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Park Jimin is a little shit.
Given the nature of what he does to earn his daily bread and the amount of time he has spent on this job, Yoongi should have grown immune to the endless teasing he has to put up with every night, his throat shouldn’t feel so tight and his palms shouldn’t be so slippery. He shifts, crosses and then uncrosses his legs. Leather rubs uncomfortably against itchy skin, scratching not quite at the right spot. The smell of the familiar cologne hits Yoongi’s nose and he grimaces, running his hand through his red hair in frustration.
“You’re okay, boss?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow, topping up the whisky in Yoongi’s cup with a practiced swirl at the wrist, a little smirk tugging at his lips and Yoongi wonders if he should fire Namjoon just from being so damn observant.
“I’m fine” Yoongi downs the whisky in one gulp. The cold liquid burns its way down his throat, but quickly disseminates the moment the pool of heat in Yoongi’s stomach swallows it whole.
The glass cranks a little too loudly when Yoongi puts it down. And in the briefest fraction of a second, he catches a glance shot his way from the opposite corner of the club.
Park Jimin is a little shit.
And no, Yoongi doesn’t mean Baby J, his stripper persona, the hot guy whose jeans are barely hanging on to his hips, whose body’s achingly slow movements is writing its own music, whose hooded eyes and plump lips are tracing the arched neck of a very, very pleased customer. No, the one who is constantly getting on Yoongi’s nerve is not his club’s new favourite, but Park Jimin, the godforsaken kid who knows too well how to be irresistible and doesn’t let it go whenever he catches Yoongi staring. And, god, does Yoongi stare, all the times, from the corner of his eye, through the bottom of his glass, when he changes the track at the spinning table, or when he is just resting, leaning against the bar, tipsy, head titled and fingers drumming along the deep bass of the music.
He stares at Jimin’s perfect eyeliner, at his jawline, at the way toned biceps flow seamlessly to the tips of his chubby fingers, at his thighs, at the faintest happy trail that always makes its appearance despite how frequently Jimin shaves. He stares until the little shit catches him with a self-satisfied smirk on his face and he looks away, kicking himself inside in the process.
Not that Jimin is the only gorgeous guy in Yoongi’s club. There is Seokjin, although his body coordination is too horrid for even the little dancing you ought to do working in a strip club, his beautiful face and body are more than enough to make up for the lack of skills. Taehyung and Jungkook have both look and personality. They are a playful and daring pair, and they also mean unstoppable cash flowing from their regular customers. And Hoseok, the club’s very own super star, who dances more and strips less than he should, but every show he puts on is a freaking concert of his own way of seduction.
But Park Jimin. It has been one month since the kid walked in, simple black snapback, varsity jacket, leather pants, and chubby cheeks that caused Yoongi to snort, mostly out of curiosity, when he asked for a job, and to make the grave mistake of asking Jimin to “show what he got” to Yoongi right then and there. It has been a month and Yoongi is still unable to pinpoint exactly what draws him to Jimin so goddamn much, and to forget the embarrassment that consumed him when he relieved himself in the toilet, minutes after the first time they met. It’s Park Jimin and there are something more than just his perfect abs that drives Yoongi a little crazy.
Maybe it’s the way Jimin moves his body in just the right way. Maybe it’s his sinful lips that would have looked perfect around Yoongi’s length. Maybe it’s that dark twinkle in his eyes whenever he looks at Yoongi, as if he knows the older boy has been jerking off to him a few times too many. Yoongi can’t define the source of Jimin’s attraction and the thing that threatens to shove him across the boss-employee line. But he is reminded, every single day, that he wants to know Jimin in ways beyond their professional interactions.
“Oh hey, the crowd is streaming in.” Namjoon nudges with his voice, wiping the last set of glasses and placing them neatly on the shelf behind him “in time for Baby J’s special.”
Yoongi downs his fourth, or maybe fifth, glass of the night. “Baby J’s special. Right. His first month’s performance.” Yoongi thinks warily while waving back at some of the familiar faces walking in. Of course nobody would want to miss that, except for Yoongi, who has been avoiding rehearsals, dreading the moment when he actually has to see whatever “special things” that he knows for sure will just worsen the situation that he can barely keep his pants.
The club is slowly getting packed and Namjoon slyly slides a shot of tequila to Yoongi’s side. The lights go out. The beat drops. Yoongi swallows the drink.
The spotlight is on and there stand Hoseok and Jimin, both wearing white except for Jimin’s black hoodie. They start popping and moving. The crowd goes wild when Hoseok does his signature knee drop and Jimin his tumbling. Yoongi thinks it is pretty impressive, until it’s just Jimin under the light, pulling his hoodie over his head, tearing off his white wife-beater. Whistling and excited screaming fill the club, but they are nothing compare to the deafening thumping in Yoongi’s ears, as he gazes at the way the limelight hits the lines on Jimin’s body.
Jimin appears again, wearing an unnecessary white fur coat that does nothing to help covering up his bare chest and beautiful abs. Unnecessary, but not pointless, because every single audience in the crowd tonight must be dying to rip that darn piece of clothing off, to replace the soft caressing material with their own hands. Just like how Yoongi feels, downing the second shot of tequila.
And just then, Jimin starts moving, grinding low, thighs tensing up in his tight white pants, and rolling his body, a motion so tantalizingly smooth Yoongi would love to feel the ripple under his palm. Jimin’s own hands reach up to roam himself, until one covers half his face, leaving only eyes so dark that saying “seductive” wouldn’t do them justice. Jimin walks around the stage, doing his things, biting on lips, sticking out his tongue, pretending he is not aware how his fur coat is slowly sliding off his shoulder, until an audience snatches it before it can even drop to the floor. From then on, it’s just Jimin’s half naked body in all its glory.
Although Yoongi sees Jimin borderline naked more often than him fully clothed, and despite the fact that he has studied the shapes and lines of the fine piece of art that is Jimin’s body for way too long, the older boy can’t help his hitched breath when Jimin turns and the light shines on his sculptured back.
“Damn” Namjoon hisses next to him, refilling Yoongi’s drink yet again.
Yoongi is thankful for Namjoon, because in the very next moment, Jimin rips of his white pants in a quick move, leaving only his underwear, lined with shiny strips, no less. Jimin sways his hip slowly, and the crowd sounds like they live for that exact moment. Yoongi struggles to drag his gaze away from the outline of Jimin’s package, painfully emphasized by the shadows cast by the spotlight, but unfortunately his eyes land on Jimin’s and they lock.
Fuck. It’s that look again. The smug that can’t be interpreted in any other way but “enjoy, hyung~”. The subtle curve at the corner of Jimin’s glossed lips that sends sparks down his spine. When Yoongi feels the twitching in his crotch, he decides that he can take it no more, so he downs his, hopefully, last tequila and tells Namjoon he is going out for a smoke.
When Yoongi finally gets back, the show has long been over.
“Hey, boss” Namjoon says, slinging his bag over his shoulder “Everyone’s left. I am heading back now. You can lock the place up.”
“Thanks” Yoongi glances at the empty stage and heaves a sigh of relief, or maybe disappointment, he can’t really tell.
“Rest well.”
Namjoon bolts for the door and Yoongi snaps the lock into place. The alcohol is catching up with him and he probably needs to stay the night instead of risking driving home. His thin shirt reeks of smoke and feels sticky to his skin, so he slides it off as he heads to the changing room, where he has placed a huge couch especially for the times he have to spend the night in the club.
“Hey, hyung!”
Yoongi freezes at the door. Jimin walks over, shaking his wet hair, a bath towel wrapping around his hips. Not only he is still half naked, his body is almost soaking wet.
“I am feeling a bit too tired to go home” Jimin smiles at Yoongi, doesn’t seem to be in a rush to put his clothes back on “so I am staying here tonight. Hope you don’t mind, hyung!”
Jimin’s last word trails, sticky against his throat and Yoongi’s froggy mind can’t process if Jimin’s low humming voice means anything. He’s too drunk to properly come up with a simple “it’s fine”, so they end up staring at each other in silence. But when Jimin glances down to Yoongi’s exposed chest and subconsciously bites down on his lower lip, Yoongi can no longer stop himself from doing what he’s been dying to do all night.
Yoongi pushes Jimin against the wall, hands cupping Jimin’s face and crashing their lips together. Jimin’s lips feel so soft and warm against his own, and they taste as intoxicating as Yoongi thought they would. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or it’s the one-month wait, but Yoongi is embarrassingly eager, his tongue pressing, sliding against Jimin’s, his teeth tugging down the latter’s lips. Jimin whimpers at the pain, fingers curling in Yoongi’s hair and Yoongi can feel the young boy’s bare chest fast rising against his body.
As Yoongi pulls apart, Jimin’s lips still pucker and his eyes gaze deep into Yoongi’s, half pleading, half waiting. So Yoongi presses his palms against Jimin’s burning skin, and starts kissing, sucking on Jimin’s jaw, neck, shoulder, chest, marking bruises in all the forbidden bits of skin his eyes have ever laid upon. Jimin arches and squirms, responding to Yoongi’s unceasing lips. But it’s his soft whines and whimpers, that sweet sound, that is sending Yoongi down to hell and up to heaven until it’s the only sound that matters, the only sound that Yoongi wants to hear.
“Do you know what you did to me?” Yoongi bites behind Jimin’s ear, fingers twisting at his hardening nipple “The smug face of yours, on stage, during your little performance.”
“Did you like it hyung?” Jimin laughs satisfactorily between his pants, feeling bold enough to pull at the waist of Yoongi’s leather pants, making the other fall forward. Their hips end up collapsing on top of each other.
Yoongi has been feeling the tightness of his pants for quite a while now, but only when he can feel Jimin’s hardening underneath his towel that Yoongi thinks it’s time they both did something about it. Yoongi kisses Jimin again, while guiding their tangled bodies to the couch. Jimin gets rid of his towel immediately when they manage to sit down, his erection springing free against his stomach and the sight of it sends Yoongi’s hand fumbling at the zip of his pants.
“Let me help you hyung” Jimin chubby fingers find Yoongi’s waist against, flirting at the band of Yoongi’s underwear. And here comes that smug look again, as if Jimin knew what Yoongi wants.
Because he knows what Yoongi wants.
“Little shit” Yoongi hisses as cold air hits the throbbing heat between his legs. He leans back against the couch as Jimin tosses the last piece of clothing on their bodies away.
Before Yoongi can scramble for his thought, Jimin kneels down between his legs, hands running up Yoongi’s thighs and gazing at the older boy with hooded eyes, dark, sweet, drawing, like melted chocolate.
“Can I…?” Jimin asks, but the low hum in his voice tells Yoongi he already knows the answer.
“Fuck yes” Yoongi growls.
Yoongi watches as Jimin lowers his head, not breaking his eyes from Yoongi, until he stops, lips and warm breath hovering over the tip of Yoongi’s length. Of course the darn kid has to be a freaking tease, he does that for a living."
“I swear to god Park Jimin if you don't-"
A gasp takes place of the rest of Yoongi's sentence, as Jimin dips his head and licks along the underside of Yoongi’s dick, tongue pressing and twirling in all the right places.
Yoongi sharply inhales as Jimin takes him in his pretty mouth, throwing a hand over his forehead and feeling sweats trickling down his back. Spending half of his every day watching hot guys shredding their clothes and grinding their hips, and yet Yoongi has never felt this aroused before, seeing Jimin stark naked, erection between his legs, head bobbing, plump lips running along the length of Yoongi's and fingers planting their marks on the porcelain skin of his thighs. Yoongi’s toes are curling up and his fingers are pulling at Jimin's still wet hair. It takes all the consciousness he has left to not buck his hip up and fuck into Jimin's mouth. When the younger boy licks along the slit, Yoongi lets out a loud grunt. And even though Yoongi is pretty sure Jimin's lips are occupied at the moment, he swears he can feel the ghost of that cocky smirk on his sensitive skin.
Yoongi is close, so close. His mouth opens wide, expecting. But he should have known better because Jimin pulls his mouth off Yoongi’s dick with a pop, lips wet and swollen.
“Time for a half-time show” Jimin grins, before getting over to his dressing table and drawing out a bottle of lube and a foiled packet from his drawer, not allowing Yoongi a chance to protest. Yoongi eye the items in his palm eagerly. He doesn’t even want to ask.
Jimin also grabs his white fur coat and lets it hang lightly on his shoulders, before sitting down to the opposite end of the couch, slowing spreading his legs wide open. And it should have been a weird sight, seeing Park Jimin covered with nothing but an extravagant white fur coat, teasing and pumping himself with his lubed up fingers, on a couch, but Yoongi still thinks it’s fucking erotic. The way Jimin arches his back, the way he throws his head back to exposes the bruises Yoongi left on his neck earlier on, the way his adam apple bobbles as he gulps and whines and whimpers to his own touch, the way his hooded eyes meet Yoongi’s as he bites down on his lip, and especially the way the white fur brushes softly again Jimin’s body, clinging, caressing, feeling his smooth skin. Every single sight and sound makes Yoongi want to climb over and slam into Jimin, to kiss that stupid little smirk of his beautiful face.
Yoongi takes the packet and the bottle to prepare himself, eyes not leaving Jimin, working himself into wrecks, at the other end of the couch. When Jimin finally lets out a breathy “hyung”, Yoongi doesn’t waste a second before lunging forward to press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s face.
“Hyung, please, I…” Jimin’s soft lips move against Yoongi’s.
“Please what?” It’s Yoongi’s turn to smirk. Jimin winds him up. The little shit has to beg him.
“Please fuck me”
And the younger boy doesn’t need to say it twice. Yoongi pushes himself into Jimin, sinking deep into the hilt, and Jimin lets out a loud gasp.
“Fuck” Jimin feels so good around him.
“Fuck” and Yoongi grunts again as he pulls away, and then slams into Jimin again, deeper than the first.
Yoongi snakes his arm under Jimin’s taut thighs, pushing them apart, while planting kisses over Jimin’s chest and sucking on Jimin’s hardened nipple. He is dying to move, to get the only friction that will grant him relief, but Jimin feels fucking tight around him and Yoongi doesn’t want to hurt the boy.
“Hyung, please” Jimin pleads, eyes watering, grinding his hip down to Yoongi’s dick.
Once Yoongi starts moving, rutting in and out of Jimin, it is as if he’s slowly losing all his control, drowning in the way Jimin’s skin feels on his, just like the way the soft fur feels pliant under their weight. Yoongi keeps getting quicker and rougher, and he can’t help it, because Jimin feels just as good, if not much better, than the show he puts on every night. Jimin eyes squeeze shut, fingers digging into Yoongi’s back and teeth biting down on his lower lip that now looks like it’s about to break skin.
Yoongi leans down to press his mouth against Jimin’s.
“C’mon, let me here you, Park Jimin” He growls before slamming into Jimin again, hard, knocking a soft whimper out of the latter’s throat. Yoongi quickens his rhythm and Jimin mewls, mouth agape, chest flushed and sweat trickling down his neck.
It’s so fucking hot. Yoongi wants to kiss, to bite, to nip at the soft skin he’s been dreaming to touch, but the way Jimin feels around him and the sounds of his voice empty Yoongi’s head. All his lust and want are reduced to just the sound of his skin slapping against Jimin’s ass.
“Fuck- Yoongi hyung, fuck-“ Jimin arches up, thighs pressing at Yoongi’s sides and the older boy knows he’s found the spot. He quickens his pace, pressing in the same place that makes Jimin moan out his name, with a voice that is now a little hoarser.
Yoongi can feel the edge coming close, his arms begin to shake under his weight, but Jimin’s forgotten dick is still bouncing on his abs between the both of them. Jimin must have caught the look in Yoongi’s eyes because he props himself up to kiss Yoongi.
“Don’t worry about me hyung… I can…” that smirk appears on his lips again, but now it’s softer, and so fucking sweet Yoongi leans down to drown his lips in Jimin’s.
Yoongi thrusts faster, head bumping again Jimin’s spot and Jimin writhes beneath him, whimpers growing louder, fingers forming bruises on Yoongi’s arms. Not that the older boy minds because right now, he doesn’t feel or think or know anything except the burning pleasure that is shooting through every fiber in his body.
Jimin nearly wails as he comes, spurting all over his abs. And fuck, Yoongi has never had a lay when his lover comes before him, just from being fucked, and that thought sends him over the edge, his thrusts stutter into Jimin as he rides out his orgasm.
“Fuck” Yoongi pants into the dip at the base of Jimin’s neck. An anticlimactic conclusion to what may the hottest sex with the guy he has not been able to take his eyes off for the past month.
And he can’t do it now, even when he has already gotten what he thought he wanted. Yoongi looks at Jimin, chest heaving, legs tangling with his, small hands resting at his waist, his wet lashes flutter slowly and his fringe sticking to his forehead. Yoongi doesn’t think about it but he brushes Jimin’s hair away. Jimin blinks up at Yoongi, small smile spreading on his swollen lips.
God. This is so not Park Jimin. Not the little shit with that teasing smile, the brat that must have planned for tonight to happen. And this is not Yoongi either – it must be the tequila - but he pulls Jimin in and plants a chaste kiss on the younger boy’s lips.
“Hyung… I think we destroyed the coat” Jimin giggles into Yoongi’s mouth.
“I’ll take it out of your pay.”
Jimin’s lips twist into a pout.
Didn’t he have two shots of tequila earlier? Yoongi smirks to himself as he leans into Jimin again.