BTS SMUT [18+]

YOONMIN (pt.1)

Jimin X yoongi
(Slight smut?... Fluff)

PART 1
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Jimin suddenly jerks awake to the angry churn of his roiling stomach, lurching out of the warm bed and nearly tripping over his own two feet in his urgency to stagger towards the adjoining bathroom door.
The world outside is still and quiet, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. It can't be more than six in the morning. But none of that really matters as Jimin clutches his hands over , shoulder glancing off the side of the doorway in his haste to rush to the toilet.
"Ow ," he curses, brain still fogged with the last remnants of sleep. Jimin hisses at the door while rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder, other hand groping along the wall blindly in search of the light switch.

And click.

Blink.

Blink blink.

"What?"

Jimin blinks in utter confusion, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his fists until spots of purple light explode behind his lids because he isn't sure if he's still dreaming or not.
Since when did his bathroom have all these nice suits lined up along the walls?
Organized by color and style?
He barely has three? For special occasions? Like maybe weddings? Or funerals? Family portrait day?
Jimin frowns, temporarily forgetting about the wriggling snakes in his belly in light of his current bewilderment.
This isn't his bathroom.
There isn't even a toilet.
The thought slowly takes root in his muddled mind, the gears in his brain slowly starting to turn as the fog of sleepiness begins to lift.
Warning bells begin to sound the alarm.

Red lights begin to flash.

And green, and blue.

And music slowly begins to stream into his inner ears.

Technicolor beams of light displayed above the masses, the pounding bass shaking the very foundations of the building as sweat slicked bodies sway from side to side against each other, nobody caring too much for personal space in their lovely drunken haze.
A firm chest pressed flush behind him.
A brush of warm, soft lips to his neck.
A deep, lilting voice whispered into his ear.

Gentle hands all over his body, and his hands all over someone else.
A steady flush begins to spread across Jimin's cheeks at the memory, feet rooted to the plush black carpet that he now realizes is not his.
Jimin takes a quick glace down his body, all the way down to his toes in examination. That can't be right. No. but to his horror, he is completely .
Jimin jerks his head back up, eyelids screwed shut and fists clenched beside him.
He's afraid to turn around.
He's afraid to turn around, only for his eyes to land upon the consequences of his actions.
The shame of his guilty conscience catches a bitter lump in , only made more bitter by the aftertaste of alcohol still lingering from merely a few hours before.
Jimin isn't ready to deal with this. A one night stand just isn't something he normally does. His head is pounding, and his stomach is churning, and the stress of all this knowledge has his breaths beginning to stutter, heartbeat racing out of control.
And without a second thought, Jimin bolts.
Grabbing onto whatever articles of clothing he can recognize as his own and haphazardly jamming them on, not caring as to whether a sleeve is going onto his leg or a pant leg onto his arm, Jimin scampers like a frightened rabbit out of the luxurious penthouse suite that is definitely not his, not even chancing a brief glance in case the other party should wake.
Socks balled in his hands, Jimin doesn't even bother to put them on before shoving his bare feet into his shoes and rushing out the door.
There just isn't any time for that kind of nicety.
The burn in Jimin's cheeks grows increasingly hotter as he waits for a taxi at the corner of the street, every ache in his lower body multiplying his embarrassment as he mentally flagellates himself for allowing this to happen.