Are You Feeling The Rush?

Jungkook groans in frustration, flopping back against the cold mirror-wall of the dance studio. His chest heaves from the sheer irritation of being outmanoeuvred again and again. He runs a hand through his hair, still annoyed at how easily Seokjin had dodged and deflected every one of his attempts to mess with him that day.

Yoongi, lounging in the corner with his phone in one hand and a water bottle in the other, finally looks up with a lazy blink. “You done flopping around like a spoilt pup?”

Jungkook scowls. “He’s just so… smug.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Jin-hyung?”

“Yeah.”

Yoongi shrugs and looks back down at his phone. “It’s kinda his thing.”

“He keeps pulling dumb tricks. Grabbing my hoodie, fake tapping out. He pinched my nipple so hard it still hurts! Then he laughs like it’s a game,” Jungkook huffs, folding his arms over his chest with a low grunt, sulking. It rankles, his Alpha disliking the constant losses to another Alpha who would lose to him in a real fight.

“It is a game. Or it’s meant to be,” Yoongi points out, not looking up from his phone. “You just suck at it.”

“I don’t suck. He’s just a dirty cheat!” Jungkook grumbles and throws Yoongi a glare.

“He knows he’d lose if he didn’t cheat,” Yoongi hums. “His Alpha won't let him yield so easily. You know that.”

Jungkook lets out another huff of annoyance, head tipping back against the mirror as he scowls at the ceiling. “Well, I can’t keep letting him get away with it.”

“You wanna get under his skin the way he gets under yours?” Yoongi asks, stretching out lazily on the shiny wood floor.

“Is water wet?”

“Technically no, by the definition of wet, which is being covered or soaked in liquid, then water isn't wet, it just makes other things wet,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook knows he’s doing it just to rile him, but he can’t stop the exasperated little ‘Shut up, hyung’ that forces its way out.

“Anyway, you need to assert your dominance. Put him in his place,” Yoongi tells him, an amused tilt to his lips. Jungkook scoffs.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do? It isn't working. He just sits there after with this self-satisfied little smirk on his stupid handsome face.” Jungkook lightly punching the floor beside himself to let out a little of the frustration. He’ll have to head down to the gym and have a thorough work-out to completely get rid of it.

“He’s not even pack Alpha. Why does he get to be higher ranked than me just because he’s the oldest?” Jungkook complains, voice taking on a whiny quality. Really, it’s not so much that Jungkook wants to be a higher rank than Seokjin. There’s just something about his eldest hyung that drives Jungkook crazy sometimes.

“Piss on him.”

Jungkook’s head jerks up, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”

“Like a dog. Mark your territory,” Yoongi says, expression deadpan.

There’s a long pause as they stare at each other.

“You’re joking,” Jungkook says flatly.

“Obviously I’m joking,” Yoongi replies, rolling his eyes. “Jesus.”

Jungkook stares at him, open-mouthed. “That's just wrong, hyung.”

Yoongi shrugs again. “Just saying. Maybe not exactly that, but if you wanna get his attention? Do something unexpected.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath that he doesn't want Seokjin’s attention. Yoongi just shakes his head in exasperation and rises to get back to practicing their latest choreo.

Jungkook tells himself to forget it—of course he should—but the ridiculous idea is now burnt into his brain like a brand.

He can’t.

Seokjin and Jungkook square off again in the dance studio after practice, playful smiles masking their growing competition. It’s a week after Yoongi’s little joke, and the room smells of a mix of sweat from practice and Alpha pheromones. Jungkook’s milk tea, cinnamon, and sea salt scent filled with the determination to get one over on his hyung this time.

They circle each other like a pair of predators, teasing and testing defences.

“Ready to lose again?” Seokjin teases, a cocky smirk curling his lips as he makes a playful jab at Jungkook with his fingers.

“Keep dreaming, hyung,” Jungkook shoots back, narrowing his eyes and lowering his stance.

They lunge at the same time, colliding with a jolt of energy that forces a grunt from Jungkook’s throat and their bodies tumbling together to the floor. Seokjin’s hands grip Jungkook’s wrists, pinning him momentarily before Jungkook twists sharply and slips free with a low growl, getting back to his feet.

Jungkook launches forward again, aiming to catch Seokjin’s side, but Seokjin is faster, dodging with a grin before jabbing a surprisingly sharp finger just below Jungkook’s ribs.

“You’re distracted today.”

Jungkook growls in mock offence, landing a light but firm tap on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Stop playing dirty.”

“I can’t play dirty. I took a shower before practice,” Seokjin says, grinning at Jungkook’s exasperated groan.

They grapple fiercely, Jungkook steeling himself and grabbing Seokjin’s arms, twisting them down onto the floor again with practiced precision. Seokjin finds Jungkook’s hips and uses his superior height and slight speed advantage to flip Jungkook onto the bottom. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he tries to wiggle free, eyes bright.

“I win. Again,” Seokjin chuckles, pressing his body lightly against Jungkook’s. “Just admit I’m the better play fighter!”

“Never!” Jungkook barks, pulling Seokjin’s arms up and twisting his body, trying to pin him down. They tumble across the floor together, their playful wrestling such a common occurrence back home in the dorm that the living room couldn't have a coffee table lest it get destroyed.

They come to a halt, chests heaving. Jungkook bares his teeth, pressing Seokjin down into the floor with one hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder, knees pressed into the wood either side of Seokjin’s narrow waist. Seokjin’s hair is mussed, his cheeks flushed, and Jungkook can feel the steady thump of Seokjin’s heartbeat under his palm. He pushes away the thought that his hyung looks best like this, ruffled and tired.

Their chests rise and fall in sync. Jungkook is suddenly hyperaware of how close they are, how warm Seokjin feels beneath him, how his own thighs bracket Seokjin’s hips just a little too snugly. The weight of their bodies pressing together and the scent of Korean pear, rosewood, and toasted sugar mixed with sweat fills his senses, sparking something low in his belly.

He shifts his hips to better balance himself, and Seokjin lets out the softest sound, barely a gasp, but enough to make Jungkook freeze.

Then he feels it: Seokjin’s cock, half-hard and tenting his sweats between them.

Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat.

His first instinct is to laugh it off, but something about Seokjin’s face stops him. The usual cocky spark in his hyung’s eyes isn’t there. Seokjin looks… startled. Shy. His brows are drawn together, like he’s trying to pretend this isn’t happening.

Jungkook leans down slightly, teasing despite himself. “Hyung, you’re…”

Seokjin turns his head to the side quickly. “Shut up,” he mutters, ears going pink. “It—It’s just adrenaline or something. Ignore it.”

But the pressure grows more unmistakable between them. Jungkook realises he’s getting hard too. This isn’t how their sparring usually feels. This is charged, strange and hot in a way Jungkook hadn’t expected. Every subtle shift of their hips against each other sends little sparks of want through his core.

“Hyung...” Jungkook’s voice is low and playful as he tries, briefly, to drag them back into the more relaxed atmosphere of before.

Seokjin’s eyes flick to his before darting away again, still flustered. “What?”

“Do you yield?” Jungkook asks, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, sudden defiance forcing their eyes to meet steadily again despite his position.

“No.”

The refusal frustrates Jungkook further and he lets out a snarl, heat rushing through his body. Their faces hover inches apart, breaths shallow.

“Yield.”

“Nope.”

Jungkook’s mind flashes back to Yoongi’s ridiculous comment. The impulse sparks, heated and reckless. Now, with Seokjin pinned and flushed beneath him, with both of them hard and confused and too close.

Before Jungkook can talk himself out of it, he does it.

He lets go.

The stream is sudden and warm, soaking through his pants and Seokjin’s with a slow, wet heat, spreading over his crotch with a telltale hiss and strong scent.

Seokjin jerks in surprise, his eyes snapping wide open, voice incredulous as he asks, “Jungkook wh—Are you pissing on me?!”

“I—I don’t know!” Jungkook’s voice cracks. “I mean… yes? But…”

The panic in his chest collides with something hotter, something darker, and a soft, high-pitched whine swells in his throat. His cock throbs against the damp fabric of his pants as he realises he likes how it feels—warm, filthy, possessive. It was too easy; he hadn’t realised how badly he’d needed to go. Should have gone as soon as practice ended, really.

Seokjin’s mouth opens like he’s going to shout, but then he stills.

Jungkook sees it, the moment realisation hits. Seokjin is still hard. Maybe harder. His cock burns a hot line against Jungkook’s hip. Seokjin’s scent deepens, need and shame tinting the usually comforting smell in a way that makes Jungkook shudder and a growl rumble like thunder low in his chest.

“Hyung…” Jungkook whispers, stunned.

Seokjin’s face is a mess of confusion and embarrassment. Jungkook can see the tips of Seokjin’s ears rapidly reddening. He shakes his head slightly, looking like he wants to sink into the floor. “This is so—fuck, I don’t know why my body’s reacting like this.”

Jungkook doesn’t move off him even as the flow eases and his bladder empties completely. He can’t. The heat between them is overwhelming now, a clinging mess of wet fabric. He shifts again, and both of them gasp when their erections slide against each other through their ruined clothes.

It’s ridiculous. It’s filthy. It’s outright obscene.

It feels good.

Jungkook rolls his hips again, halting but intentional, and the friction pulls soft, stifled sounds from both of them. Jungkook’s eyes flutter half-shut, the soaked fabric of his pants clinging to his skin, dragging across Seokjin’s with every slow grind.

Seokjin’s breathing gets heavier, chest rising against Jungkook’s, his expression twisted into something that isn’t quite panic anymore. Still flushed, still stunned—but there’s a tension to his body that gives way to subtle movement. His hips twitch upward, his body answering Jungkook’s before his mind can catch up.

“You should get off,” Seokjin says, voice low, tight, but he isn’t pushing Jungkook away. Jungkook can’t help the snort of amusement at his choice of words, and for once Seokjin is the one rolling his eyes, shooting Jungkook a look that says ‘Really?’

Jungkook hovers, the air between them thick with sweat and the heavy mixed scent of piss, Alpha musk, and arousal. Jungkook wonders if he’ll ever be able to use the bathroom again without thinking of this moment.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, barely able to push the words from his suddenly-too-dry throat. He swallows thickly.

“I don’t—fuck, Jungkook, this is disgusting,” Seokjin groans, hips jerking up again unbidden. “But I—it feels so…”

Jungkook whimpers when Seokjin grinds up against him, wet friction stoking the fire low in his gut.

“You’re not saying stop,” Jungkook breathes, forehead dropping to Seokjin’s shoulder.

They both stay like that for a heartbeat: panting, soaked, hard. Then the tension snaps like an over-drawn bow. Seokjin arches again, unsteady, thighs flexing beneath Jungkook’s as he rolls his hips with a soft, broken groan. Jungkook rocks back down into it, a helpless, instinctive grind.

They don’t kiss, aren’t even looking at each other, just gripping with bruising force to arms and hips, rutting in shallow, desperate thrusts. The fabric of their pants clings to their cocks, piss-wet, boxers too tight. Every grind sends flames licking up Jungkook’s spine. His hands find Seokjin’s hips, holding him down, mirroring Seokjin’s own tight hold on him, rocking together faster, unable to stop.

“Fucking—fuck, Jungkook…” Seokjin curses, voice high and choked.

Their movements turn messier. Seokjin’s hands slide up from Jungkook’s hips to curl against his back, his head thrown to the side, flushed to his ears. Everything’s louder—the panting breaths between them, the soft growls of a pleased Alpha that Jungkook can’t seem to hold in, Seokjin’s increasingly loud moans.

“Shit,” Seokjin hisses. “I’m—this is so wrong… Don’t stop.”

Jungkook’s heart flutters in his chest at the request, at the sight of Seokjin’s reddened skin. He grinds down, chasing the way Seokjin’s cock drags through layers of wet fabric as he drags his lips down the side of Seokjin’s neck to lap at his scent gland. As he drags his teeth over the tender area, Seokjin’s scent blooms thick and heady with arousal, strong enough to cover the bitter smell of urine.

Jungkook wants to drown in it.

“God—God, I’m gonna…” Seokjin gasps, hips jerking unevenly as he drags his nails down Jungkook’s back, almost tearing his shirt with the force of it.

“Hy—ung,” Jungkook whines, trembling, nearly there himself. His entire body is burning, overwhelmed with sensation—shame, heat, scent, the way Seokjin’s body is flexing and shaking under his.

He ruts down hard, grinding one more time, and the white-hot wave of arousal crests and crashes over him. Jungkook releases a strangled groan, low and rough in his chest as his knot swells, a thick, warm, rush of cum spreading between them, joining the fluid already there.

Seokjin’s keening whine as he follows is the only thing Jungkook ever wants to hear again—the full-body shudder ripping through him and the answering swell of another Alpha’s knot the only thing Jungkook will be able to think of when his hand is around his own cock late at night.

They lay there, bodies tangled, soaked, and spent, the room quiet barring their panting and the low hum of the lights. The high recedes slowly, leaving only satiated exhaustion and the mess beneath and between them as their knots deflate in the absence of a tight hole to stay locked into.

Jungkook is still slumped over Seokjin, barely holding his own weight, his cheek resting against Seokjin’s shoulder. They’re soaked, clothes clinging to them like a second skin, damp, sticky, and gross in a way that is impossible to ignore now that the heat has ebbed.

Seokjin is the first to speak.

“Need to shower.” His voice is quiet, rough, scraping its way up his now sore throat. Jungkook almost feels bad, but Seokjin sounded so pretty as he moaned for him.

“Yeah,” Jungkook sighs, nodding against his shoulder before pushing up carefully. His muscles feel leaden, drained. He lifts off Seokjin’s hips, wincing as the cold air hits his soaked pants. He sits beside him, legs bent, still trembling, arms resting on his knees.

Neither of them looks at the other.

Seokjin sits up with a quiet grunt, grimacing as his clothes squelch. He glances down at the stain across his thighs and groin, dark on the grey of his sweats, white smeared both inside and out.

“Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook swallows, staring at the floor, his throat tight.

“I didn’t—like, I didn’t plan that,” Jungkook adds quickly, fumbling for something that might explain the chaos still vibrating in his chest. “Yoongi made a joke about… asserting my dominance by pissing on you, and it just… stuck in my head, and we are already messing around, and then…”

He trails off, shame curling hot in his gut again.

“I pissed on you,” he whispers. “And we… What the fuck.”

Seokjin lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. You did.”

His voice isn’t angry, just quiet. Distant. Processing. Jungkook’s stomach twists.

“I’m sorry.”

Seokjin glances over at him. “Are you?”

Jungkook looks down at his hands. “For not… asking first… Yeah.”

Seokjin blinks. His face is hard to read—still flushed, still tense, but softening slightly. Just… off-balance. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“I’ve never—fuck. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m not a particularly… kinky guy. I don’t even know why it felt so good. And now I feel like I should be grossed out or freaking out or something. But I’m mostly just…” He rubs a hand over his face. “...weirdly calm? Is that messed up?”

“I don’t know... But same… Well, no, I am freaking out a bit,” Jungkook says with a humourless laugh, brushing sweat-damp hair out of his eyes.

Neither of them speaks for a long moment. Seokjin offers no comfort, lost in his head as he is. Jungkook feels like he might have destroyed their friendship, destroyed Bangtan in a moment of horny impulse. His thoughts start to spiral.

Then, quietly, Seokjin says, “We’re still on the floor.”

Jungkook lets out a wet laugh, burying his face in his hands to hide the tears pricking at his eyes. “Yeah.”

“And I’m… wet.”

They don’t move.

Seokjin clears his throat, looking down at the mess they’d made. “This floor belongs to HYBE.”

That makes Jungkook laugh again, harder, a strange, hiccuping sound that borders on hysteria. He pushes himself to his feet, mortified by the full reality of the situation.

There is a puddle beneath them, cooling fast. His pants cling damp and cold to his thighs. Seokjin’s shirt is hit just as badly. It sticks to his chest, darkened in patches, a clear indication of what just occurred.

Jungkook swallows. “I’ll clean it.”

“We should both clean it,” Seokjin corrects, getting up. He presses a towel into Jungkook’s hands—Seokjin’s own towel, Jungkook notices, and he feels another kick of aroused shame in his core—and his fingers linger against Jungkook’s knuckles for a comforting moment. Jungkook looks up and is caught in the dark, hesitant pools of Seokjin’s eyes, the anxious knot in his chest loosening slightly.

Jungkook scrubs hard at the floor, hands shaking more than he wants them to. Seokjin helps, methodical and unflinching, like he’s focusing all his remaining energy on doing the job right instead of thinking about how they’d got here.

When the floor is wiped down, they stand side by side for a moment, staring at the empty room. Everything looks normal again, except the soiled towels in their hands and the damp clothes on their bodies. But nothing feels the same.

“I’m gonna take that shower.” Seokjin straightens up with a grunt, stretching his back and wincing. Jungkook nods, mute despite having calmed from the manual task of cleaning.

Seokjin hesitates as he steps into the hallway and turns slightly, not meeting Jungkook’s eyes.

“You coming?” he asks, voice careful. “I mean—there’s room. It’s not like we haven't showered together before.”

It’s an olive branch, a sign that, while everything’s not quite solved yet, Seokjin isn’t friendship-endingly mad. Jungkook stares at him for a moment, then nods and follows.

They walk toward the locker room together, silent in the empty hall between the practice room and showers. Jungkook is glad it’s late enough that almost no one is in the building. He has no idea how he’d explain the stains on their clothes and the soiled towels. At least not in any way that preserved both their dignity—though he’d take the blame and say he had an accident trying to practice too long without a break.

The water is already running by the time Jungkook steps into the shower room after stripping. Steam curls around the door frame, thick and warm, a sharp contrast to the cool dampness still clinging to his skin. Seokjin stands under the spray with his back to the door, his clothes in a discarded heap on the floor of the next shower over. It’s also on, washing away the worst of the mess so they can take them home to clean properly.

Jungkook pauses. His heart vibrates against his ribs with nerves, a heavy, trembling sense of almost-fear. Still, he drops his ruined clothes into a pile beside Seokjin’s, then steps into the shower with him.

Seokjin doesn’t turn or tell him to leave, just keeps his head under the water, letting it pour down over his face and shoulders. His fingers are braced against the tile, muscles taut with tension.

Jungkook stands behind him, the hot spray hitting his chest and neck, aching to reach out and pull Seokjin into an apologetic hug. Silence stretches between them, broken only by the patter of water against skin and tile. Then Seokjin turns and looks up.

“I’m not mad,” Seokjin says quietly after a long moment. Jungkook blinks. “You look like you’re waiting for me to be.”

“I—You’d have every right to be,” Jungkook admits, voice small.

Seokjin’s face is flushed, whether from the heat or embarrassment, Jungkook can’t tell. Wet hair is plastered to his forehead, mouth twisted into an awkward smile.

“I’m more confused than anything. And tired. And kind of grossed out, but also…” He trails off, eyes flicking to Jungkook’s chest, then back to his face. “I didn’t hate it. And that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.”

Jungkook nods slowly.

They stand there quietly for a moment, Jungkook looking down at his feet for a second before his eyes dart off to the side when he realises looking down gives him a prime view of Seokjin’s soft cock.

It’s almost silly to be shy about seeing his hyung naked like this after what just happened, after years of having shared showers and space before they could afford a bigger dorm and unlimited hot water.

Seokjin reaches out and gently presses a washcloth soaked with warm, sudsy water to Jungkook’s hip. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat as Seokjin moves, his touch careful and slow, up along his side and ribs, not lingering, just washing away what is left of the mess on his skin.

“I can do it,” Jungkook offers, feeling small, like a pup after a scolding from a pack leader.

“I know.” Seokjin’s eyes flick up. “Let me?”

When Jungkook nods, letting out a quiet, shaking exhale, Seokjin’s fingers trail lower. They wander across the hills and valleys of Jungkook’s relaxed abs, brushing along the curve of his other hip and lingering just a moment longer than necessary. A flicker of heat fizzles along Jungkook’s skin.

Bringing his other hand to Jungkook’s stomach, Seokjin’s fingers faintly trace the hard lines beneath the water, brushing over slick skin, exploratory.

A sharp inhale, then a low growl that can’t be mistaken as anything but arousal rumbles from Seokjin’s chest. Jungkook swallows thickly, heart racing, eyes flickering down the length of Seokjin’s body and then back to his face.

Instead of pulling back, Seokjin steps forward, crowding Jungkook against the wall until they’re pressed chest to chest, slowly hardening cocks nestled between them. Jungkook catches his eyes, jaw working nervously as he searches for the answer to an unasked question.

“It’s ok,” Seokjin mutters, licking his lips. Jungkook follows the movement of his tongue, and god he wants to kiss him, realises he hasn't yet.

“Hyung…” Jungkook whispers, leaning closer.

They meet in the middle, faintly at first, a little shudder of delight winding its way down Jungkook’s spine as their lower lips graze each other. Seokjin brushes their noses together, cupping Jungkook’s cheek with a hand before closing the final bit of distance between them.

Tension that Jungkook hadn't realised he was still holding bleeds out of him, and he brings his arms up to wrap around Seokjin’s neck as they kiss. His lips are warm and so, so soft.

Their hands roam, slow and careful but becoming bolder with every quiet moan and gasp muffled in each other’s mouths. And then he feels it. The warm rush of extra liquid between them, a heavier noise of dripping against the tiles, Seokjin’s soft grunt.

“H-hyung,” Jungkook gasps, looking down between them as Seokjin returns the favour from earlier, piss sluicing over Jungkook’s belly and down their legs.

Seokjin’s hips shift forward gently but deliberately, and Jungkook feels the soft friction of their slick erections rubbing against each other. It’s not the frantic grind of earlier, though it’s just as filthy.

Their breaths quicken in tandem, and Seokjin dips his head as the last drops of urine spill between them. He presses his mouth to the scent gland beneath Jungkook’s jaw, sucking lightly and leaving a bright spot of fire against his skin, just light enough to not leave a mark, though Jungkook wishes he could.

Jungkook whimpers, and his hands slide from Seokjin’s hips to his back, fingers splayed wide, digging into firm muscle and pulling him closer.

The warmth of their bodies, the scent of soap and skin and piss, the sound of water cascading over them, steam curling hot and close. It makes Jungkook’s head spin. He bites his lower lip, eyes fluttering closed. Seokjin groans in his ear, low and rough.

Jungkook’s cock leaks pre-cum, and he feels almost as heated and fuzzy as he does right before his rut hits, but he’s nowhere near. An almost urgent need to be bitten bubbles in his chest, and he winds his fingers in Seokjin’s hair, crushing their mouths together so he doesn’t ask Seokjin to bite him and make him his.

Their movements quicken in a desperate rhythm, slick bodies sliding, grinding, pressing even closer as the water washes away the last traces of Seokjin’s piss. Jungkook’s breath hitches sharply as he races toward another orgasm, legs trembling. Seokjin holds him steady, pinned against the wall as their movement becomes frenzied again.

With a choked whine into Seokjin’s mouth, Jungkook cums for the second time, fingers gripping tightly at Seokjin’s hair. There’s bared teeth against Jungkook’s lips as Seokjin’s hips stutter, pressing Jungkook harder against the tile and forcing the breath from him as the other Alpha spills against his skin.

They cling to each other, breathless and trembling, foreheads resting together as the storm inside them quiets. The water cascades over them both, cleansing and comforting, loosening the last of tension in their muscles.

Eventually, Seokjin reaches for the tap, turns off the water, and hands Jungkook a towel. They’re still quiet, but now there are warm, lingering looks between them as they dry off side by side. Jungkook almost feels giddy with the possibility that maybe this could actually go somewhere, despite his rash behaviour.

When they’re dry and dressed in fresh clothes—their sopping wet, soiled outfits in a plastic bag that Seokjin seemed to conjure from thin air—Seokjin takes a moment to watch Jungkook, head tilted to the side slightly and a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Let's go to my place. Hyung will buy dinner.”

Jungkook’s heart swells, a bright smile breaking out across his face like the sun through the clouds.