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All the members know, Jimin is a sucker for a good massage.
Lying face down, weight sinking into the duvet, and Jimin forgets everything else. Forgets tomorrow's hectic schedule, forgets the burden of what his life is expected to look like under the scrutiny of a million eyes. Just shuts down his nagging brain and drowns in the sturdy hands that run across his back.
“You're really tense today, hyung.”
Jungkook is perched over him, lip bit in concentration as he digs an elbow under Jimin’s right shoulder blade.
“‘M always tense.”
Jimin cracks open an eye to glimpse back and up at the way Jungkook is a picture of determination. Those eyes hone in on singular things, tunnel vision on the target.
Every Friday night, Jimin gets to play target, lets Jungkook mold his skin and bones.
“Yeah, but you’re usually looser than this,” Jungkook comments, pauses a second before realizing what his words could sound like. Jimin sees a pretty flush pool over Jungkook’s striking cheekbones, over his cupid’s bow and down his bare neck. He shivers, Jimin really likes it when Jungkook blushes. Because of him.
A secret wish, Jimin harbors a fantasy that one night, Jungkook would be braver, let his fingers wander further down.
But Jungkook is a gentleman, never crosses the waistline. Always takes caution to leave right as both of them find their exhalations speeding up, panting. Right before they’re both completely hard, Jimin gasping hushed moans into the pillow, Jungkook’s hips stuttering unconsciously against his ass.
Each time, Jungkook only lets things heat up to the point of questionable companionship, dancing the line of this platonic bandmember kinship they’ve been holding on to for years.
Secure fingers squeeze in all the wonderful places, gets Jimin rocking up, arching forward into the cotton and back against Jungkook’s thighs.
Always, Jungkook slips away, pulls his shorts down to hide the arousal and offers a soft apology. Doesn't bring it up nor make things awkward between them, until it's next Friday and he approaches Jimin with a soft smile and an extended hand.
“Practice was more brutal today than usual.” Which is the truth, Jimin’s solo routines have the potential to do some major damage on his torso. More stress means more weight-bearing exercise to keep those muscles taut, safe.
One time, a dangerous evening that felt like fiery, palpable electricity, Jungkook told Jimin how pretty he looked, breathless and pliant under his hands. Jimin almost cracked, wanted to open up and let Jungkook in. He had whispered Jungkook’s name in guttural reply and the younger boy immediately pressed up against his back, caving into feverish frenzy. And Jimin was gone, writhing under hasty fingers that gripped his hips, god, Jungkook felt so good, so hot and thick, rutting on top of him.
If it wasn't for Hoseok who knocked on the door to ask if Jimin had seen his headphones –
“You were flawless though, hyung.” Sometimes, the way Jungkook talks, the words his lips spill out, Jimin thinks there's a world of wonder behind each syllable. Like Jungkook tucks away stanzas of unspoken lyrics just waiting to be sung into Jimin's skin.
Jimin wants to hear them, wants to dance with Jungkook to the precious melodies, a neverending coda.
What is a symphony if there’s no one to listen?
“Aish, you're too much.”
“Don't deny it. You practiced too much.”
A pointed rub above Jimin's left hip undoes a stubborn knot and the rush of endorphins goes straight to his groin.
“Oh – oh shit.” The words are a growl, more breath than volume, and he hears Jungkook’s sharp intake of air, hands delaying for a millisecond.
Then Jungkook continues in slow circles around that area, supple flesh, patient until Jimin regains his focus, toes curling into the covers.
It doesn't help much that Jimin can feel Jungkook straddling his ass, sensory neurons acutely picking up on the hardness pressed into his lower back. Searing into his skin like a tattoo, the finest tramp stamp. After so many weeks of glorious massages and its equivalent of blue balls, Jimin has a crystal clear idea of just how big Jungkook is when he's fully heavy and warm.
“You good?” Jungkook’s words split, fissures stumbling at the end.
A softie at heart, Jimin’s resolve wavers at the thought of his friend’s – no, best friend’s, really – concern. A few of Jimin’s favorite pastimes include the D’s: dancing, drawing, (dicking?), and doting on the maknae so this, their literal switch in position and deed, fills Jimin with curiosity.
“Really, really good,” Jimin mumbles against the pillow, draws out the syllables. “Hey, can I – can I ask somethin’?”
Jungkook stops his hands at that, it's a new change in their routine. Takes a few seconds before replying, “Of course, yeah. Give it to me.”
Deciding it a safer option to ignore the flagrant innuendo, Jimin faintly catches the low beat of something playing two rooms over, the drop of bass wrapping around them like a bubble on Jimin's bed.
“Can I maybe, do you?”
Jimin almost slaps himself for his choice of phrasing, but the words are out. He feels like he's going deaf, ears filling, full, he thinks Jungkook might be replying but can't make out the words clearly. The insistent clockwork of his heart pulses outward, white noise overflowing the rim.
“What was that?”
The air thrums, heady. Jimin stays still, tries to ignore the chanting voices of danger, danger.
“I said okay, hyung. Yeah, I'd… like that.”
They shuffle to switch and Jimin utilizes every ounce of self-determination to will down his dick before he makes himself look like an overexcited amateur. It only works halfway, the tent in his short-shorts still painfully obvious. But Jungkook’s no better, so there’s that. Jimin feels a bit relieved, gulping past the tangle in his throat.
“Show me what you got,” Jungkook prods at his pride and steps up the thinly veiled insinuation. Jimin has his mind made up to cut that shit-eating grin from his face, so, teasing it is.
“Take off your shirt, first.”
“Hmm bossy, are we?”
Jimin would take it solely as a challenge if he missed how Jungkook’s voice carried just the slightest tremble. The boy complies, white cotton fabric lifting off his shoulders to reveal sweet, smooth caramel.
“Don't start, Jungkookie.”
Jimin digs the flesh of his palms into the base of Jungkook's spine, using the sides of his hands to slide up the vertebrae, catching the bony prominences with his nails.
The reaction is instantaneous. Jungkook’s broad form jolts entirely off the mattress, “Oh fuck, fuck–”
“You don’t like it?” Jimin continues, smirk laced into his words. He alternates between gentle caressing and keen strokes, working in the dense fibrous tissue and packed muscle.
“Hmmmdnsnn–”
“I can’t understand you, Kookie, you need to speak up.” He’s having way too much fun with this, but can’t deny that Jungkook’s slurs don’t go straight south.
The pillow crumbles under Jungkook’s grip, where he’s faced forward into the cushion. His stuttering groans are muffled but Jimin catches a few curse words and a line that sounds aching similar to ‘fuck me, hyung.’
Jimin nearly buckles under the insanity, his fingers dance along Jungkook’s waistband before retreating back to safe ground. Jungkook lets out a sound of disappointment, rear jerking up, up, nestled under Jimin’s groin.
Straying hands that linger too long.
Jimin needs to remind himself to breathe in, breathe out. Or else he’ll lose grip of this balancing act they’ve got going on, honed over five years of practice.
Five years of practice that dare to slip away with each grind that Jungkook nudges back.
“Feels really good.”
“Yeah?” Jimin catches how his throat sounds like sandpaper. He needs a drink and Jungkook’s back is slick with sweat. He wonders how quickly an ice cube would melt on molten skin.
“You’re so sweaty.”
“It’s fuckin’ hot, not my fault. If you wanna stop, then–”
“Nah, it’s good.” Jimin digs forcefully into Jungkook’s nape, clenching his fingers around the curved slope.
Jungkook lolls his head to the side, turns his face so Jimin can finally see how wrecked he looks. He’s got gorgeous round eyes that flutter open and shut and lips parted in craving.
Jimin is so hungry. The sight is appetizing and he just wants to suck on Jungkook’s lip, bite it, feel it bruise between his teeth.
He’s also so, so hard and the thin fabrics that separate their bare skin are shamefully damp. There’s no way Jungkook can’t feel that.
“G-god hyung, your hands.”
“What about ‘em?”
“Mmmmfph.”
As much as Jimin wants to – needs to – continue this, to press more fingerprints into Jungkook, unfortunately, he feels a cramp coming on. “Sorry baby, gotta stop. Can’t feel my fingertips.”
The pet name slips out and Jimin’s called Jungkook his baby countless times before, just never when the younger is sprawled under him, a whimpering mess.
Jungkook’s shoulders stiffen up again and they wait. Neither dares to move until the awkward tide ebbs and flows, and they can exhale simultaneously. Jimin regains his wits and slides off, rolling onto his side.
“You good?”
“Better than good. Amazing. You’re gonna have to do the massages from now on, hyung.”
Jimin laughs, he can think once again without tripping over the stench of forbidden desire. “No way, every Friday night is still all you.” He pokes Jungkook’s cheek and his heart grips at the sight of those crinkling, childish eyes.
It’s a different kind of grip, black and white between the way they were traipsing the precipice of friendship not even a minute ago.
Settling into the mattress, Jimin reaches to pull the covers over them. This is a new step, too. By now, Jungkook would be whistling on his way out.
“Sleep with hyung tonight, Jungkookie.”
Jungkook pulls a face but doesn’t resist sliding closer. Jimin feels something bubbly inside, hears the allegro cadence between his ears when Jungkook makes grabby hands to seek out his body heat.
If Jimin could wish upon a star, he’d wonder how it would be to relinquish all boundaries. To be so close to Jungkook, that neither of them could tell where one of ends and the other starts.
"G'night hyung."
As Jungkook’s breathing slows down, leg hitched over Jimin’s hip, they’re close but not nearly close enough.
What was it that was said about love? Friendship on fire?
If so, then Jimin knows he’s already gone, smoldering ashes, settled in the aching distance that they keep between themselves.