Tomorrow│YM

[11] Target

"Jung Hoseok," he countered with unexpected confidence, "but I liked it when you called me Daddy."

Jimin felt a familiar tightening in his abdomen as he shook hands with the striking man with auburn hair. His grip was cool but firm and it gave Jimin all sorts of evil ideas.

"Noted," Jimin replied, biting his lip. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked a little loudly so that he could be heard over the music, his eyes shamelessly drinking in the lean figure in front of him. Hoseok's shoulders were broad and sharp, and the way that fucking collarbone was exposed by the open collar of his navy shirt had to be illegal.

Jimin took it as a good sign when Hoseok didn't falter under his invasive stare. "Please," he hummed, slowly pulling his hand away and gesturing to the empty spot beside him. "I could use the company."

Jimin slipped into the booth, leaving enough space between them that they weren't touching, but his knee was a hair's width away from Hoseok's thigh if the need arose. They both faced the dance floor, coyly side-eyeing each other.

"The drink is for you," Jimin explained, pivoting his frame slightly towards the his target, taking care to give him a perfect view of his profile as he tipped his head back and ran his fingers through his golden tresses. "I'm still on the clock," he lamented. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Hoseok was transfixed by his elongated neck.

"That's a shame," Hoseok rasped, his fingers tightly wrapping around the glass. He took a sip and hissed - Jimin may have made the the drink a bit strong - "Thank you," he said, placing the glass down gently and clearing his throat. "Maybe next time you can enjoy one with me."

Jimin scrunched his nose. "Already thinking about next time?" he deflected in a teasing tone, leaning back against the padded seat, turning his head so that he was facing the other.

Hoseok mirrored his posture and their shoulders briefly touched. His gaze traced Jimin's soft features; his round cheeks that were likely flushed from the collective body heat that permeated the club, his full lips on which he had just applied a subtle gloss and, finally, his smoky eyes that no doubt sparkled with mischief. Hoseok learned forward, positively bewitched. "How could I not?" he said lowly, barely audible over the thumping bass.

Jimin shivered at the praise. This was going smoother than he anticipated. Already, he needed to take a step back, to break the tension so he could build it back up again. "Forgive me for my bluntness," he chimed, "but from the bar it looked like this might not be your usual scene."

Hoseok's fervent stare became a bashful smile. "That obvious, huh."

"Only to the trained eye," Jimin winked. "So, is it the sweaty dancing?" he smirked, leaning in. "Or is it the sweaty dancers?"

"It's definitely not the dancing," Hoseok stated with a self-assured grin. "I've been known to hold my own on the floor."

Intrigue prickled up Jimin's spine. "I'd love to test that out," he challenged, inching further to press their shoulders together. "So it is the dancers, then?"

Hoseok chuckled warily and averted his gaze to the dance floor. For a moment they sat in silence, observing the scene in front of them. The crowd was small but diverse. It mainly comprised men who exemplified the full queer spectrum; well-groomed ones in unassuming t-shirts and jeans, hairy bears with bushy beards, glamorous divas slaying in drag, and everything else in between. A few women were scattered about as well, spanning from androgynous to lipstick.

Hoseok hummed. "It's been an interesting twenty-four hours," he confessed.

Jimin tittered, sensing the understatement. "Has it, now?" he echoed, allowing their knees to touch. "Tell me more..." he coaxed, his knee languidly stroking other's in small motions.