everyday ♡ JIKOOK

Ch 8 - 💜 Bedroom

💜 Smut Warning!! 💜

They don't talk much on the drive back to Jimin's apartment.

This time, Jimin lets Jungkook choose the music. "Turn on my sadcore playlist," he'd said, and Jimin had rolled his eyes. But he'd listened. Jungkook never listens to music according to the mood. He listens to music according to aesthetic, to his surroundings. And, well – as they descend through the clouds, as the mist thickens then lifts, Jimin admits the music crooning through the speakers fits perfectly.

But inside – oh. Inside, Jimin is bubblegum pop and neon disco, smooth reggae and electro-funk. Their hands are on the console again, interspersed finger squeezes and exploration of their veins' paths. Jimin closes his eyes every now and then, takes it all in. The settling music outside, the bursts of ecstatic color inside. The weight of Jungkook's arm over his own, the lull of the highway.

He's surprised when Jungkook pulls up to his place, so soon.

"Did you speed?" Jimin asks Jungkook, only half joking. "What would Namjoon hyung say, hm? He's never gonna let you borrow his car again."

Jungkook only rolls his eyes and raises their conjoined hands to his mouth, kisses Jimin's knuckles so light it feels like a drop of rain.

They climb up the stairs, enter Jimin's apartment like every other day. They pull out two bags of greasy buttered popcorn and pop them into the microwave. Jimin eats a banana off the counter, Jungkook drinks water directly from the tap. Jimin thinks about asking Jungkook if he wants a shower but decides he doesn't really want to.

Sitting on the couch, legs tangled together, perched on the coffee table, Jimin and Jungkook start a movie. Jungkook lets Jimin choose – a rarity – so Jimin picks the first thing that comes up on Netflix. It's some silly coming of age story, of teenage stupidity and underage drinking and naïve love. After shoveling several handfuls of popcorn down his gullet, Jimin shoves his bag aside, curls into Jungkook's side, looks out his living room window. The fog's gone, but the clouds aren't.

"I miss the sun," Jimin mumbles.

Jungkook's hand comes down to rub between Jimin's shoulder blades. It's supposed to be soothing, Jimin knows. But it isn't. Quite the opposite actually.

"I don't," Jungkook says. Jimin snorts. "Who needs the sun when I've got you?"

Jimin couldn't stop his wide, goofy grin even if he tried.

"D'awe, you kiss me a couple times and now you're a romantic?" Jimin pokes.

"I mean, I was referring to your bright, flashy outfits. But if you wanna pretend I'm talking about your personality, go ahead, I won't stop you."

Jimin throws his head back to laugh, and it collides with Jungkook's shoulder. Which just causes more laughter, more pokes and prods and playful wrestles. This results in popcorn spilling, the coffee table being nudged forward, to an elbow in Jimin's side.

It also results in more kissing.

Jimin stops fighting, then.

Jimin's kissed lots of people in his short life. But no one's ever kissed Jimin like Jungkook does. With reverence, unrushed but swift. Jungkook rarely likes to take control, but it seems this is one instance he does. Jimin lets himself be maneuvered, shifted into Jungkook's lap. His knees dig into the couch's cushions on either side, Jungkook's hands drag along his sides, up his thighs.

Dried sweat still sticks to Jungkook, so his lips are salty. Jimin kisses it off his top lip, collects it from his cheeks, licks it off his own lips afterwards. Relishes the way it burns their chapped cracks. When Jimin trails down, to Jungkook's sharp jaw, to his thudding throat, Jungkook gasps.