Chapter Text
The office lights were too bright, too sterile for Yoongi’s taste. The buzz of the fluorescent bulbs overhead had become part of the background noise of his daily routine. Emails, spreadsheets, and quarterly reports that blurred together like grey paint on glass.
It was Tuesday. Which meant another round of budget reviews, another round of biting his tongue when his boss interrupted him mid-sentence to regurgitate his ideas. The coffee was lukewarm, the lunch options were bland, and Yoongi was minutes away from snapping the tip off his pencil when his phone vibrated once on the desk.
Baby🌸:
“I’m bringing lunch. Hope your mouth is free.”
Yoongi blinked. Read it again. Smirked. His hand, which had been clenched from holding a red pencil too tightly, loosened as heat rolled low in his stomach.
He glanced at the time: 12:52 p.m.
Eight minutes.
He stood, walked to his office door, and locked it.
By 1:00 sharp, Jimin was knocking — three soft raps that Yoongi would recognize even blindfolded.
When he opened the door, Jimin slipped inside, sunglasses on, an oversized chestnut hoodie pulled low over a pair of indecently tight black jeans that clung to his thighs like second skin. His lips were glossed pink, his cheeks a little flushed from heat.
And he was smiling like a man with secrets.
Yoongi didn’t move. He stared, letting his eyes travel down, catching the way Jimin shifted from one foot to the other as though trying to stay composed.
“Where’s lunch?” Yoongi murmured, voice already lower, rougher.
Jimin sauntered forward, placing a brown paper bag on the desk — but not before brushing his hip against Yoongi’s thigh, letting the friction linger just a second longer than necessary.
“I’m the lunch,” Jimin whispered, leaning close. “And I’m already prepped.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow.
Jimin bit his bottom lip. “You want to see what I’m wearing under these jeans?”
Yoongi didn’t answer. He simply locked the door, stepped around his chair, and took a seat, eyes glinting as he spread his knees slightly, the air between them thickening with heat.
“Come here.”
Jimin obeyed, pulling the hoodie off in one smooth motion to reveal nothing underneath. Then he stepped closer between Yoongi’s legs, one hand resting on the desk, the other reaching back to press against the curve of his ass — and Yoongi heard it. The faintest, muffled clink of metal.
“Oh fuck,” Yoongi breathed. “You’re wearing it?”
Jimin nodded. “Since this morning.”
“You wore a plug to work?”
“Mmhm,” Jimin hummed, his voice breathy as he leaned down, lips ghosting against Yoongi’s ear. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you pulling it out and replacing it with your cock.”
Yoongi’s breath hitched.
He grabbed Jimin by the waist and pulled him into his lap, lips crashing into his with a hunger that made the desk rattle behind them. The kiss was filthy — teeth, tongue, a moan shared between them when Yoongi’s hand slipped down to grip Jimin’s ass. He felt the shape of the plug when he ran his fingers over the crack, firm and heavy under the denim.
Jimin whimpered into the kiss. “I need you.”
Yoongi looked at the door, at the locked handle, at the blinds pulled low over the glass panel.
“Get down on your knees.”
Jimin grinned — that sinful little smile — and slid down slowly to his knees between Yoongi’s legs, crawling between the wide oak desk. His warm hands trailed up Yoongi’s thighs, grazing the bulge in his slacks until Yoongi unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers.
“Do it slow,” Yoongi whispered. “And keep your eyes on me.”
Jimin pulled Yoongi’s cock free, already half-hard and twitching, then leaned forward and licked a slow, wet stripe from base to tip. Yoongi hissed, jaw tight.
Jimin knew exactly how to drive him crazy — how to swirl his tongue around the head just right, how to take him in deep and then pull back with a pop, teasing him mercilessly until Yoongi’s fingers were tangled in his hair, fucking into the warmth of his mouth with controlled, shallow thrusts.
From above the desk, it looked like Yoongi was merely slouched in his chair, one hand braced on the armrest, the other under the desk. His face was flushed, chest rising and falling faster now as he bit back a groan.
Jimin moaned around him, eyes wide and full of adoration — and Yoongi felt it deep in his spine, the vibration, the heat, the intimacy of it. Every inch of him was on fire.
“Fuck, you’re so good,” Yoongi whispered, hips stuttering. “So fucking perfect for me.”
Jimin sucked harder in response, and Yoongi almost lost it — but then he pulled back, gasping, eyes wild.
Yoongi’s voice was low but commanding. “Get up. Bend over the desk.”
Jimin obeyed, breath shaky as he stood slowly. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, licking a smudge of spit from the corner of his mouth as his eyes met Yoongi’s — dark, hungry, possessive.
He turned around and bent forward, resting his forearms on the surface. The position made his ass curve beautifully in those skin-tight jeans, and Yoongi could already see the outline of the small jeweled plug pressed between his cheeks.
“I’ve been thinking about this since this morning,” Jimin whispered, voice soft and dripping with need. “I sat through a meeting with it inside me. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Oh, I know,” Yoongi said, standing behind him now, hand ghosting over the small of Jimin’s back. “You want me to pull this out and fuck you until your legs give out.”
Jimin whimpered, nodding quickly. “Please, hyung. Please.”
Yoongi smirked at the plea — that soft desperation in Jimin’s voice he loved so much. He reached down and slowly began unbuttoning Jimin’s jeans, sliding the zipper down with excruciating patience. Then he tugged them down to mid-thigh along with the briefs, exposing his beautiful, bare ass.
The plug glistened in the sunlight coming through the window of his office, the base of it jeweled and snug. Yoongi spread Jimin open and ran his thumb around the rim, teasing.
Jimin shuddered. “Yoongi—”
“Shhh,” Yoongi hushed him, leaning down to kiss the base of his spine. “Let me take care of you.”
With one hand, he gripped the plug’s base and began to twist, slowly pulling it free. Jimin moaned, full and desperate, forehead resting against the desk.
“Oh my god—fuck—”
The moment the plug was out, Yoongi leaned in and licked over the twitching entrance, humming at the taste, the reaction. Jimin gasped loudly and tried to push back, but Yoongi held his hips still.
“You’re so open already. Did you wear this for me all day like a good boy?”
“Yes, yes—only for you, always for you—”
Yoongi stood back up and stroked himself once, twice, spreading pre-cum along his length. He aligned himself with Jimin’s hole, running his cock slowly through his cheeks before teasing the tip against him.
“No prep needed, huh?”
“None,” Jimin whispered, voice trembling. “I’m ready, Yoongi. Please—”
Yoongi pressed forward slowly, sliding in inch by inch until Jimin let out a choked sob of relief. The stretch was perfect — Yoongi thick and warm and familiar, filling him.
They both groaned at the same time.
Yoongi gripped Jimin’s hips tighter and began to thrust — not hard yet, but deep and measured, each push dragging a whimper from Jimin’s throat. The sound of skin on skin filled the office, soft and wet and rhythmic.
“You love getting fucked at my office like a dirty slut,” Yoongi growled, one hand snaking under Jimin to toy with his nipples.
“Yes—yes, I love it—”
“I’m going to ruin you,” Yoongi promised. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk back to the car.”
“Do it,” Jimin begged, arching back. “Claim me, make me yours—”
That did it.
Yoongi slammed in harder now, thrusts rough and punishing, his hips smacking against Jimin’s ass with filthy rhythm. Jimin sobbed, face pressed to the desk, moaning Yoongi’s name over and over like a prayer.
Yoongi grabbed him by the hair and gently pulled his head up so he could whisper into his ear.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You—fuck— you —”
“Whose pretty little hole is this?”
“Yours, Yoongi, it’s yours—only yours—”
Yoongi’s hand slipped down and began stroking Jimin’s cock in time with his thrusts. It was leaking, desperate, the head flushed and angry.
“I want you to come like this,” Yoongi hissed. “Bend over my desk, dripping, filled.”
“Fuck—I’m gonna—I can’t hold it—”
“Then don’t.”
Yoongi fucked into him one last time, deep and relentless, as Jimin cried out and came all over the desk with a shudder, his cum painting the wood in white streaks.
His body trembled with aftershocks, knees threatening to buckle — and Yoongi chased his own release with a few final thrusts before stilling inside him with a low groan, emptying himself deep.
For a moment, all they could hear was the heavy sound of their breathing.
Then Yoongi pulled out slowly and wrapped his arms around Jimin from behind, kissing the sweat-damp skin of his neck.
“You did so well for me,” he whispered.
Jimin turned, lips swollen, eyes glassy. “I wanted you so bad today. I couldn’t wait.”
Yoongi smiled and kissed him gently. “Come on. Let’s clean up and get out of here.”
Back at their apartment, Yoongi ran a warm bath while Jimin curled up on the bed in one of his oversized shirts.
They didn’t speak much — just small smiles, soft glances. When the tub was ready, Yoongi helped him undress and eased him into the steaming water.
He washed Jimin’s back, massaged his thighs, and kissed his shoulders.
“You okay?” he murmured, holding him close in the water.
Jimin nodded against his chest. “Yeah. I feel...loved. And full. And good sore.”
Yoongi chuckled, nuzzling his hair. “You are loved. So much.”
“Even if I tease you at work?”
“Especially when you tease me at work.”
Later, wrapped in clean sheets and lotion-slicked skin, Jimin lay on top of him, eyes fluttering closed as Yoongi whispered praises against his temple.
“You’re my everything,” Yoongi said. “Not just my husband. My best friend. My favorite person.”
Jimin smiled sleepily. “Even when I sneak in with a plug?”
Yoongi grinned. “Especially then.”