Chapter Text
Jungkook feels the tug of Namjoon’s fist in his hair and lets the momentum carry him over, over, and down until he thumps against the mattress, and lets his body fill up with love.
Except it’s not love. What they’re doing.
It’s not even dating, or even secret dating. It’s just this.
Fucking on a chartered yacht in the middle of the river, where they can be as loud as they want and no one will know.
He slides his hand up into his messy hair, pushing it back from his face, letting his bicep flex and putting a tiny arch in his back, peering over his shoulder at his not-boyfriend, Kim Namjoon.
Namjoon. RM. Everyone’s favorite indie rap god. 181 cm of flawless, golden muscles, somehow with the mind of a poet and a genius on top of it.
And a heart that’s hidden inside a locked box.
Jungkook should know. He’s been trying to get inside of it for a while now.
Namjoon looks at Jungkook hungrily, lips parted, eyelids low, the way Jungkook wanted him to look. Not quite crossing over into danger yet, but starting to get there. Eventually Jungkook will push him there.
He leans back a little, on his knees on the bed, deepening the arch in his back ever so slightly. His fingers curl into the soft sheets. Namjoon’s hands find his waist, as Jungkook knew they would, warm and big, reaching all the way around, squeezing. His thumbs stroke into the dimples of his back, fingers meeting over his belly button.
“You wore these for me, baby?” His voice is husky and soft, pitched just for the two of them, even though there’s no one around who could hear.
He’s talking about the silky little black shorts, the ones that are currently straining around Jungkook’s ass and his hardening cock. The waistband looked just like gym shorts, innocently peeking out the top of his sweats. He wore them all day, and no one knew what they were.
But the bottom looks different than gym shorts. They’re cut high, exposing half his ass, the silky fabric giving way to loose fluttery lace that flares out cutely.
He likes the lace. Because of it, he can feel the tickle of Namjoon’s fingers playing with the hem, then wrapping under the middle seam of the shorts and giving it a sharp tug so that the fabric pulls tight against his balls. Jungkook’s voice heightens into a breathless whimper.
He rolls sideways, twisting at the waist under Namjoon’s grip, because he knows Namjoon likes to feel how small it is under his hands, likes the contrast. Jungkook looks up at him through the waves of his messy fringe. “Mmmmaybe. I dunno. I have other schedules after this.”
Namjoon smiles open-mouthed, a little cocky. He likes it when Jungkook acts too important and busy for him, reminds him that when they’re not together like this, Jungkook is a beloved pop prince, untouchable and sweet. Again, Jungkook knows he likes the contrast.
“Oh? These are part of your schedule?” He’s pretending it’s a joke, feigning disinterest, but the way his hand slides down to Jungkook’s hip is a tell. He smooths his other hand up the small of Jungkook’s back, pressing lightly, gently guiding him face down. Jungkook knows what he wants. “Bet your fans would love to see you in these, wouldn’t they?”
As usual, Jungkook can’t help but take the chance to mouth off. “They’d look good on you too. Your fans have no idea.”
Namjoon’s grip tightens at his hip, bunching the silky fabric. “I don’t think so.” His voice sounds a little raw, like he momentarily forgot the game they’re playing. Jungkook wishes briefly that he could see his face.
But it doesn’t matter. He reminds himself that what they’re doing doesn’t require gentleness. He just happens to know that Namjoon gets weird about his own appearance, sometimes. He may be Jungkook’s ideal man, but he doesn’t exactly fit into the absurdly narrow standard of what an idol should look like, the way that Jungkook happens to. Jungkook hates thinking it’s something that bothers him, when he looks the way he does.
Beauty standards weren’t made for a man like Namjoon. He should be the man all beauty standards are based on, Jungkook thinks a little deliriously, as he feels the warm sting of Namjoon’s hand clapping against his ass. He can feel his eyes on him, the watchful attention that soaks up every little detail of Jungkook’s reaction, the way his ass jiggles, the way his hips jump, the high little moan that startles out of his throat.
“You make the sweetest little sounds.” He’s leaning over close, now, Jungkook can feel the heat of his breath on the back of his neck. His hand rubs soothingly over Jungkook’s ass, lazily spreading it, squishing it back and forth.
Jungkook lets out something closer to a squeak, unfiltered, because he knows Namjoon will like it, and pushes back against him, seeking the feeling of his body over Jungkook’s weighing him down. He loves being gently crushed beneath Namjoon’s slightly larger frame. There’s no safer feeling.
“Not yet, baby.” His voice is low, amused, that deep register Jungkook loves, the one that means he’s letting go. His hand presses down on the back of Jungkook’s neck, big and warm, pinning him to the bed. Jungkook takes in a rushed, happy breath, feeling the way his chest pushes against the mattress, gently restricted. He wiggles happily.
Namjoon’s other hand, the one playing with his ass, slides in further, delicately parting the lace, a finger tracing close to his hole. Jungkook holds as still as he can, thrilled tingles of warmth shooting up and down his body, waiting for the moment when he feels it.
It doesn’t disappoint. Namjoon hums happily, right up close behind Jungkook’s ear, a deep sound Jungkook can almost feel in his body. “You got ready for me, baby? When did you do that? You walked around like this all day for me?”
Jungkook turns his head a little, as much as he can, his cheek squishing against the bed. “Thought about you. In stupid meetings, and while I was recording in the booth—”
Namjoon makes a sound that’s almost a growl, a delicious sound that pulls at something in Jungkook’s low abdomen, and Namjoon finally leans down to capture Jungkook’s mouth in a kiss, and at the same moment pushes Jungkook’s shorts to the side and slides two fingers into his hole.
“Mmmh—” Namjoon devours the little sound Jungkook makes like he’s starving for it, pressing into his space and into his body. Jungkook feels his lip piercing knock against Namjoon’s bottom teeth. He gives himself over.
He sinks into the confines of their bodies happily, not worrying anymore about if they’re both in the moment, knowing they’ve already made it there, safely into the headspace they need, the one where only they truly exist and everyone else falls away. No managers, no fans, no crude artificial barriers that separate them and place them in different categories. Just them.
He lets Namjoon kiss him senseless, and fuck him with his fingers, sweet gentle pressure, even though he doesn’t need it because he got ready at the start of the day, picturing how Namjoon would react later, shivering afterward at the thought of it as he pulled these shorts on and let the waistband snap.
He lets Namjoon kiss him until he’s out of breath, because he’s the only person who’s ever bothered to try, and it’s not easy to steal Jungkook’s breath away.
He lets out little sounds into their kisses, small whimpers and sighs, because he knows Namjoon likes to hear it, wants to hear all of it, everything he’s doing to Jungkook and making him feel, and so he doesn’t hold back. They don’t have to worry about someone hearing their voices through the wall or watching them through a window with a long-range camera. It’s just the two of them.
They have to break the kiss so Namjoon can get inside him, and Jungkook lies on his front, looking over his shoulder again.
Namjoon is panting a little, heaving chest shining with sweat, the perfect biteable mounds of his pecs that are about to be pressed to Jungkook’s back. Next time Jungkook’s going to ride him so he can grab and squeeze them. He’s glaring down at Jungkook with those eyes, even with his hand wrapped around his own cock he can’t stop staring at Jungkook.
Jungkook feels a smile tugging at his lips. They’re a little sore from kissing, but never too much, not so anyone would be able to tell later. He decides to use his secret weapon.
“Joon. Honey. It’s too big, you’re not gonna fit.”
Namjoon looks at him, and a smug little smile creases his cheeks, popping his dimples. “No? Are you nervous, baby?”
Jungkook calls it his secret weapon, but it’s not really a secret what it does to either of them at this point.
Jungkook shakes his head emphatically, the wavy curls of his hair moving with it and tickling his cheeks. “No. I’m not nervous. I just think you’re too big.”
Namjoon does what Jungkook wants him to do, grabs his hips and slides his shorts down, pulling him onto his knees. An electric shiver travels through his body. He drops his head down between his folded arms, letting it happen. “Want me to show you?”
“Yeah. Prove it to me. Prove that you’ll fit.”
The soft snap of the condom shouldn’t turn him on, but everything Namjoon does turns him on, even when it’s the same little things that every guy does. It’s different because it’s him doing it. Jungkook is fucked.
He’s fucked, but just as well as he likes, because Namjoon doesn’t give him any warning when he slides deep inside him, slow and steady and full. He’s being a little too gentle, Jungkook thinks.
“It won’t go deep enough. It’s too big, it won’t go all the way in.”
He wiggles his hips and whines, like he’s dissatisfied, even though it feels good. It can feel better. He knows it can. He just has to keep pushing.
“Be patient, baby.” Namjoon sounds a little breathless, but Jungkook knows he gets like that right after he pushes in, because Jungkook’s ass is just that good, he assumes.
Namjoon starts moving, slow, still too slow, tiny little shifts of his hips, in and out. Physically, Jungkook takes it, but verbally, he keeps riling him up.
“C’mon. Get all the way inside me, I wanna feel you deeper.”
“This isn’t deep enough for you?” His hips press flat against Jungkook’s ass and stay there, resting inside him, the calm before the storm. Namjoon’s voice is starting to get that dangerous edge to it that Jungkook loves.
“No. Never. It’s never deep enough. I wanna feel you all the way up here.” Jungkook presses one hand over his lower abdomen, hiding his smile in the sheets.
“Can’t feel it, huh, princess? Want me to wreck you?”
There he is. Jungkook wriggles his hips again, and suppresses a gasp at how full he feels. He knows Namjoon is about to give him what he wants, is right on the edge of really giving it to him. “Yes, yes, wreck me, ye- ahhh—”
All the breath gets pushed out of his chest when without warning, Namjoon starts pounding into him, grabbing his hips as Jungkook starts sliding up the bed. He punches a little yelp out of Jungkook with every thrust, and Jungkook lets him, leaning back into it, wanting his insides to bear Namjoon’s mark, to be rearranged in the shape of him.
“C’mon, c’mon, harder, harder—”
“Harder than this?” Namjoon’s voice is deadly velvet against his ear. Jungkook can feel the hot press of him all along his back, the way he folds over Jungkook, covering him completely. He can’t stop himself from leaning back into him, from wanting more, as much as he can possibly get.
“Yes, please, please, plea—”
He likes provoking Namjoon into being less gentle, into smashing his cock into him so hard that Jungkook can feel the way it really doesn’t quite fit, the way it has to compress to squeeze inside him. He likes the raw feeling left inside him after when Namjoon isn’t so careful, when he really lets go.
He wanted it, asked for it, but he still isn’t quite prepared when Namjoon grabs him around the waist and flips them so Jungkook is on top of him, seated in his lap, and thrusts up into him with one smooth unforgiving flex of his hips.
“Fuck!” Jungkook cries out and clenches, desperate, trying to take him even deeper, trying to keep him right where he is. Hastily, he presses his hand against his own abdomen, and he can feel it, the deep long press of Namjoon inside him, filling him up entirely. He throws his head back in bliss, letting it land on Namjoon’s shoulder.
Namjoon says something, but it’s half panting, and Jungkook can’t quite understand it in his delirious state. He lets his head fall sideways, lips brushing against Namjoon’s throat, skidding over sweat-slick skin. He can smell him, sweaty and real, pumping into Jungkook, powerful with exertion, and then Namjoon brings a hand up to press over Jungkook’s hand, holding them together against Jungkook’s lower belly, like he wants to feel himself from the other side.
“Honey, Joonie bear, please—” Jungkook knows he’s babbling, doesn’t care, because Namjoon never cares, he always likes it, and this time is no different. He lets out a sudden, effortful grunt, voice thick with some half-restrained feeling, and he thrusts up hard into Jungkook, pressing down with his hand at the same time, and Jungkook writhes in his lap, letting out a high shaky cry as he clenches and pulses around Namjoon, his cock spurting as Namjoon wraps his other hand around it just in time, and he’s completely filled and enclosed by Namjoon, face pressed into his neck, filling up every sense with him as he comes.
Jungkook leans his face closer, tugging at the skin of Namjoon’s throat with his lips, and gives him one sharp little bite there, feeling the press of his lip ring against the soft give of Namjoon’s skin. Namjoon gasps a little, and he comes inside of Jungkook for a long, blissful time, and Jungkook is hazy and half-asleep by the time he finally pulls out.
Jungkook puts his clothes back on in a daze, after. He still smells a little of Namjoon’s sweat, but he wants that. His manager is going to be pissed. He yawns, jaw wide, and shakes his head a little. When he glances in the mirror his hair is a mess, big and fluffy, the artfully wavy curls gone wild and unruly.
“What’s the new haircut for?” Jungkook suppresses a smile, because Namjoon is so obvious, steering the boat and pretending not to look at him, glancing casually away when Jungkook turns.
“You’ll see what it’s for soon.” He runs his hands through it a few times, letting it settle into something approximating the way it looked when he first got on the boat. “Maybe I left it long because I know how much you like pulling it.” He turns all the way around now to see Namjoon’s reaction.
He just smirks a little, dimples showing, eyes crinkling. He looks pretty like this, in the dappled golden hour light off the water, skin warm and smooth, the striking deep blue of his buzz cut a little shock of color tracing the elegant curve of his head where it leads into his neck. It suits him.
Jungkook feels annoyed, suddenly. He doesn’t want to get dropped off. He wants Namjoon to keep going, drive the boat down the river to somewhere else. He wants to run away with him.
He turns to look in the direction Namjoon is looking, toward the fast-approaching pier, and he doesn’t say anything. A moment later, he goes back inside the boat, because he has to. They can’t be seen together.
There’s a bruise on Namjoon’s neck, but Jungkook doesn’t care. Or rather, he doesn’t think anyone else will care. Namjoon lives a different life than him. No one will think much of a bad boy rapper with a love bite on his neck. Maybe they’ll expect it. Not like Jungkook, who has to stay pristine and perfect, every visible inch of skin untouched and flawless.
He imagines it for a moment, if every touch Namjoon gave him left a mark on his skin, not a bruise but maybe a soft pink mark, stamps all over like kisses or rose petals. He imagines a rosy red handprint pressed over his own stomach, soft pink smeared around his mouth like messy lipstick.
He smiles. Maybe that’s a good concept for his upcoming photo shoot.
He’s good at pushing Namjoon’s buttons, riling him up until something breaks free, until they’re both loose, flowing freely between the boundaries of each other’s bodies. But only when they’re together.
When they’re not together, Jungkook needs to get creative. He used to be afraid of people finding out, of being caught together. Of acting any different with him than the other celebrities he’s not supposed to care about beyond a polite smile.
But Jungkook is different now. Now he wants something.
He’s never wanted something he couldn’t have before, because he always makes sure that he gets what he wants. Once he sets his sights on something, it’s his.
He has his sights on something real with Namjoon, not a life hiding on boats and in hotel rooms. It’s not a game, anymore.
What Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets. What’s his is his.
And he thinks, maybe, that Namjoon might already be his, even if he doesn’t know it yet.