Chapter Text
Ji-woo comes down the stairs on Tuesday after a nap she was too tired not to take. Taehyung is at that point humming distractedly to himself as he cooks. Bibimbap, he’s cooking, not just eggs. He’s using nice ingredients as well, not ones that were on promotion because they were about to go bad.
Her hands grip a ball on the rail, dig into it until knuckles turn wide. Her eyes are wide and her voice is shrill when she calls to him, startling him into almost dropping his utensils before taking a ridiculous defensive stance.
“Tae,” she shrieks. “Woojin steals.”
Now, Taehyung drops his utensil and it falls to the dingy floor with a loud, penetrating ring. “What?” He responds, mirroring her alarm.
Ji-woo takes a couple of more steps down, edging closer to him. She replaces her wide eyes from him to her footing a few times. Those stairs can’t be trusted even if one knows them well. “That automated car toy he wanted with a remote control that three of his friends reportedly have? He’s currently playing with it. Taehyung, he stole it.”
Granted, her voice is brimming with exasperated disappointment. The thing is, the Kims? They steal. Their father steals. Their brother used to steal, he doesn’t anymore, to their knowledge, though they currently have no knowledge of him. Ji-woo takes things sometimes, things she knows won’t be missed, little, meaningless things. Taehyung borrows things from the restaurant. The utensil currently lying at his feet, for example, he did not buy. The stainless steel got burned in a clumsy mistake of an assistant chef, so he figured they could do without it.
They do it. However, that does not mean they don’t consider it wrong. It does not mean they would ever endorse their little brother doing it. Ji-woo and Taehyung have promised each other time and time again, each time their father disappears, the day their brother left for good, that Woojin’s life would always be the furthest it could from that of a Kim.
Taehyung sighs, relieved, his eyes rolling backwards on their own accord as he waves a dismissive hand and bends to pick up his utensil, wiping it off on his ancient, similarly burned apron. “He didn’t steal it, noona. Chill.”
Ji-woo’s arms fold in front of her chest as she steps towards him, the scent of his cookery reaching her senses and sneaking into her nostrils. Her brows arch. Her voice rings suspicious. “And how did he get his hands on it then?”
Taehyung hesitates, licks his lips. He has his back to her again, but feels her edging closer. He shrugs. “I bought it for him.”
The shrillness and incredulity return as Ji-woo speaks. “You bought it? With what money, Taehyung? And why? Are you trying to buy his forgiveness when we still haven’t paid rent— Is that brand fucking rice? Have you gone absolutely mad?”
Her voice raises so suddenly and loudly, close to his sensitive ears, that he almost hits her on instinct. “My god, noona, scream any louder my ears will fall off.”
“Can you focus on the fact you’ve completely flipped out?” She chastises, backing off a bit physically, but ready to yell some more if it needs be. “They’ll kick us out if we’re late with rent again.”
Taehyung refuses to turn to her. “They won’t. I already paid.” He mumbles as he speaks, talks underneath his nose, but she hears.
Her brows draw together, lids blinking on their own accord like a bat flapping its wings, rapid and heavy. She pauses. “What do you mean you paid?” Disbelief layers her voice, perplexity as well; she’s doubtful and confused.
Taehyung pretends the food he is cooking is in dire need of his absolute undivided attention as he speaks. He cannot look at her when he is spewing his carefully prepared lies. He is afraid she would be able to tell by the spark of guilt in his genuine eyes. His mouth crafts lies easily, trained to do so by the life he’s been living, but his eyes, when it comes to his family are treacherous of all his intentions. “A waiter spilled brewed tea on me and the restaurant paid me damages not to sue them for potential bodily harm like the Lees did two years ago.”
Ji-woo blinks once more. A smile too big for the perpetual unobtrusive sadness of her natural face spreads immediately into her cheeks, shining through her voice when she shrieks entirely too differently from before. “Really? Oh my god, Tae, that’s fucking amazing. That’s awesome, how even the fuck — I, er, I mean. I mean you’re okay, right? Are you okay?”
Her slim hand is suddenly on his shoulder, spinning him around as sympathetic eyes examine him from the forehead to the heels of his feet, though the unadulterated happiness has not left her face. Taehyung meets those eyes, worries his lip between his teeth, but allows the tips to twist, a grin a helpless reciprocation of his sister’s happiness.
“I’m fine,” he says, placing his hand on a spot on his stomach which he randomly chooses. “I just have a big red blotch right about here, but really I’d take a couple of more oolongs if it means I get to see you and WooWoo smile like this.”
He’d watch anything Julia wants him to to see his siblings shine like this.
Ji-woo swats at his shoulder. “That’s shit, Tae.” She tries to remove the grin from her face, but it seems impossible for her to fight it. “Did he really smile?”
Taehyung’s nodding hurriedly. “He was beaming. You should have seen him.”
“I wish I had.” In a sudden outburst of movement Ji-woo wraps her arms around Taehyung’s middle, cheek pressing tightly into his chest, and she rocks them both to the sides gently. “God. I can’t believe I’m actually happy you got boiling tea spilled on you. I’m bad.”
Taehyung’s smile changes slightly, grows fonder and more vulnerable on his face as he eyes down the girl clinging to him firmly. She’s warm against him, but he holds his arms spread wide apart to accommodate her, doesn’t really hug her back. It’s been so long, he realizes, since he’s been embraced like this. It feels warm and weird, but good.
He’d fucking join the rich brats for this.
He grips at his sister’s shoulders and gently peels her away from him, suddenly even more uncomfortable at holding her when the thought hits him. His cheeks burn slightly, blood running hot on the inside of his skin as prospective images cross his mind, vision of Jungkook moving above Julia, him shunning his shirt this time. Him touching Taehyung this time
He should want to be inside of Julia, he realizes. And he does, a bit. She’s tight, Jungkook had said, igniting a fire in Taehyung with the desperate breathiness of his strained voice, and for a moment he imagines the roles to be reversed, him fucking Julia and Jungkook’s ungodly eyes focused on him, forced on him, all his undivided attention reserved solely for Taehyung. Would it turn him on like it did Taehyung? Would he be tempted to reach inside his pants, tug himself out, fuck his palm with the fire of his gaze engrained on Taehyung’s body?
“I have to finish dinner.” Taehyung announces, clearing his throat. He turns away from his sister, swarmed with a variation of guilt that is entirely new for him. He’s never hidden something like this from her. Ever. She has dedicated her entire life the past couple of years to taking care of him and WooWoo. And what does he do in return? Wonders what a Jeon would look like masturbating.
Lies. He tells dirty, stupid lies. Lets himself get bought. What would Ji-woo think if she knew? She falls low for money as well, she does – he doesn’t ask, but he knows. Still, he thinks she would throw away their dinner and WooWoo’s toy straight away if she knew how he’d bought them.
She’d still allow him to pay rent, though. She can’t afford to be that disgusted.
“You do that,” Ji-Woo smiles at him and an empty sort of hurt bugs at his stomach instead of the burnt that is supposed to be there. “I’ll go play with WooWoo until dinner.”
Taehyung nods and she turns to leave, a hop in her steps as she bounces up the stairs energized. She halts at the top, turns to look at her other little brother. “Taehyung,” she calls. He hums in response, focus on his food. “Thank you,” she says softly.
She disappears then completely and so does his smile.
Jungkook’s eyes roll almost naturally. Annoyance pricks at him and his voice is akin to a scoff, when he lazily drawls. “How many times?”
Julia’s fingernails skim across a bruise her own lips left that he allowed out of regret. Now, that he has been previously punished for it, he flinches away from her touch and her hand drops to his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt exquisite, but not nearly as his bruised skin is to her. “As many as it takes to convince him,” she replies as she pulls away. She takes Yoongi’s lighter from where it is lying on the table on the Mins’ roof garden and smokes. Her fingers tremble a bit as she tries to hold the thin cigarette and it could be because she hasn’t taken anything this week. “A bet is a bet, Jungkook.”
She leans back again, but not into him this time. She props herself on soft outdoor pillows and blows smoke, legs crossing and her eyes focusing on Hoseok who is in swimming trunks, trying to shake the girl who passed out in the hot tub awake. He gives her exactly two nudges on the shoulder before he gives up and lets her droop.
“I hate that,” Jungkook voices distaste, layering it on his face as well. “You’ll get the stench on my clothes.”
Julia sucks on her cigarette firmly. “I’ll buy you new clothes,” she dismisses.
Yoongi walks leisurely towards the hot tub, a colorful drink in his hand with a funny straw. He is wearing trunks as well, and dark sunglasses to hide his red eyes. His body is dangerously skinny, skin pale and sweating. “At least drag her body out of my tub, Hob. I’m not swimming with carcasses.” He swings his bony legs into the water and sinks in, placing his drink on the side.
“Carcass is only used for animals,” the girl’s friend says, her head tilted back to look at the clouds. Or maybe she can’t properly hold her neck up.
“Whatever,” Yoongi says. He turns his head and lets his lips find the top of the straw. He sucks the liquid until it’s slurping, and it disappears, coloring his mouth and tongue loud, neon blue.
“Corpses,” her friend says. “You don’t want to be swimming with corpses.”
“I don’t,” Yoongi confirms.
Hoseok grips underneath the passed out girl’s shoulders and pulls up until he can wrap his arms around her stomach and easily lifts her from the water. He lies her body down on the nearest chaise lounge.
“Be a doll, Hobi,” Yoongi calls. “Make me another drink.”
Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Suck my dick,” he says.
Yoongi’s lips stretch lightly on his face. “Okay.”
The other rolls his eyes, stepping into the closed glass space on the roof garden where Yoongi’s personalized mixologist bar is. “One of these days,” he mutters, though it’s heard loud and clear. “I’m actually gonna put it down your throat.”
“Until I’m choking, please,” Yoongi says, smirks.
Julia finishes her cigarette and puts it out on the glass layer of the end table in front of her. “Make one for me as well.”
“He was hard last time,” Jungkook says privately as he watches the skin of the thin passed-out girl glisten with the water from the hot tub before it dries underneath the sun.
“He was,” Julia nods, a smile teasing at her lips.
“He’ll cave soon,” Jungkook continues.
“Eager?” Julia drawls, cocking her head and cozying her eyes towards him. She wants to touch him again, but she feels he will flinch and Yoongi is here now. He will notice and she hates to let him see.
“To be rid of him, yes,” Jungkook nods, speaks rough but lazy.
Julia clicks her tongue, hides her smirk, though her eyes glint with eerie, sultry mischief as words roll out her tongue almost cunningly, “If I ask nicely enough.” She licks her lips with intent, with insinuation, “maybe he’ll agree next time. Do you think he wants me?”
Jungkook clenches his teeth. “Yes,” he grinds out. His eyes blink away from the bare girl and focus instead on Hoseok who returns to Yoongi and teases him quietly before handing him the drink. “I’ll be the one asking, though.” He announces.
Julia’s brows arch, head cocking further. Entertainment stretches her mouth suspiciously. “You?”
“I don’t want you getting too cozy with Kim,” Jungkook says, purposefully lilts his voice with a condescending form of disgust when he explicitly mentions the boy. “He’ll be out of the picture soon,” he promises.
Julia’s eyes roll tediously. She lets his palpable distaste hang in the air between them, pauses. Her eyes are on Hoseok’s approaching form as she speaks. Her voice is numbed in a deadpan. “You got hard from eating me out, Jungkook. You. He gets you off as well.”
Jungkook’s eyes finally shoot to her, accusatory and scathing as his glare settles on the side of her head. “He—“
“For you,” Hoseok’s permanently cheery voice invades his ears as his physique blocks the sun suddenly, looming over the pair. His ears buzz.
Julia takes the suspiciously colorful drink he has extended to her with her manicured figures. The straw in it is ridiculous as is the umbrella he has stuck in it. Her lips ignore the straw as they latch onto the glass and her head tips.
“What’s with you, Kook?” Hoseok’s eyes have skimmed to him, studying the glare he’s focused on his girlfriend, atypical for Jungkook to put so much of anything into his countenance.
Jungkook’s tongue pokes into his cheek as he rolls his gaze to his face, losing the heat of it in the movement. “Drop the questions, Hoseok hyung, and go fuck your girl.”
Hoseok grins widely. “She’s unconscious,” he says.
“Yoongi hyung’s, then.” Jungkook smirks.
“Yoongi hyung, then,” the boy in question calls from the hot tub, craning his neck, arching his entire back, his arms spread on the edges of the tub. His drink is finished again.
Hoseok props himself on a leg he lifts to the table, bend by the knee. “One day,” he tells them all, “I’ll actually fuck you like a pussy.”
Yoongi turns fully then, his lips spreading into a lazy grin. He’s still chewing on his straw, though liquid from his glass is long gone. He shakes his wet hair out of his hooded eyes. “Homo,” he laughs.
Hoseok laughs as well and Jungkook does, too.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” are the first words that foolishly leave Taehyung’s lips when his eyes lift from the accounting books at the sound of the door to the storage room opening and closing and widen with recognition and alarm as the broad, threatening and inconveniently familiar shape of Jeon Jungkook invades the privacy of his room.
Taehyung straightens up from the regretful for his back position he has previously taken, slumping over the printed numbers with his ankles crossed. He places the papers behind himself on the storage unit Jungkook had pressed him into the last time the two had shared the air in this room. He leaves the pen he had used to underline inaccuracies as well and watches it awkwardly roll to the floor behind the unit and out of his reach.
Jungkook pauses a few feet away from him, though his presence is enough to make Taehyung’s heart palpitate worryingly into the cage of his ribs. His gaze, stoic, dark and lazy, focusing on him as he casually struts into his space with his arms crossed and bulging in front of his chest is all it takes for the uppermost layer of Taehyung’s skin to suddenly become alive and buzzing.
The other’s head cocks, an authoritative arrogance dripping from his voice. “Should I even dignify this with an answer,” he says.
Taehyung scoffs, his eyes rolling instinctively. He shouldn’t probably, none of his managers would make much of a problem if they find a Jeon in the back. Rather, they would likely be proud they have enticed his curiosity enough for him to explore, scared it is too dusty for his brand clothing, shiny shoes and shinier presence.
“What are you doing here, Jungkook-ssi?” Taehyung asks, carefully. A pang of fear is coursing itself through his veins, through his voice as well, if he has to be completely honest. Julia was done with him, after all, and now there was nothing stopping Jungkook from rearranging his face until his own sister wouldn’t recognize him.
Jungkook ignores the question completely, taking leisurely steps towards where Taehyung stands, and he physically recoils with a flinch without fully meaning to when Jungkook reaches out a hand. It passes by him, however, fingers delving into the papers and listing through pages distractedly. He eyes Taehyung briefly as the other recovers and attempts to hide there was anything to recover from altogether. He fails and judges it by the nearly inconspicuous smirk that graces Jungkook’s lips.
“Are you an accountant now as well, Kim?” Jungkook asks.
Taehyung blinks, hesitates. He is as physically taken aback from the question as he was from the approach. “Erm…” he prolongs the sound, rummaging his head for what the right thing to say is, scared to be honest, but unable to think of a lie. “I’m just helping out is all. I’m good with numbers,” he settles for, finally.
Jungkook is close now, though his eyes are on the paper. It is distracting for Taehyung to have the other in such proximity. Presence is unnerving enough, but proximity is downright dangerous. Especially when he can smell him.
“You like Math?” Jungkook asks, nose arching upwards with a bit of a distaste.
Taehyung shakes his head. He can’t take his eyes off of Jungkook’s face, but he desperately wants to. “No,” he replies. He does not know why, but he continues speaking afterwards, clarifying as if Jungkook could ever care about his interests and endeavors. “Architecture. Math comes with it, though, unfortunately.”
Jungkook’s eyes skim to his, his fingers pausing and instead just resting there, close to Taehyung’s head. His body is angled towards Taehyung’s while the other’s is pointed straight, and his other side is completely free and potent for escape. He still feels trapped, though, locked in space with his feet immobilized just because of the heaviness of Jungkook’s gaze.
“You know this is illegal, right?” Jungkook says, edges a bit closer and, though his face does not betray it in any way, Taehyung swears entertainment flashes through him as Taehyung pales. He gulps.
Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.
“I—” panic laces the single syllable loud and clear, but before he can say anything else – and he is not necessarily sure what his mouth is going to blurt out – Jungkook interjects.
“Relax,” Jungkook instructs, voice demanding, yet peculiarly calm, hissing. He is used to holding authority, it is clear in his merest requests. “I’m not going to get you in trouble with the law, Kim.”
“No?” Taehyung perks, word tilting curiously, and he follows Jungkook with wide shiny eyes as he edges closer still, extending another sinewy arm to prop near his waist on the other side, essentially trapping him now, but remaining a distance, his arms both stretched fully, keeping him away.
“No,” Jungkook confirms, nodding his head. His voice drops an octave lower, or it feels to Taehyung as if it does. As if he speaks rawer now, from his chest and through his throat. “As long as you answer a question that is?”
Taehyung’s tongue pokes out, wets his lips. Jungkook’s eyes briefly drop to it, attracted by the motion, before they lift to hold the other’s gaze. “Okay,” Taehyung breathes carefully, slowly, his agreement holding a question in itself.
Jungook pokes into his cheek with his tongue, his lazy, captivating eyes boring into Taehyung’s face. He’s studying him, the younger realizes, again and again, he is under the constant, exhilarating scrutiny of Jungkook’s powerful eyes. He breathes and he speaks, rough, but easy, unobstructed and Taehyung wants to die. “Did you get yourself off afterwards?”
His eyes widen even more, helpless, innocent and shocked, before they change shape and narrow. He backs up, recoiling further into the storage unit behind him, pursing his lips, mouth a thin line, but the pair of them still perky and full and pink on his offended face. “Jung— “
His voice is not far from the breath of a beg and Jungkook already knows before he hears it that it won’t be an answer he finds satisfying. So he takes a step, instructs softly but firmly. “Tell me.”
Taehyung’s cheeks burn. His heart is irrational in his chest by now, dangerous, but he can’t help it in the clutches of Jungkook’s eyes. The skin on the back of his neck is tingling uncomfortably, as well, red with memories and truths he refuses to voice to himself let alone to a Jeon. “What’s it to you?” He asks and it is spiteful, defensive in the way it attacks.
Jungkook’s brow arches at the tone he uses, but other than that, he preserves the ambiance he forces with his calm demeanor of authority. His voice is light, but dismissive. “Curious,” he says, though he does not sound it, does not allow himself to betray any interest at all, even though he claims it, and Taehyung yearns a bit for the vulnerability of him that he only got to witness ones.
That shone through his eyes in the hotel and then through Taehyung’s mind when he desperately and shamefully got himself off to recent memories in his cheap bathroom. He’d leaned his forearm on the tiles, pressed his eyes onto it, onto the bone, engulfing himself in darkness and jerked himself off, biting on his lips punishingly, until he’d spurted on the tiles with a strangled cry.
He’d scrubbed his skin even more desperately after that, almost to the point of pain. It was red and angry when he was done, and Taehyung deserved it.
Taehyung is silent and nervous and Jungkook gets antsy and impatient with waiting within a minute. He murmurs and it gives his voice a gentle note that forces intimacy in the breaths they share, though space between them is still not scarce enough and much too small at the same time, “Did you?” Jungkook tilts his head, he parts his lips and leaves them such, drawing a glance from the other boy. His own eyes fall to Taehyung’s mouth when he feels the puff of his warm breath on his skin. Jungkook chases a smile away from his lips when he watches him subconsciously shiver and he draws closer still. “What did you think about? Did it play out in your head?”
He whispers the mind numbing questions with suggestive conviction and Taehyung is afraid he nodded without realizing. He presses himself further back into the unit and the smirk that graces Jungkook’s sharp, handsome features is unquestionable, tugging at his mouth and mocking Taehyung with its teasing, smug quality. Jungkook’s unaffectedness in all of their interactions is unmeasurably frustrating. It makes Taehyung want to tear his hair right out of its roots.
Jungkook’s provocative and he knows it. Taehyung, if he allowed himself to theorize about his behavior, which he doesn’t because dwelling on it, indulging him, would only makes things worse — the Taunting Twin haunts his thoughts enough, did so even before his girlfriend and him took this unbearable interest in him — Taehyung would then think he was enjoying it, doing it on purpose to coax a reaction out of him, literally using him as a toy to go on a little power trip. The rich have always got off on what they hold over the poor, on their manufactured superiority. It gives a certain high, he imagines, and maybe this does, too. The affect he so easily draws from Taehyung with the meters form of attention he pays to him must be satisfying in a sick sort of way, one he would expect from someone nicknamed Taunting.
Taehyung hates he’s so easy to rile up, despises the fact he allows this satisfaction to breach Jungkook at his expense, that he’s just that pliant to toy with, cheap to boy, quick to react.
Now, he’s flustered and unease under Jungkook’s crafted simple — so fucking simple — ministrations, heavy eyes and whispered words. His steady breath filtering over to fan across his reddened skin coerces Taehyung’s own into quickened unevenness.
Jungkook takes the tiniest step, but Taehyung notices, his body acknowledging it without his explicit permission.
Jungkook tongues at his lips. Taehyung’s breath stutters as it leaves his. “Did you envision other things you wanted me to do to her?” Jungkook asks. He’s closer now, too close. Taehyung refuses to respond as meaning reaches his ears, irks at his skin, his blood, which feels heated. He turns his head away and stares at the floor on his side, his arms close to his body, rigid and uptight. He’s scared he’ll feel Jungkook’s fingers on the skin of his chin again, but it is worse. He feels his breath on his cheek, instead, his own picking up again, hopelessly, the heat of his body closing up on him. He sees his feet, his fancy, shiny shoes almost touch the tip of his worn out, borrowed ones. Sees his elbow bend as he moves. Taehyung senses the pattern of Jungkook’s breath shift with the words he taunts him with, coy and slow at his cheek, by his ear. “Her riding me?” Jungkook arches his voice into a question. Taehyung struggles to breath, images flashing through his naive, creative stupid poor head. Jungkook’s mere voice is a sin. It’s peculiarly erotic against his skin. “Me fucking her in the ass?” He says crudely, yet so softly it’s like he’s whispering sweet nothings into his ears.
Taehyung’s head turns sharply and their noses brush before he pulls back, growling through gritted teeth with treacherous frustration. “Stop it,” he grinds out. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
Taehyung refuses to allow himself to be used for the personal entertainment of the rich. The last person he would allow to tickle his ego with his responsiveness is Jungkook. Not when he desperately wants the other to be affected as well, affected by him, by their proximity.
Jungkook’s voice drops some of its teasing eroticism, but he keeps himself in his space. He switches to a casualness that annoys Taehyung further. Why is he allowed not to care? He shrugs. Jungkook fucking shrugs, nonchalant and easy. “I’m not doing anything in particular just making conversation.”
Taehyung wonders how quickly will Jungkook hospitalize him if he finally flips out and hits him.
“What made you come here then?” He speaks with unhindered animosity. His eyes are narrowed in a glare, but it is soft and hooded, affected, regretfully. Jungkook’s proximity, his words, their blatant sexuality and the raw eroticism he forces into his whisper and even the vibrations of his body, they do something to Taehyung.
Jungkook is blunt. “Julia wants you again,” he tells him and Taehyung blinks, confused.
He wants to cross his arms but he is afraid he will brush Jungkook’s if he moves and he doesn’t want to touch him because of how much he yearns to touch him. He arches his brows. “Why doesn’t Julia tell me herself then?”
Jungkook allows a lazy smirk to sneak onto his lips again. “I volunteered,” he confesses idly.
Taehyung’s mouth opens and closes dumbly. Something spikes through him at the prospect, at the fact Jungkook is not here to order him to refuse, but to ask him to come. Taehyung wants to say something, but Jungkook interrupts, rearranging his footing. The tips of their noses are close, too close. Jungkook’s lids are low on his fiery eyes, which dart across the features of Taehyung’s face. Sultriness crosses his words again. “And if you tell me what you want, I might do it to her.”
White, hot anger spikes through Taehyung. Anger, it is. “Shut the fuck up,” he grunts. His voice is more leveled than he expects, than he feels and he’s glad.
Jungkook’s lips twitch. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?” His brows arch, his head tilts. Taehyung’s heart pounds and he pushes his head back in the gaps of the shelves, taking it as far away from Jungkook’s as his neck would give. “What do you want me to do her, Kim?” He questions. His nose brushes his cheek for the briefest moment before he pulls away and watches him instead.
Taehyung wants to die. “Leave,” he tells him, begs him almost. “I have work.”
“Your work is worthless compared to what we’ll give you,” Jungkook dismisses quickly, arrogantly. “Tell me,” he instructs. “What do you want, Taehyung?”
His name on Jungkook’s lips forces a shameful shiver to run through his body. His eyes don’t miss it, dart across the length of him, to his face again.
“How do you want me to do her?” All Taehyung can do is breath. Jungkook’s close, so close, too close, and he’s caging him with his body, muscled arms, broad shoulders. “Or do you want her? Or do you want—?”
The door slams open and Minho’s voice startles Taehyung, his head tilting to him immediately, though Jungkook doesn’t even flinch. “Taehyung, Jung-nim wants you to— Oh. Jungkook-ssi. I apologize.”
Minho’s eyes widen and search Taehyung’s in question as he bows at Jungkook’s back instinctively. Granted, only someone like Jungkook would get apologized to for interfering with his trespassing.
Jungkook sighs. He drops his arms from Taehyung’s sides, but remains in the dangerous proximity, still keeps his eyes on him, though now they betray annoyance instead of their previous suggestiveness. It doesn’t mean Taehyung can relax. He’s still burning.
“It’s alright,” Jungkook says, voice enviously leveled and holding a neutrality that makes Taehyung ache. “I was just checking something.”
Jungkook’s hands raise and Taehyung’s breath hitches in his throat, eyes return wide and questioning with alarm. His fingers settle at his neck, catching at the fabric, undoing the knot of his tie before he redoes it, eyes falling on his handwork as Taehyung stares and studies as his face helplessly.
“Okay...” Minho says, prolongs. He is hesitant and bewildered, eyes darting across the two as Jungkook skillfully and quickly ties a perfect, textbook knot right around the other’s neck. His hand fists at the bottom of the knot and glides slowly up until it reaches the top, securing it tight.
Jungkook leans forward, lifting his eyes slowly from where he was tracking his illicit motions to meet Taehyung’s eyes. He speaks privately when he does, speech reduced to a whisper, though it it just low, not as suggestive. “You really need to learn how to do that,” he tells him and it is enough to make something cold run straight down the line of Taehyung’s spine.
He gulps, his throat bobbing. Jungkook places a palm on his chest, the touch igniting a small fire with its shape. He leans closer still and Taehyung tilts his head away. His lips are close to his ear, coaxing goose flesh. “Saturday,” Jungkook whispers. “Same time. Same place.”
There is pause that is loud and buzzing for Taehyung. Jungkook steps back before Taehyung realizes he has nodded. The rich boy moves away, leaving behind a gaping coolness as Taehyung stills in his place. He brushes over Minho as he leaves, not paying him a single glance, sharp jaw held high as he struts away, leaving with no further word or look towards either of them.
Taehyung follows him with his eyes and when he disappears completely from view he looks at the empty space he has left behind.
He ignores Minho’s questioning, perplexed gaze and quickly gathers the sheets behind him, eyes falling desperately to the numbers.