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Chapter Text

“I constantly think about how tiny your nipples are,” Jungkook says as he pulls away from Namjoon’s chest. 

There’s a fine band of saliva connecting his pouty bottom lip to the nipple he’s just assaulted, and it should be gross, because Jungkook hates spit. But it never is when it's Namjoon. “Your chest is so big, but they’re so tiny and cute, I just want to bite them.”

Namjoon’s nipples are sensitive. Jungkook could spend hours just pulling at them with his teeth, teasing the little buds with his tongue pointed, lapping at the tiny ridges they form on the mountain that is his chest. He loves to see the beautiful chestnut peaks flush with red from his attention, taste the brown sugar of his areolas.

“Baby, you do just bite them. Constantly. You’ve been biting them for like twenty minutes now, and I’m getting blue balls here,” Namjoon laughs from where he’s pinned to the bed, his hips straddled by Jungkook’s slighter form. They’re both still in their boxers, half dressed for the day.

“Yeah, as if you don’t love it.” He rocks his hips back and forth on his alpha’s boner, smirking as Namjoon groans and plants his hands on Jungkook’s waist. 

“I swear to fucking God, Jungkook, if you don’t stop teasing me I’m gonna…”

Jungkook laughs openly, leaning in to kiss Namjoon’s little angry pout. “You’re gonna, what exactly?”

This can’t go anywhere, really. The baby is going to wake up any minute now, and Jungkook has to get to work sooner rather than later. If he’s late to open up the gym again, then Seokjin is going to have his ass. Hand him his marching orders, and finally fire him for his negligence over the past few months since he came back to work.

Well, he would at least if he wasn’t completely obsessed with Nara, their 6 month old daughter. Depriving Jungkook of a paycheck would be like depriving his niece of her organic steamed purees, her little lovies, the ten million outfits Namjoon seems to procure for her on the daily. That’s what Jungkook tells Seokjin every time he’s late, at least. So far it’s been working out well. And they say never to get into business with your friends?

“You know, you would look so fucking hot if you pierced them,” he says, pinching one of his beloved nipples between his thumb and index finger, squeezing slightly, rolling it in his pincer grip. 

Namjoon’s hips start to push upwards, like he thinks he can fuck into Jungkook from beneath him, through the double layer of cotton that’s keeping him from plugging into where he wants to be.

“And if I said I’d pierce them would you stop wasting the ten minutes of baby free time we actually have together every fucking morning?” 

Namjoon sighs, running a large palm over Jungkook’s belly. He hasn’t lost the postpartum softness, the tiny tiger stripes that wrap around his hips like war wounds. When he was pregnant and the stretch marks started popping up all over, littering his body like angry, red welts, he’d cried his eyes out. Felt some mourning for the body he’d lived in his adult life, then felt shameful for feeling that way. 

He’d tried every oil known to man, snake oil no less, sold to desperate omegas who wanted to hang on to the illusion that their bodies would never change, that time didn’t exist for them, and them alone. He’d sobbed into Namjoon’s armpit, snuffling for the comforting scent he knew he’d find there, the musk of bergamot and faint sweat from the day. 

Now they felt like a reminder of all he’d been through to bring Nara into the world, like something he’d earned. Namjoon liked to trace them when they were fucking, like they made Jungkook even more beautiful in his eyes. And maybe they did.

“You’d do that for me? Get them pierced?” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen as he picks up the pace, grinding down and back, pushing his ass down and pulling his hips forward. It feels like they’re teenagers, sometimes, fooling around in one of their childhood homes, desperately dry humping in silence so as not to wake up their parents. 

“Maybe some rings,” he whimpers, letting his own head fall back as he frots harder, more desperately. “Fuck, I could put you on a little chain and drag you around the apartment, couldn’t I? Bet you’d let me.”

Namjoon whines when he comes, and his body goes limp. Jungkook reaches into his own boxers, and shucks a hand along his erection. He’s wet and rock hard, and he’s  close enough that all he really needs to do is stroke himself fast a couple times, and slap a palm against Namjoon’s chest. He comes all over his husband's belly, the pearly white cum pooling in his honeyed bellybutton like a lick of vanilla ice-cream on a spoon.

It’s so hot for Jungkook to be able to reduce a big, strong alpha like Namjoon into simpering putty beneath him. It makes him feel powerful and sexy, even if it is 6.30am, they have morning breath, and they’ve both just come in their pants like they’re 16 years old. 

He’s dipping a finger into the mess on Namjoon’s stomach when Nara starts to cry. Namjoon wraps his palms around Jungkook’s waist again, and goes to lift him off. 

“It’s okay, you’ll be with her all day. Let me,” Jungkook leans down to kiss the alpha gently, grabbing a tissue from the bedside locker to clean himself off. 

When he’s pulled on one of Namjoon’s t-shirts—large enough to slip off his shoulder, worn enough that it can withstand some baby puke—he gets Nara from her nursery. 

“Oh hello there, beautiful baby,” Jungkook coos, bobbing her on his hips and letting her pull at the long curls at the back of his neck, kissing her apple cheeks one at a time.

Nara has his eyes, the lucky pup, but almost everything else on her face is Namjoon. Sometimes, when she’s strapped up in the babycarrier and nestled against his chest, she looks like Namjoon’s tiny clone. It makes Jungkook’s heart warm.

“Now, what are we going to cook up here so your Dad doesn’t poison you for lunch later, huh?” He dances from side to side, swinging himself and Nara in tiny circles around the kitchen. She tucks up into the crook of his neck, and nestles in there where her Appa’s scent of ginger is at its most intense. 

“How do we feel about boiled plums? And some tofu fingers?” he asks her as he rifles through the cupboards for something that can’t be fucked up too easily. 

Namjoon is an incredible stay-at-home Dad, but his cooking is lethal. It makes them both feel better when Jungkook has some time to prepare Nara’s lunch before he leaves each morning. Lunch is probably putting it nicely, because she’s more at the stage of food on face, food on floor, but Jungkook is nothing if not an overachiever. Namjoon likes to say he’s one step away from being one of those mommy vloggers, but what’s a few “what my baby eats in a day” instagram posts for his friends? Seokjin likes and comments on every single one, so take that Kim Namjoon. 

They have a nice routine going now they’re through the forest fire of early parenthood, the cluster feeding, the endless nights. But if Jungkook has learned anything about babies over the last half year or so, it's that just when you have things down, they change. He sometimes thinks of his sister in law, Namjoon’s younger sister, who does the whole parenting thing alone. He’s not sure he’s capable, honestly. 

“Baby, you really are going to be late late this time. It’s 8.50,” Namjoon appears in the doorway, still in his boxers, a dribble of toothpaste on his chin. It’s times like these, right when he doesn’t have time to be thinking this way, that Jungkook finds himself stunned that he pulled the Kim Namjoon. T.A.of his freshman Philosophy class, sexiest fucking rapper in Seoul, Kim Namjoon. Manifestation is definitely real, he thinks, as he hands Nara over to her Dada and grabs a handful of Namjoon’s ass.

“I’ll see you…,” he kisses Naras forehead, her cheeks, and every one of her fingers. “And you…,” he leans in to kiss Namjoon’s little half smile. “…later. My precious two, don’t get in too much trouble huh?”

When he rolls into the gym at 9.30, a whole half ass hour late, it only takes two pictures of Nara eating a mango pith for Seokjin to give him his job back.

“Baby, I have one more birthday present, but you’re going to have to wait till after dinner,” Namjoon tells Jungkook when they’re getting ready a few days later. 

He’s standing in front of the mirror, torn on what to wear.

“I think I need Jimin,” Jungkook sighs, holding a green, silk button down to his chest in front of the mirror and pouting in distaste. “Have all of my clothes always been this ugly? Jesus what the hell was I thinking?”

“Thank you for paying such close attention to me when I talk baby, you really are one in a million,” Namjoon chuckles, rolling his eyes as he takes his beige trench coat off a hanger in the wardrobe and folds it over his arm.

He’s already dressed in some light jeans, a tucked in white pinstripe shirt, and a tie. It shouldn’t work, but Jesus it does. He looks like a filthy professor, and like every single one of Jungkook’s wet dreams come alive, and God is it infuriating that he looks so good with so little effort.

“Okay, I’m sending in reinforcements. But remember, we have to leave in 30 minutes if we want to make the reservation.” Namjoon stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips and a little frown on his face. He’s such a golden retriever that he doesn’t even realize that his frown looks more like a puppy pout, but hey Jungkook isn’t going to tell him.

“Forty,” he throws back with a grin.

“Thirty five,” Namjoon wags a finger. “You’d look sexy in a bag, so just wear whatever you feel comfortable in baby. I'm going to feed you so good.”

“Is that what you guys call sexy talk?” Jimin raises an eyebrow from the doorway and hands Nara to Namjoon. “Shoo,” he says, batting the alpha away before he practically slams the door in Namjoon’s face.

“Put a washcloth on your shoulder, don’t get puke on your shirt,” Jungkook yells after Namjoon before turning to Jimin. “Everything I own is so fucking ugly, I feel like a mess.” 

Jimin laughs and pushes Jungkook onto the bed so he can take over at the closet. 

“Look, we’re not doing that self-pitying shit,” Jimin hums as he rifles through Jungkook’s clothes. 

He’d done a bit of a purge in the first few sensitive weeks after having Nara, but he still has a lot of clothes. These days, he spends 90% of his time in sweatpants, or his gym clothes. It feels strange to be getting dressed up, to be looking at the crop tops and transparent shirts Jimin is throwing on the bed–like they belong to a Jungkook from past life. 

“Okay, work with me here. White shirt, because for one night you don’t have to worry about fucking marinara stains, you know?” Jimin holds up a soft shirt, and a pair of leather trousers. “Your ass looks amazing in these, trust me. Tucked in, sleeves rolled, belt because waist. One of your little fuck boy chains.”

Jimin doesn’t even wait for a reaction from him, just drops his bounty on the bed and starts wrestling Jungkook out of one of his many pairs of grey sweatpants, snapping the waistband of his underwear when he’s stripped. 

“Ouch,” Jungkook kicks Jimin away from him, and rolls over to the other side of the bed. He pulls at the soft flesh of his stomach, pinching it between his fingers. “Do you think Namjoon misses my abs?”

“I think Namjoon thinks your abs were hot, and your little squishy tummy is hot, and basically everything you do is hot,” Jimin laughs, pulling him up to sit on the bed so he can do Jungkook’s make up. 

“Do you think Nara will be okay? I don’t know about the hotel, Jiminie. Maybe we should just come back after dinner? I know she’s weaned, but she still needs my scent to fall back asleep at night, and…”

Jimin shoves the makeup brush halfway into his mouth to shut him up. “Jungkook, stop. She’s going to be fine. I know you and Namjoon have like, every second of her day scheduled, but what actually matters is that she’s fed and clean, right?” 

Jungkook grumbles, because clearly Jimin does not get it. 

“And I might be new to this whole hot uncle thing, but Nara loves me. And Hobi is literally a teacher, he does this all the time.” 

Jimin starts swiping some clear mascara over his eyelashes, so Jungkook just lets his eyes close and sighs. It’s the first time they’re leaving Nara for more than a few hours, and as much as he’s excited to have some actual, adult time with Namjoon, he’s also nervous as hell. The idea of sleeping half way across the city from his baby is making his stomach churn, honestly, but Namjoon has already told him five times today that it’s part of the process. 

Jimin sweeps some tinted cherry lip balm over his lips, and dabs just a hint of liquid blush on the apples of his cheeks. They muss his hair up a little so that his frankly kind of overgrown shag looks intentionally hot and not just neglected. Frankly, he feels hot as fuck when he looks at himself in the floor to ceiling mirror, turning a little in profile to admire the swell of his own ass in the leather pants.

“You’re fucking something else, Jeon Jungkook. Popping a pup out only gave you a fatter ass, you prick.” Jimin hooks his chin over Jungkook’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Jungkook’s waist. “I just know that whenever Hob-ah pups me up, I’m going to look like a giant globe.” 

When they come back into the living room, Hobi is on the floor with Nara on his stomach, and Namjoon is lost in his phone.

“Holy shit,” Hobi wolf whistles, and makes a little awooo sound that makes Nara giggle. Namjoon spins on his heels and his jaw drops.

“Holy shit is right,” he says, grinning so widely it makes his dimples pop and his eyes disappear. “My husband is literally a model.”

“And his best friend is an artist. I should get paid for this shit honestly, he was covered in egg stains ten minutes ago,” Jimin drops on the sofa and leans forward to tickle Nara. “Now get the fuck out of here you two, and go make a sibling for Nara.”

Jungkook shudders at the thought, and even Namjoon—prone to saying that he wants ten pups one day—pales a little at the thought of doing this all over again so soon. 

“Don’t even joke about that, hyung,” he whispers.

After they’ve both spent longer than they should kissing every inch of Nara’s skin, from pudgy leg folds to tiny fingernails, and after Jimin has had to reapply his eye makeup twice, Jungkook lets Namjoon pull him out the door.

After dinner, which actually feels way too fancy for them given that Jungkook has eaten a good 60% of his meals over Nara’s head of late, they walk from the restaurant in Myeongdong towards Mapo-go, an area of the city that is abuzz well into the night. 

“Any reason we’re walking in the exact opposite direction of the hotel, huh?” Jungkook asks, rubbing the food baby that’s resting in his belly. They gorged themselves on so much sushi and nabemono that Jungkook started to worry that the button of his leather pants was going to pop open all by itself. 

“Well,” Namjoon smiles, coming to a stop in front of a small tattoo shop. He knows it well, because he’s had at least half of the tattoos on his sleeve done here. His eyes widen as he looks between his husband’s dimpled smile and the flash work in the windows.

“Babe, tell me we’re not getting fucking couples tattoos? I mean, you know I’ll do it, but its so fucking cheesy.” 

Namjoon just laughs again and pulls him inside. Taehyung, Jungkook’s tattoo artist, is sitting at the counter scribbling in one of his many sketchbooks. Maybe Namjoon is buying him a new tattoo for their anniversary. He’s been thinking about getting some work on his stomach, or something for Nara, but he hasn’t been able to settle on anything.

“Hey, Guk, Joon,” Taehyung grins, snapping his sketchbook shut as they make their way towards the counter. “He’s ready for ya, if you want to go straight back? I’m going to head out for some boba in a bit, I’ll grab you guys something.”

Taehyung points them towards the privacy screens in the back corner of the shop, immediately going back to his sketch. It’s a pretty small place, with only four employees, but it has Tae’s eclectic flair, with its classic black and white tiles and maximalist wall art. 

He bought the shop a few years ago with his partner, Yoongi, and together they’d transformed it from a broken down old cafe into the coolest tattoo parlour in Mapo-gu. Jungkook has been coming here for nearly five years now, and he and Tae have gotten really close. Tae had designed Jungkook’s very first tattoo, a burnt orange tiger lily flower, and they’d bonded over being less than traditional omegas. It’s through Tae that they’d all met Jimin, and in turn, Hobi and Jimin had fallen in love. 

Yoongi is hunched over his table in the corner of the shop when they pull back his privacy drapes.

“Hang on just one fucking second,” Jungkook stops short, hands on his hips as he watches the beta get all of his piercing shit ready—his black gloves, tray of needles, scissors, and multi-tools. 

Yoongi looks up with a gummy smile, and Namjoon is already tossing his trench over the guest chair beside the piercing table. It’s not until he’s stripped of his tie, and slowly unbuttoning his shirt, that Jungkook’s brain kicks back into life.

“Well, fuck,” he whispers, feeling a shameful ping in the bottom of his stomach as he watches the alpha lay down on the table.

“Okay, so I’m sorry to burst your bubble, Joon, but we can’t go straight to rings today. I’m gonna put a 14 gauge curved barbell in on each side, and then in a couple of weeks when they’re healed, we can get something that’s a little sexier. Cool?” 

Yoongi looks from Namjoon’s nervous smile to Jungkook, who is still standing there in front of the table, buffering “Can your kinky puppy play wait that long, Jungkookie?” 

Jungkook just rolls his eyes, because he has it on good authority that Yoongi and Taehyung are way kinkier than he and Namjoon. Technically, he’s not supposed to know about the couples penchant for semi-public fucking, but while Yoongi is private, Tae has the biggest mouth in Seoul. A big old mouth he puts to good use on the regular, by the sounds of things. 

“I can’t believe you’re getting your nipples pierced for me, Namjoon. This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Jungkook says, genuinely moved. 

He drops down onto his knees in front of the piercing table and takes Namjoon’s trembling hand in his own. Yoongi rolls his eyes at the pair, and turns around to finish getting his tools ready.

“More romantic than flying you to Tokyo, putting us up in a five star hotel, and proposing to you on a bed of rose petals? Really? I spent half of my book advance on that, Gukkie.” 

Namjoon laughs as he talks, but his usually honey-warm chuckle is stilted, and he’s so pale. He’s terrified of needles, and has been as long as Jungkook has known him. When they’d just started dating, not too long after Namjoon graduated, Jungkook had gone to the free health clinic with him to get some jabs before a trip abroad. Namjoon—who was still trying his best to play the “big strong alpha” act to impress Jungkook—had taken one look at the Diphtheria vaccine in the nurse's hand, and slithered right out of Jungkook’s hold and flat onto the floor.

“Honey, it’s such a sweet thought, but you know you don’t actually have to do this?”

Jungkook squeezed his big hand gently, and Namjoon dug his teeth into his bottom lip, his dragon eyes mooning like a precious labrador. He looked a little pathetic, honestly, and damned if Jungkook didn’t find it all a little arousing. If he was a little more like Tae, and a little less like himself, he might have waited until Yoongi left the piercing area to get some antibacterial wipes, and mounted his shivering husband's lap, right there where he lay on the table. 

“I know, baby. But I want to do this for you,” Namjoon whispered, running his hand along the side of Jungkook’s cheek, brown eyes wide and glossy.

“Do you think Yoongi would be cool with me sucking your dick while he pierces you? I am already on my knees,” Jungkook winks, licking his bottom lip and smirking at Namjoon.

“As much as I could use the distraction, baby, I don’t really want my best friend seeing my gorgeous husband like that, you know?”

“Yeah, and your best friend would tell you two to get the fuck out of his shop if you even tried, so keep it in your pants Namjoon,” Yoongi says, coming back into the booth with his hands full of boxes. 

The piercing itself goes by in a flash.

Jungkook has to look deep down at the darkness inside himself when he realizes he’s getting a half-chub from just watching Yoongi pinching his alpha’s nipples with the flat of his navel clamp, stretching the little brown bud impossibly tight as he prepares Namjoon for the needle. Jungkook decides that, for the sanity of everyone involved, it’s best to bench that particular line of thought for later.

Jungkook adjusts himself in his leather pants when Namjoon whimpers a little. There’s always been something so attractive about seeing what looks like the definition of a traditional alpha–strong and solid, handsome, masculine–be made soft and vulnerable. It’s one of the things that attracted Jungkook to Namjoon in the first place, his willingness to be pliant and mellow.

For an entire two semesters, he had sat in the front row of his freshman Metaphysics class and listened as the alpha had read them Descartes aloud, Aristotle, Immanuel Kant’s “The Critique of Pure Reason”. He was struck by the gentle way that Namjoon spoke, even when it was to freshmen that were still kids, really, and acted like it. He was only six years older than Jungkook, but he’d felt some kind of unobtainable adulthood that was just out of reach for Jungkook, elegant and clean, put together, sensitive. Not broke. 

It made a stark contrast from the alphas Jungkook bouldered with in the University’s climbing gym–the cock-sure, aggressive types that offered to spot him just so they could check out his ass, then acted like babies when he tried to tell them what they were doing wrong. Namjoon loved it when Jungkook told him what to do. They really were meant to be. 

“I’m just making a little dot here so Jungkookie can decide if he likes the placement,” Yoongi says from where he’s straddling his stool. He glances over to Jungkook with a raised eyebrow, and they share a little nod. “Then you’ll feel a tiny pinch when I prepare the area, and I’ll tell you when we’re ready. Are you good?”

Namjoon grumbles in response, but when he sees the needle approach his chest, Jungkook can feel the sweat on his palms. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Jungkook gasps when Yoongi pierces his first nipple and pushes the jewelry in.  Namjoon looks so hot already, even with his eyes screwed shut and a thin film of perspiration on his forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re doing so good.” 

“You didn’t warn me, you bastard,” Namjoon laughs, his voice thick with panic but light too, which is probably the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Jungkook loves that feeling when he’s tattooed or pierced, the energy that buzzes through him and makes him feel like he could run on the ceiling. Sometimes when he and Taehyung take breaks on a longer session, he has to jog on the spot or do some jumping jacks to calm himself enough to sit back down. 

Namjoon never even had his ears pierced, and there’s something wildly erotic about the little flash of silver on an otherwise unblemished chest—the way the titanium bar catches the harsh light above their heads and winks at Jungkook, willing him to bite down. On the outside, Namjoon is all fine Italian leather in his Bottega Veneta shirt and trench, and only Jungkook gets to take it all off and see what he’s now hiding underneath. It’s like when he wears lacey lingerie under his gym clothes, half of the sexiness is in the unexpected nature of it. 

When Yoongi’s finished on the other side, he heads to the front desk and gives them a few minutes of privacy so Namjoon can get dressed. When the alpha stands topless in front of the freestanding mirror, Jungkook snakes in behind him and wraps his arms around Namjoon’s chest.

“You look so fucking hot, I wish you could bend me over the table right now.” He can feel the flush heat of Namjoon’s skin as he runs his fingers along his hipbone, braves a ghosting path up between his nipples. He doesn’t touch, not yet.

On their way back to the hotel, it starts raining like crazy. And in only early September, neither of them is at all prepared. A rookie error in Seoul, where rain is the city's love language. Namjoon tosses his trench over Jungkook’s shoulders, and he watches as the alpha’s pinstripe shirt is drenched in only seconds under the torrential rain. 

Jungkook can see the outline of Namjoon’s new piercings, and he knows it’s got to sting now the mild numbing creams worn off. He looks so beautiful when he’s wet, the black of his hair roping into silky strands that are just about long enough to fall into his eyes. 

“Come on, baby,” Namjoon half yells to be heard over the splattering of rain and the buzz of frazzled pedestrians. 

It was only a ten minute jog to the hotel, faster yet for Namjoon’s hand in his, slippy but firm, pulling him along. They run past steamed up noodle shops, couples strolling more leisurely in the rain with aesthetic yellow umbrellas, bus stops crowded with people taking shelter. 

When they get to the hotel, it feels way too fancy for two drenched guys to drip rainwater all over the plus carpets. Jungkook moves so quickly towards the lift that he almost slips and slides straight into the closed doors.

“Slow down, baby,” Namjoon laughs, planting his big hands on Jungkook’s waist to steady him. 

“I can’t. We finally have a night together without Nara and watching Yoongi manhandle your cute little nipples has me horny as hell.” 

Namjoon booked the suite, and it feels like it's almost as big as their apartment. It’s open plan, and more classically styled than the clinical, modern hotels he stays in with Seokjin when they travel for gym conventions–yes, that’s a thing. It’s completely open plan except for the glassed off area in the corner where the large walk in shower and hot tub is.

“Woah,” Jungkook gasps as he bounds across the room and dives onto the bed on his belly. He feels Namjoon crawl over the bed behind him as he runs his hands along the silk softness of the sheets and buries his nose in the steam-cleaned smell. “You really went all out, didn’t you?” He peers over his shoulder at Namjoon who is peacefully resting his head on his ass. “Hoping you’d get lucky, huh?”

Namjoon just hums, and lets his eyes close. Jungkook can feel the sweet vibrations through his body, relishing in the heavy weight of Namjoon on top of him. He reaches out across the bed and lets his own eyes close, runs his cheek against the cotton duvet and burrows. 

Chapter Text

When Jungkook wakes up, it's dark.

The only light in the room is from the street lamps outside, because they’d fallen asleep without opening the drapes. They cast an unnatural tungsten glow around the room, so faint and otherworldly that for a few moments Jungkook isn’t even sure where he is.

Even then, in his fuzzy state the light feels too much with his unadjusted eyes, so Jungkook drops them shut. He feels more than he sees Namjoon tugging his slacks down his legs, and doesn't even open his eyes when he feels long fingers slip into the back of his waistband. 

He just moans softly and lingers in that half awake, half asleep state. His skin buzzes gently like the static of an old television, a radio tuned between stations as Namjoon gets him fully naked from the waist down, pushes the cotton of his T-shirt up to expose his back. The alpha’s weight is back on Jungkook then, and he’s peppering tiny kisses all over his back, soft lips so warm and comfortable. 

They’ve done this a hundred times now, even before the exhaustion of Nara—Namjoon, ever insatiable, and Jungkook pliant with fatigue, torn between the desire for pleasure and the need for sleep. More sleep. Always more sleep. They’d only been living together for three months when Jungkook had turned to his then boyfriend and told him.

“Sometimes I wish you’d just do what you want when I’m sleeping, know what I mean?”

Namjoon had paused his scrambling of the eggs he was pretending to know how to make with a thoughtful raise of his eyebrow. 

“Do you know what you’re saying baby? You want me to fuck you when you sleep?”

Jungkook laughed and just hummed, curling up into the sofa and fluttering his eyelids at Namjoon. There was something so hot about the idea of giving himself so fully up to someone, trusting someone so implicitly with his body, knowing that someone would always tend to his needs first. Namjoon was perfect. Someone could only ever have been him.

It had taken a while before anything had happened, and even then it was in fits and starts, soft touches and sleepy blowjobs. It was months before Jungkook had woken up with Namjoon’s hard dick already inside him, thrusting to the hilt.

Jungkook can feel himself starting to get hard now when he feels the length of Namjoon’s erection against the back of his thigh. But it's like having sex in a dream, a dull flush of pleasure and not an insistent ache. 

And there’s the domestic element of sleepy morning sex too. Just folding into each other, too lazy for anything interesting, just wanting comfort and the low thrum of heat. Jungkook had spent his life have frantic sex that felt good and sometimes great. He and Namjoon had sex like that often. But it was only maturity and experience that had thought him all of the other things sex could be—loving, comforting, companionable, lazy. Each one meaning something different to him, each one a need.

Like the sleepy, Sunday morning hangover sex they had before Nara, before they got married. Back when they spent their weekends going out and drinking. He’d lie there on their bed, still half drunk sometimes, and let Namjoon take the lead. He doesn’t miss the partying or the hangovers, but hell he misses the lazy mornings in bed, just getting lost in each other.

He can feel the slip of Namjoon’s cock against his body as he rolls the wet head against Jungkook’s lower back, down the curve of his ass, slow and salient. Jungkook hums to let his husband know he’s at least semi awake and he can hear a low husky chuckle in response.

But they don’t say anything, and Jungkook just lets himself rest. Namjoon spreads his cheeks with his hands, and he feels the cold rush of air against his skin, the breeze of aircon and not quite morning on his hole.

Namjoon just runs his tip against Jungkook, making circles that are wetter than they should be—lube? 

He must have been more sleepy than he’d thought, he didn’t even feel it. He doesn’t feel the intrusion when Namjoon pulls back, then pushes a finger in either. But even with a baby slowing down their sex lives, he’s never not ready. And he likes the burning heat, the gentle stretch, the way the hiss of pain lingers after. 

“More,” he croaks without opening his eyes, tilting his hips enough to bury Namjoon’s finger—fingers?—deep inside of him. His pleasant hum resonates through his skin and he can feel Namjoon push in a third finger. 

“You want to wake up or you want it like this, baby?” Namjoon asks when he pulls his fingers out. Jungkook doesn’t even peek open his eyes.

“You do it once like this then I’ll do it,” he sighs into the pillow, relishing the smell of expensive hotel fabric softener in his nose.

Namjoon lays right on top of his back before he pushes in—doesn’t pull Jungkook to his knees or grip him by the waist, just lies prostrate on top of him in a heavy weight that pins him to the mattress. Namjoon is bigger than him, enough that it should make Jungkook feel breathless and contained, claustrophobic even. But it doesn’t, it’s safe and warm and snug, like a nest away from his nest. 

At home, his nest is Namjoon anyway. His clothes, his underwear, the courting blanket he got his own mother to help him make way back when Jungkook still stammered when they spoke to each other. Every fiber of his being, even the things that are only his, are also somehow Namjoon. And now there’s Nara too, nestling in the spaces between them.

It grounds Jungkook to be surrounded by Kim Namjoon in every way he can. 

He doesn’t even shift his hips in time with Namjoon’s thrusts, knees either side of his own thighs pinning him in place. Jungkook lets Namjoon do anything, everything. 

“Such a lazy pillow princess,” Namjoon sighs in his ear, his voice thick and warm like honey on a hot spoon. 

The movements of Namjoon’s cock deep inside him are more like undulations now, circles rather than deep thrusts, just liquid slow and tantalising. There’s nothing to rush for. They’ll get there, they always do. They don’t need to check out for hours and as much as Jungkook misses his baby, he needed this kind of unhurried attention. To feel like a person separate from her, a person capable of giving pleasure and getting pleasure in return. He needs to be fucked so hard by his husband that he hobbles home, but for now there’s this—sweet circles deep inside of him, bruising some dusted over place in him, sending white hot pleasure in ripples.

He comes all over the sheets.

“Fuck,” Namjoon groans as he follows shortly after, coming deep inside Jungkook. “Baby, I might need like… half an hour before we go again.”

He pulls out of Jungkook leaving a hot, wet trail behind him on Jungkook’s skin. 

“Good,” the omega chuckles deep and warm, nearly asleep again already. “Wanted only sleep til you jammed your big dick in me, anyway”.

It comes out slurred, and Namjoon’s laugh and the feeling of tap hot flannel hitting his skin is the last thing he recognises before he’s gone again.

When Jungkook wakes once more, he feels much more energetic, but the bed is empty. It’s morning, but he can tell it’s still early—not even 6am.

He can hear the shower in the bathroom, and there’s a sweet puff of hot steam under the door, dribbling out into the bedroom. He thanks god for the fancy, kinky hotel and its dumb glass walls. In any other context, it would be terrible to have the toilet right there in view, but now it feels like an impossible luxury to lean back into the pillow with his lidded eyes and morning lashes and watch his big, golden alpha showering—body slick with water and soap, eyes closed and tilted to the ceiling. 

Kim Namjoon is like a Greek god cut from marble, but he’s a real person too. He has these tiny soft pockets of barely there fat above his hip bones that Jungkook loves to crush in his fingers. He has a scar that runs along the base of his spine that fits Jungkook’s fingernails like a glove. His natural scent is so beautiful to Jungkook, but it's grounded in who he is as a person, a bergamot that burns to amber when he gets angry, not the wild musk of romance novels. 

Jungkook feels himself start to get hard as he watches his alpha soap up his soft cock. He sits up to roll his t-shirt off, still completely bare from the waist except for his socks. It makes him shudder a little because he stands by his insistence that men should never be naked from the waist down but still wearing socks. At the moment he’s too distracted to focus on it. 

He gets fully hard quickly, even though his hand is dry. Jungkook could dip a finger between his cheeks, he knows he’d find the slick he can feel dripping onto the sheets there. He could coat the tips of his fingers first, and run it along his length, maybe let his precome do the rest. He could come like that, watching Namjoon who doesn’t know he’s being watched, he could come all over the sheets again. 

But he wants to wait, and he wants to make it last this time, so he only allows himself a tantalizingly soft touch. When Namjoon pads out of the shower room with a soft hotel towel slung low on his hips, Jungkook is propped up on some pillows with his legs wide.

“Damn. Well someone woke up happy,” Namjoon says as he drops the towel to the floor and stalks across the room to Jungkook. 

And it’s like for the first time all morning, Jungkook really takes his piercings in. The little wink of titanium on either side of his brown nipples. He taps the bed beside him and Namjoon crawls over in seconds.

“How do you feel about me fucking you?” Jungkook asks, grinning up at Namjoon’s handsome face. So many beautiful details.

“I think hell fucking yes,” Namjoon groans, already half hard just from rutting himself softly on the sheets, running his broad palm up the smooth tan of Jungkook’s thighs. “Sure you don’t want a knot at all before we go home though?”

“I want it, but I want to come in you first. Can you hold off, alpha? You sure this little omega cock won’t make a big alpha like you come into the sheets before you get your knot into me?” 

He smiles, and they both know it's a challenge. Namjoon growls, and bites into the deep, sinewy tissue of his leg. Sometimes Jungkook wishes he could litter his whole body with mating bites, wishes they could have that moment again when he truly became Namjoon’s and Namjoon became his. 

As he watches his husband sinks his teeth into his skin, he runs his own finger along the mating bite on his neck, and feels himself slick up even more.

“On your knees, alpha,” he taps the back of Namjoon’s head with the instruction, and the alpha moves like a dog chasing a bone—like Jungkook will change his mind if he doesn’t present himself quick enough. He looks back over his shoulder at Jungkook, his dragon eyes impossibly soft and cute. Jungkook scruffs the back of his neck, and pinches.

“You’re so pretty, husband,” he says as he pushes up onto his own knees behind Namjoon, one hand still wrapped around his own erection. “You look even prettier with these.”

Jungkook has to lean almost all the way over Namjoon’s back to run his hand underneath, up the matte softness of his chest. When he brushes the jewellery, Namjoon hisses.

“Okay?” Jungkook whispers softly, laying his head flat on Namjoon’s back to nuzzle into his soft skin. 

“Hurts. Feels good,” Namjoon whimpers, closing his eyes as Jungkook pinches one of the fresh piercings in between his thumb and finger. He doesn’t want to cause any damage, so his touch is featherlight, worshiping. 

“I’ll take good care of you later, alpha. If you’re good.”

Namjoon hums as Jungkook slides the hand on the back of his neck all the way down his spine, over the round of his ass. He’s not curvy and rounded the way Jungkook is, his hips are rigid and don’t flare out with softness. His ass feels like pure muscle—a mix of blessed genetics and hours and  hours spent at Jungkook’s gym, hours spent slamming into Jungkook and honing those muscles to perfection. Jungkook lands a light slap, and the sound of his hand on skin and Namjoon’s perfectly synchronised moan makes him harden even more. 

His own dick fits in a single hand, while Namjoon’s, nearly twice his size, hangs useless between his legs. It makes Jungkook feel formidable, like he’s a deft hunter that’s caught a mighty beast in the forest, tamed him, made him his, conquered him.  

He slides a finger between his own legs to slicken it up, before he returns it to Namjoon. His alpha is naturally much, much tighter than he is. Most of the time, Namjoon can slip into Jungkook without much work at all, but with Namjoon he has to be tender and take care of him, open him up with attention and sweet words. Sometimes harsh words work better.

Jungkook works one finger in, slow and steady, Namjoon’s hole like a hot vice of muscle around his knuckle. He fucks him slowly with it, in and out to the rhythm of the alpha’s weak moans, his harsh breath. 

“More,” Namjoon whines and Jungkook lands another slap on his ass to shush him, pushing his middle finger in beside his index finger with more slick. 

“You’re such a good alpha, taking my fingers right in,” Jungkook coos, slowly allowing his fingers to gently scissor Namjoon open. He moves slowly, tenderly, nothing like the way Namjoon fucks him open with his jaw hanging loose. 

“I’m good,” Namjoon echoes, swaying a little on his hips, just so, pushing back against Jungkook’s fingers as they brush against his prostate. His eyes go lazy, not quite shut in pleasure yet, but deep and heavy.

Jungkook slips his wedding finger in now too, and pushes all the way down to the knuckle. He watches the gold of his wedding band push against Namjoon’s stretched, plaint hole and imagines it being sucked up inside of him. It’s weird that the thought doesn’t gross him out, it just makes him want to fuck even more. But he pulls out, because Namjoon doesn’t need anymore than three fingers to take Jungkook.

“You are, you’re always so good, my good alpha,” Jungkook says, lubing up his cock with more slick and holding Namjoon open with the thumb of his other hand. “Are you ready to make me feel so good alpha?”

“Want it,” Namjoon pants, reaching a hand under his body to grasp his own red, angry cock. Jungkook slaps his hand away as he pushes in.

“Don’t,” he says in a sharp voice as he feels the pleasure of Namjoon’s heat send zaps all over his body, down his legs and into his feet. “Mine.”

Namjoon whimpers when he’s being fucked, his chest now pressed down towards the mattress and his hips arched high. Jungkook often thinks that they’re just the right size for each other. As much as he spent years of his life wishing to be smaller, to take up less space, to be pretty and demure in the hands of his alpha—when Namjoon is presenting for him, Jungkook pushed up behind him on his knees, his hands resting just so on the sweet, delicate small of Namjoon’s back, Jungkook thinks that everything is just right. Between them, things are always just the way they should be.

“I’m going to come,” Jungkook’s breath gets harsh as he chases his own pleasure. And thats what this is about, really. Namjoon isn’t going to come this way, he can’t. This is about something other than the alpha coming, and they both know it as Jungkook’s breath starts to stutter, and Namjoon lowers his back even further into submission, sliding his knees wider so Jungkook can fuck him deeper and deeper. 

They both groan when Jungkook fills him up, shudders running through his body as his hips still and his voice runs ragged and the tears start. He always cries when he comes like this, even though it’s Namjoon that has made himself so utterly vulnerable.

“Love you so much,” he sighs wetly as he lays his head on Namjoon’s back, his ear pressed against the space between the alpha’s shoulder blades. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too, baby,” Namjoon says, stilling his body and letting Jungkook take the minutes he needs to just be still. When he slips out of Namjoon, and falls backwards onto the mattress, it only takes seconds for Namjoon to cover him up with his body.

He pushes his nose into the tender spot on Jungkook’s neck, and nestles into him. It’s comforting. 

“Need your knot now,” Jungkook sniffles, looking up at Namjoon’s soft expression with wide, impossibly round watery eyes. “Please take care of me, alpha.”

Namjoon is still hard as a rock, his cock flushed so red it looks like a gentle breeze could get him off, but he takes his time with Jungkook. He peppers sweet kisses all over Jungkook’s hips and tummy, tending to each stretch mark like they’re precious. 

Jungkook is flat on his back now, and Namjoon spreads his legs wide before he pushes his knees up high enough to hook an elbow behind each one. It’s not until he pushes in that Jungkook releases the breath he’d been holding, his entire body relaxing at the feeling of being full, safe and claimed. 

Namjoon chases his own pleasure this time as Jungkook looks up at him, tender and easy, body limber and butter soft. He pours over the beautiful details of Namjoon’s face, even as his own poor, half hard dick flutters in over sensitivity. Namjoon’s gorgeous dimples, the prettiest, small nose that belongs on an omega. The deep terracotta his skin turns when it gets the full force of summer sun. His kind expression. Jungkook loves him so much it makes him feel like he could explode sometimes, like it’s painful to keep the weight of that love inside of himself, like a part of him aches with the stretch of containing that love in his skin and bones. 

“I’m gonna knot, baby, I can’t…” Namjoon stutters and he’s starting to sweat around his brow. “I can’t hold back, baby, please…”

“Come alpha,” Jungkook whispers, leaning up to catch one of this titanium bars in between his lips. He suckles at the bud of Namjoon’s nipple, swirling his tongue around the familiar mound that’s been made alien by his piercing. It tastes metallic and cold on his tongue, but Namjoon’s familiar taste oozes through, the salt and bergamot of his skin. 

Namjoon’s knot pushes against him, again, again, and once more before it nestles home, buries deep inside Jungkook where a deep want has been waiting to be full. Namjoon comes and comes, and keeps coming while they wrap up into each other, Jungkook snuggled in the crook of his alpha’s neck.

They just scratch eachother’s scalp in silence, rolling in the slices of sunlight that are leaking in through the drape now as Seoul comes alive.

“I wanna go home now, Joon,” Jungkook sniffles, a deep hurt building in his chest as he holds back his tears. There’s something about sex that tears down all of his defenses and lays his pain out in the open. “This has been… I needed this, but I need Nara now.”

“I know baby, me too,” Namjoon coos into his dark curls, rolling them both on their side so he can hold Jungkook tightly.

“She was perfect,” Jimin says as he hands a giggling Nara over to her Dada. Jungkook hadn’t even set his bag down when they’d gotten to the apartment, just stalked over to where Jimin and Nara were cuddling on the sofa watching cartoons and made grabby hands for his baby. 

“She didn’t miss me too much? I bet she missed me when she woke,” Jungkook worries, biting his lip and checking Nara all over, despite knowing that Jimin would never let her get hurt. It’s just his instincts, he thinks, as he snuffles all over, getting her baby scent all over him, pushing his own all over her. It’s not right for a pup and their dam not to smell of each other.

“No she didn’t, she was great. She barely even noticed you were—“ Jimin comes to a halt as Jungkook whimpers, his eyes communicating something silently with Namjoon’s narrowed one’s.

“I mean, I think even though she didn’t cry she was a little off,” Jimin adds quickly. 

“It’s only because you’ve doted on her so much that she’s secure enough to know you’ll come back,” Hoseok says with a soft, indulgent smile as he nods to Jimin. 

“She knows her Appas always come home to her,” Jungkook huffs his chest up with pride, tucking Nara back in her favourite spot at the crook of his neck.

“Of course she does, baby,” Namjoon says with a soft smile as he slides in beside him, taking Naras chubby foot in one of his hands. He runs the other softly on the cotton of Jungkook’s back. “She knows her beautiful appa loves her so much.”

Jimin and Hobi don’t linger, and as much as Jungkook loves them and feels grateful that they took such good care of his pup, he’s glad of it. He wants to be in his nest with his baby, with his alpha curled around him.

There are too many other scents in the apartment, and his omega isn’t yet content. He needs to smother her with his kisses to replace the wrong lack of her and Joon on her skin. 

When they’re snoozing together only twenty minutes later, Jungkook thinks about the many times he’d wished himself out of this apartment over the last six months. How much he needed time alone, time with Namjoon. It’s funny how time away feels like everything you need until you have it, until you feel like half a person, walking around without an organ—until your heart is torn in two, one vital part of it sleeping soundly in a cradle a whole city away. 

When the nest is just right, Jungkook rests too—his alpha wrapped around him, and his pup in her cosleeper.