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Taehyung glances up from his book when the bedroom door clicks shut to find Jimin with his shoulders hunched, skulking in the direction of the bathroom. Like he doesn’t want to be seen or heard. Taehyung, being the gentleman he is, pretends to see nothing.
Even though what Jimin is hiding is glaringly obvious.
He’s visibly uncomfortable, a peculiar bounce in his step and a wary look in his eyes, both hands crossed protectively over the tent in his pajama bottoms.
So he’s going through with it.
The request was simple enough: “If you wake up hard, don’t touch yourself,” Taehyung had said, but he failed to mention why.
With ulterior motives, of course.
Somehow it’s laughable. To watch Jimin waddle through, not knowing what he’s really getting himself into. He’d probably do anything if Taehyung asked, and it’s as pitiful as it is endearing.
It started out as a conversation about control, sprawled in bed as they shared a cigarette, Jimin’s fingers tangled in Taehyung’s hair. Whether there were stars in his eyes or it was simply the smolder of the cigarette, Jimin had voiced his fantasies about feeling unheard and useless. Wanted so little control over his own body that it actually rendered Taehyung speechless.
But he’d always had a mean streak, and it hadn’t taken long to work out exactly what he wanted to do with Jimin first.
“Not even a hello?” Taehyung asks, a deep drawl that rumbles from his chest.
Jimin briefly catches his eyes. “Sorry, I–” he blinks hard and shakes his head. “Need to pee.”
Taehyung hums in acknowledgment, leaning back into the armchair to watch Jimin scurry inside the bathroom and lock the door behind him.
The corners of Taehyung’s lips twitch upwards.
He’d let Jimin sleep in this morning. Like he always does, he supposes; Jimin loves his sleep. But today – he’s really gonna need the energy for today.
Taehyung can’t focus on his book after that – dog-ears the page and sets it down on the coffee table.
He finds himself straining to hear how long it’ll take Jimin to realize he can’t piss while he’s hard, and whether he’ll try anything stupid.
But – he hears nothing. Nothing incriminating, at least. He hears the splash of water in the sink as Jimin brushes his teeth and the clink of the towel rack as he dries his face. Hears the lid of the toilet seat hit the cistern and the very faint rustle of Jimin’s bottoms as he pulls them down around his cock.
And then silence.
A strained gasp, and more silence.
Taehyung presses his lips together and wills himself not to laugh.
It isn’t long before the door unlocks, and draws inwards with a creak. Jimin pokes out his head. “Taehyung?”
“Mm? You okay?”
Jimin squirms, then very softly, asks, “please will you help me?”
“Help?” Taehyung inclines his head. Frowns with feigned concern. “With what?”
“Please,” he sighs. “Just come here. I need your help.”
Taehyung finds it amusing, how defeated Jimin already sounds, with his cheeks flushed red and his brows worried in the middle. Barely awake and already on the verge of tears with frustration. Taehyung wets his lips, rolls out his shoulders, and pushes himself to his feet, grinning when Jimin disappears back behind the door.
He thinks he’s safe.
How naive.
The bathroom feels smaller than usual once Taehyung steps inside. Even more so when he shuts the door behind him, locking it despite them being the only ones home. If Jimin notices, he doesn’t say anything, pressed up against the wall with his hands tangled in the material of his pajama bottoms.
The silence is louder in here, a ringing in Taehyung’s ears, the atmosphere condensed down into such a tight space that even Jimin’s embarrassment manages to hang thick in the air. And Taehyung revels in it.
“What’s the problem?” he asks, his voice gentle. Like he wants to help.
Like this isn’t a trap.
“I–” Jimin fidgets – curls his toes in his socks and bites the skin on his lips. He gulps, and without another word, moves his hands away from his crotch, shutting his eyes in defeat – as if this is a revelation. As if Taehyung hadn’t already seen the shameful little tent in his pants.
It isn’t enough, Taehyung thinks. It’s too easy to drop his hands by his sides; he wants to hear Jimin say it.
“What am I looking at?” he asks.
Jimin whimpers.
Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “Hm? I’m not gonna know how to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“M’hard.” Jimin mumbles.
“Okay?”
“And. And I can’t – can’t pee.” Jimin swallows dryly, eyes unfocused, pointed somewhere down at the floor.
Taehyung has to stop himself from laughing, sucking in his cheeks in an attempt to compose himself. “You can’t pee?” he asks.
“It won’t come out.”
“Okay.” Taehyung presses his lips together. “Show me.”
Jimin’s head shoots up, his eyes wide with what Taehyung can only interpret as disbelief. For a moment, he hesitates, perhaps to judge just how serious Taehyung is being.
But Taehyung isn’t joking. He wants nothing more than to watch Jimin struggle to piss, and it takes Jimin a beat too long to realize.
“Quickly,” he says, and Jimin audibly gulps.
He wastes no more time, always so willing to push through his embarrassment for Taehyung. Hooking his thumbs beneath his waistband, he pulls his pants down over the jut of his hips, just enough that his cock bobs up, out of the thin material, and into the cold bathroom air.
Taehyung takes a step into Jimin’s space, close enough that their slim height difference feels a little more pronounced, and Jimin shrinks into himself, tucking his chin into his chest.
Despite his intentions, Taehyung shows Jimin mercy, curling his fingers into the hem of his shirt and lifting it to his belly button. “Just wanna see,” he murmurs, and Jimin only whimpers in response.
There’s a distinct protrusion in Jimin’s tummy, where his bladder sits below his gut. He looks just about ready to burst, and Taehyung decides simply looking isn’t going to be enough.
Jimin sucks in a sharp breath as Taehyung rests his hand on Jimin’s tummy, so warm and firm beneath his palm. He caresses the skin reassuringly, then presses in just to hear Jimin yelp, and hums thoughtfully.
“Look at me,” he says.
Jimin glances up.
“How bad is it?”
Jimin’s eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t blink. “Really bad.”
“Well,” Taehyung says, and grins. “It won’t hurt to try again. Show me how you’ve been trying to piss.”
“Wha–?”
Taehyung takes it upon himself to move Jimin in front of the toilet, sinking his fingers into Jimin’s shoulders before yanking him away from the wall. Jimin stumbles into position like a frightened little lamb, stiff and unbalanced.
He glances back at Taehyung dubiously.
“Go on,” he says.
Jimin presses his lips together and nods, hands trembling as he curls them around his cock. He aims it down into the toilet bowl and exhales. Like he’s trying to focus, beet-red with either shame or the strain he’s putting into trying to piss.
Because he thinks it’s what Taehyung wants. Because he thinks it’s what’ll make Taehyung happy.
And it’s amusing; Taehyung isn’t stupid. He knows how hard it is to piss with an erection, and he doesn’t actually expect Jimin to be able to, but it’s fun to watch him try.
With his bottom lip pinched between his teeth, he jiggles the tip of his cock, groaning when nothing comes out. He tries a different approach, balling up a fist and digging into his bladder, whimpering up at the ceiling like it hurts.
But even after all of that, only a dribble comes out.
“What are you waiting for?” Taehyung presses.
“It’s not–” Jimin’s voice cracks, “I can’t do it.”
“So try harder.”
Jimin’s face crumbles.
He begins to sob, loudly and painfully, hands still clasped around his cock. It’s a pitiful sight, but it’s also a little out of character. Not the kind of cry Taehyung is used to hearing from Jimin.
“Okay, okay,” he soothes, pushing Jimin’s hair away from his face. “Breathe.”
Jimin hiccups.
“Give me a color.”
“Green,” he says wetly, but immediately, and he heaves a shaky sigh. “Just hurts.”
“Tolerable?”
Jimin nods.
Taehyung hums, thumbing away the tears from Jimin’s cheeks and tucking his hair behind his ears. “Take off your bottoms. We’ll try something different, okay?”
“‘Kay,” he says. He’s probably way past the point of embarrassment by now, already hunching over to slip the bottoms down his legs. He peels them off, leg by leg, cock jouncing around with each wobbly movement, then drops them on the floor by his feet.
“Can I touch you?” Taehyung asks.
“Yeah.”
Taehyung moves behind Jimin, pressing himself up against him to hook his chin over his shoulder. He coils around Jimin’s body, both hands sneaking around Jimin’s waist and across his tummy, then down to firm bulge of his bladder. Jimin’s breath hitches, and Taehyung grins. “Relax,” he whispers.
But the moment Taehyung presses his fingers in, Jimin goes rigid, his breath catching in his throat. He whimpers and shuffles his feet, not that it’s any use; Taehyung just keeps massaging the area, pressing in a little harder with each rub.
“Hurts,” Jimin gasps, and Taehyung looks at him from the corner of his eyes, a little out of focus with their proximity. “Please, please, no I’m – it hurts. Taehyung–”
“Breathe,” he says lowly. “In through your nose and out through your mouth.”
Jimin tries. Hums when he presses his lips together, then sucks in a breath through his nose, exhaling shakily out of his mouth.
And then – he begins to piss.
The flow is weak, a tragic dribble that seems to last forever, Jimin squirming in discomfort. Taehyung doesn’t stop massaging – not once, determined to wring Jimin dry, pressing in and in despite the way the muscle protests.
Eventually, the stream peters out, and Jimin is left breathless, finally letting go of his cock to instead curl around Taehyung’s wrists. “Taehyung,” he pants. “Fuck.”
Taehyung pulls away from Jimin with a giggle, guiding him to the sink to wash their hands. But once they’re clean, he bends down, picks Jimin’s pajama bottoms up from the floor, and hands them to him. “You did so well,” he says, and he wills the corners of his lips to not twitch upwards.
Jimin stops, his lips parting, creasing his brows almost enough for them to meet in the middle. It’s amusing to watch, just how slowly his features twist into a mixture of betrayed and confused, perhaps realizing that Taehyung isn’t done. Nowhere near.
“Can we–? Are we not–?”
“Can we do what?” Taehyung asks. Then smiles.
Jimin deflates. “M’still. Still hard.”
Taehyung glances down between Jimin’s legs, the tip of his cock an angry red, so hard that it stands weightlessly. “That’s not good,” he says, with no intention to give in any time soon, regardless of the desolate expression on Jimin’s face. “Is it sore?”
Jimin nods.
There are a couple of things that Taehyung considers, but they seem to pale in comparison to what he decides on. Nothing short of cruel – the mere thought almost has Taehyung’s teeth chattering with anticipation.
He clenches his jaw, blinks, and sucks in a breath to speak. “Take off your shirt,” he says, and looks down. “And your socks.”
“My–” Jimin frowns. “Why?”
“Because if you don’t, they’re gonna get wet.”
Jimin glances over his shoulder, the shower looming behind him in the corner, condensation still clinging to the glass after being used by Taehyung earlier that morning. A singular drop of water from the showerhead is enough to make him flinch, and he looks back to Taehyung with a bewildered look on his face.
“Do you want your clothes to get wet?” Taehyung asks.
Slowly, Jimin shakes his head.
Taehyung smiles. “So, take them off.”
Jimin nods, leaning into the sink to peel off his socks before tugging his t-shirt over his head. He drops the clothes in a pile on the floor, and Taehyung kicks them towards the laundry basket.
“Get in,” he instructs, and Jimin hurries inside the shower.
He cowers against the wall, one thigh crossed in front of the other, cramming as much of himself into the corner as he possibly can. Taehyung doesn’t give any warning before turning the shower on, twisting the faucet to its coldest setting.
He doesn’t wait for Jimin to turn to him. Instead, he clambers inside the shower and aims the spray directly between Jimin’s legs.
Jimin shrieks, immediately shying away, squirming and contorting his body in a feeble attempt to avoid being hit with the water.
He tires quickly this way, and eventually, he slips down the wall and tugs his knees up to his chest in a last-ditch attempt to retain some kind of body heat. Taehyung makes sure to wrestle his legs apart, one hand wrapped firmly around one of Jimin’s shins, pinning it to the wall. Spraying the water at his cock until the erection begins to droop.
Jimin’s teeth chatter wildly around his words, mumbling nonsense that only makes Taehyung want to laugh. He moves like he isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, and he wraps them around his body, digging his nails into his shoulders.
“Tuh-Taehyung,” Jimin manages.
“Mm?”
“E-e-enough. S’enough now.”
“Too cold?”
Jimin nods fervently. “Y-yellow, please. Enough.”
“Good boy,” Taehyung says, reaching to turn off the water. “Thank you for telling me.”
He helps Jimin out of the shower, his legs trembling violently beneath his weight, naked and wet with a pleading look in his eyes. But to Taehyung’s surprise – Jimin is still hard.
“I wuh-want to keep going,” he says as Taehyung wraps a soft towel around his shoulders. “S’good. Don’t wanna stop now.”
Taehyung looks at him. Glances down at his cock and meets his eyes again. “We’ll keep an eye on it,” he says. Back in character – like he’s concerned. “It should go away eventually, right?”
“Y-yeah. Keep an eye.”
“No touching. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Jimin falls asleep not long after that. Curls up on their bed in only his towel and drifts off, his hair still damp and his skin cold. Taehyung lingers in the doorway for a while, then retreats to the living room, leaving the door open behind him.
For the first time today, Taehyung has time to consider his own erection, a conspicuous bulge inside his trousers that he’s surprised Jimin hadn’t commented on earlier.
It’s only when Taehyung begins to palm his cock, that he hears a whimper from the bedroom. Quiet, muffled. Almost as though it wasn’t meant to be heard.
Taehyung squints.
He hears it again. A soft little noise that makes his cock twitch.
Pushing up from the couch, he marches back to their bedroom – only to find Jimin is still asleep, the side of his face pressed into the pillows, mouth hung open as he humps the mattress.
Taehyung giggles. He isn’t going to let Jimin have this.
He approaches the bed quietly and perches beside Jimin, resting a hand on his bicep to gently jostle him awake.
And Jimin – once he opens his eyes, he looks like he could cry. “Tae,” he bleats. “Hurts. Hurts so much.”
“What does, baby?”
“My cock. Just wanna cum. Please,” he whispers. “Please, please let me cum.”
“Oh Jimin,” he sighs, and a laugh spills past his lips. “I’m here to make sure you don’t.”
Jimin’s face falls. “Wh-wha–?”
“Are you still hard?”
“You know I am.”
“Show me.”
Reluctantly, Jimin rolls over, folding his legs to push himself upright. He shivers, and very carefully, opens up the towel to reveal his hard cock, standing proud between his legs. Somehow, it looks even worse than it did before, a purple tinge to the skin of its head, so painfully swollen-looking that Taehyung gulps.
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah,” Jimin sighs. “Oh dear.”
“Can I touch it?”
Jimin looks at him dubiously, but nods, too willing.
Taehyung lifts Jimin’s cock with just the tip of his finger and his thumb, pulling it up and, and then down, not looking for anything in particular, but in awe of just how hard Jimin is. “You must be in a lot of pain,” he says.
Jimin hums an affirmative.
“How about some ice?”
“I-ice? From the freezer?” he asks, and his cock throbs between Taehyung’s fingers.
“Yeah. Ice from the freezer. That should help it go down. Come with me.”
He drags Jimin out from the bedroom, and straight into the living room, where he sits Jimin on the couch. “Wait here,” he says, and hurries over to their kitchenette.
But – when he rummages through the freezer, he can’t seem to find any ice.
He glances back at Jimin, who peers at him curiously.
“It might be your lucky day,” he says, and Jimin’s face lights up.
But Taehyung isn’t giving up that easily. Turns back to the freezer and begins to move some things around, reaching deep into the back, behind a tub of ice cream that Taehyung forgot they had. His eyes widen when he feels it – a bag of frozen peas, unopened and forgotten.
“A-ha!” Taehyung pulls the peas out to dangle in the air, and Jimin’s face falls again.
It isn’t ideal, but Taehyung supposes they’re better than nothing. He wraps the bag in a thin kitchen towel, and makes his way back to Jimin, perching beside him.
“Show me,” he says.
Jimin seems to understand. Opens his legs and moves away the towel, his cock still hard, and significantly more red than it had been in the morning. He looks up at Taehyung through his lashes.
“Are you ready?”
“M’ready.”
Taehyung grins, reaching for Jimin’s cock to gently pat with the frozen peas. Jimin can only whimper – probably wants nothing more than to cum, fists clenching where they rest beside his thighs.
“Shh,” he soothes. “It’s all okay. It’ll go away soon, hm?”
Jimin gives one sharp nod.
But Taehyung can’t sit here all day; he has things to do – a house to clean. He looks at Jimin with pity in his eyes and smiles. “Can you do it yourself? Can I trust you to ice your own cock for me?”
Jimin looks down at his crotch, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth.
“You want to get better, right? For me?”
Solemnly, Jimin nods. “For you.”
Taehyung gets about some chores after that. He washes the dishes and sweeps the floors, not once allowing Jimin to leave his line of sight.
Maybe the erection goes away. Maybe it doesn’t. But, regardless of how the frozen peas affect his cock, he sits so obediently, only ever making noise to whimper or sniffle.
And that makes Taehyung happy.
Jimin falls completely silent after a while, staring into space as he bounces his knees. He doesn’t bother to pull the towel back around his shoulders, but Taehyung supposes he’ll be cold either way, the bag of frozen peas still squeezed in between his thighs.
Taehyung sits next to him, his own erection too painful to ignore much longer, and Jimin’s eyes immediately refocus, darting up in Taehyung’s direction. He looks terrified.
“Are you still hard?” Taehyung asks.
“I–” Jimin pauses, teeth chattering until he shuts his mouth again. “I’m not sure,” he grits.
“Can’t you feel it?”
Jimin shakes his head. “S’numb.”
Taehyung hums, and leans in, his lips just a hair away from Jimin’s ear. “Maybe you should let me take a look.”
Jimin turns to him, his nose bumping Taehyung’s. “Wuh-what are you gonna do to it?”
“I just wanna see it,” Taehyung says. He pecks Jimin on the lips, and Jimin blinks blearily. As though he’s struggling to register what he’s hearing. Taehyung smiles pitifully and moves to rest his hand on top of the frozen peas, so cold beneath his palm. “Can I move these away?”
Jimin’s eyes slide down to his crotch, and he nods wordlessly.
Taehyung is gentle. He moves Jimin’s towel away first; he’s been using it as a safety blanket, and goosebumps raise all over his skin once it’s tucked behind him. Taehyung trails his fingertips over Jimin’s thighs, back to the peas, and carefully lifts the bag away from his genitals.
There aren’t many things in Taehyung’s life that have left him genuinely speechless, but this–
It’s fascinating.
Jimin’s cock is barely there, shriveled up, and his foreskin wrinkled around the head. Taehyung can hardly even see Jimin’s slit, retracted almost all the way inside.
“Wow.”
“Tae,” Jimin whimpers. “It’s…” His hands tremble as they move towards the tiny mound of flesh like he’s hesitant to touch, and he shivers. “It’s gone.”
“It isn’t gone, baby,” Taehyung says, picking Jimin’s hands away to feel for himself, but now he isn’t so sure.
He’d jerk Jimin off – if he could. He barely manages to fit his pinky around Jimin’s shrunken cock, and it isn’t even enough for him to stimulate. All Taehyung can really do is rub the tip, feathering the line of his slit and circling around where his shaft should be.
He presses his palm flat over the top of it, and a perverse excitement bubbles in his chest; it’s easy to imagine there’s nothing beneath Taehyung’s hand – just the smooth jut of his pelvis, and nothing else. He glances up at Jimin and grins. “Do you reckon it’ll ever come back out?”
Jimin moans softly, and beneath Taehyung’s hand, he’s almost certain he feels a twitch.
“Can I taste it?” Taehyung asks.
“Uh-huh”
Taehyung shuffles down off the seat, and onto the floor between Jimin’s bare legs. But he finds himself feeling almost – hesitant. He wonders how numb Jimin is, or whether he’s numb at all. He wonders how much of this he’ll feel.
Poking out his tongue, he leans in, and laps over his slit, so cold on his tongue that it barely registers as a cock in his head.
To Taehyung’s surprise, Jimin’s thighs twitch.
His eyes are wide when Taehyung glances up, hands balled into fists and tucked into his chest. Where it’s warm.
“What’s it feel like?” Taehyung asks.
“A lot.”
“A lot?”
“H-hot. Feels good. Please.”
Taehyung doesn’t break eye contact with Jimin. Not even as he presses his tongue down flat over Jimin’s shrunken cock, closing his lips around the small mound and sucking, hard, a wet sob spilling from Jimin’s lips. As though he’d been holding it in.
After that, any filter he had seems to disappear. Dropping into the cushions, he cries loudly, desperately, rolling his hips in some kind of attempt to push as much of himself as he can into Taehyung’s mouth, so unused to his cock feeling so small. And Taehyung doesn’t choke – not like he usually would. It barely fits past his teeth, and both figuratively and literally, he can’t get enough.
“Taehyung,” Jimin says wetly. “Tae.”
“Mm?” he hums.
“Fuck me.”
Taehyung pulls off, smacking his lips, and inclines his head. “Say that again.”
“Fuck me, Taehyung. Please fuck me. S’what I was dreaming about before you woke me up.”
“You wanna get fucked?” Taehyung giggles. “‘Cause your cock’s still missing?”
Jimin nods desperately. “‘Cause it’s gone. S’lost inside me. Need you to fuck me.”
Taehyung isn’t sure how much more he can listen to. Not with his own erection straining against his trousers. He thinks he might actually have started to leak.
“Lie down,” he tells Jimin. “Gonna get the lube.”
“Yeah. Lube.”
When he returns, he ends up repositioning Jimin anyway, stuffing a cushion beneath his butt and thrusting his knees up to his chest. “Hold them,” he says curtly, and Jimin’s fingers curl into the flesh of his calves.
“Hurry,” Jimin whispers.
Taehyung giggles as he squirts the lube onto his fingers. “Be patient.”
It’s strange, once Taehyung manages to ease a finger into Jimin; somehow, he feels as cold as he does inside as he does out, the lukewarm walls of his anus clinging to his warm finger.
Jimin groans, tipping his head back into a cushion, his hair falling away from his face as he pushes himself further down Taehyung’s finger. “Another,” he whimpers. “Just wanna be fucked. Add another.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes, and he can’t believe he actually complies, slipping in a second finger along with the first.
They make it to three, eventually, Taehyung opening Jimin up little by little, scissoring the fingers inside of him until he deems him ready. Loose enough to take his cock, perhaps even harder than Jimin’s had been by now.
Jimin whines petulantly at the loss of Taehyung’s fingers, the little nub of his cock twitching and leaking down across his tummy. Taehyung shushes him, fumbling with his zipper, before finally freeing his own erection, and for the second time today, Taehyung is left practically speechless.
He isn’t big. Taehyung knows that. Usually, both he and Jimin are pretty average in size. But now – now Taehyung’s cock, in all of its hardened glory, dwarfs the size of Jimin’s.
Jimin whines. “Need it in me,” he says. “Please.”
Taehyung nods. “Yeah. Gonna fuck you.”
He shuffles closer to Jimin, guiding the head of his cock to his open hole, and nudging only the tip inside. From there, he clambers on top of Jimin, planting each hand on either side of his head, before slowly slipping his entire length inside with a low groan.
In through the nose, and out through the mouth. He’s already so close. So sensitive after such a long day of waiting. Ignoring Jimin’s wet pleas, he takes a moment to compose himself.
With one final deep breath, he pulls out, then fucks himself straight back in, jostling Jimin’s body up the couch.
Jimin sobs, squeezing his eyes shut, letting go of his legs to instead hook them over Taehyung’s shoulders, his feet jouncing with the force of each thrust. His hands disappear between them, and Taehyung realizes he’s probably trying to touch himself, stimulating himself in whatever way he can, regardless of how little he has to work with.
Taehyung doesn’t blame him; he fucks with hunger, brows pinched in the middle, desperate to lose himself to an orgasm.
Until Jimin whimpers in shock–
“Gonna – gonna cum. Taehyung–”
Taehyung slows down. He looks at Jimin, writhing beneath him, tear tracks seeping into his hairline. It almost doesn’t seem fair, that he’s been waiting just as long as Jimin has for this – and Jimin gets it handed to him on a plate.
Jimin’s eyes shoot open, his features filling with dread. He shakes his head. “Please. Don’t slow down now. Please–”
“Beg,” Taehyung says.
Jimin blinks. “N-no. Wha–?”
“I’ll drag you straight back into the shower. Beg me to cum.”
Jimin gulps.
“Please,” he begins, his voice a frail rasp. It sort of sounds like he’s about to cry. “Let me cum. Been so good for you. Did everything you said. Please, please. Make me cum–”
“Make you come?” Taehyung asks, and grins darkly, forcing his cock into Jimin’s hole, only to linger there, unmoving.
Jimin whimpers, nodding. “Make me cum,” he says, one last time, and Taehyung decides it’s enough.
He fucks him hard – just the way he likes it, his hole squelching wetly as it constricts around each of Taehyung’s particularly mean thrusts.
“Taehyung,” he pants. “I’m–”
Jimin’s mouth drops open, back arching abnormally off the couch, and his entire body goes rigid, silently convulsing through his orgasm. Taehyung doesn’t let up. Not even as he leans back to watch, Jimin’s shrunken cock still managing to spurt cum as far as his nipples.
Only when Jimin’s hands curl around his wrists and squeeze does Taehyung stop moving – his way of telling him he’s done without words. Always so quiet after he cums. So tired and slow, his brain gradually piecing back together.
He trails his hands up Taehyung’s arms and drapes them around the back of his neck, tugging him down against him.
“Keep fucking me,” Jimin whispers into his hair.
Taehyung’s eyes widen. “Mm? Aren’t you sore?”
Jimin groans. “Just keep fucking me. Like this.”
“You’re dirty,” he murmurs, planting his knees into the couch to grind inside of Jimin. Until he’s shivering with overstimulation, embarrassing little noises slipping from his lips, that he attempts to muffle in Taehyung’s hair.
It doesn’t take much more; one high-pitched sigh from Jimin is what happens to push him over the edge – teetering for more than a while, and he cums with a strained groan, rolling his hips as he rides it out.
It’s Jimin who giggles first, slipping his fingers under Taehyung’s shirt to drag his blunt nails up the line of Taehyung’s back.
Taehyung smiles against his neck. “You okay?” he asks.
“Mm. Feel good.”
Taehyung kisses the shell of Jimin’s ear and shuts his eyes. “M’tired now.”
Jimin sighs. “Me too.”
Eventually, once Jimin doesn’t feel so sensitive, and his cock begins to ease back out of his body, Taehyung runs him a bath. Lukewarm, so his skin doesn’t start to swell.
Jimin sinks into the water with a tired sigh.
“Was it how you wanted it to be?” Taehyung asks, perched on the lid of the toilet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to use the bathroom without thinking about today ever again.
Jimin smiles languidly, resting his head against the rim of the tub. “I’m not sure what I wanted,” he says, and slowly blinks. “But it was so good.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never felt so humiliated in my entire life. I loved it.”
Taehyung giggles. “I love you.”
“I love hearing you say that.”