Halftime score
Authour: idyllicblue
Retrieved from: Ao3
Words: 2506
Ship: Jimin×Hoseok
Summary:
They're fucking like newlyweds on every single floor.
(aka PWP teachers jihope having a quickie in between classes)
--
"Hobi! We can't be doing this here, a student might-"
"Relax baby, you know how horny I get when I see you all hot and sweaty after you coach a game" he mouths at his husband's neck. Teeth ghost against his jaw, making him throw back his head; it hits the wall with a thunk. "We have all recess to play."
"We aren't teenagers anymore.. this is.."
"Shhh... who says only teenagers get to have all the fun?"
At that, Jimin only hums and winds his hands around the Literature teacher's waist. Hoseok knows he's winning him over.
"But we don't have time." His small hands tug halfheartedly at the back of Hoseok's button up, which only gets him giggling as Hoseok nuzzles and kisses him just below his ear. The brunette pulls back to bump his nose against Jimin's.
"I always have time for you, " the corny, silly, and all round amazing guy he married flashes his charming smile and the PE teacher is falling in love all over again. Then his gaze becomes almost predatory, sunshine smile shifting into a smirk, and Jimin's heart skips a beat.
"We'll just have to make it quick and dirty."
Hoseok drags the zipper of the red jacket down slowly, pressing it flush against his torso, a hot line flaming down Jimin's chest. In his hands, even tracksuits can be sexy. The hoodie falls open, and Hoseok's hand splays across his abs through his thin tank top , which is already translucent with sweat. Pleased, Hoseok sweeps his tongue along the sweat soaked collar, salty sweet as he sucks and nips his way to Jimin's collarbone. He plays around, pulls the top taunt so those sensitive nipples are rubbing raw against it, and then wraps his mouth around them and sucks, marking obscenely wet targets on his chest. It's too much, Jimin's already seeing stars, and he tries to squirm away from that sinful mouth but Hoseok smirks and pulls him in by the waist, ruching up the shirt to expose his backside. The air feels amazingly cool against his feverish skin, but Hoseok makes no move to slip his hands beneath his top. Instead, he rubs slow circles into the small of his back , the other dancing along the bunched edge of his pants, tugging at the ties. Jimin's reduced to a heady mess, his hips squirming to find purchase, but Hoseok holds him in place by the waist.
"Please, just touch me already," he hears himself pleading. It never works.
"Where do you want me to touch? "
"Anywhere, just-"
Hoseok's fingers brush against his sides, palm across his chest, sear hot fingerprints up his spine, but it's not nearly enough: the urgency of their meeting makes him restless, nerves on fire with desire just beneath his skin.
