locked on Taehyung’s lips.
“Yes,” he utters. Too small for being so loud a moment ago.
“Again?”
“Fucking tell me.”
Taehyung chuckles, a finger trailing down his pinned arm and over his ribs, dipping into the soft curve his waist makes before rounding out. Tokki simply bites down on his lip, body leaning for the touch when it leaves.
Taehyung lifts the same finger—a colour now beaming on the pad.
Hovering over silence, an echo:
Badum, Badum, Badum Badum, BadumBadum
Taehyung suppresses a pleased hum as the bloody finger dips between Tokki’s collarbones and travels down between his pecs. Paint decorates the pale skin just as he imagines it should, leaving more rouge beneath the dark liquid when Tokki burns at the touch.
“When I saw you,” Taehyung grumbles, gazing fondly at the purpled blooms around his face, then down at the cherry, separated lips licked wet, “I found myself not wanting to just fight you—that would have been disrespectful. Dishonouring.”
With every little hitch of breath, every subtle movement the bunny makes to his touch, Taehyung gets bolder. Splays a palm flat over his navel, dragging it upwards, feeling up his flesh until his fingers round the neck gently, a cool collection of their blood and sweat beneath them. Almost as though Taehyung’s hand instructed it, Tokki lifts his chin, his eyes hazing over.
“But dressing you,” Taehyung continues, “painting you with red… seemed much more fitting.”
Tokki shivers.
Laid out on the dirty floor, hands bound above him, he’s beautiful.
Taehyung slides off his lap and slips between his legs, fitting his thighs under, and fuck.
He sees him clearly now. There’s nothing prettier than a meek, lost bunny dripping red.
“I’m painted,” Tokki huffs, feathery and breathless and wild.
His pupils flicker left and right, unable to choose between Taehyung’s, paying not a sliver of heed, not a care in the world as the shackle of Taehyung’s hand around his wrists loosens and rests on his bare thigh. In fact, he makes it worse by lying completely still, and asking: “What next?”
Taehyung’s nails dig crescents.
“Next,” he curdles, bent over to confess his desire into the bunny’s mouth, “I appreciate the art I’ve made of you.”
“I want that.”
“You want that? After what I’ve done?”
It’s obvious. It had been obvious the moment the pressure of his pumping heart met Taehyung’s rhythm—when he gave his opponent those eyes, and pretended they meant he only wanted him dead.
Tokki hooks an arm around his neck.
“You’ve already shown me a lack of respect. Show me again.”
A hot palm lowers and pushes at Taehyung’s crotch, lips brushing against lips.
“Show me with this.”
Taehyung purses his lips, a tongue licking at his bottom one. He pokes his own tongue out to taste, but can’t get enough.
“Tell me your name.”
Scoffing and grabbing at Taehyung’s chest, Bunny asks, ‘s’it really matter?’, the words coarse with a thick, uncontrolled lust that he can’t hold back anymore.
Taehyung holds him down by running fingers through his hair.
“Just tell me.”
Scratches run down his back deep enough they should leave marks—they better.
“S’Jungkook.”
His lungs shrink.
Jungkook.
“Don’t remember it though.”
“I won't.”
Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook
Jungkook moans as their lips meet, dirty and open, iron sliding over their tongues as they tangle them. His hand hasn’t left Taehyung’s crotch, he digs the heel of his palm against the outline, and it makes him hiss.
“You want it?” Taehyung dips to press hot kisses down his sweaty neck, licking at the taste of salt—the taste of Jungkook. Doesn’t realize he’s bitten him until the bunny chokes.
“Yeah.” It sounds like he’s smiling. He’d come back up to see it, but the thump of his blood against Taehyung’s tongue feels too good. “Yeah, god.”
Each suckle coerces the little sounds to grow louder. Nimble, taped fingers tangle in Taehyung’s damp hair, then he rolls their hips together, and the bunny throws his head back. “Fuck. Yes—”
“Yeah?” He bites an earlobe, Jungkook’s back lifts at the next press of hips, the pool of pleasure lying molten in Taehyung’s stomach.
“Fuck, V. Kiss me. Kiss me.”
Instead, Taehyung lifts his chin and nibbles the skin under his jaw, pulling the softness between his teeth to colour it.
Jungkook’s body is slimy against him. Dirty fluids sliding together and spit-slicked mouths clicking and sucking, nothing about them is neat, and it isn’t meant to be.
Taehyung accidentally slices through the inside of Jungkook’s bottom lip with a canine and the bunny growls, pushing his chest .
“Watch it, dickh—mmph-” Taehyung roughly pulls his head back by the hair to lick into his mouth, tongue searching for the cut. He moans at the metallic tang on his taste buds.
“F’cking- insane—” Jungkook groans between the kisses, but his hands are clawing at Taehyung’s waist, thrusting up desperately.
Taehyung only pulls back when their cocks are fully hard and grinding painfully against each other through thin shorts.
He catches his breath for a second.
“Tell me you brought something.”
Jungkook grins.
Shoving a hand into his tiny pocket, he pulls out a little container and it makes Taehyung cough.
“Isn’t that what you use on your face, Jungkook?”
Scooping a ridiculously giant wad of petroleum jelly onto three fingers, he has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Shut up, man. S’perfectly fine. Don’t have condoms though, are you—”
“I’m good.”
Jungkook nods. “Me too.”
Taehyung steals the container and places it beside, quickly gets to helping Jungkook take his shorts off.
“Shit.” He bites at a nail, pressing his thumb into the inside of Jungkook’s thigh and staring.
The moon highlights in blue over him, thighs glistening like the ocean does late at night, the dried-up red looking violet on porcelain.
Like a doll.
“Hurry up,” Taehyung exhales, urging the bunny’s hand lower.
Jungkook spreads open a cheek and uses his other hand to smear the jelly in between, all while grinning at Taehyung’s frown. “Impatient?”
Without warning, Taehyung slides his palm from the thighs to his hole, three fingers smearing over the wet jelly before one slips in.
“Oh-” Jungkook chokes.
“Yeah,” Taehyung grits, a heated breath. “I’m fucking impatient.”
It’s not a statement, but a warning.
“That’s—Ah-” The finger crooks to reach deep places as he pumps, the pace slow and steady. One of his hands lies against the floor to keep himself up and watch the bunny break down beneath him, dirt sticking against his damp palm. It’s the last thing he’s worried about.
At Jungkook’s plea for more, another, more more, Taehyung adds another finger, moaning lowly as his hole sucks it in and squeezes so tight.
“Relax.”
“Mmn, fuck you. It’s cold and wet and dry in here—fucking uncomfortable.”
“You brought us here, Jungkook.”
“St—oh. Stop calling me that.”
Desperate fingers dig into his forearm as he continues thrusting. Jungkook looks delirious—forehead creased and eyes shut, tongue at the roof of his mouth to keep from whining in that pretty way he has a few times now.
Taehyung eyes the drip of red that falls off the curve of his waist when his back arches inward.
This time, the sound that rips from his throat is raw.
“There. Again, V, again—”
Taehyung twists his wrist, rubbing small circles at that same spot, and Jungkook trembles.
He snarls and straightens, swiping the hand from the floor onto Jungkook’s skin, and the dirt draws in streaks across him, fingers stopping at his nipple to roll a pad over. “Gonna fuck you now, yeah?”
Jungkook lifts a leg, resting it over Taehyung’s shoulder. He’s smiling now. So fucking gone.
“Make it good.”
Taehyung turns that into a promise in his mind.
Jungkook spreads his legs to help his cock slip in much easier, and the shorts riding low on Taehyung’s hips meet under his thighs once completely seated. Completely stretched out.
The bunny mumbles something akin to ‘hooooly fucking shitttt’ but Taehyung’s busy blinking away the vignette straining his vision.
Oh god, he hasn’t felt a tight hole like this way too long.
If he hadn’t stopped, he would’ve come right away. It’d be disappointing to waste such a lovely curation in the first second. There’s still so much he wants to see.
After a few agonizing seconds of Jungkook whimpering in his ear and sucking around him, Taehyung wills himself to move. It’s interesting to see the bunny huffing and puffing the same way he was before he punched Taehyung in the face, all angry and foggy.
This time, it’s while he’s drooling and being rammed on his cock.
“Fast, faster, V—”
“Taehyung.”
“Taehyung,” Jungkook moans, and a scalding heat plops into his gut.
“Fuck me faster-”
Tangling Jungkook’s hair between his digits, he yanks the strands, keeping his head down when the boy tries again and again to take control. Jungkook arches and grabs and pushes. Knocking Taehyung out must’ve got to his head.
“Oh, you still don’t understand, sweetheart.”
His entire weight cages Jungkook, chest to chest, hips sat up against him. At that, the bunny sighs and slackens, though he huffs irritatedly, like he didn’t mean to go limp that easy.
Whispering into the soft spot of his ear, “I made you.” Jungkook’s hands tighten at his biceps.
Just to see it again, he flicks at the wound at Jungkook’s ear, pinching tight to watch his sharp eyebrows crease in pain, the blood dripping in rills across his fingers. He lathers them gently over the pale skin of his neck, drawing dark shapes there. Roses, hearts.
And just then, a shadow slithers out from the veins on Taehyung’s wrist. A phantom, like the one he saw last night, creeping down his fingertips to Jungkook’s neck and melting into the skin, a strip of black—an inky collar—moulding with the blood.
The whole time, Jungkook remains utterly still, quiet, simply reading Taehyung through the dark in his eyes.
Then, Jungkook loosens. Hands falling to either side of his head, lashes fluttery as he looks up at him. He relaxes. Listens.
Badum
Badum, Badum, Badum Badum Badum Badum Badumbadumbadumbadumbadumbadumbadumbadum
Taehyung rolls his hips, lowers his head to bite at Jungkook’s strained bruised neck and ruin it more. Doesn’t care about how slow and languid it is when he wants it to keep feeling like this—every inch of the soft, grippy insides squeezing to milk him dry—he stifles all sorts of heady sounds over his bottom lip.
“That’s it,” he rasps. He squeezes his waist and bursts forward once, then drags himself out. Repeats this action a few times until the bunny’s head is tossed aside, his hands curling into fists. “Oh fuck fuck fuck-”
Jungkook comes. He actually comes, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, unable to hide the lewd roll of his eyes.
His legs won't stop quivering after it, so Taehyung grips the doughy flesh to keep him still.
“Don’t move.”
The bunny’s eyes widen horrifically as Taehyung bends over and shoves into him at a pitiless, unbearable pace.
“Tae—ah, ahn—”
Hands scrape and grasp at his shoulders, nails sinking into his shoulder blades. Taehyung knows what’s dripping down his back, and god does it turn him on.
Thinks it can’t get any better. Until Jungkook begins crying.
Taehyung’s hips stutter when he notices it. Tears falling from each corner, splitting between the bloody mess on the shell of his ear, disappearing between his teeth, filling his starry eyes and drowning them.
“Want to stop?”
Jungkook sobs, shaking his head once, twice. “Kiss—”
Their lips clash, Taehyung tastes more iron at the impact, but isn’t sure who it’s from. He moans when the saltiness slips between them, locks the bunny completely when he begs for the weight to come back.
Spit and tears trickle across Jungkook’s cheeks. Taehyung imagines ribbons of white staining his face alongside them. Wants his little muse entirely messed up—though sure he’s already reached that point.
Maybe he’ll test the limits someday when neither of them is spent from a tournament.
But now, with his own tank emptying rapidly, his movements are growing less pointed, limbs aching for a rest.
“Where?” He nibbles at Jungkook’s earlobe, suckles on the last bits of tang.
“Anywhere.”
A weird idea pops into his head at that.
“In your hair?”
Despite himself, Jungkook coughs out a laugh from his chest. “Fuck no,” he says with no bite, just wet and whimpery.
Taehyung’s thrusts slow down, turning into a rough grind to have the grappling heat swallow his cock again, the tightest part crushing his head. When Jungkook mewls and sobs and meets the deepest grind with his own hips, Taehyung lets out a guttural moan and slips out, jerking himself off.
It gets him all dizzy to finally let go.
He’s so glad his last brushstrokes on Jungkook’s skin lie as shiny ropes under his thighs, each spurt clattering a bliss up his spine and muffling his ears.
One bead lands over the bunny’s flushed, pink-headed cock, and the pretty thing looks absolutely over with but also jolting up and seeking Taehyung’s teasing touch.
Using the cum on his hands, he wraps a palm around and strokes Jungkook’s weeping shaft. Pumps up and down with no real tempo to it, no consideration, no delicacy.
The bunny shakes violently when he comes again, tears rolling down his face, nail bites tearing into Taehyung’s wrist one last time when he stops the fist.
“Gghh—”
It takes a few seconds for the shaking to come to a stop.
When it does, Taehyung slowly lets go of his cock and smiles. He looks so pretty broken.
As Jungkook takes his time awakening from the post-haze, Taehyung kisses at his cheekbones, licking at his tears, then lathers a cum-stained fingertip over the inky collar still around Jungkook’s throat.
It’s just smoke. Not really there.
But to Taehyung, it’s everything.
“You won’t see me again.”
Taehyung nods, but he knows that’s not true.
Because even as Tokki pulls his shorts back up and grabs his hoodie in a rush to get the fuck out, Taehyung knows he’d rather bleed out for eternity than forget anything that happened today.
The little peer the guy gives him over his shoulder before leaving says much more than it should. Like he’s also searching for something in the stars that he can’t find down here. Like he carries them in his eyes in hopes someone else would reach out for them.
Or maybe, he just wants Taehyung to follow him. To learn more about him, what he does after a fight, after a fuck, or even more, where he lives.
Taehyung doesn’t need to. He’ll find him again, one way or another.
Because Jungkook is wearing his blood.
He is his now.