Whiteout

Thick snow blankets the roads, visibility down to almost nothing. They barely make it to a nondescript roadside motel before the weather makes travel too dangerous to risk. The wind howls as they stumble inside the site office—offering far over regular rates just for enough rooms for everyone even if they have to double or triple up. Their cheeks sting from the frigid cold and boots crunch over salted floors. They're jittery from the cold, breath fogging in the dim, flickering light as they split up—a quick, shivering game of rock-paper-scissors deciding room-shares.

When Jimin and Hoseok reach their room, they find only a single bed. A double, but barely.

"Shit," Hoseok mutters, setting his bag down next to the door. “Guess we’re getting cosy.”

Jimin forces a laugh. He wants to say it’s fine—because it should be. It usually is. They’ve shared rooms, beds, even the shower in the past. But it’s different now. Different since the dreams started—Since every accidental brush of even Hoseok’s hand started to feel like a jolt to Jimin’s system, like a live wire buzzing under his skin.

Dreams of Hoseok’s mouth, his hands, his slim, powerful legs wrapped around Jimin's waist. Heated, desperate, Hoseok’s body moulded to his like it was made for him.

Jimin is left with two choices: ignore and deny everything—and pray he doesn’t have another dream—or confront his feelings for Hoseok and risk ruining their friendship.

He’s not strong enough for the second option. Not now.

That night the group gather briefly to eat cup ramyeon in silence, steam curling shapes into the air like ghosts. Then, with nothing else to do, they retreat to their rooms to keep warm, bone-tired from the endless shivering.

The motel room is freezing despite the rickety space heater groaning in the corner, Jimin can see his breath, teeth chattering. They really need a better heating system when they’re in a location seemingly prone to intense cold weather. Then again, Jimin doesn't think this place will ever get better anything. It was practically falling apart at the seams in places.

Jimin showers first, hoping the hot water will do something to help. For a moment it cascades over him, relieving the bitter stinging chill that’s settled in his limbs. But the moment the spray cuts off the cold claws right back in, leaving him with goosebumps and shaking hands.

He barely gets his pyjamas on before he’s diving under the covers, limbs still trembling. Hoseok watches him for a beat too long, towel in hand, then tosses it aside with a sigh.

“No point. Let’s just get warm,” he says, slipping in beside Jimin.

This is fine. Jimin is fine.

He can handle Hoseok spooned behind him, an arm draped around his waist. Jimin lies stiffly for a few moments, trying not to focus on the way Hoseok’s chest presses against his back, or the steady exhale of breath against the nape of his neck. Trying so desperately hard to pretend the slightly stronger scent to him—something purely Hoseok and so, so intoxicating—after foregoing a shower isn’t driving him to insanity. He forces himself to relax, one muscle at a time, until the tension bleeds out and drowsiness seeps in.

He dreams again.

It feels so real—the firm press of Hoseok’s lips against his, warm and firm, and so, so confident. The hot slide of his tongue between Jimin’s lips, the hands on Jimin’s hips anchoring him, the slow, needy grind of their bodies. Dizzying. Addictive.

Jimin jerks awake with an aborted moan catching in his throat—Hoseok is far too still behind him.

Shit.

Their fingers are laced together where he’s holding Hoseok’s hand to his straining erection through his pyjamas. The heat of his arousal practically burns through the fabric.

Mortified, Jimin jerks his hand away in panic.

“Fuck! Hoseok, I’m—shit, I didn’t mean—” Jimin starts to pull away, but Hoseok’s arm around his waist keeps him in place. Hoseok draws a shuddering breath, forehead resting against the curve of Jimin’s neck, and gently tugs Jimin back against him.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and raw. “It’s cold out there.”

Jimin can feel—

Oh.

Hoseok’s erection nestles hot against the cleft of his ass, warmth radiating through the layers of fabric between them. Hard, insistent, and impossible to misinterpret.

“You’re—”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says simply.

Silence hangs between them, thick—like the blanket of snow outside—and humming. Jimin slowly turns in Hoseok’s arms, face inches from his. The closeness is overwhelming, his breath hitching as their eyes lock. Jimin’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips and brushes Hoseok’s in the process.

That's all it takes.

Hoseok kisses him like the blizzard outside—sudden, fierce, and unrelenting. He rolls Jimin beneath him, bodies aligned, mouths moving like they’ve done this a thousand times. Jimin’s hands find their way under Hoseok’s top, fingertips skating across warm skin and muscle, curling around his ribcage.

Hoseok's touch is everywhere—up Jimin's shirt, cupping his ribs, tracing the delicate dip of his waist. He tugs the neckline of Jimin’s top down to mouth at his collarbone, the sharp sting of teeth sending a shiver down Jimin's spine. Jimin arches into him, eyes fluttering shut, breath coming in short puffs.

Pants are pushed down with clumsy, eager movements, Jimin’s cock springing free to slap against his lower belly with a spark of pleasure. Skin on skin, finally.

Hoseok is hot, solid, grounding. They’re not even fully naked, too impatient to do more than tug the offending fabric halfway down their thighs. Jimin's hands map Hoseok’s back, nails scraping lightly, making him hiss. And shit, his face is far too hot like this, brows furrowed as he looks down at Jimin with dark, hungry eyes.

"This good?" Hoseok asks, voice hoarse as he lines their cock up and rocks his hips. It’s too dry, the friction sending sharp pleasure-pain curling through Jimin’s belly, but it’s so delicious. It’s exactly what he needs in that moment to keep him from losing it completely and cumming right then and there.

"Yeah. Yes," Jimin groans. “Please.”

They move slowly at first, hands wandering, exploring, learning. A brush of thumbs over Jimin’s nipples making him arch up against Hoseok with a choked gasp—A nip at a particular spot on Hoseok’s neck causing his hips to falter in their rhythm. A whisper of Hoseok’s lips against his ear—a dirty promise to fuck him so good as soon as they’re somewhere with lube—has Jimin’s cock leaking enough to ease the next decadent roll of Hoseok’s hips, and they both moan.

Their kisses turn more frenzied, messier, tongues sliding together and licking into each other's mouths in the most obscene way. Hoseok grinds against him with a sureness that Jimin knows comes from years of dancing. Every drag of their cocks between their bodies, every moan and gasp and whimper swallowed by each other's mouths, feels like heaven.

Hoseok’s forehead presses against Jimin's, their breath mingling, desperate and intimate. His gaze is so focused and intense, boring into Jimin’s and holding him hostage. He doesn’t want to escape.

The bed creaks dangerously and Jimin spares a prayer that it won't give out beneath them or knock obnoxiously against the wall and disturb Seokjin and Yoongi on the other side of it.

“Hyung… m’close,” Jimin whimpers against Hoseok’s cheek, arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging crescents into them as Jimin’s body coils tight. He feels like he’s going to shatter with the force of it—that is if he doesn't burn up in Hoseok’s atmosphere first.

“Me too. Fuck, Jiminie,” Hoseok rasps, ducking his head to bury his face against Jimin’s neck, tongue licking a hot, filthy stripe up the line of it. “Cum for me. Cum for Hyung.”

Jimin’s climax crests and crashes like the storm outside, pleasure wracking through his body in a wave. his brain feels like the flash of an old CRT TV when the power goes out—bright white then nothing, empty, silent. Hoseok’s hand clamps over his mouth and it takes Jimin a moment to process that it’s to cover the loud, wrecked moan that tears itself from his throat as he spills between them.

Hoseok’s hips keep rutting against his too sensitive cock, drawing out Jimin’s orgasm into oversensitivity as he chases his own. Teeth bared against Jimin’s throat like a wild thing, breath coming in short, sharp, ragged bursts until he cums with a hissed, shuddering curse.

Jimin’s body feels like it’s full of static as they lay there gasping for breath, his hands still clamped tightly around the curves of Hoseok’s shoulders. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribs, and Hoseok’s is beating a frantic answer in return.

He gradually forces his hands to release their grip, instead sliding them down to stroke Hoseok’s back, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. Hoseok grunts into the crook of Jimin’s shoulder before he rolls off to the side and pulls Jimin against him, nuzzling a kiss against Jimin’s hairline.

Sweat is rapidly cooling on his upper lip, and Jimin knows this temporary inferno they’ve created will fade far too soon in the face of the frigid weather. But he hopes the spark will stay—Hopes his Hope will want to explore more of whatever this is that they’ve started.

"Was this—Are we okay?" Jimin whispers. Hoseok’s arm around his shoulder tightens in a comforting squeeze.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "More than okay."

The snow keeps falling, quietly burying and muting the outside world.