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A modern Achilles

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When Namjoon enters the room, he finds Jungkook doing sits up, which is the last thing he wants him to be doing right now.

 

“What are you doing,” Namjoon asks, unable to help disappointment from seeping into his voice, only realizing it’s there when Jungkook flinches.

 

“Exercises,” he answers cautiously.

 

Namjoon sighs and closes the door of Jungkook’s hotel room, sending a quick answer to Jimin’s how is kookie doing? text. Being stupid but I’m taking care of it, he types before locking his phone and throwing it carelessly on the bed.

 

“Why are you exercising when you’re injured?”

 

Jungkook’s shoulders are tense and Namjoon knows he’s in pain. There are fresh stitches on his heel and he cried nonstop for several hours; he must have the world’s biggest headache as of now.

 

“I’m not using my foot,” Jungkook answers, almost petulant, pointedly not stopping his exercises.

 

He never yells at Jungkook but he can do sermons, he can definitely give him a talking down when he’s being careless and stupid, and that’s exactly what he plans on doing right now because Jungkook is being careless and stupid.

 

“Look Kookie, I know you feel restless but you can’t just-”

 

“I have to do something,” Jungkook cuts him off. “I’m fucking useless.”

 

Namjoon’s rant stops before it can even start.

 

“Oh Jungkook,” he says, and there must be something in his voice that Jungkook does not like because he crosses his hands behind his head, hiding behind his forearms while he lays down and sits back up.

 

He watches Jungkook do sits-up, stubbornly avoiding his gaze, until he deems it enough and walks up to him. He crouches down behind him before he can lay down again, letting his back crash gently into his chest.

 

“That’s enough,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook doesn’t protest, keeps his head bracketed between his forearms. “You need to go to bed.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“You’re fine,” Namjoon repeats. “But it’s getting late and you need to go to bed.”

 

Jungkook goes easily when Namjoon stands up, pulling him along with him. He leans on his chest, running hot and sweaty against him, trying to hide the fact he’s not putting weight on one of his feet.

 

“I could swipe you off your feet,” Namjoon offers, and that at least draws a curious look from Jungkook, who drops his arms to look at him over his shoulders. He watches, confused, as Namjoon slides an arm around his waist and crouches to put an arm under his knees. Namjoon lifts him up and Jungkook yelps, a surprised laugh escaping his throat.

 

At last, he smiles.

 

Namjoon’s hold isn’t as sure as he would have liked it to be, because Jungkook is a lightweight but what weight he has is muscles, but at least Jungkook is smiling, wrapping his arms around his neck and focusing on him instead of on his own misery.

 

“I would like to thank not only god but also Pilates,” he says as Namjoon walks the few steps to the bed and deposits him there. “Mostly Pilates, for making my boyfriend buff.”

 

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’m not buff.”

 

“It’s a work in progress. You got thicker hyung!”

 

Jungkook smiles as easily as he cries but his eyes are painfully red and he looks miserably tired.

 

Jungkook slips under the cover and looks at him expectantly. Namjoon takes his shoes off and follows him into bed obediently, nudging him so he turns on his side and Namjoon can spoon him. Jungkook pushes back into his chest with a contented sigh.

 

He wraps his two arms around him, resting a comforting hand on Jungkook’s stomach while he peppers soft kisses against nape, waiting for Jungkook to become soft under him.

 

Jungkook shakes with silent laughter in his embrace. “Hyung are you trying to rile me up?”

 

Namjoon smiles against his skin. “You know what that reminds me of?” He asks conversationally, ignoring Jungkook’s question. He slips a hand under Jungkook’s shirt, fingers running along the ridges of his abs. “Achilles.”

 

“The Roman guy?”

 

“Greek,” Namjoon corrects. “You heard of Achilles’ heel right?”

 

Jungkook tenses up. “Yeah,” he says, relaxes a bit when Namjoon tangles their legs together, presses the whole line of his body against his back.

 

“He was a really strong warrior. He was basically invincible.”

 

“He died from a heelache though,” Jungkook points out, and Namjoon snorts at the word heelache.

 

He goes on. “Even after his death, he was worshiped and venerated because he’d been an incredible hero,” he continues.

 

“I don’t see your point.”

 

“Achilles was also super gay for his buddy Patroclus.”

 

“Excellent point, tell me more.”

 

Namjoon laughs again. “I actually don’t know that much,” he admits. “I think he was older than Achilles? Kind of a counselor.”

 

Jungkook shifts as Namjoon’s hand moves up, settling on his left boob. “Amazing,” he says. “Did Pat also do Pilates?”

 

Namjoon pinches Jungkook’s nipple, making him jerk back and cackle.

 

Maybe he did. My point was-” he leans in to kiss the shell of Jungkook’s ear, feels him sigh softly, sleepy and tired against him. “Injuries happen to the best of us. And you are the bestest boy in the world.”

 

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. The smile drops from his face and his mouth sets into a frown. A voice in Namjoon’s head berates him for using the word bestest but Jungkook is worth that sermon.

 

“This is stupid,” he finally says, harsher than the situation calls for but Namjoon knows that anger is not meant for him.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, has been waiting for the opportunity to say those very words, for the moment where he could safely reassure him without Jungkook being able to brush him aside or run away. It’s just the two of them in Jungkook’s luxurious hotel room and Jungkook has no other choice but to listen to him. “It’s never your fault.”

 

“How is it not my fault,” Jungkook asks, doesn’t sound like he expects an answer. Namjoon feels his heartbeat into his hand – strong, deadly thuds like a funeral march.

 

“How is it your fault?” Namjoon counters. “People who do nothing are the one who never get hurt, and you always do the most.”

 

Jungkook whines in the back of his throat, and in the next second there are fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

“Don’t cry,” Namjoon shushes him, kisses his temple, holds him closer. “Please don’t cry.”

 

Jungkook curls into himself and Namjoon follows, engulfing Jungkook in his warmth and peppering his cheek and neck with kisses. Jungkook feels so small against him and Namjoon thinks the only reason he’s been built this tall is so he can swallow Jungkook whole and make him feel safe.

 

“Baby don’t cry,” he repeats. “My little Achilles.”

 

This brings a pained laughter from Jungkook’s mouth and a shaky, “I’m a Greek god now?”

 

Namjoon doesn’t think Achilles was actually a god, but it’ll do.

 

“Yes. Korea’s baby god,” he says, watches a smile break through the tears running down Jungkook’s cheeks that he steals greedily, kissing them away. “Always trying his best, always doing his best.”

 

“It’s not enough,” Jungkook says. “I failed everyone.”

 

“Is that what you thought of me and Jimin? When we injured ourselves and couldn’t perform.”

 

“No,” Jungkook is quick to answer, grabbing onto his arms to prevent him from pulling back, as though he’d ever pull back. “No, no it wasn’t the same thing, it wasn’t-”

 

“My fault? It’s not yours either. I’m not-” he pushes himself up on his forearm so he can look down at Jungkook’s crying face. “I’m not telling you I didn’t feel bad. I’m not saying you can’t feel bad and sad about it. But you shouldn’t think it’s your fault, because it’s not.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes are a never ending fountain and he sobs, squeezing his eyes shut for Namjoon to lean down and press soft, tender kisses against his eyelids.

 

He sets on doing nothing but that – covering him with kisses until he can’t feel his cheeks and he can’t remember he’s crying. He rubs circles on Jungkook’s stomach, trying to soothe and comfort him.

 

He isn’t sure how long it lasts, how long he spends doing nothing but kissing Jungkook’s face and petting his chest, riling up his thin white shirt. He knows it lasts long enough that Jungkook’s tears stop falling and his skin feels warm underneath his hand. He whispers loving words into Jungkook’s ear until he unfurls, moving his body so it’s wrapped around Namjoon instead of curled in on itself.

 

“Hyung,” Jungkook’s voice is so quiet Namjoon has to stay close to hear it. “Please,” he says, but Namjoon doesn’t know what he wants until he wraps his legs around his waist and he feels his crotch against him.

 

Jungkook isn’t quite hard but he’s getting there, and Namjoon happily obliges, letting his hand wander down the curve of his hips to rub over the inside of his thighs, carefully avoiding his crotch.

 

He catches Jungkook’s lips, still wet and salty with his tears, and Jungkook is content to lay back, letting Namjoon kiss him and touch him where he usually likes taking and touching.

 

“I got you,” Namjoon whispers against his lips, then down his collarbones, his neck, behind his ears.

 

One hand slips back under Jungkook’s shirt, mapping his ribs and muscles and making him shiver. Another hand kneads his flesh, grabs handfuls of Jungkook’s meaty thighs and he presses his thumb down in the juncture between his legs and pelvis.

 

Jungkook gasps when he touches him over his pants.

 

“You’re cute,” Namjoon says and Jungkook moves against him, rolling his hips into his palm, trying to drag him closer. Namjoon pulls his hand back and Jungkook whines, pushing his groin against his stomach to rub against him, hump his belly while Namjoon mouths at the side of his head and caresses the lines of his back. He lets Jungkook rut against him, takes his time pressing into the knots in Jungkook’s back, trying to make him loose and soft and pliant under him.

 

When Namjoon is satisfied with his work and Jungkook feels adequately relaxed, he seeks out his mouth again, tracing his lips with his tongue. Jungkook moans, strong legs tightening around his waist when he bucks up, and Namjoon touches him again, slips a hand in his sweatpants to feel around. He rubs his shaft gently his underwear, making him twitch. Jungkook’s hair is a bit greasy and it smells like it but Namjoon burrows his face into it anyway, nosing against his scalp and breathing into him.

 

He paws at Jungkook’s cock for a bit, listening to him huff and puff, feeling his arms tighten around his neck like a vice.

 

“Hyung,” Jungkook repeats, trying and failing to get more friction from Namjoon’s hand. “Hurry.”

 

Namjoon obediently draws back to spit on his palm. He lifts the waistband of Jungkook’s sweatpants and slides his hand in his boxer briefs, sticky palm finding his dick to spread spit over it.

 

“It never stops being gross,” he comments, while Jungkook rolls his hips.

 

“Someone who doesn’t brush his teeth has no room to talk.”

 

“That’s-” Namjoon rests on his forearm again to get a look at Jungkook’s face and at his mirthful eyes. “Libel. I set a timer when I wash my teeth; this is plain libel.”

 

Jungkook catches his wrist, tries to move his fingers so he’d wrap them around his dick properly.

 

“I don’t know what libel is,” he says, “but I do know about proper dental care.”

 

Namjoon sucks in his lips, trying to look mad and make his dimple pop out and Jungkook laughs, mumbles cute before Namjoon leans down to kiss his jaw.

 

He opts to stay there, resting his weight on his forearm so he can see Jungkook’s face when he indulges him and wraps his hand around him, sliding his thumb over the head of his cock.

 

Jungkook hums, a bit low then a bit high, eyes closing momentarily, and Namjoon watches the details of his face, his big nose and pink lips and long eyelashes, and he thinks maybe, he was onto something when he compared Jungkook to a god.

 

He tries to remember if there ever was a god this cute, a deity with eyes this big and a personality this endearing, but from what he remembers most deities are libidinous pricks whereas Jungkook is a libidinous babe.

 

“You’re cute,” he whispers, slides his hand down to fondle Jungkook’s balls, rolling them into his palm to make him moan.

 

“I’m stronger than you,” Jungkook bites back, cheeks flushed red but gripping his wrist tightly enough to bruise and Namjoon knows he is, he doesn’t need the reminder.

 

“Even cuter,” he says, and Jungkook looks torn between contentment and displeasure. Namjoon strokes his cock slowly, takes his time to feel him twitch and buck up into his touch. “I’m so lucky, I really don’t deserve you.”

 

No,” Jungkook hisses, eyes closing on their own accord. “No, it’s, the other way, the other- ah.

 

And it’s cute really, that Jungkook is still there, still caught up on admiring Namjoon’s back without realizing Namjoon is the one rushing to catch up. Jungkook doesn’t need much support and incentives; he’ll take over everyone and accomplish everything and Namjoon can’t wait to see that happen.

 

“I’m so lucky,” he repeats. He drops his weight to lay against Jungkook, wraps an arm around his waist to press him against his chest and peck his brows lovingly. “I love you.”

 

“Oh.” Jungkook is flushed pink and fresh tears are already falling from his eyes. “Hyung.”

 

“I love you,” he repeats. He doesn’t mean to make Jungkook cry but he wants him to know that he loves him, today and tomorrow and every other day after that, even when it all ends, even when they fall apart, he wants Jungkook to always have faith in the fact that Namjoon truly, deeply loves him. “I really love you.”

 

Jungkook’s nails dig into the sensitive skin of his wrist as he holds onto him like a lifeline, strong enough that Namjoon has trouble sliding his hand on his cock. It’s not the best handjob he’s ever given him but Jungkook is shaking anyway.

 

“Baby,” Namjoon calls, because Jungkook likes it and Namjoon likes Jungkook happy. “You did great.” His thumb finds the spot under the tip of Jungkook’s dick that make him keen, and he presses down, rubs circles against that spot. “I’m proud of you.”

 

Hyung,” Jungkook moans low in his throat, voice as wet as it is shaky. “I didn’t do anything.”

 

Namjoon squeezes his cock and Jungkook gasps, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “You did the most,” he counters. “You always do the most.” And before Jungkook can protest some more, he repeats, “I love you,” and Jungkook sobs out and doesn’t protest any more.

 

Namjoon takes his time and strokes him slow but Jungkook is busy bucking up into fist and it doesn’t last as long as Namjoon would have wanted. Jungkook cries and moans and bites into his neck while Namjoon whispers in his ears all the I love yous he kept inside before. Jungkook’s grip on his wrist and his hold around his shoulders is a reminder of how strong Jungkook is, but Jungkook doesn’t do much more than hold onto him like he never wants to let him go, which is silly because Namjoon won’t leave as long as Jungkook wants him around.

 

He flicks his wrist and jerks him off faster and within seconds Jungkook comes into his hand, hot spurts on his palm and soft hiccups against his skin.

 

Namjoon waits a few seconds for Jungkook to catch his breath before he loosens, with some difficulty, his hold on him, hoisting himself on his hands so he can peer down at him. Jungkook’s eyes are red and his face is pink, but his features are relaxed and he looks like he’s finally at peace.

 

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, soft and sleepy. He brings a hand to his face, wiping his running nose on his wrist.

 

Namjoon grimaces. “You could use a tissue.” He makes to get up to fetch him one, but Jungkook sniffles and catches Namjoon’s shirt to wipe his nose on it.

 

Namjoon stares down, dumbfounded, at Jungkook’s sleepy grin.

 

“Why,” he says, “Why are you like that.”

 

“Guess you will have to sleep naked,” Jungkook mumbles, looking absolutely delighted.

 

“You’re such a brat,” Namjoon says, pinches Jungkook’s side before leaning down to kiss his forehead. Some drops of semen spilled on Jungkook’s stomach and usually he’d tell him to wash up but he’ll make an exception tonight. “Sleep, I’ll take care of you.”

 

“Sounds dirty,” Jungkook says, a soft, pleased smile on his face.

 

“Is not.”

 

“Should be,” Jungkook mumbles. “Thank you Patorculus.”

 

That’s definitely not it, and Namjoon bites the inside of his cheek not to laugh. He refrains from correcting Jungkook, impossibly endeared by anything and everything he does.

 

He smiles fondly, but Jungkook’s eyes are closed and he’s already succumbing to slumber when he answers.

 

“You have nothing to thank me for, little Achilles.”