Work Text:
Someone once said that Las Vegas is a place where everyone belongs – because no one belongs there at all. It sprung out of the desert, built on the hands of people who dared to dream bigger than the world liked to allow. And so in came the world – from across every loose seam, all the silk and velvet and diamond studded nights.
Jungkook can’t remember how many Rum and Coke’s he’s had but he knows that Jimin’s smile tastes like a whiskey shot straight to his heart. He knows he’s drunk – and listen, he’s only 19, and he knows that he doesn’t know a lot but here are the things he does know:
- That the most beautiful moment in his life hasn’t come yet
- That it will come – because Namjoon-hyung had said so
- That it’ll probably be soon… ish
- That he is drunk
- That he probably had one drink too many but it’s okay
- That he’s unabashedly in love with Park Jimin
And yes, he is every cliché in the book filed neatly into 178 centimeters of awkwardness and raw talent, and yes, there are probably better ways to do this than drunk and in Las Vegas but, hey, when’s the next time he’s going to be drunk and in Las Vegas?
Jimin giggles by his ear and Jungkook’s world shudders to a halt, the sparks that had been tap dancing along his spine the whole evening gathering around the base of his neck, scattering warmth through his chest.
He kisses Jimin with their fingers laced, no words (because all of them had already been said – the ones he knows how to say anyway), just lips and teeth and laughter and lights. Jimin licks into his mouth and Jungkook swears he can’t remember the last time he held his breath long enough to make him this lightheaded.
“You’re drunk,” Jimin whispers, conspiratorially, lips pink and perfect and Jungkook’s only response is to lean in for another kiss.
Jimin laughs his champagne bubble laugh, and somewhere behind them, Namjoon is calling to tell them – careful, to tell them we’re not at the hotel yet, to tell them, hey – we won.
As if they need to be told twice.
“Don’t stay up too late!” Yoongi’s voice is a distant echo when the pair of them step out of the elevator towards their room. Jimin waves over his shoulder and Jungkook makes some promise or other of sleep and not worrying and happiness.
They don’t hear Hoseok tutting but they both know it happened.
The door clicks shut and suddenly, there is no space but the one between their bodies, the breaths shared over lips eager and careless, fingertips and bruising hips – and skin on skin with too many layers of clothes in between. Silk and velvet and diamond studded lapels.
“Jungkook-ah~” Jimin’s voice is moonshine on a summer night and Jungkook is drunk and drunk and drunk and –
“Jungkook-ah…”
Jungkook hums into the place right below Jimin’s ear. Their palms kiss palms, fingers twined like promises made over and over and over each other, their bodies forgotten somewhere on the floor.
Jimin turns to press a kiss into Jungkook’s forehead, and just then, Jungkook’s heart almost spills out of his mouth – he can taste it on his tongue, the sweet and thick and irresistible, the way Jimin always plays symphony with heartstrings Jungkook didn’t know he had – the way his heart behaves for Jimin like it had always belonged to him, no question, no hesitance.
“Make a wish.”
Jungkook smiles and noses into Jimin’s cheek. It’s a silly thing to say, and from the way Jimin’s smiling, he knows it too. But still, Jungkook nods and props his head up on a hand, the other still holding Jimin’s, their legs tangled, bodies pressed.
“Anything you want.”
Jimin rolls his eyes and swats at Jungkook, lashes fluttering – Jungkook leans in for butterfly kisses, for eskimo kisses, every kind of kiss he can get away with. Jimin skims his lips over Jungkook’s – breath and breath and promise and promise.
“That’s not a wish.”
Jungkook is about to say – but all my wishes have come true, he’s about to say – all I could ever wish for you is you, he’s about to say – I ran out of wishes when I gave them all to heaven for you to love me like you do.
He’s about to say – promise, promise to love me too.
Instead, he just shakes his head, reminds himself, not a wish.
“I guess not.”
Jimin shifts, Jungkook shifts too, their limbs like interlocking pieces, their bones already so molded to each other. And yes, this has all been said before, in every language the world has to offer, but hey – at least they can have this, at least no one else has told their story like this before.
Jimin is humming something with his eyes half shut and Jungkook picks up on the melody with lips parted – it’s a beautiful night, we’re looking for something dumb to do.
“Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you…” Jungkook traces light fingers over the skin of Jimin’s chest, head still propped – Jimin grins, body lazy and melted, lips moving over words – is it the look in your eyes…
Jungkook leans down to skim his lips over Jimin’s.
“Marry me.”
Jimin’s mouth is still caught in a song – think I wanna marry you…
He grins, tilts his head and sings, “Just say I do… oh – oh – oh…”
Jungkook doesn’t want to fall asleep, so he pulls Jimin close and nibbles on the lobe of his ear. Jimin giggles but doesn’t resist.
“Let’s get married,” Jungkook says, fingers pressing into Jimin’s waist, curling his whole body around Jimin, too warm and not enough all at once.
“Right here?” Jimin asks, letting him, always letting him.
“People do that in Vegas, right?”
Jimin laughs, nodding, “They do – with those ring pops.”
“I’ll get you a ring pop.”
“Aw, how sweet.”
Jungkook traces the knuckles of Jimin’s fingers, wonders what a ring would look like there, a secret that’s not so secret, a statement to the world – mine. He doesn’t really have to wonder because Jimin’s got a thing for rings but still, he does anyways. Because this would be different.
“Where’dyou wanna get married?” Jungkook asks.
Jimin hums, all breath and contentment, “Dunno…” he opens his eyes, glancing towards the window, “maybe in Paris?”
Jungkook glances behind him, and out the window, they can see the Eiffel tower like a million pairs of winking eyes. He laughs.
“Well good thing it’s right across the street then.”
Jimin nods, letting his eyes fall shut again, the whiskey sours still buzzing through him, humming in his veins.
He says, “Okay.”
Jungkook scatters kisses along Jimin’s skin, down his face, across his jaw, his collarbones, the stretch of his neck when he turns to let Jungkook’s mouth settle there, lips over his pulse, his life beating beneath the membrane of his trust, laid bare for Jungkook to take and give as he will.
Jimin breathes, and Jungkook kisses him till he falls asleep.
The City of Lights does still sleep after all – or so they find, but at least here, everyone spends the whole night dreaming. And oh, what dreams they are, what dreams. What dreams…
Dinner is laughter over a bottle of corked starlight, and still, Jungkook can’t stop his palms from sweating, his stomach from twisting, his heart from leaping into the back of his throat every time he opens his mouth to say something, and it’s been too long for him to feel like this around Jimin but he does.
Oh, he does.
And yes, this is every cliché in the book, laid out at their feet in rivulets of light, standing atop the Arc de Triomphe, but at least, Jungkook thinks, this is their story, and no one else’s. And he’s 24 and still doesn’t know a lot, but here’s what he does know:
- That this is probably the most beautiful moment in his life
- That it did come – just as Namjoon-hyung had said so
- That it’s really happening right here, right now
- That he’s not drunk enough for this
- That he could probably use many, many more drinks
- That he’s unabashedly in love with Park Jimin
“Marry me.”
Jimin smiles.
- And, that he said yes.