Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jimin loves Taehyung.

At times, Jimin loves Taehyung so much that he thinks he doesn’t deserve having him as his best friend. For instance, two months ago, when Taehyung arrived home one day and announced that he had won two all-inclusive tickets for a six-days-five-nights cruise around the Caribbean islands and that Jimin was cordially invited, Jimin thought he couldn’t love Taehyung more.

(“How did you even win that?” Jimin asked him, once the adrenaline of the news died down a little bit and curiosity got the best of him. “What did you have to do?”

“Just many, many, many surveys. Or, rather— the same survey, but like, a thousand times,” Taehyung told him, still grinning proudly. “Isn’t it amazing? The only detail is that we will get a room with a single bed for the two of us. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t mind sleeping in a freaking broom closet! Holy shit, Tae, this is so amazing!”)

At the moment, though, Jimin thinks Taehyung can go suck a dick.

Metaphorically speaking. Not literally speaking.

Unfortunately, sucking a dick is probably just what Taehyung is doing right now, and Jimin is normally supportive of his best friend and his tendency of hooking up with different people every night, he really is, but now he all he wants is to murder him.

The situation is the following.

They were in a plane for almost eighteen hours, and by the time they arrived in Miami, Jimin had no idea what year it was. After that, they had no time to rest, because they had to board the cruise (which is as huge as a freaking mall, or perhaps even bigger), and it turned out to be one of the most stressful experiences of Jimin’s not-English-speaking life. When it was all over and he was finally in the safety of Taehyung’s and his matrimonial suite, he wanted nothing more but to sleep until he didn’t want to die so that he could enjoy the cruise experience to the fullest without having a butt face.

However. Taehyung, being Taehyung, went around exploring the ship and socializing while Jimin napped, and Taehyung, being Taehyung, found a dude willing to have sex with him on the other side of the world and merely hours after meeting him. For that to happen, though, Taehyung had to kick Jimin out of the room… Which is exactly what he did.

Jimin was so disoriented (and annoyed) when his friend woke him up that he couldn’t bring himself to laugh as Taehyung explained to his non-Korean and non-Native-English-Speaker hook-up that Jimin wasn’t his boyfriend.

(“Please don’t ruin this for me, come on…! You can come back when we’re done!” Taehyung told him, grinning as he pushed Jimin backwards towards the door. “Or, even better, you can try looking for a hook-up of your own! You wouldn’t believe how many hot guys I’ve seen so far.”

“No, it’s you wouldn’t believe how much I hate you right now,” Jimin dead-panned, glaring at his friend even if he was still struggling to keep his eyes open.

“That attitude will take you nowhere, Chimchim. Try smiling a little, okay? We’re in the freaking Caribbean! If you don’t make the best of this experience now that you can, then, when will you? The next time I win tickets and ask you to come with me?” the younger man nearly exclaimed, the other (tall, tanned, and kind of muscly) guy standing awkwardly behind him.

And, well. There wasn’t really much Jimin could say to that.)

So at the moment, Jimin is a bit confused. He doesn’t know if he hates Taehyung for kicking him out of their room before he had a chance to get over his jet lag, or if he loves him for giving him a chance to be jet lagged in a floating mall in the middle of the Caribbean Sea in the first place.

At the moment, Jimin is sipping on a pineapple juice on deck, leaning against the metallic rail of one of the countless terraces of the ship, feeling sleepy as fuck, and still not very sure what time it is in this time zone. The sun hasn’t set yet, that much he knows. On the contrary, the sun is shining brightly in the middle of a cloudless sky, and there is nothing but blue ocean and blue skies for miles and miles ahead. It’s a beautiful sight, really, and although it is warmer and more humid than Seoul, there is also a light breeze that makes it all pleasant.

At the moment, Jimin is coming to terms with it all and admitting that maybe things aren’t so bad after all. He would rather be napping and recovering from his jet lag, but he can’t deny that drinking pineapple juice while enjoying the Caribbean breeze and the pre-fabricated marimba music that is coming from the speakers on the deck is just as relaxing as sleeping.

However, it isn’t until he’s on his way back to the bar to get himself a second glass of juice that he finally admits that leaving (or, well, getting kicked out of) the room was the best thing he could’ve done.

Leaning against the railing somewhere close to the bar, there is a man who is the actual incarnation of a wet dream, at least to Jimin’s standards. He is tall (check), his shoulders are broader than the sea (check), his hair is black and glossy (check, check), and his face is perfect, his eyebrows strong, his nose tall, his eyes shimmery, and his lips thick and pouty – the definition of kissable (check, check, motherfucking check). He is dressed in a button-up white shirt and black slacks that look far too dressy for a cruise ship, but that look so good on him that it makes Jimin’s mouth water. His shoes look expensive, he has a gigantic watch on his wrist, and he seems completely unaware of the power of his own handsomeness as he stands there, casually talking on the phone with a tropical paradise stretched out behind him.

Now, Jimin likes to think he has high standards, and he never fucks around with anyone who isn’t at least a seven and a half according to them. Maybe a six, when he’s drunk enough. But this guy, this one guy is definitely a solid twelve, on a scale from one to ten, and Jimin doesn’t have a single drop of alcohol in his body.

To be honest, he isn’t sure if the reason his body is heating up is because he just saw the hottest man he has ever seen in his entire life, or if it’s just an effect of the tropical weather

He’s glad Taehyung isn’t around because he’s sure they’d be fighting for him.

The second juice he orders feels pleasantly cold against his hands, however he never gets a chance to even taste it, because the moment he turns around he runs right against a broad chest. Against Twelve-Out-Of-Ten’s chest, to be exact, and when he collides against him, he ends up spilling his juice all over himself (which, unfortunately, is raspberry flavored –and raspberry colored— this time around).

“Oh, shit—! Oh, no!” Twelve exclaims, in Korean first, and then in English. Jimin hisses at the feeling of the cold juice trickling down his body, cold even through the fabric of his shirt, but as he looks up at Twelve’s face, he can’t help but thank whatever divinity is out there for letting the juice land on him and his ratty old tank top and not on the man’s expensive looking clothes. Twelve looks genuinely concerned, but the worried look on his face shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “Do you speak Korean? Oh my god, I didn’t see you! I’m so sorry, I got distracted looking at the prices, and— God, I’m really stupid. I’m so sorry, I mean it.”

Jimin doesn’t know if it’s because his hormones started acting up since he first laid his eyes on Twelve, but he can’t bring himself to get angry. In fact, the entire situation seems so ridiculous and so strangely perfect to him that he can’t help but laugh as he shakes his head and waves the improbably attractive man off with his free hand.

“I do speak Korean, yeah. And, honestly? It’s fine,” Jimin says, ignoring the way his shirt is sticking uncomfortably to his chest, the grey fabric dyeing a strange shade of red. It looks like a bloody murder scene. The victim? Jimin’s heart, evidently. “I was going to throw this shirt away after this trip, anyway. It’s old. Don’t worry about it.”

Twelve-Out-Of-Ten shakes his head with a determined look on his face, and when he does his black hair moves along, and wow, it looks soft.

(It looks like something Jimin would love to grab onto, if he’s honest— he’d love to feel the tresses of black hair between his fingers and see how soft they are).

“Don’t tell me not to worry, I literally ruined your clothes and made you spill at least half of your drink!” Twelve insists his brow furrowing slightly. “Come on, let me make it up to you and buy you a new one, at the very least. So my conscience is clean.”

Jimin tries to say no, he really tries, but how is he supposed to refuse when a hand-crafted and perfectly symmetrical sex god is offering to buy him a drink? And being really insistent about it, too. Jimin lost the battle before there was even been a battle to fight in the first place.

“Fine,” he gives in, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “But only because you’re really persistent and I didn’t even get to taste my drink.”

Jimin may or may not have gotten a different drink than the one he had originally gotten for himself, but that was only because Twelve offered. (‘How do you feel about having a piña colada instead of whatever you were drinking? They won’t stain as bad if another accident happens’, was what he said, and Jimin didn’t refuse him. Once again, who was Jimin to refuse a hand-crafted sex god from buying him a drink? No one. No one at all.)

After they received their drinks they just kind of… Stuck together.

It was inertia, Jimin thinks to himself.

An object in rest remains in rest unless acted upon by an unbalanced force, and an object in motion continues in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. Ninth grade physics. Or was it eighth grade? Jimin doesn’t know.

What Jimin does know is that Twelve (whose name is actually Kim Seokjin) started talking to him while they waited for their drinks, which in turn led Jimin to find out that Kim Seokjin, on top of being ridiculously attractive and good-looking, is also funny, smart, and interesting. He is quite the unbalanced force, if you ask Jimin – he definitely got him moving.

They were standing against the railing of the deck, sipping on their drinks and talking animatedly until the sun started to get closer to the horizon, and just like that, Jimin suddenly realized that the discomfort of his jet lag had pretty much disappeared from his body. He suddenly didn’t mind that (much) that Taehyung was having sex on the bed where he was supposed to sleep later on (which was probably nothing that hadn’t happened before), just like he didn’t mind that his shirt was drenched in juice, which had dried already, so that his stomach and his chest were sticky with it.

None of that matters. The only thing that matters is Seokjin.

It’s nice. Seokjin is nice.

But aside from nice, Seokjin is also thirty-two years old – eight years older than Jimin (check). He is single (check). He is a doctor (check, check). He lives and works in Seoul, but he also has an apartment in New York where he stays every now and then (motherfucking check). He is in the cruise all by himself because he needed a little distraction from work, but he didn’t have enough time (time, Jimin thinks to himself— he said ‘time’, not ‘money’) to tour Europe the “proper way”.

Whatever that means.

Jimin has never been to Europe in his life, so he has no idea what the older man could mean by that.

Seokjin doesn’t say it, but he’s loaded. He doesn’t need to say it. Jimin can tell. Jimin can smell it.

Seokjin is a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and Jimin isn’t a gold digger, but if the gold mine looks like that, then he might reconsider. Though, to be honest, Jimin thinks he’d be salivating even if Seokjin’s wallet wasn’t as thick as it appears to be. The man is so damn perfect, that Jimin wouldn’t be surprised if he were to wake up and find out that he wasn’t but a figment of his very active imagination. For all he knows, he might as well still be sleeping in his and Taehyung’s room.

“But, hey, Jimin, what about you?” Seokjin asks him, then, smiling at him in a way that is far too attractive to be real.

“Me?” Jimin replies, chuckling as he looks down at his second piña colada. “I’m a student,” Seokjin’s eyes widen a little bit at that, so Jimin rushes to add. “Post-grad student, by the way. I majored in communications,” Seokjin visibly relaxes at that.

“I’m here with my friend” Jimin continues. “He won the tickets, somehow, and he invited me to come with him, so… Yeah we’re here together, and all for free.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds nice,” the older man says. “And where is he now?”

Jimin shrugs, “still in our room, I guess.”

“I see…” Seokjin hums in interest, his eyebrows darting upwards beneath his black fringe. “And he’s just your friend? Are you sure? I mean… He invited you to come with him on a cruise around the Caribbean, it sounds to me like he’s into you. Trying to charm you, at least. Is he a special friend, or boyfriend, or something like that? I’m alright with that kind of thing. More than alright. So, you can tell me if he is— I definitely won’t judge you.”

Jimin laughs out loud at that, shaking his head.

“Oh, god, no! Not at all! He’s actually getting it on in our room right now with some dude he picked up mere hours after boarding the cruise,” the younger explains, still laughing at the mere idea of him and Taehyung being together in any way other than platonic, but sobering up quickly when the realization that Seokjin might be asking because he’s interested bites him in the ass. “I mean, I am gay, but not for Taehyung. We’re just friends, I swear. I was trying to sleep my jet lag away, but he kicked me out so he could get some. That’s classic Taehyung.”

Seokjin seems completely relieved at that; Jimin can practically see the way his broad shoulders relax at his words. He can also hear and see him snort and shakes his head before he downs what’s left of his own second cocktail. He runs his pink tongue over his lips, and Jimin almost forgets how to breathe. The way the reddish light of the sunset bounces off Seokjin’s skin is ethereal, the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows his piña colada is delicious, and the way his tongue leaves a trail of saliva over his lovely lips is going to drive Jimin mad.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough day today, huh. First, a stressful and eternal flight. Then, your friend sexiled you. And then, you had an idiot spill juice all over your clothes, like it all wasn’t enough already,” Seokjin says, reaching to touch Jimin’s shoulder and pat it sympathetically.

His touch is warmer than the tropical air surrounding them, but the smirk the older man shoots him is even hotter than those two things combined. Jimin wants to laugh and tell him to forget about the juice incident, but the older man speaks before he can even begin to get his thoughts together. “If you don’t have anything better to do, what do you say we go for another drink together? We can explore the bars in the ship and see which one is the nicest. I heard there is a mermaid themed one, a pirate themed one, and a Wild West one. We could check those out, if you’re not too tired.”

Jimin smirks at the older man at that, but he tries to play it coy and avoid looking straight at him. A funny sensation settles in the pit of his stomach, and it is only intensified by the feeling of the older man’s hand on his shoulder (because of course he kept his hand there. He can probably smell Jimin’s pheromones, to be honest, but Jimin has yet to decide whether that’s a good or a bad thing.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Jimin says, playing hard-to-get while he fumbles with the straw of his piña colada (even if he knows by now, he’s incredibly easy to get— especially by someone like Seokjin). “I mean, it does sound great, really, but I’m kind of on a tight budget, and I wouldn’t want to blow the little money that I have so soon…” He laments, looking up at the older man. He purposely gnaws on his lower lip and bats his eyelashes in a blatantly obvious gesture, but Jimin is beyond caring if that means he can get his hands on anything, whatever it is Seokjin has got to offer. “I’m only a broke student, hyung, remember?”

Seokjin clicks his tongue and cocks his head to the side in a gesture of amusement. He can see right through him, Jimin knows he can, but he doesn’t mind. Seokjin’s hand suddenly falls a little bit from where it was resting on Jimin’s shoulder so that he can grab his arm, the warm skin of his palm against the equally warm skin of Jimin’s bare (and kinda toned) bicep, and the gesture has a shiver running down Jimin’s back.

Perhaps it’s the confidence, in it. Perhaps it’s how attractive he looks under the orange light of the twilight, touching Jimin in a kind of intimate (and completely welcomed) way.

Perhaps it’s the rum of the piña coladas that Jimin drunk way too fast. Or perhaps there is real sexual chemistry between him and Seokjin, and it’s not just Jimin’s wishful thinking.

“It’s alright, Jiminie – can I call you Jiminie, by the way?” Seokjin interrupts himself to ask, and Jimin chuckles before he nods, relishing in the cute nickname and the older man’s touch. Honestly, the older man could call him any name he wanted and Jimin would love it. Even filthy names. No— especially filthy names.

“I don’t mind treating you for the rest night,” Seokjin goes on, and Jimin is sure that his eyes fall to his lips for more than a second as he speaks. Jimin’s stomach flips, and he licks his lips every time. “I still feel bad about ruining your shirt, but aside from that, I’d really like you get to know you a little better. So… What do you say?”

“Oh, fuck—!” Jimin calls out, his head tossing backwards and the fingernails of one of his hands digging into Seokjin’s perfect broad shoulders as he fucks himself down on his (perfect, incredible, amazing, and really fucking big) cock. The aim is just right so stars flash behind his eyelids, and he doesn’t stop— he just keeps moving his hips, lifting himself off the bed (the gigantic king sized bed, because of course Seokjin got one of the most expensive rooms available) with his thighs before dropping back down again, his pace fast as he rides Seokjin. His other hand is curled in the older man’s hair, which is indeed as silky as Jimin imagined it would be), and he almost screams when Seokjin’s teeth bury on his skin, somewhere between his collarbones and his throat. “Fuck, hyung, you feel so good— ah!”

Seokjin smirks up at him in a way that should be illegal; in a way that makes Jimin want to kiss him forever, to ride his dick forever, to feel his mouth on his body forever. His forehead is dotted with droplets of sweat, as are his collarbones and his chest; his black hair is pushed back, and his eyes are completely hazed and darkened by lust. Jimin’s mind might be swimming in mojitos and daiquiris, all of them courtesy of the man that is currently beneath him and buried balls deep inside of him, but there is no world where Jimin wouldn’t want to be where he is right now.

Seokjin kissed him first.

They were at the third or fourth bar of the night, Jimin can’t remember exactly, and his excuse was that he wanted to retrieve the slice of pineapple that Jimin had stolen from the rim of his glass, but soon it became so much more than that. Jimin chuckled against the older man’s lips as he struggled to keep the pineapple in his mouth, but then Seokjin cupped his jaw with a strong grip and licked into his mouth with little finesse, and Jimin moaned. He released the pineapple and leaned closer into Seokjin’s warmth, his hand gripping him by the front of his shirt, but too soon for his liking, Seokjin pulled away. His lips were glistening with saliva under the colorful lights of the bar, his eyes hazy, and Jimin knew his own were no better. When Seokjin opened his mouth to show off the bitten slice of pineapple, Jimin groaned, his fingers tightening their grip on the fancy shirt.

It could’ve been disgusting, but it made a fire go off in Jimin’s body instead. It made Jimin pull the older man down into another kiss, just as sweet as the previous one, the taste of pineapple juice and alcohol coating both of their tongues as they slid together.

In a matter of minutes, they ditched the bar. Jimin was getting too handsy, and his mind was burning with the need to feel Seokjin’s body, and Seokjin seemed to be in a similar situation as himself. He even brushed his hand over Jimin’s crotch for a brief moment, seeming either oblivious or unworried about being in a public place.

The trek to Seokjin’s cabin felt never-ending, but it was also quite fun. The cruise ship was a labyrinth, and Seokjin was a little too tipsy to remember exactly where his room was. Their hands were clasped tight and they kept on laughing about nothing in particular as they explored the long corridors of the ship, and whenever there was nobody around and they could afford it, they kissed hard in the elevators and in the middle of the hallways.

Things escalated from the moment Seokjin locked the door of his room behind him, and they escalated fast.

Without hesitating for even a second, Seokjin grabbed Jimin’s dirty shirt and pulled it over his head. Jimin couldn’t bring himself to care when the older man dropped the dirty material on the floor, and he just focused on working open the buttons of Seokjin’s own dress shirt

“God, Jiminie, baby, I had no idea you were hiding this under your shirt,” Seokjin praised a few moments later as he kissed and licked his way down Jimin’s chest and the defined lines of his stomach, the pet name making the younger man keen. His skin was still sticky with the raspberry juice he spilled before, but it seemed that Seokjin loved it. He licked and sucked at the tacky sweetness with his mouth on all fours, between the younger man’s legs. It was a sight to behold, but it only got better when Seokjin’s mouth reached his cock and he all but swallowed him whole, muttering something about how good he was going to make him feel.

And fuck, he didn’t lie.

Seokjin, it was obvious, was a man of his word, so when he whispered into Jimin’s ear that he was going to make him cum so many times he would be begging for him to stop, Jimin moaned loud and unabashedly, and he pulled Seokjin down to kiss him on the mouth again, tasting himself on his tongue.

Hours later, Jimin finds himself lying next to Seokjin, both of them equally spent, naked, sweaty, and covered in cum. They’re struggling to find a way to catch their breaths without breaking away from each other, so they kiss slowly, lazily, but still deeply. Seokjin’s hands are holding Jimin close to himself with a strong grip, one hand on his hip and the other one on his ass, his fingers constantly on the verge of slipping past his cheeks due to the excess lube there. Jimin is so satisfied he feels like purring like he’s a goddamn cat. The great Caribbean Sea is glowing under the light of an almost full moon outside of the window, but the sight of Seokjin’s chest and neck covered in bruises from where he kissed and licked and sucked and choked is a billion times prettier.

“So, I hope I’m not the only one who thinks we should definitely do this again,” Jimin whispers, his voice hoarser and rougher than usual as he speaks against Seokjin’s bruised lips. “This is only our first night here, after all.”

Seokjin hums at that, nodding and causing their lips to brush together, sliding wetly against each other’s due to the fact that they’re both coated in spit. Their noses bump together accidentally, which has them both giggling, though Seokjin quiets them down with another kiss to Jimin’s lips, albeit brief and chaste this time around.

“I wouldn’t mind doing this every night, to be honest,” Seokjin admits. “Even back in Seoul. Would that be okay?”

“Well,” Jimin says, pulling backwards slightly so he can look at the older man. He can’t help but bite on his own lip, as sore and tender as it is, as he lets his eyes wander over Seokjin’s body first, his face second, and his smile and his pretty eyes last. He can’t help but smile, too, content and lazy. “Guess you have four nights left to convince me.”

Seokjin lets out a breathless chuckle as he inches closer to Jimin, the hand he had on his hip moving to the bed so he can hold his body above the younger’s. His other hand is still on his ass, though, and once Jimin turns so he’s flat on his back, and he spreads his legs a tiny little bit, his fingers do slip between his cheeks, the lube helping two of his fingertips reach deep enough so they’re breaching past Jimin’s already stretched entrance. His breath hitches, his eyelids flutter, and a soft moan escapes him at the feeling, the nerves of his body already oversensitive, overdosed on pleasure but more than ready to receive more.

“If you’re okay with going again, then I’m sure I can convince you in a single night,” the older man hums, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Jimin’s shoulder.

And, again.

Who is Jimin to say no?

As he nods his head up at Seokjin and drags his fingernails over his shoulders, a quiet corner of his mind, the small part of himself that still hasn’t been fucked senseless, thanks the universe for Kim Taehyung.