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“Gay Chicken?”

The words are said by a slightly inebriated Jungkook, in response to a slightly more inebriated Taehyung.

“Gay Chicken,” Taehyung repeats, tipping his head back to pour a generous amount of beer down his throat. The look he shoots Jungkook is almost smug.

Bangtan Party Night always ended up somewhere around here by about this point. The lot of them would get together when they had a little bit of freedom to let loose, chill out, relax for a minute. They would prepare extensively for these nights (extensively meaning they would acquire a decent amount of alcohol and continue on to consume said alcohol), and, most of the time, things went pretty smoothly. (There were a few instances of people getting just a bit too drunk and resulting in the couch cushions having to be flipped, but nothing extreme ever happened.)

The night would usually go as follows: The hyungs would enter the house with what looks like an impossible amount of alcohol to consume (it's not); Everyone scrambles to become the drunkest in the shortest amount of time (which usually ends up being the lightweight, Hoseok, without even taking the shots that everyone else does); Someone (Yoongi) decides to connect his phone to the speaker and blow the windows out; Someone else (Jimin) switches it to girl group songs, resulting in dance line doing the sloppiest and giggliest performances of their lives; Then, once everyone’s taken a few minutes to settle down, someone suggests playing a game. Most of the time they were the classic party games — Truth or Dare, Never Have I Ever, things in that vein — but apparently Taehyung had just a touch too much soju and a minute too long on Google.

A sigh is exhaled from somewhere to their left. “You're gonna have to explain what Gay Chicken is,” comes Seokjin’s voice, accompanied by a murmur of agreement. He doesn't sound entirely amused with the idea, but he also doesn't sound like he's three seconds away from scolding the younger. A good sign.

At this, Taehyung stands from his seat on the floor to make this important announcement, swaying only a tiny bit on his feet. “Gay Chicken,” he begins, vaguely gesturing to everyone in the room, “is where two people of the same gender test each other to see who's chicken. Y’know, like—” he swivels his head to face Namjoon, as if the leader would be any more eloquent in his equally drunken state “—like, you make out or whatever and whoever pulls away first is chicken.”

Now the murmur of agreement becomes a hum of understanding, plus an added snicker from the direction of the couch. Taehyung whips his head towards the sound and focuses just fast enough to see Hoseok hiding a lingering smile behind his bottle.

“What’s funny?” Taehyung asks, pointing his own drink at Hoseok.

Hoseok’s eyes dart up to meet his junior’s. “What? Nothing. Everything. Some things.”

“Such as?”

Now most of the attention in the room is focused on Hoseok, some eyes sparkling with delight at the prospect of a small brotherly scuffle; some with curiosity; one pair with caution. Hoseok meets each set, suddenly, in his own fuzzy state, feeling a little targeted.

“Just, like, the whole point of this Gay Chicken game,” he explains, still switching between eyelines. “Like, it's not like it's so difficult or so scandalous or whatever to just kiss another guy.” Again, he seeks out every pair of eyes in the room, searching for agreement. “Right? Yoongi-hyung, am I right?”

Yoongi, who'd been just simply listening to the conversation in quiet, tipsy interest, cocks an eyebrow and twists to his right to face Hoseok. “Wh— Me? What makes me the support guy here?”

“You always have my back,” the younger answers with an exaggerated pout, leaning slightly closer to his side of the small couch. “Come on! I need your authority.”

With a snort, Yoongi shakes his head. “I don't know. I think it's just the name that's making you think, ‘Oh, that's nothing,’” the elder theorises.

Hoseok tilts his head slightly. “The name?” What does he mean by that? Does he know something?

“Yeah,” Yoongi hums, taking a swig of his drink. Hoseok thanks the alcohol for not letting his nervousness show as he waits for him to continue, but he just holds silent eye contact, the only words in the room coming from Beenzino on the speaker.

“What about the name?” The question is posed by Taehyung, who’s now returned to being sat sprawled out on the floor.

Yoongi shrugs. “Like, calling it Gay Chicken makes you focus on the gay aspect. That's not the part that should be stressed.” He pauses for a second to let a few of the members nod and to hear his favourite line in Aqua Man. “The weird part is that we’re, like… practically a family. Like, you would probably think it's weird if it was called Bro Chicken or something.”

Oh.

Bro Chicken doesn't have the same ring to it,” Jimin chimes in for the first time since the game has been suggested. “That could be, like, ‘Act super nice and cool to each other.’”

“Bro,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing his hand to his chest and plastering a faux-serious look on his face, “I love you. You're so good-looking, bro. You're such a talented dancer. Bro, you're my favourite hyung. I respect you so much.”

The entire room erupts into giggles. “Shut up,” Jimin laughs, his body shaking and legs kicking.

Jungkook raises his arms in victory. “You lose! You're the bro chicken!” Another round of laughter ripples through the group, including a few considerable squeaks from Jungkook himself.

After the cackling dies down, Yoongi directs his attention back to Hoseok. “My point stands, though.”

Hoseok blinks a few times, processing the way Yoongi put it. It's still not that big of a deal. It's just kissing. Does he expect me to gag or something?

“I mean, I guess,” Hoseok voices. “Still, though.”

Now Yoongi leans forward to set his drink on the coffee table, gently but with clear purpose. “Okay, then, let's go.”

A chorus of soft oohs bounces off the walls, and Hoseok’s brow furrows. “Wh–What do you mean, ‘Let’s go’?”

“Let’s play Gay Chicken,” Yoongi says simply, the faintest hint of a challenge playing at the edges of his words.

The soft oohs kick up to medium-volume oohs. Everyone in the room is watching the exchange intently, music entirely forgotten in the background. The younger ones are bubbling in endless amusement, giggling and shooting each other looks as if they're school children hearing a juicy rumour, and the older ones’ eyes are flickering between the scene and each other in nervous excitement.

If Hoseok hadn't already felt targeted, he sure as hell would have now. All eyes in the room are on him and Yoongi, and Yoongi’s sharp, dark eyes are boring into him, burning holes in his face and scorching his cheekbones. There's no way his face isn't full-on vermillion.

“Shouldn't we at least watch someone else do it first?” Hoseok finally suggests, eyes leaving Yoongi’s and finding Taehyung. “Like, he brought it up!” He jabs his finger violently towards Taehyung. “He should go first, right?”

Once again, the room falls into laughter, including Yoongi. “Sounds like someone is already chicken,” Yoongi snickers, leaning back onto the couch.

“I’m not!” the younger squeaks, reaching out to swat at Yoongi’s shoulder. “I just don't know all of the rules. I’m not trying to look stupid in front of everyone.”

“When has that ever been an issue?” Jungkook interjects, earning more snickers and a deep pout from Hoseok.

Before anyone can pile on or start whining, Namjoon suddenly claps his hands. “Taehyung, can you explain the rules?” he requests. “Y’know, what's off-limits and how, exactly, someone gets declared chicken?”

Taehyung seems to brighten. “Okay, well,” he begins, sitting up and slapping his hands on the coffee table hard enough to make Yoongi’s drink shake, “you already know the basics. Uh, so, like, you can, like… Like, the most basic form of the game is the kissing thing, yeah?” He waits for everyone to offer a nod before continuing. “But it can go as far as it needs to go to make someone break. The chicken is just whoever pulls away. Like, clearly pulls away. Like, clearly says no more.”

“‘As far as it needs to go’?” Yoongi echoes. Hoseok casts a glance at his hyung and sees something mischievous dancing on his face.

This is just a game. This is a game. Why am I nervous?

“As far as it needs to go,” Taehyung confirms in a serious tone. He tips his drink back into his mouth, finishing it off, before haphazardly setting the cup aside and getting up onto his knees. “All right, who's ready?”

Silence, and Always Awake, ensues. Each member glances to one another, waiting to see who's willing to tackle this one.

Taehyung pouts. “Really? No one wants to kiss me? Everyone here is chicken?”

“I'll do it,” Jimin finally declares.

There’s an Ah! from the couch, and then Yoongi is leaning forward to pluck his abandoned bottle from the table. He lifts it to his lips like a microphone and announces, “Park Jimin steps up to bat.”

“I'm gonna fuckin’ swing at you in a second,” the younger quips, though with a small smile.

“Park Jimin, Busan’s firecracker, already threatening violence to the announcer,” Yoongi retorts. “Will he be ejected from another game?”

The rest of the members snort, remembering the time a few weeks ago when Jimin was sent outside for getting a little too punchy with Jungkook. That night, Jimin and Jungkook woke up with two separate headaches, and tequila was banned from Bangtan Party Night.

Jimin simply shakes his head at this, his cheeks flushing slightly redder than they had been since his first shot. In lieu of a witty response (which he might be incapable of), he maneuvers himself onto his hands and knees and crawls his way over to Taehyung. Once he's in front of the grinning boy, he mimics his position, sitting on his heels and awkwardly placing his hands in his own lap.

“So, like…” Jimin trails off, not quite sure how to ask the question on everyone’s minds.

Thankfully, Taehyung seems to know just what he means. “Have you never kissed anyone before?” he jests, scooting close enough so their knees touch.

“Shut up,” Jimin retorts, slapping his hands down on Taehyung’s thighs and putting his weight on them. Slowly, he leans closer, his eyes trained on Taehyung’s amused ones.

From Yoongi comes a stage whisper of, “Twenty-five centimetres… Twenty centimetres… Fifteen centimetres… It's getting close. Tensions are high.”

Hoseok leans into Yoongi’s shoulder, his mouth popped open in an O and his eyebrows touching his hairline. “Ah, Yoongi-hyung, what do you think the results will be?”

Humming, Yoongi narrows his eyes, watching as Jimin stalls just a hair’s breadth away from Taehyung’s lips. “Personally, Seokseok-ah, I believe… Taehyung will reveal himself as the true chicken.”

“Interesting projection,” Hoseok comments. “Mind sharing your reasoning?”

Yoongi shifts slightly closer to Hoseok, encouraging Hoseok to crane his neck so they can share eyelines. “Do you see how close they are?” Hoseok nods. “That's Jimin’s doing. Taehyung hasn't moved a millimetre. He has a loud mouth and a great poker face, but his stiffness is very telling.”

Finally, Jimin takes the plunge, closing the tiny space between their lips. His eyes squeeze shut, while Taehyung’s widen by a fraction.

Everyone in the room pauses for a second — just one second — and then the noise commences.

Jungkook claps and whoops from the sidelines; Seokjin and Namjoon chorus in exclamations of Oh!; Hoseok giggles and gently swats at Yoongi’s shoulder; Yoongi snickers along, running out of lines to narrate with for the time being.

After a few seconds, Taehyung closes his eyes, the initial shock subsiding and the burning need to win setting in. His half-numb lips work hard to move against Jimin’s, and he throws in a hum in hopes it'll throw him off. Jimin stiffens momentarily, then timidly fights back by gingerly placing his hand on Taehyung’s chest.

“Things seem to be heating up,” Yoongi commentates into the neck of his bottle yet again. “Taehyung played the moaning card, to which Jimin responded with an intimate touch. What will Taehyung’s rebuttal be?”

Still leant on Yoongi’s side, Hoseok mutters, “Is that legal? Like, in terms of the game?”

Yoongi glances over to Hoseok with a smirk. “‘As far as it needs to go,’” he quotes.

Fuck. I was just done being nervous too.

In retaliation to Jimin’s gentle attempt to shake him, Taehyung presses himself closer and lifts a hand to cup Jimin’s face. Sloppily, he caresses Jimin’s cheekbone, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Okay, okay!” Jimin squeals, breaking the kiss and leaning as far back as he can. “You win. No more.”

There's a round of cheers, some loud claps, some booing. Jimin tips his head back in laughter while wiping his mouth, and Taehyung joins in with giggles so fierce they make his legs kick.

“Ah, Min Yoongi, how do you feel about being wrong?” Hoseok questions his hyung, finally peeling himself from his shoulder. He clumsily reaches out to pry the makeshift microphone from Yoongi’s hands, then holds it to his lips and peers into his eyes inquisitively.

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “Just ‘Min Yoongi’?”

The younger simpers. “Yes, Min Yoongi.”

“Bold,” Yoongi observes in a murmur. “Won't last too long.”

Wh–What?

“Wh–What?”

“Well, Jung Hoseok,” Yoongi begins, slipping back into announcer voice and seemingly having no intention to explain himself, “I’m a little disappointed, but ultimately proud of Taehyung. He truly proved his strength in this round.”

Taehyung raises an arm in victory. “You didn't believe in me, but thank you for the nice words, hyung.”

“You're welcome,” Yoongi delivers with a point and a click of his tongue.

As Jimin returns to his seat across the floor, Hoseok scans the room. Everyone seems to be riding off the amusement of Taehyung and Jimin’s display (save for Jungkook, who's fished his phone from his pocket and is scrolling through something), and no one seems to be preparing for another round of the game. Briefly, he wonders if it's over, but he knows that, after so much time had been taken to explain it, it was going to be a whole ordeal. Possibly even the party-ender.

“Who’s up next?” Hoseok voices, a timid edge to the words. “Tae, do you choose?”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows and blinks slowly at Hoseok. “Choose who?”

“The next pair to do the gay chickening.” Hoseok crosses his legs, left over right. “Like, is there an order, or is this just chaos?”

“Chaos,” Taehyung chooses without a moment’s hesitation. “But I do really want to see someone go against Namjoon-hyung.”

Namjoon, who'd been holding a bottle to his mouth, pauses and finds all of the eyes in the room trained on him. He meets all of their expectant gazes, then settles on Taehyung with a, “Why me?”

“You're shameless,” Jungkook interjects, earning a snort and nod from Taehyung.

Shrugging, Namjoon sets down his drink. “Point. Who wants to lose real quick?” His eyes meet Seokjin’s, who's seated closest to him. “You?”

“I have no fear,” Seokjin states boldly, twisting in his seat to fully face the leader.

Hoseok aahs. “Yoongi-hyung—”

“Jin-hyung,” Yoongi answers before the question is even posed. “Jin-hyung will lose. No contest.”

Seokjin splutters. “Yah, why don't you have any faith in me?”

“He’s shameless,” Jungkook reiterates, grinning up at the offended-looking eldest.

Pouting a bit, Seokjin surpasses the awkward thigh touching Taehyung and Jimin had done and immediately throws his arms around Namjoon’s neck. Namjoon seems unfazed, only smiling wide and tilting his head at his hyung.

“Jin-hyung now has something to prove,” Yoongi comments. He leans forward to watch the scene unfold in excitement.

Hoseok mimics his position. “But will he be able to prove it?”

With a sly smirk, Yoongi turns his head to face Hoseok and pats his knee. “Personally, I don't believe he will,” he responds, the hand he had used to pat Hoseok’s knee stilling and resting there innocently, “but my predictions have been wrong in the past. We’ll have to see how it pans out.”

Your hand…

It’s not uncommon for Yoongi to just place his hand on Hoseok's leg. It’s such a simple action, a friendly action, something that comes naturally when one is relaxed with a friend. He does it in public, in private, in the middle of live shows and interviews and fansigns. It's not uncommon.

Yet, with the buzz of alcohol still lingering in his veins and the game going on in full swing, the simple, light touch makes a shiver crawl up his spine. The heat emanating from Yoongi’s hand, even through his jeans, feels intense. Overpowering. Ominous.

I really shouldn't be this fucking nervous. I shouldn't. We’re all friends here. I shouldn't be shaking. Stop shaking. Stop thinking. Stop shaking.

Yoongi's face has left his sight once more, the elder turned to face the upcoming entertainment. Hoseok decides to follow his focus, trying to calm the butterflies still fluttering in his stomach.

“Ready to lose?” Namjoon singsongs, fearlessly leaning in as close to Seokjin's face as he could before actually touching.

“Not gonna lose,” Seokjin replies confidently.

Namjoon snickers, Yoongi echoing the sound. “Whatever you say.”

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Hoseok chants, pounding his unoccupied knee with his fist.

Yoongi quietly adds, “Kiss, kiss.”

That's when Namjoon surges forward, smashing his lips against Seokjin’s with no trepidation. Seokjin squeaks in surprise, but doesn't back down, pressing even closer into the awkward kiss. His hands come up from behind Namjoon’s neck to cradle the back of his head, fingers moving against his scalp in an odd rendition of a massage.

Suddenly, before Yoongi can even play his little commentator game, Seokjin flies away from Namjoon with a shout of, “Hey! That’s cheating! That’s gotta be cheating!”

“I told you you'd lose,” Namjoon laughs, falling back and covering his face in newfound shame. Seokjin scoots back a few centimetres, folding his legs and squeaking in his own laughter.

“What happened there?” Hoseok questions, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

Seokjin waves his hand, signalling that he needs a second to collect himself before responding. “H–He touched my dick!”

Everyone bursts into laughter, Yoongi flopping back onto the couch and squeezing Hoseok’s knee as he does. Hoseok hopes he doesn't hear the little hitch in his giggles at the action.

Namjoon sits up straight now, shrugging and wiping at his eyes. “Tae said as far as it needs to go. I went for it. No rules against dick grabbing, right?”

“Correct,” Taehyung confirms with a snort. “Nothing is off-limits. Whatever you need to do to knock out the competition.”

“This is bullshit,” Seokjin whines, though not without a giggling undertone. “My poor dick says he cheated.”

“Well, that poor dick says he didn't,” Yoongi cuts in, gesturing at Taehyung. The poor dick in question nods and grins, offering Yoongi a thumbs-up.

Seokjin grumbles, but lets it pass. As a gesture of sympathy, Namjoon pats his shoulder, earning a little shimmy and a good-natured smile.

Hoseok claps his own hand over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Ah, Min Yoongi, you got this one correct. Currently, your predictions are a clean fifty-fifty.” He wears his brightest smile as he asks, “How does it feel to know you'll never be one-hundred-percent accurate?”

Now Yoongi sits up, throwing in another squeeze to Hoseok’s knee as he does. “I wanna go next,” he requests clearly.

This chorus of oohs is the loudest of the night, one ended with a fuck yeah courtesy of Jeon Jungkook. Immediately after the request is made, Yoongi whips around to face Hoseok, his innocent hand sliding ever so slightly higher, just enough to reach the younger’s inner thigh. Hoseok hopes the nervousness on his face is hidden by his exaggerated look of surprise.

“Who's gonna take your place as commentator, then?” Hoseok jokes, his legs shifting awkwardly. Who's gonna be your victim? he almost asks, but he decides against playing daft.

Yoongi seems to contemplate this for a moment as he moves his body sideways on the couch to properly face Hoseok. “Uh, Namjoon-ah?”

“I mean,” Namjoon begins with a shrug, “I can try.”

“Don't fuck it up,” Jimin warns him.

Namjoon plucks a bottle cap from somewhere beside him and positions it in the space between his thumb and forefinger, then clasps his hands together, making the bottle cap pop out of his hand towards Jimin. It misses by a clean metre, but Jimin squeals and ducks either way.

As the two grown-ass men make faces at each other, Yoongi lets his hand glide even further up Hoseok’s thigh. Hoseok hopes Yoongi doesn't notice him struggle to swallow, but he can't hide the way his thigh muscles tense up — the sly smirk Yoongi flashes at him makes that abundantly clear. His fingers gently trace oblong shapes over his jeans as well, an action that’s somehow reassuring and nerve-wracking all at once.

“Seokseok-ah,” Yoongi hums, and Hoseok has never noticed until that very moment just how… sultry Yoongi’s voice can be. Of course, it's more than likely just a tone he's putting on to get in Hoseok’s head, but damned if it isn't working.

Trying to subtly clear his throat, Hoseok meets Yoongi’s gaze. “Yoongi-hyung,” he croaks despite his best efforts.

Yoongi licks his lips. Unwittingly, Hoseok lets his eyes follow the action, his own mouth suddenly feeling dry. There's no reason in the fucking world this game should feel as intense as it does.

Except, maybe, four simple facts: 1) Hoseok is very much so not straight; 2) Yoongi is very much so not unattractive; 3) Hoseok hasn't had the time or energy to get himself off in weeks so he has no clue how his body will react; and 4) Yoongi is staring him down like he’s the weakest zebra in the herd.

I’m fucked.

“Are you ready to lose?” Yoongi inquires lowly.

No.

His mouth just won't stop running, though, much more confident than he is. “You talkin’ to yourself now?”

Runner-up commentator Namjoon jumps in with an exclamation of, “Oh, shit.” He follows it up with a booming, “Let's get ready to rumble!”

The crowd goes wild, each member whooping and hollering, pounding their hands on any hard surface they can find. Hoseok can hear Taehyung and Jimin’s distinct voices rooting for him, while Jungkook places his bets on Yoongi. Seokjin seems to be cheering for the sake of being in on the din, impartial to both competitors.

Yoongi leans his weight on Hoseok’s thigh, his face popping each of Hoseok’s personal space bubbles until there's only one left — one which Yoongi’s nose is pressed firmly against. “Strong words for someone who's been shaking in his boots for quite a while now.”

“A lot of stalling for someone so sure he’ll win,” Hoseok retorts, uncrossing his legs and willing actions to reflect his words. One trembling hand finds Yoongi’s neck while the other wedges its way between his body and the couch to grip his hip. The angle is awkward due to Hoseok’s bottom half still facing forward, but he doesn't know if he has the strength to shift his entire body quite yet.

Quirking an eyebrow, Yoongi exhales a laugh that smells faintly of stale liquor and samgyeopsal. “No limits, right?”

“No limits,” Taehyung confirms for the third time.

Hoseok echoes in a breath, “No limits,” then takes it upon himself to pop his own final bubble. His eyelids flutter as his lips meet Yoongi’s gently, tentatively, as if pressing any harder would make one or both of them shatter like crystal. He registers the sound of Namjoon’s voice saying something like Han shot first on the sidelines, but can't hear anything clearly through the rushing in his ears.

A few seconds pass before Yoongi properly reciprocates, having given Hoseok time to gain some traction before cruelly sweeping his legs out from under him. A low growl rumbles in his throat and he presses forward, sucking on Hoseok’s bottom lip while his free hand flies up to tangle in his hair. Hoseok can't keep himself from gasping at the three actions, and he can feel Yoongi’s amused smile against his lips, mocking him, confident that they're the ultimate champion pair of lips.

Gaining a little bit of confidence (or maybe just playing into his competitive side), Hoseok traces his tongue across the seam of Yoongi’s mouth. It doesn't even take a second for Yoongi to accept the request, lips parting almost instantly and his own tongue coming out to meet the younger’s. Somehow, Hoseok seems to melt and stiffen up at the same time, becoming very aware that Yoongi’s tongue is in his mouth, touching his own tongue, tasting his teeth, licking the roof of his mouth, oh, God.

The hand Yoongi has on Hoseok’s thigh dares to crawl even higher, fingertips meeting the place his leg becomes his crotch. A light shudder makes its way through Hoseok’s body, something that doesn't go unnoticed, clearly, if Yoongi’s fingers digging in slightly is any indication. Hoseok exhales sharply through his nose, legs instinctively opening just a touch wider.

An ache starts to settle into Hoseok's spine from the odd angle, prompting him to finally use his strength and lift himself off the couch, then back onto it on his knees. Yoongi’s fingers at the back of his head tighten their grip almost possessively, the kiss never lessening for a moment, Yoongi’s tongue becoming more insistent. The angle might be equally as awkward now, with Yoongi in a seated position and Hoseok kneeling above him, but Yoongi wraps his arm around Hoseok’s waist and tugs him in close, preventing him from sitting back.

This would be a lot easier if I was just… in his lap—

And that's a great idea.

God, that's a great idea.

However, trying to execute this idea proves very difficult, what with the back of the couch in the way of him actually fitting his left leg over Yoongi’s thigh. His right leg successfully makes it into the small space at the edge of the couch, but his left stays behind, creating a pose that strains even his muscles. The effort of shifting around takes him back to reality for a moment, enough to hear each of the members shouting ohs and Namjoon babbling about Hoseok trying to straddle Yoongi-hyung, taking the competition very seriously.

He's also taken back to reality just enough to realise that he may or may not be starting to get hard in his jeans, just from some fucking kissing. That was what he was nervous about. That, exactly, right there.

Hoseok’s confidence falters, thighs shaking both from the strain on his muscles and the sudden wave of fear that washes over him. He tries to mutter a Hyung, but with aforementioned hyung’s tongue in his mouth, the only sound that comes out is something that's not meant to be a moan, but it sure resembles one.

The arm circled around Hoseok’s waist loosens, then pulls away slightly. Panic flashes through Hoseok’s mind, a moment of Fuck fuck he noticed fuck he can tell fuck, and Hoseok almost rips himself away, ready to lose if it means he can get out of here, but then he feels Yoongi’s hand roam across his lower back, following a path directly to his left leg. His lips falter when he feels the hand squeeze his thigh, then yank it forward. It hovers in the air for a moment, Hoseok desperately clinging onto the two spots he'd been holding for balance, while Yoongi straightens his legs out, then is placed in the space between his thighs.

Oh.

And then Yoongi brings both hands to Hoseok’s hips, urging him to sit down, as he bends his knee.

Oh. Oh.

All Hoseok could do was hope his jeans were thick enough to hide what was on its way to being the most terrible boner he's ever had in his life.

Those hopes are almost entirely dashed when Yoongi gathers two generous handfuls of Hoseok’s ass at the same time he sucks hard on Hoseok’s tongue. This time, his attempt at Hyung doesn't just resemble a moan — it is an honest-to-god moan. Not a loud one, nor a full one, but the sound is unmistakeable.

Sighing heavily through his nose, Yoongi roughly gropes at Hoseok’s ass, fingers kneading at his flesh through denim. By now, Hoseok’s lost almost all ability to think, the only thoughts still flashing through his mind being Fuck, this is bad and Fuck, this is so good. He feels as though he's drowning — like all of the air has been forcibly squeezed from his chest, and he can't breathe, lungs burning and begging for air, air, please, breathe

“Hyung,” Hoseok gasps as he pulls back, knocking his forehead against Yoongi’s and offering his lungs the oxygen they so desperately needed.

Yoongi stills with his hands still clutching tightly onto Hoseok’s ass. “You pulled away,” he breathes, horns on either end of the observation. It's evident he was running out of air as well, hot puffs of breath fanning over Hoseok’s open lips.

The words are true, but the implication isn't, and Hoseok shakes his head as much as he can without breaking contact. “Gotta catch my breath.”

“Tae,” Namjoon whispers from another part of the room, “is that legal?”

There's a deep hum that comes from where Taehyung had been sitting earlier. “No one’s said stop. It’s, uh, still on.”

Remembering where he's at once more sends heat flooding through Hoseok’s cheeks. The sudden realisation that not only has he been engaged in an… intense makeout session with one of his best friends, but in front of all five of his other best friends, makes his world feel like it's spinning. To make matters even worse, since apparently that’s possible, he also realises just how uncomfortable his jeans have become.

There it is. The most terrible boner. Welcome to Hell.

Hoseok finally removes his hands from their starting positions, bringing them together in the minuscule space between his and Yoongi’s chests, then shakily twists his fingers into the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt. They flex in the worn cotton a few times, Hoseok considering, for a moment, climbing off of Yoongi’s lap and accepting the loss before this becomes a horrible mess, then let go, smoothing out on his chest and gliding up, over his shoulders.

This is dangerous. This is so fucking dangerous.

“Seokseok-ah,” Yoongi rasps, lips brushing against Hoseok’s so gently in comparison to how they’d been just a few moments ago.

Swallowing hard, Hoseok blinks his eyes open to peer into dark ones. “Yoongi-hyung.”

God, this is so, so, so fucking dangerous.

“Competitors exchanging pleasantries,” Namjoon pipes up, his voice sounding dry and awe-filled. “Much like tapping gloves before a boxing match.”

“We’re well into the middle of the match, hyung,” Jimin points out. Another distinct bottle cap Pop! sounds, followed by the familiar shriek of play-fear.

Yoongi’s gaze flickers between each of Hoseok’s eyes, searching for something, and whatever he does or doesn't find tugs his regained breath straight from his lungs. It also earns two syllables being dropped from his tongue: “God, fuck—”

Now with renewed strength, thanks to the short intermission, Yoongi takes this opportunity to squeeze the denim-clad flesh in his hands. A noise that dances along the line between a gasp and a mewl escapes Hoseok’s lips, his body toppling forward, hands retracting enough to not get squished between Yoongi’s shoulders and the arm of the couch.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

This new angle, with Hoseok practically collapsed on top of Yoongi, does two things: 1) It causes Hoseok’s hips to press firmly against Yoongi’s thigh, putting the most direct pressure possible through jeans on his now-ninety-percent-hard cock; 2) It rips a strangled whine from Hoseok’s throat, sending each spectator, who'd been quietly chattering, into shocked silence.

“Hyung, fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, clawing into Yoongi's chest through his shirt. “I'm sorry.”

“‘Sorry’?” Yoongi echoes, cocking his head. “For what?”

There’s no time for Hoseok to properly explain (though he probably couldn't and wouldn't have anyway), because just after the question is posed, Yoongi presses down hard on his ass, forcing his hips even tighter to his thigh. Hoseok isn’t quick enough to hold back the much-too-loud groan that erupts from deep within his chest. His body naturally repeats the action without being prompted, screaming at him to not stop, do not stop, keep going, keep going, please, keep going.

Yoongi takes a shuddering breath before attaching his mouth to Hoseok’s neck, planting a little kiss to his skin and then lightly sucking on the same spot. Again, Hoseok's hips grind down, the friction on his now one-hundred-percent-hard cock incredible, even through so many layers. All of his ability to feel guilty about literally riding one of his best friends' thighs flies out the window, his mind losing the battle of control to his body.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok whimpers, honestly whimpers, as he rolls his hips once more. This time, Yoongi’s thigh meets the action, hands groping at his ass simultaneously. Hoseok chokes on the moan that slithers up his throat and tilts his head back, unintentionally giving Yoongi more access to his neck.

With a low growl, Yoongi grazes his teeth over the spot he'd been sucking on, then breaks away, opting to lean up and flick his tongue against Hoseok’s earlobe. “Still trying to win?” he murmurs, lips grazing at the shell of his ear.

Win?

Hoseok’s mind stalls, but his hips don't get the memo. They continue rolling against Yoongi, cock greedily chasing the friction it had been deprived of for too long, becoming almost painful within its constraints.

Oh. Right. This is a game. This is just a game. A game that's gone way, way, way too far.

But Hoseok can't stop, even with these three dreadful realisations: The realisation that this is all a competition, just to see who will chicken out first; the realisation that everyone is watching him trying desperately to make himself come using Yoongi’s body; the realisation that, once this round is over, everyone will probably avoid and shun him for what he's done.

However, the humiliation that washes over him seems to kick-start his hips, making them stutter and then grind down hard, cock twitching in his jeans. “I’m—” Yoongi claws at his ass, spreading his cheeks as much as possible through his jeans, encouraging him to keep moving as he whines through the witty comeback he's attempting to throw down. “Fuck, hyung, I’m—”

And then there's a third, foreign hand against his shoulder, forcefully shoving him away from his hyung. “Okay, that's enough,” a voice cuts in, sounding equal parts frightful and admonishing.

Hoseok’s eyes fly open, all of the fear he'd been experiencing only in small doses absolutely slamming into him at once upon meeting Seokjin’s sharp glare. His expression perfectly matches the tone of his voice, complete with a hard brow and a deep frown. Hoseok has only seen this look on the eldest’s face when someone’s fucked up real bad.

I fucked up real bad.

“Come on, get off,” Seokjin commands, grabbing a hold of Hoseok's shirt and hauling him off of Yoongi’s lap.

There’s a cough from somewhere else in the room. “I think he was about to,” Namjoon quips. He's immediately silenced by the warning look Seokjin shoots him, opting to sip at his drink and focus on anything but the scene on the couch.

Hoseok’s face feels as though it's been set ablaze, certainly scarlet as he lets Seokjin push him to the opposite end of the couch, as far away from Yoongi he can possibly be. His hands fly to cover the blatant situation in his pants, knees coming up to his chest and head ducking in shame. As Seokjin unhands him, he can hear and feel Yoongi shifting as well, silence reigning over the room save for the still-running background music.

Fuck. I really, really fucked up. This is so fucking bad.

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, who's the chicken, then?”

Cringing, Hoseok hides his face in his knees. Tears prick at his eyelids and he wills them away with all his might; You’ve already fucked up enough, his mind screams, don't be a crybaby on top of it.

A murmur passes through the room, each boy glancing at the others with wide eyes, trying to decide what they could possibly say at this point. Hoseok considers just getting up and bolting to his room, locking the door, never coming back out, probably jumping out the window and running his way back to Gwangju, where none of this ever happened.

Finally, there's a loud bang, the sound of hands slamming against the coffee table, and then Taehyung’s booming voice. “Jin-hyung is the chicken.”

“What?!” Seokjin shouts, beyond offended. “I wasn't even playing! What the fuck?”

The group explodes into laughter, all of the tension draining from the room instantly. “You put a stop to it,” Taehyung explains, “therefore, you're the chicken.”

“Jin-hyung declared chicken once more,” Namjoon announces, squeaking through his sentence. “Two rounds he's lost, and only one he's participated in! This is unprecedented!”

Yoongi claps his hands, re-joining the festivities as he cackles. “Jin-hyung: Double McChicken.”

Hoseok lifts his head slightly, catching sight of Seokjin just as he points at him accusingly. “He was about to cream his fucking jeans!”

This time, Hoseok notes that the raucous laughter excludes Yoongi’s distinct little squeaks. He doesn't have the energy to slide his gaze over, though — he's a little too busy being assaulted with shame at the hands of Seokjin.

They're making fun of me. Of course they are. Fucking of course they are. Why wouldn't they?

But Hoseok refuses to be a party pooper. The competition had ended, the situation had been diffused, everyone is back to their jovial states… Hoseok will not ruin that.

So, instead of fucking it all right back up, he throws on an indignant pout. “Yah! I was not!”

Oh, hyung,” Jungkook moans, a poor imitation of Hoseok’s voice. “Fuck, hyung, I’m gonna—

Hoseok straightens up enough to grab one of the couch’s many throw pillows (aptly named) and chuck it at the maknae, who lets out an Oof as it makes contact with his shoulder. “I never said I was gonna anything!”

“But you were gonna—”

“No, I wasn't!”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook calls, one arm hugging the pillow and the other extending to point at the man in question, “was he gonna?”

Hoseok flicks his eyes to Yoongi just as the elder raises his eyebrows, his head whipping around to face Jungkook. Upon following his eyeline, he finds that the youngest is pleading with his eyes to back him up, to give him more ammunition, to help him break Hoseok down completely. When he turns back to meet Hoseok’s gaze, Hoseok subtly widens his eyes and hopes that Yoongi has suddenly gained the ability to read his mind.

Please, please, hyung, don’t do it. Don’t tell him. Please. Can you hear me? Listen to me: Don’t do it. Please, hyung, I’ll do whatever you want. Just— Just don't do it.

“I think what he’s gonna do is kick your ass in a minute,” shoots Yoongi at last, crossing his legs and sitting back.

Oh, God, thank God. I'm glad you can hear me. Stop listening now, though.

While the rest of the room bursts into giggles, Hoseok sends Yoongi a shaky, relieved smile paired with an appreciative nod. Yoongi responds with a discreet wink, a smirk following when Hoseok’s face colours a faint shade of pink. The seconds they maintain eye contact stretch on, all the commotion forgotten, the two of them sharing a private moment — one in which Yoongi’s eyes can't stop themselves from darting down to Hoseok’s lap, and Hoseok curls in on himself further under the scrutiny.

The game is over. What are you doing? Hey, listen to me again real quick: Knock it off. Okay, stop listening.

In lieu of working himself into another nervous fit, Hoseok clears his throat. “So, what now?” His eyes flit around the room, landing on the boy who’d started this whole mess. “Tae?”

Yoongi joins him in staring and Taehyung blinks slowly, considering his options with two of his hyungs’ undivided attention. Finally, a mischievous grin crawls across his jaw as he answers, “Truth or Dare?”

“No, no,” Seokjin refuses immediately, stepping away from the couch now to approach Taehyung. “You're done. No more drinks and no more party games.”

As Seokjin snatches his drink from the table, Taehyung scoffs. “I can't believe Jin-hyung is triple chicken now.”

With his hands and mouth free, Yoongi takes a dip back into his announcer role. “Jin-hyung declared chicken while no game of Gay Chicken is even being played. Absolutely astounding. A very talented man.”

“Oh, my god,” Seokjin exclaims with a wave of his arm, “I hate both of you.”

Taehyung pouts up at Seokjin in response, earning a roll of the eyes and a few pats on his head. This turns his pout into a full-blown beam, causing Seokjin’s eyes to roll once again.

Snickering, Hoseok stands from his seat, swaying on his feet as he gets a head rush. Before he has the chance to recover, there's a pair of hands on his waist, keeping him stable though there was no real threat of him tipping over. He looks to the hands on his waist, then follows the attached arms all the way up to his quote-unquote saviour’s face. His eyes meet with a slightly-anxious-looking Yoongi’s, leant in a way that implies he lunged across the couch to catch him.

“Uh, thank you, hyung,” Hoseok mutters as he tries to twist out of Yoongi’s grip. “I’m just going to get some water.”

Yoongi’s hands don't leave Hoseok’s waist as he stands. “Come on, then.”

Hoseok blinks. “What?”

“I said, let's go,” Yoongi rephrases, pushing Hoseok gently towards the kitchen door. Hoseok stumbles a couple steps sideways, narrowly avoiding the coffee table, then plants his feet firmly on the ground.

“Yoongi-yah,” Hoseok whines in embarrassment-based irritation, peeling Yoongi’s hands off of him, “I’m not that drunk; I can go to the damn kitchen on my own.”

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow, fixing Hoseok with a sharp look. “Don't speak to me like that.”

A high voice oohs from the crowd. Shut up, Jimin, Hoseok’s mind growls, but his voice is lost.

Face filling with flames, Hoseok ducks his head. “Sorry, hyung,” he apologises meekly.

“It’s okay, Seokseok,” Yoongi hums, one arm returning to his body and looping around his waist. “Now, come on.”

This time, Hoseok allows Yoongi to lead him through the room quietly, trying to ignore Yoongi’s fingers gently tracing circles on his hipbone. He trips over his feet a few times from Yoongi being glued to his hip and his own nervousness and, yeah, maybe from the alcohol a little bit. He certainly isn't drunk but definitely still tipsy, and the blood still rushing just short of a metre south of his brain isn't much of a help either.

As the pair passes by Seokjin, he eyes them suspiciously, clearly untrusting of them being alone anymore. Thankfully, short nod Yoongi offers him seems to be enough to keep him from speaking up or ripping them apart again. Hoseok figures he may as well get used to his face boiling at this point — I’m never gonna live this down.

Fairly quickly, the two make their way into the kitchen, away from the rest of the members. Once the door closes behind them, Hoseok expects Yoongi to do one of two things: 1) Toss him into the room and dust his hands off as he returns to the party; or 2) Ask him what the fuck happened in there.

What Yoongi actually does is gingerly lean him against the counter as he goes to fetch a bottle of water, leaving Hoseok in slight shock. By no means was it wild of Yoongi to take care of his friends, but under these circumstances

Hoseok startles a bit, having zoned out, when Yoongi returns to him with the bottle already uncapped. He hands it off silently and mimics Hoseok’s position against the counter, thighs pressed together despite the metre of open space on his side.

“Thanks,” Hoseok says, voice rough and unsteady, to which Yoongi responds simply with a hum. He tips his head back for a long swig, hoping the cold liquid will shock his system back into shape.

Stop fidgeting. Stop thinking. Stop.

When Hoseok sets the half-empty bottle down behind him, Yoongi finally speaks up. “So,” he begins, scratching a fingernail across Hoseok’s pocket, “were you gonna?”

Hoseok chokes on his mouthful of water, flailing wildly as he tries not to spit all over the floor. He opts to shuffle to the sink and let all of the water drain from his mouth there, coughing hard once his mouth is clear. In the midst of his coughing fit, he feels Yoongi’s hand pat his back comfortingly, though the little snort he gives contradicts the action.

“I wasn’t,” Hoseok answers at last in a strained voice. “Hyung, I swear I wasn't.”

“Really?” Yoongi’s hand stills, then slowly roams to Hoseok’s lower back, and Hoseok is certain he feels the shiver that racks his body. “I was hoping you were.”

This starts up another coughing fit, just from Hoseok choking on his own spit. What the fuck? What the fuck?

Yoongi waits until Hoseok regains his breath once more, then slides a palm to his ass and gropes hard. Hoseok squeaks, half in confusion and half in arousal, elbows jabbing into the counter beside the sink and ass pressing back into the contact.

“Kinda wanted to see you lose it in front of everyone,” Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “You did, too, didn't you? You wanted everyone to watch you come in your pants like a horny teenager, right?”

Something snaps in Hoseok’s brain and he straightens up abruptly, spinning around and causing Yoongi’s hand to fall from his body. “Hyung, it was just a game. It— It was a competition. That's all.”

Yoongi looks taken aback. “Just a game?” he echoes, taking a small step forward.

“Just a game,” Hoseok reiterates weakly. Even though Yoongi is a solid three or four centimetres shorter, the younger feels as though he's towering over him, Yoongi staring down at him from metres above.

Now Yoongi’s face melts into something wicked. “Just a game, huh?” Hoseok swallows thickly as he nods. “Didn't feel like you were playing around when your di—”

“Stop it,” Hoseok interjects, his already-unstable attempt at defiance crumbling completely when his voice breaks. “Just make fun of me or something already. Kick my ass. Just— Just stop doing this.”

Yoongi freezes. “Make… fun of you?”

His bottom lip trembling, Hoseok averts his eyes. For the second time that night, he forces back his tears. He can feel his fingernails digging into his palms, creating little crescent-shaped indentations in the fragile skin, as he does his best to steel himself.

“Why would I make fun of you?” Yoongi questions mildly, making to reach out to Hoseok but rethinking that decision when his shoulders tense up. “Hoseok, I’m not going to make fun of you, or kick your ass, or whatever-the-fuck.”

Hoseok looks unconvinced, but the words are enough to make his shoulders relax just a tad. Still, he refuses to meet Yoongi’s eye, focusing on a floor tile with his eyebrows knitted together.

“Actually,” Yoongi continues, risking another centimetre towards Hoseok, “I want to, uh… keep doing this.”

Now the younger lets his eyes drift back to Yoongi’s. “What?”

Yoongi chews at the inside of his cheek. “I wanna, like… Like, I want to keep going.”

The sudden bashfulness that Yoongi exhibits relaxes Hoseok even more, his features slowly smoothing back out. “You're— Yoongi-hyung, don't fuck with me right now.”

“I'm not fucking with you,” Yoongi states calmly. “I really want to keep doing this. I mean, if you don't, that's okay, but just— I just want you to know I’m not fucking with you. I’m not gonna run off and talk shit or something.”

Hoseok’s lower lip juts out now, a pout that would be called a bullshit exaggeration on any other face. “How do I know you're not fucking with me?”

Smiling softly, Yoongi holds his hand out palm-up, gesturing for Hoseok to take it. With trepidation, he does, and Yoongi circles his fingers around his wrist, then guides his hand down to the front of his own jeans. Hoseok can't hold back his gasp when he feels just how hard Yoongi is, and he feels a little stupid for being oblivious to it when he was on top of him just a few minutes prior.

Okay, he's probably not fucking with me.

Cautiously, Hoseok rubs the heel of his palm over the now-blatantly-obvious bulge. Yoongi’s shaky exhale encourages him to press a little harder, mouth falling ajar as the elder’s eyelids flutter. Hoseok had always been more-than-aware that Yoongi was attractive, but, God, this is a whole new level — with his face completely lax; his defenses down; his lower lip between his teeth; his nostrils flaring. In this moment, Hoseok might go so far as to say Yoongi is beautiful.

Before he can give a third grind, Yoongi’s fingers tighten around his wrist and reluctantly push him away. Panic trickles into Hoseok’s spine once again, the younger thinking he might have done something wrong, but Yoongi shushes him before he even speaks with a murmur of, “Gimme one second.”

Hoseok nods, following Yoongi’s form as he trots towards the door, then cracks it open to poke his head out. “Hey, so, you really don't want to come in here for a minute.”

There's a loud, wordless exclamation from a voice that sounds like Seokjin’s. That suspicion is confirmed when the voice shouts, “Oh, you better not—”

“Hoseok just threw up,” Yoongi cuts in, not letting Seokjin finish his accusation. “Like, a lot.”

“Hyung!” Hoseok squeals, offended at his choice of excuse.

Yoongi peeks back at Hoseok, snickering quietly at the horrified pout on his lips. “No, Seokseok-ah, just stay there for now. Hyung will take care of it. It's okay.” Yoongi makes sure to wipe the amusement off of his face before he returns to address the rest of the group. “Just— Seriously, it’s pretty fuckin’ gross. Let me deal with it. We don't need anyone else puking in this house.”

With that, Yoongi closes the door once more, snorting when he sees Hoseok leant against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “You could have said anything else,” the younger hisses.

“Come on, it was the easiest way to go,” Yoongi reasons, striding back to his position in front of Hoseok and placing his hands on his hips. “What, did you want me to say, ‘Don't come in here, guys, I'm about to make Hoseok cream his jeans’?”

“Oh, my god.” Hoseok uncrosses his arms just to whack Yoongi on the chest. “Can you guys not say that?”

Yoongi’s shoulders shake as he giggles. “Say what? ‘Cream his jeans’?”

“Shut up!”

Suddenly, Yoongi leans in past Hoseok’s face, mouth seeking out his earlobe and drawing it in. “Baby,” Yoongi rasps, clearly trying to mask a fit of laughter, “I’m gonna make you cream your jeans.”

Hoseok shoves at Yoongi’s chest with a sound of pure disgust. “God, shut the fuck up. I hate you so much. I actually am going to vomit now.”

“Come on,” Yoongi repeats through squeaky laughter, tugging Hoseok’s hips forward to meet his.

The knocking of their hips together is awkward, but when Yoongi rocks forward, each protest on Hoseok’s tongue melts down, forming a path for a breathy moan to slide along. Hoseok’s arms wrap loosely around Yoongi's neck as he repeats the action, the button of the elder’s jeans pressing just under the head of Hoseok's cock. The sensation, even through so many layers, causes him to yelp and jump and Yoongi pauses momentarily, fearing he might have done something wrong. Then Hoseok begins grinding his hips in slow circles, whimpering quietly as the bundle of nerves is stimulated incessantly.

“Shit, Hoseok,” Yoongi breathes, moving to slot one leg between the younger’s and press their chests together as close as he can. He removes his hands from Hoseok's hips to grip the edge of the counter, squeezing the younger tightly between it and himself. The familiar position allows for slightly more movement, and Hoseok immediately takes advantage of it, arching his back as he falls right back into the pattern of rolling hips he’d been in on the couch.

In a way that might be described as desperate, Hoseok claws at Yoongi’s shoulders, scrabbling for some type of purchase. “Hyung, fuck,” he whines, hips jerking forward harshly against Yoongi’s hipbone. “Hyung.”

“Talk to me, baby,” Yoongi encourages him, his own voice just a series of groans. He meets Hoseok’s thrusts just as strongly as he coos, “Tell me what you want. Let hyung take care of you.”

Hoseok nearly sobs, the term of endearment and the sweet, reassuring words adding fuel to the flames in his cheeks. He buries his face in Yoongi’s neck and tries to somehow spread his legs wider, to squeeze himself tighter against Yoongi, to grind even harder, to get more, to get closer, harder, filthier, more, more, more. There are too many layers and not enough contact and too much heat and not enough contact not enough too much too much not enough.

It's all happening too quickly — they've barely been grinding a few minutes, yet Hoseok already feels his cock jumping, his balls tightening, his thighs quaking. He can't keep silent — not by a long shot — but the steady stream of little ahs and whimpers that flows from his lips is effectively muffled by Yoongi’s skin. It feels too much, too fast, Hoseok whining in embarrassment as he feels himself practically sprinting towards the edge.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok cries out after a particularly delicious thrust from the elder. His hips stutter and fall out of rhythm, giving him just a millisecond to breathe and pull his face away from Yoongi’s neck.

Yoongi nips at Hoseok’s earlobe, earning a hiss as he hums his acknowledgement. Damp puffs of air stick to Hoseok’s skin, Yoongi panting against his neck, eagerly awaiting his next words.

Nuzzling against Yoongi’s jaw, Hoseok mouths at a patch of skin. “Kiss me,” he requests in a mewl. “Please.”

The jerky nod Yoongi responds with is felt rather than seen. It takes a lot of careful maneuvering to get their faces to align, what with the both of them trying not to break any sort of contact — especially Hoseok, who refuses to release his death grip on Yoongi’s shoulders for even a breath. As Yoongi tries to coax Hoseok into letting him give him what he’d asked for, he plants a sloppy trail of open-mouthed kisses over his jaw and cheek. Something that sounds like a breathless giggle bubbles from the younger’s lips at this, then he pulls his head back and angles it to assist in the task.

Finally, finally, their lips manage to connect. The angle is wrong, and all it is is the corners of their lips mashing together, but Hoseok sighs out a moan all the same. His hips continue to rut forward as the two work on correcting the position, the tension in his groin coming so, so close to reaching its peak — Hoseok coming so, so close to exploding and having no way (or desire) to stop it, only wanting so much fucking more, God, please, hyung, more.

Once their mouths properly meet, their tongues don't wait to entwine, both of them groaning simultaneously. One of Yoongi’s hands detaches from the counter, flying to Hoseok's nape to secure him in place and drawing a whine directly from the back of his throat. The kiss is less controlled than the one in the living room — teeth clanking together; tongues sweeping around each other’s mouths out of synchronisation, running on pure need with no skill being applied; lips smashed together so hard they both know they'll be red and swollen once they break apart.

Which doesn't happen too long after the kiss had been initiated. Yoongi is the one who tears himself away, a sharp, “Seokseok-ah,” leaping off of his tongue. To make up for the loss of lip contact, Yoongi bumps his forehead against Hoseok’s, the pair panting into each other’s mouths.

“Hyung, I'm—” Yoongi’s second hand leaves the counter as well now, crawling down Hoseok's side and raising a trail of goosebumps. “I’m gonna.”

Yoongi curses, hips jolting forward with purpose. “‘Gonna’? You're gonna what?” He ruts against Hoseok with newfound urgency, trying clumsily to locate that little spot underneath the head of Hoseok’s cock with his hipbone. “I want to hear you say it. Say, ‘Yoongi-hyung, I'm gonna cream my jeans.’”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok squeaks, sinking his nails deeper into Yoongi’s shoulders. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

The elder snorts, letting his fingers dip under the hem of Hoseok’s shirt. “Come on, baby,” he spurs him on, tilting his chin up to catch Hoseok’s lower lip between his teeth. “Tell me you're gonna cream your jeans.”

If Hoseok wasn't as close to bursting as he was, he would have just shoved Yoongi off of him and walked away. Probably would have also kicked his ass and made a point to delete his number from his phone, petition to remove him from Bangtan, send him all the way back to Daegu for the rest of his dumb-ass life. Yoongi would be sitting in his parents’ house with his stupid thumb up his stupid ass for eternity.

However, Hoseok is that close.

“Yoongi-hyung, I'm gonna…” He pauses, completely deadpan as he finishes the sentence. “I’m gonna cream my jeans.”

“Oh, my god,” Yoongi spits, erupting with laughter. “Seokseok-ah, I wasn't— Oh, my fucking god. I was joking!”

Hoseok flushes the brightest red of the night. “I don't care,” he whines, tears rising from the corners of his eyes. “I don’t care, I don’t care, just— Hyung, I'll say whatever the fuck you want me to, just please—”

“Okay, okay, holy shit,” Yoongi cuts in, hearing Hoseok’s heavy breaths turn into constant shameless, needy whines. The sensation of Hoseok’s noises vibrating against his upper lip pushes him to work his hips harder, faster, find that spot, make Hoseok come, make himself come, make Hoseok come, make Hoseok come.

It takes a few rolls of his hips, but Yoongi knows immediately when he's found the right angle, thanks to Hoseok’s honest wail. “Shit, fuck, Yoongi-hyung, I’m— Fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“That's it, baby,” Yoongi coos. “So good.”

And it slams into Hoseok, sending a shock through his entire body and making him toss his head back. His hips jerk forward erratically, frantically, cock twitching as it works on soaking through his underwear. His thighs quiver violently and his knees become completely liquid, the only thing keeping him from collapsing being Yoongi trapping him against the counter.

He doesn't know when his eyes had slipped shut, but they're squeezed so tightly now that he's seeing oblong shapes drifting across the darkness of his eyelids. Vaguely, he registers the feeling of a single tear forcing its way out of his eye and rolling down his cheek. It tucks away in the corner of his lips, which are stretched wide in a euphoric grin, allowing a high-pitched moan to whistle through his teeth. He can't stop his reactions, can't control his volume, can't keep himself together, can't.

And when he feels Yoongi’s lips attach to the column of his neck, sucking just a little too hard to be safe, he can't quiet the groan that rumbles in his throat. Yoongi seems to be encouraged by this, the suction against his neck growing stronger and Yoongi’s tongue joining in. It's clear, just from the way his skin tingles, that there will be at least a small mark there in the morning — one that won't be hidden.

I don't care. I do not care.

As Hoseok’s high ebbs away, he becomes more aware of Yoongi rutting against him insistently, trying to follow suit before Hoseok comes down. His hips grind in slow, filthy circles, earning a trembling whine and a stutter of Hoseok’s own hips each time he finishes a rotation. It's not too long, however, before it becomes really too much — much more painful than pleasurable.

“Hyung,” Hoseok whimpers just as Yoongi grazes his teeth over his pulse point, “ah, stop, stop, too much. Hurts.”

Yoongi complies, albeit reluctantly, backing away from Hoseok just enough to take the pressure off of his sensitive cock. He sucks at Hoseok’s skin as he pulls back, eventually freeing his neck with a little pop. Hoseok hums in appreciation, finally loosening his iron grip, hissing as an ache instantly settles into his bones. When his fingers are fully untangled from his shirt, Yoongi rolls his shoulders, already feeling the bruises blooming on his skin.

“Sorry,” Hoseok murmurs bashfully.

Grinning, Yoongi pecks at the corner of Hoseok’s lips. “Hey, if you tore my fuckin’ flesh off, at least it's in a spot I can hide.”

Hoseok chuckles nervously yet, gently smoothing his palms over the possible injuries with a mild grimace. “Still, I'm sorry,” he reiterates.

In response, Yoongi’s hand slides from Hoseok's nape to his cheek, thumb gliding softly along the ridge of his cheekbone. “You're cute.”

“Wanna make you come,” Hoseok declares abruptly, turning his head to stamp a kiss on Yoongi’s wrist.

Yoongi inhales sharply, mostly from shock at the suddenness. “You're really cute.”

“Shut up, hyung.” He punctuates this with a small roll of his hips. It backfires, though, ending with him gasping and moaning painfully at the overstimulation. His cheekbones reheat from the look Yoongi shoots him — part-pitiful, part-smug, part-hungry.

“Here, just—” Yoongi shifts his position so he’s molded onto Hoseok’s side instead, then rocks against his hip. “Ah, is that okay?”

Hoseok draws in a breath, then lets it out in a tiny giggle. “Now you're just humping my leg.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi bites back, venomless.

“Like a puppy,” Hoseok continues, shaking with laughter.

Yoongi dips down to sink his teeth into Hoseok’s shoulder, turning his laughter into a single yelp. “Making fun of me isn't gonna make me come, Seokseok.”

“Yeah, but,” Hoseok begins, wedging a hand between himself and Yoongi to palm at his cock, “I said I want to make you come. You puppy-humping my leg isn't me making you come.”

As Hoseok grinds the heel of his palm down, Yoongi ruts forward. “God, fuck, Hoseok,” he growls, muffled by the younger’s shoulder.

This makes Hoseok giggle once more, adding more pressure to the next grind. Yoongi hisses through his teeth and mouths at Hoseok’s shoulder, hands crawling over his body and eventually settling circled around his waist. The grip he employs, Hoseok could construe as desperate, but he wasn't nearly brave enough to so much as breathe that thought.

“Seokseok-ah,” Yoongi moans as his hips jump forward. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Cream your jeans?” Hoseok supplies, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Yoongi slaps a hand over Hoseok’s mouth. “You shut your fucking ass.”

“Come on, baby,” Hoseok mocks from behind Yoongi’s palm, “cream your jeans for me. Come for your little dongsaengie.”

Something between a groan of annoyance and a snort bursts from Yoongi’s mouth. “God, can you just shut up? I get it.”

Hoseok squeaks in laughter, then presses a simple kiss to Yoongi’s palm, causing Yoongi’s eyes to shoot up to meet his. The action is much too soft, too tender, too sweet for the situation. Or, maybe, it's just the way Hoseok glows after coming, his eyelids heavy with impending sleep yet still bright as he simpers behind Yoongi’s hand, that casts a too-intimate light on him.

Just as Yoongi gets the idea to lean in for another kiss, Hoseok happens to find that spot under the head of his cock, and he's stopped in his tracks. “Ho—seok, fuck, right there, fuck, fuck, baby, I’m—”

As if he'd stolen the idea right from Yoongi’s brain, Hoseok uses his free hand to push Yoongi’s from his face and leans in for another harsh, tactless kiss. Yoongi’s orgasm hits him just then, rendering his lips immobile, making it so that all he can do is stuff his broken groan down Hoseok’s throat. The younger swallows it eagerly, tongue prodding at his as if to coax it all out. His hand never lets up, feeling every last twitch of Yoongi’s cock beneath each layer of fabric.

Okay, Hoseok finally decides, he’s definitely not fucking with me.

While Yoongi’s orgasm runs its course, he slowly regains control of his mouth, quivery lips starting to move against Hoseok’s and tongue darting out in an almost kittenish manner. Similar to Hoseok, his hips continue to roll forward, gradually slowing to a halt when he's fully spent. Also similar to Hoseok, he makes a noise of discomfort after he’s completely finished and Hoseok’s hand hasn't ceased its movement.

Carefully, Hoseok pulls his hand back, letting it linger against Yoongi’s lessening bulge for a moment before removing it entirely. His arm hovers in the air behind Yoongi’s heaving back, not knowing whether to wrap around him or rest on the counter.

What, exactly, is this? How far is it going? What are the rules? Where are the boundaries? The lines? What the fuck is this?

“Stop thinking so loud,” Yoongi murmurs, breaking the languid, fizzling kiss. He peppers little pecks all around Hoseok’s lips, fingers gently stroking at his side.

Colouring a pretty pink, Hoseok finally decides to gingerly place his palm on Yoongi’s back. “Sorry, hyung, I just— What are we doing?”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Uh, I think we're, like… semi-cuddling?”

“Stupid,” Hoseok says through nervous laughter, bumping his forehead against Yoongi’s. “I’m serious. What’s— What just happened?”

A moment of silence ensues, in which Yoongi’s fingers still. “What just happened?” he repeats to himself. “Well, we just crea—”

“Hyung, I swear to God, if you say that again, I’m going to punch you square in the dick.”

Yoongi wheezes, continuing the little patterns his fingers were tracing. There's something oddly soothing about it, Hoseok notices when he feels his muscles relaxing of their own volition. He can't quite decide if it's just the action or the combination of that and the post-orgasm sleepiness that's trying its damnedest to drag him down.

“Sorry,” the elder hums, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of Hoseok’s lips. “I guess we just… I don't know. I don't really know what we’re doing. I just know you're… really cute, and I’ve thought so for a hot minute, and I just want to kiss on you a little bit.”

Oh.

“How hot is this minute?” Hoseok inquires, rubbing his hand back and forth over Yoongi’s spine.

Yoongi makes a sound akin to a purr. “I mean, if it was left on the counter, it'd be a pretty cold minute by now.”

Oh.

“So, like, an hour?” the younger jokes, willing his heart to calm the fuck down.

This earns a pinch to the side, drawing a yelp from the younger. “Yeah, a couple hours. Like, a couple thousand.”

Oh.

“Y’know,” Hoseok hums, bumping his nose against Yoongi’s, “that's pretty gay.”

Yoongi all-but-explodes into laughter, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Hoseok watches in amusement, unable to keep himself from giggling along when he sees the wide, gummy smile stretching across Yoongi’s jaw.

“Yeah, I'm pretty fuckin’ gay, huh?” he snickers, eyes flicking open to meet Hoseok’s.

Hoseok’s giggles die down into a soft, sleepy smile. “That's cool. I'm pretty fuckin’ gay, too.”

There's a moment of silence — a silence that leads up to something. That something turns out to be Yoongi leaning in close for yet another kiss. This time, it's not fiery or sloppy or full of tongues and teeth — it's gentle, slow presses of lips; content, tired sighs; a soft warmth that radiates through Hoseok's entire body, oozing into his limbs and making him feel heavy in the best way, like the pressure of a thick blanket draped over him on an icy winter morning. It's Yoongi’s fingers continuing to draw soft, senseless patterns into his waist, and Hoseok’s hand rubbing soothing circles over Yoongi’s back, the intimacy of these actions amplified by the post-orgasm glow hanging around them.

After a few long seconds, Hoseok forces himself to pull away. “We should probably, uh… tidy up.”

Yoongi blinks slowly. “Oh, yeah,” he agrees, reluctantly extracting himself from Hoseok’s embrace. “Scoot over real quick.”

Hoseok obliges, stepping aside to allow Yoongi access to the sink. The elder snatches a washcloth from a drawer and turns the water just a touch below too hot, running it under the tap then wringing it out just enough that it isn't dripping. He graciously hands it to Hoseok, who accepts it with a bashful smile and a murmured Thanks. He then gives another one the same treatment, wetting and wringing it as Hoseok turns to give himself some privacy.

The pair wipe themselves down in moderate silence, the only sounds being their breathing and the occasional Ugh at the messes they'd made. Hoseok notes — in simultaneous relief and disgust — that most of his cum had already dried, sticking to his skin and being absorbed by his underwear. He scrubs it off of his skin as gently as he can.

Laundry day has been moved up to tomorrow.

When he gets himself as clean as humanly possible, he turns to drop the cloth into the sink. It lands with a wet slap, making him grimace. Yoongi follows suit a few seconds later, turning the faucet on for good measure.

“You think they're still out there?” Hoseok questions nervously, chewing on his lower lip.

Yoongi pinches the cloths in the sink between his fingers and rinses them out thoroughly. “Well, Tae probably either went to bed or passed out. He was a little fucked.” He turns the tap off and once again wrings the cloths, this time squeezing until no more water comes out. “Uh, I think Jin-hyung probably decided the party was over once I said you were puking.”

Though with a noise of distaste, Hoseok nods. “Probably true.”

“Probably,” Yoongi echoes. He wads up the cloths in one hand, stepping closer and vaguely gesturing with the other. “If they are still there, though, you should probably act a little dead. Y’know, make it look like your soul just left your body.”

“Shouldn't be too hard,” Hoseok remarks under his breath. He hopes the little turn of his head is enough to conceal it.

Looping an arm around Hoseok’s waist yet again, Yoongi gently tugs him away from the counter. Hoseok hadn't realised the current state of his knees was still liquid until he stumbled forward, fisting both hands in the front of Yoongi’s shirt for support.

“Jesus,” Yoongi gasps, threatening to trip but somehow being able to catch himself and Hoseok in time. “I said act dead; don't actually die on me.”

Grinning apologetically, Hoseok stabilises himself on his feet and unwinds his fingers from Yoongi’s shirt. “I'm method acting.”

Yoongi pinches his side once more, eliciting a squeak, then bumps his shoulder under Hoseok’s armpit. “Listen, I know you're a great actor, throwing yourself into roles and shit, but work with me here.”

“Yes, sir,” Hoseok jokes, throwing his arm over Yoongi’s shoulders.

With a roll of his eyes, Yoongi begins to lead the younger towards the door, back into the fray. As they near the door, Hoseok notes that the music is still going strong behind the door. Usually, before everyone scattered at the end of the night, someone would shut it off before Yoongi’s phone battery died.

Great. They're still out there. There are so many reasons for them to make fun of me now. Let's spin the fucking wheel.

Before the door opens, Yoongi pauses. “Hey,” he calls softly, snapping Hoseok out of his thoughts. When Hoseok turns his head, Yoongi quickly leans up to plant a sugar-sweet peck on Hoseok’s nose.

Hoseok splutters. “Ah, hyung, what was that?” In contrast to his shocked tone, though, his nose scrunches up and his lips perk up into a shy smile.

“You looked nervous,” Yoongi explains simply, a little shrug bouncing Hoseok’s arm on his shoulders. “Can't be anxious before a scene.”

There's no time for Hoseok to think up any cute comment before Yoongi twists the knob and pulls the door open. Hoseok is prepared to go limp, really play opossum — he lets his eyes drop to the floor, lids as heavy as his arms are pretending to be. He lets Yoongi drag him into the room, feet dragging and catching on the threshold between the kitchen and living room. Yoongi’s arm tightens around him just slightly, sensing his tiny stumble.

“Hyu-ung,” Hoseok singsongs, head lolling back both as part of the performance and to give him a chance to sneak a peek at the room. To his surprise, it's completely empty, though there are cups and bottles strewn about, covering the entire coffee table and a chair, as well as a few cups on the ground here and there. It looks as if there had been a college party that was vacated quickly.

Hoseok makes to unlock his arm from around Yoongi’s neck, but Yoongi’s hand snakes up and catches his before he can budge. “Looks like I was right,” he observes as he twines their fingers.

At this point, Hoseok doesn't know if he keeps blushing or if he's just dealing with iterations of the first blush. “Yeah. Left your music on, though.”

Yoongi snorts. “They probably fuckin’ skedaddled quick,” he theorises, leaning to the side just enough to pluck the device from the dock and slide it into his pocket. “Either from you throwing up or someone else doing some dumb shit.”

“‘Skedaddled’?” Hoseok snickers.

The giggles are cut short when Yoongi squeezes his hand. “Skedaddled,” he confirms. “How dare you judge my vocabulary? As your hyung, I demand respect.”

“You won't get any from me,” Hoseok quips as he flashes the elder his brightest grin.

Pouting, Yoongi toes at the side of Hoseok’s foot. “Can I at least get respect as the guy who made you bust a sick nut?”

Hoseok chokes on his spit for the second time, free hand flying up to smack at his own chest. “Why do you have to be like this?”

A strangely fond smile breaks out across Yoongi’s face. The question hangs in the air, Hoseok figuring Yoongi took it as rhetorical when he simply continues on through the living room, leading him towards the bedrooms.

“Y’know,” Hoseok starts, clearing his throat, “you don't have to, like…” He squeezes their connected hands, Yoongi’s at an awkward angle considering his arm is still wrapped around his waist. “I’m really not drunk now.”

“I know I don't have to,” Yoongi responds. However, he makes no move to let go — only walks Hoseok down the hallway to his door.

Wordlessly, he pushes Hoseok’s door open. The hinges squeak quietly, welcoming the pair as they shuffle into the dark silence of the room. Hoseok expects to see Taehyung passed out on his own bed in the corner — dumped there unceremoniously by Jungkook, as per usual — but the tiny bit of moonlight filtering through the window revealing an empty, half-made bed.

Jungkook probably didn't feel like dragging his ass all the way down here, then.

Still holding his silence, Yoongi leads Hoseok to his bed, finally dropping his hand and disentangling their limbs. He deposits Hoseok gently onto the mattress, one hand lingering on his waist for several moments before slipping away.

As he turns and takes a silent step towards the door, Hoseok scoots onto the edge of the bed, inexplicable panic leaping into his chest. “Hyung, where are you going?”

Yoongi spins on his heel, apparently sensing the little quiver Hoseok couldn't hide from his voice. “Hey, calm down,” he coos, stepping forward to brush his lips against Hoseok’s forehead. “I just have to go plug my phone in. And put this—” he lifts the wadded-up cloths in his hand “—in the hamper. And, uh, change my pants.”

“Oh,” Hoseok hums, heat rising in his cheeks. “I should… probably do that too.”

Chuckling softly, Yoongi straightens back up and exits the room with a promise of, “I’ll be right back.” The door clicks shut with him behind it, and Hoseok instantly deflates.

All right, what the fuck?

Before he gets too sucked into his thoughts, he busies himself with undoing his jeans and shucking both them and his underwear off of his legs. He tosses the articles of clothing somewhere across the room, deciding to deal with them tomorrow. For a moment, he considers just saying fuck it and curling up in bed just like that — Taehyung was clearly not coming back tonight, so it wouldn't be a complete sin to sleep half-nude — but Yoongi was coming back.

Is he coming back? Why is he coming back? Is he—

Stop thinking.

With a little pat to his knees, Hoseok stands and strides to his dresser. He grabs the first pair of boxers he sees and quickly steps into them, wiggling his hips a little at the forgotten joy of non-crusty underwear. He wonders if he should throw on a pair of sweatpants as well — maybe just boxers is… weird; maybe that's too much.

He literally made you cream your jeans, like, less than an hour ago, a voice in his head shouts. It's fine.

Great. Even my own fuckin’ brain is saying it now.

Bumping the drawer shut with his hip, Hoseok pads back to his bed, resuming his seat. A moment passes where he sits awkwardly, silently, listening to the little sounds in the house — the whir of the cheap-but-shockingly-powerful fan in Jimin and Jungkook’s room, because Jimin overheated too easily; the thump thump thump of someone’s (presumably Yoongi) footsteps through the hallway; the creaking of the house settling — and then he stands and pulls back the covers.

“Can you wait for me, at least?”

The voice startles Hoseok, whose knee had just made contact with the mattress, and he whips around. Yoongi is stood in the doorway, just kicking the door shut and making his way over.

“Don't take ten years to change your pants, then,” Hoseok jokes, sliding under the covers and scooting until his back is to the wall.

Yoongi scoffs. “Well, excuse me, princess.”

“You're excused.” He shoots Yoongi a smug grin, lifting the covers and patting the bed beside him. “Now come here.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Yoongi slowly crosses the room with swaying hips. Hoseok’s eyes drop to them, following the movement all the way through.

He put on sweatpants.

When Yoongi finally reaches the bed, he places his palms down on it, swiftly leaning forward and stealing a light kiss. “You're cute.”

Hoseok scrunches his nose, a little bubble of joy popping in his throat. “Shut up,” he mutters, whacking his arm with the blanket he’s holding up yet. “Just get in the bed. It’s cold.”

“Wouldn't be so cold if you put pants on,” Yoongi jests, though he does comply, crawling in next to the younger and pulling his arm down and around him.

A scoff. “It's my room. I can be whatever degree of naked I damn well please.”

“I feel like the grammar isn't right on that,” Yoongi hums.

Pouting, Hoseok shifts so he's deeper under the blanket and just a few centimetres closer to Yoongi. “Grammar is stupid. I'm gonna say whatever words in whatever sequence I want.”

“Whoa, no need to get fired up.” Yoongi curls his arm around Hoseok’s waist, tugging him closer until their chests are touching. “The grammar might not have been wrong. You don't have to shun grammar.”

The corners of Hoseok’s lips twitch up. “Fuck grammar.”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he snickers softly, stroking his hand up and down Hoseok’s back. “Don't do that. You'll get your dick stuck in a conjunction.”

“God, shut up,” Hoseok laughs, too loud for the otherwise-silent room.

Yoongi grins triumphantly in response and wiggles just a tiny bit closer, knee nudging at Hoseok’s thigh. “Come on, give it here,” he murmurs, reaching down to grab onto Hoseok’s leg and hike it up over his hip. Hoseok squeaks in surprise, but doesn't protest — in fact, he tightens his leg and snuggles himself even closer to the elder’s body.

“Hyung,” Hoseok calls softly, voice taking on a mildly serious tone once more, “what are we doing?”

Yoongi rubs his nose against Hoseok’s. “This time, we’re fully cuddling.”

Hoseok breathes a laugh. “Seriously, hyung. Like, I'm not complaining if you want to cuddle with me, but… I wanna know the context.”

There's a long silence (it's probably only a few seconds, but, God, does it feel like an eternity), in which Hoseok’s leg tenses up and Yoongi pets it as a gesture of reassurance. Then Yoongi leans forward and ever-so-gently molds their lips together. It’s not a kiss so much as a… physical whisper; one that's nearly inaudible and Hoseok has to strain his ears to hear. But he hears it.

Almost as soon as he’d initiated the kiss, he cuts it off. “Does that give you a little context?”

Teeth sinking into his lip, Hoseok nods. The sleepiness that had been creeping up on him seems to pounce, having waited for some type of explanation before going in for the kill. Apparently, all it needed was vague context to give it the go-ahead to claw at his eyelids.

His limbs tighten around Yoongi, pulling him in close so he can nuzzle against his neck and exhale a content sigh. “G’night, Yoongi-hyung.”

His descent into sleep is almost immediate, and the last thing he hears before the drop is, “Goodnight, Seokseok,” murmured through a smile into his hair.