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Jimin stumbles out of the club with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other.
The street’s buzzing with life, music and laughter. The smell of cigarettes and fried chicken mix with the scent of alcohol and sweat; all things Jimin’s used to on Saturday nights in Itaewon. What he isn’t used to is going home alone, sober and unsatisfied; a true waste of sparkly leather jacket and pretty eye makeup.
“How fucking hard is it to find a goddamn car?” He whines to his phone, shaking his head before shoving the device in the back pocket of his jeans.
Jimin runs a hand through his hair, taking a large gulp of his lukewarm beer and throwing it in a nearby trash can. He really doesn’t want to take the bus home; it’s over an hour drive and drunk assholes are always a bother at this hour of the night in a neighborhood like this. But he also doesn’t want to stand in front of a club at hell o’clock waiting for a car to accept his ride.
As he’s debating what is the less depressing option, a couple of teenagers walk by him in their slacks and leather jackets, whining about having to go to school tomorrow. Jimin’s eyes follow them, unable to stop his head from shaking in disapproval. At least he behaved well when he was still a student. He only started to hang around guys in motorcycles after he graduated.
When the two students disappear inside a bar, Jimin crosses his arms, chewing on his bottom lip. He feels a bit stupid for putting on makeup and coming here only to leave alone. But it is what it is; better to leave alone than to entertain an asshole who would probably fuck him poorly and leave him hanging (it’s happened before and more than once).
The quicker he starts walking to the nearest bus station, the faster he will get under his covers and hate his existence until he eventually falls asleep before having to wake up and go to work. With that depressing resolution, Jimin sighs heavily and turns around rather abruptly, bumping shoulders with someone else.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Jimin quickly apologizes, lifting his eyes up to the person he just slammed himself into, and oh. Jimin widens his eyes. “Hi.”
Sharp eyes blink at him, black hair falling around his pretty face. He looks different from Jimin’s hazy memories, but it’s him, it’s definitely him. Same button nose, same pink lips, same piercing gaze. Did he ever catch that man’s name before he put his pants back on and took off without leaving his number behind? Most likely not. Jimin feels like he would remember it if he had.
“Hey, stranger,” the man replies, voice even deeper than Jimin recalls it to be. Dressed in a colorful unbuttoned shirt and a white tee underneath, he looks Jimin up and down, pupils turning just a bit darker. “I really never thought I’d see you again.”
Fuck. Jimin also never thought he’d see him again, or else, despite his usual blithe persona, he would have searched for the man in these bars and clubs he spends too much of his nights in. Why wouldn’t he? This stranger is simply too good at what Jimin needs men to be and they are more than often not. He kind of regretted leaving in the middle of the night.
But oh, well. As fate would have it.
“Did you want to see me again?” Jimin pulls his lips up in a smirk, hands buried in his jeans back pockets. “Took me home, fucked me twice, didn’t even tell me your name.”
“You didn’t tell me yours, either.” The stranger lifts an eyebrow, toying with the necklace hanging from his neck. “And you’re the one who just left, remember?”
“I’m Park Jimin,” he introduces himself, bowing his head. “Nice to meet you…”
A tiny smile plays on the other man’s lips. “Min Yoongi.”
“Min Yoongi,” Jimin repeats barely above a whisper, dragging out the syllables. “Pretty name.”
“Thanks.” Min Yoongi looks beyond Jimin for a moment. “Alone?”
And because Jimin’s skin has started tingling and he doesn’t really want to go home without what he went out for, he tilts his head to the side, lightly bites at his bottom lip and mutters, as suggestively as he can muster:
“Not anymore.”
Min Yoongi’s lips mirror the smirk on Jimin’s own.
Making out with strangers in cramped bathrooms of questionable bars that thankfully lock from the inside isn’t something new for Jimin, but it’s certainly very undignified. Not that he gives a fuck. He’s horny, he’s needy and has a condom shoved in the front pocket of his jeans.
Also, as far as strangers go, Min Yoongi isn’t really one; on top of now knowing his name, Jimin went to his apartment, for crying out loud. Laid down on his bed, cleaned himself in his bathroom. Not a stranger at all! Granted, he was a stranger the first time they made out in a cramped bathroom like this, but he isn’t one anymore. Jimin’s seen him naked and has had his cock in his ass. They know one another biblically. That’s more knowledge than Jimin has of most people in his life.
He had dropped his leather jacket over the toilet’s lid. Not very sanitary, but what other choice did he have? It’s hot and that piece of clothing would’ve made it quite hard for Yoongi to trace his fingers along the muscles of Jimin’s arms the way he’s doing right now. Memories come and go; he remembers Yoongi pulling at his hair, biting at his neck, pressing his hard cock against Jimin’s, expressing a wish to rip his clothes apart. He remembers rushed kisses, teeth and hands, remembers a cab ride and being pushed against an elevator’s mirror. Jimin remembers being told to bend over and Yoongi sliding two lubed up fingers into him before fucking Jimin on all fours in the comfort of his creaky bed.
They were patient that night; they had had a few to drink, flirted for about an hour. Even danced a little. Jimin was playing a bit hard to get, and Yoongi seemed to enjoy the little cat and mouse game. It was all a bit slow, a bit sensual.
It’s none of that now. Maybe because it’s 2am and they both have had a rough night. Maybe it’s because, in a way, the two of them know what to do and how to do it. Maybe it’s because they are both too horny to care about where or how they do it. Or maybe Jimin’s just looking for an excuse to justify the fact that yes, he is about to shove his pants down and let this semi-stranger fuck him on a questionably clean bar bathroom that locks from the inside.
“I have a condom,” he mutters when Yoongi busies himself in undoing Jimin’s belt. He pulls the piece off him and throws it over the jacket, taking his lips to Jimin’s again. He swirls his tongue inside, a hand on Jimin’s hip as the other pulls at his hair, bringing it back just enough to give Yoongi access to his nape. Lips parted, eyes closed, Jimin trembles as this semi-stranger sucks a bruise on his skin.
He normally wouldn’t let it happen, knows he shouldn’t let it happen (he has to work in less than 12 hours!), but there’s not a bone in his overheated body that doesn’t want it to happen. Yoongi laps at the skin, pressing his pretty pink lips on it and Jimin gasps under his breath, hands holding onto the other man’s shirt. “Not too hard, I can’t bruise.”
“Work on Monday, huh?” Yoongi mumbles, mouthing the side of his jaw, lighting biting at the skin. He untucks Jimin’s shirt, pressing his fingers on the soft skin. “I’d love to mark you up, you didn’t let me last time.”
“Cramped bathroom, someone’s gonna come knocking soon,” Jimin reminds him with a breathless giggle. Yoongi’s nails run over Jimin’s smooth back, making him gasp even louder. He keeps his eyes on the other man, enjoying how dark they are, how glossy. Yoongi’s cheeks are flushed, his long black hair no longer tidied up. “We need to hurry up.”
Yoongi licks his lips, letting his hands fall from Jimin’s skin.
“Turn around, then, Park Jimin. I’ll give you what you want.”
Heart hammering in his ears, Jimin turns, hands pressed against the cold stone wall. He can hear the faint sounds of pop music coming from the bar they stumbled into twenty minutes ago, but the bathroom walls are thick enough for it to only pulse around them. Mouth dry, tongue stuck on his bottom lip, Jimin turns his face in time to see Yoongi placing his phone and wallet on top of Jimin’s jacket and belt. He doesn’t untuck himself; it seems as if it’s not time for that yet. Instead, he pulls at Jimin’s own clothes, tugging both his pants and underwear down.
The cold air hits his bottoms, and now would be an excellent time for his brain to pick up on the fact that fucking a semi-stranger in a bar’s bathroom is a bad idea, but Jimin’s cock is hard and his hole is fluttering and all he really needs right now is to be full of cock and not the moral police inside his own brain to come and ruin the party.
“All pretty and smooth,” Yoongi whispers, both hands holding his asscheeks apart. “Just like I remember.”
“You think about that night often, Min Yoongi?”
Yoongi doesn’t reply. Instead, he drops down on his knees and licks a stripe from Jimin’s balls to his needy hole. It’s so unexpected that Jimin moans way louder than he should have, a hand flying to his mouth as Yoongi spits on his hole and tongues it, lapping at it until the tip slides through the first ring of muscles. Jimin doesn’t remember the last time someone ate him out like this, so he feels weak within seconds. He holds onto the sink next to him, and Yoongi helps by having a hand on his naked hip.
He fucks his tongue fast, hard, faced buried between Jimin’s asscheeks, humming to himself as Jimin’s cock grows into full hardeness, trapped between his stomach and the wall. It’s filthy, wet, insane. Yoongi shouldn’t, but he is, oh, God, he is. Jimin feels like he could cum just from that, just from tongue-fucking, and when has he ever cum from so little? It’s ridiculous, really, but the more Yoongi shoves his tongue into him, the closer Jimin feels to the edge.
Keeping himself up is a hard task, but he manages. Legs trembling, cock leaking, drool falling from his open lips. He clenches around the muscle and Yoongi’s nails dig at his hip; not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to make Jimin’s bloodstream run a bit faster. He doesn’t stop, though, doesn’t relent. Yoongi keeps lapping at his hole, fucking his tongue as far as it can go, and Jimin’s really, he’s really–
“Stop,” he whines. “Please, I need your cock, fuck, Yoongi, please.”
Yoongi pulls his tongue out of his clenching hole, lightly biting at Jimin’s sensitive thighs, cleaning the wetness of his lips on his skin. When he gets to his feet, Yoongi nibbles at Jimin’s ear, each hand on Jimin’s hips, clothed cock pressing on his naked ass.
“You said you have a condom?” He mutters, licking his ear. Jimin trembles, nodding. “Is it my size, Jimin? If you remember, I’m quite big.”
“If I wanted a small cock, I’d use the dildo I have at home.”
Yoongi breathes out a chuckle, hand sliding down to the place between Jimin’s legs. Without finesse, he slides a finger inside. It’s wet because of the saliva, but it still burns a little.
“You’re sassy, Jimin-ssi, I like that.” He pumps his fingers in and out fast. “We still don’t have lube. We can go back to my pla–”
“Drop the honorific, you have your fingers in me, for fucks sake.”
“Brat.”
“Fuck me like this,” Jimin tells him, every inch of his body pulsing with want. “I don’t care if there’s no lube, just fuck me.”
There’s a moment, a moment that’s filled with an intake of breath and a harder press Yoongi’s fingers on his soft skin. “Are you sure?”
“I like it when it hurts,” Jimin whispers, chewing on his bottom lip, hole unfortunately clenching around nothing. “The condom’s in my pants.”
Yoongi wastes no time, but really, what man would?
He gets down and fishes the object from his abandoned pants. Jimin pulls in deep breaths, head resting against the stone wall, heart pulsing in his ears, needness clinging to his semi-naked skin. And as much as Jimin is a visual kind of guy, he prefers to focus on the sounds and sensations this time; Yoongi unzipping his pants, ripping the condom package, rolling it on his thick cock, positioning himself in between Jimin’s legs, rubbing his head against his fluttering hole.
Jimin hears when Yoongi spits on his shaft, spreading it along his length, sighing in relief at finally touching himself. How hard must he be after making out a little and fucking his tongue into Jimin’s hole? Does he get off on giving pleasure? Good. That’s exactly the type of man Jimin needs and is so damn hard to find.
“Do it,” Jimin asks because he’s not one to beg. “Stop making me wait.”
“Demanding little brat,” Yoongi huffs before intertwining his fingers on Jimin’s hair to pull at it. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll give it to you as good as I did that night.”
“Is that a promise?”
Yoongi chuckles, cock head teasing Jimin’s hole. “It’s just a fact.”
He holds Jimin’s buttcheek apart while he punches the tip inside. The stretch is immediate and it does knock the breath out of Jimin’s lungs. He rests his forehead on the wall, hand flying to Yoongi’s naked butt, nails digging at the skin. Yoongi doesn’t complain or tells him to stop it; instead, he huffs out a moan, pushing more of his cock into Jimin’s heat. The saliva and the condom’s slickness don’t do much; it’s tight and dry, but Jimin wouldn’t have it any other way.
Yoongi pulls it back all the way to the tip and plunges it inside again, the burn mixing with pleasure in the exact way Jimin loves it so much. He moans, the thickness of Yoongi’s cock is already splitting him open and the man’s not even halfway inside. Jimin pushes back, can’t help himself, and the moan that escapes through Yoongi’s lips is enough to swell his chest. They both grunt and moan, and push and pull, and it’s dry, but it’s perfect, it’s tight, but it fits. It has to fit, it fitted before, it will fit again.
“So fucking tight, Jimin, fuck,” Yoongi grunts, both hands on Jimin’s sweaty hips, sliding out before punching it in again. Jimin feels a bit weak in the knees; it’s been a while since he took cock like this. “Are you good, do you wanna stop?”
“Stop being gentle, Yoongi,” is what Jimin replies. “Fuck me harder. I won’t break.”
Yoongi curses under his breath, nails digging at Jimin’s skin before pulling out until only the tip is inside, spitting on his cock again. He pushes it in again, tentatively, then out, in, out. It feels good, but it’s not what Jimin asked for. He knows they are essentially strangers, but it shouldn’t be that difficult to follow a simple request. Before he can open his smart little mouth, though, Yoongi rams his cock in, all the way in, until they are flushed against one another. Jimin’s legs give in, but Yoongi holds him up, pulling his cock halfway out and plunging into him again.
“Fuck,” Jimin moans, hands presses firmly on the wall, eyes shut tight. “Just like that, yes, just like that.”
“I didn’t forget it, Jimin,” Yoongi gasps, setting a brutal pace. “I know you like it rough.”
The sounds of pop music get somehow louder, or maybe that’s just Jimin’s heartbeat as he gets fucked like he deserves, like he got out of home and put some pretty makeup to get fucked. He doesn’t even care if he’s being too loud; part of him kind of hopes someone else can hear it. Yoongi thrusts in and out of him with anything but finesse, but it’s just what Jimin wanted. It burns when he bottoms out and sends a shiver across his spine whenever the tip bumps against his prostate.
Jimin can’t help but fuck back against it, but Yoongi holds his hips as if silently telling him to stay still. Poor thing. He still doesn’t know that about Jimin; if there’s one thing he doesn’t know how to do is stay the fuck still.
Someone bangs on the door. “What the fuck is taking you so long?”
Yoongi doesn’t stop fucking into him; if anything, he goes even faster. Jimin gasps at the rapid thrust, and a hand presses against his lips, cock slipping in and out with ease.
“Go to the ladies room,” Yoongi shouts back, ramming inside Jimin. “This one is clearly occupied.”
The man knocks again, but Yoongi doesn’t pay him any mind.
“Be quiet,” he whispers to Jimin.
He takes Jimin’s cock in hand and starts jerking him off. Jimin bites his lower lip and stings, but not as much as the press of Yoongi’s cock into him. He feels so fucking gone already, so close to cumming. Jimin turns around, catching a glimpse of them on the dirty mirror; Yoongi plunging his cock into him, jerking Jimin off, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth, the necklace tapping against his chest. And Jimin, naked from the waist down, white tee clinging to his sweaty skin, blonde hair wet and sticky.
They look straight out of amateur porn. Could even get a few million views. They are both hot enough for it.
“I’m gonna call the manager,” the man shouts from the other side of the door, and maybe if he wasn’t so horny, maybe if he wasn’t so close to cumming, maybe if Yoongi didn’t look like a god as he impales Jimin with his cock, he would give a shit.
But it’s so loud and dirty and if Jimin was someone else, he might care, but all he wants is more of it. He wants it dirtier, messier, sloppier, he wants Yoongi to spill inside of him even if that’s not possible. Jimin wants Yoongi to cum all over him; his hole, his cock, his stomach, his face, he wants to drink it, swallow it, gag on it, fuck, what would he do to gag on the cock fucking him right now.
Maybe later. If Yoongi wants, definitely later.
“He’s gonna, ah, call the manager,” Jimin gasps, smiling toward the mirror. “We’re gonna get kicked out.”
Yoongi slows down his thrusts, fucking him sharp enough to echo the slapping of their skin through the tight bathroom. “Do you care?”
“No, not really.”
“Then cum for me,” Yoongi asks, twisting his wrist on Jimin’s cock. “Cum for me before they break down this door.”
Jimin isn’t one to respond to commands, but it doesn’t surprise him when he feels his body crashing mere seconds after Yoongi asked him to.
The intense thrust of Yoongi’s thick shaft into him mixed with the constant stimulation on his own cock drip him over the edge. Jimin cums with a low grown, biting down his cheek, both hands against the wall as his body trembles. Yoongi fucks him through it, rhythm turning hectic as he reaches his own orgasm, as if was just waiting for Jimin to get to his. He continues to plunge his cock into Jimin’s sensitive hole until they are both whining in oversensitivity.
When Yoongi pulls out, Jimin’s legs shake in a very pathetic way. He barely registers Yoongi taking the condom off and wrapping it up before throwing it in the trash. He barely registers Yoongi helping him to clean up and put his pants back up. He sort of registers more banging on the door and Yoongi’s soft giggles as he takes both Jimin’s belt and his leather jacket before swinging Jimin’s arm around his shoulders.
He does register Yoongi unlocking the door and two tiny ugly men staring at them with their ugly brows furrowed.
“My friend was feeling sick,” Yoongi says. “Look at him, can barely stand up.”
One of the men huffs. “Leave and don’t come back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jimin’s cheeks are a bit flushed as they walk out of the bar. He accepts the jacket Yoongi offers and very shyly puts his belt back on. Taking his phone, he sighs.
“It’s almost 4am, I’m never gonna find a ride now.”
“Come back to my place with me,” Yoongi suggests, cheeks equally flushed. “But I have a condition.”
Jimin lifts an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“You can’t leave without giving me your number again,” Yoongi mutters, an eyebrow raised. “It’s very rude.”
“Oh, come on, we were strangers!”
“We’re clearly not strangers anymore,” Yoongi argues, hands shoved in the pockets of his palm tree shirt. “I’ve been inside you twice now.”
Jimin chuckles, shaking his head. “Fine.”
The quickness of his agreement catches him by surprise, but a lot of things about the past hour have surprised Jimin. He doesn’t know what it is about Min Yoongi that draws him in so easily, and it’s probably the fear of what it could mean that made Jimin take off without leaving a single trace of him behind the first time they met. But there it is, the fate he doesn’t believe in making them meet again.
Park Jimin isn’t used to having a second go on a one night stand, let alone accept to go home with them again. People come and go out of his life, he never really cares for them to stay. But Min Yoongi is pretty, he seems nice, and he fucks ridiculously well.
What harm could it do, really, to keep him around just for a little bit?