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Meet Me at Eleven

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When Yoongi awakes, it’s not because of his alarm.


He knows because he purposely didn’t set one last night, fully intending to sleep in until noon after an unbearably long day of fittings and rehearsals.


What rudely wakes Yoongi up is his bedroom door flying open and Seokjin’s obnoxious peals of laughter, resounding right into his ear.


Yoongi curses under his breath despite still floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness, but it’s Seokjin’s uncontrollably loud laughing fit that drags him fully awake, and he lets out a loud groan of protest that decidedly goes ignored.


His entire body is still aching from hours of dance practice—fucking Hoseok, honestly, Yoongi loves and respects him to death but he really does hate his perfectionist streak with a passion—and his eyes adjust to the harsh sunlight streaming into the open curtains.


Somewhere in the distance, maybe the kitchen or the living room, there are erupts of screams that aren’t entirely muffled by the walls of their room. Yoongi sits up at this, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.


God, what the fuck is even happening right now?


Seokjin actually leaps into Yoongi’s bed, invading his personal space, his hands clutching his phone tightly against his chest like it’s suddenly precious cargo and he’s holding the key to world peace. Seokjin’s eyes are barely open, his entire face bright red as he guffaws so loudly that it makes Yoongi’s ears ring.


“Y-Yoongi, holy… h-holy fucking shit,” Seokjin manages to say between his chortles of laughter. There are actually tears forming in his eyes.


“Why are you laughing so much? What the fuck is so funny?” Yoongi demands.


“Y-you… holy shit, holy shit… I actually c-can’t breathe, I’m—”


Yoongi rolls his eyes, grabbing Seokjin’s phone before the other could stop him because nothing in the world could possibly be this hilarious at this ungodly hour of the day. “I swear to god, if this is another one of your dumbass pranks…”


“Yoongi, wait, listen—”


When he glances down at the screen, he sees the group’s public Twitter account, and it only takes a split-second for his sleep-muddled brain to fully register what he’s reading.


He nearly chokes on the fucking air.


Right there, in big Korean characters, is his tweet broadcasted to over fourteen million people on the Internet: “Taehyung-ah, happy birthday. I can’t wait for you to get home. I want you to spank me hard at eleven, I’ve been so bad while you were away.”






Fuck, fuck, fuck.




The first step is obvious, but admittedly useless at this point.


When Yoongi finally recovers from his undignified, panic-induced meltdown, he deletes the tweet, but not before he physically recoils when he sees the thousands of retweets and even more thousands of replies. He’s sure that there are already dozens upon dozens of screenshots by their eagle-eyed fans by now, and he winces at the idea of logging onto their fancafe, much less the entire fucking Internet, only to see every curious comment and news item about his stupid mistake.


It’s no use pretending he didn’t send out what was meant as a private exchange between him and his boyfriend, but seeing it disappear from the group’s timeline is a goddamn relief in itself.


It doesn’t, however, make the problem actually disappear.


Wow, Yoongi hyung, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Hoseok unhelpfully quips in half-admiration and half-amusement, an unnecessarily wide and leering grin on his face. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”


“Shut up. This is all your fault,” Yoongi snaps at him. “If you didn’t drive all of us into exhaustion with dance practice yesterday—”


“Hey, I didn’t tell you to sext your boyfriend via Twitter,” Hoseok retorts, defensively holding up his hands.


God, he’s right, and it physically pains Yoongi to admit it even to himself.


Honestly, it really is the dumbest move in the history of every dumb move ever committed by mankind, and his face burns with mortification when he replays the events in his head.


The thing is, Yoongi could have just done what every horny boyfriend normally does and sent a message to Taehyung. That would have been the safe, perfectly acceptable, perfectly normal thing to do. But for some fucking reason that’s beyond him now, he decided to tweet it like some idiot who just discovered how Twitter works.


“It was supposed to be on my private account, okay? I was… I was really tired and sleepy, and I thought I was on that account,” Yoongi explains exasperatedly, though it does nothing to quell the deafening guffaws from Hoseok and Seokjin.


To Namjoon’s credit, he at least has the decency to look apologetic and mildly embarrassed, the tips of his ears reddening as he puts on his most sympathetic smile. “It’s not that bad, hyung, really. Our fans know we mess around a lot, we can just pass it off as a joke.”


“It’s not exactly the kind of tweet that looks like a joke,” Hoseok points out.


Yoongi glares daggers at him.


“No, listen, I can talk to management. We’ll do what we did for Seokjin hyung’s birthday. We’ll change the layout to selcas of Yoongi and Tae, maybe edit them a bit, and we’ll go along with the joke until it all dies down, and—”


It’s not the worst idea Yoongi has ever heard, but it isn't the best one, either. But then again, it’s not as though he has other feasible options to begin with.


What a fucking disaster.


The way Yoongi sees it, he has three options.


Option One: Pretend the tweet never happened, and hope to god that with the Internet’s short memory span, it will somehow just disappear into the void of Internet memes and other forgotten celebrity scandals, never to be spoken of again.


Option Two: Do as Namjoon suggested, acknowledge the tweet’s existence and pass it off as a harmless joke or a stupid prank between friends. Maybe make some ridiculous memes out of it, if Yoongi could withstand the embarrassment enough.


Option Three: Die in the quickest and least painful way possible. Or at the very least, disappear. Forever.


He’s leaning towards the last one, if he’s being honest.


“Excuse me, but you’re all forgetting one very important detail in all of this,” Seokjin cuts in loudly. When all three of them turn to him quizzically, he flops onto his chest, resting his chin on the palms of his hands as he grins widely, brows waggling. “Tell us more about how you like being spanked, Yoongi. Is this purely a Taehyung thing or did you always like being punished?”


“What? I… fuck you!” Yoongi sputters in indignation, though it largely falls on deaf eyes over the raucous roar of laughter from Hoseok. He settles for throwing the nearest pillow at Seokjin’s head and when it lands squarely on his face, Yoongi feels a little triumphant. The satisfaction doesn't last too long.


Seokjin quickly recovers from the blow, still smirking all widely. “No, wait, I genuinely want to know. So how did this all start? Is this the first time you’re asking Taehyung to spank you or is it one of those kinks you magically discovered along the way—”


“I’m going to beat your ass—”


“Isn’t that Taehyung’s job?”


“Quit hiding behind Hoseok and face me, you piece of—”


“Okay, this conversation is fascinating and Yoongi hyung, I truly applaud you for your bravery, but where was this supportive energy when I wanted to talk about how Jimin and I invited Jungkook for a threesome?” Hoseok says, all miffed as he dodges a shove from Yoongi.


Seriously? Not this again,” Seokjin says with a disgusted groan, peeking from behind his human shield.


“You fucking booed me!”


“Oh my god, you’re all useless,” Namjoon says with a deep and very exhausted sigh from behind his hands.




Yoongi isn’t ashamed of his healthy sex life. Hell, he’d talk to about it to any of the members who would listen.


He and Taehyung always had chemistry, a connection that neither of them could deny even if they wanted to. There was a goddamn good reason why he was specifically chosen for his part in Blood, Sweat & Tears; the tension between them was just that natural even back then, clear as day to anyone with eyes.


It was only inevitable when he had finally decided to actually act on the palpable sexual tension between them instead of dancing around it like he had for years. It had surprised Taehyung to see Yoongi so forward all of a sudden, so determined to lay out his feelings, so eager to claim what was he wanted. What was his.


They had fallen into a relationship as quickly and as naturally as they had fallen into bed together, and they’ve been inseparable—or in Seokjin’s words, insufferable—ever since.


So no, he doesn't really care that the other members will likely never let this go, or if they'll find a way to tease him about it every chance they get. They're his brothers, it’s not a big deal to him if they know what he and Taehyung do behind closed doors.


He’s fucking proud of it.


But what he does care about is how he had tweeted about one of his fucking kinks to millions of fans. It’s one thing for fans to speculate that they're dating. They haven’t exactly been secretive about it, if sharing clothes and wearing matching rings—or in Taehyung’s case, outright blushing any time he’s around Yoongi for more than a few minutes—are any indication that something is going on behind the scenes.


It’s another thing entirely for fans to learn straight from the source what Yoongi likes in bed.


Yoongi knows that Namjoon will figure it all out and find a way to solve it, the way he always has when shit hits the fan, but there's really no going back from that tweet, even if they somehow miraculously manage to pass it off as a joke.


He tries to distract himself by editing some tracks on his computer, but he's so engrossed in his thoughts that he can't focus, hearing nothing but white noise instead of the beats he painstakingly laid out weeks ago.


He doesn't even notice Taehyung coming into his room until he feels a pair of arms tightly wrap around his shoulders.


Taehyung had gone home to Daegu to celebrate his birthday, and although he had apologized profusely for being away for an entire week, Yoongi told him to shut up and made him promise to have fun. He could never begrudge Taehyung for wanting to spend time with his family, even if he does end up missing him more with every day that passes.


“I missed you, hyung,” Taehyung says into his neck, breath warm and comforting against his skin.


Yoongi spins around on his swivel chair, and looks up to see Taehyung—his Taehyung—beaming at him happily, eyes bright and shining, and he feels his chest curl up into itself at the sight of him. There are still bags slung over his shoulders, as if he had gone straight to Yoongi’s room the moment he got home, and the tip of his nose is a little pink, likely from the cold outside or maybe he had run from the car and went right to Yoongi.


Either way, his boyfriend looks so fucking adorable that it should definitely be illegal in at least a dozen countries.


“You’re home early,” Yoongi says.


Taehyung grins as he sets down his bags. “I wanted to surprise you. Imagine my morning when my phone started ringing nonstop and when I answered, Jimin was screaming into my ear about my boyfriend and his surprise.”


Oh. Oh god.


Yoongi immediately feels his entire face go red, and he buries it behind his palms with a groan. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It wasn't meant to be posted there, I—”


“It… it wasn't?”


Yoongi stares at him blankly. “Of course it wasn't. Did you really think I’d tweet that to the entire Internet on purpose?”


Taehyung actually flushes a bit. “I don't know, maybe you have some exhibitionist kink I didn't know about…”


Yoongi’s jaw drops a little in confusion. “What? No, that’s not what exhibitionist… Okay, you know what, never mind, we’ll talk about that later,” he says with a distracted sigh. “It was a stupid, careless mistake that was supposed to be on my private Twitter.”


“Did you mean it, though?” Taehyung asks, and Yoongi swears his voice goes deeper, smooth like honey. Yoongi’s skin prickles with the heat that automatically spreads throughout his body. He knows Taehyung well enough to recognize what it means when the other boy’s voice hitches lower like this, and he squirms in his seat.


His brain glitches for a second. “I… which part?”


Taehyung’s eyes go dark, his gaze suddenly hungry as he walks over to Yoongi. With a smug little smile that’s deceptively innocent, he positions himself between Yoongi’s legs. “You know. The part where you said you’ve been very bad while I’ve been away.”


Taehyung positively preens when Yoongi parts his thighs wider without being asked, like his limbs act on their own accord whenever Taehyung is around with that sweet smile playing on the corners of his lips. Yoongi momentarily forgets how words work, which is a goddamn inconvenience when he already has a comeback prepared but it dies down the moment Taehyung slings an arm around his neck, settling himself atop Yoongi’s lap.


He always fits so nicely, so snugly on his lap like this. Yoongi learned this very early on in their relationship, well before either of them had even wrapped their minds around their feelings.


Taehyung is so warm, like he hasn’t just been on the road in the blistering cold for hours, and Yoongi is sure the temperature has upped by a thousand degrees, he can feel the heat of Taehyung’s hungry gaze as it trails over his face, lingers in the exposed skin of his collarbones that peeks from beneath his loose shirt.


“You’re so pretty, hyung,” Taehyung croons, his fingers skimming lightly over the sliver of skin where his eyes just trailed over and Yoongi can’t help the shiver that runs through his spine as blunt nails graze his jawline, his collarbone. “Look at you, all pretty like an angel for me. How could you have possibly been bad while I was gone?”


Yoongi is usually better with words than this, always able to match Taehyung’s dirty talk with his own, but shit, shit, he can’t concentrate when he feels fingers digging deep into the curve of his neck, tilting his head back and Taehyung’s warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin.


Taehyung lowers his mouth to the open patch of skin at the crook of Yoongi’s neck, sucking it into his mouth and applying the slightest of pressure with his tongue. Yoongi’s entire body reacts to the contact, a full-on shudder right down to his toes, and he feels a smug smirk forming against his neck. He lets out a small, pleased sound as Taehyung laves his neck with attention, dragging his teeth over the spot, sucking harder, and flicking his tongue over it, the contrasting sensation making Yoongi shiver.


Yoongi is sure that there’s a mark already forming right where Taehyung’s busy mouth is, and he feels his stomach swoop with arousal at the thought of pink and purple bruises blossoming on him, like smoke signals of where he likes to be touched, to be kissed, to be paid attention to. His arms are heavy like lead, immobile and helplessly pinned between their heaving chests, and there’s nothing much he can do but feel drunk off the wet sounds of Taehyung’s eager tongue on his skin.


He can feel his boyfriend’s half-hard erection pressing into his stomach, and he squirms upward, trying to elicit some sort of reaction from him too because this isn’t fair, it’s too much too soon, and—


There’s a sudden sharp rap on the door, followed by Namjoon clearing his throat uncomfortably.


“I hope I’m not interrupting any, uh—”


“Spanking!” A gleeful voice that suspiciously sounds like Jungkook shouts distantly.


“We have a full day of filming today. We can't be late.”


Taehyung huffs in annoyance against Yoongi’s neck, the sudden rush of hot air against the cool wetness of his skin making him tremble in spite of the rude interruption.


“Right now, please, and for the love of god, please look decent,” Namjoon tiredly says through the door. Yoongi can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose as he talks.


After spending an inordinate amount of time trying to make their clothes look less rumpled or their faces less red, they finally emerge from Yoongi’s room. Almost immediately, they’re greeted by loud hoots and claps from the rest of the members.


“Yoongi’s ass still looks okay from here,” Seokjin observes from his spot on the couch, head tilting sideways as he unnecessarily stares at Yoongi’s backside.


“Oh my god, is that a hickey?” Jimin asks delightedly, eyes wide and voice all high-pitched the way it always is when he’s excited. “Tae, you were in there for like five minutes, I’m so proud—”


“Shut up, I hate all of you,” Yoongi deadpans.




If there is anything Yoongi has learned after living in one dorm with six other boys with no concept of privacy or personal space, it’s that nothing is ever a secret. Or off-limits.


Yoongi powers through endless spanking jokes and more creative sexual innuendos than he ever thought possible, which are both fine, honestly, he doesn’t mind playing along just to mess with them. He could really use the entertainment, and he's still somewhat recovering from Hoseok’s incredibly and unnecessarily detailed threesome story that literally no one asked to hear.


Call it revenge, if you will.


“Try not to fuck on every surface. People still live here,” Hoseok says one day, nudging Yoongi’s side playfully. His eyebrows are doing that annoying waggly thing again.


“Too late, Hobi. We really enjoyed the dance studio last time we were there. Those mirrors are really fun, but the floor…” Yoongi taunts back easily.


Taehyung catches on so quickly that it's actually impressive. “... Not the most comfortable. We had to use one of your towels,” he adds, exchanging a grin with Yoongi.


They both laugh loudly when Hoseok lets out a scandalized yelp, looking absolutely horrified at the idea of his sacred studio being defiled in any sexual sort of way. “You’re both nasty and I take back every nice thing I've ever said about either of you,” he declares.


“I dare you to fuck on Seokjin hyung’s bed,” Jungkook suddenly quips with a wide grin, which earns him a squawk from the eldest and a particularly resounding smack on the shoulder.


The jokes are all fun and amusing, but truth be told, that's all there is to them.


With the remaining dates of their world tour quickly approaching and preparations for another comeback, all on top of award show performances that require bigger and more ambitious stages, their schedules are tighter than ever.


They spend most of their days recording in the studio until their voices are hoarse and tired, or in dance rehearsals with Hoseok barking orders left and right.


There's barely any time to sneak around, much less even sleep, so they all dutifully go about their days until they’re wordlessly piling into the van together past midnight, eyes half-open and bodies creaking with strain. They don’t even have time to properly celebrate Taehyung’s birthday as a group, so the plans to have dinner together are pushed back further and further until it becomes a blip on their respective radars as they focus all their efforts on preparing performances.


The tight schedule is nothing new, but the mounting pressure definitely is. They all deal with stress in their own ways; Jungkook plays video games with Seokjin, Hoseok disappears into the dance studio with Jimin, Namjoon goes for long solitary walks at the park, and Taehyung binge-watches his favorite anime until he can barely keep his eyes open.


Yoongi writes songs to ease the constant nervous buzzing in his head when things are too loud, too much all at once. He takes comfort at how words steadily flow out of him as his pen flies over paper, how he can sit at his desk for hours and pour out his thoughts into lyrics until they echo what’s on his mind and the noise dies down.


It doesn’t work this time—it hasn’t for awhile, if he’s being honest—because right now, all his mind can focus on is Taehyung.


He can’t stop thinking of Taehyung’s hair and how the pink strands would feel so soft between his fingers. Or how Taehyung always fills out his shirts nicely with the way the fabric drapes over his broad shoulders that are now wide enough to hide Yoongi behind him. Or how he lets his eyes linger for far too long on Taehyung’s hands, and he feels a heat spread down to his limbs at the thought of how roughly Taehyung grips his wrists whenever they fuck.


He pictures other places, other ways Taehyung can be rougher with his hands.


Yoongi actively tries not to think of Taehyung’s long fingers splayed across his ass, large enough to grab more than a handful if he wanted, tries not to imagine the resounding slap to his skin and how it would echo in his ears for weeks....


Yoongi is a hundred percent certain that the feeling is mutual.


They aren’t nearly as showy as the others—especially not like Jimin and Jungkook, who are so unbearably loud with their public display that it distracts fans entirely from that whole spanking tweet debacle—though they have their own moments.


There’s always been a certain thrill in how they quietly show affection in the smallest yet most meaningful of ways. A heavy exchanged glance across a busy room, fingers tightly intertwined under tables, a comforting press on the small of his back.


Then there are the ones that make Yoongi squirm, make his heart rate speed up and his cheeks redden furiously. Taehyung’s heavy gaze when Yoongi catches him staring for too long, how his pink tongue darts out to unconsciously pull his bottom lip between his teeth when he does, how his hand curves lightly, suggestively, to skim over the swell of Yoongi’s ass for a few torturous seconds before pulling away entirely.


Taehyung has always been a goddamn tease, doing just enough to get Yoongi so riled up that it's all he can think about. All he can see. His long, unfiltered groans during dance practice, the smooth rolls of his hips, the precise movements of his hands, the sweat glistening on his neck, their eyes deliberately catching in the mirror as he gyrates to the music…




Yoongi lets out a sound of frustration, crumples the piece of paper filled with gibberish and throws it into the garbage can.


When he steps into the shower later, the running water barely hits his body when he's already wrapping his fingers around his half-hard cock. The tip is pink and leaking, and he thumbs over the slit, letting out a long hiss of relief.


With a hand firmly flat on the wall, he shuts his eyes and imagines Taehyung on his knees in front of him, tongue slowly flicking over the head of his cock to taste. God, he hasn't felt Taehyung’s mouth wrapped around his length in what feels like years, and just the thought of it drives Yoongi mad, makes him tighten his grip and stroke faster to the time of Taehyung bobbing his head up and down.


He runs his fingers down a vein pulsing just beneath the underside of his cock, thinks of Taehyung wetly running over it with his tongue just before he shamelessly ravishes his head with equal, hungry attention. Taehyung, with his wet pink hair matted flat on his forehead, peeking up at him through his bangs with nothing but desire in his eyes—never tearing his gaze away for a second—as he takes Yoongi deeper into his mouth. He's so, so greedy for more, begs Yoongi to fuck his mouth harder with a low moan in his throat, and the vibrations send sparks of pleasure all throughout Yoongi’s body.


Yoongi pictures himself holding Taehyung steady, fingers tight in the other's hair as his head hits the back of Taehyung’s throat. The other boy doesn't even bat an eyelash, just takes all of him so eagerly without question because he wants Yoongi to feel good.


Yoongi is so wet, precome thick and heavy between his fingers, and the slick slide of it feels so satisfying, so fucking good that he's groaning Taehyung’s name over and over that it echoes around the tiled walls. He twists his wrist at every upward stroke, going faster and harder as he feels the hot coil in his stomach tighten, the base of his spine tingling in anticipation for his nearing release.


He needs to come, wants to see white spurts fill Taehyung’s waiting mouth, so much that it will pool in his tongue and dribble down his chin. He wants Taehyung to swallow all of him, taste just how much Yoongi has wanted this for days.


When Yoongi finally comes, he hisses Taehyung’s name as he throws his head back in pleasure. The sheer relief is nearly overwhelming, and his knees almost give way so he leans back on the wall, panting heavily as he lets the shower water run over him.




They haven't gotten a chance to be alone together since Taehyung came home from Daegu, and Yoongi hadn't minded at first—knows that work always comes first—but now, he feels like his patience is wearing incredibly thin. He's snappier and moodier than usual because he burns with want all the fucking time that he can hardly keep it together when Taehyung is just several feet away, being so goddamn beautiful and hot in every way possible.


So when they collectively learn that they'll finally have the weekend off, the living room erupts with excited chatter.


It's only one day, a small window in a schedule that never seems to end, but fuck if Yoongi will let the moment slip away.


He quickly pulls out his phone and types out a message to Taehyung as best as he could from where he's half-hiding the screen under the table.


Min Yoongi


Cancel your plans.

Whatever they are.

Skip them.


Taehyung only glances at his phone screen for a few seconds and doesn't miss a beat. “Finally, I can go shopping for film rolls.”


Jimin pouts at him. “But we haven't taken you out for your birthday yet!”


Min Yoongi


Meet me at 11.


“I’m sorry, Jiminie. Maybe we can have dinner on Sunday instead?” Taehyung asks, all wide-eyed and earnest. The bastard is smoother than he lets on, even throwing in a tight, apologetic hug for good measure. “I just really need to restock and run a few errands. We might not have another day-off in awhile.”


Yoongi suppresses a snort, knowing fully well that Taehyung won't need to go shopping for at least another couple of months. Jimin whines petulantly, and Taehyung clings to him tightly to placate him.


It goes far better than Yoongi expects. Nobody even bothers to ask him about his plans. It's easier for everyone to just assume he’ll be catching up on sleep during their break, as he's always done.


When Yoongi dares to look up at Taehyung across the table, the other boy quirks a brow and flashes him a smug smirk like he knows that this was coming all along. He doesn’t miss the dark flicker in Taehyung’s eyes, all fast and heated as though he’s been thinking of this just as much as Yoongi has, needs it just as much.


Yoongi swallows around the lump in his throat, heat already coiling in the pit of his abdomen and his cock twitching in anticipation in his boxers.


Nobody else notices a thing.




Eleven couldn't come fast enough.


The hours trickle slowly, and it feels like a deliberate attack against him by the universe, because Yoongi is sure it’s been well over an hour but it’s only been ten minutes. He stares at his wristwatch and even minutes tick by at a tortuous snail’s pace.


He’ll look like an absolute idiot barging into Taehyung’s room so goddamn early in the morning when he said eleven, thinking he was so fucking smooth texting it to him like that, and now he regrets it, feels the itch simmering just beneath his skin.


He only said eleven because he knows everyone will be out the door and doing their own thing by then, and they’ll have the place all to themselves without worrying about moaning too loudly or accidentally forgetting to lock the door again—Yoongi doesn’t want to relive that particularly awkward encounter with Jimin—and fuck, fuck.


Yoongi doesn’t know when he started furiously pacing the floor, but there he is, and his ears are straining to hear the sound of Hoseok’s laughter or the clatter of plates being washed, or the flurry of movements when five other boys are all awake and raring to go. There’s nothing but glaring silence, and Yoongi’s head is nothing but an incessant buzz of Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung


He swears under his breath because it’s way too early, the sun just rising over the horizon and casting a warm light between the spaces of his drawn-out curtains, and he already wants so much that he can’t keep still. He thinks of Taehyung’s cocky smirk, the way the corners of his lips had quirked up and his brow had arched, positively preening at how he's reduced Yoongi to an eager mess.


Fuck it. Fuck it, who even cares, Yoongi wrenches his door open and nearly walks right into Taehyung, whose hand is raised in the air as though he’s just about to knock. They both stare at each other dumbfoundedly for a few seconds.


“It’s not eleven yet,” Yoongi finally says.


“It’s not eleven,” Taehyung repeats with a slow nod.


“And you’re already here.”


“I am.”


Silence hangs in the air, as loud and heavy as the tension that tangles around the small breath of space between them.


Taehyung’s still in his fucking sweatpants from last night, thin shirt all rumpled as if he rolled around the floor in it, and his hair is a mess, like he had run his fingers through them for hours, lips bitten an inviting shade of red—and then there’s the dark look in his eyes, searching and desperate that echoes Yoongi’s own.


“Fuck, I want you,” Taehyung finally breathes out, voice low and raspy, and Yoongi’s eyes hungrily follow the flash of Taehyung’s pink tongue darting out to wet a corner of his mouth. Taehyung dares to keep it there as he surveys Yoongi up and down with a heated gaze. Yoongi can’t look away even if he wanted to—he doesn’t, wouldn’t ever—and he wants to suck that tongue into his mouth, kiss that fucking smirk right off his boyfriend’s face until he’s panting his name over and over, and—


“Get in here and show me.”


It isn’t a request, and Yoongi doesn’t wait for Taehyung to respond because he fists his fingers tightly around his shirt, pulling him inside and slamming the door shut behind them. Taehyung grabs at Yoongi’s hips, spinning him around so his back is flat against the door, helplessly pinned beneath him. He hears the click of the lock, feels Taehyung’s fingertips scrape over his jawline, tipping his head up so he melts into him, melts into the dizzying warmth of Taehyung’s skin.


Taehyung dips his head, lips hovering teasingly over Yoongi’s, his fingers skimming over the waistband of Yoongi’s pants, tracing tantalizing circles into his hip bones with his thumb. It’s maddening being so close to Taehyung that he can taste the sweetness of his mouth through the tiny space between them, but Taehyung doesn’t inch forward. He’s still smirking, eyes low and dancing as they linger over Yoongi’s features, stoking the fire that’s burning right under his skin.


“For someone who says you want me, you’re sure taking your fucking time to show it,” Yoongi huffs out, and when Taehyung laughs lightly, a wash of air against his mouth.


“Baby, look at you, already so impatient for me,” he says, voice thick and heavy, thumb pressing harder against Yoongi’s hips and they rise up on their own accord, chasing after Taehyung’s heated touch. Taehyung shifts in his place so their hips don’t touch no matter how high up Yoongi tries to grind against him, and fuck this, fuck this purposeful teasing, he’s been waiting for this for weeks, and Taehyung has the fucking nerve to drag it out.


“You’re the worst,” Yoongi complains, hips arching into nothing, and he just aches for the friction, for the delicious slide of Taehyung against him. “Are we gonna play this game right now? Really? I’ve been thinking about this for weeks and you’re just—”


“Have you?” Taehyung asks, his smirk widening.


“Fucking hell, don't act like you haven't been thinking of it, too, I saw the way you've been looking at me…”


Taehyung lurches forward, swallowing the rest of the words as he captures Yoongi’s mouth in a searing kiss. He wastes no time sliding his tongue in, curling it around Yoongi’s and sucking, and Yoongi gasps into his mouth as he winds his fingers in Taehyung’s hair, pulling him closer. Their hips finally slot together, and Yoongi grinds up against him shamelessly, reveling in the friction that he’s been craving. It’s so good, so satisfying to finally feel something.


They’ve kissed a thousand times before this, but there’s an underlying desperation between them as their lips move and tongues tangle wetly. Yoongi lets out a low growl when Taehyung playfully nips at the swell of his bottom lip, tugging just enough to make him growl louder, lift his hips up harder. Taehyung lets out a long hiss at the delicious friction, and his teeth close around the junction of Yoongi’s neck and shoulder, right at the fading bruise he left behind.


Yoongi tightens his grip around Taehyung’s collar, pulling his face up because he just wants to keep kissing him, swallow every sound that Taehyung lets out like it’s all his to claim. It’s less kissing and more gasping, a desperate mess of teeth and tongue colliding, and he can’t stop rutting against Taehyung’s firm hips that he must look so wrecked, so eager to take what little Taehyung gives him.


“Bed, bed, please Tae, I—” Yoongi gasps between harsh nips at his swollen lips. It’s not enough, he needs more, needs to fucking lie down honestly because he isn’t sure if his knees could handle how weak Taehyung makes him feel with such a wanton look in his eyes.


His hands scramble for purchase, settling for the tie around Taehyung’s waistband and he tugs him towards the bed. Taehyung’s mouth is everywhere, licking and biting at any inch of skin he can reach like Yoongi is a whole goddamn meal just for him—and he is, god, he’d surrender to whatever Taehyung fucking wants to do with him—and they stumble into the messy sheets.


Yoongi nearly trips over the edge of the bed as Taehyung lifts his shirt off, tossing the garment onto the floor and kicking it aside. His hands are so fucking warm, leaving a heated trail across Yoongi’s bare skin that he feels like his entire torso is on fire.


Yoongi kneels in front of Taehyung, impatiently pulling his shirt off before the other could stop him. He barely has time to take in the gorgeous sight of him, smooth, sunkissed skin tinged pink from the the shared heat between their bodies, when Taehyung sets his fingers under his chin, tugging his jaw up for a sloppy kiss. It’s anything but gentle, and Yoongi loves it when Taehyung gets all rough and demanding like this, fingers firmly pressed into his jawline and holding his head in place as if he’d ever dream to go anywhere.

“You were busy while I was gone, weren’t you?” Taehyung asks, eyes glazed and heavy as one of his hands wrap around Yoongi’s wrist, gripping tight as he maneuvers Yoongi flat onto the bed. He climbs over his thighs, straddling them, and Yoongi would marvel at what a fucking vision his boyfriend is, if he weren’t too busy flushing at his words. “Tell me, hyung, you just couldn’t wait until I get home, could you?”


It only takes a fraction of a second to realize what Taehyung is referring to. He knows it’s about the stupid tweet, but he also knows it’s about something else; how Taehyung had hugged him goodbye before leaving only to quietly whisper in his ear, “Don’t fucking touch yourself while I’m away.”


And Yoongi had been good, he had been so obedient even while Taehyung kept sending him one incriminating photo after another just to rile him up. It had been nothing but pure torture, but he wanted to be good, to do whatever his boyfriend wanted for his birthday, and then Taehyung had pushed him over the edge by sending him a video of his hand languidly stroking himself. It had been too much for Yoongi to handle.


Taehyung doesn’t wait for him to answer, twisting Yoongi around until his face is pressed into the bed, ass in the air. Taehyung breathes a sharp intake of air when he sees the curve of Yoongi’s backside and what is clearly the outline of a plug straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.


“Fuck, fuck, Yoongi hyung—” The rest of his words are drowned out by an incoherent sound in his throat, fingers shakily running over the plug like he can’t believe it’s even real. “Fuck, let me just… let me look at you properly. I want to see, please, hyung, please.


Yoongi can’t help but feel pleased at how broken Taehyung sounds, and he makes a big show of slowly tugging his pants halfway down his legs, slowly and deliberately, and with a little noise of impatience, Taehyung all but rips the pants off.


“Jesus f-fucking Christ, when did you—”


Yoongi is still somewhat recovering from the rush of cold air against his bare rear, quickly replaced with the warmth of Taehyung’s hands splayed across his cheeks, groaning at the sight of him. He can feel Taehyung’s hot gaze lingering where his hands are, reverently tracing lines down his arched spine, curling over the swell of his ass. He lets out another broken sound as Yoongi tests his boundaries by purposefully squeezing around the plug, the tip bobbing up and down in the air.


“After that f-fucking video you sent, you fucking tease,” Yoongi bites out as best as he could because he’s flushing under the heat of Taehyung’s gaze, his hands, and the desire for more is all too consuming. “I just… I just wanted to feel you, and it wasn’t enough—”


Taehyung surprises him by smacking him sharply on the ass, the sound reverberating across the room. It stings a bit, but it doesn’t stop the wave of pleasure that shoots straight to Yoongi’s rapidly hardening cock. “And you’re wearing it again… look at you, you’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you?”


Yoongi lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine, flushing scarlet as he nods furiously into the pillow.


“And you wanted to be ready for me today, didn’t you?”


Yoongi is sure his brain must have short-circuited because he could barely make words form. Taehyung seems to take his silence as an answer, hand roughly squeezing a handful of Yoongi’s ass before drawing back and spanking him again. Yoongi gasps loudly into the pillow haphazardly pressed against his face, his hips instinctively canting upward like he can’t get enough.


“Answer me,” Taehyung demands roughly.


“G-god, yes, yes, I wanted to be… ready and open for you,” Yoongi is choking around his words, and he lets out a strangled cry when Taehyung brings his palm down hard against Yoongi’s cheek. The smack is louder this time, hard enough for the pale skin to bloom a soft red, and Taehyung rubs a soothing hand over the spot.


Yoongi is so far gone that he’s shameless enough to grind against Taehyung, eyes fluttering shut as he lets the pleasure wash over him. “Again.”


Jesus, Yoongi hyung,” Taehyung breathes out in awe.


“Again, please, god, I want you to—” Taehyung lets out a throaty growl, slapping his ass harder, and the sheer force of it makes the plug go deeper into Yoongi, and he lets out a helpless, drawn out sob at the delicious sensation of being stretched like this.


Taehyung doesn't wait for Yoongi to beg further, bringing his hand down again with a sharpness that echoes in Yoongi’s ears, and he's so hard that he can't think straight. He can feel how wet he is, how heavy between his legs, and the need for more is overwhelming.


“Fuck, fuck—I can’t… I need more. I’ve been good, I swear, I want to…”


Yoongi is just babbling at this point, but Taehyung finally takes pity on him. He presses gentle, reassuring kisses all over his ass, paying special attention to the stark red where his hand used to be and murmuring words of praise over and over. It makes Yoongi blush even deeper than he already was. “You’re so beautiful like this, hyung, can’t believe you did this for me. You’re so, so incredible, baby, I don’t deserve you.”


Taehyung moves to press his lips down the column Yoongi’s spine, tongue slipping out to lave over every spot where his lips touch. His hand grips at Yoongi’s waist, holding him steady as his other hand reaches down to the plug, circling around his entrance. “Hyung, I’m going to…”


Yoongi can only nod frantically, arching higher into his grasp as Taehyung slowly pulls the plug out, one careful inch after another. The sensation is maddening, like he’s being emptied and Yoongi lets out another whine at the loss when he involuntarily clenches around nothing.


“Fuck, fuck, look at you,” Taehyung sounds so breathless, so out of it like he’s dreaming and none of this could possibly be real, and he dips forward to pepper light, roving kisses on Yoongi’s ass cheeks. “God, you look so ready for me, I can’t wait to taste you.”




Oh fuck.


Yoongi digs his elbows deeper into the mattress, his back instinctively arching up at the very idea of being eaten out while he’s so open like this. He can feel his entrance widening—fluttering—at the change of angle, and Taehyung lets out an inhuman sound that catches in his throat at the sight of him as he massages Yoongi’s ass, kneading his cheeks in his warm hands.


The bed dips as Taehyung leans forward to brush his lips over the reddening skin, and Yoongi inhales sharply when he feels teeth catch onto the mound of flesh. He turns his head to peek at Taehyung, groaning at what little he can see—Taehyung bent over, pupils all blown out as he teasingly kisses and nibbles, tongue pink and glistening—and he groans in frustration. “Thought y-you couldn’t wait…“


Taehyung hums into his skin, just inches away from his entrance, and the sudden vibration makes Yoongi shudder, his knuckles whiten. “I’m enjoying the view.”


“Tae, come on,” he hisses between tightly gritted teeth.


There’s a tense moment of nothing, like Taehyung is testing just how far he can push at Yoongi’s buttons, and it’s a change of pace for them. They both know that. Yoongi has never had to outright beg for Taehyung like this, never let himself be so vulnerable the way he is now, but god, god, he trusts his boyfriend with all he has, and maybe he’ll feel a little shy about being this shameless later, who gives a fuck, he’ll let Taehyung do anything to him.


Yoongi is just about to let out another whine when he feels a pair of hands grip his cheeks tight and dips forward. The gush of air from Taehyung’s labored breathing on the sensitive puckered flesh is driving him mad.


Taehyung flattens his tongue against Yoongi’s skin, licking a long, broad stripe from his balls up to his ass.


“Taehyung, f-fuck,” Yoongi can't help the gasp that escapes him, halfway between a moan and something indescribable, and he feels the coil in the pit of his stomach tighten.


Taehyung digs his fingers into his cheeks, spreading them to hold him open as he drags the tip of his tongue lightly over Yoongi’s hole, circling teasingly around the entrance. The sheer relief of finally feeling something after being teased for what's felt like hours makes Yoongi weak, like his senses have gone haywire and he doesn't know what to do with any of it.


One of his elbows give way, and the change in the curve of his spine cants his hips higher so Taehyung’s nose is buried between his cheeks. Taehyung flicks his tongue back and forth over his hole, slow and deliberate, like he's savoring having Yoongi like this, and fuck, Taehyung has gotten far too good at this.


In his haze, Yoongi remembers the first time he had eaten Taehyung out, how he had set him atop his face and made him come over and over again with nothing but his mouth and his expert tongue. The bastard must have taken a few notes because each heated stroke of Taehyung’s tongue ignites every nerve in him.


“Jesus, fuck, Tae,” Yoongi can't stop his repeated gasps of Taehyung’s name, muffled into the pillow because he knows it's still early, they aren't alone just yet.


“You taste so good, hyung,” Taehyung moans brokenly, reverently, and he dips down again, mouthing over the wetness he left behind.


He places his lips squarely over Yoongi’s entrance, swirls his tongue around the hole a few times, and sucks.


Holy fuck, holy fuck.


Yoongi chokes around the rush of air that catches in throat, stuttering Taehyung’s name over and over. Taehyung has always been eager to please, always begging to know what makes Yoongi feel good, and he can't fucking handle how obscenely wet and noisy Taehyung sounds behind him.


A full-on shiver courses through his entire body as Taehyung drags his tongue over and around his entrance, pulling back slightly to spit into his hole then dipping down to slurp into him over and over.


And just when Yoongi thinks it's too much, that he might just collapse under the dizzying pleasure of being eaten out so unabashedly like this, Taehyung actually moans into him—deep, labored, hungry sounds that vibrate against Yoongi’s sensitive flesh.


Yoongi can't help the loud groan of Taehyung’s name that rips from his throat, his entire body wracking backward in response so he presses higher into Taehyung’s face. One hand digs firmly into his hip to hold him place, but it doesn't stop him from arching back, wordlessly begging for more, and Taehyung pulls back. “Stay… stay fucking still,” he commands roughly, voice hoarse and worn thin.


Yoongi can't stop bucking his hips, canting into nothing but air, and he misses the wetness, misses Taehyung’s delicious ministrations, and he whimpers into the bed. Taehyung’s other hand lands a sharp blow to his ass and fuck, holy fucking shit, if Yoongi wasn't already close to coming, he definitely is now.


“I thought I told you to stay still, ” Taehyung repeats.


“Get the fuck back here then,” Yoongi manages to gasp between dry heaves of his chest.


There’s another stinging smack to his cheek, right before Taehyung rubs a soothing hand over it, and he's using both hands to spread Yoongi open. He flicks his tongue around his hole once, twice, and pushes past the first ring of muscle.


Yoongi lets out a long, garbled sound of something between Taehyung’s name and unintelligible curses, loud enough that he's sure someone will hear, but he doesn’t care. He can't care, not right now when Taehyung is thrusting his tongue into him like he can't get enough.


It’s absolutely obscene. Taehyung’s tongue is frantic yet deliberate in its movements, tracing the seam of Yoongi’s entrance before dipping in to curl just right, dragging against Yoongi’s walls, then pulling back to suck wetly over the hole.


Yoongi is mewling into the sheets, hips frenziedly bucking back in time to Taehyung fucking him with his tongue. Taehyung moans against Yoongi’s cheeks, the vibration shaking Yoongi down to his core, and he’s torn between wanting to ride Taehyung’s tongue or rutting his untouched cock against the sheets.


It’s all too much, and Taehyung sounds as though he's having the time of his fucking life. He can hear how wet he is, the spit pooling at the tip of Taehyung’s tongue and smearing across his chin, dripping right into Yoongi’s open hole. Yoongi is so hard that he’s aching everywhere, cock painfully throbbing, and as much as he wants to ask Taehyung if he can touch himself, his brain struggles to form sentences—too lost in the haze of pleasure that thrums wildly in his veins.


“Tae, baby, fuck—” Yoongi sounds delirious at this point, so close to coming that his vision is blurry, and he can't stop arching into Taehyung’s mouth. He licks into Yoongi harder, fucks him faster, fingers tightly gripping Yoongi’s plush cheeks as he controls the older boy’s upward thrusts into his tongue.


Taehyung’s jaw must be aching by now, but he doesn’t dare still his movements. He shakes his head back and forth to pry him open as he sloppily fucks him deeper, and Yoongi lets out another strangled noise of assent as he unashamedly rides Taehyung’s mouth.


Taehyung pulls off, and Yoongi is just about to growl at the absence when the younger wraps his fingers around his cock, tugging it back and towards him. All it takes is one gentle suckle at the sensitive head, a small swirl over his leaking slit, and Yoongi suddenly comes with a loud, garbled cry of his name.


Taehyung sucks him through his orgasm, letting Yoongi’s cum fill his waiting mouth in thick spurts, lips wrapped tightly around nothing but the head and obscenely moaning to wordlessly egg Yoongi on.


Yoongi comes so hard that he’s dizzy from the release, knees and thighs uncontrollably shaking but Taehyung firmly keeps him steady with his hands, never pulling away for even a second.


“Oh my g-god, baby,” Yoongi pants weakly.


Yoongi turns to peek at Taehyung over his shoulder, fully expecting him to pull back, but he sees the cum on his lips, smeared down his chin, and—holy fucking shit, Taehyung’s mouth is still full of his cum, and he dips down to dribble it into his hole.




Holy fuck.


This can't be real, but it is. Yoongi definitely feels the warmth of his cum dripping into him, and he involuntarily clenches around the wetness, feels it inside him, filling him up, and he squirms when he realizes that some of it is trickling down his thigh. It's so messy, so fucking dirty, and Yoongi’s head spins at the sight of Taehyung, whose heavy-lidded eyes pierce right through him, filled with the same open intensity, and he actually smirks as he slowly licks his lips.


“Fuck, baby, you’re so—I can't believe you're even real,” Yoongi groans into his arm.


“I’m not done with you yet,” Taehyung says, voice low and positively wicked. He looks so pretty, cheeks bright pink and mouth glistening with remnants of his cum.


Yoongi can feel exhaustion creeping into his limbs, but none of it really matters when Taehyung is pushing his buttons, stretching his limits, doing absolutely filthy things to him like Yoongi is all his for the taking. And god, he really is all Taehyung’s to use however he wants, never mind that he’s still coming down from his orgasm.


A tongue darts out to wipe at the corner of Taehyung’s mouth, and he makes a big show of showing how good Yoongi tastes, smacking his lips together and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Yoongi wants to kiss that smile off his face, maybe let it brand him everywhere.


Yoongi makes a sound that he’ll vehemently deny later—a cross between a high-pitched moan and a gurgled whine of need—and he just wants to make Taehyung come, wants to make him feel just as good. “Tae-ah, baby, I want you in me,” he stammers.


Taehyung grins, grabbing a handful of Yoongi’s ass, squeezing hard. “Already, baby?”


Yoongi doesn't really dignify it with a verbal answer—he can't, not when Taehyung keeps kneading his ass like this, making his cock stir all over again—and he just shifts in place, parting his legs wider for him. That better be enough to get his point across.


“You're so hungry for my cock, oh my god, hyung, you’re so... I-I can’t believe I get to see you like this,” Taehyung marvels, staring at Yoongi with an anticipatory look in his half-lidded eyes. When Yoongi cants his hips up in an unspoken bid for Taehyung to fuck him, Taehyung actually chuckles, slapping his hand sharply on Yoongi’s ass. “I want you to wait just a bit more, baby.”


Wait a bit more—this fucking bastard. Still, Yoongi feels like the air has just been punched out of his lungs, and he lets out a throaty gasp of need, wants to feel something in him right fucking now.


“Look at you begging for me to fill you up,” Taehyung says, a dark edge to his voice that sends a jolt straight to Yoongi’s cock. “Didn’t I say I want to have a bit more fun with you?”


Tomorrow, or maybe later if he isn’t too exhausted to sleep for the rest of the day, Yoongi will have his revenge, edge Taehyung to the very brink until he’s sobbing and writhing beneath him, but right now, all he cares about is this, to be filled up.


Taehyung keeps murmuring praise into the back of Yoongi’s thigh, the plush curve of his ass, the small of his back. Yoongi lets out an impatient whimper, brain nothing but static, and Taehyung is doing nothing but pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses all over his cheeks.


He smoothly slides two fingers into him, and Yoongi lets out an incoherent cry, arms collapsing on the bed and spine instinctively curving upward to chase after the sensation. There’s hardly any resistance as Taehyung’s fingers drag deliciously down Yoongi’s walls, and it feels so fucking good that Yoongi is dry heaving into the bed, fingers tightly grasped around the sheets.


The squelching sound of Taehyung’s fingers scissoring against his walls, coated in spit and Yoongi’s cum is beyond wet and filthy, and it should probably be disgusting, especially when Yoongi feels some of his cum spilling over his hole, trickling down the inside of his thigh, and fuck, Taehyung actually bends down to lap up the mess with his tongue.


Fuck, fuck, fuck.


Yoongi feels like his entire body is aflame, moaning Taehyung’s name over and over like a litany. Taehyung uses his other hand to grab at Yoongi’s arm, pulling him upward so his back is flush against Taehyung’s chest. The angle of Taehyung’s fingers shifts, and he sinks even deeper into him until his knuckles brush against Yoongi’s rim. His fingertips inadvertently brush against Yoongi’s prostate, and Yoongi lets out a choked whimper.


Taehyung grabs at Yoongi’s jaw, turning him around so he can slide his tongue into Yoongi’s gasping mouth, spit and cum pooling between them, dribbling messily down their chins. Taehyung peppers open-mouthed kisses everywhere, cleaning him up as he goes.


“Fuck, Tae, fuck—you filthy… fuck,” Yoongi barely has time to swallow, much less verbally speak, when Taehyung stretches him open, sliding a third finger into him. Yoongi has been worked open enough that he can take three with no question, and it’s so fucking good, the way he easily stretches around Taehyung’s fingers and how he keeps brushing against his sensitive bundle of nerves with every slow, tantalizing push.


He can feel Taehyung’s hard cock pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants, and Yoongi manages to actually form words between frantic kisses. “Tae, fuck… fuck me, please, I want you to come in me.”


And that does it for Taehyung, eyes going dark. “Jesus. hyung.”


It takes a great deal of effort to untangle from each other. Yoongi cranes his neck to watch Taehyung hurriedly scramble out of his sweatpants and underwear. His cock springs free, heavy and leaking between his legs, and Yoongi hungrily licks his lips at the sight of him.


Taehyung is a glorious sight to see, pink hair matted against his forehead, body glistening with sweat and glowing in the hazy light of dusk streaming through the windows, and Yoongi still can’t believe that this is all his to see, to touch, to have. He could wax poetic about Taehyung all day, but his brain is barely functioning as it is, zeroing in on nothing but Taehyung fucking him senseless into the bed.


He reaches out to take Taehyung’s heaving length in his hand, stroking once, then twice, paying special attention to the swollen head, and Taehyung lets out a loud growl of his name that resounds throughout the room. Yoongi uses one elbow to steady himself on the bed, his other hand rough and desperate on Taehyung’s length. It’s a little awkward at this angle, movements uncoordinated, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind. Yoongi wants to do all sorts of things, wants to suck Taehyung dry, and get him hard all over again with just his mouth, but right now he’s just feeling empty, and the need to be fucked is too overwhelming to ignore.


“Come on, Taehyung, I want to you to fill me up—”


“God, you’re so—” Taehyung doesn’t finish his sentence, only letting Yoongi guide him to his rim, and he groans as his head effortlessly pushes into him without resistance. There’s no need for lube, not when Yoongi is so fucking wet and still leaking with his own cum, and Yoongi spreads his legs wider, taking Taehyung in one hot inch at a time.


It’s so good, he feels so full—plug be damned, nothing will ever feel remotely as good as this—and Yoongi’s breath comes in small hiccups of Taehyung’s name, blood pulsing loud in his ears. Yoongi’s head falls back, air rattling in his lungs, and Taehyung keeps praising him, how well he takes his cock, how good he’s being.


Yoongi can sense that Taehyung is holding back with the way his hips are frozen, letting Yoongi adjust to his girth. “Tae, baby, you don’t have to be so—”


“Hyung, you’re so tight, I-I don’t want you to…”


“I don’t care,” Yoongi demands resolutely, rutting his hips back to get his point across. He feels immensely satisfied with Taehyung grips his ass harder, groaning loudly. “I don’t give a fuck. Please, just please, fuck me hard...I want you to—”


Taehyung looks down, cursing under his breath when he sees the sinful curve of Yoongi’s back as he arches back, skin meeting skin, and that’s it. With fingers pressing deep into Yoongi’s hip bones, he slides out entirely only to roughly bury himself completely into him.


“Fuck,” Yoongi grits out through tightly clenched teeth, fucking finally, and his hips rise up to meet Taehyung’s cock with every steady thrust. “Baby—fuck me harder, p-please, I…”


“God, hyung, your ass, oh my god,” Taehyung growls, pushing forward so hard that Yoongi actually loses balance, falling onto the bed with a surprised gasp. One of Taehyung’s palm smacks his ass appreciatively, and when Yoongi moans his approval, Taehyung slaps him again, harder this time. The harsh sting goes straight to Yoongi’s neglected cock, and he’s babbling Taehyung’s name repeatedly between ragged gasps of air.


“Yes, yes, Tae, fuck—don’t fucking stop…”


Taehyung can’t stop watching Yoongi, the way he takes his cock so well, so eager and desperate, how fucking tight and wet he feels around him, a mess of cum and spit. “You’re so gorgeous, hyung, so perfect, so pretty like this.”


He grips Yoongi tighter, fucks him harder than he’s slamming so deep into him that he could bruise later, and he keeps drawing these high-pitched, broken cries from Yoongi’s throat that he’s sure everyone will hear—probably make fun of later—and he tightens his grip on Yoongi’s hips, adjusting the angle ever so slightly, and…




There we go.


Yoongi is a wreck—they both are—but especially now, as Taehyung hits his spot with every single thrust, and fuck, fuck, Taehyung is landing sharp, stinging blows on his ass at the same time, and it’s all too much. “Shit, shit, Tae, I’m gonna—”


Taehyung’s movements are sloppier and uncoordinated now, and even in Yoongi’s blissed-out state, he knows his boyfriend is close. So he ruts back, meeting Taehyung’s stuttering pace as best as he could, and he doesn’t care about the whines and moans that keep spilling from his mouth. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin echoes everywhere, the room, their eyes, maybe their entire fucking house—who even gives a shit, really—and Taehyung reaches forward, tangling his fingers between Yoongi’s wild mess of hair.


Yoongi’s neck arches back automatically, letting Taehyung use this newfound grip to keep him in place as he roughly fucks into him. His brain is reduced to nothing but chants of Taehyung’s name, how warm he feels, how close he’s teetering on the edge of release that he can feel it pulling him in.


Taehyung jerks on Yoongi’s hair harder, enough to pull him off his elbows and flush against his chest again, and Yoongi twists his head to the side to kiss him. It’s sloppy and ungraceful, teeth clacking and more tongue than actual kissing, and Yoongi keeps making these labored, high-pitched sounds of pleasure into Taehyung’s mouth.


“You… you g-gonna come in me or what?” Yoongi challenges, voice gravelly and broken, but he registers the whimper that rips from Taehyung’s throat, the flash of unadulterated desire in his eyes, and Taehyung reaches around to wrap his fingers around Yoongi’s cock.


All it takes is one slick slide of his hand, and Yoongi stutters forward into Taehyung’s waiting hand, spilling all over his fingers.


“Holy fuck, Yoongi hyung, I—” Taehyung buries his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, gasping as Yoongi clenches tight around him through his orgasm, and he doesn’t still his movements. He keeps fucking him relentlessly until there’s nothing but the intermingling sounds of their moans, Yoongi stammering as he begs Taehyung to come inside him, fill him up with his cum—


Yoongi lets Taehyung fuck him, ignoring the oversensitivity that prickles his skin, and when he finally comes, he purposely clenches around Taehyung’s cock, coaxing him through his release.


They both collapse on the bed, Taehyung curled over his body as he slowly pulls out. Yoongi winces at the emptiness, feels Taehyung’s cum trailing down the back of his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when one of Taehyung’s fingers lazily trail between his cheeks, swirling around the puddles of cum collected there, rubbing it between his fingertips.


“You’re fucking filthy, you know that, right?” Yoongi says with a light shove, but he doesn’t stop Taehyung, either. It strangely feels nice, ticklish almost.


Taehyung only grins amusedly at him. “Never thought I could be until you, hyung.”


Still, he grabs the nearest shirt to haphazardly wipe them both clean as best as he could. He falls back on the bed, curling up against Yoongi’s side.


It’s quiet for a few moments until Yoongi speaks, voice hoarse and worn out. “So… happy birthday, I guess.”


Taehyung lets out a loud laugh, his delighted breath warm against Yoongi’s bare skin. “The best birthday, I think.”


“Is it really?” Yoongi’s voice is quiet, suddenly small and tentative. “I know… we haven’t had a lot of time to celebrate together with just the two of us, and we haven’t even gotten to celebrating with the others, but I d-don’t want you to think that—”


“Shush, hyung. You know I’d be happy doing anything with you,” Taehyung says, eyes all wide and sincere that it makes Yoongi’s chest twist. Ache a bit, because god, he’s never been in love before, but he’s sure this is what it feels like.


It’s easy to fall in love with Taehyung.


Taehyung, with his sparkling eyes and unbearably beautiful smile. Taehyung, who is so, so warm to the touch, so warm to even look at that it physically pained Yoongi at first, so he had kept his distance as he tried to keep his feelings in check.


But Hawaii had happened.


It had taken years to fully realize it, more to understand it, and apparently, all it took was to spend a day with Taehyung. And Yoongi can’t pinpoint what exactly led him to this, if it had been Taehyung’s smile that was more radiant than the Hawaiian sunset, or how they had shared a meal together ( “Are you taking care of me?” ), or how Taehyung’s delicate fingers slotted perfectly into his like it was meant to be there, or how Taehyung had laughed happily when he let Yoongi climb over his back—


Yoongi can’t pinpoint the why’s and the how’s.


He can’t narrow down the weight of his feelings to one specific thing, because Taehyung is everything all at once, so open and wonderful and perfect even in ways that he isn’t, and Taehyung might be big and beautiful, but he grounds him, too. Keeps him anchored when everything is too fast, too loud, too overwhelming.


The words spill out before Yoongi even realizes he’s saying it.


“I love you.”


Taehyung turns to him, eyes all soft and so full of unabashed love that it makes Yoongi’s chest twist, crumble beneath the weight of his stare.


“I love you too, hyung, I really do.”


They’ll celebrate his birthday properly tomorrow. Maybe they can sneak off after dinner with the rest of the members, and Yoongi will take him to beautiful places too, even if Taehyung had promised it first—


“I love you so fucking much,” Yoongi breathes out and he slides his mouth over his, until there’s nothing but warmth, nothing but Taehyung, under his skin, in his veins, and it fills his heart so much that it could burst.




“Have either of you seen our Twitter account yet?” Jimin playfully asks one day, grinning so widely that it takes up the entire bottom half of his face. He looks so delighted that Yoongi is actually a bit nervous to ask what he means.


They’re on the couch, curled up against each other. Yoongi is watching Jungkook and Seokjin bickering about the television, and Taehyung is busy fiddling with his cameras beside him.


Taehyung blinks up at him in confusion, and he pulls out his phone to check. When he lets out a loud laugh a few seconds later, Yoongi peers over his shoulder and he nearly coughs out a lung. Someone had changed their profile photo and header to photos of him and Taehyung together. The header, in particular, is a badly photoshopped collage of all their selcas together. He's missing an entire ear in one of them, what the hell.


He would react to the thousands of notifications pouring in, but he’s too busy staring at the profile photo. It's from the New York leg of their last tour, right after he and Taehyung had come home from sightseeing, and Taehyung is smiling widely at the camera while half of Yoongi's face is hidden, mostly looking up at Taehyung. “This is a terrible picture of me,” Yoongi complains, grabbing Taehyung’s phone to give it a proper look. "You can't even fucking see me."


“Aw, I think it’s cute, hyung!” Taehyung says earnestly.


“Fuck off, you look great. I look—”


“In love?” Jungkook suddenly quips in a singsong voice from his spot on the floor.


“Shut the fuck up,” Yoongi says flatly, throwing a pillow at him.


He does, though. It’s kind of embarrassing, but Taehyung is looking at him with such an openly smitten look on his face, that Yoongi blushes under his gaze. Yoongi flashes him a small smile—just for him, it’s only ever been just for him—and he looks around the room, arms crossed over his chest.


“Alright, which one of you assholes did this?”