“Do you really feel that way hyung? About converse?”
Yoongi had just finished recording his verse for a track on their new album, working late into the night and doing take after take until it was perfect. The other producers had already gone home.
Yoongi blinks at Joon through the glass.
“I mean, not particularly. They’re just hard to take off.”
Namjoon looks down at the switchboard like he’s thinking deeply- beanie pulled down to his eyebrows.
He presses the call button again.
“It just sounded like you had experience..with taking them off.”
He seems embarrassed, still looking down at the controls and thankfully missing Yoongi’s cheeks turning pink.
Yoongi just smiles, removing his headphones and coming through the sound booth door.
Namjoon startles- shook out of being a little too lost in his head.
“You used to wear them a lot, huh Joon?”
Joon is still pink, but he looks up at Yoongi with a bashful, nostalgic smile.
“Yeah, but we never had the problem.”
Something familiar stirs within them- something they hadn’t care to remember because of it’s lingering ties to their pre-debut suffering. A way to relieve their constant fighting, never knowing when or if they would ever debut, never agreeing with anything as their anxiety clawed it’s way into their heads. They where always disagreeable, but after a few years it had dissolved.
Be it their debut, or their previous hookups, but they were in a much better spot. Best friends, actually. Two people who knew the most you could in another person.
Yoongi places his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, almost asking for permission- and Namjoon doesn’t know what he’s asking exactly, but he had enough trust and love for the other member he accepts it easily, dark eyes lock onto Yoongi’s. His gaze is sharp, though muffled by fatigue it’s dark as always.
“We haven’t done this in years.”
Yoongi mumbles gruffly, settling into Namjoon’s lap, only the echo of how they used to come together.
Namjoon is nervous, just a little bit, and his hands shake as he winds them around Yoongi’s waist. He buries his face into Yoongi’s neck and takes a deep breath- smelling the day old sweat of practice and recording, and the hundred other things they had to keep busy with in the day.
“It’s different now.”
Namjoon says it like a reassurance, like he’s convinced himself this was okay again more than he was the other.
“Yeah, I don’t want to bite your head off nearly as much anymore.”
Namjoon chuckles, face still pressed into the sweet and salty skin, feeling his heart palpitate at the familiarity of the body so close to him, but still experiencing like it’s brand new.
“So let’s do this right this time.”
Namjoon says, kissing the skin by his lips, hugging the smaller body tighter against him, feeling all sorts of warm and nice.
Yoongi just makes a grunting noise of affirmation, his own arms wrapping around his neck.
“Take me to bed then-”
He smiles, shy and cute and not something Namjoon sees everyday.
“Or rather, the couch.”
“These stupid shoes- “
Yoongi grumbles, trying to force them off his feet. He really does hate converse-
“Just leave them on.”
Namjoon has this look about him- embarrassed but perverted as if it’s a secret kink of his- fucking his hyung with his converse on.
“Fuck, Joonie- your hands are still so fucking good-”
Yoongi mewls, spread out on his back- flannel falling off his shoulders and is unbuttoned for all his chest to be exposed.
It’s littered in shiny spots of saliva and few dark bruises, some only temporary and some in more hidden places not so much.
Namjoon holds onto one hip, fingers curled around Yoongi’s side and pressing his thumb into the dip under his bone. He kisses absently at his flat abdomen, feeling it stutter and ripple every time he moves his fingers in the older.
Namjoon was a pleaser, and every time Yoongi made a louder noise, or his moans increased in pitch, he made sure to do that again and again, until Yoongi was a writhing mess with dazed eyes and sweaty forehead.
The younger pulls his lubed fingers out the man, pulling his hips up until his ass rests on his chest.
His legs dangle above Namjoon’s shoulders awkwardly, his pants bunched down around his ankles while is big feet still are laced up with his black hi-tops. Yoongi’s face is red with shock and arousal before he realizes the drag of tongue over his wet hole.
He let’s out the most unabashed groan, whimper when he feels the tongue start to prod at his entrance- pushing the already widened space so it can slide in. His arms strain to hold Yoongi up but he’s been working out and can at least take two more minutes.
Yoongi mewls, his hands dig into the couches leather and his body can’t help but tremble, to writhe under the man as best he can with his feet basically tied.
He pants, huffs and squeezes his eyes. Namjoon moans in turn, tongue filling the tight space enthusiastically, as if making up for lost time. He barely let’s himself breathe as he puts all his thoughts and efforts into pleasing Yoongi, chasing the loud moans and trembling thighs, making sure to only do his best for his hyung.
“Namjoon, shit- I’m gonna come like this- stop..”
The smaller can’t reach his shoulders where he’s at, neck bent at a weird angle as he’s lifted, so he pushes at his knee’s planted in the sofa.
“Want your cock-”
He whines, though it takes on a different color in his low and gravily tone.
And Namjoon is weak for his Hyung- the man he’s spent such an important part of his life with, so he sets him back down, maneuvering their bodies so he can search for a condom...somewhere.
“I need a -”
Yoongi tosses the little foil package square on his chest, looking like a pleased cat after dragging in a dead mouse.
“Check the date though. It’s old.”
After doing so, and finally releasing the straining bulge in his pants with a relieved sigh, he rolls it on, shivering at his own hand in anticipation.
He gather’s Yoongi’s legs, still tangled in his bunched jeans, and shifts them so he’s entirely on his side.
“Gonna fuck you like this, that okay?”
He asks, beanie now long gone so his messy grey hair falls in his face, over his eyes as he tries to concentrate on anything other than his throbbing hardness.
He man handles Yoongi like a doll- and Yoongi would never admit it , but one of the things he loved about the younger was his ability to do so- let Yoongi take a step back and let him do all the work.
He groans, ass cold in the air as Namjoon braces a hand on his thigh and a hand on his hip, lining himself up, remembering Yoongi doesn’t like to wait, doesn’t like to be treated delicately.
He slides in in one go- and Yoongi’s entire body stiffens as he gasps- the air from his lungs leaves and is replaced by this huge length stuffed in him. He trembles- Namjoon removes one of his hands to grasp at Yoongi’s wrist, using it to fuck the smaller back into him.
“Fuck fuck fuck-”
Yoongi chants, Namjoon starts a hard pace immediately, back bowing and knees sinking further into the couch. He groans, not bothering to keep quiet in the studio, moaning when he bottoms out or feels the friction of the slide.
Yoongi moans- not too loud, but pretty, decisively, a steady stream of nonsense noises and Namjoon’s name.
It’s been so long- Yoongi knows because the heat in his stomach already get’s unbearable, threatening to break early.
“Joon- Joon slow down, I’m gonna cum too soon-”
And he looks back at Namjoon, over his shoulder and his breath once again is forced from his lungs.
The younger is stunning- light hair falling all over his face, damp with sweat. His features blissed out and pulled taught with concentration and determination. His jacket was ditched a while ago, replaced with a muscle tee that stuck to him with sweat in places. His thick arms are flexed from his big hands on Yoongi, pushing and pulling him as he pleased.
He slows down a second, but steadily grows impatient as he gets closer to his own orgasm, his face burning as he looks down at his Hyung, rosey hair splattered around the black leather of the couch, shirt mostly fallen off to expose his thin, pale frame, lighty damp with sweat, shining in the dim light.
His pink lips part as he moans unabashedly in encouragement, voice trailing higher and higher as Namjoon fucks into him harder and harder until the slap of skin is resounding.
Yoongi’s moans turn into choked whines and whimpers, his dick weeping a steady trail of precum as his orgasm churns infuriatingly in his abdomen, threatening to spill at any second but not.
“Harder Joonie- please- “
And Joon does so- leaning over the smaller so his arms bracket him in, braced against the couches arm rest, shoving Yoongi into a smaller little ball, forcing him to be smaller as Namjoon fuck’s the living daylights out of him.
“God- Yoongi, Hyung, I missed you-”
He moans, choked out and desperate, chasing his orgasm into Yoongi, following him as he cries so loud he’s sure any staff staying late could hear from their offices.
It wouldn’t be a new thing.
“M’ gonna cum baby- hurry , hurry-”
Yoongi moans, hands curling into the forearms near his face, his neck an awkward angle as he’s repeatedly shoved into to the couches arm rest.
Namjoon sighs- the last thrust’s so hard it pushes Yoongi up and up, his neck falling off the arm rest as his body shakes and shivers, cock twitching as the cum spurts all over the shiny leather.
He moans so loud Namjoon feels it in his core, feels Yoongi’s sexy, low timbre crack in the higher range, feels it pool in his gut and explodes, out of him and fills the condom.
They’re sweaty and tangled and a nasty mess, so Namjoon takes it upon himself after he’s recovered to finally unlace Yoongi’s converse.
He pulls the studio blankets out from their cubby near the door, makes them a nest on the floor because there is no way they’re cleaning the couch tonight.
Yoongi gratefully curls up in the fluffy blankets, eyes already shut, still in his flannel that thankfully, did not get white sticky all over it.
Namjoon doesn’t invade his space or cuddle him, but simply lays his head on his back as spoons him.
“Hmm.. that was good Joon. I’m glad we did that.”
It sounds weird and they both know it, but the sentiment is there.
“Missed you, Hyung.”
They had been too used to their purposefully avoidance of each other, scared that should they act on their impulses the fights would start again. Neither would risk the groups integrity.
But it seems like they’ve grown, easily comforted in each other’s space, meditative as they breathe against each other.
“Missed you too.”