CHANGING TIMES

When Seokjin returned to Korea after seven blissful days in New Zealand with his husband, a part of him wished they never had to leave. The warm, salty breeze of Queenstown had been a welcome contrast to Seoul’s bitter winter. Their first stop—the skyline gondola—swept them up to Bob’s Peak, where they stood hand in hand, watching the sun melt into the mountains. They didn’t leave until the stars came out, lingering in the quiet, wrapped in each other and the vastness of the Milky Way. It was the kind of night that lived on in memory, soft and infinite.

In a country where love like theirs was met with warmth instead of whispers, Seokjin didn’t hesitate. He frequently pulled Namjoon close in the middle of the street (or anywhere else) and kissed him—long, slow, and full of everything he felt. He’d never been this open before, this romantic. Namjoon noticed the shift immediately. Usually, he was the one to initiate—affection, touches, kisses. But this time, Seokjin was fire and tenderness wrapped in one, and Namjoon loved every second of it.

Then in the quiet privacy of their nights, that passion only deepened. Seokjin surprised him with how bold he could be, how unashamed. There was a wildness there, something Namjoon had rarely seen before—a hunger that made him feel desired in ways he never imagined. Seokjin’s mouth, his hands, the way he took his time—it was reverent and raw all at once. Namjoon gave in to it completely, letting himself be unraveled by the one person who knew every part of him and loved it all.

“You look like a heartbroken puppy whose favorite toy just got snatched,” Namjoon teased, grinning as he booped Seokjin’s soft cheeks. He wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin lightly on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Stop pouting. We’ll come back here again, I promise.”

The ferry hummed beneath them, cutting through the sapphire water as the sun dipped lower behind Auckland’s skyline. Seokjin leaned against the railing, the wind tousling his hair. The sea below shimmered, catching their reflections like a watercolor painting.

He reached for Namjoon’s hand and guided it more firmly around his waist, their fingers lacing together.

“But I want to stay a few more days,” Seokjin murmured, voice soft. Then, with all the innocence of someone talking about breakfast plans, he added, “Wanna try that cock ring I packed for you.”

Namjoon choked.

Seokjin didn’t even glance back, but the satisfied little smile tugging at his lips said he knew exactly what he was doing.

Good thing they had the deck to themselves.

“You’re dangerous,” Namjoon murmured back, voice husky with surprise, color blooming across his cheeks. “No good for my heart. Where were you hiding that this whole time?”

Seokjin didn’t answer. He just smirked—half proud, half playful—and leaned back slowly, pressing himself into the heat growing against him.

Namjoon gasped.

“Fuck,” he cursed, words tangled in his throat as Seokjin rolled his hips again, deliberately slow, as if drawing out a secret.

“Still think I’m bad for you?” Seokjin asked, glancing over his shoulder with a glint in his eyes.

Namjoon swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said. “And I want more.”

It had been a beautiful night—intimate, electric—and their last in New Zealand. Tomorrow, they’d be on a plane back to Korea.

Seokjin bit his lip, the memory blooming slow and warm in his chest as he sat at the gay bar. His eyes drifted toward the dance floor, where a tipsy Namjoon swayed his hips from side to side, hands locked behind his head, trying to follow the choreography of a Vietnamese TikTok challenge—2 Phút Hơn, if Seokjin remembered right. He looked ridiculous. Ridiculously cute.

The honeymoon phase hadn’t worn off, not even close. If anything, it had deepened after they got back. Especially for Seokjin.

The moment they landed in Seoul, sometime past midnight, he tipped the cab driver and had them detour straight to Itaewon. Their luggage went home without them—don’t ask how. He just made it happen.

Namjoon had protested, of course. But one kiss on the cheek and two drinks later, he forgot whatever argument he had and melted into the night like he’d always belonged there.

“Woohoo! You’re killing it, Joon! Shake that ass, yeah!” Seokjin yelled over the thumping bass.

Namjoon turned, grinning, and wiggled his ass in Seokjin’s direction, shameless and enjoying every second of it. Laughing, Seokjin tossed back a shot and made his way onto the dance floor. His hands slid down Namjoon’s back before grabbing a firm handful, pulling him close from behind.

“Gonna peg you one of these days,” Seokjin whispered, teasingly wicked, as his fingers tapped Namjoon’s ass.

Namjoon spun on his heel and looped his arms around Seokjin’s neck. He leaned in like he was going for a kiss, lips hovering just close enough to promise it, but then veered off to bite down on Seokjin’s earlobe.

“Mmm, love it when you take the lead, baby,” he said, voice low and silk-slick, tongue flicking playfully against the sensitive skin.

Seokjin groaned, sliding his hands up under Namjoon’s sweatshirt and pulling him in. Their mouths crashed together in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, breath hitching, moans slipping between them. Tongues tangled, hips grinding in sync with the pulsing beat of the dance floor.

Namjoon’s teeth sank gently into Seokjin’s lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from him. Heat bloomed across Seokjin’s cheeks, cascading through his chest and coiling low in his belly, a spark quickly turning into flame.

Namjoon had been right—the wait was absolutely worth it. That short-lived period of celibacy only made everything more intense, more meaningful. To say they were patient and respectful until they reached their room would be generous. In reality, they were like horny teenagers, desperate and unable to keep their hands off each other. The moment the last person left their private wedding suite and the doors clicked shut behind them, they didn’t waste a second—they were all over each other like they hadn’t had a single touch in years.

Every time Namjoon’s fingertips grazed his skin, Seokjin could practically taste the pleasure pooling low in his abdomen—hot, electric, and aching for release.

Now, after making out for what felt like forever, that delicious pressure returned, and his cock throbbed for the same attention his mouth was getting.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, lips still grazing Namjoon’s. “How about we get out of here,” he said, voice low and laced with promise, “and I give you a proper demonstration, Joonie?”

Namjoon didn’t hesitate. “What are you waiting for, then? Let’s go,” he said, breathless, intertwining his fingers with Seokjin’s and tugging him toward the door. They burst out of the bar like a pair of teenagers, laughing as they ran into the night.

Cold air slapped their faces the second they stepped outside, sharp and sobering. Seokjin shivered, instinctively curling into Namjoon’s side. Namjoon wrapped an arm around him, and they stumbled down the sidewalk, clinging to each other under the excuse of staying warm.

From across the street, a voice called out, “You guys are cute!”

“Thanks!” Seokjin grinned, face flushed. “He’s my husband, and I’m gonna fu—”

Before he could finish, Namjoon slapped a hand over his mouth, cracking up. “Okay! That’s enough,” he said quickly, shooting the stranger an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind him, he’s had a few.”

The passerby just laughed. “Enjoy your night!”

“Oh, we will,” Seokjin mumbled behind Namjoon’s hand, eyes glinting.

Seokjin dragged his tongue slowly across Namjoon’s palm, eyes locked on him the whole time.

Namjoon made a face and wiped it off on Seokjin’s shoulder. “That’s filthy.”

“You like filthy,” Seokjin shot back with a wicked smirk. “Want proof?”

Namjoon snorted and reached up to pinch Seokjin’s nose, squishing it until his whole face wrinkled. “You’re such a menace.”

Before Seokjin could answer, a black SUV pulled up in front of them. The window rolled down just enough for a familiar voice to say, “Get in.”

They didn’t ask questions. Just moved.

The doors shut and the engine growled to life. Seokjin grabbed Namjoon by the collar, yanked him close, and crashed their mouths together as he climbed into his lap—hungry, unbothered, and completely in control.

The car was thick with heat. The windows fogged, the air filled with the sound of breathy moans and muffled laughter. The ride home felt like a blink. A blur. Neither of them could say how they got there.

They didn’t remember the door unlocking, or punching in the code. Just hands everywhere, clothes half-undone, and stumbling onto a couch that didn’t quite smell like theirs.

Seokjin didn’t care.

“Off,” he said, low and rough, fingers already yanking at Namjoon’s baggy jeans.

A faint click echoed from somewhere in the distance. The door had swung shut on its own, as if by magic. Seokjin barely registered it, assuming it was just Namjoon unbuckling his belt. He glanced over to see him shimmying out of it, squirming on the couch like a restless worm. The image pulled a chuckle from Seokjin’s throat—absurd, but weirdly fitting.

Namjoon’s fingers moved to Seokjin’s pristine button-down, deftly undoing each button until a broad stretch of pale skin glowed under the moonlight. Without pause, he lowered his lips to Seokjin’s chest, sucking gently on a nipple. His hand found the other, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Aaaa-ahhh,” Seokjin moaned, pleasure flaring sharp and hot as his eyes fluttered shut. A wave of heat crashed through him, hips jerking upward on instinct.

“Please… fuck me, Jin,” Namjoon breathed, lips brushing away with a wet pop as he nuzzled into the curve of Seokjin’s jaw, voice trembling with need.

Seokjin didn’t answer. He simply brought two fingers to his mouth, slipping them between his lips and wetting them thoroughly. His hand trailed down between Namjoon’s thighs, circling his entrance in slow, teasing motions before pressing one finger in. Then another.

Namjoon hissed. “Shit.”

His body tensed instinctively, muscles clamping around the intrusion, unprepared but yielding bit by bit.

Seokjin kissed him through it, soft and unhurried. He swallowed every strained breath, every trembling moan, while his fingers worked deeper—slow, deliberate thrusts, easing Namjoon into the stretch. Pain gave way to something warmer, heavier, building in his core.

“Need you,” Namjoon murmured into the kiss, voice wrecked. “Want your cock, baby.”

That did it.

Seokjin pulled back just enough to strip his pants and boxers down to his thighs. He spat a thick glob of saliva into his palm and stroked it over his aching length before guiding himself to Namjoon’s entrance.

“Hold on to me,” he whispered.

Then he pressed in, slowly, carefully, inch by inch, until Namjoon was full, breath caught in his throat, every nerve alive with the stretch and heat of Seokjin inside him.

“Mmmhh—fuck, you feel so good,” Namjoon gasped, voice thick with heat. “So big… all for me.”

His nails dug into Seokjin’s shoulders, pulling him closer, grounding himself in the overwhelming stretch.

“All for you,” Seokjin whispered, breath catching as he watched Namjoon take him—tight, hot, perfect.

He started to move, gentle at first, hips rocking with controlled grace, each thrust drawing out a loud moan from Namjoon’s throat. Pleasure coiled between them, building with every pass.

Namjoon’s hands dropped to Seokjin’s ass, gripping hard, guiding the rhythm. “Faster,” he panted. “Fuck me hard.”

Seokjin’s answer came in a movement. No words, just raw momentum. He slammed into Namjoon, hips snapping with force, chasing the tension building in his spine. The couch shuddered beneath them, wood creaking, cushions shifting.

“That’s it,” Namjoon groaned, head falling back. “Don’t stop. Give me more, Jin.”

Seokjin braced against the armrest, driving into him with everything he had. His muscles strained, breath ragged, thighs quivering with effort and rising ecstasy.

“Namjoon—fuck—I’m gonna cum,” he choked out, voice sharp in Namjoon’s ear, the edge of release right there, burning.

Namjoon cupped his face, brushing damp strands of hair away, eyes locked on his. “Cum for me, baby. Come inside me,” he murmured, pulling him into a desperate, messy kiss.

With a final, desperate thrust, Seokjin buried himself deep and came hard, his moan caught between Namjoon’s lips as warmth spilled inside. His body shuddered, locked in place as pleasure pulsed through every nerve.

He collapsed forward, breath ragged against Namjoon’s neck. His heart thundered, sweat slicking his skin, arms trembling with the weight of release.

But Namjoon was still hard. Aching, twitching, insatiable.

Seokjin pulled out slowly, their mixed release trickling down and smearing onto the couch cushions beneath them. He dropped to his knees behind Namjoon, settling between his thighs. With gentle hands, he lifted Namjoon just enough, wrapping a firm grip around his length.

Namjoon groaned, head falling back as Seokjin began to stroke him. His own hand joined Seokjin’s, their fingers moving in sync.

It didn’t take long. Namjoon’s hips jerked, cock twitching violently in their grasp.

Seokjin leaned in, mouth open, eyes fixed on him as Namjoon spilled into his mouth with a broken cry. He swallowed it all—eager, unbothered—savoring every drop until there was nothing left.

“That,” Namjoon exhaled, still dazed, “was so fucking hot, baby.”

Seokjin gave a breathless smile as Namjoon pulled him close. Together, they sank into the couch, tangled and spent, bodies pressed tight, hearts still racing, lips brushing in lazy kisses.

Seokjin stirred to a sky stained with twilight, dusky light spilling through the window and softening the edges of the room. He blinked, slow and disoriented, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His body felt heavy, sore in places he’d momentarily forgotten could ache, his brain wrapped in a thick fog of exhaustion.

Namjoon’s arms were still draped around him, warm and unmoving. He was out cold, snoring softly, mouth parted in the most unbothered way imaginable. Seokjin smiled faintly and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead before carefully wriggling out from under him.

Namjoon had a devastating habit of clinging like a koala. A big, heavy, post-sex, cute koala.

Seokjin swung his legs over the edge of the couch, toes stretching against the carpet. The dull ache returned to his thighs as he sat up, reminding him of exactly why he felt like he’d been steamrolled.

He was still wearing the same wrinkled dress shirt from the night before, buttons askew, one sleeve half-off, hanging uselessly. Below that? Nothing. Courtesy of his overenthusiastic husband.

Namjoon wasn’t faring much better. The only thing separating him from full exposure was a quilt that Seokjin had zero recollection of retrieving. Still, it did the job.

Seokjin pulled on his boxers and pants, fastening them at his hips. His eyes roamed the room, unsettled by the quiet wrongness of it.

Something was off.

He wandered toward the corner of the living room, steps slow and curious. The walls were painted a color he’d never choose. The mantelpiece looked antique—ornate in a way that didn’t match his taste. And the photos… the photos weren’t his.

Frames lined the shelf, neat and deliberate. He picked one up.

A young girl smiled up at the camera, her features oddly familiar. But the woman beside her—laughing, eyes crinkled—was a stranger.

Seokjin tilted his head, trying to place them, but the more he stared, the more distant they felt. Like a dream he was sure he’d had, but couldn’t quite remember.

The door clicked open and shut behind him, and Seokjin felt a flicker of déjà vu crawl up his spine. The same voice from last night—the one who’d told them to get in the SUV—called out from behind him.

“Oh. You’re up,” Jungkook said.

Seokjin turned, startled to see him standing there like he belonged. “Jungkook?” His eyes narrowed. “What happened to your hair?”

He looked around slowly, scanning the room with a dawning realization. His gaze dropped to the photo in his hand. “Wait… This is your apartment? And this—this woman… Is she your mom?”

“I cut my hair,” Jungkook said, kicking off his shoes without missing a beat. “And yeah. That’s my apartment. That’s my mom. I just got off work.”

A faint smile passed across his face as he walked further in like it was just another morning.

The quiet rustling stirred Namjoon awake. He blinked hard, still half-asleep, eyes flicking between Seokjin and Jungkook like he couldn’t quite stitch together the scene.

Seokjin looked at him, just as lost. “What are we doing here?” he asked quietly. “How did we even end up in your place?”

The pounding in Seokjin’s head warned him the hangover was going to be hell.

Jungkook let out a long, exhausted sigh. He dropped a bag of groceries onto the kitchen table with a thud and shrugged off his work bag.

“Mrs. Baek called me last night,” he said flatly. “Your luggage made it home. You two didn’t.”

Seokjin winced. Namjoon groaned and buried his face deeper into the blanket.

“I went looking,” Jungkook continued. “Found you both absolutely shitfaced. And guess who got to third-wheel your drunk-ass PDA?”

He mimed wildly with his hands. “There I was, headphones on full blast, trying not to hear the soundtrack of your sex life,” Jungkook deadpanned. “My ears are still ringing. Pretty sure I gave myself permanent hearing damage from blasting EDM until early morning.”

Seokjin flushed bright pink. “We’re so sorry, Jungkook,” he mumbled.

Namjoon just gave a muffled, guilty hum into the quilt.

Jungkook shrugged. “It’s cool. Just buy me a new couch. This one’s emotionally ruined now.”

Again, Seokjin groaned into his hands, still clutching the frame. Namjoon pulled the covers all the way over his head.

“You’ll get your new couch, I promise,” Seokjin said as he walked toward Jungkook. He raked a hand through his hair, smoothing the knots, then gave a little wave with the photo frame still in his hand. “Is this her? Cha Haru—the woman I told you about? Did she give this to you?”

Jungkook nodded, a grin spreading across his face as he tapped the red scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. “This too.”

“Oh.” Seokjin’s eyes flicked to the scarf—how had he missed that? He blinked, taking a longer look at Jungkook. Something about him had changed. He looked lighter. Brighter. Hopeful.

“Want some hangover soup?” Jungkook asked, already moving toward the grocery bag.

“Please,” Seokjin said, still a little caught off guard by the warmth in Jungkook’s voice.

Then Jungkook asked about his honeymoon, weaving in bits of conversation without hesitation. Seokjin leaned against the kitchen table, quietly realizing this was the most Jungkook had ever spoken to him without any armor. Something had changed in Daegu. That much was obvious.

“We had fun. It was warm in New Zealand,” Seokjin replied. “Nice to escape the cold for a while.”

Behind them, Namjoon appeared, fully dressed. “Can I use your bathroom, Jungkook?”

“Go ahead,” Jungkook said, glancing briefly past Seokjin before returning to unpack the ingredients.

Namjoon called out, “Thanks!” and disappeared into Jungkook’s room.

Seokjin turned back to face Jungkook, just as he emptied the bean sprouts into a colander. He rinsed them under the tap, fingers working on instinct, quiet and sure. Then he set a pot on the electric stove, filled it with water, and added the sprouts without saying a word.

“How was Daegu?” Seokjin asked, his voice soft, watching as Jungkook moved to the cutting board and began slicing vegetables.

The sound of the knife striking wood echoed gently through the kitchen. Jungkook didn’t answer right away. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he said, “Life changing.”

He looked up and met Seokjin’s eyes. Something in them crinkled, not with a smile exactly, but “This is really good, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smiled faintly, unwrapping his scarf as he sat across from him. He watched attentively as Namjoon ate, listening to the soft clinks and slurps in the calm of the room.

Then something shifted in his expression, a flicker of thought.

“Hey, Namjoon… can I ask you something kind of weird?”

Namjoon glanced at him mid-bite. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Jungkook hesitated, then said, almost sheepishly, “Can you teach me how to date someone?”