Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4231860.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      Jeon_Jungkook/Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin
  Character:
      Jeon_Jungkook, Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin
  Additional Tags:
      Nipple_Play, Uniform_Kink, Blood, Mild_Hurt/Comfort, Alternate_Universe
  Series:
      Part 1 of kink_bingo_2015
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-07 Words: 7016
****** stitch me a pretty scar ******
by markerlimes_(sunmi)
Summary
     There are two sides to Jungkook Seokjin gets to see. One on the verge
     of death- bright-eyed and pale, strapped to a gurney more often than
     not. The other one- happy, flushed, and twisting in Seokjin's sheets.
     He's more than a little addicted to both.
     alternatively - Doctor Kim Seokjin patches up SWAT team's #1 ace and
     rookie officer, Jeon Jungkook.
Notes
     --> who sold me on bangtan a year ago via cute jinkook gifsets only
     to later mention to me that no1curr about jinkook (population of
     people who care about jinkook: me + you, i guess)
     inspired by this entire_uniformed_era. + bless dope era, bless
     bighit, bless jinkook for becoming_so_real that i don't know what to
     do with myself anymore. #otp
     edit: adding an underage tag even though they are both implicitly
     aged up in this fic. seokjin has gone through medical school,
     subtract five from that to get jungkook's age. you can do the math.
See the end of the work for more notes
 
 
“You know they said you were the youngest, not the stupidest,” Seokjin says
with a sigh as a familiar mess of dark hair peeks in through the curtains.
He pulls out the patient clipboard, not even bothering to glance at the patient
information as Jungkook answers him with a noncommittal grunt. He looks pale,
lips drawn into a bloodless line. For his sake, Seokjin flips straight to the
wound profile and lifts a brow.
This time around he’s got a nasty gash on his left side, knife work probably.
There’s blood slowly trickling down his waist through the makeshift bandages
the first responder team patched together. Seokjin makes his way over, snapping
on rubber gloves with a practiced move. 
“There’s no way I’m the stupidest,” Jungkook huffs, gasping slightly as Seokjin
leans in to peel back the bandages. 
It’s not a pretty sight. Jungkook’s lost a lot of blood if the dampness of the
bandages are any indication. He runs a gloved finger down the edge and unravels
the bandages as carefully as possible. Jungkook winces as the edges of the
bandage catch onto his skin, tugging at the wound. 
“Prove it,” Seokjin says. He peels the bandage back slowly, cotton ball in
hand. The area around the wound radiates warmth, pain inflamed skin hissing
against the iodine. He dabs at the run-off gingerly, monitoring the way
Jungkook bites into his lip with a laugh.
“I don’t have anything to prove when Taehyung still exists,” he counters and
Seokjin’s got to admit that it’s a pretty valid argument. Seokjin watches him
swing his feet distractedly, a stubborn line etched in his brow. It’s good to
know that Jungkook’s got enough blood in his body to knock two brain cells
together to form a cohesive thought.
“Really now?” Seokjin asks. Anyone with eyes, let alone any medical experience,
can tell that Jungkook’s in bad shape. Seokjin’s mostly surprised they didn’t
put him on a gurney or that they even let Jungkook walk over here by himself.
Jungkook's eyes are bright, glassy with pain even as he smiles bravely,
watching Seokjin pull out the needle kit. "You ready?"
He grins in reply, every bit of the SWAT’s darling poster prodigy he is- back
in for another round of needles and pain meds. Seokjin doesn’t buy it for a
second. If anything, he’s tempted to hand Jungkook a lollipop and call his mom
up. It’s hard not to be overly concerned watching Jungkook’s eyes squint in
pain, but Seokjin knows that Jungkook knows full well what he’s sign up for.
“Did Taehyung try to tackle a guy completely unarmed off a three story
building?” he asks softly, threading through the edge of the wound. Jungkook
shrugs, earning him a warning glare from Seokjin. He should know the rules by
now: no upper-bottom movements when the needle is in action.  
“No, but he did try to bite a guy once until he passed out from shock,”
Jungkook says plainly. His eyes are wide, affecting innocence. “Seriously!”
Seokjin just stares at him. Jungkook flushes, whatever blood he has left in him
flooding into his cheeks. “And I wasn’t unarmed. I had a kevlar on.”

“Kevlars aren’t plated on the side,” Seokjin points out. His fingers are quick,
pulling nimbly at the dark thread. He knots the end, cleaning the last bit of
blood down the side as Jungkook watches him finish his handiwork. 

It’s pretty, in a ragged gross way that Seokjin has come to appreciate in his
line of work. Jungkook’s skin is warm from the wound inflammation, but the
slight tinge of pink only makes the spidery tendrils of the thread stand out.
Under Seokjin's care, it won’t even leave that drastic of a scar. 

“I noticed, kind of,” Jungkook says playfully before he settles back with a
wince. He takes the dosage of pain meds into his hands obediently. “But hey, it
could have been worse. Someone else could have gotten really hurt tonight.”

He swallows the medicine down dry, pouting so petulantly that Seokjin actually
has to stop himself from handing him a fruit flavored lollipop. There’s no use
for him to be patronizing when Jungkook probably gets an endless amount of it
at work. It’s probably the precise reason why he always goes the extra mile, in
bruises and bullets, to prove them wrong. 

“I’ll ask you in about ten minutes after the pain meds kick in and then we’ll
talk,” Seokjin says, watching Jungkook’s shoulder droop. He’s just a child
honestly. What the hell is Namjoon thinking?

He moves to the side, ready to sift through more paperwork and get Jungkook
checked out when he finally sees the growing stain on the inside of Jungkook’s
pant leg. 

“You’re kidding me,” Seokjin hisses. Jungkook gives him a toothy smile and a
woozy half-shrug. He makes a motion to cross his legs when Seokjin forces his
knee back down, halting any movement. “It’s a small cut. I promise.”

“Mhmm,” Seokjin nods sarcastically, moving back to pull more supplies from his
cabinets. It worries him for a second that he had been so distracted by
Jungkook that he’d barely noticed the second wound at all. 

Jungkook's eyes are a little unfocused, when Seokjin rolls his sleeves up and
starts cutting through his pant leg to get to the wound. It’s another knife
wound for sure, the cut pattern identical to the first, but it doesn’t look
nearly as deep. Either way, it calls for a second round of stitches. 
On the bright side, Seokjins doesn’t have to strap him down this time.

“Hey sorry about,” Jungkook starts. He motions to the bruise on Seokjin’s arm
from a week ago when he pulled a shard of barbed wire out of Jungkook’s calf
and got kicked for his troubles.

“Don’t sweat it.” Seokjin’s pulled a new set of gloves on, needle and thread in
hand. He watches Jungkook’s complexion fade into an even paler shade if
possible. Poor kid is nervous. Seokjin searches the area around them, eyes
looking for- “Aha, here. Hold onto this for me, please.”

Jungkook’s face is thoroughly unamused as Seokjin hands him a yellow sponge toy
in the shape of a star. 

“I’m not a kid hyung,” Jungkook grumbles mirthlessly. He grabs onto the plush
star all the same, as Seokjin slides the needle in neatly for the second time
tonight.
 
                                      ---
 
“Aren’t you supposed to be some ace?” Seokjin asks wryly, digging shrapnel out
of Jungkook’s arm with a pair of forceps no more than a week later. The
official reports mentioned something about a frag grenade, whatever the hell
that is. Seokjin’s more concerned about the way Jungkook wobbles in, shrapnel
buried down near his bones looking two inches away from death.
Some of it’s pretty deep from the looks of it. On the plus side, they’ve got
local anesthesia on so Jungkook can’t feel a thing.
“I am an ace,” Jungkook says proudly. The muscle in his arm twitches under
Seokjin’s fingers like he’s trying to flex on instinct. Seokjin rolls his eyes,
flattening Jungkook's arm back down so that he can tease the scrap of metal
out. "I was top of my academy." He looks Seokjin straight in the eye,
unflinching. "Rank one."
“Well then, act like it,” Seokjin says. He pretends not to notice the way
Jungkook’s entire body shudders away from the slide of metal against his bone.
“Don’t need to act,” Jungkook huffs. Seokjin watches him squeezes his eyes shut
as Seokjin slowly teases the metal out. Jungkook's hand is clamming with sweat
when he reaches up with his good arm, fingers latching onto Seokjin's coat. 
"Wait, I." Jungkook blinks rapidly like he's not sure why he's suddenly moved
at all. The sweat glistens on his brow as he jerks back.  
"We're done," Seokjin cuts in, smiling at the confused crease between
Jungkook's brows. He lifts the gleaming metal, snagged neatly within the
forceps. "It's out already."
"Oh," Jungkook says quickly. "I- I knew that." He ducks his head down, the
picture of embarrassment as Seokjin pulls the wound to a close. "I was going to
say thank you. That's all."
"You're welcome," Seokjin says warmly, close enough to feel the heat radiating
off of Jungkook's cheeks. It's adorable really, the way Jungkook leans back-
pulse frantic. Seokjin watches him bite into his lips coloring them a cherry
red.
Seokjin swallows, shaking his head to clear the image. He moves back behind the
desk as Jungkook looks up, his eyes flitting up to see Seokjin pull the drawer
open in front of him. 
"Now. Grape or Cherry?" 
It's worth the glare on Jungkook's face. Something Seokjin's very much used to
and frankly much more comfortable with.
                                        
                                      ---
 
It goes beyond medical experience, what Seokjin's gained from treating Jungkook
over the past few months. He doesn't need a stethoscope to know when Jungkook's
heart rate races. He doesn't need an x-ray or radiologist to tell him when
Jungkook's bones have taken a toll from his reckless rescue missions. 
Seokjin's an expert in Jungkook's body, every muscle, every bone, the very
flesh of his heart. It's just a pity he never studied neurology in depth,
although he can't quite say the extra years in schooling would have been worth
understanding how Jungkook's few and far between brain cells surmised the most
effective way to fix a dislocated shoulder. 
“You know the stuff you see in the movies doesn’t actually work, right?”
Seokjin’s got him strapped to a gurney this time. Judging from the way Jungkook
shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, it's really the best option for all of
them. 
Namjoon phoned in roughly fifteen minutes ago citing, with a heavy and
disparaging tone, that one of his officers attempted to fix his dislocated
shoulder back in by slamming himself, breakneck speed and all, into a wall.
Seokjin doesn’t need a second guess to know who.
"It was worth a shot," Jungkook mutters miserably from below him. Seokjin peels
back the collar of his dark uniform and winces at the unnatural stretch of skin
shielding misplaced bones. 
He fixes Jungkook with a stern look. “Remind me why they even let you back in
the field?”
"Cause I’m perfectly fit, and I figured I’d just fix it and jump right back
in,” Jungkook admits sullenly. His hair flops down over his eyes as he recoils
from Seokjin's probing touch. 
“I really fucked this one up didn’t I,” he mumbles, voice small. "Sorry."
“Forget me,” Seokjin says. "You can explain this one yourself to Namjoon."
For once, Jungkook doesn’t give him any sass back, which is probably a good
indication of just how much pain he’s in. Seokjin snaps on his gloves and prods
gently at the swollen muscle around Jungkook's shoulder. Jungkook's eyes are
shut, complexion pale. Without thinking he pats his hand gently down Jungkook's
hair, fingers running on protective impulse like a surge. "It'll be okay.
You're okay."
He grips onto Jungkook’s hand, lacing their fingers together and for a second
he swears he sees Jungkook lick his lips in anticipation.
"Hey hyung," Jungkook blinks up at him, snapping Seokjin out of his zone. "How
much is this gonna hurt?"
"Enough so that you never try anything this stupid again," he answers and in
that same breath pulls away, pulls Jungkook's arm away with a steady hand. The
muscles tighten and Seokjin pours his strength into stretching it out right
until he feels the signature pop of the joint falling back in place. 
Jungkook’s still in the middle of an exclamation that never quite makes it out,
as Seokjin unlaces their fingers carefully. His knuckles are white from
pressure and the lingering warmth between them.
“That’s it? Jungkook says, voice high and almost squeaky. He swallows and
Seokjin not so blatantly follows the bob of his Adam’s Apple. “Wait, that’s
it?!"
“It’s a good thing you’re young," Seokjin laughs, watching Jungkook squirm
under the heat of his gaze. He reaches over to stretch a band-aid over a scrape
on Jungkook’s knee. "You'll heal up quick."
“I’m not that young,” Jungkook protests and oh doesn't Seokjin wish that were
true. 
 
                                      ---
 
The truth is Seokjin doesn't mind Jungkook being young when his first and
utmost priority is to make sure Jungkook can still breathe and live to age
another day at all. From the time Seokjin's been treating him, none of what
Jungkook goes through is ever too life threatening, not that Seokjin ever wants
it to be.
There's no denying that his line of work is dangerous, lethal even.
Seokjin never sees the full brunt of it- has never seen Jungkook unconscious
and fighting the room's steady air pressure for his last breath, but the day to
day car crash victims shuttled in and out of the ER are enough to make him
never want to. He can't help but imagine it every now and then when a body
rolls through the hospital hallways- and how easily the wrangle of bent limbs
and torn skin could be Jungkook's someday. Sometimes, Seokjin will see a dash
of dark hair beneath the black sheen of a body bag and feel his ribs tighten
inexplicably.He always keeps it professional though, even when Namjoon doesn't.
 
It's Tuesday and Seokjin is half-way through his dead hours shift when Namjoon
phones in, utterly pissed."No, stop yelling," Seokjin says, recoiling away from
the speaker. "I can't understand anything you're saying. What do you mean he..?
Stop screaming at me-"
He freezes at the sight of Jungkook half-upright against the wall of the
hospital, ashen and sluggish. There's a trail of blood behind him and what
Seokjin does next probably violates at least a dozen general hospital rules.
“Who let you walk in here?” he shouts, waving the emergency response team after
him. He watches Jungkook blink, recognition forming in his eyes. 
“You look like an angel hyung,” Jungkook says giddily. There's blood bubbling
at the corner of his mouth and Seokjin watches him wheeze for breath, pitching
forward. His fingers circle Seokjin’s wrist loosely sticky with blood. “A real.
Real angel.”
“Great-and okay,” Seokjin says lightly. He panics slightly as Jungkook slides
forward, a bloody mess against the white of Seokjin's coat. Jungkook's lashes
flutter at an alarming pace and Seokjin catches him without thinking, a curse
caught in his throat. 
“I need a gurney now!"
 
                                     --- 
 
On paper, the first response team counted 4 cracked ribs, three gunshot wounds-
two of which had clean exits, thank god, and some minor internal hemorrhaging
above the abdomen. Seokjin teases back the top layer of Jungkook's skin and
makes a mental note to fire whoever let Jungkook off the gurney in the first
place, unattended. 
Jungkook's ribs are white, glistening with an unnatural plasticy sheen under
the bright lights. Numbly, Seokjin counts three cracked ribs and the fourth
that should be beside the cracked ones buried below inside Jungkook's right
lung.
"Fuck," he mutters and the assistant gives him a startled glance. "We're gonna
need to put him in deeper."
"Get anesthesia on standby. Is Yoongi still around?" Seokjin says. He doesn't
recall stepping back, but suddenly there's a rush of hands and white-coated
bodies pushing him aside to hook Jungkook's limp form up to another machine. He
pushes past the double doors to switch out his scrubs to another pair not
completely covered in Jungkook's blood when he finally notices Namjoon's shadow
hovering in the corner. 
"You don't have clearance to be here," he says as he ties the top of his face
mask behind his head, leaving the bottom strands to dangle onto his shoulder. 
"How bad is it?" Namjoon cuts in grimly. His lips are colorless. "What happened
out there?" 
"Here?" Seokjin exclaims. He wants to sound angry, but the flapping of the face
mask in front of him probably makes his tone completely ineffective. There's no
use trying to intimidate Namjoon either who stares down death every other day.
"Why don't you start by telling me what happened out there?"
"I didn't see," Namjoon answers tensely. The weight on his shoulders must be
crippling, Seokjin thinks, swallowing back guilt. Namjoon's eyes are focused,
searching Seokjin's expression. "How bad is it?"
Seokjin shakes his head, busying himself with changing out. "We'll see." He
reads the rigid line of Namjoon's sholders and lies. "I'm not sure yet."
“That’s my best officer in there,” Namjoon says, voice even. Seokjin realizes
that he hasn't moved at all in the past hour, watching the operation from the
observation deck. “He saved six lives tonight.”
“And you have your best doctor on him.” Seokjin says back, voice surprisingly
steady. He snaps a new pair of rubber gloves on and steels a breath before
pushing the doors back open. The air inside the operating room is cold, stale
with momentary horror as Jungkook stirs. The only thing that keeps Seokjin from
leaping across the room to secure Jungkook onto the table is how utterly calm
Yoongi looks as he readies the sedative.
"Happens all the time," he explains, reading the off-color of Seokjin's face.
He taps the side of the syringe in a practiced manner. "Don't worry. He's not
gonna wake anytime soon."
"Are you sure?" Seokjin says, poking at Jungkook's now limp arm. Yoongi fixes
him a with a disbelieving glare. "Yeah, it's my job. Now do yours."
Seokjin steels in a breath as he prepares to set the bone. "Got it, thanks."
The scalpel in his hand feels heavier, sharper than he remembers. Nevertheless,
Seokjin slices in and for the next six hours the body underneath him grows
cold, dead if not for the constant rhythm of beeps and the quiet oozing of the
heart beneath Seokjin's gloved fingers. 
 
                                      ---
 
Jungkook’s condition stabilizes after another three hours, and Seokjin tries
not to think about how young Jungkook looks when he’s asleep.
They roll him out covered in fresh white sheets, clean. In comparison, Seokjin
tries not to think of the scent of blood and cauterized flesh still clinging to
his hair. 
Jungkook's lucky that the fractured rib piece only pierced through the surface
pleura of his lung. Any deeper and it would have flooded his trachea with blood
and likely drowned him on the way to the hospital. He's not drowned though, not
even dead. Seokjin can only count how much luck Jungkook has left in that
crumpled body of his and prays that it's enough to get him through the night. 
It'll be several hours, days if fortune's on their side, before Jungkook
awakens. He's lost too much blood, his body too battered to continue without
the rest it needs. 
Seokjin stretches, fatigue weighing down his limbs as he makes his way over to
Jungkook's side. The smell of burnt flesh is still fresh on his mind. 
Outside the window, the first streaks of pale light make their way across the
sky. The warmth of the light seems to give Jungkook a bit of blood back in his
cheeks, casting his too pale face a lovely shade of pink gold. 
It's unnatural, Seokjin thinks. Jungkook's not sick, nailed down inches away
from the grave with an ailing disease, but it hits Seokjin that he's never seen
Jungkook completely healthy- happy and carefree like he should be. He's tired
of seeing Jungkook hurt, utterly tired of seeing everyone in the world hurt and
in pain. He digs the palms of his hands into his eyes, easing out the fatigue.
 
He's still so young, Seokjin thinks, looking up. His eyes trace down the path
of Jungkook's paper thin skin where the pulse of his artery flutters ever so
slightly. 
Jungkook's wrist jerks, fingers curling tight as Seokjin smooths out the IV
cord connected to his arm and ever so gently places the yellow star sponge
between his fingers.
 
                                      ---
 
It takes Jungkook a good three days to regain consciousness.
Three days, seven hours to be scientifically accurate- not that Seokjin's
counting the minutes or anything. He's busied himself otherwise counting the
languid breaths that pass through Jungkook's parted lips and the peaceful beeps
of his heart monitor. (71,214 and 364,983 times respectively according to the
reports. Seokjin's not creepy enough to count them one by one or so he thinks).
Sometime between the 364,983rd and the 364,984th beep, Jungkook's eyes flutter
open- brown and groggy.
"How are you feeling?" Seokjin asks warmly. Jungkook's lashes on his left eye
are crusty from sleep and without thinking, Seokjin brushes a thumb to wipe
away the rheum that's collected at the corner. 
"Thirsty," he croaks and Seokjin moves to pour him a glass of water. He sticks
a straw in the glass, and without missing a beat Jungkook's eyes narrow into a
tired, but still very petulant glare.
"Everyone gets a sippy straw, stop looking at me like that," Seokjin explains,
laughter caught in his throat as Jungkook still makes an effort to bend
forward. 
"I can sit up by myself," he says as Seokjin leans forward to help him up. "No
really. I'm fine."
"You don't even know what day it is," Seokjin counters, fighting the smile on
his lips as Jungkook looks around confusedly. He peers up at Seokjin, suddenly
lost. "I...don't.” He turns his head to stare out the window, blinking rapidly.
“I don't?"
Seokjin takes a seat next to him as Jungkook counts the days back on his
fingers. "It's Wednesday," Seokjin answers for him when Jungkook begins
physically recoiling from the pain of thinking too hard. "Do you even remember
anything?"
"I remember you saving my life," Jungkook says plainly. "Thank you for that." 
Seokjin nods, soaking in his gratitude like sunflower. "It's just my job.
You're lucky that I'm good at it."
At that Jungkook grins. "Lucky huh." He inches forward, eyes locked into
Seokjin's. "I don't believe in luck."
“You don't believe in self-preservation either,” Seokjin muses flatly, pulling
on his gloves. Jungkook leans forward obediently and lets Seokjin slip the
nightgown off his skinny frame.
It's mostly good news. Jungkook's breaths are back to normal- the sound in his
lungs clear and no longer bogged down with the dense sloshing of blood in them.
Seokjin moves his stethoscope across his back slowly, watching the spread of
goosebumps along Jungkook's skin in response to the cool metal. 
“It’s tight,” Jungkook mumbles, breath tumbling out in a hurry. Seokjin is by
his side in an instant as Jungkook tugs sluggishly on the blankets around him.
“Can’t breathe.”
"Is it the bandages?" Seokjin asks, fingers already beginning to unfurl the
edges of the mass of bandages around his mid-section. "Is it too tight?"
Jungkook nods, eyes fluttering shut as Seokjin peels it back, unwinding the
bandage from left to right, around and around. His fingers are careful, quick
and nimble across Jungkook's warm skin and Seokjin does his best not to notice
the rising flush across his cheeks. 
"Better?" he asks, wrapping the end of the bandage securely. Jungkook sucks in
a lungful of air. "Much." The exhale comes out as a wheeze, but Seokjin takes
it as a win when he smiles back gratefully. "Thanks hyung."
 
                                      ---
 
"It itches," Jungkook complains mid-week when Seokjin returns for his daily
check-up. He wiggles slightly, unfurling blankets to gesture to the mass of
bandages across his mid-section.
Seokjin fixes him with a look. "It's supposed to itch. It's healing."
"Feels wet though," Jungkook says grumpily and that's enough to spur Seokjin
into action, peeling the outer cover of his hospital gown back gently.
From first glance, there's no blood staining through the top. Seokjin hasn't
had a stitch burst on him since medical school and he doubts that any of the
carefully crafted ones on Jungkook's side have now. It could be an infection,
he thinks doubtfully, having changed the bandages by hand himself only
yesterday. Jungkook himself shows no signs of fever either.
Seokjin's half in mind to call Jungkook on his bluff, when he catches sight of
Jungkook's quiet gaze, trusting and urgent. It's a perfectly innocent look,
really. 
And it works perfectly on Seokjin, who's a sucker, really. 
He unhooks the end of the wrapping, gently teasing the material open when the
back of his hand brushes against the edge of Jungkook’s uncovered nipple and
Jungkook’s spine shoots up straight. “Shit.”
Seokjin jumps back as well, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor.
“Did I hurt you?”
Jungkook shakes his head, his eyes wide and embarrassed. “No. I’m not hurt.
I’m-”
Seokjin waits for the qualifier, but all he gets in response is a light flush
across Jungkook’s cheekbones. It’s a delicate pink, not entirely unlike the
shade of his nipple that Seokjin slowly sees rise in attention. His throat
feels dry as Jungkook looks away, the trail of goosebumps down his chest still
very much visible to Seokjin.
“Are you okay?” Seokjin asks again, softer. Jungkook's eyes are wide,
stubbornly refusing to meet Seokjin's. “I’m not hurt. I'm just-"
He trails off again, too embarrassed. Seokjin determinedly keeps his eyes
locked onto Jungkook face, too afraid of what he might find if he looked any
further down.
It's not uncommon for this kind of thing to happen.
Seokjin knows he's attractive. A decent (far more  than decent, thank you)
looking doctor that saves people's lives and administers light, almost teasing
touches in the name of his profession. Speaking of which has currently landed
him in this situation with an equally decent (really quite attractive, god
dammit) looking patient whose body seems hyper responsive to Seokjin's touch.
His throat goes dry wondering how long Jungkook's been like this- feeling
aroused and betrayed by his own body under Seokjin's care.
Luckily, this isn't Seokjin's first rodeo. 
“You’re ticklish,” Seokjin finishes for him, lamely. The wide-eyed rabbit
apprehension in Jungkook's eyes bleeds out alongside his casual chuckle.
“You’re really ticklish.”
“I guess,” Jungkook says, his eyes still glued to the foot of the bed. He
swallows thickly as Seokjin moves back forward to finish unwinding the bandage.
Once he’s got everything out of the way, Seokjin can get a clear
glimpse. Everything has held together more or less and most importantly Seokjin
can see the raised edge of swollen scar tissue, the tell-tale signs of healing.
Jungkook fidgets, nervous under his gaze. 
He manages to stay still the second time when Seokjin wraps the new bandage
across his midriff and pulls back to give him the thumbs up. "So how many times
have you been lucky?"
“Lost count,” Jungkook admits slowly. He bites into his bottom lip, worried.
“It’s got to be what? Eight? Nine times?”
“Try twelve," Seokjin says. It's really more like fifteen if he counts all the
smaller incidents. 
There's blood oozing out of the scabs across his shoulder. Jungkook must have
picked at them earlier. Seokjin pulls out a cotton ball and traces it lightly
over the scrape on Jungkook’s collarbone, following the dip of his skin.
Jungkook shivers, skin running hot against Seokjin’s finger. 
“I guess I owe you a couple dinners, huh,” Jungkook smiles to the floor. He
shivers as Seokjin continues to dab alongside the open scabs. “I mean.”
"You don't owe me anything," Seokjin interjects. The heat on his face feels
horribly sudden, if not like betrayal. "Really."
"Really?" Jungkook echoes. Seokjin pretends to think about it for a brief
second. 
"I mean, Namjoon's behind on a few of your hospital bills, but-" Seokjin
pauses, watching the alarm grow on Jungkook's face. 
"It's a joke," Seokjin says after a moment, long after the tension between them
falls flat. Jungkook blinks as Seokjin rises to his feet, brushing off fake
dust from his lap. "I was hoping it would make you laugh...But on second
thought maybe you shouldn't laugh. Stitches and all, you know?"
Jungkook rolls his eyes, letting out a little laugh. The puff of air tickles
the side of Seokjin's arm as he eases Jungkook back down on the bed. "You're so
awkward hyung."
Seokjin shrugs, fighting to come up with something witty back, but the smile on
Jungkook's lips is candid. Seokjin watches him tuck himself back into the
threadbare hospital sheets, covering the bottom of his face as he chuckles.
"But I like that."
 
                                      ---
 
Jungkook ends up staying three days past the day he's officially discharged
from the hospital, which is to say- a first. 
"Despite what you think, I'm not actually in a hurry to die," he explains
flatly when Seokjin takes his temperature for the 3rd time in an hour. "Look.
I'm feeling better." Seokjins' fingers are caught on his heart monitor, tracing
the edges of the machinery for defective signs, when Jungkook pulls his arm
down. "Honestly."
"I'm happy to hear that."
"Are you really?" Jungkook stops his hand as it reaches for his forehead again.
"Seriously, I'm fine."
"Why aren't you back on the field already?" Seokjin presses. He catches
himself. "Not that you should be. I'm glad that you're taking my request to
rest up seriously for once."
"Namjoon's suspended me after that last mission," Jungkook says, eyes dark.
"I've been here for over a month and he wants me out of action for at least
another two."
"He wants you to rest up," Seokjin says firmly. "Just like I do. Actually it's
my professional order to tell you to rest up."
"I am resting," Jungkook answers stubbornly. He nods his head fervently as if
his stubborn agreement with himself makes any difference in Seokjin's medical
opinion. 
"I discharged you three days ago," Seokjin reminds him. He watches Jungkook
swipe a tongue across his lips, pink from corner to corner. "You should go
home."
"It's too far," Jungkook mumbles. Seokjin quirks a brow at him. "Too far from?"
"Here," Jungkook explains. He scuffs his hospital slipper against the linoleum
floor, shy. "My parents are back in Busan."
"Your parents," Seokjin says weakly. He pulls himself back, when Jungkook
presses right up into his space. His fingers snag the edge of Seokjin's sleeve,
persistent. 
"I'm not going back to Busan," he says stubbornly and Seokjin just stares at
him. "Namjoon will never put me back on if I run home like this."
"Are you-," Seokjin starts, piecing the conversation together. Jungkook's
reluctance isn't about his prestigious ranking after all. If anything,
Seokjin's surprised he didn't come to this conclusion earlier. "You live
alone."
He watches Jungkook flatten himself against the side of the bed. It's hard not
to read the petulant frown on his face as something else, but Seokjin holds his
gaze as evenly as he can.
"You don't want to be alone."
It's as simple as that, yet for Seokjin the sudden thought of Jungkook dragging
his bruised and weary body back home each day to an empty apartment is almost
too much to bear. 
"Do you want to come back to my place?" Seokjin says. He pauses, mind reeling
from what he's just suggested when Jungkook leans forward, sweet and
suggestive. He's an opportunist if Seokjin's ever met one, hooking a finger
into Seokjin's coat. Seokjin's close enough to see the clear outline of the
scar on his cheek when Jungkook pushes himself up and brushes their lips
together. 
"Oh," Seokjin breathes. Jungkook's lips are wrinkled in, rough from the dryness
of the hospital air and nearly dying, but Seokjin can't stop himself from
drinking him in. He smells like stale hospital and something too vibrant and
youthful for Seokjin to even dare have a taste of. 
"So, are you? Are we?" Seokjin wonders aloud when they break apart. The
pounding of his heart is heavy in his ears as Jungkook smiles back, shy but oh
so sweet. "I'd love to."
 
                                      ---
 
There's no official protocol on bringing in-house patients literally back
inside of his house and even less protocol on what Seokjin's supposed to do
when Jungkook presses up against him sweetly the moment he closes the door.
"Slow down," Seokjin pants. Jungkook's fingers curl into Seokjin's collar, as
he pushes him up against the wall. "Slow it down. You literally just got off of
your death bed."
"I wasn't gonna die," Jungkook scoffs. He pushes against Seokjin with
surprisingly strength and curls a hand into his hair. His grip is solid on the
back of Seokjin's neck as he reels him in for a kiss, their teeth clacking
together at the start. Jungkook's not a bad kisser, maybe a tad too
enthusiastic, but Seokjin isn’t sure he would want it any other way.
"Sorry ah," Jungkook says when they pull apart. His breath ghosts across
Seokjin's upper lip, tickling his nose. "It's been a little while." Seokjin
watches him fidget uncomfortably, wondering if Jungkook's always looked this
fucking kissable. 
Seokjin's fingers grips him lightly above his ribs and his thumbs find
Jungkook's nipples already standing in full attention, undeniably aroused. It
makes quick work for them both. He pushes down lightly on the nubs and even
though the contact is muffled between his jacket and two layers of cotton,
Jungkook's entire body jolts up- his hips bucking into Seokjin's like he can't
help himself.
He's so sensitive that it blows Seokjin's mind. Just the slightest touch of his
fingertips sends Jungkook moaning, open and wanton, into his mouth.
"Fuck," Jungkook hisses. He slumps forward, panting wetly against Seokjin's
neck. His entire body is trembling, shaking apart like a livewire beneath
Seokjin’s touch. "That felt good- do it again. Please."
Seokjin pushes down on his chest, feeling the rigid line of Jungkook’s spine go
utterly pliant. His hands rub up and down Jungkook’s fevered skin, each stroke
applying more pressure through his shirt until Jungkook is almost crying into
his mouth.
“You,” Seokjins says, awe caught in his voice. “You really like that.”
Jungkook shivers in response, looking completely fucked out even though
Seokjin’s barely even touched him- hasn’t even touched him skin to skin yet.
Seokjin studies his face, fascinated as he catches a nipple between his fingers
and gives it a slight tug. The reaction is immediate.
Jungkook’s knee slams up against Seokjin’s thigh and the pain of it feels good,
utterly real. “Fuck, oh my god.”
Seokjin repeats the action, kneading the pert nipple between his fingers until
Jungkook’s knees give out beneath him. Seokjin catches him before he hits the
ground, gently sinking them both to their knees. From this angle, Seokjin's
close enough to count the number of lashes fanned out across his cheek, the
wetness of half-formed tears clinging to them.
He looks so utterly wrecked and Seokjin wonders idly if this is what Jungkook
looks like on the battlefield, his blood painting the ground and sweat drenched
into his collar. It’s so beautiful, the way his eyes collect hazily to gaze
into Seokjin’s, pupils blown wide and helpless with lust.
Seokjin continues rubbing, hands groping mindlessly for every helpless whine,
heady and addictive, Jungkook gives in response. It’s so easy with every brush
of contact that sends Jungkook's breath stuttering for more. His hips are
liquid, practically melding against Seokjin’s jeans as he rides the length of
his thigh, grinding up and down with each movement spreading his legs wider and
wider.
Seokjin hears a hitch in his breath that sounds borderline painful and pulls
back immediately.
“You okay?” Seokjin asks. Jungkook hands scramble against Seokjin’s chest,
tugging at his shirt. Seokjin's own coherency is grasping for words when
Jungkook keens, letting out a soft pant. “Don’t stop.”
There’s no way in hell Seokjin wants to stop, but there’s also something
incredibly off about the way they’re practically ready to fuck on the floor.
Part of him wants to fuck Jungkook, wants to take him hard and fast on the
floor, over the kitchen counter until they’re both too sore to move. It’s been
a long time coming, Seokjin thinks and from the way Jungkook can’t stop tracing
his fingers across Seokjin’s face, down the broadness of his shoulders to grip
his arms- the feeling is more than mutual.
The splayed angle of legs hips is an open invitation, but Seokjin catches sight
of the puffy scars, still in the stages of healing and the darkness of the
mottled skin beside it and knows better.
He grips onto Jungkook’s shoulders, carefully pulling him up to his feet.
Jungkook looks dazed, his eyes shiny with fever when they re-open.
Seokjin leads him forward to the couch, mouth dry as Jungkook takes a seat and
lies down without being asked, trained patient behavior. He’s not entirely
obedient though, Seokjin thinks as he watches Jungkook sneak a hand between his
legs, palming frantically at his tenting crotch.
It seems fitting that Seokjin is the one who gets to see him like this- the one
who gets to wreck Jungkook, shaking and heavy-lidded with arousal, but also the
one who pulls his skin back into shape, needles and dark thread taut through
pale skin to keep the life from pouring entirely out of his veins.
Seokjin means that in the most metaphorical sense of course. The idea of
harming Jungkook is near sacrilege and every little jolt Jungkook’s body makes
invariably takes him back to the operating table. It’s a good thing the room is
dark, shadows drowning out the sense of paranoia of Jungkook’s pulse fluttering
beneath his skin, his scalpel in hand.
He presses a hand down on Jungkook’s chest, remember every cracked rib and torn
muscle resting beneath his skin. Jungkook is strong, muscled and broad after
his training on the field but somehow still so fragile under Seokjin’s hands.
Jungkook's hand finds his, leading him to the bottom of his shirt where Seokjin
can see the barest sliver of stomach peeking out. He pushes the edges of
Jungkook's shirt up past the edge of his chest where it collects the sweat
sliding down his neck. Seokjin carefully unwinds the edge of the bandage where
Jungkook’s chest expands in anticipation, following the movement of his
stitched-up lungs. He curls his fingertips under the edge of the wrap and
slowly pries it loose.
It’s no different than the times he changed Jungkook’s bandages back at the
hospital, only this time they both shiver when the back of his hand brushes
against the edge of Jungkook's nipples. He pulls the cloth loose, collecting it
around his crooked fingers. Jungkook barely moves, breath held in anticipation.
His skin is warm, heated and flushed.
The bandage falls loose and with it Seokjin’s hesitation.
He kneels down on the floor, facing Jungkook from the side, and runs a kiss
down his neck. His lips trace their way down the raised scar tissue of
Jungkook’s side, tracing back up to lap at the nipple as Jungkook’s fingers tug
painfully at his hair.
“C’mon. Hurry up. You’re not gonna break me,” Jungkook huffs. His hands are
possessive, guiding Seokjin’s head up and down his chest until Seokjin bows his
head down and takes a nipple between his teeth. Jungkook shudders from head to
toe, his body completely possessed by Seokjin’s mouth. His skin tastes salty,
sweat-slicked with arousal and Seokjin mouths against his nipple hungrily.
Jungkook jolts up, knee slamming shut together. “Holy shit.” Seokjin feels his
body slowly uncoil only to jolt up again as he grazes his teeth against the
swollen nipple. Jungkook’s eyes are screwed shut and Seokjin can’t tear his
eyes away from the curve of his spine as he arches clean off the couch.
"Gonna come," Jungkook shakes. His hands are frantic, pushing against Seokjin’s
shoulders as he applies suction down on the other nipple. Jungkook sobs,
pushing his face into the couch. “I need to.” His lips are wet with spit and
painted red from the bitten blood vessels beneath his skin. “Please.”
Seokjin pushes him back down, pinning Jungkook's hands down on either side of
him as he teases the nipple with his teeth. He sucks, swirling his tongue
against the raised skin until he physically feels Jungkook shake, coming apart
beneath him. It's happening all so fast. There's a sudden sharp tug against his
hair when Jungkook jolts up, spilling one final harsh cry into Seokjin’s mouth.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, as Jungkook pushes himself up to his elbows. He
looks lost, panting for air amidst confusion. "No. No way."
Seokjin pulls back watching the spread of wetness grow across the front of his
jeans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearly the haziness. Embarrassment floods his
face as he covers the front of his jeans with his hands. "Shit," Seokjin
breathes, watching Jungkook's face go redder and redder. "You really are
sensitive."
"I don't know," Jungkook says, hands fluttering around him. His knees knock
together like he wants to cross his legs, but can’t. His eyes are still hazy,
filled with a pleasure that makes Seokjin oddly self-conscious. "This normally
doesn't happen. I don't know. I guess I just-"
"It's okay," Seokjin reassures. He runs a hand down Jungkook's side, steady.
He's still hard, unbelievably so, but Jungkook's well-being has always come
first. "Do you want to go change?"
Seokjin feels his back hit the couch as Jungkook climbs over his lap, arms
still shaking from the force of his orgasm. There's a challenging note in his
eyes as he moves forward. His movements are sharp, determined as he tugs on
Seokjin's belt, palms smoothing over Seokjin's aching cock. "S'not fair. You
didn't even come yet."
Seokjin can only stare, throat dry as Jungkook climbs on top of him easily.
The front of his pants are damp, but Jungkook continues unperturbed, ducking
his head down to rest slightly above Seokjin's raised knees. He tugs on
Seokjin's pants, bringing them down past his hips to free his cock. Seokjin's
head hits the side of the couch, as Jungkook takes him into his hands, fingers
pumping the base.
“Let me,” Jungkook says. He looks down shy, but from this angle Seokjin sees
the tip of his tongue wet his lips in unabashed want. “Let me take care of
you.”
Seokjin nods, hands automatically cupping the back of Jungkook’s neck as
Jungkook peers back up at him, looking sweet. "Tell me where it hurts."
 
 
End Notes
     (this also totally counts for my (literal) roleplay square AND
     NIPPLEPLAY for kink bingo!! in your face gangbang)
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