The first time it comes up, Namjoon laughs awkwardly, probably a little shocked by Yoongi’s mouthiness like everyone else. They’re out at a club, celebrating Namjoon’s birthday. All of them are just this side of tipsy, having been to one bar already before the club. The music is kinda too loud to really talk, but Yoongi’s had a few, and it’s been a long week and he’s exhausted and frankly, he’s pissed off. From the moment they all met up at the bar, to this moment here, sitting with his friends in a packed club, Yoongi’s been groped by horny alphas exactly four times.
“You’ve got a cute ass,” Hobi says around a giggle, like that explains everything. Yoongi knows he doesn’t mean to sound like an asshole. He knows full well his best friend doesn’t really condone such gross behavior. It’s just Seok trying to lighten the mood as usual. As a beta, he will never really understand what it’s like being an omega, so he’s probably not fully aware of how tasteless that joke is.
Yoongi isn’t scared by the advances. After all, he’s far from a damsel in distress. He’s smaller than an alpha, but he takes no shit from anyone. For the most part, he doesn’t let his gender dictate the way he lives. But it still sucks sometimes. When footsteps echo behind him in the street late at night, and he has to look over his shoulder nervously. When his stomach drops a little every time he’s about to enter an elevator alone with an alpha he doesn’t know. The indignity of it burns low in his belly, eating away at him. He doesn’t want any alpha to be able to hurt him. But however much he hates it, deep down he knows that’s his reality.
“See the thing is, my ass isn’t even that cute,” he grumbles bitterly. “Thank god. I can’t imagine what it’s like for someone like Jiminie.”
Jimin beams brightly, wiggling a little where he’s sitting with Jungkook’s arm around him. “I’ve got Kookie to protect me,” he chirps happily, at the same precise moment Namjoon mutters, “To be fair, your ass is pretty cute.”
“But I don’t want someone else to have to protect me,” Yoongi protests, replying to Jimin. His mind is still reeling from the frustration and the buzz of the alcohol isn’t really helping. There is a lag in his thinking and it takes him a moment to process what Namjoon said.
“Wait, what?” he asks, turning to face him. Namjoon’s cheeks are flushed and he must have had more to drink than Yoongi thought.
The others are talking around them and the music is pretty loud, so he barely hears Namjoon when he mumbles “Nothing, sorry. It was completely beside the point.”
Yoongi stares at him for another moment, because seriously, what the fuck was that? They’re friends and, since a couple of months ago, when Jin and Yoongi moved to a bigger apartment, they’ve been roommates too and sure, Namjoon is an alpha but he couldn’t be further from the toxic bullshit stereotypes, and besides, he’s never even tried flirting with Yoongi, even when they first met and no, really, what? When did Joon ever check out his ass? He’s just about to ask and probably make things awkward, but then Jimin is talking to him and, reluctantly, he tears his eyes away from Namjoon.
“Seriously, Yoongi. I know you’re all about being independent. But maybe you should consider finding someone. It’s just the world we live in.”
“I’m not going to find someone just because I need an alpha to protect me.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Obviously I’m not with Jungkook just because he protects me. But it’s a part of it. He makes me feel safe. It feels good to have an alpha to belong to.”
“I’m not a thing. I don’t wanna belong to anyone,” Yoongi scoffs.
"It's not like that," Jungkook splutters. "It's not like I own him or anything. I respect him. I know he's his own person. It's just that other alphas can smell me on him so they know not to touch what’s mine."
"Yeah but the point is," Namjoon pipes in before Yoongi’s managed to launch into a rant, "other alphas should know not to touch him because he’s an autonomous human being and he doesn't want to be touched. Not because he smells like another alpha."
"Exactly. I'm so sick and tired of alphas looking at us like we're their property. And if you don't have or want an alpha to scent you, it's like you're fair game for any fucker who's looking to get his dick wet."
At the other end of the table, Hoseok winces at the crude words. Seokjin just looks resigned. As Yoongi’s eternal roommate, he’s heard this monologue in full once or twice or a hundred times before.
"Look, I get that some people are assholes,” Jungkook concedes, looking like he’s apologizing on behalf of every alpha ever. “But it's not like we are all like that. We just... It's instinct. We smell an unmated omega, we wanna mate them. It's biology. Not all of us are jerks about it. But we can't change the fact that we feel an instinctual attraction. Especially if the omega smells and looks good. Don't tell me you've never met an alpha who smelled so good you just wanted to throw yourself at them."
Yoongi's half-drunk brain betrays him, flashing a memory of that one time they all played basketball. Joon was such a disaster on the court despite his height, but he looked so hot, mile long legs and surprisingly strong arms. A sheen of sweat on his skin. Damp hair falling over his forehead. His scent hanging heavy in the air, so mouthwatering that Yoongi almost popped a boner right there on the court.
"In this day and age can't we expect more from each other, though?" Namjoon counters. "I get hormones, but people can't be walking around acting like animals and using biology as an excuse. People, alphas especially, need education. They need to..."
"You know what alphas really need?" Yoongi says, cutting him off in the middle of the sentence. He agrees with Namjoon, he does. But he's buzzed and irritated and right now this whole enlightenment spiel that Namjoon is flogging sounds decidedly wishy-washy.
"They all need a dick up their ass," he spits out. Everyone looks a little stunned. Hoseok is giggling and Namjoon chuckles in confusion too. Jungkook looks part offended and part worried, like he thinks someone might just slip a dick up his ass while he's not looking.
"Every single one of you," Yoongi continues, pointing a finger first at Jungkook, then at Namjoon. "How can we ever expect you to truly understand, if you don’t even know what it feels like for an omega?"
"You say that like a dick up the ass is a bad thing, though," Jimin teases, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course it's not. But how many alphas do you know who would do it? How many alphas who wouldn't think of it as unnatural or humiliating? Like just being born as an omega is inherently humiliating. No... That's exactly what they all need. Learn a little about humility, about submission. Maybe then they wouldn't all think they're better than us."
"We don't think we're better," Jungkook protests. "Just different. We do stuff for you, you do stuff for us. We complement each other. It's how we’re made."
"No, you know what, I object to that. Miss me with that natural division shit." Yoongi picks up another shot from the tray on the table and knocks it back. It doesn't even burn going down anymore. "I've decided. An alpha wants to be with me, he's gonna let me fuck him up the ass first."
Seokjin snorts into his beer. This latest addition to the rant is new even to him. Some of his drink sloshes out of the glass when Hoseok lands halfway over his lap in a fit of giggles.
Jimin looks a little indignant. "Seriously, Yoongi. It's not funny. Do you want to die alone?"
"I'm not trying to be funny. I'm dead serious." Yoongi sits back, determined and oddly satisfied. There. He’s said his piece.
Jimin is still huffing and Jungkook doesn’t look too happy with him, but he’s not taking anything back. When his eyes flit to the side, Yoongi catches Namjoon staring at him. But before he’s managed to decipher the look on his face, Seokjin stands up and downs a shot, theatrically wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and slamming the empty glass back on the table.
“I’m going to dance,” he announces. “Heaven knows this evening could do with some comic relief. You coming, Hobi? Birthday boy?”
Namjoon groans into his hands, glances at everyone apologetically, and gets up to follow Jin and Hoseok onto the packed dance floor.
If Yoongi’s eyes follow his retreating back and he notices that Namjoon’s ass isn’t half-bad either and maybe stares at it longer than strictly necessary, well… The music in this place is terrible, and Jimin and Jungkook have already started making out aggressively, so what else is he supposed to do, really?
The night deteriorates quickly after that. Yoongi gets bored and wanders off to the bar to drink more, because there’s nothing better to do. By the time Hoseok comes to drag him out to dance, he’s not hammered, but he’s drunk enough that he goes without protest.
Everything feels like a colorful blur, the laser lights cutting through the air above him and the bass of the music shaking his very bones. The crowd is writhing and jumping to an obnoxious remix of a top 40 song, and there are so many bodies, packed like sardines, Yoongi isn’t sure where exactly on the dance floor they’re supposed to fit. The whole club looks one body away from bursting. But Hobi holds his hand as he pulls him forward and they wiggle their way patiently through the mass of dancers. They find Joon and Jin smack dab in the middle of it. There’s no room around them, but somehow, thanks probably to the lethal combo of Hobi’s elbows and winning smiles, the crowd parts for them and they carve some space for themselves – just enough for all four of them to fit comfortably.
Yoongi’s not much of a dancer. Not that he’s uncoordinated. It’s just not a thing he does or particularly enjoys. But the alcohol has made everything looser, and his friends are goofing off next to him. Jin keeps coming up with increasingly ridiculous moves and making Joon and Hobi copy them. Against all odds, Hoseok manages to make even the lamest ones look cool somehow. When it’s his turn, Namjoon can’t stop laughing, flushed with mortification but he does as he’s told anyway. He looks like an utter fool, and fondness swells in Yoongi’s drunken chest.
They attract a little audience after a while – a group of girls standing next to them turns to watch. They giggle and clap after Namjoon pulls off one of Seokjin’s unholy footwork sequences flawlessly. His cheeks are red with embarrassment, and he’s grinning that full dimpled grin that means he’s just a split second away from burying his face in his hands.
One of the girls touches his bicep to get his attention. She’s slim and beautiful, with straight raven hair and glitter along her lash line that makes her eyes sparkle like diamonds. Even when Joon leans down, she has to stand on her tiptoes to talk to him. She’s an irresistible combination of sexy and adorable, and frankly, it’s very irritating. Yoongi can’t hear what she’s saying, but Namjoon tosses his head back and laughs, and then looks at her with such open warmth and attraction that they look like they just stepped straight out of a romance movie. When he leans further down to reply, Namjoon places his hand lightly on the girl’s waist.
Something ugly and slithery coils in Yoongi’s chest.
It’s just that this is a friends night, he reasons.
Jimin and Jungkook are already spending the better part of the night with their tongues down each other’s throats. And it’s just a matter of time when Tae’s night shift at work ends and Jin slinks off to his place. So if Joon hooks up with this girl, then it will be only Yoongi and Seok left. And it was supposed to be all of them.
At the very least, Yoongi thinks Joon should be here. It’s his birthday, after all.
That’s all. That’s the only reason he’s annoyed with the girl’s flirty looks.
Fuck, she’s so obvious, she might as well be twirling a lock of hair around her finger and licking her lips.
But then, against all odds, Namjoon says something to her, and, although he says it with a sweet smile, he shakes his head a little as he speaks. Disappointment flashes over her face, even though she tries to hide it behind a smile of her own. Just as Joon starts to straighten back up, she pulls him down again to tell him something else. He looks a little reluctant, a little uncomfortable, but he still lets her take his hand in her own. She pulls something out of her purse – eyeliner, Yoongi thinks, but it’s dark here and he can’t tell for sure – and, flipping his hand in hers so that it’s palm up, scribbles something – presumably a phone number – on the skin of his wrist.
And then, with another wistful look at Joon and a small wave, she gathers her friends and they’re gone. Yoongi lets out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding.
Namjoon looks a little sheepish as Jin and Hobi tease him, but soon they’re back to dancing, and the girls are all but forgotten.
So, gradually, Yoongi lets the tension and negativity seep out of him. It starts with a bob of his head here and there, mouthing the lyrics to a song he recognizes, and before he knows it, he’s honest to god, full on dancing. Hands in the air, rolling hips – dancing.
It feels good to let go, not think about anything and let himself get swept up in the music and the sheer force of the collective energy they’re all enveloped in. A sober Yoongi would never say it or probably even be caught dead thinking it, because it’s so utterly trite, but he feels part of something bigger than himself, a shared joy that makes him just a smidgen in love with everyone around him.
Across from him, Joon sways with his eyes closed and his face turned upward to the ceiling. The colored lights play across his face and the elongated column of his throat. Maybe it’s a coincidence or maybe he senses Yoongi’s gaze on him, but he opens his eyes and looks straight at him with a smile so brilliant that the balloon of happiness in Yoongi’s chest swells to the point of bursting. He wants to say something, and he’s not even entirely sure what, he just knows he wants to be closer to Joon, wants to share this joy with him. But at that very moment, a hand snakes around Yoongi’s waist, and a body presses to his back, uncomfortably close. He can feel someone’s crotch against his ass, a warm, uncomfortably damp breath on his neck.
“Hey, baby,” an unknown man’s voice croons in his ear. “Wanna dance?”
“No, thank you,” Yoongi replies, far more polite than he normally would be. The intrusion into his personal space feels gross, but he’s still riding the high from a moment ago, and he isn’t ready for that to be completely ruined by anger and bitterness. Even if this is the fifth unwanted advance of the night.
“Come on, you looked so good. I love the way you move.”
His patience starting to fray, Yoongi carefully removes the man’s hand from his belly, angling his body away from him. It’s too fucking loud in here, and he hates how he has to lean in close to speak in the man’s ear if he wants to be heard. The smell of him makes Yoongi’s skin crawl. A sharp, almost bitter note of pre-rut clinging to the air around him like a fucking cloud of bullshit masculinity.
“Yeah, thanks, man. But I’m here with friends.”
“ I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you having some fun. That’s why you’re here. ”
Those fingers are settling on Yoongi’s side again, pulling him in closer, and this whole thing, the grabbiness and the unwanted proximity of the man’s body, and his unpleasant scent and the moistness of his breath and the way his lips almost graze the shell of Yoongi’s ear when he speaks, it all makes Yoongi want to gag. And maybe knee him in the nuts. He’s not as drunk as earlier, some of it having worn off as he danced, but he’s drunk enough that, all of a sudden, a fight, after everything tonight, doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
But he shouldn’t be stirring shit up.
“Look, buddy, I’m not interested and I would appreciate it if you took your hands off me.”
“That’s hot. You’re really hot, baby. I love it when an omega plays hard to get,” the man is saying, insistent and obnoxious, moving in closer, although he’s already almost flush against Yoongi. The man’s hand slips down and back from its place above Yoongi’s hip and grabs a handful of ass. It takes Yoongi a moment to react, rooted to the spot by shock. He reaches up to push the man off, but before he can do anything, someone is yanking the palm off his butt and then a strong but gentle hand is pulling Yoongi away and behind, a body suddenly shielding him from the stranger’s reach.
“He said he wasn’t interested,” Namjoon growls, standing between Yoongi and the jerk. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He’s still just Namjoon, Yoongi supposes – a lover of all tiny creatures, nose perpetually stuck in a book – Namjoon. But Yoongi’s never seen him like this before. His tall, broad frame looks menacing all of a sudden, instead of gangly and awkward the way he usually does.
“What, you his boyfriend?” The man scowls, disdainful, glancing from Namjoon to Yoongi and back, like they’re both something unsavory stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “What kind of a cockless alpha are you anyway? Could have scented your fucking slut.”
Namjoon’s face transforms into a mask of rage, and he takes a step forward. Yoongi is sure he’s going to punch the other alpha right in the mouth, but before he can, the stranger mutters what sounds like a string of choice profanities at them, then turns on his heel and leaves, obviously much braver when it comes to words than an actual physical brawl.
For a second, Namjoon looks like he’s going to follow after him, but then it’s like he suddenly remembers Yoongi and turns around. His expression immediately softens into one of worry.
“Are you okay?”
For a second Yoongi just wants to slump into a hug, calm himself by breathing in Namjoon’s scent. His body is pumped full of adrenaline, unpleasantly buzzy, and even Namjoon’s rage smells like comfort and safety. Snap out of it, he thinks, annoyed with himself.
“I was fine. No need for you to get involved.”
“I was just…” All the anger now seems to have bled out of Joon, and he’s back to his mild, apologetic self. “That guy was way out of line. Just wanted to help.”
“Yeah well, I don’t need you to protect me, oh mighty alpha. I can take care of myself.”
“I never thought you couldn’t...” Namjoon starts, suddenly folding in on himself, looking small and embarrassed and genuinely sorry.
Yoongi cuts him off with a scowl. The indignity of it all burns like acid. The humiliation of a stranger being all over him, groping him in the middle of a club. The way Namjoon stepped in, like a proper snarling alpha, to defend his honor. The primitive little zing of attraction and relief somewhere deep in the core of Yoongi, feeling safe and a little smug, watching Namjoon ready to fight for him. It all churns in his belly, a thick hot sludge of anger and shame and arousal.
“God, I fucking hate alphas. You people just can’t help yourselves,” he spits out savagely.
As soon as the words have left his lips, even before he catches the look of sheer devastation and guilt on Namjoon’s face, Yoongi wishes he could take them back. But they’re out, floating between them for a single, suspended moment, before they land fully, heavy like bricks.
Before Yoongi has time to retract or stop him, Namjoon has already mumbled another dejected “I’m sorry”, and then he’s turning around and Yoongi loses sight of him as the crowd swallows him up.
“Are you okay?” Hobi asks, and Yoongi just now remembers he and Jin are still there. He tears his eyes away from the spot where Namjoon stood a moment ago.
“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine.”
“Look,” Jin starts uncertainly. “Joon was just worried. We all were. It looked pretty bad for a moment there.”
It’s not like Jin to meddle, but Namjoon is his best friend. A part of Yoongi does feel like an asshole for lashing out like that. But he’s still all shaky from the incident, and his feelings are all tangled up inside his chest. He doesn’t even know whether he wants to look at them closely, let alone try to make sense of them.
“I don’t wanna talk about this right now,” he replies. He can’t stand the way they’re looking at him, like he’s some kind of a problem child – beloved but always causing trouble. “I think I’m gonna go home.”
Seokjin eyes him, worried. “I was gonna sleep over at Tae’s. You okay to go home alone?”
“Sure.” Not that Yoongi would say it out loud, but it’s kind of a relief that Jin is sleeping over at his boyfriend’s. He doesn’t particularly feel in the mood to explain himself the entire way home or endure any more worried glances. “Don’t worry, I’ll take a cab,” he lies, and to his relief, Jin and Hobi look appropriately appeased.
Their old apartment was on the other side of the town and a cab or a night bus would be inevitable. But when their lease expired a couple of months ago, Yoongi and Jin came across an amazing apartment by sheer stroke of luck. The new place was in a much better location, and they could almost afford it. Almost, but not quite. Yoongi thought they would have to pass up on this once in a blue moon opportunity, until Jin suggested they find another roommate. The apartment had an extra room anyway (the first time Yoongi saw it, he lay in bed all night and fantasized about setting up a home studio there, but he knew even then it was a pipe dream). Namjoon, Jin’s closest friend and a semi-permanent fixture at their place, had been living in an overpriced broom closet with a roommate who had very questionable hygiene habits. He was the obvious person to ask. So now here they are. Living a half-hour walk from the club.
Outside, the concrete and steel of the city hasn’t even begun cooling off for the night, even though they are well into September. Yoongi sets a brisk pace and, halfway home, he is already sweaty. But the exertion feels good, helping to clear his mind and get most of the anger and negativity out. He probably overreacted. He doesn’t know exactly why he got so pissed off at Joon.
Yes, that kind of behavior from alphas seriously pushes his buttons, but, to be fair, if some creep was feeling up one of his friends, he would likely have done the same, alpha, omega, or beta. Makes no difference.
An apology is probably in order, he concludes by the time he’s unlocking the silent apartment, and the decision makes him feel better, settled.
He dawdles even though it’s late, takes a much longer shower than he normally would at this hour and makes himself a cup of tea. He’s just not that sleepy, he reasons. It has nothing to do with this pressing need to wait for Namjoon to come home, talk to him and make things right. Eventually, he can’t think up any more excuses, so he puts on an old t-shirt and his pajama bottoms and goes to bed. First thing in the morning, then.
He’s almost dozing off when he thinks he hears the door clicking open. He’s closed the door to his room like he always does before bed, so not that many sounds are filtering in and he has to listen closely but after a minute he does hear some sort of a dull thud coming from somewhere in the apartment. Either somebody has broken in or Namjoon is significantly drunker than he was the last time Yoongi saw him. No use talking to him if he’s wasted. The conversation is bound to be more uncomfortable in the light of day, but it is what it is.
But still, if Namjoon is drunk enough to be bumping into walls or doors or whatever that sound was, he could probably use some help. Someone to make sure he’s alright.
Yoongi gets up, not bothering to put on his slippers and, still a little sluggish from hovering at the brink of sleep, he shuffles out of his room barefoot.
The apartment is bathed in darkness, but there is a rustling sound coming from the direction of the foyer. Of course, Yoongi thinks, and a wave of fondness for Namjoon washes over him. Of course that silly, considerate boy would be taking his shoes off and traipsing through the apartment drunk, in pitch darkness. Yoongi’s always complaining about light and noise when he’s trying to sleep, and Namjoon usually goes out of his way to be quiet, even though, klutz that he is, more often than not it doesn’t work out for him that great.
Maybe it’s because Yoongi is still a little tipsy himself, or maybe it’s the fluffiness of almost sleep that’s enveloping him. Maybe it’s just his pressing need to see Joon this instant, a need that Yoongi would rather not analyze right now, or, possibly, ever.
Whatever it is, he notices it too late. His fingers are already reaching for the light switch when he hears it, the candied, breathy moan. Already pressing down when he smells it, the smell of arousal. The amber and bergamot and nutmeg spiciness of alpha, the almost sickly, flowery sweet scent of an omega.
Even though the light floods the room instantly, it takes him a moment to process what he is seeing.
A blink, then another.
Slowly, things take on recognizable shapes, even though they still don’t make any kind of sense.
Namjoon’s large body, hunched over a smaller figure. Shiny black hair cascading down bare shoulders, a head thrown back against the door. Milky white legs, smooth and slim, dainty feet in vertiginous heels. Namjoon’s hands bunching up the girl’s skirt, kneading her ass, one knee between her thighs.
Yoongi’s belly is a bottomless pit.
Yoongi’s belly is full of tar.
“Oh...” he manages to figure out how his mouth works and mutters. The slightest movement catches his eye. It’s mostly obscured, but it’s just Yoongi’s fucking luck that he still sees it: the girl’s hand sneaking out of the front of Namjoon’s jeans. They’re unbuttoned, a bulge straining against the black cotton of his underwear.
With horror, Yoongi feels a dribble of slick trickle out of him.
“Oh, shit. Didn’t know you were home,” Namjoon says, almost lazily. “Sorry. We’ll take it to my room.” There’s something careless in his eyes, a little shameless and a little defiant even, loose with alcohol and the prospect of sex. Yoongi should move, go back to his room so they can just pretend none of this ever happened.
But Namjoon’s eyes have him rooted to the spot. His brazen gaze feels like a challenge. The overwhelming scent of desire saturates the air, Yoongi’s own mixing with that of Namjoon and the girl. They can smell him, he’s sure of it.
Namjoon can smell him.
As if on cue, Namjoon’s eyes roam lower, and a knowing smirk curves his lips. Oh fuck. Yoongi must be tenting his thin pajama bottoms, he realizes. He doesn’t dare look down. He couldn’t take the indignity.
He’s not sure looking at Joon’s face is much better though. There’s a careless hunger to the curl of his lips, something blazing in his eyes.
Steadily, another dribble of slick pulses down Yoongi’s ass cheeks, soaking into his boxers. Namjoon’s hands are still on the girl, but the sizzling tension in the air is all between him and Yoongi.
That’s what it feels like.
Or is it just in Yoongi’s head?
It has to be. He’s being fucking delusional. Standing here like an idiot, a fucking perv, not moving. But Namjoon is not moving either and what the fuck is even going on?
“Is it this way, baby?” the girl mewls, tugging on Namjoon’s hand. She sounds like she’s being fucked already, all whiny and needy. It’s an act. Yoongi can tell from the dirty look she shoots him the moment Namjoon isn’t looking at her.
He recognizes her now. It’s the girl from the club, Yoongi realizes when the stark overhead light catches on the glitter in the outer corners of her eyes. That eyeliner sure did come in handy, he thinks, surprising himself with just how bitter the thought is.
Is he…? Is this jealousy?
“Yeah,” Namjoon mumbles, finally tearing his gaze away from Yoongi and pulling her along in the direction of his room. “Yeah, let’s go. See you tomorrow, Yoongi.”
The smell of him, the scrumptious aroma of sex drifting off him in waves as they pass makes Yoongi’s knees weak and his fingers itch to reach out and touch.
He stands in the foyer, leaning against the cool wall, feeling a little ruined. Control feels slippery like the slick coating his inner thighs, seeping through his fingers even though he’s trying hard to keep some semblance of reason and dignity. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. Breathe in and out. Think about something inconsequential.
His dick throbs between his legs.
Finally, he gets himself to move. That’s it. He very resolutely does not pause in front of Namjoon’s room. Almost holding his breath, but he still catches a whiff of the smell of sex coming from inside. He speeds up, walks past it, straight to his own room. Once inside, he closes the door firmly shut.
Slipping under the covers, he tells himself sternly to forget any of this ever happened. He will not be doing anything stupid. There have been quite enough questionable decisions tonight, events he’s gonna have to work very hard to forget. More than enough for one night.
He turns on his side, curling up in a fetal position. His legs are clamped firmly shut, his hands tucked safely under the pillow. A minute or two, that’s all he needs, and his boner will start to wilt. He just hasn’t gotten laid in a while. Probably an embarrassingly long time, if he’s being honest.
That’s all. And Namjoon is kinda attractive by objective standards. Smells kinda good too. As they’ve argued today – it’s biology. Doesn’t mean it has to mean anything, and it especially doesn’t mean Yoongi has to give in to these baser instincts.
He’s been drinking. Namjoon too. And Yoongi’s no expert on Namjoon’s sex life, but he would venture a guess it’s not particularly dynamic either. So they’re both kinda drunk and kinda hard up. And the night has been fraught. It makes sense that it would all translate into this weird tension that Yoongi probably misread as sexual.
It’s fine. Nothing to dwell on.
Is he imagining it, or is Joon’s scent still hanging in the air?
He’s being ridiculous, Joon hasn’t even been in his room. Surely, it’s not fucking wafting in from the foyer through the closed door.
Is it clinging to him? Has it saturated his hair and clothes like it’s saturated his thoughts? Yoongi thinks he can taste the nutmeg on his tongue.
He’s so fucking wet, dick hard like an iron rod.
No one would need to know. It’s not like he’d tell anyone.
It would hardly be anything, really. He’s probably this worked up precisely because he’s not letting himself touch, but he’s so far gone already. From nothing at all. The scent of Joon’s horniness in the air. The sight of his fingers on a girl’s bare ass.
Fuck. Yoongi doesn’t think he’d last longer than four or five tight strokes.
He rocks forward, into the empty air, with no relief. Frustrated, he punches the pillow, adjusts the covers.
He’s fine. He’s not gonna do it.
God, it must reek of slick in here. He wonders if you can smell it outside his door too. Wonders if, in the morning Joon will be able to smell it, once he’s sober. If he’ll know just how horny Yoongi was for him. If he’ll tear into Yoongi’s room while Yoongi is still asleep, climb into his bed behind him. Lower the pajamas over Yoongi’s ass without asking or even waking him up. Push inside in one long stroke, Yoongi waking up to his tight hole being pounded.
He turns over onto his stomach. The pressure of the mattress against his dick feels so good. He ruts into it, once. God, he needs something in his ass. He reaches behind himself and grabs hold of an ass cheek. His fingers don’t dip into the crack, just squeeze the fleshy globe. He remembers how Namjoon’s wide back and shoulders obscured the tiny girl from view almost entirely, how big his hand looked on her ass.
Yoongi is much smaller than him too. Not as small as the girl, obviously. But small enough that Namjoon could manhandle him. Toss him around and fuck him any way he wanted to.
Fuck. He rocks into the mattress again. Wetness seeps through the fabric under his fingers. The front of his underwear sticks to his dick. He’s so wet on both sides. He imagines Joon eating his ass, wonders how wet he likes it. His hips jerk forward on their own.
This is weird. He is not going to jerk it thinking about Joon.
If it doesn’t seem like a great idea now, imagine what it’ll feel like in the morning. When he crawls out of his room, hungover, and runs into Joon.
Good morning. I just made coffee, want some? Oh, by the way, I fingered myself last night thinking about you. That’s okay, right? You don’t mind? Let’s not make it weird, please.
He lets go of himself and rolls onto his back. With a long steadying sigh, he pulls back the covers and gets up. He cracks open the window to let some fresh air in, then strips his pajama bottoms and underwear, wiping himself off with them before throwing them both in the hamper. He needs to wash those first thing in the morning, because the smell is quite overpowering. But for now the fresh air from the open window should be enough.
It’s dark in the room when he starts rummaging through his underwear drawer for a clean pair, but turning the lights on would make all this even more real, even weirder.
A muffled sound comes from the other side of the wall just as his fingers close around a pair of boxers. The wall he shares with Namjoon’s room.
He must have imagined it, he thinks desperately. They would at least have the decency to be quiet. Namjoon knows how thin the walls are. They can hear each other sneeze, for fuck’s sake. Surely, he would keep it down, not moan, or whatever the hell that was.
He knows he should go back to bed, he knows. Pull the covers over his head, maybe. Or play some music on his earphones.
But his feet won’t listen. Instead of heading to bed, he takes a tentative step toward the wall and listens.
For a few moments there’s nothing. They haven’t lived together that long, just a couple of months, but so far, Namjoon has been a pretty considerate roommate. Of course he would keep it quiet. Maybe he was just… Overwhelmed for a moment. Couldn’t help himself.
The thought makes Yoongi’s dick twitch.
But anyway, the point is, there are no sounds coming from the other room now, and Yoongi needs to go to bed and forget about all this.
He’s just about to do that, when he hears it, distinctly, almost as if it was happening right before him. The creak of mattress springs, and then the thump of the bed frame against the wall.
Every time the wood hits the wall, the girl lets out a simpering whine. Yoongi almost worries that she’s in pain, because the thrusts are getting faster and harder, and she’s whimpering louder and louder. But then the whines get accompanied by a shrill yesyesyes and an occasional don’t stop.
Pretty as she was, Yoongi’s interest doesn’t extend to her personally. The only thing Yoongi cares about is how good Namjoon is giving it to her. It’s so fucking easy, inevitable really, to picture himself in her place. The moment he has that thought, he knows there’s nothing he can do anymore. He’s still naked below the waist, and it’s so simple.
His palm slides down his belly, as he braces himself against the wall with the other hand. As soon as his fingers have closed around his shaft, his forehead thumps against the cool wall. Eyes shut, he tries to draw it out, go slow and loose. Tries so hard not to think about Joon. But the rhythmic banging of Namjoon’s bed is almost hypnotic, and his hand speeds up instinctually, echoing the pace.
His ass is leaking slick again, his rim pulsing with the need to be touched, penetrated. Shaky with desire, stroking himself fast, his other hand finds its way behind him and down his slippery crack. His hole has been ready since the first moment he smelled the delicious scent of aroused alpha.
He admonishes himself mentally as soon as he’s thought it. It’s true that alphas too often don’t smell good to him, their scents too sharp or too musky, or sour and masculine, or too earthy. And it’s true he’s never met anyone who smells as good as Namjoon does to him. But Namjoon is not his. Not even close. Nor will he ever be. They’re sort of friends. Roommates as of late. And that’s it. The banging and whimpering coming from the other room is proof enough.
He wonders, again, what it would feel like to be in the girl’s place.
He pictures himself, on his belly. Face pushed down into the pillow. Namjoon’s hand on the back of his neck, holding him there. The other on his hip, his ass up in the air. His hole being used. Fucked so hard the frame of the bed is creaking and rattling.
Normally he likes to tease his rim, dip only the tip of a finger in at first. Start shallow and work his way deeper. But he has no patience for that kind of thing right now. He pushes two fingers in, and they sink in all the way down to the knuckles. It burns a little but that’s what he wants. Wouldn’t it burn, to be split open by Namjoon’s cock?
His fist around his length is a blur.
On the other side of the wall, deep grunts join the girl’s mewling.
Yoongi imagines the heaviness of Namjoon’s body on his back, his hot breath on his neck. Those grunts in his ear in time with every thrust, forceful enough to push him up the bed.
God, he’s so close he feels a little unsteady on his feet. His fingers are so deep, the pressure on his cock so good. Every sound coming from Namjoon’s room drives him closer to the edge. Just a little more, he needs just a little more. His fingers, long, piano-playing fingers, are just not enough.
But then, the thump-thump-thump rhythm of the fucking grows dissonant, and the girl wails. But Yoongi doesn’t much care for that. No. What pushes Yoongi over the edge is the deep, broken moan that accompanies it. He can almost see it behind his eyelids: the involuntary frown on Namjoon’s face, his silken lips falling open around that animalistic sound, the stutter of his hips. It makes Yoongi squeeze the head of his cock almost hard enough to hurt until he’s shooting his load, the warm, sticky mess dribbling between his fingers.
Shame might come in the morning. Probably. He can’t imagine how he’s going to look Namjoon in the eye. But for now, his legs feel like jelly and the tension from his gut has dissipated, only to be replaced by a fuzzy, cottony softness. And, just for tonight, Yoongi refuses to think.
The fact that there’s nothing Yoongi would rather do in the morning than crawl into a hole in the ground and live out the rest of his days snug among the plant roots with moles and worms, without ever facing Namjoon again, comes as no surprise whatsoever. It was to be expected.
He manages to put off getting up for quite a while, falling back asleep a few times. When he finally emerges from his room, it’s to the sounds of puttering coming from the kitchen.
Namjoon is a notoriously poor cook. When he first moved in, he would occasionally make a meal for the three of them, presumably trying to share the load of responsibility equally between all three roommates. It was clear from the way he moved around the kitchen that he had cooked before – after all, Yoongi assumes he had to cook for himself in his last apartment too. The problem was that everything he made was completely inedible. Not to him. He ate it all without complaining, the undercooked rice and overcooked vegetables and bland meat. It made sense – he was probably desensitized to it by now. But Yoongi and Seokjin took one bite each and then spent the rest of each of these unfortunate meals pushing the food around the plate and figuring out how to ask Namjoon never to approach the stove again. Luckily for all, after tasting Seokjin and Yoongi’s cooking a few times, Namjoon himself suggested that, if it’s not a problem, it would be cool if they took care of the food all the time, while he would pick up the slack with other chores.
It’s worked out great for them ever since, and Namjoon hasn’t made more than tea or coffee in weeks now. The only reason why he would be in the kitchen cooking – and judging by the smells, he’s definitely cooking – would be because he’s making breakfast for the girl from last night. Probably trying to impress her.
Jealousy writhes inside Yoongi’s heart like a fat, ugly maggot.
The intensity of it surprises him. When he went to bed last night, he thought morning would clear his head. He imagined daylight would find him mortified at what he had done and also firmly back in the “Namjoon is just a friend” camp.
Well, he’s mortified alright. That part he predicted correctly. But as he finds his feet taking him in the direction of the kitchen against his better judgment, he’s nervous like a high school girl with a crush at the very thought of seeing Joon. Not something he normally feels in anticipation of facing his friends.
Disappointment, sour and cold, washes over him when he steps inside only to be greeted by the familiar sight of Jin’s broad back, the bow of a powder pink apron tied over the waistband of his jeans.
“Oh,” Yoongi says and cringes internally at how underwhelmed he sounds. He couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. “You’re home.”
“Yeah. Tae’s parents are in town today and he’s out having lunch with them so I came home.”
“Oh.” Has his brain melted from the horniness last night? Is he now only capable of uttering monosyllabic grunts? “Cool. You uh… You alone?”
Wow. Not weird at all. He could have just asked where Joon was. They’re roommates, for fuck’s sake. He’s allowed to inquire.
“Yeah,” Seokjin replies, still stirring the veggies in the pan. To Yoongi’s relief, he doesn’t turn around to look at Yoongi, or seem to notice anything’s off. For now, at least.
“Ran into Joon at the door.”
Yoongi’s mouth rounds around another “oh”, but he stops himself at the last moment. Instead, he makes himself breathe out a knowing little chuckle. Just bros talking about their bro who got lucky last night. It sounds fake even to his own ears when he asks, feigning disinterest, “Was his hookup with him?”
At this, Jin finally turns around, eyes wide like they always are when he hears a good piece of gossip.
“Oh, Joon brought someone home last night? No, he was alone when I saw him.”
This at least, poses some small comfort. She left early. Maybe even last night, right after. He fell asleep like a baby as soon as his head hit the pillow so he wouldn’t have heard the door.
“Yeah. A girl from the club last night.”
“Huh. Thank god. I was getting worried for him. He’s been single for a while now. And I don’t remember the last time he picked anyone up for sex. It’s not his style, I guess. But also, I’ve been under the impression he was nervous to bring anyone home since he moved in. Maybe he thought we would mind.”
“He’s too considerate. Why would we mind?”
The smile on Yoongi’s face is stiff and fake, a frozen grimace. But he manages to keep his voice casual and it’s lucky that Seokjin’s stir-fry requires vigorous stirring. No time to notice Yoongi is being weird.
“It’s just Joon. Always putting others first. Anyway, I’m glad he got some. Good for him”
“Yeah,” Yoongi nods, dumb and hollow, like a bobble head. “Good for him.”
The whole day while Namjoon is out, Yoongi keeps imagining terrible scenarios. In his head, the only explanation that makes sense is that Namjoon must have gone to meet up with the girl again. He’s probably at her place right now.
It would be just his luck, he figures, for Namjoon to meet the love of his life the very day Yoongi realizes he’s interested in him.
He chastises himself for the thought immediately: first of all, he’s not interested interested. He’s just being stupid – wanting someone he can’t have and shouldn’t want. And on a related note – he absolutely should not want Namjoon, his roommate Namjoon, Seokjin’s best friend Namjoon. It would be immensely dumb to jeopardize all that just because he got horny one night and noticed Namjoon smelled good.
The day drips by, sticky and slow like melting ice cream, while Yoongi pretends not to wait. Jumpy and restless, he can’t quite focus on his book or even a dumb movie, so he spends most of the day scrolling through inconsequential crap on his phone.
He’s not quite sure what he expects when Joon arrives home, except for some vague, unidentified but obvious shift. In his wildest fantasies that he only lets himself entertain for a minute or two, he pictures Joon taking his hand and dragging him straight to his room, throwing him on his bed and having his way with him.
At the very least, he expects Joon to have changed somehow. Maybe it makes him hypocritical because he’s always ragging on alphas for being cocky and arrogant and entitled and generally insufferable. And he tries not to think about it too much, really tries to suppress these traitorous omega instincts. But something hot and bubbly roils in the pit of his belly when he remembers how commanding, how strong and pure alpha Joon looked yesterday.
Late afternoon Tae calls to say his family have gone back home to Daegu and Jin leaves soon after.
Yoongi lies on the couch in the living room, a fan pointed at him in the sweltering heat. The front door clicks open just as the room starts sinking into dusk.
Namjoon’s smell gets carried straight to Yoongi on the gust of air from the fan. All the way from the front door, Yoongi catches the scent of alpha, and it riles him up all over again. Fuck. He shoves it down, breathes through his mouth and makes himself calm down. Namjoon will be able to smell him too. And it would be fucking awkward to smell of slick two days in a row at the sight of his roommate. Once can be written off as a coincidence. Twice is too fucking much.
And anyway, it’s not like he really wants Joon. He’s just being horny and stupid. Careful, he thinks. Wouldn’t want to trigger his heat. That would be a fucking mess.
“Hey,” Namjoon says after taking off his shoes, quietly, like he’s careful not to disturb the very air between them.
Yoongi itches to ask where he’s been, like he has any fucking right to know. A possessive part of him soars in satisfaction when he realizes he doesn’t smell a trace of the girl or sex on Joon.
“Were you napping?” Namjoon asks, walking to the kitchen to open the fridge. He stands in front of the open door a little longer than necessary, basking in the cool air. His silhouette looks so damn attractive, etched against the white light. “Do you want something to drink?” he follows up, finally taking out a bottle of water for himself.
“No, thank you. And no. I was awake. Just chilling. Jin’s gone back to Tae’s again.” He’s not quite sure why he added that last bit, but now that it’s out of his mouth the suggestion is there. They’re alone. He’s equal parts embarrassed and excited by the insinuation.
Joon doesn’t acknowledge it though. He stands, tall and uncertain, same old polite, apologetic Namjoon, in the doorway of the kitchen, like he can’t quite decide whether to move or stay still.
“Look, I uh… I’m sorry about last night.”
In all his speculations, Namjoon apologizing was not a course of events that Yoongi considered.
“I didn’t know you were home. I didn’t meet up with the others back at the club after uh...” He trails off. After he defended Yoongi from a creep and Yoongi returned the favor by being a jerk to him. “So I didn’t know you’d left to go home. I would have taken her straight to my room.”
“It’s cool,” Yoongi replies because what else can he say? He swallows around the bitter jealousy in his throat. It won’t budge. “No big deal.”
“Still. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Okay. I appreciate it.”
What Yoongi really wants is to tell Namjoon not to bring anyone else home ever again. Why would he want to when Yoongi is right there? He shakes his head a little, as if that will rid him of these stupid, stupid ideas.
“Cool. I’m gonna shower and crash early.” Namjoon’s looking down, digging at the carpet with his toe. “Spent the day by the river. Way too hot outside.”
“Okay,” Yoongi replies, a little uncertain. He can’t help but feel like something is expected of him here, but he can’t quite figure out what it is. But before he can puzzle it out, Joon turns around and heads for the bathroom. He gets up too. The whole day has been anticlimactic, the last of the tension deflating from him like a punctured balloon. Joon doesn’t want him. Joon only ever wanted the girl, and Yoongi was lonely and horny and, apparently, completely delusional.
He’s almost back inside his room, when he hears Namjoon from the door of the bathroom.
“Hey also… Um. This is kind of embarrassing.” Even in the almost-darkness, he can tell that Namjoon is blushing. The hope in Yoongi’s chest, almost completely extinguished, ignites again.
“Did you…? Were we…?” Yoongi watches him take a deep breath and steady himself. For just a moment, when he speaks, Yoongi catches a glimpse of that brazen, confident alpha from last night. “I hope we weren’t too loud.”
Yoongi remembers the groans and grunts, the banging of the bed. He remembers his own muffled moans, the fingers in his ass, the rough hand rubbing over the crown of his dick. The way he scrunched his eyes shut tight and stopped breathing so he wouldn’t sob as he came.
“Nope,” he utters, with forced blankness. “Didn’t hear a thing.”
“Oh, good,” Namjoon says, and he’s just Namjoon again.
When he retreats to his room, Yoongi closes the door behind himself and leans against it with a long, shaky sigh. Well. That went fucking great.
Days pass like they always do. They go to work, sometimes they hang out after. Namjoon continues being his same old self for the most part, but on occasion, Yoongi will notice things that he might have missed before. How strong his back is. How he holds the door open for Yoongi when they go to the store together. How he offers to carry an old lady’s groceries to her car when they’re there.
How has Yoongi never noticed before? The perfect fucking alpha is not a myth. They exist, and their name is Kim Namjoon.
And yet, even though Yoongi feels like he’s seeing Namjoon for what feels like the first time in his life, Namjoon treats him the same as he always did.
It drives Yoongi absolutely wild. He feels like something in the core of their relationship changed that night, and it’s infuriating that Joon doesn’t acknowledge it in any way.
Yoongi is also acutely aware that he never did muster the courage to apologize for his own dickishness the night of Namjoon’s birthday. He wants to, he really does. He just doesn’t know how to broach the subject.
Once the weekend passes it never feels like the right moment. They both work most of the day, and when they finally get home, Jin is there too. On Thursday night, Jin’s movie night with Tae, Yoongi promises himself he’s finally going to say something. But once they’re alone in the apartment, he chickens out once again. Namjoon is in the living room, laptop in his lap and a bunch of work papers strewn all around him on the couch. His brow is knitted in concentration, the ankle of one leg crossed over the knee of the other. He’s wearing an old t-shirt that could date all the way back to high school with how small and threadbare it is. Yoongi forces himself to stop staring at his chest from the kitchen door before he starts getting horny again.
It’s becoming a problem. They’re supposed to live together. He can’t be leaking all over himself every time Namjoon is around – which is all the time – because they fucking live together.
He’s going to pull himself together, he tells himself. He’s going to apologize and then he’s going to act normal, for fuck’s sake, and this ill-advised crush, or whatever the fuck it is, is going to be over.
He walks over to where Namjoon is sitting. It takes Namjoon a moment to finish typing and look up from his computer screen. More than enough time for Yoongi’s eyes to drink him in. The serious expression on his face, so uncharacteristic of him. The strong curve of his shoulders. The bulge of his biceps straining against the too short shirt sleeves. His fingers, so pretty and long.
He’s frowning at whatever is on the screen and Yoongi wonders if that is what his face looks like when he fucks. Serious. Determined. Focused.
An unwelcome, sudden vision floats to the surface of his mind: himself, tossing the laptop to the side and taking its place in Namjoon’s lap. Straddling him and impaling himself on those fingers. Namjoon saying nothing, just watching him with that same stern expression while Yoongi fucks himself on Joon’s fingers until he’s a mess.
“I’m going to bed,” Yoongi squeaks out when Namjoon finally looks up.
“Okay,” Namjoon accepts, a little confused. “Are you okay?” he calls after Yoongi, the question thick with confusion and worry.
As soon as he is alone in his room, Yoongi flings his underwear off and fingers himself raw. Knowing that Namjoon is in the next room, that Namjoon can probably smell him, maybe even hear his muffled whimpers, only makes him come that much harder, he notices with regret.
Things come to a head the way they started: half-drunk and unexpected. It’s been a couple of weeks of Yoongi trying his best not to act like a creep, with varying success. Namjoon, on the other hand has been both exasperatingly clueless and lethally attractive. A terrible, terrible combo.
Yoongi is in deep.
Most days, when he’s at home, his attention is devoted almost exclusively to watching Namjoon without being noticed. Always hoping that the person who will look up at him is the Joon from that night, the one who looked at him like they were two live wires, the very air between them ionized and bursting with sparks.
But it’s just not there. Namjoon is friendly. Polite. Not interested. The late summer air between them is an ocean of stillness.
“Let’s go out for drinks,” Yoongi says to Seokjin one night, plopping next to him on the couch and placing his feet in Jin’s lap. Loath to pause the game he’s playing, Jin tries to jostle Yoongi’s feet out of his lap by angling his hips in what almost resembles a contortionist act.
“Not now, Yoongi, dammit,” he screeches. On the screen, a rival car zooms past Seokjin’s and a 2 nd place flashes in bright letters.
“Come on,” Yoongi implores. “It’s happy hour at the bar down the street. I could use a drink. And I’m bored. And I haven’t gotten laid in… Far too long.”
Yoongi doesn’t normally get bored. He goes to work and listens to music and practices and naps and writes and is perfectly happy spending his free time on his own, cooped up in his room. But this whole Namjoon thing has been costing him his peace of mind. The truly ridiculous part is that he’s not sure if any of it is even real. Does Namjoon feel it too? Or is it all just in Yoongi’s head?
Whatever it is, it’s time to snap out of it, he’s decided. He’s not going to just sit at home tonight and walk on eggshells in his own apartment, thinking about when Joon is going to come out of his room, and whether Joon is going to look at him, or talk to him. He’s not going to cream his pants every time he gets a whiff of Joon’s smell and jerk off late at night when everyone is asleep, feeling torn about whether he’d like Joon to hear and smell what he’s doing or not.
He’s fucking done with that.
So he’s going out and having a few drinks, and who knows, maybe picking someone up at the bar. He even considered finding a cute beta on Tinder, skipping the drinks part and just getting laid. But he needs to get out of the house. Needs to feel that spark with someone. Not that he’s harboring any illusions about meeting the man of his life on a Friday night at a random bar, but still. The prowl feels a bit more personal than swiping right on an app.
“There’s no way I’m going anywhere tonight. This week has been fucking exhausting.”
This is not what Yoongi wants to hear. He pinches Jin’s thigh with his toes and Jin retaliates with a hard slap.
“We both know you’re gonna stay up until the middle of the night anyway, gaming or watching that stupid zombie show.”
“Maybe. But at least I won’t have to move my ass off the couch to do that. And besides, how are you ever gonna get laid if I go with you? I don’t want to distract all of your potential suitors with my perfect face.” Without taking his eyes off the game, he tilts his face a little toward Yoongi, pouting in an exaggerated manner.
Yoongi rolls his eyes and goes for a light kick to the side of his thigh, but it falls short when the sound of someone clearing their throat at the doorway interrupts him.
“I’ll go with you,” he’s saying.
And yeah, there he is, the alpha Yoongi’s only been catching glimpses of since that night. Yoongi hasn’t been crazy all this time after all.
“Yeah?” Yoongi asks. How long has Namjoon been standing there? How much did he hear? He probably heard Yoongi’s proclamation about getting laid. Oh well, Yoongi thinks. He could have made a move by now if he wanted to. It’s not Yoongi’s problem if he wants to tag along and watch Yoongi pick someone up.
“Sure, why not?” Namjoon replies. “It’s Friday. There’s nothing else to do.”
The hair at the back of Yoongi’s neck bristles at the implication that Namjoon is only coming along because this month’s new releases on Netflix are shit but he ignores it.
“Okay,” he shrugs. “I need ten minutes to change.”
He ends up doing quite a bit more than changing. Honestly, he’s kind of impressed with himself for being able to get ready not only so quickly but also in a way that makes him look fuckable without being too obvious about it.
Namjoon waits for him on the couch, seemingly invested in Jin’s game, but he gets up without dawdling as soon as he hears Yoongi emerging from his room.
The bar turns out to be packed. There’s a live band that Yoongi had no idea was on. To be honest, maybe he would have skipped if he’d known, because it’s way too loud in here. They’re playing covers of pretty obnoxious indie bands, some of which Yoongi’s had the misfortune of working with. By the way Namjoon’s foot is tapping to the beat, it looks like he knows and likes them all.
The bass player is kinda hot though, in that lean, zero fucks to give beta way, Yoongi registers. But getting him would probably be way too much work. Yoongi’s definitely not the only one who’s noticed him.
“Let’s go,” he tells Namjoon, pulling him by the sleeve in the direction of the bar after they’ve stood there and listened to a couple of the songs.
Reluctantly, Namjoon follows him, still bobbing his head to the music.
They perch on two bar stools without a word, except a call to get the bartender’s attention. With a whisky in his hand, Yoongi feels a little more in his element. Even here, the music is too loud to really talk, but he doesn’t mind. It’s actually nice to enjoy the taste of the booze, feel it burn in his belly after a big sip. Take the time to regroup and clear his mind. At least as much as it’s possible when Namjoon’s throat looks utterly lickable when he tips his head back to take a long swig of his beer.
Yoongi grips his own glass tighter and drains the contents, looking away. It takes the bartender a moment to look his way, but eventually he nods when he sees Yoongi gesturing for another.
“That one’s on me,” an unfamiliar voice calls, and then a man settles onto the empty stool next to him. An alpha, Yoongi can tell immediately by the scent that settles around him. And yeah, Yoongi is probably pretty horny, because the stranger smells kinda good to him. Not amazing. A little sharper than he normally likes. But he doesn’t mind it right now, the scent of pines and oakmoss. Not when he’s looking for someone to take home tonight.
A little indifferent but not trying to hide it, he turns his head to eye the man head to toe. He finds that the alpha looks just like he smells. Big and beefy. Well groomed, if a little obvious with his flashy watch and pale blue button-down and hair that’s been gelled so meticulously that you could probably hit it with a baseball bat and it wouldn’t budge.
All in all, he looks like he fucks hard but doesn’t have much going on upstairs. Definitely not the type to lose any sleep over the meaning of life. Yoongi knows his kind well. The dude is probably looking for an omega who will shut up and listen to his self-absorbed rambling and present their ass when asked and be hot enough to show off to his friends.
Well. Yoongi’s not particularly looking for stimulating conversation tonight. And especially not a relationship. This one will do for a quick fuck.
On the other side of him, Namjoon clears his throat and chugs his beer with a small frown but doesn’t say anything.
“You here alone tonight?” The man asks when he leans closer to Yoongi. It’s loud here, but he doesn’t need to yell as loud as he does. Yoongi shifts backwards a little.
“Nope.” He points vaguely in Namjoon’s direction. The alpha bristles immediately and okay, that’s kind of dickish of him. Being mad instead of apologetic when he thinks the omega he’s hitting on has a boyfriend. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like educating anyone tonight, so he just adds, “A friend.”
The alpha visibly relaxes, and a cocky grin tugs on the corners of his lips. He’s looking at Namjoon mockingly, like he’s some sort of a loser to be spending time with an omega without sticking his dick in. Namjoon must notice, because he raises his bottle at the guy as if in a toast, although there’s a pretty dark expression on his face.
So. No unwarranted rescuing happening tonight. That’s good, Yoongi tells himself and ignores the little sour seed of disappointment in his gut.
The stranger doesn’t return Namjoon’s gesture, but he must conclude that he’s not a rival, or at least not one worth worrying about, because he turns back to Yoongi.
“Come here often?”
Oh wow. Really? Of all the things to say…
“Fairly often, yeah.”
“Huh, haven’t seen you before. I would have noticed someone as gorgeous as you. I’m here pretty often myself. The owner is a friend.”
“I’m sure he is. Good for you,” Yoongi mumbles over the rim of his glass.
“So, what do you do, uh…?” The man trails off, scrunching his eyebrows as if Yoongi had already introduced himself but he just happened to forget his name.
“Yoongi,” Yoongi supplies.
“Right. What do you do, Yoongi? I bet you’re a model or something.” Yoongi almost rolls his eyes hard but catches himself at the last moment. Jesus fuck, that’s cheap.
“I’m a musician.”
“Yeah? What kind? I used to dabble a little myself.”
“I play the keyboard.”
“No way! I used to get piano lessons when I was a kid.”
He’s so excited at the coincidence as if it was revealed that they both played the didgeridoo or something equally unusual, and not the instrument of choice of every overly ambitious mother who wants to make what she thinks are sophisticated parenting choices. The alpha doesn’t catch Yoongi’s disinterested smirk.
“I wasn’t that into it, you know how it is. It’s kinda boring. But my tutor said I was the most talented kid he’d ever met. Probably could have gotten into a top conservatory if I kept playing. But I quit after a few months.”
“How impressive,” Yoongi deadpans. His tone is completely wasted on the douche bag who doesn’t even seem to register it, but on his other side, Yoongi hears Namjoon snort softly.
“Yeah. Anyway. I could probably introduce you to a few people in the music industry. I’m pretty well connected.”
“Yeah? How come?” Yoongi doesn’t mention that he’s been working as a professional musician at a music label for years now.
“I’m a lawyer. I meet a ton of people through work. Everyone always kinda ends up owing me a favor. It’s just how these things go.”
“Right. So, uh, where do you work? Probably have your own law firm or something.”
“Not yet. But soon, right? I work at this law firm downtown? Lee and Kang? You’ve probably heard of them. Everyone has. The best one in Seoul. I mean, technically I’m still a first-year associate, but they’re really impressed with me. I’ve only been there a few of months but I’ve already become totally indispensable.”
“I’m sure you have. So what do you do? Like, defend criminals? Help trophy wives skin their husbands alive in divorce cases? Anything juicy?”
“Everything really. Personally, my field of interest is high-profile crime cases.” The douche bag puffs up his chest like he single-handedly invented criminal law.
“Look,” he throws a glance at Namjoon and then leans in closer to Yoongi again, his hand landing on Yoongi’s knee. “Maybe we could, uh… Go somewhere and I could tell you all about it.”
Yoongi knows he came here to find someone to take to bed, and yeah, physically maybe this guy fits the bill. The problem is that with a self-absorbed, narcissistic asshole like this, you can never be sure if you’d even get the dicking you came for. There is a very real possibility that he would drag Yoongi off somewhere and then really talk his ear off about his lame career.
(Well, that’s one of the problems at least. Yoongi doesn’t let himself think about the other problem. The one that’s currently sitting on the other side of him and glaring daggers at the stranger’s hand on Yoongi’s leg.)
Apparently, there is a god in heavens after all, because before Yoongi has to make a decision on how to handle this, the guy’s phone rings on the bar in front of him. It’s the Star Wars theme, for fuck’s sake. Yoongi really just dodged a bullet here.
The alpha glances at the phone, and Yoongi wouldn’t have thought it possible but his face turns even more smug and self-important.
“Oh, I have to take this. It’s work. But look,” he urges, the fingers on Yoongi’s knee squeezing. Yoongi suppresses the urge to slap them off. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a minute, yeah?”
Yoongi doesn’t bother answering, but the alpha doesn’t even notice, already getting off his stool and heading in the direction of the restrooms as he answers his phone.
Yoongi doesn’t move except to take another sip of his drink. He doesn’t turn and look at Namjoon. There is the clink of a beer bottle as Namjoon puts it down on the bar.
The air between them feels charged.
“What an asshole,” Namjoon finally speaks.
Yeah, he really was, Yoongi agrees internally. But out loud he says, “I don’t know. I kinda liked him.”
“Yeah?” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow, putting on an act. Nonchalance incarnate. “Didn’t think he was your type.”
“Dumb and hot? That’s a great type when you’re looking to take someone home.”
“Sure,” Namjoon agrees thoughtfully, then inclines his head and looks at Yoongi. “But would he let you fuck his ass?”
There’s a challenge in Joon’s eyes and in his words and Yoongi feels it instantly going to his dick. But fuck it if he’s going to lose at this, whatever this is.
“Yeah,” Namjoon replies without pause. “Yeah, I would.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Yoongi takes a long look at him, holding his gaze. Both of them holding their own, unwavering, even though Namjoon’s scent spikes with arousal and Yoongi can feel slick starting to pool in his underwear.
“Come on,” he blurts out finally, grabbing Namjoon by the hand and tugging him up and out into the street without ever looking back.
So, what did you think of chapter 2? Come tell me in the comments!
Last chapter should be up next week!
It takes them a while to get home even though their building is just a five-minute walk away. Yoongi is the one who cracks first, pushing Namjoon against the wall as soon as they’ve stumbled out of the bar. They kiss in the street like a pair of horny teenagers, but Yoongi can’t bring himself to care about what they look like or who might see them. Not when he’s got one hand in Namjoon’s hair and the other one on his jaw, prying his soft, hungry lips open wider. They kiss each other with the power of a thunderstorm, all of that electric charge that’s been accumulating between them for weeks releasing in brilliants bursts.
When they finally arrive at their apartment building they stop to kiss and grope again in front of the elevator, and then again, in front of their front door, both of them reluctant to part and too carried away to pause for long enough to unlock the door. Yoongi wonders what they will do and say if Jin is still up – a distinct possibility seeing how he was gaming when they left the house. No matter the comments or the raised eyebrows, he doesn’t think he’d be able to separate from Namjoon now, stop kissing him and go to their respective rooms. To hell with it all. They’ll deal with the aftermath when they’re sated, when he’s able to think clearly again.
They punch in the code and pad quietly in, Yoongi first and Namjoon plastered to his back, littering the back of his neck with pecks and licks, nosing at the skin and breathing in Yoongi’s scent, by now saturated, rich with arousal. To their relief, the living room is mercifully dark and empty, and the door to Jin’s bedroom is closed.
Drunk on desire, they make several kissing stops on the way to Yoongi’s room. They’re testing fate because Jin could hear them or get up to get a glass of water and find them right here, Namjoon between Yoongi’s legs, lips traveling down his neck, Yoongi seated on top of their dining table. But it adds a thrill of excitement to an already loaded situation, and Yoongi fucking loves it.
Still, they manage to somehow stumble their way into Yoongi’s room at last. Yoongi pulls Namjoon in, closes the door firmly behind them and then walks him back until he’s finally pushing him onto his bed like he’s dreamed of doing for weeks.
They could have done this in Namjoon’s room too – in fact, it was closer to the front door and it would probably have made more sense. Yoongi would never say it out loud though, but he wanted Namjoon here. Wanted his scent to linger on Yoongi’s sheets even if this turns out to be a one-time thing and Yoongi never has him again.
They undress each other with no hesitation, Yoongi hovering above Namjoon and kissing every secret spot on his body as he uncovers them, one by one.
The electricity between them spikes, both of them equally frustrated and excited by these unfamiliar roles. The omega taking control, the alpha following his lead.
The air between them is thick, filled with sparks and the scent of desperation and slick. There’s a subdued power in Namjoon, a river held back. His hands tremble with the need to spread Yoongi open and take him.
And Yoongi – Yoongi wants that too. He wants so bad to open his legs and pull Namjoon inside, hold onto his arms and take it, small and caged and wrapped up in the scent of alpha.
But when he looks down at the man under him, he finds that he wants this too. Wants to work hard to make him unravel. Not give him what any other omega could. Drive him crazy with something else, something completely new, even though it goes against everything that Namjoon is.
He remains careful not to sit down in Namjoon’s lap, to leave his long, thick cock untouched, even though there’s nothing he’d rather do but suck it into his mouth until it’s coated with spit all over and then guide it into his hole. If he touches it, he knows he will give in, change his mind and beg Namjoon to fuck him.
So he licks and sucks everywhere but there – pinching and teasing his nipples until they’re red, gorging on the softness of his inner thighs.
Namjoon looks desperate and messy, spread out in front of him, willingly defenseless. He could dominate Yoongi in an instant if he wanted to. Not only is he physically bigger and stronger than Yoongi, it’s a matter of hormones too. In this situation especially, when Yoongi is already so worked up – if Namjoon took over, Yoongi knows he wouldn’t fight it. His body would just surrender, submit, even if he doesn’t entirely want that.
But, even though Yoongi can see how much it is costing him – in the tight coil of his muscles, and the way his teeth are digging into his lower lip so hard that it’s pale and drained of blood – Namjoon is still giving himself over willingly. Hands held over his head, fat alpha cock stiff and upright.
Yoongi twirls his tongue around Joon’s bellybutton and all over the soft, unprotected flesh of his stomach, and Namjoon lets him, whining around the bite of his lip and bucking his hips upward into nothing.
“Hands and knees,” Yoongi rasps when he can’t take it anymore, and Namjoon scrambles to obey.
From this position, Yoongi kneeling behind him, the lines of Namjoon’s body are incredible. Long and lightly muscled, a sturdy alpha. His back is arched, ass high up in the air, waiting for Yoongi to use him whichever way he pleases.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“No,” Namjoon answers quietly.
For Yoongi. This is all for Yoongi, only for him. The power and possessiveness soar up in him, make him want to ruin Namjoon and cherish him, all in the same breath.
“Have you?” Namjoon asks. “Ever topped anyone?”
“No.” Yoongi feels winded, as if he just ran ten flights of stairs. The word comes out carried on desire more than breath.
“Good,” Namjoon nods fiercely, turning to look at him, that same hunger reflected in his eyes. It sears Yoongi’s skin like a brand of fire. “That’s good. I want to be your first, too.”
The implication of the words hits him square in the chest – that this is special, something both of them will remember. Something not given away to just anyone. It makes him want stupid things, impulsive and unrealistic. Makes him want to fuck Namjoon and right when Namjoon is coming all over Yoongi’s bed, bite him. Mate him. Make him Yoongi’s so that Yoongi can have him all the time, have him in every way you can have another person.
But those are unacceptable thoughts, so instead of thinking, he presses his crotch against Namjoon’s ass and folds over his back, breathing him in, kissing a wet line up the length of his spine. He can’t quite reach his neck, but it’s probably better this way because he’s not sure he wouldn’t give into the temptation and bite.
Namjoon is trying to grind back into him, uneven, jerky motions probably meant to slot Yoongi’s cock between his cheeks. Yoongi’s own asshole is dripping wet but that’s no use because he knows Namjoon’s won’t be.
“Can you hand me the lube and condoms?” he murmurs into the heated skin of Namjoon’s smooth back. “In the first drawer.”
The body under him twists to the side to open the bedside drawer and then Namjoon’s hand is reaching back to hand him a half-empty bottle and an unopened box of condoms.
The sound of the bottle being uncapped is unnaturally loud between them and Yoongi notices how Namjoon tenses when he hears it.
“Hey,” he whispers, soothing his palm along the column of Namjoon’s spine. “You good? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” Namjoon says back, just as quiet. He takes a deep, steadying breath, and on the exhale he confirms, louder, surer. “I’m good. I want to.” His ass nestles against Yoongi’s front again, just wiggling and grinding in small figure-eights. Yoongi grips his hips lightly, but doesn’t pull him any closer or try to guide him. Instead, he lets Namjoon explore and find what he’s comfortable with, afraid of overwhelming him.
He expects Namjoon to take longer to adjust to this new role, but soon enough, the small shy moves grow bolder. When he finally manages to blindly slot Yoongi’s dick where he needs it, he sighs and stiffens at the same time – horny but the alpha in him momentarily bristles against the intrusion.
Yoongi lets his hands travel up Namjoon’s sides, the touch firm and calming, and bends down to rest his cheek on his flank.
“Shhh,” he whispers, nosing along the curve of Namjoon’s torso. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.” He punctuates every word with a small kiss, until he feels Namjoon relaxing under him. Still, he stays, murmuring soft encouragements. The pecks gradually transform into richer kisses, open-mouthed and meant to rile them both up. Namjoon shivers under his palms which stray downward, over his hips, and lower still, down his thighs and calves, then all the way up again until they dip forward to knead at his chest.
The hesitation slowly melts as Namjoon grows more self-assured, small up and down movements along Yoongi’s cock turning into desperate grinding.
“Lube,” he whines, head hanging heavy between his shoulders. Yoongi squeezes some directly down his crack, catching and smearing it all along the narrow path with his dick. His fingers join in soon enough. Namjoon is impatient, hissing and pushing back every time the head of Yoongi’s erection catches on his rim. Yoongi almost winces. He’s not as big as an alpha, but he’s still big enough to hurt him. He squeezes some more lube onto his fingers, and then slips them down, pressing two along the edges of Namjoon’s virgin hole.
“Oh, fuck,” Namjoon mutters, garbled, like he’s momentarily forgotten how to form words.
“Good?” Yoongi asks, not stopping the pressure or the rubbing.
He gets worried for a moment because Namjoon doesn’t answer right away, but when he pauses, Namjoon thrusts his hips back, silently urging him to go on.
“Fuck. So good… Don’t stop, please.”
Yoongi’s fingers pick up again, bolder now that he’s sure he’s not hurting Joon.
“Just… Please, just… A little…” Namjoon is rambling now, his mouth hanging stupidly open, shoulders half-sunken so that he’s barely keeping himself up.
“What do you need, baby?” Yoongi coos, teasing, even though he knows what Namjoon is begging for. “This? Is this what you need?” His finger presses firmly against Namjoon’s hole, teasing the entrance but not quite as hard as Namjoon needs it. When Namjoon squirms and pushes back in desperation, Yoongi doesn’t budge, and his fingertip finally breaches the tightness.
He fucks in and out shallowly, just the tip, pulling out every few seconds to rub the rim with the pads of two fingers. Namjoon is breathless, pants and labored grunts, occasionally trying to form words but failing. Yoongi wishes they were facing each other, wishes he could smooth out the furrow between his eyebrows and kiss his slack lips.
But they’re both inexperienced, and to be completely honest, Yoongi’s not entirely sure what the fuck he’s doing. And here Namjoon is, trusting him, an alpha completely open and unguarded, giving himself over to Yoongi. The last thing Yoongi wants to do is betray that trust and hurt him. This position gives him better control, helps him keep his touches measured and his head relatively cool. He doesn’t know how much he would be able to rein himself in if he lay between Namjoon’s legs and saw his face, lost in pleasure.
It’s okay. He’s got this. He can make this good for Joon.
He takes a deep, steadying breath and tries to really think about this, as much as his poor, horny brain is capable of thinking right now. It takes a few long moments to focus and remember what feels the best when he’s on the receiving end of this equation.
Still careful to listen for Joon’s reactions, he gradually opens him up on his fingers, taking his time to be thorough. As impatient as Joon is, whimpering and clenching around his fingers and occasionally trying to push them in deeper, Yoongi knows that too much too fast could ruin everything for him.
He keeps going even when Namjoon is loose enough to be whining for more. But Yoongi wants to be sure. And yeah, a part of him also loves listening to Joon’s broken begging.
Finally, he rolls on the condom and drizzles some more lube over himself, then presses carefully against Namjoon’s hole. Without Yoongi’s fingers, Namjoon is needy and impatient, trying to push back against the tip of Yoongi’s cock.
Yoongi remembers his own first time, a hasty affair, lackluster from beginning to end. How he thought his first boyfriend, the dreamy alpha the whole school lusted after, would make it amazing for him. And instead all he got were a few sloppy kisses and five minutes of foreplay. Penetration that made his eyes water followed by two more minutes of erratic humping. How he stared at the ceiling, his asshole still on fire, and thought “Wow. Is this all there is to it?”
So instead of pushing in like he is tempted to, he works his lubed up fingers inside again, stretching Namjoon’s opening as much as he can around them, and then slips the head of his dick inside just as he pulls the fingers out, before Namjoon has time to clench closed.
They both pause, frozen momentarily. The staccato of their breathing is deafening. Yoongi doesn’t know if Namjoon is in pain or if it’s the alpha in him petrified at the intrusion. And it’s so fucking difficult to keep his head and not just start plowing away. Because inside Namjoon it’s so hot and tight, a sensation he never quite felt from anyone’s hand or mouth.
He breathes in deep, rubs his palm over the skin of Namjoon’s hip, the side of his thigh. Firm and soothing.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to pull out?”
As he says it, he finds that he’d be okay with that. Whatever Namjoon needs. Delirious with how good it feels snug inside Namjoon’s heat, he’s even more overwhelmed by a sudden affection for Namjoon. Everything inside him flies to Namjoon, reaches out for him, so overcome by the knowledge that he would even let Yoongi get this far – that he would do this for Yoongi even though it goes against all his instincts.
“I’m okay,” Joon expels on a heavy breath.
“Joon, we don’t have to go through with it. We can do anything else. Or nothing at all, if you don’t want to anymore,” he hastily adds.
“I’m fine,” Namjoon croaks, starting to push back a little. Panicking, Yoongi pulls away to compensate and keep the same distance.
“Don’t…” Namjoon barks, then stops to steady himself. “Don’t pull out, please. It… It feels good.” Then surer, as if he needs to reassure himself as much as Yoongi. “It feels good. Just go slow, okay?”
So Yoongi does. He stays like that, just with the head stretching Joon open, draping over to kiss as much of his body as he can reach – kisses that start out as a comfort but soon cause unrest of their own. Namjoon lifts one hand off the mattress and reaches behind himself, trying to caress Yoongi’s body blindly and pull him in closer. He almost face-plants into the bed as his other arm starts shaking under him, but Yoongi wraps his arms around his waist and steadies him.
Namjoon cranes his neck back as much as he can, a wordless plea for kisses. They can’t get the angle right, more licking at each other’s mouths and tongues than kissing, but it’s good. Intimate and just the right amount of messy. Whether because he actually likes the feeling, or because he’s so determined for this to happen, or maybe just because in his desperation for kisses he wants to close any remaining distance between them – but Namjoon starts slowly inching further onto Yoongi’s cock. Little by little by little, until Yoongi is all the way in, feeling swallowed up in bliss.
His head comes to rest between Joon’s shoulder blades, their whole bodies pressed tight against each other, a single long curve alight with the touch. Seated so deep in Namjoon, he’s afraid to move, equal parts worried about hurting Joon and finishing too soon.
Instead, he strokes Namjoon’s chest, wide full-palm strokes at first. Namjoon’s nipples harden fast, and Yoongi reaches for the lube bottle, squeezes some out onto his hands and spreads it all over. He works it into the skin until everything is slippery, massaging and kneading the muscles with Namjoon squirming and gasping under him. The way he tweaks the nipples is not gentle, but Namjoon likes it, pushes his chest down into Yoongi’s hands and his ass back into Yoongi’s crotch.
“Please,” he starts, aborting the sentence halfway through, winded with need, the effort of speaking proving to be too much.
“Please what?” Yoongi asks, half-teasing and enjoying how wrecked Namjoon sounds, but also needing the confirmation that he’s not misunderstanding.
“Please…” Namjoon trails off again, interrupting himself with a small whine when Yoongi pinches his nipple particularly hard. “Please, move. Please fuck me.”
Yoongi pulls back experimentally, relishing the slow, tight drag over his length until all that’s left inside is the tip, then pushes back in just as carefully. Namjoon might be having some sort of a religious experience, because he’s forgotten to stop begging. Lost in taking it, a stream of god and fuck and please fuck me’s flows out of his mouth even as Yoongi obliges and starts pumping into him with surer strokes.
Soon sweat starts pooling between their bodies, so much uncovered skin sticking together and slipping when they move.
Yoongi never knew sex could be this way, his own pleasure heightened because he knows exactly how he’s making Namjoon feel, having been on the receiving side of it so many times. When he pistons inside, the crown stretching Namjoon open, he feels it on his cock but there is a phantom echo of it inside his own hole too, which clenches almost painfully with the need to be filled.
He never fully appreciated the physicality of it either, how hard alphas have to work to make their omegas moan. His thighs are burning and his knees are going a little numb, even his fingers are almost starting to cramp with how hard he’s gripping Namjoon’s hips as he pistons into him at a relentless pace. But he pushes through the ache and speeds up, desperate to make Namjoon come first. His balls are drawing up too, and the build of pressure in his sac and his dick is now followed by a constant throbbing in his own asshole.
He’s getting so close. The grunts he is fucking out of Namjoon on every thrust are not helping, a visceral reminder of that night when he listened to those same sounds on the other side of the wall. But there’s no one else now, just him, just him making Namjoon slam back onto his cock, the groans peppered with an occasional stray please. Just him making his alpha take it good, making him beg for cock like an omega in heat. Making him feel so delicious that Namjoon’s arms finally give out under him and he drops onto his face in the pillows, ass still presented high for Yoongi to use.
Desperate, he pushes the thoughts back and reaches between Namjoon’s legs. His dick is a big, heavy rod, hard and swaying with every thrust. Yoongi’s hand is far from dainty, but Joon’s dick fills it up just right. Willing himself not to think about what it would be like to sit on that girth and feel it splitting him open, Yoongi starts stroking. He can’t focus to go faster than the rhythm of his pounding, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice.
Like a leaf under Yoongi’s touches, he shivers and shakes, forgets to move and just receives pleasure. All of his muscles tense and, too loud, he keens, shooting his load all over Yoongi’s fingers and his sheets.
"Oh my god," Joon pants. Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, he collapses on his belly, limp and lifeless, as soon as Yoongi’s pulled out. The only indication he's alive is the way his back rises and falls with every heaving breath. Yoongi sees it glisten with sweat and has an overwhelming urge to lick it, all the way from his crease, up to his neck. To suck and bite on the skin until he's squirming and hard again. He looks so good, so delicious like this, broad shoulders, firm ass shiny from the lube that dripped out when Yoongi fucked him.
He fucked an alpha , Yoongi thinks. He fucked Joon . The knowledge rips through him like an orgasm, a surge of power, a wave of lust. God, he's never been this turned on in his life. The greed inside him is impossible to contain. He wants everything, wants to lick Joon clean, suckle him back to hardness. Wants Joon in his mouth, in his ass, wherever and whichever way Joon will have him. He swipes the condom off himself, tosses it to the side and then kneels over Joon’s prone body, squirming a little, his dick hard and aching, bobbing as he moves. He misses the friction of fucking acutely, squirms a little and has to make a conscious effort not to grind down against the sheets. Just stroke himself and push his own fingers deep inside his hole, and ride them to climax.
Not now. Not yet.
He has to check up on Namjoon, make sure he's good.
"Are you okay, baby?" The endearment slips out of his mouth so easily that he almost doesn’t notice it at all. He and Namjoon are definitely not that close, and this is a fucking hook-up and a weird one at that. There’s already enough indication that all this is going to lead to colossal amounts of awkwardness later on. But for now, it feels so right. Yoongi is hard and horny and so fucking enamored of the boy lying spreadeagled on his belly before him. So enamored of the way he cried out in pleasure and took Yoongi’s cock and pushed himself back harder even as Yoongi slowed down to make sure he was okay. He just wants to fuck him again and be fucked and kiss him and hold him and call him baby.
Namjoon hums, takes another shuddering breath, then turns over.
"Come here," he reaches out for Yoongi, pulls him down on all fours on top of him and kisses him, lips prying Yoongi’s open almost forcefully. There's no gentleness when his tongue plunges into Yoongi’s mouth, sweeps deep like he's taking something from him.
"You fucked me so good, baby," he mutters into Yoongi’s mouth. "So deep." His tongue mimics his words, fucking deep into Yoongi’s mouth, teeth nipping him a little too hard. Instant relief washes over Yoongi. He didn't hurt Joon, it was good for him.
The relief is replaced quickly by something wild and possessive roaring to life inside of him.
He pushes harder against Joon’s mouth. He's Yoongi’s. His man, his alpha, his little toy to have and fuck and do with as he pleases. Yoongi tilts his head, shifts all of his weight on one hand, the other coming up to hold Namjoon in place. He didn't think the kisses could go any deeper, but he wants to eat Namjoon up, devour him, because he's Yoongi’s, nobody else's. The thought pulls a whimper out of him, has him angling his hips to grind down on Namjoon’s belly. God, Yoongi is fucking dripping wet, all smeared with slick and precome, practically slipping and sliding on Namjoon’s skin.
"Come here," Namjoon mumbles again, pulling on Yoongi’s waist. At first, crazed with desire, Yoongi doesn't get it – he's already here, already sweeping his tongue against Joon’s, already in his lap and in his arms.
"Come up here, baby." Joon tugs him up again, lightly. "I want you to fuck my face."
Oh god. The words have Yoongi's toes curling, and he almost loses it. Namjoon's palms slide lower, to his ass, clawing at his cheeks, too hard, and Yoongi just knows he's gonna bruise, pictures the pretty constellation of plum-colored marks adorning his white skin. A secret. He wonders if Joon’s scent will linger on him, if everyone will know regardless, even with the bruises hidden under his clothes. Will Namjoon have his own, all over his hips, so that they match and know they belong to each other?
(God, he needs to stop this. He needs to stop thinking these things that will only make it hurt more when Namjoon sneaks out to his own room and they go back to normal tomorrow morning.)
With sure fingers Namjoon grabs him by the waist, lifts him up like a rag doll and drags him up his body until he's straddling his face.
Yoongi braces himself on the wall behind Namjoon. When he looks down, Namjoon is already staring at his face, and their eyes lock. Namjoon’s are full of trust and desire. Yoongi doesn’t know what this is that they’re doing, but Namjoon is not asking for anything, he’s just giving and giving and giving, opening up for Yoongi and maybe Yoongi is greedy, but he wants to take it all. Tonight, while he can.
Slowly, he takes the root of his cock into his hand and guides it into Namjoon’s waiting mouth.
It’s so wet and warm and good, and he’s been so on edge for what feels like forever. In this position, Namjoon doesn’t have any control, completely giving the reins over to Yoongi. Yoongi tries taking it easy, sliding in slow and shallow. Namjoon works his tongue around the crown in almost forceful flitters, his cheeks hollowing in an attempt to suck Yoongi in deeper. When it doesn’t work and Yoongi keeps up the same tempo, he hums a needy, frustrated sound that makes Yoongi’s hips hitch. Before he can move again, Namjoon grabs him by the hips and pulls him in deeper.
Together, Namjoon’s hands gripping his ass, they establish a rhythm – steady and so deep that Yoongi feels his tip hitting the back of Namjoon’s throat on every glide forward. He’s worried Namjoon might gag or choke, but he just keeps breathing steadily through the nose, keeping up the suction as best as he can. The fingers of one hand dip further into Yoongi’s crack, and finally the pad of a finger starts tracing along the edges of Yoongi’s rim. And god, Yoongi has been holding off for so long.
“Joon, I’m… I need to pull out, I’m gonna…”
Instead of letting him pull out altogether, Namjoon just adjusts so that the tip of Yoongi’s dick sits a little shallower, dragging over the flat of his tongue. The finger teasing Yoongi’s hole finally breaches it, slides all the way inside without pause or consideration, and fuck, Yoongi could cry with relief.
Yoongi’s arms tremble and he collapses against the wall onto his elbows, almost blinded by the force of the orgasm that radiates from his balls, down his thighs, all the way to his toes. Namjoon’s tongue keeps lapping at the head of his dick, until he’s milked him dry and then he swallows with a muffled moan.
“So uh…” Namjoon says after a few minutes, when Yoongi’s breathing has mostly returned back to normal. The sheets are sticky with sweat and they cling to their backs as they lie side to side.
When Namjoon turns over to face Yoongi, Yoongi sees that his chest is glistening with lube and what may or may not be Yoongi’s slick.
“Is this a thing that happens? Is this what we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Yoongi says. “I figured this was a fluke. Thought you normally went for omegas who are a bit more… Submissive,” he bites out, and fuck, why can’t he shut up? “Ones who wear short skirts and like getting groped against the wall.”
“You were jealous,” Namjoon’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction. “I could smell it.”
“I was no such thing,” Yoongi huffs, trying to save face even though he gave himself away the moment he opened his stupid mouth.
“Yeah,” Joon smiles, and it’s not a cocky alpha smile. It’s just Joon, dimpled and sincere and fond. “Yeah, you were. It’s okay. I was too, tonight.”
Okay, yeah. Maybe facing his embarrassment was worth it for this admission, given so freely, with no conditions attached to it and no calculation behind it.
“So?” Namjoon asks after a few beats in silence. “Are we? Doing this?”
Yoongi thinks Namjoon’s grin must have widened into one of those stupid adorable ones, the ones that are too brilliant even though he’s trying hard to contain them. He refuses to look and check though.
Flowers with blooms of hope flourish inside Yoongi’s chest, curlicue shoots and big fragrant petals pushing on him from the inside and winding through his lungs so that there’s no room to fit any air inside when he breathes in. He pushes them down as hard as he can.
“Why? You enjoyed getting bent over like an omega?”
He’s not sure whether the sneer in his voice goes completely over Namjoon’s head or if he’s just choosing purposefully to ignore it. It’s got to be the latter. No one is that clueless. Whichever it is, Namjoon keeps smiling, and puffs out a happy little sigh.
“Yeah. I did, actually. That was amazing.”
A fingertip trails gently down Yoongi’s arm, then comes back up to trace the loop of his shoulder. It’s gentle, not meant to rile him up or start anything. Just lazy and tickly and so nice. He doesn’t turn around to face Namjoon. Somewhere, buried under the tangle of flowers, his heart thumps in the beat of want want want.
“Yeah?” He snorts. “I would have thought you only did it because you thought I would turn right around and return the favor. Let you fuck me right back.” As if that’s not something he wants too, so bad he can barely speak without starting to rub himself all over Namjoon.
“I wouldn’t say no to that, obviously,” Namjoon chuckles. “If you wanted to. But I’m happy with this too.”
This sounds like bullshit and Yoongi wants to call Namjoon out on it, but when he turns around to look at him at last, Namjoon’s face is open and sincere, not a trace of any pretense on it.
“You’d let me fuck you again?” he challenges.
“Sure,” Namjoon shrugs as if it goes without saying.
“And if I never let you top me and only ever wanted your ass?” He realizes that his voice has grown softer, a note of vulnerability creeping in, and who the fuck allowed that?
“I’d be okay with that. If that’s what you wanted,” Namjoon replies, just as soft.
“This sounds fake.”
“What kind of a fucking alpha just agrees to have an omega top him whenever he wants?” His voice shivers, almost breaks on the last syllable because this is not making any sense. Why is Namjoon saying these things and being so fucking perfect, when it can’t be real?
“An alpha who is in love.”
All of the words evaporate from Yoongi’s head, replaced by noise, a cacophony of voices, all screeching and shrieking and yelling but not making any sense. The tendrils and blossoms creep up his throat, threatening to burst out of his mouth.
Breathe. In and out. Slow.
Namjoon’s smile has faltered now. His soul laid bare on the empty inch of white sheets between their bodies.
“Oh.” Yoongi swallows, and tells his heart to shut up, not be greedy. It keeps thumping. Want want want. Hisses at the flowers already pushing against his lips to behave now, for fuck’s sake – he needs to open his mouth.
“Oh,” he says again and blinks. Reaches to cup Namjoon’s cheek. “That changes things.” He arches his body and lets himself freefall into a kiss. “That changes everything.”