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The first time had been a joke. A test, really. Namjoon and Yoongi grinned as Seokjin leaned over a sleeping Jungkook and hesitated before pinching his nipple through his shirt. Jungkook huffed in his sleep and rolled away, unaware of his snickering band mates. He was an easy target as the smallest in the group. Younger, too, so he didn’t really fight back when the older boys picked on him. It was all in good fun. Boy stuff. Brother stuff. Same as when Jimin ran around giving raspberries to anyone who sat still long enough to be ambushed.
“Wakey wakey,” Seokjin teased, pinching Jungkook’s nipple again. He mumbled in response and rolled over against the back of the couch, curling in on himself.
“Alright, hyung. Leave the kid alone,” Namjoon finally said, swatting at Seokjin. So he did.
✩✩✩
He hadn’t meant to say so much on the variety show. It all just spilled out like verbal vomit—a side effect of his nervousness on camera. The host had asked how they wake each other up, and well, next thing Seokjin knew, he was miming a nipple tweak on TV. The other members had ragged on him mercilessly on air, but they were even worse back at the dorm.
“Why were you so specific though?” Taehyung asked with mock innocence. He mimicked the tweaking motion. “Did it have to be that?”
“A bit risqué if you ask me,” Hoseok said with a scoff. “Come on, you know he’s just a kid.”
It wasn’t like that, though. Nothing questionable or sexual. More like this odd curiosity that Seokjin had discovered. Jungkook endured all sorts of teasing as the maknae, eventually dished it out to the rest of them when he really wanted to fight back. Seokjin rarely felt like he had any power over Jungkook, so could anyone blame him for delighting in the discovery of something that made him just a bit stronger than the kid?
✩✩✩
On more than one occasion, Jungkook and Seokjin get into tumbling matches in dressing rooms, the dorm, in concert halls—anywhere. It seemed that once Jungkook turned 19, he unlocked a newer, stronger version of himself. “I’ve leveled up!” he announced, demanding that everyone watch him do twenty pull-ups in a row. It was like he’d discovered a new toy—this ridiculous strength and stamina—and he wanted to show it off to everyone.
Pushups by the dozen without breaking a sweat. Boxing for hours without a water break. Lifting each member, giggling with how easy it was. Jimin was toned and compact, easy to toss over his shoulder. Hoseok was wiry and limber, easy to wrap arms around to carry across a room. Taehyung was giggly and soft, unwilling to fight against Jungkook. Namjoon was a bit of a challenge with his sturdy legs, but he gave in whenever Jungkook wanted to push him around. Yoongi was easy and pliant, happy to let Jungkook scoop him up for a series of awkward bicep curls.
And Seokjin? A total mess. Too enamored by the new muscles Jungkook trained each day. Too flustered whenever Jungkook would crowd against him, hands slipping around his waist to hoist him off the ground.
Helpless, Seokjin flailed and kicked Jungkook the best he could, but he knew he was powerless to the brilliant smile and high-pitched giggles in his ear.
✩✩✩
The problem with Jungkook has always been his cuteness. Too cute for his own good, too aware of how powerful his cuteness was against his band mates. He knew how to bat his eyelashes and whine with a lisp to make them weak and give in to his demands. It only got worse as he got older. The cuteness now came with an edge of sexiness. It was enough to fluster everyone on the team. Yoongi would get tongue-tied, a little wobbly around him. The make-up staff quit cooing over the maknae and instead whispered in corners together, not at all subtle in the new way they looked at him.
Seokjin tried to resist it all, he really did. Didn’t want to give in to the brat, but his muscles grew, he matured, and something about a doe-eyed shirtless man rippling with muscles was impossible to ignore. Always with the push-ups. Always with the jumping jacks. Always bouncing and sweating and huffing and making Seokjin’s ears burn.
After one performance, they’d finally settled onto a sofa, both of them drenched in sweat. Jungkook insisted on lying across Seokjin, somehow unaware of how his shirt fell open, exposing his chest and collarbones. They sat in silence, each of them scrolling on their phones and waiting for the stage managers to give them notes.
Absently, Seokjin reached over to flick at Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook grinned, grabbing his wrist. “Trying to tweak my nipples, hyung?”
“In your dreams, kid,” he scoffed. But later, his dreams were the ones filled with Jungkook’s exposed chest, the glimmer in his eye that looked a lot like desire.
✩✩✩
The choreo for “Fake Love” is their hardest yet, and for Seokjin, it’s another special kind of hell whenever he has to watch Jungkook’s shirt lift happen over and over again in rehearsals or going viral online. By now, fans have seen some variation of the shirt lift, have seen Jungkook’s rippling abdomen, the pink-brown nub of his nipple, and it really isn’t a big deal.
Seokjin has seen it plenty. This is what he tells himself over and over again, trying hard to push the image far from his mind. He feels a bit like a creepy old man every time something clicks on inside his gut, like someone turning the knob on a gas stove.
The guys have teased Jungkook mercilessly about the move, delighted by the way the maknae squirms and giggles, tries to play it off. He’s shy, but he knows he looks spectacular. In a way, the move is a kind of celebration, a reward for his hard work. One night Jungkook even admitted he loves the power he has. An inch higher, and the crowd screams louder than they’ve ever heard. “A little gift for the fans,” he laughed backstage.
But for Seokjin? It’s a punishment.
✩✩✩
A drop of water, then another drips onto his phone. Seokjin looks up, startled to find Jungkook towering over him. Grinning, he towels his hair and gestures at Seokjin’s phone. “Whatcha lookin’ at, hyung?”
“Nothing,” Seokjin lies, not bothering to click away from the tweet. He already knows he’s been caught. So what if he was watching the video of Jungkook swimming in the hotel pool over and over? His views were lost among the thousands of fan views. There’s no way to prove how many times he watched the video. He’s just checking in on what the kid posted online. Big deal.
Seokjin’s absolutely not thinking about the way his body glides through water. Lean arms slicing through the ripples like knives. Absolutely not thinking about his broad shoulders and the way he gasps for air when he breaches the surface of the pool. In no way is Seokjin thinking about the flip of Jungkook’s hair and the way his hands rub over his face in a slow drag. He’s definitely not thinking about the way the shorts cling to his thighs, and he is absolutely, positively, definitely not thinking about the bare chest and pert nipples on display on his perfect, chiseled chest.
“You should come with me next time,” Jungkook says, voice lilting. “Then you could see me up close instead of on that tiny screen.”
“Oh piss off, kid,” Seokjin mutters, but the door’s already closed.
✩✩✩
Maybe his gaze lingers a little too long on set. He couldn’t help that his eyes wandered to Jungkook’s loose tank top, the sleeves cut wide and loose, exposing his chest. It’s warm for December, but not warm enough for Jungkook to be wearing a tank top that flimsy, that revealing.
Every time they rehearse the choreo for “ON,” they pause and watch the footage back. Every time, they all notice Jimin’s extravagant body roll and Jungkook’s flash of chest. “So sexy, so sexy,” Namjoon teases in English.
Younger Jungkook would have blushed and brushed it off, but this time he grins, eyes flicking over to meet Seokjin’s. “What do you think, hyung? Do you like it?”
“Yeah, I look great. Nice work, everyone!” Seokjin busies himself with his iced coffee and turns to make his way over to the make-up trailer.
Do you like it?
The answer follows Seokjin the rest of the day. Yes. Yes.
✩✩✩
And what the hell was that shirtless hug all about? Seokjin didn’t even have the chance to react. Jungkook nearly tackled him in the dressing room, insisting they take a picture and “break the internet, hyung.” The little shit.
Seokjin just wanted a nice selca to post to Twitter, just a little something to let fans know he was thinking of them. And then Jungkook appeared: in between outfit changes, shirtless and giggling, munching on something from the catering table. Then he spotted Seokjin positioning his phone, tilting his head and swooped in to join the photo.
“You know I can’t post any of these,” Seokjin said. Grimacing, he angled himself so the phone would capture only him, but Jungkook insisted.
“Tickles,” he murmured, brushing his hands over his chest before patting the soft, buttery cotton of Seokjin’s hoodie and leaning in for a tight hug.
Later, Seokjin knows the rest of the guys will tease him for the bewildered look on his face. He can almost hear Jimin’s cackling, Taehyung’s ribbing: the essence of gay panic. He tries not to think about it when he hits tweet.
✩✩✩
It’s late summer, July finally giving way to the hellish heat and humidity of August. It’s stifling and sticky, and the magazines on the coffee table curl from the damp air. The air conditioning is broken, and the atmosphere in the dorm is stifling. Seokjin knows he could easily slip out to visit friends, maybe even get a hotel room somewhere for a couple of nights, but he’s stubborn and lazy. It’s so rare to have the dorm to himself with its silence and familiarity.
So he swelters in his room, surrounded by a variety of desk fans and tower fans. They do little to cool the room, but at least they move the air around. The dull whir of them fills the room with white noise, lulling Seokjin to sleep.
The mattress dips, and he opens one eye to see who’s climbed onto the bed. “Jungkook?” he asks, turning on his side to allow him more space. “What are you doing here?”
“So hot, hyung,” he groans, covering his face with his forearm. He’s panting and shirtless, and it seems a bit obscene, even for Seokjin’s taste.
“So why are you crammed on my bed with me? Go to your own room, or at least lay in Yoongi’s bed.” Seokjin rolls onto his back and waves toward the other side of the room. The tiny fan on his bedside table feels like a lukewarm breath washing over him, back and forth as it oscillates, offering little relief.
“Bored,” he mumbles, scooting closer to Seokjin. He’s like a furnace the way he radiates warmth. How he can stand to be anywhere near another person is beyond Seokjin. “Entertain me.”
“Too hot.” Seokjin tries to scoot away, but there’s nowhere to go but against the wall. At least that feels cool. He inches away from Jungkook and presses himself against it, sighing at the cool surface.
“Why are you moving away from me?” Lowering his arm, Jungkook turns to look at Seokjin directly. Dark, curious eyes stare at him, and it shouldn’t be so tempting, but the bead of sweat above his upper lip makes Seokjin feel a bit delirious with want.
“So hot,” Seokjin mumbles.
“Me? Or the room?” He grins, all teeth and scrunched eyes, delighted at his terrible joke.
“Yes,” Seokjin answers.
“Huh?” Surprised Jungkook is a very, very adorable Jungkook, and his expression makes Seokjin’s heart swoop. “Are you messing with me?” He leans closer, pressing his face so close to Seokjin’s, he can smell the tea tree moisturizer on his skin, can feel how warm and delicate his breath is.
“Are you messing with me?” The question slips out easier than Seokjin expected. Maybe it’s the culmination of years of teasing and torture, maybe it’s the heat that’s loosened his mind’s grip on the questions he wasn’t supposed to ask. It reminds him of old cartoon thermometers, the exaggerated way they would fill with mercury, bursting at the end when the heat was too much to handle. He feels like he’s got veins full of mercury—volatile and silver, metallic gathering heat under his skin.
Sitting up quickly, Jungkook lowers his voice. “Are you mad, hyung? I’ll leave.” He swings his feet off the side of the bed, but Seokjin’s hand on his wrist stops him.
“Not mad,” he sighs. “Confused.” He sits up and tilts his head back against the wall. The fans in the room suddenly feel too loud. Any coherent thought he strings together is blown away by one of the many oscillating heads, and Seokjin imagines each thought chewed up by the fan blades, fluttering away into the air vents. He has no idea what to say.
“About?”
“This,” Seokjin sighs, waving his hand at Jungkook. “Feels like you’ve been teasing me. Can’t figure out what’s going on with you, kid.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, hyung,” Jungkook says. His deep, smooth voice sends a shiver down Seokjin’s spine, makes the sweat on his skin seem to evaporate instantly.
Seokjin swallows and stammers, “And the teasing?”
“Who said I’m teasing? I can be serious.” The mattress dips again, and Jungkook is lying so close to Seokjin, he’s worried he can hear every confused, excited, lewd thought running through his mind.
“Come on.” Seokjin shoves him gently and gasps when Jungkook grabs his wrist. “What are you—”
Their mouths collide in a frenzied kiss, more breath and moan than anything else. Jungkook presses hard into Seokjin’s lips, releases his tight grip on his wrist and slides his hand up Seokjin’s shoulder.
Panting, Jungkook pulls back, eyes frantically scanning Seokjin’s face for some kind of reaction. “Was that—? Did I misread—? I don’t know.” He ducks his head into the crook of Seokjin’s shoulder, breathing hard.
Whatever facade of confidence he had is crumbling, and Seokjin can feel it in the way Jungkook breathes against him—shallow and quick. Hands wanting to cling but hesitant to touch. Seokjin knows because he’s feeling the same way.
“You kissed me,” he says matter-of-factly. But in his mind, he’s reeling, a bit dazed and fuzzy. Maybe even delighted? Somehow he both expected it and was surprised by it.
“Uh huh,” Jungkook mumbles, unwilling to look up.
“To show me you’re not a kid?”
Jungkook looks up, frowning in a way that’s far too endearing to take seriously. “To show that I like you. Isn’t it obvious?” He gestures at his naked torso.
Rolling his eyes, Seokjin laughs, gesturing at his own bare chest. “For one, it’s 34 degrees, so you being shirtless is not entirely unexpected.” Without thinking, he drags his thumb across Jungkook’s pouting lips. “How on earth could I know that you like me?”
Groaning, Jungkook rolls away and kicks his feet like a cranky child. “Don’t make me say it, hyung.”
“Thought you weren’t a kid. Big boys can have a proper conversation.” He grins, watching as Jungkook’s face softens a bit.
The next three words root themselves deep in Seokjin’s brain, burrowing deep into a memory he’ll later access again and again. The desperate, breathy whisper sends shockwaves through Seokjin, unmooring him entirely.
“Touch me, hyung.”
Without thinking, Seokjin’s fingers find their way to Jungkook’s chest. Fingertips graze the wide plains of his shoulders and pecs, dragging hesitant trails down to his nipples. He’s too afraid to look at Jungkook’s face, too afraid to see his own ravenous desire mirrored back at him.
Inhaling sharply, Jungkook shudders under Seokjin’s touch, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyelashes flutter closed, and his lips part as Seokjin allows his hands to touch him more. It’s the same skin, the same body he’s touched before, but it’s different now. This time laced with lust, something different than the playful tickling and wrestling matches. Has this feeling been there all along? Bubbling and warming itself all these years, morphing into this moment?
For a second, Seokjin wonders if this is wrong. Isn’t Jungkook like his little brother? But when he looks at his face, all he sees is plush lips, cheeks blushing in shy desperation. All he can feel is the ragged way Jungkook breathes, leaning toward his touch.
“Is this… okay?” Seokjin whispers, feeling the words drag slowly from his throat. “Are we allowed—”
“—not a kid,” Jungkook murmurs, opening his eyes slowly. “Is it weird?”
“Maybe?” But Seokjin doesn’t stop touching him, doesn’t pull back from thumbing Jungkook’s nipples. “Trying not to think about how I’m a creepy old man.”
Jungkook laughs, and it burns away the awkwardness between them. “Jin-hyung,” he says, placing his hand over Seokjin’s on his chest, “wouldn’t it be weird if I didn’t fall for you? After knowing you for so long?”
“But aren’t we like brothers? I mean I took care of you. Am I just taking advan—”
“—no,” Jungkook interrupts. “You did take care of me. Good care of me. And now I’m grown, and I’m seeing you differently. Seeing the way you take care of all of us. I see how you’ve changed, how you’ve changed me . It just feels different, now.” He presses his forehead to Seokjin’s and lets out a shaky breath. “But if it’s weird, I can keep my feelings to myself. I thought maybe you were feeling the same, but if you aren’t…”
His voice trails off, and the silence weighs heavy for a moment. No one bats an eye at Jimin and Taehyung snuggling and sneaking kisses. When Yoongi and Hoseok show up late to dinner looking mussed and frantic, no one comments. So why the hesitation?
“Can I kiss you again?” Seokjin finally asks. He waits for Jungkook’s answer, watches as his eyes close as he nods slowly. Leaning in, Seokjin hesitates for a moment, feeling the warmth of Jungkook’s mouth so close to his. It’s the moment before a bomb detonates. Before the rip-cord on a parachute is pulled. Before a match is struck.
He could stop this now, pull back and laugh it off. Tousle Jungkook’s hair and send him on his way. Touch his face and tell him he loves him but it’s too strange, too much. He’d understand. Jungkook with his quiet intuition and sharp perception of others—he’d understand. Wouldn’t tease him or push the issue. He’d take his big, sensitive heart and nurse his longing elsewhere, leaving his feelings behind, untouched.
Seokjin can imagine those moments clearly, can imagine what would happen if he changed his mind and Jungkook walked away. It’s easy to envision the slightly awkward conversations to follow, the eventual warming up again to settle back into their comfortable relationship. All of that is so clearly playing out in his mind.
But the other possibility?
The other side of kissing Jungkook is unclear, murky in its uncertainty. Kisses complicate things. Feelings complicate things. Something about the slope of Jungkook’s nose, the careful way he steadies his breath—Seokjin feels the weight of the moment and knows Jungkook feels it too.
He licks his lips and leans in, just barely pressing his lips against Jungkook’s. There’s no hesitation anymore. Jungkook leans in, pressing back against Seokjin. It’s delirious and gentle. A kiss so clearly wanted by both of them, heavy with history and something new.
Carefully, Seokjin cups Jungkook’s cheek and lets his other hand rest against his chest. The kiss is calm and controlled, but the rapid rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest underneath Seokjin’s hand says otherwise. His heartbeat races—or is it Seokjin’s own pulse?—and his skin is warm, so warm to the touch.
Jungkook hooks his leg over Seokjin’s hip and pulls him closer. If it had been literally any other circumstance the proximity of their bodies in the sweltering, stale room would be unbearable. With their lips pressed together, skin tacky with sweat, the heat is welcomed, like some valve has been opened, and all of the craving they’ve been percolating has finally been released.
“Touch me,” Jungkook whispers again, this time with his lips still pressed to Seokjin’s. It’s more of a beg than a command, and it ignites something in Seokjin.
He lets his hands drift down Jungkook’s chest, and he strokes his thumbs gently across his nipples. It’s like plucking the strings on a guitar—each stroke, and another beautiful sound emerges.
“More,” Jungkook huffs. He drags his fingernails down the back of Seokjin’s neck, tugging at the damp hair at the nape.
Seokjin doesn’t know when it happened, but now there are hips involved in this kiss, and their bodies are moving together in a synchronous way that Seokjin only understood in dance before now. He thumbs at Jungkook’s nipple, glancing down to watch for any reaction, and he pinches it, a little firmer now.
The trembling breath that Jungkook exhales is divine. Grinning, Seokjin pinches again, watching as Jungkook closes his eyes, bites his lip and moans. It’s nothing short of ecstasy.
“You like it when hyung pinches your nipples?” He kisses Jungkook’s cheek, his ear, his neck. All the while, he circles his fingers around Jungkook’s nipples, delighting in the way he shivers and squirms against him.
“Yeah.” His eyes flutter open, and he watches Seokjin flick at his nipples and run his smooth fingers over them in circles. “Sensitive.” He swallows and shudders, grabs one of Seokjin’s wrists to slow his movements. “Always have been. You know that.”
Seokjin blushes. Feels it reach the tip of his ears. “Not like this, I didn’t.”
He knows when the kissing ends, there’s a conversation waiting for them. Questions of what next or what was that? But for now, Seokjin lets those questions drift away, lets the worries of future decisions dissipate in the heat. In this moment, there’s only Jungkook, his bare chest pressed against him, and his leg hooked over Seokjin’s hip. Only heat and mouths, fingers circling nipples, grazing over collarbones. Whatever comes next can wait.