More Than This
Title: More Than This
Pairing: Suga/Jimin [Bangtan]
Rating: PG-13
Tutor!Suga AU. This is all Sora's fault.
It’s not like Yoongi doesn’t know. Jimin is fond a making certain things, ahem, very clear, but it’s one thing to understand a cute dongsaeng has a crush on you and it’s another thing all together to be okay with him wanting you think about him in that way.
“You’re so young,” says Yoongi, looking down at Jimin’s math homework. It’s a helluva lot more interesting than the smooth skin peeking out of Jimin’s tank, or so Yoongi tells himself. “Now listen to your tutor and finish this problem.”
“But I don’t want to,” Jimin pouts and pulls his pen from between Yoongi’s fingers. “We don’t have to do math, hyung. We can do... other stuff.” He smirks, like he’s funny, like he thinks he’s being slick when his eyes jump with eagerness. He’s progressively gotten cuter in the last few weeks, purposely molding himself into a doe eyed, pouty lipped puppy with a taut belly and teasing fingers that he likes to rub against Yoongi’s thighs.
Tutor Yoongi, a senior on the cusp of collegedom, who has tutored a handful of bright youngsters but never one as much of a handful as Park Jimin, center forward on the football team and all around “little shit,” as Yoongi likes to affectionately call him when he’s not around. And it’s not as if Yoongi has never dealt with people having crushes on him before, only they’re usually not cute, or as forward, as Jimin.
“Or,” he says. His voice doesn’t break; he’s getting better at this Don’t Let Jimin Wear You Down thing “You can do another problem set and you won’t fail your math test on Friday.”
“Math is boring,” Jimin whines. Slumped backwards in his chair, he opens and closes his legs as he talks, stretching his athletic shorts over his thighs. “Let’s do something else.” He opens his drawer and pulls out a lone cigarette. “Wanna smoke? We can share.”
Yoongi plucks the cigarette from his fingers, “You’re not old enough to smoke,” and pockets it in his sweat shirt. Jimin, still holding his hand up where his cigarette had been, pouts.
“Hyung, if you keep being a dick to me, I won’t have a crush on you anymore.”
“Good,” says Yoongi too quickly. “You shouldn’t have a crush on me, you should have a crush on math!”
“Hyung!” Jimin sits up in his chair. “Okay, okay. How about this -- if I finish this problem set and get everything right, you have to kiss me.”
Yoongi thinks it would be bad tutor etiquette to smile and say that’s never going to happen. Instead, he crosses his arms, “Fine. But you have to get everything right. Significant figures count, too.”
Jimin’s eyes narrow, “Fine.” He looks better when he’s upset and fired up, the same way Yoongi knows he looks right before an important soccer game.
As unsettling and nauseating his cute act is, Yoongi also knows that’s not really who Jimin is. He enjoys playing up his act because there’s nothing quite as fun as taking the piss out of Tutor Yoongi hyung and he enjoys telling Yoongi over and over again. “You know, when you’re embarrassed, you get all splotchy,” Jimin has said before, conveniently to forgetting to mention he had just given Yoongi a too long hug and a “friendly” butt tap. There’s nothing about Jimin’s touches that is friendly, especially where Yoongi is concerned.
God, it’s a wonder how Yoongi even puts up with this kid, but he figures there is a deep hidden layer of masochism he doesn’t feel comfortable exploring yet. Also, he’s always been a sucker for cute smiles. Jimin, the cheeky little shit, has a great smile.
As Jimin works through his equations, grunting, cussing, and almost ripping holes in the paper with his eraser, Yoongi tries to look anywhere but where he wants to look. There are a few soccer ribbons and a medal in the farthest corner of the room, together with a football and a pair of cleats. Jimin’s blue laptop rests on the bed, closed, and there’s an anime sticker on the top right corner.
“You don’t know about ‘Attack on Titan’, hyung?” he had asked when Yoongi pointed it out. “You can watch it with me and then we can makeout.”
Yoongi had sputtered and dropped the subject.
“Ugh,” Jimin holds his head, looking down at his notebooks.
Yoongi peeks over his shoulder, “Do you need any--”
“No!” he says, quickly shaking his head. “No, don’t help me. I got this. It’s okay. I have to earn hyung’s kiss!” He huffs, blowing his bangs up, takes another deep breath, and continues to write, his tongue jutting out between his lips in concentration.
He’s been watching dramas again with his sister, Yoongi thinks, a strange fondness setting over him. Jimin’s a good kid.
Maybe Yoongi has gotten too used to this, sitting in Jimin’s room with his mother downstairs and his sister down the hall, letting Jimin flirt with him over his math notes. Yoongi is conscious of Jimin’s age and two years won’t seem like a long time later in life, but now, and he’s ashamed to admit, it’s something Yoongi can’t get over.
And how can he, when baby fat still clings to Jimin’s cheeks and there’s bright naivete in his eyes, shining, the most obvious stoplight.
“You know,” Jimin has said before. “I’ve never liked anyone the way I like hyung. Is that... bad?” He had tugged his snapback a little further down his head, flushing for the first time since Yoongi had known him, and Yoongi hadn’t known how to respond to that. His feelings for Jimin are often so knotted, like his earphones after five minutes in his pockets, he doesn’t have the energy to untangle them.
“Done!” Jimin slams his pen down on the table and whips his answer sheet to Yoongi. He sits back in his chair, it squeaks under him, and looks up the ceiling, hand behind his head. “Whew, that was hard,” he laughs. He sounds nervous.
Yoongi carefully looks his paper over, eyebrows progressively moving further up his forehead. Everything is correct up until the last problem and Yoongi can see where Jimin had erased so hard his paper wrinkled.
“Jimin...”
“Yeah, hyung?” He looks away from the ceiling and to Yoongi. “Did I do good?”
“Close your eyes.”
Jimin gasps. “Are you going to--”
“Jimin--”
“Okay, okay! Closing them.” He laughs again, but now there’s a soft blush over his cheeks as he obeys.
Yoongi carefully replaces Jimin’s answer sheet in his notebook, stands up off his stool, and slowly walks to Jimin’s chair.
Jimin’s fingers nervously tap along the arms of his chair and, before he can overthink this and regret it, Yoongi cups Jimin’s chin in his hands and kisses him. No tongue, just lips. Jimin’s lips are soft, supple, and he makes a little sound, something trapped between a sigh and a moan, when Yoongi pulls back. “Can we... do that again?” he whispers, opening his eyes to look up at Yoongi. “Please?”
“Can you do another problem set...please?” Yoongi smiles.
Jimin grumbles, “Fine. But I want two kisses this time. With tongue.”
Yoongi licks his lips, feeling oddly complacent but not that complacent. “We’ll see about that.” He quietly corrects the wrong problem from the last problem set while Jimin is distracted by his new one.
“No, this second one is wrong. Do it again.”
“Hyung!”
Yoongi laughs.
Pairing: Suga/Jimin [Bangtan]
Rating: PG-13
Tutor!Suga AU. This is all Sora's fault.
It’s not like Yoongi doesn’t know. Jimin is fond a making certain things, ahem, very clear, but it’s one thing to understand a cute dongsaeng has a crush on you and it’s another thing all together to be okay with him wanting you think about him in that way.
“You’re so young,” says Yoongi, looking down at Jimin’s math homework. It’s a helluva lot more interesting than the smooth skin peeking out of Jimin’s tank, or so Yoongi tells himself. “Now listen to your tutor and finish this problem.”
“But I don’t want to,” Jimin pouts and pulls his pen from between Yoongi’s fingers. “We don’t have to do math, hyung. We can do... other stuff.” He smirks, like he’s funny, like he thinks he’s being slick when his eyes jump with eagerness. He’s progressively gotten cuter in the last few weeks, purposely molding himself into a doe eyed, pouty lipped puppy with a taut belly and teasing fingers that he likes to rub against Yoongi’s thighs.
Tutor Yoongi, a senior on the cusp of collegedom, who has tutored a handful of bright youngsters but never one as much of a handful as Park Jimin, center forward on the football team and all around “little shit,” as Yoongi likes to affectionately call him when he’s not around. And it’s not as if Yoongi has never dealt with people having crushes on him before, only they’re usually not cute, or as forward, as Jimin.
“Or,” he says. His voice doesn’t break; he’s getting better at this Don’t Let Jimin Wear You Down thing “You can do another problem set and you won’t fail your math test on Friday.”
“Math is boring,” Jimin whines. Slumped backwards in his chair, he opens and closes his legs as he talks, stretching his athletic shorts over his thighs. “Let’s do something else.” He opens his drawer and pulls out a lone cigarette. “Wanna smoke? We can share.”
Yoongi plucks the cigarette from his fingers, “You’re not old enough to smoke,” and pockets it in his sweat shirt. Jimin, still holding his hand up where his cigarette had been, pouts.
“Hyung, if you keep being a dick to me, I won’t have a crush on you anymore.”
“Good,” says Yoongi too quickly. “You shouldn’t have a crush on me, you should have a crush on math!”
“Hyung!” Jimin sits up in his chair. “Okay, okay. How about this -- if I finish this problem set and get everything right, you have to kiss me.”
Yoongi thinks it would be bad tutor etiquette to smile and say that’s never going to happen. Instead, he crosses his arms, “Fine. But you have to get everything right. Significant figures count, too.”
Jimin’s eyes narrow, “Fine.” He looks better when he’s upset and fired up, the same way Yoongi knows he looks right before an important soccer game.
As unsettling and nauseating his cute act is, Yoongi also knows that’s not really who Jimin is. He enjoys playing up his act because there’s nothing quite as fun as taking the piss out of Tutor Yoongi hyung and he enjoys telling Yoongi over and over again. “You know, when you’re embarrassed, you get all splotchy,” Jimin has said before, conveniently to forgetting to mention he had just given Yoongi a too long hug and a “friendly” butt tap. There’s nothing about Jimin’s touches that is friendly, especially where Yoongi is concerned.
God, it’s a wonder how Yoongi even puts up with this kid, but he figures there is a deep hidden layer of masochism he doesn’t feel comfortable exploring yet. Also, he’s always been a sucker for cute smiles. Jimin, the cheeky little shit, has a great smile.
As Jimin works through his equations, grunting, cussing, and almost ripping holes in the paper with his eraser, Yoongi tries to look anywhere but where he wants to look. There are a few soccer ribbons and a medal in the farthest corner of the room, together with a football and a pair of cleats. Jimin’s blue laptop rests on the bed, closed, and there’s an anime sticker on the top right corner.
“You don’t know about ‘Attack on Titan’, hyung?” he had asked when Yoongi pointed it out. “You can watch it with me and then we can makeout.”
Yoongi had sputtered and dropped the subject.
“Ugh,” Jimin holds his head, looking down at his notebooks.
Yoongi peeks over his shoulder, “Do you need any--”
“No!” he says, quickly shaking his head. “No, don’t help me. I got this. It’s okay. I have to earn hyung’s kiss!” He huffs, blowing his bangs up, takes another deep breath, and continues to write, his tongue jutting out between his lips in concentration.
He’s been watching dramas again with his sister, Yoongi thinks, a strange fondness setting over him. Jimin’s a good kid.
Maybe Yoongi has gotten too used to this, sitting in Jimin’s room with his mother downstairs and his sister down the hall, letting Jimin flirt with him over his math notes. Yoongi is conscious of Jimin’s age and two years won’t seem like a long time later in life, but now, and he’s ashamed to admit, it’s something Yoongi can’t get over.
And how can he, when baby fat still clings to Jimin’s cheeks and there’s bright naivete in his eyes, shining, the most obvious stoplight.
“You know,” Jimin has said before. “I’ve never liked anyone the way I like hyung. Is that... bad?” He had tugged his snapback a little further down his head, flushing for the first time since Yoongi had known him, and Yoongi hadn’t known how to respond to that. His feelings for Jimin are often so knotted, like his earphones after five minutes in his pockets, he doesn’t have the energy to untangle them.
“Done!” Jimin slams his pen down on the table and whips his answer sheet to Yoongi. He sits back in his chair, it squeaks under him, and looks up the ceiling, hand behind his head. “Whew, that was hard,” he laughs. He sounds nervous.
Yoongi carefully looks his paper over, eyebrows progressively moving further up his forehead. Everything is correct up until the last problem and Yoongi can see where Jimin had erased so hard his paper wrinkled.
“Jimin...”
“Yeah, hyung?” He looks away from the ceiling and to Yoongi. “Did I do good?”
“Close your eyes.”
Jimin gasps. “Are you going to--”
“Jimin--”
“Okay, okay! Closing them.” He laughs again, but now there’s a soft blush over his cheeks as he obeys.
Yoongi carefully replaces Jimin’s answer sheet in his notebook, stands up off his stool, and slowly walks to Jimin’s chair.
Jimin’s fingers nervously tap along the arms of his chair and, before he can overthink this and regret it, Yoongi cups Jimin’s chin in his hands and kisses him. No tongue, just lips. Jimin’s lips are soft, supple, and he makes a little sound, something trapped between a sigh and a moan, when Yoongi pulls back. “Can we... do that again?” he whispers, opening his eyes to look up at Yoongi. “Please?”
“Can you do another problem set...please?” Yoongi smiles.
Jimin grumbles, “Fine. But I want two kisses this time. With tongue.”
Yoongi licks his lips, feeling oddly complacent but not that complacent. “We’ll see about that.” He quietly corrects the wrong problem from the last problem set while Jimin is distracted by his new one.
“No, this second one is wrong. Do it again.”
“Hyung!”
Yoongi laughs.