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Whenever Jungkook leaves the tennis club gym in the late hours of the day, via the exit leading across the courts, he has the pleasure of witnessing the most beautiful man he has ever seen in action.
He’s tall (and handsome as hell, as some might eulogize), fast as he chases the ball, forceful when he smashes his racket against it in a perfect arch that pushes a small groan from his lips. And when he lands the ball perfectly on the sideline, he throws a cheeky smile - half-bashful, half-proud – to his coach or whoever he has challenged in that session; before doing it all over again.
It’s a nice ritual for Jungkook, a good way to calm down after his work out: sitting on the side of the court on the edge of the feeble aluminium benches, letting the chilly evening air refresh his lungs, and watching the club’s most prominent player train.
He’s wearing a black and white block-coloured sports jacket today, complete with black shorts and sneakers, kindly provided by one of the sponsors vying for his attention.
Sometimes, Jungkook has to actively remind himself to close his mouth when he watches the player. His jaw involuntarily drops open, saliva gathering, when he takes in the musculature of the swiftly moving calves, the sliver of stomach that’s revealed during a particularly strained stretch for a ball, the broad shoulders emphasised by wide arm movements. If Jungkook were closer, maybe he would see the sheen of sweat on the athlete’s skin, the way his hair sticks to his forehead. For now, Jungkook observes how he readies himself to receive the serve, feet apart and body bent forward, a steady grip on his racket and alert eyes on his opponent, breathing a bit more laboured now towards the end of the session.
A voice drags Jungkook’s attention away.
“You’re new here?”
A different man approaches him. With his fluffy dark hair and pronounced jaw line he could just as well be a drama star but judging from the racket in his one hand and the three tennis balls he easily carries in his other, he is likely another club player.
Jungkook scoots down the bench to make room for the new arrival.
“Uh, no, I’m not a player,” he admits. “My usual gym is refurbishing some parts, so I’ve been sneaking in here to use your guys’ boxing equipment.” He smiles at the other man and is met with a slowly growing boxy grin in return.
“That’s okay, I won’t tell.” The guy sends him a wink. “I’m Taehyung.” Taehyung puts down his racket and places the balls on top of it, careful so they won’t bounce off. Then, he offers his hand. Jungkook shakes it.
“Jungkook.”
“And that’s Seokjin.” Taehyung jerks his head towards the court.
“Huh?”
“The guy you’ve been ogling, that’s Kim Seokjin.” He says it with a hint of a smirk.
Jungkook feels a blush creep up his neck. He really does need to learn to keep his mouth closed, or at least ogle a little more discretely.
“Oh, um,” he swallows, “yeah, I know.”
Taehyung snickers. “I’m not surprised. I think everyone and their mother was talking about him after the Japan Open.”
A smile fights its way onto Jungkook’s face. He remembers the excitement of seeing Seokjin’s name in the trending Naver articles.
Their eyes turn back to the court, taking in the player’s, Seokjin’s, perfect form as he throws a tennis ball up in the air, swings his racket against it, and lands it with calculated precision in the corner of the service court. But Seokjin doesn’t have time to dwell on the flawless serve, he sprints to the other edge of the court where the ball is being returned with lightning speed. He rotates his body to get leverage on the ball, steps out with one foot, and hits it again, both hands gripping the handle tightly. And back to the centre mark he runs.
“Coach never holds back with him,” Taehyung mutters, “but he’s so good. He’s so good, it’s almost annoying.”
Jungkook laughs. “Are you guys rivals, or something?”
He recounts the countless sports manwhas he has been (more or less willingly) exposed to, the sabotages, schemes and barely concealed malevolence. And Jungkook has only just met Taehyung, but he already feels like the guy could hardly do anything worse than tie someone’s shoelaces together.
“Maybe.” Taehyung sends him another grin, “I guess we could be. They recruited me from Daegu not too long ago, and you know, people in the circuit said I’m here to give him a run for his money, but the managers told me it would be a good opportunity to learn from my senior.”
Jungkook hums, eyes back on Seokjin. He just catches how he sheds his sports jacket, revealing a white shirt underneath that he fans out where it sticks to his unmissable abs. Jungkook traps his bottom lip between his teeth, brain running on high at the thought of the soft skin and hard muscles there.
“And have you learned anything from him so far?”
Taehyung huffs. “He does this thing where he tries to mess with the opponent before the serve, to distract them. In his defence, he doesn’t do it much during actual matches. It’s kinda foul, but he gets away with it because he looks cute.”
Jungkook can imagine it. How his full lips would jut out, only to morph into one of his brilliant smiles.
The players have moved closer to the middle now, practising treacherous volleys that Seokjin tries to send just over the edge of the net.
“He’s really hot,” Jungkook mumbles, watching as Seokjin steps out and stretches with a grunt to reach a tricky ball. His sounds have the tendency to make Jungkook’s imagination go wild.
Now it’s Taehyung who laughs. “You’ve got it bad, huh? I wouldn’t get my hopes up, to be honest.”
Jungkook’s curiosity is piqued immediately, dragging his eyes away from Seokjin’s biceps flexing with every return.
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“He’s a nice guy, and all, cracks jokes with everyone, but he’s kind of aloof. Doesn’t seem really interested in anything except his training and his matches. It’s all kind of surface level with him, you know.” Taehyung has gathered his tennis balls back up now, juggling them expertly with wide eyes.
Jungkook’s gaze snaps back to the court, his attention caught by a squeaky laughter emanating from the star player. He’s tilted back slightly, mouth wide and eyes crinkly in the laugh. Jungkook finds the source of the amusement on the other side of the net: the coach bent awkwardly, almost locked in position with his feet too far apart, knees too close to the ground. He must have reached for a ball he was never going to get. It brings a smile to Jungkook’s face too, but he doesn’t linger, too captivated by Seokjin’s glow. Even in the harsh white of the flood lights, even with damp sweat turning his auburn hair shaggy, he looks impeccable, charisma practically oozing out of him. It’s hard for Jungkook to believe anyone could find him aloof. Seokjin looks kind. Warm.
Then, Jungkook vaguely sees two sets of surprised eyes turning to the direction of where he is sitting. Suddenly, Taehyung drags him down to the side with a shout, just as a tennis ball cracks into the row of seats above them. Jungkook hadn’t noticed the rogue ball that must have escaped the players, hurtling directly at them.
He stares wide-eyed at the ball rolling down the row, bouncing onto a seat next to Jungkook, then looks at Taehyung, who catches one glimpse of his shocked expression and bursts into laughter.
“That’s what you get for gawking at the players and not the ball.” He shoves Jungkook playfully with an elbow.
Jungkook doesn’t respond, because he now notices that the very object of his gawking is directly approaching them. With wide strides, Seokjin jogs over and bends down next to Jungkook to pick up the escaped ball.
He looks even more beautiful up close, skin flushed from exertion, eyes shining under the bright lights illuminating the court and delicate hands clutching his gear. A sheeny forehead reveals itself as Seokjin brushes his hair away with his sweatband.
He clicks his tongue and eyes Jungkook with a grin. “Watch out. Wouldn’t want to get a bruise on that pretty face, would we?”
He tilts his head at him, but Jungkook averts his eyes with a huff, already feeling the blush tingling under his skin again and sensing his ears heating up. He brings up his hands to cover them.
“Holy shit,” Taehyung says next to him once Seokjin has left them again.
“What,” Jungkook mumbles, lips curling into a smile.
“I’ve known him for a few months, but I’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. I mean, aside from jokingly not joking about how good-looking he is.”
He turns his head to face Taehyung again, ears still tucked safely under his hands.
“Really?”
“Yeah, look, he’s still staring.”
Jungkook looks up to find Seokjin walking backwards towards the centre of the court, gaze still fixed on him, but he quickly turns it into a wink.
Jungkook groans as he buries his face in his hands, even though he can’t stop a wide smile from spreading on his face.
“He’s so cheesy.”
“Shameless,” Taehyung nods. “I can see it now. He’s really hot.”
“Hey, hands off!” Jungkook lifts his head to pout at Taehyung, earning him another snicker.
They watch on as Seokjin and his coach start gathering up the balls around the court, training having come to a close. Next to him, Taehyung stands and begins to warm up for his own session, stretching his arms overhead and twisting his wrists. Really, there isn’t a point for Jungkook to still be here, and he asks himself whether Taehyung wonders why he’s lingering, if he really thinks that Jungkook just came to peer at their star athlete like a horny fanboy. But it’ll probably clear itself up in no time.
Just then, Seokjin pops the last ball into the basket, collects his discarded jacket from the sideline and strides back to Jungkook’s bench with a grin growing on his face. Jungkook can’t help but mirror it, excitement is bubbling in his stomach.
Taehyung pokes him. “Oh my god, he’s coming over here again.”
Jungkook inhales dramatically. “No way, why could that be,” he smirks.
When Seokjin finally reaches them, he bends down, brings one hand firmly to Jungkook’s neck and plants a kiss on his lips. Jungkook hums into the kiss, tilting his head for Seokjin. He relishes in how he is finally able to taste him, feeling his lips familiar against his own. He thinks he can hear a small gasp beside him.
“Ready to go home, bun?” Seokjin asks against his mouth.
Before he can answer, he receives a shove from Taehyung, but clings onto Seokjin’s waist before he can topple to the side.
“Excuse me?? What is this??” Taehyung shouts, continuously delivering punches to Jungkook's shoulder.
“Taehyung-ah, please stop hitting my boyfriend.” Seokjin wraps his arms protectively around Jungkook’s neck.
“Your boyfriend?” He asks, volume barely contained. He looks back and forth between them, eyes wide and mouth open.
Jungkook hides his face against Seokjin’s stomach, unable to contain his giggles.
“I’m sorry, Taehyung-ssi, I couldn’t resist. You were going on about how cool and distant hyung is and I had this image of him hugging his plushie while crying over animation last night, it was too good not to play along.”
Taehyung tuts, opening his mouth a couple of times as if to say something, but then simply delivers a knock to Jungkook’s head with the strings of his racket as fair payback.
Seokjin is laughing now, too. His hand falls into Jungkook’s hair, twisting the black strands.
“Aw, Taehyung-ah, you called me cool?”
Jungkook props his chin against his boyfriend’s toned stomach, looking up at him. “He called you aloof, hyungie.”
“Aloof?”, he shrieks, and tries to wiggle his own racket around to smack the offender, but Taehyung has already brought a safe distance between them.
“Well, maybe if you brought your charming boyfriend along sometimes, you’d appear a little bit more approachable”, he counters, skipping onto the court with a light step.
Jungkook hums. “I’ve been telling you that, hyung,” he jokes. Jungkook has come along plenty, has had front-row seats to Seokjin’s matches, embraced him after every win and kneaded his shoulders after every loss, just not live on television but in the privacy of their own little world.
“You’re both brats,” Seokjin huffs, but he bends down again, bringing their lips together once more.
Jungkook is still clutching his waist tightly when Seokjin straightens up, his face pressed against his boyfriend’s middle. It feels so good to hold him again, even though they only spent a couple of hours apart. He’s always safe with Seokjin.
“You looked incredibly sexy out there again, hyung.”
“Thank you, thank you. I try hard for my fans.”
Jungkook feels Seokjin’s fingertips scratching lightly against the back of his neck, then moving up to trace the shell of his ear. He cards a hand softly through Jungkook’s hair a few times, before he finally says, “You’ll have to let go of me at some point, so I can grab my things and we can head home.”
“No,” Jungkook grumbles against Seokjin’s shirt. “I had to watch you do all this without touching and then I had to pretend I barely know you. I deserve this.”
He feels the vibration of Seokjin’s laughter against his face.
“You didn’t have to do anything. Come on, I’m sweaty and smelly.”
Jungkook wants to say how he doesn’t mind, how he might even be a little bit into it, but Seokjin is trying to peel him off of him, so all he mumbles out is a “No, no, no, hyung” and stays firmly rooted on the bench.
Seokjin sighs above him, but indulges him, nonetheless. He brings his hand back into Jungkook’s hair, combing slowly through the layers before moving to his neck, gently working the muscles there.
“You’re right, bunny, you’ve worked so hard today. I would have suggested we shower together, heat up some stew and play MarioKart, but we can also just stay here and watch Taehyungie practice.”
Jungkook squints his eyes open, then makes a swift decision and jumps up, grabs Seokjin’s hand and drags him to the locker rooms.
“That’s what I thought.”